#modern warfare

[cod-dump]

Alex (with rizz): Have you ever been to prison?

Farah: yes.

Alex: because it's illegal to look that beau- what

Farah: yes.

Alex: How-How long were you in prison??

Farah: Ten years

Alex: Jesus Christ-

[shadow0-1]

take it slow

[blingblong55]

New bodies- John Price// Alex Keller NSFW

Based on a request: Ok hear me out… this girl has been absolutely fighting for prices attention for years and Price being stubborn gives it to her in fleeting moments. He thinks she’s just gonna wait forever for this old man to finally settle down. He’s always making her think she has a chance, only for price to always choose some random chick from the bar. The rest of 141 convinced her to just give up and she slowly does because the rejection makes her stomach sick. Well unfortunately for price Alex Keller is absolutely smitten with her. And Alex noticed that price is clearly not going to fuck this poor girl like she deserves. So being the absolute gentleman Alex is he makes a makeshift date out of some MREs and a sunset. They don’t even realize price is watching them as things get heated. I mean Alex is making a mess of this poor thing, hickeys all over her neck, soaked from her squirting. Alex is going to absolutely destroy her and price is there is the shadows, hard as a rock, barely quiet as he strokes himself. ---- F!Reader, MDNI, smut, 18+, P-in-V, unprotected!sex, unestablished!relationship, voyeurism, unrequited!love ----

There is no I love you. There are just fleeting moments, moments where all you can feel is butterflies when he smiles at you. It's dumb, it's quite stupid but it's him. Were you a fool to believe that one day you'd be more than a body to him? Maybe you were but love makes us all blind and surely your silent prayers would be answered and he'd come knocking on your door and say, "You were right, I do love you." 

He would never say those words. 

There were days he'd tell you sweet nothings. Hope...fucking false hope. Was there a day you just wanted to wake up to him? Yes. Did he tell you specifically he wanted you? No. But there was hope. Hope in the way he looked into your eyes and smiled. Laughed at your silly jokes. Listened intently to your words, fucking active listeners. And for a moment then, you saw a future. 

A kitchen with a window so you could look out and watch him chase around the dog. Giggles surrounding the home. Dinners where he could hold your hand under the table and then bring it to his lips.

What a vision for the idiots who believe. 

You turn around, watching as he walks into the pub. Your eyes meet and while your heart races, his doesn't. There's no real feeling for him there. But for you there is. Your heart races and the world stops as you look at him. Your eyes are soft and full of hope, full of everything in this world but his love. Why must you be such a fool?

Damn Elvis song. 

Slowly as Price makes sure you know there is no hope for you and him. He brings in random women or rather meets random women at the pub. He makes sure you see it. Make sure you know he won't love you. You won't be the one to be held in his big arms as he watches the game with the lads. No Sunday dinners, no family dog and no giggles as he runs around with the kids. 

There's no him and you. 

Four months ago, Alex was brought in for a special mission. Well, missions take time, training and making of plans. In his downtime, he took his precious time getting to know you. To know every crevice and all those things that make you tick. 

Well, soon enough you're in his arms. On his bed and in between kisses, you shiver as Alex's lips trail fiery kisses along the column of your neck, his stubble deliciously rough against my sensitive skin. Strong hands roam your curves, mapping out every dip and swell, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You can feel the heat of his gaze, intense and hungry, devouring you like a starving man presented with a feast.

"Fuck, you're breathtaking," Alex growls, voice dripping with lust. His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging lightly as he crashes his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. You moan into it, melting under his touch, surrendering yourself completely to the inferno he's ignited within you.

Alex breaks the kiss, only to blaze a scorching path down to your neck, licking and nipping at the tender flesh. He sucks hard, marking you, claiming you, as his hands grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel his hard length pressing insistently against your core, separated only by the flimsy fabric of your panties.

"So fucking perfect," he rasps, voice strained with desire. His fingers dance along the waistband of your panties, teasingly dipping beneath the lace. "Fuck, baby, you're dripping already," Alex groans, fingers slipping beneath the drenched lace, stroking your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how badly you need my cock."

His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub, as two long digits plunge deep into your core. You cry out, back arching off the ground, hips bucking to meet his hand. Alex works you mercilessly, fucking you with his fingers, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises darkly, voices rough with lust. "Wreck this pretty little pussy on my dick until you're fucking ruined for anyone else. No one will ever make you feel as good as I can."

He seals his filthy words with a brutal kiss, swallowing your moans, as he tears your panties off, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. The cool air kisses your heated skin, your dripping slit on a lewd display, as Alex looms over you, eyes wild with primal desire.

"So fucking gorgeous," he rasps, free hand palming his rigid cock through his pants, giving it a firm squeeze. Alex settles himselfq between your thighs, the thick line of his erection pressing hot and heavy against your weeping core. He grinds against you, coating his length on your slick arousal, the rough denim of his pants deliciously abrasive against your sensitive folds. You whimper and writhe beneath him, desperate for more, craving the feel of his bare skin against yours.

"Patience, baby," Alex chuckles darkly, amused by your desperation, "I will give you exactly what you need. Gonna fuck this greedy little cunt so hard, you'll be feeling me for days."

He sits back on his haunches, hands gripping your hips as he holds you still, preventing you from chasing his touch. With a wicked grin, he reaches for his belt, unbuckling it slowly, drawing out the anticipation. The clink of metal against metal fills the air, followed by the whispered rasp of his zipper as he lowers it, inch by torturous inch.

Finally, blessedly, his cock springs free, long and thick and perfect, the swollen head already glistening with beads of moisture. You lick your lips, mouth watering at the sight, hungry to taste him. With a grunt, Alex sheathes himself inside you, hitting his thick length in one powerful thrust. You scream, back bowing off the ground, your nails raking down his muscular back as he stretches you wide around his girth. He's so big and he's in so deep, you can feel him in your throat, your lungs. 

"Fuck, so goddamn tight," Alex snarls, hips rolling in a slow grind, stirring his cock inside your fluttering walls. He pulls nearly out, before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing obscenely in the still night air.

You're lost in sensation, drowning in the pleasure radiating from where we're joined, your body clenching greedily around him, trying to hold him deep. Alex leans down, capturing your mouth in a filthy kiss, tongue delving deep, swallowing your screams of rapture. His stubble scrapes your jaw as he devours you, drinking down your ecstasy, revelling in the sounds of your pleasure.

"Take it, you perfect little slut," Alex growls against your lips, one hand fisting in your hair. Alex pistons his hips, fucking into you with deep, powerful strokes, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mingling with your wanton cries and Alex's guttural grunts of exertion. Your trembling, writhing beneath him, your body shaking apart from the force of his fucking.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me," Alex rasps, voice strained with pleasure, "Gonna make me fucking bust so hard in this tight little cunt." His words send a bolt of electricity through you, your core clenching hard around his pistoning length.

Unbeknownst to you both, a dark silhouette shifts in the shadows, John Price standing motionless, eyes glued to the debauched scene before him. The wet slap of flesh against flesh and our coupled moans reach his ears, his cock straining against the confines of his pants, an obvious tent forming in the fabric.

Price reaches down, palming himself through his pants, biting back a groan as his hand closes around his rigid flesh. He watches Alex pound into the woman with increasingly rough, animalistic thrusts, grunting and cursing. Price unzips his pants with fumbling hands, freeing his aching cock. He wraps a calloused hand around the throbbing shaft, giving it a firm squeeze, biting his lip to stifle a groan. His thumb swipes over the swollen crown, smearing the bead of moisture that's leaked from the tip.

He strokes himself in time with Alex's brutal thrusts, tight fist-pumping along his thick length, revelling in the filthy scene. Price's heavy sac draws up, balls churning with pent-up release, as he watches Alex rail you into oblivion, your body shaking like a rag doll.

Alex snarls a litany of curses, hips slamming forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm crashes over him. "Fuck!" he roars, voice echoing through the night, as he explodes deep inside you, flooding your spasming cunt with jet after jet of hot seed.

You scream, back arching like a bow, as your peak slams into you, vision whitening at the edges. You milk Alex for every last drop, greedy cunt rippling and squeezing, trying to wring out his release.

Maybe Price could use you some time... maybe this was something he did want with you.

A/N: this was written between my best friend and I, so if you notice a change in words, that’s why.

Tags: @liyanahelena @johfaam0 @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @Krinoid24 @frazie99 @spicypicklesoh @viomast @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @tiredmetalenthusiast @luvecarson @nellsbobells @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @Llelannie @Macnches2 @talooolaaloolla @honestlyhiswife @konigssultwithghost @lovelyvqer @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @thegreyjoyed @marshiely @noodlezz-bedo @azkza @mariededenie

[temeyes]

ghost and gaz, gaz and ghost b4 i go go

[cavernsandcod]

imagine being a rookie and talking a hard spill on the obstacle course during drills. knocked right on your ass and left unconscious.

when you open your eyes in the med bay, gaz is standing over you with an amused, yet soft, expression. what a sight to wake up to—you think. but your head fucking pounds. and he’s your superior. so.

you reach up to your temple and feel the fresh bandage, squinting and scowling at him because the lights hurt.

he just chuckles and helps you sit up, a hand on your torso to prevent you from tipping over again. he knows you’re all bark and no bite:

“i think i’m gonna call you stitches now, rook.”

[sarahsghosts]

the death and resurrection of jonathan price

john price x female, wife!reader

angst with an eventual happy ending

word count: 2,473

cw: we get a little bit steamy, here, folks. nsfw, we’ll also start seeing themes of ptsd crop up

disclaimer: this is my first time writing anything nsfw so bear with me everyone

chapter 3

songs: break my baby - kaleo

as you approach the dingiest and most rundown apartment complex you have ever seen, you double check the address gaz had given you. this couldn't be right.

your gps had brought you to the worst side of town.

you walk up to the unit that he indicated was john's and stood outside the door, listening to police sirens somewhere in the distance.

you raise your hand to knock. he doesn't want to see you. you freeze right before your knuckles tap the door.

your stomach twists into a tight knot and you shake your head. john loved you. whatever he went through, you could face it together, now that he was home.

you rap your knuckles on the door loudly.

thirty seconds went by. then sixty.

you triple check the address.

after almost two minutes of you standing on the front stoop, you raise your hand to knock again, when the door swings open.

it took everything in you not to gasp out loud.

the man before you was almost unrecognizable as your husband.

his hair was choppy as if it had been grown out and then carelessly sheered down many times. his beard, however, was longer than you’d ever seen it.

his face was gaunt, his cheeks sunken in a little more than you remembered, and his eyes…

john had the most incredible blue eyes you had ever seen. they were vibrant and bright, always so expressive. but this man’s eyes…

cold. empty of all the love and admiration they normally carried whenever he looked at you, but somehow also wild. a little unstable. like the spirit of a cornered animal lived behind them.

you were not previously naive to what john was capable of. you didn’t know the exact details of his job, but you know it was brutal and unforgiving at times. often, when he returned from deployments, it took some time for him to adjust. get his head on straight.

but when he looked at you, there was always compassion. love. patience.

you couldn’t find a trace of any of that in this man’s eyes.

his harsh stare sent shivers through you. he really did look like a stranger for a moment.

but, no. this was john, your john, and he had been to hell and back. he needed you, dammit, even if he didn’t know he did.

your face must have betrayed your horror, because john’s eyes narrow.

he looks you up and down with a cold and unkind expression. when he speaks, his voice is rough, like sandpaper. “what are you doing here?”

you blink. “what do you—”

“i thought i made myself perfectly fucking clear,” he interrupts, “when i told gaz not to bring you around.” he glances around behind you, as if he expects to see kyle with you.

you want to say that he should’ve told gaz not to give out his address, then, but you don’t. “i had to see you,” you tell him, your throat tightening.

something about the statement, your tone of voice, or just you, makes john narrow his eyes further. “yeah, well, you’ve seen me now, haven’t you?” he begins to close the door.

panic seizes you and you put your hand up, holding the door open. “wait!”

john could have easily pushed through you, but he doesn’t. he pulls the door back, again. this time, he looks annoyed. “what?” he snaps.

“john,” you breathe out, trying to collect your thoughts. “i… we… you can’t just shut me out.” you mean it both figuratively and literally.

he watches you for a long moment, before he says, “there’s nothing here for you.”

your brows draw together and you look like you want to argue, but he continues.

“whatever - whoever - you think you came here to find?” he shakes his head. “not here.”

you take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. you truly didn’t expect to feel angry, but your hands clench into fists beside you.

here he was, after all this time, directly in your line of sight and you can’t believe that the singular person keeping you from your husband was himself.

“bullshit,” you snap.

if he is surprised by your anger, he doesn’t show it. he crosses his arms over his chest, almost looking bored.

you take a step closer to him. “john,” you plead. “we can work through this. whatever happened—”

“that’s enough,” he cuts you off, his tone still sounding disinterested.

“john, i love you! don’t do this.” your eyes well with tears, but you blink them back. “let me in,” you urge in a quiet voice.

you take another small step towards him. he mirrors it, moving backwards and maintaining the distance between you both, but allowing you one step over the threshold.

something in his gut, primal and vicious, bellowed inside him at the sight of you. delicate, and still so beautiful. even more so than he remembers.

he had stopped thinking about you after almost a year in the gulag.

you, so ethereal and divine. not even the memory of you could exist in that hell.

no. he had become focused strictly on survival in a way that was primitive and animalistic. most days he hadn’t even felt human anymore.

but here you were in front of him, almost angelic, like something pure and perfect. that desperate look on your face, so fragile, with your brows pulled together in concern.

he wasn’t the man you had known. he hadn’t been for a long time. he wasn't good. he would ruin you. he would destroy you.

it was better that you stayed away.

“i don’t love you. if i ever did, i stopped a long time ago.”

you reel back as if you’d been struck. you stare at him, your eyes holding a mixture of confusion and distress.

then, to his surprise, he saw a gentle fury seep into them.

“liar.” your voice came out harsh and deathly quiet.

he hadn't expected you to get angry. in fact, he thought it was going to be easier to get rid of you than this. he really hadn’t expected you to put up so much of a fight.

“believe what you want, love. not my problem either way. if there was ever something between us, it’s over now. you’ve been gettin’ on without me for a while now, i reckon you’ll be just fine.”

you stare at him in disbelief. you tilt your head slightly and take a step towards him. and then another. this time, he doesn’t step backwards and now there’s virtually no space between the two of you.

you tip your head back to meet his gaze, anger still evident on your face. your eyes flit around his features, desperate for some sign of either deception or affection.

john loved you. he had to.

you crane your neck up so your lips hover over his. “you fucking liar,” you breathe onto them, before you kiss him gently.

he stands there, frozen under your kiss, and you start to think maybe this is how you’ll get through to him. you lean up on your toes and deepen the kiss.

his hands shoot up and grip your shoulders like a vice. he breaks off the kiss and in two large steps, has you pushed against the nearest wall.

he stares down at you, his eyes dark with something savage and narrowly restrained. his upper lip twitches slightly, and his voice is dangerously low as he says, “don't.”

something squeezes tightly in your chest and your gut is telling you not to push him, to get the hell out of there.

but this was your john, and you’d be damned if you ever stopped trying to reach him.

you hold his gaze and, despite all your self-preservative instincts screaming against it, you reach a hand up, sliding it over his chest. you grab a fistful of his shirt and stay like that for a moment, before you use it to pull yourself up to kiss him, again. it’s a hard and desperate kiss, and you pray it tells him everything that you can’t say.

i need you, it says. don’t send me away.

to your surprise, he returns the kiss roughly, almost mercilessly. his hands tighten on your shoulders, and he flattens you back against the wall.

excitement surges through your body and you reach up to trail your fingers across the side of his jaw, under his ear, and onto the back of his head, tugging at the hairs on the base of his skull.

your other hand releases his shirt and begins to trail down his abdomen and towards the buckle of his belt.

his hand shoots down, catching yours tightly, and you freeze, breaking your kiss.

you suck in a breath, your head feeling dizzy, and john tightens his hold on your hand, almost painfully so.

his chest heaves up and down and he looks as though he barely has any semblance of self-control. “this doesn't change a fucking thing,” he says gruffly. “understand?”

you shake your head, swallowing thickly. “i don't care.”

and you don’t - it just feels good to have his hands on you again. rougher, more calloused than before. his hold is almost violent as if he truly doesn’t care about your wellbeing. but it’s still him. there is an underlying familiarity of his hands on your skin.

it strikes you, suddenly, that he hadn’t had sex in three years.

that’s fine, you think. neither had you.

which is probably what explains what you do next: you sink down to your knees.

john immediately releases your hand and begins working his belt and undoing the button of his pants.

he winds his hand in your hair, tightly, painfully and you get to work.

the groan that rumbled low in his throat sends a desire through you that you haven’t felt in years. you move enthusiastically, opening your eyes in time to see him tip his head back, a low curse slipping from his lips. something about it sends a rush of exhilaration through you. you can feel your mascara stinging your eyes, but you don’t care.

it isn’t long before john tugs sharply on your hair, pulling you to your feet. he backs you against the wall and kisses you harshly, teeth clashing. he sucks your lower lip into his mouth, scraping his teeth over it. you wince, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

he reaches down and slides his hands around the backs of your thighs. he grips them tightly, likely leaving bruises, and lifts you up.

your legs instinctively wrap around his torso, and he begins walking you further into the tiny apartment. his lips suddenly latch around the sensitive point at the base of your throat, his teeth scraping the skin.

the little whine that slips out was completely outside of your control. “john,” you whimper, breathlessly. “i—”

one large hand shoots to back of your head, the other sliding under your ass to help support you as you still cling to his waist.

he balls his fist into your hair and tugs harshly, tilting your head back forcefully. “stop talking,” he growls in your ear.

he ungraciously drops you down onto his bed. your back has barely touched the lumpy mattress before he’s on you, pulling at your clothes.

your head spins as his hands swiftly work their way up and down your now exposed body. not in the loving and generous way like he used to, but in a selfish and aggressive way, groping and grasping your flesh like a man starved.

he isn't patient nor gentle with he pushes himself into you. “fuck,” he hisses through his teeth.

he grabs a hold of your wrists, one in each hand, and pins them to the mattress as he rolls and snaps his hips back and forth against yours.

he shifts his weight forward and it was possible you felt pain prick in your wrist bones as he does. you really don’t notice as you are riding a high that is building quickly and zealously.

after years of being touch starved, it doesn’t take much to undo you. the familiarity of the two of you coming together makes your heart race and your head spin.

every time he pushes into you, you shift your hips up to meet his, which elicits that same guttural groan from deep in his throat, that you heard before.

that sound from him, his matched enthusiasm, is the last thing you need to tip you over the edge. “i'm—” you gasp, screwing your eyes shut. “i'm going to—”

without slowing his pace, john releases one of your wrists and clamps his hand over your mouth, his hand covering the entire lower half of your face.

white spots dance behind your eyelids as you reach your peak. john’s pace doesn’t slow as you ride through your high, whining and moaning behind his hand as the post-orgasm sensitivity makes you begin to whimper.

his hands tighten on your face and wrist, and he leans down, pushing himself further against you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck, grunting as he finished.

his wild beard scratches your skin, and you feel his sharp breaths hot against your throat.

he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours. for a moment, neither of you move, but you feel his hand loosen on your mouth. you pant hard, your chest, slick with sweat, rising and falling against his.

you only now notice that he hadn't even gotten undressed.

you wait for him to collapse onto the mattress next to you like he always had in the past, but instead, he pushes himself up and climbs off the bed. he stands there, looking at you as you laid still, a panting, sweaty mess. his eyes rake down your body one last time before he turns and walks towards the adjoining bathroom.

as he left you there, he said one thing, his voice gravelly and his tone impassive.

“you can show yourself out.”

part 4

—-

TAGLIST: @fruitymoonbeams-blog @evergreenfields

[strryangels]

STILL WONDERING WHAT THIS MEANSSSS

[continentalblue]

I'm still so fucking mad about Soap's death. What do you MEAN my beautiful baby boy went out like that?? fucking egregious.

[thatoneautisticshark]

Lemme edge y'all real quick with a little peice of the first of two follow ups to the soap virgin ghostsoapprice fic

Unfortunately for him, Simon didn't even take a second to pick up on his flushed face.

“Oh you like the thought of us fucking, Johnny? Getting you going is it?”

Johnny squeaked burying his face against Prices chest “Shut up LT!”

Simon however, did not shut up, instead he sat up, leaning over to speak directly into Johnnys ear. “You wanna see us fuck don't you? Wanna be a little voyager”

And Johnny felt his face turn bright red.

He did.

He did wanna watch them fuck. What would that even be like?

He'd only braved porn a few times and certainly never gay porn. What would it be like, being able to watch, hear… maybe even touch.

Anyways byyeeee. Dunno when I'll actually post this. Suffer :3

[honkytonk-hangman]

Coup de Foudre

[Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Military!Reader]

Summary: “So… this everything you thought it would be?” you ask, running a hand through your hair. Simon’s eyes follow the movement, before they focus back on you. “Yes,” he says simply. Your stomach actually flutters at that. “You hardly even know me,” you almost sound like you’re protesting, and something in your brain tells you to shut the hell up. “I know what I like.”

Warnings: Canon level violence, language... simon is a little freak (we love him for it)

Notes: My first time writing for Ghost <3 Reader does have a name, but it isn't used all that often, it's still written second person though. Also i am aware the french foreign legion is still male only but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . any feedback or comments are greatly appreciated. i have several chapters already written!

Words: 5k

You smile to yourself as you duck back into cover. From over yonder you can still hear the cussing directed your way. You look over at Soap, who is behind a low brick wall, laughing into his plastic splatter shield helmet, making it sound warped and distorted.

“Splash one,” you say, loud enough for the one still cussing to hear.

“You be careful Doe, he’s not gonna be happy ‘bout that,” Soap tells you, all warnings lost when another ‘fuck off’ sounds from over the rise, and you both dissolve into giggles again.

“Doubt he’s been happy about the last three either,” you shrug, and watch as Gaz skids back into place beside Soap, the Scot grabbing him by the belt and hefting him upright.

They work well as a team, all of them, even the ones not on your side currently. It shouldn’t surprise you, Task Force 141 were one of the greatest, but you’d really only had the chance to work with Soap and Captain Price before. It was nice seeing them in this environment, paint splatters everywhere, no life or death consequences at hand.

You’re all on leave, luckily timed as well, giving you the chance to fly over from France and hang out with them for a bit, playing some paintball. You weren’t stupid enough to believe for a second this wouldn’t become ultra competitive, and so you’d met their energy.

Specifically, you’d met the energy of one member, Ghost, who for your money, was likely on the top end of the danger scale in any normal firefight, let alone in a paintball one. So you’d made it your mission to go for him. You were a good shot, always had been, but better than that, you were quick. You’d always had a knack for being able to bump out of cover fast, get your shot off almost instantly, before using the recoil to help guide you back down again.

Maybe it was a fact of being smaller than most of the men you trained and fought with, it allowed you to move faster, like a doe on a hunt, hearing a noise and bolting. It was one reason for your call sign to have become Doe, the other you suspect was your fellow ranks of the French Foreign Legion finding your surname annoying to say.

The current game comes to an end, and you all trudge back to ‘HQ’ for some water, and to reload your guns. Ghost, you notice, walks ahead with Price, and you can’t help but smile at the multiple splatters of paint overlapping each other on the back, sides, and front of his helmet. You’re halfway through downing a cup of water when Price steps forward, like he’s readying himself for a debrief.

“Alright this time we’re gonna swap it up a little,” he says gruffly. “I’ll switch with Doe, so it’ll be Gaz, myself and Soap up against Ghost and Doe, got it?” an affirmative comes back from everyone, before Price adjusts on his feet and eyes you. “Give Ghost a break from all the bullying, ey?” he’s got a twinkle in his eye when he says it, and you let your gaze slip laconically over to Ghost who even now wears a skull emblazoned balaclava beneath his mandatory helmet. He looks like he’s frowning, but you don’t give any thought to it. From what you’d seen, the man always looked like he was frowning.

His eyes find you then, and you raise an eyebrow and a shrug.

You all filter back out to the field, and you walk in pace with Ghost.

“I’ve got Price, if you get Gaz,” you tell him quietly. The slightest turn of his toward you lets you know he’s listening. “Take them out, isolate Soap, and it should be a walk in the park,” you go on, looking up to meet his eye.

“You go for the harder targets first?” he asks, voice rough, but you think you detect a hint of amusement in it.

“You don’t?” you shoot back breezily. “I’m less familair with Price and Gaz, makes them more dangerous,” you explain after a moment’s silence. The two of you scramble over a mess of ruined and paint-sloshed cars, sliding down the other side to find a man-made ravine of sorts. You keep walking.

“Now I know why you went for me,” he states out loud, and you give him a puzzled look.

“Nobody ever said you weren’t dangerous,” you tell him, punctuated with a small scoff.

“M’not used to being seen,” he tells you in reply. You’re fairly certain that's the only admittance of underestimating you you’ll ever get.

“Movements all I need,” you tell him, nodding once. Ghost looks down at you, more directed and pointedly this time. He stares for a moment, before stopping, and hauling himself up the side of the low ravine.

You think he’s turned back to offer you a hand maybe, but you’re already up. He stares again.

“Noted,” he says, before gesturing with his paintball gun toward a stack of half ruined cargo containers. “You take the high ground in that case, I’ll stay lower.”

“We’re gonna camp them?” you ask, the disappointment in your voice apparent, and this time when he looks back at you, you get the sense he may just be smiling.

“I’ll get movement for you,” he says simply.

You glance back up at him, then at the crates.

“I may not stay here, keep an eye for my shots,” you tell him, receiving a nod. It’s the last you see of him until you’re high in an old treehouse of sorts, the platform overgrown and mostly free of paint. You think from the age of the wood, slightly rotted and cracked in some parts, it had existed here before the land became a paintball field. There hadn’t been any ladders to direct players up, so you assume most folks didn’t know about it. It was easy to haul yourself up to it, though you were weary of the creaks and shudders the wood gave below you, though some of which you know are not your own.

Any of the others would have shot you by now, so you aren’t overly surprised to hear Ghost’s voice beside you.

“Not often you find a Doe up a tree,” he says, sounding awfully pleased with himself. You side eye him.

“What happened to getting me some movement?” you ask. You’d already gotten Gaz, and Ghost had taken care of Price himself.

“Eyes on the ball,” he all but barks, nodding out to your vantage point, where you see Soap now, moving between cover as he makes his way through the trees and foliage.

Unfortunately, you and Ghost both seem to adjust your weight at the same time, because the next thing you know, a loud and sudden crack echoes from beneath your feet, the wood rending apart as you feel yourself drop.

You let out the quietest gasp you can think of in the moment, before your fall is brought to a swift end, your wrist tugged back and up, leaving you suspended in the air. You look up, quickly wiggling to adjust your own hold on Ghost’s wirst. He’s braced himself on what remains of the platform you’d destroyed, and a thick tree trunk, his gun still held in one hand, while yours has clattered to the leaves below.

You want to say something, even just to thank him, but before you can, you hear a whistling sound directly in front of you. Soap lowers his aim on you as he approaches, no longer seemingly bothered with cover as he watches you dangle. It occurs to you, the overgrown leaves that had covered the treehouse must still be covering where Ghost holds you up, because his friend doesn’t appear to have noticed him there yet. And he still has his gun.

“Look what we have ‘ere,” Soap announces, walking right up to you. “A Doe all the way up in a tree?” He laughs, but given it’s the second time you’ve heard it today, you roll your eyes.

“Very funny,” you say. “Help me down.” you shoot a look up to Ghost, who nods once in response. It was still a fairly long way down, you didn’t fancy the rough landing if you could help it, but you prep yourself as Soap properly swings his rifle onto his back and gets nearer, hands raised to assist you.

He’s still chuckling to himself the whole time, chatting about how he gets to shoot you once you’re safe, when his warbling stops and you see him looking up into the tree, at the ‘branch’ you hold with wide, panicked eyes.

“‘Ello Johnny,” Ghost says, before a bright splash of green explodes against the camouflage pullovers he wears, and the Scot lets out a string of cursing as he stumbles back.

You laugh, loud and proud, and behind Soap, you can see Gaz and Price striding over to you. At the sound of Price’s chortling, Soap spins around.

“You see this shite!” he calls, just as you give Ghost the go ahead to drop you, and you land with an ‘oof’ behind him, shortly followed by Ghost jumping down after you. “Playing the damsel in fucking distress my arse!” he throws his thumb over his shoulder at you as you pretend to dust yourself off.

“Your fault for falling for it!” Gaz calls back as they finally near. Price leans around Soap and shakes your hand, then Ghost’s.

“Played us for a blinder there!” He says, practically beaming. Gaz shoves his arm over Soap’s shoulder, glancing over at him with a cheeky smirk.

“Medevac, soldier?”

“Fuck off, Gaz, I need a fucking drink,” Soap mutters to himself. You quickly join them, throwing your arm around his other side, and grinning blithely.

“If it’s any consolation, you could’ve shot me right there and I would’ve been out,” you say with a half hearted shrug.

“How t’fuck is that consolation? Ghost still woulda gotten me!”

You shrug again.

“The two of you make a good team, should get you on some more ops soon,” Price says from behind you as you all begin to walk. You look over your shoulder at him, still smiling brightly.

“You know I’m only ever a call away, Cap,” you tell him, surprised when you hear a trace of laughter in Ghost’s voice.

“Certainly wouldn’t say no,” he replies, though to you or Price, you aren’t sure. You turn back around to face where you’re going, but quickly spin back, releasing Soap when you realise something.

“Left my gun back there–” you start to say, but notice Ghost carrying two, the second of which he raises up as if to show you. “Oh,” you say, stepping up to take it from him even as he doesn’t stop moving, leaving you to fall into place once more beside him. “Thanks.”

“Comfortable without a gun,” he comments, and you stare up at him blankly while he looks ahead. You aren’t sure what he’s getting at exactly, but thankfully you don’t have to.

“She’s Foreign Legion, Ghost, I should sure hope so,” Price says, and you look past Ghost to him just as he throws you a wink.

“Still, I don’t have any knives on me now, it’s a good point,” you say, a little dowerly, seeing Ghost’s head finally turn to look down at you. He’s frowning again, but doesn’t speak until he faces forward.

“Wasn’t sayin’ that,” he tells you, but doesn’t reveal what he was trying to say, and before too long, you find yourselves filtering back into the ready room of the paintball place, your last game for the day completed and you all go about peeling off the jumpsuits, handing back in your guns, and debriefing with the staff.

You reckon 141 have been here before, they seem to know a few of the guys running it, and they shake their hands and clap ‘em on the back as you move back out into the reception, discussing pubs. A hand comes down on your own shoulder as you retrieve your bag and items from the lockers in the front, and you turn your head to find Soap.

“Well since Doe’s been on the winning team for every game, I say she’s buyin’!” he announces, making you roll your eyes.

“I’ve only got euros on me–” you’re still halfway through protesting when Ghost speaks up from a few lockers down.

“S’not fuckin’ golf, Johnny,” he says, shutting the locker door and shoving a few things in his pockets. “I’ll buy,” he says, watching you lean down to restrap your knife to your ankle.

Soap walks off to inform the others as you right yourself once more, pulling your jeans down over the weapon and subtly looking over your shoulder to see if any of the giddy teenagers getting ready for their game had noticed.

“Nice knife,” Ghost says.

“I like to have it on me,” you reply with a small shrug.

“Ten inch?” he asks, making you laugh.

“You really wanna go there?” you ask back, making him adjust his stance and cross his arms over his chest. You get the sense beneath his mask, he raises an eyebrow. “Eight.” You correct him. He seems to mull that over thoughtfully.

“Big knife,” is all he says, which makes you laugh again.

“What can I say? I don’t have the reach you big boys do.”

“You handle it often?” he all but grunts back, making you roll your eyes as you close the locker door.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you reply instead of the million dirty jokes that had filtered through your mind. You don’t think he’d appreciate it, and you don’t know if you want to go there with him just yet. You turn away from him and move back to the others, hearing his heavy footsteps behind you as you move.

“You wanna get a drink?” the voice comes from beside you, unmistakably his, and you turn your head ever so slightly away from watching the barman, to glance at him. At some point between the paintball place and the pub, Ghost had removed the skull balaclava and replaced it with a plain black cloth medical mask.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” you ask, giving yourself a moment to gather your thoughts at the unexpected question.

Ghost wanted to get a drink with you? Why? You know you’re cute, but you’d spent the majority of the afternoon pissing him off.

Who knows, maybe he’s into that.

He huffs in annoyance and practically does a full body eyeroll.

“Yes or no?” he asks again. You have to force yourself not to smile, and you turn to face him fully, something he doesn’t seem fully ready for, because he side eyes you oddly, almost seeming to lean back some.

“Are they my only options?” you ask innocently, batting your eyelashes at him. He turns his head to fully face you this time, a frown covering the features you can see.

“What other fuckin’ options are there?!” he responds, sounding annoyed, but you’d gotten the gist of him over the afternoon, and his voice often just sounded that way, not that he seemed to put much effort into changing that. Probably helped with his whole deal. You bat your eyelashes again, and his eyes flicker over your face.

“A raincheck perhaps? I fly out in a couple of hours,” you tell him.

If a man like Ghost could ever deflate, you think he’d be doing it right about now.

“You’re going back to the field?” he asks, curious more than anything and looking away from you briefly, though, you note with some interest he looks back at you fairly quickly. ‘Keen’, you think, and find yourself entranced by the idea. You don’t get the impression he’s a man who does this a whole lot, and aside from his covered face, it wasn’t like you could deny interest. Call you a cliche, but you always did have a thing for the big, capable types, and you’re not sure you’ve met bigger or more capable than Ghost.

You shake your head.

“No, just going home. Got a place in Marseille, and a little man waiting for me,” you tell him, watching as his eyebrows shoot up and he looks you over again.

“You have a kid?” he asks, sounding bewildered, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Christ no. I’ve got a dog. Lives with one of the drill sergeants most of the year, but he’s mine,” you pull out your phone at that and quickly scroll through until you find pictures. Turning your phone around, you show Ghost, watching as he takes in the photos you flick through with passive approval.

“Big geezer,” he says at last. You nod.

“He’s a bomb squad reject. Named him Boots, cause he kept going through his trainer’s until they kicked him out,” you tell him, earning a short, sharp bark of laughter.

“Boots,” he says, not quite mockingly, but in a way that told you he found it very amusing.

“Maybe if you’re ever in France, you can come see us,” you say, just as the bartender returns with your drinks. Before you can reach out and grab them, Ghost has them in his hands.

“Why The fuck would I ever be in France?” he asks, somewhat huffily, but you don’t take it personally as you push off the bar.

“For that drink,” you say over your shoulder as you turn, and lead him away.

You didn’t think he’d actually take you up on it. You don’t even know how he got your number.

“I’m in Marseille, where are you?” Ghost’s voice comes down the line, making you gape in surprise.

“I’m sorry, you’re where?!”

“I’m in Marseille,” he says simply, as if that information makes perfect and clear sense. You shake your head, and switch your phone into your other hand.

“Hold on,” you tell him, receiving only a grunt in reply. “Boots! Here please!” you call out, your big beautiful boy bounding back over to you on command, and you crouch down to smooth down his ears and reattach his lead. You stand up again and refocus on the conversation you’ve found yourself in.

“Ghost,” you begin. “Please tell me you aren’t in Marseille,” you say, pinching your nose between your brows.

“Negative. I am in Marseille. Are you free? I can wait,” he says. You remove the phone from your ear and just blink into the distance for a moment.

“Where are you right now?” you ask back after a moment.

“Train station,” he tells you. You let out a sigh.

“Stay there, I’ll be there shortly. You could have told me, you know,” you say, as you begin moving with Boots back toward your car. There’s quiet on the line for a moment.

“Sorry,” Ghost says, and to his credit, he does sound genuine about it.

“Just stay put, I’m not far.”

You hang up just as you arrive at your car, and look down at Boots, who looks up at you, and cocks his head. You let out a small huff, and scratch his ears.

“Well, bud, let’s hope you like him, hmm?” you open the back door and let Boots get settled before you clip him into the car lead, attached to his harness, so he doesn’t get thrown around. He licks your hand as you draw it back and you sigh, ruffling his fur once more before you climb into the driver's seat.

True to his word, Ghost is standing right there, outside the train station in Marseille, dark jeans, dark parker, dark hoodie pulled up over his head, and that same cloth medical mask over his features. You almost don’t believe it, but after winding down your window and calling out to him, he trundles on over, and enters the passenger door.

“Lieutenant,” he says with a nod. You turn in your seat and stare at him. After a moment, he looks toward you.

“Are you serious?” You ask incredulous. His eyes flicker away for a moment, before back to you, and he nods.

“Yes,” is all he says, making you huff. You point at Boots in the backseat, who has sat up from his lying down position, and is doing his damndest to get closer to the two of you in the front.

“Say hello to Boots or he’ll whine for the rest of the drive,” you say. Ghost continues to stare at you for a moment longer, before he slowly turns to look at the dog in the backseat.

“‘Ello Boots,” he says, making you roll your eyes.

“Hold out your hand, let him sniff you,” you instruct, watching as he carefully obeys, waiting until the German Shepherd has enough of his scent and starts to lick at him.

Ghost pulls back then, but hesitates before he reaches back out, dodging the pups lolling tongue, and gives him a few firm rubs on his chest. Upon the completion of this task, Ghost turns back around and Boots lays himself back down again, both of them looking over at you. You sigh deeply, and move the car out of parked.

“You headshot a guy three times…” you mutter to yourself as you start to drive. Ghost lets out a gruff sounding chuckle, and you glance over at him briefly. “Did you seriously catch the train all the way from London, just to get a drink with me?” you ask, no more faux scathing in your voice, just genuine curiosity. Besides you, Ghost shrugs his shoulders.

“Yes. Who knows when we’ll both be on leave next,” he responds.

The rest of the car ride is quiet, though you catch yourself a few times almost forgetting the man beside you, and talking to Boots about the traffic. To his credit, Ghost doesn’t say anything about it. You pull into the parking lot behind a local pub you’d visited a few times before, and without saying anything, you get out, get Boots situated on his lead, and wait for Ghost to stop scanning the area around you. By the time you reach the outdoor seating of the place, you turn to look at Ghost, who you realise has been watching you rather intently, though he drops his eyes to your hand when you hold out the lead for him to take.

“What would you like? I’ll order,” you say, watching as his eyes jerk back up to you and he frowns, about to protest. “I’ve read your file, you don’t speak French,” you say before he can speak, which only serves to make his frown deepen. With one hand he takes the lead from you, and with the other he pulls out his wallet, handing you a small collection of euro notes. You look up at him with an eyebrow raised.

“I’ll have whatever you have. Station had an ATM,” he tells you. You roll your eyes and move inside the pub.

When you return, two beers in hand, you find him sitting, Boots between his thighs and receiving a very thorough petting. You place the beers on the table, along with a straw, and watch as Ghost sits up, his eyes drawn to the straw, before the flick back up to you questioningly. You shrug.

“Figured you could slip it under the mask,” you say with a little laugh, letting him know you were only joking. He rolls his eyes, making a ‘tsk’ sound.

You watch with interest then, as almost nervously, he lifts a hand and pulls down his mask, settling it under his chin. He’s staring back at you, clearly waiting for a comment or joke of some sort, and you aren’t exactly planning on making one, as you quietly take a sip of your drink and let your eyes roam over his uncovered face for the first time. The silence seems to unnerve him more than anything though, so you shrug your shoulders as you place your drink back down again.

“Not bad,” you say, watching his lips tick up in the corners. His eyes shift away from you then, in what you could only describe as a bashful manner, making you smile as he nods down to Boots, still sitting between his thighs.

“S’good dog,” he tells you, making you smile even wider.

“Yeah, he does alright… I’d love to tell you he’s never this friendly with anyone, and that you’re special, but that’d be a lie,” you say, making his lips pull even further into a smile, he drops a hand back to Boots’ head, smoothing back his fur.

“Why’d you get a dog, if you’re away so much?” he asks you then, taking a sip of his own drink as he sits up straighter, bringin both his hands to rest on the table between you, clasped together.

“Was lonely, mostly. I reckon I take leave more than you lot do, but always hated coming home to nothing, just dead quiet,” you say truthfully, chewing on your lip a little as you think. “I mean, it’s not like he’s much of a conversationalist, but it’s nice having someone else around.”

Ghost hums, and nods.

“It was four times, by the way,” he says then. You frown at him. “In the car, you said you got me three times. It was four,” he continues. You stare at him for a moment, before letting out a laugh and shaking your head.

“Doesn’t change my point, does it?” you ask, and this time, he does smile, shrugging a shoulder as he does.

“You’re good,” he says simply, like that’s more than enough information. You chortle.

“And that does it for you, does it?” you ask in reply, still laughing. Ghost cocks his head at you, reminding you for a moment of Boots.

“I’m a simple man,” he says.

“Something tells me that’s not true,” you shoot back, nodding at his face mask crumpled beneath his chin. “You’ve never even told me your name,” you tell him pointedly. Ghost raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve read my file,” he says, making you shake your head.

“You’ve never told me,” you reiterate, giving him a moment's pause. His eyes flicker away from you again, briefly taking in the street behind you, before he looks back.

“Simon,” he says at last, thinking a moment before going on. “I haven’t read yours,” he informs you matter of factly. You figure this is him admitting he doesn’t know your name at all.

“Remi,” you tell him.

“Remi,” he repeats. “How many people call you Remi?” he asks, and you get the feeling he’s gauging whether or not this is something he should refer to you by in company. You smile.

“It’s not like it’s a secret, Simon,” you say, recieving a nod in reponse.

You lull into a comfortable sort of silence for a few minutes as you both drink, until a thought pops into your head, and you look at Simon out of the corner of your eye.

“How did you get my number?” you ask then, watching as he seems to pause, drink halfway to his mouth. His eyes swivel to find yours, and you turn to face him properly.

“Asked Soap,” he admits after a few moments. You huff.

“So Soap knows you’ve come to see me?” you ask, not looking forward to the Scottish Inquisition you’ll get. Actually, you’re surprised you hadn’t already gotten it.

“No,” Simon says, placing his drink back down. “I just asked for your number.”

You purse your lips at him for a few moments, before blowing out a breath and looking away.

“So… this everything you thought it would be?” you ask, running a hand through your hair. Simon’s eyes follow the movement, before they focus back on you.

“Yes,” he says simply.

Your stomach actually flutters at that.

“You hardly even know me,” you almost sound like you’re protesting, and something in your brain tells you to shut the hell up.

“I know what I like.” He shuts it up for you, leaving you staring at him with a half open mouth and no thoughts. After half a second too long, your senses come back to you and you scramble to raise an eyebrow and play it cool.

“And that is…?”

“Women who can out-shoot me,” he says with a certain finality that you couldn’t even begin to counter.

“You know, that kinda surprises me,” you tell him, your gaze drifting from him and down to the straw that you begin to fiddle with in a manner you won’t admit is nervous.

“Why’s that?” He almost looks like he’s smiling.

You think for a moment how best to phrase it, flicking the straw around between your fingers, your eyes briefly glancing upward to see him watching you. You shrug.

“In my experience men rarely like it when a woman is better than them at something,” you tell him seriously, meeting his eye again.

You wait anxiously for his reply, but he just leans back in his seat and takes a sip of his beer.

It’s not untrue. You’d had fairly low dating prospects since you’d joined the military. You weren’t exactly un-feminine, in fact, you liked to make a point of being more feminine in places you could, having that stripped from you in other areas of your life. But you were on the taller side, muscular enough to turn off a lot of men, and skilled enough the rest were intimidated or otherwise falsely immasculated by you.

And that wasn’t even the civilian men. Any non-military type who found out what you did, even without telling them exactly what you did (mostly because that was somewhat classified), dropped interest if not immediately, then fairly soon after.

You’d become somewhat used to not being seen as dateable, so the rather honest interest Simon has in you is unfamiliar.

“I like it,” he says at last, and with no further elaboration.

You think, perhaps, in some ways, he may very well be a simple man.

[paropamisus]

Just remembered how shite Modern Warfare 3 was and how it doesn't count to the cannon so yeah Soap is basically alive. John "Soap" McTavish x GN reader CW: Kinda creepy Soap, stalking, alcohol, mentions of nudity, medical inaccuracies, lmk if I missed anything So what if Soap survived? You were put on as backup for the mission in the tunnel. Good enough to make it into the SAS, never quite making it into the ranks of the 141 though. Orders were simple enough, wait outside the perimeters and if something went wrong be ready to storm in with the rest of the personnel in your squad. But it was the 141, nothing ever went wrong with them. Until it did, when the field radio reported that a group of Konni men were seen approaching the tunnel, everyone was already on the move. Making it inside just in time to see the taskforce work on defusing the bomb as Makarov approached. Everything was a blur after that. You briefly remember how no one noticed Makarov walk right up to the Captain and man with the buzzed mohawk, shot the two of them in their legs, and right before a bullet could've gone through his head, you remember pulling one guy to the ground. There was the sound of a gun going off and when you looked down at the man, his head was bleeding but the bullet hadn't gone in. Just grazed the side of his head. Honestly it was pure luck the man had survived, you had no idea why everyone was praising you when all you had done was be at the right place at the right time. In the midst of it all, your arm had been shot which resulted in medical leave for a few months. ... Johnny had truly wished that bullet had killed him.

At first he was thankful, then he got the news. Honorably discharged. Apparently there was something wrong with him. Aside from feeling a little hazy sometimes he was still perfectly fine. But everyone told him the same thing, even Simon. Apparently the bullet graze did some damage to his brain. It was deemed too risky to send him back out again.

And just like that, with a gnarled scar embedded deep into the left side of his head, he was sent back home to his bachelor flat expected to just reintegrate into civilian life, like that wasn’t the hardest thing he had ever had to do. Civilian life was never cut out for him ever, Johnny had always known that his true home was out there, on the field, constantly surrounded by the threat of violence. He really should've died out there.

Even right now, the blinding led lights of the Tesco was just giving him a migraine as Johnny scoured through the multiple different types of cereal. He could understand why so many retired military officers went insane. That's when he noticed you through the wire separating the two aisles'. You hadn't noticed him of course, too busy deciding which juice to get. Johnny couldn't help but notice how serene you looked, calmly taking all the time in the world to do your grocery shopping. As if you weren't the sole reason, in his mind, he was stuck living this suburban nightmare. You should never have pulled him back away, Johnny truly believed he should’ve died that day as a hero. Even with the cast around your left arm, it was tranquil, relaxed and peaceful. Things Johnny had desperately wanted to experience for himself.

It wasn't fair, how on earth could you stand there, perfectly in tune with everyone else acting like a civilian whilst he was stuck constantly struggling with the simple idea of being outside. Before he knew it, Johnny had followed you to the cashier. Watching the way you seamlessly interacted with the staff with that soft smile on your face. Then he trailed behind you out of the Tesco and towards your car. Staying just out of sight so you'd never notice the man carefully watching you. He just wanted to know what made the two of you so different. What were you doing that he wasn't?

Johnny had only noticed how far this had escalated when he had got in his car and followed you all the way back to your home, quietly saving the address into his gps. It was for research, he told himself. Johnny needed to understand just how you felt. How to eliminate the buzzing sound in his head that never went away, how unsettling he knew he seemed to others with his perfect smile stretching just a tad bit too wide as if he had forgotten what a normal smile looked like and this was just a cheap imitation, the scratching inside his brain as if something had crawled deep inside the bullet hole and taken root like an infection.

Maybe the reason why you seemed much more laid back was because you had the promise of returning. That arm of yours wouldn't stay injured forever. And maybe the only way of understanding Johnny's point of view was to have you stay.

He didn't even realise how far this whole monitoring thing had gone until he found himself outside your home everyday. Watching your window from inside his car with a pair of military grade binoculars noticing everything you did. By the end of the month, he had started to bring his sketchbook. Simple domestic things, cooking in your homely kitchen, folding laundry on the sofa, getting changed in a dark room because no one could see anyway right?.

Often he found himself spacing out, looking too long at you sweeping as he let his imagination run. His fingers mindlessly sketching the shape of your body over and over again in his notebook. Johnny couldn't remember the last thing he drew that wasn't you. It was all (mostly) domestic things and quite frequently he forgot why he even started doing this in the first place. To analyse, take notes on what he was doing wrong. He swore up and down to himself that he truly hated you. Johnny really did believe it. But he never could figure out why whenever his brain fogged up and everything got hazy, he could just imagine himself with you. Doing all those homely things with you. Cooking together, watching TV together, all that sappy shit he never imagined himself doing with anyone but himself. Once when he went out with the team for drinks, he spilled everything out to Price. The Captain, in response, could only laugh and shake his head.

By the time a very confused Soap could finally understand what he felt, he was too far gone. He had notebooks filled with drawings of just you, entire pages dedicated to noting down every little thing about your routine. But he only had a month left, your arm was healing up quite nicely. The good thing was that Johnny knew basically everything about you by now, even if your only memory of Soap was dragging him back away from a tkb-023. So when Johnny overheard you making plans with your friend over the phone about going out for drinks, he knew he had to make a move. … When you bump into the stranger, his name was Johnny, you suddenly feel as though you had met this man before. With that charming smile of his and those ocean blue eyes, surely you could recall someone as memorable as him. It didn't seem to matter anyway, the two of you had gotten along so well. He seemed to like all the same exact things as you! However somewhere along the way at the sticky booth top he sat you at, you had gotten to the topic of jobs and everything just spilled. It was definitely the alcohol speaking but you really couldn't hold yourself back from stuttering on and on about how much you hated the military and how brutal some of the things you saw were. Johnny seemed to listen intently, hanging onto every word you said about you wanting nothing more than to remain on medical leave forever and that you were loving civilian life. His smile just got wider and wider as you continued rambling. Johnny had been such a good listener that you didn't complain when he guided you out of the club and into his familiar looking car with his hand secured on your lower back. Nor did you say anything when your intoxicated self tried to mumble out your address to him and he just chuckled to himself. "I know bonnie, don't worry about it"

Definitely not commenting on why he knew where your bedroom was when you opened the door. You were probably just really out of it right? It didn't explain why the next morning you had woken up to the smell of your favourite breakfast cooking in your kitchen with a new email reading: Failed Psych evaluation - Unfit for further deployment.

Sure Johnny had to pull a few strings but recording your whole crash out and sending it to Laswell might've been the smartest thing he's ever done.

[cod-dump]

Roach, walking into the room: Hey-

Gaz & Ghost, immediately: SHHH

Roach: ... what the fuck-?

Gaz: SHHHHH

Ghost, aggressively whispering: Shut up! Soap is trying to think and you being loud is distracting!

Roach: *turns his head to look at Soap*

Soap: *crouched in front of a makeshift bomb with a timer rapidly counting down, slowly nudging wires with a set of wire cutters*

Roach:

Price, walking in: What's happening in here-

Gaz, Ghost, & Roach: *loudly shush him*

Price:

[shadow0-1]

little moment with the cap

[th3-gr3at-capt4in]

𝙱𝚢𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝙸𝚛𝚊𝚚 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚎!

[cimmerian-war-shrine]