#the difference is just that soap chooses not to listen to them

[hyperfixationwizard]

I feel the need to talk about Graves' betrayal and it's all @alexgalaxyboo 's fault btw.

I don't think we talk enough about,,, what that betrayal meant for Soap man.

He trusted Graves, he thought they were friends- the man saved his life a good handful of times already, and he truely did consider him a friend, perhaps even during the rare downtime they had. And then he turns, and Soap has to fight his way through Las Almas with a bullet in his shoulder that someone he thought of as his brother in arms put there and the knowledge that said man wants him dead.

And there was probably a moment, somewhere between stumbling into the trees, away from the betrayal, and hearing Ghost's voice over Comms im las almas, where Soap had to consider the fact that he may be all alone- he doesn't know if Ghost made it out, if he was captured like Alejandro or perhaps even killed. And maybe there is some part of him that thinks, maybe he betrayed them too. It doesn’t make sense logically, and he doesn't truely believe that, because why would he have yelled for him to run if he had been a traitor? But the thought still stings, because as much as Graves meant to him, Ghost meant just as much, if not more.

Except all the logic in the world won't quite make that little voice in the back of his mind that tells him, 'if one of your friends betrayed you, who is to say the rest won't, too?', shut up. He pushes the fear down, tells himself to focus on getting out, first. And then he hears Ghost over his radio and all he can feel is relief, until that treacherous part of his brain begins to wonder if this could be a trap. And yet he chooses to trust Ghost, still, because he's done nothing to earn his mistrust- the opposite, actually, when he had stayed to make sure Soap got away. He realizes, when Ghost calls him "Johnny" in that worried tone of voice, that he still trusts the man- with his life, and, if he's being honest, with his heart, too.

[majinbangus]

Sequel thought to Soap's sweet neighbor - heads up: Soap's absolutely shameless

You think you might be cursed (or blessed, but you don't want to admit to ogling your hot military neighbor, thoughts of him haunting your nearly every waking hour) because every single time, without fail, no matter what time you come by, you always catch him when he's stripped half naked for one reason or another. Sometimes fully naked with nothing but a towel hiding his modesty. His rather... well endowed modesty if the outline of it is accurate beneath that towel of his. Not that you meant to look the few times he's answered in nothing but a towel. It's just... your eyes couldn't help glancing over it once or twice.

Still. You try not to be a weirdo pervert towards your neighbor. He's kind and done nothing but trust you to care over his home when he's gone. You don't wanna break that trust by becoming some kind of perving degenerate just because he happens to give you eye candy when you come by.

"Mornin', sweets!"

... and when he catches up to you on your walks during his morning run. Always shirtless. Not that you can blame him during the summer heat, but you have to remember to not let your stare linger.

"Good morning, John." You smile shyly at him, gaze washing over him briefly before dropping to the pavement. He slows to match your pace. He always does this, finishing his runs by finishing your walks with you.

"Pretty hot, huh?" says Adonis himself, stretching out his tricep, arm swung out to the side with the other pressing against it. You struggle to keep your cool.

"Yeah. So hot," You croak out lamely, hurrying to hand him a water bottle from your little backpack to change the subject. "Here."

You've taken to walking with a bag filled with three water bottles- two for him, the other for you- and a few other miscellaneous items shortly after John started walking home with you once he finished his runs.

"Thanks, hen, you're the best!" He takes the bottle with a wide grin, and like he always does- always, fuck's sake- John cracks open the seal and pours the water over his head.

A low, spine-shivering groan draws out of his mouth as the cool liquid trickles down his head and neck, the water trailing over the muscles of his chest and torso. His pecs and abs flex at the sensation, sparkling under the sun the more the water washes over him. Fuck.

You try not to let your eyes linger, but it's so damn hard when John uses his other hand to rub the water over the parts of his body it missed. You almost choke when his hand casually brushes down his happy trail, the tips of his fingers briefly slipping under the front of his running shorts.

Teeth audibly clicking shut, you look away, head turned nearly ninety degrees to the side as you do anything to not perv over your neighbor. You miss the cheeky, victorious grin John shoots your way.

"It's no problem," you mumble and reach into your bag to pull out your umbrella, opening it and holding it so it shades you and John. "Did you put sunscreen on? You always forget."

John takes the umbrella from your hand without much protest from you- he never listens to them, anyways- and holds it for the both of you, though you quietly note he tends to give you more shade than himself every time he does this, his shoulder often exposed to the sun. Today is no different.

"Ahh, I'll remember one of these days," John chuckles, bumping his elbow against you. "Always lookin' out for me, sweets."

Looking out for him and looking at him. You take a quick glance from the corner of your eye before huffing softly and holding your hand out, gesturing for the empty water bottle in his other hand, choosing to ignore what he said, not really knowing how to respond. "Gimme."

John laughs. "So demandin'."

But he hands it over for you to stuff back into your backpack and pull out his second water bottle, breaking the seal for him before handing it over. "Here."

He takes it with a smile. "And attentive."

Grumbling, you refuse to look at him. "Just drink your water. Gonna dehydrate at this rate."

He chuckles lowly, but you hear him take a few big gulps before crushing the plastic in his grip and handing it back over to you, tapping it against your belly. "What about you? Drink your water yet?"

Taking back the crushed bottle, you put it in your pack, but leave your water alone. "I'll finish it later."

"You need to hydrate, too!"

"I'm not the one who ran in this hot weather and sweat out all my liquids." You don't let yourself express the embarrassment you feel at the phrasing of your words, though you certainly feel your cheeks warm, but you can excuse that for walking in the hot weather. "I'll be fine."

"Tch, stubborn thing- and I didn't sweat out all my liquids-"

You cut him off with a flustered jab to his bicep, certainly not hard enough to hurt, but he shuts up nonetheless, snickering at the break in your composure.

"When do you need me to watch your house again?" You ask, not bothering to be smooth about changing the subject nor caring that you already know when he's leaving again, having his deployment marked in your calendar.

"Next week." John indulges you, but then taps your temple with his free hand. "Texted you my schedule last night, remember?"

Feeling your cheeks warm again, you scoff, looking off to the side with a pout. Mumbling, you don't even attempt to sound convincing, "Ahh, yeah, that's right. I forgot- oh, look there are our houses! Let's hurry back."

Without waiting for a response, you quicken your pace, speed walking ahead. You take deep breaths. Fuck, you're always fumbling around him. Stop being so fucking weird. You hold in a groan. Easier said than done.

You hear a jaunty laugh come from behind you, but John- thankfully, mercifully- gives you a moment to collect yourself before jogging to catch up to you again. He lifts the umbrella over you, the shade providing a relief from the heat you didn't notice when you stepped out from under it. "Aren't you always gettin' on me about protectin' my skin from the sun? Gotta protect yours too."

"I put sunscreen on," you point out, "but the shade is nice."

"Aye." John shoots you a smile and steps just a tad closer to you, but that might just be your imagination. "It's nice."

Feeling something warm flutter in your stomach, you gawk at the way his eyes shine for a moment before ducking your head down and biting your lip.

Yeah. It's nice.

Not too long a walk later, you make it back to your house with John escorting you to your doorstep despite his house being closer at the end of your walking route. He collapses the umbrella and hands it back to you. You take it, fingers brushing his, and slip it into your backpack again.

"Should get you one of my tactical vests to hold your things," John teases.

Huffing a small noise of amusement, you give a little, impish smirk. "Yeah, you should. I could whip out the sunscreen like a gun that way."

"That's a scary thought." John laughs, the deep timbre sounding like bells in your ears, but you don't dwell on it. "I'll see you later then, sweets?"

You nod. "Mm. Tomorrow?"

"Aye." Then he smirks. "Don't miss me too much."

You roll your eyes, but bite back a smile, answering with as much deadpan as you can manage, "I'll try."

And that should be that. You should be safe from making a fool of yourself once this interaction is done, but instead of waving a goodbye and walking back to his house like he usually does, your shirtless, still slightly sticky from sweat neighbor leans in and pulls you into a side hug, pressing your body against his.

His very muscular body. Firm yet soft in all the best places. Toned perfectly from his job. And it's touching you. He's touching you, holding you tight against his body. You take a breath to calm yourself.

It works. Briefly. Until he squeezes you closer and your brain short circuits.

"That's my sweet girl," John says, but you hardly hear it over the rush in your head. He lets go and backs away, waving as he walks towards his house. "I'll remember to put sunscreen on tomorrow, promise!"

All you can get out is a pathetic, little, "Uh-huh."

-

Soap show some mercy, you're going to kill your poor neighbor at this rate 😪

[miniwheat77]

Alone with you. (141 x Reader.)

!smut, p in v sex, double penetration, gang bang, overstimulation, non con, proceed with caution, NO MINORS!

This was supposed to be my bday fic but I’ve had writers block, hope you enjoy!

"So this is the culprit hm?" Laswell lifts up the bottle of pheromone perfume.

"Looks like it." You mumble. "Wonder how good it actually works. Might spice up my sex life." You joke. Soap laughs. "What sex life?" he snorts. Seeing Laswell roll her eyes at the both of you. "Exactly my point. Asshole." You mumble under your breath.

When Soap leaves the room, Laswell smirks at you. "I'm sure in super small doses it couldn't hurt." She winks. You catch the tiny vial in your hand that she had just thrown at you. You smile at her. "And that's why you're my favorite, Laswell." You laugh, following her out of her office. Tucking the vial into your back pocket. "Alright. I'm heading out. Graves said he has some leads in North America so I'll be over there for a couple weeks. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone." She smiles. "No promises. As always, safe travels Laswell. Ring when you get to where you're going." You call to her. She nods her head, waving at you. You disappear down the corridor, going to your room.

———

Later that same night, you make your way into the mess hall, cup in hand. It's got water in it. You haven't had the chance to eat yet. You sit down for just a second and a gasp leaves your lips when you hear a small pop come from your back pocket. "Shit." You mumble. You hear the others coming and choose to stay put, only turning to look at your backside when they're distracted. You notice that there's no liquid anymore. Had it absorbed that quickly?

You quickly head back to your room, trying to clean all of the glass out of your pocket. You change into some other leggings that you have since it's almost time for bed anyway it's not like anyone will care.

You make your way back out into the mess hall and take your seat once more. Seeing that Soap has set up across from you at the table. It's silent for the most part, until Soap starts to shuffle awkwardly. He clears his throat a couple of times, finally looking up at you. Only now does he suddenly feel very attracted to you. He was before of course but now, something is different. He clears his throat again and adjusts the way he's sitting. You glance around the room to see each of them stealing glances at you.

Is it the pheromone perfume doing this?

No… it couldn’t be. It was only a tiny vial.

You stand up to get rid of your tray and move to sit back down. “Y/N. Can I speak with you?” Your Captain grasps your attention. You nod your head, following him out to the hallways. “Did Laswell give you the pheromone perfume?” He crosses his arms. “Yeah, I was supposed to throw it away for her but I forgot about it and it broke open in my pocket.” He shakes his head. “Listen, the scent you’re giving off is way too much. Go lock yourself in your room and stay there until it’s worn off.” He finishes his sentence and then grits his teeth, like he’s holding something back. “Go on.” He breathes. You can’t help but notice the beads of sweat on his forehead. You nod your head. As you start walking down the corridor, you hear him.

“No, Johnny wait!” You turn back to see Soap trying to push passed him. Very clearly trying to get to you.

You hurry down the hallway and open the door to your room, closing the door behind you. “Jesus fuck.” You mumble to yourself. Is this stuff really this strong?

You take a deep breath, sitting at the edge of your bed.

For a couple hours, you hear nothing but silence. And it’s a bit deafening. It’s eerie like there’s something off. You lay down, trying to distract yourself but you end up falling asleep.

In your sleep, you feel someone moving next to you, dipping the edge of your bed down. You stir awake when you feel their hands on you. When you realize what’s going on, that someone is actually touching you, your eyes open completely. You jump away from them, seeing that it’s Soap. But he’s not there right now. His eyes are dark. “Johnny… what are you doing?” You breathe. “You smell so good lass. Can smell how fucking bad you want this…” he smirks. He moves off of your bed, circling around it to try to corner you. You make a split second decision and bolt for the door, sprinting down the hallway. You can hear his heavy footsteps chasing after you. You turn the corner, eyes widening and your feet skidding to a stop as you see your Captain and Gaz. They’re both standing there. Clearly blocking you from going this direction. “Nowhere to run, darling.” Gaz smirks. You breathe out.

This has to be some kind of sick joke.

Soap closes in behind you, they make slow steps toward you.

You take off through the mess hall. Seeing a window that opens and hurrying up to it, you pry it open and climb through it. Sliding out of their grasp just barely. You take off running, seeing the watch tower. Perfect.

You make your way up, slowly and quietly. You don’t know if they’re on watch since they’re not thinking right.

You move up inside, closing the door behind you. Breathing. You dig your phone out of your pocket, dialing Laswell immediately. “Y/N, I haven’t got to base just yet, I’m driving.” She mumbles. “I know- it’s not that.” You breathe, hands shaking. “The vial you gave me broke open in my pocket and my body absorbed all of it, now I’m in a freaking wild goose chase Laswell.” You pant. “What? It’s that bad?” She asks. “Yes! They’re like.. freaking zombies Laswell. They’re not even there.” You breathe. “You’ll just have to wait it out Y/N.” She mumbles. “Yeah.. Yeah I know.” You mumble. “Thanks Laswell.” You sigh.

You hear creaking, fear coursing through you. Just as you turn to look at the door, a hand snakes its way around your waist, tugging you into them, another hand clamping around your mouth. “Gotcha.” He whispers. His voice is deep and it comes out almost as a growl.

It’s Ghost.

He moves his other hand from your waist and grasps your phone, pressing the button to hang up. Lowering the phone down onto the countertop. “Didn’t lock the door sweetheart. Almost like you wanted this to happen hm?” He breathes, his warm breath right over your ear. “You know we’re not gonna hurt ya.” He brushes your hair out of your face. “Ghost, please-“ you whine. “You smell so good. Drives me crazy. I almost didn’t want to tell them you were up here.” He chuckles. Your eyes widen.

Just then, you can hear multiple footsteps coming up the metal staircase. Like everything is deafened around you and that’s all you can hear.

What are they going to do to you?

Ghost spins you around. You see the other three creeping into the room, Soap makes sure to lock the door behind himself. “Nowhere to run now, Dove. It’s just you and us now.” Gaz mumbles, stepping closer. You step back. But know it’s no use. You’re stuck, and whatever is going to happen, it’s happening now. “What are you going to do?” You swallow hard. Johnny chuckles. “Nothing you won’t like, darling. How about we get these clothes off of you, hm?”

“I- I don’t-“

“That wasn’t a question. It was an order.” Captain Price’s voice booms in your ears. His sternness always was intimidating. “Y-yes sir.” You breathe. You hope that as you reach for the hem of your shirt, they’ll start laughing. That this will be some kind of sick joke. But they don’t.

You tug your shirt over your head. Breathing out. You clench your eyes shut as they reach for their belts. Still dressed in their military uniforms. “Y/N. Look at me.” You tilt your head up, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you look at Johnny. “Nothing to be scared about. Just relax.” He chuckles. You nod your head. He reaches out, grasping hold of your upper arm and pulling you into him with ease. How easy it is for him to move you makes you realize just how powerful these men are. He forces you up against the small table in the watch tower. It’s old and you’re not sure if it’ll hold you.

You swallow hard, wincing as the table begins to dig into your pelvis. He makes you rest your hands on it. “Be a good girl.” He breathes. His voice sends chills down your spine. He reaches for your pants, tugging them down your legs. He holds them down with his foot, having you step out of them. “Good girl. Now listen.” He breathes. He raises his hands up, unclasping your bra and letting it fall over your shoulders and onto the floor. “Nobody will hear you, so you can be as loud as you want to. Alright? You’re going to like this, because you’re a naughty little thing. Promise.” He mumbles. He pushes you back down, forcing you over the table. A gasp leaves your lips as he pushes apart your legs.

He frees his cock from its confines and you can see the others standing off to the side. You clench your eyes shut once more, whining as he presses the fat tip of his cock at your entrance. You suck in a sharp breath as he pushes himself past your entrance, sliding in and bottoming out into you. You lurch forward with a hiss at the intrusion. “Oh- f-fuck!” You cry. Raising up slightly with a cry. He only forces you back down. “Shhh. It’s okay.” His attempt at soothing you is pathetic and half-assed. If you weren’t in this particular position, you might laugh at him.

But you don’t think you’ll ever be able to look at them the same ever again.

You rest your head on the table, breathing out. Take a deep breath, try not to lose control.

That’s hard to do, keeping yourself together around them when they’re as attractive as they are. And the way they’re touching you.

Just as soon as you’re full, he’s pulling out of you again. He lifts you up, shoving the flimsy table out of the way and kneeling on the ground with you. Ghost steps toward you and you look up at him, he’s still got his mask on. You can’t see his smile. “Look good from this position, darling.” He smirks. You swallow hard, he moves his jeans to the side and tugs his boxers down, revealing his length to you. He’s big. You swallow hard, looking down. “No need to be nervous now. Look at me.” He breathes. You tilt your head up again, feeling Johnny kneel behind you, moving his length up the expanse of your ass. You shudder as Simon steps forward. “Open your mouth.” He breathes. You’re trying to stay focused on Simon but the feeling of Johnny’s length pushing into you from behind has you wincing again. “Relax. Look up at me.” He lifts your chin forcefully. Pushing the tip of his cock past your lips. You take him down as far as you can, swallowing around his shaft. Hearing him gasp.

“Johnny touch her clit.” He breathes.

Johnny does it, listening to his LT.

He glides his hand over your hip and stomach. Calloused hands rough on your skin but his fingertips on your clit has your thighs ready to give out. He draws his hips back, thrusting back into your ass. Hearing you choke on Simon’s cock. You draw back, taking a deep breath. You rest your hands on his thighs, pulling him closer to you so that you can take him further down. “There.. see.” He breathes. “All you had to do was make her horny.” His laugh is deep and taunting. He tilts his head back, groaning out. You focus on the tip of his cock, knowing it’s got the most nerve endings. Being gentle but still sucking hard. It only takes a couple of minutes before his thighs are shaking.

“Fuck-“ he draws back away from you. “Wanna be in that pussy.” He breathes. “Gonna make me cum too fast.” He breathes.

He kneels down in front of you. Wiping your lips of saliva and clearing them. Johnny’s hard thrusts into you keep you wet, and you whine when he pulls his hand away from your clit. “It’s alright. Gonna get you nice and full lass.” Soap chuckles. You probably look fucking pathetic in front of them. Fucked out and desperate. You knew you needed to get laid but this…

This is too far. But it’s something you didn’t know you needed.

They raise you up, wrapping your legs around Simon’s waist. Johnny slides himself back inside of your ass, feeling you tense up. Simon glides his tip up between your folds, pushing past them. You whine out, starting to squirm. “S’alright.” He breathes. His voice is low. Only you can hear it. When they’re both bottoming out in you, your breath is gone. Lungs are empty and burning. You’re trying to catch your breath but it feels impossible. A sob gets caught in your throat and you clench your eyes shut as they start to fuck you. “Fuck- not gonna last-“ Johnny hisses. Ghost holds you still, both of them moving in unison as they thrust into you. You shake and cry, overstimulated and you haven’t even cum yet.

“Fuck!” Johnny slides out of you, pumping himself with his hand. He bucks his hips into you, resting his forehead on your back as he finishes. Simon doesn’t stop his thrusts, keeping up his bruising pace.

Johnny moves away from you, he’s been selfish thus far. It’s someone else’s turn.

Gaz takes his place. Desperate to feel you. He inches closer, spitting into his hand and gliding it over the tip of his cock. He slides into you again. Feeling you gasp out. Lurching foward into Simon. He laughs. “You’re doing good. Keeping up.” Ghost mumbles.

Gaz grips your hips and tries to hold you still as he and Simon fill you. You can feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm. Shivering as it inches closer and closer.

Chills start at your toes and work their way up your body.

“I- oh god-“ you whine.

You clench your eyes shut, letting it take over your body. You’re sure it’ll be the hardest you’ll ever cum. They don’t stop, riding out your orgasm as it washes over you. You know they’re not going to stop.

You relax, trying to pace yourself despite being overstimulated. You raise your hand up and rest it on Simon’s shoulder. Hearing Gaz chuckle behind you at your fucked out state. Simon’s breathing is getting a little heavier. He lowers his head, lips right by your ear. “So tight baby… getting me so close.” He grits his teeth. He starts to pant, cock throbbing and twitching inside of you. He groans out, sliding out of you. He grits his teeth and tries to contain himself as he cums.

He takes a second, panting. His head is buried into the crook of your neck as he comes down. He finally pulls away from you. Standing up and adjusting his pants.

Captain Price is quick to take his place. You’re ready to tap out but it’s clear that they’re not going to let you. Gaz grasps your chin, tilting your head back. “You’re doing good. Just a bit more.” He breathes, pressing his lips to yours. You can feel your captain’s hands on you, groping your breasts in his hands as he lines himself up with your entrance. “You still smell so good.” He growls. Gaz lets go of you and you finally get a good look at John. His eyes are dark, like the others. Their pupils are dilated, they look dark. Empty. Like there’s nothing there, only lust.

What the hell is this stuff and who made it?

You whine again as he slides into you. Tears filling your eyes. You clench your eyes shut and brace yourself for what they’re going to do to you. You rest your head on John’s chest as they start fucking into you mercilessly, John is desperate. He’s been waiting the longest. He’s eager and horny and the way he fucks you shows it. You’re sobbing into his chest in just minutes, overstimulated and overwhelmed. Your body shakes and you can feel the warmth pooling in your lower abdomen again. You can’t stay quiet. Moans spill from your lips uncontrollably and tears stream from your eyes. You’ve never been so overwhelmed in your life. “Do you feel good? Hm?”

“Yes!” You cry. “Tell me how good you feel.” He breathes. Forcing you to look up at him. “Tell me how good all of us have made you feel. And it better be good honey. Let everyone know how good they’ve fucked you today.” He forces your face up again by your jaw. “It feels so good- so so good- you’re fucking me so good.” A gasp leaves your lips as they thrust together at the exact same time. “Now what do you say hm? It was kind of us to fuck you.”

“Thank you!” You cry, head falling again. You chant it as they thrust into you. “That’s a good girl.” He chuckles.

They last another few minutes, but this time, neither of them pull out. Filling both of your holes up.

They ride out their highs before halting, cocks buried up inside of you still. You’re panting hard, clit throbbing. You don’t know how you’ve taken it or kept up with them to this point.

It’s Soap who lifts you up and carries you to your room. Your thighs shake uncontrollably and he helps you get cleaned up before putting you to bed. He makes sure you’re comfortable. And even when he leaves you alone, he’s still got that same dark look in his eyes.

Maybe you wouldn’t wake up alone.

[s0apmactav1sh]

Traitor AU! 141 x male reader.

TW: Violence. Mentions of a knife? Reader going through physical torture. Youve been warned

Theres so real mention of pronouns but reader is a male. Minors, fem alligned do not interact. My works are purely for 18 + and are male centered. Thank you.

- Price who gives the order after a tip off directing them in your direction. For what? For giving out info on the recent mission that got them ambushed. You who wakes up in an interrogation room by freezing cold water being splashed over you.

- Ghost who carries out the first part of the punishments they deemed reasonable for your betrayal. Choosing which bones to break that would cause the most pain and injury to you. Starting with bashing in your knees to make sure you wouldnt be walking out of there. Next deciding on breaking a few ribs. To hell you be damned. Each bone broken had you writhing in pain and pleading with him that it wasnt you.

- Ghost who leaves you with several broken bones all over. None of them even caring to question you. Its not like he comes back either. No he stays away after that being unable to look at your face without seeing a traitor. He had half a mind to go back in to break your jaw or give you a black eye but that was to be left up to soap or gaz.

- Soap. Who wasnt usually quick to anger but this? Was unforgivable and you deserved it right? Each time he took the knife to add another cut somewhere a small voice was telling them there was something wrong. But he shook it off taking out his frustration on you cutting you up. Swapping out different blades depending on how angry he was feeling in the minute.

- Gaz who doesnt even go when its his turn instead ignoring your pleas for them to listen. Just watching you through the two way mirror as other soldiers go in and take there revenge for you betraying them. Watching how they beat you bloody, broke bones like ghost had done, cut you up like soap had done and spread the word like price had done.

- You who gave up fighting against it all after 3 days of the constant beatings and torment you were going through. You tried convincing yourself that they were only angry because they thought it was you. Theyd surely come rescue out of there as soon as they came to their senses. Right? Right??

- You who gave up the hope after two weeks. None of them had returned leaving it up to the other soldiers to torture and do what the wanted to you. Your body had numbed most of the pain. Even when a soldier took a pilars to your teeth. Ripping some of them out. When said solider then broke your jaw with the same pilars leaving your mouth a bloody mess.

- Price who was going mad at not finding anything that he could properly pin the betrayal on you. All he had was the tip off but even then was it true? No. It wasnt. Ghost had caught the proper mole. The one who was selling information. The one who had framed you.

- Price who demanded all torture towards you stop. But it wasnt quick enough. Most of the wounds left were infected from being left untreated in a damp room. Even medics were sure you'd heal properly because they werent allowed in to asses your injuries until now.

- Ghost who felt guilty but didnt show it. He was disgusted with how easily they all believed it, how quick they were to resort to torture. Soap who couldnt believe the little voice in the back of his head that he had been ignoring was telling the truth. After seeing you in the hospital covered in bandages and casts for the broken bones he knew he shouldve listened to it but he was blinded by his anger.

- Gaz who had refused to visit you, almost like he had refused to torture you. It didnt mean he wasnt as bad as the rest of them. No he had let others do his piece for him which made him just as bad. Now all he cpuld do was watch you through the mirror to your hospital room hoping you'd heal.

- Price who was in denial over what he had done. Refusing to accept he had given the order. He had been to visit seeing you hook up to the machines the fact that you would have to take leave for who knows how long. And the possible chance that you would never be the same. Torture did things to people, altered their mindsets and he was worried that would happem to you.

- You would didnt properly wake up until a month later, medics having to sedate you when you did wake up since the pain was clearly unbearable from the way you thrashed and squirmed in the bed. You who had to be strapped down so you didnt fall and worsen the injuries that were struggling to heal already.

- You who couldnt even look at any of them when they finally came to visit. Just staring up at the ceiling. Deep in thought remembering the harsh words they screamed at you the way they tortured you in that room for 17 days straight. They tried their best to talk to you or get you to look at them but you couldnt. Nor would you. You didnt feel safe around them. A chill piercing you each time they even touched you.

-now came the question was what would you do when you healed?

Pt 2???

[diejager]

More crow! Reader please for 141. I just love the idea of an eldritch being choosing and staying deliberately with a pack of monsters below their caliber for the sake of fondness

Crow Pt. 2

Pairing: Monster COD x Eldritch horror!reader

Cw: cannibalism, human meat, weird Eldritch horror thing, hive mind, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.7k Note: I wrote this over a few months, and I haven’t proofread it so a few parts might not connect.

With the knowledge they now held in their hands, they didn’t know how to react. You were, for all they knew, an ancient being, primordial even, and you were dangerous, much more than the unpredictability of König’s ire or the wildness of Ghost’s darkness. They didn’t know how to deal with the weight on their shoulder when your eyes landed on them, or how to react when they heard you speak to them with that low and raspy voice that you so rarely used. 

After that day in Russia, the saw you more often, rather than finding you at night around your murder of crows, in the darkness of your room or standing beside Price, they would find you in their rec room, sitting beside the open window while petting the body of a bird; you’d meet them in the gym, watching them train and sometimes join them; or you would occasionally sit beside them. You opened up to them, letting the men see what laid under your mask. Price encouraged them to reach out, to ask you questions and to quell their curiosity by speaking to you.

Soap and Gaz were the first to jump to the occasion, their wide eyes gleaming with innocent curiosity threatening to spill over the edge. In the privacy of their personal space, they swarmed you with enthusiasm, Gaz standing to your left and Soap to your right. Ghost was fortunate to be in the room that day, drinking tea from the table while Alejandro and Rudy shared the couch. König and Horangi were deployed off to some remote village to help another company detain their target, and Price was slaving off in his office signing off paperwork. 

While the two threw question after question at you, Soap being oblivious of his wagging tail and Gaz literally glowing with how much you spoke, the three men listened in, as interested in you as the two were. They learned a lot, their minds filled with everything they were given, clinging onto the sound of your voice, that soft rasp from under your mask.

When Soap, the ever-hungry pup he was, asked what you ate, a question that clouded everyone’s mind. They never saw you eat nor had they seen you at the mess hall. Your answer was soft and blunt, empty of fear and hesitance.

“Meat, human.”

You weren’t so different from Ghost and König after all, consuming humans as your means of subsistence. Yet none of them had ever caught a whiff of human blood or meat from your scent, only the strange and sterile musk from your body. Perhaps that explained why you sometimes went dark during deployments, Price only sent you out alone, believing you invulnerable (you somewhat were, old and powerful), you closed off all and any signal to gorge on human flesh. 

What did your mouth look like? Could your mouth open up like those alien-like creatures, where your lower jaw was separated in the middle, breaking open into a terrifying maw filled with rows of teeth? Or were you more human looking, with a small mouth like theirs and sharp teeth like the shifters of their TF? It was a nagging thought that one would have to ask one day, or see if they were fortunate enough to catch you eating. 

Gaz was mostly interested about the birds that swarmed you, the hundreds of corvid that followed you whether it knew you or not, from country to country you always had a feathery companion by your side. Mostly crows and ravens, the black feathers glistening under the light and squawking at him, a hybrid of the same genus as it. 

“I can feel and see through their eyes.”

It was similar to a hive mind, a connection between you and every bird from the same family as crows. You closed your eyes and had the magpie in your hand fly around, its eye moving from one hybrid to the other with an intelligent gleam, a dark and monstrous haze that came from you. You were looking at them from the magpie’s dark orbs. It landed on Gazwho - with a joyful grin - brushed its luscious feathers. You could reach out to corvidae birds, seeking help from them through their sight and ears, using their senses to navigate the world. 

“I can see, hear and feel every bird,” you drawled, hand reaching out of the window for a landing rook. “I feel them as much as they feel me.”

“An extension of ye, aye?”

“An extension of my being.”

Alejandro and Rudy would sometimes chime in, throwing a question from their seat, mostly about your hobbies and preferences. What did you do when you were free? You just sat outside, admiring the weather with a few cooing birds being fed from the seeds in your hands, little round pebbles that you offered from your palm. You also liked reading, dabbing into human and hybrid literature in an attempt to familiarise yourself with their culture and behaviours or watching people conduct themselves through the eyes of your little companions. 

That’s how you came to join the army, the odd behaviour and unusual attitude of most soldiers were excused by their harrowing experience and near-death meetings. You could blend in easier while keeping a slight uncanniness to your being, not necessarily perfect or impossibly broken. You were knowledgeable of military tactics and human suspicion, you were - essentially - a being of madness and chaos, you could sense the swirling tornadoes of malicious suspicion and the violent storms that promised a chaotic end. 

“What did you do then?” This was Ghost’s first question, his slow, yet intrigued tone rising in tone as was his want to know you won over his contained curiosity. 

Faking your deaths every time and laying low for the next decade or so had assured your safety from human cults and pagenistic beliefs who wanted to believe in something greater and deranged. Under different names - none were your true name - you enrolled in the British military and other countries, rotating between the Navy, the Army and the Air Force. Your last enrolment was the British Air Force, under another alias for the past decade until the UN made it mandatory to accept any demands from hybrids and monsters to join their ranks.

When Soap asked how you met Price, you grew pensive, blinking at the question he shot. Then you stared at him, telling him that you couldn’t tell him that story without Price’s consent. You only mentioned him working under you before without divulging to the five men any more information. They’d have to bring it up with the dragon if they wanted to know anything. Gaz and Soap groaned, pouting and whining at the limit you put down on the amount of information they could get from you. 

Then they wanted to know if you dreamed, if Eldritch creatures dreamed in their slumber. If you did, would your dreams be stalked by madness? That dark and dangerous madness that loomed over any person. A creation of human and hybrid minds when they couldn’t understand anything, when reality was outside of their reach. Or, if you did, would they be filled with memories? As often as people re-lived their memories in their sleep, replaying the what ifs that the mind concocted during stressful moments in their lives.

You shook your head, you could neither dream, nor need sleep. Although it wasn’t a need like mortal beings, you enjoyed sleeping from time to time, on days where the night seemed to stretch so far into time that it seemed unending from your seat on the roof. When you slept, you confessed to them that you couldn’t see, feel or ear, it was an endless plane of darkness who reached into the farthest point of your long life, the watery floor reflected back your human - or sometimes monstrous - appearance and the place would be eerily silent except for the echoing drip from an unknown source; perhaps the ticking seconds of your eternity. 

They’d all seen the good and bad in humanity, the horrors that greed and corruption could lead to, but they had less than half a century of experience while you had a millennia of living. Rather than seeing the disgust of their current time, you’d seen the world rise as fast as it crumbled, burned to ash by greed, corruption and selfishness. How could you even stand living around humans? How could you stay so patient towards humans? How could you work and dedicate your last century to them?

“It was easier,” you hummed, staring off at the setting sun, the warm caress of the sun smoothing the darkness in your eyes. “Time changed, it made humans less susceptible to hysteria and superstition. Eating, hunting and catching became harder, scientific advancement made them less… naive, so I adapted. Inherently, I am a creation of humanity’s fear of death and madness. I cannot die without the other disappearing.”

Soap managed to coax you into joining them, sitting between him and Horangi while Ghost and König sparred, their strength and prowess usually better suited to fight something of similar capabilities. Ghost was deadly if he let himself go too far, his vitriol taking away his ability to see and think clearly, making his powers lash out. It could eat and corrode, break things down to the bones without consuming anything, it felt like a curse at times and a blessing at others. It was a reason why he kept himself covered, from letting a piece of himself wander too far, to let himself grow too comfortable that he might suddenly crack and hurt the people he cared for. 

Ghost guessed it was the same for König, married to his sniper veil - or a big t-shirt at times - and his form-covering clothes, it stopped him from doing something irreparable. He had anxiety, a product of his life-long social reclusivenessfrom bullying. Maybe he would’ve turned worse if his mother hadn’t been so supportive of him, a caring and loving figure in his life when his father was never in the picture. König was a lumbering beast in humans clothes, but an impulsive and instinctual monster when shifted, following his needs and instincts. 

Rare monsters on their own, they spared together only, afraid of accidentally hurting one of theirs. You’d seen them fight, the bloodlust-leading adrenaline that coursed through their bodies while they terre through the field, not only these two but the whole Task Force, beasts within beasts. The power, the accuracy, the teamwork and the trust between them was mesmerising, even to you, a creature who lived to seam discord into the world; it was breathtaking. 

You watched them exchange blows, König pouncing on Ghost, pressing his whole weight on the block the wraith had built up against him. König was tall and broad, but Ghost was broader, his body in a shape of undying and unchanging physique, at its peak with human strength. He could withstand the force of König’s hits, blocking them with his forearms and palms, and returning them with a hit when he broke the Austrian’s stand. 

Horangi was counting their matches, voicing the scores when one of them tapped three times, forfeiting the match. Soap piped up left, right and centre, a flurry of words in Scottish that others would usually ignore or not understand, but with you, he liked going off in Scott. Thank the lucky star you understood him, he practically beamed the day he swore at the sky with jargons that everyone but you asked for a translation. 

It was comfortable, Soap spoke enough for the three of you, Horangi was purring softly beside you and you were simply taking everything in, finding comfort between two of your teammates. You nod and shake your head at most questions, words slipping through your lips on rare occasions where Soap asked something that simple motions couldn’t answer. You liked listening to them talk, it filled the silence you were used to with joyful laughter. You were content with simply listening without talking, yet Soap was an enthusiastic wolf, eyes narrowing with a sly gleam.

“Ye spar, Crow?”

You shook your head, gazing at him from the corner of your eyes, blinking owlishly. You had your reservations as well, more so for the safety of others than yours. Granted, you had a milenia to learn and draw a limit for yourself, to restrain your powers to a tenth of your strength to protect those you grew to care about.

“Aw, why naw?”

“Too dangerous, Soap.”

That caught Horangi’s attention, his eyes and ears straying from the spar to listen to your conversation, not that it bothered you. 

“Can’t be that bad, can it?”

At this point, König and Ghost were brought out of their haze, shoulders raising and skin coated in a sheen of sweat, they breathed heavily as they strained an ear to Soap’s encouragement. Limbs untangling from one another, they leaned on the flexible cords of the ring, amused eyes staring at you three. 

“It can be.”

“Why not give it a shot, yeah?” Ghost piped up, head tilted with his nose pointing up, an amusingly smug grin stretching his scarred lips.

“If not Soap, Ghost or I could fight you, nh?” König continued, who - unlike Ghost - had his head down, blinking lazily at you with squinted eyes, a smile hidden under the shirt he used as a veil.

You were hesitant, staring at them while you mulled over your choices: to either fold and appease their curiosity or to hold strong and reject the offer. But where was the fun in that? They looked giddy and excited, like pups finding out that they were getting treats. Soap was riddled with enthusiasm, leg jumping as fast as his wagging tail, the repetitive soft thuds from his tail hitting against the bench showed how much he expected you to say yes, how much he wanted to see you fight one of theirs. 

You truly wanted to decline, to tell them that you wouldn’t want to accidentally hurt them, knowing that your restraint was practised with ease, but they didn’t know that. You truly did, but with Horangi’s swaying and thrilled tail, König’swide and happy eyes, and Ghost’s soft rumble, groundingly affirmative, adding to Soap’s eagerness, you found it difficult to brush off by their wishes. 

Soap burst with joy when you nodded, pushing himself and Horangi closer to the ring. You jumped over the big cables and into the ring as Ghost moved out, it seemed that the two decided the order even before you agreed. You shrugged off your jacket, you tight shirt riding up your stomach, the soft fabric the same shade as your dark blue jacket. Hanging it on a pole, you turned to face a thrilled König, his body vibrating as he peered down at you. 

It was almost ridiculous how different you were to him. You were neither board nor tall as König and Ghost, you weren’t insanely big and buff like any of them either. You were normal, an average person surrounded with big hybrids. You wouldn’t fault anyone for believing that you were the weakest out of the bunch, seemingly too small and human like to be the strongest, but they knew, most monsters and hybrids had this instinctual fear - ingrained into them for as long as they existed - for monsters that looked too human. 

Horangi was once again nominated as the referee, he repeated the rules, anything went as long as the opposite party’s aware of the three taps for yielding. Hybrids were tougher and more resilient than human bodies, so most restrictions put in place for humans were lifted in hybrid spars, especially in this Task Force. 

At the end of the count, König charged you, his big body pouncing on your smaller and nimbler one. You moved and bowed when he lunged, feet dancing around his loud stomps. He growled, jabbing at you with his right hand and lunging with a left hook when you blocked his hit with your forearm. It was a back and forth motion, he took the offensive position while you stayed on the defensive, taking hits leg and right. After a right hook, you expected a jab, but Königbowed down and kicked out his leg, aiming at sweeping you off your feet. It was a great change in tactic, surprising you with his quick movement. 

You kicked up, hands firmly placed on his shoulder as you flipped over him. Soap whooped at your acrobatic move, moving and jumping around like a dancer - a gymnastic chorus - while König rushed frenziedly, strong hits and wide kicks, his body giving him a wider range than your shorter one. König growled, twisting in a crouch to tackle you down, his body was a weapon by itself. You landed with a grunt, wrapping your legs around him, one under his arm and the other around his neck. His hand latched to the arm you used to guard your throat while wrestling with his other one. 

He cackled in your guard, voice rumbling out his chest as you choked him, lean legs hooking by the ankle to hold his chest down. His legs kicked, kneeling down uncomfortably, choking down a loud snarl. König tried breaking your hold, but you held strongly, using your monstrous strength to keep him down. He tapped your thigh, three soft taps that made you loosen your lock. König rose first, panting loudly with a satisfied purr as he sat, arched forward. Standing before him, you waved your hand to him, giving him help to stand on his feet. 

Ghost had already joined you when you pulled König up, patting the giant’s back as he chuckled lowly, eyes squinted in amazement. 

“Yer awright, König?” Soap asked, still standing beside a clapping Horangi, both tails moving excitedly. 

“Yes, I’m all right.”

Unlike König, you were as winded or tired as he was, your metabolism working slowly and efficiently to survive for so long. It was a good show of power for König, to see what fought on his side rather than against him, but he doubted that you were the only Eldritch being working in the forefront, killing, consuming and hide in plain sight of other human and hybrids. 

“That was Brazilian Jiu-jitsus, wasn’t it,” it was more of an affirmation than a question, Horangi knew well the technique you used against König. 

He’d mentioned it in passing within the few drunken nights where you joined them at the bar, spewing his history of gambling on boxer in the ring, betting who would win for a few pennies to fill his pockets. You rarely used your hive mind on them i their leisure time, respecting their need for privacy and secrecy when you were away —they’d won your trust after a few Ops and proud and boisterous praises from Price. You shook away any lingering thoughts as you watched Ghost slip under the highest cord, entering the ring with tight fists and a mean stare, determined to get you once before he forfeited. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad that Soap forced you to watch with both him and Horangi, you - despite your tendency for your quiet corner and solace in darkness - enjoyed this team activity. 

You were regretting letting Gaz and Rudy pull you to the Mess Hall, insisting that you’d be left alone in their corner of the cafeteria. People rarely engaged them when they all sat together, whispers of them being too menacing, too dangerous, or too scary for human minds. You weren’t fond of cold and stored meat, the cold destroying any semblance of freshness that recently killed meat brought. It tasted stagnant, blank of any fulfilling aspect your kills had : from the lack of warm blood still leaking from every veins and arteries, to the suppleness of the flesh, it’s soft and flexible texture cutting easily under your teeth. 

You nearly gagged at the first whiff of it, locked under expectant eyes of both your teammates and curious eyes of others who’ve never seen you step a foot in the room. Your first bite was horrendous, your mouth washed with the revolting flavour of cold and stale meat. It was levels under your usual meal —not that you needed to eat, you’d recently eaten a few days ago on a shorter run in Argentina, but where was the harm in tasting military-provided meat when König and Ghost ate it without a second thought. Or so you thought, they’d simply gone numb, not having the luxury to be picky with the taste of their meal. Unlike you, they hadn’t spent centuries hunting for themselves, born into a restrictive world when monsters and creatures ran wild but hidden. 

But you still hunted, it was a ritual that even the world’s government couldn’t stop you, no one would fight one of the personalisation of chaos and madness, many having decided to abide by your word simply out of fear while very few respected your history and culture. 

“How is it?” Alejandro finally join your table, sweat still glistening from his brows as he cut into his steak with gentle and skillful slices.

“Stale,” you blinked, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick the red stains on your face, long and serpentine, another aspect of your more reptilian body.

They snickered, knowing full well how repulsive it was, sharing their little quips and jabs about the quality of food everyone on base got. A few lines about the chefs being lazy, others of them being awful and some about them being talentless, followed by shared laughter around you, shaking shoulders and bright smiles before the table exploded in chatter, guilefully ignoring the world outside the safety of their bubble. 

Maybe… just maybe sitting - you’d never lay a single finger on these provided meals - with them when they ate would lighten up your world slightly, bring some flavourful warmth if it made them happy that you joined them. You refrained from saying anything, simply nodding at them and giving a small smile that seemed to brighten up their faces, restraining your interaction to a few gesture to stop yourself from feeling overwhelmed with the suddenness of emotions. Th last one who’d stirred your hearts so vividly was years ago, watching over a still learning John Price.

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[akookminsupporter]

ARE YOU SURE?!: SEVENTH EPISODE

MY IMPRESSIONS

Preface: This is not an analysis post, and honestly, I don’t want to overanalyse their interactions or everything they said and did—many others are already doing that. My intention with this post is simply to share my thoughts on the episodes, my impressions, and perhaps my conclusions.

I’m writing this as I watch the episodes for the second time.

Ah, I don’t want this to end! It feels like these 6 weeks flew by. 

Jungkook feeling hot in a cold place is so me. 

Jimin looks great with his natural hair colour. I like Jimin’s grey hair, but his natural colour will always be superior, especially with the length he had in this episode. 

Jimin and Jungkook trying to remember if Jimin had ever gone snowboarding with Jungkook before is funny because they were really trying to figure out if it was true, but at the same time, it shows just how many things they’ve done together that it’s natural for them to think snowboarding might have been one of them. 

Jungkook’s look of confusion when Jimin said he’d actually gone snowboarding with Jungkook’s friends, without Jungkook, is also funny. But also, Jimin went snowboarding with Jungkook’s friends—without Jungkook? And it's worth noting Jimin said “Jungkook’s friends”, not “our friends”. We know Jimin is close with several, if not all, of the 97-line members, but it’s nice to know they’re close enough to hang out without Jungkook. If Jimin was talking about those friends, of course.

I don’t know, but something tells me Jimin really likes ‘Standing Next to You’. Though I can’t be sure.  I also can’t be sure, but I have a hunch that Jimin really likes the song ‘Hate You’. Just a feeling. 

I don’t think there’s been an episode where I haven’t mentioned that Jungkook’s biggest ship is with food, hahaha. Why is Jimin always looking for Jungkook in supermarkets? Hahahaha. 

Jungkook being a bit baffled about why Jimin was listening to one of his best songs is honestly offensive, hahaha. Jimin’s slightly defensive reply about whether there was a problem with him listening to the song, and Jungkook’s equally defensive response just wanting to know why he was listening to it, is peak Jikook comedy. 

Look, I think every Jikooker out there has said a thousand times that the world needs an official song from Jimin and Jungkook. But seriously, the world needs an official song from Jimin and Jungkook. Their voices blend so well together. Their harmonisation is glorious, and their voices are differently similar—if that makes sense. They really should record a song or even an album together. 

That hotel is incredible. Someone invited me there. I love hearing Jimin and Jungkook speak in satoori. Honestly, that hotel room is amazing. It looks like an apartment. I can’t even imagine how much a night there costs. It’s moments like these that remind me that these guys are millionaires and their agency has loads of money too, haha. 

Of course, Jungkook cut his own hair. Of course, he did. That’s so Jungkook. Jin would be proud too, hahaha. The staff taking photos of Jungkook because he looked cute with his new haircut is just too cute, haha. In the photo the staffer took, Jungkook looked super young! The power of the bowl cut, hahaha. 

Okay but Jimin’s luck… something always seems to happen to him at every location on this show, hahaha. 

Was Jimin really the loser of that game considering he initially wanted to eat the gimbap? Also, when did Jungkook lose a game that he had to take a bite of the gimbap? 

ohh, didn’t Jungkook say in Connecticut that he wanted to play card games when they went to Jeju but they didn’t? Is that why he bought the stack of cards? I choose to believe that’s the reason. 

And then we get to them and their first… bath together. Jungkook started by asking if they were going to bathe there, and Jimin then said they should turn off the camera, which makes sense, but then, did they bathe together? I mean, actually, wash with soap and everything? Interesting. The camera is turned on who knows how many minutes or hours later, and you can see other products or bottles that weren’t there initially, as well as what I presume is a sweater...? After that, it’s just Jimin and Jungkook being Jimin and Jungkook. Those two are hilariously weird in the best possible way. 

Have I ever told you how much I love Jimin’s tattoos? Especially the ones on his back. 

Ah, Jungkook making sure Jimin felt the same cold breeze as him is just too cute. 

Look, I’ve seen a lot of people describe what happened in that bath—or whatever it was—as Jimin and Jungkook matching each other’s freak, but honestly, I’d describe it as men being men. It’s moments like these that remind me they’re just guys, hahaha. Only a guy would put themselves through that kind of torture for no reason. Yes, yes, I know there are supposed benefits to cold baths, but come on, they didn’t really need to do that. 

Okay, so apparently Jimin told Jungkook to hug him once so he could feel how cold it was. My question is, was that necessary? 

THE V! JIMIN’S V LINES! Oh my god. The V, the tattoos, the blonde hair. The man is the complete package. 

Seriously, guys. Men! 

Jungkook’s body is… WOW. He’s got a swimmer’s body. He’s muscular, low on fat, and still looks slim. With a very slim and enviable waist. It’s not fair. The guy has too many attributes already, hahaha. Jimin is a lighter version of Jungkook, but he also has muscles and those V lines—definitely worth mentioning. 

I don’t know if the staff could hear them, but what they “imagined” those guys were saying in the sauna seems pretty accurate, haha. 

Hey, Jimin said when they left the sauna that they should wash up before going to dinner, but didn’t they already do that when they turned off the cameras? I don’t understand.

Jimin and Jungkook suddenly trying to do the ‘Dynamite’ choreography makes total sense. It's Jikook after all.

Going to dinner in your pyjamas is the dream, hahaha. They really have the same sense of humour. They laugh at the tiniest things the other does, and you can tell they genuinely find it funny.

 Jimin and Jungkook basically travelled to three different places just to eat. There’s no better way to spend the agency’s money, hahaha. Good for them.

Something I’m still not sure about is whether Jungkook loved being in Sapporo. I don’t know, it didn’t seem like he mentioned it much in these two episodes. Let’s hope it’s clearer in the last one.

Maybe it’s just my imagination, but did Jimin drop a hint to Jungkook about giving him a massage, or did I put on my tinhat and miss it?

Jimin and Jungkook must be unbearable in private. Seriously, that’s something I’d love to see, them with their friends, without cameras. What are they like?

Okay, so Jimin first said he needed to brush his teeth, and then we see Jungkook with a toothbrush in his mouth saying ‘Come brush my teeth with me’. Did he say that to the camera, I mean, to us? But then suddenly Jimin appears. Where was he, on the floor? Jimin and I share the same level of laziness when it comes to getting something, Hahaha. Taking a photo together while brushing their teeth. Okay. They really kept memories of everything.

Washing up again?! Didn’t they already do that? Twice, apparently?! How could Jungkook forget that in a matter of hours, I’m sure?!

Aww, Jungkook saying goodnight to the cameras is just too cute. They’re such good boys. I remember in the last episode, Jimin mentioned that Jungkook has the ability to annoy people or something like that, and no one knows it better than Jimin. It’s incredible how patient he can be with Jungkook, hahaha. Of course, Jimin isn’t a saint either, because he can also annoy Jungkook at times. They really click.

Jungkook feeling hot in a cold place is so me. He’s my spirit animal, haha. And him looking for something to eat right after waking up is a MOOD.

Okay, but was Jimin fighting with some insect in the bathroom? Hahaha. Jungkook continuing to eat as if nothing’s happening is a mood.

Mmmm, did they shower together again? Interesting. Jungkook’s priority was definitely the food he bought and couldn’t eat.

Was that whole conversation about being excited correct? I mean, the translation, and if it was, why did it seem like they were talking about something else? Why do many of the things they say seem like they’re talking about something different? Why are they like this? Jimin and Jungkook bickering in the sweetest, funniest way has been one of my favourite things about the show.

Model Jimin! Jimin looked particularly stunning in the car on the way to the slopes.

There’s a popular edit of Jimin that says he doesn’t hold or grab things, he hugs them. I think the edit is mainly about Jimin hugging flower bouquets, but I think it applies to everything, including snowboards, hahaha. He’s just too cute.

I think, I think Jungkook was happy about going snowboarding, I think, I’m not entirely sure.

The juxtaposition of Jimin and Jungkook learning to snowboard and ski is just too funny.

It’s good to know Jimin doesn’t discriminate about the ground he falls on, hahaha. Jungkook really just needs a short time to learn something. Honestly, it’s unfair. Jimin is also excellent at picking things up quickly. That also seems unfair.

MY CONCLUSIONS ON THE SEVENTH EPISODE.

I loved it! Not surprisingly.

I know I’ve repeated this a lot, but I love the format of this show. It’s more relaxed. More chill with the vibe and nothing else. It’s much more domestic, more every day in a way. I know I’ve said this a lot in all my posts, but I love how relaxed Jimin and Jungkook are. I love that, even though they were technically working, they were actually relaxing. They were on a proper holiday because it felt like a normal holiday, with no pressure or expectations, just playing, enjoying cool activities, and eating. Eating a lot.

I love and especially appreciate that AYS has shown us a slightly different side of Jimin and Jungkook’s dynamic. More playful and even more every day, I think. It’s lovely to see how comfortable they are with each other, and even though they didn’t go into depth about it and probably won’t in the future, you understand why they chose to enlist together. They really get each other. They’re really similar. And that’s important.

I really love that they managed to do so many things on this show. That they had multiple holidays and, most of all, that they had them in the middle of their busy schedules. I’m glad they had those moments to laugh, enjoy, and just be happy. And I’m glad they created all those memories together.

I can’t wait for the last episode, but at the same time, I don’t want next Thursday to come because it will mean it’s all over and, like them, we’ll only have the memories we made watching them create their own memories.

As a fan, not only of Jikook but of Jimin and Jungkook, I’m infinitely grateful to them for doing this for us. I’m sure they deserve the sky and the stars; it’s the least the sun and the moon deserve, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, I’m sorry and thank you—I just couldn’t stop writing ajajajajaja.

[undeadcannibal]

141 team +könig with reader that scratches at their arms and neck till they bleed please:]

Summary: How Task Force 141 and  would react to a Reader that scratches at their arms or neck.

Genre: Headcanons, request(s) Characters featured: Price, Soap, Gaz, Ghost, and König

Warnings: mentions of scratching, etc.

A/N:  I got you, Anon. Spent my adolescent years struggling with that T-T Hopefully you enjoy! And as always, thank you for the request! <3 I tried giving everyone a bit of a different reason as to why just for a bit of variation. I hope that is alright. c:  ( Gif credit: xxx )

Gaz―

He catches you in the middle of relieving the itchiness of your forearms, taking a moment to realize what's going on before he tries to encourage you to stop in a calm and soft manner. 

He won't freak out, he'll just ask what's up, really just wants to ensure you're okay overall. 

Much like John, he won't pry for an answer if you truly don't want to give one, buuuut that doesn't mean he'd stop worrying about you. 

You mention that it's nothing too serious, it's unfortunately something you resort to in times of major stress. 

He doesn't pretend to understand what you deal with, but he's there to help regardless. 

Personally, he likes helping you take care of yourself. He won't hold it against you if you can't help but give in to scratching. 

Let him patch you up so he can tell you jokes or stories to distract you from thinking about everything, even if only for a little while. 

Soft but calloused hands drifting up your forearms carefully, making sure not to hurt you too much as he helps clean and patch you up. 

Do well and he says he'll give you a kiss as a reward for good behavior~ 

Ghost―

He notices something's up quickly. Whether you prefer to hide the marks of not, he wastes little time in asking you about it. 

He'll bring it up when the two of you are alone, or are at least out of earshot of anyone else. He won't want to embarrass you, but he'll be curious. 

I think Simon would ask a lot of questions at first: "What happened?" "Why do you have the impulse?" and "…Does it hurt?" or "Does it bother you much?" because he'd want to know why before helping. 

You mention that you struggle with allergies a lot, and in turn, sometimes don't realize just how bad it's gotten until it's too late. 

Unfortunately, the entire insides of your forearms suffer the most and as a result, are covered in large patches of scabs from previous bouts of itchiness. 

He wouldn't have noticed it had you not needed to pull up the sleeves of your shirt, revealing them to him. 

After you give him your answer, he won't say much, but I can see him silently telling you to stay put. He disappears only to return with a first-aid kit. 

While he might not fully understand what you're dealing with, he does help care for your wounds and patches you up. Even reminding you to change the bandages daily just in case you need a reminder. 

He might not be the best at helping heal others, but he does try to be there for you in his own ways. 

Price―

The first time he notices the marks on your neck, his eyes are widening and his jaw is clenching, numerous conflicting emotions rushing through him all at once. 

At first, he's unsure of the best approach for you, but eventually decides to just calmly ask you the next time the two of you are alone. 

Price doesn't want to pry -- he won't force an answer out of you if you haven't told him on your own time. So, he simply asks if he can help. 

If you choose to let him, he'll sweetly - and silently - tend to your neck and recommend some personal remedies since he's had many types of wounds over the years. He likes to joke that at his age, he's got an answer for everything. 

If you do decide to let him in, he's all ears: listening to you without adding in any unnecessary comments. Waiting until you explain that you struggle with a skin condition - have since you were born - and when the weather changes, that can be the worst for it at times. Sending you into a fit of resisting and giving in when you can no longer bear it. 

Like Soap, after he hears this, he does his best to try and help you. Whether that's gently reminding you to resist scratching as much as possible, or helping you care for it afterward. It doesn't matter. 

John just wants to help. 

Ooh, also asks if you'd like to borrow one of his scarves, just in case you'd like to cover up. If not, he doesn't take it personally. 

Soap―

At first, I can see him thinking the marks are possibly hickeys from afar. Once he realizes that its actually marks from you scratching at your neck, he's quick to apologize for his assumption. 

Afterwards, he'll soften his approach. Speaking quietly to you, bringing you somewhere where the two of you can have a private conversation over things. 

Like Simon, he's a curious man. He just wants to understand why. Though, he'll also understand if it's something you're not comfortable discussing. 

You mention it's a horrible habit you've struggled to break throughout the years, but even so, you're working on it. 

Either way, he just wants to make sure you're okay.

He helps patch you up if you allow him to. 

After he makes sure you're taken care of and tended to, I can see him wanting to help distract you if he can as well. 

He'll make sure the two of you do something that will help you keep your hands occupied with tasks. 

When he can, he helps keep you too busy to scratch, if he can help it, and if you're willing to put up with him. 

Please do, he just wants to be a sweet and helpful man~ 

König―

His eyes widen when he catches sight of the marks on your neck. At first, he's worried someone else hurt you and frankly, is out. For. Blood. Until you explain otherwise. 

If you choose to let him in as to why you scratch, he'll nod silently, letting you know he understands. 

If you let him know that the marks on your neck are from you scratching - for numerous reasons you don't delve into - König is silent for a while. Taking in everything you mentioned before nodding quietly. 

He doesn't get upset or hold it against you. 

Similar to Ghost, I personally see him as the strong and silent type during moments like this. 

His anxiety makes him worry and overthink any response that comes to mind, so he ends up not saying anything. Afraid that he'll say the wrong thing and accidentally offend you. 

Still, despite the silence, you can tell he means well. 

His large hands are a bit rough from years of warfare but even so, he touches you so gently that you barely even notice. Or care for that matter. 

Allowing him to tend to your wounds helps the both of you; it reassures you that he cares about you in his own ways. And, he likes being able to care for you, even if he can't really help stop you from scratching at your own skin. 

Really, he just likes to be as helpful as he can possibly be.

[barefoothighlander]

i loved your simon x sunshine wife can you please do one with konig ? love your work!!! <3

of course, thank you so much!

warnings: none just fluff, mention of anxiety

It was a pretty big shock to the team when they found out you and König were married, he was always quiet, keeping to himself where as you would burst into rooms, chatting with anyone who wanted to.

Contrary to popular belief he was talkative, but only when you were home, he'd tell you about his day, animals he'd encounter on his way home if he saw something he thought you'd find interesting.

He loved listening to you talk, ambling about whatever was on your mind, his eyes practically heart-shaped at the way your face lit up, your infectious smile that he loved.

You'd find things to surprise him with, somedays you'd try to cook or bake something that would remind him of his home considering he spent so much time away.

On his most recent deployment, you made it your mission to try and learn some German to surprise him.

You extended your arms to him as he entered the door, "Willkommen zu hause, meine liebe" You struggle through the words, squinting your eyes as you try to remember them. Even behind his hood, you could see his face light up, his eyes crinkling as he smiled, "Where did you learn that?", "Tried to learn some while you were gone, is it terrible?" You scrunch your face and he shakes his head, stepping forward to wrap his arms around you, "You're pronunciation is off but, es ist perfekt, meine liebling"

He enjoyed how tactile you were, always having your hands on him somehow, his favourite was when you played with his hair after a long day. Every morning before he left for work he'd wake you up to braid it for him, insisting that you did it so much better than him and you happily obliged.

You were a naturally curious and extroverted person, stopping in the street to have conversations with strangers, asking to pet their dogs as you walked hand in hand with him, the idea of chatting with strangers made him nervous, scared they'd be intimidated by him but you always held his hand through interactions.

If he was anxious you'd pull him aside and wrap your arms around him, providing some sort of pressure on his chest to help him relax, reminding him to breathe.

He was utterly surprised when you first began dating, his face flushed as you asked him out on a date, most people crossed the street when they saw him, his large mask-clad form roaming the streets, but not you, you didn't treat him differently than any other person.

It took him a few months to be comfortable enough to show you his face, nervous you'd dislike the way he looks but he practically melted into your touch when you stroked a thumb across his cheek, tucking loose hair behind his ear.

"It's long, your hair, I thought it'd be short" "You don't like it" "I love it"

The wedding was small, held at your home with just a few friends, the team and minimal family, you had let him choose the food for the occasion while you took to decorations. Picking flowers from the garden that the two of you had made, it helped with his stress to tend to the flowers, having to be responsible for something so fragile.

You had gotten closer to the team and encouraged him to do the same, inviting them over on weekends and stopping by the base when they were there, it was no surprise that you got along with the men and it helped him get to know them better, lightly laughing along as you joked with Soap and Price.

"Cannae imagine how big your kin will be, I mean the man is massive" König practically choked on the air in his throat as Soap joked. "You have no idea, Johnny" You laughed, König dropped his head in embarrassment, laughing while you leaned to rest your head on his shoulder.

It was a weekly occurrence that you had to remind him that you weren't made of glass, every touch so gentle and careful like it he pressed too hard you'd shatter.

In public his hands always sought some part of your body, whether they settled on your waist or lower back, you grounded him.

He'd complain a lot about how you'd steal food from his plate but the truth was he thought it was cute, how you'd try to sneak bites away while he wasn't looking, or attempt to distract him while he was cooking so you could pick at the food.

Sometimes when he was really tired or stressed he'd slip back into German, forgetting that you couldn't understand every word and apologizing.

"will dich nicht verlassen" He grumbled, you hummed in response, turning his head to peak an eye at you "M'sorry, forgot for a minute" "S'okay, I like hearing you speak" "You can't understand me" "Your face says more than you think" You smile, kissing his forehead while his arms wrapped around you, tugging you into him.

It was a struggle every time he left home, not knowing when he'd be home, but the wait was always worth it, watching him walk through the door and immediately relax his shoulders at the sight of you, his eyes staring at you the same way they did when you first met.

Willkommen zu hause, meine liebe (welcome home my love)

es ist perfekt, meine liebling (it’s perfect my darling)

will dich nicht verlassen (i don’t wanna leave you)

[luveline]

Zombie!au- would love to see more grump Steve in the earlier days. And r just trying to lighten things up a bit!

thank you for requesting ♡ steve zombie!au —your attempt to cheer steve up backfires, but he's not so oblivious to your feelings as you think. fem!reader, 1k

Water drips down the length of Steve's arm. It follows a path to his elbow, shining honey-orange in the last dregs of sunlight that haunt the room. The stone wall at your back is cooling, the baking heat of the day abating with the setting sun. 

Your shirt is still damp but clean. Steve scrubbed it until the fabric turned fuzzy, the faint smell of sweat lingering despite all his efforts and dawn dish soap. He sits close enough to rest his leg atop yours, touching you without apology. It's hard to care about personal space when you spend time with someone like this, isolated. Your survival is tied to his like shared veins. 

Water sloshes over the edge of the bucket onto a towel he placed beneath it. You clear your throat, drawing his gaze. 

"Kinda weird how many towels people leave behind." 

His constant frown doesn't so much as twitch. "Why's that?" 

"We all need towels. Makes you wonder if they thought there'd be towels somewhere else… We loot all these houses and half the time there isn't a can of peaches, but there's always a couple of towels." 

"You only need one towel," Steve says. 

"Not the way we use them." 

Steve's eyebrows raise ever so slightly. You can guess what he's thinking —you're making small talk about towels. Maybe he'd rather sit in silence than listen, but if you stay silent in the wake of his bad mood any longer, you'll disintegrate. 

"I'm just saying it's weird to take soap but not the towel." 

"They probably weren't thinking about it. Not the way it happened, I mean." Steve's brows pinch together. He pulls his shirt from the soapy water filled bucket between his legs and squeezes the excess water from it. 

"Were you going to say something else?" you ask cautiously. 

Steve wrings his shirt, the muscles in his arms singing as he twists it tighter and tighter. You can't choose what to look at, his arms, the coiled definition of his upper chest, or the strange expression that plays on his fine features. Eventually he drops his sodden shirt on the towel and wipes his hands dry, not looking at you as he asks, "What did you think was gonna happen?" 

You shift your foot under his weight. He doesn't move it still, and you're glad. You need touch. You need his touch, even if he doesn't need yours. 

"I thought everybody was going to be fine." Your stomach aches remembering. "For a week, the news didn't bother me. The radio hosts were pandering and CNN were fearmongers. But then… one day I woke up and I knew it was the end." 

"When they started saying–" 

"Don't try to hide." You swallow a lump of past hurt where it swells. 

"That's why people didn't bother with towels," Steve says. "That's what I think. They knew they wouldn't make it past the week, deep down, even if they didn't know." 

You cross your arm over the other and hold your elbow. The sun sinks like a stone, dark eating the corners of the room. It feels colder now. 

It's scarier, in the dark. You worry about what you can't see. 

"I'm sorry, Y/N," Steve says, speaking more gently than he had been as he pulls his leg away. "I know you were trying to make me feel better. I didn't mean to kill the mood like an asshole."

"That makes a difference," you tease. 

Steve stands and grabs the bucket of dirty water, pouring it out of the open window. You can hear the loud slosh of it slapping overgrown bluegrass below. 

"I'm sorry for being a dick," he says, turned from you still, bucket braced in two rigid hands. 

"Steve, I don't care if you're in a bad mood. I just worry it's my fault." 

He tosses the bucket aside, the thin metal handle rattling as it lands. Brushing the hair from his face, Steve turns back to you and, silhouetted by the last light, gives you a tentative smile. 

"You drive me crazy sometimes, but if I'm pissed, that's my problem. Not your fault." 

You sit up, a muscle twinging between your sore shoulders. "Oh. Cool."

Steve nods to the left. "Come over here. We'll sleep where it's dry." 

You do as told, achy and worn from another day at the end of the world. You could sleep in a queen size bed every night and it'd make no difference to this kind of exhaustion, the burden of perpetual hyper vigilance like slow releasing venom. You kick the shitty single mattress you've been sleeping on for the last few days across the room and Steve spreads out a blanket for you to lay on. 

You can't sleep. Most of the time, you lay down for a few hours feigning rest while Steve sits soldier, nothing to do, nothing to darn nor sharpen nor tend to. You're in a strange limbo of having no urgent needs and no strength between you to move on yet. With a stache of protein bars you found in the desk in the den, you and Steve can stay here for a few more days. 

You sit down regardless of the sleepless tossing and turning that awaits, surprised when Steve wastes little time sitting beside you. Shirtless. He leans against the jacket you've been using as a pillow and puts his arm behind your back with the familiarity of a lover, hand on your waist. 

Your breath pulls in funny. 

"Thanks for trying," he says. 

You risk looking up at him. He looks down, a little bit of King Steve charm in the quirk of his mouth. 

"But towels?" he asks. 

"It was the first thing I could think of." 

He nods like this makes sense and pulls you into his side, rubbing yours with enough affection to floor you if you weren't already on it. "I didn't pack a towel, and neither did you. We're all the same." 

"Then how come we're here?" you ask, quiet with the embarrassment of asking such a vulnerable question. How come we lived and no one else did?

"I don't know."

You put your face in the curve of his neck hesitantly. Steve rests his cheek on top of your head.

"I'm glad we are, though," he murmurs. 

[meowmeowriley]

Changes: A Poll-Fic

(Cheeky link to ch. 2->) Ch. 2

"Remember, you're not supposed to be here, so don't do anything stupid." Love you too, Price. The Captain had caved. He'd been begging to be part of this mission since they'd gotten the lead.

Soap reached up, rubbing his gloved fingers across the teeth of his mask. The mask he'd stolen from Ghost's room. Gaz had found him clutching it, dried mixture of tears and bile coating his cheeks, and forehead pressed to the porcelain throne. He'd been banned from drinking for the foreseeable future. That was the only stupid thing he'd done. Ghost wore a mask, Ghost only spoke when he had to, Ghost was hard on the rookies, and nobody questioned his mental state. But they did, didn't they? Well Soap didn't. And nobody needed to question Soap, he was fine.

"I wanna be like you when I grow up."

"You wanna be better than me, Johnny."

Well to be better than him, first he had to be more like him. So he'd donned Ghost's mask, to better embody the man's stoicism and presence. Definitely not as a way to hide his chapped cheeks and the bags under his eyes. He'd painted it red, wore a jaw print bandana. Different. Better. Yeah.

Price had finally caved to Soap's insistence he be part of this OP, but issued his warnings. "I know you don't need to be told, but I'm saying it anyway." He'd warned. "They've had him for eight months. Torture changes people, he may not be the same."

Of course he wasn't going to be the fucking same. He didn't need to be the same, he just needed to be alive.

Ghost never really spoke about his past, only left little hints here and there, but Soap wasn't dumb. He'd been through it before. Ghost could handle the torture, and Soap could handle the aftermath.

"I'm fine." He finally answered. "It'll be by the books, Captain." As if anything they did was ever 'by the books.' Price accepted his answer, though he didn't look convinced. It was just the three of them, with Laswell listening in. Gaz was in charge of collecting data on the bio weapon that was rumored to be here, Soap was in charge of the search and rescue mission, and Price was overwatch as the two Sergeants made their way in.

The trio hopped out of the truck, and Price slapped the side, sending it away. Soap and Gaz nodded to one another before splitting up to approach the building from different angles. Price silently made his way to higher ground.

The trek was agonizing, moreso because Soap found himself feeling more impatient than usual. Every time he had to lay low and wait for a patrol to pass he could hear the sand slowly falling, trickling away in the hourglass that was the rest of Ghost's life.

"You sure know how to keep things interesting, Johnny." Ghost had smiled at him, rare that he didn't have his mask, but then again, who other than Soap would challenge the Ghost to strip poker? And who other than Soap would cheat be really really good at strip poker? So good as to force Ghost to choose between his pants and his mask, the last two articles of clothing he had on. Soap himself had only one sock, and his jumper on, choosing to doff his pants so he could keep access to the cards in his sleeves. The  unpleasant cold of the metal chair against his junk was worth it, just to see the surprising decision on Ghost's part to lose the mask and not the underwear.

"Aye, like to shake things up, Sir." He'd said with a wink as he laid yet another winning hand down, only slightly supplemented by his sleeve stash.

He was certainly always one to shake things up. Here he was, itching to shake that damn hourglass up. He'd shake it, flip it upside down, bash it over someone's head and stuff the sand down their fucking throat, if it meant he'd get more time with the enigmatic phantom that had haunted his mind since that shitshow in Mexico.

Price gave the signal, they crawled forward once more.

"This is takin' longer than a constipated snail takin' a shit." He grit out into comms once the coast was clear.

"Soap, while it's nice to hear your voice again, one more quip outta you and I'm pulling you. Watch it." Laswell had gotten the cold shoulder, she'd fed Ghost bad intel. He blamed her, he didn't, couldn't blame her. She was just as worried. Probably.

He just needed to get Ghost back. Repay his debt. Ghost had saved him back then, after all. That's what this was. An eye for an eye, but in a positive way. They were good for eachother. Fixed eachothers problems. Complimented one another, personality wise. That's all.

He crept into the building, silent and unnoticed.

They didn't have much on the layout, just the outer perimeter, so they were going in blind. That didn't bother Soap, he was thriving for the first time in months. He finally had something to do other than run the rookies into the ground.

He dodged patrols, picked off the ones he could get away with had to, using the knife he'd kicked so long ago after Ghost had left it behind.

He found some unlit stairs leading into a basement they hadn't known existed. If I were keeping an incredibly dangerous prisoner, now where would I keep him? Three sets of teeth, plastic, cloth and bone, were bared towards the darkness. He couldn't help it, he felt giddy. He tried to quell his excitement, didn't need to make any mistakes now.

He made his way, thankful for his NVG's as there were no lights, even after descending the stairs. The hallway he entered had doors along one side, nothing much in the rooms, but he cleared each one as he passed. No fuck ups.

Near the end, he found a door with seven locks. Suspicious. Good. Suspicious was good, here. The other doors had been wood, dry rotted and deteriorating, this one was metal.

His eyes itched. He flipped up his NVG's.

Curiously, whenever he blinked, Soap could've sworn he could see symbols on the door, but they'd disappear the longer he looked. He'd blink, a sickening yellow circle with lines and symbols within would appear just as he opened his eyes, but faded so quickly, he couldn't convince himself it had ever even been there. The harder he stared the more the door looked perfectly normal, if you ignored all the locks.

Many many thanks to @stuffireadandenjoy for brainstorming with me on how to make this poll fic work, and to @resident-idiot-simp for being my beta, as always ❤❤❤

(Cheeky link to Ch. 2->) Ch. 2

[fireya-x]

luna sanguinis // CHAPTER IV: cruciatum

[PREVIOUS] || CHAPTER MASTERLIST || [NEXT]

AO3 Link

John wants to return to his team, but you are hesitant and afraid, forcing him to prove his control.

[8.9k words]

cw: past abuse/trauma, light bondage, cunnilingus, orgasm denial, edging, come shot, come marking

“Bloody hell, Captain! Where were you last night?” Gaz’s voice boomed across the grand, high-ceilinged living room of the mansion. John stood in the doorway, taking in the unexpected scene. Golden afternoon sunlight beamed through the tall windows, illuminating a lavish supper spread on the table - a feast fit for a king, ironically. His men were already seated, casually enjoying the food. Ghost was leaning against a pillar between two of the windows, his balaclava lifted just enough to reveal his mouth as he chewed on a piece of fruit.

Had they been here all day? How long had it been? John had lost all sense of time ever since he’d laid eyes on you during the party. Everything after that seemed like a lifetime – a lifetime compressed into a single night – yet at the same time, it had all passed in a dizzying blur.

“We thought you got lost in this maze of a place or something,” Soap added, frowning. His attempt at a joke didn’t hide the concern in his eyes.

John took a few steps forward and then stopped, running a hand through his hair with a sigh. “I wasn’t lost. I was… occupied.” His gaze flickered back to the doorway, sensing your presence nearby. Even from a distance, he could feel you waiting, listening, giving him space to deal with his team, a courtesy that surprised him. He was so attuned to you now, the bond thrumming between you, a constant current of shared sensation. He could feel the exact speed of your heartbeat echoing in his own blood, the power that you’d awakened within him simmering just beneath his skin.

“Occupied?” Soap repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. “Oh yeah? Doing what, exactly?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Something that changed everything.” John hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully. He knew how insane it would sound.

“Don't be so cryptic, Cap,” Gaz said, slowly refilling his plate, seemingly unfazed by John's odd behaviour. “Spit it out.”

John took a deep breath. “I met someone.”

Gaz flashed a knowing smile. “The hostess right? I knew it!” He shot a glance back towards Soap and Ghost, as if they’d had been betting on it.

But John didn’t smile back. “It’s not what you think. I –” He paused, the words catching in his throat. He wasn’t sure how to begin to explain something that defied explanation.

“What?” Soap asked, gesturing for John to continue.

“I… I love her.” John swallowed hard, the words feeling heavy, unreal, yet utterly, undeniably true.

The silence that followed was deafening. The three men looked at each other with the reaction that John anticipated, painting him as the insane man who had lost his mind.

Then, Gaz burst out laughing. “Love? You met her last night, mate.”

“It's not a joke, Gaz,” John said, his voice sharper now, a hint of the new power he possessed edging into his tone. “It’s… she’s –” He struggled to find the right words. Especially with the disbelief in their eyes. It was frustrating, this inability to make them understand. “She’s different,” he finally said. “She’s – she’s not human.”

The world was standing still as those words left his lips. 

“What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?” Ghost mumbled, his gaze fixed on John. Even behind the skull mask, John could sense his teammate's concern. Ghost could tell something was… off about him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Gaz scoffed. “Like what? A werewolf? Or a vampire? Right, and I'm king of England!” He laughed, a mocking laugh that grated on John’s nerves, and Gaz stood from the table abruptly, shoving his plate away.

“Yeah, Price, I think you need some rest, some fresh air.” Soap agreed, the concern in his eyes growing.

“Is she blackmailing you, Cap?” Gaz pressed, stepping closer. “Threatening you, forcing you to… I don’t know… spit out some intel or something?” John shook his head. He’d known this news would be hard to swallow, but he hadn’t expected this level of mockery.

“She is not. And this ain’t a joke. I’m telling you the truth.” He gestured to himself, to the power brewing underneath his skin, the heightened senses and emotions that threatened to drive him crazy. 

“I'm out of here,” Gaz muttered, frustration and anger twisting his features. “Call me when he’s back to normal.” He shot John one last disapproving look, then turned on his heels to walk out, giving up on trying to reason with his clearly delusional Captain.

But as he reached the double doors, a figure stepped into the room, blocking his path.

You stood there, your dress a swirl of black silk, your eyes fixed on Gaz with an intensity that made him take a step back. Your presence alone seemed to change the atmosphere in the room – the air thickening, the temperature dropping, the shadows deepening. Even as the sunlight streamed in through the windows, a chill touched the air.

“Please, stay.” You said, your voice smooth as velvet, carrying an undertone that Gaz recognized as a command, though he couldn't explain how.

He hesitated, then, against his better judgment, he stayed. But within a split second, his hand flashed under his shirt, and he pulled out a sidearm, the barrel aimed directly at your chest.

“Don’t fucking take another step,” he warned, his voice low.

John’s head snapped up, every muscle in his body going rigid. A growl rumbled in his chest, his fangs extending instinctively as he saw the weapon pointed at you. Protective rage bubbled inside him, the urge to protect his mate as she was being threatened, so strong that it took every ounce of his control to not tear his teammate apart limb from limb.

“Gaz, what the fuck!” He snarled as he moved towards him, his eyes wild. But you held up a hand, stopping him with a simple gesture.

You hadn’t even flinched.

Confusion was written all over Gaz’s face, and his grip on the gun tightened. He’d seen John react to you, he had witnessed a flash of admiration in your eyes as you realized his team was trying to protect their Captain. 

Vampire.

But you were alive. You were clearly human.

Weren’t you?

“Gaz…” Soap’a voice was a warning whisper, his own gaze fixated on you with a certain amount of caution. There was something off about this whole situation. The air in the room felt heavy, cold, and yet so full of energy that he couldn’t explain.

And the way you were just standing there, as if Gaz’s gun was nothing more than a child’s toy, it was unnerving.

“This… thing… has you under some kind of spell, Captain,” Gaz said, his eyes not leaving you. “This isn’t you talking. She’s done something and I not going to let her get away with it.” He corrected his stance lightly, the barrel of the gun aimed steadily at your heart.

John took another step forward. “She’s not controlling me,” he growled. “I’m warning you – put the bloody gun down.”

“John,” you said softly, smiling at him. You could feel the anger, the urge to protect you running through his bloodstream, but this wasn’t the time for violence. “It’s quite alright.”

You faced Gaz, your expression calm. You didn't move. “Mr. Garrick,” you said, your voice soft yet carrying an undeniable authority. “I understand your concern, your protectiveness of John. But you misunderstand.”

“Put the gun down, Gaz.” Ghost agreed, pushing himself off the wall. “Price wouldn’t lie to us. Why would he?” He looked at Gaz, and a rare note of pleading reflected in his usually calm and impassive stare.

Gaz hesitated, his gaze darting between you, John and Ghost. Something in your calm demeanour, your complete lack of reaction and fear, was starting to unsettle him.

“John is not being manipulated,” you reassured him. "I promise you that. He’s bound to me. As I am bound to him." You paused, letting your words sink in. “It's a connection far deeper, far more powerful, than anything you can comprehend.”

“What does that mean?” Gaz whispered, his hand trembling.

You didn’t answer. You simply walked towards John, your movements smooth and graceful. You stopped before him, your eyes locking onto his – a silent command passing between you. You held your hand up, palm upward.

He understood. If they wouldn’t believe your words, they had to see.

He took your hand into his, so carefully as if it was the most fragile thing in the room next to the porcelain that decorated the dinner table, and everyone watched frozen in place as John revealed his fangs - longer and sharper than any human canines could ever be, glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.

The air in the room crackled with a power none of them could describe. Gaz stared, his breath catching in his throat, as John sank his fangs into your palm. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even blink, as he starting drinking blood from you.

Gaz finally lowered the gun, watching the scene unfold in front of him with a mix of horror and fascination. Soap and Ghost watched equally stunned. They’d just seen something that challenged everything they thought they knew about the world, about the reality they lived in. And now, their friend, their Captain, was in the middle of that newfound reality.

"You see?" Your voice was steady, calm, even as John continued to drink from you, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “There is power at work here that is beyond your understanding.”

John withdrew from your palm. Before releasing your hand, he brought it to his lips, gently kissing the wound he’d made. His eyes glinted with power.

“You’re still alive today, because of me. Had I not intervened when I realized who John was to me,” you looked at each of them, letting the unspoken threat sink in, “you would have been part of a ritual.”

Soap swallowed hard, his face ashen. Gaz just stared at you, the blood draining from his face. Ghost, his mask hiding his expression, remained eerily still. But you could sense his heightened awareness – the way he was absorbing everything.

“What – what do you mean? " Soap whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You were brought here under false pretences,” you explained gently. “An invitation to a celebration that was meant to end in your deaths. A ritual I, as queen, perform every year – a necessity to keep me alive. A sacrifice to maintain the balance of this world. It's… a curse.”

“You’re saying everyone at the party last night is dead?” Soap exclaimed, his eyes wide with horror, glancing towards Ghost.

“The humans, yes.” You confirmed. “And the guards that John managed to dispose of. It was necessary to awaken his power.”

You faced Soap, taking a step towards him. “Very few are granted knowledge about this ritual, Mr. MacTavish. It is a secret I carry with me – a burden I bear alone… until now.”

Your gaze shifted to John, your expression softening. “John has changed things. He is my king. My mate.” You paused, looking back at the others. “And because of him, and the trust he places in you, I am sharing this truth with you.”

“Why Price?” Ghost asked, low, intense.

“I don’t know. Call it fate. I looked at him, and I knew. And he’s stronger than anyone I have ever met.”

“I told you I love her. I know it sounds crazy, but –” John sighed, running a hand through his beard. “When it happened last night, it was like… like our souls recognized each other. Like I’ve known her for centuries.” He looked at them, his eyes pleading. “I still don’t understand it all. But I… I had to let you know.”

“And what now?” Gaz asked, his gun holstered and hidden away.

“Now," you said, stepping closer to John, your hand resting on his arm. “I trust you to keep this secret. To fight alongside us to protect this world from the darkness that threatens to consume it.”

“How could we fight this?” 

“You've already done it, Mr. Riley.” Your gaze locked onto Ghost. “You are soldiers. You fight the battles, hunt the monsters. You keep the world safe.” You smiled. “Only now, you will do it knowing that you are also protecting us. Protecting the balance.”

You turned towards your mate, deciding to let the words so sink in. You smiled, and he returned the gesture, thankful that you'd calmed the situation and explained as best as you could. Of course, this would take time. But his men were still in the room, nobody left, so John was sure they’d at least believe a fraction of it.

“I will give you some space, with your men.” You said, your fingers tightening on his arm, sending a shiver through him. The gesture wasn't lost on his team. They watched, stunned into silence, as John leaned in and kissed your cheek. 

They need time, my love. Your words were unsaid, but understood nonetheless.

He nodded, a silent thank-you passing between you, and then he watched as you gracefully walked out of the room. Leaving him alone with his team, their world irrevocably shattered.

John turned back to face his them, his gaze intense. Gaz had sat back down at the table, his appetite gone, pushing his food around his plate with a fork. Soap was on his phone, frantically scrolling through something, trying to find answers he wouldn't find. And Ghost was staring right back at him, his expression unreadable behind the mask.

John knew they needed time. He needed time. 

He cleared his throat. “Lads, I know this is a lot to take in. But believe me – this is… this is real.” He looked at them, his eyes pleading. “And I still need you. Now more than ever.”

The silence stretched for another moment, tense with unspoken questions, unspoken fears. And then, finally, Soap spoke. “We’re with you, Captain,” he said, his voice gruff. “Always.”

Gaz sighed, shaking his head. “Bloody hell. Vampires.” But there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips, a familiarity returning to his voice. “This is gonna take some getting used to.”

Ghost simply nodded, his gaze never leaving John. “We’re with you.”

John felt a wave of relief wash over him, the tension easing in his chest. He might not be the same man he’d been yesterday, but he still had his team, his family. And that, more than anything, gave him the strength he needed to face anything that lay ahead.

He had Victoria. He had his brothers. He would protect them all. Whatever the cost.

The next few days, John hadn’t really ever left your side. He was on the phone a lot, talking to his team like the Captain he still was as he sent them back to work, talking to his landlord to cancel the flat he was renting. It felt strange, talking about his old life - the life that now seemed so distant, so… ordinary. 

But the bond kept pulling him back to you. You explored the mansion together - its hidden passages and secret rooms, making love in the depth of the wine cellar, the moonlit conservatory, in the beds of the many guest rooms. Anywhere when you just couldn’t keep your hands off of each other.

He accompanied you on the hunt, his new instincts surfacing – the thrill of the chase, the taste of blood, a powerful seduction he had to learn to control. You watched, both proud and concerned, as he mastered his new abilities, and as he controlled himself perfectly, balancing above the edge of the descent into maddening bloodlust. 

But as the initial rush of transformation began to fade, things settled down a little. And a new restlessness grew within John. You could feel it, he missed the adrenaline of the mission, the comradery of his team, the weight of a tactical vest and the familiar feeling of a gun in his hands. He was a soldier, a Captain, and even though he was a vampire now, that part that craved duty and purpose could not be sated by blood.

One morning, he found you in your study, pondering over a mountain of papers, your brow furrowed in concentration. Financial statements – even an immortal queen couldn’t escape the mundane realities of running an estate. The room was dim, the heavy curtains drawn against the morning sun. The air was thick with the scent of candles, old paper, and the faintest hint of your perfume. Ravens cawed outside your window, painting an eerie, yet breathtaking picture as John walked into the room. 

“Victoria.” He said your name softly, but the sound, amplified by the heightened senses, made you startle slightly. You looked up, a warm smile lighting up your face. For a moment, John forgot what he'd come to say.

“You should be resting, my love,” you said softly, setting down the papers in your hand, the material brittle between your fingers. “You've been hunting all night.”

“I can’t rest,” he answered and stepped closer, his gaze finding yours. “Not when I should be back out there.”

You stood, your movements smooth, graceful. “John…” You could feel the shift in him, the disquiet that rippled through the bond. You didn't want to have this conversation. You knew where it was headed. A part of you dreaded it.

“I’m going back to work.” He didn’t even ask; he stated it, his voice firm, decisive, his jaw set in that familiar stubborn line that you’d come to both love and hate. “My team… they need me.” He looked at you, his gaze holding yours, pleading for understanding. “And I need them, too.”

You could feel the blood draining from your face, leaving you colder than usual. "No. It's – it’s too soon. You’re not –” You hesitated, not sure what to argue with, because you knew he was in control. At least for now. You'd seen it. You'd felt it. But the fear was there, lurking in the shadows of your mind, the fear that threatened to drown you – a tide of ancient memories rising, threatening to pull you under.

He took a step closer. “Not what?” His voice was suddenly low, like a challenge.

“Not ready,” you finally forced the words out.

“Ready for what? A little danger? Blood?” He scoffed, anger flaring in his eyes. “I’ve been facing danger, spilling blood, for years. It's what I do.”

“This is different, John.” You reached for him, your fingertips brushing his skin, seeking the reassurance of his touch. But he moved away from you, as if your coldness burned.

“Then what should I do?” He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration growing, his voice rising in pitch. “Stay hidden away in this mansion forever like you do? Hiding from the world like a… like a monster?”

The word hung in the air – a cruel echo of your own deepest fears. He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as he realized what he’d said. “Victoria, I’m – I’m sorry. I didn't –”

But it wasn’t his words that had wounded you.

It was the truth in them.

You were hiding.

You were hiding from the world.

And you were terrified that he was right. That the monster he saw in you wasn’t just a reflection of your nature, but a glimpse of what he might become.

A monster.

Like him.

Cold, icy dread washed over you. You could almost smell him again – Lucian. The scent of blood, always lingering on his breath, on his skin. The way his gentle, adoring touch had turned rough, demanding, bruising. The way his gaze, once filled with warmth and affection, had become cold, predatory.

He’d been strong. So strong - a power unlike anything you'd ever encountered. But the power – it had consumed him. Twisted his senses, poisoned his flesh, corrupted his very soul.

You remembered how gentle he'd seemed at first, how he'd kissed your hand as if it were a fragile flower, murmuring sweet nothings that made your undead heart flutter.

But that facade, like a delicate bloom, withered quickly, revealing the thorns beneath. The night he’d first lost control, that facade shattered completely.

You still saw the city streets in your nightmares, cobblestones slick with blood, bodies drained and discarded like broken dolls, threatening to expose you. 

When you’d confronted him, your voice shaking with disappointment and fear, he’d backhanded you without a word. His hand, the same hand that had so tenderly caressed you, struck you across the face, leaving a stinging welt that quickly bloomed into a sickening purple.

Another night, you remembered seeking solace in the gardens, desperate for peace amidst the turmoil he’d created. It wasn't during the Blood Moon ritual. It was just a normal night, a full moon hanging heavy in the sky, casting an eerie glow upon the manicured lawns. You’d found him in the courtyard, surrounded by a dozen bodies – your guards, your friends – scattered around him like fallen petals. Their lifeless eyes stared into the vast emptiness of the night, accusing you of your choice, of your failure of a king you’d brought into your life, into your bed.

Their blood stained the ground of your home, a grotesque tapestry of crimson and black. 

The scent was thick in the air, a metallic miasma that made your stomach churn.

He’s turned to you then, a feral grin on his face, his fangs dripping with crimson.

“Look what I did, my queen,” he whispered, his tone a slurred mockery of the voice that once used to seduce you. “They were weak. Useless. Unworthy of your love.”

You’d tried to reason with him, to find a flicker of the man inside – the man you'd chosen, the man you'd hoped would be your salvation – but it was too late. The bloodlust, the power, had consumed him, twisted him, until he was nothing but a shell of his former self. A monster wearing a lover's face.

You’d never forget the look in his eyes when he’d turned on you . A gaze burning with a possessiveness that was cold and cruel and utterly devoid of love.

He’d grabbed you, his grip tight and bruising, eyes blazing with madness that chilled you to the core. “You’re mine, Victoria. You belong to me ,” he’d snarled, spitting blood. “And you will learn to obey your king.”

The memories of what followed, the way he’d used you, abused you, the way his touch turned into a weapon to make you obey, his love a cage that kept you prisoner.

And now, looking at John, at the frustration and anger burning in his eyes, at the power thrumming beneath his skin… you saw a ghost of Lucian.

A ghost that threatened to haunt you.

To destroy everything.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your eyes filled with a fear you hadn’t felt in centuries. “Just… wait a little longer.”

John felt the shift. The sudden spike of fear like a flash of ice that ran through the bond. A name flashed through his mind. Lucian. And he knew, he’d never be like that man. He’d prove it to you.

“I’m not him,” John said, his voice low, his gaze never leaving yours. “Victoria, trust me. I can control it.”

“But what if…” You swallowed hard, the words sticking in your throat.

"I’m not like him,” he repeated, his voice rising. “I know my limits.”

“How can you be so sure?” You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. "It's only been days, John. Days!”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“The bloodlust,” you whispered. “I can feel it coursing through you, what if you can’t stop if I'm not there?”

“I can feel it. The bond,” he said, his gaze intense. “It… it holds me in check. I can feel when it’s too much. I can stop."

“And you think that makes you immune?” You shook your head. “You think you’re the first one who thought they could control it?”

He took a step closer, his presence filling your senses. “I’m not them .” His voice was a low growl.

“This power doesn’t make you invincible, John.”

He leaned closer, his hot breath on your skin, his eyes blazing with a hunger that made you tremble. 

“You want to see how in control I can be?”

You wanted to answer, to say something, anything, to break this strange tension that was building between you, but the words just didn’t come.

He could see the fear, the doubt in your eyes, and it fuelled the fire within him. He didn't wait for an answer. He didn’t need one.

Before you could protest, he’d lifted you effortlessly – your body suddenly weightless – and set you down on the ancient oak desk that dominated the study.

You reached for him, your fingers brushing his chest, but he caught your wrist with a grip like iron. Any word you were about to speak was silenced with a look he gave you. There was a fire in his eyes, it was unnerving, almost as if - no.

This wasn’t Lucian.

John’s touch was different. It was rough, yes, his fingers were digging into your flesh, his grip tight, but it wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t meant to hurt.

You gasped as he pushed against you to lay you down on the desk, your legs dangling over the edge, your back pressed against the cool, smooth wood.

His hands were all over you, possessively yet careful, and you felt a fraction of panic as he ripped open your blouse, the buttons scattering across the floor. Your breasts spilled free, and the cool air against your nipples made you gasp.

You wanted to cover yourself, to shield your body, but you couldn’t move.

He reached up and with a slow, deliberate movement, he untied the satin ribbon that held your hair in a ponytail. You watched him, your eyes following his every movement – the concern warring with the anticipation that thrummed in your blood.

“This will do nicely,” he murmured, almost in a growl, and he pulled your hair gently, just enough to make your head tilt back, exposing the delicate curve of your throat. 

You felt his breath on your skin, and you braced yourself for the pain, that bruising bite that haunted your past – but John didn’t hurt you. 

Instead, his lips brushed against your skin – a tender kiss between your collarbones that sent a shiver of pleasure through you. He was so close now, you could feel the heat of his body, the musky scent of his arousal, the faint taste of blood lingering on his lips. You wanted to lose yourself in him, to forget the fear that chilled you, but a part of you held back, afraid to surrender completely.

He used the ribbon to bind your wrists together, pulling your arms above your head, and you gasped as you felt the silk tighten – the sensation both restraining and arousing.

He stepped back, admiring his work, his gaze sweeping over your exposed body. Lingering on your breasts, the way they strained against the torn fabric of your blouse, the hard points of your nipples, the smooth curve of your hips.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, his voice thick with lust. But there was something else in his eyes, too – a look of possession, but also a tenderness that made your heart ache. “So fucking helpless.”

You’d heard these words before so many times, from different lips, but they had never been spoken so genuine, so affectionate, the way John spoke them.

He moved then, shedding his own clothes. You watched, your gaze locked on his, as he revealed his body to you. He was a masterpiece of masculine beauty – all sharp angles and powerful lines, muscles rigid beneath his skin, hair dusted all across his body in just the right places.

His cock, thick and long, stood out proudly like a weapon made to conquer. But it wasn’t a weapon he intended to use against you. It was an offering to you, his sacrificial offering to a goddess that laid out before him.

“Like what you see?” He growled, his eyes not leaving yours.

You nodded slowly, worlds failing you, and he chuckled in response. “That’s right, love. No talking for now, hm?” He purred, and he knelt before you, his hands ghosting up your thighs.

His touch was like a wildfire that burned every nerve ending in its wake. You writhed against the bounds, instinctively spreading your legs for him, your own offering in return.

He traced the line of your thigh, his fingers lingering on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and you gasped, your body arching instinctively towards his touch. With a swift motion, your skirt and panties were gone, and you could feel the heat radiating off him, the musk of his arousal mingling with the scent of your own desire.

“Such a perfect little cunt,” he murmured, a rough caress against your skin. His breath hot and wet against your flesh. “Already so wet… so ready for me.”

“John…” you whimpered, your body aching for something you couldn’t even name.

“Didn’t I say no talking?” You caught a grin on his face, a predatory smile that, on anyone else, would have felt repulsive. But on John, it was something else.

The grotesque mask that other men had carried was absent in John’s features. He was beautiful, and the gaze that met you, it made you feel so hot, like your blood started boiling under his touch.

There was warmth, there was care, there was trust. But most of all, you realized, there was control.

He lowered his head, his tongue darting out to taste you. You arched upwards as he made contact with your burning skin, a plea escaping you as he traced the swollen flesh of your lips.

He dove deeper then, his tongue parting your folds, drawing your clit deep into his mouth, sucking gently. 

“Fuck!” You cried out, arching your back, and the silk that bound your wrists dug into your delicate skin, a reminder of your helplessness… and yet it was something so exquisite.

John managed to melt away the layers of ice that you had built around your heart. He worshipped your body, your soul, you – it wasn’t that blind possessiveness that others had abused to command you.

“John, please…” you pleaded, your body trembling and causing your voice to break. 

He sucked on your clit harder, drawing it deep into his mouth, and you cried out again. He could feel your need, the way you throbbed and pulsed around him, the heat of your arousal a brand against his tongue.

“So fucking delicious,” he groaned. His fingers traced the swollen flesh of your lips, teasing you, tormenting you. He knew exactly what he was doing, how to drive you to the edge of madness, how to make you forget centuries of control, of command. And he was going to savour every second of it.

He watched as your body writhed beneath him, your hips bucking against his face, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

He lowered his head again, his tongue returning to its delicious work. He licked and suckled, his fingers teasing your entrance, his touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

"You're so close already,” he purred against your skin. "I can feel it. How badly you need to come. But you're not going to. Not yet."

He stood up, his cock, thick and throbbing, a silent promise of the pleasure he was withholding. He moved between your legs, his knees forcing them wider apart, your hips canting upwards, offering yourself to him.

“John…” You sobbed, your body trembling, your voice breaking. “Please… I…”

He smirked, enjoying your helplessness, your surrender. “Please what, my queen?” He pressed himself against your entrance, the tip of him teasing, tormenting. “Tell me what you want. Use your words."

“I want…” You bit your lip, the need was a burning ache that consumed you, making it hard to think, to speak. “I want... you...  inside me... please -”

“Good girl.”

He thrust into you then, one swift, powerful stroke that made you cry out – a mix of pain and pleasure so intense that it shattered the world around you.

"Fuck…” He groaned, falling forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot on your skin. “You’re so wet... so fucking tight...”

You could feel him filling you, stretching you, owning you, and a wave of desire, hot and liquid, washed over you, drowning you in a sea of sensation.

“John…” You gasped, your body trembling, moving against him. You couldn’t speak, couldn't form a coherent thought. Every nerve ending was on fire. The world was a blur of sensations – his scent, his taste, the hardness of him filling you, possessing you.

He started to move, his rhythm slow and deliberate at first, savoring the feel of you tightening around him, your body responding to him with an abandon that made him growl with possessive pleasure. He was a master craftsman, sculpting your pleasure, your pain, with exquisite care.

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “You're mine, Victoria," he growled. 

For a fleeting moment, the ghost of a memory flickered before you - that mocking voice, cold and cruel, those same words a declaration of ownership, a threat.

But John was the opposite. The way his fingers dug into your hips was a grounding pressure, not a bruise. The heat of his gaze, the hunger in his eyes, it was about needing you. His words, the same words that had once filled you with terror, now wrapped around you like a promise. He wasn’t claiming you as a possession, but acknowledging the bond between you, a bond freely given, a choice made in the face of eternity.

John understood you. He understood the darkness that you carried within you, the fears that haunted your dreams, the centuries of loneliness that had chilled your soul. And he was offering you salvation.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Or, I swear to God, I'll make you scream it.”

“Yours,” you whispered, your body arching up towards him, a silent plea. “I'm yours… ”

“Louder,” he growled, his voice thick with lust and power. “I didn't hear you.”

"I'm yours!” You screamed the words, your voice raw and unleashed, but he was already pulling back, denying you the release. Just as you were about to shatter, as that familiar wave of ecstasy threatened to crash over you, he stopped.

You cried out in frustration as he pulled back, a slow, agonizing withdrawal that left you aching, empty. “No…” You whimpered, your hips bucked upwards, seeking the friction, the completion that he was withholding.

He chuckled – a low, dark sound that sent a shiver through you – and he held you there, suspended on the very edge, drawing out the agony, enjoying your helplessness. 

“Not yet, love.”

He shifted his grip on the ribbon, pulling it tighter still, holding your wrists taut above your head, exposing you completely. You were completely at his mercy.

He lifted your hips, adjusting your angle, and then he started to move inside you again, slow, shallow thrusts that barely grazed that sensitive spot within you.

“Beg me.”

“Please… Please, John… I need…”

“Tell me,” he growled, his hips grinding against yours, a deliberate torment that sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you. “Tell me what you need.”

“I… I need to…  come…” You could barely force the words past your lips, your body writhing beneath him. Shame burned in your throat. You were the Blood Queen – you commanded, you controlled, you were obeyed.

But now… you were begging. And with every desperate plea, every tremble of your body, you felt the last vestiges of your control, the icy armour you’d built around yourself for centuries, melting away.

It was unbearable.

It was exquisite.

You were a queen, damn it.

You'd never begged anyone for anything.

Never.

You'd experienced pleasure before, in the long centuries of your existence, but nothing like this. Nothing that touched you, consumed you, on this level. And the denial – his cruel, delicious denial – was pushing you to the brink of madness.

"Please..." you begged, fully broken, the word being torn from your throat. Tears on frustration streamed down your face. “Please, I’m… I'm…”

"I know, love,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. He moved his length inside you once, giving you a taste of what he was capable of, but then stopped.

He watched you, his gaze intent, a dark hunger burning in his eyes. A queen brought to her knees, a goddess begging for his touch. And it fuelled him, this power he held over you, the way your body trembled beneath him, the desperate pleas that spilled from your lips.

His hand left your hips, and you felt a pang of loss at the absence of his touch. You whimpered, your mind fogged with need, as his fingers trailed a path down your cheek, brushing away your tears. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his thumb caressing the delicate skin beneath your eye.

You watched, your eyes wide, as he suddenly fully moved away from your body. Your gaze followed his hand as he reached down, his fingers wrapping around his length, the movement slow and deliberate. You could see the way his muscles flexed in his forearm, the way the veins stood out beneath his skin.

He was hard, his cock slick with your arousal, and he began to stroke himself – long, slow strokes that made your breath catch in your throat.

“Tell me you're mine again, Victoria,” he whispered, his voice a dark, seductive purr, his gaze locked on yours, holding you captive even as his touch was absent. “Tell me you’re mine, and I might, just might, give you what you need.”

You wanted to beg him, to plead for him to come back to you, to fill you, to end this delicious torture. But the words wouldn't come. He had silenced you, and his control was absolute. You could only watch as he touched himself, his fingers working rhythmically, his breath coming faster.

And the sight of it – of him touching himself, pleasuring himself, while you lay there, bound and helpless – sent a fresh wave of desire crashing through you, so intense, so powerful, that it made you cry out again, the sound a broken sob of frustration.

He smiled, a cruel, triumphant grin. “Say. It.”

"Yours,” you whispered, your bound hands clawing at the wooden desk, your body trembling. Then, thrashing your legs, you screamed in frustration. "Yours! I'm yours, for fuck’s sake!"

You heard a chuckle. You felt his gaze on you, burning into your skin, and then he moved – not back to the desk, but lower, towards the floor.

He knelt between your legs, his head level with your exposed cunt.

“You're so wet, Victoria.” His voice was a rough murmur, and you felt his breath against your skin – hot, teasing, as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “And so fucking beautiful…”

His tongue darted out, tracing a slow, wet path along your slit.

You moaned, a raw, uncontrolled sound that escaped your lips before you could stop it. It was a sound so lewd, you were almost feeling ashamed of it leaving your lips.

He ignored the pleas that spilled from your mouth then, his tongue continuing its delicious torture. You could feel him tasting you, exploring you, the heat of his mouth a brand against your most sensitive flesh.

“You said you wanted me in control,” he murmured against your skin. He lifted his head, his gaze meeting yours. And then, finally, mercifully , he stood between your legs again, his cock teasing your entrance yet again, the heat of him branding you.

You thought you were going to die.

The frustration – the unbearable, aching need – was building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter, a spring about to snap. You’d begged him, pleaded with him, surrendered your pride, your power – and still, he held you captive on the very edge of release.

You watched, through tear-blurred vision, as a muscle twitched in his jaw, a sign of the effort it was taking to hold himself back, to deny himself the pleasure that burned between you. And then, as if he could bear it no longer, he shifted, his gaze meeting yours.

“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough with unspent passion. “Watch me when you come. ”

And then, with a guttural growl that ripped from the depths of his chest, he slammed his hips against yours. He didn’t tease or torment; he simply took you, driving deep, burying himself completely, his cock throbbing within you. The sensation was so intense, so utterly consuming, that the world around you dissolved into a blinding white light.

Every muscle in your body tensed, your back arching off the desk, your bound wrists straining against the silk, your breath catching in a gasp, the pleasure building, spiralling, threatening to consume you whole.

You didn't just feel your release… you felt him.

As you teetered on the edge of release, the bond between you crackled with a new intensity. It was like a door opening in your mind, a sudden rush of images and emotions that weren't yours – yet felt intimately familiar.

You saw through his eyes.

You felt the grit of sand beneath his feet, the scorching desert sun on his skin. The rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he moved – as you moved – through a hailstorm of bullets, a deadly dance where life and death were partners, where survival hinged on a fraction of a second.

You tasted blood – coppery and metallic, bitter on his tongue – and the taste sent a wave of protective fury surging through you. You felt his need to shield his brothers, to stand between them and the storm – a need you’d never felt before, not with this fierce intensity.

You heard the crackle of radio static, the urgent whispers of his team – Ghost, Soap, Gaz. You saw them not as shadowy figures, but as he saw them, their faces etched with concern, their voices laced with the unshakeable bond of shared experience, of mutual trust.

He needed them, you realized with a startling clarity. It wasn’t just duty or obligation that bound him to his team; it was a deep, primal need for connection, for belonging. They were his anchor, his lifeline in a world that had seen too much death, too much loss.

And then, amidst the chaos and the comradery, you felt it… his loneliness.

He had friends, brothers-in-arms, yes. But no one to share his heart with, no one to offer him the kind of love that could soothe his soul.

You saw him seeking solace in fleeting encounters, in the arms of women who were drawn to his strength, his charisma – but none who could truly touch him, none who could see the depths of the man beneath the soldier’s mask.

You watched as he entered the ballroom. His gaze swept over the crowd, a hunter’s gaze, sharp and assessing – until it landed on you.

And at that moment, everything shifted.

You felt a spark of recognition, not your own, but his – a pull, an undeniable connection that transcended time and space. You felt the air crackle around you, the world fading to gray as his focus narrowed, zeroing in on you, as if you were the only thing that mattered.

You saw yourself through his eyes – not as a queen, not as a powerful creature of the night, but as something more .

A spark in the darkness. A beacon in a storm.

He mocked the idea of “love at first sight” to his team, but you felt the truth surging through him – the undeniable pull, the spark of recognition that had ignited within him the moment his eyes met yours.

It was like two halves of a whole, finally finding each other after lifetimes of searching.

He needed them. His brothers, his team.

And he needed you.

The world shattered around you as you came undone. You screamed – a raw, primal sound that ripped from your throat – as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you, so intense, so powerful, it was almost painful. You saw stars, felt the universe contracting, imploding, until there was nothing left but that blinding, all-consuming white-hot pleasure.

Your body convulsed, shaking violently against the desk, your bound wrists straining against the silk, the pain a distant echo against the unbearable pleasure that ripped through you. Your legs trembled uncontrollably, your toes curling, your inner muscles clenching around him with a force that made you cry out again. You were barely aware of anything but the sheer, mind-blowing intensity of it, wave after wave crashing over you, each one threatening to pull you under.

And through it all, you felt him. Solid, unyielding, his cock still buried deep inside you, sharing that cataclysmic wave of pleasure, his own control barely holding as he rode out your high.

And then, just as you thought you might pass out, as the darkness threatened to swallow you whole, you felt him shift. His hips angled, and a slow, agonizing emptiness opened up within you as he pulled back, his cock dragging against your senstitive walls.

You cried out as that emptiness became an unbearable ache. Your legs trembled violently, your pussy contracted around nothing, desperate to reclaim that lost fullness, but he was already gone.

Your eyes flew open, your vision blurred with the intensity of your climax. You watched, breathless, as he withdrew from you, his cock slick, pulsating. His gaze was burning into yours, a dark hunger in his eyes, and he stroked himself, once, twice, then faster – his breath coming in ragged gasps, his muscles tense with the effort of holding back.

And you watched, mesmerized, as he surrendered to his own release. It started with a shudder, a low growl tearing from his throat - a sound that echoed the primal need that still throbbed between you. And then, he came.

It turned into a tremor, a tightening of his muscles, and then the first, thick rope of his cum erupted from him, arcing through the air, landing hot and heavy on your belly, just below your navel. 

He came again and again. You watched, mesmerized, as each jet pulsed from him – a viscous, pearlescent stream that splattered across your skin, each spasm a silent declaration of his possession, a branding that went far deeper than any bite. His essence, thick and warm, pooled in the hollow of your belly, a tangible, intoxicating reminder of the power he held over you.

You lay there, breathless, your body still trembling, watching as the last drops of his come slipped down your skin, a trail of fire that made you ache with a mix of satisfaction and a longing that went beyond the physical.

He’d claimed you in every way imaginable. A kiss. A bite. Your blood. And now… this. A mark of possession on your very skin.

He collapsed against you, his chest heaving, his breath hot. His eyes softened as he met your gaze. A vulnerability in their depths you hadn't seen before.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice rough with passion and triumph, laced with a new tenderness that made your heart ache. He loosened the fabric around your wrists, finally granting you reprieve.

“You're mine, Victoria,” he whispered, his breaths still fast and shallow. “All mine.”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. “I know, John,” you whispered, a knowing smile curving your lips. “I know.”

With ease, he pulled you up and held you to his chest as he sat on the desk, cradling you in his arms. You rested your head against him, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart, a sound that filled you with a sense of peace you hadn't known was possible.

And as he held you close, the bond between you thrumming with a shared peace and understanding, a wave of empathy washed over you. You saw the echoes of his past – the fierce loyalty to his team, the unshakeable bond of brotherhood, the aching loneliness that had shadowed him even amidst the comradery of war.

You’d seen how much he loved those men – not in the way he loved you, not with that fierce, consuming passion – but he needed them. They were his family, his brothers. 

And you were not someone to hold him back, to dictate his life.

“What happened to him?” John asked, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. He didn’t need to say the name. You both knew who he meant. The ghost of Lucian still lingered in the shadows of your past, a reminder of how love could twist and turn into something monstrous.

“I killed him,” you said simply, your voice devoid of emotion. It had been a necessity. But the memory still left a bitter taste in your mouth.

“I’m sorry.” John leaned down and pressed a kiss to your hair, his lips lingering on the soft strands, the scent of you filling his senses. “It won’t ever happen again, Victoria,” he whispered, his voice a vow. “Not while I'm here. Not as long as I live.”

With a tenderness that surprised you, he reached for the discarded fabric of your skirt, gathering it up gently. He wiped away the traces of his release from your skin. His touch was careful, almost reverent, his eyes never leaving you. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. He wasn't just a creature of darkness and instinct. He was a man who cared. A man who wanted to treasure you, to protect you. To love you.

You snuggled closer, content to simply be held. 

You were safe.

You were loved.

“Go back to them,” you whispered into his chest.

He stiffened slightly, his hand pausing in its gentle stroking of your hair. “What?”

“Your brothers,” you said, your voice gaining strength. “They need you, John. I saw it. Felt it.”

“But… what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.” You smiled, a genuine smile, the first he’d seen since the transformation. “The bond is strong, John. It can withstand a little distance.”

He looked at you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, any trace of fear. But there was none. Only love. And trust. And a surprising understanding.

You were giving him his freedom. You were letting him go.

“Go,” you whispered, your fingertips brushing his cheek. “Go back to them. I trust you.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching yours, a complex mix of emotions flickering across his features – relief, longing, gratitude, and a touch of that old, familiar stubbornness.

“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice a low rumble, his gaze intense.

You smiled, cupping his face in your hands. “I’ve endured centuries without you, John,” you whispered. “A few days… weeks… even months… it’s nothing.” Your smile widened, a hint of playfulness entering your eyes. “Besides…” You trailed your fingers down his chest. "We have all of eternity to make up for the time apart.”

He groaned, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you closer. “Don't tempt me.”

You chuckled, a soft, husky sound. “Go, John,” you repeated, your voice firm, your gaze unwavering. “You need them, too.”

He hesitated, then, with a sigh, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Alright.” His eyes searched yours, a promise in their depths. “I’ll be back.”

He glanced at the torn remnants of your blouse, still clinging to your body. He reached out, his fingers brushing the silk, a touch that was both gentle and possessive, and with a swift movement, he pulled the fabric away.

Then, he reached for his own shirt – the black T-shirt he’d been wearing - and pulled it over your head, settling it around your shoulders. His scent enveloped you, a tangible reminder of his presence.

You watched him, a soft smile curving your lips, as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Just, promise me you’ll be careful.”

"I promise." He kissed you then – deep, lingering, possessive – the promise sealed with his lips against yours, a tangible reassurance that he would do everything in his power to keep his word.

And then, with a final glance, a silent vow in his eyes, he was gone.

You stood there for a long moment, your body still tingling from his touch, the scent of him lingering in the air – a comfort and a torment.

He would return.

You had no doubt.

But the world outside these walls, it was a dangerous place.

For both of you.

[captivatingcherub]

My 🤍Vanilla Scented🤍 Everything Shower

Hello, my dears! This is kind of a step-by-step guide/how to on my shower routine :) my favorite compliment to get is that I smell good and since doing this I get that at least once a day! My go to is Vanilla or Coconut scents! I usually do a combination of the two <3

1. Before your shower

I personally believe you have to set the vibes of your shower first, I don’t always listen to music while I shower, sometimes I just like to take that time to think, but if I do I set up my phone/speaker in the shower, make sure I have a towel to dry my hands if I need, and find a playlist!

I also love incense, candles, or essential oils while I’m showering! If I have a headache or I’m not feeling good I’ll use essential oils that target that kind of thing and I find the steam + oils really helps!

2. Shampoo

I like to go top to bottom when I shower! I find it makes me feel the cleanest! So step one is shampoo, I still have not found the perfect shampoo and conditioner for me yet (if anyone has any recommendations please lmk) I’m using the Tresseme Keratin one right now but I want to try more!

Double cleanse your hair!! After I shampoo and rinse the first time I go right back in and shampoo again! Some people use two different shampoos, I would like to do that but I haven’t found any I love enough yet. This makes your scalp so clean and my hair is on the thinner side and I find that this makes my hair look less weighed down after day 1!

3. Hair Mask (Twice a Week)

I use a bunch of different hair masks, usually for different things (damage repair, hydration, elasticity) but it’s totally up to you! I feel like hair masks are so treatment based you really have to find which one works for you and your hair type/hair needs.

Leave the mask in for 5-10 minutes, we’ll do the next couple steps with it sitting in your hair!

Tip: keep a claw clip or hair tie in the shower so you can keep your hair up while it absorbs the product!

*If you don’t use a hair mask put your conditioner in at this step and leave in to soak into your hair the same!*

4. Wash #1

Double cleansing is everything to me, when I tell you like two years ago I was trying everything to smell good, it’s embarrassing lol but I was struggling because I didn’t know what to do + I have rather sensitive skin that reacts to some products in a less than great way so I have found that double cleansing everything helps so much!

For this first wash I use an antibacterial bar soap! Specifically the Dial antibacterial one but you can use whatever you want, this came in a huge pack and I’m only like halfway through lol. I know people love Dove and I want to as well but as far as I know they’re big time Z**nists and I try to avoid!

So yeah, brand of soap doesn’t really matter to me as long as it’s an antibacterial one! That will get rid of the bacteria that produces BO

5. Shaving Time

I know not everyone shaves but I love have smooth legs so this is how I do it!

First, I’ll go in with a scrub! There are a few I like (Tree Hut has great ones and a million scents to choose, Bath and Body Works has some, they’re not my favorite but they work, I really like the OGX coconut coffee one, not expensive and smells great!)

Then, shaving cream! If I’m out of shaving cream I’ll use conditioner instead but you just want something to kinda lube up your legs before you shave lol. As for shaving creams I’m not too picky, I really like the EOS vanilla shaving cream and I’ll get that when I can but I don’t find that the smells sticks around from it so whatever shaving cream works best for you!

Finally, the shaving, I use a 3-5 blade razor, usually the generic brand from Target lol but I find they work really well and I hardly ever get cuts from them! Anything less than 3 blades I find myself getting nicked way more!

6. Conditioner!

So, after you shave, you wanna rinse the hair mask out completely and apply your conditioner! (I’ve been using the matching Tresseme Keratin conditioner but again I’m not obsessed with it)

*if you skipped the hair mask step you can either keep your conditioner in for longer or rinse it out at this step!*

I like to leave my conditioner soaking in my hair same as the mask making sure to get the ends of my hair really well!

7. Brush your Teeth

Some people think I’m crazy for this but I way prefer to brush my teeth in the shower, plus it gives me something to do while I wait for various hair products to soak in haha, idk if anyone cares about what I use but I use an electric toothbrush and usually Crest Whitening toothpaste!

I also do this every day, not just in the shower but scrape your tongue! It helps keep my mouth feeling clean and fresh all day I cannot recommend enough!

8. Rinse your Hair

Get all the conditioner out! It’s healthiest to rinse your hair in cold water and I really do feel a difference in the smoothness and moisture in my hair when I do but it’s hard lol so if you can do a cold rinse (or better yet rest of your shower) that would be best, I usually turn it to a lower warm and pretend it’s doing the same thing lol

9. Wash, wash, wash your face

Now that my hair is clean and all the product is out of it I move on to washing myself, you want to make sure you get all the product residue from your hair off of you! That’s a huge cause of body acne and irritated skin!

I wash my face first, I like the cleansers from The Ordinary and Good Molecules but keep in mind I don’t really struggle with acne, in fact I have pretty dry skin so I try to go for more moisturizing ones! What is good for my face might not be what you need :)

Oh what’s that? You thought we were done? Nope! Wash your face again! Double cleansing saves my skin but kills my wallet lol! I wear makeup and sunscreen and touch my face all day, I want to make sure I’m getting all of that off and then ALSO cleaning my skin underneath! It has made a huge difference in the way my skin both looks and feels!

10. Body Wash!

Last step! Grab your body wash of choice! I have been using Bath and Body Works Madagascar Vanilla scent but I like pretty much any vanilla scented body washes! Then, I take a loofah and scrub my whole body, making sure to get my back and legs because the run off from the conditioner isn’t good to leave on and will clog your pores!

11. Out of the Shower

Ok! Now that you’re all done in the shower I thought I’d tell you about my post shower smell good process because it’s just as important lol. I start with a body lotion (I use a matching Vanilla scent to my body wash) I hear putting body oil on first then lotion makes your skin super soft but I haven’t tried yet!

Anyways, put the lotion EVERYWHERE, arms, legs, chest, stomach, feet, get your whole body nice and smooth!

I use a body/hair mist, right now it’s the Tropical Vanilla one from Pacifica and I put that in my hair and all over the lotion while it absorbs!

Then for deodorant, literally the only one that works for me and doesn’t give me a rash is the Secret Clinical Gel, it smells like nothing, I wish I could use one that smells good but unfortunately my body hates them :/

Lastly! Purfume/purfume oil! My favorites are Sweet Cream and Fresh Cashmere by Philosophy and I’m using the Creamy Coconut perfume oil by Kuumba Made!

All done! Thank you so much for reading! I hope this helped or you at least found this fun! Have a good one <3

[cod-dump]

Price has known about Ghost and Soap’s relationship since it began— he monitored it closely at first, confirming that Soap wasn’t pressured or coerced into some kind of relationship with his superior, and ensuring it doesn’t affect their work. But if anything, their partnership is a match made in heaven. He hears the playful banter, but Soap always listens to Ghost’s command, and Ghost never ‘pulls rank’ if Soap suggests a different course of action.

Price wasn’t going to mention it— there are technically rules about fraternization, but whether or not he’s going to enforce them is questionable at best. But he individually gives them both a not-so-subtle message of “be careful, this is how people can get compromised”. They both tried to pretend they didn’t know what Price meant, but Price retorted with something like “nothing goes over my head.” The two are a little freaked out, but are at least comforted by the fact that they don’t have to worry so much about secrecy anymore, they were just free to be themselves and with each other

A Crack In Your Castle Of Glass

SoapGhost

TW: character death

YOU’VE BEEN WARNED

___

“This is how people can be compromised.”

It was a warning that they both didn’t take to heart like they should’ve.

Ghost made a point to not let people too close. Not to let them through his walls, into his bubble. But Soap… He wasn’t like others. He was genuine, not hiding some ulterior motive. His smiles were warm and he laughed at his lame jokes and even fired some back. No, Soap wasn’t like others.

So Ghost let him through his walls.

Soap never thought about actually befriending a superior officer, especially not to this extent. The hand holding was definitely more than friendly at times. Late night phone calls, watching movies together while not being afraid to lean on each other. Soap found himself laughing more and more at Ghost’s jokes even though a month ago he wouldn’t have found them that funny.

Neither one was prepared for falling in love. In their line of work it’s a dangerous thing. Both were scared that one of them would be shipped off or transferred elsewhere to make sure their relationship doesn’t interfere with their work. So they started to hide. Secret meetings, trying to appear very professional in front of everyone, even when it wasn’t called for.

No one questioned anything so they thought they were in the clear. But Price noticed. He had called them to his office separate. Soap was sweating bullets while Ghost was very quiet. At first Price didn’t say anything about what they feared, but then he looked them straight in the eye and told them both the same thing.

“Be careful.”

Confusion for both of them, “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

Price looked Soap up and down, “Nothing gets past me, sergeant.”

Soap was nervous after that. When he met up with Ghost he, too, seemed to be thinking about things. Things being their relationship.

“Price knows.”

Ghost grunts in response, choosing to say nothing. Soap anxiously looks at Ghost, wondering if the man was going to end it. Cut this budding relationship before they go too deep. He expected Ghost to say something, tell him to leave him alone and that whatever they had was no more. But Ghost didn’t say anything. Soap looked away, feeling a shiver of uncertainty travel up his spine. But that shiver went away when Ghost took his hand into his and squeezed.

That’s all Soap needed to know that Ghost wanted him and that the fear of them being separated wasn’t going to chase him off. Soap squeezed back. It was uncertain where this would take them but he wasn’t so afraid of facing it with Ghost at his side.

_

Price wanted them to be happy. Ghost had been through so much and so had Soap. They were an unlikely pair but they truly made each other happy.

He told himself he would end it if it interfered with their work. That if it pushed past the invisible line that Price had placed. But they never did anything that would make him have to act. They communicated about things, had a two sided relationship. The professional side and the domestic side. These sides were on a coin and could never co-exist at the same time. Price told himself if the wrong side was shown in the wrong situation he would put an end to it.

But it never came to that.

He’s seen them when they think no one can see them. Soap leaning into Ghost’s side with a big smile on his face. Ghost being visibly more relaxed around him, Price being able to see the smile in his eyes.

He wanted them to be happy. But he should’ve ended it when he first noticed the signs. He should’ve done something to stop it so this wouldn’t have happened.

So now Price can only blame himself.

_

They were in sync on the field. The closer they get the more unstoppable they felt. They grew cocky but neither would admit it. They weren’t afraid of the fight in front of them, laughed at the threats thrown at them.

Ghost had his enemies but he wasn’t scared of them. Their attempts at his life were laughable at best, they never had anything on him.

They were so good at hiding their relationship that they never thought it would be an issue. Price wordlessly approved of it so they believed that would be the end of it. They believed that there wouldn’t be anything else to worry about. That they didn’t have anything on Ghost.

Then Soap was taken.

Ghost lost his mind. Price wasn’t able to hold him back and convince him to take a more calculated approach. He just ran off, demanding blood. It took a week to find him again, or at least locate where he was last seen. They found a warehouse, bodies— But not Ghost or Soap. Price sent Gaz back out, choosing to look by himself.

He just had that horrible feeling in his gut that he knew he wasn’t going to like what he found. He searched the warehouse, finally coming to a room. In that room— the scene before him broke Price’s heart. He felt like a failure, unable to hold back the tears. He should’ve separated them from the start.

He wanted them to be happy, but this is where that happiness had gotten them.

And now Price has two good men to bury.

[fixfoxnox]

Use this ask to ramble about anything, better if it's about Roach 🪳💖

(btw I think I found you in twitter by accident, I'm not sure, too anxious to follow anyway)

AHHHHH YESSS ROACH RAMBLE ASK MUAH MUAH (KISSES)

I haven't gotten to yell about my boy by himself in so long omggggg

Oh also before I forget, you probably did find my Twitter! I haven't really made any posts about it cause, tbh, I still have no idea what I want to post there, but I do indeed have a Twitter! It is here for anyone who wants to follow me. Right now I've just really been dropping random cod thoughts and reposting a lot of artists content, but who knows maybe I'll start doing some Twitter exclusive stuff or thread fics or something (has no idea how thread fics work). Anyways on to the boy:

I'm using this as an opportunity to just talk about whatever comes to mind and the first thing I wanna start with are like some alternate ideas I had for Roach's family before I landed on the Sanderson dynamic that I have now:

Roach from a military family

Imagine how fun it would be if Roach was raised in a military family, especially if they still had that overprotective aspect to them. Like baby boy who was raised around the military so he's been intimately familiar with it

Maybe he had some different talent and his family wanted him to go down a different path and not go military like them

He says fuck that and joins the military and fucks around and ends up joining taskforce 141

Extra funny points if his family don't realize that he's on a specialized taskforce cause he was so nervous about telling them and they find out in dramatic fashion

Maybe he drops in to save them on a mission or something like 🤭 the drama of it all I love it

Also side note but I was thinking so hard about the Sanderson boys (Johnathan and Eddie) and I can't draw so I have to snatch some Face Claims for them so this is what I think Roach's older brothers look like:

Johnathan is played by Lee Pace don't test me this man is tall and probably acts as his own security at his bar and also is a goofball and idk Lee Pace is perfect (this should not detract from me also thinking that Lee Pace is a perfect fc for König)

Eddie to me has to look something like Luke Norris idk I feel like he needs a softer and more like nervous/panicky energy than Johnathan and this man fits don't test me don't test me

Also for anyone who is wondering: No, I still don't have a face claim for my Roach. In my mind he changes so much I see so many different artists versions of Roach in my brain at all times so choosing an actor for him is so hard. I have...thoughts, but idk that anyone would enjoy the thoughts that I have so we'll pretend I don't have them.

More on Roach cause he's my lil guy, my lil dude, my lil buddy

Listen y'all know Southern Roach is my bias but also also also have been falling in love more and more with the idea of Russian Roach. He would be so funnn like he works with Nik beforehand maybe he was undercover with the ultranationalists. I also enjoy the idea of him cursing Shepherd and/or Makarov out in Russian I think it would be fun.

However Southern Roach rains supreme I was thinking so hard about a ghostroachsoap au recently based loosely on the song "Farmer's Daughter" by Rodney Atkins. (Y'all let me know if you want the full au its really just farm au cuteness)

Thinking so hard of Roach just being beloved in his small town as this Golden Child precious little dude then he goes off to the military and finally let's that feral side come out a little. Imagine how funny it would be for Ghost and Soap to go home with Roach and see their boyfriend pu on this innocent act and listen to people describe him as this perfect little guy when they know for a fact that Roach is like borderline feral two steps away from being considered a wild animal.

"He's such a good boy, would never hurt a fly."

Ghost and Soap who watched Roach tear a man's throat out with his teeth last week:

Also taking the opportunity to say that we as a community need to start acknowledging hoe canonically skilled Roach is with weapons! Like this is a boy who had both Price and Soap cursing because they couldn't get any kills because he was killing them to fast. This is a boy who beat Ghost (his luitenant) on a rifle test by a wide margin and on the test that ghost beat him he only fell behind four points.

Roach canonical has several extremely brutal takedown moves that he can do, including the pickaxes and the little fucking kick thing he does to the one guy before stabbing him. Also he's like straight up flipping his guns and doing tricks with them and shit in his weapons inspections, Soap talks about how good he is with C4 and shit.

Like I think people see the like spots where he got into trouble and nearly died in the campaign and take that to mean that he's like not as good as Ghost and Soap and needed their help a lot but like honest to God all of the trouble he gets in to is less because he fucked up and more because the world seems to have it out for him.

The roof breaking out from under him, the ice cracking on him, explosions happen to rock his ass just as soon as he hits an open field. Like someone was trying to kill this little fuck and two outta the three times they failed.

And like its not like Roach doesn't help himself during these situations. Like when he fell yeah he had Soap guiding him but he was the one having the run and slide and do all that shit like no amount of Soap's guiding could have made that easy for him.

Also this boy almost falls off a cliff but is able to get himself back on track enough that he not only finishes climbing the cliff but then does a whole ass stealth mission basically invading a Russian military base on his own???

Roach is a very talented and skilled bug and we should all be patting him on the head for how cool he is.

Also I think its absolutely funny cause In my mind he's smaller than Soap and Ghost both like height and build wise (not small, just smaller than those two behemoths) and so when the trio of them are together people like tend to underestimate him meanwhile Ghost and Soap are like "Uh, no, no you uh hey dude no" because they know that Roach will gladly fuck people up.

I also love the idea of Roach appearing out of nowhere like a fucking cryptid. There is no talking behind Roach's back or keeping secrets he is everywhere at once and will appear out of thin air. Ghost and Soap have to like fully leave base if they want to plan a surprise for him and even then both of them have no trust that Roach won't somehow pop into existence next to them waahahhahaha

Alright thats all for my rambling for now

[lazybutsmexy]

Bird hunting

Ghost x fem!reader x Soap

Chapter 6: Bird Song

Ch. 5 < Series Masterlist > Ch. 7

Warnings: body horror, graphic description of injuries, panic attack, cursing, hurt/comfort, angst

Summary: Price and Hartford have both gotten someone stolen from them. Simon and Johnny want to hear their bird singing again.

Do not read if you're under 18. This work contains mature and triggering themes.

Word count: 3300~

At nightfall, the Task Force was back at base. The ride had been silent, each lost in their own thoughts. After finding the footprints in the mud, the glove, and the dart, not much else had been found, meaning the police would only have those to work on. It wasn’t looking too promising, and the soldiers couldn’t help but feel useless, having to sit by idly while Canary was somewhere out there, suffering only God knew what. 

Ghost and Soap ate their dinner in silence, or rather inhaled it without tasting it, before storming straight to the showers. The rest of the team watched them go in silence, choosing to let them be for the time being. Their captain couldn’t help but empathize with them, he couldn’t begin to understand what they were going through. 

Price had been for a long time the only person who knew those two were more than just comrades in arms, and more than simple friends. He had been quite shocked that someone managed to get under Simon’s skin like that, but wasn’t so surprised to know that it had been Johnny who did it. 

It was even less surprising to see Canary joining the duo - they had always been close from the moment she joined the team, after all. The young woman had that strange ability to worm herself into the hearts of people without even trying to. Price had quickly noticed how easily she could make Soap’s mouth crack in a grin, even at the most difficult moments, and how Ghost’s glare would soften in the slightest the moment she walked into whatever room he was in. 

Several moments passed until he finished his own dinner, and took his leave to shut himself in his office. He decided he could spend the night there - even though he despised sleeping on the uncomfortable couch for how unforgiving it was on his back, he didn’t dare sleep away from the phone. 

~~~~~~

Johnny sat on his bed, freshly dressed in a long sleeved shirt - that used to be Simon’s until he never gave it back - and sweatpants, his hair still wet and flat on his head after his shower. He had begun unpacking his bags, when something had stopped him in his tracks. He just stared at the object while his clothes, medkit, and other necessities surrounded him. 

Simon walked in and locked the door behind himself, immediately pulling off his balaclava and tossing it in the damper. His hair was still slightly wet, and he was toweling it off when he noticed Johnny staring into his bag with a forlorn expression on his face. Simon was sure a similar expression was on his own, but it tugged at his heart strings to see it on him of all people. He stepped closer to Johnny, peering into his bag to see what had caught his attention, and his eyes fell on the pocket-sized tube of 80 SPF sunscreen at the bottom. 

“...I need to find her,” Johnny’s voice was hoarse when he broke the silence, “I need to let her know I did listen to her.” He finally reached down to hold the small tube in his hands, fidgeting with it before leaving it on the bedside table. 

Simon sighed as he sat down on his own bed, his knees just inches away from Johnny’s and his eyes fixed on his hands. He picked on a bit of skin around his thumb nail, wondering what he could say. He never felt confident when reassuring people, and tended to go straight to the point. It was easier on the battlefield, to grumble about the mission and move on, and leave the grieving for later. 

But this situation was much different - this was not a battlefield, and he was also worried sick. He also bluntly refused to call it ‘grief’, because that would give his mind permission to consider Canary dead. And until he saw her body he would refuse to believe it still. 

“...Hartford may call Price anytime with news,” Simon finally sighed and rubbed his eyes a bit harsher than necessary, “we need to get some shut-eye while we can.” They both looked like they had just been through a wringer, with dark circles becoming more evident under their eyes. He felt Johnny’s eyes on him and he looked up, a soft breath leaving his lips when he nodded in reply. 

“...Yeah, I’m off to bed now,” Johnny mumbled while he began putting his items back in their respective places, emptying his bed. “You should also sleep.”

“I’ll try,” Simon conceded, before laying down on his bed with a groan. After a few moments, Simon quietly called for him, lifting his blanket. 

Johnny’s eyes softened as he climbed on Simon’s bed, laying snugly between his arms. His nose pressed against Simon’s neck and he inhaled his scent. He felt his strong hands rubbing the knots on his back and left out a quiet groan. Slowly, his eyelids dropped, and he used the last bits of his consciousness to place butterfly kisses on any stretch of Simon’s skin he could reach, earning an appreciative moan in return. 

Although his worries and fears would easily leave his mind, Johnny let himself fall into the clutches of sleep. It was in the privacy of Simon’s embrace he  - and Canary - always felt the safest, after all.  

~~~~~~

Timothy Hartford looked up at the clear sky, feeling a bittersweet sensation of pleasure that it was such a lovely night for a stargazing date. He slowly, almost reluctantly, lowered his gaze to the line of trees a few feet away from the road he was standing on. He focused his eyes once again on the small red sedan crashed into one of the pine trees.  The sight wasn’t any different than the one he had arrived to in a frenzy minutes ago, only that now instead of just a couple of police officers, it was surrounded by firemen, CSI, and the forensic team. 

At first sight, it looked like any other poor, unlucky driver who underestimated the windy roads. But there was nothing routinary about this crash. Some officers who had been patrolling or were off-duty were loitering around outside the bright yellow tape. There was no traffic at this time of night, so all the focus was on the tragedy unfolding in front of them for one of their own. 

The detective steeled himself and forced his feet to move him forward, once again to the car that once belonged to Officer Melanie Kirk. As he got closer to the car, he grabbed a pair of gloves from a CSI’s kit and put them on.

As he approached the forensic doctor, who was hunched over the driver’s seat, he spared another look at Melanie Kirk - the tenth tonight -, still strapped to her seat with her head hanging to the side. Her eyes were half-lidded, and a fine thread of red ran from her lips to her chin. No changes. 

“She was shot straight in the chest,” the doctor said to the detective, bringing him back from his wandering thoughts, and pointing at the small circle sitting in the middle of a sea of dried blood, “I’d say she was dead before the car impacted the tree.” Hartford let his eyes linger for a moment longer on his former student, and looked at the state of the car. The front was scrunched up in a deadly hug around the tree, and the windshield was broken, but there was one little hole in the glass that looked too perfect to be the result of the collision. 

“Her gun?” He still asked - he needed to make sure.

“In her gym bag, passenger side,” said one of the officers processing the scene, “but this was in her hand,” he added, handing Hartford a transparent evidence bag with her phone. 

He held it in his hand, and pressed the power button, immediately being greeted by Melanie’s smiley face holding a sleeping newborn. The recent memory of the young officer excitedly thrusting the phone in his face to show him - and anyone in her vicinity - pictures of her baby nephew assaulted him, and he forced himself to pay no mind to the pit in his stomach. “Do we know if she was talking to someone when this happened?”

“Yeah, the police dispatcher,” the officer sighed, “she’s waiting for your call.” Just as the officer finished his sentence and Hartford nodded in response, the phone lit up again with an incoming call notification, the contact picture showed Melanie hugging a woman who looked exactly like her, except older, and the name “Momma” flashing on the screen. 

“...Has anyone told her parents?” Hartford looked at the officer, who only bit his lips and frowned, shaking his head at him in sorrow. The detective felt at least two decades older as he sighed, watching the screen until the call ended. He was well aware that it was a message none of them ever wanted to deliver. “...I will. I know them.” He handed the phone back to the officer and looked over at the car, which was now being torn apart by the firemen to take the body out. 

A silence fell over the crowd of police officers, as they watched the young woman being pulled from her death place and into a body bag. Something had shifted over in the air, and the detective recognized it, the same bloodthirsty determination that he had caught on Soap and Ghost earlier that afternoon, but this time on all of the people present at the scene.

He pulled his phone out and looked at it, briefly wondering which of the many calls he had to make should come first. He made up his mind and searched through the contacts, finding his choice and pressing the ‘call’ button. 

~~~~~~

Simon stood in front of Canary’s apartment door, taking his spare key and unlocking it quietly. The hinges creaked as it opened, and he made a mental note about oiling them as soon as he could. The apartment was cozy and welcoming, the scent of a rose-scented candle wafting through the air. The warm light of the sunset colored the walls in an orange hue, and although the sight usually brought a sense of calmness on him, his heart was filled with dread. 

He caught sight of Johnny storming out of the living room area of the apartment, directing a teary, angry glare at Simon before violently shoving him to the side and stomping out of the apartment. Simon followed him to the door and tried to call out to him, but he had disappeared from the hallways. 

Slowly, he walked further into the apartment, his right hand twitching for a gun he knew wasn’t there. As he rounded the corner of the entrance hall, he saw Canary standing in front of the window, staring out to the skies. 

Simon’s heart dropped to his stomach as he took in her appearance. She was naked, and her hair was matted. Bruises of different sizes and in different stages of healing covered her once soft skin. He could see the blatant signs of fractured ribs, and dried blood coating her inner thighs. As he stood there, completely frozen, Canary slowly turned around, revealing more bruises to her front, a long horizontal bruise around her neck, and bitemarks wherever he looked. When he looked at her face, he felt tears pooling in his eyes. Her eyes were blotched red, her lips swollen, her nose crooked, and blood dripping from every orifice. 

Her lips cracked open but didn’t move, and he still heard her accusing voice in his brain. 

“...I waited for you, and you didn’t come.”

~~~~~~

When Simon finally came to, he was heaving for air, his lungs aching as he tried desperately to breathe. He had sat up at one point, and clutched at his clothed chest with a deathgrip. He felt scorching hot and freezing cold at the same time, fear frying his nerves all over his body. His sight was blurred with tears, but he still recognized Johnny’s shape by his side and felt the strong weight of his hand on his trembling back. 

Johnny was talking to him, but he could barely register it over his panting and the loud buzzing in his ears. Slowly, though, his voice, gently calling his name, prevailed, and Simon turned to face him with tears streaming down his face. Johnny kept talking to him and rubbing his back, coaching him into taking deep breaths. 

Simon forced himself to follow his lead and slow his panting down, finally managing it after several minutes and breaking into a sob. He clutched at his knees and his head fell forward, the pain in his chest unrelenting. 

Johnny moved then, tenderly cupping his head and tugging him towards himself, carefully holding Simon’s head into his shoulder. Hot tears drenched his shirt, and his own face scrunched up in agony at seeing his partner in such despair and being unable to make it disappear. 

They sat like that for a few minutes, at one point Johnny’s own tears escaped him, creating wet trails down his cheeks. He gulped down the knot in his throat and stroked Simon’s hair, who had significantly calmed down and was now quietly sniffling in his shoulder. 

“...Want to talk about it?” He asked, and gently took his hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. 

Simon didn’t answer at first, but eventually sighed, knowing that he needed to talk about it or else it would remain locked in his head forever. “...Canary, she was-... She was all…messed up…” he inhaled a shaky breath, and Johnny understood, giving him a gentle squeeze, “she said she waited for me.” His voice faltered and ended in a pained whisper, and it broke Johnny’s heart. 

It always pained him when he couldn’t just suck all of Simon’s nightmares out of his brain with a vacuum and leave him like new. He could, however, hold him in his despair and be there for him. 

“We will find her,” he told him, his lips brushing against Simon’s forehead, “but you have to believe that with your whole heart.” 

Simon sighed at the tender gesture, the corner of his lip twitching when he recognized the familiar sentence, “Using my own words against me, huh.”

Johnny cracked a smile and gently pulled Simon’s face away from his shoulder, pressing soft kisses over his closed eyelids, “Jus’ using the words from a wise man,” he pulled away and stared into his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. 

They sat like that in silence, their breaths mixing in the air between them and their eyes fixed on each other’s. Johnny’s hands cupped Simon’s face with unwavering care, his thumbs caressing over the scars. Simon sighed into his ministrations, slowly moving his own hands to wrap them around his lover’s mid-section and holding him close. 

Johnny offered him a small smile, his tumb grazing over his lips, “...Can I kiss you?”

“Please,” Simon whispered, before their lips locked in a slow, tender, reassuring kiss.

An hour later, Simon and Johnny were huddled up against each other, staring at the sergeant’s phone as a video played. 

In the video was Canary, wearing a black tank top, cargo pants and boots. Her jacket was tied around her waist by the sleeves, and her hair was held up in a bun. Johnny had recorded her during a visit at the military kennels, and she was crouched down in front of one of the cages that held a young German Shepherd. 

She was giggling at herself, before plucking her lips and whistling. She used her tongue and throat muscles to modify the sound until it imitated a canary chirping. The dog at the other side of the gate stopped panting, his ears shooting up in attention, and his head tilting to the side. He looked intrigued, and kept tilting his head to one side and the other as he tried to figure out where that sound came from. The image broke her into another giggle, and other people out of frame joined her, much to the chagrin of the confused pup that began barking at them. 

The video finished there, but both men kept watching at the screen. Simon moved his hand and pressed play again, just to hear her laugh once more. 

~~~~~~

Price laid down on the couch, staring at the ceiling as he was assaulted by insomnia. He had talked to Laswell hours earlier, giving her an update of the events so far. She had been quick to look up info on the van, informing him that it had been reported stolen weeks prior. John had suspected as much, and received the news that there had been no calls demanding ransom with a tired sigh. That could only mean that Canary’s captors had no intention of giving her back. 

Now he laid in silence, having counted the tiles on the ceiling for the fourth time and giving up on trying to sleep. His thoughts were everywhere, but mostly on his own failure as a Captain for not making sure that she would be safe during her leave. 

His self-punishing brainstorming was interrupted when his phone lit up with an incoming call from Hartford. He picked it up in a fraction of a second, sitting up on the couch.

“Hartford,” he said, and worry seeped deeper in his bones as his friend waited two extra seconds to answer.

“Price,” he finally greeted, he sounded exhausted, his voice heavy with seriousness, like that time at Canary’s apartment, “I have news.”

“Jesus, mate,” Price sighed, rubbing his face, “don’t beat around the bush, just spit it.”

Hartford sighed and nodded, even though he knew his friend couldn’t see, “Officer Melanie Kirk was shot and killed tonight, a couple hours ago.” John’s eyes opened wide and his jaw slackened. He remembered the officer, who talked about the tranquilizer dart and processed Canary’s glove earlier that afternoon. Killed? 

“I had a talk with the police dispatcher, who she was talking to at the moment of the shooting,” the detective continued, “Mel-... Kirk had called to report that she was following a van similar to the one that drove by the search area earlier today. The license plate matched.” The detective paused, taking a deep breath, “before the dispatcher could give her instructions, she heard a shot, and then the car crashing into the trees. She rang the alarm to every patrol available after that.” 

John let the words settle in his brain, before he finally broke the silence, “I’m so sorry, Timothy.” He hoped the sincerity in his voice reached his friend, and felt regret for not being able to be there for him. He knew how hard the other felt every loss, another reason for his early military retirement. A shaky ‘thanks’ came from the other side, before John spoke again. “How are your boys holding up?”

“Just like yours,” Hartford’s tone turned serious, sentencing, “we’ve set up blockades in several points, and notified other jurisdictions for them to do the same. We’re going to find those motherfuckers even if we have to knock on Satan’s door itself.”

John nodded and frowned himself, feeling the rage bloom in his chest once again. Both men were related now in more ways than their military roots now, and this investigation had become more than a personal case, it had become a personal mission. “Let me know how we can help.” 

Hartford felt a smirk twitch his lips, his idea at the tip of his tongue - all rules be damned. 

“Once we catch one of them and bring them in for interrogation, I want your boys in there too.”

A/N: Wanna guess how many times I've cried while writing this chapter?

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[rags-writes]

Fandom: Call of Duty

Pairing: Ghost & Reader (Platonic)

Tags/Warning: Hurt/Comfort

Requested by @bombshe77

A/N: I really hope you enjoy it and thank you for requesting it. here it is on Ao3.

Summary: You're the youngest on the 141 squad, yet you've been with them for two years and they still treat you like a rookie. Hell, they still call you the rookie callsign but you don't let that bring you down. Then you go home and when you come back, you're different. That spark you had disappeared and Ghost is determent to get it back even if it means he actually has to talk.

Lean On Me

 Ghost always prides himself on seeing what others miss, in anything. Which is why he’s disappointed that he didn’t see your potential. Well, you were just a rookie and the youngest in the squad at that. No one expects much from you, but you did last longer than the other, but your call sign hasn’t changed from rookie or rook. Honestly, he saw you as a joker, like soap. Sure you did whatever was ordered of you, but you always made a joke or some smart-ass comment. You never seem to shut up, always talking up a storm after a mission.

 Luckily he never had to deal with you directly, mostly just overhearing convention, like now.

 “I can handle the package without a babysit.” You call over the headset, and your voice is light, yet there is an irritation to it.

 “Listen, rook.” Soap says, causing a groan to leave you. “We just want to make sure you don’t drop?”

 “We are sitting down and it’s in my pocket.” You sigh out, “Stop with the rookie call name?”

 “You got to do something impressive to get a different call sign, kid.” Price answers with a chuckle.

 “You mean dealing with Soap for two years isn’t impressive enough?” You shoot back, causing a wave of laughter over the plane and Soap shouts, ‘hey!’

 Even Ghost huffed a small laugh at the joke, no one heard, of course. And highly unlikely he would ever admit to it either. It was Gaz who spoke up next.

 “We can call you kid if you want.”

 You send a glare his way, growling out. “I’m only two years younger than you, ass.”

 Soap, of course, hop on the thought with, “maybe you like, tot or rug-rat.”

 Ghost sees your hand wave and rightfully assumes you're flipping off Soap. Someone calls out, “What about clumsy?”

 “O, come on,” you shout. He could hear your eyes rolling as you continue. “I drop one grenade, which was a dud, because it was a field test.”

 The plane erupts into another fit of laughter at the memory of you pulling the pin and winding up to third the grenade when it slips from your hand. You looked like a deer caught in headlights as it when off behind you. No one has let you have a moment of peace about it, one way or another it gets brought up again. Soon he begins to tune out the conversation as it goes on about different call signs for you.

 After getting to the base Ghost watch you head to Laswell’s office to drop off the thumping drive with Soap tailing behind you saying he was just there to give you support. that just made you try and swat him and walk fast, practically running to Laswell’s office to get away from him.

 Ghost’s eyes move off you as Price comes up to him and asks. “What’s the plan now, cap.”

 “We sit tight and wait for the intellect department to decrypt the thumb drive and we can figure the best point of taking down the network.”

 Ghost just nod and walk to his room and change her gear before grabbing thing from the mess hall. It was only a day’s wait before they got word on the thumb drive and unfortunately the best time to strike the network was in nine weeks when most if not all the drug lords would be meeting. They decide to let everyone have a month to go see their family before the mission. Ghost, and a handful of others, choose to stay for any other mission not related to the thump drive. So the next couple of days were hectic, most people were trying to get off as soon as possible but he notices a strange thing. You.

 Normal you are one of the first ones on the plane heading out but he has seen you at the practice range. after looking at the roster he finds that you volunteer for the last flight out. he asks around, well more like interrogate soap, finding your excuse was that you need the extra training time but he didn’t completely believe it. Seeing the crestfallen look on your face with ever no was around but your spark was there whenever someone was near so he wasn’t too worried. soon you went with your smile, so he wasn’t to worry about you.

 But when you came not even three weeks later. you came and he knew instantly that something was wrong, the spark was no longer in your eyes. he didn’t what to do, you no longer laugh and smile as you use to. sure you follow any orders but without your usual quip or smartass comment.

 It affected everyone, even soap wasn’t himself, he tried the most to get you to creak a smile but you never did. Weeks passed and the mission to take down the network came. everyone was grim, if they fail this who knows the damage that could happen.

 But they didn’t, thanks to you, the network wouldn’t be able to recover from it fully. everyone was celebrating, all smiles and laughter filled the mess hall, and even Ghost creak a smile under his mask. the only person he didn’t see at the party was you, you disappear as soon as Price told every that drinks were waiting for them.

 Ghost decided he was going to find and snap you out of whatever the hell was going on. he began his search in the quarter but your room was empty as was the shared space. next was the small dining room/kitchen but it was empty as were the next three places. stepping outside for a cigarette, and he rounds the corner to the spot where no one bugs him and he can get a moment of peace, and sure enough, you were there.

 He goes to shout your name but stops as he notices tears streaming down your face, there’s a picture in your hand.  Walking to you, carefully until he steps on a twit and your head snaps to him, a hand quickly wiping the evince of tears from your face. You shout a weak. “L.T. what are you doing here?”

 Ghost doesn’t let the twig pause his steps, goes leans against the wall, and answers. “Well taking a break from looking for you.”

 Your head drops as you say. “Sorry L.T.”

 “It’s fine, saved me from soap, who set up the Karaoke machine.” Ghost across his arm and sight as the joke didn’t even get a chuckle from you. A hand reaches out and takes hold of your shoulder and he says. “You don’t have to do it all yourself, you know.”

 You bulk at the work, trying to shrug off his hand and turn away from him but he doesn’t let you. Grabbing your other shoulder and forcing you to face him as he tells you. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but you can talk with me.”

 Lips tremble at his works as the tear you have been holding back bursts out. Hand covers your face as you sob, as you choke out. “Sorry, ghost, I’m a mess.”

 “What’s happened?” Ghost asks, removing one hand and leaving the other for comfort. Sniffing a bit before wiping your face with the sleeve of your shirt before you hold up the picture. Looking, Ghost sees it’s of an old man, who in a bed with all sorts of wires attached to him but he’s still has a smile full of life on his face.

 “This is my grandfather.” You explain, “he passed away.”

 “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Ghost, not knowing if those were the right words but he had nothing else to offer. You give him a genuine smile, tinting with sadness as you whisper.

 “Thank you but he pass the last time I was home, three days after the photo was taken.”

 You couldn’t see but Ghost’s brow furrows in confusion and he questions you as gently as he could. “Then what’s going on with you?”

 You huff a strangled laugh and reply with a heartbroken tone. “My grandfather was my only supporter in anything I did. The rest of my family never accepted me and my life choices and when I join the military well I was part-way disowned.  They never fully said it because they didn’t want grandfather to cut them from the will.”

 Your foot drags back and forth on the ground, making a little trench in the ground back, and hesitantly continues talking.  “I thought that maybe after things settled down that they would come around but...”

 You trail off and Ghost finishes the sentence for you. “They never did.”

 “I came home to my stuff thrown out of my grandfather’s house.” You sob out, hand coming to cover your mouth.

 “They’re fucking idiots.”

 The statement makes your head snaps up with shock and stare at your Lieutenant with mouth agape. He just rolls his eyes and adds. “You one of the best if not the best soldier.”

 Hand scratches the back of your head as you try to argue he cuts you off again. “You prove that today, because of you we completed the mission with zero casualties. Sure people got hurt but they didn’t die.”

 He grabs your shoulder, looks you directly in the eyes, and tells you. “Here at the 141, you are family. Never forget that you are not alone, you can lean on us, anytime.”

 You close your eyes, throw your head back, and laugh, for the first time in weeks you truly laugh. And when you open your eyes again, Ghost sees the spark back in them. Smile under his mask and tell you with mischievous, “You know soap grease up the grenade that day.”

 “The one he has been making fun of me for months now.”

 Ghost nods in confirmation, leading you to nod your head back as you say in a playful tone. “Well, I’m going to go kill him now.”

 This makes Ghost laugh as you walk away, but before you disappear around the corner, you call out. “Hey, Ghost!”

 “Yeah.“ He answers while pulling out his box of cigarettes.

 “Thank you.”

 He pulls up his mask and before placing a cigarette between his lip, calls out. “Anytime, Sparks, Anytime.”

Thank you, everyone, for reading, and let me know your thoughts. If you have a request, go here.