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bi-writes · 7 months

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so idk where i got this idea but mercenary!ghost x fem!reader because he's scary and mean and dangerous but then he sees some girl's ass in light blue denim.

notes about reader: as always, i tend to write readers described as curvy because im curvy and we deserve attention from 6'4 beefcakes who are soft only for us. reader is a civilian.

mercenary!ghost (part 1/?)

cw: mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!ghost, mentions of ghost's past canon trauma (domestic abuse + violence), mw3 spoilers, violence and gore + mentions of murder and extortion, mentions of reader + domestic abuse, protective!simon, size kink (reader is described as much smaller than simon, easily manhandled by him), pet names (luv, bunny + rabbit, puppy, angel face), reader learns she has a dark side and she likes it, nsfw thoughts about reader, suggestive touching (fem!receiving)

the sound of the burner phone pings on the desk in front of him. when he picks it up, he narrows his eyes as he reads the message displayed across the screen.

DEPOSITED.

when he opens his laptop, his eyes scan over the balance on an offshore account, and he relaxes when he sees the hefty balance climb just a little higher. he closes the device once he's satisfied with what he sees; and like always, he tastes the warmth of that satisfaction. it's a nice high, but it won't last, and then he'll need to feed the gaping hole that lives in him.

it remains hungry. he has never been able to close it--it has only ever gotten wider, ripped at the seams and torn at the edges every time another body close to him drops.

the high is poison. but even if it kills him, no one will miss him. so he picks up the handgun that lays haphazard on the bed, and he tucks it into the back of his jeans.

he passes by the mirror as he fits a dark denim jacket over his shoulders. he stares back at himself, a recognizable beast of a man staring right back. he pulls his hoodie up over him, and in the shadow of it, all he can see are his dark eyes, pale skin peeking through the eyeblack that has lightened up with the wear of it throughout the day.

he craves something strong and warm tonight. he itches for something soft, too, something that makes him forget the red on his ledger, even if for only a few hours.

there is nothing quite strong enough to wipe that kind of stain away. he is nothing if not a reaper, and he buries bodies with the same tenacity that he had when he wore his country's flag on his chest. this time, however, he does not take orders--he names his price.

he thinks something is wrong with him. some used to say that it was his courage that brought him back from the dead--that his heart is too strong, his will to live too much, and that is how he continues to open his eyes and live another day. but he doesn't agree with this thought, because he doesn't really think he feels anything at all.

he doesn't feel human. he doesn't feel alive. the only thing that makes him feel any sort of vulnerability is how red his own blood is when he bleeds. when his scars heal jagged and crooked, it is because there is something underneath the skin. but he feels nothing inside--no remorse, no guilt, he is not sorry.

he does not check to see if those men are innocent. he does not care about the names that end up on his list. he doesn't ask questions. and he thinks something is wrong with him because he sleeps at night just fine now; the nightmares have gone. he is alone, and it is peaceful.

there are no voices. there is only silence. and there is something wrong with him.

the pub is quiet. it is a weekday, and the only patrons are here after a long day's work, and they all look into the depths of their half-empty glasses hoping to find relief there. there is none, but they will finish their glasses hoping it might be dissolved in the alcohol.

he asks for two fingers of bourbon. it stings when it goes down, but then it settles warm. he is poured another two fingers of it, but before he can pick it up, someone else grips the glass and tips it back to swallow it down.

the glass hits the wood of the counter with an echoing thud, and you cough out a fuck as you settle into the seat beside him. you run a trembling hand over your face, and he notices immediately the red of your knuckles and the splitting of the skin there. they are fresh; the bruising is still new, and the blood is just barely beginning run down the back of your hand.

he leans over the bar, swiping the whole bottle of bourbon, and he silently pours more into the glass, hitting it towards you before picking up a new glass and filling it generously.

"who's the lucky bastard?" he asks, and your eyes flick to the cuts on the back of your hand before going back to the dark swirling colors of the drink.

"i'm sure he'll be coming in here any second to introduce himself."

the pub doors slam open, and there is a man coming in, chest heaving, dark hair falling over his forehead in sweaty curls that do nothing to hide the clear bruise on his face the split of his lip. his eyes move over the room before they settle on you, and his boots fall heavy as he makes his way over.

ghost sees his intentions clear immediately. the way his hand twitches at his side, the angry glare, the uncontrollable urge to hurt and to take and to control coming off of him like steam.

he has seen this kind of man before. this man was the one that kept him up at night as a child. this man was the one that scared his mum, that drove his brother to chase vices, that tore apart a house that should've been filled with something warm and sticky and kind into one marred with teeth, rotten and putrid and forgotten.

his hand goes for the back of your neck, and you close your eyes and tense in the anticipation, but it never comes. a strong hand grips his outstretched one, and the man cries out as ghost twists it behind his back and uses his other hand to slam his face into the wood of the bar, trapping him there.

the bartender does not even flinch, just continues to wipe down glasses. the patrons continue to stare into the abyss of their sorrow.

you jump a little, your head snapping to the side where the man squirms and sputters, his face going pale from the paw of a hand gripping him by the back of the neck and shoving his face into the counter. if he pushes any harder, you wonder if it'd splinter and fray, dig into the bones of his bruised cheek.

"this man botherin' ya, yeah?"

your eyes finally flick up. you do not know what you expect, but it isn't this. you can only see his eyes; they scare you. you do not lie because you aren't entirely sure how far his kindness will go.

"yes," you whisper, and when the man tries to spit at you, a rough gloved hand grips his curls and positions his head against the edge of the counter, forcing his mouth open until the top row of his teeth bite the wood.

"y'keep talkin' to her, n'it'll be the last time you talk, hear that, mate? y'talk to me, n'me only."

you swallow hard, and the man trembles. a strong boot hits the back of his knees, and then he's crumbling to the ground, his jaw straining as the counter is still forced against his mouth. hot, pained tears come down his face, and then he addresses you.

"what did he do?"

"bad first date," is all you can manage to sputter. he grips the man by the scruff of his neck before pulling him off to speak, tilting his head to the side as he observes the begging man on his knees.

"y'try to put your hands on'er?"

"i-it wasn't...like that! i-it was just a mis...a misunderstanding, please! please--please tell him--!"

"don't like fuckin' liars either," is the only warning given before his mouth is forced to bite the counter, and then a sharp elbow comes down on his head. you jump in surprise at the suddenness of it all, and you close your eyes when you hear the crunch of teeth being broken. his scream is enough to rattle the pub, but when you look around, it's as if nothing at all has happened. it is quiet, and all the bartender does is shake their head.

when you open your eyes, he's crawling on his hands and knees out of the pub, and what he leaves behind is a mess of blood and teeth and fluid that are splattered against the floor at your feet. you shake as you look up at him, stiff in your seat and soft tears coming down your face.

he towers over you. you have to tilt your head back between your shoulders to look at him face-to-face. you cannot see his face; he hides it behind dark fabric, but his eyes talk loud. they are dark, and they are dull, and you realize as you stare up at him that he is not phased in the slightest by what he had just done. in fact, he steps into your space, and the squelch of blood under his boot doesn't seem to bother him. he wears black, and you wonder, momentarily, if he wears such a color to hide the red hiding between the threads of the fabric. the red he can't wash away.

"let me look at ya, little rabbit."

you flinch when he knocks your knees apart, spreading them to make space for the width of him. he reaches up with one gloved hand and grips your chin, tilting your head to either side to see if you are hurt anywhere but your hand. when he is satisfied with his observations, he cups the expanse of your throat, smoothing those big fingers along the pulsing vein there and feeling the way you swallow.

so alive. so soft. a pretty little bunny, dropped into his waiting hands.

his eyes fall, and he takes you in. wide hips that take up the seat you're sitting in, hugged so nicely by light blue denim jeans. they curve over the swell of your ass, and he wonders how much of it would fit in his palm--he thinks about how it might feel to spread them apart and taste the succulent sweetness that he knows exists between your thighs and how your mouth might look slack jawed and wide open for him.

you look like a good girl, even with bloody knuckles.

then he follows the line of your shirt. it's a simple t-shirt tucked into your jeans, but the neckline gives a nice peek of you and the curve of your tits--they sit so nicely there, all perky, and ghost thinks they look lonely. they would be better off in his mouth or squeezing his cock between them or pebbling between his dirty gloved fingers.

filthy. disgusting. he is scarred all over, and you look so soft and sweet, with those tender puppy eyes and the way your lips tremble, and he bets you kiss all soft and slippery. he bets your cunt is tight and with enough coaxing, he could make you drench his skin with something decadent and slick, with whatever drools into your panties. he imagines it is there now, even as you tremble and shake and plead with your eyes for him to let go of your throat.

but ghost is not a good man. he does not feel; he is not a man at all. he is a beast in the shape of one, disguised, and he brings misery to everything he touches. he knows he will do it to you, too--touching pretty girls, he leaves them with burns. they are not the same after they are with him, and he wants to feel bad about it, he wants to feel something, but he does not. he feels nothing.

"you olright, luv?"

you nod frantically, putting a hand over his wrist that holds you, and he almost laughs. your hand is so much smaller than his own. if he squeezes his hand just a little harder, he figures it would not take much to break what lies beneath it. he leans in, and you gulp when your thighs trap his hips. he is warm, a furnace that burns, but you relax when the side of his mask nuzzles against your face.

he is a dog, and he is fond of you.

you should run. you should hit him like you hit your wretched date, and you should run, far, away from him, swear off men for good and never allow one in your space again lest they be as beastly as this. you should run while you can, but you are a bunny not yet in his trap, and you still have time to escape.

but then both of your eyes open at the same time, and his eyes meet your own, and then--oh.

the cage snaps shut. it rattles around you. it is small and confined, but you don't realize what it is yet because you can still breathe, and it is still warm, and you are still soft and alive and here.

your face softens, and his eyes flicker down to your lips as you lick them. maybe he was right. liars are bad. men like the one you were with before were scum. you had been with men like that before, you had seen the destruction they brought to those they thought they loved. when they wrought fear and made others bleed, they never got in trouble. no one cared to do to them what they deserved because they silenced their lambs and slaughtered the light out of them.

it is biblical--an eye for an eye. if they take from you, why can't you take from them?

it is brutish men like this one that do what others are too timid to. your thighs close around his hips, and you feel something digging into your leg, something metal and heavy tucked into his jeans. a weapon, but you imagine it is a mercy because you have an inkling that what he does with his hands is so much worse. bullets are clean and fast; his hands are not.

johnny would tell him to let you go. he does, over his shoulder, spitting at him to leave, to let you slip through his fingers and find your way out, to open the cage.

the wee lass--look at 'er angel face. let 'er go--not meant for this, LT. she scares. 's in 'er eyes. won't last.

but he does not feel. he is not human. there is something wrong with him, he knows it, but he doesn't care. he will ruin you, and he should feel bad, but he can't, he doesn't. and then there it is--your eyes are flickering low, eyeing the mask, and you are wondering how much effort it would take to push it up and lick into his mouth, taste him, suck the warmth of the bourbon from his mouth and replace it with your own.

he will kill again. the cage is shut, it is locked, and he is watching the bunny in its cage, watching as it becomes aware of its surroundings, takes in what is new. but just like he figures, just like he knows, this little bunny has no idea what this cage is. she has no idea she is even in one.

fuck what johnny says. if johnny was like him, if he was not skin and bone but steel and reptile, he would not have died. he would have come back. he would have moved his head, shaken the blood off, and gotten back up, but he didn't, and he's not here, and he's not real--so fuck what he thinks, fuck what he says, fuck him because he left me, and i'm all alone, and if i don't devour and eat and tear apart, i will wither away because i am not me, i am something else--

he smiles under the mask. you notice it, the slight movement there, and you smile, too, suddenly. his hand falls, and the back of his knuckles graze over the swell of your breast, down your stomach, and then he's gripping your waist. that hand slips behind you, and you brace yourself with both hands on his chest as he cups one side of your ass. possessive and suffocating--you think maybe you should run again, but you don't want to.

you want something more. you want something a little rough, something a little sharp. you want something to tell you that a little blood is good sometimes. that answering blood with a little more blood was exactly how it should be. that we don't have to be docile, to back down. you want to be told that it's okay to bite.

there is something wrong with you.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon riley #dark!simon

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codmw2019-2022 · 8 months

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Modern Warfare Character Ages [2019 + 22]

Preface: Just wanted to add before getting into this that this is my interpretation of the character ages based on information from the games, confirmed information, research into the military/CIA and collage/university course information. This is by no means meant to be a definite statement about character ages, I'm happy to discuss or change any of the information here within reason.

I would also like to credit @sleepyconfusedpotato and @oleworldblues posts with their own opinions on the character ages. Which helped base my own thoughts and provided some good information that they had found. You can find Sleepy's post here and Blue's here they are really good posts and they both explain their own reasons for how they perceive the main cast of modern warfare's ages.

Farah & Hadir Karim : 30 & 32 [2022]

Both Farah and Hadir's ages have been confirmed by Taylor Kurosaki who is one of the writers from Modern Warfare 2019. This was confirmed when a fan ask him via twitter/X about how old Farah was during the Barkov invasion.

This means in 1999 when Barkov invaded Farah was 7 and Hadir was 9. In 2009 when they escaped they are 17 and 19 respectively and in 2019 they are 27 and 29. Hadir dies in December of 2022 as discovered in the Atomgrad raids at the age of 32.

John Price : 37 [2022]

Using the information provided from his original operator bio we find that "John Price joined the infantry at the age of sixteen and has served the British Army for 18 years." and that "he was ‘Badged’ a member of SAS in 2005, spending the next ten years in the Middle East, the horn of Africa.".

With this Price's age works out to be about 34 years old, but since it only mentions serving the British army. I added 4 years for him to be able to complete basic training which is roughly 18 weeks basic training.* Followed by Special Air Service (SAS) training with is roughly a couple months, but you must serve at least 18 months in the military to be selected**, and finally his training at the Royal Military Academy to become a Lieutenant and then Captain which is 44 weeks with 2-3 weeks of leave.***

So Price would join the British army at 16 in 2001, be badged a member of SAS at 20 in 2005, become Captain at 25 in 2010. In 2019 he would be 34 and finally 37 in 2022, which to me makes the most sense based on other character's ages.

*[army.mod.uk solider training] **[eliteukforces.info SAS] [eliteukforces.info SBS&SAS] ***[army.mod.uk officer training]

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick : 32 [2022]

We can do the same process as we did with Price for Gaz, his operator bio says "Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, enlisted in the British Army in 2008. Within four years, he passed selection for Her Majesty’s elite Special Air Service where he is currently rounding out a decade of service."

Since his bio never mentions what age he joins like with Price and Soap I'm going to assume he finished school and joined the military at 18. So Gaz is 18 in 2008, 29 in 2019 when he meets Price for the first time and 32 in 2022. I am not taking into consideration the archived Activision blog posts, which say he joined in 2014 because of them being archived. I do use it for some other characters but for Gaz it changed the date he joined not just giving extra information.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish : 26 [2022]

You can blame Activision for why Soap is so young compared to the others. So according to his updated operator bio, "Soap has spent the last seven years carrying out both covert and overt operations around the world." this with the contents of his old operator bio before MW3 "At 16, too young to sign up, but lying about his age, MacTavish enrolled in the Special Air Service…"

Means that Soap would be 23 in 2022, which doesn't make the most sense especially considering he is a Sergeant in 2019 meaning he would be 20 in the MW3 flashback. So I gave him the same treatment as Price and added 3 years, to make up for basic and SAS training. So he would be 16 in 2012 joining the British Army have to wait 18 months to apply for SAS, be roughly 18 when he starts SAS training and finish it at 19 in 2015.*

So making him now 23 in 2019, 26 in 2022 but since he lied about his age TF 141 would think he's 28 during MW2 or 25 during 2019.

*[jobs.army.mod.uk SAS reserve]

Alex Keller : 35 [2022]

Alex is one of the last characters who have dates or years of service in their information. From his Campaign Biography it says he was a part of, "CIA's Special Activities Division," and also has surrendered "his former rank and history of special ops military service with Army Delta, Alex sacrificed traditional contact and association with family to join the SAD. He has spent the last six years living a series of assumed identities to achieve “sensitive” objectives wherever he is needed."

There's also, "Through 2017, Alex’s units played a key role in ensuring definitive victories against emerging terrorist networks." So we know Alex has been working in the military before 2017, now most SAD members are former Delta operators. There's also some reports of SAD members having Master's and law degrees.* So with that we can add roughly 6 years to his age to complete a master's degree in law.**

Now Delta force has some requirements like being over 21 to join and having two and a half years of service remaining, so if Alex joined the US military at 18 after finishing High School and getting his diploma.*** In a couple years he could join Delta Force, so by 26 he would be able to be apart of CIA's SAD. (If studying part time while in Delta Force) Then adding the another six years which is when he is apart of SAD, which is mention in his biography as the last six years. The bio is published late 2019 so Alex would be 32 years old.

So Alex would join the Military at 18 in 2005, would be 32 in 2019 when he loses the lower half of one of his legs and 35 in 2022.

*[CIA SAD] **[coursera.org law school] ***[Delta Force] [US Military Requirements]

Now for the Characters with little infomation

Alejandro & Rodolfo : both 37

We find out they've known each other for 20 years and signed up together. So they are both younger than 38 but older than 30 since Alejandro is a Colonel. Looking at Wikipedia you can/have to join 18 the Mexican military for at least 3 years, this gives them about maybe two years to get to know each other before joining together.

Ghost : 35 [2022]

Honestly just pick an age between Price and Gaz, I personally like the idea of him being the same age as Alex and having them know each other previously. Maybe even before Ghost starts wearing the skull mask.

Laswell & Nikolai : 52 & 45 [2022]

No older that 52 and 45 if we go based on their actors ages, which personally makes the most sense to me. Laswell's Campaign biography mentions her supervising a SAD program in 2008, and her having studied a Master's degree in strategic intelligence analysis and having a BA in International Affairs. This doesn't help much though with figuring out her age.

AN: Hopefully this very long post is some what helpful or at least has some good resources that people can check out, especially fanfic writers or people making their own OCs.

I'm also going to repeat what I put at the top the end here. But what I've written down is not a definitive answer for their ages (minus Farah & Hadir) it's just what I personally think makes the most sense.

Don't let my own opinions/conclusions about their ages get in the way of you having fun with how you view/interpret these characters.

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xmalereader · 7 months

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Simon Riley x High Ranking! Male Reader

☆ — MASTERLIST — ☆

Requested: Could I request a Ghost x male reader story. Male reader is also in the Task Force 141 as a high ranking officer. He never goes out on the field with the others. Ghost and male reader know each other for a long time and are together. (You can decide if they are married , etc). So reader is very shy and has an innocent and introverted aura. (Wears glasses, barely talks etc.) That’s also why they all were surprised when they found out that Ghost and Reader are together, because Ghost is… well Ghost. So, the reader defects to Makarov and because of the reader Makarov succeeds. So the 141 ‘hates’ reader and sees him as a traitor. So Ghost has to decide, if he is loyal to the Task Force or his lover. [You can decide what happens of course and also if reader survives and etc. Just don’t make a twist were reader goes back to 141 or kills Makarov :) ]

WARNINGS/ CONTENT: Language, angst, hurt/no comfort, specific details to reader, Soap being soap, mentions of Makarov, MW3 mentions, slight fluff, more dialogue, betrayal, simon is ruined.

WC: 3.4K

TAGS: @dzeilan

NOTES: I may have over done it with this fix but at least I got it finished 😂 but anyways hope you enjoy this request! I tried my best to keep it angsty and tempted to make a second part but for now I’m putting it in the maybe drafts. I decided to end it in a semi cliff hanger!

Task Force 141 was monitored and by someone above Price. Not many people knew who it was but they didn’t hear stories about the man being ruthless to his team, always giving them the hardest missions and dealing with the most deadliest and dangerous people. Everyone thought figured that he was a cold blooded man who stayed cooped up in his own office, never leaving or joining the field like the rest of the others. That’s. how everyone saw him.

When in reality he was the total opposite which surprised the 141.

In reality he was quiet and only spoke with authority when meeting up with the team, but when alone he was very closed up and not very social with the others, keeping to himself and not getting close with the others. Y/n had heard the gossip floating around about him and usually ignored it. He was a higher ranking than anyone else and could have easily found a way to stop the murmuring, but he wasn’t that power drunk to do something stupid.

Only his team knew what he was really like, he’s spent enough time with Price that he’s warmed up to the captain, always addressing him as ‘sir’ each time they meet only for Y/n to remind Price that he doesn’t need to call him that whenever they were alone and considered the man as a friend. Price was actually the one who approached him about building a team of his own, wanting his approval and guidance.

Y/n was surprised by this and intrigued by what he had in mind. When Price showed him the files of the people he wanted in his team, he can’t help but hide his small grin when his eyes land on a familiar name, finding it funny that he would be the boss to his own deadly boyfriend that everyone feared, wearing that scary mask that only made his silence much more deadly and intimidating for others.

He had told Price that he wanted to review the files first before giving an official approval, getting the time that he needed to review each soldier that he chose and memorizing every little thing about them and finding them impressive by the second. It didn’t take long for him to approval Price’s team and granting the man permission to gather them up and move on with a mission regarding Hassan during that time.

As much as Y/n hated being out in public and in front of others he had no choice but to be present during the time that Hassan was terrorizing the world. Many other soldiers had a chance to finally see who the scary man was only to grow confused when they saw him for the first time, wearing glasses while he squints at some paper work and maps, trying to figure out Hassans next location or if could find any other information regarding the man.

He would stay up all day and night looking for anything to help him, cooping himself up in his office with papers scattered around and computer opened as he did his own research. How he received a high ranking title he will never know, but his skills brought him this far.

Those quiet nights when everyone is sleeping a shadow creeps inside his own room, hovering over him from where he sat. He can feel their presence and doesn’t move his eyes from the computer. “If you are here to force me into bed, then I will have to decline.” He speaks up, hearing a familiar chuckle and tilts his head back to find Simon standing over him, hands on the back of his chair as he wore that skull mask over his face, gear gone and leaving him in black clothing and a jacket.

“You’ve been working day and night with no sleep.”

“How do you know I haven’t slept?” Y/n raised a brow and lowers his head to focus back on his computer screen only for Simon to place his fingers around his neck, using his index finger to tilt his head back in a gentle manner as he stares down at the man.

“You have bags under your eyes.” He moves his fingers up his cheek and grazed his finger under his glasses near his eye, noticing the lack of sleep from his own lover. “You know I can’t sleep.”

Simon lets him go and sighs as he watched his lover focus back on his work and moving maps around as Simon watched him from behind. “You won’t lose anything if you sleep.”

“But Hassan—“

“Is out of sight. For now.” Simon cuts in, using his own authority voice on his lover in order to get some sense into him. The two have been dating for about a year now, keeping it on the down low and preventing anyone from finding out. Y/n over ranked Simon and doesn’t know how the others would react when finding out that he’s dating their deadly weapon. He knows that Simon cares for him and his health and wants to make sure that he at least gets some rest.

“Fine…” He mumbled out and with that Simon reaches over to close his computer the room grows dim and the only light shinning through the window is the moonlight. “Time for bed.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You sure act like one.” Said Simon, chuckling at his own words which makes Y/n roll his eyes and cracks a tired smile. He gets off his chair and follows Simon to bed as the other soldier helps him out by removing his glasses first and setting them on the desk with the rest of his stuff and gets him into bed.

These nights are special to them since its the only time that they are able to spend time together without getting caught, having to sneak around like high school teenagers in order to avoid any trouble, but sooner or later they’d have to let the rest of their team know. As he snuggled up against Simon he lets out a deep sigh, feeling exhausted from all the work his mind was all over the place thinking about the mission and the things that could be happening without their knowledge, but they had no ability into knowing it.

“Stop thinking.”

“Can’t help it.” Y/n mumbled out in the dead of night.

The silence of the base was killing him and he hated it. “Your thoughts are loud.”

“You telling me that you can read minds?” Y/n raised a brow at Simon while chuckling. “If I could read minds I would have gotten to Hassan by now.” He did have a point.

Y/n lies his head on Simons chest and taps his fingers against his stomach as he thinks. “I just worry for everyone and I’d feel guilty it something happened to you and everyone else.” When Y/n received such a high ranking he didn’t expect the amount of stress to come with it since he was in charge of his own team and deciding the fate of the mission. When he got his first team he had to take multiple risks, almost costing him the lives of his own soldiers which devastated him.

There were times that he wanted to leave his rank to get rid of the guilt that he felt only to learn that he couldn't’ always save everyone even if he tried.

“Not everyone can be saved, Y/n. It takes one life to save millions.”

But it also takes one mistake to risk millions.

After last nights reassurance, Y/n is able to work a lot better all thanks to Simon in forcing him to sleep. Tracking their target was getting easier, finding the locations and sending in the proper help in order to get rid of the missiles that were lost. It wasn’t until Shepherds betrayal that they were separated.

Y/n had lost communication with his team and Simon, stuck back in base where the shadow company was taking over Alejandro’s people. He caught on quickly when chaos erupted in base, collecting his things quickly and hiding them in the vents and getting his own gun ready when facing the shadow company.

Even though Y/n looked like an innocent man due to how quiet he is around others he was also deadly when others were in danger getting through the halls and gunning down anyone who came after him, not hesitating to fight back as he sneaks around the halls and onto the second floor where he makes his escape, he uses one of the shadow companies uniforms to get through the base without being noticed, making it through the gates and towards their radio station.

He uses it to communicate with the rest of his team, checking up on them and hoping that they are still alive. His anxiety spiked when he doesn’t get a response fearing the worst has happened to Simon, fearing that he’s lost the one person he loved. He wasn’t one for crying, but the lack of response was bringing him to tears, close to giving up and heading back down to hunt Graves down.

“Are you crying?”

Y/n gasps, turning around quickly with his gun out when coming face to face with Soap. “Soap.” He sighs in relief to see him alive as he lowers his gun, ready to scold the man only to see Simon climbing over the wall along with Rudy. His eyes widen when the land on Simon. “Simon…” He shoves Soap aside who's left flabbergasted and makes a beeline towards Simon, not hesitating to hug the man and sniffling against his shoulder. “You dumb bastard, why didn’t you answer? I thought you were dead!” He was mad at Simon for making him worry.

Simon smiles under his mask and warps his own arms around Y/n, relieved to see him too. “We got caught up trying to get here.” He responds back, pulling away and cup his cheeks and cleans his tears away unaware of the audience.

“Uh, what the hell is going on?” Soap finally decides to speak up by this shocking discovery.

It wasn’t until after they rescued Alejandro that Y/n tells his team about his and Simons relationship when regrouping. He expected Soap to be shocked by the news while Gaz and Price technically already knew about the relationship but never said anything about it until further confirmed. Y/n couldn’t be happier to have them.

“So what do we do about Graves?”

Everyone turns to look at Y/n waiting for him to make the final call only for Y/n to surprise everyone by his response.

“Do whatever you want.”

He lets Price take the lead on this one, coming up with plans to get rid of Graves and his men after what he did to them. Y/n remains at the safe house along with the others, guiding them through the coms where he was safer and giving out clear orders on Graves location when they all went back to base.

The entire day was hectic, taking down Graves and Hassan on the same day and recovering the last missile gaining a victory. Everyone was finally able to relax and head back home to rest before being called out to another mission. Things were fine until they weren’t.

After a year since their last mission, Y/n had spent most of his time at base, helping out with the simple things and helping Price out as always. Until he received anonymous messages through his private number the only one who knew his number was Simon along with Price and the others and no one else. He received the text the day that Simon went out with the others for a drink, staying back home to relax for a bit until eh got that message.

He was about to ignore it until private information about him and his entire team was sent to him, threatening him to listen or else his friends faced the consequences. Y/n would have taken action to find out who was messaging him and take them down quickly only to realize that this person knew far more than anyone about him and Simon. He was forced to keep these message hidden from Simon if he wanted to prevent a lose.

Y/n knew that Simon was smart and would slowly grow suspicious by his constant phone checking and the amount of times that he’d flinch out of fear when receiving those messages. Simon wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, especially with his lover but the amount of time that he kept his distance was slowly irritating him.

Simon was able to corner him in his office when back at base after finding out about Makarovs escape. “Somethings wrong.” He points out, getting Y/n’s attention as he leans back against the wall that he’s caged in. “Nothings wrong.” Y/n couldn’t allow Simon to know that was responsible for Makarovs escape at the prison.

“You’ve been distant and quiet.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Not this quiet.” Simon knew him well enough to see the smallest changes.

Y/n’s anxiety grows by the second as Simon looks him dead in the eyes. “I’m worried about Makarov.” He blurts out, trying to throw Simon off from his real worry. “The most dangerous man escaped and we can be facing something far bigger and I’m worried on what we have planned.” He continues on, noticing how Simon finally relaxes when getting an answer even though it wasn’t the truth.

“Will get him and stop him before anything else happens.”

“And if we can’t?” Y/n wants to tell Simon the truth, but he can’t risk losing him. “We will.” He feels his gloved fingers caress his cheek as a way of soothing his worries.

“Now lets figure out how to take down Makarov.”

Y/n spent the last hour listening to Price form out the plan, memorizing every little detail in order to report it back to Makarov. It took him some time to figure out that the man he’s been communicating with was none other than Makarov, threatening him and his friends for information about their plans to stopping him. As guilty as he felt doing this behind their backs, behind Simon’s back he had no choice but to do it.

After their meet up he’d find a way to communicate with the Russian man sending him everything he knew about their plans only to get a response back from with a notification of millions of dollars being transferred to his banking account. That pushes him over the edge, his anger getting to him as he throws his phone against the wall, smashing it into pieces as he groans in anger. He was doing this to save his friends not for money and yet Makarov goes and pushes all the right buttons.

Because of Makarov the transfer was shown under the list of information trading. When Simon and Soap were sent to interrogate Milena about Makarovs next location they were expecting themselves to find some answers only to come up with more questions when Y/n’s name shows up on the list.

Soap is the first to point it out to Simon when it shows up on the computer. The two refuse to believe that Y/n had been communicating with Makarov only for Milena to laugh at the two.

“Why do you think Makarov isn’t here? It’s all thanks to your little birdie on the inside.” Her own lips form a mischievous grin when Soap glanced over to Simon who remained quiet under his mask, clearly processing everything and denying the fact that his own lover would turn their backs on them. On him.

“You’re wrong.”

Milena raised a brow as she crossed her arms. “Am I?’ She questions. “He told Makarov that you were coming for him, told him about the plans and the bombings and now he knows about the stations.”

Simon stops himself from killing the women, not believing a word she’s saying only to think back to their previous failed missions. Every time they were close to getting Makarov he always escaped them clearly finding a way around the problem as if he knew about them. Simon left the island fuming, anger boiling inside of him as they flew back to Makarovs last destination a base hidden in the train station.

Soap can tell that Simon isn’t happy about the discovery of Y/n betraying them and working for Makarov. He knows not to ask about it since the man was already too upset to even talk about it and focused on their arrival. Simon communicated with Price and Gaz about the location and to meet them there.

Getting down to the station was chaos due to Makarovs soldiers trying to kill them resulting into him and his team getting separated and laving Simon on his own as he takes down as many soldiers as he can. From the corner of his eyes he spots Makarov getting through the station. “Makarov spotted.” He speaks through his coms, alerting the rest of his team.

“Take the shot!” He hears Price shout from the other end getting permission to kill Makarov.

Before Simon could take the shot he’s shoved to the side when the other side of the station explodes, ruble collapsing around him as he groans and leans back against a wall. His ears are ringing by how loud the explosive was and the amount of shouting he hears through his coms is ignored as he tries to get up, feeling pain shot up from his arm makes him wince, realizing that he’s injured. The place is merely collapsing and knows that he has to get out of the station before its to late.

As he gets up from the ground he hears a giant grown across from him, holding his gun up as his eyes land on one of Makarovs soldiers. He was to pissed off to care about their injures and cocks his gun only to stop when the soldier coughs harshly, reaching up to remove their own helmet and mask, revealing Y/n’s face.

Simon froze when his eyes land on him.

Y/n groans and placed a hand over his abdomen where he feels pain and turns to his side, trying to get up only to gasp when he hears the sound of a gun cocking, looking over his shoulder to face Simon.

The two are frozen in place unable to move by the realization in their faces. Y/n wants to speak up to defend himself from everything but knows that he can’t not after what he’s done. He slowly moves to stand, hand still on his abdomen as he keeps his eyes on Simon and a hand out in surrender.

“Simon…”

“Don’t.” Simons voice is harsh, hand tightening around his gun.

Y/n expects that tone as he shuts his own mouth. It wasn’t until rumbling is heard, the walls around them were about to collapse and they had to get out before it was to late for them. “The place is going to collapse we have to go.” Y/n tries to convince Simon to follow him out of the subway station if they didn’t want to get crushed.

“Simon.”

“Why?” Simon finally speaks up. “Why should I go anywhere with you?”

Y/n swallows nervously. “Look I can explain once we get out of here.” He takes a step forward to try and pry the gun from Simon only to freeze when Simon holds it up, keeping it pointed at him. Y/n knows that Simon won’t kill him if he wanted to he would have already.

“You were helping Makarov you helped him escape you helped him do all of this.” Simon nods at their surroundings the place was full of faint screams of panic from the citizens and the sound of his teammates voices were close by as they shouted for Simon. The place was falling apart all because of Makarov.

Y/n’s breath was picking up, grown into panic as he quickly tries to explain himself. “I didn’t know it was Makarov he was going to kill you—I didn’t have a choice—!”

“How long have you been lying to me?”

His breath hitched when hearing Simon’s words, unable to respond back as he opens and closes his mouth, words caught in his throat. He’s been helping Makarov since the beginning of everything and telling Simon wouldn’t change his mind about him.

Not matter what he says or what he tries it wouldn’t work. He’s broken the trust between them the trust that Simon gave him only to see it crumble away. Y/n takes a cautious step forward, ready to apologize for his mistakes only for the place to crumble, giving them both the time to escape. Only this time they don’t escape together.

#male reader #Simon Riley x male reader #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Riley #ghost x male reader #ghost #simon riley mw2 #ghost mw3 #hurt no comfort #angst

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bigassmoonchild · 9 months

Text

Happy

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Simon finally comes home, and he meets his two little angels. You’re finally happy, and things seem perfect. A little too perfect.

Content Tags: Comfort, Twins (name reveal), Death, Canonical death, SPOILERS FOR MW3, Family Moments, Good Father Simon, Simon Finally Realizes How to Deal With His Emotions, Mentions of Pumping, More Original Characters (no name mentioned), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, Omega! Reader, No Use of Y/N

A/N: This is the end. Maple Syrup is done, it has been finished. Feel free to keep sending asks about Doc and Simon! I am more than happy to keep answering prompts about their life together and their family <3. It is insane. I am so proud of how far this has come, and I am so happy that you all have enjoyed it. Don’t worry, I have another fic lined up!!

Part 1 | Previous | Headcannons, Masterlist

Price isn’t entirely sure the last time he could smell something like this on Simon. He isn’t entirely sure if he’s ever smelled him like this. Not in the however long he’s known the Lieutenant. There’s words that he should find, something to get his other alpha, his Lieutenant, to feel better, yet there’s nothing. No matter how much he wants to say something, the words are lost to Price.

He knows the feeling coursing through Simon. Price himself missed his middle pups birth, and yet this all feels different.t He isn’t even sure there are words to convey what he wants to say, if he could just transmit the feeling he needs to he would. But he can’t do that, that just isn’t a thing that’s possible. Maybe in the far, far future but right now? All he needs to find are the words to help make his other Alpha hurt just a little less.

The tangy scent that fills the air of the heli almost burns his nose. It’s not something he’s ever smelled before, not on Simon. Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley didn’t smell hurt, or sad. Hell, he never even really smelled anguished even when he probably should have. Price knows the pup- the pups- are here, and he knows Simon should be feeling a sense of joy. Excitement, even. But there’s nothing. No joy, no happiness, just fear and a tang of pain.

While Price knows the feeling- he missed his own middle pups birth- he can’t find the words to express to Simon that it’ll all turn out okay. That everything will be figured out, that you won’t just abandon him. Simon isn’t a bad Alpha, he might be rough around the edges but he truly does mean well. Maybe his words were a little harsh, maybe his tone wasn’t always what he wanted to convey, but Simon never meant real harm to those on his side.

The sounds of shrieking, wails and snarls coming from the other end of the phone almost haunted Price. He’d never heard his own Omega, the perfect parent to their pups, scream in such a way. Maybe it was just because it hurt, maybe because you had to push two pups out of you, but maybe it was because it was so unexpected. His omega had gone to a few classes to prepare for it all.

Christ. You’d had two pups, and Simon wasn’t there to help at all. Your own pack, the one you were born in, wasn’t even there to help you with this moment. Price knew that there was very little anyone could do to fix this, but by all the gods who knew of the green Earth he wanted to find a way.

While your relationship with Simon had definitely been through worse, he knew that it was torment. Price had been given the opportunity to slowly court his own omega, make them fall in love with him each time that they were together. He knew what it took to get an omega, at least his own, to fall in love. But neither of you were given that chance. You were just some Doctor that had been assigned to their base, just a Doctor who was sent out by your own leaders and Captains to figure out what was happening.

You were just a Doctor, tossed into a world of hurt all because of Simon. And Simon wasn’t sure if he could forgive himself for any of it. You were alone, to care for two newly born pups, all alone to give birth to them. He’d heard you snarl at one of the doctors who had come in. Just Price’s Omega was allowed in, they were the only person who was allowed near you.

Simon shouldn’t have just ran off to the mission without at least having gone and seen you first. Maybe then, just maybe, he would have had the balls to stay behind and try and fix his mistakes. Maybe then, you wouldn’t have been left alone to birth your children. God, he felt so fucking stupid. He’d missed the birth of his pups.

Maybe, hopefully, you’d forgive him. You had before, so hopefully this wouldn’t be that much different. He had to stop doing this, stop making these situations occur where he hurt you so much and had to hope to whatever god would listen that you would accept him back into your arms. He could see Price, Gaz and Soap glancing at him every now and again. Soaps nose was scrunched up, his eyes slightly narrowed while looking at him.

“You alright, L.T.?” Soap asked in the silent helo. The tension was so strong Simon thought he could cut it in half. His eyes slowly moved from staring out of the window to looking right at him. Soaps eyes didn’t move, matching his stare.

Swallowing thickly, Simon broke eye contact. “Worried, s’all,” he responded, voice slightly hoarse. A hum came from Soap, and he watched him turn to look back away where he’d been prior to it. No one else spoke for the remainder of the flight back, and Simon found himself glancing back out the window he was near and watching the ground pass by quickly.

Sometimes he wondered what other people were up to, how simple their lives might be. How they might be having a nice dinner with their pack, watching as their pups grow up with ease. He felt a pang deep in his chest, and he almost felt his eyes burn for a moment. He craved such normalcy. He wanted to curl up in your nest next to you, hold you close as you slept against him.

Take care of his pups and help you out after the birth. He barely noticed the helo land and was half conscious as he walked into the compound. People were glancing at him, their eyes following him as he walked. Simon barely noticed, though, and he felt as though he had tunnel vision on his walk to your shared room.

From a few halls down, he could smell something. It was sweet, mixed in with your own scent. Milky, almost, and slightly powdery. He swallowed thickly, as just another hall down he could hear shuffling coming from your shared room. Christ, when had his hearing become so sensitive? He heard you humming faintly, some cooing and whining from two other sources.

And he opened the door, sliding the key out of the lock as he walked in. Your eyes found him, widening just a little and the faintest scent of fear coursed through your scent. Two wails suddenly screeched through the room, your eyes darting back to the closet nest and you moved without hesitation. He heard little purrs and coos coming from you, the wails slowly dying down into soft whimpers.

His heart shatters into pieces. He feels a pain he hadn’t thought possible, the thoughts whirling through his head. His pups don’t know him, they hate him and he can’t be here. Simons muscles are tensed, ready to make a run for it. He can almost feel tears pooling in his eyes, his throat closing up as a small whine comes from deep within him.

There’s nothing he can do. Absolutely nothing. He wasn’t here when they came into this Earth, he wouldn’t be here when they left. And he hated himself so deeply. But the purrs that you gave, little coos bringing him from his thoughts. His head almost cleared, listening to you whisper soothing words to the little things. God, they’d be tiny. They had to only be a few days or weeks old at this point, but everything felt like it had ground to a halt when he’d heard you were in labor.

And he shouldn’t he absolutely should leave until he can talk to you alone but he can’t. He can’t run away again when things get difficult, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to leave you. He had to make things right, but he wasn’t sure how.

Simon didn’t feel like he could move. He slid his boots off, sliding them in their spot in the corner. He moved slowly, cautiously as he inched closer to the closet. He was barely peeking around the corner when you spun and growled at him. Growled. Deeply, from so far in your chest he hadn’t thought an Omega could make that noise.

Your eyes had shifted from being you, shifting into a deeper and more primal look. They softened, slowly, as your snarl faded carefully. You had remained crouched next to the two pups, your hands still gently laid on each of them.

When you growled, you could smell fear coming from Simon. You aren’t entirely sure if that’s what pulled you out of this weird and deeply defensive spot. The father of your pups, your Alpha was standing above you and looking down at you with wide eyes. You watched as he carefully slid the balaclava off, his eyes dropping down to take a look at your pups. You shifted a little, no longer crouching down in front of them.

His eyes became softer, his brows no longer furrowed so deep into his eyes that he almost looked awed. You knew they had his eyes, although a little lighter because of how young they were. They looked so similar, although your little Lily had more of your features than her fathers. Finley, on the other hand, had his stronger features but he had your hair. Maybe he had your nose, but you were partial to your pups.

You said nothing as you handed one of them to their father. Lily shifted, her nose scrunching up as she inhaled his scent up close but it slowly disappeared as she became comfortable. Her little hand grabbed at his shirt, and one of his hands moved to stroke against her hair. He held her closer to him, and you could see his nose twitch a little as he inhaled her scent.

“I want to retire,” he whispered, not looking away from the little pup in your arms. You could feel your heart stop, your eyes almost welling with tears as the realization slowly sunk in. Your pups would have their father, and you would have your alpha.

“Do you know their names?” You whispered softly, watching as he looked up at you. He shook his head and you gave him a weak smile. You still hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. He had abandoned you. And yet he was here now, holding Lily in his arm and his eyes felt so gentle while he looked at you. “You’re holding Lily,” and he nodded, his nose twitching a little bit. “Finley is down here,”

“How do you differentiate them?” You gave a little laugh, picking up Finley and letting Simon grab onto the two of them. Your big, scary looking alpha was standing there with his head ducked down looking at his pups. He seemed so gentle, his jaw was relaxed and his brows weren’t furrowed. He seemed almost happy.

You glanced away from the three of them, swallowing thickly. “Lily’s scent is a little stronger, kind of like yours. Finley isn’t as shifty and he’s a little quieter. Mostly it’s just their scent, though, but also. Other things,” you glanced away and heard Simon laugh from deep in his chest. His eyes were scrunched up, and his head was tossed back.

Genuinely, you don’t remember if you’d ever seen him laugh as hard as that. You’re not sure that you have, and it made you feel warm. Your chest hurt, but in a good way this time. You could feel your cheeks aching from the smile you had on your face, watching your little pack enjoy themselves.

For some time, the two of your stood there basking in the little family you had. Simon finally sat himself in your nest, and you showed him how to change their diapers. The two of you sat there for what felt like minutes, but had to be hours. He helped you to the toilet when the pain relievers finally stopped working as well, helping to prepare your new pad and helping you get back up.

The first night you were able to spend with him, you hadn’t woken up once. You’d stashed away some pumped milk in a little mini fridge they’d let you keep in the room just for this, and when you woke up and added some more that you’d packaged you noticed a few missing. You smiled a little, glancing at him snoring away in the bed you shared.

It didn’t take long for his retirement to become official. The two of you found a little place not too far from the compound, and he’d gotten a new job. It was pretty decent, but he also received an alright amount of money from the government for his service. You were still working in the medical field, but you found yourself leaning more towards finding an office job, one where you could actually have decent hours to be able to help care for the pups.

Raising two pups at once was difficult. Sure, Simon helped when and where he could, but it was just difficult in general. When one pup wasn’t crying, it was the other. When one needed a diaper change, the other suddenly needed one as well. You were just happy to have your mate and your pups healthy, happy and not at risk to die.

Until Simon got a phone call.

“They think Makarov survived,” he whispered to you in bed after you came back from finishing your pumping. You could feel your blood run cold, and you turned over to look at him.

“What?”

He sighed deeply, shifting his head to look at you. “They have some,” he paused and swallowed. “Evidence. They think he’s still alive, and we need to find him. Kill him,” and your heart was suddenly pounding.

“We?”

You watched as his eyes closed, his scent changing to one that confused you. “They need me to help them,” he whispered, his hand finding yours carefully. He squeezed it, and you squeezed back. You sighed deeply, closing your eyes and feeling your heart begin to slow down.

Opening your eyes, you looked carefully at Simon. Even in the dark, you could see his brow furrowed. “I’m coming with,” you whispered. He sat up straight, elbow locked as he held himself up.

“Absolutely not,” his voice was stern, almost a growl. “You will not be going anywhere near this mission,”

You scoffed, rolling back over onto your back. Your eyes gazed across the dark ceiling. “I’m coming with you,” you whispered once more. Simon shook his head, his free hand sliding across his face.

It was a week long argument. Tempers were short, and things weren’t very happy within the house. The two of you still worked together with the pups, but it was silent. He still took care of the pups at night, even though he was sleeping in your guest bedroom. You stayed quiet, listening faintly in on his phone calls. He was trying to stay quiet, you could tell.

It was mostly arguing, at least from his end. Anger about not wanting you to go with, and whoever he was talking with appeared to be arguing for your help. He was always a little angrier after finishing the call, but he stowed away with the pups while they took their naps and seemed to just stew with the thoughts for a while.

After a week, probably just a little longer, he finally came up to you with his head down. He wasn’t making eye contact, but his brows were still furrowed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered after a moment. You nodded, continuing to package the breastmilk you’d just finished pumping. “Price wants you to join, he’s worried there might be issues with medical care while we’re on the mission,” you nodded again but paused after finally registering what he was saying.

“Price said what?”

And the mission was horrible. Absolutely horrible.

The only part you truly remember about it was watching as Soap took a gunshot to the head. You watched the blood pour out of him, heard the shouts and ensuing chaos.

Makarov got away. You did what you could, but at the end of the day you had no way of saving Soap. Simon had grown silent, and the return to the compound was horrible. Price’s omega was taking care of the pups, as their own were almost finished with their last years of school. And you left the 141 alone as they spread his ashes, holding Simon close as he sobbed into your body.

His grip on you those next few weeks were incredibly strong, his arms not letting you out of bed when you needed to use the bathroom, and he was just a little withdrawn for some time.

You named your next pup after Soap. And Simon slowly grew better about the passing, the 141 was often around to see their pack-pups. Everything felt wrong without Johnny, though. No longer just Soap, it was Johnny. Even your youngest had become Johnny, and Simon was able to keep himself from being especially partial to the young one.

They grew up so fast, but it took so long. And maybe it should have felt good, but Christ were they some difficult pups at times. Lily had her first rut, as did Finley. Johnny hadn’t yet presented, so you were just assuming he was a Beta until he would present. Maybe he wouldn’t, but you loved your little pups more than you had ever thought possible.

It wasn’t all too bad. The 141 stuck around, and you found yourselves living in the same neighborhood as the other two. Gaz had found himself a mate, and they had a few pups of their own. You helped with the birth of the first, just as Price’s Omega had done for you. They were there as well, and Simon was holding Gaz back even with the shrieks.

Gaz had tried throwing the two of you out of the room, as his omega had ended up in a similar situation to you. In the middle of birth suddenly, and unable to make it to a hospital in time. Lucky bastard, the birth took twenty minutes.

But you were happy. And that’s all that mattered.

TAGLIST (finished for Maple Syrup, please let me know if you’d eventually like to be added to a general Ghost x Reader taglist, or just no longer be tagged 🫶)

Some tags are not accepted, as it won’t show your blogs when i’m tagging. i’m so sorry!!

@sae1kie @shinebright2000 @zechie-spams @itsmadamehydra @smiley-roos @enrapturedbythemoon @stargatenovus @cowboydisaster @josieguts @the-queen-of-england183 @littlelovebug98 @cringeycookies @averytiredfanfictionwriter @kariiiel @http-paprika @snorklingfae @lukneetoonz @wise-owl @waves-against-a-cliff @megkviss @ducks118 @404lunar @zoom-zoom77 @hollowmasque @bootabo2000 @ducks118 @bunnyvs @perfectus-in-morte @itsmytimetoodream @the-occasional-artist1125 @lunamoonbby @ghostslittlegf @teddywebby @astro-ghoul99 @vicky-09 @batmanunicorns523 @xuanzhe @tsugikatsuhowl

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yawnderu · 8 months

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Me reading the COD Twitter is hilarious and I love it 😀

ESPECIALLY the Gaz ones cuz he's so cute and wholesome 🤧 and if you've seen Scary Movie (its a parody of Scream and kinda I Know What You Did Last Summer) there was a scene where a guy was cheering about his girlfriend and a bunch of guys were like

"Hell yeah, that's my girlfriend too!"

"I'm hitting that tonight!"

It reminded me of the one where Soup was talking about head game and when Gaz said "on GOD she do" I was reminded of that 🤣

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=N3Yf8KsFj8M&pp=ygUhU2NhcnkgbW92aWUgdGhhdCdzIG15IGdpcmxmcmllbmQg

0:23 to 0:40 :)

H3HEFKHJEFHKJBEKHJFHJKFB THANK U YES. IT'S THEM

Context is funnier if I ever finished the Stray fic but playing mw3 ruined me and killed all my inspiration JKNEJHBEFBHJFHBHJKEBF

#stray answers #soap mactavish #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty #john soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #john mactavish #mw2 gaz #gaz mw2 #gaz cod #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick

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gofishygo · 2 months

Text

WEEK TWO (PRIDE MONTH SERIES) : DEAR THEODESIA ; , RETIRED! GHOAP x RETIRED 141! READER - UNFINISHED

(ill finish these when i take my normal pills trust)

notes: description of injury, mw3 spoilers

ice does little to aid the aftermath of bullet wounds. it’s ludicrous, some fact that the youngest of children, with their stubby hands and round faces could comprehend- how could coldness and wet cloth undo starburst wounds? It has no place there; held against flesh turned inside-out, feeble in grasping the shrapnel that dug new burrows in bone. such primitive medicine could only ever aid bruises on the knees of young students, to cool drinks during days where sweat stuck shirt into skin.

and yet, johnny(soap)’s head was placed in your lap, an icepack closing the gap between the sirus wound against his head and the warmth of your hand, while simon(formerly ghost) slings an arm around your shoulder, sinking the rounded fluff of the couch you’d found on facebook marketplace together.

it’s still hard, readjusting to living the life that you had served years in the SAS to protect. Your head writhes against it’s constraints, golden hours in the wednesday morning leaving your heads to ache in their skulls and eyes reeling from the white-hot brightness that tinged your peripherals. birds sing their morning songs where moments of silence should have been- walking on wooden floor feels cold, skin connection uncomfortably intimate against the plank. for the first few months of retiring together, you and simon and johnny couldn’t stand it- you’d still wear the same footwear that accompanied you during missions, tainting clean floors with the grime and dirt from the fields. and it’s strange for all of you, and it’s so easy to tell . downing the cycle of load aim burn, and you can’t tell if the unbearable weightlessness of peace is a result of the vivid motions of your previous line of work, your body suffering under the lack of adrenaline, or some sort of survival response, fawning in suspicion. life should not feel this slow, has not felt this slow. your body slumps into the couch, eyes flicking to johnny. “head feeling any better?”

“yea. thanks, bonnie, felt l’ke i was dyin’,” he murmurs in response, body coiling closer to yours. “acting like it too,” simon murmurs, dry joke rolling from the back of the throat. Both you and johnny both let out some giggle at that, playful smirk growing on your face. “might be the only half-decent joke you’ve made in a while”, you snigger, and johnny almost tumbles to the floor when simon lunges at you. “oy-! get off me, you big oaf! you’re going to kill johnny!” and for the first time, you have carved yourself into this painted home, bellies rich with warmth, laughter abstractly resembling a pomegranate; sparkling, lively red, sweet-tart, alive. Geode formations, sparkling when light hit.

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codfanficedits · 10 months

Text

Final Goodbye - Full version.

Pairing: John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick & Reader

Summary: You are Death, guiding the men to the afterlife.

Wordcount: 12,467 | Rating: M (18+ only!)

Warnings: MW3 SPOILERS - Suicide - Selfharm and grieving.

A/N: Different colours to identify dialogue better. Gave John a little backstory.

Being the reaper was a work of art on its own. It was your duty to guide the souls whose time was up to the afterlife, and you had made it your personal mission to make sure that as little as possible souls would cross to the afterlife scared. After all, death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints.

As a result you had to divide yourself, as an immortal being that was an easy thing to do. Being everywhere at once, yet being nowhere at the same time.

You had the taskforce in your sight for a while now. Four elite soldiers going on missions, you almost had your work cut out for you. But they were good, good enough to keep you lurking in the shadows, for now.

Some of them had come close, close enough to dance the dance of death with you, only to be granted a little more time. John “Soap” MacTavish being one of them. There had been plenty of moments where you had held his hands already, almost revealing your true form before he got pulled away from your grasp.

Life enjoyed playing tricks with you, with death. But it was what humans needed, a little reminder of their mortality so they could enjoy their life again.

And so here you were. You had been following John for a little while now, sensing that his time would be up again. And it was special so to say to follow him around, for every life he took, you would see a version of yourself pop up, taking the life he had claimed to the afterlife, only for that version of yourself to fade again, the very fragments of your soul being scattered around the world in an attempt to make the experience of death a more pleasant one than the experience of being alive. Not that you succeeded all the time. Sometimes you had to guide lives who deserved to live for another fifty years, sometimes the souls were terrified, and sometimes they were waiting for you, as old friends finally meeting up again. It could be a cruel world, but you weren’t there to judge. Humans had free will, and you could not interfere with it.

John’s death happened quick. Too quick for your liking. You preferred it when it took a little time. Not that you liked the suffering of the souls, no, of course not. But it was the best for all whenever a soul was at peace with their death. And John certainly was not.

“What the fuck?” He scolded. “Why the fuck can’t I grab my fucking weapon?”

“What kind of bullshit is this? Cap’n are you seeing thi-“ His sentence cutting short.

Oh you had seen this film before, and you never liked the ending. The look of despair when they see their body lying on the ground.

“No. No! Nonononono.” There it was.

Time seems to be standing still when reality seeps into his brain, his hand reaching out to his limp body on the ground, but he goes straight through it. A look of confusion, pain, anger, sadness when he can see his teammates continue the mission he couldn’t finish. He sees them disarm the bomb, he sees his best friend, Simon, kneel by his body, frantically looking for a pulse.

“I’m here!” John yells, waving his arms in front of Simon’s face, but it is no use, John no longer belongs to the earth, nor does he belong to the afterlife yet. He is in your realm, your limbo and you are the only one who can grand him the freedom of moving on.

“Simon! I am here!” He yells again, but he is meet with the empty eyes of his best friend, and a soft. “No pulse.”

“Hello.”

Your voice snaps him out of it. “Who the fuck are you?”

But it should be clear, the big, dark, black cloak hiding you, hiding your face. “I am Death.”

“I have died?”

“Afraid so.”

“That is a whole lot of bullshit. Can’t you turn it back or something?”

“No.”

You give him the time to process what had happened, what is happening, and what is about to happen.

“So, what now?” He asks, a hand running through his mohawk, his eyes shifting back to his dead body again.

“That depends.” You answer. “Are you ready to move on yet?” Normally you wouldn’t give the souls a choice, no normally you would guide them to the afterlife, maybe have a little small talk, but there was something inside of you telling you this death would stir up some things. So you decided to give him the choice.

“No.” His answer is quick, and you can tell he didn’t think about it.

“Why not?”

“There are so many thing that I still need to do.”

“You know you can’t do them now, right? You are death, you no longer possess your own body, everything you say, or do, is not visible in the human world.” Sometimes you have to be blunt in order to get your point across.

“Oh.”

“So I ask you again. Are you ready to move on?”

“No.”

“Give me a reason.”

John’s gaze shifts to the three men standing over his body, the pain in their eyes is visible and it is undeniable that they had a strong bond, something more than just coworkers. And their pain is shared, as you can see the same pain in his eyes.

“I need to know if they will be okay.”

“You can’t change anything if they won’t be okay.”

“I know, but I know they will be okay, I just need to see it with my own eyes.”

“Very well.” You answer. “You get to decide when you are ready.”

He looks up when he sees other versions of you reap the lives he and his team have taken, his brows furrow and you can tell he wants to ask you questions. Humans have always been curious creatures. “If you have something on your mind, speak up.”

“Who are those?” His fingers point at a version of you who slowly fades away.

“They are me and I am them.”

“That tells me exactly nothing.”

A soft laugh escapes you, even death this man is fearless.

“They are parts of my soul.” You explain. “I prefer to guide every soul to the afterlife personally, but with the volume of souls on this earth, I have to split myself in order to keep up.”

“And I am talking to the main version of Death?”

“That is how you could call it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Splitting yourself?”

“I am no mortal being, pain does not exist in my realm. So to answer your question. It does not hurt.”

His fingers go to the bullet wound in his head, his fingers trailing on the edges, before he pulls them back and looks at the blood on his fingers. “Huh. I got so caught up with this whole being dead thing, that I forgot I got shot.”

A smile forms around your lips. “You’re not the first to which that has happened.”

He is mesmerized, can you blame him? It is not every day that you meet death in person.

“If there is a death, does life exist too?”

“Yes. And Life is quite nice.”

“You’ve met them?”

“Of course, without Life I would not exist, and without me, Life would not be able to continue their creations. We dance a dance of existence together.”

“Hm.” John seems content with your answer. “Hey, can we follow L.T?”

“Simon Riley?”

“Yes.”

“Sure.” The benefit of being an immortal creature was that the law of physics and time did not apply to you, or to Johnny for that matter. “Why him, though?”

“I worry about him the most.” Johnny admitted with a shrug, a flicker of emotions in his eyes before it dies down again. “He had a fucked up life, and we had grown to be good friends, I worry he won’t take my death well.”

Oh sweet summer child, if you only knew. But you cannot interfere with the living and it is no point in telling Johnny what you know, so you keep quiet and grant his request.

“He has become my best friend in the military, you know?” Johnny breaks the silence, as you watch Simon, who at this time, doesn’t seem to feel a thing.

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“Been watching the taskforce for a while.”

“Why?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you give a lot of answers. Now why were you watching us?”

“You’re soldiers. Death follows you around.”

“In the most literal sense.” He laughs at his own joke, and all you do is stare at him, blinking a few times.

“Jezus, even L.T. wasn’t as hard to crack.” He mutters.

“I worry.” John repeats. “I worry that when I died. Simon died too, and Ghost remained.”

In a sense he is not wrong. You can feel it too, the guilt that Simon carries, the hatred towards himself for letting a friend die.

“He is grieving.” You eventually say. “And while grief is a beautiful thing, it expresses itself in the most destructive ways.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You can see his face shift, he understands Simon won’t cope well, and it doesn’t sit right with him. “I guess there is no way I can interfere with it, right?”

“Correct.”

“Huh.” He stays silent for a brief moment, while he watches the mission debrief going on, without him, but about him. “How does time work here?”

“I am not sure what you mean.”

“Can’t you speed up time or something? Turns out watching people gets kind of boring.”

Humans had always been impatient beings. “I can.” You say. “I can fast forward until we see Simon all by himself.”

His eyes light up, and you’ve hit the mark. “Yes, yes, I need to see how he copes.”

Alas, you grant him his wish, after all, you are death, not some cruel being.

His eyes widen as time around the two of you starts to speed up, the world moving at a faster pace while you are both the centre of it. You see his emotions shift to a sad one, he tries to hide it, but it is hard to conceal the emotions in his eyes, even for a hardened soldier. A soft sigh escapes him when he watches the sunset and you understand it. The sunsets are your favourite thing on earth too.

“It is hard to grasp that I’ll never see another sunset again.” John whispers and you can do nothing but nod. You understand, of course you do. “I just wish I would have appreciate them more while I was alive.”

“For what it is worth. You’re not the first who only appreciates the beauty of life when it is ripped away from them.”

A pained expression paints his face. “It is really the end, huh?” He mutters softly as you slow down time again. “There will be no second chances after this.”

“We are here.” You say, but you only form your sentence to get him out of his thoughts, of course he recognizes Simon’s quarters. He has been there before.

You guide him through the wall, knowing that what the both of you are about to see isn’t a pretty sight. Simon had taken his famous Ghost mask off, balaclava tossed on his bed, an empty look in his eyes, while he watches the dog tags in his hand. One of them is missing, and a smile curls around your lips when you realise where they are.

John doesn’t notice, instead he is hesitant to reach out to his friend.

“Fuck!” Simons booming voice startles John. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” Simon is blaming himself and all that hatred needs to come out. His fists slam down on the mirror on the wall, the shards digging in to the skin on his hands, but it only fuels Simon’s anger. “It should have been me! Fucking me!”

Times like these make your job hard, while you do not understand humans all the time, you can understand their grief, their longing, their desperate attempts to cope with their loved ones being gone.

His hands clutch around the dog tag, the material reminder he has of his best friend. You know Simon wants to cry, to let out all the build up frustration, but you also know Simon is raised by violence and not by love, so he doesn’t allow himself to. Blood drips slowly from his balled fist as he takes deep breaths to calm himself down. Not that it is doing much, every time Simon catches a glimpse of himself, he is reminded of the loss that happened today.

“Is he going to be okay?” John asks.

“I don’t know.” You answer, but you know, you know what will happen, and you know it won’t be pretty, but John doesn’t need to know, not when you can see the pain on his face, the pain in his eyes. The pain in his very soul to see his friend react like this.

His breath hitches in his throat when he sees Simon looking for something, a hidden bottle of whiskey appearing from between his socks in his dresser.

“Fuck.” John’s voice is soft. “Fuck!” It isn’t as soft anymore when Simon takes the first swig.

“Are you really sure I can’t do something? Anything?”

You shake your head.

“Please, anything. I beg you.” The desperation in his voice is clear as day, he doesn’t even try to hide how he feels about his best friend drinking.

“I.. I.. I can’t see this. Simon CAN’T drink himself to death because of me, because I died, becau-“

“He doesn’t drink himself to death.”

And for John time stops again, the weight of the world falling off his shoulders. “Oh thank God.” He sighs. “I mean, thank you, thank life? What is appropriate to say?”

He doesn’t drink himself to death, it will be far worse.

“Thank God is fine.” You eventually answer.

John looks at Simon again, who keeps on drinking the whiskey as if he needs it to survive. “I’m sorry.” Simon eventually says, and John’s eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, Johnny.”

“You don’t have to be sorry.” John rambles. “It wasn’t your fault. We all knew Makarov was an asshole.”

“It should’ve been me.” Simon sighs, not hearing the words his best friend so desperately wants to hear him. “You had so much things you still wanted to do, you still had a life in store.”

“Bollocks, Simon.” John tries to tell him while Simon takes another sip. “Fucking bollocks. You can make something out of your life too! We’ve talked about this.”

The nearly empty bottle gets thrown to the wall when Simon locks eyes with the dog tag again. “Fuck. I really hope that when I wake up tomorrow, you’ll still be alive, and this is all a horrible dream.”

Simon ignores the mess on the ground, he ignores the life outside of his quarters, he ignores the world that keeps on spinning, that keeps going on, while his life stopped the moment that bullet hit John. Instead he half undresses himself, slow, lazy movements, the alcohol making it hard to be precise. And he curls up in a ball, the single dog tag clutched in his hand, close to his heart, an gesture to keep his best friend close to him.

“Oh L.T. that hangover is going to hurt.” John mumbles. “And you promise he won’t drink himself to death, right?”

“I promise.”

“And I really can’t give him a sign that I am still here? Or you know, put a glass of water on his nightstand or something?”

“Afraid not.”

“I wish I could though.” John adds with a sigh, looking over the sleeping form of his friend.

“How is the rest coping?”

“You mean John and Kyle?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to see?”

His eyes light up again. “Can I?”

“Wouldn’t have said it, if you couldn’t”

“In that case, yes, yes please.”

“Who first?”

He needs to think for a brief moment, does he want to see his Captain first, or his other good friend? He isn’t as worried about them as he was about Simon, yet the decision seems an easy one.

“Kyle.”

“Very well.” You hold out your hand for him to take, taking him to the quarters of his other friend. The young man lies on his bed, above the sheets, just staring at the ceiling, tears burning in his eyes.

John needs to swallow a lump in his throat. “He’ll be fine.” Will he?

“But shit.” John continues. “I wish I had told him I was proud of him more often.”

The both of you stay quiet while Kyle rolls over to his side, facing the wall, eyes still wide open.

“He was a little younger than I was, but we had the same rank, and I’ll be damned if he doesn’t become the best soldier out there. So young, yet so many achievements already.” John runs a hand through his mohawk. “I just.. I just hope he knows how proud I am of him.”

Another smile tugs around your lips, while Kyle rolls over again, it is clear that he can’t seem to get comfortable, the events of today replaying in his mind while he tries to process what happens, while he tries to find a balance between being a tough soldier, and being human.

“I want to become like you Soap, when I grow up.” Kyle mutters, before he finally closes his eyes. And you look over to John, making sure that he heard the words that left his friends lips and in that moment he looks like a proud father, the same words he had once told Simon, were now said by someone he was so proud of.

John wants to reach out, pat his friend on the shoulder and promise him everything will be okay. But he can’t and you can tell it is eating him inside. He takes a deep breath, and then another, and another.

“Okay.” He finally said. “I think I want to see the Captain now.”

“Sure.”

Once more you hold out your hand for him to take, allowing him to see his Captain.

“Oh.”

It Is not a pretty sight. Price’s phone lights up time after time, missed calls from Laswell, from Nicolai, but he doesn’t answer them, paperwork gets ignores while he smokes cigar after cigar. His way to cope with stress.

“Shit.” John curses. “I would’ve thought captain would be the least affected.”

But Price is only human, and humans grief in the worst ways possible. The taskforce had become the family he once dreamed of having, he found solace in the people around him, and losing one was always hard, especially when it was someone who was close to him. Price slams his fist on his desk, startling John.

“Makarov came for me.” The voice coming out of Price is soft, a stark contrast with the loud slamming of his fist only moments ago. “You died because you tried to help me.”

“You would’ve done the same, cap.” John answers. “You would’ve given your life to save any of us.”

Price sighs and shakes his head, his hand reaching out to grab a picture off his desk, a group picture, the four of them together.

“Fucking idiot.” Price mutters. “You should’ve never done that. I should bring you back from the death, only to kick you so hard you’ll die again.” It is almost an endearing way of coping and John can’t help but chuckle.

You give John a nudge, pointing at the dog tags Price is wearing. Instead of two, his chain has three. John’s being added after he identified the body and gave Laswell the details for the report.

John’s gaze softens as he notices. “I’ll never be far away from them.”

“Never.”

“You know what. I think they’ll be alright without me. They will learn to live again.”

You can tell he wants to tell you that he is ready to move on, but you stop him by raising your hand. “Do you want to see your final moment together?”

“Sure.”

Once again you reach out your hand for him to take, and within the blink of an eye you’re in the Scottish highlands, three adults standing by a cliff, an urn in their hands. It is almost peaceful, serene.

“Who dares wins, sleep easy soldier.” Price is the first to talk.

“See you down range, brother. We’ll take it from here.” Kyle is the second to follow.

“Rest in peace, Johnny.” Simon is the last to speak.

You and John watch Simon unscrew the lid of the urn, tilting it, allowing the ashes to dance with the wind.

“I feel… at peace.” John mentions, watching his ashes spread through the air.

He sits down on the edge of the cliff, patting down next to him, signalling you to sit next to him, and so you do.

“I want to ask something.”

“And if I can, I will answer.”

“Why do you look human? Are you human?”

“No, I am not human.”

“Then what are you?”

“I am death. I have always been death and I will always be death. However, if I choose to portray myself other than human, it will make your kind freak out even more.”

John can’t help but laugh at your words. “Truth be told, I think I would’ve freaked out to see something else than human, yes.”

His gaze falls on the beautiful scenery in front of the two of you.

“So, what happens next?”

“When you’re ready I’ll help you cross to the afterlife.” You answer.

“What is the afterlife like?”

“That depends. It is different for everyone.” You reply.

“Is there like a heaven and hell?”

“No. The afterlife is a place where your soul goes to after your body has died. Every soul gets its own realm, and there it stays, together with all the souls it loves.”

“So, does that mean I’ll see the soul of my grandmother?”

“If you loved her, yes.”

“Does that.. does that mean I’ll see Bobby again?”

“Your dog?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.”

“I’ve missed him.”

“He knows.”

“I’m glad.”

John knows it is time for him to go, but he has to ask the question that burns within him.

“Will I see them again?”

“Eventually. I can tell your bond is strong enough for all of you to be reunited again in the afterlife.”

“I’ll wait for them.”

“And when their time has come I’ll be sure to guide them to you.”

“Thank you, Death.” For the last time John takes your hand in his. “I am ready now.”

Out of all three of them, Kyle had struggled the most with John’s death, or Soap, as the living men preferred to refer to him. Their silly nicknames never made much sense to you, how could John become a Soap, a Kyle become a Gaz, and a Simon become a Ghost?

Kyle had seen Soap – John – as some sort of mentor, someone to look up to, and the fact that that person was gone, was something Kyle couldn’t grasp, something he didn’t want to grasp.

It turned out that Soap also was the glue that held the four of them together, and with him being gone, the group of soldier started to fall apart, slowly, but surely.

And all you could do was wait patiently.

So you did, waiting in the shadow after Kyle took dangerous mission after dangerous mission. Today was no exception, much to the despair of his captain. Not that that would stop Kyle. No, Kyle felt as if he had to prove himself, he wanted to make Soap proud, he wanted to make Simon proud, he wanted to make his captain proud. So much that he forgot his own mortality in the process.

And there he was, laying in the high grass, hiding from the enemy that planted a bullet into his lower abdomen.

Time for you to come into action, you had been lurking into the shadow for a while now, and just when you were ready to step out again, you saw them. Life.

“Not yet, Death.” Life’s bright voice sounds. “This one isn’t done yet.”

You can only watch while Life takes his hand into theirs, making sure Kyle can hold on until help arrives.

Life is everything Death isn’t. Where you, Death, are surrounded by sadness, despair, and darkness, Life is surrounded by joy, happiness, and light. Yet your realms seem to interfere, blend in together, not every soul is happy to be alive, and other souls deserve to live longer than the universe can grand them.

Life and Death dance around the world, leaving a trail of love and grief wherever they go.

“Gaz!” A loud voice booms over the field, his lieutenant comes running over, as fast as his legs can carry him. “Seems like you will win this round, Life.” You muse, as you watch Simon apply pressure to the wound.

“I need a medic, NOW!” Simon yells. “I can’t lose you Gaz.” He adds with a softer voice. “Not you too.”

But Kyle can’t look Simon in his eyes, not yet, right now he isn’t able to cope with the disappointment he will see in his lieutenants eyes. “I’ll be fine.” Kyle mutters with a meek smile, and you can see Life squeeze his hand.

“Of course.” Simon agrees, because Simon doesn’t dare to think about the fact that he might lose someone he cares about again.

“You’ll be okay Gaz, I’ll make sure.” And with those words, Simon spews out what he wanted to tell to Soap.

And Kyle will be okay, Life had made sure that he escaped from your grasp for the final time. Life continued to hold Kyle’s hand until he reached the infirmary, Life didn’t let go off his hand until the first stitch was placed in the wound, letting him live until his time was up.

And you just followed, following Life and Kyle into the infirmary, quietly waiting. Kyle’s time would come, quicker than he would expect it to happen.

Life finally let go off his hand, giving you a quick nod before they disappeared again.

You just watched, seeing fragments of yourself guide the souls of the less fortunate while you had yourself fixated on the young man before you.

You watched over his shoulder when he took out his phone. His hand shaking while he went to call his mother, a shaky breath leaving his lips when his mother picked up the phone and the video call starts.

“Mom.”

“Kyle? My boy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“You never call without a reason. What’s on your mind?”

“Just.. I know.. You.. I..” The poor boy started to stutter, not able to express the emotions he wanted to express.

And a mothers love knows no boundaries. “Are you worried about John, Bearie?”

A sour expression crossed his face by the nickname from his childhood, but it is quickly swallowed. “Yeah.” He muttered softly.

You know the look his mother bears, it is the look of a woman who wishes her son wasn’t away from her, a mother who wishes she could crawl through the phone to comfort her son about his fallen teammate.

“What is on your mind, boy?”

“I just wonder ma.” Kyle starts. “I wonder if he was in pain, if he was scared, if he would ever be proud of me.”

No he wasn’t, more pissed off than scared, more than you’ll ever know.

His mother sighs softly. “Those are questions you’ll never find an answer to. But I get it, I had the same questions when your grandpa passed. And I like to think that both of them are proud of us. You have reason to be proud, Kyle. I am sure John is proud of you too.”

The expression on his face softens. “Thank you mom.”

“Anytime Bearie.”

He rolls his eyes, quick enough so that his mother doesn’t catch on.

“Do you want to speak to your sisters too?”

“No, I’m quite tired, just missed you.”

“I miss you too Kyle. Promise me you’ll come home soon yeah?”

“Promised ma, I’ll see you soon okay?”

“I love you, Bearie, stay safe.”

“Love you too mom.”

The moment his call gets disconnected, he presses his lips against his phone, wishing to press the same kiss against his mothers forehead. Kyle had never struggled to be away from his family, but with Soap’s passing, he found himself longing to be with his family more and more. Maybe he would take a little break after his next mission.

But Kyle never got to take that break. Soon after he was cleared from the infirmary he found himself taking dangerous missions again. The promise to his mother being long forgotten whenever he found himself enjoying the rush again, the feeling of being alive, of being worthy, he finally felt as if he mattered.

Not that any of that was important right now. Because right now Kyle was about to meet you. He had found himself caught in enemy crossfire once more, being in the delusion that he is in fact invincible. But he isn’t, no one is really no matter how often they think they are.

Kyle groans, his chest rising and falling rapidly with his short breaths, as his hands clutch the wound on his chest, he knew that time was running out, and even you knew that Life wouldn’t be able to keep him away from you.

“Hello.”

Kyle looks up at your words, his eyes wide with fear. “Are you? Did I? Am I dead?”

“Not yet.”

“Fuck.” His face scrunches in pain.

“I suppose I can’t sweet talk my way out of dying.”

“Afraid not.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! I promised mom I would come home again.”

“You did.”

“How did you know?”

“That is something for later. Right now I would advice you to call your mother.”

A short flash of gratitude in his eyes before the pain takes over again. With a bloody hand he takes out his phone, dialling his mother’s number. But she doesn’t pick up, she is on the other side of the world, blissfully unaware that her son is about to breathe his last breath.

His lips press together to a thin line when he reaches her voicemail.

“Mommy?” His voice is quivering when he speaks. “It’s me, Bearie. I’m so sorry, but I won’t be coming home again. I.. I.. I.. I was too reckless, thought I had to make you and the whole world proud after Soap died, and now I never get to see you again.” The words spill out of him worried his life will be over before he can say the things he wants her to hear.

“I am so sorry for breaking my promise mom, I love you, I love the girls. Please don’t blame yourself.” His breathing is getting quicker and he starts to get cold, a sign for you that his time is coming to an end. You hold out your hand to him, a subtle notice that he has to hurry up.

“Mom. Mom I can’t say this enough, I should’ve said it more to you, but I love you. I really love you, thank you for being my mother.”

One raspy breath, another raspy breath.

“Oh and mom? It doesn’t hurt, I promise. It doesn’t hurt and I am not scared.”

Lair.

He ends the call, the pain is visible in his face, in his eyes. In everything. His hand is shaking when he reaches for your held out hand, and the moment you touch him, it is over. The pain disappears, his face relaxes.

Kyle stands besides you, looking at his dead body. “I had to lie to her, you know. She would never forgive herself for allowing me to join the army.”

“Do not worry, I am not here to judge you.”

“Then what are you here for?”

“To guide you.”

“To hell?”

“No, to the afterlife.”

“Oh.”

It stays quiet for a little bit.

“How did you know I had promised mom that I would come home?”

“You should’ve been dead the last time you got shot, but Life decided you were allowed some more time.”

“Can I thank Life?”

“No, Life is a shy creature, and prefers to not be seen by the mortals. I am in no position to deny Life their wishes.”

A quick nod, as Kyle seems to understand what you mean.

He looks at his body again, and a sad look appears on his face. “Will my mother at least have my body back home?”

You nod. “Yes, let me speed up time a little, because it does take a while.”

“You can speed up time?”

“Correct, right now you are no longer in the world of the living, but in my realm. My rules apply here.”

He relaxes as time begins to speed up.

“Watch closely.” You urge. “You might not have realised, but the sunset are always beautiful.”

He goes to sit down, next to his body, and he allows himself to enjoy the setting sun, a soft, smooth transition to the night.

“Gaz, this is Ghost, how copy?” That is your cue to slow down time again.

“Gaz, how copy?”

“Can I answer him?”

“No, everything you do here, has no influence on the world of the living.”

“Shit, they must be worried.”

“Kyle, how copy?”

“Fuck. Kyle, stay where you are, I am coming.”

Kyle leans back into the grass. “Did you guide Soap too?”

“I did.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I was there when he got shot. Guided him to the afterlife too.”

“Did he.. Did he mention me?”

“Mention you? He wanted to stay in my realm until he was sure all three of you could cope.”

Kyle smiles. “He always was a good friend. Did he say anything about me?”

“Only that he was proud of you, and that he should’ve told you more often.”

“He did?”

“I have no benefit in lying.”

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, and you can see the tears in his eyes. “Fuck. I really thought he would’ve been so disappointed in me.”

“He wasn’t. By all means he was telling me how proud he was, how much you had achieved already.”

Kyle’s phone rings, and the screen lights up with the name of his mother, the moment the ringing ends, it starts again immediately. And again. And again. Kyle has a sad look on his face. “I hate that I broke my promise to her.” He admits.

“I understand that.”

“God, she will be so heartbroken.”

“Yes. But you did give her some closure by that voicemail. She will cherish it till the end of her dying days. Even though it was a lie, hearing from you that it didn’t hurt, that you weren’t scared. It will help her heal more than you can imagine.”

Kyle wipes away the tears that had rolled down his cheeks. “I am glad. She really is the best you know? Always been supportive of my dreams, even when my father left, she was there for me, always putting me and my sisters first.”

“It sounds like you love her.”

“More than I’ve loved myself.”

You watch Simon approach, his face hidden behind his mask, but the emotion in his eyes is clear. “Fuck, no. Gaz.”

He drops down the body of his friend, searching for a pulse, but the body had gone cold already, and in a moment of emotion, of weakness even, Simon cradles the dead body of his friend. “Not you too man, come on.”

Kyle has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Shit.”

Simon reaches for his radio. “Gaz has been found and identified, Killed in action. I’ll return soon.”

“Will he be okay? I noticed him drinking more after Soap died, and I don’t want him to drink himself to death because of my death.”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Really? Oh god that is a relief.”

He watches, as Simon picks up his body, and carries him away.

“How does the Captain cope?” Kyle asks.

“I can show you?”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

By the gods, that wasn’t a good sight to see, the captain looked at least fifteen years older, the constant smoking now had the company of a bottle of whiskey.

A fourth dog tag on the chain.

“Fuck.” Price muttered. “Fuck, it never gets any fucking easier.”

The fingertips of Price trace the outline of Kyle’s file. “I never should’ve let you go on this mission.”

“I hope he knows I would’ve gone on another dangerous mission if he would’ve declined me this one.” Kyle answers.

“He knows, deep down he knows, but it is easier for you humans to find a way to blame yourself.”

“Will the captain be okay?”

“He will be the last of you four to pass.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Huh, I guess the captain is tougher than he looks.”

“That he is.”

“And Ghost? Will he be okay?”

“He won’t drink himself to death.”

“Final question, will mom be okay?”

“Your mother? She will never be herself again. She will always miss you, mourn you, but your urn gets a little shrine, and she will never toss out your childhood stuffed animals.”

“How long will it take for her to have me home again?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll be able to cope once I see her heartbroken face. Right now all my memories of her are nice ones, and I will break my own heart if I see her grieve.”

“That is fair.”

Kyle looks at his captain again, before he turns to look at you.

“Will I see Soap again?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. Once you’ve moved on to the afterlife, your soul will connect with the souls you’ve loved.”

“Can I go now? Simon will be alright, Captain will be alright, and mom will eventually be alright too. I feel like I can leave them now and not be worried.”

Kyle takes a deep breath. “And I would like to catch up with Soap.”

“Very well.”

You hold out your hand to him. “Let me guide you then.”

Simon Riley. You had been following the man ever since he was born. There had been times where he had been ready to leave this earth, only to be pulled back by Life on the last second.

It would be a lie if it wouldn’t make you question whether or not it would be ethical to keep certain people alive. But that wasn’t up to you to judge after all.

Even after he escaped the horror that was his childhood home, death seemed to follow Simon, his hand never steered clear from the blood that stained him.

But this time? This time it was different.

Simon couldn’t cope with the death of Gaz and Soap, leaving him a broken mess. But Simon was taught that feelings, emotions should be hidden inside, piling up until you couldn’t bear it anymore.

So Simon did what he knew best, copying the coping skill of his father, empty bottles piling up just like the feelings piled up inside of him. Whiskey replacing the companionship that his friends no longer could give them, the burning sensation of the liquid making him feel alive, a feeling he thought he didn’t need anymore, but he felt himself craving it, chasing it.

And of course people around him were worried, John tried to talk to him, John had seen this way too often before. Soldiers not being able to cope with the loss, turning to the poison that roamed this earth, alcohol, drugs and self-destruction in the from of women. And John had tried to stop it, tried to warn him, but Simon was a grown man, capable of making his own choices, no matter how destructive.

You knew you had promises Soap and Gaz that Simon wouldn’t drink himself to death, and with the amount of liquor he was pumping into his system, you almost got the feeling you had been lying.

But Simon would bounce back from the alcohol abuse, with the help of his captain that is.

It had been a day like any other, Simon would try to focus on his work, his mind already on the numbing temptation of the liquor, briefings, conversations, details, they would all go past him like a blur while he tried to deceive the people around him. And usually after a day of work, he would lock himself into his quarters, drinking until he forgot his fallen teammates.

“A word.” John’s voice is loud, a little too loud for Simon’s liking.

“About what?”

“You.”

“What is there about me?”

“Why did you join the army?”’

You watch, slightly amused at the low blow John just spat out.

“Don’t you fu-“

“Answer my fucking question, Simon. Why did you join the fucking army.”

And you can tell Simon is struggling to answer that question, hell he doesn’t want to answer that question, because that would mean he could no longer pretend he wasn’t following his fathers footsteps.

“I joined to escape home.”

“And why did you have to escape home?”

“Because my father was an abusive alcoholic.”

“Then tell me, Simon, why the fuck are you turning into your father?”

“Bullshit John.”

“Bullshit? You think you’re sleek, only bringing away the bottles in the early morning. Do you think we really don’t hear the clinking of the glass while you wander these halls? Do you really think no one can smell it on your breath?”

“You don’t get it.”

You had seen John often enough to recognize the subtle anger in his face, flaring nostrils, a slight raise of his brows, eyes narrowing.

“I don’t get it?”

“You have no idea how much their death affected me.”

“I have no idea because you shut yourself out and rather poison yourself.” John spat back at him.

“You have no idea what I have been through Captain, and I would strongly advice you stray away to this topic.”

“You’re right. I did not have your upbringing, and I do wish you dad had healed before he came your father, but you do not get to tell me about grief.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I am affected too. I was the one who asked Soap to come with me to Makarov, I was the one who approved Gaz going on that mission. And I can’t let you drink yourself to death, Simon. I will not be responsible for your death too.”

Both men are silent, straying into territory they are not used too, at least not with each other. Both men had been told that their emotions were forbidden, that emotions should not be on display for others to see.

But you could see their hurt souls, their broken souls, needing the company of each other. John is the first to give in. Holding his arms open and Simon clings on for dear life.

“God fucking damnit boy, get your shit together, that is an order.”

“I forget then when I’m drunk enough.”

“I know. But forgetting them isn’t the way to go. You shouldn’t forget them, celebrate their life because they no longer can.”

“I will, Captain.”

“Good.” John let go off him, giving him a rough pat on his back. “Do you need anything from me, the military?”

“A little time off.”

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay all by yourself? I can get a therapist for you if you want.”

“I would like that.”

“Good. Now, get some rest, I’ll pull some strings to get you someone to talk to.”

“Thanks Cap, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Simon.”

Something was off, something was different, and John couldn’t really put his finger on it, but decided to not press any further. He had nagged Simon long enough and it felt as if his point had come across good enough.

Simon on the other hand, felt a calm feeling he hadn’t experienced before. A decision crossing his mind when he gripped his sink, tears streaming down his face when he recognized his father in the mirror. Simon knew he wouldn’t be strong to recover, he had become an alcoholic, just like his father.

“Fuck!” His fist slams the mirror, the second one this year, blood running down his arm while he takes in the freedom the pain gives him. His mind is only giving him one solution, the emotions, his grief, the craving to alcohol, they’re making it impossible to think straight.

Simons scribbles something down on a piece of paper. Before he takes a deep breath and looks around his room. John had been right, Simon thought it had alle been under control, but he was lying to himself, the half full bottles being the proof of that, but not anymore, not any longer.

He takes place in his own bathtub, a piece of glass gripped tightly in his right hand. You know what is about to happen and this is always your least favourite part.

He doesn’t drink himself to death.

Tears blur his vision when the sharp material pierces his skin, dragging down. He doesn’t even register the pain, all he can feel is the peace and quiet his mind gives him. So he does it again, and again, going deeper each time.

His head tilts back and he drops the shard of glass, causing it to shatter on the ground.

It stays silent, the only sound is his blood dripping on the floor of the bathtub. Life is nowhere to be seen, and you know this is his end. In a split second you make a decision.

The universe had been too unkind to Simon already, the least you could do was to make sure he didn’t have to die alone.

“Hello.”

“What the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get in?” His eyes snap open and his head snaps back to face you.

“I am Death.”

“Did I die already?”

“Not yet.”

“Than why the fuck are you here?”

“Because this will kill you, and I did not want you to die alone.”

“Well thanks for your concern but I don’t need your pity.”

“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“Gaz and Soap did not have to die alone.”

“How the fuck would you know?”

You chuckle softly. “I guided them too.”

His face softens. “How.. What.. What did they say?”

“Soap was pissed off, Gaz was worried he had let his mother down.”

“Sounds like them.”

“It is nearly your time, Simon.”

“Will the pain stop?”

“When you’re dead? Yes, yes the pain will stop.”

“I can’t wait to be pain free.”

“Tell me about your favourite memory?”

“Of what?”

“Anything you please.”

Simon has to think for a little while.

“My brother.” He eventually starts. “Had gotten a part time job, and he needed to give the money to our father, but he had hidden his first pay check. So when our father was passed out on the couch again, we snuck out.” A smile forms on his face.

“We bought a cake, one of those fancy ones with a lot of frosting. We ate it in the skatepark where we used to hangout a lot. I ate so much cake I couldn’t stand it for the longest time afterwards. But for the time that it took for us to eat that cake, we were happy, not a care in the world, just loads of sugar and each other.”

He hadn’t noticed yet, but the shackles of life had fallen off during his story, setting him free of his mortal pain.

“I miss him.”

“Tommy?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

“How’s the pain, Simon?”

“Which pa- Oh fuck.”

You watch as he gets up from the bathtub, looking at his body, he died smiling, his eyes closed, almost looking happy.

“You deserved better.”

“I did.” He agrees.

Simon clears his throat. “So what now? You take me to hell and I’ll burn for eternity?”

“Why would you burn in hell?”

“I am a soldier, I killed people. People who deserved it, and people who might not have deserved it.”

“And that is equal to eternal suffering?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Don’t you think you have suffered enough?”

His face turns pale, the words slowly sinking in while he recalls his whole life.

“So there is no hell for me?” his voice is a soft whisper.

“There is no hell for you.”

“Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck I was so scared for hell, that had been the only thing holding me back from killing myself earlier.”

“So” He looks at his body again. “What would be next?”

“Once you are ready, I’ll take you to the afterlife.”

“How do I know I’ll be ready?”

“You’ll feel it.”

“I don’t feel it yet.”

“Then you can stay with me.”

He nods, liking the answers that you’ve given him. “I have some questions.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“Can I ask them?”

“Of course. I’ll answer them if I have the answer.”

“How do you know which soul to reap?”

“I just know.”

“Okay, and now you are here with me, does that mean no one else dies on the world.”

“If that was the case a lot of deaths would’ve been postponed.” You answer. “I can split myself into fragments, therefor I am able to reap multiple souls.”

“How did you, you know, get into this profession?”

“I was created to be Death. It is all I have ever known, and it is all I will ever know.”

“Hm.” His eyes shift to his body again.

“What is the afterlife, and who will be there?”

“Everyone will be there, every soul goes to the afterlife, and you’ll reconnect with the souls that love you.”

Simon has to swallow a lump in his throat, he wants to say something but is interrupted by a knock on the door. “Simon?” John’s ruff voice sounds.

“Can I answer him?”

“Afraid not.”

“Simon!” the knocking returns. “I swear to God.” John mutters, as he opens the door to Simon’s room. “If you have been drinking again.”

John looks around the room, and you and Simon watch him do so. John’s gaze fall on the piece of paper, his face turning pale. “God fucking damnit.” The paper falls on the ground, slowly twirling in the air before it gently settles down.

‘this isn’t your fault.’ Even though you knew what would be on the letter your eyes automatically shift to the words on the white paper.

Johns open the door to Simon’s bathroom, and he just stand in the door opening, taking in the dead body of his teammate. “God damn it, Simon.” He repeats. “You could’ve talked to me you know.”

John moves over to the body, taking in the smile on Simon’s face. “At least you were happy.” John mutters.

His hands reach for Simon’s dog tags, taking one of the chain to add to his own. John’s fingertips rest on Simon’s cheek for a brief moment. “I hope death treats you better than life.”

Simon looks at you. “You do.”

“Thank you.”

“Will the Captain be okay?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I feel bad, for leaving him behind, for doing this.”

“He’ll understand, and when his time will come too, I’ll tell him about you.”

“Thank you.”

Simon looks at his feet. “I don’t know if you can do this, but I want to visit Johnny.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to go to the Scottish Highlands, to the place where we set his ashes free.”

You hold out your hand to him. “I’ll take you there.”

Simon’s eyes light up as he takes your hand into his, and before he can blink twice, you’ve transported the both of you to the exact same place.

“I forgot how beautiful it was here.” Simon says, as he sits down on the exact same spot where Johnny had sat down, and you can’t help but smile, knowing that their souls are happy together in another universe.

You go to sit down next to him. “It is beautiful here.”

The both of you sit in silence, you know Simon wants to ask you something, a question burning within him ever since John had interrupted, but you’re not filling anything in, letting Simon come to you when he is ready.

“You mentioned something about souls and love.” Simon eventually says.

“I did.”

“Who will be waiting for me?”

A faint hint of a smile can be seen on your face.

“More than you’ll expect.”

“Tommy?”

You just nod and Simon let out a shaky breath.

“It has been a while since I’ve seen him, I’ve missed him terribly. Who else?”

“Tommy, Beth, Joseph, your mother. Roach. Gaz, Soap. They will all be there.”

“Will they be mad for what I did?”

“They love you too much to be mad.”

“I’ve known more love death, than I’ve done alive.”

You turn to look at him. “I know, and I am sorry.”

“Is there anything I had done to deserve such a life?”

You want to wince, flinch at his words, but it is a fair question.

“No. Sometimes the universe isn’t fair when it gives somebody a course of life. You were a child, Simon. What happened to you, should’ve never happened, not to you, not to anyone.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re brave.” You add. “You’ve survived something you shouldn’t have had to face in the first place.”

“How do you cope with it?” Simon asks.

“With what?”

“The unfairness?”

You let out a sigh. “It is hard. Sometimes I have to guide innocent souls to the afterlife, souls I would have wished had a long and sweet life. And sometimes I see souls who I felt deserved death a long time ago. Unfortunately I cannot change the course of the universe, nor can I change the free will of humans.”

“Do you feel remorse?”

“No. I am no mortal, nor do I possess mortal feelings. I do however acknowledge the unfairness of certain situations.”

“I see. It is hard for me to imagine.”

“I get that.”

“Hey Death?”

“Yes, Simon?”

“Do you promise that they will be waiting for me in the afterlife?”

“I promise.”

Simon holds out his hand to you. “Then please, let me see them again.”

John Price.

The man had seen more than enough death for a lifetime. Yet it wouldn’t be the last of it. Being a soldier signed him up to a lifetime of death and despair. But unlike the others, John seemed to accept it a whole lot better. Yes he did feel guilty, yes he wished life could’ve turned out different, for him, for his team, for all of them.

But it didn’t, so he had to learn how to cope.

Even though you know his time isn’t there yet, you decide to follow him around, just a little more, just to see how he would cope. That is what you would tell yourself anyway, maybe you had been getting a little attached to this group of men.

You watch John approach the cemetery, four bouquets of flowers in his hands, a picnic basket hanging on his arm while he walks, silence lingering around him, and if he were in company, they would feel the tension surrounding him. But John is alone, except for your company, who would’ve guessed Death would’ve be such good company?

Three out of the four bouquets get placed on the ground, alongside the picnic basket, number four, a bouquet of tulips. Yellow tulips. John places them on the first grave, his hand brushes away the dirt on the gravestone. “Well, for someone whose nickname is Soap, it sure gets dirty quick.” John chuckles at his own joke. John kneels down at the grave, removing some of the weeds that had grown, using his hand to brush the rest of the gravestone clean.

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” He mutters. “Sorry I dragged you along to that mission. I’m sorry you had to catch the bullet meant for me.” John awkwardly pats the gravestone.

“If I had known that would be our last moment together, I would’ve spent the car ride to our destination telling you how proud I am of you.” He speaks, and while John knows that no one will hear his words, it feels good to get them off his chest.

“I would tell you how good you’re doing, how much you’ve grown. How much we all appreciated you. How we all enjoyed your jokes, even though some of us would rather perish than tell you that.”

“You probably already know, but Kyle and Simon joined you.”

“I wish I could have prevented this. Kyle.. He slipped right between my fingers, I never thought he would push and push the way he did, Johhny. I thought I was keeping him safe, keeping him busy, but in reality I was allowing him to die.”

John swallows the lump in his throat. “And Simon. I think I knew what was happening, I thought I knew what was going on, but I was wrong, so, so, so wrong.”

John takes a deep breath, inhaling the cold air into his lungs, before he slowly exhales. “You’ve been one hell of a soldier, Johnny, but more important, you’ve been an amazing person. I’ll see you again on the other side, take care of the boys for me, will ya?”

With a grunt John gets up from his knees, taking a new bouquet of flowers.

A colourful bouquet of freesias is put down in front of the next grave and John lets out a sigh again, staring into the distance. It is hard to read his face, and you can’t figure out what he is thinking.

“I’ve heard a lot of gut wrenching sounds, Kyle.” He finally speaks. “But I’ll never forget the screams of your mother when I had to confirm your death. The wailing will never leave my mind. I can’t erase it, no matter how hard I try.”

The captain uses his hand once more to brush some dirt of the gravestone, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m sorry.” He says once more.

“I really wanted to believe life had so much in store for you. I should never had let you take on that mission, Kyle. I should’ve seen the signs, the desperate attempt to prove yourself to me, to Johnny, maybe even to Simon too.”

“But the truth is, boy, you never had to prove yourself in the first place. We all saw your potential, we all saw the amazing leader you could’ve become.” John runs a hand through his short hair. “I really wish we could’ve talked about this more. I really wish you would’ve told me you didn’t feel good enough, Kyle. I could’ve shown you my point of view.”

“But, we can’t undo what happened.” John continues. “I hope you can finally feel enough.”

“Your mother misses you. Your sisters too. Simon missed you. But I’m sure he has told you by now. Or not, we both know how he can be.”

“I.. I miss you too, Kyle. I would’ve loved for you to follow my footsteps.” John sighs again. “Simon couldn’t cope, but you already know that. Take care of him, yeah? I know he probably doesn’t want it, but he missed you and Johnny.”

John gives a final pat on the gravestone. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

He takes the third bouquet, a large bouquet of sunflowers, it is being put down on the newest gravestone. “Fucking hell, Simon.” He grunts. “Out of all people, I never thought you would do it. I thought I had it under control with you.”

“At least you had a smile on your face, and I wonder what went through your mind in your final moment.” A sad smile forms on John’s face. “I hope you’re at peace now.”

“Out of all their deaths, yours haunts me the most, Simon.” He confesses. “Because with yours it felt like I really could have changed the outcome, you know.” John kneels down next to the grave.

“I.. I.. I never got to say this Simon, but I am sorry that I compared you to your father. I was trying to get my point across and I’ve used words that I shouldn’t have used. I knew it was a low blow to mention him, and I’m sorry.” He rests his hand on the gravestone. “I hope my words didn’t push you over the edge, and I know you have made that little note for me, but I can’t help but feel guilty.”

John sighs once more, looking at the sunflowers on the ground. “I.. You didn’t have a home I could send you too, like Kyle, so I’ve spread your ashes on the same spot where we send Johnny home. I hope you’re okay with it.” He adds, with a meek smile.

“You’ve been one of the toughest people I’ve ever known in my life, and I’ve met a lot of tough motherfuckers, Simon. But you? You’ve bounced back from everything.”

“And no matter how guilty I feel, the fact that you had a smile on your face brings me a little bit of peace.”

“I hope that wherever you are, that you found your people again in the afterlife. That there will be enough souls waiting for you, to show you how loved you’ve always been.” John gets up from his knees again. “Don’t try to give the other too much shit, but keep them in check for me, yeah?”

He let his gaze fall on the three graves in front of him, a sad smile on his lips once more. His hand goes to the dog tags around his neck, there are too many to just be from one person. His gaze lingers on the names engraved in the stones.

John MacTavish

Kyle Garrick

Simon Riley

“It has been an honour. An honour to have known you all, an honour to have fought alongside you. The biggest honour has been to call you all my brothers in arms.” His voice is clear, never wavering as he pays his final respect, as he says his final goodbye.

“I promise you three that I’ll keep your graves in check, for as long as I live. I don’t care if they’re empty, they will forever be a reminder that you have all existed. Your legacy will live on.”

“I miss you all, until we meet again.”

After a final salute he picks up the last of the bouquets and the picnic baskets, and he walks further up the cemetery, walking past a grave that reads Herschel Shepherd. John gives the grave a quick nod. “You make me wish hell did exist.” He grumbles, flipping the headstone off. “Should’ve done it earlier.”

He continues to walk until he reaches another grave, putting down the picnic basket and the flowers, before he kneels down again, taking out a brush to gently sweep away any dirt.

Jenny Price

“I’m back again, love.” He sighs, as he tidies up the grave, making sure to pull the weeds, but leave the flowers that have grown intact. “It has been a while since I’ve visited, but I have a good reason, I promise.” He added with a chuckle.

He gets up after the stone is clean again, her name can be read again, and he takes a step back to admire his work. “Got you all cleaned up. Looking pretty as ever.”

He opens the picnic basket, taking out a blanket to lay it on the ground next to the stone. A bouquet of heliotropes, forget-me-nots and carnations. John sits down on the blanket, next to the gravestone.

“Next month..” He sighs, something he has done a lot this evening. “Next month, you’ll be gone for fourteen years now, Jen. And I still miss you as if it is the first day.”

He rests his head against the stone. “I miss the boys.” He whispers, almost as if he is afraid to confess it to her. “Blaming myself for it too. If you see them, take care of ‘m for me, please. Show them the love you’ve shown me.”

He takes out a small bottle of wine, and a cigar, leaving the picnic basket open. “I can only hope that Death guided them, the way you have been guided.”

“It’s been nearly fourteen year, love, and I still wake up in the middle of the night, searching for you, hoping you’ve just been in the bathroom and you’ll come back to lay next to me. I would give everything, Jen, and I mean everything, to just hold you once more, to feel your soft skin against mine again.”

“Being a captain, having my own taskforce, it all means less when I can’t share it with you. It all means so little, knowing that I won’t be able to hold you again, to hear your sweet voice ever again.” John opens up the bottle of wine he had brought, taking out the cork before he takes a swig, not bothering to take a glass. “You know.” He chuckled softly. “If I close my eyes and focus really hard. I can even hear you scold me again for drinking wine straight out of the bottle.”

“I finally had an orange again.” He mutters. “They apparently make special tools to help you peel them. So I can finally eat them again. It has been fourteen years, and I finally had an orange again.” He shakes his head. “I cried. I cried while eating it, the taste reminded me so much of you, the scent of the peel almost intoxicating. I remember how your hands would smell like orange the whole day after you’ve peeled mine. And I miss it, Jen. Fuck, I miss it so much.”

He falls silent, a stark contrast with the floodgates of words that spilled over his lips just seconds ago. His voice cracking when he speaks again. “It has always been you.”

“No other woman comes even close to you. It is weird, but I don’t even want another woman, I don’t feel the need to see someone, feel someone. Hell, I prefer to lay alone in that large bed, because when I fall asleep, you’re waiting for me in my dreams. You’re there, waiting for me to come home again.”

You’ve been watching him, while you sat on the nearby bench. Jenny Price. You remember reaping her soul, her husband had walked in on you, and he was the first mortal to see you, and to live to tell the story. But John kept it hidden, maybe that is why he had grown so strong, so tough, because he knew that death wouldn’t be an ugly thing, but an old friend waiting for you to come home again.

You’ve seen enough, as you get up from the bench. His time isn’t there yet, and you have enough to do anyway. Your gaze lingers on the captain, his head resting on the gravestone, his eyes closed as he brings up the memories he has with his late wife. It has become routine for him at this point, talking to her after a mission, visiting her whenever he could, keeping her grave as clean as he could. But for now you let him be. He deserved to have this little peace of mind before he would get sucked into the chaos of his day to day life.

Life goes on for the both of you, you have been reaping souls, he has been doing missions, neither of you meeting, although you take away the lives he has ended.

But his end is near, creeping up behind him, lurking in the shadows. Maybe he could feel it, maybe it was the universe apologising for taking away his wife, for taking away his teammates, but John finds himself at the cemetery again, talking to his old teammates, making sure that the weeds have been pulled, the flowers are fresh again. He updates them on his life, on the missions.

“We’ve done it.” He sighs, to no grave in particular. “We found Makarov. And I’ve put a bullet between his eyes, Johnny. Made sure he knew it was in your name. You should have seen the look on his face.”

And you remember, taking Makarov’s soul, it was safe to say the Rus was less than pleased, especially that John took his soul.

“Your mom is doing well, Kyle. She is still grieving as much as a mother does, but she is doing well. She finally got you that golden retriever you wanted as a kid. Named it Gaz, in your honour. Your sister graduated from her studies. She made sure to mention you in her speech. You would be so proud, Kyle.”

“And Simon, we have a mental health program dedicated to you, making sure that we can talk more open on base about mental health. So we can prevent that others feel the need to do what you did. You’ll live on.”

He moves on, once more laying out the blanket next to the grave of his late wife, sitting down next to her again. “There we are love.” He said with a grunt, lighting his cigar.

His gaze falls on the sky, looking at the setting sun. “You’re looking beautiful tonight.” He tells her. “I like it when you paint the sky orange. I never realised orange was my favourite colour until I found you in the sky every day.”

Maybe he could feel it, maybe your presence was looming to much on a cemetery. But John closes his eyes, breathing in the cold air into his lungs. He opens his eyes, seeing you in front of him.

“It is good to see you again, old friend.” He says.

“Hello.”

“Oh, you can skip the formalities.” He grunts. “I always thought I would die on the battlefield, not next to Jenny.”

“It has become a full circle, she passed in your arms, you will pass next to her gravestone.”

His eyes flash dark when he is reminded of how his wife had passed. “I never got to thank you for guiding Jenny.”

“It is what I do.”

“I know, but still. She was so scared, and you took that fear away.”

“I am glad that I could do it.”

“So, it is my time then.”

“Mhm, it is your call.” You respond. “But it will happen within the next few minutes.”

“Hm.” He answers with a murmur, as he rests his head against her gravestone again. “Wake me up when it’s done.”

You take place on the bench again, watching his chest rise and fall with every breath, his breathing turning steady as he falls asleep next to her gravestone. Sleeping together one last time.

You’re a patient creature, you have all the time in the world, so you wait, wait until his chest stops, until his heart stops beating. Before you can say a thing his soul leaves his body. John doesn’t talk to you yet, instead, he looks at his body, resting against the gravestone of his late wife.

“What a sight.” He sighs, turning to you.

And you just nod.

John turns to you. “I imagine that I also get to ask some questions before you bring me to the afterlife.”

“Anything you wish.”

John’s soul walks over to the bench you’re sitting on, having a view of the graves of his teammates and his late wife. “Do you think I am a bad person?”

“I am in no position to answer that question. For me and Life there is no such thing as a good person and a bad person. You all just exist with free will, and it is up to you how you use it.”

“If you were human, you would be a politician.” John snickers at his own joke.

You let out a sound that represents a huff. “Is this you calling me a bad person?”

“Only if you would be a British politician.”

“I would rather stay Death.”

He looks at the upcoming moon. “Did you guide my teammates too?”

“All of them.”

If he would be still alive he would be releasing a breath. “Glad you did.”

“They all wanted to know how you would cope.”

“They did?”

“Mhm.”

“Guess they cared more than I thought.”

“Of course they did.”

“Why was Simon smiling?”

“Why would I have something to do with it?”

“Because I know you wouldn’t have want him to die alone.”

“That much is true. I asked him his favourite memory. So he could die thinking about something happy.”

“And Kyle’s mother told me he has tried to call her and left a voicemail, I assume that is your doing too?”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Kyle’s upbringing was different from Simon’s.”

“As Death I do not discriminate, between the sinners and the saints. Life can be difficult and unfair enough. Why would I make their process of dying hard too?”

“That.. I.. I never thought about it that way.”

“I had no reason to grand you and Jenny some more time together, I had no reason to explain the afterlife to her, or to answer her questions about dying. Yet I did. Just like the universe does not need reasons to allow events in someone’s life to happen.”

“I see. Well, I think it is beautiful.”

John looks at his body, limped against the gravestone of his late wife.

“How did I die?”

“Your heart gave out.”

“Guess all those years of cigars, whiskey and stress finally caught up on me.” He chuckled. “I never noticed anything though, I mean I’ve been a little tired lately, but thought that was just the stress.”

You just tilt your head.

“Oh.”

“Heart diseases are something else.” You sigh. “A silent killer.”

“Learned that the hard way.”

His gaze shifts from his body to the gravestone next to him and he holds out his hand.

“As much as I liked seeing you again old friend, I am ready to go home, for the first time in fourteen years.”

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itsohh · 3 months

Text

QWERTY Part 1

A/N: Female reader. This is the start of uh this enemies to lovers but also lovers to enemies series around Price and Makarov. Its going to be mainly resolving around some of the events of MW3.

Summary: One night Price meets a woman at his favourite bar. Plauged by the aspects of her new job she finds comfort in his words. It isn't until years later that he truly realises what that job was.

Word count: 588

Warnings: none

AO3 Masterlist Part 2

ENGLAND 2017

In some ways, one could describe John as a regular at the bar. Yet, it wouldn't be quite accurate. For one to become a regular they would need to actually come on the regular. He didn't though, his job didn't allow him. The closest thing he could be called was a non-regular regular. Despite that, he had never walked in and seen anyone on his bar stool. Perhaps it was a miracle or something behind the scenes but no one took that spot.

Well, until that moment.

John walked in and found his way to the seat next to the woman who had stolen his unofficial seat. She didn’t seem to be in a good mood. Her body was hunched over and her face pressed into the wood of the bar. In her hand was an almost empty glass. It had a few cubes of ice inside but aside from that a small ring of water that had melted away was left.

Price rarely spoke to anyone let alone a stranger but something compelled him to do so as he made himself comfortable on the stool. “Rough night?”

A grunt left her lips and she finally slowly lifted her head and turned her head to look at him. That's when his eyes met her tired eye, your tired eyes.

“Mmm start a new job tomorrow.” You mumbled out.

“I presume it's not a good one then?”

“It's a shit fucking job lemme tell you that.” You let out a sigh. “But someone's gotta do it.”

“Understand that feeling more than you think.” He gestured to the bartender who knew exactly what Price wanted.

“Yeah? Got any advice then?”

“Never forget why you do it. Find whatever keeps you going and keep that close to your heart.”

Your head tilted as you absorbed the information. “I'll keep that in mind.” You looked to the bartender as they fixed Price his drink. “It's on me.”

John raised a brow but didn't refuse. “Payment for the advice.”

You ran a hand through your hair and turned towards him with your entire body, your arm leaning on the bar top. “What brings you here alone?”

“Football game.” He gestured to the TV above the pair of you with his head.

“The one that got rained off?” Your voice was slightly amused as he looked up to get a proper look just in time for the adverts to finish playing and see the announcement at the bottle of the screen while the commentators spoke.

“Of bloody course.” He swore under his breath but didn't move to leave.

“There's always the next time.” You shrugged and gave him a look of pity.

“Next time I'll be working.” He huffed.

Your face straightened out and hardened at his words. “I understand that.”

“Busy job?”

“Crazy hours. I'm not thrilled about it.”

“Could always change careers.” He offered.

You shook your head immediately. “Nah that option long since left the table. You gestured for another drink. “Nope. There's no backing out of it.” You took the glass and waved your card to pay for both of the drinks.

“Contract?” He raised a brow.

“There's too much at stake really. I'll adapt eventually I just ah. It's one of those jobs that you get and you just know your life's never gonna be the same.”

“I'll drink to that.” There was a heaviness to his voice and you nodded. The pair of you lifted both of your glasses and together as complete strangers, you drank.

#cod x reader #mw3 x reader #john price x reader #modern warfare 3 #call of duty

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forestshadow-wolf · 4 months

Text

There's a very specific moment in my brain that truely solidified feral, obedient dog soap. It's from mw3 in the flashback. About 1h30 into the campaign, they've captured Makarov and he's taunting the team, then the airport blows up.

And soap slams him down and starts beating him up. Then he's got his gun to Makarov's face. And he's threatening the man, begging to be able to blow the bastard's brains out. "Let me finish him!"

Hell, makarov is even baiting him into doing it. "Do it, come on!"

[Also I'd like to note that we can literally see Ghost just standing in the background. He doesn't at all try to stop soap. Doesn't say a word.]

But price gets on his level, tells him not to do it. It's not necessary. They have him. He's not getting away. "John, we have him! He's in custody. He's not going anywhere."

And then he tells him to "Stand down, Sergeant."

AND HE FUCKING DOES! He backs up, lets Price handle Makarov. He sits down, holsters his gun, and resigns himself to to biting his tongue (metaphorically). "You'll die in the gulag with the rest o' the Russian rats." But he doesn't make a single move towards the man after that, even when he promises "I'll be seeing you again, MacTavish..."

And it doesn't fucking stop there, but that's the end of that scene and if I don't cut myself off here I might go insane.

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captain-mj · 9 months

Note

Listen, just about every other month I find and reread your pricegraves fic where after graves betrayal he would do anything for price to forgive him, leading to some toe curling edging and overstimulation.

If you had it in you, another fic with other characters or pricegraves again, featuring edging and overstimulation would be lovely. Love your writing and that one is definitely one of my favorites. So funny with ghosts being the wingman. If not, Merry Christmas, happy holidays and I still can't wait to see what you got coming next.

All my favorite things! Also you're getting PriceGraves <3 If you guys want this in more ships, ask and I got you guys

Link if anyone doesn't know what they're talking about

This is basically post MW3 with my updated characterizations of the characters

Graves smirked at Price. "I threw Shepherd under the bus and you're mad at me? I'm the reason you could kill the guy."

Price hated that Graves was right but what he hated more was that Graves was saying all of this with his suit half undone. "How did you know I killed him? I did just a few hours ago."

"Heard he died. You're here. I'm no fool, Price." Graves drank from the shot glass he had. "Come to kill me too?"

"Considering it."

"Don't blame you. I'd kill you if I had the chance."

Price tapped his fingers on the table, looking him over. He was attractive. Especially like this. His hand was on his inner thigh, almost... posing.

Graves was posing.

Price started to notice the little details. His hair was the hot bed head messy, his shirt had been opened to expose his chest and the fucking whiskey glass.

Graves looked at him through soft lashes. "John. Are you going to kill me or keep staring?"

Price hadn't told anyone he'd be there. He doubted any of them would care if he added Phillip Graves to the list, but still. None of them expected it. Nor would they know that he even went there.

"Keep staring."

Graves sighed. "You come here. Dressed like that. Stupid fucking beanie." He drank the rest of his glass and set it down. "And all you're going to do is stare?"

Price swallowed and crossed the room, putting the gun to Graves's temple. Graves just smiled at him.

"I'm not drunk, don't worry. Just got a taste." He licked his lips and Price almost growled as he kissed him. His tongue darts out to taste the whiskey.

It's his favorite.

Price groaned and kept licking at him, trying to devour him. Graves stayed lax for now and let Price grab him and move between his legs. "Oh Captain, my Captain." He teased when Price went for his throat, nipping and biting.

Price hated how put together he acted. Just once, he wanted to Graves to act as deranged and feral as Price felt. He pulled at his clothing but didn't undress him yet.

"You can, John. Won't tell you no."

Price only finished unbuttoning Graves's shirt and pants, leaving everything still on. He knelt down and felt Graves's hand fall on his shoulders. "Not going to knock the beanie off?"

"I love your hair but you look... really good like that." There was a hint of breathlessness in his voice that had Price realizing he made the right choice. He looked up at him and Graves blushed a little before Price started to kiss down his stomach.

Graves tightened his grip on the arms of the chair and he looked up at the ceiling as Price gently and carefully used his tongue and teeth to pull his underwear down. He started to mouth at his cock, pleasantly surprised to find that Graves was rather sensitive. He jerked up and groaned at the feeling of Price's beard rubbing against him.

"Fuck." Graves groaned. "Come on. Do it properly."

Price had half a mind to leave him hard and aching for the comment but instead, he kissed the tip and slowly slid down.

Graves tilted his head back. "You feel so good. It's been a while."

Price hummed and slowly worked him over, feeling him tense and start to pant softly. Right when he was sure he was at the edge, he pulled off. A string of saliva connected them before snapping as he swallowed. He stared at him and Graves gripped the arm until his knuckles went white. Something close to malice in his eyes.

Price got up and grabbed the lube from the nightstand. He ripped the container open with his teeth and knelt back down. Graves kicked his pants off and spread his legs as Price started right back up at licking over his cock. Now he included his fingers, working him open.

Price kissed his inner thigh before biting into the flesh and making Graves keen. His cock twitched violently as Price worked him open, ignoring the way Graves moved and thrashed. He panted softly as Price threatened to make him come with his fingers but Price stopped right as he almost got there.

Graves groaned. "Are you going to tease me all night?"

"Considering it." Price threatened.

Graves went to protest but Price already saw how turned on the idea made him so he bit his tongue instead.

Price gave him nothing until he had came all the way back down, heavy breathing and flustered. "John..."

Price crooked his fingers and Graves almost screamed. He could see him biting his lip as his eyes rolled back. Precum leaked out of his cock.

Price smirked as he continued his tirade. Graves was perfect. So much skin was unmarred. Perfect for sinking his teeth in to. Not to mention the sounds. The soft keens and almost violent moans that came out of him. His eyes welled up with tears as Price brought him right to the edge again.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Graves whined as Price pulled away, leaving him chasing the pleasure. "So good, so good. Come on, fuck me, John. You want to."

Price did. But he couldn't make this easy. "You lied on the stand. You hurt people."

"i protected my own. Surely you can understand that more than anyone." Graves's back arched as Price curled his fingers and pressed. He groaned and tensed around him, eyes rolling back.

Price slowly pulled out of him, watching how Graves swallowed and his head fell back. He yanked him closer to the edge and forced his legs wider open. Graves's hands fell to his side, having to hold himself up.

"Fucking hell." Price cursed when he slid into him. HIs eyes rolled back at the feeling. Graves's hands grabbed his sides and his ankles went over his shoulders. He shoved into him hard, loving the blissed out expression it got from Graves. He put his hands over Graves's head and thrust into him hard.

"Jesus Christ, John. You're so big." Graves looked wrecked, teeth still digging into his lip. "I can finish now right?"

Price put his hand around his throat and fucked him nice and slow. He'd slow down to a crawl when ever Graves started to get close. Teasing him,, letting him get close, so close to the line. He balanced him there, watching him grit his teeth.

"Ask nicely."

"Fuck you."

Price stopped to let Graves come crashing down, hips furiously working to get them moving again. "Wait, no. John, come on."

"Ask nicely."

Graves glared at him for a minute but his trembling legs gave him away. "Fine. Please?"

"Please...?"

"Please Captain."

Price tightened his grip and slammed into him over and over again. He pressed into the hollow of Graves's throat, feeling him tense before coming hard between them. After all the teasing, he was so sensitive. Price pinned him down and kept going, enjoying himself. He took all the pleasure he wanted as Graves tried to catch his breath.

"You're going to let come too, aren't you commander?"

Graves panted softly as he stared up at him, already getting hard again. "Fuck you." He moaned and his eyes slipped close when Price jerked his hips.

Graves turned his head to the side and tried to pull his wrists free from Price, but he refused to let up. The pleasure was overwhelming, but Graves didn't say a word, just took it like a good boy. It took a bit, but Price managed to get a few tears out of him.

When he was about to finish Price grabbed his chin and forced him to look up at him. He took in those pretty blue eyes as he came, watching the soft blush across Graves's face as he realized why he just grabbed him. The eye contact burned but Price didn't plan on pulling out yet.

Graves tried to look away but Price wouldn't let him. They sat there for a moment before Price's fingers trailed down to Graves's hard cock.

"No need, Captain. Really." Graves answered gruffly before Price started to stroke him. He whimpered as he kept going.

"Got one more in you, don't ya, love?"

Graves groaned but let him keep going, not really having a choice. When he tried to move his hands, Price caught his wrists and continued pinning him. It was too much too soon but Graves still felt himself slowly winding back up.

He came with a sharp sob that filled him with more shame than what he just did. Or more, allowed Price to do to him.

It hit him hard and his legs shook pathetically around Price who simply pulled out, watching the way Graves couldn't help but try to keep the connection between them. Tears were still streaming down his face but he quickly wiped them away.

"Good job, Captain. I assume I'm off the hook?"

"For now. Might show back up."

"If you don't bring a gun, I might let you fully undress me next time." Graves grinned at he fixed his pants.

Price thought he was a little too coherent but he'd correct that next time he showed up.

#cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #Phillip graves #Price x Graves #Graves x Price #Captain John Price #Phillip Graves in a suit #commander phillip graves #captain price

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darth-mortem · 8 months

Text

Here is my another one fix-it COD fanfic translated by @g8se.

ATTENTION: This fic contains COD MW3 spoilers.

After Johnny's death, Simon loses his desire to live. Having avenged Makarov, he leaves the army but doesn't know where to go. It's then that Captain Price shows him the way. A long journey leads Simon to a remote island where he rediscovers the purpose of his life. 3455 words.

Post-canon, fix-it, angst, fluff, Ghost/Soap, love

I advise you to turn on this and this music while reading.

Simon stood at the deck of the ferry, leaning on the railing with his elbows, watching as ahead, through the dense morning fog hovering over the strait, emerged the outlines of his final destination - the isle of Islay. The cold wind stirred the waves, crashing against the ferry's blunt steel nose, seeping through clothing, making tears well in his eyes and leaving a salty taste on his lips. Seagulls circled above the ferry, their desperate, piercing cries making his heart squeeze in an indescribable yearning.

Simon smoked, with the edge of his ever-present balaclava lifted over his nose. He hadn't approved of this foolish habit before, but had picked it up after Johnny's death. At first, cigarettes disgusted him, but eventually he got hooked. The bitter smoke filling his lungs triggered memories of times when he could still feel happiness, when he could feel something other than the dull, oppressive pain that had now become his constant companion.

You can read on Ao3 or here:

The outlines of the island became clearer. The wind blew the fog away, the white-capped waves repeatedly clashed against the ferry's sides. Simon felt a kinship with the ever-restless sea, as now, just like the sea, he will never find peace while his tormented heart is still beating. After finishing his cigarette, he tossed the stub overboard and immediately fetched another from the pack. He had no plan, no aim, nothing except the enigmatic words of Captain Price, spoken during their, probably, last encounter.

...”I'm leaving,” Lieutenant Riley said, placing his resignation report on the captain's table.

Price took it, silently glanced over the papers, then raised his head to see Ghost, standing still and staring blankly somewhere past him.

It was over. Vengeance had been achieved; Makarov and all his henchmen were dead. Yet, it brought Simon no solace. He was utterly hollow, dead inside, and he no longer wanted nor could continue his service because he saw no sense in it.

“Where will you go?” Price asked, puffing on his cigar.

“I don't know,” Simon replied indifferently, shrugging his shoulders.

“Then allow me to give you a piece of advice,” the captain nodded towards the chair, and the lieutenant obediently sat down, putting his hands on his knees. “Head to Scotland. There's an island, Islay. Go there, to a small village on the coast, Port Ellen. There's a little pub right on the beach called 'Slice of Peace.' Find it, but don't rush. Observe before entering. Perhaps there, at last, you'll find peace for your soul. At least, that's what I would truly wish for.”...

The ferry arrived to Port Askaig right on schedule, but Simon didn't linger there. Port Ellen was situated almost on the other side of the island, about nineteen miles away. This distance could be covered by car in about forty minutes, but Simon didn't have a car. He had practically nothing except a small backpack with his belongings. Without much appetite, he ate a sandwich at the gas station, then left Port Askaig and, without any hurry, began walking along the road toward Port Ellen. Nineteen miles is a considerable distance for an average person, but not for a retired lieutenant. He understood that the journey would take him five to six hours, but that didn't daunt him. He was capable of walking without stopping for much longer if necessary, and right now, it was more necessary than ever.

About two hours into his journey, near Bridgend Woods, a farmer picked Simon up in a small truck. The truck bed was filled with sheep, and the driver was heading to Laggan Farm, but he offered to drop this strange, silent man in a balaclava off almost at Glendale. The good-natured and compassionate farmer could see that his passenger was consumed by profound sorrow, so he didn't pry into anything. As they bid farewell, he left his address and phone number, offering a visit if Mr. Riley needed a place to stay. Simon thanked him, but as soon as the truck disappeared from sight, he crumpled the piece of paper with the address and threw it away before continuing his way to Port Ellen.

Arriving at Port Ellen, Simon did as Captain Price had instructed him. Not because the retired lieutenant wanted to fulfil his commander's final order, no. Just on his first evening in Port Ellen, upon finding the pub mentioned, Simon saw Johnny there. He was as beautifully fit as ever but had let his hair grow a bit; now he had to tie back his mohawk to keep it from getting in the way when he’s working. John no longer wore military uniform or heavy gear. He was wearing jeans, a high-necked knitted sweater, and a bartender's apron with large pockets. The tattoo he got in the SAS were no longer on his hand, but he had visible scars on his temples.

For nearly a week Simon observed him from early morning until late at night. He didn't stay in the local hotel or anywhere else, spending the cold nights in the docks or in someone's unlocked barn. Simon watched and listened, and after a few days, he knew that John MacTavish had showed up around a year ago with a strange story of awakening in a hospital with no memories of his past life, but with documents and a certain sum of money in his account. After treatment and rehabilitation in Glasgow, MacTavish moved to the Isle of Islay, bought a small house on the coast. He opened a pub on the ground floor and arranged his dwelling on the first floor. Being a Scot, John was eventually accepted into the local community after a couple of months.

Of course, Simon Riley wasn't credulous. He observed and noted any matching characteristic - gestures, expressions, words, and body language that resembled Johnny's usual mannerisms. The retired lieutenant watched how MacTavish worked, solved work-related issues, and interacted with his pub's customers.

Simon really wanted to believe that this man was indeed Johnny. His Johnny, the one who once restored his ability to feel joy, happiness, love; his Johnny, with whom it was easy to work and spend leisure time; his Johnny, who managed to see beyond Ghost in his skull-faced mask, not just a soldier, a killing machine, but a human being. Injured, scarred, broken, but nonetheless - a human being. Simon Riley.

The final straw of these observations was an incident that occurred one evening at one of the tables by the pub, standing right on the sandy shore. John, as always, smiling, full of energy and life, brought four pints of beer to some grey-bearded fishermen. One of them was in the middle of telling a joke, and the cheerful pub owner naturally stopped to listen and laugh along with them.

“ Hey, John, how aboot sharin' a joke wi' us?” one of the fishermen asked, tipping his beer.

“Why no’?” MacTavish's lips lit up with his dazzling smile. “Well, for example... dae ye know what haes two legs an’ bleeds?”

“Mebe it's Lars whan he stabbed himsel' wi' the fishin' huke straicht in...” one of the fishermen started, but another one, the infamous Lars, jabbed him in the side with his fist.

“ Or mebbe it's yer wife on certain days o' the month?” he exclaimed in offense.

“Easy, lads,” the eldest among them thumped the table with his fist and looked at MacTavish. “Sae, whit's the craic, John?”

“Half a dog!” cheerfully replied the man and chuckled, but quickly fell silent, noticing no one echoed his response.

“That's a braw odd joke,” Lars said, shaking his head. “Whaur did ye hear that, John?”

“I... I don't know,” MacTavish said, bewildered, raising his hands. “Maybe it's somethin' from my past life that I don't remember.”

“Maybe it's fer the best tha ye dinnae remember,” the eldest fisherman shook his head. “ It's chilblaining tae picture how it wis wi these jokes.”

That evening, Simon quietly entered the empty pub just before closing. The bell above the door announced his arrival, and John peeked out from the kitchen - no longer wearing his apron, with his hair down, surprise in his remarkably bright blue eyes.

“We're ‘bout to close, sir,” he started, but then suddenly fell silent, catching the look of unspeakably sad brown eyes surrounded by long and blonde lashes. “But, ye know what? Come on in! Ye're not a local, right? Yer lookin' like ye seriously need to doon a few glasses o’ whiskey. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Simon hesitantly approached the bar counter and added, “I’d kill for some whiskey.”

Most of the lights in the room were already off, but the lamps over the bar were still lit, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise as he peered under the hood at the stranger with the skull-printed balaclava.

“What's the getup, sir?” he asked and cheerfully, amiably smiled. “Are you ugly?”

“Quite the opposite,” Simon replied automatically, and they both suddenly froze, looking at each other.

“I'm sorry,” John finally spoke, slowly pouring two glasses of whiskey; he placed one in front of the peculiar visitor and took the other one. “Have we met before? What's your name, sir?”

“Simon,” he replied, and in his hollow dead eyes, for perhaps the first time in a year, flickered faint sparks of hope. “Simon Riley.”

John looked curiously at the late visitor's face as he lifted the edge of his balaclava to take a sip of whiskey but averted his gaze upon realizing his curiosity was noticed. Swirling the glass in his hand, he took a sip and quietly asked:

“Ye're military, Simon Riley?”

“Retired,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “Why do you think so?”

“I don't know,” John said, puzzled, and gave a shy smile, “it was just the first thing that came to mind.”

They sat in the dimly lit pub till the late hours of the night. Simon saw that Johnny was at ease in his company, feeling a sense of trust, although a person who didn’t remember anything from his past life would typically cast suspicion on the stranger in the skull mask. Eventually, the bottle was emptied. The pub owner poured the last drops of whiskey into their glasses and looked at Simon with a tinge of regret.

“So, where are you staying?” he asked, wanting to prolong the parting in every possible way.

“Nowhere, really,” Simon shrugged and let out a quiet yet deeply mournful sigh.

“Ye know,” Johnny spoke slowly, “ye might think I'm mad, but I have a comfortable sofa at home.”

“You're very kind, but I have no money at all,” Simon shook his head and smiled bitterly. “I can only hope what little I have left will cover paying you for this bottle.”

“Oh, no, leave tha’!” John protested, even his hair stood on end. “Ye've been great company, tae be honest, I havenae had a conversation like this with anyone for a long time... not like with you. So, I'm repeatin’ my offer, and as for the money... I wouldnae mind a hand in the pub. What do ye say?”

And Simon agreed.

Over the next few weeks, the retired lieutenant was learning how to live a civilian life. He quickly adapted to his new responsibilities and managed not only to assist John in the pub but also took care of him - preparing breakfast and coffee, tidying the house, buying groceries from local stores. However, Simon did all of this automatically, almost without thinking. The most important thing was that he was once again close to Johnny. Yes, the latter didn't remember him at all, but they spent a lot of time together, discussing everything under the sun. The only thing the retired lieutenant refused to talk about was his military service. However, John didn't insist. He saw the terrible scars on Simon's neck and face when he lifted the edge of his balaclava, perfectly understanding why he didn't want to talk about it.

One misty, cold morning before the pub opened, Simon and Johnny stood on the beach, smoking, watching the restless sea. Somewhere in the sky, seagulls circled, and their cries remained piercing and desperate, but they no longer held power over Simon Riley's soul. Johnny had just leaned against him, and Simon, in a familiar gesture, put his arm around his shoulders, shielding him from the gusts of cold wind that pierced to the bone, leaving a salty taste of the sea on their lips.

“Simon,” the retired lieutenant heard a quiet, bewildered voice and turned his head towards it, looking closely at Johnny, “We've met before, haven't we?”

Riley looked down, took a drag from his cigarette, and remained silent for almost a minute before replying:

“Yes.”

“I've thought so,” Johnny's voice held no anger or offense. “Ye knew what I liked for breakfast, what coffee I drink, which cigarettes I smoke. Ye knew I like my whiskey neat. Ye knew... a lo’ of things that I didn't notice right away.”

Simon fell silent, looking out to the sea once more. Johnny slowly rested his head on Simon's shoulder and felt his fingers rake through his mohawk, tousled by the wind. Raising his hand, MacTavish slowly touched the scar on his temple and spoke again.

“Was I military too?” He asked. “Did we serve together? Were we friends?”

Simon remained silent. The wind snatched the cigarette butt from his fingers, but he remained absolutely still, stare fixed straight ahead, and seemingly not even blinking. John lifted his head from Simon's shoulder, took a step forward to face him, and held his shoulders. His other hand rested on Simon's chest. Simon finally lowered his gaze, looking into MacTavish's eyes.

“Will ye be surprised if I tell ye I seem tae have fallen for you?” John said. “Tis madness ‘cause I've only known ye for a few weeks, but... I'm drawn to ye. From our very first meeting when ye walked into my pub. That's why I’ve invited ye over, not because I pure needed an assistant. Please, Simon, tell me something!”

“Let's go inside,” Simon finally spoke and very gently, carefully touched John's cheek with his fingers.

The pub should have opened by now, but at this hour there never were any customers, so MacTavish didn't change the sign “Closed” to “Open.” They sat at the bar facing each other, just as on that first night when Simon finally mustered the courage to enter. Johnny poured them a whiskey each, carefully and unsurely covering Simon's hand, laying on the counter, with his.

The retired lieutenant gulped down his drink and then reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out two photographs. In one of them was Johnny in his uniform and gear, with a rifle in hand and his ever-present smile. It was his last photo taken before that fateful day when, as Simon thought, Johnny was killed. The second photo was a group shot, displaying all members of Task Force 141. Gaz and Soap were smiling, the captain looked stern, and Ghost, as always, was in the background wearing his skull mask. Johnny stared at these photos for a long, intense moment before looking back at Simon.

“I never stopped loving you, Johnny,” he said quietly. “I was with you when you were shot in the head. I held you and saw the life fade from your eyes. I don't know anything about how you survived, where you were treated, or what happened to you after that day. I remained in service only as long as it took to find your killer and seek revenge. Then, when I brought the captain the report of my discharge, he told me how to find you. He didn't give any specifics, and I came here not knowing what to expect.”

“Why didn't ye tell me this straight away?” Johnny asked, gently stroking Simon's arm.

“You were so happy, not remembering the past,” Riley replied in the same quiet tone, wrapping his wrist around Johnny's fingers. “I didn't have the courage to tell you about our service. About everything we had to go through. About how that scumbag shot you in the stomach and head while you were trying to protect our captain.”

“But that's not all that happened,” MacTavish shook his head and looked into Simon's eyes again. “There was us, not just comrades-in-arms or friends, right?”

“Yes,” nodded the retired lieutenant. “Not just that.”

Johnny lowered his gaze back to the photographs, trying to comprehend that the tough guy in the bulletproof vest covered in gear was himself; trying to recall the features of the other two fighters. That one in the hat with fancy sideburns was probably Captain Price. The name of the young and cheerful black guy in the cap was not mentioned by Simon, but they were probably friends with Johnny at some point. MacTavish frowned, trying to remember something, trying to find even the smallest breadcrumbs of memories that could lead him to the rest of them, but... In vain.

Doctors told him that with such brain damage, especially in the frontal lobe, memory loss was the least of all possible consequences. They said that MacTavish was lucky to remain functional and mentally stable. Memories might eventually return, but it was more likely that they wouldn't. Johnny accepted all of this. He had started a new life and believed he was completely happy until a mysterious stranger in a skull-print balaclava appeared on the threshold of his pub.

“I can't remember,” Johnny finally said, sadly looking at Simon. “Those people in the photo... We were probably close, bu’ I don't remember. All I can say is that even without remembering ye, I've fallen in love with ye again. And I don't want ye to sleep on the couch or go somewhere... I don't know, where your home is?”

“My home is where you are,” Simon replied, lifting Johnny's hand and lightly kissing his knuckles. “So if you still need an assistant...”

“Actually, I need more of a partner,” Johnny said, openly and warmly smiling at the man he didn't remember but loved with all his heart.

Simon spent several more weeks delving into the intricacies of managing the pub - learning how to plan and manage purchases, make cocktails, froth milk, cook simple dishes from the menu, work the till, and more. The pub closed on Mondays, and on those days, they would head out to the sea on Johnny's boat - they would fish or just circle around the island. Simon no longer slept on the couch or was a guest in MacTavish's house; he became its rightful owner. Johnny felt completely happy, falling asleep in his strong and warm embrace, resting his head comfortably on his chest.

Simon was happy too. It was evident how he gradually became less reserved, started to communicate more with the pub's customers, and increasingly more wore his balaclava raised to his nose. This allowed a glimpse that the retired lieutenant began to smile, doing so more and more often.

On a cold morning when the first snowfall covered the island with a white blanket, Simon and Johnny stood on the beach, smoking, watching the restless sea. Wrapped in a single blanket over their shoulders, they embraced each other, their lips displaying serene and happy smiles.

“I wanted to propose to you,” Simon broke the silence, stating this as casually as if it were something utterly inconsequential.

Johnny coughed, choking on cigarette smoke, and looked at him in astonishment.

“Yes, I wanted to,” Simon confirmed, continuing to gaze at the sea. “I even bought a ring for you, but... I never dared to. I thought we would have more time. When you, as I thought then, passed away, I left the ring on your grave. The cemetery worker who found it was probably happy; it was quite expensive.”

“Simon,” Johnny started, but Simon shook his head, turned to him, and, discarding the cigarette, covered his lips with his fingers.

“I can't afford to buy you the ring you deserve,” continued the retired lieutenant. “But maybe you'll agree to this?”

He pulled a ring from the inner pocket of his jacket—not golden or silver, but clearly antique, finely crafted. Johnny raised his hand, and Simon put the ring on his finger. He then kissed Johnny, lowering his head, and the piercing salty wind no longer had power over them because their hearts burned with a fire hotter than the epicentre of a nuclear explosion.

“I still couldn't remember anything,” Johnny said as they returned to the pub and prepared for opening. “You must be sad because of it.”

Simon looked at him, then pulled off his balaclava, smiled openly and sincerely, and replied:

“Quite the opposite.”

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