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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Note

Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!

I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!

Brother's Coworker

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.

A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.

Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.

“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts.

“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles.

Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.

“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”

“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head.

Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest.

Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”

You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts.

“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!”

“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly.

Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.

“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.

“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”

“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you.

“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”

“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”

Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back.

“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod.

“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes.

Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even.

This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet.

He stands like a statue.

“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.

“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.”

A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.”

You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”

Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.

Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.

“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.

“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John.

Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.

Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.

Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.

Christ, how long had you been staring at him?

“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.”

Your brother slashes you with a grin.

“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals.

“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.”

“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.

“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material.

“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk.

“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”

“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively.

“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.

“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind.

Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down.

Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.

Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again.

Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window.

You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.”

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”

“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.”

“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”

“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs.

Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away.

He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker.

Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.

“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes.

“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.

“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech.

Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows.

“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head.

Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air.

“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.”

A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”

You huff and smirk.

“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows.

You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder.

Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.

“That’s my job!”

Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip.

“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?”

The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.

“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed.

You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat.

“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”

“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing.

Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed.

Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently.

“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”

“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips.

“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.”

Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should.

“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear.

He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece.

You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.”

By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another.

Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want.

Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything.

“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed.

The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava.

“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”

Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.

Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.

“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.”

“I just told you—”

“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.”

Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight.

What in the hell was going on?

Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible.

For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was.

In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too.

He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively.

When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed.

“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”

“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.

“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.”

The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly.

“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt.

“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.

Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment.

“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.”

“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment.

Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften.

You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”

“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?”

“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.”

The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.

You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.”

Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.

“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”

Splaying your hands, you back out.

“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”

“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.

“Well, why not?” Simon glares.

“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.

“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”

You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt.

With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back.

“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire.

Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm.

A secluded home. Nothing around.

Then why had your words seeped into him?

“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.

—

In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death.

As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you.

Silent.

There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside.

The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.

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certifiedyapperx · 2 months

Text

Captain John Price • broken.

PAIRING: John Price x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: the result of my poll. in short, you tell your captain that the reason you’ve only dated one man is because your ex said you were broken due to your inability to orgasm; and price offers to show you that the only thing broken was your confidence.

WORD COUNT: 5.3k (got carried away.)

TAGS: 18+, PURE FILTHY SMUT MDNI, Slight Degradation, Praise, Multiple Orgasm, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Absurd amount of swearing, Fingering, Price being daddy as fuck.

"What about that ex girlfriend of yours, Gaz?"

As soon as those words left the Scottish lads lips, everyone in the room was giggling like a lot of fucking schoolgirls. You'd be lying if you said that didn't include yourself.

"You want to talk about ex girlfriends now, Soap?" Gaz sat forward in his chair, eyeing his grinning teammate from across the room, the grip on his glass so tight you were worried it'd shatter between his fingers. "What about that woman you boned in Prague? The one that wanted, oh--how do I say it...a little ride on train 141."

"Nuthin' little about that train." Ghost added through a choked chuckle, barely able to get the words out.

Your fucking abdomen was starting to get sore from the amount of laughing you'd done tonight. These men were absolutely ridiculous. You'd never heard more obscene sex stories in your damn life, and they've got a bloody abundance of them--the back and fourth taunting over who fucked who and who did what never seemed to end. It was almost three in the morning and they were still going strong.

"Aye," Soap leaned back in his chair, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a slow sip, wide eyes gleaming as he reminisced. "Fuckn' wild one, that one. Had her nice and tamed for me by the end of that deployment.”

"Aye, the fucking woman whisperer, this one," Ghost chimed in again, his balaclava half pulled up, exposing his stubble-donned chin and grinning lips as he took a hefty swig of bourbon. Not even fazed. "Almost as smooth as Price."

Everyone in the room chuckled, nodding and muttering words of agreement, but you were stuck in place--still absentmindedly staring at Ghost while turning the words over in your mind, curiosity piqued.

"Price?" His name left your lips before you could even attempt to prevent it.

All eyes in the room shifted toward you, and Gaz cocked an eyebrow. "You've never heard any of his stories?"

Ghost shot him a look. "Clearly not."

"I mean, I've heard some..." you mumbled, awkwardly trying to fix the mess you've just made. Your gaze darted between the three men staring at you, each set of eyes glazed with confusion, clearly trying to figure out why you were so taken aback. "Captain is far more secretive than the rest of you."

You'd been on the team for a solid eight months. Since recruitment, you'd worked alongside Price every single fucking day, yet the man hardly ever spoke about his personal life.

Unlike the others, who seemed to never stop.

"Around you, yeah." Soap mumbled with a smirk, shooting a knowing glance toward Gaz who instantly returned it.

Your brows knit in confusion. "Around me?"

"Aye." Ghost replied for Soap, and you were practically sitting on the edge of your goddamn seat as you knew he wasn't finished. He shifted lower in his chair as his eyes traced up and down your form. "You're new. You're hot. You've never spoken a word about your own personal life. The man's a bloody nutcase, but he hides it well when he needs to--he probably doesn't want to scare you off."

"Scare me off?" You had to fight to keep your jaw off the floor. Trying to mask your confusion, you cleared your throat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

At your reaction, everyone chuckled again, and your face immediately flushed with blood--shading you the same crimson colour found on a ripe fucking tomato. If there was some joke happening here, it'd clearly flown way above your radar.

And yet, before you or anyone else could even consider speaking again, the man of the hour appeared in the doorway, and you nearly fell out of your chair.

"Valid question." He didn't even acknowledge you as he spoke, eyes fixed on Ghost as he took a step into the room.

Gods, he was fucking attractive—every molecule in your being screamed at the sight of him. You'd done everything you could to ignore that fact for the entirety of your time here, ensuring your focus was trained on keeping things professional--but after two glasses of whiskey and the current topic of conversation, the flood gates were wide fucking open.

"Go on, Ghost," his voice was low, deep as the depths of your desire as his ocean eyes slowly danced around the room. "...I'd like to know the answer as well."

Price took a seat across from you, slouching slightly and nodding toward Soap who promptly poured him a glass of burning brown liquid and slid it across the table. Ghost pulled down his balaclava in attempt to hide his cheeky fucking grin, shrugging as though he had no idea what his Captain was on about.

"Not sure what you mean, Cap." Ghost quipped, and you could practically hear the beaming delight in his words. "We're just talking."

"Hm," Price side-eyed him, humoured. "You always talk about me?"

"Only when you're not around." Soap chimed in, snuffing a groan in his throat as he'd downed the rest of his drink and stood up, shooting an inebriated nod to each of you. "Well, would you look at the time--I'm gonna' hit the sack. Duty calls, y'know."

Your stomach churned with confusion, your eyes glued to the Scottish bloke who decided it was convenient to make his exit the exact moment Price entered the room. You almost wanted to reach over and yank him back into his seat.

"Keep it classy ya filthy bastards."

He shot you a cheeky wink from beyond the door frame before disappearing into the abyss, only for Gaz and Ghost to rise from their seats as well, seemingly following Soap's lead, muttering excuses about how late it was and how exhausted they were.

Your mind raced at lightning speed, trying to make sense of the sudden exodus. You were going to kill those fuckers in the morning.

Price broke the silence before it had the chance to linger for too long. "It's not personal, you know."

Your heart slammed your sternum. You sucked in a breath and trapped it there. You needed to calm the fuck down--though that seemed like a goddamn impossible task at the moment. Prices' voice was the hypnotizing depth of a black hole. It stirred every last atom within you.

Avoiding his eyes, you straightened in your seat, clearing your throat. "I know."

"Do you?" He cocked an eyebrow, two fingertips tracing the rim of his glass. "I'm not so sure."

You looked up now--almost immediately regretting it as your eyes caught his. You forced words out of your mouth before you could acknowledge how the way he was looking at you made you feel.

"It's because I haven’t opened up to you..." you murmured. "Yeah?"

Price nodded, choosing to remain silent, his gaze anchoring you to the floor—every muscle stiff as stone.

You cleared your throat again. "Well. What do you want to know? My family? Where I grew up-"

"No." He cut you off, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table as his stare intensified. "...I already know all that. You're my recruit, I know everything about your past..." his head tilted, his eyes narrowed, and he pushed his glass to the side, clasping his hands together infront of him. "What I don't know, is why a woman as skilled, as smart, and as undeniably attractive as you, has only ever been with one man."

Blood crystallized in your veins, every ounce of your skin vibrating with an emotion you couldn't identify. He was so close—closer than you'd initially gauged—and that closeness ignited dormant desperation, one you'd nearly forgotten existed.

Your throat was thick. Saliva lodged inside it. "I..."

There was a reason. There was a very good reason as to why you've only been with one man, why you promised to never put yourself through that shit again. But you couldn't bring yourself to say it, you couldn't bring yourself to speak the words aloud. That would mean being vulnerable, humiliatingly vulnerable--one of the many things soldiers were trained not to be.

Captain Price hummed, leaning back slightly, and a swarm of unpreventable desire roared alive in your chest. His attention flicked over you. Like he'd felt it.

He remained silent. He was waiting for an answer.

"It's...um..."

Your brain filtered through pages of plausible excuses until it landed on one. Inhaling a breath, you forced the fibbing syllables past your teeth, shrugging in an attempt to make it believable.

"I just...never found anyone I jived with.”

Price paused, his scrutiny skinning you raw. It was like he knew what was waiting on the edge of your tongue, like he could smell the smoke swirling off the fire below your waist. He wasn't buying it.

"You can't lie to me." His words only confirmed your thoughts. "I mean, theoretically you could, though I'd advise against it."

You swallowed, forcing your eyes to your hands. "I'm not lying."

"Perhaps not," he replied, voice cool as ice. "But you're certainly omitting."

Fuck, he was good. And of course he was--there was a reason he was Captain. He was fucking bred for this. You were certain he could detect a lie from light years away.

"It's embarrassing," you replied, ignoring the thrilled leap your heart made that he'd read you so well. "You'll think less of me."

John Price leaned further across the small table, nibbling the distance between you. The intensity of his focus made your insides tangle, something was undoubtedly churning within his mind. A breath caught in your throat as his eyes held yours.

"I don't care," he stole another inch, and you could now comfortably say that he was well within your personal space. "If this is going to work, there has to be trust. Because you should trust me—as your Captain, and as your friend..." in a single abrupt movement, he stood up, towering over you, eyes boring into the top of your head until he shifted toward the door. "...when you're ready to open up to me, I’ll open up to you."

Ice braced your veins. This was the most conversation you'd had with your Captain since you joined the team, and you were about to blow it with your inability to talk to him. To just telling him the fucking truth. He took a step back from the table, began moving toward the door, and you panicked.

You let him get two steps from reaching it before you jumped up, out of your seat. "Wait!"

Time was a relative concept. But as your Captain spun, and as you linked eyes with him, it slowed. Stopped.

You cleared your throat for the millionth time. "It's because...it's because I'm broken."

Price's eyes widened, only momentarily, before they narrowed--out of curiosity or skepticism, you couldn't tell.

"You’re broken." He said, drawing the words out on his tongue while taking a slow, lengthy step toward you. "Elaborate."

You dropped your eyes to the floor again, catching sight of his brown, rugged combat boots as they stepped into your line of sight. Heat flashed your face, and you shifted on your feet.

"My...my ex...um," your voice was barely above a whisper. Something felt gut-wrenchingly humiliating about having this conversation with your fucking Captain. "He, he kinda fucked with my head, I guess. Made me never want to date again."

You heard an exhale, a huff of enticed breath leaving lungs.

"I think," Price eased closer, and you caught whiff of his cologne--the scent engulfing your senses, sending hunger snarling and snapping for relief. "...you're omitting again."

"Why?..." you blurted, trailing your gaze past the vast expanse of his strong chest and up to his gleaming eyes peering down at you. You blinked. "...do you think that?"

Price raised a brow. "Am I wrong?"

"No, it’s just…” you closed your eyes, took a breath. Let it out. No point in lying. Just rip off the fucking bandaid. "He broke up with me because I couldn't orgasm. He said I was broken because of it. It’s dumb, but it hurt.”

Gods, it felt so fucking stupid that you had to smile, had to damn near laugh at yourself. As much as it sounded so foolish, you'd always just considered that maybe something was actually wrong with you. After all, he was your first, and your only—and the fact that you could never orgasm bothered you, too.

However, when you finally reopened your eyes, swallowing whatever ounces of pride you had left, you found a depth to your Captain's ocean irises that was not there before.

There was something floating inside them, now--something primal, something depraved.

"Interesting." His hand raised from his side, grazing over your cheek and coming to a slow on your neck, the tips of his fingers skimming over your racing pulse. "Broken."

Any blood that had been left in your head was now plummeting to your core.

"Broken." You whispered.

Price exhaled, his breath caressing your face, and you bit your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to thrust itself past your teeth. Never once would you have considered the thought of actually fucking your Captain--but right here, right now, with the way he was touching you, analyzing you, palpably tempting you--it was becoming more difficult to deny the physical need steaming from your pores.

"This,” his voice was so deep it made your blood sweat, his thumb stroking your pulse. "Doesn't feel broken at all."

Adrenaline surged you, ambushing your lungs with rapid breath, flares of lust sparking over your skin. You leaned into his touch, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a hum and a straight up growl.

Your pulse soared, your hand finding his wrist. “Captain…”

It would be lying to say you thought this was a good decision. But you couldn't find a fuck within you. After years of denying yourself any sort of physical touch due to the shame that consumed you, Price had perceived it without effort and ordered you strip yourself of pretense in his presence.

"Let me show you...." Price wedged a boot between your feet, his hips brushing yours, other hand finding your hip. "...that the only thing broken is your confidence."

You nearly whimpered. "Please."

Without further contemplation, your eyes darted to his lips the same millisecond his darted to yours, and you both moved at once. Price groaned, one hand shooting into your hair, the other supporting the small of your back, tugging you close. His hungry mouth captured yours, teeth nipping your lower lip as he spun you around and pushed you back against the table.

You groaned into his mouth, your ass hitting the cool metal with abrupt force. His lips attacked your jawline, moved down to your neck, and another groan escaped you, this time in bliss.

"Fuck," you cursed under your breath, throwing your hips into his, allowing desperation to guide you. "Captain..."

A low, menacing noise reverberated in his throat and he seized your neck again, bringing his mouth to your ear.

"My name," he took the lobe between his teeth, earning a squeak. "Say it."

"John—" You gasped, clawing at his back. "Shit."

"Mm. Good girl. So obedient..." he purred, tracing his mouth along the curve of your ear. "So responsive."

"Fuck." Every new beat of your heart brought a desperate pulse to your cunt. His fingers found your hair again, curling into a fist. "John...please..."

Your Captain hummed, just as his lips moved back to your pulse and attacked it, sucking rough rabid marks to the surface, his hips grinding against yours. Your eyelids fluttered shut, and he moved lower, releasing your head to work on removing your clothes.

Before your belt even hit the floor, he was tearing off your shirt and tugging off your bra--exposing your breasts to the cool air of the dimly lit room, surging goosebumps to life that he was quick to cover with his hands, taking the fresh tissue between them and kneading it.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, to himself you presumed. "You're fucking perfect."

There was one brief second of thought surrounding the notion that any one of your teammates could walk in and find the two of you here—but that thought was quickly lost as Price leant down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. You squealed, squeaking in pleasure, and his grip possessed your hips.

"So sensitive..." he said with a grunt. Your Captain wasn't just hungry—he was starved, more voracious by the second, spurred on by your reactions. "Fucking hell."

He leaned back, hooked his fingers under the waist of your pants and pulled, unconcerned for the ripping seams as he forced them down the curve of your thighs. Your head rung, entire body tingling. Paralyzed, you watched your Captain tear off your boots and rip your pants free, tossing them all to the side.

"Fuck me." He muttered again, returning his sights to your figure. "Look at you."

Price examined you like a meal, gaze traveling from your collarbone to your breasts, down past the curve of your belly to the swell of your hips, coming to a slow between your quivering thighs.

Adrenaline had got you this far. Reality was setting in. "Captain..."

"Shh," calloused hands found your hips, urging you back against the desk, spreading your legs further apart as he inserted himself between them. "I already told you what to call me."

You shuddered, twitching from his touch, and the corner of his lip quirked. Smouldering blue eyes searing into your skin. "John, I—"

His thumbs slid close to your heat, dipping into the crease and teasing close to the edge of your thong. Reality was a plummeting star, crashing down into your mind without regard. Nerves were consuming you, fingers digging into his biceps in attempt to stop them from shaking.

"You...what?" His voice was practically a lullaby. How something so deep could be so soothing was beyond your comprehension. "Go on, pretty thing..."

"I just..." you shifted your hips, trying to balance fear with desire. "I'm just...I don't want to disappoint you..."

Price assessed you, only for a moment, gracing your thigh with a stern yet gentle smack before trailing upward.

"Enough." It was an order. "I want you out of that beautiful mind."

He brushed his finger across your cunt, grazing over your swollen clit, and you choked, hips snapping toward him.

"Don't think..." the power in his words was intoxicating, a command given with the confidence of knowing you'd obey. He teased your clit again and you whinged, gripping him harder. "...just feel."

Before a coherent thought could enter your head, he pulled your panties to the side with two thick fingers, not giving you a second to brace for it before he used those same fingers and sank them into your tight, aching cunt.

"Oh—fuck-"

You groaned, head tossed back, walls tightening around the delicious stretch as he pried you open with slippery ease. The intensity, the fullness from just his fingers stole your breath, dizzied your mind, and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the growling breath escaping his lungs, trying to ground yourself as much as you could.

"Christ...tight little cunts just soaked..." he was right, you were dripping. You couldn't ever remember being this wet. In truth, you couldn't ever remember being this turned on, this desperate for touch. "Tell me how that feels."

"G-oh, fuck—" any additional words you had planned on using instantly died on your tongue as Price curled inside of you, pushing deep, every coherent thought fleeing your mind with a moan. Your entire body pulsed for him, like he'd shaken every cell awake and enthralled it under his possession. "John—oh, Gods!"

It wasn't like you'd never been fingered. It'd just never felt like this.

Something about the trained motion of his hand, the skilled curl of his wrist, the attunement to your body was consuming you--the need for more only increasing as he found a perfect rhythm, fucking slow, reaching to your belly while his thumb circled your sensitive clit. Your cunt throbbed, squeezed around him, as if to coax him deeper inside of you.

"Needy little thing," an amused huff at the corner of your consciousness. You forced yourself to look at him—he was smirking. "Tell me how it feels."

Desperation was throbbing at your temples, growling and coiling in your belly—unfathomable, incredible desperation stalling your lungs. Unfamiliar, but entirely absentmindedly as Price stroked your walls, stroked your clit, and you were gasping, you were—

"So fucking good—" you were practically screaming, brain a mangled mess of aimless words. "Cap—John, I—I'm-"

His free hand seized your jaw, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his fingers still keeping their pace, your vision blurring to bliss. "You're?"

You gasped. "I’m-"

"You’re close." Fire flooded your flesh, and you mewled like a nervous, helpless animal. His grip tightened. Intensity and power radiating off him in waves. "S’ that what you want, little slut? Hm? You wanna’ fuckin’ cum for your Captain, don’t you?”

“Yes!” No thought required. “Pleasepleaseplease-“

“Mhm. That’s right, that’s right—“ he was just as gone as you were. Air rattled in your lungs like rocks. Your vision blurring as you held onto him like your life depended on it. “Cum on my fingers, darling, let me feel you.”

A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the gates of heaven themselves. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunting for air while he worked you through the receding tide of your release.

“Good fuckin’ girl.” He growled, the arrogance in his tone palpable. “Look how easy that was, hm?”

Your Captian pulled his fingers from cunt and yanked you off the table by the hold on your jaw—you stumbled into him, wetness seeping down your thighs, brain given less than two seconds to process the slew of events before his slick covered fingers were at your lips and pushing past your teeth.

"The way I see it, soldier—there are two possible explanations here." He shoved his fingers deeper, reaching for the back of your throat. "Either you somehow managed to lie to me..." he pressed against you, his desire evident in the way it was jabbing against your stomach. "Or this tight little cunt has never been properly sated."

Your heart was in your feet, your lips sealed around his fingers as you held his eyes, a shade of blue so deep you'd almost thought you were staring into the depths of the ocean. His pupils were blown wide with lust, it was clear what he was getting at—and judging by the way your cunt clenched in response to his words, it was clear that you felt the same.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, looking for a response. You gave the only words you could think of. "I didn’t lie…I’ve had sex, Captain...I’ve just never done—that.”

"Well I think I've just proven that it wasn’t due to any fault of your own." His words were backing you into a corner, an explanation that was challenging to draw yet completely impossible to now ignore. "I got you there in seconds."

Your face grew hot. “So..what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he assessed you, eyes looking past you, through you. “Your ex didn’t know what he was doing.” he leaned in closer, plush lips curling into a mischievous grin. “All you needed was someone who knew how to handle you.”

"Hm." The arrogance was stifling, setting you ablaze. It only made you want him more. "Cocky bastard."

"Cocky," he repeated with a raised brow. "You have no idea, princess.”

"You know what, Captain," you teased with a smirk of your own, unable to tear your sights off him. His eyes. His lips. "I think you just got lucky."

“Luck.” He chuckled—a deep, growling thing. "I don’t do luck, soldier. I do facts.” Price shifted a hand to his crotch, palming his erection through his pants as he pressed against you. “Fact one, I just gave you your first orgasm.” He was possessed, hungry, borderline rabid. “Fact two, I could do it again on my cock. If you’d like.”

And you, you were his eager, willing prey.

"Shit," you muttered, the words shooting straight to your cunt. You didn’t need any further discussion. You wanted him, and nothing could stop the next words from leaving your lips. "Please...please fuck me..."

Your Captain growled. The sweet desperation of your pleas sending him past the point of salvation. He sucked in a breath. Trapped it there—internally clutching whatever ounces of restraint he had left.

"You sure you want this?" His voice was so fucking low you almost missed it. His fingers moved to his belt, and his lips moved to your ear. "I'm not so sure you can take it."

"I'm built for combat, Captain..." you murmured with a grin, spurred on by the evidence of his throbbing desire, fingers trailing toward his belt to help him along. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Price huffed against your jawline. Amused.

"You’re built for combat, undoubtedly..." you watched as he pulled free his thick, heavy cock. Your jaw slackened, your mouth watered. "But by the time I'm done with you, darling..." he seethed in relief as he guided his hand back and forth along his length, other one directing you back against the table. "You'll be built for me."

A sharp intake of breath found your lungs and then you were lying flat against the table, cool metal biting your backside and ripping goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You shuddered, seething in discomfort, but two strong hands made quick work to soothe them, coasting up your thighs until they found your hips, and then he stepped forward.

"Christ..." you whimpered as he loomed over you, the warm head of his cock rolling over your clit, teasing you with false thrusts, making sure you were well aware of just how long and fucking thick he was. "John..."

"Quiet." He purred, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Just let me break you open."

His heavy, smooth tip pressed against your entrance and then pushed in, head just barely spearing you yet somehow still splitting your cunt with a girth that stole your breath and forced a cry from your throat. With a breathless groan he pulled out, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing.

He smacked your thigh again. “Look at me.” He hissed, teeth sinking into the plush of his bottom lip as you instantly obeyed. “That’s it. Eyes on me.”

There was a mere second of silence before he sank in again, entirely this time—and though you were fucking sopped and pliant and voracious, he tore you wide with a sting.

"Oh—fuck-"

You fought for air, your body trembling, fingers clawing at anything that might steady you. He’d stuffed you full with ease, lungs heaving upon impact. Both big hands tightened around you, and he slid out, driving into you again with a hidden hiss of air, earning a loud, shameless groan from your lips.

"Fucking hell.” A dark, low voice rumbled from his throat. "Tight little whore. So fucking tight—"

"You're—oh, fuck—" words died on your tongue as he pulled out, pushed in again, sucking in air through his teeth, working you wider with each plunge into your pussy. You clenched around him, and he snuffed a moan, snapping his hips. "You're fucking huge."

"Mhm, yeah," it was a shameless admission. He placed a palm on your pelvis, pressing down, feeling himself fucking into you. He leaned back slightly, drawing long, slow strokes, forcing you to quake around every inch of his length. "That's how fucking deep I'm in you."

And deep he fucking was. Every centimeter banishing the ability to do anything other than exist as a stammering sheath for his cock. It wasn't penetration—it was pervasion, it was domination. Sex had never felt this intense. Sex had never felt this fucking tranquilizing.

"Christ—Cap-John—fuck—"

Price slid out and rocked in, driving to your stomach with a stab of blissful pain. Eyes snapping shut, you gripped his arms, seething when he thrusted again, and again. Each stroke shoved a cry from your chest, tightened your walls, and this only seemed to entice him, his cock splitting you apart. You scratched at his shoulders, fighting to find yourself in the bewildering delirium.

"There we go." His voice was distant in the sea of pleasure. "Look at you. Brainless on my fucking cock."

Your response was a moan, loud and shameless, gripping onto his arms and matching his rhythm, forcing your hips to his, a plea—faster, harder, more, more. Your Captain hissed in satisfaction, and his hand snaked between you, rolling and teasing your clit.

Your vision blurred for the hundredth time. "Oh, fuck—"

Delirium ascended into ecstasy, pleasure amplified by the stretch of his dick. He fucked into you, his skin smacking yours, his breath heaving in feral huffs.

"Fucking perfect pussy," he growled through his teeth, shifting your legs together and directing both ankles over his left shoulder, his thrusts slowly slightly as you gasped and whimpered, clawing at his hips, the new position causing the head of his cock to kiss your cervix with each thrust. "Mm, fuck...this is what you needed, darling. You needed a proper fucking."

"Fuck," you replied, brain numbed by bliss. Words didn't even make sense. "Deep. So fuck—deep—"

"Fuck—take it, take it little slut." His thumb was back on your clit, swirling it in tight, fast circles, his cock fucking deep into you. "I warned you."

"John—" You needed to scream, fingers clawing at anything they could find. If you weren't broken before, you’d certainly be broken when he was done with you. "Fuck—"

Bliss burned to burst, stars swarmed your sight entirely, and you knew it, knew it was happening, knew that you were about to break. The feeling was so intense you didn't know what to do with yourself, you weren't sure if you could even get the words out to warn him.

Your eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck—I'm—I-I'm..."

"Yeah, that's right." He hissed, teeth barred, hips snapping. He already knew. "Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock."

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt milked his dick, your thighs spasming, your back reached for the ceiling, pleasure possessing your nerves.

"There we go—good little fucking slut—squeezing me so good," it seemed an eternity--he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, until he edged his climax. "Fucking hell."

He sputtered, pummelling your cunt with sloppy final thrusts, pouring his cum inside you, grip gouging your flesh until he descended, meeting you in the receding tides of your peaks. Both of you twitched with aftershocks, both of you seeking air.

Once he stalled, you sucked in a long inhale and peeled your eyes open, taking in your surroundings for the first time in however many minutes it had been. The room was still as dim and dreary as it was prior to your mind shattering, the only thing now different was your Captain—who remained looming over the table, cock still buried inside you, precipitation lining his forehead and chest still heaving for breath, piercing gaze perceiving you like a sated predator.

With a glance at your lips, he finally moved, pulling back and out of you, tucking himself away. It was then that reality struck you hard—you'd just fucked your Captain. And he'd just shattered the preconceived notions of everything you thought you knew.

You were not broken. You were perfectly fucking fine.

Price cleared his throat as you pulled yourself off of the table and stood. "Y'alright?"

You nodded, grabbing your pants off the floor. "Yes, Sir."

Shame engulfed you, for reasons you couldn't explain. Embarrassment threatened to swallow you whole.

"Hey." Sensing this, Price stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Don't do that."

Your eyes fixed on his. Outlining his perfectly tamed facial hair, his striking blue eyes. "Do what?"

"Avoid me." He simply stated, his voice hardly above a whisper. "All this was, was me proving to you that you're not broken. You're the furthest from. It doesn't have to be any more than that."

"I know…just feel stupid, I guess.” Your face was in flames. You swallowed your pride until it was digested. There was no room for that here, not after what’d just happened. “I, uh, I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.”

Price regarded you with eyes warm as the summer sun, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. “I wanted you to open up to me. Willingly. I never pry.”

You cracked a smile, slipping on your shoes. “You got your wish, then. Emotionally and physically.”

“Aye.” Your captain chuckled, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and plopping himself into a seat, sliding a glass across the table toward you. “My turn, yeah?”

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callsign-songbird · 3 months

Text

This was supposed to be a short rambling and ended up turning into a mini fic lol. I know the tense shifts, I know it's sloppy lol

Anyway, Simon has a sweetheart who gets kidnapped and gets to meet "Ghost" for the first time.

The first time you meet Ghost, it's supposed to be carefully planned and controlled. After all, Simon was so worried about opening that part of himself up to you. To you, he was Simon. Soft, introverted, sweet, desperately trying to break a cycle of generational trauma. You had never met Ghost.

But, of course, nothing in Simon's life can go according to plan, and when you have people that mean something to you, they become weaknesses. So, when you get kidnapped by a Russian military company with the intel that you were important to Task Force-141? Ghost has already burnt down the world once, you're sure as hell that he would do it again for his love. So, when you meet Ghost, it isn't carefully rehersed and planned like Simon wanted. No.

Instead, you're terrified, bound, and gagged on a cold concrete floor wearing little more than your skivvies as tears stream down your face. Then, out of the blue, gunfire and shouting rings through the halls. Stealth be damned, as soon as their cover is blown, you know that Ghost will fight like a rabbit animal. He barges into your cell, tackling a man against the wall with a knife to his throat and a gun at his head.

Those eyes that had looked at you so softly and tenderly were completely unrecognizable when they were this wide and intense, wild with bloodlust. "Where is the girl?" He spits out in fluent Russian before his eyes catch sight of you.

'BANG'

A single bullet through the soldiers' skull, splattering Ghost with even more viscera and gray matter. Ghost doesn't even seem phased as he holsters his pistol and pulls away, letting the body drop with a sickening thud. He walks brazenly up to you, but pauses as he notices the way you frantically back yourself into the corner, trying desperately to stay away from this monster who had surely come to drag you from one hell to the next.

Then, he crouches down and outstretches a gentle hand to you, letting you come to him. He called your name so sweetly, and that was a voice you recognized. You tried to muffle out his name through the rag shoved into your mouth and tied around your head. That earned a low chuckle, a dangerous one that you hadn't heard before. "Not quite, love. Ghost. Now, let's get you home, eh?"

Ghost. The name echoed in your mind, bouncing around as you tried to remember where you had heard it before. Your eyes flicked over to the corpse splayed in the doorway of your cell, making you nearly vomit in your mouth before looking away. Ghost shifted closer, using the knife still in his hand to cut through the rough ropes binding you. "Bloody hell... idiots didn't even use chains, could have escaped right easy, you could of." Ghost muttered, mostly to himself. The words were terrifying to hear.

He reached to untie your gag next, a chuckle rumbling lowly in his chest as you flinch away. He gives you half a second to compose yourself before he unceremoniously rips the gag off of you and tosses it to the side. Red marks are etched into your cheeks where the gag had dug in, and the sight makes Ghost seeth. "Oh, love..." His words are soft, but his tone is enraged, as if those marks alone could start his new crusade.

"LT!" Blue eyes and a neatly groomed Warhawk pop into the door, stepping casually over the corpse as the new face made his way over to you. "This her, LT?" A thick Scottish accent was present, along with a bit of thinly veiled appreciation. "Off limits Johnny, this is her. This is my girl."

Whenever Simon called you his, it was soft and reverent, as if astonished that he could call someone so precious his. But when Ghost said it? It was commanding, possessive, and left no room for argument. You were his. And that thought was almost scary.

Ghost wasted no more time, scooping you up into his arms and making their way quickly through the facility you had only caught glances of while Ghost and Johnny talked in some military jargon you didn't understand.

That's when you noticed it.

Even though Ghost was holding you so tight and close, even though his touches seemed so rough and careless, even though he was splattered with all sorts of blood and viscera, you had none of it on you. Ghost had been so careful with his touches, with how he held you, determined not to stain and taint your delicate skin with the fuel to his fire, the essence of his soul. And that was quite possibly when you realized that 'Simon' and 'Ghost' were merely two sides of the same coin. And they were both yours as much as you were theirs. his.

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whoslibby · 5 months

Text

‘i’m a feminist obviously but I wouldn’t mind him saving me.’ you whisper to your friend at the bar the two of you worked at.

your friend hiss out a giggle at your boldness, talking about the group of army men that had been regulars. a group of them. a guy in a skull balaclava that got lift to his nose when he drank his pint. a scottish man who always order a scotch no matter the day. a nice scouse man with a cute hat who ordered a cider. the three of them regulars you came to like.

‘I know i’m fine without a man but I wouldn’t mind his protection.’ you whisper to your friend towards the man with the skull balaclava. he didn’t say a lot except from when he ordered his round.

you couldn’t help but say these things to your friend who wouldn’t stop giggling as she poured pints. as the skull man came up to the bar he came to order and you instantly went to serve him. ‘the usual?’ you question.

‘shots please,’ he muttered seeming not to happy himself.

‘on a wednesday night, bold,’ you say as you grabbed out three shot glasses pouring them. ‘$6 please,’

‘not m’choice, johnnys on the piss,’ he says as you hand him the three shots. you let out a soft chuckle as you take the money from him before putting it in the cash register.

when he went back to his booth you couldn’t help but giggle to your girl friend about it. giggling everytime he took a glance at you.

it wasn’t long until his drunk friend johnny was coming up to the bar ‘you see ghost? big guy. he wants your number!’ johnny says with just as much as a giggly tone himself, the shots going straight through him.

‘oh really? hand him this.’ you write his number on a napkin. you always avoiding giving your numbers to strangers but when he looked like he would go to prison for anyone that would hurt you. it was intriguing.

#jj talks #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #prison for life

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otto-s-alskling · 3 months

Text

TF141 X Fem!Reader

"Dress Up"

Shopping for disguises is something that the Taskforce sometimes dreads and sometimes are excited about. But when the mission called for having you dressed up for the supposed Gala that you are all to attend to, they immediately scrambled to the nearest boutique to find the best gown for you.

The four men sat at the dress boutique, an odd bunch as the sales lady assisting you was inside the changing room to help with the lacing and fixing up the dress. So far, the picks have been good, none of them totally into it because some have been a

... Questionable.

Soap chose a dark navy blue dress that showed so much of your back, which in return immediately got him hit on the back of his head by Ghost.

Gaz chose a rose colored dress but the slit reached almost your hip and Price couldn't have shoved you back in the changing stall so fast to hide you.

Price chose a red dress, a quite regal looking one that's a halter neckline and a glittery mermaid style that got a few appreciative nods.

Ghost, however, picked something that no one else expected him to ever choose. It wasn't goofy or ugly or anything. Quite the opposite.

You stepped out the changing stall, blushing, as you stared at the mirrors and the men all froze, especially Ghost. The three immediately looked at the masked man before looking at you again and they all sported a red shade on their cheeks and ears, refusing to look away from you.

Ghost chose a dress with sweetheart neckline, slightly fitted at the top with a sparkly plain skirt. Nothing too flared or anything but still gorgeous on you. Was even nice enough to get you a silver belt too. The fucking color of the dress? White.

Ghost picked a wedding dress for you to try on.

Imagination ran wild between the men before you cleared your throat. "I don't think I'll wear this one... Cause..." Your voice trailed off when they didn't even move a muscle, just busy gazing at you.

Nobody answered for a moment before Price clears his throat. "That uhm... Looks great, love but not for this occasion. I think we should get the halter one. You pick the color."

I nodded and went to the sales lady, leaving the men in awe at what they just saw. Ghost looked at Soap who was grinning as he held up his phone. Sneaky Scottish bastard managed to take pictures and Gaz immediately requested for a few copies, making Price chuckle.

Secured with the dark blue version of the halter dress and the same silver belt that Ghost picked, the team headed out of the boutique.

•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•

Ghost went back the next day, and bought the dress he picked and a veil himself,gazing at his new phone wallpaper of you in the very same dress. You never know when you might need it ;3

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 months

Text

It's a Match! || 141 x reader

[ Chapter 1 ] || [ Chapter 3 ]

Pairing: Soap x Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1K~ cw: a bit of dirty talking/innuendos Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Chapter 2: Johnny

“Oh, hello…” You remarked to yourself as your eyes locked into a stunning pair of blue eyes on your screen, stopping your mindless right-swipping. “...Johnny.”

“You’re 29… A soldier… Scottish… Are you friends with Kyle?” You mused playfully. “Let me guess, you’re a gym bro, aren’t you?” You asked sarcastically as you tapped your finger on the right side, skipping through his pictures. The first one immediately after was him lifting while wearing a weightlifting belt. “Yup… Mandatory gym pic.”

Chuckling to yourself, you snap a screenshot of his profile to the girls as well, sending it quick.

leah: @/mia Whatever good energy you sent its working. second hot guy in the last 5 minutes! mia: i lit a CANDLE for this!!!!! leah: there weren’t any handsome guys like this when i was on tinder?! 😫 UNFAIR. 🙄 you: blow it out then cause this is the 3rd actually. leah: 3rd??? Where’s number 2??? you: didn’t think to snap a screenshot. hasn’t matched me back yet. mia: has he posted a shirtless pic? you: kyle did and this one idk but probably. need to check. leah: Don’t forget to send it over.🥴

Shaking your head and laughing in amusement, you went back to Tinder, checking on ‘Johnny’. The mandatory gym pic was there… a couple of them in fact! And then the mandatory shirtless selfie. Or rather… The mandatory shirtless SELFIES. Plural.

Three of them… The first one was him just straight up wearing just a towel… And the next was him in a kilt… And the next was him with a button-up very much so unbuttoned.

“Oh, my, Johnny-John-John… You sure know how to woo a bird…” You joked to yourself.

You dragged your finger down to check his bio and immediately frowned. “Of course…” You trailed off with a disappointed frown as you snuck another spring roll into your mouth.

He might be stupidly attractive, but his personality… Gosh, he doesn’t know how to sell himself. Boring, boring, boring. “I work out and like video games!” You quipped mockingly and scoffed a bit.

“Artist.” You remarked when you reached the last of his profile’s tags, spotting that word in the hobby section. “An artist? You?” You asked your phone screen as if Johnny would come alive in it and answer you.

You’d admit, him calling himself an artist was intriguing enough, but normally that wouldn’t be enough to make you Swipe Right on him… But you’re not under normal circumstances. You promised your friends you’d Swipe Right on everyone so…

Your phone almost dropped out of your hand as soon as the ‘It’s a Match’ screen showed. “Of course… He’s probably swiping right on everyone as well…” Rolling your eyes, you go to click off the screen but accidentally enter DMs.

Johnny: ye have any scottish in you? you: not that i know of. Johnny: would ye like to? 🫦 Johnny: wait. wdym not that ye know of??? Johnny: i was trying to be filthy and now got me curious bonnie

“Fuckin’ hell…” You said as you set down your phone and covered your face before breaking into a fit of giggles.

The fact you had accidentally ruined his pick-up line and succeeded in stumping him got you very, very amused. Okay, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as boring as you thought.

you: story for another time. you: i walked right into that one tho. good job. Johnny: no ye cant do that Johnny: gotta tell me all about it now you: i mean werent scottish people everywhere in the uk at one point? you: i might be 1/370232103484320th scottish. Johnny: would ye like some MORE scottish in ye then? 🫦 you: solid attempt again. you: if you keep trying you might just get there. Johnny: i intend to dont worry you: soooo… Johnny: so? you: were you wearing underwear under the kilt? Johnny: no Johnny: why want a peek? 😏 you: i’m good you: so ur an artist? Johnny: i am Johnny: ur fast at typing fuck you: what kind? you: keep up then! Johnny: drawing Johnny: im trying 🥴 you: can i see some? Johnny: hanging with my mates difficult to text fast 😤 Johnny: idk if ull be in the mood to see anything after im done with ye you: why? 🤨 Johnny: might be too tired and need to be cuddled to sleep 😏 you: oh fuck off. Johnny: u just cursed me out Johnny: i think m in love 😫 Johnny: gonna tell my mates i just met my spouse 🥴🥴 you: don’t give them any ideas. you: haven’t even agreed to meet up with you. you: haven’t been invited in the first place. Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏 Johnny: meet up with me 🙏

Your eyes widened at his enthusiasm and persistence. Okay, he was definitely not boring… It was actually kind of endearing and funny!

you: jc r u copypasting that? Johnny: yes Johnny: are ye going to or not you: can i get back to you on that? Johnny: ill wait for ye you: sure you do that johnny Johnny: ow the sarcasm burns

Concealing a chuckle, you clicked off the DMs page for the second time tonight… but, this time, you closed the app and focused on eating dinner.

Sure, this whole dating app thing was stupid, but at least you were enjoying yourself.

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IF THE GIF DOESN'T WORK FOR YOU: CLICK HERE

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthoney , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish x reader

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charliemwrites · 6 months

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Woo woo woo snarf

Content: Privacy Invasion, Voyeurism, Possessive Behavior, Non-Con Touching, Dirty Talk

Things have been… wrong around the house. It’s been a slow escalation, a proverbial boiling of the frog. Glasses in the dish washer when you thought you left them in the sink. Blankets you left in a heap neatly folded. Food missing from the fridge and misplaced laundry.

Things you could write off as forgetfulness, as thoughtless habits borne of living alone for so long.

That is… until the t-shirt. It’s very clearly a man’s. Just… a white undershirt. But it’s not your size and smells unfamiliar even after a wash with your own clothes - like cologne or aftershave. Masculine.

Until the boot prints in the snow outside your house, still just visible even after Johnny unknowingly bounds through it.

Your mind scrambles to excuse it.

The t-shirt could be your ex’s. You did just pull out the winter gear; it could be left over from last year, something you didn’t manage to weed out. (Even if it smells nothing like your ex. Smells…. better.)

And you’re not far from some pretty popular hiking trails. Hikers sometimes pass through your yard. (Thought they never come that close to the house…. especially not since you got Johnny)

Johnny’s the only reason you haven’t gone full paranoid. He’s so protective, you can’t imagine anyone getting close to, never mind in, the house without him making a huge, bloody fuss.

Probably just cabin fever, you tell yourself. You need to go out more. Reach out to the friends you don’t see enough.

Johnny seems restless the first time you start dressing for a night out. You soothe him with a big hug.

“I’m just going to see Sarah and Mel. You like them, baby.” His ears perk, head tilting at the familiar names. You smile and press a kiss to the very top of his nose. “Next time I’ll have them come see you.”

When you come home, he’s torn up your favorite “date night” dress. You groan and scold him, but still allow him to plaster himself to your side when you climb into bed.

The next time you go out with them, you see a semi-familiar face in the little low-key bar. Soap. Can’t believe you remember his name months later, but then again he’s difficult to forget. Seared into your mind like a warning and a temptation. End up staring at him a little too hard, shocked to see him in the bar you and your friends have picked.

When he catches you looking, he grins like you’re an old friend, tips his head and his beer with a wink. Your friends notice, encourage you to say hi. But you wave them off, blushing, and they understand your introversion enough not to push.

He still manages to corner you when you go to the restroom. (Alone, for fucks sake. You should know better). All you see is a shadow in the hall, backlit by the bar. When you shift closer to the wall to let them pass, they turn and nearly pin you.

“Fancy seein’ you again,” a deep Scottish brogue rumbles. Too close to your ear; the bar music isn’t nearly loud enough to excuse it. “Out with your sister again?”

It takes you a second to recover, a bit shocked that he really does remember you. And far, far too aware of how close he’s standing, the heat of his body seeping into you.

“A couple friends, actually.”

“Still no boyfriend, eh? That pup o’ yours still a maneater like his owner?”

Your mouth drops open, offended and befuddled in equal measures.

“Wha— well, yes, he is. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He chuckles, eyes twinkling in the shadows. Amused and just a touch condescending. Your face floods with heat as he braces his arm on the wall above your head. He smells good, too good. Familiar?

“Prefer pussy m’self,” he says, “but most animals love me. Bet I could win you both over.”

You make an audible “agh!” noise, embarrassed by the crassness.

“Who says that?!” you protest.

He keeps talking, like you’ve said nothing at all.

“Promise I’d get your kitty purrin’ nice and loud if I pet ‘er,” he says, voice low and rough. “Play with ‘er all sweet like. Might even give ‘er a little kiss…”

The alcohol and having your friends nearby makes you brave.

“Not on your life.”

Again, he chuckles, fingers of his other hand skimming your side.

“Never say never, hen.”

You bite back a telling gasp. God it’s been way too long if you’re getting keyed up by this creep barely touching you.

It’s only because he’s sinfully hot and your pussy is a shallow bitch, you tell yourself.

“My friends are missing me,” you say, trying to extricate yourself.

He hums, steps closer before you can wriggle away, nearly pancaking you to the wall.

“I’m missing you.”

“You don’t know me enough to miss me,” you snort and push against his chest. He’s thick. Firm with conditioned muscle, broader than you realized in the dim - nearly dark - hall by the bathroom. If he didn’t want to move, you couldn’t make him.

But he finally relents, sidling a step back.

“Give me a chance to? Here.”

You don’t know where he gets a pen from, and he moves far too fast for you to stop before he’s tugging your shirt aside. You don’t know where he got a marker from but you feel the rough drag of it across your collarbone, the sting of it in your nose.

“Call me sometime and I’ll make good on my offer.”

He caps the pen, drops a kiss on your cheek like it’s his right, and swagger off - presumably to the restroom.

You scurry back your table, careful to hide whatever he wrote on your skin. It feels like it burns for the rest of the night until you get home.

Johnny greets you at the door with a huge canine smile. Again, focusing on all the spots where soap touched you. Unlike his usual reaction to the scent of unfamiliar men lingering on you, Johnny’s tail wags. You huff.

“Don’t you dare prove him right,” you huff, sidestepping your overgrown teddy bear to go to the bathroom. Your tug your shirt aside and stare at the phone number scrawled across your skin. There’s even a cheeky little heart at the end.

Johnny’s followed you, per usual, and you meet his eyes seriously.

“I know I told you that you’re only allowed to bite my ex….. but I might make an exception for a little nip.”

Johnny tilts his head as you begin stripping down, grumbling under your breath.

“Men like him shouldn’t be allowed to know how attractive they are. It’s fucking criminal.”

You start up the shower, about to step in, only for Johnny to start whining and crying. So loud and raucous that you almost think he’s been injured somehow. But no, he just staring up at you mournfully, ears back and tail down.

“Big baby,” you mock-scold, “what’s the matter, huh? You need me to keep you company while you potty?”

Johnny just keeps whining and crying so you roll your eyes and climb in, ignoring how he goes up in pitch. You scrub at the phone number aggressively, but even then the permanent marker has soaked into your skin and left a stain.

“Mother fucker…” you can barely hear yourself over Johnny. You finish up and whip the curtain open, hands on your hips. It must startle him because he pauses to stare.

“It’s a lot, bud. A lot,” you scold. “Too much, even.”

He subsides with one last grumble and seems to sulk for the rest of the night. Won’t even let himself be bribed with a treat. When you climb into bed with him, he faces away from you (even though he’s still plastered to your side).

“So dramatic,” you sigh affectionately, burying your face in his coat. He smells like pine. “It’s okay, though, big guy. You’re still the only one for me.”

In the morning, you find Soap’s number scrawled on a sticky note. Huh, you must have been a little tipsier than you thought.

#thoughts™️#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #woof woof Johnny

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