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#call of duty modern warfare ii
loneghostwolf · 2 days
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Hd's coming to pick you up for a date 🔥
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captain-mj · 2 days
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Hello lovely,
Here is a random request for you to write one of your High MJ's ideas. Whichever takes your fancy, whenever you feel like it, if you so please
Duet~
High MJ is so thankful, I humbly present King!Ghost and his Courtesan!Soap
Also a portion of this was deleted and I had to rewrite
Ghost sighed softly as he came home. After a few long months at battle, he would kill for a bath, a nice meal and some nice company.
Soap wasn't in his castle. According to the maids, he had left with a message that he'd be back by noon.
Ghost glowered and pouted, but he took a good bath to get clean and ate his fill before waiting for Johnny to get back. He thought since Ghost liked him, he'd let such an a grievance slide. So he waited in his bed, leaving all of his armor and clothing to the sides so it left him in only his robe. He lit a few candles and relaxed.
Soap reentered the castle and immediately brightened. "Simon!"
"Johnny." Ghost growled, watching how he tensed. "Where's your ring?"
Soap looked at his hands and looked sheepish. "I worried I'd lose it." He smiled at him coyly. "I didn't know you'd be home."
Ghost gritted his teeth. "Undress."
"Yes, sir." Soap said softly, hands reaching up to open the laces of his shirt. He pulled it over his head slowly to show off all of his beautiful body. Lean muscle with a good amount of fat. Hips like honey, so thick and so addictive. Soap removed his pants next, not wearing anything underneath. His cock was a nice size but the real prize was his ass. Perfect to squeeze or smack. Even better to leave a few bruises on. "Got something in mind? You know, based on everything, I think you want an excuse to punish me."
Ghost grinned. "You know me so well. I had some oil heated up. Now come here."
Soap crossed over to him, looking a bit shy once they were close to each other. "If I had known you were going to be home so soon, I would've waited in bed. Spread out, ready for you to fuck me." His thick Scottish accent drove Ghost crazy. He grabbed him and tossed him to the bed, grinning when he looked flustered.
"I prefer you tied up. Maybe I'll start telling one of the guards. They can tie you up in all sorts of new positions. Leave you all exposed and opened up." Ghost tied his wrists together and then to the bed post. He made sure he wouldn't be able to leave, planning to keep him there until he had wrung him drive.
Ghost yanked his legs open, but didn't actually touch him. It took a moment before Soap squirmed to get his attention. He lightly pressed his fingers to his hole, feeling how tight he was. His thumb barely breached him and Soap was already trying to press back against him.
Ghost made like he was trying to grab the oil before grabbing the candle. With a quick movement of his hand, he poured the melted wax on to Soap's chest.
Soap mewled, back arching harshly. He tried to thrash away from the falling wax, but he was tied up just right that he couldn't. The candle was perfectly safe, and it left such pretty red marks. His cock twitched every time it dripped on that pretty skin.
The next drop fell right on his nipples and he groaned, hips yanking up. "Simon, please I need you. Been weeks."
"Need me huh? Beg a little more." He moved his hand so the wax fell on to his stomach instead. "You could've had me this morning."
Soap huffed at him but he did beg. "Please, Simon? You know how much I need you. I know you've missed me. Want to please you. You deserve it after so long out there."
Ghost kissed him passionately, feeling the way his lips trembled against his own. The wax flowed over his skin and down his v-line. It managed to get to his inner thighs, narrowly missing touching his cock.
"Simon, careful. Don't want to burn me do you?"
Simon quickly set the candle to the side. He smeared the red wax over his chest and propped his legs further open. The oil had cooled slightly but it was still warm enough that he could comfortably prep him.
Soap laid back and mused a little as Simon worked. He knew well enough by now that Ghost liked the idea of being big and bad and punishing Soap, but he was a lot softer than he acted. Even now, he treated Soap gently. Working him open with a reverence that was never there with Soap's previous partners. All the royals that paid for him and none had ever treated him like he was also important.
Ghost had warned him that he was rough and horrible but that he'd pay Soap a lot for his troubles.
He'd never done more than leave a few bruises on Soap's skin.
Johnny moaned with the stretch, exposing his throat. "I'll be good. I'm sorry for taking off the ring." It was a piece of ownership. A claim to Johnny that Simon always had. So close to a wedding ring.
Ghost growled and gave him a rather sweet nip to his thigh. His eyes were so soft. Sweet. He looked at Soap and had to look away, too overwhelmed with how much he lo- adored him. Once he could easily take all three fingers, he pulled his fingers out slowly, careful to drag right against his prostate.
Simon sat up and pulled Soap closer, careful to not yank his arms too bad since he was chained up. He kissed him passionately, pressing him into the mattress. His teeth sank into his shoulder before he sank in.
Soap groaned at the stretch. No matter how good he was prepared, it still burned.
"There you go, love. Taking all of me so well." His voice dropped lower. There was a growl in his voice that sent shivers down his spine. Ghost rolled his hips into him and whined, pressing in close. He cradled Soap as he kissed him. Soap whimpered as Ghost rolled his hips, not giving him quite enough time to adjust. He groaned as Ghost pulled out.
"So big, sir. I promise I'll be good next time." He smiled, clearly being a little sassy.
Ghost huffed at him and kissed him to keep him quiet. He rutted into him, feeling him groan and arch up into him. As he fought to conquer all of Johnny's mouth with his tongue, he sped up, giving it to Soap exactly how he wanted it.
Soap moaned and tried to yank his hands down to grab him. He wanted to touch him. To reassure himself that Simon was right here. That he came back just fine. But his King had been taking care of so many people. Soap didn't mind taking care of him first. Or at least letting his frustrations out. His body pressed against him. It felt so good that he struggled to keep looking at Ghost as his eyes tried to roll back in his head.
"I missed you so much, my King. Wanting nothing more than for you to come home." Johnny whispered to him as he kissed Simon's throat.
Simon shuddered and thrusted in harder to drag out some more whines. He wanted to never leave this bed. To never have Johnny leave his side. The pleasure of just being with him after so long. After weeks of not having him, he missed him so much.
They kissed for a moment, desperate and hard. Simon fucked him harder, slamming into Johnny's sweet spot. He wanted to please him. It also felt so good. Simon whimpered in his ears. "Thank you. You feel so good. So fucking tight."
Johnny panted into his ear. "Anything for you." He clenched around him as tight as he could and moaned when Simon thrust in hard.
Simon sucked bruises in his neck as he groaned softly. He closed his eyes tight and thrust faster and faster into him. His stomach started to tense and he started to shake. Simon started to kiss him deeply. He pressed closer and closer, tracing his fingertips over his ribs and then down his hips. "I adore you. You're perfect. You really are. My love. Mine. Just for me."
Johnny whimpered and tried to get their lips together again. Simon teased him for a moment, letting him get desperate for it before leaning down.
Johnny came first, shuddering against him as he came on Ghost's chest. He sped up until he came inside him, filling him up until the cum mixed with the wax between his thighs.
Ghost unchained Soap and checked his wrists. He decided they were okay and kissed each one. Then he collapsed next to him.
Johnny engaged in his favorite pastime. Looking at Simon. They watched each other quietly.
Soap knew Ghost would ask if he could. For them to be more. And Soap would say yes if he could.
Simon stared at him with so much love in his eyes. There were boundaries though. Things they couldn't do.
Simon kissed him and pulled him in close, letting Johnny run his hands down his sides. He pulled Johnny so his head was laying on his chest. His rough fingers running along the shaved parts of his mohawk.
Simon was horribly sweet and he'd do anything Johnny asked for. Ghost was a more practical person.
But Johnny's head was on Simon's chest. And he knew that he'd be home for a good long while so they'd be able to catch up.
They kissed softly and Simon thanked the gods he had Johnny in every way he could.
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sadiem777-blog · 3 days
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I'm going insane, I have been SEARCHING for this one Ghost x Reader fic where the reader and Ghost are fwb ans she always gets herself off before they meet up and he catches her in the middle of doing so one time and punishes her for it. PLEASE, can somebody find it?? I've been looking on Ao3 and here for like all of my free time today 💋💋
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konigs-whore · 24 hours
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Familiar contact- A John price fic.
Random inspo I had, but hopefully people enjoy it. I stayed up till 7am writing it lol. Might make something out of this but I idk yet.
I have attention span issues so if it veer off, please don’t come at me for it. I’ve skimmed over it, but there’s probably some things I missed and grammatical mistakes. Thank you❤️
Word count: 3k+
MDNI- mature themes, language, choking, supernatural beings, dark themes.
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I told myself to be home by midnight, before the hunting hour started. To lock myself safely in my home, surrounded by wards.
Sigils adorned the doors and windows, passed down from generation to generation by witches determined to protect their dwellings.
The eerie stillness of the night was broken by distant howls and screams, while sinister whispers lured unsuspecting victims into their grasp. These cunning creatures preyed upon human greed, offering promises of fulfilling desires before revealing their true, malevolent nature through blood-red eyes hidden within the shadows.
"I'll give you everything you desire"
" You will desire nothing else, if you come closer"
I pay no heed to their twisted tongues, for I know the moment I look their way, or so much as utter a word, I'll be trapped in their soulless hell. Become a mindless creature like them, existing only to feed on souls until the earth turns to dust.
And I refuse to become one.
I pull my coat tighter around me, trying to shield myself from the biting chill. But it seems to seep through every layer, penetrating deep into my bones. Come to us.
The gusts seem to have a life of their own, swirling and dancing around me, almost taunting me with their strength. As I trudge through the forest, trees now look twisted and tortured under the relentless assault of the wind. Nothing on this earth is truly safe from their wicked powers.
Their branches whip back and forth, creaking as if in pain. Some of them have already succumbed, their broken limbs littering the ground like casualties of war. Despite the fierce resistance of the trees, the wind shows no signs of letting up. It blows with such force that I struggle to keep my balance, stumbling over rocks and roots that are hidden beneath a carpet of leaves. My hair is wild and tangled, whipped into a frenzy by the wind's powerful grasp. 
As I stand in the midst of this chaotic scene, I can feel the energy of the whispers pulsating through the air. They seem to be growing more desperate by the second, their voices becoming more urgent and insistent. These phantom entities, longing for control over my soul, reach out towards me with ethereal hands that pass right through my body.
But I refuse to acknowledge them, refusing to give them the power they so desperately crave. Meanwhile, the trees around me struggle against the relentless force of the wind. Some bend and sway gracefully, while others are unable to withstand the intense pressure and break, crashing to the ground with a loud thunderous sound. My heart aches at the sight of these ancient trees, some of them hundreds of years old. Despite surviving in such a harsh environment, they stood tall and thrived, only to be struck down by the dark forces of hell.  Life is truly, cruel.
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My small home, tucked away in the dense forest, comes into view. Smoke curls out of the chimney and warm light spills through the windows, creating a comforting glow. Thick moss clings to the weathered stone walls, leading up to the old black roof. A protective barrier of sturdy stone surrounds my home, making it feel like a fortress. My pace quickens as I approach, eager to escape the eerie whispers and relentless winds that seem to follow me. But as I near my house, all sounds of nature cease and an ominous silence settles over the land. My steps falter as my eyes narrow, scanning for any signs of danger.
Suddenly, a swirling mist materializes to my right, coalescing into the form of a tall, muscular man. Curled horns protrude from his head and his bright red eyes lock onto mine with malicious intent. My heart races as I realize he is a demon - not just any demon, but one of great power and influence. I recognize him from my extensive research on the seven gates of hell - standing before me is none other than John Price himself, ruler and master of all seven gates.
In a deep, smooth voice with a British accent, he sneers at me with a wicked grin. "Well hello there, little witch," he says mockingly as he takes slow steps towards me. Fear courses through my body like ice water. Why does his voice sound so familiar? That nickname….
“ John” I say, somehow holding my voice steady despite the tremble in my body. my hands twitch at my sides, ready to defend myself. “ what do you want?” I hiss. but he just smiles even wider, tilting his head at me. 
“ Can’t I visit a lonely little witch? whom lives by herself in the forest”. He steps closer. 
“ no, you cannot. I have no business with you, demon” 
A sharp gasp escapes my lips as he materializes in front of me. He leans down, bringing us eye-to-eye, his intense gaze locking with mine. The scent of smoke and fresh pine fills my nostrils, mingling together in an intoxicating combination. His long fingers, slender yet strong, grasp my chin firmly yet gently, his thumb lightly caressing my cheek. His touch, it feels familiar too. But why?
“ Been watching you, darling. A nasty little witch you are” His breath fans my face, our close proximity jolting my senses back into place. 
I grit my teeth, taking another cautious step back as his hands fall from my face. His amusement is evident in the glittering mischief in his eyes and the sly curve of his lips. I feel a surge of electricity tingling at my fingertips, slowly spreading up my arm until bolts of raw energy flicker and dance beneath my skin. With a few whispered chants, I channel the power and unleash a dazzling bolt of lightning towards him. The air crackles with anticipation as the bright beam strikes the earth where he stands, sending up a cloud of dust in its wake. The ground trembles beneath me, humming with residual energy. 
my eyes narrow as the dust fades away, and there he stands. a cloud of mist surrounding him in a protective barrier.  This grimy little bitch.
“ Now darling, that wasn’t very nice”
“ Oh really? thought i’d give you a proper welcome” I sneer, my fingers twitching again. my mind reeling for a plan.  My grandmother never said anything about defending myself against the king of hell. What the hell am I supposed to do.
The mist around him disappears into the earth. He crosses his arms.
" Well you could do me" he retorts and I frown. Get out of my head!
I send another bolt his way, and he deflects it with a flick of his wrist. John's laughter echoes through the forest, sending shivers down my spine.
" What do you want John. I haven't broken any laws, nor did I summon you".
His eyes gleam with amusement as he takes a leisurely stroll around me, his steps echoing in the unnatural silence that surrounds us.
"I do love a feisty one," he muses, his voice smooth like silk yet carrying an underlying edge of danger. "But I'm not here for your misdeeds, dear witch. No, I am here for something far more intriguing."
My heart pounds in my chest as I try to maintain a façade of calmness, even as his presence threatens to overwhelm me. "Then what is it that you seek from me, demon?" I demand, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at the edges of my mind.
John Price's smile widens, revealing a row of perfectly straight and gleaming white teeth that seem to glint in the dim light. As he approaches me, his footsteps fall with an air of confidence and authority. He stops in front of me, tilting his head to reveal the sharp angles of his jawline beneath his beard, and the way the moonlight catches in his dark hair.
"I have come to claim you, little witch," he purrs, his voice low and smooth like velvet. I can feel his warm breath on my skin as he speaks.
"Claim me? What the fuck are you talking about?" I snap back, my anger boiling over at his bold words.
"Your coven, centuries ago, promised me a bride if I granted them power," he explains, his eyes never leaving mine. "Twenty generations from then, a woman will be born with powers stronger than any witches before her. And only she will be worthy of becoming my bride." A knowing smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth as he finishes his declaration.
And if I could've sent every last bit of my powers away, I would have on spot. Simply bag them and ship them off to the next person.
The earth trembles beneath my feet, my anger coursing through me like molten lava. My eyes blaze with a fiery red intensity as I bring my hand up to meet his chest. The wind responds to my rage and strengthens, pushing him back with a forceful gust. He stumbles several feet before landing gracefully on his feet, a smug smirk plastered across his face. I grit my teeth, wishing desperately to wipe that lecherous expression off of his creepy features. "My, my," he purrs, "those eyes are like untamed flames."
He watches me with a mixture of amusement and fascination as I confront him with a strength that surprises even myself. The air crackles with tension as we stand facing each other, a silent battle of wills raging between us. I can feel the power coursing through my veins, a primal energy that demands release.
With a fierce determination, I raise my hands towards the sky, calling upon the elements to aid me in this dire moment. The wind howls in response, whipping my hair around my face like a dark shroud. The trees sway in a wild dance, their leaves rustling in a chorus of support.
John Price's eyes widen with recognition as he senses the ancient magic surging around me. In a swift motion, he raises his own hands, summoning shadows that twist and coil at his command. Darkness engulfs him as he prepares to strike back with his formidable powers. No, he’d never hurt me. But how do I know that?
Emotions wage a war inside me.
But I am ready for him. With a primal scream that echoes through the forest.
With a fierce cry, I unleash a bolt of lightning so powerful that it reverberates through the earth, leaving my body trembling with its force. The smell of ozone fills the air as electricity crackles around us, sending shockwaves into the ground and trees. And then suddenly, I am flying backwards, my back slamming against a rough bark of a tree. The impact knocks all the air from my lungs and I land on all fours, gasping for breath.
Through the haze of pain and confusion, I see John lying on the ground, his body smoking from the electric blast. Despite my own discomfort, anger surges within me. I grit my teeth as I struggle to stand, my muscles protesting from the jarring impact. God that hurts like a bitch.
But even as I rise, determined to keep fighting, I hear him chuckling. It is a sinister sound that sends shivers down my spine. My eyes narrow as I face him, ready to take him down. As if I could, I know I’m not strong enough.
"That's what I need," he groans as he stands, brushing off his clothes with an air of nonchalance. His red eyes have returned to their normal state, but they seem even darker now - like staring into a void.
"You want more?" I growl, raising my hands to strike again. But he raises his own in a mocking surrender. "I don't wish to fight you, little witch," he says with a sly smile. "A man should never harm a woman."
His words are like a slap in the face to me. This man is supposed to be the king of Hell, yet he claims to be against hitting women? I scoff in disbelief.
"Oh please," I retort. "Don't expect me to believe that for a second."
He shrugs as if it doesn't matter to him one way or another. And then suddenly, mist begins to form around my feet and up over my body. It spreads like a thick fog, rendering me immobile. Panic sets in as I struggle to break free.
"Let me go!" I shout, squeezing my eyes shut as I try to force myself out of the misty grip. But it seems to have a will of its own, keeping me firmly in place.
" I can't do that, love". He appears behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I hiss at the contact, his touch sending jolts through my skin.
“Now sleep, my love” He whispers. and I curse myself, as my eyes start to grow heavy. “w-what”. 
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I am jolted into consciousness, my body drenched in a cold sweat. My mind pulsates with a throbbing ache, as if being relentlessly pounded by a massive block of stone. With wide eyes, I frantically scan my unfamiliar surroundings.
It is then that I notice John seated in the corner of the room, engrossed in a book. His calm demeanor reveals no trace of concern or surprise, almost as if abducting people is just another routine task for him.
The audacity of this man! I want to strangle him.
"Where the hell have you taken me?" I shout at him, but he simply ignores me. Fine, if we're playing games now.
I curl my index finger and softly whisper a few words. Suddenly, his chair bursts into flames, scorching his backside. He springs up from his seat, dropping his book and grabbing his now charred rear end. As he curses and flails about, I smirk at him.
"Are you going to keep ignoring me?" I mock with a smug tone.
The fiery gaze of John meets my own as he casually pats his still-smoking ass. My questioning eyes shift to the discarded book on the ground, my raised eyebrow expressing confusion. "A cook book? Is that truly your book of choice?" I prod. He responds with an eye roll, snatching the book from the floor in annoyance.
Maybe I'm unhinged for being so casual at the moment, but my head hurts too much to really care. I'll unpack this after ibuprofen.
“You insufferable woman, you ruined my favorite armchair,” John seethes, pointing to the charred remains. I roll my eyes, unimpressed by his dramatics. You just kidnapped a witch and you're over here fretting over a chair.
“Take me back home,” I demand, standing my ground.
“No,” he replies firmly, a hint of anger in his voice. What is wrong with this man?
“Yes, I refuse to be your unwilling wife,” I argue, climbing out of bed and trailing after him as he storms into his closet. He pulls out a pair of unburned pants.
“You don’t have a say in this matter,” he declares. I cross my arms in defiance, scoffing at his arrogance.
“Because forcefully taking a wife against her will always make for a happy marriage,” I retort sarcastically.
My cheeks flush with embarrassment when he casually removes his burnt pants, standing only in his undergarments. "Jesus!" I exclaim, quickly turning around to face the wall. He chuckles behind me, clearly amused by my discomfort. " Jesus is not here, darling"
oh fuck right off.
I hear the sound of a zipper, followed by his footsteps approaching. I turn around, bumping my nose into his chest. not expecting him to stand so close. “ the hell” I mumble, rubbing my nose.
“ let me see this contract my coven signed. there’s got to be a loophole. I mean, why me? there’s other witches out there”.
I follow him out of the closet. He spins around, pushing me against the wall. I narrow my eyes, lifting a finger to zap his ass when he slowly pushes my finger down. as if I just showed him an ugly photo.
he then places both his hands on either side of my head. “ be a good girl and hush, yeah?”.
his low husky voice sends a shiver down my spine. fuck me, what’s wrong with me.
“ You be a good boy and release me, yeah?” I mock, smiling.
his hand slithers up to my throat, grabbing it tightly. he growls, I feel the rumble in his chest against mine. 
"You wouldn't dare," I gasp, struggling to breathe as his grip tightens around my neck. The fear in my eyes is unmistakable, a raw and primal emotion that courses through my veins like poisoned venom.
"Try me," he snarls, his voice low and dangerous. I can see the darkness within him, the deep-seated hatred and anger that has been simmering inside him for centuries. So much for not harming women, huh? bipolar asshole.
And then, without warning, he lets go of my throat. There's a strange mixture of relief and disappointment that washes over me as he steps back. He crosses his arms over his chest, his eyes firmly fixed on me.
" All I want is for you to accept your fate and become my wife. I want no one else but you" His voice is calm, almost soothing, but there's an underlying edge to it.
His words prick at something in my brain, erupting pain through my skull.
I glare fiercely at him, mustering all my hate into my eyes. As if that alone could poof him into dust. " Fuck you, you crazy bipolar demon"
He shakes his head, walking away from me. leaving me standing against the wall, mind reeling and grasping for any ration response.
I mean, not even ten hours ago I was freely walking through the forest on my own, collecting herbs. And now, I'm stuck god knows where with a demon who claims I'm his bride.
But why does it feel like I know him?
My head pounds, sharp pain piercing my temples. I cry out, grabbing the sides of my head as I crouch down. Whispers ringing in my ears, the voices of my mother and grandmother.
As fragmented images race through my thoughts, I am transported back in time. Current reality intertwines with hazy flashbacks, creating a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions. In one vivid recollection, I am young and standing in my mother's bedroom. Her screams echo off the walls as she fiercely argues with my grandmother.
Tears stream down her cheeks, "I will take her away, far from his reach." With a forceful shove, she pushes my grandmother out of the way and storms into the closet. Mom, why are you crying.
Overwhelmed by the intense scene before me, I tremble and cry silently. Despite my limited understanding at the time, I know that something is gravely amiss, and it involves me. "There's not a place in heaven or hell where he won't find her, Eylean. Our ancestors made the deal, and there's nothing we can do to stop it" My grandmother argues, chasing after my mother.
Come outside, sweetheart. A voice whispers in my head, gentle and comforting. Come to me.
I do as the voice says, running out of my mothers room. My little legs struggling to keep up with the fast pace, threatening to misstep. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I ran, adrenaline driving me forward. The sound of the back door slamming echoed in my ears, a reminder of the argument that had just taken place, the booming voices inside. Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled towards the stone fence, desperate to get away from the chaos inside.
Why, why me?
With trembling hands, I gripped onto the rough edges of the stones and pulled myself up and over the fence. My clothes snagged against the sharp edges, leaving small tears and scrapes on my skin. But I don't care. All I want is to reach my safe haven. As I reached the other side, my feet hit the soft grass and I took off running again. The cool air brushed against my tear-stained cheeks as I made my way towards the massive red oak tree. It stood tall and proud, its branches reaching towards the sky as if welcoming me with open arms. With shaky breaths, I collapsed against the trunk of the tree. The vines that twisted around it provided a sense of comfort, almost like they were hugging me. I wrapped my arms around my knees and buried my face in my legs, letting out loud sobs as I tried to calm my racing thoughts and emotions.
The wind started to howl, the force of it whipping through my hair and stinging my cheeks. I could feel tears sliding down my face as I tried to make sense of what was happening. The wind calmed, replaced by the sudden cold chill in my bones. Raising my head slowly, I glanced around through my blurry vision. Through the mist that had settled in front of me, I saw a figure emerge. It was a man, his large build crouching down in front of me. As he placed a comforting hand on my knee, I caught a glimpse of his bright blue eyes. They were like pools of clear water, sparkling and drawing me in.
Despite my fear and confusion, I couldn't help but gaze into them, feeling strangely captivated. A small smile tugged at the corners of the man's mouth, as if he were trying his best to offer comfort. His voice, deep and soothing, was one that I recognized from earlier. The sound of his accent brought a slight sense of familiarity. He spoke softly, reassuring me, "It's okay sweetheart. You're safe here." But I couldn't stop the sobs that wracked my body, my mind still reeling from the events that had just unfolded. "But they're fighting," I hiccupped, shaking my head. "Mommy says a bad man is going to get me." My words came out barely audible through my tears, but the man seemed to understand.
He moves to sit down beside me, our body’s brushing against each other.
“ I’m already here, little witch”
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sixleggedboar · 2 months
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I realised I did not treat the cod fandom to one of my shitposts yet.
This idea was the result of a conversation on male lactation.
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Ghost forgets he wears a mask sometimes.
The remastered version of the OG prompt because that ending REALLY sets the fucking scene.
I'm sorry Gaz.
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Your Touch
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Ghost x Reader
Ghost likes getting his back rubbed at night.
SFW, Extreme Fluff, Back Rubs, Cuddles, Pre-established Relationship, Hurt and Comfort, Touch-Starved!Ghost, Ghost is soft and vulnerable in this, Drabble, Scarcely Proofread
How about some fluff amidst all the smut I've been working on. 💞
Masterlist
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"I don't quite know how to ask this, but..."
Simon's eyes dipped down quickly from yours, back towards the ceiling, a sudden rush of shyness and vulnerability running through this large, deadly man like a tidal wave. Once a suitable amount of seconds had passed, he turned his body to face you, the entire bed shifting against his form and tugging at the covers.
"...Could you rub me?"
Your lips curve into a crooked and playful smile as you turn on the bed to face him, your hands resting comfortably sandwiched between your head and your pillow.
"Rub you?" You say, fingers playfully beginning to sift through the covers towards his lower half. "Your wish is my command, Si'."
Your hands have just reached the waistband of his sweatpants when you suddenly feel a strong grip gently take hold over your wrist.
You hesitate at first, immediately fearful that you've suddenly overstepped a boundary or done something wrong; since beginning your relationship with Simon, you've done the most to be respectful of his pace. If he wished you to stop then you would, no questions asked. But you catch his eyes -- dark brown orbs half-lidded and wavering. You knew this had been something else.
He could have you continue; go on with feeling your skin slide against his before you've found the better parts of him you'd been yearning for. Have your small fingers dance and tug at him until you've pulled the night-time exhaustion he'd been looking for out of him. He could have that happen and have no complaints at all. He knows he always could.
And yet he holds your hand back, keeping your touch as far away as his brooding gaze had suddenly become.
"Not that," he says. "Not tonight at least, love. I meant rub me like..."
Like the first night you ever rubbed him. A night spent longer than most together in bed wrapped in one another's arms. Your breathing was a soft tune his ears could follow along to as he rested, your arms better than any blanket he could have.
As he laid on top of you, an innocent gesture on his part, your hand slipped beneath his shirt. Before long he had felt your fingers softly glide over the most neglected parts of his back, tracing small lines and circles.
Touch never came gentle to Simon; it has always been a sick and harmful thing. To feel a touch now so sweet and with care, without even having to ask, the man had felt unworthy by nature. And mostly he had felt sorrow, in many degrees beyond its own self. 
If this is what a loving touch had truly felt like -- like safety and peace -- it turned his stomach at times to be aware that he never felt such a thing in his life until now. Not from anyone beyond his mother. A short-lived time that left as quickly as it remained. But nothing had been this. He knew that the moment he felt you.
He remembers not wanting that night to ever end. And he remembers how fast it had put him to sleep as well. Since that day he's silently enjoyed your hands running against him innocently, never quite finding the strength to ask you outright to do it more often until now. 
What had made tonight different, he couldn't say. But even now, with your hands in his, patiently listening to him, he just wanted you to touch him more. Extend your body out to him and remind him of his own humanity.
"I don't know how to describe it..." Simon says, though he'd partly been lying.  He could describe in full detail what he wanted if it didn't make him feel so frail doing so.
But you smile, seeing the bashful glint in his brown eyes and understanding the man's hesitancy to be more upfront. "I understand."
You slip your hand from him and gently curve it over his body beneath the covers, scooting your way over until your short arms finally manage to reach his back. 
Your fingers gently comb over his skin, grazing him faintly with your nails, as you've begun to let your hand trails up his spine from the lower half of his back all the way up to the base of his neck. You let your finger pass each link of his spine beneath his skin, feeling the goosebumps you had risen over his entire body. 
Simon lets out a gruff groan and sinks into your arms, letting his head begin to nuzzle into your chest, and giving you a better angle to rub him. "You're too good to me love," he says. 
His continued little adjustments only make you laugh. "It's the least I can do for you, Simon."
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A/N: I'm participating in Kinktober somewhat, but I might mix in more fluff and angst pieces as well. Just to throw in some variety ^^
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sakkto · 1 year
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I recently play COD MW ii
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m0chac0ffee · 10 months
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"What are you doing?"
"Coloring in your tattoo sleeve."
"I know, but... why?"
"Because I want to."
Simon scoffed playfully as he moved his arm closer so you had easier access to his entire sleeve, and willingly turned his arm whenever you needed him to.
"'M done!"
"Very colorful..."
"Yeah, you like it?"
He nodded his head. But he didn't just like it, he absolutely loved it.
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soft-cryptids · 1 year
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Watchdog. 
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tacticaldiary · 9 months
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Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)
Captured In Tandem
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault
"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"
He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.
Masterlist, Part 2
A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-
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The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.
He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.
Injured.
He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?
He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-
His face?
Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.
His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?
An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.
An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-
Her.
His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.
Shit.
Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.
Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.
"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.
Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.
"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.
"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.
"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."
Of course they did.
She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.
Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.
She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.
They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.
If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.
Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.
The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.
"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.
She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.
                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.
Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.
It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.
Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.
It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.
Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.
"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.
Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.
It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.
"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.
"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.
Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.
He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.
"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.
"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."
She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"
"Shut up."
"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"
"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.
She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.
Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.
The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.
The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.
The 141.
As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.
"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."
A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.
"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.
"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.
The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.
He aims at her and fires.
She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.
Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.
Click. Nothing.
He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.
"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."
Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.
"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.
Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.
But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.
"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.
The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-
She doesn't have to.
The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.
Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.
He breaks.
The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.
Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?
She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.
"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.
"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"
"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."
She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.
His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.
"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.
"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.
This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.
The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.
"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.
He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.
"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.
Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.
Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.
"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.
Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.
The world was fucking cruel.
The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.
Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.
Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.
If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.
Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.
It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...
She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.
She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.
"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.
A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.
"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."
Enough.
The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.
"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.
"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.
Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.
"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."
The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.
Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.
"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.
Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.
"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.
"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.
It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.
Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.
"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."
A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.
"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.
"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"
"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."
A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.
"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.
This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.
Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.
Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.
He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.
He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.
                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  
Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.
It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.
The second time her sense of touch returns.
Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.
The third time is quick.
Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?
Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.
Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.
The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.
The blood.
Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-
Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...
The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.
Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.
She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.
Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.
Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.
"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.
"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"
"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.
Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.
11 days.
11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.
It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.
He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.
Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.
"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.
"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."
"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.
"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.
"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.
"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.
"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.
It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.
The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.
Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.
They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.
They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.
He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.
"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.
"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."
It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.
It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.
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Part 2
(09/07/2023)
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loneghostwolf · 2 months
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Shadow Soap
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captain-mj · 1 hour
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Im back on my “Graves likes country music” thoughts with evidence
If he listens to it, he can call Price honey bee after hearing Honey Bee by Blake Shelton and Price is confused but likes it
Regularly plays it on missions, i mean look at him
Is from the south, I’ve never met someone the south that didn’t have some relationship with Carrie Underwood’s music
Listens to 9-5 by Dolly Parton, he told me so
Believes he’s the Cowboy Casanova from the one song
Has a cowboy hat, there’s literally pics of Warren Kole wearing one, that’s basically proof
It makes me happy because i like country music
There’s so much more, I’m happy to make a continuation
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temeyes · 8 months
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waiting for pick-up
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crumbztoast · 1 year
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hehehrhe >:)
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skylovesducks · 1 year
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H-here … it’s for you 🌼
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