#cod mw2 fic

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[mrs-incognito1]

3:09AM - Ghosts Lonely Deployment Masturbation.

Warnings - masturbation, nudes, praise, sexual stuff.

He’s been deployed and masturbates to a video of y’all.

Long time no see y’all, sorry I ditched 💀.

I take requests :)

———————————————————————-

“That’s right, sweetheart.” Ghost says in his signature gruff Manchester accent as he caresses Y/N’s flushed cheek. Her eyes are screwed shut as the flash from his camera shines in her eyes, creating a glistening effect on her body as her flesh is slick with sweat. Ghosts pubic bone grazes against her clit as he thrusts back into her, she moans and her eyes roll back into her skull with pleasure. “Mmm, good girl,” Ghost says as he pushes his thumb past her plump lips and into into her mouth, rubbing the pad of his thumb around her tongue, encouraging her to suck. 

“Look at the camera for me, love.” Ghost says lowly. Y/N opens her eyes as best as she can, squinting slightly from the flash above her. Lust clearly swirls within her blown out pupils, she gives the camera innocent doe eyes as she takes his cock. Ghost groans lowly as he re-watches the video. 

Ghost pumps his dick faster as he begins to feel his orgasm approaching. His hushed moans and groans appear to echo in the dull space he found, away from fellow soldiers and unfortunately away from Y/N. His head lulls back and his cranium lightly bumps against the wall he’s leaning on. His eyes shut tightly, seeing specks of white amongst the pitch black of the back of his eyelids as his hearing begins to zero in on her elicit moans that sound from the speaker of his phone. 

Ghost’s cock twitches from within his moist palm as a white halo of his spit and precum begins to form at the base of his dick. “Simon...please” Y/N whines within the recording as his fingers reach before him to rub teasingly slow circles on her clit in the video. Ghosts toes curl from within his combat boots as he pushes his skull deeper into the wall behind him, leaving somewhat of a dull ache. 

He lets out a strained whimper as his orgasm washes over him. His chest rises and falls rapidly as his breathing quickens. Spirts of hot cum ooze from his tip, angry and red with repressed arousal. Ghosts hips buck up into the air in desperation, his heart rate quickens and the grip around his phone tightens into a deathly grip, turning his knuckles white.  

He lets go of his cock, the palm of his left hand now aching and sopping with his cum. Ghosts dick twitches as he turns his attention back to the video still playing on his phone. Y/N moans lewdly from under him as he paints her torso with strings of white cum, groaning into the camera as he gives her all that he has. “Perfect girl.” Ghost says to her as he caresses her inner thigh, the camera goes blurry as he leans down to kiss her, before the video ends, leaving Ghost in silence. 

[ryuzakemo128]

“Love you. You're the best.” - Fennec Fox! Female! Reader.

Pairing: Ghoap x fennec fox female reader

Content warning: fluff. Fennec fox hybrid female reader. Smut at the end.

Note: Got tired of seeing dog and cat hybrids yet no fox ones - Like c'mon guys it's THERE - Do you not see the potential-

Words: 1326

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers (And Template): @cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: You boldly said it so loud, he could have sworn you said it louder on purpose, “Love you, you're the best.”

Ghost, who had been watching the playful exchange with a mix of amusement and curiosity, was caught off guard by your sudden declaration.

His surprise and he paused. “What did you say?” he asked, his deep, velvety voice carrying a hint of scepticism.

You boldly said it so loud, he could have sworn you said it louder on purpose, “Love you, you're the best.”

Soap's eyes widened, and he stumbled over his own paws. “What did you just say?” he asked, his tone a mix of astonishment and confusion.

You said it even louder, your eyes sparkling with joy, “Love you, you're the best!” This time, it was clear as day, and the courtyard fell silent. Soap stared at you, his jaw hanging open in shock.

Kate and Price exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps a flicker of hope that the darkness of your past hadn't completely stolen your capacity to form attachments.

Soap snuck extra snacks to you which he knew you liked, hoping to win your favour.

A gesture that, while small, spoke volumes of his desire to be closer to you. Treats like slow cooked chicken were greatly appreciated, especially after a long day of training.

Soap would often sit by your side, watching you devour them with delight, a soft smile playing on his lips as he listened to your happy munching sounds.

You tried Wagyu once, a rare and exquisite delicacy. The tenderness of the beef, the way it practically melted in your mouth, the 'thank you' with each bite you took of the wagyu beef. As well as, 'this tastes so good.'

Ghost looked at you while you were eating the wagyu beef he gave you as a treat, not expecting you to like it THIS much.

Not as much as you showed him when he cooked it up for you. You looked up at Ghost, your feline eyes wide with pleasure. “This is heavenly,” you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction. The warmth of your smile seemed to light up the shadowed corners of his heart. He had never seen anyone appreciate his cooking quite like this.

Ghost's expression softened, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks. “I'm glad you like it,” he said gruffly, trying to maintain his usual composure but failing miserably.

His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of doubt or mockery, but found only sincerity.

The kitchen grew quiet once again, save for the occasional sizzle of the frying pan and the sound of your happy chewing.

“I lived in a desert. Anything you make for me will be eaten with gusto, as it should be.” You told him. “You could have given me a cicada, and I'd still eat it.”

Ghost was about to satisfy your “heat cycle” when Soap, finishing his cigarette, intrigued, asked, “What's happening here?”

You were on the king bed. Your muffled,” 'm tempted to grab my vibrator.” As you were about to leave for your bedroom in the basement, which consisted of a hanging round bed draped with black cloth.

Ghost's voice grew serious, his eyes locking onto yours, “Wait,” he said, his hand shooting out to gently grab your wrist. He pulled you back to face him, his gaze searching your eyes. “You can't just say something like that and walk away,” he said, his grip tightening slightly. “Do you mean it?”

Face first into his pecs as if god ordained it somehow, as if the lord had come down and said, “This fennec fox hybrid female reader shall know thee by the touch of her cheek to thy chest,” you nodded against him. “Yes,” you murmured, “I mean it.” The words were softer than a whisper, but the gravity of them was palpable in the room. You felt Ghost's body tense, his heart hammering against your ear. For a man who was often the epitome of stoicism, this was a revelation, a crack in the armour that you hadn't expected.

As you prepared to sleep on your hanging mattress, the house's tension grew as palpable as a sea fog. Aware your words had impacted the men, you pondered the atmosphere's shift. Then, descending footsteps reached your ears, your heart pounding from a blend of fear and anticipation.

Ghost's silhouette appeared in the doorway, his posture rigid and unyielding. “Ghost,” you whispered, noticing his eyes were as intense as a moonlit arctic night. “What is it?”

He took a step closer, his boots heavy on the wooden floor. “You said something, earlier.” His voice was a rumble of thunder, low and demanding. “Something important.”

You were wearing a nightie which left little to the imagination, the thin spaghetti straps on your shoulders the only barrier between the fabric and your bare skin. You squinted, half asleep, “I said a lot of things.” You mumble into your pillow, trying to play it cool despite the racing of your heart.

Ghost took another step, his hand reaching out to stroke your cheek, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. “You said you love us.”

You turned to face him fully, the gravity of the moment weighing on your heart. “I do,” you admitted, the words spilling out of you with surprising ease. “Both of you, in my own way.”

Ghost's hand paused on your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jawline. “And what way is that?” he asked, his voice softer now, the thunder replaced with a gentle rain.

You took a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his hand against your skin. “In a way that's fierce and unconditional,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “In a way that makes me want to fight alongside you both, to keep you safe, to… to be a part of your lives.”

Soap, who had been quietly watching from the shadows, emerged into the dim light. He approached the bed, his eyes shimmering with something unreadable. “Is that right?” he asked, his voice gruff. His Scottish accent seemed to thicken in the tension-filled silence.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yes,” you said, your voice stronger now. “I love you both.”

Soap's expression softened, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a rare smile. He reached out to you, his rough hand taking yours in a gentle grip. “And we love you too, lass,” he said, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “In our own messed up way.”

Soap's eyes drifted to the vibrator underneath the layer of faux fur pillows filled with goose feathers.

He smirked, “Looks like we might have some competition.”

Ghost chuckled, the tension in his posture easing a fraction. “Looks like it,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “But I think we can manage.”

The three of you fell into a fervent embrace, a bond only forged through shared hellish ordeals. Ghost lifted you effortlessly as Soap drew your head to his for a kiss, a blend of tenderness and roughness. Their scents—Ghost's musky smoke and Soap's faint gunpowder—overwhelmed you, and you melded into their comforting warmth.

They laid you on the king-sized bed as Ghost hovered, eyes ablaze with desire mirroring yours. He seized your face, kissing you urgently with a passion built over years. His tongue explored your mouth as if new, while Soap's gentle hands roamed your body through your thin nightie, tenderly committing every curve to memory.

Their touch was like a delicate symphony playing across your skin, each caress a note resonating deep within your core.

The fabric of your nightie was peeled away, revealing your nakedness to the cool air, and their heated gazes.

Your breasts were swollen and sensitive, begging for attention, and Soap's mouth found its way to one, suckling gently, making you gasp against Ghost's insistent kiss.

This would continue on until morning. Where you are asleep in the middle of the two burly men who changed your life forever.

[evergreenlake]

And Fate was on His Side

Chapter 1

1.1k words

tw: mentions of cheating and hook ups, violence, guns and terrorism (please let me know if I have forgotten anything)

Price x F!Reader, Secret Baby Trope

an: Okay this is just a small note before the chapter starts. I just wanted to warn everyone that this is my first fic, so any of my descriptions of violence may suck lol. And since I don't really have a beta reader this was just barely edited by me and Grammarly lol. But a warning for the future some characters may seem ooc since I do not have much practice writing for them. Anyways that's all I hope you all enjoy.

series masterlist

next chapter

Most people who have been in a relationship for multiple years think that they'll last forever. Unfortunately, that does not always happen. And y/n is one of the unlucky ones. Her boyfriend of five years slept with his boss's wife. So she broke up with him and decided to travel abroad finally.

She decided to head to England as she'd always been curious about it. When she was out and about on her sightseeing she found out about this bar everyone was raving about. So she decided that after everything that happened back in the States, she deserved a drink. While at the bar she met the most attractive man she's ever seen. They ended up chatting for a while and she decided to finally get out of her comfort zone for once. So they ended up hooking up and the man was gone the next morning. Y/n ended up leaving London the next day.

About 2 months later, she finds out about the twins. The young woman decided to keep them, as she didn't have any plans for future relationships. And she also has always wanted to have kids, so 9 months later she ends up having a boy and a girl. Their names are Daniel, or Danny as his nickname, and the girl was named Mia.

Now Y/n did end up raising the twins alone, along with the help of her friends and family. Well, she did it alone for 16 years, until the day fate brought her and Captain John Price back together.

"Danny come on! You're gonna make us late. Mom has already got the car started. " Mia was standing at the bottom of the stairs as she yelled for her twin brother. Their mutual friend's birthday was today. Shay wanted to spend it at the mall with the twins and some other people.

Danny was taking forever to get ready, his twin thought it was cause he didn't want to go. In reality, he just has a crush on Shay and wants to make sure he looks good. He sighs as he finally stops messing with his hair and quickly comes down the stairs.

Mia was waiting at the door impatiently with a small frown. She was all bundled up in her winter coat with a beanie and her gloves. It was early winter, so the temperature was freezing. Once Danny finally got his coat on they hurried to the car.

Laughing Mia beat him to the front seat and he grumbled getting in the back. Y/n watches the twins with a small smile, she shakes her head with a huff before she asks " Are you two finally ready to go? Shay might be there already. " The twins just groaned before she put the car in drive, and then they were on their way to the mall.

It didn't take long for them to get there, and as soon as their mother had parked. The twins jumped out of the car and were hurrying towards the front of the mall. Back in the car, Y/n sighs, she grabs her purse before she quickly follows after them.

The twins were talking with Shay and the other two people that were there. Standing to the side was Shay's mother. Y/n happened to be close to Grace so she decided to help watch after the 5 teens.

Grace sent Y/n a cheeky smile before she grabbed her arm. " Can't wait to feel so old following them around. I have no clue what they have planned but apparently, they've made a list of places they want to go. I've told Shay we would just follow them around. " Y/n smiles a little before looking at the group of five and she hums a little. " I don't expect anything too wild out of them. Though I do think they may spend a ton of time at the arcade." She let out a small laugh and both of the women started following the kids into the mall.

And just like what was predicted the first place they stopped was the arcade. Shay and Daniel would split off from Mia and the other two. Grace and Y/n shared a small smirk as they watched them.

The adults would wait by the front of the arcade for them. Just gossiping about everyday things, mostly what their teens were up to. At one point Mia came back and just sat next to her mom quietly. She was quite the book nerd, she brought The Hunger Games with her so she could finish her third read-through.

After some time of the teens playing games, they came back over. All of them were now ready to move on to another store. As the group was leaving the arcade a loud explosion shook the building. Chaos was now what the mall atmosphere was like. People were running, others were getting under doorways.

The teenagers had looked to the adults scared, and unsure of what to do. Grace and y/n looked at each other before they started trying to herd the kids through the crowd and to the exit. And not even five minutes later they could hear gunshots. Shay and Mia immediately started screaming. Daniel quickly grabbed onto both of them and followed after the other two teens. While the five of them headed towards a store the adults were right behind them.

As the group was almost to the store, a group of masked men came around the corner. They looked like they were in some kind of tactical gear. Y/n's eyes had widened as she saw them and as soon as they lifted their guns she pushed Grace towards the children. Daniel had turned back as he heard Grace cry out a little. And he was immediately screaming his mother's name as he watched a bullet enter her shoulder.

The woman stumbles into the store as Daniel makes his way back to her. The employees of the store were motioning people to head towards the back room. Grace and her daughter quickly made their way there with the other two teens. Mia turned around and headed toward her mother and Daniel. The three of them barely made it to the register before the men were in the front of the store.

The family of three were now hiding behind the counter. This is because as soon as the employees had seen the group of men outside the store, they rushed into the backroom and shut the door. So the three of them were stuck behind the counter until either the men found them, or someone came to save the day. Little did anyone know, a group was on their way. This group had experience with dealing with a terrorist group like this.

Task Force 141 was on their way to take out the terrorists that were now wreaking havoc upon the mall.

Taglist:

@miss-vanta-likes-to-write @galactict3a

[mockerycrow]

CONGRATS ON YOUR 4K POOKIE I’M SO GLAD FOR YOU, YOU DESERVE THE WORLD 🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛🐦‍⬛

can i pretty please request roach x gn!reader with a fluff prompt “god, i’m so glad you’re alright”, after him and ghost survive “loose ends”, because they were warned in time that they cannot trust shepherd. THANK YOU AND CONGRATS AGAIN, MWAHHH

- 🐇

STILL STANDING (Roach x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[WARNINGS; talks about death, life affirming kisses, roach is selectively mute, fluff.]

IT WAS THE last second. It was the very last second when Roach and Ghost had heard Price’s panicked shouts through the radio, to not trust Shepherd, to go somewhere else, that they will meet again. Ghost and Roach had exchanged panicked glances the DSM in Roach’s hands when at the last second, they turned around in went deep into the woods, a completely different direction than where the chopper with Shepherd was—anything to survive that.

All Roach could think about was you and others. Ghost and Roach had cut all contact, knowing Shepherd’s men would canvas the surrounding areas for a couple of days, weeks at most; they managed to find an extremely rundown medium sized shed, one that was hidden by brush and trees. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to shelter the two from the natural elements.

Combining Ghost and Roach’s wilderness survival skills, they were able to scrounge up food when they ran out of MREs. It has to be day six when he begins to think about you again—wondering, hoping you were good they got away.

That leads him to dread another possibility; would Shepherd go after you next? Would he be found, only to be let know you’re rotting in a pool of your own blood somewhere? There’s too much that would be left unsaid between you two, not enough fucking time.

When Roach approached Ghost with his predicament, rapidly signing his thoughts—way too fast for Ghost to understand. “I— wha— alright, slow down, will ya? Can barely understand you.” Ghost says, putting his hands up as if to calm him.

Like anything could calm him; not when he had a nightmare about finding you cold and dead.

Roach takes in a slow breath as he forces his hands to slow down into more concise sentences so the other masked man can understand him. “When will we be out of here, Lieutenant?” Roach signs, watching how Ghost’s eyes track the movements of his hands and fingers. Ghost crosses his arms, his eyes flickering up to Roach’s. “I’m not too sure, I don’t think too much longer. Why?”

Roach signs your name and that’s all it takes for it to register in Ghost’s head, his eyebrows raising above the sunglasses he’s wearing. “Oh, you’re worried about them, are ya?” Ghost hums. “I’m sure they’re fine, we’ll try to contact ‘em tomorrow.” Roach let’s out a huff of relief and lazily signs thank you before he sits down on the wooden floor of the shed next to some of his gear.

Roach doesn’t sleep much that night, ranging from the fact they’re going to attempt to make contact again and the gnawing worry in his stomach; as well as the fact they’re still sleeping in shifts just in case. Roach is awoken by Ghost grabbing his shoulder and shaking him awake, his voice urging for him to wake up. Roach groggily sits up whilst Ghost stupidly tries to tell him what he has to say right off the bat, causing Roach to just stare at him with exhausted eyes.

Ghost lets out a sigh. “Roach.” He utters, waiting for Roach to give him a sign he is processing things. Roach takes a second before nodding, running his fingers through his hair. His helmet and goggles are by his side which Roach grabs before adjusting the tan mask on his face. “I made contact, they’re fine.” Ghost murmurs, making Roach light up, his eyebrows raising. He begins to rapidly sign, making Ghost chuckle. “Calm down, will ya? We’re meeting them 2 klicks north from here, so we can regroup.”

Roach wastes no time, quickly putting on his helmet and goggles, clicking the strap. He adjusts the goggles and the man stands up so quickly, he’s dizzy. “Woah there—“ Ghost grabs his shoulder to steady the man, but Roach quickly begins to gather his things, reorganizing what’s needed in his bag. The excitement and nervousness beneath his skin threatened to burst with every moment, his fingers trembling. Roach knows he needs to feel you under his fingers to properly process you’re genuinely okay.

Ghost packs his stuff as well, and they work together to make it look like no one was in the shed in the first place. They leave the shed with their guns in hand, slowly making their way through the thick forest towards the location. Roach is deep in thought as they begin their journey; are you as relieved as he is? He hopes so, but on the other hand, he doesn’t want you to be so worried over him. Roach keeps reminding himself to sign slowly for you, because he knows the second he sees you, he won’t be able to properly sign. 

His heart is pounding in his chest as Ghost utters that they’re close, that they should be able to spot a vehicle soon. A few more minutes of walking and they hear shuffling of leaves. Roach quickly turns and aims his rifle—it’s you. He nearly drops his rifle, a smile widening under his mask. You’re running towards him which does actually prompt him to drop his rifle—his bootcamp instructors are screaming at him in his head—but he starts running towards you as well. You run right into him, nearly toppling him over with your hug, your arms wrapping tightly around him. Roach’s hands scramble to grab onto your gear, stumbling around as you sniffle, holding onto him.

Roach lets out a shuddery breath, relief rolling off of him in waves. His tense shoulders relax once he finally has you in his arms. You pull your head away enough to look at him in the eyes, tears in your own. “God, I’m so glad you’re alright.” Your voice cracks as you express your relief. Roach’s breath hitches in his throat and he lets go of you, shakily ripping his helmet off, dropping it in the sticks and leaves to the side. He raises his goggles to sit on his forehead and he rips his mask down before he cups your cheeks and presses a desperate kiss against your lips which you return. You both know you’ll equally be embarrassed about this, kissing so needily in front of the others, but it’s needed—you both needed it.

[l1vchuu]

resentment. part five

part one. part two. part three. part four.

!! warnings: strong language and themes, you know the rest :)

Simon was lying down on his bed, staring at the wall. His brown eyes scanned the ceiling, searching for something to take off his mind. Something to drive him far, far away from all this mess. The mess he had created.

It was unusual, unusual for him to be the reason for someone else's suffering.

He stopped meeting with Amelia.

'Nonsense. You were the one who stuck to me, I never wanted any of this. It is not okay.' were his last words to her.

She nodded and walked away, it's not like love existed in the military anyway.

Look, it wasn't like his teammates drifted away from him or something, they continued to treat him the same- but the atmosphere was slightly different when he was around. It was heavier like the oxygen slowly escaped through the window when he appeared. It was an uneasy feeling, and Price didn't like any bit of it. He talked to him about the situation when you first left, but with your absence, there was nothing to look for in terms of progress.

You were a soldier for years, and have never taken a break since. You have a few honor medals here and there. You for sure were respected on base- that was the reason why you were in the 141. Every recruit adored you.

Captain Price didn't know if Simon had sent any letters before that, and he didn't have the right to see if he had in the first place. It was absolutely Simon's responsibility to fix this, but how will he approach it? It's not like he is not a full-grown adult, he can fix it all by himself. He will send a letter, of course. But he never wrote any letters, what will he do?

Simon was too afraid to ask for any help, he was always like that. Afraid that people will know that he is uncertain, that he doesn't know what to do.

He tried to sit down to write something multiple times, but he never got to anything. There were pieces of paper scattered all around his room all scrunched up, all of the attempts to contact you. It was hard for him to express his emotions, so there was absolutely no hope left.

He closed his eyes, trying to give peace to his mind in order to figure something out. What could he write in this situation?

Hello, how were you?

Hey...

Look, I know...

Good day, isn't it?

Everything seemed so stupid to him. Every word he tried to come up with sounded worse and worse. It felt like he was going to write a business email by reflex. It was like every syllable scraped his tongue like sand. The ideas in his mind were flowing at a rapid pace, like how Formula 1 cars chase each other for victory. Every word felt like a plead. Please come back, please, I need you.

His eyebrows furrowed, physically showing his irritation.

'What do I do?' Is all his mind repeated over and over again

He finally opened his eyes, his pupils adjusting to the darkness in the room. It was the end of fall, the start of winter, and the breeze flowing through the windows got colder and colder as time passed. The outline of the trees colored the walls, letting the light create all types of shapes. His eyes trailed to the window, which was slightly agape. He looked at it for a while before sitting up in his bed. The hesitance was growing in his mind, but he chose to ignore it all as he walked to the window, opening a pack of his old cigarettes- a habit that he tried to quit. There was no one to hide his packs anymore.

He grabbed one cigarette and lit it up, leaning his arms on the windowsill. The guilt in him was growing bigger with every puff he did, but he couldn't focus on that.

'She will get so mad if she sees me.'

But, she won't.

The smoke traveled with the wind, glazing through the wood as the smell faded away. He looked up at the sky. It was past midnight, so the full moon glowing down at him. All big and round, shining at him, making his eyes squint slightly.

He wondered if you were looking at it at the same time- and you were. God forbid, you were looking at the moon every night, hoping for change, hoping that the following day will bring you peace.

In the following moment, the pen was in his hand.

"The moon is pretty bright tonight, isn't it?

You said that when you were feeling unwell you would look up at the moon, and the thought of other people looking in the same direction as you made you feel less lonely. I see you in the moon every night.

Remember that one time we were on night duty? When it was another full moon, and you were looking at it. I could see every star reflecting off of your eyes, like a whole universe, at that moment. The wind blew your hair in front of your face, the pleasant smell of it hitting me in the face with every breath I took. You do smell really good.

This moment alone made me realize that maybe there was a calmness in this whole chaos. The first time where the silence didn't make me suffer. You brought peace into my life, and I took it away from yours.

Letters won't hold up all the things I need to tell you, and no punishment in hell would be enough for the things I've done. You have every right to not forgive me, because I will never forgive myself.

S."

Simon wasn't an award-winning writer, but that was all that he could manage to write. He couldn't bring himself to write more, it would take him days just to finish it. His mind was full enough, and the fact that he had mastered the courage was impressive.

-

You sat in your kitchen again, a cup of tea on your side as you held the paper in your hands, letting it scrape your fingers. A slight smile on your face as your eyes twinkled in the morning sun.

"Hello from the other side!

How are you feeling? We hope that home welcomed you nicely, (I would kill for a swig of scotch right now- J.)

Base is just as boring as it always was, even more boring without you around. We found these sketches at safe house 132, they are probably yours, they are pretty nice ones. We decided to draw you something as well. Don't you dare sell it to an art gallery, we know it's so beautiful, but it is for you! Unfortunately, that is all are allowed to send in, you know how it is :(

We bet it is freezing in your area, England can be cruel like that in the winter.

Anyhow, we wish you a peaceful break. And don't forget to bring gifts on your way back! Hope to hear from you soon!

All is well,

J, K, A :)"

You saw the small pieces of paper in the envelope- ones you drew on when a snowstorm hit on the way back from a mission, causing you to crash in one of the safe houses. There were drawings of all kinds of sea creatures- whales, sharks, and types of small fishes. Over them you wrote small passages of poetry- it really wasn't anything serious, just small words with big meanings.

The letter also included one piece of paper full of small doodles from your teammates. There were animals, faces, and flowers. It was amusing really- imagine three grown men sitting together and putting this up for you. This small gesture alone made you smile, the first genuine smile in a long time. You left the paper on the table as you took a sip from your tea, the warmth healing your throat. It has been a long week- it started snowing in your area, which you thought you would've liked, but you really didn't.

The thoughts in your head were just as confusing. What the hell was happening? You were a grown soldier, you had discipline, you had a strong heart... what was wrong with you??

It was like everything started melting slowly. You didn't have enough energy to go to the supermarket to do groceries, you barely kept yourself awake, and you couldn't even run a mile. You felt your fingers tighten around the mug, did you really want to open that last envelope? Your heart started beating rapidly, making your head slightly dizzy. You felt your limbs fall asleep, and suddenly your head weighed what seemed to be 100 pounds heavier. Soon enough, you were fast asleep on the table. You had fainted again.

Fainting was a coping mechanism your body was used to before when you were a teenager. Not only because of your eating disorder but also because of the stress you put yourself through. You were troubled at a young age. You forced yourself to suck up all the pain like a sponge. That was the reason you were like that at the moment.

You knew that holding in your emotions wasn't the resolution to your problems, but it was easier. That was why you became severely attached to the first person you shared your problems with. The first person who gave you a taste of what comfort felt like. You were reminded that, indeed, people had their own lives. But you were so... scared. What if you weirded him out? What if he had lost interest in putting up with you? What if he lost interest in you?

You cried so much, you wanted to feel his touch- his fingers up and down your back, his sweet voice in your ear, his dumb jokes, all in order to make you feel better, all while he was suffering from himself.

You missed this attention. Feeling like you mattered in someone's life? Feeling like you were finally valuable? And not just a dirty rag full of pain and emotions??

Were you going to feel like that again? After causing all this fuss... all because you felt bad. You wanted to bang your head against a wall, why did you do that? You should've sucked it up, to forget about everything. But now you were in your old apartment, passed out on the table, the cup of tea- now cold, just sitting over the papers.

A wave of shock went through your body as a thought struck your head.

'What will happen if you return? What if I acted like nothing had happened?'

'What kind of fucking idea is that?!'

Years ago, when you first decided to see a therapist, there was something she had told you about. You couldn't remember the correct name- but it was something along the lines of 'fake it till you make it' sort of thing. It was entirely possible for you to return... to forget about it... maybe change your whole personality- no, cut that- you could try to talk with Simon, you know? Instead of running away from your problems, like the little girl you were.

Running won't save you, not when you are running from yourself. Make yourself known, talk to people, let your anger out, let yourself feel. Instead of cutting yourself in order to feel something external, share a hug from a friend. Pretend like you were bigger than your own problems... because you were.

-

John Price went into his office, closing the door behind him. He sat in his chair, sighing. It was a long day for him and the coldness just made it a hell lot harder. There was a long pause until his radio went off, which he immediately rushed to turn on. It was a thing that rarely happened, so he became a little cautious.

"..."

"Captain... it's 2104 (your code), do you copy?"

He sighed in relief. It was just you.

"Yes, Sergeant. What is the matter?"

"I would like to request a time for return. Approximately in a few days."

He stared at the radio in slight confusion.

"Affirmative... is there a particular reason?"

"No reason, sir."

You and your reasons...

"Return as soon as you can, I'll inform the team."

You froze for a couple seconds.

'I'm really doing this, aren't I?' you thought to yourself.

"Sergeant? Do you copy?"

You blinked, immediately replying.

"Yes, sir."

There was a slight pause.

"Have a safe travel, Sergeant."

"Thank you, Captain."

There was a bleep, symbolizing the end of the conversation.

It took time to settle in... three, two, one

...

"WHAT DID I JUST DO?!" you whisper- yelled, your hand on your forehead. You stood up, pacing around in your room.

"No, no, no. This is not happening right now."

"What do I do? What do I say?... I should leave the military."

Definitely not doing that.

"Now people are going to think I'm crazy!"

Not far from the truth.

"Why is this happening to me?!"

Girl, you did this to yourself.

"Do I just get in and be like, 'Hi, guys! I'm sorry for leaving without telling you all, probably making you think I passed away! I've missed you!', and pretend like nothing happened?"

Most precisely, yes.

You packed your stuff, leaving the envelope on the bed. You can't just read it now.

The next day was your flight to the base...

What did you get yourself into?

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

I am SORRY for making y'all wait for this long. I accidentally wrote this part way longer than it was supposed to be, so the other half would be in the next part (which is going to be the final one), and then my mind went blank. The ideas just went outside my head!! Anyway, I really hope you forgive me! I love you all, sending a lot of hugs and kisses <3

[enbyh0e]

chapter 6 of the ghostsoap fic is up!! we have texting, and all the things it can do to two very horny people!!

[guinea-pig16]

Something Better || Chapter 7: Nightmares

Ghost x Reader x Soap

Fic is below the cut !! Please read the previous chapter here if you haven't already !!

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Word Count: 4,400+

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, self-loathing thoughts, graphic depictions of injuries, mentions of dead bodies (not real dw), guns, gunshots

______________________________________________________________

Bullets ricocheted off the walls as you and your teammates sprinted through the hallways. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you ran, mocking your panicked state. This was not supposed to happen. This was supposed to be an easy in and out mission, not a full blown battle zone. You fear your calls for backup went unheard. Your heart jumped as you spotted an exit. You motioned to your teammates the exit location.

“I’ll cover you guys, move out!” You yelled. They nodded and ran by you. As they passed, you counted each member. Your chest sank as your last teammate passed you. Someone was missing. You grabbed the last soldier’s arm and held them back. 

“Where the hell is Parker!?” You yelled.

“He’s not already left?” They asked, worry lacing their voice. You shook your head and wracked your brain for where Parker could be. You let go of the soldier’s arm and motioned for them to head through the exit.

“I’m going back for him, go join the others and await backup.” You said and started moving back further into the building. 

“Wait, you’re not going back alone are you!? That’s a death wish!” Said the soldier, grabbing your shoulder. You shrugged them off and gave them a determined look.

“I will not leave anyone behind, now move soldier!” You yelled. They hesitated for a moment, and then ran after the other team members. You raised your gun and slowly began making your way through the building. You followed the sound of distant gunfire.

You pressed yourself against the wall and shifted closer to the edge of the doorway. A stray bullet whizzed through the open door. You could hear men yelling inside. With a deep breath, you burst through the doorway and shot at the assailants inside. Within seconds, they were down, having been caught by surprise. 

You glare at the figure that starts to slowly rise from behind a table. Storming over, you hit Lieutenant Parker upside the head.

“What the fuck were you thinking!? How the hell did you fall so far behind from the rest of the team!?” You yell, dragging him out from behind the table by his collar. He ducks his head staring at the floor.

“...I saw Veseli heading down this way after watching us scramble from the meeting room. I… I thought I could finish him off… That maybe this mission wouldn’t have been for nothing…” He says, gripping his gun tightly. You look at him, guilt welling up in your chest. You led them on this faulty mission. You should’ve checked it out for yourself before jumping in…

You huff and rest a hand on his shoulder. “...Don’t worry about it. But you’re goddamn lucky someone like you is hard to replace, or else you would’ve been left to be dog food…” Parker chuckles at that. You give him a grin. “Now come on, we’re not outta this hell hole yet. The rest of the team’s waiting outside. I’ll cover you.” He nods and the two of you inch towards the door. Parker peeks out into the hall before slipping out, giving you the motion to continue. 

You slip out as well, remaining as quiet as possible. You both creep down the halls, bodies of your assailants littering the floors. As you near the exit, you hear footsteps and shouts in the distance. Dammit… They just keep coming… You think to yourself. 

“Parker, make a run for the exit, I’ll cover you.” He looks at you in shock.

“L/N, you can’t be serious-” You cut him off, focusing entirely on the opposite end of the hall.

“I refuse to fill out a K.I.A. form tonight, Lieutenant. Now get your ass out of here.” You feel him hesitate. “Dammit, Parker, NOW!” You hear him start running down the hall. As he ran, gunmen round the corner, barely getting the chance to raise their weapons before you mowed them down.

Grunt after grunt came, but none were able to do anything against your onslaught. But they were starting to wear you down, your cartridge in your gun running low. You dropped your gun when it drew blanks and pulled out your pistol. You started back down the hall, inching towards the exit, trying to kill as many as you could. You couldn’t, wouldn’t, let them get to the rest of your team. 

“L/N! Get out of there, there’s too many!” You heard Parker yell from behind you. You whipped around, seeing him standing in the exit doorway. Fury boiled up inside of you. I told that little shit to get out of- The thought was cut off as bullets riddled your back. A gasp left you as you felt three of them enter right underneath your vest. Blinding pain erupted from your lower spine as you collapsed. 

You couldn’t feel your legs as your body met the ground. Loud ringing filled your ears as you numbly tried to sit up. Fiery, white hot pain ripped through your spine as you shifted slightly. You tried to move your legs to no avail. It felt like they were gone, like they didn’t exist. You heard more gunfire, and felt a pair of arms start dragging you down the hall. Each movement was agony, it felt as though someone had ripped off your lower spine.

Someone was speaking to you as everything around you faded to black. You closed your eyes. Opening them, you saw you were standing in a void. You looked down, and saw yourself, being dragged down the hall by Parker. Blood gushed from your lower back and torso as you laid there limply. You blinked, but you were no longer staring at yourself and Parker…

It was Soap, it was his lower back riddled with bullets, and it was Ghost dragging him down the hall. You tried to rush to help, but you were glued to the inky blackness, frozen, forced to watch as he bled out, as Ghost tried to save him. 

“This is just a dream, it’s just a dream, this didn’t happen, it’s okay, they’re okay!” You told yourself. Your voice echoed throughout the void. The figures of Soap and Ghost stopped, as if they were frozen in time. 

“But it could have happened… Because you hesitated…” Rang a voice from the darkness, your voice. “You almost got them killed… What happened to you could have happened to them… Because of your carelessness…” You looked at the figures again, only this time…

The entirety of 141 were sprawled on the ground, riddled with bullets, bloodied, dead. Gaz, Laswell, Price, Soap, Ghost. All of them. Dead. 

“It’s your fault… You caused this…” You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. The voice echoed those words, louder, louder, louder. You tried to cover your ears, close your eyes, but you could still hear it, still see their mangled bodies. You dropped to the ground, unable to bear it any longer. A scream ripped from you and then-

You jolted upwards, a gasp tearing from your throat. Your breaths were labored as you quickly took in your surroundings, sweat clinging to your skin. You were in your room, laying in bed. You exhaled and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, attempting to calm yourself. It was a nightmare, it wasn’t real… You repeated to yourself. … But it could have been… You sucked in a breath. Guilt ridden thoughts started welling up inside, the darkness of your room feeling heavy on your shoulders. You curled in on yourself, trying to breathe.

It was suffocating, the darkness, the words that clanged in your head. You had to leave. You snatched your cane as you jolted from your bed and lunged for the door, wrenching it open. As quickly as you could, you made your way through the silent, empty halls, the clacking of your cane seeming to echo throughout the base. You needed air.

You thrust open the door that led outside and took in a deep breath. The crisp, cool night air filled your lungs as you breathed, and breathed, and breathed. You plopped down on a bench next to the door and stared at the moon. From what you could tell from its position, it was probably around 3 or 4 in the morning. You sighed and leaned your head against the concrete exterior of the base. What a shitty week… You thought.

It had been almost a week since the last mission, you had been avoiding everyone, unable to face them. Everyday, you would send a request to Laswell for a transfer, and everyday it would be denied. You couldn’t understand why she refused it, had she not seen how royally you fucked up? You froze at the worst possible time. You could have gotten the team killed if it weren’t for Laswell’s quick thinking. You huffed a bitter laugh. If only the team could see me now… How pathetic I’ve gotten… Your chest burned with memories of them… How they looked at you with admiration. It wasn’t 141 you were thinking of, it was your team… Task Force 441…

You frowned as you remembered your last meeting with them, while you were still bedridden in the hospital. You hadn’t said a single word to them the entire time. You didn’t even say goodbye to them when they left. How long ago was that…? A year…? A year gone by, and you’re right back at square one… How pathetic of you…

You heard a shuffle from the doorway. Turning your head lamely, you suddenly froze when you saw Soap standing there. He seemed to have the same reaction as you, him staring at you like a deer in headlights. His mohawk was ruffled, and he was dressed in a tank top, sweatpants, and a pair of slippers. You both stared at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, neither of you knowing what to say.

“Um… How’s it goin’...?” Says Soap, slowly. He cringes internally at his words. He’s pretty sure he knows damn well how it’s going. Not good! 

“Um… Fine I guess…?” You say, looking down at the gravel beneath the bench. A beat of awkward silence bounces between the two of you. 

Soap hadn’t meant to find you. He had woken up only a few minutes prior with the need for a drink and had been on his way to the break room when he saw the outside door open, a night breeze sweeping down the hall. It was just simple curiosity that led him here.

He hadn’t seen you since your outburst on the blacktop. That was about a week ago. He tried to talk to you only once after it happened, but was met with icy silence. He figured you just needed time alone. He considers going back inside and leaving you be. But… Just looking at you, he can tell something is eating you alive. There’s dark circles under your eyes, and your face is soulless and blank. You probably want to be left alone… But something in him keeps him from turning around. He’s seen Simon the same way. He can’t let you do this alone…

Against his better judgment he fully steps outside. “...D’ye mind if I sit whit ye for a moment?” He says gently. If you said no, he’d go back inside, no questions asked.

You take in a breath, preparing to tell him to leave you alone, but… You stop yourself. Do you really want to be alone right now…? Besides, does he really deserve to keep being pushed away like this? You sigh and wave your hand.

“Be my guest. I can’t tell you where to sit.” You say. Your focus remains on the ground as you feel him sit next to you. Silence washes over the two of you, but it’s not as awkward as before. You close your eyes and rest your head on your hands. Thankfully, it seems as though your thoughts aren’t as loud as earlier. Probably because you’re embarrassed someone’s found you in this state, especially Soap, who was the last person you wanted to find you like this.

Soap observes you as you sit there with your eyes closed. You look so small right now… So vulnerable. He can’t see any of your usual confident attitude, that sense of unwavering strength and determination. You look like a shell, a void that will swallow light whole. 

“...How come yer out here?” He asks. He didn’t know if he’d get an answer or not. It wouldn’t bother him if you didn’t. He’s used to his questions going unanswered, having had that happen to him many times with Simon.

You sit there for a moment, considering. You let out a sigh. “Oh… You know… Nightmares and stuff like that… Nothing I can’t handle. Just needed to… To get away from it for a moment…” You say, exhaustion heavy in your voice. You were tired. Not just physically, but mentally. You were tired of being ripped from sleep by memories you wanted to forget. You were tired of being in your own head. 

Soap hums in acknowledgment. You’re not the only one who’s been dragged from sleep because of nightmares. Both he and Simon have had to console one another after particularly bad ones. 

“...D’ye want t’ talk aboot it?” He asks softly. Once again, he wasn’t expecting a yes or even an answer from you. It was more so a gentle offer, a reminder that you can talk to him and he would listen for as long as you needed.

You sat there, head still resting on your hands, pondering. It’s not that you didn’t trust Soap, hell, you trust the man with your life. You just… You didn’t know if you could bear telling him. Would he look at you differently? Would he treat you with pity, or disgust when he found out about your failure? You turned slightly to look at him for the first time since he came out here. He was sitting next to you patiently, his eyes void of judgment or pity. Maybe… Just maybe…

You let out a long sigh and sat up. You leaned against the wall of the base and crossed your arms, staring up at the moon. A minute or two of silence passed by. Soap turned his gaze from you and looked at the moon as well. Perhaps you weren’t ready to talk.

“I used to be the captain of Task Force 441.” You say, eyes never leaving the sky. Soap’s eyes widen as he whirls his head to stare at you, shocked. He knew you were a part of the team, but the captain!?

You can see his shocked expression out of the corner of your eye and grin a little. “I know, I don’t look the part, do I? Especially not now.” You let out a sigh and close your eyes. “I was handpicked by some of the higher ups, along with the other 6 members.” A smile graced your lips. “We were together for years, kicking ass, scaring off baddies, we felt unstoppable.” Your smile dropped from your face. Soap didn’t dare say a word, afraid you’d stop talking.

“...Do you know what our last mission was?” You asked quietly. Soap thought for a moment. He’d heard vague rumors. Some said it was something so violent it made them all quit. Others said it was a ruse so the team could retire. None of them felt like the truth though.

“Only heard rumors, didnae think any of them were true…” He said. You let out a bitter chuckle.

“Superiors must’ve kept the reason under wraps then…” You say. You look at the moon once more. “Several of our missions prior had been to take down operations from this criminal organization in southern Europe. Illegal weapon trades and all that. The leader, Bedarin Veseli, didn’t like that for obvious reasons.” You shut your eyes. “He managed to find out who we were, who we worked with. He… He went straight for our intelligence officer… My friend…” You clenched your fists. “He offered her a massive amount of money to lead us on a false mission so he could eradicate us… Apparently the offer was too good to refuse in her eyes…” You sighed.

“So, she cooked up a mission for us. She said she’d gotten word that Veseli had a group of hostages locked up in an abandoned base… The same base where Graves was hiding in earlier this week.” Soap’s eyes widened at that. So that’s why they were acting so strange… “We, of course, accepted it. I… I didn’t think to check out the facts myself…” Your eyes glazed over, lost in the memories of that night. “We went in, expecting it to be an easy in and out. We’ve rescued hostages dozens of times before, how difficult could this one be?” You chuckled. “How foolish we were… How foolish I was… We had gotten to the meeting room where the ‘hostages’ were supposedly being held. What we found instead were dozens of armed lackeys with big fucking guns.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised none of us were injured in the initial onslaught. We barely managed to get away.” You smiled. “Veseli may have had the manpower, but he still underestimated our skill. Sure, he caught us off guard, but everyone managed to escape.” Your smile slipped. “...Well… Not fully intact, I suppose…” You rested a hand on your right leg. “...I had managed to get everyone out, except for my second in command, Lieutenant Parker. I went back for him, ordered my team to remain outside and await backup.” 

“I found him and dragged his ass to the exit, but not before more of Veseli’s men found us. I managed to mow down most of them, told Parker to run for it as I covered him.” You turned your attention back to the night sky. “...I got distracted and then boom. Shot in the back. Three of the bullets managed to hit right under my vest… Next thing I know, I’m in the hospital, being relieved of duty and told I’ll never walk normally for the rest of my life. I dream of that night every time I try to sleep.” Your words ring in the night air. Soap sits there next to you. He doesn’t know what to say.

The two of you are silent for a few minutes. Soap watches your face. It’s utterly blank, devoid of any emotion as you stare silently at the moon. He feels like he should say something, offer condolences, offer anything. He opens his mouth.

“I sometimes wish I had died that night.” You say quietly. Soap freezes, cold washing through him. You continue.

“Those months after the mission, I had hoped, begged, prayed to anything out there to let me die. I thought that dying was better than to lose my purpose in life, to face my failure… My failure as a leader, as a team member… as a soldier…” You looked down at your hands, taking in the details of your palms, your calluses, proof of the work you had put in to get where you are today. “I thought that death was better than the humiliation of defeat. Better than the knowledge that my enemy had gotten the better of me, that he had turned my friend against me, that he had crippled me for life…” 

“...I thought that I had overcome that. I thought I had found a new purpose… But after the last mission… After I froze up and almost got you guys killed…” You grinned, but there was no amusement behind it. “Am I any better than I was then?” You gritted your teeth, your clenched fists trembling. “I let my emotions overcome me, let them blind me as they blinded me then. I knew there was something weird about the mission… I knew that there were holes in the story… But I… I didn’t question it… I didn’t look into it myself… Blindly trusting it because she was my friend… Like a lamb to slaughter…” You let out a broken laugh and pressed your hands to your face.

“Rather pathetic, huh?” Your voice cracked as you spoke. Your eyes burned behind your hands, throat bobbing. The dam of emotions inside you was wearing thin.

Soap’s brows furrowed as he watched you attempt to ground yourself, as you tried to brush off what you had just revealed. You were broken. You had been shattered, betrayed, and had shoddily picked up the pieces. You had laid all your soul bare to him, and were still trying to keep a brave face.

He gently laid a hand on your shoulder. “...Ye really think it’s yer fault…?” He asked. Hands still pressed to your face, you nod, body trembling. He removes his hand from your shoulder and crosses his arms, letting out a huff. “...Well that’s the biggest load o’ shite I’ve ever heard in me life.” You slowly process his words, your hands lowering from your face as you turn to him.

“...Huh…?” 

“I said that’s the biggest load o’ shite I’ve ever heard in me life! Ye did nothin’ wrong! Ye were jus’ followin’ orders! How cuid ye have known ‘at she had betrayed ye? Especially if she were yer friend!” He sighed. “Yer real smart… But honestly yer actin’ like a right roaster right aboot now!” You furrow your brows. Roaster…? The fuck does that mean…?

He placed a hand on your shoulder again. “It wasn’t yer fault. Ye did whit any solider wuid’ve done. The only way ‘at bastard gets the better of ye is if ye let yerself fall into a hole ye cannae get out of.” You look at Soap, stunned. He glances away and rubs the back of his neck. “... Yer an incredible intelligence officer, one o’ the most skilled I’ve ever seen. Sure, ye froze up, but shite happens. None o’ us fault ye for it… It’d be a shame ifn’ye quit on us… We all… We all really like havin’ ye on the team…” He pulls his hand away. “We’ve all been through hell. ‘Ats the life of a soldier. But, we have each other… At the end o’ the day, we’re all surrounded by people who get it, get us… So, don’t think yer alone in this…” You let his words sink in.

You reflected on the past few months. Ever since joining 141, you had started to feel like yourself again. The joking, the banter, the conversations, every moment made you feel alive again. You had felt like you were alone, that you couldn’t talk to anyone about this. But you weren’t alone. Soap had reached out to you, so had Gaz, Price, Laswell, hell, even Ghost.

A smile creeped onto your face, and you turned to Soap. “...Thanks, Soap…” He gave you a grin.

“...Ye can call me Johnny, ifn’ye want to, ‘at is…” He said, face flushing slightly. You chuckled.

“Alright, thank you, Johnny, for listening to my tragic tale.” You say sarcastically. He huffed a laugh at that. The two of you sat in a comfortable quiet for the first time that night.

“D’ye miss yer old task force?” Johnny asked. You let out a hum as you thought.

“...I do. They were like family to me. I’m not… I’m not as upset about my leg anymore… I mean, look at where I am now, I’d never have gotten here without it happening I suppose.” You turned and grinned at Johnny, nudging his shoulder. “Besides, if it hadn't happened, I wouldn’t have met you guys!” He smiled and waved you off.

“Ahh, yer jus’ sayin’ that…”

You scoff. “Am not! I’m really happy to have met you guys! Besides, if we hadn’t met, who would listen to my rants about true crime tv shows?” Johnny places his face in his hands.

“Cannae believe ye out-rank me…” He mumbled. You barked out a laugh and patted his shoulder.

“I out-rank you either way, buster. No matter where you go, I’m still your superior.” He groaned as you chuckled.

You let out a sigh and stand up, grabbing your cane and stretching your stiff legs. You yawn. “Well, it’s late and I’ve barely slept. I’m gonna try to catch a few more winks before sunrise.”

Johnny looks up at you as you stretch. “So… Are things gonna go back t’ normal, then? Yer gonna go back t’ work whit Laswell?” You stop your stretches and look down at him.

“...Yeah… I guess so…” You rub the back of your neck and look sheepishly at the ground. “...Sorry if I worried you guys… I guess that’s really unprofessional of me…” Johnny waves his hand.

“Ah, don’ worry aboot it! Everyone goes through a rough patch every now an’ then!” He lowers his hand. “...Maybe next time though, don’ disappear for days straight…? Ye had Price and Gaz worried somethin’ fierce, even Ghost was gettin’ ready t’ knock yer door doon.” Your face flushes bright red with embarrassment.

“...I’ll keep that in mind…” You start to head inside, but pause and look at Johnny once more. “...Thank you, again. For listening to me… It… It really meant a lot.” He gives you a gentle smile.

“Aye, thas whit friends are for.” You smiled at him.

“Goodnight, Johnny. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He bids you goodnight as well and you walk inside.

Johnny listens to your fading footsteps and clacking of your cane, the sounds slowly being overtaken by crickets chirping. He leans back and rests his head against the wall. He never imagined tonight would have gone like this. He never imagined how hurt you were. He thought back to how you looked earlier, hands pressed to your face, voice trembling. He knew you had gone through hell but damn. He never thought it was that bad.

…Maybe that’s why Simon had tried to comfort you that day. Maybe he could sense you were broken too. Speakin’ of Simon, he’s probably wonderin’ where the hell I am… Johnny lets loose a sigh and stands, stretching his limbs. How long had the two of you been sitting there? Must’ve been an hour or more. He headed back inside, making his way down the hall.

Hopefully, after tonight, you’d be more comfortable sharing your thoughts. Hopefully, you wouldn’t feel the need to bury them inside until they burst. He reached the door to his room, and looked down the hall. A small smile tugged at his lips as he thought about your laughter earlier.

He hoped you slept well tonight.

______________________________________________________________

Heyyyyy..... So sorry that I haven't updated this fic in awhile.... I fell out of the COD fandom after my hyperfixation ended lol... But!! I'm not going to give up on this fic!! I think I have a good story and I wanna tell it!! But, updates will probably be slow tbh since I'm in school so.... We'll see how long it will take. But rest assured, this fic will be completed one way or another!! Ciao !!

XOXOXOXOXOX <3

tagged people:

@sucka2me @deltottoro @zyonsay

[sstormyskyess]

Pitch Black - Prologue

author's note: hello hello everyone!! welcome to my first long form series on this blog! i'm excited to share this story i've been cooking up since summer last year and i hope everyone likes it as much as i've had fun brainstorming it 😊 this is gonna be a little short prologue to set the mood and give a little context for reader so things make sense later on! please enjoy 💜

cw: descriptions of injury, mentions of vomiting

word count: 1400+

Everyone and their mother knows that Russian winters were ruthless. It was a widely accepted fact, even for those who hadn’t personally experienced one of said agonizing winters. Snowfall was common for six months out of the year, and the temperatures could reach —44 degrees fahrenheit.

Cold air seeped in from under the door of the tiny room you were confined in. You shivered while you sat on the old, flimsy cot against the back wall of the solitary prison cell. Your vision was unfocused and blurry, though it was hard to tell because it was too dark to see anything. The walls were made of dark concrete and half-rotted wood slats. It smelled musty and stale, the air circulation in the room severely lacking.

You wince when the door suddenly opens, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to block out the blinding LED lights beaming into the room out of nowhere. Your breath catches in your throat from the surprise, your chest stinging from the feeling. You peek an eye open when a metal food tray clatters to the floor. The sound was deafening as it cut through the murky silence you had been wallowing in, making you bring your hands up to cover your ears. The man that dropped the tray barks something at you in Russian before slamming the door shut once again.

Konni Group.

An up and coming Russian private military company, the target of your squad’s operation, and the people that had taken you prisoner.

The stated goal of your team was to clear out a known Konni base and to capture or kill the colonel they knew was posted up there. The POI had led a recent attack on a U.S. arms convoy and taken a number of highly lethal weaponry from the wreckage. The weapons were likely hidden somewhere in the base, and it was imperative to locate them before they were used anywhere.

The operation had gone less than optimally. It was doomed to fail from the start; the intel your squad was given was faulty, you had your cover blown by an ambush, and to cap it all off, the chaos allowed for Konni to get their hands on you and whisk you away.

 The only thing you could think of was time. How long had it been since you’d been thrown in here? Days, weeks, months? You couldn’t tell. Just thinking about it made your head hurt.

The only measurement you had was how long it was between the miniscule amount of food you were granted by your captors on a seemingly random schedule. You were practically able to feel your body consuming itself, your stomach growling at you angrily. You would cry, but the waterworks had run dry ages ago. You couldn’t afford to lose any more water; you didn’t have that privilege anymore. 

Years of active service in the U.S. Marines had gotten you used to grueling conditions, but nothing like this. Even out in the field, dispatched from whatever base you were stationed in, you knew you’d be able to secure some kind of sustenance. Food and water felt like a luxury now.

Despite the cold, the hunger, and the wear and tear on your body, both internal and external, the worst part was the lack of contact. You couldn’t even hear anyone moving outside, no matter how hard you strained your ears. There was no light peeking from under the door, so you couldn’t track shadows moving. The only indication that someone was behind the door was the meager rations being put into the cell. Between those meals, for all you knew, no one was present in the facility anymore.

Too much time had passed for anyone to still be looking for you or trying to rescue you. It hurt, at first. The feeling of being forgotten or being considered disposable had been crippling for a while, so painfully debilitating that it had you weeping endlessly for days, maybe even a week or more. The muscles of your stomach ached afterwards. Mixed with all the kicks and punches you suffered from interrogations, your heaving sobs had you nauseous and throwing up bile frequently.

You ruminated over what could possibly be the reason you were still being kept here instead of being executed. You weren't being interrogated anymore by now. You were just left with the wounds that you sustained from hours upon days upon weeks of interrogation. The bruises had healed, but the cuts were infected from the shoddy cauterizing job they had attempted. It felt like the bones that were broken were healing incorrectly.

You sigh shakily, your perpetually shivering body getting uncomfortable, so you try to shift a bit. The only thing you accomplished by trying to roll over on your tiny stone cold cot was falling face down onto the floor. You wince and give a weak groan, curling up and holding your stomach. You try your hardest to just close your eyes and get some sleep, no matter how restless it was.

When you woke up, you were finally back in the present. You were finally back in the little old house that you found after escaping that Konni facility, the sun just barely rising over the horizon.

It had been two years since you were abducted. The realization hit you hard. Two years you spent in that dark, cold, suffocating cell. Two years you spent withering away, slowly but surely. Two years you spent in your own special hell, alone, battered and beaten, left scarred for years and years to come.

You roll over and get out of the bed, a headache already springing forth in your head, making you rub your temples. You sigh and amble over to your rucksack full of all the essentials—well, most of them at least. You frown at the sight that greets you. Only a few MREs left and all of them were your least favorites. But, you’ve been through worse.

You pace around the room as you eat, reading some of the files you pulled off the rickety table in the corner of the tiny one room cabin. You scan the files and run a thumb over the insignia on the front of the manila folder containing everything you needed for your next job.

Al Qatala.

A terrorist organization based out of Urzikstan, the current boogeyman of the western world, and your current contractor.

The life of a freelance intel agent was an interesting one, to say the least. You had been around the world making problems for a countless number of political and military bodies, but the money was worth it. Not to mention the anonymity that came with not being tied down to any one organization.

You went off the grid after you escaped from Konni. You wanted to go back to normal life, but something in you told you to stay away from it all. Maybe it was the fear of being found and captured again. The logical side of your brain told you that there was no reason they would want you back, but it was hard to reason with a brain torn apart by the sort of trauma you went through.

You hadn’t cared to check up on any of your old teammates. There was an underlying resentment present in the back of your mind. You were betrayed by them, after all. They left you for dead and didn’t look back. Thinking back on it made you frown. You watched them leave you behind with no hesitation, run away without looking back. So much for no man left behind, right?

By the time you snap out of your frustrated thoughts, you’re already finished with your food. Your headache has gotten worse. You groan and pinch the bridge of your nose. You would really have to invest in some painkillers.

Based on how high the sun has gotten, you figure it’s about time to get moving. At least focusing on this job would keep your mind off the events that led you here. You flip through a folder and look at the location that was printed on one of the papers. Then, you take a peek at the pictures of the people you were meant to track.

Task Force 141.

A multinational task force recently founded, a team dedicated to making the world a better place, and ones that had been causing problems for your current contractor.

You take a deep breath and pack all your things away, ready yourself for the trek to the task force’s current location, and leave the cabin with the determination that kicks in whenever you set out on a mission.

𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[sunshowersanddandelionwine]

Humanity was, at its very core, cruel. Despite all the preaching otherwise, despite whatever bullshit that naive, sheltered philosophers and thinkers expounded upon throughout the ages, humanity was a master in the art of cruelty. It didn’t matter how kind, how selfless, how good someone claimed to be. At their heart of hearts, in their very core, in the essence and fiber and atoms of their being, they could never be rid of that black stain ingrained into the very soul (or lack thereof). A capability to enact a violence most thought unthinkable. Ghost had known it all his life. Had been witness to the countless shades of easy brutality, the unthinking callousness, the all too familiar malice and spite of humankind. He had partaken in it himself more than he would ever admit aloud. Blood and pain dripped from every inch of him, some put there by his own hand and some by the uncaring hands of others. Pain and cruelty followed him like a loyal hound, always one step behind and to the left, lurking in the corners of his vision with flashing white fangs and empty black eyes. He knew that there were some who had not indulged in that cruelty, not intentionally. Who would sooner take a bullet than point the barrel at another with intent to harm. Still, that possibility lingered.  Looming. Haunting. Always waiting for the moment when they gave in. Some could resist the siren song of urges crooning in their ears, but no one’s resistance could last forever. Everyone had a breaking point. Everyone had a limit to their grace. Ghost was not a good man. He had never claimed to be so, not even as a child. He was so steeped in blood and darkness, made of so many broken shards of glass and so much gnarled scar tissue, that he wasn’t sure if he could be considered truly human anymore. He wondered if that part of him was trapped beneath dirt and pine boards, or in that house full of mocking laughter and snake scales. He was so far from good, it felt impossible to separate himself from the faceless mass of shadows that clung to him with knobby, clawed hands. He might be the Ghost, but he himself was haunted by more phantoms than he could name.

tumblr can have the first bit of "move heaven and earth" as a lil treat <3

(reblogs appreciated if you enjoy ^-^)

[criminalamnesia]

GOD I LOVE traitor and how strong you've made the reader. It's amazing! And I eagerly await any future parts, whether it's big proper story or drabbles. BUT, you come first and your life does so you do what you gotta and go be amazing! We can wait. Proud of you X

im so late to responding, but thank you! <3

here’s part six :) also not really proofread so I apologize for any errors! I’ll fix them later!

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

you don’t know how long you’ve been sitting on the floor, cross-legged amongst broken glass, brittle flowers, and discarded clothes, when someone knocks on the door.

you don’t move, don’t say anything. the noise seems distant— too far off to be real.

besides, if someone is really knocking on your door, they know you’re in here.

and if they know you’re in here, it could be one of five people. your former squad mates, or the doctor.

the knock sounds again. it shakes you from your stupor, yet you still make no move to answer it. let them come in; let them see what they’ve made of you. of who you were. of who you could’ve been.

the person on the other side of the door is speaking now. you register the muffled baritone as it fights to be heard from the hall.

you clench your fists, then unclench them— stretching out your fingers as far as they go. clench them again. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it’s a tick— a calming habit. you don’t think it’s working at the present moment.

the doorknob turns. you still don’t move.

the door is being pushed in, light from the hallway aggressively slicing through the darkness you’d left yourself in. you fought the urge to curl in on yourself.

you’d been so consumed by your anger— are consumed by it— but coming into this room and seeing that damn note was earth-shaking. it was terrifying, and it was a tangible reminder of the team’s unapologetic tactics. simon’s unapologetic tactics.

the voice is speaking once more, clearer now that the door is out of the way— but you can’t make out the words over the ringing in your ears.

a hand gingerly lands on your shoulder, and that’s when you snap.

you whirl around, throwing yourself into the intruder like a cobra striking its prey. clearly caught off guard, the person lets loose a ‘oomph’ and falls backwards as you take out their legs.

everything is fuzzy. the ringing in your ears crescendos, and it brings pain with it. you’re striking your target with reckless abandon, still not registering who is flailing underneath you.

punches land and land and land. nails scrape and scratch and draw blood. all you see is red— all you hear is the sharpening of a knife or the whirring of a saw.

and then there are hands on you, yanking you away from your victim. the red slowly starts to recede, the ringing in your ears subsiding.

it’s only then do you release you’re screaming.

its only then do you see the swollen and bloodied face of your doctor, lying a foot away from you. she sputters a cough, blood leaving her lips and splattering onto the man leaning over her.

“you need to calm down,” a voice speaks into your ear.

“calm down, or they’ll sedate you,” it says, and you finally stop screaming. you take a breath.

clench your fists. unclench. stretch. repeat.

it takes you another minute to calm down enough to realize the person holding you is simon.

the doctor is being carried away now, and you notice it’s johnny and kyle carrying her. you notice john is standing to your left, eyes full of sympathy and guilt as he looks at you.

“get,” you huff, reaching down to slap at the arms circling your middle. “off me.”

simon releases you instantly. you don’t hesitate to put distance between the two of you. a few feet, at least. he just stands there, eyes watching with an expression you can’t place.

“what happened, love?” john’s voice is a soft rumble as he speaks. he moves a hand toward you, but decides against touching you— even if he only wanted to comfort you.

“I—” you start, glancing down at your hands. they’re bloody again.

“I thought it was—” you try again, but stop yourself.

you thought it was what? thought it was who?

you had heard man’s voice speaking to you. your mind had twisted things— had given you something you wanted to hear, deep down— because it gave you the chance to strike.

it gave you the opportunity to tear apart whichever man from the 141 had been there to check on you.

and you know you had wished it was simon.

john takes a cautious step forward at your silence. “let’s get you somewhere private, yeah? somewhere to cool down.”

the fire licking at your veins has subsided in favor of the chill of shame. of terror at what you’ve done— what you’ve done to the one person you had on your side. the person who was truly on your side.

you don’t fight this time. you give a nod, then solemnly follow him down the corridor. simon falls in behind you.

john takes you to his office, opening the door and ushering you inside. you move without protest, stepping into the dark room.

the two men enter behind you, john flicking on the light while simon pulls the door shut. you would’ve laughed at the scenario if you were in your right mind.

but you weren’t.

you weren’t okay. you knew that you weren’t, at least physically, but what you just did…

there was no way you were going to be transferred now. you doubted you would’ve even before you attacked the doctor.

you’re going to be discharged. you understand why.

but it hurts. this is your job, your life. years and years on the battlefield don’t prepare you for life off of it.

“love?”

john’s voice brings you back to the present. you realize you’ve been standing in the center of the room, unmoving and unblinking.

you feel simon’s hard gaze on your back. you want to cry.

how did things ever get this fucked up?

“im fine.” you say, not bothering to turn around. you didn’t trust yourself to keep it together if you faced them.

“you’re not,” john states, and you roll your eyes.

“im not talking about this with you,” you bite out, circling your arms around yourself. “either of you.”

“you should at least talk to someone, love— this isn’t healthy.”

“please, stop.” you tell him, but john was never good at taking orders. he gave them, not followed them.

“you hated the therapist, and you haven’t spoken to anyone else since… everything.” he continues.

“stop, john,” you try again.

“you need to let it out, love. we’re here—”

you spin around then, fists dropping to your sides. “for the love of god, john, shut the fuck up.”

that stuns him into silence, eyes slightly widened and mouth agape as he looks at you. simon doesn’t move from his position near the door.

“you are the last people i would ever fucking talk to! I don’t even want to be talking to you right now, but you won’t stop trying. trying to talk to me, trying to make it up, trying to wriggle your way back into my good graces.”

you pause, sucking in a breath. “johnny must’ve relayed the message, and that’s why you’ve back off a little— but one wrong fucking move and you’re swooping again! you aren’t my dad, you aren’t my lover, you aren’t my friend, and you’re sure as hell not my fucking captain anymore.”

“so please, john, leave me be. the four of you have done enough.”

the room is silent for a beat, then two. then three. and then simon takes a step forward, removes his balaclava, and looks you square in the face.

he doesn’t open his mouth to speak, so you take the chance to.

“don’t start with me, simon. just don’t.”

“the note,” he says. “you read it.”

you just look at him, a disbelieving scoff leaving your mouth as you give a nod. “yes, I read your fucking note. and I saw the stupid flowers, too, after seeing everything else you wrecked. tell me, how long did you wait after you tied me up to tear it all apart?”

he just watches you. you want to scream.

the note flashes back into your mind.

‘hope you can understand.’

“does it make you feel better, thinking what you did was right?” you ask him.

“I wouldn’t have done it differently.” simon tells you.

you clench your fists. unclench. stretch.

breathe in, breathe out.

“and if the roles were reversed,” you said, watching him. “if you were in my position, would you have expected me to do what you did?”

“yes.” he says, without hesitation.

“you’re unbelievable,” you huff. “is that how little I meant to you? all that time, wasted?”

“that’s not what I said.” he tells you, and you shake your head.

“no, but it’s what you meant.” anger is bubbling up again. you feel overwhelmed; shame and fury battling inside you. the ringing building up in your ears again, emerging from the background.

you can’t do this.

“what i meant is what i said.” he takes another step forward. “you’re just too damn stubborn to listen, always have been.”

“just go, simon.” you tell him. “both of you. go.”

“I wouldn’t change what I did,” he says again. “to protect my team, my family, I would do whatever it takes.”

you bite your tongue. you don’t want to keep arguing with him. he was an unmovable object— there was no way to reason with him.

“im not sorry it happened.” he speaks. “i did what i thought i had to do. what i had to do to make sure my team was safe.”

“and you should understand that, considering this team is all you have, too.”

you don’t respond— and even if you were going to, a knock on the door breaks the tense silence in the room.

johnny pops his head in, his eyes full of concern. “doc’s alrigh’.” he says, his gaze catching yours. “jus’ some bumps and bruises. she’ll be jus’ fine.”

“and she uh— said she’s not pressin’ charges or anythin’. says she still expects to see ya in a few days for your check-up.”

that’s what breaks you.

a tear slips from your eye, falling onto your cheek. another follows, then another, and you’re sobbing as you fall to the floor of price’s office.

the three men are staring, but no one makes any move to comfort you.

probably wise, considering what you did to the last person who tried.

you faintly register the click of the door as it shuts again. you don’t look up— your head in your hands as you cry.

cry about what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. mourn your career and your family and your love for the man who doesn’t regret what he did.

unbeknownst to you, simon is the only one still left in the room. his steps are silent as he approaches you— leaving only a foot of space between your bodies now.

he watches you as he sinks to the ground across from you, his long legs folded over each other, the fingers of his left hand twitching as he finds himself wanting to reach for you.

he still cares for you. his feelings for you were what made him do what he did in the first place.

the love he felt for you, twisting into betrayal and hurt and agony. fueling his actions, his desire to hear you admit your wrongdoings.

passion made people dangerous. passion in love, passion in rage. it was a fine line, and simon had crossed it.

he understood what this meant for you. recalls the conversation he had with price earlier— how laswell was planning for your discharge instead of your transfer.

this was the end of your time with them, and in the military. the hands of the 141, damaging one of their own beyond repair.

he finds himself mourning alongside you, then. mourning what was and what could’ve been.

what should have been.

“im sorry for what we did to you,” he says, but it comes out as a whisper that you don’t hear.

“im sorry.”

thank you all again for your patience! I plan on tying this little series up soon :)

as a reminder, I no longer do taglists. if you want to be notified when I post, follow @troiastitans and turn on notifications. I only reblog my works there.

I hope you all enjoyed :)

[bossalphadotdocx]

[would you save me a spark? we'll light up the dark]

Pairing: Captain John Price x GN!Reader (3rd pov)

A/N: baby's first fic on this blog! Fierce is the callsign for reader. My sister may be a doctor but I'm not one and it's too late to ask her abt medical conditions by the time I'm writing this

Cw: major character death (you, as the reader), grief, medical inaccuracies

Part 2

He held their body close to his chest. Damn his vest for blocking to feel the last warmth left in their body. He could feel their blood seeping into his sleeves, his gloves. Then he saw it. The necklace he gave them fell out of their neckline alongside their dog tags.

It made a soft cling amongst the loud battlefield. And that's when his heart truly stopped.

He regretted everything. He regretted for not telling them of his feelings earlier than he should. He regretted of the missed chances. He regretted for dismissing the hints.

"Wherever you go, captain, I shall follow." Those were the last words they told him through the comms.

"Goddammit, and here you are...going to a place where I can't follow."

He sobbed. "I'm so sorry...sweetheart."

The spark of his life...now only a fleeting embers in the air.

-

They hummed a tune. One that Price often heard them humming before missions. He got curious and asked them, "I always hear you humming that, what's the title?" The sergeant looked at him with a smile and they grinned.

"The title of the song is Save Me a Spark, sir. It's by Sleeping With Sirens. If you're curious, you might want to check their entire discography."

It turned out, Price didn't like most of their songs except for select few. And Save Me a Spark was one of them. In the privacy of his office, the song often on replay.

One day, Gaz walked in without knocking and he grinned ear to ear when he heard that his captain listening to a certain sergeant's favorite song. When Gaz pointed it out, Price couldn't help blushing and yelled at him to get out. He knew he wouldn't get a good night's sleep that night because obviously Gaz going to tell Soap about their captain's crush toward one of their members. He wouldn't worry much about Ghost.

One day before another mission, the team was preparing themselves. Pulling on their gears and clipping their ammo's to their vests. Price looked at one of his sergeants, his hands still busy with his vest, shuffled on his feet nervously. "I listened to their discography, sergeant but...their music way too loud for me."

The sergeant chuckled instead. "I know, cap. Rock isn't for everyone. It's nothing to be ashamed of." They said as they clicked the last things they needed to their vest.

Price felt his ears reddened. Praying no one noticed, he asked them, "What's your favorite genre then, sergeant?" He felt like it's a silly thing to ask. As if he's going back to high school years trying to make a move on a girl who looked at him weird with that question.

The sergeant put their finger on their chin and hummed. He could hear shuffling behind him and some whispers that he knew coming from Gaz and Soap. The little shits.

"Beside the obvious rock genre, I listen to pretty much anything, sir. A bit of pop, K-pop, hip-hop, anything really. It's a hit or miss too." They said. "If you want, I can give you a playlist of my favorites?" At this, he heard some hissing behind him, "Say yes! Say yes!"

To which he nodded, a bit enthusiastically. "Yes, I would love to."

The sergeant smiled and bumped their fist onto Price's vest. "After this mission then. Hope you will enjoy some of my faves too!"

He grinned. Hard not to, afterall.

"It's a promise, then."

They smiled at Price, made a salute gesture and nodded. "See you later, cap!"

After a short while, he could hear whistles behind him. The other two sergeants of 141 and the lieutenant, most especially the former two were giving him a face of both amusement and shit eating grins. Even he could see the squint on Ghost's eyes. The three of them going to be the death of him.

--

The mission, apparently, went awry. What he thought would be a quick "get in, get out" mission went south real quick. It's a short miracle the five of them made it out alive with only minor scratches and bruises on them. He tended to his brave soldiers, all thanks to Gaz for pulling Soap and Fierce out.

Once they're in the base clinic, it turned out that Fierce got a light concussion and they needed rest. They grumbled under their breath and Price offered to bring them to their room to which Fierce nodded, head still down. Price knew they were gritting their teeth, holding in the headache that came from the concussion.

After checking the other three for the last time, Price lead the way and put his hand on their back for a second, to Fierce to move forward, signalling them it's time for them to rest in their room. They nodded and walked beside Price.

"You must rest right away, soldier. We did some damage to them before things went shit." He tried to assure them. Fierce huffed and just kept walking beside him. Price could see them trying to keep up with his pace and he slowed down for their sake. They just got a concussion after all.

For the entirety of their walk to Fierce's room, they kept silent. One which Price would raise an eyebrow at, as he knew Fierce was quiet talkative even with him. He knew they got concussion but this...is very quiet of them.

As they arrived at their destination, Price said "Is something bothering you, Fierce?". Fierce halted their movement to open the door to their room and looked up at their captain's face, only for them to look into his eyes for a second and then lowered it to the ground.

They wriggled with their fingers then shook their hands away on their sides--Price noticed the tick. "It's nothing, sir."

Price crossed his arms, his stance was a sign of patience, silently urging them to tell him what's on their mind and he would wait for them. It was obvious the captain wasn't going anywhere until he got his answers, they sighed. "I'm upset that I couldn't tell you about my favorite songs right away after the mission, sir."

Price's eyebrows went deep into his beanie. Surprised at the answer as that's not one he was expecting.

He was expecting...some self blaming and ready to give them a piece of his mind if they did. But this one made him flabbergasted.

They both stood in silence, in the hall which thankfully no one was there to witness his moment of weakness. He scratched his mustache, a poor attempt in trying to calm down the sudden thumping of his heart. He uncrossed his arms and put them on his hips instead.

He smiled and patted Fierce's shoulder.

"It's fine, Fierce. There's always tomorrow. How about this, you can come into my office tomorrow morning and we can listen to your favorites together?" He offered.

Please say yes. Please say yes. Goodness, this feeling is worse than being shot in the shoulder.

They beamed. And it was one of the most beautiful sight Price ever laid his eyes on and he subconsciously smiled too. Fierce nodded so fast, their eyes squinted from how big their smile was it made Price worry because the last thing they all need was another trip back to the base clinic.

Then Fierce clutched their head and Price quickly grabbed their arms to help them balance themself. They quickly reassured him, sheepishly, they said "It's okay, cap. I got too excited, nothing a short rest won't help." They quickly opened their door and walked into their room.

But before they had the chance to close the door, Price held it open with his hand, leaning a bit inside and quickly he told them, "John."

Fierce looked up, confusion evident on their face.

"You can call me John...when we're in private."

The sergeant grinned, white teeth on display, and nodded. "I will see you tomorrow...John."

---

Final A/N: TBH I DIDN'T EXPECT TO MAKE IT THIS LONG and make it a series to boot? Oh god forbid. This fic alone took me almost a week what with work and masters degree I'm currently having. Don't ask when the next update is, but I'm surely hooked w this fic to continue it!

[evergreenlake]

And Fate was on His Side

Sixteen years ago y/n went on a trip abroad not thinking anything would come out of it. How wrong she was, she ended up coming out of the trip with twins. She raises them as a single mother, because she never got a number or their fathers name. Sixteen years ago John Price was on leave for a week. He had went out to a bar to just let off some steam. He ended up meeting the woman of his dreams. Unfortunately he had to leave early that morning to get back to base, a new job had come up. For years he has regretted not getting her name or number. But apparently it seems as fate is on his side. He ends up getting to see her again, but not in the circumstances he wanted them to be. Though he does get a couple of the most happiest surprises he's ever had.

tw: mentions of cheating and sex. Violence and typical cod things. MDNI 18+ (Will be updated as I go)

I am writing the Secret Babt Trope with my mutual @miss-vanta-likes-to-write , you guys should go check hers out! She is writing a Soap x Reader. Here is the masterlist

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4: Coming soon

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!Reader fic)

Act One, Chapter Seven: All The Better To See You With

First off, I am so sorry for the ridiculously long wait! I know people will be telling me not to apologise but I am going to because I have kept you all waiting for too long! Thank you all for your patience, you're all great :3.

I've been so busy with various shenanigans and also just being generally tired... even though exams ended more than a month ago(?).

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this chapter... Though, I have to admit, I'm not sure if this is me best work but maybe that's me being a stereotypical, self-critical writer :P.

Warnings: Violence, threats of violence, people being extremely dodgy, swearing and horror elements

Here's a little fun thing for you to do: can you guess which CoD villain is in Y/N's flashback?

The plan had a rough structure, but it needed polishing. Phillip had forgotten what had worked on 141 and the Vaqueros last time and that was the element of surprise. They had grown fond of him, too fond of him, and that rendered them vulnerable. Like a fool turning their back on a wild cat, Phillip had exploited their friendliness and pulled the wool over their eyes; and whilst he couldn’t charm his way to Ghost, his infection and the renegade, Graves knew he could still use that element of surprise to his advantage regardless of whether it was via sweet-talking his prey or pouncing from the shadows.

Having them completely oblivious until it was time for him and his boys to break in and extract their targets would be perfect. Phillip needed to ambush them. Springing an ambush had worked on the Las Almas Cartel and it would surely work on the Vaqueros and their British friends. An ambush would also leave no time for re-introductions and other such pleasantries, and so Phillip could conceal his shame and preternatural resurrection from them.

However, the issue of having them completely clueless of his pack’s presence merely a few kilometres away from the Vaquero base would require Valeria’s delivery of the ‘package’ to Ghost to be so subtle that the keen-eyed Manc wouldn’t even know what hit him… or more like bit him. Basically, Valeria would need to be invisible.

Maybe, if they extracted Ghost first and then delivered the package-

“No,” Valeria chuckled, “It doesn’t work like that, my dear.”

Phillip turned around to face her, tilting his head to one side.

“How come?”

“The Foundation want you to infect him first, give his body time to either adjust to the disease or die, and then you bring them back either a corpse or a live Arcadian Son.”

“What?”

A shudder ran through him.

“With the live ones,” the drug lord let out a sigh, “it’s always a gamble. Some die, some don’t. If he doesn’t die, great. If he does, no matter, the Foundation will just make him one of you.”

Graves clicked his tongue, thinking about how to react to this information.

“Just don’t come back empty-handed,” Valeria advised, “They’ll be furious.”

“What happens if I do piss ‘em off and come back empty-handed?” Phillip dared to ask.

Valeria smiled resignedly.

“You’ll lose your privilege of being a good Arcadian Son. You’re here on this job because someone’s obviously put in a good word about you. If you fuck up, you’ll develop a reputation.”

Graves chuckled wryly.

Of course.

He knew what she meant by that. No one wants a contractor with a shitty record. He didn’t build a PMC empire by being a bad commander. He supposed similar rules applied here. Phillip needed to ensure his victory, should he want to have some form of success in this afterlife.

As he looked at Valeria, he began to wonder who exactly she was before she became Sin Nombre. Was she like 72 and 23? Like the renegade they were going to capture? Or had she always been… well, this?

“When you were a lamia,” Graves leaned a little forward, “what was it like?”

“Terrible,” she bluntly replied.

Phillip was a little taken aback by that.

“Valeria, hun, just answer my question properly. You’ve got nothin’ better to do.”

A clawed hand gestured to her tied-up state, body flush against the bark of a tree. Her lip curled a little upwards as her eyes glared at his gloved mitt and those ghastly metal talons.

“Fine,” she growled, “I was in Unit 4. My packmaster was the Foundation’s equivalent of royalty. Undead like you. He was… is… a terrible man, even by Arcadian Son standards.”

“Royalty?”

Valeria nodded.

“Did he have a number? Or a name?”

“4242.”

“That all?”

Valeria remained silent. That was all.

Footsteps sounded behind Phillip and he looked to see his men had returned from whatever they had been doing last night.

Two of them were fully armoured while one, 7629, was still getting his chest piece on, pulling it over his head as he trailed behind the others.

“Morning, boys,” Graves greeted them, “Y’all feeling up to a bit of planning?”

They all trudged into the camp rather sluggishly, with mumbles and half-assed nods being their replies.

Phillip didn’t really care for the whining protests and loud yawns coming from their masked faces as they reluctantly took their seats as he demanded. Eventually, though, they all simmered down and, once Graves had cleared his throat, he began.

“The best way to ensure extraction is a success is to catch these men off-guard. They’re special forces, meaning they’re good at their fucking jobs, but, like with any specialist, I find if we make ‘em start questioning their competence in the heat of battle, they fall apart very quickly.”

They all seemed to agree with that, nodding along.

“So, if we want the element of surprise, Valeria here needs to deliver the package to our target without being seen.”

Then, Graves sighed.

“Which is where I’m stuck. How do we get this woman into the base without her or our cover being blown?”

His men’s demeanour had now changed, they had gone from tired and disinterested to engaged, almost excited, as they pondered on what to do. Graves surveyed them, keeping an eye out for any indication of a ‘light bulb’ moment. The atmosphere of surrounding the circle of men was slowly shifting from dull and weary to something livelier. Electricity was in the air as brains whirred, the gears in each and every skull turning, wondering what could be done to overcome this potential setback. The collective buzz of mumbles of potential plans, rustles of idle fidgeting and clicking tongues all gave way to the climax of this crescendo of thought which came from 7152’s mouth:

“Isn’t there a spare of hepta-plate in one of the lamia’s bags?”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Is there?” 7418 asked, almost to himself.

“Will it fit our asset?” 7629 queried.

Graves watched them all descend upon 7152, barraging the guy with questions and contest. Curious himself, he rose from his seat on the ground and headed for their bags.

Sifting through the pile of rucksacks and duffels, sorting through them by briefly peeking at their contents, Graves arrived at a bag which looked to belong to one of the girls.

Carefully, he unbuckled the flap and pulled it back to reveal a zip. Not a moment later and Phillip was staring at exactly what he was looking for: a spare set of hepta-plate. He returned to the group with the armour held close to his chest. It looked like a small, shining bundle of light, highly reflective and responsive to its surroundings.

He placed it in front of Valeria and looked up at her expectantly.

“Do you think you could wear this?”

She eyed it. The armour before her was made for a girl. As Graves held it up, letting Valeria get a better idea of its size, she realised that it was far too short for her and also, there was seldom any room for her bust.

“This is for a child. I’m a grown woman.”

She looked at him with a disapproving face, relishing in the way Phillip sighed.

“How do we get this hepta-plate on her-”

Click!

In his sure grip, Graves had accidentally removed a group of plates from the chest piece. He slowly turned around to face the group, dreading to ask if he had just broken their ticket to getting Valeria into the base undetected. Underneath that helmet, Phillip Graves’s face was contorting into various emotions, his stomach dropping and eyes squeezing shut.

However, to his surprise, his action had warranted a few chuckles from the group. With caution, he cracked open an eye to see what was going on.

“Ah, I forgot the backup ones could do that!” 7152 remarked as he cupped his masked face in his hand.

“Wait, so I haven’t broken this?” Graves queried, holding up the separated parts.

“Well, can they still camouflage?”

“How do I get it to do that?”

7152 turned around and shouted for a lamia. 72 was the first to hear the call and poked her head out of the tent. A beckoning hand gestured for her to come forward and show her packmaster how to work the shroud mechanism.

With two taps on the isolated plates, Graves’ eyebrows raised as he watched it disappear from his hand. It was a strange thing to experience, witnessing nothing there and yet feeling a weight on your palm, seeing your fingers curl over an object that seemingly never was.

“The gauntlets have adjustable straps, as do the leg pieces. And one of your helmets could probably act as a substitute for a mask I think… if… if we can attach some plates on there,” 72 mumbled.

She looked up at him with her big brown eyes expectantly.

“Go on, kid.”

Shyly, she continued.

“You can also remove some of the plates from the chest piece and put them on a vest that does fit her.”

“But that won’t completely cover her, kid. She’ll have parts of her body still visible.” 7152 was quick to point out.

“She’s a lamia,” 72 replied, “If enough of her is invisible, she can make the rest of her vanish on her own with her mind.”

Valeria felt a lump in her throat form as all eyes returned to her. It was true: she could do that. However, it would take a lot out of her, and she didn’t want to be devoting so much of herself to this mission, to the Foundation. Perhaps the little girls before her could plead her case.

“Sister…” She did her best to appeal to the lamia’s better nature. “… It’ll take a lot out of me. I’ve not practised in a long time unlike yourself.”

72 nodded and thought.

“Maybe then I or 23 should-”

“No.”

Graves was quick to dismiss her suggestion. His interruption hit hard with the weight and finality of a judge’s gavel.

“Sir, you didn’t even let me finish-”

“The Foundation wants Valeria to specifically deliver the package. Not you. You and 23 are to remain here, out of sight.”

“But we’re here to help!”

“Help by staying away for the time being.”

Phillip’s voice was stern and for some reason, that pissed 72 off. The Arcadian Son was being particularly frosty this morning; a contrast to the open, kind man she had conversed with last night. She supposed she had expected better of him.

72 rolled her eyes as she watched him turn his back on her.

“Sheesh! It’s not like you’re our dad! We don’t need to be-”

“What was that?!” Phillip interrupted with a growl.

“Nothing, sir,” she sheepishly replied.

Some of the Arcadian Sons snickered, but promptly quietened down when they sensed the face of thunder Graves was pulling under his helm.  The tension in the air was palpable and everyone decided it was best to keep quiet as Phillip regained his composure and continued with the task at hand.

“Okay, so let’s get whatever pieces we can on her and whatever. Once she’s got the… package in her system. We’ll escort her as near as possible to the base. Understood?”

“Yup!”

“Yup!”

***

Valeria tugged at the strap on her arm, feeling the piece sit better on her now that it was more snug to her base layer. As she turned her wrist, to see what the armour looked like on her forearm, she couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship of the Foundation’s engineers. This was nothing like what she used to wear, although if the woman looked closely, there were echoes of her own hepta-plate within this new, more advanced style. It seemed the days of large hexagons slotting together were gone. Now, Valeria was confronted with the sleek, serpentine plates which, when isolated, did form that signature six-sided shape, but, as she saw when 72 pushed two plates together to cover her Kevlar vest, vanished to form one seamless, unified structure.

The armour shined, looking almost white in the sunlight. Beyond it, though, Valeria could see her reflection, distorted and uncanny. Between the plates, Valeria could make out a few strange dots. Dots which looked like eyes and it soon became apparent that these were the cameras that allowed the armour to see what to camouflage into. She smiled. Just like when she was a little girl.

“It suits you.”

She turned around to see 7418 approach her.

“Jaime.”

He couldn’t help but feel a shudder of revulsion at the sound of his name coming from her lips. Still, it wasn’t enough revulsion to make him completely turn away from her and so he squatted down in front of her, looking to continue this conversation.

“Sin Nombre,” 7418 spoke with a breathy, almost nervous voice, “how have you been?”

Valeria grinned.

“Why bother with pleasantries? I can tell you’re still angry with me.”

He shook his head and then turned to 72.

“You’re dismissed, girl. Go to your tent.”

She nodded and left them.

7418 did his best to contain himself, knowing full well that giving into his anger would only grant her satisfaction. Valeria was a tricky one. The woman was good at hiding her fear under that false mask of recklessness. Never had he met someone who so easily turn the tables on a person, make their vile fury her power. She thrived off of making men angry, so that she could use it against them. Or so it seemed, because, at the end of the day, Valeria’s whole personality was a performance.

7418 had been Jaime once, and Jaime had seen what Valeria truly did with all the anger and hatred that she supposedly fuelled her confidence with. Valeria Garza wasn’t a careless brat; she was a silent crier.

A gentle hand reached for one of his locs, twisting her finger around it. She remembered when he used to adorn them with jewellery, along with his fingers; his hands would always feel heavy, big rings resting on each and every finger.

“Anger doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel towards you.”

Those words hit hard.

“Jaime… I know it’s been a long time coming, but if it’s any consolation… I deeply regret giving you to them. I should have buried you. You were one of my best.”

He stared at her, trying to see if there was any sincerity to that.

Valeria looked into that black void of a mask and hoped that under it, his face was softening. She watched his shoulders relax, the tension leaving him. The Arcadian Son slouched a little, letting out a small sigh. Her eyes were as wide and expressive as ever. Her heart was in her mouth, her thoughts racing around, all wondering what he was going to do with what she had just said.

The drug lord had to admit, it was no apology.

And hence, 7418 struck her, right across the face.

She didn’t even have time to yelp, the sheer force of the hit was enough to shake her sense of balance. Valeria fell to the ground, tasting blood in the back of her throat.

23 watched from across the camp, through a small slit she had made for herself by slightly unzipping the tent’s flap. The girl waited, eyes fixed on the scene before her. She flinched as she watched 7418 deal his blow, wincing as Valeria’s body landed with a thud.  A shiver of fear ran through 23’s body like a brief shock of electricity. She decided it was best to remain in the tent.

Phillip was quick to turn in the direction of this sudden commotion.

7418 stood above her, a looming golem, chest rising and falling rapidly. He was thinking about what to do, whether to leave her, limp on the ground, or kick her in the ribs, for a sense of finality. 7418 bit down on his anger, wanting to feel satisfied. She was here and she was at the behest of the Foundation, at the behest of him and yet, as he stood over her, he felt painfully empty. He wanted to feel like he had gotten one over her and proved to her that he was what happened when you got drunk on power. 7418 wanted to be something to Valeria. 

Pfft. Valeria couldn’t help but smile through her bleeding lips. Get. In. Fucking. Line.

As he saw the corners of her lips pull into an unashamed grin, 7418 snarled. He raised his leg, drew it back and swung-

There was this deafening roar.

Graves charged at him, pinning him to the bark of a tree. A scattering of branches came falling down as the trunk shuddered, empathising with the wheeze that escape 7418’s mouth, the wind getting knocked out of him. The other Arcadian Sons backed up a little, rising onto their feet. They didn’t dare take their eyes off the exchange happening between them.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” Graves yelled.

“That cunt doesn’t know her fucking place!”

“No, you don’t know your place! You can’t just hit her!”

“She’s our prisoner, I can do whatever I-”

Phillip snarled.

“Okay! Okay!”

7418 raised his hands, before briefly losing his balance as Phillip dug his clawed gloves into the fabric crevices in the other’s armour.

He lowered his head, making himself as physically small as possible. Something akin to a dog’s whine, though a lot raspier, escaped him as he tried to find a place to rest himself, slipping against the bark of the tree he was practically propped up against.

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“Speak up!” Phillip barked.

“It won’t happen again, sir!”

He let 7418 go, sighing and shaking his head as the man staggered a little to regain his footing.

“Jesus Christ…” the man soughed before raising his voice once more, “She’s the asset! She’s a fucking pain in the arse but she’s also part of this whole operation! Restrain yourself, soldier!”

There was evident irony here and it was found in Phillip’s voice as he instructed his fellow Arcadian Son to rein it in. His voice for a brief moment was unrecognisable, sounding almost mechanical, like a bellowing roar from a big cat.

“And I pegged you for the diplomatic type,” Graves added as he exhaled.

7418 scoffed.

“Diplomatic?! Sir, I was a sicario. And now, I’m an Arcadian Son.”

Phillip watched the man slink past him, metaphorical tail between his legs.

Valeria looked up at Phillip, blood running down from her nose. He knelt down before her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Good. Stay that way and stop pissin’ these guys off. I don’t need this to be harder than it already is.”

Valeria smiled resignedly as she watched him leave her side and go gather the rest of her things, seething with long-fermented rage.

***

You could still picture it in your head, you and a group of maybe a dozen girls, maybe more, sitting inside a dark metal container. The door swung open and someone who was supposed to be your ‘knight in shining armour’ stood at the entryway. Like an obelisk sent from above, he planted himself firmly between you and the outside world, casting a dark shadow over you all.

The screams of little girls echoed throughout the place, as you were herded like cattle, along the asphalt pasture into their planes.

You don’t know how they’d found you, but, now that you thought about it, they may have staged this whole thing. Nevertheless, back then, you thought you were being saved by the special forces or something.

A lone cuddly toy sat on the ground, soaking in a puddle, its scraggly fur becoming matted with mud. You had cried out for your little friend, reaching for him as strong arms ushered you towards a ramp.

Luckily for you, that man, the one who had opened the door, picked up your toy wolf and handed him to you. He cupped your face in his big, gloved hands; the metal talons which tipped his fingers scraped at your skin. His blank mask, from which two canisters of red liquid protruded forth, was all you could see.

A small whimper left your lips, and he hushed you, bringing you to his chest, and gently swaying you side to side.

How easily he could manipulate your body, picking you up like you weighed nothing and cradling you in his arms as he took you onto the plane. You had sat on his lap for the entire journey, falling asleep, drugged by the lullaby that was his voice. Or perhaps something else. Maybe he had taken hold of your mind. Who knows…

***

He looked at you, eyes reflecting the dim lights of flickering ceiling lamps. Bathed in cool colours, akin to silver moonlight, you felt a shiver running through your body as he placed his rook in front of your pawn; an imminent threat that you would now have to think about, should he choose to have the little castle march onward on his next turn and add your soldier to the growing pile of bodies on his side of the board.

You swallowed hard and thought. His king remained stoic next to his queen, unfazed by your nearing army, seeing as his knights, pawns and bishops were destroying your forces. Such was the price you had to pay for every blunder you made.

"Oh, pup," the man across from you chuckled, "had I known this was your first game, I wouldn't have made this so hard for you."

You grumbled, brow furrowing.

He looked down at the board and then back at you. There was a glint in his eye as if he was trying to tell you something. His gaze directed you to a lonely pawn he had, which was ripe for your bishop's taking.

Reluctantly, accepting his aid, you moved to take it, your resentment growing as he took your hand and guided you to the pawn, practically handing it to you.

"There you go," he encouraged, "A kill to your name."

He sighed as you looked down, face tinted with the signature shadow of melancholy. Though he bore a mask, an elaborate, almost medieval-looking one at that, you could tell he was frowning.

"What's wrong, little one?"

You pulled your lips into a thin line, unsure if you should-

"Speak."

His voice echoed throughout the empty lounge, the rumble of his inner beast shaking your chest. You sat bolt upright, eyes wide and alert, deserting their heavy-lidded sadness, realising your emotions were dampening his mood.

"I'm sorry, sir. I-"

"What? Please, don't tell me you're crying over a game of chess."

He rolled his eyes.

"No!"

He looked back at you.

"I mean..." You cleared your throat. "I mean, no, sir. It's not about chess."

"Then, what, pup? What's making you so sad? It's not pleasant to see you like this."

The way he spoke had a terrible knack for cutting into you, like a well-sharpened knife through flesh. His Russian accent was strong and sometimes you found it had rubbed a little off on you, which you supposed was inevitable, seeing as he had brought you up.

"I don't know. I guess I'm just a little... erm..."

You had to choose your words carefully, the last thing you wanted to do was offend him.

"... I hadn't seen you like that before."

"Ah."

He was quick to realise what you were talking about.

"Most of my lamias do tend to be surprised when they witness me change for the first time. I make for a fearsome Arcadian Son. But I didn't attack you, did I?"

"No, sir."

"So why is it affecting you so much?"

You shrugged.

"I guess I was just scared."

He laughed. It was quiet, contained but aggravatingly condescending.

"You only need to be scared if you're my enemy. Are you my enemy?"

"No."

"Exactly. You're my lamia. I raised you as my own, you have nothing to fear should you remain at my side."

"Has a lamia ever betrayed you?"

He scoffed.

"Has a lamia ever betrayed me?! I am well into my hundreds now, pup, think about how many lamias I've raised in the time I've been with the Foundation. There are always defects."

"I see."

"And most of those defects found their end here."

He pointed to the lower half of his masked face, where its metal lips were.

"In my teeth."

***

You looked to your left and saw Ghost, staring off into the forest, waiting for you to continue. A small, sad smile crept onto your face. From sitting across one masked man to now sitting beside another, fate seemed to have found a recurring image and had now stuck with it. Nevertheless, you supposed you should appreciate the fact that Ghost hadn’t attacked you yet.

Yet.

Why were you anticipating the worst of him?

Damn. You were a terrible human being.

Well, in fairness, his job did require him to kill.

He looked back at you, sensing your eyes were on him and you were quick to avert your gaze, taking some feigned interest in a bird that was pecking at the soil. Your heart skipped a beat or two, your body painfully aware of his presence. You sighed, drawing your knees up to your chest. The desire to give your brain a factory reset was becoming a desperate need, clawing away at your insides.

“You were talking about your training…” he mumbled, hoping that maybe a prompt will get you back to talking, rescuing him from this painful silence you had cast upon both of you.

“Hmm?”

You turned to face him, his voice snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Training?”

“Ah, right. Yeah. Trained with professional soldiers who were much more experienced than myself and hardly held back. Um… Then, I was put into what we call ‘packs’, task forces, you know?”

“Mhm.”

“The men who were part of our packs were hardly kind. I think… I think there was a culture among them, a contest to see who could be the absolute worst human possible. It was like…” You scratched your chin as you tried to find the words. “… It was like they defined themselves by their capacity to inflict violence.”

Ghost couldn’t help but let out a heavy sigh through his nose. He looked down at the ground, his mind racing with questions and guilty accusations. That culture wasn’t unique to where you were from. That culture was everywhere and, as reluctant as he was to admit it, he knew he had partaken in that culture in some form. Then again, he was sure every guy had. He wondered if it was some unwritten rite of passage that you’d have to be violent in some capacity to put someone in their place. Violence was everywhere, especially in his life. His job pretty much boiled down to being violent.

Which was why he felt incredibly uncomfortable as you continued to speak about those godawful men.

“They liked making you feel small in any capacity. Even when they weren’t wanting to hurt you. My… overseer was very much like that. I sometimes questioned if he actually loved me like he said he did or if I was just a thing to him. Just another lamia to add to his collection.”

Like that growing pile of chess pieces on his side of the board.

“Overseer?” Ghost asked, hoping that redirecting the conversation to this man whom, he prayed you’d shit on to no end, would enable him to escape his own mental self-flagellation.

“Yeah, he was the man who I thought was special forces, remember? He raised me. I wouldn’t say he was a father to me per se, but he was close to that. He was terrifying.”

“How? I-If you don’t mind me asking.”

You smiled, something in you buzzing with delight in the way Ghost had checked if you were okay with answering.

“He was… hmm… this sounds crazy, but he was like royalty, a very powerful man. He was clever and experienced, and he knew how to make you like him because he pretended to respect you. However, if you pissed him off, or hit a particular nerve, he would be quick to remind you who he really was.”

“A dick pretty much.”

You chuckled.

“He was more than a dick, Ghost. He was a monster who hid it well, or maybe he didn’t, maybe he just desensitised us to his actual personality… I don’t know. Still, he was a terrible human being and I hate him.”

He chuckled, chuckled like he knew something… like he could relate. You looked up at him, anticipating elaboration, but either Ghost didn’t pick up on your curiosity or refused to acknowledge it.

Instead of giving in to that puppy-like nosiness you had on display pertaining to his remark, Ghost decided to question you some more.

“What exactly made you like a lamia? And… um, can I ask if the male soldiers were special in any way? Can I ask more about them?”

“Oh, well, for me I got a blood transfusion. They found a match and gave me a special type of blood that made me like the way I am. As for the men…”

Now, did you want to go into every itty-bitty detail about Arcadian Sons? Ghost could believe what you had to say about lamia abilities because he had witnessed them and, you supposed, they weren’t too far from being somewhat plausible… at least the superior strength you displayed, which you could argue was in the realm of possibility for the average human imagination. As for shapeshifting, bloodsucking monsters, well, you didn’t want Ghost to think you were making up tall tales.

Keep it tactical. Keep it minimal.

“… The men weren’t like us at all. Well, they were strong. Incredibly strong. Bought, though. They weren’t found and taken from a young age like us.”

“I see…”

Yup. You nodded to yourself. Love that for the Arcadian Sons… those heartless bastards. You wondered if you could ever take one on in a fight. That would be something!

“Now you’re out, Y/N. How do you feel?” he asked.

“Like shit. I want to feel good because look at me, I made it out but… I know the Foundation will be after me and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over what happened to me while I was there.”

“You may never get over it, Y/N. But that doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong.”

You cocked your head to one side, brow furrowing.

“It’s okay to not entirely recover but it doesn’t mean you’re broken.”

“I wonder if this was meant to happen if it’s…” You felt the tears coming back, your eyes tingling. “…given me character or something.”

Ghost laughed.

“Y/N, trauma doesn’t equate to character and let no one tell you otherwise. You’re not meant to go through pain, and it’s not meant to be character-building. Trust me, I know.”

You do?

Should you ask that aloud?

You felt your heart kick up a notch. You didn’t want to upset him, especially as you felt you had just recovered from nearly making him hate you with you barging in on him showering and then proceeding to threaten his manhood with a swift kick to the balls during that round of sparring.

Hmm.

“I just had a rough upbringing, Y/N. That’s all.”

The way he had said it sounded laboured like you had been pestering him for a while about it. You hadn’t though, you knew you hadn’t. Maybe you just had that look on your face. Nevertheless, you decided it was best to leave it at that.

“Oh… right.”

You gave a polite smile and awkwardly looked to the ground, unsure of how to continue this conversation.

He sighed and decided to make his body language more open, hoping that would prevent you from looking too sad. Swivelling round to face you more and making sure he looked as amicable as he could with that threatening skull of a mask, Ghost made an effort to speak with a gentler voice in the hopes you wouldn’t retreat into your shell.

“Do you want to talk more? You feeling better?”

You nodded.

“I do feel better, thanks. But, I mean, I could probably fill books with how much I want to talk about my time in the Foundation. About everything… It’s tiring though.”

As if on cue, you stretched your arms upwards and let out a great yawn.

“Bringing up baggage is tiring, but while you’re here, feel free to come and-”

He paused, watching you suddenly get up from your seat and lower yourself so that you were close to the ground. You took a few steps towards something amidst the soil, moving in a catlike manner: stopping, crouching, and then continuing to creep closer.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

“Shhh!”

“Y/N-”

Ghost would have the strangest shock of his life as you turned around and gave him an irritated hiss, only to then place a hand over your mouth, looking surprised yourself.

“Sorry! It’s a lamia habit of mine!”

He just looked at you. His eyes weren’t wide, but you could definitely tell he was taken aback. Much to your relief, he began to laugh.

“Laswell doesn’t hiss!”

“Does she not?”

The fact that was a genuine question only made Ghost’s confused laughter grow.

“No! She doesn’t?!”

“Weird,” you remarked, returning your attention to whatever you were investigating in the grass.

He rose from his seat, heading towards you.

“Weird? It’s weird not to hiss? Y/N, you really are full of-”

You raised your hand, causing him to stop in his tracks. Looking over your shoulder, Ghost squatted down beside you and beheld a… footprint?

He tilted his head to one side and reached forward to get a better look, only for you to bat his hand away.

“Y/N!” he scolded.

“You’ll damage it!”

“It’s a footprint. There’s plenty of ‘em around.”

“This one’s special.”

Was it? Ghost grimaced under his mask as he watched you lean in. The last thing he wanted to see was you sniffing at this like some tracking dog, which, luckily you didn’t do. Instead, you stroked your chin, examining every little detail on the imprint on the soil. It looked like it belonged to a standard combat boot, and you were sure you might find a few footprints around the base that would match this one.

You had a hunch that someone had just entered the Vaqueros’ base who wasn’t supposed to be there. Your pupils had dilated, eyes darting about, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end as you scoured for any other sign which confirmed your theory. Ghost watched you, both fascinated and also concerned, wondering if he should intervene.

“This doesn’t belong to someone we know,” you stated, rising to your feet and pointing at the footprint with an accusatory hand.

“Easy. It’s a footprint.”

Like the final gong of a church bell, you felt a sudden shift in your emotional state. Mild indignation set alight from old embers.

Easy. It’s a footprint. EaSy. It’S a FoOtPriNt.

It was how he said it: as if he knew better. However, Ghost didn’t know better, you did. He didn’t have your supernatural affinity for premonition, he wasn’t able to detect the slight change in the aura of the base behind you. Something told you that another mind had joined the collection of the ones you recognised. You began to grind your teeth together, instinct screaming from the back of your mind that you were going to be in trouble if you didn’t act.

“You’re no lamia, Ghost. You wouldn’t understand. I need to find Kate.”

You brushed past him, massaging your temples as you made your way back into the base.

Ghost’s shoulders slumped a little as he watched you disappear into the distance. Then, he turned around, hearing something amidst the bushes just yonder.

***

You let out a heavy sigh, head dropping downwards as Kate placed a hand on your shoulder.

“I can’t sense anything, Y/N. I think you’re just a little rattled, which is understandable. Sometimes anxieties can flare up suddenly.”

You weren’t having her patronise you again and the bubbling anger slowly making itself known on your face told Kate that perhaps she should choose her next words carefully. She did so, gently removing her hand from you and looking you in the eye.

“If it’s any assurance, my contact said that you’ll be good to go within two days. Two more days and you’ll be on your way to proper freedom.”

“Two days of sitting idly by while the Foundation gets clos- AHHHH!” you said before your voice crescendo-ed into a loud groan.

You clutched your head, losing your balance. Laswell caught you in her arms, hushing you as you whimpered, your mind soaring with a strange pain. It was like a high-pitched sound, ringing inside your skull, a blaring siren telling you that something was terribly wrong. You gripped onto her tightly, doing your best to sort through the howling voices in your mind and find one which spoke reason. Except, the more you fixated on the feeling, the worse it grew.

That footprint. That blasted footprint!

You tried to picture it in your head, hoping there was a clue within the image of the memory.

“Steady, Y/N.”

Kate had you rest some of your weight onto her and helped you hobble into the barracks.

As soon as Gaz saw the sight of you barely being able to stand on your feet, even with the aid of Kate, he rose up and made his way to you.

“Are they okay?” Gaz asked, helping Kate ease you onto a bed.

“I think they’re just a bit overstimulated. Happens sometimes. There’s a lot of people in this base,” Kate explained, feeling your forehead.

Your temperature was fine, despite your slightly feverish behaviour. You turned around and buried your face into your pillow, trying to focus on the distant echo of that foreign soul, praying that the redirection of your attention would be enough to drown out the cacophony wreaking havoc within your head.

“Someone’s in this base…”

“Y/N…”

“Someone is in this base!” you shouted, despite your voice being muffled by the pillow.

“What do they mean by that?” Gaz asked.

Kate let out an exasperated sigh, “They think someone’s here that’s not meant to be here but that’s… impossible.”

“What if they’re right?”

“I would know too.”

Kate, you’re out of practice. I’m fresh out of the Foundation. My senses are much better than yours.

You wouldn’t say it aloud, for fear of causing offence but despite that, you stuck to your guns. She may not have been convinced but you knew better.

Even if it may eventually be to your detriment, you were not sleeping tonight.

***

Ghost turned the faucet and flinched a little as a shock of cold water splashed him square in the face. He ran his hands through his wet hair, adjusting to the warming temperature, and a content sigh escaped his lips. While he lathered up some soap in his hands, he thought about you.

As he had walked past the barracks, he had seen you on your bed, lying on your back and staring up at the ceiling. You had your hands on your belly as you idly chewed on the inside of your cheek. It looked like you had calmed down from your little panic over the footprint, although he could still tell, even at the distance he was at, that something was bothering you. Your chest rose and fell quickly, your eyes wide and alert. Though he was careful to not catch your attention, he had a feeling you knew he was there, or at least nearby. Going from zero to a hundred like that, he wondered how you could cope with it, and he hoped it wasn’t a habit of yours. All from a fucking footprint. Yes, you probably could sense something with your… lamia-ness, but he had overheard Kate say something about overstimulation and upon hearing that, all the pieces fit together.

You probably weren’t used to being in an army base with all of them, all of these new people, and that only added to the pile you already had on your plate.

A pang of guilt struck him as he washed off the soap from his body.

Maybe he had been too dismissive. He could tell you had gotten annoyed by him trying to calm you down before you spiralled but he was just doing what he thought best.  You were skittish, easy to agitate, and you needed to be settled down before you’d go off on one. Right? He was helping you!

Well, he thought he was.

The steam made the air in the bathroom heavy… or maybe it was just him?

He didn’t know why, but, all of a sudden, he was feeling a little claustrophobic. Ghost shrunk away a little, almost hiding under the water, wondering if your bout of paranoia had rubbed off on him.

Eventually, the lieutenant finished up his shower, got dressed and was brushing his teeth over the sink. Briefly, he looked up at the mirror.

A shiver, like none he had ever felt ran through him.

Primal fear, triggered by pure incomprehension, made his skin grow clammy and his heart speed up.

Before his very eyes, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley watched a handprint form on the foggy mirror. A disembodied handprint.

Quickly, he turned around, only to see nothing.

Something gently touched his neck.

Breath.

Ghost took the toothbrush out of his mouth and set it on the porcelain sink. Then, he searched around the empty bathroom, albeit a little frantically. He peered around the corner to see if anyone was in the shower unit.

If someone was playing a little prank, he was going to hunt that person down and give them more than an earful on how that was a stupid thing to do.

However, it would turn out to be empty.

Returning to the sink, he let out a sigh.

Jesus, Simon. Get a hold of yourself.

Resting his hands on the edges of the sink, he looked back up at the mirror. The handprint was still there, and in the patches of clarity that made up the palm, where the fogginess had been removed, Ghost spotted that the lock on the door had been undone.

But didn’t he… He could have sworn…

He returned to the barracks, towels and soaps in hand, making his way to his rucksack. As he knelt down before his bed, he looked to his side and caught your eye. You gave a polite smile, before rolling onto your side, turning away from him.

“You alright?” he asked as he packed his stuff away.

“I think I should be asking you that question. You seem rattled,” you replied, your voice monotone.

He looked back up at you, brows knitted together.

“Are you… Are you doing your ‘lamia’ thing?”

“Someone was in the bathroom, weren’t they?”

“Please, don’t fuel my paranoia,” Ghost said, getting up and heading elsewhere to find Soap and maybe a box of raisins.

[l1vchuu]

resentment. part four

!! warnings: mentions of sh and suicide, strong language, may contain triggering themes and blood, angst, and slow burn, P.S. This chapter might have a lot of time skips, so be wary.

A few days went as you were gone, and you weren't the only one who felt the changes.

It was a Monday afternoon as you sat at your kitchen table, reading a book you randomly had picked off your old shelf- "Norwegian Wood" by Haruki Murakami. You bought this book after watching the film that just got released in the theaters, hoping that you would read it someday and feel the same emotions you did when you sat in front of the big screen. After some unfortunate events that occurred in your life at that time- you never really got to read it.

The soft yellow tint of the light from the cheap lightbulbs filled your small kitchen, going through your hair, and making a slight shadow on your face. The tea you had made for yourself earlier was getting colder as the minutes passed by, and you couldn't feel more peaceful.

So far, you tried taking things slow- since you had a whole month to figure things out. You've put out the thought of seeing a therapist later, your mind was still blurry. Currently, you were trying to calm your mind by reading and watching movies.

A few hours later, you put down the book and decided to take a shower. As you entered the cabin and turned on the shower, the sudden warmth of the water took all your thoughts with it.

You recently bought some new showering essentials- new shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, and a few other things. Maybe if you tried to take better care of your hygiene you could feel prettier, or at least have some type of order in your life that you follow.

The sweet honey scent filled the atmosphere as you washed your hair, slight steam flowing in the air, getting captured in your lungs with every breath you took. Your mind was roaming through your memories, mostly the good ones. You remembered the first time you discovered Wes Anderson.

A few years ago...

You sighed as you scrolled through your Letterboxd watchlist, the titles moving faster than the thoughts in your head.

"'Detachment', 'Lost in Translation', 'Vertigo'..."

You mumbled to yourself as you kept scrolling, looking for something to watch. Then your eyes stopped at a yellowish poster, excluding itself from the others.

"Fantastic Mr. Fox"

You had heard of that movie before, all positive things. You stared at the trailer for a while

"Who even watches trailers for movies that have been out for years?"

You thought to yourself as you kept looking, but you were mesmerized. You hadn't seen anything else like this. It was so quirky and sweet and bitter that you wanted to watch it badly. You found the movie, and just as you were about to put it on, Simon opened the door.

He entered the room, looking at you with his brown, empty eyes.

"How was the shift?"

You tried to spark up a conversation, but it ended nowhere.

"Fine."

He sat on his bed, still with his mask on. You know he took it off when he slept, but you had never seen his face. It's like he knew the moment you woke up and fall asleep just so he can put his mask back on and act like nothing had happened.

"You gonna' sleep?"

You asked him, your eyes looking up from the monitor of your laptop.

"Not now, why you ask?"

"I was going to watch a movie, that's why."

You could somehow see his eyebrows rise underneath his mask. It was the first time he heard those words from a Sergeant. People usually never had time to do anything really, being tired from long work shifts and all.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"It just... It's the first time I've heard that sentence here."

"What? You don't watch movies?"

"No- It's not that. People don't find the time for things like these."

"Well, I do. Does it bother you?"

"As long as it's not too loud, no."

"Good."

You sat back on the couch as you hit space and the movie began.

Half an hour later, you were so invested in the movie that you didn't notice the presence of your roommate next to you... until he coughed, causing you to flinch, and because of your reflexes, your hand went into a defensive position. He looked at you, his eyes slightly wider.

"Oh, sorry."

"I think... I think I saw Jesus."

He chuckled, showing the slightest bit of emotion he ever has.

"It's just me."

"You really live up to your name, huh? Sneaking in like that."

"I didn't do anything, it's the movie's fault for having you so fuckin invested."

"Yeah, sure."

-

It might not seem like the brightest memory ever, but that was the first time you had such a close interaction with Ghost ever since you got moved into a room with him. That moment felt like a slight push into a whole other universe. A universe where you felt less scared to talk to him, a universe where he got to be the closest person to you.

The whole story began when you joined the British Army at 17 years old after a really bad banter between your dad and your brother, resulting in your brother's suicide. At his funeral, you could barely hold yourself up and alive- it had shattered you completely. You couldn't help yourself to eat, your mother had to force-feed you just like she did when you were a baby. Your body was aching with every step you took, every time your jeans brushed against your thighs, making your fresh scars bleed again from the friction. A month later, you were at your lowest point in life- you didn't go to school, and your mother ignored every call from the principal because she didn't know what to say. Everyone at your house was so lost, your father refused to go out of his room, leaving the house in the process, your mother barely slept at night, and you had ruined yourself. At this point, everything was a lost cause.

One morning, as you barely walked towards the front door, placing the rubbish bag in its' place, you saw the leaflets from the military scouts that live in your area. Usually, you would throw them in the rubbish bin and continue on with the day, but this time something was off. Your brother wanted to enlist in the military so much, he even started going to the shooting ranges outside the city to train his aim. You could feel your cheeks getting wet as you stared at the papers in your hands- he would've served his country and fulfilled his dreams in a year.

With slow and steady steps you went to his door, opening it slowly. His room was always cluttered, as he never got the time to clean it- always so busy with his voluntary work and training. There was a big flag hung on his wall, frames with pictures of him in his boy scouts uniform, pictures with him and his friends at a red cross event, and posters of his favorite movies and superheroes, he was such a bright and generous kid. There were stacks of military scouting leaflets piled on his desk, catching more and more dust as the days go by.

You sat on his bed, holding a picture of him with a German Shepherd 'Scouty' - a military dog that was pretty famous in your city and had saved multiple lives. You remembered taking that picture, him getting so excited when they allowed him to pet the dog, his eyes lighting up when they said that we could take a picture with him, his big smile, showing his braces as the dog stood still. Everything seemed so wonderful, life was so full and bright.

The tears began rolling down your cheek as your fingers traced his face, the room still smelled like him, somehow. You felt a pair of fragile hands holding your body close to them. You looked up with your red and teary eyes at the figure- it was your mother. You two sat in silence, crying quietly as you held each other. She noticed the leaflet in your hand.

"When does the recruiting start?"

Your mother asked you, her voice quiet and shaky as she looked at the paper.

You wiped your cheeks as you checked the dates on the leaflet- it was slightly damp and crumpled.

"The applications can be sent in a month from now."

You said, your voice cracking as your hands shook slightly.

"Mhm."

Your mum responded as she gently pat your head, her fingers brushing through your hair.

You stared at the paper in your hands.

"Will you leave Dad?"

You asked.

"I can't, you are still here."

She replies.

"What if I leave for university? Will you leave him?"

"Yeah, I suppose so."

But you still had two years left, and with your absence, you were sure no university or college will accept you. You thought about it- if you were to return to school, people would ask you questions back and forth, and you couldn't deal with that. You knew your mother was suffering more than you, I mean, losing a child can be amusingly painful for a mother. And the last thing you wanted to do is to make your mother suffer even more, but continuing to live with your father after all that had happened was doing that same exact thing.

You thought about this the whole day. Holding that same leaflet, making all the research, asking people about it- and then you made your decision. You were going to join the Army.

Sure, you may have absolutely no experience, unlike your brother, but that's what he would've wanted. You were doing this for him and your mother.

You walked back and forth in your room, wandering in your documents and checking in your strengths. You knew a little about artillery from your brother's trainer and all of his lessons. You had a month in order to prepare for it. You went to consult your mother on the decision.

"Are you sure you want this?"

"I'm sure, I just need to train a bit, but I need to know that if I go, you leave him."

She thought for a minute.

"I'll stay at your aunt's place until I save up enough money for rent and divorce."

You looked at her, your eyes full of uncertainty.

"Do you promise- No- Will you promise me to do that?"

You took a breath before continuing.

"When I leave, you leave him. You go as far away as you can. I'll lend you money if I can- Go to another country and live there if you need- Just promise me you'll leave that man, please..."

She put her arms on your shoulders, making you look at her.

"I promise you, but how do you know if you are going to get recruited?"

"I will get recruited, don't worry."

She looked at you, not being sure if you were just talking nonsense or actually meaning your words. By the look in your eyes and the sound of your tone, she knew you weren't joking.

After your mother made that promise- you got to work. You went out and trained every single day, but before that, you visited the shooting range. You knew that the trainer was a British Air Service veteran, so you asked for his help.

'You want to enlist? As in, you want to apply?"

He looked at you, a worried look on his face. It was the first time he saw you since your brother's funeral, and he saw the change in your appearance.

"Yes, and I need your help."

You said, looking up at him. You had explained everything to him, in detail, too.

"For a month..."

He silently thought to himself as he looked at you, his eyes narrowing.

"I can manage a training schedule, but I'm not sure if you could-"

"I'll do it.'

You interrupted him.

"- handle it."

He stared at you, his eyes slowly wider than before. He sighs.

"It won't be easy. Not at all. Your brother had months and years of practice, but now you have to make it up to him in a month."

You nodded your head, your eyes burning with ambition once again.\

"I'll do it. I won't give up."

"We'll change up your diet too,"

He paused, taking in the situation with your family. Your mother could barely stand up from her bed, and your father was nowhere to be found.

"I'll bring you food, you'll eat here."

You tilted your head to the side.

"Will that be okay with you?"

You asked him, a worried look on your face.

"It'll be absolutely no problem. I'll pack in food for your mother as well."

You nodded, feeling grateful for his offer.

"Thank you."

He nodded, holding his hand out for a handshake. You took his hand, giving a firm squeeze.

"I'll come pick you up tomorrow at 5:30 AM."

He searched your face for any reaction.

"As I told you, it'll be hard."

He gave you a slight smile.

"But now I believe you'll make it."

During that month, he took care of you and your mother- you trained with him all day, and he checked in with your mother in the meantime. He was a single father taking after his father's business. His son enlisted two years ago, leaving him alone in his house all year round. You became attached to him quickly, he was almost like a father to you. He helped you become the person your brother wished to be. For a month, you became a weapon, which got you in the Army, which got you in the Special Forces (SAS). That's the place where you first met Simon.

It was three years after you joined the Army- you were now 20 years old. You finally had the opportunity to apply to the SAS- which you did. After a long process of training and selection- you finally made it into the force.

When you got in, they introduced you to a couple of people, Captain Price and some other Lieutenants. As you entered the base where you would be working and living, they introduced you to one final person- your roommate- Simon Riley, or his callsign 'Ghost'.

As you finally got to call your mother, announcing the news to her, you were surprised more than usual when your trainer picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

The male voice echoed through the phone. You furrowed your eyebrows, barely recognizing it.

"Hello?"

You replied.

"It's you! How's it going, kid?"

And that's when you recognized him. You two had a long conversation- apparently, your mother had moved in with him, which got you flabbergasted. Your mother was at work when you two were talking. You announced the news to him.

"Really? You got in?!"

He said, his voice full of pride and joy.

"I knew you would make it. I'm so proud of you!"

I'm so proud of you.

I'm so proud of you

That sentence kept you up at night. It replayed in your mind non-stop, echoing through your veins with each word.

Someone was proud of you.

-

Simon looked at Soap as he ate his lunch, holding his bowl in one hand as always. It's been a week since you were gone, and by that time everyone was aware of your absence. Soap looked back at Ghost, unsure about how to approach a conversation with him after all that had happened. Your seat at the table was empty, and nobody dared to sit on it, leaving a gap between Gaz and Ghost. It was rather quiet, everyone was lost in their own mind. Some of them were surprised that you never said anything, that you didn't notify anyone. Johnny was probably the first person who decided to write to you.

"Come on, I can't do this by myself. We have to let her know that we are with her and that we miss her, right?"

Johnny states, looking at the empty piece of paper in front of him.

"So, what do we write?"

Kyle grabs the pen and begins the letter, slowly filling it up with words until the page is full. Signing at the bottom were Johnny, Kyle, and Alex. After a few hours, the letter was sent to you, arriving in your mailbox.

The morning after, your neighbor notified you that you got mail. You looked in the box, a confused look on your face as two letters appeared in your hands. One of the letters had three signatures, while the other had only one- a skull face.

.⋆｡⋆☂˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆.☆.｡.:

Heyy!! I'm back as promised with the fourth part. This part had a lot of time skips for which I apologize if you were confused with! Sending lots of love and see you with part five <3

[ghost-is-my-bbg]

Z

Hi Robin can I request simon "ghost" Riley with a s/o that ADHD and has a hard time with staying calm but is always hyper. So, simon finds a way for his s/o to burn the energy (*cough SEX)

Tysm ❤️

Hellooo!!Thank you sm for the request<333

i re-wrote this 2 times help. it's still very lazy and messy writing but i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it

WARNINGS : NSFW, 18+ ONLY, female!reader, rough sex, ass/tit slapping, name-calling, ghost being mean/desperate

Simon never really had a problem with how hyper you were.

nah i'm sorry that's a whole ass lie💀 he found you exhausting and tiring to deal with the first time he met you

Whenever you'd get paired up with him and Soap for jobs, Ghost felt like he was babysitting two grown adults, but don't worry he grew to love and cherish that side of you with time (as he did Soap's)

you'd often have to take your energy out by training much more frequently- finding that punching something always took your mind off things, that way you could focus better while on the field.

but it also meant that you sometimes worked too hard- pushing your body to its limits, even going as far as to train a few hours before jobs,

not only was that draining for your physical and mental health, but you were also a liability to the team

so seeing how ghost was your superior and your lover, he suggested you let your frustrations and energy out some other way

"Ah-shit, you gonna let me do all the work then?" you panted, hands supporting yourself on his chest as you bounced up and down his cock. Simon grinned lazily, slapping the side of your ass, "You needed to burn off steam, sweetheaaah fuuck-" he threw his head back, gripping your hips tightly when you started to roll your hips in circles, and you laughed lightly.

"That's right, I did" you hummed, "But.. if we're gonna do this then I control the pace." you mutter, bending down to leave a quick peck on his mouth but when you went to sit back up he wrapped one arm around your back securely, pulling you flash against him and making you gasp.

"By all means, love" he utters against your lips, hand getting tangled in your hair as he spoke "M yours." you both moaned in each other's mouths as youleaned in for a bruising kiss, his hand on your ass softly encouraging your movements. "Fuck- say that again baby, Simon please-" you panted, hips rolling painfully slow, and you felt his cock jump inside you at your pleading.

"I'm yours, love. Only yours." he hisses when you bite the side of his neck, and he lays a harsh slap on your bum in reply. "Fuckin' move already" his nails dig in the skin of your ass as he tries to get you to do something other than this torture, and you grab his jaw tightly, "I control the pace, remember?" he snarls up at you, his hips snapping up suddenly and you cry out. "And I'm letting you, but if you don't move in the next five seconds, I'll bend you over and fuck this tight cunt until you forget your own name. Got it?"

A shiver runs down your spine as you nod wordlessly, "Yes, sir." He hums, pushing his hips up until he's filled you to the brim- your last warning. "Atta girl,"

You slowly start to set a new pace and five minutes later you're full on riding this man like your life depends on it- you can't complain at the fact that he's rutting up against you each time your hips comes down on him harshly because you're too busy lost in your own pleasure, eyes losing focus as you moan uncontrollably, his own groans muffled against your collarbone. "Pussy's gripping me so fucking tight, holy fuckin' shit." The sound of skin slapping skin is so loud that you can only hope no one's passing outside your room at this hour.

It seemed Simon was too far gone as well, forgetting his previous words as he holds your ass cheeks apart, chasing your wet cunt with deep plunges of his own, his low moans sounding like music to your ears.

"Fuck baby just like that- please please," he pulls your head back roughly by your hair, and you whimper, "What's the matter, huh? Not controllin' the fuckin' pace now, are you love?" "No 'm not, s'fine jus' fuck me, please fuck me harder-" he groans loudly, sitting up suddenly and you fall back in surprise, back hitting the sheets, mewling as his cock slips out of your wet pussy "Put it back in, put it back in",

He clicks his tongue at your whines, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock to line himself up "Shut up," he thrusts inside you in one go, slapping your tits for good measure, as he starts fucking you roughly.

"Fuckin' whore can't even ride me without getting dumb on my cock, yeah?" there's sweat dripping down Ghost's face, his arms flexing with how hard he's holding on to your hips, pushing them back to meet his cock each time he thrusts in you- and he can't take his eyes off of the way your pretty pussy hugs his fat cock.

"Yeahyeahyeah 's soo good, love it s'much" you're squirming under his hold- bringing your hand to your pussy to rub at your clit messily and he snarls when you clench around him tightly, "Fuuck- you love my cock so much you can't even speak, lovie?" he pushes your hand away and replaces it with his own, thumb rubbing your puffy clit as he bends down to spit on it, reveling in the sight of you writhing for him.

Your hand flies to cover your mouth as you scream, back arching, hips moving around messily as you try to escape his thrusts, and he growls when your squirming almost causes him to slip out of your pussy. "Take it. Take my fuckin' cock," you clench tightly around him as you finally come, and he moans loudly, eyes never leaving the way your body twitches and shakes, grinding his hips until you can feel his balls press on your ass, and he stays there as you ride out your orgasm.

"Did so well for me, lovie. So fuckin' good." you hum weakly, pushing your hips back on him, and he inhales sharply, "Want you t'come inside me, Simon. Please?" his cock twitches at your words, and he resumes his pace- pounding inside your cunt harshly, your name on his lips like a mantra- "I want it, please baby. I want your come so much. Deep inside my fucking pussy." you lick your lips, and he bends down to kiss you messily, "Yeah?" he whimpers lowly when you clench around him, and you nod,

"Yeah, baby." your hand comes up to scratch at the nape of his neck and he shivers, hips stuttering "Deep, deep inside me." you whisper and his eyebrows draw together as he looks at you, jaw dropping, eyes almost rolling to the back of his head when your other hand drops to fondle his balls softly "Want to feel you for days,"

Simon thrusts two- three more times, and then plunges himself deep inside your cunt, grinding as he comes inside you- all the while moaning loudly against your collarbone, drool dropping on your skin. "Fuh-fuck. Oh my fucking God, baby shit-" he whines as he tries to catch his breath, his own thighs shaking now- and you kiss his temple as you smile innocently down at him, as if his cum isn't dripping down your ass.

He grins up at you weakly, pressing a kiss on your jaw, "You still pent-up?"

"God, no. I can't feel my legs"

His shoulders shake as he laughs, breath tickling your neck and you join him, running your fingers through his dirty blond locks softly.

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