Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Information Pt.2
Apprehension
TW: Torture, graphicish violence, angst
Summary: Backstory time >:)
A Study in Torture, Rescue
1 Month, 3 days ago
You grunt softly, hoisting yourself over the wall and dropping near silently to the ground. You cradle a fractured wrist to your chest, cursing Ghost and his inability to fly a helicopter.
“Hang on kid!”
“I’m trying!”
“Shit! Ghost you’ve got to level the chopper!”
“I’m! Trying!”
“Don’t let me fall, MacTavish!”
“Y/N!”
“Oh my God.”
“Ghost you have to turn around!”
“I can’t!”
“Y/N!”
You shake your head, breaking out of the reverie. Focus, you tell yourself. You creep silently through the enemy encampment, sticking to the shadows. Your eyes dart back and forth, constantly scanning your surroundings for danger.
You crouch, moving behind a tent as voices sounded from in front of you. You watch as soldiers walk past you, sighing in relief when they don't seem to notice you. That relief is short-lived however, as cool metal is pressed into your back.
“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Heavily-accented English sounds from behind you. The man holding the gun pulls it away, then slams the butt of it into your temple. You don’t even have time to respond before the world goes dark.
You come to in a dark room. Grunting, you try to sit up, but stop when spikes of pain flare through your wrists. Your head spins and you look down, blinking sluggishly. Your eyes widen as you finally notice that you are handcuffed to a table, hands up above your head.
“Good morning, pretty bird.” Slightly Russian-accented English sounds from behind you, “about time you woke up.” A man comes into view, and though it takes you a few seconds, you recognize him.
“Colonel Kravchenko.” You mutter, tongue thick and heavy in your mouth.
“So you know me.” You say nothing, just follow him with your eyes. He sighs softly, moving next to the table you are strapped to.
“So, Y/N L/N. You know, you really should not be in enemy territory with an I.D. on you. As it is, I now know pretty much everything about you, including the fact that you are a member of an...elite team I have been hunting.” He double checks your restraints as he speaks, circling the table and stopping by your side.
“Being as such, you have information I want.” He grins, “You can give this to me the boring, easy way, or you can let me have fun.”
Fear coils in your belly, but you do not let it show. You are a trained, battle-hardened soldier, and you will not give up your team for anything.
“Well, pretty bird? Are you going to talk to me?” You remain silent, watching him. He grins sharply at the silence, almost eager.
“Good. I hate the boring ones anyways.” He moves out of your line of sight, returning with a covered cart next to him, “There are a few rules we’ll have to go over before we start, of course. But we can introduce them slowly, I don’t want to…overwhelm you. The first, and most important, is that you will address me as Sir whenever you speak.” You snort, rolling your eyes at that.
“You think that's a funny, pretty bird?”
“A little, yeah.” You snark, trying to hide your fear.
“Sir.” He says, annoyed.
“What are you gonna do if I don’t.”
“You are a soldier, no?” You nod instinctively, confused at the turn in conversation.
“It would be a shame for you to never be able to hold a gun again, wouldn’t it be, pretty bird?” he croons. He slides his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers. If you weren’t concussed, maybe you would be able to guess what he was about to do, but your brain is foggy, thought process muddled. So it comes as a surprise when he jerks his hand up, forcing your fingers back. There is a crunching noise as your bones shatter, fire lacing up your arm. He squeezes the broken fingers and you scream.
“Pretty bird, you and I are going to have so much fun together.” The man laughs, letting go of your hand, “Now, we’ll start off simple. What were you doing in my airspace?” You say nothing, teeth clenched, eyes watering. He turns his back to you, flipping the cloth of the cart. You watch through blurry eyes as he pulls something from it before flipping the cloth back over. In his hands is a towel.
“I’ll ask you one more time. What were you doing in my airspace?” You say nothing, just stare at him. He smiles, delighted by your decision to play hard to get.
“Your choice, pretty bird.” He drapes the towel over your face, obscuring your vision. You panic, breaths coming in rapid bursts at the inability to see anything. You calm down slightly as the towel is flipped down so you can see again, still covering your mouth and nose. You blame the concussion again for not being able to put two-and-two together, but you are confused until he returns, bucket in hand.
You squirm pointlessly, trying to get away. The man simply chuckles, pouring the water over your face. You hold your breath for as long as you can, but eventually you exhale, gasping as your lungs demand air. Immediately, the wet cloth is sucked to your skin, suffocating you. You panic, no longer able to control your breathing as you inhale sharply and gag at the water running down your throat in a vicious cycle.
Though it feels like hours, you are only under the water for about a minute before the cloth is pulled away. Your body heaves as you choke, gasping greedily for air.
“What were you doing in our airspace?” You say nothing, just sob softly.
“Have it your way, pretty bird.” The cloth is placed back over your face and the water is poured again. And again. And again.
~~~~~Meanwhile~~~~~
“Bloody hell.” Ghosts snarls as he brings the chopper to a rough landing. He jumps out, followed by Soap and Gaz. Price stands in the hanger, waiting for them.
“I heard.” He says solemnly as Gaz opens his mouth, “They are sending men out to look for them, and it took every favor Laswell has ever owed me to get us sent out.” He turns on his heel, not bothering to check if his men were following. He leads them to a briefing room, slamming the door shut behind him.
A map of the enemy territory is projected on the white board, upon which Price draws a small red circle.
“This is our best guess as to where they landed. We have received no communication from them since they fell.” He pauses, sighing softly, “Officially, they have been marked K.I.A and this is a body recovery. Unofficially, this is a rescue op. We don’t lose hope until their body is on the table in front of us, okay?”
“We are rolling out tomorrow.” He continues, “So get to the infirmary, get checked out, and get some sleep.”
Sounds of agreement echo from the room, and Gaz and Price exit, leaving Soap and Ghost alone in the room.
“Not your fault Johnny.”
“Not yours either Lt.”
Neither of them believe the other. The guilt lays heavy in the room, tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The minutes drag out for hours as they sit in stony silence.
"If anyone can survive out there, it's Y/N. We'll find 'em." Soaps voice trembles slightly as he breaks the silence. Ghost nods in agreement.
"Lets hit the rack." It's not a suggestion. They walk out of the room side-by-side, both thinking the same thing.
My fault.
Soap still holds the glove that had slid off your hand as you fell from the chopper.
Okay question. When you finally get rescued do we want major PTSD or only some PTSD?
Also do y'all want more torture scenes or do you want the rescue?
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oka okay in your story from gabriel's POV gerde is there, kinda, but in the temptation he makes it seem like she peaced out?
I read Temptation as very much that Gabriel is at his lowest. At the end, he makes the decision to continue on regardless, but as someone who is at the age he is portrayed, who knows what it feels like to feel stagnant when the world turns? Or how sometimes your own head gets the better of you? Yeah. He thinks she's left him to have her own life.
And she does, but unbeknownst to him, just because she isn't an active caretaker or is there 24/7, doesn't mean she left him completely. At least, that is how I translated it, because again, a lot of that comic is from a Gabriel who could use hugs but all he's given - for things out of his control and the consequences of his own actions - is strugs.
I did originally write a segment where Gabriel is petulant and is like, "so you talk to Grace but not me?" and she just replies with, "I've called you, you idiot, but you don't pick up your phone."
tl;dr : Gabriel be like, "wow even my great uncle's ex is leaving forever :(" and Gerde be like, "jfc I'm still here if you need me I just want my own life," and Gabriel is like, "Sometimes I can still hear her voice yelling at me not to drag dirt into the castle -"
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retired pornstar!Ghost who can't seem to ever keep his hands to himself whenever you're around, even when about to film.
f!reader, 18+ smut. unedited.
If you're standing at a table making coffee, he'll sneak up from behind and wrap his arms around you, his chin resting on the crown of your head.
Hi, Ghost.
G'mornin', love.
If you're walking out of Price's office with a script in hand, he's by your side in mere moments, throwing an arm over your shoulder.
"New script?"
"You should know, you're my co-star. Again."
"Lucky me, pet."
He's leading you toward his office, perches you on his desk and cups his hand over your core.
"Gonna let me eat this pretty pussy?"
"I dunno, Ghost. Gonna fuck me here too?" you smirk at him.
"Whatever you want from me," he breathes.
You stumble out hours later with swollen lips, love bites mottled over your neck and collarbone, and his warm spend trickling down your legs because Ghost pocketed your knickers.
The day of, he's texting you if you'd like a ride to the studio.
Sure thing. Get me in 15.
Yes ma'am.
He doesn't ask for your address, and you don't question why he knows where you live either. Ghost, forever the gentleman, opens the passenger door for you, and gently helps you get in. The entire drive over, his hand rested on your bare thigh, his small finger occasionally grazing your clothed cunt. By the time you arrive, your knickers are damp with your arousal.
"Somethin' wrong, love?"
You snort at his feigned innocence. "Cute. Is mercilessly teasing me fun to you?"
"Sorry 'bout tha.'" Ghost doesn't sound all that apologetic.
He brings you in tight, wrapping his arm around you firmly.
"Lemme make it up t'you in my dressin' room", he purrs.
You click your tongue. "Price'll have your head if he catches me in there, especially when we're about to make a vid."
"Be sure to keep quiet, then. Would absolutely hate to get caught."
With his smart fingers and expert tongue, you're brought to peak 3 times.
Price rolls his eyes when he spots you both walking in at the same time 15 minutes before the shoot.
"Always cheek by jowl, eh Simon?"
His piercing eyes cut to Price's. "Not a crime, last I checked."
Price lifts his hands up, palms outward in mock surrender. "Easy, Ghost. Only teasin'." He turns away, gesturing the crew to get in their places.
Ghost taps your chin with his pointer finger, drawing your attention. "Showtime, baby."
The wolfish grin on your face mirrors his.
"Showtime," you echo.
Ghost turns sex into art. He moves with discipline; every languid roll of his hips deliberate. Like a skilled painter, he transformed you into a living masterpiece, using each drag of his cock as a brush stroke on the canvas of your very being.
It's otherworldly.
He watches your face intently as he changes the angle, bites his bottom lip when he changes the pace, grunting into your ear as your walls begin to flutter— the telltale sign of 'his favorite part', as he loves to say.
"Gonna come f'me? Lemme hear that sweet, little voice of yours, pet." Almost as if following his command, you're digging your nails into his biceps, and closing your eyes in bliss as you climax. A loud, drawn-out moan escapes your lips as your cunt rhythmically pulses around Ghost's heavy length. Your soft thighs quiver around his broad waist as he works you through the aftershocks with slow, firm thrusts.
"Look at tha'. Came when I told ya to, like a good girl." Your mind is blank from your orgasm, tongue too heavy and thick in your mouth for you to even try to articulate a response.
"Creamed all over my cock, can ya hear it?" Hard not to when the wet sounds of your pussy squelching every time he bottoms out fills the room.
"You're so fuckin' tight. Cunt's squeezin' me like it doesn't want me to pull out."
His filthy words send a jolt straight to your throbbing core. "Felt tha'. What, you got a breedin' kink?"
Another jolt, so sharp it almost hurts.
"Want me to fill ya with my come? Is tha' it?" His husky voice dripping with desire. With want.
yes. yesyesyessss—
"Tell me you want me. Fuck, tell me you want me to come in you." The words fall from your spit-slick lips like a faucet.
"Come in me, oh my god, come in me. Fill my pussy up."
His thrusts lose some of their rhythm, but still not sloppy enough like when he's on the very brink.
Ghost's jaw in clenched, as if digging his heels in to hold off his climax. Well, that's simply unacceptable.
Your fingers tangle into his hair, giving him a slight tug to have his lips hover over yours.
"I want you come in me, Simon."
The change is instantaneous. His eyes widen a fraction before stealing your very breath with a searing kiss and fucks you. He puts his weight behind each snap of his hips. The tip of his cock pressing into the plug of your womb, making your eyes prickle with tears.
It's too much, he's too much, you think you've gone and bitten off more than you can chew with him when he mercifully stills with a groan you swallow— cock twitching as it pains your insides white.
He breaks away, gasping for air, sweat that beaded on his forehead dripping onto your heated skin.
Cut.
DaVinci and his muse.
Later, when he threads his fingers into your damp hair, you ask him why he doesn't record with others.
"'Cause I don't want to."
Oh?
"Besides, you and I have fantastic chemistry, dont'cha think?" He tugs on a lock of hair. "The fans love seeing us together, just as much as I love seeing my cock disappear into your sweet pussy."
He chuckles when he takes in your flustered expression. "Don't ask questions you aren't prepared to hear, then."
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