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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Note

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I absolutely love all of your COD fics! Your Price fics made me fall in love with him (I saw a recommendation for See No Evil on TikTok and just went down the rabbit hole from there (it’s also my comfort fic)) and Laughing Poets made me buy Ghosts for Keegan. Your writing is so beautiful and poetic and has inspired me to start writing again after a really bad writing’s block!

I also did want to put in a request for Ghost (because I love him so much) but given his hype, I understand if you don’t want to write for him or if it may be hard. But I was hoping that this hasn’t been done before (much) and that I could read it in your words since you are so amazing!

I was thinking of the reader being a CIA agent that was working undercover to get classified information and 141 was sent in to extract her after she was compromised. And her and Ghost don’t really get along at first, like they don’t hate each other but they could just care less about one another. But then they get separated and one of them is injured and the other fights tooth and nail to get to them, realizing how much they care. I was thinking that her callsign could be ‘Reaper’ but it can be anything else if it fits better. It can be angsty (because that’s the absolute best genre), fluffy, nsfw, whatever you want to do with it.

I know this is asking a bit much and I’m sorry for that. Feel free to change it as you see fit and do whatever you want with it, if you want to do it. I really appreciate and love your work!! Thank you!!

'Til it Hurts

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: You thought that it would be easy - moving on and blazing your own trail, but at every step, memories seem to come back and haunt you. And the biggest memory takes the shape of a man with a skull mask. Can you still deny what you had always felt when he stands at your side once more?

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: This duology will be 18+ and contain the following: intense gore, blood, violence, vulgar language, angst, fluff, suggestive content, (smut, p in v sex, virgin!reader (relevant to plot) all in part 2), abuse of power in the past, toxic working environment in the past, copious flashbacks, soft!simon because I love him like that (I guess considered ooc), banter, etc...

A/N: Part 2 will be posted tomorrow after I edit it and the link will be added to this part as well for ease of access. But, anna, that's wild that people post about my work on tiktok, lmfao. I'm so glad I helped you out of that writer's block, though! Enjoy part 1, Love (I did change it around a bit)!

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

You often think of the friends you had when you were six. The neighborhood you grew up in was full of other kids your age, and there was practically a horde of young boys and girls outside at any given moment. Early mornings were ripe for adventures – ears perking up from your pillows at the sound of bird songs and lawnmowers like an instinctual call to cause mischief. Days would run long and nights would end late with games of tag.

It was inevitable, at this point in your life, to not think about where your friends would be now. Were they happy? Starting families and getting married on island resorts; white sand underfoot and a gentle lapping of ocean water? You’d lost contact a long, long, time ago – never bothered to get back in touch, though you know things might be better if you had.

God, you’d never have friends like that again.

Selfless. Genuine. Without competition or a need to stab each other in the back. Friendships built on a childlike innocence that was never meant to stay or grow with the brutal stretch of years. People mature. They harden, sharpen.

They break themselves to fit a mold of what they want to be without even realizing…Or maybe that was just how you grew up.

Your feet pound against the cobblestone streets of Bergamo, Italy, as you make your way through the packed road of the Upper Old District. Under your chin, your fingers go up to grasp the scarf around your neck and pull the thick navy fabric up farther. Fast eyes flicker over faces as a fake plastered smile splays over your lips, and your jaw holds a tension that seeps into your shoulders.

Keep the act up, you have to remind yourself, fingers heavy at your hips, don’t let the facade slip, or else it’s over before it begins.

At your sides, past the unending sea of loudly speaking humans and loyal animals alike, the broad expanse of ancient architecture calls to the history of this city; red-terracotta roofing, extravagant greenery, and pillars as tall as the buildings themselves. A picturesque land filled with mysteries lost to time, stories never told beyond the scratch of a pen and moth-eaten parchment.

A city now filled with killers.

“Sitrep,” you grunt into the open channel, the earpiece fizzling as it sits in the clutch of your canal. No one answers and, slipping past a family of tourists, you glare at the ground; heart going so fast you feel like it could jump-start a car. “Damnit!”

The seconds draw on and as you pick up the pace, now shoving your way through the crowd, you feel eyes on you. Slithering over your skin like oil.

Not good.

Shit. Karver, where did you go!?

Karver ‘Rigs’ Massarini was an informant – someone who’d been giving you everything that you needed to know about the cell in this area; along with a grouping of eyewitnesses to a stash of ICBMs. A stash that could do some serious damage if they stayed here with the wrong people. Intel suggests that those very missiles were going to be shipped off to Mexico in only a few days, smuggled across the border into United States territory with the intent of doing some pretty awful stuff and framing the US.

If you and Rigs weren’t quick with this, so many innocents would suffer.

You’d already gotten into contact with Mexican Special Forces yourself, warning Alejandro Vargas and Rodolfo Parra of a possible breach and to watch for any unregistered shipments on the docks or coming in from the air.

But now Rigs was missing, and you had a funny feeling you were being trailed.

Back alley. You take a quick right, boots slamming to the ground and heart hammering. Get away from the civvies in case someone decides to go trigger-happy.

This cell was known for being deadly, Mr. Massarini had sent the file over to CIA headquarters before you were shipped out; Laswell had set you on it right away without even taking the time to read it entirely.

“Extremely high Kinetic; I’m giving you full Execute Authority on this, Reaper. We’re running out of time. Find those missiles.”

Torture, kidnappings, mutilations, the list went on for this group and how far they would go to keep secrets. No one had gotten any clear insight as to what their motives were – just that they needed to be put down in exactly the ways they had been doing to others. Ruthlessly, before they grew bigger or spread their influence beyond borders, and created a group that could rival what Al-Qatala had been.

So that was where you came in.

God, you wished Farah and Alex were here with you – at the very least you could rely on them to help, even if you sectioned yourself off from others more than a dying cat. There was a reason you preferred being sent in alone with only your wits.

Mostly because of situations like this.

“Rigs, sitrep. Where are you,” you try again, the close walls shrouding in your shadows. Throwing looks over your shoulders, you take down deep breaths, a growl gradually digging itself a hole in your esophagus. Desperately, you say, “I’m heading back to the safe house ASAP. Wait for me there.”

Your right hand gravitates to your pocket, slipping through the fabric and pushing aside the ripped seam at the bottom. The sheath at your thigh pinches you with every step, but you’ve endured it for years, calluses breeding where the leather had chaffed the flesh to toughness. To an ingrained perfection. Flinching when your fingers bump against the handle, the metal adornments feel cool to the touch despite the sweat dripping down your spine; temperature and nerves leaving your palms sweaty.

None of this was going to plan.

You caress the small Dirk blade strapped to you, and when the first footsteps enter the alleyway behind you, your hand clenched into a loose fist around it. Your eyebrows pull tight with annoyance.

Taking a slow breath as the trailing stranger begins to move faster, you take a corner, halting the second you were out of sight. You nonchalantly turn on your heel and lean into the wall, feeling your body conform to the building and the stone dig into your back.

The material is cold, and as you raise your Dirk up, you flip the blade parallel to your forearm, wrist lax, and fingers still. A slow breath flows from your barely-parted lips.

3 seconds. You don’t blink, only gazing out across the space and noticing the dark shadow gaining ground. 2…1…

Your body jerks forward, free hand snapping out and grasping the fabric of a shirt. Twisting your hips, you plant your feet and wrench the stranger around the corner, breath coming out in a loud snarl. Without a shout, you have the person’s back shoved to the building in an instant, blade held above an Adam’s Apple.

A man, then.

“I’m going to give you one full minute.” Your Italian was only surface level – far better at understanding others than speaking full sentences. But you think whoever this man is comes to a conclusion well enough. “Before I cut you open and watch the life spill from your eyes.”

You don’t recognize this person, his sharp face or dark, sly, eyes, and with a quick assessment of his large stature you figure out he’s the basic definition of a man sent to complete a job. One that would have left you dead if you were anything less than a contracted CIA Agent on a job. You had been trained among the best from your time in the Marines – years on Special Ops forces; taking point. Even if they were the worst times of your life, you still learned a great deal from them, particularly, how to know when to cut your losses.

With one look into his smug face, you know that this stranger would tell you nothing.

Your lips formed a grimace, teeth flashing under flesh at the rod-straight form of the man under you. He was smirking with eyes seeming to be laughing at you. Arrogant. Self-assured.

“You’ll get nothing out of me, Reaper. We are already on your trail.” Your head tilts, a numb huff escaping your throat and pushing the individual's hair back as a breeze would. There was a small pause; tiny shiftings of your feet as your blade digs ever deeper.

A thin trail of blood falls from the placement, and your muscles writhe under the epidermis. There’s no thought behind the laugh that enters the air, that cold, dark, thing that’s more of a bark from a hellhound. It was just a realization that no matter where you went, there could never be anything unique anymore. Everyone was always the same.

“You’ll never get it out of me-”

“Break my bones; rip my flesh, you will never make me talk-”

“If you want to see me beg, you’ll be disappointed-”

There were countless memories you could bring to the precipice of your mind and re-live; moments ingrained into your psyche like a tattoo is to skin. So you can only smile and nod, scarf swishing around your neck. The man looks confused now, if not slightly nervous. That self-assured attitude leaking to the ground. Eyes as dark as obsidian beginning to snap back and forth – looking for a saving grace in the make-up of ancient stone that wasn’t going to come.

You wondered how many people had died in this city throughout history. The stories lost to time. Have these alleys seen war? Famine?

Have they seen murder?

But you are a woman of your word. A minute passes in tense silence, your eyes never leaving his own and ears carefully in tune, twitching like an antenna, to the joyous shouts and laughter just a street over. Here you wait like a rat in a trap, though you like to believe yourself more of the metal Hammer than the unknowing participant in a dance of death and wits.

You tighten your grip on your Dirk, shrugging up at the man. Your face is nonchalant as an understanding smile grows. As simple as a server at a restaurant.

“I believe you.” And you run the knife’s edge across his flesh like a match to a striker before he can scream.

Stepping back, you’re suddenly thankful for the scarf over your sweat-slick neck because as the spray of blood splatters over your nose bridge and forehead, you swipe it away with one of the ends of the thick fabric. You let the body drop, watching large hands snap to the gushing wound like that alone would stop the cold grip of death.

Your mark has been met.

The External Carotid Artery was easy enough to cut, though you had to dig deep for it, and it seemed the man had moved mid-slice. Frowning while the man gasps and gurgles; flails as a fish would, you study your work as you flick the blade clear of blood. Your brows furrow.

“Nicked the Thyroid Cartilage, hm.” Sighing and shaking your head, you sheathe the Dirk and twist on your feet, still intent on making your way back to the hotel safe house and trying to find a lead on Rigs. The slumping of a body reverberates a moment later, a grandiose death rattle, and still, only a street over you hear animated conversations – the bustle of traveling feet, and the sound of the breeze.

You often think about the friends you had when you were six. But, now, instead of being the one who fought off the monsters at the ends of the beds, you had become it. The monster. The boogeyman.

The Reaper.

Oh, what would they think of you now?

You swipe at the blood along your fingertips, seeing the red bleed under your nails with such a numb feeling that it scares you more than anything. Taking down a gathering of saliva that feels more like a slug in your throat, you wonder when you lost the ability to value human life. Of course, the answer was slated in those early years in Special Ops, but you don’t dwell on those times.

In fact, it was better if you never thought of them at all.

Taking a left, you hum a tune under your breath and listen to the birds sing as the blood dries.

—

The meeting room wasn’t even a room, just a vacant air-craft hangar that had been fitted out with two rows of metal fold-out chairs and a projector. Shadows danced over the floor, long streaks of darkness over concrete.

“...I’ll be giving you full Execute Authority – but this mission is completely Black. Host weapons only. No Evac team.” Laswell’s voice echoes off the ceiling, and Ghost’s eyes flow over the projected intel, memorizing the faces and locations with nothing more than a blink of his blue eyes. Fluttering eyelashes caress the hard material of his mask before settling.

Task Force 141 was being sent off on another deployment again, deep into Belarus and near the Russian border.

“Time frame?” The Captain asks, standing a small distance away and leaning against a crate of ammunition. His arms are crossed; jaw is loosely set.

Kate looks at him, above the heads of Gaz and Soap, and nods her head before she comments, “one week.”

Gaz huffs from ahead of the hulking form of Ghost, and the silent man shifts his attention back to the group.

“One week, Kate? No offense, but we don’t even know if the bastard’s in Belarus.”

“‘fraid to get dirty there, Garrick? Ah, we’re good enough for it.” Soap elbows the male at his side, and the masked man releases a puff of breath one row back. The Scot twists in his seat, mohawk tendrils falling over his forehead, and smirks. “C’mon Lt. back me up here. We’ve got this in the bag already.”

“Bit confident, Johnny?” Ghost grunts out, accented voice low and muffled from under the black fabric over his lips. His hips shift over the chair, legs splayed and arms crossed as he reclines back; letting the bulk of his gear weigh heavy. “Just wait until you’ve got us sitting on a pile of dry leads and rotting corpses.”

“Eh, nothin’ we haven’t dealt with before.”

“Focus, you three.” Kate interrupts as Gaz rolls his eyes to himself, fixing his ball cap over his head with a fast flick of his wrist at the antics of the other two. “You’re going to be shipped out at 2000–”

An easily recognizable ringtone starts to play.

Blinking in surprise, Laswell takes a glance at the table that had been long forgotten and spies her phone buzzing over the metal. Her light brown hair, kept securely tied back, swished at the nape of her neck. She wastes no time.

Briskly walking over, the rest of the men in the room watched intently, heads perked up. Ghost couldn’t stop the pique of interest at the strange behavior, though his form remains still, only making a noise under his breath in contemplation. In the hold of his crossed arms, his fingers tighten.

“Not the person I’d imagine keeps her phone on for just anyone…” Gaz makes a slow comment, and John slides up beside him, hands hooking onto the sides of his combat vest. Watching.

“Hm,” their command affirms.

Kate picks up her phone and immediately answers, brows furrowed. She shifts her weight as an inhalation reverberates. The conversation on the other side was too muffled, a small droaning the only signal that someone was on the opposite.

Unconsciously, Ghost straightens in his chair as the rolled-back sleeves of his undershirt leave his black ink tattoos on display. A deep intrigue spilled in his chest but otherwise, he was still focused on the previous instructions for the next Op. This was just another cog in the wheel, perhaps a location change for their safe house, or an accelerated timeline. No matter, they would get it done regardless–

“Reaper?” Laswell speaks, and blue eyes slide to stare at the Captain, whose legs had tensed. “What’s happened–”

The Lieutenant knows something was wrong just by the simple fact that he’d never seen their Station Chief talk on her personal phone with that look on her face before – he’d seen it mirrored on the Captain and he’d clocked it from her just as simply. The wrinkled skin at the side of her eyes, and stiff-set lips peeled back in a frown. She’d always been serious, but the air was different.

Reaper? He runs through the database of his mind and ignores Gaz’s and Johnny’s muttered words and glances.

“Now who do you think that is, then?” Soap grunts out. Ghost doesn’t answer.

Brows furrow.

Sounds familiar, the man can’t help but admit.

“Patch me through. Now.” Kate slips to the computer a few steps away and opens a fresh tab, sorting through files and months of intel as if it mattered just as much as a bug under her heel.

“Kate?” Price prompts. The woman only holds up a finger and keeps the phone in between her shoulder and cheek, hands fast across the keys.

Soon enough, a feed pops up on the projector, and the three previously sitting all rise to their feet in an instant.

An open wound is in the process of being stitched and displays itself over the entire available space, violent red internal flesh puckering over the edges of…Ghost narrows his eyes, unphased.

Was that a fabric needle and thread being used for sutures? Resourceful, he admits.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell.” The manchester man levels thought the blandness of the tone contradicts itself. “Where’s this feed from, Laswell?”

“What the fuck…?” Soap growls out, and the Scot blinks at the screen in shock as the Brit beside him lets off a sound of disgust akin to a sick cat.

“Reaper, sitrep.” Kate doesn’t flinch, rushing off into procedure as steady hands delve back into flesh, blood falling from their fingers like water to splatter to a rundown wooden table. The world-away computer was most likely getting a rain of crimson all over the keys at this rate.

Price grunts under his breath.

“Shit,” a distinctly feminine voice wafts out, a harsh sigh held back, though the annoyed tone was noticed immediately, “can’t a girl stitch herself up in peace? Besides, Watcher-1 answer me this, huh?” The computer is jerked, its screen going staticky as Ghost watches with roving eyes to take in the background when the visibility returns. A bed, nightstand, and sitting by the floor of the front door, copious amounts of weapons. The man takes stock – an M13 assault rifle, X12 handgun, and Arctic .50 sniper rifle. Ammunition lines the floor in a way that leaves Ghost’s lips thinning under the mask.

Someone’s in a hurry. But from what?

“…what goddamn hotel doesn’t have mirrors in it?” Kate’s sigh can be heard a mile away. “No, I’m being serious here, Watcher – how the hell does that happen?”

Watching you take a step back, Ghost as well as the other three all blink in surprise when you come into view. Your top was off, only a sports bra covering your flesh, as your focus stays on the digging needle you send into yourself over and over.

Yet again a feeling of intense familiarity strikes the Brit in the chest. Your soft face, your hair, your voice. It was infuriating.

Who are you? The inability to call forth a memory leaves the fists at his sides gradually clenching under his gloves.

“Reaper.” Seriousness grows in the Agent’s voice, and Price lets out a slow chuckle that leaves Gaz turning to him in confusion.

“Sir?” But the inquiry is ignored.

“Still as stubborn as ever, then, Reap?” Everyone sees your hurried stitches stop, head snapping up as they clock a veiled panic behind the iris’.

Your eyes tell all the story they need, and Ghost’s body freezes as the color evokes a physical twitching of his hand.

“Holy hell,” he utters under his breath so silently no one even realizes he spoke; eyelids pulling back before settling like nothing had even happened.

“You know, you're the first person who’s been nice to me out here.”

“...Then I’d tell you to get better friends, Sergeant. I’m not sticking around.”

“I never said they were my friends, Ghost, and I never expected you to stay, anyways. That’s not how this works.”

“You’re right. It’s not.”

“Bravo-06?” You ask, voice sometimes cutting out over the line. A laugh breaks out, and a small smirk twitches the corners of your lips, “Hey, Old Man, how’s it going over there? Been a while.”

“What have you got yourself into now?” Price asks, chuckling under his breath with a groaned continuation, “and how do you need me to get you out of it?”

The spectral man now watches with a newfound fervency, blue eyes boiling so violently that if anyone had seen, they would have thought he was about to attack. Like a split second of eye contact with a wolf before it rushes. The build of his shoulders was still loose, however, and the only indication of shock was his optics; the mask shrouded all.

But there was a subtle movement of his hips, feet transferring over the floor to stand shoulder-length apart.

“Oh, this,” you point to your injury with a free finger, tying off a knot on the last line of sutures. “Nah, it’s nothing. A couple of assholes tried to get the jump on me a block back, one had a knife on ‘em.” Your hand tosses the needle and thread to the table, a muttered, thunk, sounding off. Looking down at your work with a raised brow, everyone watches. “Took care of it – they gave me a name, too, but with the trail of bodies I left today, I wouldn’t be surprised if it didn’t pan out.”

A pause before you turn your head back up, face now completely serious as you focus on Laswell.

“But we have a bigger problem, Watcher. Rigs is gone; I think my position’s compromised. I’m going black.” Your form leans to the side, and a wrinkled t-shirt is thrown over your head. From your mouth, a stifled groan releases. Ghost blinks in surprise.

The Captain’s lips thin, and he looks at a tight-wound Kate.

“I have a contact in the lower levels, Reaper, meet up with her and she can have you out of the city by tonight. I’ll send over her info.”

“No can do, Watcher.” You sigh, and Ghost simply stares, following your figure as you back up, heading to the X12 and shimmying it into the back of your pants before looking over your shoulder. Kate hums under her breath. “If they’ve got Rigs,” Walking quickly back over to the computer, one of your hands grasps the top of the frame, thumb poking out from the corner. You tilt your head. “I ain't leaving without him right behind me. I’ll be in contact in a month – if I’m not, then I’m dead already.”

Your chuckle strikes a cord through the room and Soap snorts in answer.

“Glass-half-empty kind of person, then?”

“I’d say,” Gaz mutters.

Continuing, you’re about to say something else – lips already partially parted and breath sucked in – before your eyes lock onto Ghost. The atmosphere of the room flips like the page of a book.

You stare at him with what seems to be a million emotions flying past the glossiness of your optics; lids already peeled back and whites showing in a display that showed more than told. The man could only begin to imagine what you were thinking – how long had it been since he’d seen you last? You’d obviously gotten out of your Marines Special Ops unit.

Not quite how I remember you. It wasn’t hard to recall that small branch of the MRR – Marine Raider Regiment – and how they treated you. But that wasn’t any of his business. He’d been there to do a job, and he’d accomplished it. Quite thoroughly, if anyone would have checked the file after it was all over.

Ghost’s life was counted in the sands of an hourglass, small, molecular, bits hitting the bottom one after the other; rarely was that time wasted on pointless squabbles and words but at that moment, he was conflicted.

The Brit had never expected to see you again, and the sand briefly halted when you spoke. Hm.

Yes, he remembered that voice… he’d just never heard you this confident before.

“Ghost.” He watches the emotions on your face settle, and he was thankful for the mask covering his visage because he knows he would have left at least a small twitch of his lips slip. “Long time no see.”

“Mutt.” The Lieutenant nods in a monotone greeting but notices a slight jerk of your shoulders at the name. His eyebrows furrow, but mentions nothing as his pulse slows.

Your neck moves as you swallow, looking to the side as a dark curiosity fills the space in Ghost’s lungs; head nanoscopically tilting to the side like a vulture.

“Nice seeing you, Bravo-06,” You tilt your head toward the Captain before clearing your throat and addressing Laswell. “I’ll be around.”

It wasn’t hard to tell that the title had made you freak, a kind of bad cloud suddenly springing to life above your head.

Seems to bother her more than being in a Hot Zone, Ghost tells himself, the deep well of dark water in his gut still. That didn’t make any sense. He watches your hand slaps over the computer and the feed goes dark in an instant.

The room is more silent than Ghost is.

“Kate, she’ll need our help.” Price shakes his head from side to side; body moving to the front of the room. “I’m not asking.”

The two talk it over as Ghost’s mind trails, head tilting down more towards his chest as his eyelids narrow.

“Hm,” He grunts, arms tensing as his grip shifts. Soap turns around as Gaz goes to join the conversation between the Captain and the agent.

“What? Know ‘er or something, Lt?” The Scot asks, slapping a hand on the taller man’s arm. Ghost eyes lock on the grip before he blinks, looking back up and leveling the Sergeant with a dead stare. Johnny laughs awkwardly and moves his limb back to his side. “Just…didn’t peg you for the type to start relationships.”

The Lieutenant turns down the aisle of chairs and lets out a bland, “negative. Leave it, Sergeant.”

Why did you react badly to the namesake you’d gone by for the entire time you’d been in Special Ops? Mutt was when everyone had called you when he had been around for that short time.

He felt no great concern for you – no hatred or care – you were just another Agent that would probably end up dead like everyone else. Another time, maybe, he’d have gone in a heartbeat, and if the team decided to go after you, he’d follow. A mission was a mission, it wasn’t like it largely mattered.

But there was something in the back of his mind. Intrigue? Yes, perhaps. The blue-eyed Lieutenant wasn’t one to dwell on these types of things, but a colleague was still a colleague.

Whatever the outcome, he’d do his job with all the ruthlessness and tact he always did.

Ghost’s hand goes up to fix the position of his mask and glances at the blank projector stream, eyes boring into it as they darken. A moment later, he was leaning against the ammunition crate that Price had previously been on, arms crossed and ears twitching at the ongoing battle of wills; isolated to himself as his intimidating form towers ever upwards. Spine straight. Bones stiff. Eyes grim.

You’d been nice to him – a person that, for the limited time he’d interacted with, had left an impression that was only just starting to come back full force. Smart and resourceful; not too bad on the eyes.

He takes down a sigh. Stubborn…but undoubtedly loyal.

His thumb brushes your cheek, and you look up at him as if he wasn’t the one in a mask – as if his entire being was laid bare before you. He swipes away the trail of blood with one firm press. The gentleness of your skin is known even through his glove.

“You’ll live, Sergeant.” He utters, teasing in his monotone voice, “now, where the hell are we goin’? Gun’s itchin’ to lay a few out.”

Ghost would have smirked at the way your eyes dilated if he had the ability, but in the end, he brushes past. Because if he hadn’t, you would have seen his own do the same.

‘Reaper,’ he frowns, feeling the ammunition crate dig further into his hip, they never called you that one.

Perhaps the real battle of wills was happening inside of him – not five feet away between his Captain and his Station Chief.

—

You remember every interaction like it was yesterday, and although he might not, you can’t help the memories from flooding as you gather your gear. Stuffing guns into duffel bags and intel into crossbody sacks that weigh you down like boulders.

Fuck, you open the back window and shimmy out into the back streets, knowing that your position is compromised and not waiting any longer to test your luck. Your side burns something awful; horrible stitches peeling back skin as you groan in pain. What the fuck was Ghost doing with Price? I didn’t know they knew each other. And the two other men in the room…eh. Not the problem right now!

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” you pant, swinging your legs out of the window frame and sharply inhaling when a suture tears. “I’m never in the loop.”

In all honesty, you don’t want to be – too complicated. It’s better to just stick around and be told what to do.

Glaring down at the ground with glazed eyes, you only take a breath of hesitation and let off a curse before dropping.

Your knees take the brunt of the force, and the ricochets of landing on cobblestones travel up your ankles and leave your legs shaking. If you weren’t running on adrenaline, you would have come up with a dirty joke to mutter to yourself.

The discomfort can only last so long, you tell yourself, and ignore the spreading liquid on your side, only thinking of Rigs and the mission.

And Ghost.

Gritting your teeth, eyes vulnerable, you turn down the backroad and stay away from others, drowning in memories more deadly than blood. It had been a while since you had thought of it – the lockbox in the back of your mind keeping all under tight watch; guard dogs with metal teeth and chained necks.

But that title; that namesake you’d scrubbed your skin raw over. Mutt and all the others said in cruel breaths. Oh…but Mutt.

Mutt was the worst of them.

Your hands were vibrating, the tremors traveling up your wrists and arms – past elbows and bruised flesh under skin; bloodied nose and quivering lips. Why did they always yell at you? But worse, why did they always make you do the dirty work?

The Captain, everyone just called him Alke, was standing in front of you, berating your accuracy on the last round of target practice. Fortunately, this deep into the Unit itself, you’d found a way to let it go in one ear and out the next, eyes as blank as a starless sky.

You could see the spittle flying from the man’s lips and some even splashes across your cheeks like acid, but there was something artful to the way you didn't react. A culmination of crafted numbness that bleeds like trauma. It was a constant, everlasting, void.

What they were making you into was not what you wanted, but what possible other option was there? Resign? No, this was nearly an unimaginable position to be in at such an age. You deserve to be here. Should you report the blatant unprofessionalism and favoritism in the ranks? And be blacklisted by these people's friends so that you never ascend the line?

Your ears twitch.

“...You’re not sleeping until your marks are perfect – else we’re overthinking your position in this Unit. Can’t have a Mutt in our ranks, can we?” The last sentence is punctuated with a ruffling of your hair almost like a brother would; teasing, but you know that isn’t what it symbolizes. Harsh laughs and mocking remarks from the bystanders. “Least of all one that’s gonna get us killed. Tch.” When you don’t answer, staring off in a daze at his nose in a perfect image of formation, the Captain raises an eyebrow. “Affirmative,” he smirks, “Mutt?”

“Sir!” Your mouth shouts, though the action is more instinctual as your back straightens. He frowns at that, perhaps wanting to torment you more, but huffs and files out, ordering the rest to follow with one last call.

“I expect you to be up for morning drills an hour early. I’ll be checking your shots myself.”

“Sir!”

After everyone’s gone, you blink back to reality. There’s a second of confusion, creases forming in your forehead at the sound of birds and blowing glass. Head turning side to side, your lips thin at the absence of others as if only realizing how spaced out you’d actually been.

Flashing teeth and heated eyes flash through your mind before you blink them away. Signing away the tense nature of your chest, you clear your throat and relax your legs. Your vision slides to the corners of the concrete dugout, snapping past sectioned-off areas for privacy to search if there was someone who might have stayed back.

Not finding anyone, your hands, clenched behind your back, loosen and fall limp to your sides like bags of rock. One weakly goes to swipe at the trail of blood from your nose, wrecking your already wrinkled sleeve with crimson; but soon an identical trail drips off your chin regardless. Licking your lips and tasting copper, you take a shaky breath and nod to yourself.

You knew what shooting all night would bring on – lesions under the firing pad covering your shoulder; deep-rooted pain leading to nerve damage later on. Blisters that leak puss and blood onto your bedsheets. Not to mention the mental strain, the bags under your eyes burn from lack of rest.

Gritting your teeth, you walk over the tossed rifle on the floor and pick it up with shaky fingers, the tips flinching back from the cool metal before encompassing it tightly.

Silently, you get on your stomach and set the weapon in the crook of your already pain-laced shoulder. Your blood splatters the stock.

—

It had been two weeks with no luck in finding Rigs, and you were starting to get paranoid.

Staring at the dead body tied to the wooden chair, you growl and tear your Dirk from the woman’s chest angrily.

There had been increased police patrols from all the corpses you were leaving, so you’d compromised and limited the chance of being caught at the same time.

Bergamo, Italy, was an ancient place, and the underground was what you were now both metaphorically, and physically, exploiting. Sewer systems. Catacombs. You’d lost track of the paths you’d taken a million times over, and had started to hate the constant darkness only kept back by the small hand lamp you’d stolen.

But there were ups to this constant downward slope.

It made interrogations increasingly easier to pull off with multiple feet of stone all around you. The screams don’t meet the surface.

“Catello Tullio,” you mutter, caressing your sensitive side with your free hand and placing your blade on a turned-over piece of rock. The area reeks of blood and gore, a stack of bodies chucked carelessly in the corner beginning to reek something awful; even as you have another to add to the count. It wouldn’t be long before the rats came in droves.

Another given name, another score. But this one was new. Apparently, the title of the one that took Rigs while he was out getting more rations in the market.

You point a finger at the slumped body, “you better hope I don’t find you in hell if you gave me the wrong damn name.”

Grabbing your light, you stalk off down one side of the tunnel back to your camp, dodging drag lines that strike your eyes with their crimson streaks.

The raggedy blanket and gun-sack you’d been using for a pillow take form in the dark, and somewhere in the corridor a rat squeals; feet pitter-pattering until it disappears altogether. You didn’t even want to think of the spiders living down here. Files and notes are strewn along the floor, perfect hiding places for eight-legged monsters.

You couldn’t do anything until nightfall. It was just too risky.

Massaging your side as you bend down, you grimace at the partially healed wound and scoop up your pistol before plopping to the ground with a grunt. With the deadly object held in your lap, you take a moment to breathe and try to push away a growing headache in the back of your skull.

“This has to be one of the worst Ops on record, huh?” your small voice speaks back to you in bouncing waves of echoes as you begin to fiddle over the gun's small grooves and dents. “How did you manage this, Reap?”

Smiling blandly, the overwhelming quiet and nothingness all around you is like a curse. And in those pockets of a void, your mind always trails to him – or at least it had been for your time on the run. Ghost. That dark and brooding mass of horribly bleak humor and…well…you couldn’t call him mean.

Your eyebrows furrow.

He was never mean to me.

There were soft instances where you would question yourself as to if the Brit had possibly had some affection for you. It wasn’t a long shared history of course, but you had sworn that there was something about the way he looked at you…something that you remember so vividly…

You shake your head and stand after a small while, stretching your feet. Placing your pistol in the back of your belt, the weight brings you dull comfort.

Shining your light on the hand-held radio on the ground in passing, you rove back to it after you scan the perimeter. Its black metal mocks you.

No one’s coming to help ‘cept you. One voice says, and another grunts out, get it together, Mutt.

You turn on your heel to go and take a breather to disperse your dark thoughts but only make it three steps before your eyes widen, lips parting in awe. Nearly falling flat over yourself, you whirl around in an instant.

A static enters the air as if the gods above were laughing at you - toying with your fate like it was a rock tossed to the sky. The familiar British drawl causes your chest to tighten, though the sentence is broken and barely understandable.

Someone’s here for me! A smile slashes your face – fierce hope lighting your eyes. You hadn’t wanted anyone to explicitly come for you, but this was a welcome discovery. Someone to talk to!

“--eper…Copy?” Darting like a cat, you move so fast that you stumble over rocks on the way there. “Lead…cafe…red cloth…Out.”

By the time you snatch the small black object, the garbled and firm tone has already shut itself up. Your mouth parts.

“Shit!” You yell, shaking the thing in your hand with an iron grip, hissing like a snake. You look above you at the cracked ceiling of stone and a growled accusation.“I’m too deep…Fuck. Gotta get up there if I want to be able to respond.”

But it hadn’t all been fruitless. Lead. Cafe. Red cloth. You clip the radio to your belt and make sure your shirt covers your weapon; pat your thigh and tell yourself to stop forgetting your Dirk everywhere before setting off in a jog. The light flashes over dead eyes and stiff bodies.

You snatch the blade off of the stone as you pass it, slipping it into your cut pocket and hearing the satisfying clink of it sheathing.

“Let’s just hope I don’t smell too bad…” You say aloud, chuckling, and listening as the sound echoes off the stone. If no other company, you still had the sound of your own voice.

You couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. But, you were getting side-tracked.

A Cafe with red cloth, then. Not exactly the place you’d go for an intel swap, but if someone had been trying to contact you for more than a week, you’d imagine they were getting desperate at this point.

If I had known…you frown.

Thinking over the multiple blueprints and pictures of the city in your files, you go through your internal cabinet of knowledge for color schemes - not what you’d have thought you’d be using it for, but, oh well. A lead was a lead.

“Golositá!” You laugh, sudden glee on your face as you dodge a pile of large stones; lips peeling back as you take a fast corner. “Gluttony! Of course, that’s the place.”

The bustling business on the upper side of Bergamo with red table cloths as well as red awnings extending into the street. Anyone would be a fool to miss it.

Like blood lining the street.

You force yourself to run faster.

—

You met him last, despite being a Sergeant. The Captain had you up late last night yet again – running the forest trail this time rather than shooting. In the back of your mind, you wondered if it surprised him when you were still up early with the others; from the looks that he was giving you, you just decided that, yes, he was. Or he was just pissed he didn’t have an excuse to get rid of you.

Blinking away fatigue, you keep your stance relaxed as a gargantuan shadow comes to loom ahead of you.

The man everyone had whispered about called himself ‘Ghost’ and, if nothing more, was certainly intimidating. Shoulders wider than a bench, arms as rounded and as strong as boulders; not to mention the tattoos that made him look like he took cross-country motorcycle rides in his spare time. Tan tactical gear and dark patches for the SAS, the red and white British flag. Gloves covered his large hands, straps carried knives on his biceps and thigh. Something akin to a tan cape that was loose around his hidden neck.

But the mask was what really caught your attention; your head tilting with an innocence that no longer lives in you.

Skeletal. Half a visage of a dead and gone intimidation of humanity. Sewn into a hood of black cloth from which only the eye sockets were open…But the eyes there were no different than if the holes had been empty in the first place; as if the person inside was as dead as sun-bleached bone. Was a corpse piloting this suit?

Ice blue. Freezing blue. Harsh. Colder than a grip of a phantom, you thought as you blinked up at him, colder than the nights you would stay awake working yourself to death. You watched this Ghost’s chest move in a steady inhalation and you stuck out a busted-knuckle hand. Foolish, maybe, but there were worse things to be afraid of than a mask. Then of those eyes that made your spine shiver.

But you didn’t look away.

“Pleasure, Sir.” There was a moment of tense silence where your Captain, at Ghost’s side, was frowning at you silently. The man could say nothing as long as this SAS member was here to assist in your next Op overseas. At your sides, your colleagues on the tarmac shuffle on their feet like nervous penguins.

Ghost glances at your hand, and you try not to show how fast your pulse is running when his eyes leave a cold trail as they grace your split knuckles and torn nails. He ends with a slow look at your name patch.

“Sergeant.” He says and slips past without another word. His shoulder brushes against yours, and you inhale smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. Snickers bounce off air particles, striking your ears as an embarrassed heat rises to your cheeks, but that scent stays in your nostrils for days.

Your Captain scurries after.

“Erm, forgive, Mutt. She’s a helluva strange woman, that one.” You keep your sneer hidden, a hiss lodged in your throat and a twitching finger. But your anger isn’t directed at the masked beast that stalks away. That yapping bully of a Captain would hold all of it as long as you were here.

At that point, you were sure you’d seen the last of Ghost until the Op – not really getting the feeling he’s a people person so much as a ‘give orders and follow them’ type.

But that was fine by you, it didn’t change anything. You’d been told to go back to the firing range tonight for opening your mouth and ‘making an embarrassment of the Unit’....whatever that meant. All you did was welcome the guy with the barest hint of a good attitude.

You supposed manners were a foreign concept around here.

The world ahead of you was blurring, red circles in your eyes that gloss over with water every minute you force yourself to stay awake. The stars were out, sky dark, and the area was only lit by large lights situated around the base. In some sort of strange way, you enjoyed the sound of crickets and the cold breeze over your bare arms as if the only sense of peace you got was when you were half-passed out, nailing shots from a rifle.

The stock was where it always is, your cheek pressed to the side; staring down the scope at the multiple holes in the paper targets. Dots surrounded by multiple other dots like a slice of cheese. You suppose that made you the hungry mouse in that case.

‘A mouse with a fucking day before she drops.’ You frown, blink, and pull the trigger as the trees rustle. The force lands directly on your shoulder – the kickback is usually not one to bother you, but seeing as your appendage was one bad day away from being dislocated and forever damaged – you took it with a grit of your teeth.

And you took it because you knew you could. Just as you knew that you felt a pair of eyes on the back of your neck. Freezing, you remove your finger from the trigger and loosen your grip. Turning your head to the side, a free hand goes up and shifts the ear mufflers from your head to your neck in a single movement.

You swear your heart jumps to your throat when you see a skeleton’s icy blues numbly watching you; arms crossed while a nice-looking SA-B 50 Marksman Rifle sits against the wall at his side. How…long had he been there? Watching?

“What’re you doing, Sergeant?” Ghost asks sternly, that Manchester accent making him sound harsh. Grating like a rock being run against concrete. “I’m sure your Captain wouldn’t be thrilled at a scene like this, eh?”

Blinking, you remind yourself to breathe before answering – voice tough and hoarse.

“I have my orders, Sir. You’re free to join me.”

You turn back as a grunted huff falls from behind muted cloth. Ghost walks up to your laying form, standing on your left side and picking up the binoculars from the hanging hook in your station. As you look back through your scope you don’t know why, but you hold your breath; waiting for something.

“...Not a bad shot. You’re prone to firing more to the right, judging from the grouping. I’d fix that, less you miss a moving target runnin’ the opposite.” He lowers the object - staring from the side of his eye. From your position, your neck cranes to see his fingers twitch. “Wouldn’t want that, would we?” For someone you’d expected to be quite harsh – though you had no doubt he still was – Ghost was more sarcastic in his mannerisms.

Backhanded comments that wound sting if you got on the other end of them.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Shifting your grip, you move the stock farther up your shoulder, feeling an immediate release of tension, though the expansive trauma still leaves needles in your tissue.

“Hm, pay attention and you just might learn something.” You feel yourself quirk a lip for the first time in months; your mouth doesn’t stop to think.

“You mentor a lot of people in the middle of the night, then?”

“Only the ones stupid enough to be awake.” He takes a step back, going to grab his own rifle as his footsteps don’t even make a sound.

‘Quiet for a guy with thighs that could choke me out.’

Your brows furrow at the heated thought, taking a slow breath and flexing your hands as the shadow disappears from over you. Why were your hands sweaty?

Were you…afraid? That…that wasn’t it.

“You’re up too, you know, Sir. Bit hypocritical.” This was the first time you’d had a full conversation with someone since you’d gotten in with this Unit. A mildly pleasant one, at least…you wouldn't really call this bonding.

“I can always leave ya’ to it, Sergeant.” Deadpanning the words, you clear your throat and fall silent at the threat.

‘No,’ you wanted to comment, ‘no, I want the company so badly it hurts.’

You swallow saliva and reposition your ear mufflers back over your head, heart bruising your ribs, as you bring down a calming breath of air to still your nerves.

The two of you don’t speak again, and you don’t ask why he takes the shooting cubby right next to yours, the nose of his rifle peeking out from the concrete wall. You certainly don’t ask why he’s up, either.

And in return, he doesn’t ask you the same.

—

When you find Golositá you’ve managed to sneak through the city unseen, taking every backroad and alley you could as the heat of the day increases to near sweltering. Panting, you stick to the thin shadows of the path across the street, eyes dancing over red cloth and flicking to faces; studying visages as one would a medical report.

Your chest hurts, and you run a hand over your side, feeling the raised skin under your shirt before digging into the aching ribs. All this running around and little food to help keep your normal strength was troublesome, and it would only get worse if this Op from hell continued.

I need new intel. Badly.

About to retreat, not finding anyone you recognize off the bat, a black-shrouded figure kisses the side of your vision as if a phantom.

On the outside table, the farthest removed, a man sits stiffly with an untouched teacup in front of him. Smirking, you can’t help but scoff at the thought of Ghost using the thing – you’d think his thumb and forefinger would break the delicate porcelain in an instant. Like a spine over his thigh.

Your cheeks heat.

He looked almost identical to what you remember – minus the gear, obviously – and your stomach twisted at the thought. Was a simple look enough to bring you to the breaking point? Why were your lungs tight?

As if feeling your stuck eyes, those icy blues shift from people-watching to lock onto yours immediately. As hollow as they always were, it seemed. He blinks and the blonde eyebrows on his sliver of visible forehead move.

Shit. Your hips trade weight. Look at you.

Loose shoulders under a rugged buttoned-down and painted balaclava make your breath go thin, not able to resist sneaking a glance at those tattoos you remember so vividly. Yes, that was still Ghost.

Jesus, is this how it felt to see someone you barely even remembered suddenly appear? Was it elation or caution that was making your heart race?

Ghost doesn’t look surprised. His eyes don’t widen; don’t soften or light up. They blankly watch you as you shake away the shock and raise a brow in return. A sarcastic finger goes to your head, and you mock salute.

What are you doing? You seem to ask, a mischievous expression growing as you start forward when he dismissively narrows his eyes. You look ridiculous. Are you asking to be spotted?

The man leans into the too-small chair he sits in, one hand going to hang off the back and the other resting on the tabletop. Gloved fingers tapping morse in slow measures.

Clear. Come here. He follows you with his gaze, head stationary, as you enter the flow of traffic, smiling at people at your sides and letting off polite greetings when you could. Steadily striding, you weave through groups and individuals like water, legs steady even as your ears pick up every little sound.

A comfortable middle point of visible excitement and strict business. Why were you so…happy?

When you approach Ghost’s table, you slip up beside him with a sly chuckle, pulling out the chair to his right. You, softy, lower yourself down into it, not turning to him but instead simply making sure no one had followed you with a quick scan. His heat only adds to the warmth of the day like a walk through damnation.

“Well, well, well,” you smile, addressing the SAS member with his shadow hanging over you once more; such a heavy thing, though you don’t mind. Your expression mellows to have it above you again. There was a safety to it, you had to admit. The cold comfort of death. “Trip to Italy, Sir? Take a little vacation?”

“Came to bail out a bird from my past,” You smell that scent again – smoke and ash; gun-cleaning solvent paired with a canvas tent. Dirt and metallic blood. “And if I ever went on a vacation, I sure as hell wouldn’t pick this place. ‘Bout to burst into flames; traumatize a few kids and their mums.”

Hadn’t he changed even a little bit?

“Now that’s dark.”

“Never said it wasn’t.”

Of course he hasn’t, you answer your own question, feet shifting and skin pliable, why would he? He isn’t like me – didn’t have to reinvent himself based on atoms and in the wake of silent nights.

There was a piece of you that believed that Ghost had always been this way, though you knew it was false. Nobody in this profession was just born like this, they were led to it. Whoever it was under the mask or balaclava didn’t matter anymore.

They had died a long time ago.

“Not a fan of the history, Brit?” You tease, bringing up a hand to itch at your undereye, finally taking a peak at the form that nearly swallows you.

Your lids try not to peel back, but you didn’t realize how close you’d sat next to Ghost – any closer and you would be in the crook of his arm; the relaxed spread of his knee bumping into yours and arm over the back of your seat. Trying to act nonchalant, you ignore the strange swirling in your gut with a hum and a twitching of your leg.

Stop that.

“Don’t care a smidge, just not a fan of the damn heat.” The gruff man responds with his inked arm on the table flexing, as though he was tenser than he showed. Ghost clears his throat, “needs a good downpour, eh?”

“Try living underground for two weeks. Literally. Sun’ll feel like a blessing.”

“Fuckin’ hell…That’s why the radio wasn’t working, then.” While this was all cute – re-learning each other like a shaken puzzle – there were dangers to being this open. The Brit would be fine, but if you got spotted, well, there would be worse things to worry about than an achy side and a pile of bodies in a tunnel.

“You got something for me, or are we here just to stand out like bullet holes in a forehead?” Feeling his head tilt to you, snaking down your form, your body leans forward, palms sweaty as they lock on the table. “Price with you? The other two I saw on the feed?”

“Negative. Op in Belarus. Sent me in alone.” Your knees brush, delicately; like a touch of down feathers. You refrain from taking in a shallow breath, knowing he’s analyzing every movement with a hidden mouth and gentle huffs of air that rises his sculpted chest. Through a grunted sigh, Ghost tells, “The Old Man insisted. Laswell thought you’d be alright by yourself, regardless,” and falls silent.

What was he doing? Why was he talking with that rasp in his tone? Your heart swells at the comment about Kate, but a confusing feeling settles in your lower body. Why did the air feel thick?

The warmth of the sun was making your skin perspire, leaving a sheen of sweat over your arms. But the thought of heat stroke fled as you became hyper-aware of the man beside you, keeping careful not to touch you, though his gaze still bore into the side of your face like prodding fingers anyways.

He can’t quite figure you out, he admits to himself. So much of you was different – and he couldn’t tell how.

She’s lighter, he tightens his face, not the same as when I left.

But there had been an utter satisfaction when he’d seen you in that alleyway, even if you were different in a million ways, that would never change. Ghost’s body had loosened, his clenched jaw let go, and snappy answers to servers stopped entirely.

Because those were still the same colored eyes that he remembered. He takes a long breath.

Through the haze under your creased skin, a red alarm starts to sound off. Not because of the confusing way you felt the chilled form of Ghost on a near internal level, but because of the hooded individual across the street.

When your eyes lock, they back up three paces and bolt down the adjacent street, vanishing into the crowd. Your expression darkens, and Ghost shifts his attention from your face to the streets.

His eyes blankly follow where you were looking.

“Come on,” you get to your feet, hand snatching at the SAS member's sleeve, dragging him with you as a mother would a toddler. It was ironic – if he resisted, you wouldn’t be able to force him to move, not in a million years, but he slid off his chair with fluid muscles.

He doesn’t question you when he’s brought into an offshoot of the road, vacant of tourists or locals besides a stray cat and a few scavenger birds. Flies jump off garbage cans, buzzing through the air above your heads as you level Ghost with a serious stare.

You nearly stumble over your words when you get to look at those long blonde eyelashes that you remember heatedly, but push through as they move to half-lid his blank eyes. Your heart skips beats as you spare looks up and down the space.

What the fuck is going on with me? Focus. This is serious.

But, Jesus, he should really stop looking at you like that.

“You said you had a lead over the radio – anything on someone called Catello Tullio by chance?” You ask, voice like stone.

“Tullio?” Ghost hums in the back of his throat, all business, hips moving under him as he goes to glance at the street. His balaclava moves as he speaks. “Someone made a mention of it. ‘Fore I put a knife in ‘em, ‘o course.” Nodding, he huffs out, “On me.”

Turning on long legs, he starts to walk farther down the path, and you follow at his side, peering up and eager to gain more intel. “You’ve caused quite a panic around here, Sunshine. Cell’s terrified of the ‘Reaper.’ I’m nearly impressed.”

He briefly flashes an optic to you, heart betraying him as he remains locked on your lips. Rotating his jaw, he turns back forward.

“Oh, my,” smirking slowly, you roll your eyes, “whatever will I do without your approval, great Ghost.”

“Dunno – kick the bucket probably.” Shaking your head in false annoyance, the slow, mocking, stain in the man’s tone leaks into your very DNA; coating it with honey. Like a warm sunrise, you clock a small hitch in his chest and equate it to muted chuckles when you laugh.

“Don’t go placing bets, now. I’m not so easily broken.”

“Oh, wouldn’t think of it, Sweetheart. Wouldn’t be my handiwork if it happened,” his tone goes light, “don’t wanna take credit away from you.”

“Brit.” You spit with fake venom.

“American.” He grumbles back, but you clock the small spark in his iris, cold blue bouncing silver light like snow.

He sounded…entertained? Snide in a sarcastic way.

Your mouth rises in a stupid, dopey, grin as you stare from the side of your vision, chest jumping in easy comedy. What a strange pair you two were, but you find you liked his company even more, this time around.

Or maybe he had changed slightly. Or maybe it was just you.

At the end of the day, you were relieved that it was easy to talk to him. Conversations with corpses are a bit one sided, after all.

Ghost’s lips had to be at least quirked under that dark fabric to achieve mischief like what he was spitting out, you leveled with yourself. At the minimum, the man wasn’t annoyed he’d been forced out of his own primary mission because of you.

You remember he wasn’t averse to cracking jokes – particularly dark ones – but it had…it had never felt like his before.

Strange, you admit with a raised brow and a cocked head, cheeks burning for no apparent reason. You’d gotten him to chuckle? Holy hell, you deserve a Nobel Peace Prize for that. I’d think he would be pretty pissed about being sent here. He’s never been one to fuck around.

You both continue in easy silence until you decide to speak once more, intent on asking where you were being led.

Ghost’s head had perked up in what you assumed to be soldier-like attention, but then his head had whipped behind the two of you. Oblivious to his shift in mood, like a dark cloud, you open your mouth.

“Well, where are we–”

“--Get down!” Hands slap on the back of your arm and jerk you to the opposite wall as a loud echo rings out. Whizzing over your head so close that you feel the breeze of it.

Gasping, the air is expelled from your lungs in one fell swoop; your spine grating over the rough stone as your legs scramble to keep upright. Wiping away the shock quicker than an eraser over a whiteboard, your neck snaps to the problem; brain already hardwired to get over being shot at and the adrenaline that floods your veins immediately after.

Across the way, Ghost’s fast hand was reaching to the back of his outfit – without a doubt going to grab a concealed weapon. Eyes fiery and arms tight. And as though you were seeing it happen in slow motion, you lock onto the hostile in the middle of the alley back the way you both came. And then onto the hooded silhouette ahead of you.

Boxed in.

Hyperfocused, all of it happens in only three seconds, two trained professionals protecting each other without even realizing it.

One, you realize how this will have to play out if you don’t act immediately. You don’t know how you can trust Ghost to take the other hostile while you focus on the one ahead, but you don’t question it. Two, your gun lays heavy in your hand as your legs pivot. Three, you fire double shots with a loose finger and hear mirrored gunfire from the man beside you.

You don’t bother watching him drop.

Snapping your head backward with a rageful expression to see Ghost’s corpse hit the floor with a cracking of a skull, shouts start to ring over the city. When you lower your weapon, you turn to notice the Birt examining your own downed hostile with a satisfied stare. If you hadn’t had his back, he would have been shot in it.

But what you didn’t know was that he was thinking the same thing about you.

Turning to stare at each other, your widened eyes lock; fingers twitching along the cool X12’s metal as those stormy iris’ only seem to darken further when they dart to your lips. Like staring into a wild animal’s gaze and pretending you’re not in a trance because of it – stuck in that moment of infinity and nothingness with not a single muscle moving. Waiting for either a mouthful of fangs around your supple neck or for the beast to turn away with grace and practiced steps.

You swore Ghost’s mouth parted under that damned balaclava, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the world came back in a violent storm of screams. Panicking, you gape at the entrance – seeing multiple shadows shoving through the crowd to get to you.

“On me!” Keeping your pistol in one hand, you bolt, hearing heavy footsteps pounding behind you as your mind begins to run.

Ghost trails without a single doubt in his mind as to why he’s following you, and it makes him cautious.

Catacombs, you decide, get under the city and backtrack to the outskirts. Survey and have Ghost tell me his intel before making a move…yeah!

“Where are we headin'?!” Ghost shouts, keeping right your heels as you turn corners. Gunshots ring over your heads as you jump up small groupings of tile steps, blood pounding in your ears. You try to remember the maps you had stored in your files underground. Left…no, two rights. Shit! I need to be higher – see the streets like a bird would! “Reaper?!”

“Do you trust me?!” You call over your shoulder, and though it seems deranged, a smile forms over your lips. “I’ll need an answer in the next few minutes, yeah? I’m on a time crunch!”

“What are you on, Girl?” The adrenaline speaks to you, propelling your legs faster and faster. You vault over a fallen trash bin and take the shock to your ankles as it travels to your thighs. Snickering, you feel the brooding man’s presence like you always could – just beside you like a loyal hound. His focus excites you as you put your gun away in the small of your back. “Bloody hell! Not giving me a choice?”

“Not if you don’t want to get shot in the ass!” Taking one more right, you find yourself rapidly approaching a dead end, tall walls, a balcony, and a large dumpster – the flap already closed overtop. Not answering the man as he barks out a comment, you throw yourself atop it with a puff of breath and spasming lungs.

Laughing, your hands don’t falter. Reaching up with eager fingers, you grab at the black metal front of the balcony a small distance above and suck down a hot breath. Your arms strain, sickly sweet sweat on the top of your lip, and eyes wide with glee despite the gaining footfalls rising like a battlefield cry. Jerking your body up with only your upper-body strength, you slide your abdomen over the railing with barely a second passing. Once your feet are firmly on someone's property, you twist around and slap your hands to the metal with a twinkle in your vision; face wrinkled with all the animated amusement.

A wide grin is stuck on you.

Ghost stares up with slightly widened eyes from the ground, arms poised on the garbage bin.

Oh, hell, when she smiles like that…

“But I can’t judge, can I?” Teasing, you extend a helping grip with a smirk. “Everyone has their fetishes, hm, Ghost? Maybe yours is just having a gun pointed at you.”

He blinks at that, but knowing the urgency in the back of your throat, he pushes himself up with a grunt. You try not to watch his muscles strain, but spy the way the veins in his forearms grow larger as his alluring hips flex. They situate themselves under him as he crunches before straightening in an instant.

Fuck, don’t drool, you scold, lips lightly parted like seven devils were flying in the back of your mind. Jesus, imagine the weight those things can carry…shit. Wouldn’t mind losing my virginity to that.

A leather-coated hand slaps into your awaiting one. You snap back to a screaming reality and stare down into hypnotic sheens of ice and…wait…did Ghost have fucking green flecks near his pupils?

“You sure it isn’t yours, Sunshine?” He harshly comments, and his balaclava moves with a rising of his eyebrow.

Clearing your throat, you murmur a weak reply as your face begins to feel like a blazing fire, squeezing his limb before pulling. He chuffs. Grunting violently, you know he does most of the work in helping himself up, though the Brit still slaps your shoulder in comradery when he’s stable. Kneeling down, he forces himself into the wall behind the two of you, fingers weaving to create a cuff over his knee.

Tossing his head up, he motions with urgency.

“C’mon. Be quick ‘bout it.”

Catching one foot in the basin of his clutch, you force down your illicit thoughts about Ghost and jump, pushing off with your opposite leg on his shoulder and his added boost. Scaling the wall, you arch and scramble - with a growing bite in your side – to the terracotta-shingle roof.

Following after and checking your six, the beast of a man joins just in time.

Shadows dart around the corner far on the ground, and the both of you are speeding animals over the rooftops in the meantime. Against better judgment, boots pounding the tiles, you release loud bouts of genuine laughter.

How long had it been since you’d had such fun? Enjoyed someone else's company like this? Running across homes, you look at your side, only to find Ghost’s eyes already digging into you. Unrelenting. Unmovable. Panting, you smile brightly, giggles making your sides hurt something awful but your pace doesn't slow for an instant.

All it took was a glance at the streets – you know where you are now.

“Enjoying yourself, Reaper?” He asks, arms pumping and barely winded, and you wonder for a moment how he breathes under that covering of his – it had to smell horrible by the end of the day.

“For…the first time in ages, Ghost.” He chuckles at that, and it is a betrayal of his nature. How could someone so violent, so cloaked in oceans of blood, produce such a soft sound? A genuine sound that makes your stomach flip?

His bewitched eyes rove back in front of him, and he can’t deny the simplicity of speaking to you. It wasn’t a chore, just a conversation with a person who he wouldn’t mind having on 141 at his side.

There were few people worthy of that.

You swallow thickly and take point, leading the shadow of death to your home underground so you can re-evaluate.

You can only wonder why you don’t feel nervous as he watches over you, skin marked with horrors but his hand had fit so well in your own. And you also wonder how you can come to care for someone you haven’t seen in ages so quickly, as if you’d both been around each other for years.

Had you really ever forgotten him? Or just tried to push the affection, both emotional and physical, for him out? But that was the problem, you tell yourself with a clenched jaw, that physical attraction. All of that was just…tied into a million knots. Complicated.

You’d never had sex before.

And, Ghost questioned himself as he watched your legs move, did he forget you out of necessity? Because those eyes of yours won’t leave him alone, and he so very much enjoyed looming over you.

He sighs heavily and follows in silence.

—

When you first joined them, they all created rumors. This was long before you were permitted solo Ops, long before half of your file was filled and bleeding with black ink that would shame a warlord. When everyone just thought you were signed up because you were some unhinged kid, brimming with unchecked problems and willing to throw everything away just for the chance to prove yourself. Who got into it for kicks.

They would say you enjoyed it, killing. Reveled in it, really. That it got you off when you were covered in blood and crimson guts as they pooled at your feet.

You suppose that was what turned you away from sex in general – those heavy comments said with no remorse that stuck with you. It was fear almost, a genuine twisting of your mind to make it your fault. It wasn’t your fault, you knew that; you could sleep with anyone you wanted and the comments weren’t a brand on your skin.

You could forget about it. You should.

But the words were so mean. Just cruel for the sense of being cruel. And it stuck with you.

If that was all anyone would see, why try and force them to look away? You kept to yourself, never spoke unless spoken to, and shoved all of it down like a kill switch. No sex, no relationships. Nothing to make you think about the rumors.

Getting off on death? You were horrified at the concept, horrified that people would play around like that with you – with your life!

You just ended up telling yourself you wouldn’t feel it until it hurt too bad. In a way, you were right…but you can only force emotions down for a while until they break forward like a fist to the mouth.

Besides Mutt, they had many names for you – titles and backhanded monikers. Rabid. Demon. Devil. Monster. Sometimes, beast.

But they all had the same meaning. Inhuman. Wrong.

It shouldn’t have bothered you that much. It…It shouldn’t have made you stay up at night still thinking about the way they would laugh and pinch your arms as you were left shaking; drowning in gore not your own because they sent you into the heart of the Hot Zone for a few jokes. Teasing you about how you probably touched yourself because of it.

But it was just an excuse to make you too scared to leave. Your reputation…

��There’s that Devil for ya’, always ready to slit some more throats for us. You think you could do the next few, Mutt? You’ll love it, I know you will. I’ll give you a good report if you do it without alerting the guards – see there… ‘Course you will. Fucking freak.”

Your eyes stare forward blankly, Dirk leaving a dotted fluid trail over the dusty ground.

Why did they do this to you?

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waffles-art-writing · 1 year

Text

Water Logged - Task Force 141!Platonic x F!Reader - JOKER

Summary: PART 2 of One Hell Of A First Mission. You end up crammed in the back seat between your team mates. You become aware that both you and your Scottish Teammate find the funny side to most things, you find out having to swim with a balaclava is like breathing through a wet sponge.

Proofread: NOPE

Pairing: Task Force 141!Platonic x F!Reader

WordCount: 4.2k ish

Age Rating: 16+

Codename: JOKER

KEY: Y/N - Your Name, L/N - Last Name.

Warning/Info: COD Violence, Swearing, description of injuries, Weapons, fighting, fluff and angst if you squint. A lot of time skips sorry. Sorry if its not identical to the game… ENJOY! Oh and Graves… he’s just a warning within himself.

Please go read the previous parts here MASTERLIST

If you want more please comment! Reblogs are appreciated!

Also sorry if it’s not any good, I’m going through a huge writers block…

Taglist: @studywithrosie01 (idk if you still wanna be tagged so I’ll tag you till you tell me otherwise if that’s okay?) IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED PLEASE COMMENT!

——————————

You sit crammed in the back seat of the vehicle. Ignoring how uncomfortable you are squished up against Soap and Ghost. Your arms crossed, legs crossed, practically twisted like a pretzel. Graves is in the front seat while Alejandro is driving, happy as Larry they are compared to you and your squished team mates, that could be compared to a can of sardines. You bite your tongue when the vehicle hits a pothole, Soap groans lightly and Ghost just tightens his grip on the seat. “Fuck this” you spit out, pushing yourself to stand, slipping over the back of the seat into the free space in the back.

“What the fuck” Soap states, looking over you, who looks a lot more comfortable than before. “I hate being crammed between two men who smell like shit” you chuckle, leaning onto your arms that are folded over your knees. “I don’t stink..” Soap growls, huffing as he turns back around to face the front. Ghost glances at you, you just shrug as you smile under the joker smile on your balaclava.

An hour passes of you sitting in the back, almost falling asleep in the darkness of the night and the few street lights that you pass by. You snap awake when you feel a hand shaking your shoulder, your mind groggy from the light slumber your brain was dancing with just moments ago. You groan lightly as you sit up, stretching out. You go to lean against the door that would open for you to be able to access the back from the outside, however your back doesn’t touch anything, you tumble out of the back. Going head over heels out of the vehicle, your gun clanging to the ground as you squeeze your eyes tight, bracing for the impact of the ground. Nothing comes, your body doesn’t hit the ground, warmth is raiding off two spots on your upper back.

You crack open your eyes to come face to face with Alejandro, his smile wide with a light chuckle. “You alright there Joker?” He asks, you just nod as he helps you up. “Yeah… thanks Alejandro.” You chuckle lightly, rubbing the imaginary kink out of your neck as you stand there looking down at your boots. “Any time.” He states as he pats your shoulder, you smile lightly, your mask shifting.

A deep voice sounds out from your left, you look over to see Ghost holding your rifle. “Oh… thanks Lieutenant'' You state, taking the gun from the taller man with a cold gaze. He just hums as he turns away, walking towards the large building you’re all supposed to be on top of. You strap the rifle to your back as you approach the building, following the rest of the team in, to your annoyance Graves is behind you.

He attempts some small talk but you shoot it down quickly with a “Shut up yank.” This caused the rest of the team to look over their shoulders down at you, Soap almost tripping up the stairs, Ghost almost getting whiplash with how quickly he looked at you. Along with nearly causing Alejandro to have a coughing fit when He coughs into his hand to hide his smile, you just keep your eyes forward passing the others on the way to the roof.

You perch yourself on one of the air condition units, looking at the fancy mansion in the distance, Ghost is a few paces in front of you, just off to the right. Alejandro, Graves and Soap all stand at the edge using binoculars to look at the mansion. Your mind focused on the heavy foot patrol around the compound, wondering how on earth you guys are gonna get in without a problem.

“Las casa de Sin Nombre?” Soap asks, which makes you look at him with a raised brow. ‘When did he learn that?’ You question, even Ghost glances at the Scotsman then to you. Alejandro sighs lightly before speaking “No. One of his Lugartenientes” you stand from your spot, walking up to stand next to Ghost. “The Cartel’s Lieutenant” you mumble to yourself, even though Soap states it louder. Alejandro states ‘Nice, brother. You’re learning’ in Spanish. Ghost looks over at you to see if you're gonna translate quietly again, you glance up at him briefly. “He praised him,” you shrug, looking back at the others.

“My sources tell me all the VIPs in Las Almas will be there tonight.” Alejandro continues “Some are invited, others are, umm….” Graves speaks up this time, his accent strong “Volun-told…?” “Yes,” Alejandro confirms.

“What’s the meet about?” Graves asks, looking over at Alejandro, who in turns says ‘Us’ in Spanish which you just whisper a quiet ‘us’ while motioning to everyone for Ghost. “Las Almas is burning, and they want to know who lit the fire.” Alejandro states, Ghost looks over at the Mexican “Sin Nombre will be there, yeah?” His accent is not helping his pronunciation of the Spanish words. “No guarantees but this is our best shot” Alejandro states while he turns to Ghost, walking a few paces closer.

Graves and Soap have done the same, Philip Graves taking the talking again with “Then we take it.” Which causes your skin to crawl,“I got enough Shadows here to take over the whole damn country.” “I’d prefer if you didn’t.” Alejandro protests, you take a step forward to defend Alejandro when Graves speaks up again.

Your actions fall short when Soap and Ghost give you a slight shake of their heads, you just let out a quiet huff as you back down. “Just saying … one house shouldn’t be a problem” Graves states, “We need Sin Nombre alive.” Ghost growls, Graves just lets out a small half chuckle of a huff, looking from Ghost over to the compound.

“Well…” he pauses. “Then we need to meet him.” He turns to look back at the group before looking at Soap who questions how. Your stomach sinks at the next statement that comes from the Shadow Company leader “Give ‘em what they want… Intel.” You glance at Soap then to Ghost “They wanna know who’s here. Let’s tell ‘em.” Both you and Alejandro ask “In person-?” You shift in your spot, uneasy with where this is going.

“Correcto… Get one of us inside, find the boss… roll him up” he states, looking around the group then to Alejandro properly.

There’s a brief pause before both you and Soap step forward with a “I’ll do it.” You both look at eachother, both not willing to back down. “Joker no, you gotta stay out here. You’re too…” Graves starts, his excuse fading quickly when you look at him. “Because I’m weaker? A girl? So fucking what Philip, you don’t get to say what I do.” You growl, he steps up to you, nose to nose at this point. “You ain’t going in there, we need you out here with Ghost.” He sneers. “You don’t give me orders mate, Ghost or Soap can but you can’t. SO, get off your high horse and realise I am as skilled as the rest of this team.” Graves backs down when he looks you in the eye, knowing how stubborn you are from previous encounters with you. “Lass, you stay out here with Ghost. Be my eyes for me on the outside.” Soap states, trying to level with you on you not going. You stare at the blue eyed Scotsman, brows furrowed under your mask. “You’re with me Joker, I need you with me while Graves goes and gets the Shadows” Ghost states, an order. You look to Alejandro to gauge his opinion, he just looks at you and Soap. “You go in there, and they’ll kill you.” He shakes his head lightly at you. “We need your eyes out here.” You just huff and back down, stepping out of the circle as the rest of them continue their conversation.

You follow Ghost to the spot he will be situated to be eyes for Soap and Alejandro, you’re there to watch his back as well as signal spot anything that Ghost doesn’t spot. You think its stupid in reality, this man is a bloody Lieutenant, he didn’t get to this point because of luck. He got his title because of skill, he knows how to keep himself concealed when sniping, he knows he’s vulnerable when he’s laying on his stomach and looking through the scope. You’re mere six feet away from him, knowing he likes his space just by the aura that radiates off him.

You haven’t talked much with your Lieutenant, you translated some words for him when he cocks his head to the side, or just doesn’t reply to a question. You have been his shadow for most of this mission, except for when you got separated and had to be by yourself for brief moments of time. You and Soap grew close quickly though, but you never talk much unless you’re spoken to, so right now you're a little anxious for Soap who is now being escorted into the large building.

You don’t talk over the comms, Ghost taking that role pretty well in all honesty. But once Soap is allowed to walk around the building, by means of Alejandro helping after getting inside and getting a disguise. You pipe up to tell him there’s a large trellis for him to be able to climb to help get to the balcony . “What now?” Soap asks, his voice crackling to life in your ear. “Y’know those plant thingys for them to grow up a wall…” you can see him shrug lightly through your scope. “For fucks sakes… a plant ladder Soap… that black thing with leaves” you hear a long “Oh” before you see him climb it with slightly difficulty before jumping the rest of the way to latch onto Balcony rails.

“Thanks Lass.” He states, you just hum in response. Moments pass as you quietly watch the building with baited breath. Your heart sinks when shots ring out, chaos ensues quickly onto Soap and Alejandro. You don’t have eyes on them, they are still inside the building. They just broke into the room with Sin Nombre in it, which turns out to be the woman that Soap got the displeasure of meeting down stairs in the makeshift interrogation room.

You go to push yourself from the ground, to run and help your team but a hand quickly catches your wrist when you go to get off the ground. “Don’t do anything stupid, kid.” That’s all that Ghost says before letting you go and nodding to you, that’s all you need before you’re bolting towards the compound. You’re just over a few hundred metres away from the fire fight, you can easily get there in a quick minute.

You sprint through the small forest that sits at the bottom internet he hill, jumping over and dodging low hanging branches. You see that the guards are scrambling to get to Alejandro and Soap, you take advantage of the distracted guards. Sliding up behind them one by one, taking them down like it was nothing, slicing their necks, kicking their legs out from under them. A quick bullet to each of their heads before moving to the next part.

“They’re on the roof, Joker, get yer ass there now!” You hear Ghost growl in your ear, your heart skips a beat when you realise how high the roof is from your position in the ground. You shake off the icy feel of dread, quickly scaling the same trellis that Soap used. You know it will take too long to find stairs to the roof, the next best thing is using the window sills to grab the gutter of the lower roof.

You shimmy across the small outcrop of stone, grabbing the edge of the roof as soon as it came into reach. The tiles creak under your weight, threatening to slip out from under you as you push yourself up to stand. A bullet flies overhead as you peek out to see where your team is. “Fuckin hell” you curse, throwing yourself over the small wall and into the flat surface of the roof you find yourself pinned to your hiding spot.

You hear a yell from a woman, you realise it’s the woman from earlier. The one you need, the one you need to detain as quickly as possible. “Put your hands where I can see them!” You yell, your rifle aimed at the woman’s back, right where her heart would be. Both Soap and Alejandro come sprinting around the corner, coming to a screeching halt when they see you aiming at the woman. Your breathing is heavy as you keep your eyes on the target, not batting an eye when you realise Shadow Company have arrived and are just hovering off the roof in a chopper.

You’re not even registering that anyone is talking to you, or to anyone for that matter. You’re solely focused on not letting this woman who you don’t even know the name of, out of your sight before she’s cuffed and taken to the base. Moments pass before Alejandro is cuffing her and dragging her away, you lower your gun as you let out a S breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. “Lass?” You whip around to see Soap, a small smirk on his lips as he looks at you.

You probably look like shit, you haven’t slept in days, haven’t been able to actually make yourself look presentable. “Hey…” you state quietly, barely audible over the sounds of the chopper, Soap approaches you when you adjust the balaclava slightly. “Thanks… to be honest we thought she was gonna be gone” he states, his hand clasping your shoulder with affection and gratitude.

You nod as you place a hand over his, he sees that you were worried, his grip tightens. “C’mere” his voice soft as he pulls you into his side, resting his chin on the crown of your head. “Let’s go kick some cartel arse, aye?” You just nod with a small chuckle as you pull away from the side hug, your eyes crinkle under your mask as you look up at the Scotsman.

——— Time Skip ——-

You’re beyond exhausted, you successfully got the missiles disarmed from the oil rigs and the large container ship. You despised being on the ship, the slippery deck and rocking of the ship on the stormy sea wasn’t helping you. The motion made you feel sick. The rain pelting down didn't help with the thunderous sound of the waves and cracking of lighting overhead, especially when the smaller containers started sliding across the ship.

You were almost crushed by one before you were dragged out of the way by Soap. Now you're in the back of one of the vehicles of the convoy, Alejandro in the front passenger seat, one of his men driving. You’re crammed in the back with Soap and Ghost again, your head lulling back with your eyes locked on the ceiling, your wet clothes now damp still sticking to your skin. Soap is man spreading, Ghost doing the same as you're crammed between the two. The sound of the rain hitting the windows and roof almost sends you to sleep, but you sit up when you feel the vehicle slow to a stop outside of the compound. Alejandro’s compound.

You lean forward, intrigued by the sudden stop. Alejandro gets out and approaches Graves, they both seem tense. The rain continues to pound against the metal of the vehicles. You can barely hear Alejandro and Graves talking, Ghost and Soap step out of the vehicle now standing in the rain. You go to follow the Ghost but he stops you, his body in the way. “Hold your tongue okay?” You just nod as he moves away, you stand next to him, slightly behind and furthest away from the others.

You can barely make out the conversation, your heart starting to pound in your ears as the rain slides down the back of your shirt, you left your jacket in the back seat. Your mask is drenched and sticking to your face uncomfortably. “Are you threatening us?” Ghost growls out, stepping forward. You look over to Graves, your eyes narrowing. You scan from the American over to Alejandro then to Soap, you want to say something, but you follow Ghost’s order.

You can’t hear a word that is being said, you're too preoccupied with watching all the Shadows slowly moving into defensive positions around you. There’s one behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck are standing on end. Suddenly Alejandro lunges at Graves, chaos erupts. You snatch the knife from your thigh holster, taking a large step backwards and lunging low, whipping around and slicing through the heavy military issued pants, digging deep into the Shadows knee.

Slicing through the tendons causing him to stumble, missing his shot. His body slumps to the ground when you hear a sickening wet thunk, one of Ghost’s knives embedded deep in the shadow. You see Johnny on the other side of the car, the brake lights bright in your eyes as you go to help him.

A hand grabs the back of your vest, dragging you backwards. “Get out of here now!” Ghost yells over the rain, shoving you towards the dark forest. “But-!” “JUST GO! GET OUT OF HERE KID! BOTH OF YOU! GET OUT OF HERE JOHNNY!” Ghost growls, his eyes filled with a swirling storm of anger, concern and desperation.

You nod as you grab hold of Soap’s vest, dragging him towards the concrete barrier. He manages to get to his feet, sending himself over the low wall. Soap slides down the slope, firing back at whoever is shooting at him. You didn't quite make it over the barrier in the same spot as Soap, you had to dash a few metres away from him. You flung yourself over the low wall, sending you into a tumbling mess down the slope, narrowly missing the trees and rocks.

Coughing as you push yourself to your feet, your legs feeling like jelly as you stumble through the thick bushes.

“Fuckin’ hell” you curse, you look up to see the light pollution form the nearby town. Branches and twigs snap back in your face as you push your way through the bushes, eventually stumbling into someone's backyard. Your arms are scraped and sliced to shit by the trees, your leg feels like someone kicked you with steel caps. You limp your way to the back door of the house, no lights are on. “Please no one be home” you mumble as you try the door, no luck. You crouch down, hissing when your leg protests against the movement. Ripping a small blade from your ankle holster, you smirk, thankful you didn't lose it in the tumble down the hill.

The house was practically empty, very few helpful items were scattered around. You managed to find bandages, which came in handy to do a half ass job of wrapping your knee. “Joker… this is Ghost. How copy?” Your earpiece crackles to life, you tried your comms before, just after entering the house to no avail.

“Alive… surprisingly” you mumble. “Good to hear from ya lass” Soap’s voice comes through, you smile gently. Happy to know your team is alive and well… maybe the well bit can be disregarded for you. “Good. Are you hurt? Ain’t bleedin’ out like Johnny are ya?” Ghost asks, you shake your head as an answer, even though he can’t see you. “I wouldn’t say bleeding out… but I don’t have as much blood in me as I had at the start of this god forsaken mission.” You state, falling quiet when you make your way down a dark alleyway between two houses.

You hear a small chuckle from Soap and a quiet sigh from Ghost. “I ain’t gonna drop dead if that’s what yer worried about L.T” you quickly add. Pushing your way through a door into a small corner store. “Good, cause I don’t wanna come back and hunt for yer body” Soap jokes, his accent thick over the comms. “We aren’t gonna do any hunting for anyone’s bodies, so keep your eyes peeled and ears open.” “Yes sir” both you and Soap reply.

What feels like an hour is more like ten minutes, you drop down from a balcony, your leg giving way immediately when you land. On your hands and knees you suck in a sharp breath as you lean back onto your heels, you have all agreed to meet at the church in the middle of the town. You’ve made a lot of distance from the very outskirts of town to nearly the middle quickly, light footwork on the tin and tiled rooftops made it easy.

Yet when you decided you needed to go by ground, you had to drop from a significant height.

You whip your head to the side when you hear a low voice talking, shuffling backwards on your ass. Crawling down a few stairs and sticking close to the wall you end up half submerged in a flowing river, a river that’s going through a tunnel. You are pretty sure it used to be a walking tunnel or driving one by the sight of nearly submerged cars.

You can hear Soap talking through the comms, replying to one of Ghost’s shitty jokes. Yet it sounds like Soap’s voice is echoing, like you can hear him talking before it comes through the comms. The next thing you hear is boots hitting the ground and a quiet groan, you peek over the edge of the wall, your hand gripping a pistol you snatched from a Shadow you killed. The dead man's rifle strapped to your back.

You stand quickly with the pistol raised, your eyes locking onto sky blue ones. “Soap?!” You question, lowering the gun as you hobble up the few stairs, drenched from the waist down. “Lass?” The Scotsman asks, his eyes widen as he realises it's you. “I’m assuming you found each other?” Ghost asks through the comms. “Yeah, found her swimming with the fishes” Soap jokes, placing a hand on your shoulder and bringing you into a small side hug.

“What…?” Ghost questions.

“I was hiding in the water cause I didn’t know it was Soap… it was gross” you chuckle, stepping away from Soap with a limp. “What’s wrong with you?” You shrug to the man's question, looking down at your knee.

“I think It got dislocated… but somehow popped it back into place?” You cringe when you lean into it more. “All I know is that it hurts like hell, and I just want to get out of here…” you growl out, moving to walk back down the stairs. “I second that.” Soap states as he follows you.

You’re soaked through, you feel like you swallowed more water than humanly possible. You ended up underwater, sneakily taking out some shadows yet one was able to get the upper hand on you. You ended up back to the ground under the water, desperately holding onto what little air you had left in your lungs before Soap shot the man point blank in the head. Your throat hurts, lungs burning like someone lit a fire in them. The urge to rip the fabric off your head to be able to breathe is strong, yet you flex your fists when Soap looks over his shoulder at you, you’re both holed up in the back of a small store now, trying to figure out where all the Shadows are located.

Ghost is saying something over the comms, you’re honestly not listening to his growling tone. “Joker? You good Lass?” You look at Soap like he’s crazy, in this situation he might as well be. “I feel like I'm breathing through a wet sponge, so I’m just peachy” the sass in your voice causes the Scotsman to chuckle. Suddenly Ghost’s rushed voice breaks through the silence and multiple gun shots ring through the air and the comms. You don’t hear everything as it feels like there’s water lodge in your ears, next thing you know is your sprinting through the open, firing at anything that moves and screams out nonsense.

Ghost is quick to climb the gate, landing with a thump next to you. Soap and Ghost talk as you watch as multiple shadows flood into the area, you hear something about needing a getaway vehicle. “I saw a pickup just across the way when we were running, looked like it still had life” you comment, which sets the plan into stone. Get to the pick up, get the fuck outta here without being shot dead.

You duck and weave through vehicles and tables, shooting and throwing whatever projectiles you had at the Shadows who were not being as effective as General Shepherd expected them to be.

You reach the pick up first, ripping the door open and cramming yourself into the middle, Soap close behind and Ghost throwing himself into the driver’s seat. You can’t do much other than duck down, allowing Soap to shoot and Ghost to drive. You slam into the dash when Ghost slams on the gas in reverse and hits one of the Shadows “I HOPE YOU CAN DRIVE MANUAL!” You yell over the chaos. “FUCK OFF” Ghost sneers as he jams the stick shift into first.

You chuckle quietly as you stay low, preparing for a shitty ride to wherever you are heading.

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sugaredrhubarb · 7 months

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Reading with Ru: Aug/Sept Fic Recs

I know I'm certainly in need of some positivity and escapism lately, so I'm gonna try to do semi-regular fic and book recs! Starting with a retroactive what I've been reading from the past couple of months with this account! (I might go back in time and make an all-time rec list later)

COD

starting with cod because i know most of you go here

Sergeant Squeaks by @charliemwrites - (series of one-shots ghost x reader and price x reader separately) both one of my favourite reader characters and my favourite canon setting depictions of Ghost and Price. their own weird brands of showing love are wonderful; the tension leading to getting together is fantastic, and the sex is super enjoyable.

Ghost Stories by @kneelingshadowsalome - (ghost x medic!reader) I'm repeating myself, but I love Salome's writing. This is where I was first introduced to it, and I think it's really special. Ghost POV as he struggles with developing and then accepting love. felt so real and grounded. angsty and then fluffy, and you can't help but adore the reader as well.

saltwater by @ceilidho - (ghost x reader) It's pretty unlikely any of you don't know Ceil, but on the off chance you haven't given this one a read yet, it really is a must. I lump praise on her pretty regularly, but I don't know anyone who is able to portray their character's emotions as intimately as Ceil. her ghost feels really grounded in all his complexity. there is a common theme in these recs of really enjoyable reader characters, and this is not an exception; the reader feels like a full but still ambiguous character who is vulnerable and strong and really great.

don't leave me locked in your heart by @ohbo-ohno - (ghoap x reader dark!) we all know bo, we all love bo. I always love the way she depicts ghost and soap's dynamic changing and evolving to include the reader. the descent into dark territory in this is really really fun. It's also just hot and well-written! if you haven't read it before, go read it, and then go read all of bo's drabbles and asks on here. genuinely one of my favourite dark but still fun writers. I think she balances it really well.

body electric by @yeyinde and Afterburn by @sprout-fics - (141 + Los Vaqueros x reader) a classic. I've returned to these so many times. sometimes you just want to read dirty, filthy, well done, smut and then warm cozy aftercare. not to wax poetic about pure sex (except that's exactly what one should do), but I think it can be really hard to write group sex like this and still have such insightful and individual glimpses into each character and dynamic, and Lev does it wonderfully. and then it's also hard to find good aftercare fic, and Sprout's feels like literal aftercare for both the reader character and the reader.

other fandoms

tried to curate to themes i think overlap in some of the cod works! and I think most of these can be read fandom blind.

i revisited @winterrose527's fic in August, and even though she already knows how much I love her work, I won't skip a chance to repeat it. Anna writes for asoiaf and is pretty much the queen of Robb Stark/Myrcella Baratheon, but I would say the modern AUs (my favs) can be read almost completely fandom blind. Any contemporary romance enjoyer would love her work. I'm really partial to her kid/single-parent fics. I think it's so hard to get right, and I always adore reading her kid characters and how she approaches love stories when kids are involved. anna's works are always brimming with love and incredible platonic, familiar, parent-child, and romantic relationships (if kid fic isn't your thing she also has a ton of other great fics). personal favs: We Could Be a Little Something, And There They Are, All the Same

Lawless by @goldcranes - (arthur morgan x ofc) age difference, cowboy love story, essentially a romance novel. if goldcranes has no fans, I'm dead. I encourage you to explore her work; very few people write as strongly across multiple fandoms as she does, and each of her works feels like a really strong love story with special characters.

The Odyssey by @sunlightmurdock - (bradley bradshaw x reader) 1980's roman literature prof x virgin student - no need to know top gun. katie's work is another entry in the 'feels like it stands really strongly separately from the source material' category. she has multiple ongoing AU's that I really love, but this one is a favourite. i think she does complex characters really well - their actions always feel intentional, and as flawed as they are, I always love them.

Wouldn't it be Nice by allyoops - (m/f captive A/B/O) if you aren't reading original works smut on ao3 you are missing out and allyoops is a great place to start for noncon, dubcon, age gap, taboo etc. enjoyers. they have a ton of works; usually one shots with lots of really delicious dynamics and different settings and tropes.

An Intoxicating Presence by FormerlyIR - (mob a/b/o haladriel) MOB. A/B/O. HALADRIEL. picks up with Halbrand in prison thanks to undercover FBI agent (and his mate!) Galadriel. does that sound crazy and awesome? well it is. mix it with Gal's internal struggle, the added complication of omegaverse, and overall great writing. really fun and really damn good.

civitas terrena by banalityofweevil - (darklina) angel Alina on an exploration of love in immortality with fallen angel Aleks. honestly, it's just a must-read for enjoyers of writing. incredibly creative with divine (literally and figuratively) imagery. i think one of my comments was on the precision of lulu's diction and I really stand by that.

tinsel into gold by ribbonedhare - (darklina) ddlg and cnc friends, this changed me. it is so warm and soft and my god, is it good. just scrumptious.

Be My Babydoll by KittyDruthers - (darklina) ddlg dollification need I say more

check the reading with ru tag for more!

#reading with ru #if you read any of these and wanna yell about em with me my asks are open!#fic rec #ao3 #fanfiction #fanfics #cod #darklina #fanfic recs

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thewriterg · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬, 𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

pairing(s): simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader, john ‘soap’ mactavish x fem!reader, simon ‘ghost’ riley x john ‘soap’ mactavish, force 141 x black!reader, r is referred to as ‘grim’

summary: You’re a new recruit to the force and being honest no one expected you to stick around, that was until they got a first glimpse. But their were only two left to stare in awe

word count: 3.2k+

warning(s): Red room AU, hints of past SA, hints of past abuse, usual cod violence, childhood trauma, trauma in general, teen pregnancy, child loss/abduction, death, blood, mentions of self harm, and language

A/n:—GIFs; @daniel-bruehl & @multi-fandom-imagine— Happy New year Writers! A surprise for my absence we have a new series, layout, and writing structure. Let’s start this year off to a good start :)

Soap was beyond annoyed with everything around him it was ass crack dawn in the morning less than fourteen hours after a rough mission that went that did not go to plan whatsoever and he was planning to sleep

“Alright I know all of you lot would like to head back to your bunkers, so I’m not going to piss around the bush.” Soap and Ghost felt like they could breathe feeling his shoulders relax at that Price kept it clean and cut and they both appreciated the man for the fact

“We have a new recruit.” Ghost’s tense shoulders were right back up again while Soap’s lips etched into a wide smirk before the sounds of boots smacking against the concrete floor that were familiar to the teams ears without a thought

Ghost feel he could take the knife that was stuck resting in the holster sitting at his ankle and slice you clean with it you were tense but too tense just to be introduced to a new team tense like you were a spy lurking around his base in the shadows he stood in

“Team this is—” Your eyes widened as the older man began to introduce you were quick to but in and cut him off without a second thought it seemed

“Grim” Your voice was rich and low Soap declared. You said nothing more and nothing less it was also barely muffled by the mask that rested on your face the only thing visible were your eyes and your curls that tousled past your shoulders and some down you back

those damn curls.

that were too long according to guidelines of the field

Price didn’t seem surprised as he waited a few seconds in case you had anything to say which he doubted and his theory was confirmed as the room sat in silence

“She’ll be joinin’ you lot on the Task Force and a few more missions to come. She’s a hell of a shooter and even better sneaker” Ghosts eyes met yours in the moment as Price began to unimaginatively introduce you it was withholding and bland

“Grim like, Grim reaper?” Soap questioned smiling brightly his groggy state long forgotten as he tried to figure you out yet your face never seemed to falter with a smile or any amusement just steady cold stone

“Somethin’ of the sorts” Your answers were short and direct and Ghost couldn’t help but see himself in you but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to focus on his surroundings when you spoke

It made his head foggy and he hated it

He also hated the fact that he couldn’t tell what you were thinking no matter how much he tried to secretly break you down you we’re already throwing him off

Being honest Price didn’t expect anyone else to be debated over permanently staying on his force or not but you were recruited by Laswell herself so who the hell was he to decline? Especially when he saw your charts for sniping

There was no doubt you were the best sniper on the force

“I want all of you to get along Grim is going to be around for a while. Simon I want you to show Grim to her room” As price spoke he gave the blonde a pointed look before walking out of the common room

As you went to pick up your belongings a veiny hand beat you to it as Ghost hauled your bags into his hands his usual skeleton gloves absent without any trace producing nothing more than a grunt before walking out of the room expecting you to follow which you did reluctantly

After less than a three minute walk and you slightly struggling to keep up with six feet and four inch steps you finally had made it to your room you opened the door for the man who you tried to figure out on your way here and while it took longer than usual it didn’t take long

He was quiet and didn’t try to make a ‘walking over eggshells’ conversation which you appreciated he sat your bags in one of the corners of your room you were dressed similar yet completely different

You wore full tactical gear your vest adding at least another ten pounds to your mass a black balaclava with a cut out smile looking animation almost resembling the joker himself covering every feature on your face except your eyes

Ghost having being in his comfortable attire since just gotten awoke from his sleep had plain grey sweatpants, a fitted Henley, and his own balaclava with a skull printed on it

“Get some rest we have a mission, forty-eight hours” and with that he left you standing in the middle of your room your eyes not tracing over his footsteps until the sound of your door closing brings you to reality

You stare out the window the light of the moon the only source of light you have as a guide around your room before you let out a soft sigh forever staring at the moon

💌💌💌💌

The past two missions you had been on were successful to say the least you accelerated your job each go round and Ghost didn’t know if he respected you for using your head and skills or hated you for being a ‘goody two shoes’

Now you all sat on the chopper Soap goofing around with his gun seeing how fast he could take it apart and put it back together while grinning like an idiot, Ghost sat cracking his knuckles any other bone he could to straighten it out, and you sat quietly…

Dead silence.

It wasn’t necessarily… unusual but in a sense it was at the same time. Ever so often Soap would usually get you to crack a smirk and even maybe join in just a tiny bit on teasing the lieutenant but now it was just

Dead silence.

Almost to the point where the man could barely tell if you were breathing properly not to mention you shaking leg that bounced up and down repeatedly never seeming to falter

Simon didn’t have anything on you and he would be lying through his damn teeth if he said it didn’t bother him none even when he tried to pry the information from Price he got a dead end

“Classified information Riley I don’t tell unless she does”

Classified information his ass.

“Chopper is reaching the margin L.T” Soap’s voice broke the lieutenants thoughts as he stood from his seat the door of the chopper coming to an open as the harsh winds of the sky brought a bit of stinging to his eyes

Surprisingly for you to be in the back of heli you reached the doors first, you were the first to drop, and the first to land not even waiting for your lieutenant to give you the green flag to go you were just gone

Gone.

Gone..

Gone…

💌💌💌💌

The mission was so sick it made you feel filthy and you had learned to evade yourself of that feeling a long time ago but you couldn’t help but feel it creep back onto you as you stared at the pathetic excuse of a man in front of you

He was tied to a chair as soldiers were coming and going inside and out of the cold warehouse You had a ringing in your ears as you both stared at each other the man with a smug you and You with pure disgust, hatred, and even devastation

Price and König were outside of the warehouse loading girls into different vehicles handing out blankets and water bottles while Ghost, Soap, and Gaz all stood around you and each other in a sort of half circle

Anyone and Everyone could tell, it didn’t take a genius to know that there was some sort of familiarity in the both of your eyes and before Ghost could demand you to tell him what the hell was going on the supposed mystery man spoke

“Never thought I would see the day, I get to see my favorite Scholar again.” Your eyes never left his as your fist that wasn’t clutching the M16 Rifle in your hand even though it was strapped around your shoulder and falling to your hip

“Never thought I’d get the chance to kill you” You usually smooth voice was now spiked with hatred as you gritted every word throughout your teeth you didn’t know you were stalking closer to his seated position until you were staring down at him your eyes blazing through your mask

“Grim” Ghost warned as the call for you went in one ear and out the other

“Is that what you call yourself now, you know I couldn’t help but take credit when people were splurging and talking about this girl taking down men four times her size, Sniping through thin air quickly and quietly without a miss, and moving with so much precision you would think she would be a dancer. A ballerina. I knew it was you. My favorite little girl.” He started chuckling the same chuckle that used to make your blood run cold now made it boil

“I’m not that same little girl Dreykov. I’m a grown ass women who could slit your throat before you could even perfect your stance. You will never hurt another girl or woman in your pathetic little life again, because it will be taken from you for all the lives you’ve ruined and traumatized” Your hands sat on the collar of the man’s collar his hair that was one brunette and full was now grey and thin

“Do you remember the time when I threaded your innocence? You fought and fought never let me see the tears that streamed your little face, a true warrior. That’s when I knew I’d had to save you for myself, never let those pretty curls slip my grasp” You couldn’t find the words in you to speak no one could even Soap who always had something say couldn’t utter a word

Ghost and Soap could help but pray and Ghost never found himself doing the act even when he was fighting for his life on the battlefield that what this bastard was talking about wasn’t what they thought he was even Gaz found himself holding his breath in anticipation

“And then we found out that, another addition would be added to our headquarters. That there would be an offspring a mix of our two souls soon to be padding around this base. God you tried and tried to remove yourself too the point you were put on heavy watch do you remember?” You could never bring yourself to forget even after five years it would always be in the back of your mind taunting you

They all felt sick.

“I was seventeen you sick bastard!” The pistol that usually sat in the holster at your hip now collided with the forehead of that man in front of you

Again.

Again..

And again…

Until you were thrashing against the tight hold of Ghost who scooped you up without a speck of struggle the only thing stopping him from keeping you there was your struggling against his firm grasp

“You raped me! You first raped me when I was fourteen! YOU TOOK EVERYTHING FROM ME!” You were screaming so loud it would be sure to take your voice it left you so dehydrated you were sure to soon start dry heaving

💌💌💌💌

“Okay one more push it’s almost here, come on one more big one!” Your legs propped up on either side of the medical cot underneath you a sheet blocking your view from seeing what was going on on the other side

But if you were being honest you could barely give an ounce of care what was going on the other side your this was worse than any dagger cut you could bring to receive or give yourself it was a searing pain that made your ears ring and bring you in and out of consciousness

“It’s a Girl” the female nurse smiled brightly down at the newborn in her arms and then back to you as sweat dripped down your body you tilted your head as you stared at the baby girl in her arms

“A girl?” You were sure that was the first time you smiled in all your years at the base the nurse noted it too

“What will you name her?” You had thought about it. The name of your child over the past nine months even if you didn’t want to your head couldn’t help but start to generate it

“I will name her Natalia. Please let me see her” You held your arms out and the women inched towards you with a smile ready to lay the crying infant in your arms

“Woman, what are you doing!? Don’t.” Both your smiles left at the sound of Drekovs voice and reluctantly the women backed away from you as your eyes began to water

“Please just once. Just one time” Your voice was hoarse as it cracked and shattered in your throat

“Dreykov please! Please, please Dreykov NO!” The man left without a word your baby in his filthy hands. You were too weak to get up, to run after her.

“It’s better for her Zero, let her go, just let her go” The nurse hugged you tight your head tucked underneath her chin rocking you back and forth as you screamed and cried along with your aching body

Your heart would never heal and that was the last day you cried in your life.

💌💌💌💌

You were in Soaps hold now when did you get here you had no Idea his grip was firm like Ghost’s but it was also cradling as if you were the most expensive porcelain on the market that’s what you didn’t want that’s what you’ve been trying to prevent

For everyone to tread around or walk on eggshells when it wasn’t from fear but pity holding you like glass as if you would b r e a k if the spoke too loud you hadn’t been held like that since that day

The sound of bones snapping evaded your senses as you looked to where ghost stood repeatedly smashing his fist the Dreykovs face bones snapped and you didn’t know if it was concerning that you knew the sound of each one

crack

that was the nose

crack.

that was the jaw.

crack!

that was the neck

creak

that was the windpipe

CRACK!

that was the skull.

You watched as the chair tipped on its side the man who robbed you of your chances of a normal life still strapped to it as blood gargled in his mouth you locked eyes as you watched him take his last breath and he watched as you took your first real one

You felt a tremendous weight lifted from your shoulders and you couldn’t tell if that was metaphorical or because Soap finally let you go

“Grim, do you copy!?” The blaring of the little box on your chest hurt your ears as Price’s voice ran through it out into the open

“Yes sir” Your voice void of any emotion as if you weren’t screaming bloody murder ten minutes ago the Boys stared at you as you kept your eyes glued to his dead ones

“Any issues?” There were plenty of them that you could count at least ten on all of your fingers that came to the top of your head

“Negative sir.” You turned around on the heel of your boot walking out of the room with the slam of the door

💌💌💌💌

Your way back to base was silent the only noise was the birds choppers swinging rapidly over your head and by the time you had gotten to your destination you were already headed towards your room not waiting for your lieutenant Ghost to dismiss you like you were supposed to

Your hands shook as you opened the door to your room and it made you heavily curse You were a sniper you never shook

Your clothes you had to talk yourself into putting into your drawers were back in your bag with an amount of Meer minutes and then there was a knock on your door it was time you knew it was

You stalked to your door your fingertips lingering on the knob before you opened it suddenly and there stood Gaz a beanie on his head majority of his tactical gear off his body

“Price wants to see you in his office” His voice was soft as he stared at you none of your gear was off there was blood splattered on your balaclava and your body seamed to tremble

You simply nodded pushing past the taller man so you be on your way and you got there too soon it felt like you were too fast on the way there like you didn’t use enough time You knocked on the door three times and a second past by before price spoke up to let you enter

“Take a Seat kid” Was the first thing that spilled from his lips as he stared at your stiff and tense figure standing in front of the door and even thought it was only a minute that past as you reluctantly sat down it felt like hours

“No one’s blaming you for what happened, I know. I’d never tell anyone, haven’t told anyone. The only people who know are me and Lawswell” Price’s word stuck in your head it didn’t go in one ear and o u t the other

“I’m, I’m not suspended?” You couldn’t help but question the one thing, the only thing on your mind as the white haired man inhaled the smoke of his cigar before letting it seep back out of his teeth shaking his head

“No, but I do have a job, a mission that you aren’t going to like I know you run off structure and discipline so you could claim this as a challenge more than a punishment.” You caught yourself holding your breath in anticipation at the pause in the air

“You’ll be going on a undercover mission… with Ghost and Soap to accompany you” Your fist balled up in your lap as you both stared at each other you finally let the bruising hold on your hands go before giving the captain and stiff yet swift nod standing from your seat

“And Grim” You turned back to face him your fingertips steady on the door knob

“You did well today” There was only a hum mixed with a grunt of acknowledgment before you left Prices office heading back down the hallway to your own room

Something you could finally call your own

💌💌💌💌

Resources;

National Sexual Assault Hotline; 1-800-656-4673

what to do if you or a loved one was sexually assaulted

how to cope with SA

Let me know if you wanted to be added to this series or any other taglist

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