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loveindefinitely · 6 months

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༊*·˚ NEED TO LISTEN TO ME — price is disappointed in you and your other three lovers, and finds that some 'training' is in order

read on ao3.

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, poly tf141, ANGRY sex, mean dom price, angst, degradation, minor dom/sub, light humiliation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, minor spit play, minor blood play (not really), rough sex, price orders EVERYONE around, price-centred, whiny johnny and gaz agenda

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

You weren't scared of many things at this point in your life.

Being a signal officer for the military certainly aided that statement, but it was more the fact that you had four guard dogs in the form of the most seasoned special forces operatives you've ever known. Four very large, very scary men that you'd somehow found yourself lucky enough to get to call your partners.

Both on, and off, the field.

That being said, there was one thing you were terrified of. Like, to your bones, petrified.

And that thing had a name.

John Price.

He was formally the captain of your force for a reason, but he was also informally the captain of your relationship, as well. The one you all looked to in the most difficult of moments, the one that held reason and guidance above all.

It's been that way since the five of you met, and remains the same to this day.

Nonetheless.

It was a known fact between you, Soap, Ghost and Gaz that none of you liked seeing the man mad. You four could count on one hand the amount of times you'd witnessed it, all of which having been directed at either his superiors or an enemy.

But. Right now, in this office, seated on the small couch between your three lovers?

Yeah. You don't fear many things.

But John Price's disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

"He's probably ordering our caskets," Gaz murmurs wistfully, eyes wide as he stares at his foot, tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor. It's a nervous tic that gives him away too easily, but even with your hand on his knee, it doesn't seem able to quit.

You exhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. "I hope he gets me a cute one," you mumble back, tone matching the resignation that clouds your captain's office.

"You four. My office."

Those were the only words Price had spoken to you guys, before marching off to a meeting with Laswell.

To say that you and your lovers were mortified was the biggest understatement of the century.

Even Ghost, sat perfectly still, expression perfectly neutral beneath his mask, oozes trepidation like it's the carbon dioxide he exudes with every breath.

"I know 'm 'n tha military, but I still don't wanna die, ya know?" Soap whines, his head flung back and blue eyes glued to the roof as his hands shake in his lap.

You guys must look like unruly students sat outside of your principal's office to any onlookers, and it should be embarrassing.

It would be, if you could feel anything but mortal peril.

You're about to quip a reply to Soap, when the door clicks open, and the three of you sit ramrod straight, Ghost not moving from his already perfect posture.

Price steps in, the door shutting closed behind him.

The silence is a tangible force, and your mouth is so dry, you'd think you were in a desert, not in your lover's office.

His footfalls echo around the modest space, before he leans against his wooden desk, folding his arms over his chest, before directing his furious gaze to you four.

"When I give orders," he starts, and oh god, his tone, it's so unbelievably firm, "I expect my team to follow them."

There's no response, except for the overwhelming quiet coming from the usually passionate and comforting presence that underlies your entire dynamic.

Price clears his throat, meeting all of your eyes one by one. You wonder if you can see the glassiness of yours, the barely restrained tears.

"So why," he begins, before swallowing once more, determination settling in, "Did all four of my teammates rush into an unstable building after being ordered to keep out?"

You know it's not just the anger of a captain's orders being refused.

It's the anger of a lover having to watch all four of his partner's risk their death, while he can do nothing but watch from the scope of a sniper rifle.

The clock on the wall above the door ticks, and none of you make a sound.

Price grabs a pack of cigars from his pocket, quickly sliding one out, placing it between his lips, and shoving the pack back into his slacks. He then pulls out a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the tobacco, before exhaling his first breath of smoke.

In any other situation, you or Gaz would be chastising him, telling him to stop smoking, or to at least do it outside.

Neither of you say a word.

Rubbing at the furrow between his brows, Price then drifts his eyes to Ghost, the only one who hasn't said a word since the mission.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Price says on a deep exhale, shaking his head. There's hurt there, genuine pain, and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. "You're my lieutenant, Simon. I thought you'd at least 'ave the brains to listen to me when I make an order."

Ghost's hand tightens where it sit on his cargos, and even with his mask on, you can tell that a disgruntled frown lays beneath it.

"And you, Soap," he looks at the man to your right, now, and you can physically see him deflate at the disappointment in his captain's eyes. "Disrespecting authority is cute 'nd all, until it's me, mate."

Those words feel like a physical wound, even to you, and judging my Soap's crestfallen expression, for him, it must hurt tenfold.

And, then, it's your turn.

His mouth is set in a grim line, and you hope that he can see the regret, the genuine sorrow you feel at disappointing and -- and scaring your captain. Your lover.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, and your mouth wants to open, but it's as if there's an invisible force pinning it shut. "You weren't even supposed to step foot on enemy grounds, and you knew that."

And it's true. Your role is mainly with communications and technical supplies, not actual combat. You were trained, yes, but it has never been your role.

But you'd seen Soap rush in, Ghost trailing after him, yelling, and then Gaz not long after, and it was like your mind shut out any rational lines of thinking. There was no rationale when it came to your partners.

That was a flaw. A genuine character fault, and Price was cementing that fact in this very room.

"Kyle," Price runs his hand down his face, cigar in between his middle and index fingers, "Kyle."

The pain, regret, the melancholy -- it's its own element in this room, its own being, and it feels as if it's choking you from the inside out. Like a gas leak, or a grenade stuck in your throat, about to go off.

Ghost, shockingly, is the first to speak.

"Captain," he grits out. Not 'old man'. Not 'love'.

Captain.

"We're aware of our... misgivings," he states, the words coming off of his tongue like hot coals he needs to rid off, lest his entire mouth burns.

Price nods, slowly, eyes narrowing at Ghost. It hits you, then, how your lover's just dug all of your graves in one sentence. Gaz seems to realise, too, his eyes going wide, exhaling a low, short breath in surprise.

"Sweetheart," he quips, standing up in the transition of one moment to the next, eyes snapping to your glassy ones. The endearment holds no warmth to it, for the first time, and your heart shatters where it beats in your chest, shards of glass embedding into the muscle surround it. "Get on the desk."

He says the words, and in the next movement, sweeps his arm over his desk, causing all of his papers, his pens, his folders, to go careening to the floor.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, and Gaz winces.

On shaky legs, you stand, walking the short distance to the wooden surface and sitting on it with short pants of breath.

His large hand grips your chin in a tight grasp, tilting your head back and forcing the eye contact between you both.

He leans in, mouth mere millimetres away from your own, before speaking. You can taste the tobacco as he does. "I'm gonna let every single one of my subordinates fuck your disobedient cunt, and it's not gonna get any cum. Do you understand that order, sweetheart?"

It's cruel. Patronising, and so unbearably condescending, but you nod, a tear finally leaking down your cheek.

With a calloused thumb, he wipes it away in one stroke. "Save that for the actual punishment, operator."

And then, he steps back, and takes a seat in his chair, allowing him a full view of the other three still sat at the couch, and your position in his desk.

"This is a lesson on following your captain's orders," Price barks his order, like most other men of his rank would. It's a stone cold contrast to the gentle, comforting way he usual spoke to the four of you. His voice, now, holds no love, no underlying adoration lacing through his words. "You will follow every command I give you, and hopefully, this training will carry onto our future missions."

You're all aware that if it gets too much, one of you will utter the safeword you're all aware of -- the weight of it almost embedded into your beings.

Price knows it, too. And no matter how angry he is, he'll always put you all first, listen to you when you genuinely need to stop.

The feeling in the room has shifted from one of heavy disappointment, to an electrifying anger that has liquid heat melting to your core.

"Simon," Price snaps his fingers, and it's almost as if you're in a parallel universe, because the large man immediately stands. "Lay 'er down on the desk."

Ghost only needs to take two steps from the couch before he's standing in front of you, hand fisting into your hair, before somewhat gently pushing you to lay flat against the smooth surface. Your breathing is harsh, your chest moving in quick rises.

"Strip 'er down," Price orders, voice gravelly as he takes another deep inhale of his cigar, folding his leg so his left ankle rests on his right knee, legs spread wide. He fills out the chair with his frame, and it makes you shiver as Ghost gets to work peeling your clothes off of you.

When your heated skin feels the kiss of the cool air, you let out a haggard breath, head falling back to hit the wood as you clench your eyes shut.

Ghost goes to spread your thighs, before pausing, awaiting Price's directions like a dutiful dog.

You never thought you'd see the day.

"She's wet enough," Price shrugs, taking another drag of his cigar. "Fuck 'er."

Oh, fuck.

He wasn't lying, you were soaking, something about the fear unknowingly having your inner thighs sticky and core aching to be filled.

But... not getting prepped? At all?

Ghost makes a surprised grunt of a noise, pausing for a moment, before recollecting his senses and unbuckling his pants.

Oh. Fuck.

He's really, properly following Price's directions, like the man had demanded. The guilt was eating all of you alive, and that festered in Simon's actions.

His deep brown eyes flick to yours, before he unzips his fly with one hand, gaze not moving from yours. There's slight apology in them, only a hint, before he leans down to spit on your cunt.

You inhale a sharp breath at the act, squeezing your eyes shut as his dick presses against your heat, rubbing against it slightly.

Then, he pushes in -- it makes you cry out, breath hitching as the tip enters. It's a tight fit, but he continues to push in, and it's almost as if you can feel the intrusion, the pressure in your chest.

"So you can follow orders, huh?" Price quips, almost nastily, and it has you shuddering as Ghost's hips finally flush against your own. You don't think you've ever taken any of them without foreplay, and it's a special form of torture. The pressure is almost too much, his cock filling you up so much.

Simon's head hangs between his shoulders, muscles tense as he stares down at you, the epitome of self-restraint.

He always was the most controlling one, the most calculating.

Not today, however.

That title easily belongs to Price, who merely relaxes further into his seat, as if he wasn't just mere feet away from the two of you.

"I said fuck her, Riley. Not stand there and keep it warm."

He's so fucking. He's fucking cruel about this, fully willing and wanting to make this hurt. It's so completely unlike the man you love, and it's psychologically damning in a way nothing else could be.

But, like directed, Simon fucks you.

He stops trying to be kind about it, stops wallowing in guilt. It's rough, forceful, urgent, unlike the way he usually liked to savour your pleasure, your pain. He usually delighted in the smooth, deep strokes, prolonging the passionate act almost vindictively.

No. Now, it's quick, punishing thrusts, and your head falls back and little moans escape your throat.

It's like you've both forgotten that Soap and Gaz sit on the couch, watching, waiting. Price has likely made it that way on purpose, to make them envy the attention you and Ghost are getting.

"Fuck," you moan, tits bouncing as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly, harsh in his movements.

"Does he feel good?" Price is standing, and when you open glassy eyes, it's to see his face looking down at you. If you had the mind to, you'd flinch under his criticizing expression. "Answer me."

You nod, shakily, and when his brows narrow, you rush out a verbal response. "Yes, yes, he does!"

Price hums a noncommittal sound, before his hand slides down your stomach, leaving your hairs to stand on end, before his fingers reach your clit. In tight circles, he has you on the edge almost immediately, and you cry out.

"Gonna fuckin' cum," Ghost grunts, voice low as his eyes clench tight.

"Aww, you two close?" Your captain's voice is gruff, all too condescending, and just before you can find your release, his hand leaves your clit, and wraps around Ghost's neck. He leans into his ear, and his whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Pull out."

Simon makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper, and it's so unlike him that it has your eyes opening wide, before he does just as Price ordered.

He pulls out.

"Seriously?" You groan, filter eviscerated like your high was. You lean up, using your elbows for leverage.

Price raises one brow, before scratching at his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Got a complaint, sergeant?"

You shake your head, lightning quick, like a puppet on a string.

That's what you were right now -- what all of you were. Just puppets in whatever acts Price wanted to see you all star in.

It's exhilarating in the worst of ways.

"Soap, Gaz," Price snaps once more, and Ghost is nothing more than a neglected mutt. Which, really, is almost funny considering the amount of times the man teases you, Soap and Gaz about such a comment. You couldn't count the amount of times he's compare you three to 'needy puppies'.

Now, he was nothing more than that, and you wish you could enjoy that fact more.

The two men adhere to the command, radiating nervous energy as they stand to attention, not unlike they would if they were in a standard military unit.

"Gaz, take her mouth," Price demands, before his hand buries in the short hair near the nape of Soap's head with a mean grip, meant to hurt. Soap barely hides a whine as Price tugs him, forcing the man to his knees as if he's nothing more than the mutt Ghost usually refers to him as. "You, lick 'er clean."

You realise, then, what exactly this is.

It's truly a display of power. Of control. Because you four took that away from him on the field, unrightfully so. There truly is thought behind his anger, his pain.

It only makes the ache in your heart burn, makes it bruise and bleed where the shattered pieces cut and embed into the innerworkings of your body.

This 'training' won't make up for what you four pulled. Not in the slightest.

But it's something to let John get some of his emotions out, in a somewhat healthier way than you lot usually resorted to.

You'd always offer your support, offer yourself, and he knows that.

He's deliberately taking away that option for you, taking control to comfort the side of him that is so deeply ingrained, so deeply relied on for him to live.

You love him. So effortlessly.

Those words remain accurate, even as Johnny first licks over your wet pussy, and Kyle's dick bumps against your lips.

Opening your mouth without a thought, Kyle's tip slips in, his pre-cum salty on your tongue as you flatten your tongue against it. Johnny's as enthusiastic as ever, maybe even more than usual, as he delegates all of his attention to your aching warmth.

John's grip doesn't release from Johnny's hair, shoving his closer against you, and the sight is so hot that you wish you could fully, properly enjoy it.

Another time, when you're all in better spots, happy and unapologetic, you'll ask them to re-enact the scene.

Johnny moans against your pussy, hands coming up to grip at your bare thighs, and you just know there'll be finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow morning. He's always been unaware of his strength, not understanding the proper damage he can inflict, especially in the bedroom. It's attractive as all hell.

"Yeah? She taste good, hm?" John nearly snarls, and you let out a drawn out moan at the pleasure and words. The sound is muffled by Kyle pushing in deeper, having you almost gagging on his length.

Your eyes flutter shut at the onslaught of feelings, but even with no sight, you can feel Simon's eyes on you like a physical weight.

You know what position he's in, without having to look. Leaning against the wall with a furious expression, large arms folded over his bulky chest. Maybe he's pulled off his mask, maybe it's just been hooked over his crooked nose.

"Fuck, cap," Kyle groans, bucking into your throat. "So fuckin' good--"

Johnny muffles a whine as his efforts nearly double, and you swear spots colour the darkness of your vision. You're already there, and it's not like you can say anything, with Kyle abusing your mouth like this.

"She's close, ain't she, Johnny? Feel her clenchin' on your tongue?" John taunts, and you can feel Johnny nod against your core, nose brushing your clit as he does.

John huffs a cruel laugh, before he abruptly pulls Johnny away by the scruff of his neck. You can't help by buck up, searching for touch, but none comes.

"Kyle," John's tone is one requiring no resistance, and with a shaky exhale, Kyle pulls out of your mouth, a string of spit clinging to his dick, before snapping and leaving your cheek covered with a line of it.

You shakily open your eyes, your pussy begging for a release, knowing that you won't get one. Not yet.

"You make a mess, you clean it up," John says.

So, Kyle leans down, his tongue licking over the spit trail, and really it should be disgusting.

Instead, it only makes you wetter.

Your thighs incessantly shake, no hint of stopping as your body aches. The emotional turmoil, mixed with the physical kind -- it's a concoction for torture.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch as John forces Johnny's head in between your breasts, pressing his face into them. It must be almost suffocating, but Johnny manages to whine as you feel John's hand wrap around Johnny's dick, positioning it against your twitching hole.

"Rut into her," John orders, before stepping back.

Johnny does just that -- he thrusts in, bottoming out with one push. Your moan sounds too alike to a squeal at the stretch, the sudden intrusion. Your arms wrap around his back, nails scratching lines down Johnny's back as he thrusts into you almost manically. You're sure that you're drawing blood, but it only seems to encourage the man rutting into you further, his thrusts urgent and feral.

"Jesus christ," someone -- you're sure it's Kyle -- murmurs, and you suddenly want to know what you must look like from a spectator. Ruined, probably.

Your breaths are harried as you feel yourself getting close once more, tears burning at the corner of your vision at the pure need coursing through your veins.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing like a vice around Johnny's dick. "Please, oh god."

"Now you want me to make decisions? Let you two cum?" There's a hand in your hair, and in any other situation, it'd be calming.

Currently, it feels like a thinly veiled threat.

"Please, John, 'm so sorry, please," you beg, eyes blurry as you look up into the man's stormy blue eyes.

Usually, they're comparable to a calm ocean, the beach mid-summer.

Now, they're akin to the darkest of storms, the ones sailors whisper about, the ones that haunt them while they're asleep at sea. Ones that cause shipwrecks to wash up on shores, ones that cause stories to be passed between campers on the scariest of nights.

"Now you're sorry, sweetheart?" And, oh, there's a sliver of the warmth you've come to crave, and it almost has you melting where you lay.

You're so close, you can taste it on your tongue, and your moans get louder, needier, more frantic --

"Stop, Johnny."

Tears fall, then. Hot and heavy down your cheeks, leaving sticky tracks in their wake. Hiccups fall from your lips as you sob from the deprevation.

Johnny whines, head drooped low as he stops, and you can feel him pulse inside of you, both of you at your wits' end.

"You follow orders so well in this room, don't you?" John says. The voice of a captain.

It's almost your last straw. The devastation is too great, the mix of physical and emotion stress weighing on you heavily.

"'M so sorry, shoulda listened," you cry, body trembling.

"John, please, we're sorry," Kyle insists, a furrow between his dark brows where he takes a step closer to you and Johnny.

Simon, although silent, is also closer to you both now than he had been, no longer stood against the wall.

Your boys -- they're so inherently protective, and it's such a nice feeling. No matter how guilty they feel, how genuinely sorry, they can't stand to see you or Johnny so weak, so vulnerable.

Love. You love them, in a way words can never describe.

John exhales. A deep, thoughtful one.

"We're talking about this, after we're all cleaned up," he says. It's the first hint of himself that you've heard tonight, and the relief is like an intoxicating drug.

It's like even the room itself takes a deep breath, dispelling of some of the tension lining every inch of it.

"Off 'er," John snaps his fingers, and Johnny pulls out with a small whimper, head still hung low.

Grabbing your hips, John flips you over, making you bend so your face is to the desk and your ass is in the air. His large hand presses against your lower back, bending you into an arch.

He slides in, and it's an easy entry. You don't think you've been more wet in your life, and gods, you need it.

Setting a ruthless pace immediately, every thrust forces a whimper, a moan, a whine out of your mouth, eyes dazed as your cheek presses against the wood. His hand fists into your hair, forcing your head to face the three men stood side by side, watching you both with a flurry of emotions behind heavy stares.

"Feel so fuckin' good, christ," John seethes, his grip tightening in your hair, causing your moan to become louder as it leaves your lips.

It isn't long before you're at that cliff once more, begging for a final push, just so you can reach that finish you ache for.

"Gonna, fuck, please, let me cum, John, I love you, I'm so sorry," your words aren't fully your own, and they come out in a desperate plea.

"Yeah? My girl gonna cum for me? Needy slut."

Those words are your undoing, your nirvana.

You cum, body strung tight as tears fall down your cheeks once more, your vision nearly blacking out with the strength of your orgasm. It's almost painful, the stimulation altogether too much, and not enough.

John finishes not long after, his cum filling you up with a loud groan from him.

He releases his fist in your hair, and you head falls to the desk, body slumping with the final release of pleasure.

Stroking a smoothing hand down your back, he pulls out, and you can feel his seed leaking down your thighs. You must be a sight -- all worn out and dripping with the white liquid.

"We don't getta cum?" Johnny whines, and you can hear the roll of Simon's eyes.

There's a hand stroking stray hairs off of your face, and from the texture and size of the limb you can tell it's Kyle.

"You won't get to tomorrow, either, if you keep tha' up," Price mutters, and you let out a delusional giggle at his words. You're cum-drunk, almost, from how drawn out your orgasm had been.

"We really are sorry, Cap," Kyle murmurs genuinely, and the hurt is a sharp barb on his tongue. "You know we love you, didn't mean to hurt you."

John releases a long, worn-out breath. "I know that. I do. But you're a bunch of reckless muppets 'nd you fuckin' went too far today. I'm your captain, lover or not."

"We'll talk it over later," Simon states, and you can't help but agree with the sentiment.

You will. And it'll be a painful conversation, but one that you all owe to your captain.

Because, at the end of the day, you four would do anything for the man that you love. That includes the tough words, the difficult exchanges.

John presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and with complete certainty, you're sure that you're all going to be okay.

a/n. the day that i stop loving poly 141 is the day that i die. price needs all the love omg this one kinda hurt to write cause oof angst but hopefully it was an enjoyable read!!!! thank you to everyone who comments on my fics, your notes etc make me do a lil happy dance ily all!!!!!!!!!!!!

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greatstormcat · 5 months

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New Beginnings - Part 5

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x f!reader

Masterlist

TW: MDNI 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, injury, canon typical violence discussed

The first few days without hearing from Kyle and Johnny wasn’t too bad, you threw yourself into your work and it proved a perfect distraction. After having made a career writing romance novels and putting imaginary people through horrendous emotional trauma, you suddenly found yourself in the middle of your own personal heart-aching hell. It made great fodder for your storyline, you told yourself.

By the end of the first week you’d sent multiple chapters off to be proofread and edited, receiving huge praise for the quality of your writing. Your heroine was currently alone in the vampire’s castle while they left her behind to go to war with a rival clan. She was trying not to admit she was in love with her captors… it made you cringe at how much you were just processing your own emotions on the page, but there was talk that this could turn into a bestseller.

At the end of the two weeks the mission was planned to take, you felt you were ready to crawl out of your own skin, waiting for your phone to ring or a message to appear at any second. You didn’t want to miss anything when it came through, didn’t want them to think you weren’t here waiting for them. The regret at not having told them how you felt was gnawing at your insides, all the while you refused to acknowledge the endless stream of what-ifs that rose up in your mind like sunken corpses in the sea. It felt like a betrayal to them to think the worst, to think that they couldn't handle whatever situation they were in right now. But it was hard not to.

By the end of the third week, you were struggling to sleep, and when that rolled over into a fourth week without any contact you didn’t know what to do. You had no idea who to call, who to turn to to get any sort of idea what was happening. You found yourself pacing the house, searching through drawers and cupboards for anything that might give you a shred of information on who to speak to. But, of course, they were seasoned professionals and there was nothing left lying around that could let anyone find information that could compromise the team or a mission.

You ended up sitting at the lounge floor, hugging yourself and having no option but to hope that whatever happened, you’d find out somehow. It was the most alone you’d ever felt.

Two more days pass before your phone rings with an unfamiliar number on the screen, waking you from a guilty half sleep at the kitchen table where you had been trying to work. You scramble to answer it, almost dropping the device into the tiled floor in your haste and risking smashing the thing.

“Hello?” You say, trying to keep the desperation from your tone in case this was yet another unrelated call or scammer. You’d let loose at two scammers already and fully expected they’d give up now and find another line of work after the abuse you gave them.

“Hello,” an unfamiliar, deep baritone voice replies. “This is Captain John Price.” Your eyes snap up to the photo on the fridge, the bearded man in that picture was their Captain.

“You’re Kyle and Johnny’s Captain… right?” You ask, your heart pounds and throat hurts as you stare at the photograph of the four men looking passively back at you from the glossy piece of card.

“That’s right, love,” he answers, you hear him huff out a deep breath, clearly preparing to say something he doesn’t want to. You close your eyes, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you prepare for whatever he is about to say. “I know that you’re living with them, Ghost has put in for your clearance and Soap asked for you to be listed as his Next of Kin as he hasn’t got any family. That’s why I didn’t want to leave you in the dark.”

You swallow, fighting back the taste of bile in your mouth.

“I appreciate this,” you croak. “What’s going on? They said they’d be back after three weeks at the most.”

“The situation is we haven’t heard from them in two weeks,” he tells you, clearly preferring to get to the point. “We have people looking for them, but the nature of their mission means we have to be careful, so it’s gonna take time.”

“I understand,” you tell him as your fears come to life. They might not be coming back.

“Believe me, those three are some of the best I’ve ever had the honour to serve with,” he tells you, sincerity and pride coming through loud and clear over the line. “I’m not giving up on them, and you shouldn’t either. They’ll come home.”

You thank him for his call, and he tells you to save his number, promising you that you will know the moment they are found.

When the call ends you feel numb, sitting and staring at the photo for a long time. After a while you get to your feet and tell yourself to move, hoping that this will help calm your fears and you drift around the house aimlessly, finally finding yourself at the door to their bedroom.

When you’d first moved in you assumed the two other bedrooms were split between them both but you soon learned that they shared the same room. The other was a crash pad for when one of them was leaving early or coming back late and didn’t want to wake the other.

You let yourself into their room, sitting on the kingside bed and running your hand over the covers. It all smells of them, a lovely combination of cologne and their individual skin and hair products.

A hoody hangs in the back of a chair by the window, and you walk over to pick it up and scrunch the fabric up to your face, before slipping it in over you t-shirt.

The next few days you wear the hoody, keeping the smell of them as close to your skin as possible. On the afternoon of thirtieth day after they left, your phone rings and Captain Price’s name flashes on the screen. You throw yourself at the phone to answer it as quickly as possible.

“I’m sending a car to get you and bring you to the base, they’re going to be back in a few hours,” he tells you, the sound of engines and shouting in the background making it hard to hear. “They’re a little banged up, but they’re in one piece.”

“Is Ghost okay too?” You ask quickly as the relief floods through you. There’s a short chuff from the Captain, a laugh perhaps at your question.

“Yeah, he’s fine too. I will tell him you asked, might loosen him up a bit to know he made an impression on you,” he says.

“Thank you Captain,” you say. “Will I get to see you when I’m there? I’d like to thank you in person, if that’s okay?” He chuckles and agrees to see you.

As promised a car arrives an hour later and you find yourself being driven by a polite and unquestioning young soldier through towards the base as night settles over the landscape. The floodlit gates loom out of the darkness soon enough, and you're handed a pass on a lanyard with instructions to keep it on at all times.

You follow the soldier as they lead you into a squat building that looks identical to every other one you’ve passed, your bearings completely screwed as everything is so uniform, identical. You’re led to a door that looks like every other and taken inside. The man waiting in there is one you recognise easily, his beard so uniquely shaped and the tiredness in his features an exact mirror of your own.

“Captain Price?” You ask, and he nods, giving you a tight smile that wrinkles the skin around his eyes. Relief shows through the exhaustion on his face.

“That’s right,” he nods and pulls out a chair for you to sit down at the long table. You look around at the room, it’s some kind of meeting room, clean and plain like everything else on the base.

The Captain explains in the vaguest of terms that the mission took an unexpected turn and the team were forced to go into hiding. The three men are back with minor injuries, but have been surviving in rough conditions.

He gives you a careful look when your shoulders finally relax, hearing that Kyle and Johnny are okay, and an unspoken question hangs in the air around him. His shrewd eyes picking you apart bit by bit, and for a moment you feel panic stir in your gut.

“Look, for what it’s worth, I’ve known about Soap and Gaz before they even did, and however you fit in with that is fine too. We live a life drenched in blood and pain, whatever they need to find some peace away from all this isn’t a problem with me. Just keep it quiet, for their sakes,” He says, he gets up and heads to the door. “Wait here, love, and as soon as they’re cleared with Medical I will let them know you’re here.”

It feels like an eternity that you sit and wait for them in that room, your eyes start to drift shut and you slump onto the table, head resting on your forearms and promise yourself you’ll just rest your eyes for a moment.

You don’t hear the door open as they both come in, their bodies aching and exhausted, cuts and bruises bandaged, until they pull you up gently into an almost crushing hug between them. As soon as your brain kicks into gear you grab onto them, tears and sobs cracking from your throat as they hold you and hush you softly. Reassurances are whispered against your cheeks as stubble rubs against your skin from them both.

“Its okay, lass,” Johnny coos quietly, “We’re here now.”

“C’mon, lets get home,” Kyle says, nodding at Johnny over your shoulder, and the three of you leave together.

Gaz lets you drive them both back home in his car so he and Johnny can sit in the back together. The journey felt much quicker this time, and it’s gone midnight by the time you arrive back at the house. You shoo them inside, both too exhausted to complain or argue with your instructions as you herd them to bed. You grab them both a glass of water and put one by each side of the bed and then turn out the lights. When you turn to leave a hand grips your wrist.

“Hey, where d’ya think you’re going?” Kyle mumbles. “Get your arse in here.”

For a split second you think you’ll say no, but the look in his eyes makes it clear it isn’t a request and you crumble instantly. With a small nod and a smile, you slip out of your clothes and wriggle into bed in your underwear, between the two of them as told. The weight of their limbs over you and the heat from their skin quickly lulls you to sleep despite the urge to lay there and watch over them both.

You wake up late in the morning, and you bask in the warmth and comfort of being nestled between your boys, the sounds of gentle breathing in your ears, before you extract yourself from the tangle of limbs being careful not to wake them. Your first task is to email your publisher and tell them you are going to be unreachable for a few days for personal reasons, so you head directly to your laptop to do this and fire the email away as quickly as possible.

The urge to pee is nagging at you, so you quickly head to the bathroom after opening your draft folder and forget to lock the screen. You walk back into the kitchen after you’ve relieved yourself and stop dead in your tracks, Johnny is sitting at the table in his boxers, focused on your laptop screen intently. His eyes flick up to yours briefly before going back to reading your copy, but he beckons you over to him with a waving of his hand. With a sigh you walk over beside him, shoulder slumped slightly, and his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his lap.

“This is good,” he murmurs, “really good. It’s you, isn’t it?” His clear blue eyes, usually brimming with mirth and mischief, burn into yours with an intensity you’ve not seen before. His hand rubs loose circles on the small of your back through your dressing gown.

“Yes, that’s me,” you admit with a self depreciating chuckle, and his arms tighten around your middle.

“This was hard for you, do you honestly think you want to do this? With us I mean?” He asks softly, and there’s a note of sadness in his voice as he gives you an escape hatch. A chance to say you don’t want a life with them if it means living in fear of the worst outcome every time they go away.

“Lets go and get Kyle so you can both hear what I want to say,” you smile.

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niawritesbs · 2 years

Text

Time Off

TF 1-4-1 X POC Reader John Price, Kyle Garrick, John MacTavish, Simon Riley x Reader A break, they needed a break. Laswell knows they need the time off instead of worrying about Makarov and Shepard so that's what she gives them. Only, they don't have anyone to go home to that is, before one of their teammates invites them over.

"Time off? So suddenly?" Seargent Soap voiced everyone's thoughts to Laswell. She had just updated them on the whereabouts of General Shepard and briefed them on what actions to take when the topic of Makarov came up when she brought up them taking some time off. It stunned them to silence when hearing her bring up the cold season and going home to whoever may be waiting and if not take some time to take care of themselves properly.

"Yes Seargent and that's not a request it's an order I like you all but I'm getting sick of seeing your faces so take the time off and enjoy yourselves. Dismissed." With that, she shooed them out of her office and they all stood outside the door wondering what the hell they'd do with this time off. Standing more off to the side than the others, Ghost looked over at you seeing you were the only one not in distress at the order.

"You don't seem to be in peril Seargent, you got plans when you head home?" It was a surprise hearing ghost ask you such a personal question. Although he has gotten comfortable with his team, it is rather odd of him to ask. The others got over their initial shock and looked over at you now suddenly curious as well. You let out a sigh before speaking.

"No, I don't, I'm heading home to an empty home just like the rest of you. If you guys are so struck by what to do then why not come with me for the break? It gives me a reason to use all the groceries that get replaced in my home every two months." In all honesty, you asked them not only to stop them from being lonely during their break but to also stop yourself from being lonely as well. Like them, there was no one waiting in your two-story home for you so why not spend the lonely days to come with people you've learned to call family?

You trust these four men with your life should that day come and they do as well. It would be a way to strengthen that already tight bond you all have together and it would give you a chance to boast about your impeccable cooking skills.

"Are you sure? This is your home we're talking about, you sure you want us to intrude like that?" Soap was a bit reluctant to the offer because while he was internally excited at it, the last thing he wanted to do was intrude. How cute.

With a nod of your head and some light reassurance, they all agreed to go and split up to get packed and meet up at 1400 (2:00 pm) to leave for the airport. Soon, you five were all set and on a plane to the state you lived in and on the road to your home.

Your home was two stories and quite modern, away from most of the town but close enough to get supplies when needed, and surprisingly once the owners who originally rented it to you passed, your rent was dropped by a lot and eventually sold to you completely.

Walking inside you took your shoes off and looked around the entrance hallway feeling so much nostalgia. The men behind you followed suit removing their shoes and following you inside your home staying suspiciously quiet. In reality, they were nervous being in your home, you had told them it had enough rooms and a pull-out bed for them all to sleep over but they were nervous nonetheless. You set your bag on the dining table before walking into the kitchen looking through the cabinets to see fresh groceries with a note from the carrier that they were recently restocked. You made a note to increase their pay at the start of the next year.

"You guys can get yourself settled in while I pull some things out for dinner. There's one room downstairs and three upstairs. I'll set up the pull-out bed for whoever claims that one but you can put your things in the two other rooms. " You were already pulling some things out of the fridge after washing your hands, while you were talking to them and when you finished you heard shuffling and small grunts of acknowledgment to your words as the four men did as told.

Gaz and Price chose the two rooms upstairs while Soap chose the couch bed leaving Ghost with the room downstairs. As they were settling in, they all took the time to look around but not pry too much. They saw that your home wasn't really what they expected. No pictures of friends or family, no personalization even when Price stepped into your room accidentally thinking it was the guest room. The only way he knew it was yours was the neatly folded underwear on your bed that seemed like it was gonna get packed but never made it. When he turned to leave he caught glimpse of a pocket-sized picture of you holding a newborn baby laying on the floor by the end of the bed. It's not something he would ever guess he would see especially if it was you. He closed the door and said nothing as he found the correct room and got himself settled in.

While you began cooking you took a break while things were heating up to put your things away in your own room.

"You guys should go shower while you're at it, it'll be a minute before I'm done cooking anyway so might as well, right?" And so the night went on.

You eventually finished your cooking and you along with the four ate. It was quiet and awkward but eventually, Soap popped a question and you soon fell into lively chatter, Ghost and soap falling into petty banter while Price entertained it and Gaz chuckled quietly to himself. You eventually pulled out some whiskey much to Ghost's dismay. "I drink Bourbon" He defensively said, though, you could see the amusement in his eyes. He had his Balaclava on but the black makeup was removed when he showered and he felt comfortable enough to show us that much. Not like you all hadn't seen his face before but the point is made.

When you all were done, Gaz being the sweetheart he was offered, no, told you he was going to clean up while you relaxed. "You've been on your feet since we came so I got it, go relax." You could feel your heart clench at his words.

Ever since you got recruited for 1-4-1, Gaz had been nothing but a sweetheart through and through, not to mention a heartthrob when he threw in his small compliments with a shy tone. Price wasn't as bad, but the captain wasn't shy when complimenting or downright flirting with you. It wasn't the overly obvious flirts nor did say it in front of people but, he was quite the charmer when he wanted to be.

Soap on the other hand didn't care who was around, if you did an amazing job on a particular mission or any mission at all, he would praise you till you told him to stop. He loves seeing the twinkle in your eyes or the pep in your step when you got praised for doing a good job. It made him feel good knowing you were happy from his words. Ghost wasn't one to be vocal, everyone in and out of the task force knew that. He wasn't one to just compliment and praise for any small thing but, when it came to you, he would find himself biting back the overwhelming feeling of pride he felt. Whenever you did something right even when you second-guessed yourself when you take out more than one person at a time. He finds himself grinning under his mask and petting your head lightly, chuckling to himself at the happy look you sprung onto your face at the act.

They all slowly began to love your reactions and you as a whole. They became protective even borderline possessive when Shepard ordered you to stay out of a mission while the others were told to go. "They are a part of this team, where we go, they go no questions asked about it, so if you want us to do this I suggest you make your changes from now." Stunned was General Shepard hearing Ghost speak up like that. You had only been on the team for a couple months so he didn't think they were gonna get attached so quickly, boy was he wrong.

Now here you all are, spread on the couches tipsy and happy, chuckling at Soap's slurred speaking not even understanding the lad as his accent gets heavier. Relaxed is a word none of you would associate yourselves with, especially in your line of work, but tonight? Warm, comfortable, and happy in each other's presence? I would say this is the most relaxed they've ever been.

With your head on Price's lap and your legs on Soap's, Ghost sitting on the floor near the couch, and Gaz on the single couch, they all stared at your resting face, dark skin glowing under the light of the fireplace lit rid the chill that came with the upcoming season. They watched in a comforting silence as you succumbed to sleep, pressing your cheek into the captain's thigh and mumbling a drunken goodnight. A fluttering feeling filled their chest, they didn't know what it was but all they knew was that if anything happened to you, it would be over for them.

A break. They all needed a break, even you.

#cod mwii #cod mw 2022 #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john price x reader #fluff #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mw 2

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

Text

A Buck's As Good As Any

Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Reader

Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of blood and cleaning

Author's Note: @lazybutsmexy Sara inspired the OT3 and now we're all gonna fall into this hole together. :) -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It had bothered him for days, and Ghost knew it by the time he finally came to him and brought it up.

A mid-Wednesday afternoon, drizzling and dreary in Manchester like usual, Ghost was content to spend the entire day wrapped in the gray sheets and heavy comforter of their bed, resting up on all the sleep he never got whenever they were working. Soap had left the bed earlier a few hours ago to go shopping, only returning minutes after. He heard the footsteps coming the way to the bedroom.

“Do you think she left us and went back to the US because she was uncomfortable?”

Ghost cracked an eye open, staring at Soap who stood in the entrance. “Why?”

“Because she didn’t say ‘See you soon’ or anything. She just left. Didn’t wake us up.” He frowned. “She would’ve told us if she was uncomfortable being with us, wouldn’t she? I mean I know she said she wasn’t, but what if she was? What if maybe she felt like she was intruding on us? What if we didn’t—”

“You’re thinking too hard about it, Johnny,” Ghost muttered, shutting his eyes. “Relax. We’ll catch a flight Friday to the mountains to see her and ask her ourselves.”

“We are?” he asked.

“We’re gonna if it’s going to keep you from wanking all the time.”

“I am not wanking.”

“Wanking, whining, same thing.”

“You’re such an ass.”

***

“Is this…really where she lives when she’s not working?” Soap asked, staring at the small, cozy wood cabin.

Ghost nodded. “That’s what Price said. This is the address and from what the neighbors said, this is it.” He walked up the steps. “Her Dodge is here…maybe she’s home.” He knocked on the door, waiting for someone to answer, but after a few moments no one did and he knocked again. “She’s not home.”

“Where do you think she is?”

He shrugged. “Call her.”

Soap took out his phone, dialing her number; he stared at Ghost as it rang, impatiently tapping his foot until the line clicked. “Hello? Dame? Are you there?” He glanced at Ghost as a tapping echoed across the line. “Dame? She’s not answering.”

Ghost took the phone and put it on speaker. “Dame, single click yes, double no. Are you near your cabin.

Click.

“Are you injured?”

Click-click.

“Are you okay?”

Click.

“What are you doing?” Soap asked and Ghost glared at him.

“She’s obviously doing something where she can’t talk.”

Click.

“What the hell’s there to do here? We’re in the middle of nowhere?”

“We’re in the middle of a giant fucking forest, Johnny. What do you possibly think she could be doing if she wasn’t in town or in her house?”

Soap blinked. “Is she hunting maybe? Didn’t she mention a season or something on the last mission.”

Click.

“How long will you be, Dame? Less than an hour?”

Click.

Ghost nodded. “Are you almost done?” They awaited another click, yet it never came. “Dame? Are you—”

A crack echoed across the land and the two turned in the direction of the noise, watching a flock of birds escape the tops of the trees in the distance.

Her voice came over the line. “I’ll be back to the cabin in about ten minutes. Key’s underneath the third stepping stone in the rock garden.”

The line went dead and the two looked at one another before shrugging and finding the key.

***

They stood on the porch and waited for her to return, squinting into the distance as an ATV drove up the driveway and she pulled up, turning the engine off. “What are you boys up to over this side of the ocean?” she asked, slinging the rifle off her back to lay at the side of the four-wheeler. “Sorry I didn’t talk. This guy walked right in front of me when you called. I couldn’t risk him getting away.”

Ghost and Soap walked over, seeing the deer laying across the back of the ATV, a gunshot through its chest. They watched as she picked the buck up with a grunt and started carrying it to the shed behind the cabin; they followed.

“We were coming to talk,” Soap said, curiosity in his eyes as she opened the shed door with one hand, holding the deer’s feet with the other before dropping it inside. “Isn’t that heavy?”

“About one-fifty,” she said, shoving the metal hook through the deer’s back legs before she pulled away and hauled it up in the air. “So why did y’all come? Y’know I was gonna be back in a few weeks, right?”

“What?” his voice was pitched in confusion as she slid a bucket under the carcass.

“It’s hunting season here,” she muttered, wielding the cleaning knife with expert precision. “Step back, or you’ll get guts and blood on you.” Neither moved as she dug the knife into the deer’s chest, cutting cleanly all the way to its belly. “I tend to fly home during the seasons so I can shoot some game to have meat when I get back.”

They watched as she cleaned with skill, seemingly unbothered by the steam rising around them. The scent of blood was thick in the air and Soap had to step back outside to breath a little; Ghost remained. “What are y’all here to talk about?” Dame asked. “Can’t imagine it’s something unimportant since y’all flew halfway across the world.”

Before Soap could even say anything, Ghost deadpanned, “Johnny was afraid you were uncomfortable being in a relationship with both of us. That you were intruding. So, here we are.”

“Ghost!” Soap griped and she laughed.

“Oh no, I’m not uncomfortable boys,” she said. “Like I said, it’s hunting season. I had to get back to get a good buck before season ended. Can’t shoot bucks out of season or I’ll get fined and lose my license.”

“What’s a buck?”

“Male deer. Doe is a female,” she explained, pulling the deer by the leg to its antlers. “He’s about a thirteen pointer.” A grin pulled her lips. “Oh man, I can’t wait for Jackson to see this. He’s gonna shit a brick.”

“Who’s Jackson?” Soap asked, crossing his arms over his chest and she snickered.

“Easy there, boy, he’s an old friend of mine. And I say old because he’s seventy-five.”

“Oh…”

Ghost glared at him. “Will you quit being jealous? She’s not seeing anyone but us.”

“Don’t be so hard on him, Simon. He can’t help it.” She smiled at them. “This is going to take me an hour or so. Y’all go inside and get comfortable. It’s cold out here.”

Ghost didn’t have to be told twice, marching back up the way they’d come to go inside, yet Soap remained and she looked back at him.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” she questioned, wiping her hands on the apron. “You’ve got thinking eyes on.”

Soap shifted his weight between his feet. “Are…are you sure you’re not uncomfortable with this?”

Dame sighed and set the knife down. “John, at first…I was. I didn’t feel like it was a good idea to come between, no, join you and Simon. It did feel like I was intruding in a relationship. But,” she said calmly, gazing at him with a softness. “I know that you feel the same about me that you feel about Simon. It’s how I feel about both of you and how he feels about us.” She made sure her hand was dry, even if it was covered in blood, and held it out for him to take; he did so. “I didn’t leave because I was uncomfortable. I left to come home and get things organized for next season.”

Soap frowned. “You only left a note. You didn’t wake us up.”

“I know,” she murmured. “And that’s on me. My flight left early, and I didn’t want to disturb you both. We three barely get enough sleep as it is.” She squeezed his hand. “Next time, I’ll wake you both up. I promise.”

“Next time,” he griped. “We’re coming with you.”

She laughed. “Alright, boy, if that’s how you feel about it.” Pulling away, she grabbed the knife again. “Now go inside, would you? I’ll be back in when I’m done.”

“Can Ghost and I go into town?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because without me, you’re gonna get in a bar fight with some good ole boys and I do not want to explain to Sheriff Doherty why my boyfriends beat the shit outta the entire bar.” When he said nothing, she turned, seeing him wearing a dopey smile. “What.”

“You called us your boyfriends.”

“Go inside or I’ll clean you with this knife next,” she threatened, waving the knife at him and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine, lass, I’m goin’.”

As he turned, she called out, “John?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you and Ghost came to see me.” She smiled at him. “I missed you both.”

He smiled back at her. “We missed you.”

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siilvan · 8 months

Text

fortuna redux

characters (ocs): mylène "petra" scholten de ridder, freya "mini" mactavish

summary: the medic of the 141 suddenly becomes two.

genre: general, fluff, light angst?, fem!oc

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, mentions of canon-typical violence, mild descriptions of blood/injuries, mildly superstitious stuff, they're so sister-coded...

word count: 3k

note: “but navi we want bloodsport” i know babygirls, it’s gonna be my next post 😔 i just need to be cringe with my oc first…

also big shoutout to @sofasoap for giving me the much-needed confidence to write this AND for trusting me with her beloved mini 😌 this is going to get zero notes, but idc, i wrote it for fun lol

you let out a soft breath as you sift through documents, analyzing dossiers and combat records until your eyes burn and beg for a break. it's the season of new recruits, which means late nights, early mornings, and headaches for yourself. why did you offer to train them when price asked?

probably because ghost has a track record of sending new faces running for the hills. as the one-four-one's only other commanding officer, you're the only one fit for the job. fantastic.

after a much needed break – that consisted of you laying back in your chair with a damp cloth over your eyes – you grab the next document off the pile on your desk and scan it like you did with every other. you stop short before you even finish reading the name at the top, though.

freya mactavish.

surely, it can't be...

you flip through the pages of the dossier, blinking at the information that only served to confirm your suspicions. scottish, twenty-two years old, combat medic, has an older brother in the special forces...

"no fucking way." you mumble, staring at the picture attached to the file. you recognize her from pictures that soap's shown you over the years – she is, without a doubt, the "mini" he's told you so much about. why haven't you heard about the transfer request until now?

when you come across the combat records, the reason is glaringly clear. she hardly passed on all fronts; if she was any other recruit, this file wouldn't have even made it to your desk. she can't match the rest of the team in the field, you'd all end up slowing down to accommodate her. it's nothing that can't be fixed with dedicated training, but with how precious the task force's time is, you simply don't have the time to bring new recruits up to speed.

with a quiet groan, you push back from your desk and gather up the files on her, heading out the door and padding down the hall towards price's office.

you round the corner and spot him unlocking the door, his back facing you.

"captain!" you call out from down the corridor, catching his attention. price turns to look at you, pausing with the door held open as you approach.

"you're up early, petra." he comments, reminding you to glance at the time. five am— shit, you spent the whole night pouring over those files. "got something for me?" he continues, pulling your focus back to him.

you nod, waving the document folder at him. "i've got some questions about one of these recruits."

his eyes flick between you and the folder, before a low chuckle escapes him. "think i might know who you're talking about." he mutters, motioning for you to follow him into his office.

he shuts the door behind you and clicks the lock shut before circling around his desk and settling in his chair. you sit across from him and lay the files out, starting when he nods for you to speak.

"i'm assuming you've connected the dots between the surnames?" you ask, earning an affirmative hum. "you've known soap longer than i have, so maybe this makes sense to you, but—" you flip through the pages of the dossier and slide it towards him, pointing out the large boxes of redacted information with two companies logos plastered at the top of the page. "—i can understand mi6's involvement with this, but what does the cia want with a low-ranking british soldier?"

price leans back in his chair and drags his eyes from the document to you. "it's a long story." he shrugs, pulling a frustrated huff from you.

"come on, price, don't give me that." you reply, shaking your head. "soap's never mentioned anything like this. is there something i need to be worried about if we recruit her?"

his tongue darts out and wets his lips as he lets out a noise, somewhere between a groan and a sigh. "even i don't have all the information, scholten. all i know is that she's damn good at what she does." he sits up straight and thumbs through the dossier, glancing over it like he's already familiar with the contents. he probably is.

"you've been tripling as this team's commander, medic, and medical intelligence expert since its formation. you've already got ghost and myself to handle most of the leadership, but you need someone to help with the rest." he asserts, unclipping the picture from the rest of the stack and holding it up to face you. "you need the assistance and she's reliable. trust me on this."

you blink at the photo, then at him. "she barely passed any of the physical tests – even her marksmanship scores were average at best. there's other medics with better scores, captain. i know we cherish family on this team, but i'm not willing to send someone unequipped onto the battlefield."

price sets the picture down and sighs, low and heavy in his chest. "did you see what she's called?" he asks.

you furrow your brows at him. "something like... what was it, 'lady fortuna?' what does that have to do with this?"

"lady luck, lieutenant. she doesn't look like much on paper, but whenever she's in the field, people always come back. the only person that serves to suffer when she's working is herself." he smiles as a noise of confusion tumbles from your lips.

"never pegged you as the superstitious type," you start, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching the bridge of your nose. "that isn't reassuring, anyway. i can't risk having a soldier, especially family, die under my watch, even if it means the rest of the team makes it home unscathed."

price places a firm hand on your shoulder, jostling you and forcing you to look at him again. "it's your refusal to let her die that'll keep her alive." he mutters, and the plan in his mind finally clicks with you.

she'll keep you from working yourself to death. you'll keep her from dying in her work.

a mutual safety net.

price, you clever bastard.

"you were never going to let me say 'no,' were you?" you cock your head to the side, slumping back in your chair.

he shrugs, mirroring your position and producing a cigar from one of his pockets. "i always respect your judgement." he lights it and places it between his lips. you move to gather the documents and stand, before he snaps his fingers, remembering something. "a transport just picked her up, by the way. she'll be here in a few hours."

you pause mid-action and glower at him. "guess i should get started on the training schedule, then."

⋆⋆⋆

"corporal freya mactavish, reporting for duty, ma'am."

you eye the younger woman curiously, noticing the way she shifts her weight from one foot to the other, shrinking a bit under your scrutiny.

bright blue eyes, just like her brother. she's a few inches shorter than yourself, about five-four according to her files, and you feel yourself soften a bit at the glimmer in her eyes – a soldier desperately wanting to be acknowledged. again, it reminds you of soap.

"so, you're the new recruit?" you regard her with a gentle smile in an attempt to ease her nerves. when she visibly relaxes from her stiff stance, you turn to price. "i'll take care of her, captain."

price uncrosses his arms and chuckles. "don't be so quick to write her off, petra. who knows, she might end up surprising you." he says, tapping your arm and giving mini an encouraging nod, before walking out of the room and leaving the two of you alone.

you turn back to her and rest your hands on your hips, silently studying her again. you don't miss the puff of her chest under her vest when she inhales deeply and opens her mouth to speak.

"you can call me mini, lieutenant," she utters, the stiffness from earlier returning, her shoulders locking up as she stands more straight. "i know i'm not much of a soldier, but..." she trails off, her gaze flitting from yours to the empty space between you.

your brows furrow as you tilt forward. "but?" you repeat, urging her to continue.

she drags her focus back to your face, but still avoids looking directly into your eyes. "my brother's told me a lot of stories about you, and... i swear, i won't disappoint you."

she's sheepish, hands flexing as she confirms her statement, and you almost let the pity you feel flash across your face. she's so similar, yet so different from her brother. every word is said like she has something to prove; to you or herself, you're not sure.

"we'll have to swap stories sometime," you start, stepping closer to place your hands on her shoulders. "soap's always going on about you, he's very proud." you assure her with a gentle squeeze. mini rolls her eyes at it, but smiles nonetheless.

"i hope he hasn't mentioned any embarrassing childhood stories..." she mutters.

you pull back, recalling the many stories the sergeant's told about his family since joining the squad. "just a few. we can share those later, we've got a busy day ahead of us."

⋆⋆⋆

you had hoped the combat records would be out of date, but to your chagrin, they reflected mini's performance well.

her shots are hitting the target... most of the time, at least. you've had to correct her stance and grip more than once, give her several basic tips— so now, you're standing behind her, eyeing the target over her shoulder, your fingers twitching at your sides as you watch her form slip again. before you can correct it, however, she pauses and shifts, fixing her posture and adjusting her grip on her rifle.

it's been three hours, but she's showing some improvement, you think to yourself, the edges of your lips twitching up.

mini lowers her gun after emptying another clip and lifts the headphones from her ears, turning to you. "what do you think?" she asks, searching your face for approval.

you take off your own headphones and step closer, squinting at the target. most of the bullet holes lie around the edges, near misses, or scattered around the torso of the silhouette. there's a handful of headshots, but for three hours of work, it isn't enough.

"you're getting better," you sigh, facing her once more. her face drops and you rub the side of her arm in a small attempt at comfort. "you just need more practice, is all. that's why i'm here."

she huffs and shakes her head, setting her rifle on the counter. "you're supposed to be leading me in the infirmary and the field, not holding my hand through the basics, lieutenant." she complains in a low grumble, crossing her arms tight over her chest. your eyes narrow as your hand drops back to your side; you know her frustration lies with her performance, not you.

mini trails close behind your right shoulder, listening intently as you rattle off the list of activities for the day. basic marksmanship, physical tests, close-quarters combat... things that the rookies even younger than her are working on.

"you aren't going to be seeing as much action as the boys or myself, but you still need to be capable enough to defend yourself if necessary." you say, stopping in front of the door to the shooting range.

she hums, standing in front of you. "i know i'm not as skilled as the rest of you, but i can hold my own." she replies, furrowing her brow.

"i'm not clearing you for duty until you show some major improvement." you assert. her eyes widen, pupils turning into small saucers, before the crease in her forehead returns.

"lieutenant, you can’t—"

"i can," you state, perhaps a bit too stern, as the rest of her rebuttal immediately dies on her tongue. "price put you under my watch for a reason. i can't in good conscience send you out underprepared." you continue, softening to a low murmur.

mini merely stares at you, the gears turning in her head. after several seconds of this, finally, she relents with a barely-audible exhale.

"let's do this, then."

the sound of an irritated groan brings you back to the moment. you look just in time to see mini lean back against a nearby wall, her head tilting back and knocking lightly against the surface. she shuts her eyes and breathes in deeply, prompting you to go quiet as she steadies herself.

once her eyelids flutter open again, you speak. "let's take a break, yeah?" you give her a tight-lipped smile. "we can worry about the physical and close-combat tests later. we have plenty of time."

mini eyes you for a few seconds, deep blue irises swimming with about a hundred different emotions, cascading across the surface like waves crashing against jagged rocks during a storm. you've never seen so much conflict in soap, even in his worst times – whatever she's feeling clearly goes deeper than irritation over slow progress.

"how about we hang out? get to know each other a bit?" you suggest, brushing past the observation.

she seems to ease up at your words, her fingers interlacing in front of herself as she silently considers a response. a short, yet eager, nod of her head brings a more genuine smile to your lips.

you find yourself comfortably settled in on one of the worn couches in the common room after cleaning up the range, leaning back against the arm of the couch to face mini as you talk to her, mug of steaming tea in-hand.

"johnny's never been pleased with me following in his footsteps," she confesses after taking a healthy sip of her tea, her legs crossed under the blanket you haphazardly slung across your laps.

you hum, lowering your mug to rest atop your knee. "can't blame him. once you're in this field, you stop wanting your family close." you chuckle, before adding, "i wasn't particularly happy when my brother joined the forces, so i get where he's coming from."

mini grumbles into the rim of her cup and sends you a half-hearted glare. "i'm perfectly capable, though." she mutters, earning another curt laugh from you.

"i'm not saying you're not – even though there's still a lot to improve on – but, think about his perspective." you lean forward, motioning with your hands as you continue. "his little sister, who sounds very prone to injury and bad luck, going into such a dangerous line of work? i'm surprised he doesn't have you attached to his keychain."

you both pause, waiting to see who concedes in the argument first, before another thought crosses your mind. "speaking of luck," you start, catching the raised brow she sends your way. "ever since i read your files, i keep hearing about this whole 'lady fortuna' thing. even the captain's pretty convinced you're lucky."

another beat of silence passes as you both sip on your tea. you eye mini curiously as her eyes dart anywhere but your face, avoidant, but not nervous by any means.

"i don't want to sound like i'm bragging, especially in front of you," she trails off, only perking up again once you dismiss her concerns with a wave of your hand. "i guess, uh... i've been told that i've got this knack for bringing soldiers home unscathed, even on dangerous operations that should end with casualties. it's become something of an urban legend." she says, eyes settling on the steam rising from her cup.

"and yet, you are always getting injured. guess the luck comes at a price, huh?" you comment off-handedly.

her mug lightly clacking against the table nearby catches your focus, drawing you back to her as she wrings her hands together.

"when one person's fortune rises, another falls," she utters, looking focused as ever as the words leave her lips. "bearing misfortune is the cost of giving good fortune to those around me."

for a second, you almost think she's joking. harmless superstitions exist everywhere in life, but this is a new for you – not only is mini convinced of it, but even the captain believes it to some extent.

when her eyes drag up to meet your gaze, you feel a pang in your chest.

the zero-sum game. one party's advantage is equal to another's disadvantage. mini's misfortune is equal in value to the good fortune of those around her. what could possibly match the value of saving lives, though?

death isn't the opposite reaction; to lose the fortune entirely is a worse fate. suffering is a fate worse than death for the benefactor— it's perpetual, iterative, something that would stick around for the rest of her life. save a life and have your own ruined, it's an equal trade. you set your cup aside and reach forward to wrap your hands around hers, holding them in a loose grip.

"let's split the cost." you murmur.

mini blinks at you, confused. "what?"

you squeeze her hands gently, warming when she mirrors it. "there's no sense in one person bearing the world's misfortune alone. i'll carry some of it and you'll save some of that luck for yourself."

she shakes her head and retracts her hands, sitting up straight and leaving you leaning forward. "i don't think that's how it works, lieutenant. it's not something you can just give or take." she stutters out, stifling a nervous chuckle.

"it works that way if we say it does. you can give out as much luck as you need and we'll bear the burden of it together." you take another sip of your tea and let out a low sigh. "i won't take 'no' for an answer, from you or from fate." you add a moment later.

mini giggles, finally giving in with an affirmative nod and a "yes ma'am" escaping her amidst the giggles.

you don't believe in superstitions about luck or fate. the choices a person makes is what defines them, not a third party pulling the strings. however, if it'll bring her some comfort, then you're happy to bear whatever misfortune you can. at the end of the day, keeping your team safe is more important than shallow beliefs.

as a bright grin crosses her face, you make a silent vow with yourself.

you won't let her suffer.

whatever it takes, you'll bring her home safe.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #call of duty fanfic #cod fanfic #cod fic #cod fanfiction #cod original character #cod oc #cod ocs #task force 141 #tf 141 #mylène “petra” scholten de ridder #freya “mini” mactavish #sylph.writes

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castielli · 2 years

Text

How to request:

Send your request featuring the character you want, the plot (+ANGST, FLUFF…) and anything I need to know about the reader. I write MALE READER only

MASTERLISTS:

MOVIES/TV SHOWS

KDRAMA/KPOP

OCs PROFILE:

@nathan-ocs

Fandoms I write for under the cut!

——————————————

NCIS

Timothy McGee

Jimmy Palmer

Nicholas Torres

CRIMINAL MINDS

Spencer Reid

Penelope Garcia (platonic🫶)

Luke Alvez

CALL OF DUTY (MW/WWII)

John Price

Soap MacTavish

Ghost Riley

Gaz Garrick

Alex Keller

Alejandro Vargas

Phillip Graves

Vladimir Makarov

Rudy Parra

Red Daniels

William Pierson

Joseph Turner

Robert Zussman

Frank Aiello

Drew Stiles

SHAMELESS

Ian Gallagher

Carl Gallagher

Lip Gallagher

Mickey Milkovich

Kevin Ball

THE WALKING DEAD (+TELLTALE GAME)

Rick Grimes

Daryl Dixon

Glenn Rhee

Negan Smith

Shane Walsh

Lee Everett

Kenny

Doug

Mark

STRANGER THINGS

Steve Harrington

Billy Hargrove

Robin Buckley (platonic)

Eddie Munson

Jim Hopper

Jonathan Byers

Peter/001

Jason Carver

Dimitri

THE UMBRELLA ACADEMY (I still need to finish the last season😊)

Viktor Hargreeves

Klaus Hargreeves

Diego Hargreeves

Number Five

Luther Hargreeves

Ben Hargreeves

SUPERNATURAL

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Crowley

Bobby (platonic)

Chuck

NOW YOU SEE ME

Jack Wilder

J. Daniel Atlas

Merritt McKinney

Dylan Rhodes

Chase McKinney

MARVEL (Avengers/X-men)

Wanda Maximoff

Tony Stark

Bruce Banner

Thor Odinson

Loki Laufeyson

Steve Rogers

Stephen Strange

Peter Parker (Tom/Andrew/Tobey)

Clint Barton

Deadpool

Bucky Barnes

Sam Wilson

Peter Quill

Quentin Beck/Mysterio

Eddie Brock/Venom

Druig

Ikaris

Charles Xavier

Erik Lehnsherr

Peter Maximoff

Wolverine

Scott Summers

Hank McCoy

Bobby Drake

Alex Summers

Phil Coulson

Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockey

Scott Lang

Pietro Maximoff

Mobius M. Mobius

Matt Murdock

Shang-chi

STAR WARS

Anakin Skywalker

Luke Skywalker

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Kylo Ren

Poe Dameron

Finn

TEEN WOLF

Stiles Stilinski

Scott McCall

Derek Hale

Isaac Lahey

Jackson Whittemore

Peter Hale

Theo Raeken

Liam Dunbar

Jordan Parrish

Mason Hewitt

Danny Mahealani

Aiden Steiner

Ethan Steiner

Corey Bryant

THE BOYS IN THE BAND

Bernard

Harold

Hank

Donald

Cowboy

Alan McCarthy

Michael

Larry

Emory

WHITE COLLAR

Neal Caffrey

Peter Burke

Mozzie (platonic)

Clinton Jones

DIVERGENT

Peter

Caleb Prior

Four

HARRY POTTER

Neville Longbottom

Sirius Black

Cedric Diggory

Seamus Finnigan

Viktor Krum

Remus Lupin

Draco Malfoy

Tom Riddle

Charlie Weasley

Fred Weasley

George Weasley

Percy Weasley

Ron Weasley

Oliver Wood

FANTASTIC BEASTS AND WHERE TO FIND THEM

Gellert Grindelwald (Mads Mikkelsen)

Newt Scamander

Credence Barebone

Theseus Scamander

Albus Dumbledore (Jude Law)

HUNGER GAMES

Peeta Mellark

Coriolanus Snow

Sejanus Plinth

MAZE RUNNER

Newt

Thomas

Gally

Minho

911 (and LONE STAR)

Evan Buckley (Buck)

Howie Han (Chimney)

Bobby Nash

Eddie Diaz

TK Strand

Carlos Reyes

Paul Strickland

Owen Strand

Jud Ryder

Mateo Chavez

RIVERDALE

Jughead Jones

FP Jones

Archie Andrews

Hiram Lodge

Sweet Pea

Fangs

Kevin Keller

Reggie Mantle

Chic

Moose Mason

BROOKLYN99

Jake Peralta

Terry Jeffords

All the others (platonic only)

CHRISTIAN BALE

Patrick Bateman (American Psycho)

Bruce Wayne (Batman)

PEDRO PASCAL

Joel Miller (TLOU)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

Javi Gutierrez (The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent)

Javier Peña (Narcos)

Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones)

Agent Whiskey (Kingsman)

Silva (Strange Way of Life)

Francisco Morales (Triple Frontier)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

Dieter Bravo (The Bubble)

DETROIT BECOME HUMAN

Connor

RK900

Hank

Markus

Luther

Simon

Gavin

Josh

BARBIE

Ken (Ryan)

Ken (Simu)

Allan

SHERLOCK

Sherlock Holmes

John Watson

Jim Moriarty

Mycroft Holmes

FNAF (movie)

Mike Schmidt

Steve Raglan

SUITS

Harvey Specter

Mike Ross

LA CASA DE PAPEL

El Profesor

Berlín

Palermo

Denver

Río

I WON’T WRITE:

-Smut (for anyone)

-R*pe

-Female readers/GN readers

-Suic*de

-inc*st

-Crossdressing

-Romantic/Suggestive stories for underage characters (only platonic, basically)

If the character you wanted to request is not on the list, you can try and ask me anyways.

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keegansgf · 1 year

Text

"spring cleaning"

pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

word count: 1.2k

synopsis: spring cleaning inevitably leads to finding old memorabilia, this time, John found his old journal!

tags: domestic bliss, slight reverse comfort?, mostly fluff

A/N: I had this idea in my notes!! Though it's probably not canon to the timeline, I desperatley needed soaps journal to be mentioned in a fic somewhere soooo...

anyways, I'm back :3 (PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF SOMETHING GLITCHES I HAAATEEEEEE COPY AND PASTE FROM GRAMMARLY)

"This one's of our captain, Price."

"Price doesn't look like that now... does he?"

"No, but that's probably for the better. I won't say anything more about his beard then, for his sake. It looks better now, trust me."

You were sitting next to each other at the dining table with boxes of personal items and cleaning supplies on the floor. The smell of chemicals wafted through your tidied dining room, and afternoon sunlight flooded your windows. Every season, you and John clean your place together if he's back home with you, and fortunately, he's right next to you, flipping to another page in his old journal. He found it in one of the boxes full of old documents and notebooks. This one had more personal significance to him.

John's eyes sharpened at the page he was on. He sighed in annoyance before showing you the doodles of a pretty mean-looking german shepherd.

"This page... you already know I'm not a fan of dogs, but this was the day I found out. War is vicious as a whole, but the dogs just... I'll just say rabies treatment hurts like hell and leave it at that." Your eyebrows raised, and you looked up at him.

"Is that why you avoid our neighbors' dogs? They aren't even that large-" John immediately cut you off.

"Shhh. If we get a pet, it'll be a cat– and to be completely fair, he owns pretty big dogs."

"They're huskies, love. They're just fluffy and loud for the most part."

"They're practically the size of that man! You know what, let's stop."

The both of you laughed it off, and he continued skimming through page after page. Occasionally, you glanced at a few of the doodles he made about his surroundings or faces he met along the way. Some of the pages were more military-centered than others. If they were, you would take in a lick of the words and wouldn't bother trying to understand the rest– John's handwriting wasn't much of a help either. Of course, you didn't tell him that out of kindness, but you're sure he knows.

"I still find it odd that I didn't know you liked to draw– you're super good at it too!"

"Well, thank you, sweetheart."

"No, seriously, didn't you say you drew some of these in under ten minutes? Knowing that you quickly mapped out a room's dimensions, your technical skills are great." He laughed at your little compliments before speaking again.

"Y'know, I didn't really pick up art until the start of secondary school– It wasn't my passion– and still isn't– I probably dropped it when I was... 19, maybe? My boredom in all those safehouses got to me enough to resurface a few art skills when I finally had the time to pick up this journal." His eyes widened in shock as he skipped over about four pages quickly, but not fast enough for you to not catch what the paper was covered in.

Blood. Lots of blood, with a few notes, maybe only a paragraph worth. John took a deep breath in and loudly exhaled. He hoped he didn't make you feel uncomfortable.

"Sorry... I didn't want you to see all that." He said, setting the journal down and wrapping an arm around your shoulders. He pulled you in for a brief side hug for some consolation.

"No, it's fine, I understand. I couldn't imagine what happened to you back then."

John pursed his lips and looked at the table's surface, tapping his foot to think of a palatable explanation. He never liked telling brutal war stories to those who worried about him the most– you were in the top three of those people. However, it felt like this needed its story. He grabbed your hand to put it on his lap to soothe both of you before giving the page its context.

"Our mission went wrong, and a colleague saved us. I felt a lot of survivor's guilt at the time– probably because this wasn't the first time this guy helped us when we fucked up. Most of the team, including me, were roughed up pretty bad, hence the blood." John squeezed your hand under the table before trying to lighten the mood again.

"It's remarkable I could pick up a pen during that, huh?" John tried to joke, but it came off a little flat. The energy in the room wasn't uncomfortable or tense– it was just unfortunate for your own reasons. Sad for you because your loved one was severely hurt, and tragic for John to expose these memories again. The silence was broken by your lover shuffling to face you.

"Alright," He started, "What matters is that I'm here now, right? I know you don't like when I brush these things off, but it's in the past now– and I'm home with you."

"You're right... I love you, but you know I worry about you. It's okay to talk to me about this stuff when you're comfortable. Bottling it up and putting a happy face around me probably doesn't help you much."

John has always been secretive about what's going on in his mind for your benefit, never his. It's impressive how he hasn't cracked yet– but if only he knew you're more than happy to talk to him about his troubles. John is big-hearted in nature, maybe too much for your liking. Someday, he'll accept that being a little selfish is okay, especially with you.

"I know, I know– we can work on it, I promise. I love you too much to have you worrying about me this much."

"Well, you should get used to it. Not a day goes by where you aren't on my mind somehow," You giggled, "Don't feel forced to talk about it, okay? Put yourself first sometimes."

"Sounds easier than it looks, I think." John said, sounding unsure of himself. He's always been the type of guy to feel unaccomplished if he couldn't do something right instantly. Mental health being a nonlinear journey didn't help his case. You picked up on his uncertainty from his tone.

"Hey, it's a learning process. We all drop out of old habits, and so will you, John. You're too hard on yourself sometimes." You got up to kiss his cheek and headed to the kitchen

"I think that's enough of the sad talk for now– I don't want to press you on the matter. How about we make lunch and continue cleaning? I don't think you've eaten since, what... 6am?" John smiled at you and got out of his seat. He picked up the box where he found his journal to put it back in storage. Then, he walked to where you were standing to give you a sweet kiss on your lips, wrapping his arms around your lower back.

"I'd love that. Thanks for letting me share all of that, by the way. I love you."

"Of course. I love you too."

John had a weight lifted off his shoulders after your chat. Maybe it took revision about the things he was troubled by to finally feel acceptance. He smiled to himself while thinking about that. You were always right in a way. That's why he loved you so much.

#john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #cod #cod mw 2 #cod mw22 #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #domestic bliss #domestic fluff #fluff

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cagedbycravings · 6 years

Text

Iron Necessity

Title: Agreements

Warnings: Language, Violence, Dubious Consent

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the OC’s and the plot.

"Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler." — Friedrich Nietzsche

"I'm not asking you Price, I'm telling you-"

The screen went dark forcing General Shepherd to watch his face redden with rage. Smashing his fist on his desk, he huffed. It'd been nearly a month since Price, Mactavish, Anderson, and Lévesque were last seen. If he wasn't in such dire straits with the war at home, he'd have reported them to the brass for deserting. Regaining control of his anger, he lifted his head to hear a knock on his door.

"You called, sir?" Archer stood with his arms folded behind his back, eyes unreadable as always.

Shepherd sighed. "As the most senior member of the 141, I need you to explain to me how this happened."

Archer tensed slightly, his eyes looking past the General. "I have no idea, sir."

"No idea?!" He slammed his fist on his desk. "Four of your team members vanish and you play fucking possum?!"

Archer didn't respond, eyes unwavering from the spot he'd found on the wall.

"What Price and his squadron have done is irreprehensible." Shepherd inhaled a shaky breath. "If you…" His breathing became labored as he clutched under his arm.

"Sir, are you-"

"I'm fine, damnit!" Shepherd held his breath as Archer resumed his sight on the wall. Forcing the air from his nostrils, he rattled his knuckles on his desk. "You're experienced enough to make Captain, but you've not quite been in long enough to receive your pension, is that right?"

Archer reluctantly nodded.

"Listen, Ian…You find out where they went, and I'll see to it that you're put on the Captain's docket for the upcoming year."

He'd kept the emotion out of his eyes as Archer nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"You're dismissed. And shut the door on your way out."

Archer sighed as he propped himself against the closed door, lifting his head, eyes closed. What the hell have I gotten myself into this time?

Making his way past the rec room, he ignored the throbbing headache forming in his temples. Apart from Toad, the others had grown actively more skeptical of their CO's disappearance.

"Three years in the gulag and he pulls this shit?" Meat's voice reached his ears as a glass broke.

"I knew Ghost was unstable from the moment I saw him. But Mactavish and Price didn't seem like the type to desert."

"We don't know that they deserted." Toad protested.

"Oh? And what would you call this? Taking a leave of absence? During a goddamn war?!" Scarecrow heightened the tension, kicking the table.

A grumble of arguments spread from the open window as Archer shoved his hands in his pockets. He could feel someone's gaze on his shoulders as he turned.

"Got a spare fag?" Evans' eyes gleamed in the moonlight as he shrugged.

"Know anything about Price?"

Evans lit the cigarette he'd given her, a spark present in her face before giving way to a comforting glow. She shook her head. "Taylor said she returned to their shared room to find Levèsque's bunk emptied out, leaving no trace of ever being there."

Archer sighed, lifting his head to the moonlit sky.

"How far up your ass is Shepherd?"

The question irked him more than he'd let on as he huffed. "Nothing new."

Evans tapped her cigarette, eyeing him up. "You seem tense."

"Yeah? You got a remedy for it or something?"

Evans smirked exhaling a puff of smoke. "And if I do?"

The two eyed each other, a sneaking salaciousness filling the space between them. "I'm not one to dip in the company ink." Archer affirmed watching Evan's smirk.

"I've been told otherwise." Stepping on the cigarette, she winked at him before turning away.

Archer narrowed his eyes at her as she turned towards the women's barracks. The hell she going on about? Her hips seem to curve a bit more, her tone more inviting. Overlooking his shoulder, he debated on how much he wanted to deal with his fellow squad's nonsense.

She'd just vanished from his sight whenever he felt his legs move without thinking. This decision wasn't the greatest but at that moment, it was better than anything else he had going for him…

Margaux rubbed her bleeding knuckles as she turned towards the window; ignoring her brother's ragged breathing. Three days they'd been in Paraty, and in that time, he'd given little to no intel. He slumped forward, blood dripping from his nose. She could hear Mactavish enter the room, eyes fixed on Sabien. India's rainy season had started as the humid heat clung to the walls of the small house they'd taken refuge in. There had been a leak in the ceiling, as water rippled a filling pail.

"Sabien, this isn't that difficult. Just tell me where Esmèrie is."

"I told you," He hacked up more blood between wheezing breaths, his chest rising and falling as he attempted to sit up. "I don't know. I never kept in contact with your attack dog."

Margaux's fist connected with his face as he groaned. "Where is my daughter?"

A dark chuckle escaped his bleeding lips. "I'm surprised she never tried to contact you. Especially after the agreement."

"What agreement, you bâtard?!" She shook him by the collar. "Fucking tell me!"

Soap propped himself against the wall, eyes shooting from Sabien to Marguax. She panted, hair strung about her face, chunks of bloodied flesh ripping from her hand with every strike. Her eyes had been ablaze for days now. The effects of stress showing in her face. In comparison, Sabien while beaten was far from confessing anything substantial. The glint of deceit in his lackluster brown eyes were too vibrant for a prisoner. They'd searched through his file, looking for any hint as to where Esmèrie could have gone. They were on borrowed time with nothing to show for it. He repressed a sigh. They were spending far too much energy on this. He understood that Esmèrie held a tie to Makarov but was it worth the amount of time spent? He doubted it.

"Why?" Margaux's voice hit a guttural low.

"It was to cement a place in Makarov's Inner Circle. He took a liking to her during our Prague arrangem-" Margaux's hand cracked against his face.

"She was barely legal, you sick fuck!"

"Oui." He gasped before swallowing the increasing amount of blood in his throat. "Barely but still legal. We offered other options. You were brought up for example." He chuckled. "But he didn't want a cunt that'd been used by that Brit you like to fuck." His hoarse laugh filled the room. "Non. He wanted Esmèrie because she is- was untouched." His cackle was cut short whenever he coughed.

Rage filled Margaux's eyes as she withdrew her Desert Eagle. Jamming it into her brother's mouth, silencing him. Her finger wrapped around the trigger, mouth parted as short almost frantic breaths escaped her.

The door swung open as Price led Elyse and Anderson inside. "The police found the bodies of two foreigners this morning. One of them could be Hawke."

Margaux jerked her head in Price's direction. She slowly removed the gun from Sabien's mouth before tugging his body into the backroom. A fleeting glare ended their latest confrontation, the slammed door bringing him just the amount of privacy he needed. The stout man wiggled in his binds. They'd loosened enough for him to reach for his shoe. Ripping open the sole, he retrieved a flip phone. Flicking it open, he brought the device to his ear. "We are here." He choked, wheezing while holding his side. "Noire is here with Price. Yes, that's right. And you know what must be done?" He paused listening to the person on the other end of the call. A cruel smirk tugging at his lips. "Good."

Margaux slammed the door before entering the room she and Price shared. His footsteps quietly entered as the door closed.

"John…" Emotion welled in her throat. The words were too painful to utter as she brought a hand to her mouth.

"We're gonna find her. And she's going to be fine." Price wrapped his arms around her waist. "She is your daughter after all."

"Our." The word weighed heavy on her tongue as she felt him tense behind her.

"Margaux…" His tone shifted—deepened, his eyes narrowing. He reached for her shoulders, halting when she jerked away from him.

"Don't."

"Then explain, please…" He sighed. When she didn't respond, he made for the edge of the bed. His age catching up to him in that moment as he rested on the bed.

Her eyes fluttered close. The darkness of her lids transporting her to the past nearly twenty years before.

Her time in Makeni was nearly over as the day came when she would have to tell John good-bye. He'd invited her to his place in London, to the family home he owned. She declined, reminding him that she wasn't made to be tied to any person or construct that enforced monogamy. He kissed her eagerly that day, as always. Greeting her in French, as always. She'd asked to meet at the pub instead of the hotel. He knew something was wrong by her expression as not even she could shake the emotion that had established its home in her heart since meeting him.

"John, I have to return home. My father isn't well." The severity of her father's condition was still unclear as she'd received information from her brothers less than apt wives.

His face softened, a gleam of concern in his eyes. "My pearl, is there anything I can do?"

A sad smile crept onto her face. Her heart tucked into itself as she nodded. "You can make our last night memorable. We're both going to need it."

That night in the hotel, he'd fulfilled her desires in more ways than she could ever describe. Her back had long since pressed against the window, her legs hoisted and wrapped around his waist. Her breasts bounced in rhythm with his thrusts as they locked eyes before she pressed a passionate kiss to his lips. His nails dug into her back as he increased his speed. Unable to contain her sounds, she gripped his shoulders as they relinquished themselves into ecstasy.

John remembered that night. The way her walls clenched around him made him lose control in a way he'd not felt before.

His legs shook as he groaned in the curve of her neck. "Margaux…" Her name was a prayer on his lips. His release was his offering. And her affection, her yearning, her love for him. That was his blessing.

"When I called you that night…You were in London, readying yourself for Pripyat." Her words were slow, her gaze too heavy to meet his eyes. "I needed you…to be there. Not just for me but for our girls."

Her voice didn't feel real to him in that moment. He felt suspended from his reality as the memories of the past flooded his mind in reverse. Watching Elyse graduate from boot-camp, his eyes beaming with pride. Waving to Esmèrie from the helicopter, his heart sinking with anguish knowing he wouldn't be able to kiss away her tears at night. Catching teenage Elyse sneaking in after a night of partying. Coaxing adolescent Esmèrie to sleep after she spent days obsessing over her latest theory. Pretend sparring with toddler Elyse. Reading with Esmèrie. Rocking them to sleep in each arm. Infant Elyse's first nuzzle of approval. Esmèrie's first gummy grin of gratitude.

Her sniffling brought him out of his trance. Margaux seemed so small crumbled on her knees, tear stains lining her face. Her hands pressed into the floor, her head tucked into her chest as she sobbed. Where he expected to feel resentment, he felt understanding. He blinked at the woman who'd given him his most cherished gift, a lifetime spent with a family he didn't believe he deserved. "Margaux," He placed one hand at the small of her back, lifting her chin with the other. "Thank you." Kissing her tearstained lips, he felt her melt into him. Hands pressed against his chest, head tilted, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks.

"We're going to find her. I promise I won't stop until our daughter is safe in your arms."

He closed the door to the bedroom of the abandoned villa. The dimly lit room held thinning wood floors, peeling walls and a noisy, dripping pipe that throbbed in rhythm to his headache. Esmèrie rested beside the wall and the dresser. Her knees were slightly bent, hands tied in front of her, her wide set eyes closed. Her light snoring indicated that she hadn't woken in his absence giving him a moment to study her. She held a quiet defiance in her, a strong spirit well hidden behind that innocuous face. A spirit he'd have to break in accordance to his orders to extract without mercy.

A small yawn parted her lips as she sat up against the wall. Lifting her aching legs, she blinked curiously at her bare knees. Her stockings were gone, replaced by a rope tying her ankles together. Fear spread through her veins, her heart racing, her thoughts in a frenzy. What happened? Where is… Her frantic hazels locked with his sharpened amber. Her mind reeled. The alleyway she had been in. The arms around her torso, the grip around her mouth, the suffocation…the inexplicable ecstasy. A sudden fire ignited between her legs as she clenched her bare thighs together. Her attention shot towards Ghost as she began to tremble. "W-where am I?" Her voice shook, eyes growing wide.

"A villa."

"W-why am I unclothed?" She yanked her arms, realizing that they were tied to a hook in the ceiling. Humiliation burned her cheeks as she averted her gaze.

"Don't you remember," His stare hardened. "You were told not to run. And despite this, you did so anyway."

She flinched at his words, the visage of Lochlan's dead body flashed in her memory. Esmèrie could feel tears prick at her eyes, her voice trembled. "I c-couldn't b-be there…" Her hazels shot to his mocking amber eyes.

"Why?" His tone lowered. "Because of the shooting?"

She felt herself begin to tremble, fearing that he'd snap her in half with just a look. "P-please tell me who you are… o-or at the very least why you're doing this."

A glint of bemusement filled his eyes, his lips twitching into a smirk. "Those details will depend on how forthcomin' you are with me."

She knitted her brows in confusion, her wide set eyes made her look even younger than what she was. "I don't understand."

"You will, dove." He sighed, rising from the ground to remove his skull balaclava. Placing it on the dresser, he opened the drawer to retrieve something she couldn't quite recognize. "Now start from the beginnin'. Who are you? And what's your tie to Makarov?"

"I don't…" She shook her head in confusion. "I don't know who that is…"

He frowned at her, slamming the drawer shut as she winced.

"Startin' off with a lie isn't going to help you any. The longer you take with this, the less patient I'm gonna to be." His icy tone caused her to shudder as he towered over her.

A dangerous thought occurred to her. Esmèrie's stomach shifted anxiously, the words she uttered slipped off her tongue. "Will it change anything?" Amber eyes narrowed while he waited for her to elaborate, his steps slow and daunting.

"Will the outcome of why you're here change depending upon how long I take?"

"This isn't a game you want to play." His voice hit a guttural low causing a violent shiver to overwhelm her spine.

"But the results could change, correct?" The words carelessly slipped into the air. "Otherwise you'd have used more formidable measures to get me to speak." The naivety in her voice made him question if she realized how much of her fate resided in the hands of one of the most feared men on the planet. To say he was no stranger to torture would be an understatement. Ghost had earned more than a fearsome reputation in his time. Torture beyond fathomable comprehension. Worse yet, he'd become specialized, catering to nearly every kind of practice known to man. His knuckles cracked, irritation evident on his features when she didn't flinch from him. Her petite build hadn't yielded to stress. In these kinds of situations, he could expect to see wrinkles, under-eye circles or other signs of stress. And yet, here she was a little too well preserved for his tastes. His thoughts must have shown in his eyes, her gaze flittering until he reached to her level. Revealing a ball gag in one hand and a leather belt in the other, he watched her eyebrows knit together, her perplexed hazels meeting his. She doesn't have a clue what she's in for. He suddenly gripped the back of her head, fingers knotted within toffee curls, yanking her head upward. He muffled her yelp with the ball gag, tying it quickly behind her head as she pried at the piece. Something dormant inside him awakened. Her wide-set eyes were even larger with her mouth covered as he felt himself stiffen. Gripping the rope binding her wrists and ankles together, he tossed her over his knee.

"You called for more formidable measures…" He felt her tense, a sharp inhale slipping past the gag as she writhed. The jingling of the belt caused her to grip at something-anything near her. Settling for the rope holding her hands and feet together, she screwed her eyes shut. The slap to her barely covered ass caused her to reel upwards. Her neck craned as her hazels pleaded for him to stop. Her muffled sounds combined with her struggling kick-started a reaction he wasn't expecting.

She could feel his arousal poking at her stomach. The painful lashes fueled by more intensity with every strike. Her writhing began to slow as only her energy escaped his vice grip. Once he finally stopped, she could do nothing more than fold over his knees. Ghost was nowhere near gentle in his decision to plop her onto the ground almost pleased with the muffled scream that cracked her voice. He removed the gag, keen amber eyes watched the saliva drip down her neck to the valley between her breasts as she heard a sound akin to a groan escape his lips. Her eyes were still closed as she writhed to her bended knees. Her skin was ablaze as she clawed at her legs, whimpers spilling from her mouth.

She'd been struck by her uncles in the past, but this was different somehow. The atmosphere contained a distinctive level of punishment she'd not experienced. Her shoulders hunched, her neck raised to meet his eyes. He hardened against his zipper, seeing her on the ground, weight pressed forward on her palms. Lookin' more like a dog at her owner's feet. He placed the ball gag into the drawer but propped the belt over his balaclava. When he turned towards her, she flinched under the harshness of his gaze.

"The sooner you explain how you know Makarov, the less I'll have to punish you. She winced at his words, eyes lowering to the floor.

"W-will you please untie me?" Her voice was soft but clear as Ghost glanced down at her.

"Only when you've earned it. Understood?"

She didn't respond as a growl lifted from his throat. He stepped forward, kneeling quickly to grip her chin. "When I speak you better bloody respond. Are we clear?"

She searched his eyes for any sort of compassion. Seeing none, she gave a reluctant nod as he released her. His footsteps vanished, leaving Esmèrie to her swarming thoughts and aching nether regions. Apart from the burning from her lashes, a fervent tingling caused her sex to throb. She didn't feel violated as she had in the past. Frightened by her body's conflicting reactions, she flattened herself onto the cool floor. Her heaviest tears pooling beneath her; her sobs filling the silence of the room.

"Understood." Santiago nodded on his phone, snapping his fingers towards Mateo. The younger scientist sighed, leaning forward to hand him his laptop with an aggravated sigh. Mateo didn't bother to hide his frustration since Esmèrie officially joined Apotheosis. Having someone of a similar mindset helped ease the overbearing attitude Santiago exhibited. She was of the belief that science, education, and technology were meant for everyone regardless of their socioeconomic status. Santiago on the other hand, was intent on profiting off their inventions. In Esmèrie's absence, he'd contacted a Frenchman who had connected him with some of his business colleagues. They'd attempted to profit off the netting she'd created but were halted by the stringent French laws regarding patents and ownership rights. Whether Esmèrie knew of Santiago’s intentions were unclear to Mateo. He lifted his phone to check his message, dismay filling his expression. The iron door creaked open as Santiago hurriedly ended the phone call to greet him.

"What a surprise, Professor! What brings you here?" A feigned smile tore open his lips as the Professor grimaced.

"Has Esmèrie returned yet? I have questions about her theory on using tears to generate electricity."

Santiago gave an exaggerated shrug. "Sadly, she has yet to answer any messages from either Mateo or I. Hope everything is alright."

The Professor dusted off his shoulder, shooting the briefest knowing glance towards the younger scientist. The boy's as good a liar as a child with his hand in a cookie jar.

Mateo narrowed his dark eyes, locked in an intense stare with Santiago while the Professor glanced from one to the other.

"When she arrives, have her come see me as soon as possible." He muttered, tightening his fist.

Neither Santiago or Mateo knew Russian but from his tone, it sounded like insulting mutterings caught in the creaking of the metal door. The shadows swallowed him just as his chest began to pound excruciatingly. His breathing turned ragged, his hand gripping the wall. The dimly lit walk to his lab left him panting, the struggle to reach his work desk all too agonizing to contain. His wheezing filled the air, met only with the creaking of his chair once his legs buckled beneath him. Pressing the button on his tape recorder, he huffed, pounding his fist on the desk. Utensils and papers crashing to the floor.

"It is…" His eyes scanned the wall beside him, desperate to find the date on the small calendar. "Day 104. The treatment has ceased working…" His gasping continued. "I am beyond the window in which TP508 will prove any effectiveness…However," He swallowed, his eyes fluttering closed. "I am not yet beyond the window to continue my trials with CH777." Tired grey eyes opened to see the cylindrical ice chest on his desk. Withdrawing a needle with a shaky hand, he pointed it at his bruised vein. "12th of December…treatment 6 using CH777. Inclusive therapeutic migration has shown signs of regeneration in the cells damaged by nuclear radiation." The yellow liquid emptied from the needle as the Professor's breathing slowed. His eyes grew heavy, beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. Dizziness consumed his vision. He staggered from the table, struggling to travel the small distance from the desk to the bed in the opposite corner. He'd been grateful for Esmèrie's assistance. In his first trial using the CH777, he suffered intense hallucinations that would cause him to shout in slurred Russian. She had been patient in tending to him. Mateo was a fourth-generation doctor who switched to regenerative science early on in his career. His distanced guidance along with Esmèrie's kindness saved the Professor from injuring himself during his delirium. A twinge of worry struck his heart. The lab had grown more solemn since her disappearance. It seemed quite odd that she's promised to only be gone for a day and now, a week later, she had entirely vanished. This isn't like her. He retrieved her phone from his pocket, steadily dialing her number. Her voicemail answered as he sighed, ending the call. Reclining against his pillows, he closed his eyes. If he still prayed, he would have requested that she be brought back unharmed. Decades worth of hiding underground, burying himself from the sun let alone God's eye, made him forgo any belief in a promising afterlife. Just get back here, kid. Alive. Happy. Hopeful.

Anderson could hear the shower from the room he, Mactavish, and Levèsque shared. Their assorted sleeping bags were on separate walls, each made impeccably in accordance to Mactavish's expectations. Their assorted packs were marked with in insignia to differentiate them from each other as Anderson knelt to see Levèsque's kit. A circular symbol with Y shaped line cutting across the divided center gleamed in the moonlight. The sleek metal cooled his palm, his fingers tracing over the emblem. His curiosity got the best of him, unfocused on his surroundings. The rushing water had stopped, the door allowing a cloud of steam to reveal Elyse in her towel. She stopped mid-step, eyes fixed on the blond leaning over her bag. She cleared her throat, annoyed hazels watching him stiffen. "Can I help you, Roach?"

He stammered, rising awkwardly. "I wasn't sure what that was…" He pointed towards the insignia on her pack.

"Ah. It's the empathy symbol. Keeps Esmè close."

He nodded, apologizing, a nervous hand on the back of his head. Elyse shrugged. "No worries. You aren't harming anything." There was a surprising gentleness in her voice, her eyes trailing the emblem with fondness. "Have you…" She swallowed the emotion in her throat "Heard anything? Any updates?"

Roach shook his head, twisting his mouth. "Sorry."

She gave an impassive shrug. "Not your fault." She felt his stare linger, trailing to her breasts before darting back up to her face. A glint of mischief filled her hazels. "Been awhile, eh?"

He flushed, shaking his head in confusion. "S-sorry?"

She chuckled, licking her lower lip, eyes narrowing at the blush on her fellow soldier's face. "Where's the Captain?"

"On watch." He gulped at how easy his responses had been around her since leaving base. He knew he should have left. That he shouldn't have been so apt to allowing his stare to fall to her dripping figure. Spearmint and Eucalyptus greeted his senses as he swallowed. He could still feel her toned arms around his neck. Her heated body pressed his, the beads of sweat dripping down her face. Her gaze glancing towards the door as he shifted himself. "I should go…" He cleared his throat. "…Let you get dressed."

"We share the same room, Roach. I can dress in the bathroom."

He wanted to ask why she hadn't done so at first. Why provide the temptation in a place where they had to be close to each other? His body heated watching the steam radiate from her shoulders, her towel slipping down her cleavage as she tied her hair back. A smirk tugged at her lips. "Since you're already there, would you hand me my shirt?" Roach gulped, following her stare to the sleeping bag. A black tank top and cargo pants lie folded on her pillow. He nervously lifted the clothing, extending his arm towards her. Her scent was intoxicating, heightening his senses. Her fingers brushed against his. The thin towel doing little to hide her figure. "Thanks…" Her breathy tone sent a violent shiver up his spine as goose bumps pimples his flesh. "Roach…"

"Yeah…" His half-lidded cognac eyes focused on her plump lips spreading into a grin.

"I need my shirt."

Without realizing it, he'd clung to the fabric, just inches from her chest. His fingers tensed at her areola, unwilling to graze it without explicit consent. As if reading his mind, Elyse propped herself forward, tilting her head, her lips parting. "Scared, boy?"

His brows furrowed, lip tensing. She had him trapped. He could walk away, pride demolished, or he could lean in just…a…bit…more.

Their lips connected in a battle of wills. Inhaling each other, hoping to absorb each other's very essence. Roach felt her grip on his shirt, pulling him forward. He grunted, hands yanking her hips against his. He muffled her moan with a deep kiss. Not to be bested, her fingers rushed beneath his shirt, nails sinking into his shoulders. They pulled apart to breathe, ragged inhales meeting shaky exhales. "Their lust filled gazes interrupted by brisk knocking.

"Roach, get ready to take the next watch." Price's voice reached them as Anderson stiffened.

"Guess we'll have to resume this another time, bug."

His eyebrow twitched at the pet name, his eyes seeing the bemusement in her eyes. She rose to her toes to peck his lips. Resisting the shudder in his spine, he almost painfully stepped away from her intense stare, grabbing his pack and briskly making for the door.

Ghost exhaled the last puff of smoke from his cigarette, his foot stomping the remaining cinders into oblivion. He'd no sooner calmed his arousal whenever the muffled sound of Esmèrie's cries reached his ears. It was sickening, his reaction. He could remember a time when he didn't enjoy causing pain. The visage of his mother appeared in his mind, one of their final conversations together involved the horrible orders he had to carry out. It had been one of the last instances he could recall before his empathy became tainted.

Shuffling against the floorboards drew his attention from his thoughts as he looked towards the room where he kept Esmèrie. Replaying the way her eyes widened at the ball gag made him harden painfully against his zipper. He supposed he ought to bring her food. Grabbing the fruit basket from the counter, he shuffled towards the bedroom. The door creaked open as Ghost narrowed his eyes. While bound in the dark room, she'd managed to find her backpack. She'd just flicked open a pivot penknife whenever he charged her. Her screams filled the air as she dropped the blade immediately, kicking herself against a wall.

"Grabbing weapons now, eh?"

"I-it's not w-what you t-think…" She shook her head empathically. "I just need to cut the rope. Se vos plai…my wrists are bleeding." (L'occitane French: please) Her breathing hitched as her eyes flickered from one eye to the other, waiting for his response.

He flung the knife into the front of the dresser, the strike causing a crack in the chipped wood. She crawled into the space between the dresser and the bed, tucking her hands over her breasts and clenching her legs shut, anticipating his next move. "Take it off." His tone was even more terrifying in the dark making Esmèrie clench in a way that brought just as much tearful confusion as it did inexplicable carnality.

She shook her head, gripping her breasts harder. Her night vision had struggled due to the radiation poisoning, forcing her to rely on her other senses. Turning her head, she heard him steadying his breathing, his body heat radiated up her leg towards her knee before drifting down her thigh. The near touch of his hand in such a delicate area sent a fire into her sensitive bundle of nerves. Her breathing hitched at his scent. Sea salt trapped within musk caused her to throb, goose bumps pimpled her flesh.

"Enjoying yourself?" He chuckled darkly. When she didn't respond, he cracked his knuckles while fisting her hair, tugging her face towards his. Her weakened eyesight focused on his lips. They spread into a menacing grin that distracted her just long enough for him to grip the panties from her hip with his free hand. Carelessly ripping them off despite her kicks and cries. An all new wave of humiliation seeped into her skin when they landed with a slap against the floor.

"Are you wet, dove?"

Kicking herself into a corner, she shot one hand between her legs, the other guarding her breasts. Her blubbers filled the stillness of the room whenever Ghost's warmth evaporated from her body. He vanished into the shadows in search of the light switch. The sudden change from darkness to light was overwhelming as Esmèrie screwed her eyes shut. In a moment, his hands were on her knees, pulling them apart.

She pleaded with him to stop, apologizing in both French and English, and whimpering when she realized that her hand wouldn't be enough to stop his gaze. She'd made the decision to lessen the protection at her bra, crossing her arms down her chest, firmly pressing her palms between her legs. His fingers resumed their grip on her toffee curls, his gaze traveled to her protruding cleavage. He glimpsed the tattoo on her right ribcage, something akin to a geometric shape he surmised. His gaze shot to hers when he noticed her sniffling had all but ceased. Her eyes were wide with alarm as she overlooked his shoulder. His sight matched hers, as he turned his head. Spotting a collection of books spilling out of the bag, his eyes rested on the forest green leather ledger with gold lettering.

Esmèrie panicked, digging her nails into his face as she shoved him against the ground. Her weight wouldn't keep the soldier down long as she desperately tore herself from his grip. She managed two footsteps whenever the rope tying her hands and feet together snapped her onto her bare, aching ass. Feeling Ghost's grip on her shoulders, she thrashed and clawed at his arms. A string of colorful curses spilled from his mouth as he flipped her onto her back, restraining her in a knee-mount. In a last-ditch effort, she bit into his forearm earning a well-placed hold on her neck. The air escaped in painful gasps as she writhed beneath him. Feeling her vision darken, she lifted her head just enough to see the pile of books sprawled across the floor just inches away. Bitter tears stung her hazels as she prepared herself for unconsciousness. When the light resumed in her eyes, she frowned. His weight lifted off her chest, as she lowered her head in his direction. Feeling her arms lift above her head, she flinched feeling him rip the bra from her body. Her plump breasts bounced as she felt fresh tears of humiliation fall. Seeing the ledger between Ghost's lips brought about a new fury inside of her. But before she could object, her binds tightened around her wrists, a painful cry escaping her mouth. He lifted her to her toes, dangling her uncomfortably from one foot to the other. Tying the rope to a hook in the ceiling, he dropped down from the bed. He turned his back to the brunette, tossing the book on the creaky bed. Aside from her books, journals, phone, and utensils; he noticed some of her undeveloped inventions. Lightbulbs, a thin tube with folded gauze, he noticed her hair and face products covering a puzzle box.

Ghost passed a fleeting stare her direction, practically hearing the fear overtake her heart as she stood on her toes.

Shaking the box, he returned to the bed. "What's in here?"

"N-nothing." She shook her head.

"You lyin' to me isn't going to make this any easier."

"It has nothing to do with Makarov! I swear!" She blurted, regret instantly seeping into her features.

Ghost tilted his head. "Is that so? So then does this," He lifted the ledger, flipping through the pages. "Have anything to do with Makarov?"

"Indirectly." Her voice was just above a whisper. She sniffled, tilting her body away from him. She couldn't control his gaze, but she could control how much of her he saw. It was a thinly veiled thought; her lies wouldn't convince herself otherwise.

"Look pet," He emphasized pointedly. "I'm not a patient person. You're gonna want to start talkin' a lot faster." He rose ominously, his thumb lifting her chin. She averted her gaze, mouth curved in, mind working quickly.

"If I tell you…about that ledger." She tilted her body towards the window. "Will you prevent Cillian from hurting someone?"

"Someone other than you?"

Esmèrie nodded. "There's this kid-"

"I don't do rescue missions." His eyes glazed in apathy. She'd passed the threshold of calm. Esmèrie felt a gnawing in her stomach, warning her against pushing the matter. She hadn't managed to steer clear of the storm raging in his eyes thus far. What was the point in trying to do so now?

"It wouldn't be a rescue mission, just a preventative one. If word got out that a member of the SAS was guarding-" His vice grip around her neck caused her to choke and spasm.

"Who told you I was SAS…"

"You…" She choked. "…just confirmed it…" Her face reddened, her eyes watering. She buckled, her weight pulling the rope taught against her flesh.

Ghost removed his restraint at the last second, loosening the rope just enough to bring her from the brink of unconsciousness. She collapsed to the floor, returning the color to her cheeks through painful wheezing. "Who dares wins…" He narrowed his eyes at her, towering above her fatigued body. "That's what my Parrain taught me the day he left."

"And he went to find Makarov." His tone deepened, his body tensed, hand clenched around the ledger.

She nodded shifting from her back to her bum, pressing her weight onto her bended knees. "Yes." Her gazed lifted to the ledger in his hand. "I can't tell you about everything because I don't know about everything to do with Makarov."

He paused in a way that made her wonder if he would punish her again. Instead he knelt to her level. His hand folded around her chin, forcing her eyes to lock with his. "Then you'll tell me what you do know. And pet," He leaned in closer to her, his hot breath tingling against her lips. Flicking his knife, he held it to her throat, sliding the blade down her neck to her clavicle, furthering it until it reached the tattoo on her rib-cage. "The more you hold back, the less I will."

Author's Note: What are your thoughts on character development? Plot? Anywhere I can improve on?

#iron necessity #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price

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