Latest Posts by eicee - Page 4

I am not fine.

THE WAY PRICE'S HANDS WEAKENED (AND IT'S GAZ'S HANDS HE'S HOLDING????????? ASLKJFLSADJFSAFJ;ASJFKLA)

IT IS GAZ'S HANDS

Me if Price dies :

Me if Gaz dies :

Me if Ghost dies :

Me if Soap dies :

omg congrats for 5k doll! i wanted to slide in and see if i could have a protective!bf Gaz written since my baby is so underappreciated??? i saw this tweet about the scene in mw where gaz's disabling a bomb and is unable to and price throws the guy off the balcony, but this time the bomb in strapped to his love and he's and he's struggling and sees price out of the corner of his eye and remembers what happens last time and panicks and goes all 'you won't do that to her'. just a thought, love all your work!

—Don't Look At Her

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [The bomb starts ticking down, rapidly firing to zero. Gaz won't let Price near you. Not after he'd remembered the Captain's actions when they'd first met.] ❞

"Gaz," your voice wavers, watching the rapidly working man and seeing his darting eyes—lit with panicked fervor. He doesn't answer, so you speak again. "Gaz!"

"No!" He barks, brown eyes instantly meeting yours. Lips pull in a right frown; there's a glint in his gaze that you'd never seen before—not in the many years you'd known him. Kyle's firm hands don't leave the wiring attached to your chest. The vest.

The bomb.

"No, Love," he grates out, immediately getting back to work as you try to keep your tears at bay, body jerking back and forth as your boyfriend pulls at the straps and bits. "Don't even say anything. You're going to fucking fine, you hear? It's going to be okay."

It was the product of bad intel, really. You'd been sent in without the proper know-how, leading to a scuffle where the butt of a gun had been slammed into your temple. When your eyes opened again, it was already too late.

Kneeling in the middle of a large office building, the glass of the windows shattered behind you, and the wind whips the back of your skull aggressively, you stare down at Gaz. Trying to form words on a tongue that won't cooperate.

"You need to run," you whisper out, resigning yourself as the rapid beeping increases. Your heart moves so fast you can't feel the skin of your chest anymore. "Kyle," pleading, you watch his jaw clench something fierce. "Listen to me—!"

"I'm not leaving you!" A sharp snap of a metal piece hits your ears, the piece of the vest clattering to the ground in a violent display of desperation. Gaz glances back up at you stubbornly; as if uncaring about the impending incineration only minutes away. "So you stop bloody talking like that, yeah? I'm not just giving up!"

The sides of your eyes dribble out rabid tears, lungs a mess of air and inhales that can't even be considered breathing anymore by how wheezy they sound.

How would it feel? Exploding into a patchwork of blood and fire—instantaneous, sure, but feeling Kyle's heat and his puffs of air; his fear, you can't imagine him dying like that. Not him.

"Look at me," Gaz pants, fingers pulling at cords in search of the one he needed to cut—unable to pinpoint it through the hack-job that had been done to your vest.

There was every color under the sun except fucking yellow. His teeth clench so tight they hurt his jaw, but he sends you quick glances as you shakily do as he says.

Brown eyes soften, and while the both of your hands shake, for a second there's a relief at the eye-contact. "Repeat it, Love."

You lick your lips and stammer, "y-you're not leaving."

Lips press firmly into yours, and you clench your eyes tight at the sensation, tiny sob breaking the contact.

"That's right." Gaz growls. "Not on my life."

Rapid footsteps race into the room, but before the Sergeant can reach for his weapon, the familiar call from the Captain echoes out.

"Friendly!" It's as if Gaz doesn't even register, still digging and fearfully looking at the timer.

50 seconds. 49. 48. 47...

"Sergeant," Price jogs over. You can barely find the inner strength to look up at him. "Sitrep."

Blue eyes dart from the vest to you and the Captain's serious face goes grim. His expression flashes with the inner workings of his mind, eyes narrowing and a grunt stuck under his lips.

"I have it," Gaz speaks quickly, and the words strike you as odd, though you don't comment. Price slid him a sharp look.

"Gaz—"

"Don't even look at her." Snarling like an animal, brown orbs are volatile enough to rend stone in two as they meet the older man's. You and John are rendered speechless, sharing a swift glance in shock like teenagers hearing their parents swear for the first time.

Kyle's eyes are wild, sweat slicking his brow. "Come fucking on!" He yells and your body is snapped forward as Gaz pries on the straps, having to steady yourself on the man's shoulders for support. Every muscle in his body is taunt; shaking with force.

Perhaps it was the memory that invaded his brain like a parasite that had made him snap at his superior like that—a stab to his fine tissue that digs all the way down his rail-straight spine.

Piccadilly Circus. Tanto building. Hostage with an explosive vest.

Kyle's fingers bleed as they peel back rough velcro, having ripped off his gloves to be nearer to you.

It all flashes past his mind in horrible increments, the past, but instead of a man—the hostage is you. And Price was burning his neck with a harsh stare once more.

He's going to throw her out the window, Kyle panics and you watch with the deadly realization of the situation. No. No, I won't let him. Not her.

"Garrick," Price says, voice deep. But he doesn't move. "You need to get your head back on."

"I've got it screwed on just right, Captain." Gaz grunts. "Trust me."

12 seconds. 11. 10. 9...

You stare at Gaz and memorize the make of his handsome face—the dates and the late nights speaking about the future sticking to your skin like leeches; sucking away every instance of love and happiness. His laugh. His brown eyes.

His smile.

Oh, you want to see your Love smile.

"Sergeant!" Price yells, moving forward to grapple onto Kyle's shoulder. "It's going off!"

Your boyfriend rips out of his hold, fists clenched and screaming.

"Get the fuck off of me! I can save her!" Your back hits the ground with a slap and a ragged gasp from your lips, the Brit straddling your hips in a desperate play to deactivate the bomb.

"Kyle," you look up at him, pleading. "You have to take cover, it's...it's okay. I love you, I need you to know that—"

"Bloody shut," eyes spark, locking on the bright color under the front of the vest. Gaz snaps a hand under the material and rips at it in a ruthless wrench of his arm. 2 seconds. There's a deafening snap of wire. "Up!"

The beeping stops and the world stills.

Your wide eyes can't stop crying as you stare up into brown eyes with astonishment; struggling to breathe. You can't tell if the building is vibrating or only you, but nothing seems to be able to focus as a wave crashes down on you; adrenaline still striking you.

Everything rings inside of your ears, pounding in your head.

Hands grasp the base of your jaw and lips descend to yours, tears slapping your skin from above in a wave of feral agony. Gaz stifles his sob on your mouth as you shake wildly, panting over your flesh.

Price gives off a large sigh from behind, standing straighter and turning his head.

Gaz's forehead connects with yours, but there are no words to be said—just the silent gazing and lingering fear of death. He won't let go of your cheeks, and, quivering, you go to grasp tightly at the sides of his arms.

With a shuddering breath, he closes his eyes and sags into you.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

made me cry a effing river before I slept 😭

(Gif originally by @shadow0-1)

Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again.

(Soap x GN! Reader)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 5400 Tags: Doomed Narrative, Time Loop AU, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, Hurt Very Little Comfort, Happy Ending, (I PROMISE THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!!) Warnings: Major character death. That's...literally the plot A/N: Hi here's the doomed timelines AU nobody asked for

Call of Duty Masterlist

Summary:

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

The first time you meet Soap, it’s how you expect. 

It’s a warm spring day, the kind where you need to shed layers in the brightness of afternoon, only to don them again come sunset. He stands just beyond the shade of the barracks, awash in sunlight that seems to catch the blue of his eyes. You blink as you take him in, and it’s the only barest indication you give at the instant impression that he’s handsome.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You reach for it automatically, remember yourself and offer a pleasant smile in return, along with your name. 

“Looking forward to working with you, John.” You reply, and John- Johnny, as you’d come to call him in the tender moments between you, chuckles. 

“Call me ‘Soap’.” He tells you easily, and you smile a bit wryly, tilting your head at him. 

“The hell kind of name is ‘Soap’?”

- - - - -

It’s easy to work with Soap. He has a cheery, bright demeanor to him that is immediately endearing. He’s friendly, outgoing. His smile is contagious, and the bark of his laughter becomes familiar to you. You listen and guffaw at his jokes over the comms, try vainly to hide your smile when he says them before you. 

It only makes his eyes twinkle to see you try and conceal your amusement, and that becomes familiar too- the sparkle of his irises with endless mirth. 

He catches you during your duties, sidles up beside you during weapons training, becomes the first to suggest himself as your partner during drills. The company he offers is warm, welcome, lifting the dusky heaviness of your heart into something more tender, fragile. You hold it for him, feel his grin bleed into yours, lay awake at night and sometimes think about the shake of his shoulders when you get him to laugh. 

You feel endlessly special when he devotes his time to you, feel as if Soap treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the presence of others he finds ways to indulge himself in you. A nudge of his boot against yours under the table of the briefing room, tossing you an extra round of ammo as you gear up for a mission, finding an excuse to sit next to you on the chopper ride home. Soap feels like a breath of fresh air, the first taste of a cool breeze during summer, a respite from the weight of the world. 

Like two stars in orbit, you circle each other, drawing closer into the gravity of each other’s gazes. You try at first to resist, to hold yourself away from the feelings of the other sergeant, knowing at any moment that he could be taken from you. It’s written in the wheels of fate, your destinies as soldiers. If you’re lucky, if you stay alert, if you train hard enough, if chance smiles upon you, maybe you’ll both live to a day where the sound of rockets and bullet-fire doesn’t haunt your waking dreams.

Yet you can’t resist him. When you fall asleep against his shoulder after a days long mission with hardly any sleep, when he playfully grapples with you over the last slice of pizza during movie night, when he gives you that smile during a rare night off-base at the pub- how can you resist?

Gravity pulses between you when you at last fall into him, feel his breath against your lips as your fingers comb through his mohawk. He breathes the blessing of your name against the corner of your mouth in a panting gasp, flexes his fingers across the small of your back when he drags you even closer. The taste of him is honey and ale, a sweetness with a beloved bitter aftertaste, one you drink down greedily in the form of his moans against your flesh. 

When you lay in bed together after, sweaty limbs tangled together, you watch the tender, soulful smile form across the handsome planes of his face, and you know. 

He’s yours. 

There’s kisses stolen in the hangar before take off, moments hidden in the shadows of safehouses. He cups your face and lifts it to him in the aftermath of battle, smears ash against your cheek with his gloved thumb. You try to carve each moment into your heart, never fail to try and memorize the glint of his eyes, the soft slope of his smile. You know the shape of him in the darkness of his bedroom, know the sound of his voice even blinded by the brightness of his mere presence. 

Johnny is the sun- emanating a gentle, beckoning warmth from afar. Yet when you get closer you see the glory of his inferno, see the flashing burn of his eyes in the midst of battle. The solar flare of his battle cry seems to carry you like soar of Helios's chariot upwards into the heavens of his devotion. When you touch him, you’re seared, branded by his fingers as they trace sentimental sketches across the dip of your waist. You want to bask in him, feel the ember of his stare as he gazes at you silently across the table of the restaurant he takes you to for your official first date. 

“What?” You ask him, averting your eyes a little bashfully, catching his shrug in your periphery. 

“Just lookin’.” He replies with a grin, his cheek smushed as he balances on his hand. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

You kiss him for that, and when he laughs you kiss him again. 

You kiss him a thousand times, each as sweet and passionate as the last, know the curve of his smile on your lips. You kiss him before your next mission, when he holds you against the wall of the armory and tells you how he can’t wait until you both get back. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t come back. 

He’s looking at you in the chopper when you hear the sound of the RPG. The explosion has him backlit for all of a moment before the world is spinning, the roar of the dying engine in your ears and Price’s holler to “BAIL BAIL BAIL-!!”

You reach for the rope, glance behind you to see Soap not out of his seat- a breed of panic in his eyes unlike that you’ve ever seen from him. The jammed clasp of his strap is caught in his hands as he tugs at it desperately, and you meet his gaze for all of a moment, seeing the imminent knowledge of what comes next in his beautiful blue eyes. 

You fall, without him, are caught by the canopy of trees where the snap of branches under you muffles the distant sound of the helicopter exploding as it lands. 

You ignore Price’s orders, run desperately for the wreckage, only to be greeted by an inferno that stretches towards the sky. 

Johnny is on fire, and this time when you reach for the burn of him the flames are real. They scorch your flesh and you shout his name even as you try to reach him, already knowing it’s too late. When Ghost and the others haul you back you fall to your knees, grip the scorched earth beneath your fingers and scream.

And then you wake up. 

Warm springtime. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You blink, heart still hammering in your chest, feeling the warmth of flames chase you even as songbirds sing in the trees. Yet Johnny is alive before you, whole, smiling, looking so much like the man he was when you met him for the very first time. 

“Was it a nightmare?” You ask him breathlessly, and Johnny- Soap- merely arches a bewildered eyebrow at you. 

“What?”

Nightmares, you come to learn, are so much more kind. 

It happens all as it did before. The jokes over comms, the glancing gazes over drills, the bump of elbows in the mess hall. It’s familiar, sweet, amorous…

And you know something is terribly, terribly wrong. 

Back to the start, somehow. You don’t know how, you don’t know why- but there’s no denying what has happened. Johnny died. You went back, and now you have a chance to save him. 

It’s months before the helicopter crash. You replay the scene over and over again in your mind, and you keep arriving back to the look in Johnny’s eyes as realization washed across them. Everyone who dies a sudden death is confused, scared, not ready, and the knowledge and horror you saw in his stare haunts your waking dreams. 

Yet Johnny falls in love with you just as he did before, and you fall into him so readily, desperate to accept his warmth in the wake of his death. Orpheus embracing Eurydice, you try to trace him into your skin, imbue the memory of him into the marrow of your bones and pray that you can reverse his fate. The gears of destiny tick in the back of your mind even as he stares at you over the restaurant table on the evening before your departure. 

“Just lookin’.” He tells you when you return his stare, mistaking your concern for confusion. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

When you kiss him, you try to swallow the sob in your throat.

When you get on the helicopter, you point out his jammed strap with shaking fingers, and he blinks in astonishment. 

“Hell’s bells.” He huffs, fiddling with it before it comes loose, and it stays that way for the remainder of your journey. “That coulda been terrible, ey bonnie?”

He makes it out this time, and when he rises from the forest floor he rushes to you, cups your face in his hands and stares down with eyes glinting in concern. 

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, chest heaving with exhilaration. “Are you hur-”

He jerks back at the sound of a gunshot, and you drop automatically, crawl to him just in time to catch his hand as he reaches for you. The bullet wound at his collarbone gushes red, red, red, and your hands are coated in it as you plead, tell him he’s going to be okay-

The light fades from his eyes, still staring up at you, the last thing he sees. 

You still feel his heartbeat on your hands when you wake up. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You tremble, take it and see him blink in surprise when he feels the uncontrollable shake of your palm against his. 

The second time, you think it’s a fluke, a horrible prank. 

He steps on a landmine, scattered to the four winds.

The third time, you’re petrified. 

A man hidden in the darkness, he lunges for you. Johnny pushes him aside. The blade wedges between his ribs.

The fourth time, you beg destiny for answers.

You make it to the compound, the fence lights him up like a firework.

The fifth time, you try to tell him, only to find your throat clogged, unable to speak. You try to tell him a hundred more times in the months that follow, and each time the words are stolen from your breath, as if fate forbids you to inform him of his doomed destiny.

“...Nothing.” You tell him when he asks after you’ve tried to speak over the restaurant table, your food barely touched. 

Johnny shrugs. “Doesna matter, too busy looking at how pretty you are.”

You cry silently that night in his bed, while he dozes gently next to you, unaware of what awaits him. 

You can’t tell him. You don’t know how to save him. You still love him. 

He’ll forget he knows you, forget he loves you by the time he wakes up

You’ve found eight ways for Soap to die, and have taken years to defy all of them. You have to write them down everytime you wake up unless you somehow forget. The notebook is filled with scribbled reminders, ever present in your pocket even as he steals the last slice of pizza out from under you.

He doesn’t have enough ammo. Remind him to take extra clips

He put his knife on the wrong strap that he usually does, fix it for him.

He steps on the landmine fourteen steps after the creek. Stop him.

You can’t stop trying. Not when it’s him.

Yet each time you find a way to outsmart the latest execution of him, fate finds one more thing to steal him out from under you. Unstoppable, imminent, condemned to wake up and see his smiling face mere moments after his heartbeat slows to nothingness.

“I love you.” You whisper as you cradle his head in your lap, knowing he already can’t hear you, glassy eyes staring up at the sky. “I’ll see you soon.”

You burst into tears by the 19th time, buckling in on yourself much to the shock of the men around you, relaying startled looks of confusion between them. You excuse yourself, find a dark corner to fold into and sob, knowing this time you’ll fail too.

It’s Soap who finds you, sits beside you, says barely a word when you cry into his shoulder even though he doesn’t know you. Not yet. 

Falling in love with him each time is painful. Your heart beats for him and him alone, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose him again. You’ll go right back to the start, to him having just met you, not yet falling into gravity with you, even as you hear the tick of gears turning ever closer to the moment you’ll watch him die.

“Don’t you know me?” You want to ask him, want to bunch his shirt between your fists and let tears stream down your face. “Don’t you know you loved me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. He jokes and laughs and playfully teases you and it hurts. It’s a balm that burns, heals your heart and yet doesn’t erase the scar. He’s your only comfort, the only thing you have as you feel your soul chipped a little further each time he leaves you. You can’t tell him why you cry into his arms, can’t confess to him that you’ve seen him die more ways than you care to remember, that you’ve tried to save him in dozens of lifetimes and he doesn’t even know.

He holds you even though he doesn’t understand, hushes sweet endearments into your hair and comforts you, not knowing how this will end. 

“I love you.” He tells you softly as you hiccup against his chest, not knowing what else to say. “Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

Your tears drip into the fancy china at the restaurant he takes you to and Johnny looks afraid.

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

He looks at you, blinks. His brow furrows.

“How’d you know my name?”

This time, you forget to warn him about the rigged doorway, and he vanishes in a flash and puff of smoke. 

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

You wake up. Everything happens as it did before. You meet him, you listen to the sound of his laugh, you finish one of his jokes over the comms and he groans.

“Don’t tell me ye know that one too!” He grouses, and when you smile your chest aches with the force of thirty lifetimes. 

You place a palm against his back, unable to help yourself as you enter the compound, wanting to feel the frame of his body just one more time before destiny finds a new way to kill him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiles even as uncertainty colors the blueness of his gaze. 

“Yer like my guardian angel.” He tells you, still smiling even after all this time. “Dannea what I’d do w’out ye.”

A grenade at the staircase. He pushes you out of the way. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time.

You close your eyes when you wake up. You can’t bear to look at him, knowing you’ll just lose him again.

You try to keep him from loving you, thinking perhaps that is the crime to warrant this eternal punishment. You can’t stop loving him, but maybe, maybe you can stop him from loving you. Maybe if you never have him to begin with, maybe you can save him. 

Yet Johnny is drawn to you anyways, sucked in by the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, like a moth to an infant flame. He hovers at the fringes of your soul, tries desperately to find his way inside, and you can’t help but let him. He comforts you when you cry against the futility of it all, and there’s nothing you can say to him to explain. You wet his shirt with your tears, knowing it’ll be the one he dies in.

The next time, you force yourself to not speak to him, to try and avoid him at all costs, try everything to drive him away. If he never loved you to start, then maybe he’ll live. He seems pre-ordained to find a way to confess to you, ask why you hate him so, look at you through glistening eyes and ask “What did I do?”

You wonder if maybe that’s destiny too, if it’s truly Soap falling in love with you, or his strings being pulled by the same machinations that inscribe his death. 

When he asks you again, tries to approach you with flowers and apologies, and offers to take you to dinner on the eve of his death, you wheel on him in desperate fury. 

“You don’t actually love me!” You cry, face hot with tears. “Can’t you see that?! All this time it’s just- it’s just the story we’re in. Just because you’re supposed to love me doesn’t mean you do. It’s all just a fucking lie.”

Soap is stunned, too shocked to speak. In all the dozens of lives you’d lived, you’ve never ever yelled at him before. 

Hurt flashes across his eyes. His eyes drop along with his hands, the bouquet limp in his grip. The bitterness of his smile as he refuses to look at you threatens to shatter your heart like glass. 

“You hate me.” He murmurs, as if to himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tae…”

He falls silent, and eventually he walks away. 

You don’t get on the chopper this time. You can’t stand to watch him die again. 

You try to tell him again, ask him why. Why does he have to torture you like this? Why love you, why allow you to love him so deeply, only for him to leave at the end of this doomed story bound to repeat? Why would he love you?

He looks torn. He’s hurt. He wants to comfort you. He doesn’t know what to say

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks in a whisper, devastated by your outburst. 

You can’t speak. You’re forbidden to tell him. You want to. You can’t.

“Bonnie-” He tries, stepping forward, trying to embrace you as if that will somehow solve everything. 

“No.” You manage, pressing backwards as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Pain dances across his eyes. “Go away, Johnny.”

He leaves. 

He dies anyway. 

When you wake up, your body feels weighed down with the passage of a hundred lifetimes, and your legs fall out from under you without warning. Johnny hauls you into his arms, his blue stare flickering with concern. 

You forgot how much you love being held by him. 

This time, you don’t push him away. In fact, you never do again.

Yet things are different now. It’s subtle at first, things you take for granted. Something in this story has changed, and in turn it’s changed him. Johnny walks into rooms and seems to forget why he’s there. He asks what day it is and frowns in confusion when Ghost replies blandly for the second time that day. 

“Didn’t you already tell us this?” He asks of Price during a meeting, and Gaz’s head snaps to him, to the smartness of his tone towards your captain. 

“No.” Price responds gruffly, succinctly, and continues on. You watch Soap, see the way he doesn’t seem to understand. His fingers tap on the table, and it’s a small gesture meant to conceal the worry in his eyes- the knowledge that maybe, maybe he’s been here before.

“I saw you in a dream, once.” He tells you one night as you both clamber onto the roof of the barracks to stare at the stars. “Before I even met you.”

You stare at him, and he laughs a little nervously, rubbing at his nape. “A bit crazy, eh? Sounds like am’ off ma heid.”

You shake your head, slide your hand over his, feel your heart thump when he looks at you in surprise. “Tell me.” You whisper, and when he smiles you shudder, feel the weight of destiny press heavy on your shoulders. 

“I saw you crying.” He murmurs, and his eyes are a little distant, like he’s looking back at a life that no longer exists. “I told you not to cry.”

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

This time, you nearly die beside him, and almost wish fate would take you too.

He has nightmares now. He thrashes in his bed, a cold sweat dampening his skin when he wakes. You ask him what it was, what vision plagues him, and he only shakes his head, eyes distant and terrified. He clings to you like he’s a little boy frightened by shadows, gazes at something you can’t see but know all the same. He doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t need them.

You roll over one night, startled to find him wide awake, eyes unblinking as he stares at you. His voice sounds like an echo of himself, a dark magic winding through his words that sound like an all too familiar prophecy.

“I saw myself die.” He tells you, in a voice you’ve never heard- one you’ll never forget. “You were there- and then you weren’t.”

He finds bruises on himself the next morning, in the same places you watched him become riddled with bullet holes. 

You’re running out of time. You don’t know when you’ll wake up and he won’t be there. You don’t know if this will be the last time you ever see him. 

“Please.” You beg him, tugging on the straps of his vest as he steps towards the chopper. “Johnny please, don’t. Stay here. Don’t go.”

His eyes shine with worry at the sudden, fervent desperation in your words, and he opens his mouth to respond-

Only for his eyes to take on that foreign, distant stare once more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, and once more you’re forbidden to tell him. 

Because you’ll die. Because I’ll be forced to watch. Because I have no way to stop it. Because I’ve seen it happen a hundred times and I can’t do it anymore.

Inevitably, you arrive here, and this singular moment in time, at the place where you’ve yet to find the part in which he survives. 

It always ends like this.

You survive the crash, fend off the ensuing ambush, weave past the landmines and the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, disable the electric fence and disarm the rigged door. You make it inside, stop him before he triggers the tripwire, disarm the pressure plate, lob the grenade back up the stairs, open fire on the door to his left before he passes it. You anticipate the reinforcements at your back, fix the radio when you signal for ex-fil, remember to give him your extra ammo. You know when the roof collapses and drag him to safety, point out the missed charge in his demolitions package, take out the turret before he even spots it-

Then you arrive here. 

“The detonator doesn’t work.” He tells you for the thirty sixth time, out of a hundred and forty eight lifetimes. You know what comes next. The chopper will get here, you will be overrun, and Johnny will kiss you one last time with an apology, push you into Gaz’s arms even as you scream. Then he’ll make his way to the control room without you all, will stay behind and make it his final, valiant act. 

Then you’ll watch the facility explode with him still inside, hear the gears of fate click and send you hurtling back to the beginning.

If you stop him, you’ll all be shot down. You’ll be the only survivor of the crash, and will see the broken bodies of your teammates join him. Or someone else will take his place, and your rescue chopper will be shot down anyways. 

There’s no escape. This is always the moment that you can’t save him from. Thirty six lifetimes and you know in just a few minutes you’ll wake up, will hear his voice begin it all again, over and over until one day you wake up and he isn’t there. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You had a dream last time. You were both sitting at the restaurant table, and you spoke before he could. 

“Are you going to tell me how pretty I am?” You asked him, swallowing down grief, feeling it bloom like a macabre bouquet when the sound of his joyous laughter tickled your soul.

“Stole the words right from mah mouth.” He chuckled.

You blinked, and the seat across from you was suddenly empty. 

You close your eyes, in this moment, try once more to find the part where you all make it out alive. You try to find the part where you don’t lose him. Where you’ll go back to that restaurant and it’ll be the last time. 

You’ve had enough.

“I’m going to stay.” Soap declares, eyes grim with resolve. 

He turns to you.

You close the distance, reach up and kiss him. You tangle your fingers in his mohawk like you did the very first time, listen to his shocked gasp as you try and drink in the taste of him just one more time. Just one more time.

Honey and ale. A bittersweet goodbye. 

You snatch the detonator from his hands, raise your hands to his shoulders and push.

He topples backwards, nearly colliding with Price, and it gives you just enough time to bolt for the door leading towards the control room, locking it behind you. 

Soap screams your name, hurls himself at the door, frantic desperation coloring his beautiful blue eyes. The color of a sky in summer time, of a fresh breeze that reminds you so much of him.

There’s a nervous smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He thinks it’s a prank, another joke between you two, and he says just as much, voice wavering when he asks you to unlock the door. 

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You whisper, tears warming your eyes. “I can’t lose you again.”

Confusion makes him pause, but it’s only for a moment. 

“Open the door.” He demands then, jiggling the lock uselessly as his voice rises. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!”

“I love you.” You whisper, raising your hand to the glass pane, your splayed palm against his closed fist and the world between them. “In this lifetime, and the one before. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve loved you, Johnny.”

He calls your name, voice cracking in desperation and he begs you to come back. You take a few more moments, and think to yourself how unkind it is that the last time you see him will be like this. Afraid, broken, desperate.

Terrified.

Just like how he was all that time ago, the first time you failed to save him.

Not this time. 

“Don’t cry.” You tell him quietly. “I always hated watching you cry.”

You leave him even as he screams after you, running in the direction of the control room. 

You don’t know this part. You’ve only ever watched Johnny or one of them vanish in this direction. You aren’t prepared for this the way you are with the rest of this story. You’re not ready for the hail of gunfire that greets you, the bullets ripping through flesh. Your blood drips red onto the floor, you run low on ammo, and yet somehow you press on.

Not this time. You think. Not ever again. You can’t take him from me any longer. I won’t allow it.

You’re limping, heavily wounded, riddled with bullet holes, chest seizing and smearing an abstract of crimson behind you as you finally make it to the control room. By the time you dispatch the remaining soldiers you’re on the floor, feeling the corners of your vision pulse red and black as the gears turn, as the clock ticks down. 

The timer has just enough time to make it out once you start it. You know you won’t be able to. 

So you watch the numbers click on the countdown, flop onto your back and cry.

You didn’t want this. 

You wanted just a little more time. Maybe you should have let him go, let him finish this if only he can wake up and not know you. Maybe you should have let him die one more time, if only to get the chance to fall asleep in his arms months into the future and past, knowing he was going to die. 

It’s too late now, and as the numbers click down, as your heartbeat thrums in your ears and your vision pulses red, you can only try to remember the feeling of his smile against your lips, the sound of his laughter, your name breathed into your skin as he wraps his arms around you, safe from destiny in his embrace.

“Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

You love him. You’ve always loved him. In this lifetime, in the hundred lifetimes before. In a thousand lifetimes to come you will still love him. Even if you go back, wake up again to that warm spring day, you know you will only love him once more.

You wish he was here, at the end, and wish that even if he was he’d find a way to live without you.

When you exhale, it’s the sound of his name, the memory of his eyes as they stare across you from the restaurant table, full of endless devotion.

The world goes dark. 

And then you wake up.

It’s bright. 

You don’t expect what comes next. 

There’s no birdsong. No springtime warmth. Only the beep of a heart monitor, the feeling of cottony sheets tucked into a hospital bed, the fluorescent glow of overhead lights. 

And the sound of a voice. 

Johnny is holding your hand, head bowed, tears falling freely down his face. 

“I did it.” He sobs, words choking his throat, shoulders trembling. 

Whole. Alive. Just like you. 

“I did it.” He cries again, looking up and finding your eyes with his that swim with emotion. When he speaks, it sounds like the weight of a hundred lifetimes presses down on him. 

“This time. This time, I saved you.”

Taglist: @soapskneebrace @guyfieriii @writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror

They are absolutely SICK for this

CW- military type stuff, some blood, alluded sexual content

Tears have always been expensive.

For all the time you had known him as a fellow captain, he possessed so many wonderful qualities that made him a wise leader, a valued companion, and an even sweeter lover. He held so much of your heart in his broken body. But what you admired the most was his innate strength that you trusted as you would your own heart.

“Please, please, don’t leave me here,” you begged into his hand. “Don’t leave me all alone.”

His grip tightened on you, as if to steady himself in the steady waves of pain that flowed from his side. “Hold on. Keep holding on.”

You could hear Captain Price barking out commands for a medic to rush to the table, but you didn’t care.

Your hand was pressed to the pulse point against his wrist while Yuri watched from afar. It stuttered, but held true. Between groans, you heard Soap speak once more to you.

“Sing to me, lass.”

You lifted your head from where his hand held it. “What?”

“Sing for me. I’m going to die anyway. Before I go, I want to hear you sing to me.”

You paused to look at him. His eyes shone with the welled truth of his unspoken love.

You nodded softly before asking him, “What song would you want for me to sing for you?”

His soft eyes crinkled like he was smiling. “You know the one.”

Your heart hurts then. You knew exactly what he wanted you to sing but, you knew if you sang it, it would mean that this would be truly over.

“Not that one. Please, anything but that one.”

He squeezed your hand in his clammy grip before replying, “It is my wish. Please grant it.”

“Okay.”

You straightened your spine and readied yourself for the pain that was to come. Despite the bustle of the room, there was never a more tender silence in your life than this.

One last time, you looked for him to tell you he was ready. He blinked and quietly, you began to hum the tune.

“How unfair, how unfair they’ll sing as they dance across the darling rooftop wreck

He’ll trip and she’ll pretend not to have seen,

Burying her head into his chest and clinging to the moment, ‘where have you been?’

She’ll whisper ‘I’ve waited oh so long for you to come’

And as the stars above them hum and hear them he’ll turn to her and say ‘that’s what she said..”

You paused to move his hand from your cheek to rest at the side of your neck. In death, you prayed he would not remember the words of the song itself, but the way the vibrations of your love rose and fell for him.

“It’s not fair, it's not fair how much I love you

It’s not fair cos you make me ache you bastard

And she’ll say

'Oh how, oh how unreasonable

How unreasonably in love I am with everything you do

I’ll spend my days so close to you cos if I’m stood here

Then I’m stood here

And I’ll stand here

I’ll stand here with you.”

Your eyes dropped to where a tiny diamond softly shone atop John’s glove. It rolled down the fabric, losing liquid as it fell, til it slipped onto his skin.

The little droplet spread through the invisible crevices of his scarred forearms, laying on him like a tiny hug.

Every part of me wants him to stay.

John’s hand drew you out of your thoughts as he moved to brush away the droplets on your cheek. Silently, he looked at the space on the side of your face.

A bittersweet smile spread across his face. “I’ve never had someone cry for me like this, A ghràidh,” he said. A cough rattled through his broken body and when the captain held John’s head up, underneath was a rapidly spreading puddle of blood.

Yuri stood back for a few seconds, watching the table like a silent sentry.

Price quickly laid his friend back down and screamed for a medic again.

The glass of the windows was blown to pieces and bullets whistled around you.

You could care less.

What mattered right now laid on a diplomat’s repurposed hickory table, bleeding from a wound that would never heal.

“Oh God, please…I can’t lose you too,” you softly cried to him.

John’s normally glass blue eyes glittered a soft cornflower through the tears.

He spoke in a whisper, hoping you could hear him over the roar of the firefight.

“I had a dream once that you wore the white dress that we saw in Paris… and it was me waiting for you. We would live together… and I hoped that one day, we would have a family to care for.”

He paused for a moment to cough.

“I want…to live that life. But, even more so…I want you to live.”

An ugly sob that encapsulated your misery escaped your throat and the burning in your eyes mixed into the blood on the table.

John turned to the captain that was still actively begging for his friend to stay alive.

He spoke, “Price…Makarov knows…Yuri.”

You don’t know what was the first mark that John had finally passed. It was either the wail that the captain let out or the limp grip of a hand that was still tucked in yours.

The memory of what happened next doesn’t come easy, but Price would tell you later on that he had never heard a scream that scared him quite like yours.

A soldier approached you about leaving right away. Their grip guided you towards the stairs and to the evac point, but your heart was a hundred miles away right then. With every step, you cried for them to let you go back to him, to be by his side, to let you die of a bullet wound. So you would not be alone.

Underneath your sternum, a searing pain started to spread like wildfire through a dry forest. It burned through your organs, submerging your core into the terrible inferno and you groaned at the torturous pain growing within. The soldier guiding you down the stairs glanced over, concerned at the hunch in your spine growing more prominent.

He sped up, but held you closer.

The captain stood over a collapsed Yuri who was explaining what Makarov had said, and quite frankly, you did not care.

The man you loved was dead by the hands of a slimy bastard and you would make sure that he felt the chasm that he opened in your heart.

Not even a week later, you were sent back out with what remained of the 141.

The plan was simple, but clearing the building was hard.

With every bullet you shot, bloodlust and a thirst for revenge coursed in your veins, rushing with power. You rushed the hotel with a furious vengeance, men loyal to Makarov collapsing under the weight of your intent. They were thrown against walls and beaten with the fire that swallowed your grieving heart whole.

But the anger you felt was no match for a helicopter.

Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps it was a chance, but you were thrown against the wall, knocked unconscious.

Yuri did his best to wake you with what little time was left and the two of you stumbled to the roof, a four legged beast made of determination for revenge.

And when you made it to the top, Yuri raised his gun with the intention to kill.

In the end, it was Yuri that died from two gunshots. Makarov had almost hit you before Price pulled him down and slammed him into the cracking glass. The noose that was wrapped around his neck caused Makarov to thrash.

Before the dark curtain that was starting to layer your eyesight could settle again, you picked up the handgun that lay nearby and did your best to aim at the glass.

For John.

The glass spider webbed under your bullets.

A fuzzy darkness enveloped your vision.

A slow thudding pulsed within your head, audible if you concentrated hard enough. For a second, you thought you were dead. But, the sensation of thin cotton trapping you and the cool temperature of the room made you realize you were still very much alive. Comfortable, even, but that was really a stretch. You didn’t really want to open your eyes to see where you were, and you made no move to do so until situational awareness demanded that you try. When you did, bolts of pain scratched at the insides of your skull and you closed your eyes to stop it.

Warm tears helped to wash away the grittiness that persisted under your eyelids and you decided to try again. Slower this time, you patiently waited for your eyes to adjust to being used again before looking about the scene before you.

You laid in a hospital room, connected to many beeping machines that cluttered your bedsides. A curtain was pulled between you and your new roommate. They made no move, but the steady white noise of the heart monitor assured you that you were both alive. Clearly they were asleep, and you had no intention of waking them.

Everything around you smelled of a sterile cleanliness, even your own body. A quick look over to take inventory of what had been done to yourself came back with no results.

You wiggled your toes and stretched out your legs. The hands that had carried you through battle were opened and closed, and through it all, no new marks were born upon your skin.

A miracle.

Finishing observing yourself, you scanned your memory for where you were and how you got there. You don’t remember anything after the time you took your shot. No matter. If you were here, that meant Makarov had perished. Swearing to the heavens, you hoped that whoever killed him made it hurt. The little burst of hatred was gratifying, but taxing.

All of the energy you had after first waking up had sapped nearly instantly, giving way to a massive headache and a terrible dizziness. Settling back down, you accepted that this would be your first bit of rest in a long time. Ever since the war started, you rarely got a full night of sleep.

Gazing out the window, the light of the moon shone through to the right edge of your bed, luminous and full.

It was so beautiful, so lonely up there with no one but the stars as companions. The light that it shed toyed with your tired eyes.

Dim shadows danced in the corner of your room like a ghost of holy night. They came to your bedside and laid themselves beside you.

Their eyes shuttered closed and you followed them.

The second time you woke up, someone was holding your hand. The Captain. He sat reading a newspaper with a publication date from before the war started. Most of Price was fully intact, a badly bruised face and what looked to be a broken nose, but he was alive.

You squeezed his hand.

He looked at you and you swore that the man that sat next to you carried a burden so heavy that his soul could not hold it. He looked nothing like the teacher that had been a trusted companion to you.

His smile was still his though. Quietly he told you, “Don’t move too much just yet. You’ve been out of it for about a day now. You somehow only got a concussion out of that whole ordeal.”

You sighed before speaking. Your voice cracked and broke when you spoke. “Hurts like hell right now. My whole body aches for more rest.”

Price put the newspaper on the bedside table then brought his hand to cover his eyes.

“I know, I know. But we’ll be alright, love. It’s just you and me now.” He hunkered down in his chair again, taking a brief hiatus from his reading to relish in doing nothing.

Neither of you had had a chance to do that in a long time.

Left alone with your thoughts, you wondered when they would inevitably send you back out to gather the dead. They needed volunteers and nobody enjoyed handling corpses, so the government would hastily acknowledge the accomplishments of the 141 and would reassign the remaining two. They’d have to wait until you and the captain were released from the hospital. Till then, you would lay in your bed and take time to rest.

The lull of the captain’s quiet presence combined with the warmth of the sun shining onto your bed dropped you into a state of near limbo.

Before you could slip away though, you heard Price murmur to you one final thing.

“I think he saved you, girl. That boy must have done something to protect you one last time.”

Price’s calloused hand came to rest on your head. He stroked it in an uncharacteristic display of gentleness, but you were so tired that you did not mind.

“I’m glad he did.”

Sleep came easy then. You knew you were safe with Price and whoever else watching over.

About a week later, you were released from the hospital under the understanding that you would report to Price should any extra pain or injuries emerge.

When returning to the base, central command alerted you that your next job would be without Price.

They were sending you out to aid in the search and rescue teams, but unknowingly, they sent you straight back into the heart of Prague.

Price would be sent to retrieve the bodies of Ghost and Roach and when he had completed that task, would rendezvous with you in Paris.

It did bother you that you wouldn’t be with him, but he assured you that you would see each other again very soon.

Before you boarded the helicopter, Price grabbed your arm.

“Let me know if anything comes up. My comm lines are always open for you,” he said. The last few days had been anything but kind, and you gently patted his shoulder before replying, “Don’t worry about me, captain. Take care of yourself too.”

The ride over was nothing special, but it put you back into hopeful headspace that the ground wouldn’t be covered with the nameless bodies of dead civilians and soldiers.

You were wrong. The pavement was littered with bullet shells, military grade weapons, and dead bodies, all of them cold. Vehicles of all kinds lay about, some of them were covered in the rubble of collapsed buildings.

It became evidently clear that drifters had been wandering through the silent streets with the amount of ransacked stores you found. How sad it was to find some civilians stagger out of concrete buildings, asking for water and food because all of it was gone.

At one point you found a whole group of women and their children hiding in an abandoned mall. Each shop had a family packed inside, cramped. They watched you with fear in their eyes, trying to gauge whether or not you were a threat to their safety.

A translator medic explained that the war was over and that they could come out to the field hospital for food and water. Most of them sprang into action, gathering what they had left onto their backs, babies wrapped in cloth scarves around their chests. Others that were more cautious stayed back, but followed when they could judge that there was no threat.

Some of the women made eye contact with you, but they didn’t hold it for long. They were more concerned with making it to a safe place than with whatever you were doing.

Once the building was cleared out, you searched it for any stragglers. There was one.

A bundle of dirty blankets wriggled beside a curled up body in a sleeping bag. A lady and a tiny child.

You rushed over to check the vitals of the woman. Her pulse was close to nothing and her eyes barely showed any recognition of your presence. The baby was still very much alive and looked to be healthier than its half dead mother.

Another woman must have been taking care of the babe for her, but left the child in the mass Exodus.

The lady grabbed your hand. “My husband is a soldier. Is he alive?” she asked, teeth chattering. You held her hand tighter. “I don’t know him, miss. Let’s just try to get you out of here, okay?”

You called for backup and two other medics ran around the corner. With your help, they pulled her onto a stretcher and you picked up the baby.

When you arrived outside, nobody came to put the infant with its mother. You, an agent of war, stood unsure of what to do with the little one.

That was until a tiny hand tapped your chin. The baby did not cry at your tired face or wail when you shifted your arms. It didn’t even care that you jerked your head away when it tried to grab your tied back hair.

You swore that you had never met a more quiet, curious child than this one. Then the baby’s probing hands pulled on the loosened glove on your right hand.

The glove slid off and you struggled to hold the baby and pick up the fallen glove. The child babbled and you felt two little hands reach for your middle finger.

A silver anxiety ring with woven hearts jingled. The baby was fascinated by the sound it made when the rings rotated and for a moment you paused.

That ring had been a gift from your team as a group Christmas gift. They were gone now, but the moment was bittersweet when the child in your arms shrieked in joy at finding the big heart again.

Tears dropped onto the child’s head and it looked up at you, confusion in its eyes. You smiled sadly and for a moment, the little one stared like it was really seeing you.

Then, another medic walked to you and explained that she would take it from here. You handed the child over to her, and wiped away the wetness on your cheeks. The glove remained in your left hand and the ring stayed wrapped in the baby’s hands.

Countless more hours were spent clearing buildings and ushering in volunteers willing to help with moving the rubble.

Before you knew it, two days had passed. Your body withered under the exhaustion of the tough work, but the base you were staying at was well equipped for that.

Every night, you powered through your fatigue and washed away the dust that settled on your face. When you looked in the mirror though, the woman staring back was almost foreign.

The shape of your face was a bit more shallow. And the thin scratches from being thrown at the side of your neck had seen better days. But what scared you the most was the look in your eyes.

A grief so disconsolate reflected back to you. There had been no time to let yourself mourn, and frankly, you did not want to.

To accept that he was gone was to give into the heartbreak that every lost lover knew.

You couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t have wanted you to cry.

But you wanted to do it anyway.

There was so much pain welling up in your body, coming close to drowning you in it. Some days, misery clogged your throat and made it hard to focus on anything at all.

Those days made for the worst nights of all.

But you lived through it. You prayed for good dreams.

Other squads of medics had worked their way through the city with the intention of meeting you in the center. The capitol building was waiting there, and strangely enough, it was deemed as safe enough to not need as many guards as what was necessary.

You dreaded going back there.

So, you begged the head medic to let you sit this one sweep out. He explained that he couldn’t allow it. There just weren't enough people that could clear out buildings and he needed you on the ground.

That night, you lay on your cot inside the gym of the base, listening to the soft hum of other women and their children sleeping. By no means did you think it would change anything but, you hoped that wherever Soap was now, he would remember the song you gave to him.

That sentiment stayed with you till sleep found you.

When you awoke, the sky was still dark. Quietly, you slipped out of your makeshift bed and gathered your clothes to rush down to the empty locker rooms.

Once you had fully prepared for the day, you walked into the empty halls. Nobody was quite awake yet, so you wandered.

Each floor of the base was filled to the brim with civilians, soldiers, volunteers, and medics. Not one room was underutilized.

With no destination in mind, you went to the roof of the building. There wasn’t much up there, except an old office chair and what looked to be a pot for cigarette stubs.

The sky was starting to lighten, though, and with it a heavenly array of colors painted themselves.

Black faded into blue, which soon became pink, then red and orange, and finally, a shade of yellow before the sun emerged.

A warmth bloomed inside you despite the cold of the morning air and before you knew it, you heard doors and voices down below.

Down the stairs you went into the halls. Quiet murmurs echoed in the building and throughout the courtyard. You wouldn’t load into a vehicle for about another half hour, but you couldn’t help the way that beauty brought some hope.

Though the head medic could not allow you to stay on the base for this mission, he did advise you on breathing techniques to calm the mind and body.

You practiced those on the way to the drop off.

The drivers hurried on the road and they reached their destination all too soon.

You hopped out and hefted your weapon.

You would be sent to look through the buildings and streets of the quiet city. This would be your last day on this job before moving on to meet with Price.

Before they sent you off to look around the buildings, you looked up into the blue sky and watched a little bird fly overhead. If that bird could make it through the war, surely you could live through the day.

Perhaps this was a silent reassurance from the cosmos that the world would recover. That you would recover.

You went with your group and followed their directions to split without hesitation. As if the squad leader wanted to punish you, she ordered you to take your nurse to the area closest to the capitol building.

Your nurse was a newbie, a volunteer who hadn’t seen the full extent of the damage done to the city. Their eyes widened at the grotesque smattering of bodies, but it seemed they were more curious than cautious.

Without much proper training, they tried to wander away instead of staying with you. Under constant reminder, they reluctantly glued themselves to your side as you worked your way through the hotels and business buildings.

Inevitably, you found some civilians that the nurse promptly took care of. There were never any attackers, but there were the remains of Makarov’s forces.

A few of them seemed to recognize you and tried to avoid your dead stare as much as possible. They seemed to recognize that if you could kill them, you would and used the nurse to put some distance between you and them.

They cautiously watched the brand new gun in your hands swing back and forth, but they never tried anything.

Your merry travel buddy finished their job then motioned for you to lead the way. You kept going, but quickly recognized the way both of you were walking.

The resistance had set up headquarters in a lonely square, and it sent fear pulsing through your veins from the last time you were there.

Resistance fighters were strewn on the stairs and their bodies stunk. No doubt it would stink even more on the inside.

The nurse peeled off on the excuse to go check the rubble for somebody and you couldn’t care less.

Stepping over the bodies, you push on the door gently. Nothing exposed itself, so you stepped in. Bullet casings for one 1911 were scattered about the floor, like golden petals before a bride.

Not yet.

The rooms upstairs were mostly empty, except for four soldiers preparing to shoot you. Once you told them not to shoot as best you could, the men recognized you and allowed you to explain.

All of them were happy to hear that you and the captain had survived, but when you inquired about the rest of their teammates, their faces fell. They lost most of their squad, and wanted to know about Yuri and Nikolai.

Your hesitance told them much. “Nikolai is alive. He’s with Price right now. Yuri…did not make it,” you said. “I’m sorry.”

The oldest of the men spoke. “Don’t be. The good in this world is worth dying for.”

With nothing left to say, the fighters gathered their things and clunked down the stairs. The youngest patted your shoulder. He looked to be about eighteen, but spoke like a man. “Yuri was my brother. He would be happy to know that you are okay.” He proceeded for the door, but paused to look back with an expression that you had seen too many times.

Defeated. Unfocused. Sad.

It didn’t belong on one as young as he. “Your husband is cleaned up. I did it.” Your heart leaps in your chest at the boy’s admission. This young man had done something for you not knowing if you would come back. All you had done was taking his family member from him. In that moment, you wished that it was Yuri reuniting with his brother, not you. Softly, you approached the young man.

He did not flinch or back away when the glove on your hand came off, nor did he do so when your hand came to rest on the side of his face.

His eyes welled with tears and his throat bobbed at the tender touch. A moment passed before he burrowed himself into your palm.

You nearly wept at how young he looked and was. This child had gone through so much pain and loss in a war that was not his to fight. Most likely, he had not been touched like this since he was with his mother, wherever she was.

Silently, you thanked her for raising such a gentle, good natured boy. When his skinny arms trembled, you held them still.

“We each have lost someone we loved. Just…don’t let it consume you, okay? I promise that your brother loves you so much. He will always be there when you need him.”

The young man’s crystalline tears fell between you before he wiped his cheeks with his sleeve. You rubbed the boy’s shoulder.

Down the hall, a shadow in the shape of a man stood. “I think you should go, kid. Be happy,” you said, ushering the boy towards his older friend.

The larger man slung his arm over the boy’s shoulder and tucked his head low as they walked down the stairs.

With a deep breath in and one out, you followed their pathway down. There was a hypocritical desire to run from what was coming, but avoiding him would never bring closure. You had seen so much suffering both mentally and physically and experienced it as much as anybody else, but this was possibly the most terrifying feeling of trepidation ever. What would happen? Will something change? Were you afraid of that change?

As you stood at the bottom of the stairwell, the doorway gaped open, the shining sun blazing in. Unconsciously, you shivered under the warmth.

You prayed for a modicum of strength before setting your sights on the room ahead.

You were ready to meet your groom.

Slow and steady steps lead you through the walkway and there he was.

John’s body wore most of his military gear except for the vest. The 1911 rested in his hand on his chest and there was no blood on the table. There was none anywhere, not even on his boots.

The young man had cleaned him up very well. But it was clear that this man was dead.

His face had sunken in and his pallor was an unhealthy gray. The stiffness in the joints also were giveaways that he had been here for a while now. You sat on the floor at his side as he lay on the table. It hurt to see him like this.

The soldier you had met when you were both young is nowhere to be seen.

When you first arrived to meet your squad, Soap had been the first man that you truly noticed at the base. He was smiley, had beautiful eyes, and a wonderful physique. You were only human, a woman no less (even if you were desensitized). How could you refuse to look?

Price introduced you to each other as sergeants and the grin he gave you practically made you swoon(if you told her, your mother would have been over the moon that you found one you liked).

Then you actually met him.

He had been headstrong and cocky beyond belief, but he had the skills to back up all the silly claims that he made. That cockiness had been what originally drove you away from him, but it also drew your interest.

You didn’t want to be killed by his recklessness, nor did you want to be involved in whatever silly mistake he chose to do this time. However, you found him to be considerate and kind to anyone he met. Then, you both were given a higher rank and sent out on different missions with new people.

What little you did know of him faded to oblivion in the three years of assignments that you did as a lieutenant. However, you were both thrown for a moment when work brought you back together.

Like mixing together red and blue, somehow you both managed to clash perfectly. The reckless boy you remembered had grown into a responsible man (even more attractive now). But he still had the spark that had drawn you to him in the first place.

It had all started on the field. As teammates, you had to learn to get along with one another. As leaders, you tussled for power. As friends? You had a barely there budding relationship.

But all good things start small and as time went on, your bond grew deeper.

You learned more about one another through talking, joking or working together, and observing the other’s mannerisms. You fought together and fought each other. Whatever you chose to share with him he would share with you in turn.

In the end, both of you emerged with a better understanding of one another.

Conversations became longer and longer, texting each other when you had breaks between missions, meetups were far more frequent, and down times were spent around each other.

You remembered the first time he had invited you into his home. He lived about an hour away, so you went to the store before taking the train towards the nearby station. John had always mentioned wanting to try his hand at cooking, so you suggested that you cook dinner together. That was the first time you had placed your boots next to his.

You brought the groceries and John would provide his home and tools. Together you worked, one unit on the field and one in the kitchen too.

In the end, you successfully made some pasta and a mess of his kitchen, but it was absolutely worth it. After cleaning the dishes and kitchen together, you made him promise that the next time would be at your house.

Those happy meetings kept happening for years to come. It was during one of those when you finally decided to stop beating around the bush and address what had grown inside of you unknowingly.

What was a friendship was no longer strictly platonic, new feelings being poured into a fathomless bond. Your own emotions grew in strength whenever he was involved.

You would be sent to different places and would miss his quips about your L115A3 in the first fifteen minutes on the flight. Other times, he would be deployed and suddenly the whole idea of him being hurt would hinder your work ethic. And when you returned or he came back, he was the first one that you wanted to see.

It became common to see you two around each other, so much so that it allowed rumors to grow exponentially. Most of them were ridiculous and some were just not plausible. At one point, you even found a note balled up on the floor of the briefing room that two soldiers had been passing back and forth about whether or not the tension between their two captains was real.

There were whispers whenever you walked past the other female soldiers in the locker rooms. None of their intentions were ever malicious, just incredibly curious. It didn’t bother you that the others talked, in fact it was quite amusing. What bothered you was that neither of you were allowed any privacy at all.

The murkiness had made it hard to determine where the line between attraction and friendship began. You did know that you wanted more of him though. In whatever way that was.

Sadly, you also knew that there was a possibility that whatever you felt was not reciprocated and he wanted to keep you as a friend. You had never felt something like this for anyone before, and if you managed to screw this up, you would never forgive yourself.

But fortune favors the bold, so you decided to make a risky move and tell him what you felt. Good communication is key, after all.

It was after a meal with him that you jokingly touched on how lonely your home felt when it was just you there. John caught onto the poorly disguised emotion in a matter of seconds.

“Are… do you enjoy having me around?” he asked. You smiled a bit.

“You know I do. I have something to look forward to whenever you’re here.” He inhaled shallowly as you both strolled down the driveway to his car.

You waited a moment to hear what he had to say. “I can’t say that I don’t feel the same, lassie. I’d be lying to you.”

“Then don’t lie. Tell me your truth and I’ll tell you mine.”

He kissed you then, and you swore that the deities in the heavens above must have crafted this man from the most hallowed materials found on earth.

Moments of touch followed. There was no lust in the connection you shared, only a steady, sweet desire to pick up on all the lost time that had taken so long. His forehead rested against yours, cheek flushed a soft rosy shade, loving arms wrapped around you, and you finally understood why love was the muse of artists.

For the past four and a half years, the two of you spent even more time together, attentively nurturing the blooming tree that was your relationship. There were many firsts together and many hopes for the future. The largest one was marriage.

In your line of work, marriage wasn’t rare, but it most certainly was dangerous. If the enemies you fought found that their adversary had a partner, it could potentially put both of you in the crosshairs.

The discussion happened on a variety of occasions. Sometimes, it occurred in the middle of the night in the mess hall when neither of you could sleep, sometimes it was in the warm sleepiness of a winter afternoon.

John wanted to get married as much as you did, but both of you knew that it would change the carefully planned dynamic in the warzones. Work would always get in the way, but the future was never promised.

So, when he unwrapped himself from your bed to wake you up one night on break, you didn’t hesitate to follow him. He wove through the quiet rooms of the house, leading you to the kitchen. John had pulled a chair out for you to laze in as you waited for him to speak. He sat down as well.

His leg hopped up and down and he tapped his finger against the table in an erratic pattern. John looked everywhere but you. Instinctually, his activity signaled an anxious man that needed to be calmed, but about what, you weren’t sure. You lightly nudged the side of his leg with your foot to get his attention.

John paused to glance at you and his blue eyes caught a small ray of moonlight through the blinds. They burned and frothed with unknown intent threatening to spill out this night.

You did not break his stare. You feared that if you did, something inside of you would scream for doing so. He looked so inhuman in this lighting, like he was old in spirit but still retained all the wondrous strengths of youth. Then you registered a movement at his right shoulder.

He reached out to hold your left hand. You watched as he lifted it, running a calloused fingertip over the delicate bones under the tougher skin. John did not rush his exploration of your hand, rubbing the joints down to the nails in a non methodical manner. He reverently stroked your ring finger, only pausing when the skin filled with blood as he pressed down.

Both of you had been working together for a long time, so you could read the other’s body language like a book. Being around somebody for that long will do that to a person. But this time, he did something that you couldn’t predict.

Flipping your hand up, he compressed it against his own, as if comparing the lengths of your hand to his. Glancing at him, you find he is already watching for your reaction.

Unsure of what his desired outcome is, you press back against his hand to test the waters. He pushes back till your fingers spread and lock together.

You decide to break the silence at your kitchen table. “Is something wrong?”

John does not release your hand, but pulls it down to let it dangle between your chairs.

“No.”

That isn’t the truth, though. You can tell when you start to lose him again because there’s a furrow coming between his brows.

So you do the only thing you can and sit in a palpable silence til you can’t handle it anymore.

“Tell me.”

He stops staring into the shadows of your kitchen to reply to you. “Alright.” He paused like he was unsure of how to start next.

“ I…I feel that we’ve become something more than what I expected,” he said.

Your eyes narrowed, preparing for the sucker punch to the gut that he was about to deliver.

“We’ve been together for so long that this is just normal. You being in my house, in my office, in my kitchen, I mean. Everytime I look at you, I realize that you’ve just integrated yourself into this place naturally.” You recoil inside, feeling like a younger self being critiqued by a nasty partner that had nothing good to say.

“And now I can’t imagine a time when it didn’t have you in it. I’ve seen so much pain and suffering in the world and I understand the impermanence of life. So…what I’m trying to say is that this is the life that I want. Permanently.”

Oh. Oh.

He wanted something you could give. You chewed on his words a bit as John watched with bated breath.

“I think that can be arranged,” you started. “You’re certain you’re ready? I don’t want you to make an impulsive decision for my sake. I would stay with you even if you didn’t want that.”

He gripped your hand tighter as if that could prove what he was saying was true.

“More than anything.”

Soap watched as the wheels in your head turned, and then a smile he wanted to see forever spread across your lips.

“When? Because the kids will be pissed if we don’t tell them we’re getting hitched,” you say.

John’s eyes crinkle in a smirk.

“I was thinking right now. And don’t worry about them. They’ll forgive us eventually.”

Your eyebrows draw upwards. “Right now? Honey, it’s the middle of the night. And if you want to get married in a church, that would take, lets see… at least two to three months to arrange.”

He laughs. “Not right at this moment. But in the morning, we can go to the legal offices.”

You reply, “Well, I know one thing for certain.”

John curiously beamed at you. “And, what is that exactly?”

Calmly setting your expression in a facade that hides your intentions, you only tell him what you feel deep down.

“That I’m beyond excited to be Mrs. MacTavish.”

He can tell that there’s more. “That all?”

Your lips curve up into a clever smirk.

“And that you ought to take me to bed, Johnny.”

His eyes close and a soft groan stems in his throat before he stands and grabs your arm to lead you up the stairs.

“Bloody hell, woman. You’re a real piece of work.”

Your laughter drifted down the hall and that next morning, both of you were married.

But the sweetness of marriage soured quickly.

Tensions in all corners of the world began to increase. World War Ⅲ started and everything that wasn’t necessary was sidelined. Both of you were thrown into your work and deployed to aid in the fight. You were sent to defend the United Kingdom while Soap was assigned to gather intelligence in Russia.

The battle was long and bloody and every hour felt like another day in hell, but the promise that you would be free when it was over brought you the strength to survive. Every night, you hoped that a life with Soap waited for you after all was done.

Inevitably, you met again when the order to rescue Prisoner 627, an invaluable enemy of Makarov in the gulag, was to be carried out. When Soap stepped out of the helo, he gave a polite nod to all of your other men. Ghost and Roach stood behind him, quietly saying hello to you as well.

Soap showed no major response to you, only saying, “Good to see you, lass. Let’s get to work.” It didn’t irk you, mainly because he caught you later when you were alone.

After getting done with the briefing for the retrieval, you had walked down the hall to the filing room to finish some extra work. While looking over the papers, you forgot to check the intersecting walkways. A huge weight suddenly slammed into your side, dragging your body back into the shadows.

Your mouth was covered to stop you from calling for help and you considered beating this man to a pulp for underestimating your strength until an raspy accented voice tickled the side of your neck.

“Did you really not see me? My god, you look so tired,” he says, relaxing his hands. Leaning back into him, you reply, “I was busy, Captain MacTavish. And for the record, you have the same eyebags that I do.”

Twisting your head to look over your shoulder, you feel a scruffy sensation scratch the side of your face. “And what is this? Something I missed?” you say to him.

Soap’s soft chuckle rumbled in his chest and through your body, so normal to anyone else but heavenly to your joyful ears. He mutters, “I didn’t have time to clean up.”

You flip your body around to embrace him then. It was wonderful to feel so safe and warm after not being able to be with him for his last mission.

Gently rocking, you murmured into him, “Did you get any new injuries?” He smiled into your hair. “You worry about me too much, woman. I’m fine.”

“I’m your wife. I think I should be a bit concerned about your health,” you said. Soap leaned back against the wall before saying, “That you are. Are you alright as well?”

His eyes dragged around your body and you spoke. “I’m okay, just tired. Been running back and forth, trying to keep Shephard happy.”

His visage visibly darkened at the general’s name. “Is he overworking you?” You slid your hand up and down his arm. “I think he’s doing that to all of us. There’s just too much to do and not enough people.”

He stays peering into your eyes before burying his head into your neck. “I’m tired of this. Do you have any more work to finish?” You gently tuck your hands into the thick mess of his mohawk and rub through it.

“Just a little bit more, but you’re always free to sit with me while I finish up.”

Soap smiles. “Okay.”

Less than ten minutes later, John’s head lays in your lap, completely relaxed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a man that could fall asleep as quickly as he could. That or he was really tired. His position on the floor was hardly comfortable, but clearly he didn’t seem to care.

Having finished working five minutes earlier, you lightly play with the skin around the back of his neck and watch as little goosebumps pop up in their wake. The heart trapped in your ribcage flutters.

For some wonderful reason, John trusted you with his life and that made these moments all the more precious. Gently, you ran your finger over the scar on his eye.

When he got this, he didn’t want to have you see it. What he did not expect was for the nurses to tell him that a certain female lieutenant was asking about him. That was the beginning of a much larger realization that came little over a year later.

He startles upwards when your finger stills for just a second too long, years of learned instinct triggering his fight response. The top half of his body flies up and off of the floor into a scanning position.

You draw your hand back and wait for him to thoroughly search the area for danger before turning back to you. When he realizes that everything is alright, he sighs back into your legs.

“I thought you were going to wake me,” he says gruffly. You rub the tight muscle in his shoulder before saying, “I just did. Let’s go to bed.”

Later that night, he came to you. Though most men were not allowed near the section of the base dedicated to female soldiers, you had your own room and not one person cared what you did during a time like this. In the silence of the sterile barrack, you heard the soft knock at the door.

Opening it gently to not wake anybody else in the hall, John stood backlit by an emergency light. There was no need for any kind of request; you let him in and shut the door behind you. The war waged on outside, but you had tonight and that was good enough.

The bed was small but to two touch-starved individuals, this was plenty. John all but buried his face into your chest, half asleep already and you rubbed the side of his head that was exposed to you.

He had groaned in delight at being cuddled and you laughed softly. This huge, commanding man was more than happy to curl up next to you and soak in the warmth of your embrace.

You would happily do this everyday of your lives if you could, just the two of you in a home you made together. In your mind’s eye, you could see it. One bed would sit in a room you shared, a kitchen large enough to survive any of John’s wild ideas, pictures on every wall, and two pairs of boots would sit by the doorway.

His snoring pulled you out of your mind. He looked so serene laying there, so lovely in the moonlight peeking through the blinds on the window. A pulse of true want caused you to curl up around him even more, cradling his head even more than you already were. You always did sleep better when he was there.

When you woke, one heavy arm was thrown over the small of your waist, a familiar face tucked under your chin. You dozed, only watching as the first light stretched across the grounds. There was smoke creeping over various places in the city, a reminder that the war had not ended and would most likely not be ending until the Russian president had been restored and Makarov had been extinguished.

Shepherd wasn’t making it any easier either. With every passing day, he pressured you to find the remaining survivors of other squadrons and lead them back into the fight with you. The unfortunate thing was that most of these survivors were either badly injured or suffered from extreme cases of PTSD. The few that were healthy enough to fight did rally beneath you, but often didn’t make it back alive. Those that did were your most trusted.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the hand behind you slipping down your side to rest just under your rib cage. When you did, it was too late. A loud yelp of laughter erupted from you when the fingers started tickling your stomach. “Stop, stop, stop. Oh god, stop.” Another chuckle filled the room and you covered your mouth to prevent from waking everyone else in the hall up.

You pushed yourself up and shoved the invading grip away from your sides. John sat up on his elbows and you lightly slapped his shoulder. “Oh love, you wound me,” he laughed. You straddle his waist and smile down at him. “I can’t believe you just did that,” you exclaimed. He grins. “Believe it lass, cause I might do it again.”

He tugged you forward as you tried to escape, his calloused fingertips digging into the tender flesh of your middle. You writhed around to escape but ended up rolling off the bed. The cold ground was hard and when you look up, a sheepish Soap is peeking over the side. “Sorry about that. Here.”

You playfully slap his extended hand away and clamber back onto the bed. He allows you to curl into his side for a reprieve from the bitter frost of the early morning.

“How dare you. I was peacefully resting, and you dropped me off the side of the bed? Not fair, man. Not fair at all.”

Now, when the public thinks of a man, they think of deep, heavy chuckles that resemble that of an earthquake. However, Soap giggled like a little girl on steroids.

Still smiling, he wraps his arms around your waist and leaves kisses into the skin of your neck. “I’m sorry, my lovie. I didn’t mean to drop you.”

You sniff and pretend to be haughty by crossing your arms. But he can tell that it’s not the reality when your hand rises and rests on his cheek. Obliging, John continues to whisper adorations into whatever skin he can get his mouth on until he can see a smile curl itself on your lips.

His whiskers tickle the sensitive flesh, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Not after having been away from him for so long.

The mission required one day of preparation, allowing both of you some time to take a small break. There was much paperwork to be done, but just enough that it didn’t encroach on your time together.

The whole day could be spent together, apart from the hours of briefing and prep.

You sat on a separate aircraft with your squadron, preparing for a drop off on the outer ring of the forest to prepare for stragglers trying to escape. They would be picked off quickly and cleanly and then you would return back to base, hopefully successful.

The mission went spectacularly well, with the recovery of Captain Price. It was clear that Soap had missed the captain very much, especially when he handed over his favored pistol. He had told you a bit of his history with the captain, explaining how the captain had taken him under his wing and treated him like a son. The 1911 was physical evidence of everything he detailed.

The captain had found you about a week later to thank you for your help. He patted your shoulder when you said that it was just your job. “I know. But you’ve done more for me than you could know.”

He disappeared around the corner and moments later, Soap rounded out of the darkness. He held his head high though the last week had been strenuous. “Did you hear all of that?” you asked. Playfully, Soap bumped his shoulder into you.

“Of course. Price keeps trying to get out of the hospital during his walks. They’ve told the old bastard that he needs to slow down and take it easy, but he doesn’t seem to care.”

You sighed. “The captain is a shark. If he stops moving, he won’t know what to do with himself. I’m guessing this is his most recent attempt to get out.”

Soap groaned, “Yes. The medical staff has been trying to keep him contained, but I think his brain is still in defense after the gulag.”

He grew stoic. “Price had been there for so long…I wasn’t able to stop what they did to him.”

You rub his shoulder with heavy empathy. Your own mentor had been captured and was never seen again when the search parties were sent. His sons and daughter told you that they didn’t hate you for what happened to him, but his wife couldn’t even look at you on the day of the funeral.

“What do you say you and I will go out for some food tonight? Any restaurant that you want to visit is where we’ll go,” you say. His regular cocky smile comes back up full force and you see his spirits rise almost instantly.

“As long as you’re buying. We’ll meet tonight at my house but for right now, I need to go find Price.”

He walks past you and a rush of cold air swirls against you.

Then the world went to hell.

Ghost and Roach were killed and all contact with Sandman and his crew was lost. They were assumed to be MIA, but too little was known at the time. All while you were in France, Price had screamed out to you that Shephard was not to be trusted and in a matter of seconds, two of your own soldiers turned on you. You managed to down both traitors with the help of your fellow men, but not without being tagged as an enemy to Shadow Company.

Fortunately, you had an ex-pilot in your three men, and he found a spare helicopter for you to get to the Middle East as soon as possible to regroup. You would never thank Shephard, but you were grateful that he did not have any forethought about how his action of forcing you to drag soldiers back out into the field would benefit you. But the comms crackled and through them, you heard an awful sound.

A sickly crunch of bone under the compressive force of a bolo knife and the groans of the whipping wind rung in the tight box of the helicopter.

Soap was stabbed brutally in the chest by Shephard. You could hear rushing blood in your ears and you almost lost the cool facade of a captain. Your grip tightened on the stock of your rifle.

You could imagine the worst, him bleeding out in a dust storm on the other side of the world. Price would take care of him, surely. But the captain was an older man and would not be able to protect Soap from Shepherd for long. You had to hurry.

The remaining two men that weren’t pilots watched you jerkily pace to call for the pilot to move faster. “I’m going as fast as I can!” he exclaimed. You clenched your fist into a tight grip and swore when you came to the realization that if Shepherd didn’t die now, you would hunt him down and destroy him the same way he did to Soap.

Four minutes later, Price was radioing in. John was still alive and he had killed Shephard. A calm blew into the tense hull of the helicopter, both of your remaining soldiers slumping over a bit. The adrenaline high was falling, but your fear reminded you to stay ready.

Nearly fourteen hours after plane hopping multiple times, you touch down in India. Raging bullets fly throughout the city, whizzing into the helicopter’s armor. Your pilot lands at the point where Nikolai reported the stop was at and before the helicopter lands, you’re already on your feet.

You hopped out and Nikolai had rushed to get your remaining forces inside. “Where is he, Nikolai? Tell me,” you charged. He looked frazzled. “Price is waiting for you outside the operating room.”

Without much word, you had hurried away, running down the crammed halls of the holdout. Whizzing past you were hundreds of eyes widening in fear of being trampled and voices yelling out in indignation, urging you forward.

You heard the captain before you saw him. Yelling out orders to any soldiers without tasks, he took complete charge. When he saw you, however, his distraught expression changed. Unlike any of the other soldiers, he hobbled as quickly as he could to meet you halfway. With two blackened eyes and enough bruises covering the majority of his skin, Price looked damn near dead.

“What’s happened?” you cried to him. He explained to you on your way to the makeshift hospital that Shephard had gone after them because “we knew too much.” In anger, you nearly grabbed the captain by his shirt and screamed in his face that that was hardly a reason for anyone to go after your beloved and your friends. Instead, you settled for squeezing the holt of your pistol like it was responsible for your pain.

The hall ended near where three old chairs sat unoccupied. Price gestured towards two wide doors before speaking. “That’s the room, love. They’ve been working all night.” He turned to speak into the comm which crackled with gunfire and yells. Before turning to rush down the hall, the captain puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “He’ll be out soon.” With that in mind, he left you to wait.

The waiting gave you time to think, to think of the possibilities of what could be, of what will be after all was done. Like a caged tigress, you paced back and forth outside the operating room. No one dared to stop you.

When the surgeons came out dragging their feet across the floor, your heart dropped through the floor. Without hesitance, you raced to the head doctor’s side and begged him to tell you whether or not your Johnny was still alive or not.

He nodded. You nearly fell to your knees in gratitude, but managed to keep it together when they began to move his bed to a room down the hall. Instinctually, you should have seen the foreshadowing when you followed behind the procession of nurses silently, but it didn’t strike you then.

In the cramped room, you got a much better look at him once the nurses left. The center of John’s chest was covered in gauze and medical tape, a light pink blossoming underneath. Bruises and cuts covered what else you could see of his body and face. Weeping wasn’t normal for you, at least not around others besides your family. However at this moment, you couldn’t stop yourself and the welled up emotions made you tremble.

Burying your face in your hands, you had cried at his sleeping side well into the night, only pausing when Price came to check on Soap. He had pulled up a chair next to you, apologizing for not being able to come sooner. Thin flesh colored bandages covered the cuts on his face. He looked worse than you had ever seen him, but ignored it to not make him self conscious. The captain wasn’t a man of many words, only speaking when he felt he needed to. But, if he knew that his appearance made you uncomfortable, he would make it very clear that he wasn’t here for you anyways.

You’d prefer to have him with you anyways.

With the consistent hum of Soap’s many monitors, the captain began to drift against the wall. He was quiet, but you noticed his flinching like he was being beaten or electrocuted.

You did your best to slip your own jacket off without disturbing the captain, careful not to move too quickly while removing your bulletproof vest. Cautiously covering him with it, you watched Price tuck his head inward to the warm coat. For a second, he looked more like a tired old man rather than a feared military captain.

Instead of resting, you quietly walked to the window. The land around the base was in chaos. Fires shone brightly throughout the city and many of the windows in the buildings were dark, but up above a brilliant blanket of stars covered the world.

A groan came from the bed and you looked over your shoulder to see John stirring. His eyes rolled back and forth underneath his swollen eyelids and you perched yourself at his side. Like a frog, his legs stretch out to their full length to flex the wound up muscles. He attempts to try to do his arms too, but his fingers tremble as he tries.

They fall limp at the sides of the bed, so you lift them back up to rest on his stomach. Soap’s as pale as a ghost and his forehead is coated in sweat. Though he’s not moving much anymore, his face is still contorted in a grotesque expression of pain.

You’re not a nurse. Never would be in this lifetime, at least. But, you do have enough training and first aid experience to determine that wiping his face would be okay. Tenderly, you take a small tissue dampened with water from a nearby faucet and begin to clean the exposed bits of his visage. Some of your tears fall and wet the bandages on Soap’s chest and you do your best to stop crying.

When you’ve finished there, you wash your hands and run your fingers through his hair. Your hands are cold and dry, a contrast from the warm clamminess of his body. With the limited amount of medicine around, you really hope that he doesn’t get an infection.

Exhausted from the events of the day, you slide off into a chair beside the bed and allow your mind to run itself to sleep.

Price wakes you up in the morning. It is not an easy rising because you have to hurry to your next position in fending off the invading armies. However, you’re allowed to return that night when he flutters into consciousness.

-

When Soap awoke, he did his best to center on a point in the ceiling.

“How long have I been out?” he asked. You leaned closer to say, “Don’t worry about that right now. Just try to rest. Please.” Snapping to attention at your voice, he tries to focus. You can tell that he’s struggling by the flutter of his eyelids.“You’re here…but how?” he asks.

Gently, you reached for his hand and brought it up to your cheek. “I survived Shephard’s men turning on me. We stole a helicopter and flew here after Price informed us about what happened. You’ve been in surgery for the past fifteen hours.”

John’s calloused thumb rubs through your lashes as he turns the thought over in his drug induced mind. His eyes widened when he figured it out and two heavy arms lashed out to pull your face against his. Planting your hands on the bed to prevent him from dragging you down, you hold your weight to stop him from being hurt. Between the frantic kisses, he muttered to you, “You’re …you’re here.”

You kissed him one more time before responding, “I would always come back to you. Don’t even think for a second that I wouldn’t.” He did his best to glue you to his side but in his drowsy state, he couldn’t move more than a little bit without contorting in pain.

You pulled away from his grip and returned to the chair beside the bed. “No, John. The wound is too fresh.” Pouting like a child, he dramatically tosses his head to look away from you. You sigh, but thank the heavens that at least this little bit of his personality stayed intact.

All at once, exhaustion drowned every desire to do anything more and you laid your head down on the side of the bed. Soap starred as you did so, watching while his blue eyes drooped and he fell asleep under the influence of his drugs. You don’t remember what happened next, but you do recall feeling the calmest you’ve felt in a long time.

Nearly a month and a half later, the remainder of the disavowed Task Force 141 had been allowed to start work again around the old Soviet base. John spoke with the surgeon, reassuring him that he was ready, though the surgeon was adamant about not sending him out again.

So, Captain Price came up with an alternate plan to bypass all of the surgeon’s warnings. Soap would be sent out on small jobs, not fully inducing him into the mindless blood soaked hills of the battlefield. He would have to learn how to operate again.

Not to mention, the countries of the world were still hunting you all down and to protect yourself, you would have to keep moving.

It bothered you quite a bit. Obviously, stabs as deep as this need time to heal and seal the cavity within. But Price assured you that Soap was safe and was slowly healing and John himself assured you that he wanted nothing more than to be out and about again.

They were wrong. John had been thrown back into the fray too hastily when the surface of the wound had barely started to heal. You had seen it when he removed his shirt to change clothing. The skin was still too pink and he hissed when something brushed against it too hard.

That was the reason why he died.

You didn’t hate that he made this decision for himself; you knew he knew what he wanted, though the logical part of you knew you should have begged him not to push it.

If you hadn’t been separated from the group, you could have saved his life. Could have done something.

Price blamed himself for Soap’s death more than anything, though. He was there with him the whole time and suffered for it. The Captain had never apologized, but expressed his sorrow through an act of contrition of watching over you. You knew that he did it for Soap and not for you, but you hoped that he would also come to care for you too.

A whole lifetime had passed since you had admitted that you wanted to build on your relationship. Together, you had built a world of beauty and wonder, but now that John was gone, you weren’t sure what to do now that your dreams had crumbled.

Your legs had started to go numb from sitting on the floor for so long and your back was starting to hurt, so you stood to stretch out.

The radio chirped multiple times. For about ten minutes, you had been sitting there not moving and now the nurse thought you were dead.

“I’m here. Just stopped for a moment,” you proclaimed. The team let out a deep breath, “Oh, good. We were worried that you were out.”

You paused. “Don’t worry. I’m okay.”

The wood of the windows creaked in the bright heat of the sun.

Before you walked out the door never to return again, you glanced back at John’s body. He looked as if he were asleep, but you knew he would never awake again.

You knelt to say goodbye.

“I don’t want to do this. I’m so mad at you for leaving me. But, you need to rest and I’m not going to be with you for some time,” you told him, eyes burning. “I will miss you. I don’t know how you did it, but you found your way into my heart and I let you carve out a space for yourself. You have changed me. For better or worse, I don’t know. And I find that I don’t care.”

With a heavy heart, you stood and kissed the cold skin of his forehead. “I love you. I always will,” you whispered to him.

Your hand laid on his as you stepped away, every pace towards the door ripping a wider hole in your soul. The sun blazed into your unguarded eyes and a breeze blew through the square. But before you could step out, you turned back one last time. Bright tears rolled down your cheeks, soaking into the dusty wooden flooring.

For a moment, you questioned your own fortitude. Could you really leave all of this behind, knowing that you had felt something so ardent that it could only be equated to nirvana? But a bloom of bravery and hope bled itself into the cracks of your heart. If you didn’t walk out this door now, you would run back to your dead soldier’s body and languish in this old house. He wanted you to live. And living wouldn’t happen here. So you walked out into the street and stood watching a dragonfly twitter on a tilted telephone pole.

Beauty still managed to exist here despite the ugliness of humanity. That was a miracle unto itself.

You sat down on the busted hood of a car, marking the point on the map for a dead body. In a click, the comms buzzed under your hand to communicate. “Awaiting at Point S for evac. I have a dead 141 soldier with me in need of a body bag.”

The radio crackled and in the background, you could hear the rumble of the medical caravan echoing through the quiet city.

The comms went silent and you basked in the warmth of the sun contrasted by the cool breeze. There wasn’t much to do but sit and wait, so that’s what you did.

Out of the corner of your eye, the nurse ambled into the square, two cans resting in their gloved hands.

“Look at what I found,” they call. They hold up both hands to show two preserved jars of jam. You slide down a little bit. “Where’d you find those?”

They give you a full mouthed smile before showing you the cartoonish labels. “I found them in that old hotel over there. There’s a pantry full of food that’s still okay to eat. Do you think we can let the other medics know when they get here?”

You nod and take the proffered jar from their hands. The glass hadn’t shattered, in some miraculous stroke of luck and you ran your fingers over the grooves making a design on the side.

Strawberry. A typical favorite for many in normal times, but a rarity now. Nobody you knew had the time to grow them regularly, and the price for them became steep.

A loud pop echoed through the square and you startled up. The nurse had opened their can of jam and was now happily digging through their satchel for an issued spoon.

Once they had it, they scooped some of the near completely black jelly and shoved it into their mouth. A great big sigh of joy echoed as they had a taste of something that they hadn’t had in a long time.

They shared the glass jar with you and you also pulled out your spoon. Passing it back and forth, the two of you shared the blackberry jam as you waited for the trucks to come and get you.

When the caravan pulled into the square, the head medic got out and beckoned for you to come.

“Are there any civilians or survivors?” he asks. “Yes, but they’re soldiers and are mobile,” you say. “They’re headed towards the base, so tell your guards not to fire on them.”

He nods, assuring you that they will be taken care of. You start to walk away to help in packaging the dead and make it about half the distance that you traveled from the building to the hood before the medic calls to you.

The medic motions towards a vehicle near the entrance of the center that was still turned on. His voice raised, he cried, “Price called in. He’s waiting for you in Paris.”

You nod and board the carrier back to the base. As your driver begins to pull out, you watch as the nurse turns to wave goodbye and you send a small smile their way.

The driver mutters something about being tired to their neighbor in the front and they continue towards the base. As they continue along the road, you tug at your fingers and look out the window. Though you would be cleaning the majority of the time that you were with Price, you were still anxious to see him again.

•

Paris was just as pretty as you remembered, even if it was in shambles. Through the window of your troop transport, you could see the open fields blend into the city limits, and the sheep that ran at the dragonfly hum of the helicopter.

The scene was almost too nostalgic to not be shared with anyone, especially not with Soap. You thought about the store with the white dress. Would it still be there even after the attacks? Maybe it was. Either way, you would find out sooner or later.

The carrier touched down at the airbase and the small figure of Price approached at a reasonable speed.

As the bay doors opened, you paused to look back at the window that displayed the green field behind you. The captain called, “Are you ready?”

You nod at him and draw your attention down to the hand holding the stock of your rifle. For so long, you had waited to come back to this place, but never alone. Now you’re here, but for a completely unrelated reason than what you originally wanted to come back for.

“I’m ready.” Price grabs the separate bag that sits by your feet as he walks up. To not startle you, he nudged your side gently. “Let’s go then.”

He walks down and you follow with a heavy heart.

-

Returning home was bittersweet. You found your parents and your siblings all still alive, and you promised that together you would help to rebuild a new home. They were happy about that, but even more so, they were proud that their child had survived through many hardships that they would most likely never know about. They could still see that something weighed heavily on your shoulders and did their best to support you in getting back to the UK.

Your family was concerned how you would do on your own, especially when you received a message from Captain Price inviting you back for the funerals of Ghost, Roach, and Soap. Your family made sure that you were aware that you could always come back to them before you left. You assured them that you would be alright.

There wasn’t much of anything of your personal items that you needed to take back home with you, so the bag with your civilian things was relatively light compared to all of your combat gear. You would be taking it back with you, though you wanted nothing more than to abandon it in an alleyway somewhere.

From the airport, the long drive towards your destination began as the skies opened up. The storm cast a gloomy ambience over the Scottish countryside as you pulled into the driveway of your simple home.

When you made it home to your little house, you did your best not to dwell on the dust covering the shelves and cabinets. Nobody had touched this place in a long time. A very long time indeed when you looked at the calendar that had marked when your last deployment would be.

The cottage was quiet apart from the wind and rain, and you found that you hated it. It would take some time to get used to being alone, but you could do it. Just take care of yourself and it would all be okay. You started by doing your best to clean. That wasn’t easy.

Besides there being huge dust bunnies everywhere, small critters had found their way in and made themselves at home. The two apples that were left on the kitchen counter swarmed with rot and fruit flies, so you threw the whole basket holding them away.

Every part of the house had to be scrubbed and polished and without a doubt, would take at least a week. A schedule for what to tackle each day was drawn and you paused when you remembered the closet.

That would involve the most crying, so you set it for the coming Friday.

•

This neighborhood you lived in had not been hit by bombs or gunfire, but the people were dramatically affected by the war. Children played in the street together, but would scatter if something loud came close. The adults weren’t in much better shape either. They too had seen the horror of war and would stay up late into the night, unable to sleep or dream. Dreaming was meant for a happier time.

Still, they labored in bringing fresh food to the marketplace that you wandered through. Piles of sweet apples, cartons of berries, and tables of fresh bread were scattered through. It was the most food that you had seen in a long time. Purchasing a rather thick loaf of bread, you place it in your bag and continue onward. Two young boys chattered to each other as they walked past you and you paused to scan the scene. These two smiled and laughed at a joke the other made. The world was starting to heal again.

•

Price met you on the day before the funeral for Simon and Gary at a peaceful park closer to where he and Mrs. Price had now retired. He had been slowly healing, looking drastically less thin than the last time you saw him. But his steps were a bit slower and his voice was quieter when he spoke.

“Good to see you back. Are you ready to go?” You walked with him towards the park you both would be tracing. “Yes.”

A semi comfortable silence settled over the two of you. On one hand, the two of you had suffered so much and to bring it up would cause pain to the other. But, on the other, there were questions and many things that needed to be said.

So for the sake of your friend, you extended an olive branch.

“Have you been doing okay?” you say quietly.

He looked at you, crows feet furrowed more heavily than ever.

“I’m alright. How about you?”

You watch the green pond where multicolored mallards clean themselves.

“Okay. Just not sure what comes next.”

He hummed. Captain Price was not one for small talk but it seemed even he was not sure how to approach what needed to be said.

“What will you do now that it’s over?” you ask.

Price keeps walking, but says, “I’m not really sure yet.”

He looked thoughtful, but tired too.

“I think I would like to just rest for a while. I’ve grown old and haven’t held a normal job in a long time. I don’t even know what constitutes normal anymore.”

You nod in agreement and look out over the pond. The ancient willow trees circling the pool whispered with the breeze and you looked to a nearby field where a group of workers picked the rich peaches of the orchard and dumped them into wide baskets.

Price carefully spoke, “And what will you do?”

You turned to sadly smile at him as the pavement began to climb up a hill.

“Not sure. Might go pursue one of my other interests. But I do agree that some time to rest would be nice. Lord knows we’ve earned it.”

Price nods and at the top of the hill, he pauses to gaze out. You stand at his side and close your eyes to relish in the freshness of the breeze.

When you open your eyes, a pink and blue haze drifts out of view as you adjust to the brightness of the world around you.

The Captain motions to a nearby bench. You walk and sit next to him. In this peaceful environment, the tension has eased drastically.

He starts first, and your hackles raise with what he says. “I don’t know how to say this to you. But I’m sorry. I should never have thought he was ready.”

You fidget to stop the angry tears from spilling again. “It’s hard to forgive. He listened to you- trusted you. And you willingly allowed him to go out there when you knew he wasn’t well.”

“You know every time he saw you, he saw the man that he considered his mentor, his friend, his brother, his second father? All of those titles shouldn’t belong to you, but they did and still do.”

Price takes it all in stride, but with every word that is spat from your lips, his heart dies inside him a bit more. You know this and want to further his pain so he could feel what you felt, but when he hunches over just a degree, you know that he felt more than you knew.

“And though I don’t understand why he cared about you til the end, I know Soap would have wanted me to watch out for you as well. He would have told me to do it for him. So in that spirit, that’s what I’ll do.”

John Price looks up and you force eye contact. If forgiveness could be expressed physically, you hoped it was this. His eyes are red as tear tracks begin to streak down his cheeks.

You’re certain that his face matched yours, so you shut your eyes in hopes to tamp down the spilling drops of human grief.

They don’t stop though.

So, you cry together.

-

Ghost and Roach’s funeral was going to be an event that you would hate.

Both would be laid in Brookwood, a closed casket because of the grotesque nature of their bodies.

Still, throughout the war, you had hoped that they were still alive. Maybe in another life, they would have survived and they wouldn’t have to go through the torturous death that killed them.

As it started, you held the flowers that would be thrown on their graves in a death clench. The juices of the perishing flowers filled the crevices of your nails and produced a sticky, sickly smell that clung to your hair as the clergyman spoke.

When it was your turn, you tossed the flowers like Shephard threw the lit cigar and prayed that their families would forgive.

-

Some days it seemed like nobody wanted to acknowledge the war.

There were nights when the sadness left you broken and you curled up. The PTSD sometimes became too much to handle and you nearly cracked the screen of your phone calling one of your family members.

For years to come, Mrs. Price would become a great friend. After Price had passed, the old woman had no one else to take care of besides herself. You worried about her and sometimes you wondered why you did. Was it because she had also lost her life companion? Or was it because you inherently knew that you needed each other in a time like this?

Either way, you spent more time around her, meeting for coffee at a little corner shop, inviting each other for little excursions around the city

On a particular outing, Mrs. Price had brought something that she said she found while rooting through some of her husband’s old things. She had tied a bow of silky white ribbon around the notebook that you had seen many times being toted around by your lover. Price’s wife explained then that the captain had wanted this given to you after his death.

It had accompanied Soap just about everywhere, and when he had down time, he could be seen scribbling away at one of the pages. John had no doubt poured bits of himself into it, you were sure.

Later that night in the safety of your own home, you had pulled out the notebook. The leather had small points of weathering from being handled so much, in the shape of his hand.

If you opened the book, the memories so carefully stored away would be dragged back out. You stayed sitting at the table til the early morning hours, the cries of dogs echoing late into the night. When you went to bed, you rested your head on your pillow and cried.

The morning came too quickly. You didn’t have work, but you still had chores and errands to run. The chickens and your donkey needed to be fed and cleaned up, then from there, you would need to run to town to gather some extra feed and fertilizer for your garden. The book could be left for tonight. You left it on the table and walked to the other room.

•

After a simple dinner with Mrs. Price, who was staying in Scotland for three weeks, you flipped the lights on in your kitchen.

The notebook stared back as you pulled out a brand new bottle of wine. Pouring it, you downed the first glass and prepared a second. Lord knows, you’d be needing the courage to make it through.

Slamming the bottle and glass down, you clawed at the book until it slid over. Prying up the cover like you would a crate, you pulled at the pages and they crinkled a bit under your lead hand.

The few blank pages opened to piles of notes on every blank surface.

In the book, sketches of almost everyone you had fought with sat inside. A doodle of Captain Price with a little caption, a tiny drawing of Roach with antennae, Ghost playing with a rubix cube, a half finished piece of Yuri, and even one of the layouts of a building. They lay between notes, immortalizing everyone you had lost. Cheeks damp with tears, you threw the book down.

The notebook had turned on its pages and realizing your mistake, you rushed over to pick it up. None of the pages were bent when you flipped through them, but a drawing you hadn’t seen caught your eye.

Brushing back to it, you nearly dropped the book again. Two full pages dedicated just to you opened. There were drawings of you sitting on a bench reading a book, you passed out against the wall of a helicopter, you petting a stray cat that he knew you loved, but a mirror image of yourself staring back at you was what caught your attention. Smears of shiny silver graphite smudged under John’s watchful hands had formed your face.

It became evident that what he saw was not a woman worn down and tired from war.

He saw beauty. Each feature was decorated with a detail that could only be described as being loved.

Beside it rested a side note that nearly buckled your legs. It said, Every dream I ever had.

You staggered to the hallway with the book still in hand, dragging yourself to the bathroom where you splashed frigid water on your face.

Practically reverting to the way you were just after his death, you collapsed on the floor and did your best to focus on the nails of the wooden floors. What would he think if he saw you right now? Would you still be the woman drawn in soot? Would you still be what he dreamed of had he lived?

As you sat there in silence, you came to the conclusion that you had come to a forked path. You could dwell in the valleys of the past, pinned under the good memories you had. Or, you could try to build up your strength and climb out of the rockslide.

This would not be easy. Logic asked you to move on. But, your heart wished to hurt itself again and again. You wouldn’t let it.

•

There were times when you went to sit at his grave. There were new flowers placed there every week, marigolds, lavender, poppies, and the reddest tulips you could find. Though they were cleaned away regularly, you still brought them along with snacks that he liked.

There was another woman that frequented the cemetery more regularly than you did. The only difference was your age and the fact that she was heavily pregnant. At her wife’s grave, she would cry about being alone, about feeling lost, about not knowing what to do next. There was a kindred spirit of suffering between you and you did your best to let her grieve on her own. You weren’t in a position to give her advice.

Then she disappeared. She had gone to have her baby, and you knew that you wouldn’t be seeing her for a while. Still, you hoped that your graveyard companion would come back. And she did, this time not alone.

Gone was the big belly she had once sported and now a new car seat carrier came with her. The young lady never stayed too long, now having to worry about the wiggly infant that whined when he was too cold.

You were happy that she returned, but by no means were you envious of her situation. She was haggard and looked like a woman worked to the bone, kind of like yourself not so long ago. Which is why when she left with her baby, you cleaned and honored her wife’s grave by yourself.

Years of repeating the same cycle left both of you older. The woman’s son was no longer a tiny baby, but a young boy that talked endlessly to his mothers about what he learned in school that day.

It was endearingly domestic to see him grow larger by the week, the aurora of youth in every step he took. The mother grew too. She was doing better each time you saw her, a new spark lit under her. She was still sad, but time and responsibility heal.

It was on one of those rare occasions when the sun decided to peek out from behind the clouds that your regular routine had changed. The day was bright and the world smelled fresh from the night of rain before.

You had slept well the night before and praised the heavens for your good rest. The bakery down the street had a freshly baked loaf of bread cooling in the window and you purchased it for later.

All of the good things compiling together made the day feel happier and you dared to hope. Perhaps the girl and her son would be there.

Though the ground had the consistency of a wet sponge, you still decided to spread out a blanket to sit. The picnic basket hanging on your arm had been set out and its bright red and white pattern stood out against the somber hills of green.

Stretching out, you quietly prepare the fresh bread to be eaten together. A slice for him and a slice for you goes along with a happy bouquet of crisp wildflowers next to his quiet grave.

Before you eat, you tell him a bit about how you’d been and anything that crosses your mind. When he was alive, Soap enjoyed listening to your rambling because the military had taught you not to share your thoughts.

Another car pulled up and you perked a little bit. The woman hopped out and walked to the back car door to put her child down on the ground. She quietly admonished him when he got too loud with his ramblings and picked up her purse. The duo walked to the other side of the cemetery and sat down. The soft hums of their conversation lulled you to relax. They too soak in the drowsy warmth.

Eyes drawn to the sky, you silently relish in the feeling of the sun warming your face and turn to look back at your husband. “It’s a beautiful day today. Seems nice enough for a walk. Maybe I’ll go when I’m finished here.”

“Go where?” a high pitched voice asks.

Soldier’s instinct kicks in and you whip around to see who snuck up behind you. The woman’s son stands about a yard away from you and you take a closer look at what he’s doing. He holds a small ziplock bag of mini cookies, curiously watching you.

You release your breath and smile at him. “Just going to go for a walk, kiddo.” His big brown eyes narrow like he’s unsure if you’re telling the truth. When he deems that you are, he shrugs and looks at the headstone behind you.

“Who’s that?” he asks. You turn to where his pointed ogle was. “Ah, that is my husband.”

He tilts his head and pauses to mull over your words. “He’s dead?” the boy asks.

You nod slowly. “Yes.”

His face contorts into a skewed second hand sadness. “Why did he die?”

You pause, unsure of how to give the boy the truth without telling him too much.

Successfully deciding what to say, you respond, “He was a soldier, my dear. His job was to protect those that needed him.”

“But, why though?”

He walks a few steps closer. “Well, think about it this way. You have people that you love like your mom, right? They care for you. He had people like that too,” you explain.

You can see the wheels turn in the boy’s head about what you just said. He asks, “So, he wanted to protect you?”

The air feels suddenly thin, and it makes you feel light headed.

“He did.”

The boy steps a bit closer to the grave. “Can you read what it says to me?” You smile at him through the strangulation and begin to read aloud.

“In memory of John “Soap” MacTavish. Beloved son, brother, and husband. Your sacrifice will be remembered for years to come.”

A silence spreads over the lonely gravesite. You watch the boy’s reaction carefully to see what he does. He doesn’t give much away, but rubs at his eye.

The little one then reaches into his bag of cookies to pull one out. He says, “Do you think he’d want a biscuit?”

A laugh bubbles from the bottom of your chest, true joy at the sweetness of the child’s statement.

“Yeah, I think he’d like one, kid.”

The boy smiles and puts the little treat down on the grave next to the slice of bread.

His mother huffs and puffs behind you, crying to her child to not run off on her.

She puts her hands down on her knees and pants from her run. With a hoarse voice, she tells you, “I’m so sorry, miss. My son doesn’t usually wander off from me and I was just distracted, and I’m just really sorry.”

You dismiss her anxious rambling with a smile and a wave.

“No harm done. Your son was just asking about my late husband.”

Her chest falls as she relaxes. “Oh, thank you for making sure he didn’t run off.”

“No worries, sweetheart,” you say. “I’m just glad that he’s okay.”

The young mother motions for her boy to come stand by her side, and he willingly goes to stand with her.

Curiously, she makes eye contact with you.

“You lost your husband?”

The boldness certainly passed to her son, you noted.

“I did. And I assume you also lost someone?”

She nods and a fresh bout of tears fills her eyes. “Yes, my wife. I miss her quite a lot.”

You nod as the woman puts herself out there.

“My name is Isla. This is my son Elias.”

You kindly tell the younger woman your name, and offer her a place to sit and some of your bread.

She declines the bread, but her son asks for some. You cut off a large chunk and pass it to him and his mother leaves to gather their items. After walking back to where your blanket is, she drops down beside where her child sits, happily wolfing his way through a thick slice of bread.

For the next hour and half, you spend some time talking to her. You learn that she has no other family in this country besides her son and that her boy is in the first grade.

All the while, Elias interjects little tidbits of information about his favorite foods, his friends, his activities. For the first time in a long time, you feel a bond of friendship begin to creep in.

•

Throughout your years, the pain of losing your love haunted you everyday. But the joy you felt when taking care of your family built itself into a home for everyone within your neighborhood.

The local children flocked to the field beside your home and played with animals that loved their attention. The adults would come spend afternoons and evenings with you, relishing in the fact that there was someone else there that understood their loneliness and suffering.

The few veterans that survived sometimes visited to speak about their experiences, and they asked about John often. You were pleased that his memory lived on, but were still sad.

You knew you would meet again someday. And that day did come, simply later than you expected.

Your family gathered at your bedside when the hour drew near. And although you knew they had traveled a long distance to see you, you searched for other faces besides theirs.

And you found them.

Price’s iconic silhouette was outlined in the darkened doorway, Sandman and his crew peered over the crowd, Roach hovered beside your weeping sister, and a serene Ghost stood as a silent sentry to your bedchamber. But where was Soap?

The strings of life were quickly snapping, but you cling to them with what little strength you had. Please let him be here. Don’t let me die alone.

You sense a new presence in the room over the flutter of your family members. They’re crying and stroking your arms, but you aren’t focused on them anymore.

Scanning each face, you frantically search any and all corners in the room. Where is he?

A light, warm dragging sensation trails along the length of your upper arm, and a familiar smile enchants you all over again.

As beautiful as the day you had first met him, he’s knelt as he did many long years ago.“John?” you murmur.

Excitement and fear sparks trepidation in your failing heart. “I’m scared. I’m really, really scared.” His expression curves in reassurance, though he never speaks.

At your other side, a voice chimes in. Elias.

“Auntie, who are you talking to?”

You smile at your husband who grows more vivid with every passing second. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m only talking to myself.”

The older boy’s eyes squint in a concerned manner, not seeing that you were happy to be where you were.

Closing your eyes, you straightened your spine and took a deep breath.

Inside your heart, you knew that you wouldn’t last much longer when your machines started to beep in rapid succession. A bone deep ache spreads through your body, hurting more than any injury you sustained during the war.

As the last of a dying breed, it wouldn’t be long now.

And it wasn’t. Death was just like falling asleep.

Perhaps there was dreaming. Was there singing? Who would know?

•

The tarmac is brightly lit by huge overhead lights, drowning out some of the less bright stars. As the troop carrier bumped over the potholes in the road, you looked at each of the unknown faces that sat with you. A few spoke softly to each other, but nothing loud enough to be heard from where you sat. A poet had probably written about this same situation; something about human solidarity and alienation and all of that. You didn’t really care, though.

Over the comms in the vehicles, a crackling voice announces that you have about a minute till you meet your new team. Laswell had taken care to notify you about your new position and made sure to tell you about each specialized individual who would make up this motley crue.

There were three Englishmen (one being your captain) and a Scotsman. They were rumored to be the best of the best, efficient and strong in a fight. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that they would do their job and they would do it well.

The truck slows as it turns for entry and you mentally prepare for meeting your new compatriots. As it pulls to a full stop, the other soldiers gather their bags and split to find their new commands.

You’re the last one out. The whole base is alive with camouflaged people running back and forth, helicopters landing, and loud crowing from the speakers scattered about. Between the fray and frenzy, you catch sight of the grim reaper standing near the back of another vehicle.

Laswell had described the man that you were to look for and this soldier fit the description of Lieutenant Ghost fairly well. Approaching, you hefted your bags higher on your shoulder as another man started to speak to him. He clapped the lieutenant’s shoulder heartily and turned to rejoin the group he had been with.

Trotting towards the vehicle you supposed was your next ride out, he glanced your way and your eyes met. His expression changed from one of confidence to something pensive and unsure. He didn’t pause though, and didn’t turn back to look at you.

But, in the quick moment that you had with him, there was a spark of passing recognition about his face. Something about his facial structure, or the way he held himself made you double take. Somewhere, you remembered seeing him… or someone that looked like him.

He would change your life. Just a thought.

CALL OF DUTY

Most of the fics here the reader are in what I dubbed “ The Mini MacTavish Universe”. Inspired by @saltofmercury fic which she graciously let me borrow and write bit more expanded universe.

There are different “ route ” you take. Different AUs if you think of it as that way.

All female reader unless specified. Sorry I don’t write for m!readers, I will try write GN!reader more in the future ( Although I try to include GN/NB side characters in the story as much as I can )

Thanks to lovely @kaplerrr for her art work, this is my image of “Mini"MacTavish! and First Dance

1. “The Favorite MacTavish” - BY @saltofmercury (König x  f!Reader )

To understand any of the background of my fics that involves Mini MacTavish in this universe, better to read her wonderful story first. And while you are there, please check out other other fics too. She is a brilliant writer.

141 Members x Reader

drabbles,ficlets, prompts, headcannon of Tf141 members

Life of captains - Taskforce 141 x Readers.

Drunken boys - Task force 141 + F!Reader

I Love You - Task force 141 x Readers

Memory in a Fragrance Master list - Various Taskforce 141 members x F!Reader

Please click on the individual names of characters for further fics:

König

Simon "Ghost" Riley

John Price

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Nikolai

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

HIRAETH — A Simon Riley fic.

❱ This is a longer version of the au I posted on tiktok ^^ I do apologize for the repetitive use of some words. I'm working on expanding my vocabulary! Your kind word means a lot to me, especially the readers on tiktok, you guys mean a lot to me ! ꜝ？This fic may contain heavy topics such as death, depression and melt-downs, if any of those are not to your liking. Please do so exit the fic.

the fic is unedited, grammatical/spelling errors may be found!

HIRAETH — (n.) A homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was; The nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past.

"[name]?!"

He frantically called, dropping the weapons he held to take a good look at your figure who collapsed on the floor. 

The mission had been awfully longer than they anticipated, by the time the third hour arrived, you and Ghost already had fatal wounds.

He hardly swallowed, feeling his throat dry. 

He would rarely call you by your actual name. Ghost always abide by the rules, lover or not, he called you by your callsign through the battles you fought with together,

This one, however, happens to be an exception.

Your panting chest, bloody body, and exhausted expressions stated so. 

He knew, you knew.

He was only grateful you were with him.

The physical pain had caught up to him, he sat beside you. Taking your dainty form close to his, holding you close to him. You could hear his heartbeat,

They were oddly calm.

"Lieutenant—"

"Simon. It's your Simon."

He mumbled, taking your hands in his. Clasping them together gently,

You gasped for air, though in his arms it felt as if you could still conquer ten groups of syndicate. He held you so gently, so protectively. You swallowed,

"Simon?"

"mm?"

"I hope I loved you enough in this lifetime."

You could hear his breathy chuckle, the rasp in his voice another proof of his exhaustion.

"You're rushing, doll, we are still at the part where we reminisce about the memories yea?"

You smiled at his words, disregarding the growing pain on your abdomen. You noticed his own body, the scars and blood covered your lovers figure, You knew it was inevitable.

Without mentioning anything about your wilting bodies, you smiled up at him.

"We haven't lived enough yet." You spoke.

"Indeed,"

"We'll just have to meet in our next one and make the most of what we missed in this one."

Your smile grew, "I didn't know you believed in reincarnation, Si."

"For you, I will. This life failed us," He spoke with weak determination, "This isn't our end, [name].

 I'll find you just as I did before."

With one final kiss, he held your body tighter to his. Covering your ears as protection for the upcoming explosion, as he whispered sweet nothings, 

"If I'm as grumpy in our next life, Please find it in you to be as patient as you are to me in this one. I love you, [name], see you there alright?"

It wasn't long until a blinding explosion defeaned both of your ears, the noise was much bearable for you as he covered your ears tightly. Pressing your body close to his, Well it is the last thing he did, love you and hold you til you both accepted the inevitable fate you've been bestowed.

At his very last moments, he held you tight.

﹑

﹑

﹑

"I'll find you in our next life."

﹑

﹑

﹑

"See you there, alright?"

﹑

﹑

﹑

"Love me just as much as you did on this one."

﹑

﹑

﹑

Soon after the final explosion, Price made sure to clear the place. The eerie silence of Ghost's nonexistent callouts haunted him, along with the walkie he found which belonged to you.

He knew there was one answer, but he had a tiny speck of hope. You and Ghost never failed them, it was this life that had failed you countless times.

"Captain, it's been hours, it's just—let's try to be realistic. There's no way Lieutenant would be so quiet unless he—"

"Have trust in them. They're both strong."

As the two discussed whatever conclusions were the most possible, Gaz had found himself in a particularly secluded room. It was wrecked, obvious that the explosion did not spare it,

"Cap.. captain, you might want to see this."

With hitched breaths, the three of them stared at what the room unfolds. 

His arms wrapped around you protectively, dried blood covered the two of you as you held each other. The sight pinched the soldiers heart, how could such a tragic sight depict so much love?

The two of you laid, almost showing no signs of life. Price had to drop his equipment, staring at the sight and taking in the vulnerability and acceptance you both showed,

"They held each other." Soap mumbled,

"Tightly." Gaz whispered, staring at the grip your cold hands had on ghosts arms that wrapped around you lovingly.

Price found himself approaching the two, with a heavy heart. He checked for a sign of life—anything—holding your pulse first,

Nothing.

"They're gone."

He whispered, the silence of the room almost suffocating the room. None of them had yet broken down, though they felt as if their knees would give out. Price reached for Ghost's after checking yours,

Eyes widening as he frantically double checked Ghost,

"There's—He's still breathing."

﹑

By the time evac had arrived, Price had known it was far too late to save both. He knew this was now their reality. As he sat outside the room where Ghost lay unconscious, completely unaware of the world he’ll wake up to, unaware that he’d live to see that his lover is now gone.

Price felt his stiff heart ache as the thought of them accepting the inevitable death whilst in the arms of each other. How could the two of you receive such a cruel end? Not only were you separated, you had passed thinking you remained in the arms of your love,

He also knew you would hold no grudge if you find out that Ghost had survived the tragic explosion, Price could imagine the gentle smile on your lips while saying ‘I know he will, he’s always been tough.’

He closed his eyes shut, holding his head as he rested his arms on his weak knees, “how the hell am i supposed to tell him.” standing up to return to his station, looking at the window to see Ghost’s resting figure.

As days went by, Price had to argue with people to push further the funeral. It can’t happen yet, not without ghosts. He knew he could only delay it for a few more days. He had faith in his comrade, but at the same time that hope easily withers as days pass them by like a blur.

“Captain if we don’t proceed with the funeral, [name]’s body, it’ll—”

“We have to wait for him.” he interjected sternly, glaring at the soldier, “we have to.”

He knew his logic had given out in favour of his emotions, he can't bring himself to betray simon. Not when he's already been through, he'd lost the person he cared for the most, He just can't do this to him.

“Captain the body, they're doing everything they can to help preserve [name]. But if this keeps on, the body will decay completely! Do you think the lieutenant would be delighted to see the person he loves rotting? He wouldn't—I'm sorry captain. This needs to be done, with or without him.”

Price grimaced, the corner of his eyes wrinkling as he closed his eyes shut. He pinched the bridge of his nose, before nodding with a heavy heart.

“Very well.”

“Proceed with the funeral.”

﹑

“Si, have I told you how much I love your eyes?”

“‘Mm? Yeah, all the time, doll.”

You chuckled, ruffling his hair. You loved the way his eyes squint whenever he’d smile, even the slightest smile he shows, you loved it every single time.

“I love looking at them, they look really pretty.”

“You think so?” He asks, caressing your face.

“I know so. I want them to be the last things I admire before I pass away.”

His eyes weakly fluttered open, his breaths shallow but much more stable than. He’d woken up certain that he’ll turn to see your peaceful face, away from the wars, away from the scars of the battles you both conquered, he knew and was certain he’ll turn to his side to see you peacefully resting with him after the turmoil you've both overcome, as proven of the light that blinded him when his eyes fluttered open,

As soon as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, he sat up, with a relieved sigh. Turning to his side, prepared to caress your soft skin, 

His breath hitched.

You weren't there.

You weren't anywhere near his proximity, where are you? He finds himself sitting on an empty hospital bed with nothing but his dumbfounded state. He looked around, observing the place with a tired frown, he felt rage. Why is a dextrose connected to him? That was where your hand rested before the explosion killed the both of you,

..right?

“[name]?”

He whispered, standing up, ignoring the piercing pain he felt all over his body. Pulling the dextrose and removing it from his arm roughly, 

Why is he breathing? Why is he alive?

“Hell, what is this?”

No. no no no no no no no.

He stormed out of the room, uncaring about the strange looks thrown towards him as he opened each and every room of the hospital. Panic surging through his body, he won't accept it, he won't. You've gotta be inside one of these god forsaken rooms,

Shocked screams and gasps were heard by every door he opened, abruptly interrupting the patients as he searched for those particular eyes. That particular person he needs. He was determined, in one of these rooms you would be laying down on the bed, resting, waiting for him.

If he’d survived, you surely did too.

He won't live otherwise, not without you. And so he continued barging inside rooms, panting and grumbling to himself everytime a different pair of eyes looks at him in terror, they weren't your eyes, you wouldn't have looked at him with a petrified expression, you would look at him with a smile,

Like you always do.

You open your arms and wait for him to close the distance and embrace you, pressing your bodies tightly against each other like he did the night of the explosion.

“Lieutenant!”

Price’s voice rang through the silent hallways, with workers of the hospital frantically following the two of them, “what are you doing simon—”

“Where are they?”

“Where is [name]?!”

He angrily snapped, voice flowing with venom as he started to feel himself fall into a hysteria.

“Where’s my [name], john?” he repeats, this time weaker. Desperate for answers, desperate for your whereabouts, desperate for you.

“Simon, let's calm down. Let's go back to the room and talk.” Price tried to calm him, slowly making his way towards his friend, aiming to take him back and avoid him from causing another scene.

“No.” he shakes his head in disbelief, tears brimming on the verge of falling, “tell me where they are.”

Price felt his heart sunk, he'd never seen the hard-headed ghost look so vulnerable and desperate. “Simon, come on let's go.”

“Price. Where's my [name]?”

﹑

“They're gone.”

Price had managed to pull the hysteric Simon back into his room, sat him down on the bed despite his protest and cries. The sight crushed price’s heart,

“No.” ghost protests, “they're most certainly not.”

Price looked down, sitting himself down as well. Unable to take the lump suffocating on his throat. Ghost’s voice destroyed him, and he bet it would crush your soul to see your lover ask so desperately for you.

“When evac came, [name]’s already dead. It was too late, Simon, I'm sorry.”

“Then why!?”

Price looked up at Simon's exclamation, “why the hell did you think i wished to live if it was too late for [name]?!”

“Why did you have to save me, price?” he weakly stood up, looking down at price as tears fell down his eyes, they were tears of rage and grief—tears that he had rarely shown anyone but you.

“Saving me knowing I'll wake up without my [name], what did you— what did the lot of you think? Now tell me,

Tell me what ill do, tell me price, what the fuck should i do?”

He cried, weeping his unfeeling heart out. He cant feel anything, none worth mentioning—the hurt of losing you plagued his heart,

“I can't, price, I can't do this.”

“Send me out there, make me fight those syndicates, have me tortured for months but not this—not this, i beg you. Don't make me live without [name], don't do this to me.”

Price felt his own tears pool his eyes, he couldn't take it. Not when ghost stared at him with contempt and helplessness.

“Take me back to [name].”

“Please.”

Without you, there was nothing else left for him. Without you he wouldn't wake up looking forward to meeting those eyes that once looked at him with adoration. Without you he wouldn't feel that extraordinary love you had saved only for him. Without you he won't feel, without you he is nothing at all.

Nothing but a breathing piece of sorrow revived to a body which was once happy with you.

Without you he's simply nothing.

ABBA - Voulez-Vous

Task force 141 found out about your soft spots

Summary: You’re one of the members in the taskforce, and you’re one of the more quiet, self-reserved and stoic soldiers among them. They didn’t mind since they respected your personal space, but at some point, they saw just a glimpse of your rather different, softer side. a/n: I’ve had this idea in mind for a long time and just wanted to get this out there, English is not my main language so I apologize for any mistakes along the way! This is also my first fic so feedbacks are appreciated :] Tags: incorrect military terms/training, fluff, can be read as platonic or romantic, x gn!reader, reader's text is in purple Part 2 is out! PLEASE DO NOT RESHARE MY WORK ON OTHER PLATFORMS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION 

Captain John Price

You were on a mission with Price in another city, stalking and trailing the target, when suddenly the target decided to take a turn and entered a cafe. With the captain’s signal, both of you followed and took a spot in one of the corners in the warm, bustling cafe. It was a perfect atmosphere; the cafe was not necessarily noisy, but the number of people and music were busy enough for you and your captain to stay hidden and blend in well. You kept a keen eye on the target, noticing that he was in the queue and, so far, not presenting any signs of danger or threats. The captain gave your foot a nudge as he diverted your attention to the young waitress beside the table that you didn’t notice. "Hi! What would you like to order?" The waitress spoke in the local language that you didn't understand, but you knew she was most likely trying to take an order with the way she held a small notepad and a pen. You gave a small nod as you glanced at Captain for a moment, who was also reading the menu. You do the same, only frowning slightly as you couldn't read anything as well, and because you wanted to get this over with, you randomly pointed at one item to the waitress as she smiled and jotted down your order.

When the waitress walked away, you followed the captain’s gaze on the target; it seemed that he was still in line. You're slightly confused but relieved that the target remains in sight. Not long after, the drinks ordered previously arrived, but your eyes remained fixated on the sketchy figure. It wasn't until the Captain cleared his throat that you broke your gaze and stared down at the table. You froze slightly at the sight before you.

You watched a little wiggle action of the foam on top of what you assume is coffee before you. Except it's not the normal flat latte art kind of foam, but a huge bear foam with a cute face drawn with chocolate. You blink once, then twice before releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding.

This is so cute!! 

You thought to yourself internally as you felt yourself smiling, before realising the situation at hand as you snapped your head towards the captain, hoping he didn't see you, and to your relief, his eyes were still glued to the target. You take this opportunity to slowly take out your phone and take a quick picture of the drink before doing the same and observing the target again. As soon as you do, the target made its move and headed to the exit, which made the both of you follow promptly, seemed like he had a bag as well which was definitely not good news. You were a bit disappointed that you were not given the chance to try the cute drink, but you know you have a job to do, so you just hope that perhaps you can take a closer look again at the coffee later on your phone.

What you didn’t know was how the Captain noticed the change in your demeanour when you spotted the drink; he honestly wasn't expecting much from you, thinking you might just ignore it. But he saw from the corner of his eyes just how your eyes widen slightly, how they are shining when you realize what you ordered, and the way your cheeks had a shade of pink on it as you smile. He rarely gets to see you smile, and he found it endearing to think a cold soldier like you has a liking for cute things. He smiled internally as he noticed how you took the photo sneakily when you thought he wasn’t looking.

He made a mental note to bring you to a cafe he knows that have those famous latte art drinks after the mission, just to see you smile like that again.

John Soap McTavish

The military base has decided to bring in military working dogs to aid in the next mission, which involves scouting and detection for drug detection at the port, where secret drug trafficking from a certain group of terrorists has been reported.  

"Soap, you’re assigned to Max and Judy; you’ll have to talk to Sergeant Sam about the training," the Captain says as he walks through the compound. You noticed how Soap seemed to tense slightly as he clenched his jaw; you also noticed how his breath hitched as he stared at the two German shepherds standing on the sides of the dog handler; you knew he had a bad history with canines in general when you stumbled upon his journal once; and seeing how uncomfortable he was, you decided to step up for the job.

"Captain, can I do it instead?" The captain glanced back, his beard shifting as he thinks for a moment before nodding and giving you permission. Soap stared at you upon hearing your voice and gave you an apologetic yet grateful look as he breathed out a sigh of relief.

"Aye thanks… Let me know if yae ever need something from meh in the future."

He watched as you gave him a gentle pat on his shoulder as you nodded. Unbeknownst to him, you actually own a German Shepherd yourself, and you’re very much a dog person, and you’re excited to start the training with the military dogs. He stood on the side as you approached the two dogs, nodding along to the instructions given by Sam. As you bent down and extended your hand out, the two dogs gave a few sniffs before finally warming up to you, with their tails wagging as they circle your body. He’s impressed with how friendly you seem with animals, and you were natural with the dogs.

After the training, he went around looking for you as he held a bottle of ice-cold mineral water, hoping that he could give it to you since you were training heavily under the hot, blazing sun. As he turned a corner, right behind the shed, he heard a few barks. He softened his steps as he leant in and took a peek behind the wall, and he was glad he did.

Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are! Yes, you are! Come here! Oooh, such a big boy are you? You did such a great job with me just now~ oh! No wait wait- aH-!

He watched with a grin as he took in the image before him. You, giggling and rolling on the floor as the dogs lick and nuzzle your face and neck, having fun and relaxing with the dogs. He would almost forget that they were military dogs, and yet, with you? They looked domestic. On top of that, he has never heard you laugh or speak like this before; sure, you were using a baby voice and all as you cooed the dog, but he didn’t care because you have the softest yet brightest giggle, a stark contrast to your usual stoic self. He left after watching you for a while, smiling as he walked away to let you have your moments with the doggies. Next time, he’ll definitely want to join you in the training if it means getting to see this side of you more often. 

Kyle Gaz Garrick 

You groan as you sit on the passenger side as Gaz drives the Jeep. It was almost 9.30 pm as you were both ordered to buy a few furniture pieces, tables, and chairs specifically as an emergency thanks to Soap breaking them when he was messing around earlier.

"Why can’t we buy it tomorrow?"

Gaz asks as he, too, frowns and crosses his arms as a yawn escapes his mouth.

"We have a meeting with the other members from London tomorrow, and we can’t make them sit on the floor now, can we?"

Captain replied with a sigh as he frowned; he too was tired and annoyed with the situation, but he has a point. Gaz has asked you for help since the furniture needs to be carried, and you followed along (not without silently complaining).

The day has been terrible for you, it seems like bad luck was looming around your shoulders in every moment. Just this morning, you stubbed your toe and you couldn’t find your left sock, then sprained your shoulder slightly during the sparring session with Ghost. Not only that, the sandwiches that you always order for dinner were out of stock, so overall, you’re not having the best day. But who can you blame? You just decided to suck it up as you nod and follow Gaz. 

After parking a spot in IKEA, both of you decided to split up to find the respective wood and parts of the tables and chairs that, thankfully, the details of them have been sent to you by the Captain, so that the process can be faster before the store closes for the night. You sigh as you place the last part of the table in the trolley, crossing off the last serial number and name. You walk towards the place that Gaz told you to meet up with before stopping when you walk past the kid's section.

There it is, in all its glory: Djungelskog and the other notable plushies in the corner. Truth be told, you actually own two Blåhaj (they're in your house) and a baby Blåhaj in the quarters. You’re a big fan of plushies, especially the ones from IKEA and Miniso. You just haven't saved up enough cash to bring the big brown bear home. You take a step, then another, inching closer to the tray, until you’re right in front of the bear. You glanced around to make sure no one is around before you gently pick up the bear, thankful that there weren't many people in the first place due to the late hour. Without a second thought, you gave in and squish your face into its tummy as you give a big sigh and hug it tightly, smiling to yourself as you feel the stress dissolving away. Something about burying yourself in the soft cushion of cotton is healing for you; it gives you a safe, warming feeling, and it reminds you of the comfort that you never got much of as a kid.

You gave it a few more squeezes before finally parting ways with the bear, softly nudging its nose a few times as you whispered softly:

I swear I’ll come and bring you home next time I come.

You smile and place the bear back in its original position, glancing at it one last time as you spot Gaz in the distance, then swiftly push the trolley towards him. Gaz pays for the parts, and both of you head to the car. You get ready in your seat and fasten the seatbelt before Gaz speaks up.

"Oh, I forgot something. Give me a sec"

You haven’t even had the chance to ask back as he bolted back into IKEA. What did he forget? All the parts have been bought, and the store is nearing its closing time as well, but whatever it is, you waited patiently.

Maybe it's because of the long day, but as you rested your head on the window, you dozed off while you were waiting and didn’t wake up until you heard the driver's side car door open.

"Sorry it took awhile, we’ll go back now"

You nod sleepily as you murmur. "What did you forget?"

"Oh, don't worry about it", Gaz replies as he presses the gas pedal and promptly drives back to the base. You didn’t question further; you figured he probably needed something himself.

You went straight to bed after dropping off the equipment for Soap and Ghost to handle, immediately passing out as you landed on the soft bed.

The next morning, you were getting ready for the day as you stretched, satisfied that at least the sleep last night was good enough. As you open the door, a soft material lands in your room with a soft “umph” sound, you immediately look down cautiously, and that's when you see it.

Djungelskog, with its head tilted to your side as its fluffy hand remains on its tummy, on your floor. You were confused, and frankly, you were not awake enough to fully comprehend what just happened. But once you connected the dots, you smiled to yourself as you lifted the bear up and hugged it.

You make sure to buy Gaz something next time as a thank you.

Simon Ghost Riley

The day was mundane; after a few gruelling missions, the task force had many reports to do. You’ve opted to do them in one of the empty meeting rooms; you liked doing work in these rooms more than facing the concrete wall of your own quarters. At least here, the table was wide and it was fairly quiet; sometimes Ghost will join you as he feels the same. You enjoy his presence because, unlike the rest of the group, he is one of the few people you like spending time with in silence. Today was no different.

The hours go by quickly with the room filled with nothing but paper shuffling and turning pages. You sigh as you place down your pen and give a big stretch, deciding to take a break as you stand and move towards the door. The big man himself also follows along; you don’t question it; you figured he might need a break too.

As you walked away from the room, you decided to go to the bathroom. You passed by the training hall as you overheard the Captain and Laswell talking over some topics for the upcoming mission, but something caught your attention.

"....My wife brought cheesecake; it's in the fridge…."

Your ears perked up to the sound of cake; you haven’t had any dessert recently, and you do like cheesecake. You make a mental note to take a trip to the mess hall after using the bathroom, hoping to have a slice yourself.

As you make your way to the fridge silently, you approach the kitchen and let out a soft sigh of relief when the place is empty. You slowly open the door of the fridge as you poke your head in and search for any sign of cake. You were about to give up when you couldn’t see any, but you jolted slightly when you felt a pat on your shoulder. You quickly turn around, only to be met by Ghost again, with a plate in his hand. As you look at the plate, which has a slice of cheesecake, your eyes blink with hope as you slowly glance back at him. He gives you a nod as he hands you the plate, and you nod back as well with a smile, happy and grateful that he saved you a slice. You take a seat at one of the stools and grab a fork as you eat the cheesecake happily. Ghost leaned against the counter opposite you as he makes himself a cup of coffee. He watched silently as your mood seems to improve. Earlier, he saw how you stopped in your tracks when you overheard the conversation, how your eyelashes fluttered, and how your steps grew lighter. He immediately went to the kitchen when you head to the bathroom and managed to pry one last slice of Soap before he finished them, hoping to save you a piece when you come by later. As you take the first few bites with your eyes closed, you give a hum of approval as your shoulders drop. It’s not like the cheesecake was extremely good, but you can tell from the texture that it was homemade. You miss baking yourself; the last time you did it was with a roommate before you joined the military. You missed those silly moments as you clumsily mixed the ingredients and argued with your friend to stop adding too much sugar into the batter, or the time your friend made fun of you for baking the hardest brownies that can break cement if thrown at them. You also tend to have favouritism towards home-cooked stuff, no matter who made it; you always liked how the food tends to taste just slightly better. Is it because of comfort? Or the memories that flood your mind when you take in the smell? You honestly don't know; maybe it's both. Or maybe you like the thoughts and love people put into the meals when they cook. You were so lost in thought that you didn't realise you were swinging your feet idly on the stool. The stool was slightly taller than the regular one, and your legs barely touched the floor.

Ghost finds the view a bit charming—to see you relax and content over a slice of cake. It's not that he is complaining; he just never really saw you this comfortable before. He observes you silently and takes note of how you like to munch on your right cheek more than the left, making it puffy. He chuckles to himself when you start swinging your legs too. He's glad that he managed to snatch the last piece of cake, and perhaps in the near future, he’ll bring you some cake to share with you.

•·················•·················•·················•·················•·················•·················• a/n: that's all! Let me know what you think!! like a part two or something, have a nice day/night! :>

honestly, graves and soaps could be swapped for each other 😭

Okay, I rarely ever write platonic fics, but I just came up with this, and had to write it. So yeah, I really hope you all enjoy. Ghost is more of a brotherly/fatherly type figure in this fic, so yeah, sorry if you aren’t into that. This ended up being way longer than I thought it would be, and I still want to add more. So umm, I’m gonna cut it off where I have it, and if anyone wants a part 2, I’ll make it…either that, or I might just make a part 2 cause I feel like it. So yeah. Enjoy 🖤🖤

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x platonic!Reader

Training with the Ghost

Warnings: language, inappropriate talk, violence, age gap between reader and Ghost (don’t know if this even matters, cause it’s a platonic relationship, but yeah)

-Some of this is unedited-

Being a woman in the military was hard. It was sometimes unfair, the men around you were sometimes condescending, and looked down on you for simply being a woman. It was the hardest thing you had ever done. Your time in training had never been easy. You always had to work harder than everyone else to prove yourself, since you were the only woman in your squad. Your staff sergeant was a dick, and always had been since the day he laid eyes on you. Your lieutenant was different however.

He was the most known man around base, though no one you knew seemed to even know his first name. He was either referred to as Lieutenant Riley, or as he seemed to prefer, Ghost. You had never spoken to the man, but you held a heavy respect for him regardless, both for the way he commanded his platoon of trainees, and how he carried himself. He didn’t take shit from anyone, you had seen that first hand when a young man from a different squad had stepped out of line towards Ghost.

Ghost had been overseeing the hand to hand combat training one day, keeping a sharp eye on each recruit, as he silently judged everyone’s performance. One of the recruits had gotten a little too confident when he won his spar, so Ghost had felt the need to point out his mistakes, and correct them. Of course, the recruit didn’t take kindly to it, and had made a rather inappropriate and rude comment about needing to ‘show the lieutenant that perhaps he wasn’t the best on base anymore’, or something along those lines. Of course, being the ever observant man he was, Ghost had overheard him.

What had earned your respect for Ghost, was the fact that he didn’t get mad and scream at him, or throw his rank in the recruits face, like the staff sergeant from your platoon probably would have. He didn’t have too. Instead, he said, ‘Alright.”, took his jacket off, and walked onto the sparing mat. It didn’t take long, and the recruit was flat on his back, a few bruises littering his face and arms.

Unlike most of the women in the platoon (and most of the base), you weren’t actually attracted to the lieutenant. I mean, yeah, you definitely saw the appeal, with his looming height, deep voice, and the balaclava’s he always wore. You felt more of an admiration for Ghost than you did attraction though. You wanted him to see you as the strong willed, hard working woman you were. Someone he would be proud to be on the battlefield beside, and would trust not to fuck things up. Not someone he wanted in his bed, like majority of the woman on base. When the other women in the platoon would gather together and gossip, while watching Ghost eat, walk, shoot his rifle, or really even breathe, you kept to yourself. You thought it was sickening, hearing them talk about all the things they would do to him, and all the things they wanted him to do to them. If it was a woman in Ghost’s shoes, and all the men were huddled around, gawking at her, and openly trying to flirt with her every chance they got, the very women who were doing exactly that to their lieutenant, would say how gross the men were.

Unbeknownst to you, the first time Ghost had ever really noticed you, had been in the mess hall. He was sitting with Soap, and had barely pulled his balaclava up over his top lip, just enough he could drink a cup of tea without wetting the bottom of his balaclava. Of course, he heard the recruits from the table across from him, all women, begin to whisper and stare. It didn’t bother him, but it didn’t exactly excite him either. He didn’t give two shits what anyone thought, and he sure as hell didn’t care if some recruit wanted to fuck him or not. Soap didn’t say anything, but he heard it too, but he knew better than to bring it up to Ghost, who he knew would much rather be anywhere but the crowded mess hall anyways.

It wasn’t until one of the woman turned to you, asking a little too loudly, “L/n, what do you think? Average or above?”

Of course, she was referring to Ghost’s dick. It didn’t take a genius to understand that. You nearly choked on your coffee, giving her a wide look, as the women giggled at your reaction. “Excuse me?” you asked, sitting your mug down.

She rolled her eyes, giving you a smirk. “Come on, you’re not a preteen. You know what I mean.”

You gave her an incredulous look, wiping your mouth with a napkin before speaking. “I mean, does it matter? It’s not really my business how big anything is.” you answered back.

Ghost’s ears, along with Soap’s, perked up at your words. The woman scoffed, leaning forward towards you. “Seriously? Have you never wondered about it? I mean, seriously, look at the guy. You aren’t attracted to him at all?”

You sighed, poking around at your eggs with your fork. “I didn’t say he wasn’t attractive, I mean, I get the appeal, yeah. But like, it’s really not my job to sit and fantasize about my lieutenant, ya know? I just think it’s kind of gross.” you answered honestly.

Soap glanced at Ghost, raising his eyebrow. The woman continued her argument, saying, “Oh my god, you make it sound like it’s a crime to think about someone you think is hot. Like, what the hell, L/n?”

You rolled your eyes this time, sitting your fork back down, and looked at her. “I’m not saying it a crime or anything, or that you guys shouldn’t do it necessarily. I’m just giving my honest opinion, cause you asked.”

A different woman, a brunette you couldn’t stand since the day you met her, scoffed. “Oh shut up, L/n. Stop acting like a fucking Saint. You stare at him all the time when he’s doing demonstrations.”

You raised your eyebrows, laughing at just how ridiculous she sounded talking to you. By that time, the conversation had gained attention from people nearby, and you felt eyes on you, waiting for your answer. You didn’t know however, that one of those pairs of eyes belonged to the vary man who was being discussed. “Uhh, yeah, I study Lieutenant Riley during demonstrations, because he’s the best one at them. While your all sitting there creamin’ your pants, I’m actually trying to learn something from someone who has way more experience than me. I mean, shit, you guys don’t think it’s badass that out of every platoon, we’re the ones who have a member of 141 teaching us stuff? Like, that’s a fuckin’ honor, and all you can do is sit around and wonder how big the man’s dick is?” you asked, giving the two women who had decided to try and make you out to be an idiot, looks. “You know what, if the two of you stopped trying to eye fuck him so much, and actually learn from him, you might not be so low in the platoon. I don’t know, maybe it’s just me? I think it’s something to think about, though.” And with that, you grabbed your tray, and stood from your seat.

The two women gave you hateful glares as you walked away, and threw your trash into the closest bin. You laid your tray in the stack it went in, before leaving the mess hall, and heading to the gym. Soap had chuckled, nudging Ghost’s foot with his. “Shit, Lt. Looks like you actually have a real admirer.”

Ghost didn’t reply, only slid his balaclava back over his lips, before standing from his seat, and left the mess hall. A few days passed, and you were sparring with a guy from your squad. Of course, he put you on your ass, and of course, your staff sergeant hadn’t done anything to show you how to keep from being put on your ass by a man twice your size. When everyone else left, you sat down in the middle of the mat, running your hands through your messy hair, and trying your absolute best not to lose it. Nope, you would cry in the showers, alone, tonight. Not in the middle of the training gym, where anyone could walk in, and have yet another reason to tell you that you didn’t belong. You didn’t know someone else had stayed behind, until you heard Ghost drawl out behind you. “Get up.”

You jumped, turned and looked at him, before scrambling to your feet. “Lieutenant, I’m so—”

“Don’t apologize, just pay attention.” he said, his tone low, but not as cold as you had heard it before.

You nodded, saying, “Yes, Sir.”, and stood up straight, looking at him expectantly.

He nodded once, before nudging his head at you. “Get in your ready position.”

You did as he said, putting your arms up in front of you, like you were getting ready to fight. You waited expectantly, wondering what Ghost was gonna do. Suddenly, he reached out with one hand, and shoved your shoulder, hard. Of course, you lost your footing, and he put you on your ass with one hand. You could’ve cried, really, you wanted too. If a fucking hole appeared in the floor underneath you, you wouldn’t have hesitated to crawl into it, and just die. Ghost didn’t make any noises, or even give you a look of pity. He simply said, “Get back up.”

You pulled yourself up wordlessly, not meeting his eyes.

“Stop lockin’ your knees, you’re losin’ balance. Relax a little, don’ be so tense. Again.”

You got back into the position, this time relaxing your body more, like Ghost said. You waited, this time preparing yourself, as he reached out again, and shoved you. It moved you back, of course, but you didn’t lose your footing that time. Ghost gave you an approving nod, before he got into his own fighting stance. “Hit me.”

Your eyes widened, and you stuttered out, “Excuse me?”

You heard him sigh, and saw his dark eyes roll, as he spat back, “I didn’t stutter. Stop actin’ like I’m some celebrity, and fuckin’ hit me, Private.”

You swallowed hard, and went to hit him, only to wind right back up on your ass. You huffed as your back hit the mat, knocking the breath out of you a little. Once you caught your breath, you breathed out, “Permission to speak frankly, Sir?”

“Granted.”

“This is why I didn’t wanna hit you, Sir.” you said, sitting up.

You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle, but as quick as you thought you heard it, he was already saying, “Up, come on.”

You stood, looking up at him, and said, “Sir, I think we both know that you’re gonna put me on my ass every time.”

He nodded, agreeing with you. “Yeah, I will. I’m bigger, stronger, more experienced. Of course you’re gonna wind up on your ass, Private.”

You stared back at him, your mouth slack, before you asked, “Umm, so, what do I do, Lieutenant? To…not be put on my ass?”

You saw a flash of amusement cross his eyes, as he replied, “You’re predictable. You go for the most obvious attack. If you get into a fight with someone bigger than you and try to overpower them, or go for an obvious attack, you’re gonna lose. Every time. Use what you have, your weight, height. Stop relyin’ on your fists for everythin’.”

You nodded, letting him show you in more depth what he was saying. You were smaller than all of the men in the platoon, and especially your squad, so he showed you how to dodge, and use things other than your fists, to take down someone his size, or really, anyone that was bigger than you. By the time you had finished training with Ghost, it was time for dinner, and you were sweaty, sore, and tired. Of course, Ghost had barely broke a sweat, and looked like he was only stopping due to the fact you were about ready to collapse. “Alright, that’s all today. Meet me back in here tomorrow at 0700.”

“Umm, Sergeant Wilson has me on Latrine duty at 0700, Sir.” you said, wiping your brow with the back of your arm.

“Alright, 0400 then. Should give you plenty of time to get back and get it done.” he replied easily.

You gave him a tight lipped smile, before nodding. “Yes, Sir. Should I let Sergeant Wilson know?” you forced out, hoping he couldn’t hear the dread of getting up so early in your voice.

Ghost did, he heard it loud and clear. He didn’t acknowledge it though, and shook his head. “No, I’ll tell him. Get some rest, Private.”

You nodded, replying back, “Yes, Sir, Thank you.”

He nodded once, dismissing you, and you hurried out the training gym. You were honored that Ghost was even taking the time to train you, but 0400? Really? Sighing, you skipped dinner, going straight to the showers, before climbing on your bunk, and going to sleep. The next morning, you woke up dazed, before cursing, and grabbed your watch. 0349 am. “Shit!” you whispered, hurriedly jumping up, and throwing on your clothes. You made your bed the quickest you ever had, before running out the barracks. It took fifteen minutes to get to the training gym walking, but you sprinted through the base, only slowing when you saw a superior, which wasn’t very often, since it was five minutes till four in the morning. You practically burst into the training gym, heaving for breath, as you saw Ghost looking down at his watch, not looking up, as you dragged yourself towards him. “Two minutes late, L/n.” he chastised, finally looking down at you.

You nodded, knowing better than to try and make an excuse. “I apologize, Lieutenant. It won’t happen again, Sir.”

“Better not. Catch your breath, an go ahead and stretch, we won’t be stoppin’ till 0600.” he said, taking off his jacket, and tossing it in the floor by the mat.

You nodded, placing your hands on the top of your head, and took deep breaths in your nose, and released them out your mouth. You did as he said, and began to stretch as you caught your breath, not wanting to pull a muscle half way through training, and make him regret offering to train you in the first place.

“Did you sprint here?” Ghost asked, and it looked like he may have had an eyebrow raised, from the way his balaclava bunched up by his right eyebrow.

“Yes, Sir.” you said, putting your hands down, as your breathing had slowed almost back to normal.

“What time did you leave the barracks?”

“Umm, five minutes till, I believe, Sir.”

You heard Ghost barely chuckle, shaking his head, before he went back to the stoic man you were used too. “Alright, get in your stance. I showed you what to do yesterday, now I want you to actually do it.”

You nodded, getting down and ready, as Ghost did the same. The whole time you were sparring with him, you could tell he was holding back. He was letting you get hits in, but even then, you never could pin him, or tap him out. He seemed to be pushing you to keep going, testing your stamina, to see how far you could go before faltering. Ghost wouldn’t say it out loud, but he was impressed. You had sprinted to the gym, with less than five minutes to make it there, and were only two minutes late. You had to have been hauling ass, which meant you felt bad about being late, and didn’t want to keep him waiting. Any other time, he would’ve said fuck it. If the recruit couldn’t even be on time, why waste his time? But he saw something in you, a fire that reminded him of himself when he was younger. You wanted to be great, and you seemed willing to put in the extra effort to get there. Hell, you had sprinted a literal mile to the gym, knowing you were gonna be late.

Ghost pushed you to your limit, only giving you a minute or two between spars to catch your breath, before he was on you again. You had bruises covering your arms from blocking, your legs ached from pushing yourself forward against him, but the one thing that wasn’t bruised was your knuckles. Ghost had noticed you were holding back, and stopped you, grabbing one of your hands, and inspecting your perfectly plain knuckles. “I want these bruised when you leave, you hear me? Stop pullin’ your punches. You don’t think I can take a punch from you?” he accused, trying to get under your skin, and bring that fire out that he knew you had.

“Yes, Sir, I think you can.” you answered, still as polite as ever.

Ghost kept pushing, shoving your hand down from his, and got into your face a little. “These other recruits don’t give a shit about you. Sergeant Wilson doesn’t give a shit about you. To him, you’re just waitin’ to be another statistic. Is that what your are, L/n? Another recruit who thought they could make it?”

“No, Sir.” you replied, his words getting to you a little. It was only because you knew he was right. Wilson didn’t think you could make it, and the men in your squad just thought of you as an easy win.

Ghost’s eyes bore into yours, as he gritted out, “Stop pullin’ your punches then. You give it your all, or none. Otherwise, you’ll just continue being the weak lil’ girl, who doesn’t belong in their eyes. Prove ‘em, wrong.” he ordered, backing up, and getting back into his fighting stance. “Go.”

This time, you gave Ghost your all. Your didn’t pull your punches, jabs, kicks, or anything. You let him have it all, and you felt him fight back a little harder too. You were no where near his level of expertise, but the fact he had actually broken a bit of sweat by the time 0600 rolled around, filled you with pride. You had made Ghost sweat, in a spar. Hell yeah. Before the two of you left, Ghost had told you that he had informed Wilson that you would be meeting with him at 0400 every other day, for training. Yes, that included Sunday’s. If Ghost was gonna train you, he was really going to train you, and he was sure to tell you that the next time you were late for training, you would regret ever catching his eye in the first place.

You knew he wasn’t bluffing. Just because you were a woman didn’t mean he would go easy on you in the slightest. Really though, you didn’t want him to go easy on you. You wanted the full training experience with Ghost, no matter how bruised up you ended up, or how sore your limbs were. He was a dangerous man, and he knew what he was doing on and off the battlefield. You wanted to be just like him, if not greater.

So, for the next few weeks, you met every other day with Ghost, being sure to arrive to the gym before 0400, and were ready to begin training on the dot. You had gotten good over the few weeks you had trained with him, and eventually, the both of you were pouring sweat by the time 0600 rolled around. You had learned how Ghost fought, being able to anticipate what he was going to throw at you. You still hadn’t managed to pin him, or much less tap him. But still, you were giving him a run for his money, which in a way was refreshing to Ghost. He looked forward to the training, feeling better throughout the day, after the two of you had a session. He was proud of you, a feeling he hadn’t really felt in a long time towards anyone other than his teammates.

You arrived one morning before Ghost, deciding to go ahead and get your stretching done, and maybe do a pre-workout on the treadmill. You had jogged half a mile when the gym doors opened, and you heard Ghost enter. What you hadn’t expected, was to see Sergeant MacTavish beside him. The Scotsman looked miserable, his mohawk disheveled, like he had been forced out of bed before he had wanted to be. He was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and you pursed your lips to keep from giggling in amusement. “Fuck, Lt. You owe me, ya know?” he mumbled, stopping to stand by Ghost, as he dropped his hand, giving you a smile as his gaze fell on you. “So this is your prodigy then?” he asked, giving you a one over.

“Private L/n, Sergeant. It’s nice to meet you.” you said, with a small smile.

“Call me Soap, L/n. I don’t do the titles and shite.” he replied back, chuckling. “So, you’re gettin’ too good for Lt. to handle?” he asked teasingly.

You blushed at his words, giving Ghost a look, refusing to answer. Ghost rolled his eyes, saying, “She’s gotten used to me, not too good. You’re gonna spar with Johnny today, while I observe. Give me a chance to study what you need to work on, and you’ll get some experience sparring someone you won’t be able to predict as well.” he informed you.

You nodded, “Yes, Sir. Ready when you are Soap.” you said, stepping back, so he could take his place on the mat.

He rolled up the sleeves to his shirt, and took his place on the opposite side of the mat. You both got ready, and Ghost told you to go. At first, it took everything in you not to let Soap overpower you. He didn’t fight the same way Ghost did, which threw you off. He also didn’t hold back like Ghost, giving you his all. He managed to get you pinned to the mat, both his hands holding your arms flat beside your head, and you gritted your teeth as you heard Ghost begin counting down, about to call it.

Though this was a very…demoralizing position, Ghost had really pushed Soap to pin you down like that at some point, to see if you could get out of it. A lot of the men in your squad liked pinning you like that, since it was a show of power, and just degraded you even more when they did. Ghost had never pinned you like that during your sessions with him, mostly because he himself didn’t want to put you in that type of position. Soap didn’t mind though, not if it was something that would help you in dealing with the childish and immature boys in your squad.

Ghost had however, explained to you in detail how to get out of the position. You took a deep breath, planting your feet firmly against the mat, before bucking your hips up as hard as you could. Though Soap was bigger than you, and physically stronger, your hips jarred against him, and sent him forward. Ghost had of course forgot to tell him that he had told you what to do to break that hold, so the next thing Soap new, his face was in the mat. His hands instinctively left your wrists and went to mat, and you immediately moved your hands away, and ‘hugged the tree’ aka, Soap, like Ghost had told you. You pressed your face tightly into Soap’s chest, so he didn’t sit up, and just slide his arm between his body and your throat. Your arms wrapped tightly around him, as you quickly pushed yourself with your feet, and shimmied your way higher up his body. Soap grunted, and pushed himself up on his arms, unable to stop you from hooking your arm under his, since he was still recovering from face planting into the mat.

Using your opposite side from the arm you had pinned, you pushed up, pivoting your body weight into his, and rolled him onto his back. Once you had him on his back, you took a mount position, keeping your hips away from Soaps, so it made it harder to buck you off. He reached up with his arm, and praying that it actually worked, you wrapped both arms around it, using your momentum on top of him to pull his arm out to the side with your body. Your ankles immediately locked around his other arm, as you thrusted your hips upwards, extending his arm back the best you could. You could feel him pulling you up off the mat a little, as he fought to get his arm free from your hold, but you arched your back, practically hugging his arm, and digging your fingers into his skin, determined not to let go. Your thighs burned, as you felt Soap trying to get his other arm free from your legs, and if he did, you knew you we’re screwed. All he would have to do is manage to get his hands together, and he would roll you up, where he could stand. You’d be slammed into the mat, and it would hurt like a bitch.

You grunted, tightening your grip with your legs on his other arm, your ankles locking in an iron grip, as you extended his arm outwards more. Finally, you heard Soap’s hand smack the mat, before you let go. You untangled your limbs from him, breathing heavy, as you felt Soap sit up, his own breaths heavy, as the two of you had fought like hell to either pin or submit each other. It hit you all at once that you had pinned Soap MacTavish. He was older than you buy a good few years, was bigger, and was even a member of Task Force 141. Holy shit, I made a member of 141 tap.

“Shite.” you heard Soap curse, before he chuckled. “Well, guess you deserved that tap. That was a pretty dirty pin, huh, Lass?”

You laughed a little, going limp on the mat, as you replied back, “Yeah, it was.”

“Sorry, wanted to see if you could get out of it. You did good. Ghost didn’t tell me he’d told you what to do. Was expectin’ I’d need ta show ya.” Soap said, shooting a glare at Ghost, who stared at you with an impressed look.

You laughed, closing your eyes, as tku reveled in the victory. Ghost walked up a moment later, extending his hand to you, which you took, and let him pull you up. Soap had took his shirt off, which had been sticking to him with sweat, and wiped his face off. Ghost gave you a nod, saying, “You did good. Watch your footin’ though, that’s how he got you on your back.”

You nodded, accepting a bottle of water and a towel from Soap. “Yes, Sir. I’ll keep it in mind.”

Ghost nodded once more, before dismissing you for the day, after telling you he would see you tomorrow in squad training. You bid him and Soap bye, leaving the gym, and Soap took a seat on the mat after you left. He took another large sip of water, propping his arms up on his knees, as he looked up at Ghost. “Ya know, I didn’t hold back. She’s a hell of lass, Lt.”

“I know. She’s gotten better since we first started. Couldn’t even get out of a chokehold the first week.” Ghost said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

Soap smiled, giving Ghost a look. “You care about her, don’t ya?” he asked gently, knowing feelings were a sensitive thing for Ghost. The man didn’t reply, and that told Soap all he needed to know. He stood, giving Ghost a proud look. “She looks up to ya, Lt. S’alright to admit you see somethin’ in her, no matter what that somethin’ is.”

“I know, Johnny.” he replied, not saying anything else after.

Soap nodded, leaving the gym, and leaving Ghost alone with his thoughts.

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Say You'll Haunt Me | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Can I request “I thought I’d fucking lost you for good for a moment” with Ghost please? Thanks

summary: he's gone, he's gone for good... or at least, that's what everyone tells you.

tws: swearing, smoking, graphic depictions and descriptions of severe injuries, blood, death

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

All of the lights were off, they had been all day as you no longer had the energy to do much anymore; the lights were off, all the doors were locked, and aside from the quiet television playing old reruns of some stupid adult animation that you didn't even look at, all was silent within the house.

The bedsheets smelled like fresh washing powder, and the blanket was still warm from the tumble dryer; the curtains had not been opened in weeks, and did well to keep the light from the street lamps out properly.

Old clothes were packed into boxes, ready to go into the attic where they would stay; they didn't smell like the bedsheets. Dishes were still piled in the sink, ready to be washed after hours of supposedly soaking; the bins were nearly full, had been for days, and were almost ready to be taken out.

But none of that really mattered, there were bigger things on your mind; sleeping alone should have come naturally, you did it often enough before you had met the love of your life, but it never really did.

Late and long nights were more than regular. The king sized bed just never seemed the same without your lover there.

You sniffled, putting the phone down as you ignored the texts from your friends; you knew that they were only trying to be kind, to help you along, but you couldn't bear the thought of speaking to anyone.

Gaz called two, three times a day. Soap called, texted, sent you voice messages. Laswell texted throughout the day. Price did his best. You didn't want to speak to them, you couldn't.

You sighed, frowning as you dragged yourself to the kitchen; you made yourself a cup of coffee, justifying it by knowing that you wouldn't sleep anyway. You lit a cigarette, knowing it might help. It was better than nothing, at least.

It was better than spending another night in a house that just wasn't a home anymore, a house that was just an open, gaping, sore wound.

It started to feel different, though, you felt like you were being watched when you turned your back; you tensed up, swallowing thickly as your heart began to thud in your chest. You could have sworn that you locked the doors, you were sure of it.

But still, something was there with you, and when you heard the harsh and heavy footsteps, you could hardly move; you just about managed to back yourself against the counter, holding onto it tightly as you listened closely.

They were getting closer, and closer, and closer until-

"Don't turn the lights on."

You knew that voice, and relaxed when you realised, even daring to smile as you laughed softly, shaking your head. "Simon, you dick! You scared me."

"Sorry…" he was just a shadow when he stepped forward, entering from the hallway as he held his hands up. "Just… don't turn the lights on."

You nodded, taking a swig from your coffee as you hummed. "What happened? They told me… Price said you'd been… y'know."

Ghost's shadowy figure shrugged, and he sighed heavily. "Doesn't matter."

You figured that he probably just didn't want to talk about it, so you shrugged as you finished your cigarette and dared to sit up on the counter. "Well, I'm glad you're home. I thought I'd fucking lost you for good for a moment."

He nodded, but didn't make his usual move to stand between your legs like he usually did when he first came home. "I missed you. I'm sorry I never said goodbye."

You furrowed your brows, tilting your head to the side. "But… you did - at, at the airport."

He shook his head. "No, I mean… forget it."

You were worried, pouting as you frowned and cleared your throat. "Simon, what's going on?"

He swallowed audibly, but when he spoke, his voice was starting to sound more and more like radio static; crackled and buzzing, broken and bumbling. "Don't worry, I just… I only came to say that I'm sorry."

"Simon," you whispered. "Please, talk to me."

He couldn't stop you when you reached for the light, and nor could he stop you when you gasped and shuddered as you looked at him; half of his jaw was missing, the exposed flesh burnt and dripping with blood and pus. His stomach had a clear hole through it, exposing his bottom two ribs and how they were cracked, how his entrails had been split and were dripping all over the floors. His eyes were white and had thick yellowish crust growing over the lids.

You trembled, taking a step back. "Si- Simon?"

"I told you not to turn the lights on," he wheezed.

You shook your head, looking at how the muscle and fat of his left arm was exposed and weeping. "Simon?"

"You shouldn't have turned the light on," he was becoming more and more unintelligible. "I have something to tell you, one last time."

You were speechless, bottom lip trembling as everything started to become a multi-coloured blur; something warm and wet was on your cheeks, but his static laced, buzzing voice was all that you could hear.

"Before I go," he hissed. "I loved you."

You wanted to scream at him, to demand an explanation for what was going on, to beg and plead for him to just tell you what the fuck had happened and why he looked like that, but by the time that you had wiped your eyes and nose, he was gone; all that was left, on the countertop next to where he had been standing, was his identification discs.

When you held them, they felt hot and nearly burned your hands; they were dented, the shape clearly that of a bullet, and your heart sank. Price had told you that they couldn't find Ghost's discs, but now you had them in your hands, and you understood what had happened, why Ghost had come back but hadn't stayed.

"Simon," you whispered, swallowing thickly. "Please haunt me again."

Until His Last Dying Breath | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: “I’m proud of you, for the record” With ghost please? Thank you and take care!

summary: knowing what will happen to him, Ghost still refuses to give up on you, and commits one final act of bravery to make sure that you live.

tws: major character death, graphic depictions of death, graphic depictions of gas attacks, swearing, vomiting, suffocating, blood. 

support your fanfic writers by reblogging what you read & enjoy

Hidden within the trenches of the front, an eerie silence could only ever mean that something terrible was on its way; sat beside Ghost and Krueger, you wondered what would come of you all.

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Guilt | John Soap MacTavish x gn!reader

Anonymous asked: Hi, I was hoping you could do some angsty “You deserve someone better” “I don’t want anyone better” Soap x Gn!reader? Thank you in advance!

summary: homecoming isn’t all what it’s cracked up to be when there’s far too much weighing on your shoulders.

tws: death, swearing 

Soap watched with great concern as the mountain troops finally returned, a little worse for wear and harshly run down, their movements sluggish and reluctant, yawns more frequent than anything else; some stopped for cigarettes, perching wherever they could just to try and ease the stinging ache at the bottom of their feet. Usually, those bastards were like schoolboys; baggy trousers, kicking about a ball as they chased one another towards base. Mud all over their shoes as they pulled one another’s hair and paraded themselves around with gleeful playfulness. They weren’t like that today. Soap could see it in their eyes and the way they walked that they weren’t their usual playful, jovial selves. The last of the bunch, his best friend, was the final troop to get out.

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✩ ˚ ˛ peppy of honkai: star rail

Jamie, you have to work tomorrow! You have an early shift!

Me: "OKAY BUT FIRST!."

my heart, luv the angsttt 🥹

Nothing Will Be the Same Again | Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

anonymous asked: hello, how are you?, could you make an imagine with simon and reader with the phrase """Stop looking at me like that." "Like what?" "Like I mean everything to you.""

summary: you're not ready for this moment, sitting with Ghost in a hospital room and sobbing your eyes out - you're not ready.

tws: death, blood

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Nervously, you chewed and pulled the flesh from your bottom lip as you did your best not to become distracted by everything around you; by the lifeless and dull room you were packed into, throat dry and the stench of hand sanitiser clogging your already blocked nose.

You couldn't believe that it was all happening, a stinging and pounding headache at the very front, body aching as the last few sobs were ripped from the back of your throat; snot so thick on your sleeve that you could feel its cool lick against your skin, nose burning and itching from being rubbed against the coarse material of your jacket far too many times.

You could hardly see anything, it was all blurry and white when the LED lights caught your eyes. You kept begging, kept pleading, asking the guy upstairs if he could just do you one favour and not take your beloved away from you.

"Not my baby, please," you would whisper, voice raw and hoarse as you shook your head, chest aching. "Please, anyone but my baby. Please, that's all I'm asking, just not him."

You knew there would be no answer, you weren't sure if you really wanted one anyway, but that still didn't stop you from begging and pleading; you needed to put the blame on someone, needed someone to scream at so at least you could make some sense of the cruel and unjust fate you were being subjected to.

The senseless and needless heartache that made your body tremble, bottom lip quivering every second, breaths ragged; you wondered if the doctors and nurses would barge in and demand to know who you were screaming at, but that thought soon faded when you wiped your eyes and saw the condition he was in.

Strapped up to dozens of monitors, drips feeding into his arms, tubes in his nose; his eyes weren't the same, cloudy and almost entirely a greyish blue, even the whites. He wasn't telling you army jokes that made you roll your eyes, refused to eat and drink.

You knew it wouldn't be long, but you didn't want him to leave.

His breathing was ragged and quick, panting more than anything, gasping and wheezing with every single breath that he took; he was in pain, wincing and seething even though he still tried to hide it. You could hardly bear to see him like that, collapsing into the navy blue chair beside him, holding on tightly to his hand as you sniffled and wiped your nose on the knee of your jeans instead.

"Don't go," you begged softly, bottom lip quivering yet again. "Please, Simon, don't go anywhere. I can't follow you if you do."

He was weak, and he was fading fast, you could see it in his clouded eyes, in the panicked and racing breaths, in the painful way that he coughed and spluttered; when he had the strength, he could talk but it took far too much out of him to say even just one word. You didn't wonder where the team were.

Gaz, Soap, Price. They had left hours ago, when the final cracks of sunlight were still streaming through the straight and unmoving curtains; they told you that you were there if you needed anything, but none of them wanted to hang around. They knew how much you and Ghost needed to be alone, they understood.

You whimpered, grasping his hand and holding on tightly as you sniffled and swallowed thickly; your throat was sticky, and it was nearly painful to so much as try and force the words out from the back of your throat. You had known Ghost for years, his only friend from childhood, his only partner in life. You were meant to be getting married soon, everything had already been planned.

Now, he was getting ready to leave you all alone; a life without Ghost. Home wouldn't exist anymore, just a sore and weeping wound; a gash where the bed was. A stab wound where the kitchen used to be and where you used to dance together; the same kitchen where he asked you to marry him.

Flowers wouldn't be as bright without him in your life. Love songs would only make you feel resentment and anger. You wouldn't be able to drink coffee without him making him every morning. You wouldn't be able to steal his hoodies and grin when he said that you looked so much better in them than he did. The smell of his aftershave and cologne wouldn't stick to the bedsheets.

"Simon, please," you growled, hot tears streaming down your face, snot dribbling from the tip of your nose as you gently shook his hand. "Simon. Don't... don't leave me all alone."

Ghost slowly shook his head, spluttering as he coughed and struggled to sit upright. "Stop it."

"What?"

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I mean everything to you," his voice was so hoarse, every syllable was barbed wire against the roof of his mouth and the soft flesh of his throat. The taste of blood heavily on his tongue as he let out a long and hard wheeze. "Let me go, sweetheart."

You shook your head, able to feel your stomach drop and all energy fade from your body as you whimpered; he sank down against the scratchy bed and pillows, and let out a few more splutters. He was so tired. "I can't let you go... what am I gonna do without you?"

You knew what he would say if he could; that you were smart, a lot smarter than he was, and you would figure it out with time. You knew he would try and ease your pain with words of reassurance, but as you watched the last breath leave his lips, the monitor going flat and starting to drone, you knew.

You knew, more than anything, that there would be no reassurance.

Is this what bi panic is like? Cause I'm feeling it 😭

tiny soap simply groovin out here

Everyone who’s been talking to me knows i’ve been working on this comic about wlws and cats for a while and i’m so so happy it’s finally here!!! :D

idea stolen from this post :’3

Laswell: imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life

Price: it would be nice to have my sense of purpose back...

Ghost: oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this

Y/n: my will to live! I haven't seen this in 15 years

Soap: I knew I lost that potential somewhere!

Gaz: mental stability, my old friend!

Laswell: guys, could you lighten up a little?

Everything Everywhere All At Once Blooper Reel

-on alternate timelines and universes

everything everywhere all at once/ @inanotherunivrse/ complex- katie gregson-macleod/ @tiredbtw/ @loviely/ eternal sunshine of the spotless mind/ @death-born-aphrodite

this is so in character for them i’m crying

Modern Warfare (2019)

i’m scared of ending up alone.