Curate, connect, and discover
AAAAHHHHH This is fantastic like it’s so beautiful chefs kiss ( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡( ´ ▽ ` ).｡ｏ♡\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/\(^ヮ^)/
imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?
Every time a “came back wrong” post about Soap is written, an angel gets its wings. God I love that deranged man.
The Years - Ghost x Reader
Ghost who met you well into your military career, an expert strategist and even better with guns, Price had added you to the team after a year of working on various missions with you.
You weren’t simple though. After joining the military to help pay for med school, you had found out that you were better at killing people than you were saving them. They’d offered to transfer you and just have you work as a medic, but you continued on and eventually found your place in the American special forces.
Price had seen your cunning, your tactical brilliance, and your speed in the field and claimed you for the 141. For the past four years you had worked with them, never not by their sides unless you were on leave.
It was in these time periods, away from you, that Ghost sat in his flat and did nothing but think of you. The way you keep your hair braided and the breath you take before firing your rifle. The fact you hate the color yellow and love Chinese takeout. Think about when a year into your time with them, right before Price had asked you to join, that your husband had cheated on you.
You had told him this story in the dark confines of a bar as Gaz, Soap, and Price had a vicious game of billiards. He hadn’t spoke the whole time, watching you with a focus not on your face but on the rage he had to keep in check
They had finished a mission early and were allowed to go on leave for the holidays, or until you were needed again. The car in your driveway had been the first sign. Upon opening the door, the moans trailing down the hallway and the clothes strewn on the floor told the story. You hadn’t bothered to go in crying, simply grabbed your handgun and kicked open the door. The bitch looked just like you.
“Did you kill ‘em?” was all Simon asked as you had trailed off, fist clenched around a heavily nursed glass of bourbon.
“No. I think back and I wish I had, but no. I could have got away with that back in Texas, but here, you brits don’t have justified murder.”
So you had joined the team, growing reckless in the field. It took a bullet to the thigh and a knife wound to the abdomen, along with four ripped stitches, for Ghost to wrestle you to the ground and demand. Demand for you to care enough about yourself to not die. To not leave him.
You came back from that final leave of absence stronger. Smiling even, as Gaz had pulled you into a hug so tight it made Ghost twitch thinking about the jagged wound in your stomach.
For those next years you had grown closer to your team, learning to rely on them and they you. Things become simple. But you aren’t simple. And so things get complicated when Soap mentions bringing in some girls after a particularly successful mission.
You tolerate the strippers for all of thirty minutes before you storm out, the sight of one of them eyeing Ghost like he’s not Simon Riley but instead a way to get an extra fat tip.
The boys are too drunk to notice him immediately follow, except Price, whole smiles to himself before turning back to the girl prettily sitting on his lap. It takes Ghost a few moments to catch up to you as you walk out of the barracks.
“Ghost leave me alone.” you shout before he can speak.
“Why did you leave?” he calls out after you, grabbing you by the shoulder and turning you to face him.
“Because I’m not in the mood to watch you all oogle women in four inch heels and minimal clothing all night.”
He curses below his breath.
“You’ve never ‘ad a problem until now. So what the hell is wrong with you tonight?”
You can feel the way he searches your face, mask doing little to conceal the desperation in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder tightens imperceptibly, every inch of his body wired to the way your expression shifts.
“Ghost.”
He chases the centimeter you back away from him, sensing the way you recoil from the honesty he’s asking of you.
“Tell me.”
You sigh.
“That girl wanted to fuck you.”
“She did.”
Your lip curls and you turn once again and stalk to your room, fully intending on slamming the door in his face. Except he doesn’t grant you that pleasure and shoves himself through after you.
“Ghost what the hell do you want from me?” you practically snarl at him.
“I didn’t want to fuck her.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
“You do.”
This makes you pause, looking him up and down. Standing in your room, chest heaving from chasing after you and eyes practically blazing. He breaks the silence first, taking a step forward as his hands clenched at his sides.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what.” you ask, more confused than before.
“For not being good at this. Not…not good at any of this. I didn’t think it was worth trying to learn. I didn’t know.”
“Know what?” you cry, closing the distance between you two.
“You feel the same.”
He says it as a question, not a statement the way it should be. The way he intends it. He’s not brave enough to say that like he knows what’s right and wrong. Not after he’d spent years in love with you and hadn’t said a damn thing.
“I do.” you let the anger out in your response to hide the tears in your eyes.
Ghost pulls you into his arms. The tears fall. Your body trembles in his grip. He hushes against the hair of your scalp.
“I’m sorry, love.”
Your arms lift to wrap around him, burrowing your face into his chest and breathing him in to calm the shaking that racks your body. When you finally calm, he lifts you gently and places you softly on the bed. It takes a few seconds to get comfortable, but he soon has you curled into him as he strokes long lines down your back.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” he whispers.
“Me too, Simon.”
Cw: depression
Soap comes home one day expecting his wife to greet him at the door with his favorite meal and a kiss on the cheek. He hadn’t been gone long, only a few weeks, and you knew when he was coming home.
The house is dark when he opens the door despite it being evening. It smells faintly of unwashed clothing. Shades drawn tightly over the windows, the residing plants wilted and dying. Not dead yet, he notes.
“Honey?”
Johnny hates the way his voice cracks slightly when he calls out to you.
Making his way through the house, he eventually reaches your room. He knows then, from the clothing all over the floor and the pile of books on the bed where you are. He knows from the forgotten glasses of water on the dresser and the empty wrappers of miniature candy where you’ve been. In your head.
He finds you in the bathroom, sleeping in the bathroom tub. You wake when he lifts you, silently leaning into him. Despite his exhaustion and his hunger, he strips you of your clothes and runs the water warm. Kisses upon your shoulders as you remain silent, dark imprints under your eyes showing your own fatigue. It’s only when he has you lathered in bubbles and running his hands through your hair to make sure it gets clean that he dares to ask what happened.
“It got bad again, Johnny.”
His hands don’t pause their work through your hair, simply moving down to massage the muscles in your neck.
“I got you now.”
The blatant favoritism toward Ghost vs Soap is crazy. Give my half bald man some loving PLEASE
I by the way take requests, so if you guys have any ideas, feel free to send them, I love writing for ya'll! I write for (almost) all characters, ships and x reader. It may take a bit until I get to your request, since I have to study a lot, but I'll eventually get to them all.
Trigger warning: Talking and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 669 They started the hike in silence. An awkward silence. They both knew they'd have to talk about it, but neither of them knew how to start. They knew how to kill, but they didn't know how to love.
About an hour of silence went by before they stopped. It was a beautiful view from a hill down the valley on the one side, and a steep cliff looking down on the wind whipped sea on the other.
Ghost took off the backpack he was carrying, taking out a water bottle and handing it to Soap. "Thanks", he mumbled before taking a few sips.
After a few minutes of more silence passed. "We have to talk", Soap said. This one phrase made Ghost more nervous than he'd like to admit. Less nervous than when he was on a mission that could easily end deadly. "Yea...", he mumbled.
Soap seemed nervous too. "I'm sorry, Simon. I shouldn't have done that", he said awkwardly. Ghost wanted to tell him he didn't mind, but that wasn't the truth. At least not the whole one.
Soap sighed. "When I uh, when... The accident. I could hear you. You said you loved me", he looked at Ghost with those blue eyes of his. The same colour as the stormy sea, dangerouse but, oh, so tempting. Ghost wished he could live in them. Soaps words hit him. He hadn't expected him to hear them. Hell, he thought he was dead.
"You, you what?", was all he could say. Soap smiled. "You heard me. And I heard you." His gaze seemed to stare into Ghosts soul. "Do you love me, Simon?", he asked, plainly. Ghost was taken aback, not knowing what to say. Well, he knew what to say, but he didn't know if he could say it.
Ghost sat down clumsily on the grass, Soap sitting down a meter in front of him. "I thought if you liked me too, I could, you know, I thought you'd like it...", Soap tried to explain himself. Ghost wished he could tell him, tell him everything, but it hurt, it hurt so bad.
"I'm sorry, Simon.", he apologized. Ghost wanted to scream. "I love you", he mumbled. Soap looked at him with a mix of surprise, sadness and hope. He smiled. "Well, that's good. Because I love you too, you muttonhead". A quiet sigh of relief escaped Ghosts lips.
Soap seemed to be contemplating what to say. Ghost leaned back, lying down on the green grass. Soap did the same thing, lying next to him. "If you like me too, then why'd you seem so.... Averse?", he asked.
Ghosts mouth opened and closed like a fish. The words, the truth wanted to rip out his body so desperately. But he knew it'd rip him apart. But if he left it unspoken, it would eat him from the inside.
"They hurt me....", he whispered. "They touched me, they made me do things", he got choked up. "I had to, I had to, I had to survive, it wasn't my fault", he got panicky. "Hey, hey, Simon", Soap tried to ground him. "It's alright, I'm here, I'm right here", he placed a careful hand on Ghosts side. "You're safe now"
Slowly Ghost started to calm down a bit. "I just want you to know that we don't have to do anything. I'm just happy to be here with you" Ghost wanted to scream yet again. He didn't deserve this, he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in many things. Pretty much nothing.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?", Soap asked. Ghost gulped. "They touched me... I didn't want them to, I didn't want it", he breathed heavily. "They forced me on my knees... I couldn't breathe". Soap sighed. "I'm so sorry that happened, Simon".
They just kept lying in silence. It was a comfortable silence. The memories still hurt. But it felt like they couldn't quite reach him. He felt safer.
He felt safe. For the first times in ages.
Notes: I know that this description of deep trauma is pretty unrealistic, but this is for the sake of the fanfiction, since I don't want to write a hundred parts of unlinear healing and therapy until they finally bone.
Trigger warning: Mentions and descriptions about sexual abuse and rape. Word count: 459
The rest of the breakfast was tasty, but awkward. Ghost felt like Molly knew. (She does). She kept glancing at him and Soap, who were sitting next to each other, a mischevious smirk on her face.
After finishing eating, they helped clean the dishes and went up to their bedroom to brush their teeth. Ghost was quiet, but he could feel Soaps eyes on him the entire time. He wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't like he didn't enjoy what happened, not at all. It just felt so.... Weird. Unfamiliar. He's had his fair share of experiences, but it has been years. And in the mean time there were some.... Rather unpleasant events. He stood in front of the sink, looking at himself in the mirror. He could feel their hands on him, doing whatever they wanted to with his body, forcing him to go on his knees and please them. He wanted to puke, nausea overcoming him. "I had to , I had to, I had to survive", he repeated over and over in his mind, a tear rolling down his cheek. It had taken years before he could even touch himself again without having a panic attack. Since then no one had touched him in that way. He didn't want them to. Sometimes he missed the intimacy, but he was afraid to crave it, knowing he wouldn't be able to allow someone so close to him. But now there was Soap. Ghost damned himself for it, but he trusted the man. Fuck, he loved him. And for the first time in what seemend like a lifetime, he craved touch. His touch. His hands dug in his neck, knuckles white and leaving small, red shapes in his skin.
"You ok in there, lt?", Soaps voice sounded from outside the door. "Er, yea, 'm fine", Ghost hurried to answer, voice a bit choked up. Soap didn't say anything. Quickly wiping his wet eyes and putting on his stoic expression, he stepped out the bathroom. He was certain Soap could see that he had cried, but he luckily didn't say anything.
"So, you wanna go for a hike?", Soap asked lowly, inching closer to Ghost, putting his hands on his waist. Ghost suddenly felt claustrophobic. He loved his touch and hated it at the same time. He stumbled backwards. Soap looked confused at a bit hurt, no, more regretful.
Ghost cleared his throat. "Yea, why not. Lovely weather", he mumbled. He began to look for his cargo pants and a shirt. Soap was awfully quiet. Ghost wanted to slap himself for repulsing. He craved him so much it hurt. It scared him.
He turned around, wanting to say something. "I'm sorry, Johnny", he said.
But Soap was already gone.
Note: I did not plan for this to turn out this dark, but I wanted to bring in an explanation for Ghosts mixed feelings on intimacy, since his sexual abuse and rape are canon. I've personally never read the comics, so this is just my interpretation. I also want to mention that the reactions to sexual trauma are extremely subjective, how I described it here is just my personal experience.