Alive / Part IV

spring 🌼🌧️

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

part one here / part two here / part four here

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

taglist: @preeyansha @igotmajordaddyissues @nanatheoaktree @aesthetic0cherryblossom @oceanicexolorer @soph121212 @liv2post @cupid-eclipse @angels-despair18 @k4marina

So intimate

From this Fanfic

Ghost lost a bet and soap and gaz are loving it🤭🤭🤭

Holy o.o

have you,,,,,, posted the water melon video here?👀 just asking…………………

You mean this one?

Patreon - YouTube

Captain Mactavish writing “How many times can a man save your life until it's no longer your own” in his journal after getting saved again is KILLING ME why is he so depressing I love him so much oh my god give my man a BREAK he’s so underrated

A ppart five of love potion where Soap is forced to watch Simon "serve" Roba?

That is so horrendous and terrible, anon I will literally kiss you on the lips from how much I love this

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Ghost knew that Soap and Roach were up to something. Whatever it was, it didn’t involve him as far as he could tell. He was tired. So tired. He hadn’t been able to sleep in a while. 

That’s why he fell asleep while with his Lady. She had been riding him and he had stepped away from himself like always. As long as she enjoyed herself, that was the important part. Who cared if he drifted away as long as his body stayed… interested?

Ghost felt the sting of the slap. She started to curse in her language and jumped off of him. 

He went to get up, to apologize and take his leave to giver her space, but she shoved him hard on to the bed.

“Stay right there. I have told Roba that running you ragged ruins you. Your performance is pathetic.” She sounded so angry but there was a tinge of concern. Pilar was always the nicer of them and he dimly hoped that maybe this was one of the rare times she stuck up for him. “Stay here for the day. Sleep.” 

Ghost swallowed. “Thank you.”

Pilar scoffed, but she softened just a little. Ghost felt his heart do something funny. It wasn’t like with Soap or Roach. It felt less like his heart fluttered and more that someone ripped into his chest and squeezed his heart. 

“I said sleep.”

Ghost smiled slightly but his eyes drifted close. After a week of nothing, it was too easy. 

Pilar put her head on his chest as they laid together. 

Roba came back from his time away and, despite how nice Pilar was about it, she still had him whipped. He had Ghost kneel down on the floor. “Shame I can’t do this in front of everyone. Your appearance is just too different though. Even if I cut off those fucking ears, they’ll still be able to tell.”

Roba kissed the whip before striking his back. Ghost closed his eyes as pain lanced through that mark. Blood dripped as his skin just tore. 

“You still haven’t found that thing in the woods.” He hit him again, the leather going straight through Ghost. Ghost forced himself to make a small pained sound. If he was quiet, Roba would try to hit him harder or would escalate it. Better to give him what he wants. 

“There ya go, sweetheart. Remember this next time you fail, yeah?” He hit him again. And again. 

Ghost made a noise every so often, but honestly? The pain wasn’t much anymore. Blood spilled and he knew he’d start to feel light headed soon. 

He loved them. 

He loved Roba so much. 

Sometimes, it hurt that they were so much nicer to each other than him. 

When was the last time he had felt… loved?

Ghost let out a sob in to the otherwise silent room and there was a pause. Roba let the leather of the whip trail against his open wounds. “Oh, sweetheart.” 

No. 

No, no, no,no, no,no,noooo,no.

“Poor thing. Stay on your knees.” Roba patted his face. “Feeling lonely lately? Surrounded by us vile humans? Unable to even talk about yourself? Must be terrible.” 

Ghost glared up at him. He hadn’t felt so alone recently. Honestly. Things had become easier with Johnny and Roach. 

A knock. 

It was so loud. 

Roba looked displeased as he crossed the room to the door. He opened it slightly and looked inside. “MacTavish.” 

“Hello, sir. I haven’t been able to find Ghost. We’re supposed to go out tonight to hunt for the creature.” 

Roba looked back at Ghost before glancing at MacTavish. “Can you keep a secret?”

“I… I can, sir.” 

“Come in.”

Ghost felt himself deflate. No… No… 

Soap walked in and he could hear how his heart picked up. 

“My prized possession.” Roba spoke softly. “He’s freshly punished, so he won’t have his usual wit about him. It’s how I prefer him honestly.” He yanked him back by his hair. “Would you like a lesson over elves?”

“I know how to kill them. I feel that’s enough.” Soap sounded nervous.

Roba hummed. “Their mouths are sharp. Not just their teeth, even the flesh of their tongue. It’s textured. Not the best for oral, which is a real disappointment.” He shoved his fingers into Ghost’s mouth, holding his head. “A masochist might like it. You a masochist?”

“No, sir.”

“Shame.” Roba backhanded Ghost who let out a soft groan. He spit up a mix of blood and saliva at his Lord’s feet. “Might finally have a use for that mouth.” He grabbed Ghost’s chin and held him tight. “Guess not. But trust me, they have plenty of other uses.”

Soap walked around him, trying to look at Ghost’s face he assumed. He wished he wouldn’t. This was humiliating enough. Truly. “That so, sir?” His voice was tight as he stared down at him. 

“Sir, please. This is unnecessary. I can put my gear on and go back out.” Ghost swallowed. “I’ll find it this time.” 

Roba stared at him before yanking him around but his hair. “Did i ask elf? No. I didn’t. One day I’ll cut that tongue of yours out. You barely speak anyway.” He glanced at Soap and then Pilar. 

Ghost looked at him, blood still dripping from all the broken skin. 

Roba put him on the bed, all gentle like. Lovers. Even prepped him. Trying to put on a show for his captive audience no doubt. 

Ghost pleaded to him quietly to please dismiss Soap first. He was his superior. This was awful. Please, do anything else just don’t do this. Let him have a little dignity. 

Roba put his hand around his throat. “Shut. Up.”

Ghost buried his face in the bed and tried to be silent. To disappear and never ever be seen again.

Soap swallowed so loudly he could hear it over Roba’s grunting. “Can i?..” 

“Yes.”

Ghost felt fingers card through his hair. So gentle and sweet. 

“Simon. A little effort, yeah?”

Ghost shivered and made fake whimpers into the bedding. He looked at Soap and they accidentally made eye contact. It was so intense. 

Soap let out a breath. Pity. 

Ghost wanted to cry. He instead glared at Soap before burying his face back into the sheets as he serviced Roba. His hips rocked back and he tried His best to speed this process up. 

Soap ran his fingers along his cheek and Ghost bit him, sinking his teeth into the kind flesh that wished to be nice to him. Soap didn’t pull away, instead letting him keep his teeth into him. 

“Barely even sentient. A step above an animal.” Roba smiled. “You’re not allowed to touch him like this. But you can watch. You’re clearly enjoying it.”

Ghost looked up to see Soap was, in fact, fucking hard. From his humiliation. Humans were awful. 

They were cruel. 

And fucking sadists. 

“You can get off.”

“No, thank you, sir.” Soap wouldn’t look at Ghost’s eyes now. 

Roba continued to fuck him until he finished. He pulled out and fixed his pants. “Simon. Get up and get clean. Then put on your armor and find that fucking monster.” He slapped his ass hard and Ghost wasn’t sure he could get anymore red. 

Pilar and Roba left and it was quiet for a while before Soap started moving. He cleaned up the wounds on his back silently. “Im sorry… i didn’t… i didn’t mean.”

“Shut up. You got off on it didn’t you?”

“No! Its not like that! I sweat just…”

“You find it sexually attractive. Me being fucking degrading.”

Soap winced. “No. Sorry i didn’t mean to react to it, just… you’re attractive but i swear its not… i don’t…”

Ghost stood up, feeling such an intense pain everywhere. His back. His fucking… He grabbed the bed to keep himself steady. “Just give me my fucking clothes.”

Soap handed them to him. “I really… I’m sorry.”

“Shut up. Let’s just fucking go.”

Idk if you do requests or suggestions n stuff like that, so feel free to ignore this, but how do you think Simon would feel about a significant other who got caught in an explosion or something that badly scared/disfigured half her face?

She’s not insecure enough to hide her face because of it, but she gets irritable when people stare, and will will sometimes make self deprecating jokes about being an, “eyesore” and how she, “ain’t exactly a beauty anymore”

a/n: this is actually the first time anyones requested anything from me and it made me so happy omg

masterlist here

buy me a ko-fi

warnings: mentions of injury, blood, scars, a dash of smut

word count: 1.4k

The scarring that covered a little under half of your face rarely bothered you. The occasional tightness or twinges of pain with the weather changes was the worst of it and nothing that couldn’t be remedied with a thin coating of bio oil and a gentle massage.

The appearance of the scarring didn’t bother you either, compared to the angry red skin that had first grown back after the explosion.

One misplaced charge by a newbie to blow open a door had sent you sprawled on your ass, your pride hurting. You’d hardly noticed the pain until you’d seen Johnny white as a sheet when he kneels down over you, “Don’ worry lass, ‘ve gotcha.”

“Johnny?” You ask, a little out of sorts from the shockwave of the charge.

“Lass, ‘ve gotcha!” He affirmed, stripping your helmet and his tac gear, before his thin cotton vest was pressed over your face.

“Ah know, lass, best ah can do now.”

“Can’t see, Johnny…”

“Hush, lass, gotta keep you covered. Yer in a state… Bleedin’ through already.”

Johnny kept heavy pressure on your face, barking out orders at the others on how to complete the mission, all the while holding his vest pressed tightly, so tightly onto your face.

“S-soap, i’ hurts,” you moaned.

“Hush, lass, we’ll get out soon,” His hands disappeared from your face and you were being hauled up into his arms, “Gotta finish the mission then we’ll get you to a medic, promise.”

Ghost is in the medical wing before your wounds have even been cleaned, “Where’s the fucking shithead who placed the charge!”

You blink, swiping at some of the blood covering your face.

“The rookie’s still in debrief, Ghost, she only came here because she needed medical,” Soap says.

“Get that little asshole in here, he’ll need medical by the time I’m done with him.”

The healing had been slow and painful as your nerves knit themselves back together.

“You don’ have to worry about getting revenge on the rookie, lass,” Johnny said one day as he visited you in the medical wing, “Ghost has been at the poor dog’s heels, not giving him a moment’s rest. Think he’s about to keel over and die from the amount of suicides hes been given.”

Ghost sleeps in the armchair next to your bed.

Ghost helps to remove the stitches after you insisted on not returning to the hospital.

Ghost is the one who helps to massage the medicated creams on while you grit your teeth at the bone deep pain that radiates.

Ghost is the one ready to bite off heads when people so much as let their eyes linger on the raised and angry skin.

“Don’t worry about it, Simon, I really don’t mind the looks much. People are just wondering what happened,” The mission had been need-to-know and even the details of your injury weren’t allowed to leave confidential briefings.

Your opinion changes as your scars settle into a raised and mottled mauve, pockmarks and dents covering half of your face, the stares on base continue.

“What, you’ve never seen an eyesore before? I think you’d be used to looking at one in the mirror every morning with a face like that,” You snapped at a new recruit who had completely stopped in his tracks, mouth opened in shock at your appearance, “Meet me in the gym tomorrow at oh-six-hundred. You’re going to learn to respect your superiors' battle wounds the hard way,” You snarled out at him.

Off base, the stares are worse so you begin to limit your time on leave.

You grit your teeth and set your face in a hard line in public, schooling your expression so that people don’t notice the way that their wide-eyed glances hit you like punches.

You don’t notice how fewer stare when Ghost is around, he’ll glare them down over your head and make them scurry away before their eyes even reach you.

You don’t notice the way Ghost’s eyes darken in the rec room when you make a joke to the lads about being “damaged goods” and “Frankenstein” even if your eyes are filled with tears of laughter as you cackle at your own jokes.

“Don’ like hearing you talk like that,” Simon corners you after you leave the rec room to refill your drink.

“Jesus Christ! Simon! You nearly gave me a heart attack!” You clutch your chest where your racing heart resided, “Give a girl some warning before I attach a bell to you.”

He didn’t speak for a beat, “I don’t want to hear you calling yourself ‘damaged goods’ anymore, love.”

“Just speaking the truth, Si,” You gestured at your face, the still painful and shiny skin, “You can’t tell me you haven’t thought it too? I know I wasn’t winning beauty contests before, but now I would probably be better as a scare actor.”

“Tha’s not true.”

“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m your girlfriend!”

“If I was bein’ nice I’d tell you tha’ you were the scariest,” Simon begins, still kissing down the line of scarred flesh, now reaching your chest, free of scars.

“You’re so pretty,” Simon murmurs against the line where healthy flesh met mottled scarring, “Want you to say it back to me, love. Need to hear you say it.”

The healthy skin of your face began to flush, nearly matching your scars in color, “Si-”

“I need you to know how pretty you are to me, before and now,” His kisses continue tracing your healed wounds, “Never seen a prettier bird.”

His hands trace your hip bones, settling at their crest, “Before I could only think how soft you were, that I had to protect you on missions. Nearly got my head blown off more than once. Now all I can see is how strong you are,” His hands begin to trail lower, petting over your stomach and then lower still.

“There she is,” He coos when you jump as his fingers make contact, “Now tell me how pretty you are for me doll, wanna hear you say it before I make you cry it f’ me.”

He makes you cry that night.

He switches from nipple to nipple, “Say it, lovie,” He tells you as he pauses to thumb at your nipple, giving his mouth a break.

“‘M pretty,” You whimper out.

“Again,” he says, kissing down your stomach, “Give yourself another compliment, sweet girl.”

“Si!”

“I’ll help you pretty girl,” He coos at you, in between mouthing at your hip bones, “You’re strong, now say it.

“I-I’m strong,” Now his mouth travels lower still, you wriggle trying to rush him into going faster. He can tell your game and deliberately pulls his mouth off, “You’re impatient too, lovie, but I’ll forgive it and give you what you need if you give me another compliment.”

“‘M not an eyesore!”

“That’s right, you’re beautiful, lovie,” He finally lowers himself to give tiny licks at your clit sending you jerking up into his mouth.

“Everytime you say those things about yourself it drives me mad that you don’t see what I do. Even with your scars you’re still beautiful and sexy and knowing you’re all mine makes me hard as a fucking rock.”

You whimper under him, trying to grind down onto is tongue to get more, more, more.

“So pretty for me, pretty face, pretty body, pretty cunt,” Simon murmurs into you, pulling his mouth away just long enough to watch his fingers tease along your hole before slipping one inside, “Givin’ me the prettiest little moans when I touch…here,” He crooked his fingers inside of you and made you jerk under him, crying out.

“The scars just make you prettier, dove,” Simon says, “Shows me you’re real and can take anything the world can give you. That you can’t be taken from me.”

His words fizzle into your brain as you grind down onto his finger everytime it thrusts into you, “Si, more,” You pant out, “Need more.”

“Gimme another one, pretty girl.”

“‘M brave,” You can barely get the words out, torn between trying to whimper out praise to yourself to try and get Simon to do more or to beg him for it instead.

“Good girl, you’re listening so well,” He slid another finger inside of you, “You’re so brave sweet girl,” He kissed your thigh.

“tumblr mutual” beloved friend I would pick up at the airport if y’all visited my home city

Help me I was just at a job fair and went to the army and there was this guy in full combat gear and mask from the special forces and I talked to him about his job and he had these deep brown eyes and was so nice I swear I was trying to listen. But. We were talking about how much his gear weighed and he chuckled, took my hand and put it on his vest so I could lift it and see for myself. Then he told me he could just pick me up and carry me.

Help