...quite The Opposite 💀

"are you ok?"

No I want a fictional man to kiss me on my forehead and tell me I didn't deserve all the shit real people put me through

I saw his model concept images and knew what I had to do

so i've started playing hades

this man would need so much therapy if he was real

Johnny who gets once in a blue moon migraines that knock him on his ass.

Johnny waking up cocooned in blankets, warm and hazy, alone, Ghost already gone for his morning run around base. Otherwise he'd have his partner imitating an octopus, wrapped around Johnny like there was any possibility of him willingly escaping into the night.

Instead, he stretches under the body-warm sheets to try and relieve the kink in his lower back. It doesn't help much.

He rolls out of bed to begin his day and, upon checking his watch on the night stand table, curses, hurrying through his morning ablutions and out of the barracks toward the kitchen. Ghost must have turned off his alarm to let him sleep a bit longer but Johnny has slept in far later than he usually does with only twenty minutes before the team debrief.

Coffee is too sharp in his nose, makes his stomach roil, knows it's a mistake as soon as he pours a full cup. Keeps it anyway because it's warm. Adding creamer doesn't help, tastes off on his tongue, too pungent, too acidic, the usual two teaspoons of sugar too heavy on his tongue. Ghost notices (he's come in for a tea) but doesn't say anything, watching Johnny's nose scrunch adorably and allowing himself to be used as support when Johnny sags back against his chest, drained.

Aura starts to creep over his vision during the meeting, looking at the projector is hard, his eyes won't focus, keep sliding away to dislodge the spots in his vision. Coffee abandoned, stomach clenching tighter, a bone deep throbbing begins behind his left eye socket. He wants to scoop his eyes out and massage the bone tissue until it stops pulsing.

Meeting wraps up, Johnny is bombarded with the scents of many bodies in a confined space; even freshly showered ones are too much. The florescent lights are too bright and too loud, people's voices are becoming muffled. His notes, when he checks, squinting, are shaky and completely illegible in some places. He quickly flips his notebook closed, tries to stand. Remembers he has recruit training today and desperately asks Gaz to cover. Gaz is concerned, tries to play it normal with a bit of teasing (even as he can see something is wrong) and asks why. Johnny says his head hurts, Gaz cracks a joke or Price says something like "push through it" and Johnny abruptly realizes he's going to hurl in the next five seconds: saliva flooding his mouth, arms going numb, stomach a clenched fist. Ghost shoves the room's wastebasket in front of him before he can throw up on Gaz's boots. Spits up watery coffee and bile. Shivers wrack his frame as he hugs the trashcan for dear life.

Price sends him back to his room after Johnny fights going to medical, he knows what's happening, what he needs is a pitch dark room and peace and quiet (and a handful of extra strength Excedrin). Ghost cups Johnny's neck, leads him down the hall back to their room once he can set down the trashcan without fear of gagging, Johnny with his eyes closed. He trusts Ghost. Doesn't care about potential rumors flying around base in this moment. Everyone knows they're a package deal anyway.

Johnny crawls back into bed as Ghost grabs him a glass of water, makes him drink the whole thing slowly before refilling it and placing two pills in his palm. Sits by Johnny's hip after closing the blackout curtains as the man snuggles back down under the blankets. Begins kneeding Johnny's tense shoulder and neck muscles, Johnny melting into the pillow from the heat and pressure, muscles gradually loosening. Johnny shoves his head into Ghost's hip, has the dual purpose of expressing his affection and gratitude but also puts pressure against his aching forehead.

Eventually, Johnny tugs at Ghost's hoodie, his bleary eyes silently begging Ghost to stay. Ghost kicks off his boots, belt, and jacket, rolls Johnny closer to the wall and pulls him close, protecting Johnny's balled up form. Johnny shoves his head under Ghost's chin, grumbles until Simon huffs a laugh, pulls his balaclava off. Johnny hums in appreciation, drifts into a light doze listening to Simon's breathing, the bigger man running his fingers through Johnny's hair down to his neck in a circuit, blunt nails dragging a pleased hum from his partner. Watches over Johnny as he sleeps safely, trustingly, in his arms.

manager i cant come to work today i forgot how to mimic the behavior of a human. being

Price: How did you get Moose into Shadow Company?

Graves: I was in China, came across a group of mercenaries, saw a scared Alaskan techie, and I said to myself “That’s my son” before I recruited him into Shadow Company

Price: … you kidnapped him?

Graves: I mean, if you have to get technical- Yes, I kidnapped him. But it worked out! Isn’t that right, Moose?

Moose: The Scottish soap bar asked me to bench press the Ghost. I would like to leave now

ive never been more motivated

Need to print this out and put it on my wall

Bare

Ghost knows a secret.

Soap cannot handle terms of endearment. He guesses the other man must not be as used to it growing up, but he’s noticed that when Price absentmindedly calls him “pet” , the split second where Johnny’s breath catches, eyes widening ever so slightly as his brain short circuits is an adorable sight. It’s only a second of course, and he just stares off into the distance later when no one’s watching, processing the past few seconds after he talks to Price.

Or when Gaz asked if anybody had a sticky note and Soap without hesitation pulled one out of his bag. Gaz just responds with a quick “thanks darling” before taking the note and scribbling furiously on it. He gets to see the look again, the subtle freeze he does, the rapid blinks and wide eyes, along with the smile he’s fighting off slowly forming which the latter doesn’t notice. There’s not a lot of things that catch Johnny MacTavish off-guard, so seeing something so casual just throw him off with that look on his face is something Ghost considers priceless.

So he tries it himself. After a mission, when everyone’s at a bar and the volumes so loud you can barely hear what the others saying, he looks at Johnny whose carrying their drinks, and takes the drink the other man extends with a “Thanks, love.”

The glorious red flush is reward enough, Soap caught so speechless he actually stammers, stammers for a response while his hands fumble, eyes refusing to meet his. And he notices afterwards how Johnny keeps mouthing that word to himself, over and over again, bit of the earlier blush creeping back over his neck. He swears Johnny lets out a sound, burying his head in his hands while his hands grip the Mohawk.

He thinks he quite likes this little secret Soap keeps.