Summary: Frank has a moment of vulnerability as he gifts you flowers for the first time.
Happy valentines Besties!! <33
Warnings?: whole lotta fluff really. nothing much to add other than Frank giving reader flowers for the first time and being a little bashful about it. (M' a sucker for a big, gruff, kinda angry man being a sweetheart to the person he loves alright?) possible horrible writing- a girl be struggling..
Pretty obvious buuut with this im adding frankie to my 'will write for' list bc i am, at my very core and before most fixations i ever had, a frank castle girlie.. With that said my normal Logan stuff will remain!! but i thought I'd get this lil thing out while it feels good in my mind and before i make a million changes- writers block has got my ass again but asks are still open!
Masterlist. Words: 1.1k
Franks feet feel heavy in his boots, each step thudding on the concrete. The streets are quiet, winter air crisp and cool as he digs a hand in the pocket of his jeans as he goes. Keep one hand warm and the other? Well.. That one feels pretty cold and yet, strangely, a little clammy at the same time.
In Franks grasp rests a bunch of colourful flowers; lillies, roses, some little delicate buds he doesnt recall the name of for decoration. 'Oh those? Those are called Babys breath frank!' He hopes you'll tell him with a beam later.
The rose thorns prod at his palm, his grip on the bundle of stems tense, but he finds it doesn't hurt the longer he walks. They just.. Ground him slightly as he treads closer to home. Closer to you.
Theres a peace that settles within him in your presence, he finds; one that seems to dim the darkness that swirls in his heart. You ease the ache that so often sits inside him, Never erasing it, no one ever could but.. You lessen it. Always willing to take the weight from his broad shoulders, if only for a little.
And for that? Frank is greatful.
He knows he can be alot; his grumpiness piled almost as high as his baggage. But you dont ever seem to mind.
You embrace him on the days he needs it but cant find it in himself to ask and keep him at arms length when you see in his eyes that being loved feels stifling; its just how life is with him. Yet you do it all with that soft smile and gentle hand, the polar opposite to his rough lines and jagged edges. Keeping him sane on the days when he believes himself to be anything but.
The hand he dug into his pocket seems clammier now as he pulls out his set of keys, the lock clicking open moments later. Its just flowers castle, pull it together he thinks, stepping back into the warm embrace of your apartment. Given girls flowers before for christ sake.
"sweetheart?" he calls out, gruff voice booming through the hall.
You jump slightly at the sound, placing down the wooden spoon that you had been stirring the fragrant pot on the stove with. Voice calling back "in the kitchen!" with a significantly softer tone.
You wait with your body leaning against the counter, observing how the bulk of him rounds the corner. A large arm behind his back; still in his coat. A suspicious rustle of cellophane filling the kitchen as he shifts on his feet, but still you grin at the sight.
"Got everything you needed" he says, hand digging through his coat pocket with various clinks and russles. In his large hand he pulls out a collection of little packets and jars, placing them on the counter. refills of various spices, salts and even a little box of yeast pouches for bread making sit in a heap; things you were running low on earlier.
you beam that perfect smile at him, murmering softly as you step forward, leaning up on your toes to kiss his stubled cheek. "Perfect, thank you frankie"
He accepts the kiss with a soft hum, dipping his head for you to reach.
But still that arm remains behind his back. He almost hopes you dont notice.. But you do, he can tell.
"Uh Frank?.." you start a little cautiously with that same grin, however this time theres a little glint of confusion added as you step back just slightly. "What are you hiding?"
You stew in his silence for a moment, a crease wedging its way back between his brows. Handsome face suddenly filled with... trepidation?
"Frank.." you start again, a little more seriously as you step closer. By now you're fully expecting something bad; that someones been gunning for him again and hes hurt. That there must be blood soaking through his coat and thats why hes hiding.
But as quick as he paused, he sighs, broad shoulders falling just slightly. that same arm once hidden, now outstretched infront of you. The colourful bouquet at eye level as you take it in, a tiny gasp slipping past your lips.
"Frank castle did.." you begin, hand coming to join his on the delicate stems. Your voice is hushed and a little shakey as your eyes scan up and across his face. "Did you buy me flowers?"
His head moves in a little nod, chest puffing out just slightly as he releases his grip; completly surrendering both the flowers and himself.
"Yeah i, uh.." he gruffs, thinking outloud before he stops; practically looking everywhere but at you. The pot on the stove, the cups on the sink, even his boots. Its then he realises that he's almost afraid to see some semblance of rejection in your gaze; that he's missteped or you dont like them. That this sense of peace you wash over him is about to be swept away; wide eyes and incredulous tone not helping his state.
Frank takes another breath, steeling himself; his walls building back up, before he simply settles on a shake of his head and a huff. "Doesn't matter, 's stupid alright"
"No, no its not stupid." you rush out, remaining close as you eye the flowers in your hand and then him again. "They're beautiful frank.."
"Saw em and they reminded me of you so..." he coughs, a large hand scratching at the back of his neck. "thought I'd get em.."
Frank shifts on his feet, stance widening as you suddenly throwing yourself into his arms and grip him tightly; the Boquet landing on the counter seconds before your impact to his chest. You hold him like that for a few quiet moments before you lean back, resting on your tip toes as you cup a rough cheek.
"Thank you.." you whisper softly, honesty pure in your words. A little bashful grin across your lips as you lean up a little higher. "I love them, really. They're perfect"
Frank gazes down at you gently, a finger of his own brushing over your skin as he leans in, kissing you with such unspoken emotion it could knock you off your feet- if he wasnt already keeping you up.
"Yeah sweetheart? Really think they are all that?" he murmers, forehead against yours, the air of unease beginning to slip from your reaction. Enjoying the endearing heat of your gaze.
Your lips meet his in another tender kiss as you press the words against him; though they hold a hidden, deeper meaning. "Yeah Frank.. I really do"
Hello! I really enjoyed your intimacy fic for Astarion! I just love seeing him so flustered by genuine affection 🥰 If you’re still accepting ideas for fics, how about one where Astarion and Reader kiss for the first time after he truly falls in love with them.
oh, this prompt is the sweetest. thanks so much for sending it in!
if my heart had a mouth (astarion x gender neutral!reader, baldur's gate 3)
Astarion is well and truly fucked.
This was supposed to be easy, the steps as familiar to him as breathing. Seduce you, manipulate you, and thus secure his safety - his freedom.
And he had done it! The whole plan had gone off without a hitch, in fact. He had gained your trust, charmed you into bed, and cemented his place as your ally. His master would have been proud.
Astarion’s lips twist at the vile thought. He had finally been free of Cazador’s control, and yet here he stood, fallen into the same old habits and living his life as though his master were still there, pulling the strings.
He didn’t know how to be anything else but a puppet, how to be with you in the ways that mattered without a guiding hand upon his throat to force him onward. It wasn’t fair - not to you, not to him, and to confess it all to you, to see your face fall when he admits that your previous liaison had been but one step in the plan, rends at his heart in a way that Cazador’s tortuous control had never quite managed.
He expects - well, he doesn’t know what he expects, really. Certainly not for you to make a confession of your own, and yet that’s exactly what you do.
“I care for you,” you murmur, and your hand rises to press against your heart, fingers curling into a loose fist. Your eyes have never seemed so open, your voice so true. You mean what you say. “Deeply.”
Astarion swallows around a lump in his throat. Even after all he’s told you, confessed, you still - ?
But he has no time to ponder the conundrum further, for you’re drifting closer, your face cautious but unafraid, raising your arms, fitting yourself against him -
An embrace. You’re embracing him, your arms a comforting weight across his back, your chest warm against his own and your chin settled atop his shoulder. He can feel your breath against his throat, hear your pulse racing in the back of his brain. Can smell you, your trepidation and your fear warring with your joy as you fold yourself closer against him, showing him as honestly as you know how that you’ve spoken the truth, that you care.
“Darling, I - “ He can’t speak around the lump in his throat, but he can move, his arms lifting to gather you in an embrace, tucking you near. Close.
Gods, he realizes. He doesn’t want to let you go.
“I have no idea what we’re doing.” He murmurs the words against your brow, huffing a soft laugh as he suddenly understands how truly lost he is. “Or what comes next.”
You sigh against him, a soft breath that ruffles his collar. “Whatever you wish,” you reply. Simple, straightforward. Terrifying.
And yet -
Astarion eases back, but only a little, unable to stand releasing you from the circle of his arms just yet. You gaze upon him with such guileless sincerity that, for a moment, he wishes to sequester his face within that sweet hollow of your throat once more, to escape.
But he will not run away from this. From you.
Ducking his head, his chest a riot of fear and anticipation, Astarion presses his mouth to yours. You hadn’t expected it - your breath catches, lashes fluttering, before the reality of the moment settles in and you melt against him, your previous trepidation leeching from your limbs and leaving only a sweet, heady passion in its wake.
It’s - it’s wonderful, the softness of your mouth at once familiar and achingly new. You open like a flower seeking sun beneath his touch, your lips molding to his, allowing Astarion to set the pace. Each curve and crevasse he commits to memory, his exploration as careful as it is thorough.
Every sigh, every mew of pleasure, every sweet curl of your tongue - Astarion wants to learn them anew. This is no pretty manipulation, nor means to an end; it is simply a desire, a want, a need, one that Astarion has chosen for himself and for no other.
He finishes with a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, and when he opens his eyes it is to be met with a beatific smile upon your lips and a glazed, joyous expression upon your face.
He laughs, then, tucking his brow against yours, and is astounded to no longer feel those phantom strings tightening around his heart. It will take time, patience, to truly rid himself of Cazador’s influence, to learn how to live without that spector upon his shoulder, but the tadpole be damned, he would find that time, and make it count.
With you by his side, Astarion knew he could do just about anything.
Hey sleepy! I've seen you draw Ghost's tattoos several times now, and I'm sorry if you've already been asked this, but do you have reference pictures you base them off of/use? I struggle to find any good/clear shots for myself x.x
Hello Anon! (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)
So, one day @shadeops21 gave me an asset of Ghost's tattoo from the actual model in the game and it looks like this!
(IT'S SO FUCKING EDGY HOLY FUCK 😭😭😭)
And because it's not clear enough and not big enough for an actual asset that I can use on my drawings, guess what my detail-oriented ass did! Yep I retraced and redrew it!
Did I just post my 4 hour work of retracing here? Yesh! The image is yours to use for your convenience and is at your disposal. This is my homage to the fandom I guess (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)
What I could say about how to apply them is probably these ones :
Remember that this is the whole ass sleeve that circles the whole arm. So when you draw Ghost, only parts of the arm should be visible, so don't fit the whole ass sleeve into your drawing. Erase some.
I'd mask/change the color with a dark red/dark purple to match the skin a little bit, then distort the asset so that it matches the angle and perspective, then mask/clip it down to the skin layer!
Eras some parts of the tattoo that gets light with textured brush so it blends with the skin texture. then add shadow and lighting, and voila!
Anyone can download the jpg or the png above and use it! Have fun drawing brotha ( •̀ ω •́ )👍
“I couldn’t live with myself if something had happened to you on my account.”
Price was pissed.
Never in his life had the good captain ever flipped his lid quite like this. It was the kind of anger that no one dared to try and get in the way of. His blood was boiling hot, and the pressure of it felt like it was increasing with every inhale he took. He was scary when he was angry, and it didn’t feel good to be on the receiving end of it.
Even in hindsight, you wouldn’t change a single thing that you did that day.
Summary: You’re PMSing, and Ghost comes to the rescue.
Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader
Word Count: 1,110
Notes:
Angst and fluff
Dedicated to my ✨ anon
Want more?
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How can you be angry, sad, and tired all at the same time? It’s a never-ending cycle. Every month right before your period, you feel like shit. What did your species do to deserve such a cruel and recurring punishment? What a selfish b*tch that Eve was. So much for taking one for the team.
You’re standing in front of a table with a shattered drone resting on its mahogany top. Fortunately, with the right tools, carbon fibre is easy to repair. Unfortunately, this army base doesn’t have the necessary equipment and personnel for the job. It can be a complex task if you don’t have the resources, especially if you lack the energy and strength to do it just by yourself.
Ghost is sitting in the corner of the room, cleaning his handgun. He looks calm—sirene—as if he didn’t just stare death straight in the eyes a few hours ago. How does he do that?
On the contrary, your movements are sluggish, you have terrible back pain, and you lack the motivation to complete even the most basic tasks. But you have to fix that drone for its next mission.
You catch a glimpse of yourself in one of the drone’s camera lenses. You’re unrecognisable. Your hair is acting up again, with unruly strands forming a halo at the crown of your head. Not only that, but your reflection reveals another issue. You take a closer look at your face. Fuck; another pimple. It decided to settle on your chin this time. Great—just great.
“Everything alright?” He asks, interrupting your thoughts.
“Y-yes, ready to start the process.” You answer with false confidence. Can he tell you’re faking it? Probably.
He says nothing but keeps staring at you with an unreadable expression, his silence giving an answer in itself. After what seemed like an eternity, he stands up and walks towards the door, exiting the room and leaving you alone.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath, exhaling in relief. Come on, get a hold of yourself. Focus.
You gather your hair up and fix it with whatever you have available in front of you. Now is not the time to be making stylistic decisions. You’re not here to compete in a pageant, anyway. What you need to do is fix that damn thing and fast.
You roll up your sleeves, grab your notepad, and open it on a new page. You pick up your p-
Where’s your pen?
You begin searching the table for your missing item, picking up drone components and putting them back in an unruly manner.
Maybe it rolled off the table!
You kneel on the floor, furiously searching for your pen as if you’d lost your most treasured asset. Where did it go? It can’t just grow legs and walk away! It must be here, somewhere.
You stumble as you rise to your feet, bumping your head on the table’s corner. Dizzy and frustrated, you stay on all fours, attempting to calm yourself with every ounce of dignity you have left.
Until you ultimately give up. So much for the confidence boost you tried to give yourself a few moments ago. You roll around and sit on the floor, drawing your knees close to your chest and burying your face in them as you let out a long, deep sigh.
“Is that part of the repair process, soldier?” Ghost asks as he re-enters the room, “do you grieve the drone first before you glue it back together?”
Today, of all days, he decided to act like an asshole.
“I misplaced my pen, Lieutenant,” you reply, still seated on the floor.
“You’re crying because you misplaced your pen.” He repeats in a deep, monotonous voice.
“I’m not cr- forget it.” You sigh defeated.
You can’t tell him what’s going on inside you. He’ll never understand. Ghost could take a bullet to the shoulder and still manage to climb a mountain while you’re whining about a minor inconvenience.
“Get up.” He commands, and you follow his orders. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and attempt to stand as straight as possible.
He stares at you with those interrogative eyes of his and slides something from across the table. You look down at the purple-wrapped rectangle in front of you.
A chocolate bar.
“I know what’s up,” he says, shrugging as he looks at the chocolate, “you tend to be like that a few days before.”
Your eyes widen in surprise. “How do you know?”
“I keep a log,” he explains. “I might be confident enough setting up an ambush in the middle of the desert, but I don’t push my luck with you.”
You crack a smile and accept the chocolate. “Thank you, Ghost,” you mutter, eyeing the piece of candy. He keeps a log, huh? What a guy.
“About that pen you were looking for,” he continues, “it’s in that patty of yours,” he explains and points at you.
In the what of yours??? You stand perplexed by his last statement until he gestures toward the back of his head. You mimic his actions and chuckle in embarrassment as you realise what he’s referring to. But of course! You used the pen to secure your hair. You exhale in relief and pick the pen off to set it on the notepad.
“You’re a lifesaver, Simon.” You reply.
“Keep your gratitude for the battlefield, soldier,” he adds dismissively. He’s obviously flattered, but he’ll never confess it. “Now tell me, how’s your back doing?” He asks, “still in pain?”
You nod. “Hurts like a motherfucker, sir.”
“Let me see,” he says, and you lift your hair up to expose the back of your neck. He moves in closer to get a better look, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His fingers are gentle as he works his way down your neck, kneading the soreness and pain away with skill. You wince as you feel his touch, but the pain is nothing compared to what it was before he began to work his magic.
“Oh, and, uh, Lieutenant?” You whisper softly, almost inaudibly, as you feel the tension leaving your body.
“Hm?” He murmurs, his strong hands now carefully massaging your shoulders.
“It’s called a bun,” you say with a smirk, “not a patty.”
Ghostsoap Hanahaki disease, maybe? Imagine that it’s after a mission, and one of them has been feeling off the entire time, only made better but simultaneously worse by the other’s presence. They excuse themselves when they feel a horrible sensation and cough up a few petals. Eventually, after they continue to cough up flowers over the course of weeks/months/years and gradually get worse, the other finds out. Maybe it’s too late, or maybe they save them in the nick of time. It can end happy or sad— your choice, of course. :)
I'm literally kicking my feet rn Hanahaki disease is one of my all time favorite fucking tropes
Ghost had felt it through his mask. A faint tickle in the back of his throat like he had caught a cold. He bit back the coughs and ignored it, focusing on Soap.
Soap smiled at him. "Great job, Lt. We make a good team, yeah?"
Ghost went to respond but ended up coughing instead, feeling something in his throat. Ah, yikes. Maybe fibers or something from his mask? Its happened before.
"You alright?" He sounded so genuinely concerned. Soap gently grabbed his arm, looking up at him.
"Yeah..." He ended up coughing again, shoulders shaking just a little. "I'm fine..."
It wasn't until he went through evac, just refusing to talk, that he lifted his mask and coughed into his arm.
Something came up his throat.
Ghost pulled back and looked at the slightly bloody petals. They were five pointed flowers there, only the size of a quarter, and a soft blue. His chest tightened even more and he ended up coughing harder, more of them flowing from his mouth.
Once he managed to clear his lungs, he cleaned everything up, throwing away all of the stupid petals. He knew what it was, but he refused. Love was not something he could feel, let alone have someone feel for him. He was past unlovable.
Ghost pulled himself together and took a deep breath. His lungs rattled and he knew this wasn't over yet.
But it would be fine. Some stupid fucking flowers weren't going to kill him.
Soap sat next to him later and since he wasn't paying attention to it, it didn't feel so bad. At least, that's what he assumed.
Johnny smiled and his chest constricted slightly. He shuddered.
"Cold, Lt?"
"Nah, I'm fine." Ghost reassured and rolled his shoulders. The movement dislodged some of the things in his chest. His breathing whistled and he held back a wince.
Soap looked at him funny. "You sure? I'm sure Price would give you the time off if you..."
"No. Not interested. If that's all you have to say Soap, you can run off now." He glared at him, head tilting forward.
Soap frowned and flowers bloomed in his chest, bloodying his lungs. "Alright, Ghost. Just take care of yourself, yeah?" He walked off and Ghost's chest tightened back up.
Ghost just shook his head. Stupid fucking petals.
When he was alone, he pulled his mask up and tried to cough up as many as he could. These were bloodstained. He tossed them in the trash.
It was Price that first noticed something was... off. Ghost didn't know what he did to tip him off but Price was like a dog with a bone.
"You're slow." Price crossed his arms. "And you keep wheezing."
"Affirmative, sir." He was being cheeky, hoping to throw him off.
Price reached over as if to check his temperature before thinking about it. "Simon."
"I don't need to a break. I want to keep working."
Price looked at him for a moment before shaking his head. "No. If you're sick."
"I'm not sick."
"You could get someone hurt. I know you don't care if you get hurt, but I know you don't want to get anyone else hurt, right?"
Ghost grumbled. "Right..."
"Take the day off. See if you can get over this cold."
Ghost didn't know how to tell him that wouldn't be happening. He ended up showering, using hot water in hopes the steam would choke everything in his lungs.
His chest had loosened a little so he tried to take a deep breath, feeling the small vines and thorns dig into him deeper. The absolute helplessness of his situation settled in and he'd love to be coy. To pretend. But he already knew.
Simon loved Soap.
Soap thought of him as a friend.
Ghost couldn't fix that. Couldn't fix that at all. So he'd try to leave as long as he could. Hopefully a bullet would take him out and no one would ever know of the awful shameful secret.
Flowers filled the bottom of the tub as he coughed. More now. Heather, wildflowers, thistle. All staining the bottom. The water sprayed them, the floral scent filling the bathroom until he thought he'd choke on it. Or maybe that was the petals fighting to fill any part of his lungs they could. Flowing up his throat.
Ghost wasn't sure if the lack of real pain was better or worse. There was the sharp pain from the coughing. An uncomfortable sensation of his lungs having something caught in them. But it didn't hurt. Not enough.
The flowers felt like a painful confirmation which was that Soap really didn't love him back and that hurt. It hurt so much it was overwhelming his senses. He wanted the physical pain. Something to distract him. But there was nothing other than the pressure.
He bit down on everything and swallowed it down. They were just going to keep growing anyway.
Ghost got out of the shower and dried off, quickly covering himself back up. He opened his door and checked his room, making sure no one snuck in before going to his bed. His mask stayed in his hand instead of going on his face. Breathing was hard enough without the extra fabric.
It was months. Months of living like this. Never able to take in a full breath. Always coughing. Almost all of his masks had blood stains on them now, but the black covered it up well enough.
Ghost finally made a mistake. He started coughing so hard while sniping that he couldn't focus. The gun had slipped from his hand and while it luckily didn't give him away, he couldn't provide cover.
"Ghost, how copy?" Soap called through the radio.
He couldn't reply and after a moment, Price got on the radio. "Ghost, sitrep."
Ghost couldn't. He kept coughing, spots were building in his vision but he couldn't... He couldn't breath.
"Simon." Soap sounded worried. "Are you compromised?"
Ghost hit the button so they could hear him. He could only really wheeze at first, but he managed. "Solid."
"Solid? What kept you from answering?" Price pressed.
Ghost went to answer but started to cough. He couldn't stop. The radio cut off as he let go of it.
Thorns had started to set in. They raked at his lungs, cutting through the tissue of his throat. Tears started running down his face and it felt like they were invading his fucking sinuses.
He grabbed the radio. "Mission."
"Simon, I'm coming to where you are."
"No." Ghost hacked, feeling blood and flowers fill his mouth. It tasted so sweet.
His vision started to blur, the spots returning.
Soap was suddenly there. Hitting his back hard as the fit started to finally end, his chest loosening due to proximity. He took off Ghost's mask and any other time, he'd be pissed, as mad as a rabid dog, but he couldn't catch his breath long enough to think.
"Who?" Soap sounded angry.
Ghost shook his head.
"Goddamnit, Simon, why didn't you say something?" Soap looked around. "Who is she? We can find her."
Idiot.
Ghost's blood slicked hand grabbed Soap's shoulder and he leaned into him. Soap's arm went around him in a mockery of a hug.
"Evac isn't too far away. We can pull back, yeah? I'll help. I'll make Price help too."
Stupid Scottish man.
"I used to live next to a field of these. They're scottish bluebells. She a Scot? Maybe you have better taste than I thought."
Ghost pulled back from him, looking at him.
Soap faltered. "your eyes are bloodshot."
Ghost took a breath, chest rattling. "Not a lassie." He put as much mocking into his voice as he could, wanting Soap to know he was using lassie to bully him.
"A lad then? Some Scottish..." Soap paused, looking at him closer.
The silence felt defeaning and Ghost started to cough again. Fresh tears running down his face.
"Don't worry. Never expected you to love me back." Ghost managed to get out. "My body just... took it personally." He smiled, seeing his reflection in Soap's eyes. He really did look like shit. Fucking hell.
"Simon..." Soap said softly and Ghost covered his mouth.
"No. No." Simon shook his head, before slumping into Soap's shoulder. "I don't... I don't want to hear it."
"Simon, please listen."
"I'll never know if it's real."
Soap kissed him anyway. His lips were soft. Ghost was very aware that his own were chapped and stained. His scars pressed against Soap's skin.
It was easier to breath. Ghost hated that it was easier to breath.
"Get up. We need to go."
"Fuck you, MacTavish." Ghost pulled his mask back on and put his gun away.
"Love you too, Ghost." Soap said it sweetly. It hurt. He walked with him and Price looked at the petals that stuck to their clothing and made the decision not to ask.
Ghost followed the order of going to med. He went through the humiliatingly process of letting them touch him and make sure he was okay. His lungs had already started to clear up. Apparently the roots had been severed and they were now drying up.
Soap hung around him like an omen.
"Johnny."
"You thought I wouldn't love you back?" Ghost frowned.
"You sound offended."
"I am." Soap snapped at him, side eyeing him.
"MacTavish..."
"Riley."
Ghost bit his tongue. "I see. My love is a curse. Rather died without knowing than kill you."
"You're a fucking eejit." Soap reached over and Ghost reluctantly let him. It wasn't as bad as the nurses. His hands were warm.
"Don't expect to kiss me again."
"Are you serious?" Soap sighed. "Why? You love me. I know you do." He looked at the petals the nurses had removed from his throat.
Ghost crossed his arms and looked away from him.
Soap leaned in and cupped his face. "Come on."
"You can kiss me occasionally. Mask stays on."
"That won't last."
Ghost glared at him, but like usual, Soap didn't take him seriously.
"I love you, Simon."
Ghost, despite everything, couldn't quite form the words. He instead grabbed one of the cleaner flowers and handed it to him. Soap got the message anyway.
Synopsis: Before you knew it, John was gone - taken from right under your nose and leaving you no choice but to retreat without him. But you would do anything to get him back, even go into the lion’s den itself.
Word Count: 15.2k
Warnings: Torture, blood & gore, V suggestive & some spicy bits, vulgar language, angst, found family tropes, eventual fluff, and comfort, injured Price would be the sweetest person idc, so much plot, briefly edited
A/N: The flashbacks are spicy because I said so. (Soap request being written after this). Enjoy!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
Soap gets ask our for drinks often and Ghost gets more possessive of him every time.
Happy new year! This fandom ship is still my brain rot and honestly it help me learn to have fun drawing. My goal for 2023 is to not feel every time I draw is work and hate my passions.
Summary: Having survived your bullet wound, you and Ghost both face the consequences of your deepening relationship as Ghost grapples with the impact of almost losing you. (Set right after the events of Nightmare)
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)
Word Count: 4.1k
Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)
Warnings: reader was hit by a bullet, medical talk, canon-level violence, talk of death, secret relationship, mentions of smut, some hurt/comfort
A/N: Thanks to everyone who requested this chapter! Hope you all enjoy!
Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist
Ghost knew pain. He could handle the bite of the feeling, no matter how intense or prolonged. He had never hit a breaking point from it.
But guilt? It cut deeper than normal pain. Guilt was a nebulous feeling - an affliction of the psyche that was impossible to stop and damn near inescapable. It gnawed at him from the inside out, like a poison running in his veins. It haunted his every thought and even found him in sleep. The pain of guilt was damn near unbearable.
Two weeks. You had been in the hospital for two goddamn weeks. For a while, it had been touch-and-go, your situation fluctuating from dire to stable to dire again as the doctors worked to repair the damage from your gunshot wound. A few days after the incident, they had put you in a medically-induced coma.
Ghost picked at the peeled plastic leather on the armrest of his chair. He scratched his nail under the dried edge of the plastic and pulled, snapping another bit of it off before flicking the flake to the floor absentmindedly. Then, he began the process again with a new section of the material. As the days had worn on, he had slowly torn a gaping hole into the covering. Each day, the hole in the armrest grew wider, just as the hole in his chest did.
You laid in the bed in front of his chair, tubes and wires crisscrossing over your body. Your face held none of the defining characteristics of sleep that he had come to know. Instead of peaceful, you looked distressed, your eyebrows now pinched even in sleep. A shade of gray now clung to you, almost as if you were sick.
“Simon.”
Ghost looked to the door of your room, following the deep, gravelly voice to a disgruntled Price. He stood in the doorway, his eyes trained on Ghost. He wore simple camouflage fatigues, a change from the last time Ghost had seen him in your hospital room. Ghost also noticed that Price had trimmed his beard since then, as well.
How long ago had that been?
“I told you to get out of here,” Price grumbled.
“‘n I told you I’m fine.”
Price let out a huff of air before he moved closer. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, Price looked tired and solemn. He eyed the flakes strewn around the hard linoleum at Ghost’s feet. “Why’re you here? Why’re you doin’ this to yourself?”
Ghost leaned back in his chair, eyes falling back to where you laid. He couldn’t hold Price’s gaze anymore. Price was a quick, calculating man and Ghost was sure that it wouldn’t take more than a few missteps on his part to guess exactly why this really hit Ghost so hard. With the mask and his usual stoic demeanor, he already had a guard against the Captain’s incredible gift for reading people. But Price had adapted, learning instead to read Ghost only by his eyes.
Lying wouldn’t do. Price would see straight through him if he did. He’d have to give him the truth, just not the entire truth. “This happened on my watch. This is on me, Cap.”
It felt like only yesterday that Ghost had been sitting in a hospital bed just like yours warning you not to get hurt on his watch. Not when you were putting yourself on the line for him. It was a bit of sick irony now that you laid in this bed after taking a bullet for him - irony he wasn’t fond of at all.
He couldn’t tell Price that you had been in Ghost’s bed only a few nights before that mission. That Ghost had fucked you slowly then, his forehead pressed to yours as he unraveled you. It was the most intimate he had ever been with you. Usually when you fucked, it was hard and fast. Feelings were there, only covered by rough desperation, but this was different. It had been something soft and vulnerable, something that was more than just sex. A wall had broken between the two of you, one that had held you both back from admitting that this was an actual relationship.
Ghost had long stopped ignoring the fact that he had strong feelings for you, but now he was finding that those feelings had no discernible bottom. The deeper he fell for you, the deeper those feelings ran.
Maybe if Price knew all that, he would understand. But Price couldn’t know. If he did, he would be obligated to report that his Lieutenant had started a relationship with his Sergeant, a subordinate. The fallout would be disastrous.
“You were watchin’ each other’s six,” Price asserted, his voice even and insistent. Ghost could tell that he was trying to be the voice of reason for him, a role the Captain played well. Even if Price didn’t know exactly why, he could see that what happened to you was eating Ghost alive. “You both did your jobs. Sometimes shit happens and good people get hurt.”
Ghost shook his head. “I’m her superior, my job is to keep her safe. It’s the same thing with the others - Soap and Gaz. I should’a been better than that.”
Ghost had replayed that moment in his mind a million times over. If only he would’ve been better, then maybe he would’ve noticed the gunman’s hiding spot or reacted quicker to take him down. If Ghost had just been better, you might have never gotten hurt.
Price sighed, scratching at the side of his beard as he turned his eyes to you. “Shit like this is never easy when you’re in charge, Simon. You know as well as I do that blamin’ yourself is a dangerous game to play. The only thing you can do is learn from it ‘n move on. I know you two are close but tha’s no reason to sit here torturin’ yourself.”
Ghost bit back a scornful chuckle. If only Price knew how close you truly were. If only he knew that seeing you like this made him feel like the armrest of the chair he sat in - slowly being picked apart piece by piece.
“Styx is gonna pull through. Go get some rest,” Price said resolutely.
“Sir-”
“Tha’s an order, Lieutenant,” Price barked. “Out.” Reluctantly, Ghost stood and walked towards the door. As he passed him by the doorway, Price called over his shoulder, “You saved her life. She’s gonna live because of you. Focus on that.”
That was easier said than done. As Ghost pushed out of the room and down the bustling hallway, dodging doctors and nurses as he went, he couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he had only saved your life because you had put yourself in danger for him again.
It was his job to protect you - both his actual job and his job as the person you were in a relationship with. But he’d failed, and it was you who paid the price.
It should’ve been him. At least then he would have some peace knowing that you were okay. He could take the pain if only it meant that he would take the pain away from you.
As he made his way to his temporary room on this unfamiliar base, he could hear your voice in his head chastising him, could see the way your head ticked to the side as you challenged him like you had so many times before. It was a conversation he had with you on more than one occasion.
“Oh, really?” you questioned, sarcasm lacing your voice. Your head had laid on Ghost’s pillow, only a few months prior, facing him in his bed. “So you can stick your neck out for me, but I can’t do it for you?”
“Precisely.” Ghost’s hand had slid up and down your bare side - the side that would later take the bullet that was meant for him. Irony was a cruel thing in retrospect.
You had narrowed your eyebrows at him, dropping your teasing tone as you leveled your serious gaze. “That’s bullshit, Simon, and you know it.”
At that, he had leaned forward and pushed his mask up above his mouth before he brought his lips to your neck. He pressed the plush of his lips to the sensitive spot at the curve of your neck - the spot he knew would drive you wild. A gasp escaped you as you tilted your head to bare more of your skin to him, your body slowly arching into his touch.
“You can always stick your neck out for me like this, love,” he whispered against your skin before lightly nipping his teeth at the flesh there.
An obstinate huff escaped you.
“Oh, fuck you,” you countered, but your words had held no venom, your voice light with growing lust. It was more a concession to his caress than a genuine jab.
“You already did that, Styx,” he had teased before rolling you over top of him so that your bare thighs straddled his large hips. Excitement flashed in your eyes as you smirked down at him, your face only inches away from his own. He brought his lips to the shell of your ear as he added, “But you can do it again if you really want to…”
Ghost opened the door to his room, trying desperately to shake the memory from his mind. To shake you from his mind.
The room was plain and minimalistic. Gray walls, a cement floor, a small closet, a small wooden table, and a rickety single bed that could barely hold his mass were all that the small room contained. For years, accommodations like this seemed like staying in a five-star hotel. Hell, in the field, he considered a clean sleeping bag on the hard ground to be impressive. Although this guest room looked like every other quarters on every base he’d ever been on, it still felt colder somehow. More empty.
Ghost ripped off his boots before collapsing onto the green bed, the springs groaning under his weight.
What if this relationship with you was a bad idea? Ghost and you had already broken a list of rules a kilometer long, enough to have both of your jobs if anyone ever found out. He would do everything in his power to keep you away from the fallout if it ever did come out. But that wasn’t the issue for him right now. What if this relationship with you was putting you in danger? What if it was compromising the both of you?
You had both swore to each other that you wouldn’t let this affect your work. Even though you had risked your life for him once even before your relationship started, he worried that you had taken that bullet for him because of your relationship with him. Had you done what you swore you wouldn’t?
Ghost had felt the moment he broke his promise: the second you went down, the mission meant nothing anymore. All that mattered was getting you to safety. He had been compromised, let his feelings for you rule him. It was the first crack in his armor, the once-perfect soldier finally slipping. The worst part was that, given the chance, he wouldn’t change a damn thing about how he reacted. He would do it all again.
There were reasons for the rules that prohibited his relationship with you, just as there were consequences. A dark voice in the back of his mind said that it was his fault. He let this relationship start - let the both of you fall into this knowing damn well how you both felt. He had let the two of you compromise yourselves. As a result, you now laid in a hospital bed desperately holding onto life and he was going out of his mind.
Just fucking sleep. He just needed to fucking sleep.
~~~
Ghost found no solace when his eyes closed. He found you there, too. He was lost in the space between sleep and consciousness, a restless and aching plane of existence. He couldn’t tell whether the images he saw were dreams or memories or some odd mixture of both.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
His eyes snapped open, his consciousness yanked back to the dark, cold room. It was quiet for a moment as he tried to figure out what had woken him.
Someone banged on Ghost’s door again, the knocks hard and fast.
“Ghost.” It was Soap’s voice that came from the other side of the door, though it held none of his usual energy. It was too somber. “The doctors woke Styx an hour ago.”
Ghost sat up and quickly pulled on his boots again. When Ghost opened the metal door, he found Soap poised to knock again, his fist raised before he froze. Soap relaxed then, dropping his hand to his side.
“They’re lettin’ visitors in now. I thought you’d wanna know,” Soap told him, his voice low. He appraised Ghost with solemn eyes, his mouth drawn tight in apprehension. It was a rare look for the young soldier.
Ghost offered him a, “Thanks, Johnny.”
He pushed past Soap, heading swiftly towards the hospital wing of the base. Soap ran to catch up, his boots smacking into the concrete hallway floor, falling in stride with Ghost.
Soap was quiet until the pair entered the hospital section of the base, the distinctly sterile aroma making Ghost feel sick.
“LT…” Soap drew cautiously as they traversed the packed hallway. “What happened to her?”
“What d’ya think, Johnny? She got fuckin’ shot.”
Soap rolled his eyes, dodging a nurse that dashed between them as she headed towards some unknown emergency. “Yeah, I know that. I mean, how’d it happen? You haven’t said a word about it to anyone but Price.”
Ghost simply shook his head.
“C’mon,” Soap pushed, “what happened out there?”
Ghost stopped right outside of the closed gray door to your room. He had known Soap long enough to know that he would keep asking until he got an answer. He might as well pull the band-aid off now. “I had my back turned, a guy jumped out, she shot him, and took the bullet that was meant for me.”
Soap’s face dropped, some of the pieces of why Ghost had kept this quiet finally clicking into place. He tapped the fist of his right hand against the palm of his left hand nervously. The only thing he said was, “Oh…”
“Yeah.” Ghost gazed at your door.
“Well, at least you both made it out of there, yeah?”
Ghost grumbled, “Barely.”
“Ghost,” Soap chided, clearly catching Ghost’s irritation that you’d risked your life for him again, “you’d do the same thing for her. I know you would.”
“Tha’s got nothin’ to do with this.”
“Really? Because I’m pretty sure if it had been you who’d been shot instead of Styx, I’d be standing here having this same conversation with her. The two of you are more similar than either of you will admit.”
Ghost let out a long huff.
“Just go easy on her,” Soap urged. “I’ll be waitin’ out here. Might call Gaz and tell him she’s awake. Then I’ll go in to see her after you.” He clapped a reassuring hand on Ghost’s shoulder as he passed by him to go sit in the waiting room.
Ghost turned back toward your door, a knot forming in his stomach. All he had wanted for weeks was to see you awake, but now, the thought of facing you was paralyzing.
Ignoring his apprehension, he grabbed the cold door handle and turned, slowly peering into your room. Price stood beside your bed, still clad in the same fatigues he had been in earlier, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened intently to you.
You. You were reclined back on the bed, your hair wild from the weeks spent asleep. Your face showed the weight of what you had endured, eyes tired from the physical strain your body had been under. But you looked alive again. Some of the gray had begun to dissipate from your skin, your normal glow beginning to return.
Hearing the door open, you and Price both turned your heads to Ghost, your conversation cut short. Whatever you were going to say died on your lips the moment you saw him. When your eyes met his, he felt like he could finally breathe again.
You were alive.
Price cleared his throat before resting a hand on your shoulder. “We can finish this conversation later. I’m happy to have you back, kid.”
You nodded at Price, your eyes not straying away from Ghost for long. Ghost could barely tear his eyes away from you either.
Price strode across the room, giving Ghost a pointed look before walking out of your room and closing the door behind him.
It was quiet for a long moment as the two of you simply took each other in from opposite sides of the room. While you were asleep, there had been so much he wanted to say to you, but now every word was lost.
You looked relieved to see him, eyes wide like a doe.
“Ghost…” Your voice was hoarse, almost painfully so. Ghost moved forward to the side of your bed, as if somehow he could fix it, could take away some of the pain. “Price said you were here,” you croaked. “And that he had to kick you out.”
He nodded. He had been by your side for weeks, had seen you almost every day, and yet hearing you talk to him made it sink in that you were really here. You were really alive.
“He said you were gonna rip that chair to pieces if he let you stay.” You ticked your head toward the chair Ghost had occupied for days. You chuckled a little, but the movement made your whole body tense up, your face screwing in pain. You let out a hiss, your breaths going ragged.
“Hey, hey,” he soothed, “take it easy.”
“I’m fine,” you claimed, but your voice was only a mock impression of being okay. Pain still drew your lips into a hard line as you pressed them together. It was the same thing you had done when you got shot, almost like a reflex: I’m fine. The memory burned his insides like acid.
“No, you’re bloody not,” he retorted.
You huffed out a long breath as you laid your head back on the inclined bed, your eyes rolling up towards the ceiling. You knew exactly where he was going, exactly what was going through his head. You warned, “Ghost…”
“Why?” He asked, voice calm but strained. “Why did you step in front of me?”
You shook your head, your gaze dropping to meet his once again. “Why? You know damn well why.”
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
“You think it was even a choice? If it was me, would you even have to think twice about stepping in front of me?”
Ghost huffed indignantly, looking at the ceiling.
“That’s what I thought,” you said lightly.
“Maybe tha’s the problem,” Ghost growled. You quirked a confused eyebrow at him before he continued. “We said we wouldn’t let this - us - affect our work. This was never supposed to be-”
He cut himself off, frustration marring every fiber of his being as he turned away from you. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. Relief and pain battled inside of him, the combination enough to tear him apart. It was too much.
The silence hung over the two of you for a long time, the only noise in the small room being the steady, fast beep of your heart monitor. Each beep was a reminder of why this was a terrible idea. It was a reminder of what he had to lose, a reminder of what could be ripped away from him at any moment. He squeezed his eyes closed, his hand coming to grasp the back of the abandoned, torn chair to ground himself.
He never meant to let you this close to him. He never meant to care like this.
“Do you think you could go back?” you asked, your voice steady and hoarse. He knew you well enough to know what you sounded like when you were covering up how you truly felt, though. It was too calm, too measured. “Simon, I mean it. Could you go back to the way things were between us before? Because if so, just do it now while I’m hopped up on painkillers. Make it easy for me.”
He could end it now - tell you that it was over like he should have a long time ago. But the damage was already done. Even if things ended with you now, he would never be able to stop the way he felt for you nor stop it from influencing him. He would always care more than he was supposed to. He had already gone so long without you - been on the verge of losing you for weeks - and it was about to rip him to shreds. How could he ever choose to let you go?
With his back still turned, Ghost countered your question with his own. No matter how you answered, he wasn’t sure he could take the sting of it. “Could you?”
Your response was immediate and unwavering. “No.”
Your admission hung in the air, the revelation an indictment of his own choice.
Then, Ghost said your name. Your real name - the name he almost never used. It dripped from his lips, the weight of it a confession of equal measure.
He wasn’t strong enough to let go of you.
When he turned around to face you, your eyes were wide. He saw a small flash of relief cross your face, the medicine you were on surely hindering your ability to hide it. A small, weak smile slowly drew at the edge of your lips. “I like the way you say it.”
Ghost walked to the edge of your bed then, the plastic creaking under his added weight as he came to sit on the edge of it with his body twisted to face you. He dropped his bare hand to lightly run his fingers along the back of yours, being mindful of the wires and tubes attached to you. You caught his intention immediately, turning your hand to slowly slip into his grasp. It was quiet for a long time while he ran his thumb back and forth over your skin. Somehow the gesture was more intimate than any night spent tangled with you in bed.
“What do we do now?” you whispered, your head tilting at him.
Simon met your gaze. Your eyes were heavy, the physical strain you were under taking its toll.
“You’re gonna get some rest,” he commanded. “Get your strength back. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
You nodded before squeezing your eyes shut. “Think I’m gonna need some more meds soon. This headache is terrible.”
He leaned over you and plucked the remote with the “Call Nurse” button on it from the other side of the bed. Untangling your hand from his, he placed the remote in your grasp.
“You might wanna get out of here before that nurse with the bun comes back,” you warned, your tone light. “I think she hates you for what you did to that chair.”
He rolled his eyes. That nurse had shot him a nasty glare each time she had come to check in on you in the last few weeks. “Trust me, I noticed.”
Simon stood then, his eyes flitting to the still-closed door of your room. In one swift motion, he turned, bent over your bed, pushed his balaclava over his nose, and lightly brought his lips to yours. You froze in surprise for a moment before you melted into the kiss, your lips chapped but insistent.
He had wondered if he would ever get to feel this again. To feel you, the way you ran through his veins like a wildfire. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. It was a reminder of everything he almost lost and everything he still stood to lose.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he whispered, his lips still brushing yours with each word.
You didn’t answer. He knew you couldn’t; he wouldn’t like the answer. Instead, you simply brought your cold hand to the exposed flesh of his chin. The feeling sent a shiver down his spine, but it wasn’t because of the cold.
