[wint3rbarnes-recs]

BACKSTAGE OF BETTY’S OPERA !

writing blog ; @wint3rbarnes

a side-blog to keep track of fic recommendations, my tbr, and most recent reads <3

bucky barnes ⋆ benjamin poindexter ⋆ frank castle ⋆ steve rogers

bruce wayne ⋆ clark kent ⋆ hal jordan ⋆ jason todd

simon riley ⋆ john mactavish ⋆ john price ⋆ kyle garrick

aaron hotchner

[s-ghost-r]

Simon only has to enter the room and take one look at you before he's fired up.

"Right," he says, marching over to you. His voice startles you a bit, not having been aware of his presence. His hands grab the back of your chair, pulling you away from the desk. "We're taking a break."

"Huh?" you say intelligently, brain not catching up with the sequence of events.

"A break. Heard of 'em?"

His sarcasm goes right over your head as understanding dawns on you that he's pulling you away from your work. "What? No, I still have things I need to get done."

"Uh huh," he says, entirely unsympathetic. "When's the last time you've blinked?"

You look him right in the eyes and hard blink at him. Damn, your head hurts.

"C'mon. Up." He grabs you by the arms and then stops, looks even more intently at you. His hand comes up and he places it on your forehead. "Fuckin' hell, dove, you gettin' a fever now?"

"No," you grumble, rubbing your eyes.

"On your feet. Le's go. Get outta this bloody room." He doesn't have to exert that much force to pull you into standing. The shift in elevation has your head going fuzzy for a second, the aches all through your body making themselves known.

Simon herds you out of the room with a hand at your lower back. The feeling of your footsteps hitting the ground sends a throb through your head each time. By the time he unlocks the front door you finally gather the brain power to have a conversation with him.

"I'm in the middle of something and there's things after it that can only be worked on when it's finished. These deadlines can't be moved."

"You're not gonna get anything done how you want it to be when the stress of it is making you ill." He kneels down in front of you and slides on your shoes for you.

"Si, seriously."

"Oh, I am being serious, love."

And maybe you start to believe him when just the thought of walking out the door while there still remains mountains of unfinished work sends a spike of anxiety through you so strong your heart nearly thunders into a full blown panic attack.

Simon opens the door and leads you outside. He doesn't go far, just to somewhere you can both sit. When you do, the past weeks hit you all at once and you are made perfectly aware just how physically fucked up you are.

The groan you let out is entirely involuntary as you sink further into where you sit, leaning your suddenly heavy head on Simon's shoulder. You feel cold and clammy but Simon burns like a bonfire next you. Even just the air touching your skin hurts. Your head moves with the heavy sigh Simon lets out.

"Hate seein' you like this." He mumbles.

You bury your face into his arm. "Sorry."

"Not your fault. Just… need to come up for air every once in a while."

You're quiet for a moment. "I don't think I know how."

"Me neither. But we can start here." His hand sneaks over to yours, his pinky reaching out to wrap around yours.

The fresh air is nice and the solid presence of the man beside you is even nicer. Simon's a bulwark you take shelter behind, knowing that under his guard all you have to be responsible for in this moment is to just breathe. Trusting him to keep you safe, even if it is from your own abysmal work habits. For the first time in months your brain finally goes quiet.

[leclercloveletters]

𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝒞 simon ghost riley

SYPNOSIS .ᐟ you've been avoiding taking your meds so simon decides to help

★ INCLUDES hurt/comfort, medicated! reader, simon helps you take your meds, mentions of harmful behaviour, simon is a good boyfriend

⌗ A NOTE FROM IVY ⸝⸝ been struggling to take my meds recently so i decided to write this to try cope better, hope it makes you guys feel a little comforted too

When Simon calls your name, voice carrying from the bathroom—deep, low, uncharacteristically serious—you’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, trying to pretend your stomach hasn’t been twisted in anxious knots for weeks. And when you look up, and your breath instantly snags in your throat.

Because he's standing in the doorway, one broad shoulder braced against the frame, his expression unreadable. And in his hand—held between two calloused fingers—is the flat, blistered sheet of your latest prescription.

Untouched. Not a single capsule gone.

Your heart drops straight to the floor.

Simon tilts his head slightly, grey eyes locking on yours with a disappointment that’s somehow soft, which makes it hurt worse. “Wanna tell me about this?”

Your mouth goes dry. He steps into the room, slow, deliberate. The sheet crinkles in his grip as he lifts it, letting it catch the lamplight, letting you see just how obviously unused it is.

He knows. God, he knows everything.

He was there for the appointment when your hands shook so badly you could barely hold the paper. He pressed his forehead to yours afterward and kissed the tears from your cheeks. He held your hair back for every night of nausea, rubbed circles into your back when your body felt wrong, whispered through every side effect as if he could absorb them for you. He carried you to the bathroom when you were dizzy, sat with you on the floor while your whole world spun, swore he wouldn’t leave—not for a second.

Simon watched you choke down dozens of pills from different bottles week after week, trying to find the one that didn’t ruin you. And when you finally found something that didn’t make you violently sick or break down crying into his chest every night—

You stop taking it.

You swallow hard as Simon steps closer, blond brows low, exhale steady but controlled. “Found this crammed behind the bathroom cabinet,” he mutters. “Pretty shitty hiding place, if you ask me.”

“I was gonna tell you, Si I swear.” Your voice cracks, and you bite your bottom lip hard enough for it to hurt. “I didn’t mean to stop taking them, I just—”

You can’t finish. Your throat works around the knot sitting like a stone at the base of it, painful and familiar. Because how do you explain it? How do you explain the way something so tiny—small, white, harmless—can sit in your palm like a threat? How the thought of swallowing it twists your stomach into tight, miserable knots until you feel nauseous? How the anxiety spirals out of nowhere, thick and choking, leaving you frozen in the bathroom with a glass of water untouched beside you?

Even now—especially now—it’s hard to say any of that to him. Hard to admit that all those quiet, gnawing thoughts are still there, still chewing away at your resolve, still whispering old habits in your ear. So you hid them. Shoved the blister pack somewhere you thought he’d never look. Not because you wanted to lie… but because you knew what he would do if he found out.

Because Simon never lets you fall apart alone. Because he never watches you sabotage yourself without stepping in, without that steel-edged, steadying hand around your wrist pulling you back from the drop. Because he sees you—too well, sometimes—and that, in its own way, is terrifying.

You knew exactly what would happen if he found them untouched. Knew he’d stop you, knew he’d pull you out of that slow, easy, downward spiral you always slip into because you found too much comfort in the self sabotage, in it getting bad again. That spiral that starts so quietly you barely notice it’s happening until you’re already at the bottom.

And here you are, with the man who's pulled you from the ungodly pits of your mind and own self manufactured demise, doing it all over again.

Simon’s brows draw together but he doesn't interrupt, just waits and it spills out, messy and anxious and everything you’ve been holding close to your chest for weeks, carrying around secretly. 

“They don’t… do anything,” you breathe out, voice rushed and broken. “Or if they do, I can’t feel it. I just—I didn’t want to keep taking them if nothing was changing.” Your voice cracks on the last word, that familiar tremble of frustration and fear and exhaustion.

Simon lowers himself onto his knees, the mattress dipping as he leans in close. His large hands settle gently on your calves, rubbing slow strokes up and down to ground you.

“You know you can’t just stop takin’ ’em ’cause you don’t feel like it,” he says softly. Not scolding. Just low. Firm.

“I know,” you breathe, lip wobbling. “I just—” You choke, frustration burning behind your eyes. “Every time I try to take one I just—I freeze. I can’t do it. I can’t swallow them. I sit there and stare at them and— and I can’t—”

Your voice breaks. Your shoulders tremble. Simon exhales, long and steady, like he’s trying to breathe for you. “Okay,” he murmurs, smoothing his hands up your knees. “Okay.”

“Then you tell me that, yeah? You don’t hide from me.” His thumb strokes your shin. “If you can’t do it then I’ll do it for you. I’ll pop each pill out and feed it to you myself.”

Your breath shakes.  You look at him with wet, devastating eyes that make his chest hurt. “Si, I dont wanna–” you swallow around the word that makes your throat tight, that he knows because he’s spent years hearing it. 

“It ain’t a burden,” Simon mutters, low but firm, grey eyes on yours. “Understand? If you need me to pop out a pill every night and help you swallow it down, then I will.” His hands cup your face, large, calloused, scarred but unbearably gentle as his thumbs stroke your cheeks. Your lip trembles as the tears finally spill over. “If you need my help,” Simon mutters, rubbing a tear away with his thumb, “then I help you. That’s it.”

His knuckles brush away your tears gently. “You trust me with this?” he asks quiet but gentle, waiting for you, for your decision, your choice. 

You swallow hard, voice tiny.  “I trust you,” you whisper. “ I… I wanna do it like that.”

His shoulders ease as he nods, thumb stroking your jaw.

“Alright,” Simon says gently, kissing your forehead. “Then we start now, yeah?”

He stands, grabs the glass of water from your nightstand, and sits back beside you. He pushes out a single pill from the sheet—small, white, harmless-looking despite everything it means. He taps your chin gently. “Open.”

Your lips part, tongue resting against your lower teeth, and you feel small and shaky and strangely safe. Simon places the pill carefully onto the center of your tongue, then lifts the glass to your lips, tipping it slow. You swallow. Your lashes flutter, throat working, breath wobbling as the pill finally goes down.

“There we go,” Simon murmurs, hand cradling your jaw. “That’s my good girl.”

The praise slips down your spine like warm honey. You shiver, leaning into his touch without thinking.

Simon sets the glass aside and barely has time to react before you fold into him—pressing your face into his throat, hands clutching at his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping you upright. And he doesn’t hesitate. He wraps those big arms around you and pulls you into his lap, sitting back against the bed frame with a low grunt as he holds you close.

His hand slides into your hair, stroking slow, grounding.  “My girl,” he whispers against your temple, voice barely above a rumble. “Always doin’ your best. I got you.”

You burrow into his chest, breathing him in, letting the tension in your body drain out as he keeps whispering soft reassurances into your hair. Yeah, he thinks as he feels your breath even out against his throat. He’ll do this every night if he has to.

GHOST COD TAG LIST [OPEN] @somewhatfantasticalreality

thank you for reading! - my other works - © leclercloveletters 2025. all rights reserved. please do not upload elsewhere, translate or copy

[clinquantribbons]

it’s almost comical. four of the most dangerous men in the world, the infamous 141, crammed into a pastel pink nursery, standing shoulder to shoulder as they surround a stout, handmade crib, staring down at the babbling babe inside. she’s precious. the sweetest creature any of them have ever seen, with john’s nose and your frown, chin slick with drool, her sparse tufts of hair sticking out every which way. five weeks old, and she already has them all wrapped around her chubby fingers.

“she’s fuckin’ perfect, cap’n,” kyle murmurs, grinning so hard it must hurt his cheeks.

john smiles just as wide, his pride a tangible thing. even the sleepless nights and the stress of a newborn couldn’t dull it. it suits him, all this newfound domesticity. they can all remember a time that the captain abhorred the very thought of it, would’ve scoffed if you told him what would become of him. that was before you, before her. “isn’t she? she looks just like her ma.”

“thank god for that.” simon bites, though even he’s gentled himself in the presence of such innocence. john pretends not to notice how he’s looking at johnny, how the lieutenant’s hand lingers on his lover’s arm as the scot coos at the baby. it’s not so scary, he wants to tell him. it’s nothing like they feared it would be.

johnny claps his captain on the shoulder, misty-eyed and starlit. “you did good, ol’ man. we’re proud of you.”

“thanks, sunshine.” john squeezes his scruff, his chest warming at his words. it means more to him than he can say, that pride. it means the fucking world. “m’glad she’ll have you, all of you.”

“she will.” simon vows, stern, final. “so will you, and the missus. you’ll always have us, cap’n.”

he’s never doubted that, not for a moment. they have, and always will be, john’s. just like you, just like this little life you’ve created. not even the devil could take them from him.

although, “there’s sumthin’ i ought tell you,” he’s been avoiding it. not because he’s afraid, or because he regrets it, but because john price’s never been very good at change. but he’s learning. sometimes, all you need is a leap of faith. now he’s finding his footing on the other end of that chasm. it isn’t so bad, with you around to stabilize him.

“i’m gettin’ out. i signed the papers monday morning.”

simon’s the only of them who isn’t surprised. his lips twitch into what could almost be called a smile. pride, is what it is.

kyle’s brows raise, his gaze soft, gentle but mournful. understanding, but still dejected. his first boy, his sweet gaz. he knew he’d take it the hardest. “yeah?”

“yeah. i’ve got new orders, straight from the top. a new mission. she’s it. they’re it.”

for a moment, it’s silent, but it’s not loaded. not the settling of dust in a formerly active war-zone, just the sun setting over something that’s long since due. it’s his boys coming to terms with the fact that they’ll have to fight the good fight without him from now on. but he’ll still be here. his home will always be theirs, a soft spot to land when it’s time to shed the kevlar and fatigues.

it’s johnny who breaks it, of course. he’s a mouth almost as big as his heart, that one. “good for you. you deserve it—all of it.”

“so do they,” simon adds, nodding at the angel-faced infant. him and john both know, better than most, that you cannot have just one foot in. it’s all or nothing. he’ll never be able to walk onto the field with the same confidence again, without fearing for what he’s leaving behind. that sort’ve second guessing is what gets people killed. and he won’t be the one to tell you your husband’s dead.

john looks to kyle then, and the sergeant softens. “m’happy for you,” he means it, too. john’s done more for this service than any of them. johnny’s right, he deserves this. every beautiful, hard-earned bit of it.

his daughter chooses that moment to stir, emitting a wail so loud that it seems to rattle the very walls. john only laughs, cooing at her as she wriggles and fusses, reaching into the cot to pick her up. johnny grins gleefully—he’s been waiting weeks to meet her, after all. they all have.

“oh, i know, i hear you. were you feelin’ left out, sweet girl? is that it?”

“i told you not to wake her up,” the sergeants jerk like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar, wide-eyed and contrite, as they see you standing in the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest, despite the sheen of amusement in your eyes.

“i didn’t!” john protests, though the grin he’s fighting does nothing to argue his innocence. “she wanted to say hello to her uncles, is all,”

“mm. m’sure she did.” your front doesn’t last long. in fact, it crumbles the second john steps forward to press his lips to yours, ignoring kyle and johnny’s playful gagging. you melt into it, baby smushed happily between the two of you, grabbing at fistfuls of your hair and babbling senselessly at her parents.

john heads down the stairs after detangling your locks from her eager fingers, with two of three soldiers hot on his heels. you linger, waiting for simon, smiling gently when the lieutenant makes his way to you to wrap an arm around your shoulders.

“alright, si?”

“yeah, love, m’good.” his eyes crinkle as the sound of johnny’s sweet laughter filters through the house, following by john’s instructions to be careful of her head! it’s a far cry from the gunfire and carnage the 141’s so accustomed to. it’s a nice change. it heals something in him, cauterizes a wound that’s been bleeding for far too long. he has john to thank for that. and you, most of all. you’ve made a home, not only for yourself, your husband, and your child, but for this rag-tag family you inherited along the way.

“you’ll take care of him for us?”

“always.” you promise, and he knows it to be true. they kept john alive long enough to get him here. now, it’s all up to you.

the lieutenant has no doubts that you’ll do right by his captain, as you always have.

[caoimhewritesfics]

Simon’s little girl is unexpected to say the least. No one but the two of you knew about her, besides her pediatrician and even then Simon did not enjoy having another person know of his child.

He was terrified really. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t petrified of the wrong people knowing about her. He had seen too much to foolishly believe that the world would be safe for her. The world would be cruel enough to her already. Being his child came with a risk that wasn’t even her fault.

So when you show up on base with the little baby in her stroller, dressed in a little bonnet, yellow summer dress and the smallest shoes the men had ever seen, it was quite a shock. He had told them about you. Bits and pieces here and there. Never anything concrete. Certainly nothing about your baby girl.

She babbled nonsense as she was lifted out of her floral stroller, the one you insisted upon getting. “Ahhh bahhh bah!” She shrieked as she kicks her tiny legs, recognizing her father immediately, tiny hands clapping together.

He takes her into his arms. It looks ridiculous. Such a small thing compared to the towering behemoth of a man. “Hi, Lovie girl,” he whispers, kissing the top of her head. “You a good girl for mummy?”

You smile at your husband. You loved to see them together. It’s like Simon really became himself when she was in his arms. “The best.”

The team stares, confusion written all over their faces. Johnny looks almost offended at being kept in the dark. “Tha’ thing is yours?” He asks as he pressed a scandalized hand against his chest.

Simon merely grunts in response, adjusting the baby and grabbing her stuffed bunny from your bag.

“Don’t seem like the dad type,” Kyle mutters, though it’s void of judgment.

Simon ignores him. He knew it was true. It had been on his mind since the day you told him you were pregnant. Even now he couldn’t always shake the feeling that he wasn’t cut out for this.

Your girls babbling snaps him out of his thoughts. “Mmmaa buh.” She says with complete conviction, nodding her little head and reaching up to pull on the balaclava covering his face.

Johnny looks nothing short of delighted. He smiles at the baby and tickles her, making her scream in pure anger and try to bite him with her tiny teeth. Your girl hated nothing more than being tickled. “I’m the uncle, right?” Johnny grins as he squishes her cheeks, earning another attempted bite.

[caoimhewritesfics]

When you were pregnant, Simon was so worried she would be huge like he was. He lived in terror that the birth would be horrendous for you. He felt so guilty, blaming himself for a scenario that he made up. The thought of doing anything to hurt you was torture for him.

But, when she came out, she was tiny. Little fingers and just over 5lbs. Simon had never held something so little. He could hardly even believe it when he took her into his arms for the first time. This tiny little thing was his and yours. Perfect and ridiculously miniature.

Her little fingers wrapped around his thumb as she makes little frustrated sounds. “Don’t think she’s a big fan o’ me, Lovie.” It comes out as a joke, but for him, it’s a half truth. One of his biggest fears coming out, trying its hardest to damper his mood.

“She’s just hungry, Si. She likes you plenty. She’s only about an hour old.” You smile tiredly as you look at your large husband cradling your impossibly tiny little girl.

Your daughter pulls his thumb forward, trying to nurse on him. “Ah wrong one, darling. You’ll need mummy for that.” He laughs. You swear if you didn’t know any better, you would think he was crying.

[shinoko-oshi]

Gentle violence

Simon wasn’t a violent man. Sure, he did violent things for work, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed them

He’d stayed up more nights than he or anyone else could count, head in his trembling scarred hands, wishing it would stop, the memories, the guilt he carried, the lump in his throat that still hurt even after he tried to swallow it.

Everyone he couldn’t save, the people he didn’t know and the people he did, the ones whose footsteps he recognized.

He wasn’t a violent person. Never wanted to be.

That’s why it hurt when that’s what people expected from him. when they saw his outside, his scarred and intimidating form, and just assumed the inside was the same. When partners wanted him to be rough and dominant in bed.

He tried, but couldn’t. The slaps they requested always landing too light, the hair pulling always hesitant, his grip loosening before it could ever sting.

He just wanted to be gentle with someone. Wanted someone to be gentle with him.

Someone he could kiss softly, cupping their jaw while they loosely ran their fingers through his hair.

Someone who’d trace his scars as they lay bare beside him, asking where each one was from, kissing away the pain and bad memories as he told them.

Then he met you.

“I… I’m just not, I like it gentle” you murmured, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him, the moonlight casting a faint glow through the room.

He smiled faintly.

“Yeah… I can do that”

I have too many different versions of Simon I’ve written for holy shit

[twolegsandbleeds]

simon doesn't carry a photo of you when he's deployed.

he's too paranoid for that. he's not risking anyone finding evidence that there's someone back home he cares about.

but he does always carry something with him.

sometimes it's the lip balm you've been using the most recently - he doesn't even use it; just holds it in his palm like he's feeling the ghost of your touch on it. once it was your favourite pen - which he got the bollocking of his life for when he got home and it was covered in blood splatter.

(you still used it. it was your favourite, after all.)

this time though, he's still not picked anything up to take with him.

you're sat cross legged next to his duffel on the bed, helping pair socks and fold compression shirts as he checks every single strap of his tac vest. it's late - or early, you're not actually sure anymore. all you know is the call came through at midnight and you've been packing since. your sleep t shirt has bunched up around your waist, your eye-mask askew on top of your head and simon's shoulders relax inch by inch the more you babble at him about your plans for whilst he's gone.

a new book. a coffee place that's opened up around the corner that sells lavender lattes - which you think sound disgusting but you have to try anyway. reorganising the kitchen cupboards so they actually make sense. inane, everyday things that let him know you're going to be okay whilst he's gone.

by the time his duffels zipped up and placed next to the bedroom door he still hasn't grabbed anything of yours.

he perches on the edge of the bed, one hand cupping your jaw as he leans in, rests his forehead against yours, before pressing his lips against yours; soft, slow, the kind of kiss that isn't quite goodbye but more of a see you later. when he pulls back his eyes are serious, and for a second your stomach drops like lead.

"give us yer knickers love. they're coming with me."

you blink. once. surprised by the request.

but then you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and tug them down your legs without a second thought.

"perv." you smirk, holding them out with one finger.

the corners of his lips twitch as he reaches out and takes them, folding them carefully before tucking them into a pocket of his duffel. "only for you, love." he murmurs back, leaning down to kiss you again. he glances at his watch, then down to the now bare heat between your thighs. "right. lie back. i've got twenty minutes and i want to say goodbye to 'er properly."

he's five minutes late leaving.

you've had four orgasms.

the last thing he does is promise to bring your knickers back home to you.

[strawberrym00nx]

STALKER!GHOST AND SWEETHEART!READER AU 𑣲⋆｡˚⋆˙⟡

STALKER!GHOST who first saw SWEETHEART!READER when she was working at a farmer's market selling flowers.

STALKER!GHOST who has a habit of becoming obsessive. he couldn't help but watch her from a distance, taking photos and videos to put in a special file dedicated to her.

STALKER!GHOST who finally made his move when a man was trying to steal from her little shop. SWEETHEART!READER who saw him as a savior, trusting him and wanting to know more about the kind stranger.

STALKER!GHOST who just wants to keep her safe and all his. who keeps her tied up in his basement, only letting her out when he comes home from work. SWEETHEART!READER who has stockholm syndrome. she absolutely adores him and wouldn't ever dream of running away.

꒰ྀི১ ໒꒱ིྀ♡ ko-fi

[warmfrequency]

price would film your wrecked wet face with his phone while he fucked you. whereas johnny is just recording his cock going in and out of your puffy pussy. kyle is setting his phone up against the jewelry box on your dresser to playback the entire scene at his leisure. and simon makes you ride him while he records because it’s the best view for him while he’s deployed.

[softspectre141]

Painfully shy reader getting absolutely obliterated drunk at the pub, losing all sense of timidity, and telling Gaz and Soap "I bet the reason Ghost actually hides his face is 'cause he knows everybody'd wanna sit on it".

Ghost overhearing, leaning over your shoulder, and letting you know "I'm just keeping your seat clean until you're ready to sit on it, love".

Obviously Simon fucks the embarrassment out of you the next day, but only after making sure you get your reserved seat nice and wet.

[shiiwriteswee]

Johnny likes you best when you're all sleepy.

He likes having you with your guard down, not in a taking-advantage-of-you kind of way. Well, maybe, sometimes (not in the way that you think). But more often, he likes how he can freely indulge you.

Whether you act clingier or grumpier, he doesn't mind whichever side it is. He just likes taking care of you. He likes this softer side of you. He likes spoiling you, if it isn't obvious enough already.

"My sweet bonnie lass.."

He likes to murmur while he holds you close, burly arms wrapped tight around you, sometimes too tight, to the point where you'd pout, feeling constricted.

"Johnny.."

You half whine and he already knows the tells by now, so he relents before you make a fuss, not wanting to perturb you any further, no matter how fun he might find it.

He'd loosen up but still have you cuddled close to him, brushing through strands of your hair till you hum softly, breathing slowing down. And once you fall asleep, he stays up a little more just to watch you, etching the sight of your peaceful expression to his memory.

Something he'd keep in mind everytime he's out on a mission, sleeping alone.

[pythonmoth]

cw: implied torture. body harm mentioned. reader thinks of price as a father figure. reader is unreliable and inconsistent. military inaccuracies.

» conviniences bc this is a fanfic. unimportant oc, don't ask me background. oc is a plot device, never mentioned again, probably. it's just for fun.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

Part 5

Surely, if you asked him, he wouldn't even blink and would tell you it was an order. He couldn't do anything. Had his hands tied. He's sorry it happened to you.

Because it was easier.

In this line of work, he's seen half of his teammates die because they were reckless, because there was an idiot who thought knew best and ended up getting killed, or decided to sell out the others for money. Also killed, or in jail.

There's no such thing as a good or bad side when the guns and the bombs go off for both. There's only dead or alive, and you must kill whoever is against you for you to survive. That's how it's always been.

You don't matter in the battlefield if innocents are in danger back home. You do that for them.

Price fought fiercely for his nation. He had passion, he loved defending it with his blood and sweat, but he was nothing. Just another number in the end.

What he could do was try to be someone for his team. These men needed him. And he couldn't fail them.

After so many years in this world, he realized it's easier to just accept orders.

So when the higher ups sent him information and evidence, he clenched his jaw and spent the whole night going through it.

You've been part of the team for years. Nearly a whole decade he's worked with you, saved your ass, and you've saved his. He remembered every single one.

He didn't want to believe it, but the order had been given, and he couldn't refute the evidence. Not when it was slapped to his face like this and he had nothing but his instinct.

For the first two hours, he'd been pissed to his core. You've been everybody's confidant since day one, always listening. You knew secrets.

When he found out you were dating Ghost, he couldn't deny that he thought you wouldn't last, that it would be messy. Ghost's a troubled man, filled with secrets not even you could unveil, but Ghost was completely smitten by you; not that you were any better. He didn't even want to think how Johnny was added to the mix.

He'd seen so many things already, that it just made him blink and nod. It was nobody's business, anyway.

And it was an entertaining pleasure to witness.

However, now it just felt like he's been a fucking idiot. Opening up to somebody wasn't a good idea, he knew this, but if he couldn't trust his team, who the hell was he supposed to trust, then?

His cigar wasted away while he stared at the evidence in front of him. It was too easy, too... fitting, but it was impossible to ignore.

"Make sure she confesses. That's your order" they told Price. Just that. Simple as that.

According to the evidence, you've been selling information on other teams' missions, making copies of documents and entire files. They had your fingerprints somehow, but he couldn't buy it. Price had insisted they continued the investigation at first, because why were you the only person involved? Where were the people that definitely helped you? Why not sell information on your team as well?

"Shut the fuck up and do as we say" they ordered. "Your career is in our hands".

Pretty much.

He genuinely despised the higher ups, taking shitty decisions from behind their desks and fancy suits. Still, orders are orders. He couldn't ignore them or the whole team would suffer from it one way or another.

Price had to think.

If he couldn't just ask you, because, goddammit, he's not stupid, he would have to force it out of you.

How the hell was he supposed to do that?

He couldn't possibly cut your fingers off, or cover your body with permanent scars, because he really didn't believe you were a traitor.

But he could not be accused of insubordination.

And you could very well be lying. You could be making a fool out of everybody.

With a heavy sigh, he rubbed his face, exhaustion making his shoulders slump. He grabbed his cigar from the ashtray and took a long, deep drag from it. His lungs burning, he made up his mind.

Nails grow.

They would be raw for months, but it would not make you lose your normal mobility forever and, if he was right and there was something else going on, he could give you a temporary discharge so you could recover. Away from them.

Or you would be rotting in jail. One or the other.

Price put his cigar down again and stood up from his chair, tapping the desk with his fingertips; a big plan was forming in his mind and he didn't like it.

If you were truly a traitor, he was following orders. If you weren't, he was also following orders. Still, he had something he'd learned a few years ago, when Johnny first started hanging out with Ghost and you.

Johnny had a big mouth when drunk, and he had told Price you were scared of the ocean after a few drinks. He didn't mention a reason, but that didn't matter. He would have to use that.

He couldn't take risks.

He was fond of you, but if there was evidence that could be used against you, he could not afford to hesitate. Not for you. Not for anybody.

For the team's sake, he had to do as he was told.

Price prepared the basement himself.

It made his stomach wrench with guilt, but he kept reminding himself he had no right to ignore orders. He knew you, but...

Obey orders.

That's been drilled into his mind. And he had given an oath.

He knew you could understand that. Every soldier could.

The salty water, the disgusting rags and that bloody chair was ready by the time the sky turned of dark ink. Soon the sun would come out, but he had yet another decision to take.

He knew what had to be done. He knew the best option for you. Still, it was not going to be even a little bit pretty.

All or nothing. They would have to understand.

He came out from the basement, the stairs seemingly infinite for a moment, and quickly ordered Ghost and Johnny to be called in to his office.

He forced himself to imagine it wasn't you. He pictured a different face, a different person begging and screaming in the chair.

He knew Ghost would ignore his command. He was smart enough to ignore his ridiculous order of making you suffer longer than necessary. He was counting on it.

Price couldn't tell Ghost, and he couldn't tell Johnny. No matter what he did, he couldn't put them at risk.

If this went wrong for him, he would be the only one paying the consequences. Nobody else would be involved but himself.

He regretted kicking you the day before, but he got too into his own head, into the character he forced on himself, that only when he was back in his office did he realize what he'd done.

To see you passed out on the chair after enduring so much pain was really just a breaking point for him. He had stormed out and gone straight to his office.

Just as he reached out to grab the phone and call the higher ups, to yell at them to do a fucking proper investigation, to do their job and leave his team alone, someone opened his door without knocking. He was so upset that he actually flinched in surprise.

"Sergeant Garrick" Price said, his eyebrows furrowing, standing up from his chair.

Kyle's face was visibly angry, expression hard. It took Price a moment to realize the sergeant was dragging someone unconscious by their ankle like a sack of potatoes.

"What's the meaning of this? Who the hell is that?" Price questioned, walking over to Kyle, staring down at the man on the floor. "Weren't you supposed to be back tomorrow?"

"Finished earlier. Got here like five minutes ago" Kyle explained, waving his free hand as if to dismiss Price's questions. "He was sneaking out from the storage room. I asked him what he was doing, and he tried to gut me so I put him down. Interesting things in his backpack" he said, letting go of the man's leg. Kyle crossed his arms and looked at Price.

"What things?" he asked, moving to take the backpack from the passed out man, and quickly torn it open. A scoff left his chest. Copies of documents.

"I was gone for five days and all I heard on my way here is that you're going insane and that the Lieutenant wants to gut you. What the hell is happening?"

It had been a goddamn mess.

The man confessed when he woke up, no resistance at all. A soldier Price hadn't seen much before because he wasn't under his command, but as soon as he heard his last name, he knew they were absolutely fucked.

All it took was a call not even five minutes later and Price had to let him go.

Of course the higher ups wanted you to confess. Of course they ordered Price to make you confess, not bring out names of buyers nor more traitors.

That's why there wasn't a proper investigation.

Price stood there as the soldier raised an eyebrow at them, amused, and walked past Price and Kyle, soldiers from another team escolting him away.

Deployment. To South Korea.

A slap on the wrist for the son of one of the higher ups.

It wouldn't take a day for the rumors to fly, so they announced his deployment quickly. The fact that he had tried to gut Kyle apparently wasn't important, either.

Price didn't receive a single call after that. He understood the order to be silent and pretend that never happened.

Couldn't they have done that since the beginning, instead of making you go through this? Maybe it was time to retire.

This only left him with a much bigger problem, though.

He felt guilty for making Kyle work when he had just gotten back, but he asked him to go and make sure the medics were prepared to receive you, while he gave himself a little pat on the back as encouragement, and told Ghost and Johnny to come on up to his office.

He didn't stop Ghost from punching him. He knew he deserved that punch.

It had been his fault to be so careless. If he hadn't thought you could be the traitor, he would've continued with the rags and the gagging instead of hurting you. He had orders and he let them get to his head. And that was his mess to deal with.

"Garrick caught him trying to escape" Price raised his voice again, doing his best to be heard over their yelling. "He's been detained and already confessed. The problem is that—"

"I don't fucking care!" Simon snapped, gripping his desk hard enough to break it in two. "Bring him here, goddammit. I'll put a bullet through his brain".

Johnny was quiet, staring daggers into his head. Price growled deeply, rubbing his face tiredly. "I'm trying to explain why I fucking can't do—"

"The fuck am I here for, then? I'm done with this fucking shit hole" he yelled, not interested in whatever Price had to say anymore.

Johnny and him rushed downstairs, leaving him alone. He didn't leave his office, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.

In his need to protect the team, he'd fucked up. If Ghost didn't want to listen to him, if Johnny was so angry he seemed ready to stab his guts, he could only rely on you.

It was unfair, he knew. But it was his best shot.

The rumor of the son of an important man causing trouble for Price's team quickly spread, but nobody would dare saying anything out loud. Not properly, at least.

As far as Price knew, it didn't leave the base.

For the whole two days it took you to wake up, Price let the men cool off. He knew it would be useless to try and talk to them when they wouldn't leave your side, and visiting you was out of the question with the two of them guarding you so jealously.

Besides, you weren't awake yet.

He heard the commotion from his office. He knew you had woken up, if Ghost and Johnny's hurried footsteps was anything to go by, so he got up and walked directly to the infirmary, his arms crossed as he waited outside.

He heard Ghost trying to talk to you, your laughter, then your sobs, and he didn't miss the way Johnny was staring at him. As if waiting for a moment to strike.

"Spit it, MacTavish" Price said, sighing deeply. He didn't turn to him, didn't want to meet Johnny's eyes.

"You fucked up, Capt'n. This wouldn't have happened if you—"

"It's not an excuse, but I had orders. You know damn well how this works" Price reminded him, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'll explain everything later".

"Fuck this, I'm going in" Johnny mumbled, moving towards the door, but they both froze as Ghost came out.

Ghost looked defeated. His shoulders slumping, his eyes downcast, his balaclava hastily pulled over his head. The wet spots on the mask were easy to catch, but Price decided he would never mention that.

"Simon? How's she?" Johnny whispered, reaching out to grab his arm.

Price gave them a little moment and looked inside the room. He noticed you were on the floor and the sight made him close his eyes tightly for a moment. He didn't give himself a moment to think and walked in.

Ghost didn't try to stop him.

You flinched when you saw him, your eyes wide as he gently shut the door behind him. You didn't start sobbing as you did when Ghost was inside, so he took that as a good sign.

"Morning, lass" he mumbled, speaking softly. Not wanting to scare you, he slowly sat down in front of you, a respectful distance between the two of you. "Isn't the floor cold?"

"No".

"Are you hungry?"

"No".

"Do they hurt?" he asked, nodding at your hands.

"Yes" you mumbled, looking down at your bandaged fingers, then your feet. "Both".

"I know, lass. How about we get you to the bed then, hm? The floor is cold".

He didn't move until you looked up at him and nodded. He made slow, big moves. Price gripped your arms and managed to get you to sit down on the bed without much but a hiss from you. He grabbed a chair and sat in front of you so you could look down at him.

He's had his share of dealing with traumatized soldiers, so he decided to let his soft, parental side take the lead.

"Are you scared of Simon?" he asked you gently. Your shoulders tensed but you shook your head. "Of Ghost?"

"Yes".

"Are you scared of Soap?"

"... Yes".

"Are you scared of me?"

"Yes".

No "John", no "Captain Price". Him. As a whole.

"Do you want me to leave?"

You didn't answer. You looked at him, as if torn between saying yes or not, swallowing thickly. Price sighed and leaned back, giving you space.

"I'm gonna explain what happened, won't miss a single thing. Then, you'll decide. Deal?"

"Okay".

Explaining how he'd fucked up, how he'd followed orders he didn't want, blaming himself for the situation and owning it up, was not something he learned from his superiors. Before, his superiors would stand in front of him and wouldn't even blink, would tell him it was an order. They couldn't do anything. Had their hands tied. Would tell you they were sorry it happened to you, if you were lucky.

When he became a captain to the team, he refused to be like that. Even if he knew it would be easier, even if he lied to himself and promised he'd be ruthless and tough... this was his team. In a way, they were his kids.

Ghost was just ten years younger than he was, but fuck, that reckless, stupid idiot was like a son to him. And he failed him.

He'd failed them all.

By the time Price was done explaining, up to the point of that cocky bastard walking out free, now getting his little things to go on a little trip to South Korea, his throat was dry.

You were silent as he explained how he had to force Ghost and Soap's hands, how Simon and Johnny were completely against it and how Simon had punched Price for making Ghost and Soap hurt you.

They all had orders, and even if they didn't want to hurt you, they did.

His eyes didn't leave yours for a moment, barely blinking, not paying attention to the way his eyes would water from time to time, and was heavily aware of the way you just sat there, staring at him.

"What now?" you questioned after a few minutes of being silent.

"I'll see that you get a discharge for temporary disability. You need to heal first" he assured you. "That's what matters right now".

You nodded.

For a long moment, there was silence again, but he realized it wasn't so bad. You were calm, so he didn't push you. He sat there for nearly half an hour, both of you just processing it all. Until the grumbling in your stomach made him look up at you.

"Hungry now?"

"Yes. A little" you mumbled, sighing as you used the heel of your hands to rub your face.

"I'll ask Dr. Wilson to bring you something" Price offered, standing up from the chair. He didn't miss the little flinch in your shoulders, but you didn't move away so he decided not to mention it.

He turned around, his hands on his sides at all times. As he gripped the door handle, he turned back to you. "Listen, I... can't ask you to give Ghost and Soap a chance, but I can promise you they will do anything you ask. You like cats, right? Tell them to bring you one. They'll make sure to sneak one in, Wilson be damned".

You cracked a small smile, looking down at your hands. After a heartbeat, you looked up at him. "I'm angry, John".

Price turned properly, giving you his full attention again. It took all of him not to flinch at the way you said his name. No teasing, no smile.

"I feel like... I can't trust any of you. I don't know if I can keep on working with you".

He understood. He really did. Still, it would be easier to bear if you were screaming at him instead of looking at him as if there was nothing. As if you hadn't accidentally called him dad more than once, for fucks sake.

In the back of his mind, his eyes burned.

"Do you want to be transferred?" he asked anyway, not voicing his discomfort. "I can't promise you the request will go through, considering they were using you to cover their arses, but there should be something I can do, if that's what you want".

You looked down at your hands, staring at your bandaged fingers. "I don't know yet".

Price hoped you'd stay. He didn't want to lose someone who added so much to the team, and someone so dear. He'd rather go to hell than try and convince you to stay if you couldn't trust them anymore, but he wanted you to stay.

"That's okay" he reassured you. "Tell you what. I'll tell Garrick to bring you something to eat, and I'll work on getting you that discharge, for now. Deal?"

"Deal".

Price saw your lips trembling slightly, moving as if you had something else to say so he waited. Then, you sighed.

"When I get better, I'm gonna wipe the floor clean with you. I'm pissed at you and I'm tempted to kill you myself. I can't believe you put me through that shit, and didn't trust your instincts. Could've talked to me" you snapped, the words flowing from you.

Maybe it was because it was easier to swallow down the misery than to keep on dwelling on it, but you looked relieved after all the explanation he did.

Price's lips trembled slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"I've been in this long enough to know the higher ups are bastards, but your decisions were poor, and if you try to convince me to forgive those idiots I swear I'm gonna stab you in your— are you fucking smiling?"

Price couldn't help himself, his eyes nearly falling shut with how big he was smiling. He raised his hand gently, not wanting to startle you, and placed it on top of your head.

"You have to forgive no one, sweetheart. I will live with this for the rest of my life, and it will be something that's gon' keep me up at night, same with the other two" Price mumbled, his smile slowly dimming down into a soft glare. "But this is, unfortunately, something you'll have to heal on your own".

Your eyes were wide, your lips tightly shut. Price was struck once again with how much he genuinely cared for this team.

"You don't owe us anything. Not your forgiveness towards us, nor the situation being forgotten in general" he added, his hand gently gripping your head, his eyes warm. "You have my explicit consent to stab me, even if that doesn't change how you feel".

"Deal".

Price couldn't help but laugh, glad to see you crack another smile.

He gripped your shoulder firmly and walked out of your room. Ghost, Johnny and Gaz were there, the three of them standing up immediately.

"Sergeant Garrick" he called, surprised to hear how actually happy his voice was. "She's hungry. Would you mind bringing something? She's okay with you being there".

Garrick nodded and gave the other two a sympathetic pat on their backs before rushing to find you something to eat.

Price turned to them and sighed again, scratching his mustache. "Well... give her time. I explained the whole situation, and I'll give her a discharge for temporary disability".

"Why is she okay with you, and not me?" Ghost asked directly, his voice rough. Johnny was silent, probably going through a few things in his mind.

"My guess? I didn't actually physically hurt her" Price told them, his face suddenly serious. "She said she's scared of Ghost, and Soap. But not Simon, or Johnny".

"What?" Johnny asked, his expression falling.

"It's a trauma response, you know this" Price reminded them, rubbing the back of his head. "Give her time. She's gonna be okay".

"But what am I supposed to do then?" Ghost grumbled, his eyes tormented behind the mask.

"Leave her alone" Price ordered. "You need to leave her alone".

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 6

Buy me a coffee

am I projecting my own needs on Price bc I have a rocky relationship w my father? mhm. if you cry, let me know.

» where was gaz? on a secret mission. do I know what he was doing? no. it was v secret. /lh

» we're back to reader's pov in the next part. ♡

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold @blackhawkfanatic @remus-holt @malevolentghoul @thriving-n-jiving @literallegendicon @echo9821

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. body harm. heavy torture. waterboarding. trauma. crude language. hurt/no comfort. explicit suicidal thoughts. self mutilation/harm mentioned.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

Part 4

He didn't want to get out of bed that day, and the Captain calling for a private meeting just as he dared opening his eyes gave him enough reason to know he was right.

Putting on his uniform was as easy as ever. Really, he hardly ever took it off, anyway. It took about twenty seconds to put on his boots and he was off.

It was cold outside.

The night before had been stormy, so if Johnny's lungs weren't used the damn weather by now, he would be cursing the gods for it. It was so cloudy that he just truly wanted to grab a coffee, and sleep again.

Hell, even breakfast before a meeting would do.

His pace wasn't rushed, the sun slowly coming up. As soon as he spotted Simon walking over to the Captain's office as well, seemingly unaware of his presence, he couldn't help but smirk and slow down. He did his best to keep his boots from making noise, holding his breath. He got closer, and closer.

Then, promptly bumped nose first on the back of Simon's head.

"Argh!" he grunted, holding his nose. Simon made no sound at all and just kept on walking. Johnny knew damn well the cocky tilt on the Lieutenant's head as they got near the Captain's office. "Bastard. Could've warned me, instead of making me nearly break my damn nose".

"Why? It's funnier like this" Simon said, the timber in his voice so amused it made Johnny roll his eyes, not really upset at all.

"To you, maybe".

"And that's how it's supposed to be, Johnny".

The conversation was cut short as soon as they approached the Captain's door. He was arguing with someone on the phone. It was clear he was trying not to make much noise, but the anger in his voice was unmistakable.

Simon and him shared a look, and waited for a moment before knocking on the door.

"Get in" the Captain's voice cut through the silence, hanging up the phone before standing up, looking at the two men with a hard expression.

"What's going on?" Simon questioned, standing right next to Johnny, their shoulders brushing.

"We've got a mole" the Captain said, his teeth clenched. Johnny watched as he paced behind his desk, his shoulders hardened.

"A mole?" he wondered, his eyebrows furrowing. "Who's the bastard? We'll drag him to the—"

"Goddammit, Johnny. It's the fucking lass" the Captain snapped.

In that moment, the room went colder than the freaky weather outside. The three men stared at each other for one long second.

"We've five lasses" Simon started, the trembling in his voice so evident that Johnny wanted to reach out, and grab his arm to stabilize him. He didn't, as he was trembling just as badly. "You better give me a name right now, or I'll start breaking your shit".

"If it weren't yours, do you think I would be calling you two idiots?" the Captain growled out. He opened his mouth, ready to continue, but Johnny spoke first.

"Is this some kind of ridiculous, fucked up joke?" he blurted out. He just couldn't think. He just couldn't believe it. "She's been here for nearly ten years. Capt'n, there must be a mistake. And you, you can't possibly believe this shit!" he blurted out at Simon, turning to look at him.

Simon was as stiff as a wooden board.

And he was so damn angry it nearly made Johnny shit his pants.

"Is there proof? Do you have it on you? Is it positive?" Simon questioned, the words flowing, barely controlled. Johnny's mouth fell open. "How can you be sure?"

"LT!" he gasped in surprise, his heart pounding in his throat. He felt like throwing up.

"Answer me" Simon demanded the Captain, ignoring him.

It took them two hours to go through the evidence, more than once. You've been selling information about other team's missions, and they had your fingerprints. It was almost as if you weren't even trying to hide it at all.

"Isn't it too simple, too easy?" Simon said, not for the first time. "Price, you gotta admit it's at least suspicious. She's not stupid".

"Capt'n, the lass' a smart one. Not even the lamest bastard in this damn base could pull a mistake this big" Johnny added. Needing to sooth himself, he discreetly placed his hand right next to Simon's on the desk.

The slightest curl of the Lieutenant's pinky across his made him take a deep breath.

"That's your pussydrunk heads talking to you. This is unmistakable and we can't risk it" the Captain shook his head, pointing at the evidence in front of them. They both went quiet at that, too troubled to feel offended. "Take her downstairs. We'll do as I ordered, in five. You either do it yourselves, or I'll call someone else" the Captain said. Simple as that.

If the Captain saw Simon snatch his hand back from Johnny's grip before they both stormed out of his office, he didn't say.

What was there to say, anyway?

An empty box suffered all of the Lieutenant's anger as soon as they stepped out. Snapped in half with kicks and thrown to the other side of the hall, alarming a few soldiers that, just taking a look at them, turned away instantly.

Johnny couldn't possibly do anything to make Simon feel any better if he was just as angry and appalled. Hurt, and incredibly confused, mostly. They didn't exchange a single word as they reached the mess hall, their boots heavy against the floor.

Simon's steps faltered when they saw you sitting at the usual table. Johnny clenched his jaw and walked forward, forcing Simon to do the same.

They both watched as you sipped on your mug, no doubt waiting for them to have breakfast. He saw you take a bite of the bread, your eyes brightening as you turned to them, recognizing their footsteps easily.

It's been nine years, after all.

Johnny's heart trembled at the sight. Anxiety and pain bloomed in his chest, but he forced himself to swallow it down. They had orders.

"It's so darn late!" you complained, your voice a little muffled around your mouthful, looking amused. Ridiculous. "Where were you? Come on, let's eat".

Beautiful.

It had been too easy. You didn't resist their touch at all, raising an eyebrow. Johnny heard you nearly choke when you noticed their grip wasn't playful, asking Simon what was happening, you feet dangling between the two of them.

Johnny's grip was tight, fighting to keep his expression blank, but it got fucking difficult the moment you realized where they were taking you, screaming, fighting, and struggling against them, demanding explanations.

The room had been used for many years, even before they got here. It either reeked of shit, piss or blood and bleach. It's never been pleasant.

The Captain was already waiting there.

He kept silent as Simon punched you on the stomach. Kept silent as you begged and pleaded, trying to meet their eyes, their hands tying you to the chair.

The Captain had ordered not to explain anything at first.

And it was fucking hard.

To see you get punched.

To be the one to gag you, despite your attempts to bite down on his fingers. To be the one who made you choke on your fears, on your pain.

Your panic.

Simon's eyes were detached, stuck within himself, the trembling in his hands barely noticeable, but Johnny saw it.

He felt it in his own hands.

Every time the Captain ordered him to yank on your hair. Every time he pressed that disgusting wet rag against your face and poured the water on it. Every time his gray eyes met your pleading gaze.

With each of your screams.

He saw Simon flinch with every one of them.

After the Captain kicked your lights out, the three of them had a serious conversation. Simon and Johnny were quiet, both of them staring at the Captain as if he had grown a second head right in front of them.

"No. I'm not doing that shit".

"Neither am I. Are you out of your fucking mind, Price?"

"Now, lads, I'm not asking. If you don't do it, I'll grab another two. We need information and the evidence is clear" the Captain cut them off. He didn't look happy about it, but he didn't seem too worried, either. "Tomorrow. That's an order".

Simon and Johnny sat on the stairs that night, with you right behind the door, both of them smoking silently. Neither of them acknowledged Johnny's tears, and when Simon turned away, neither said anything.

Your screams were a stab in his heart. And he couldn't blame anyone but himself.

When Price told him what they were going to do because you "wouldn't open your mouth", he had wanted to kill Price right there, but the evidence was too big and they had orders, and it didn't matter what he thought. He was but a soldier. Price gave the orders, and it wasn't his place to question them.

Not too much, anyway.

But that didn't mean he had to like them.

Had it been anybody else, Simon wouldn't have hesitated. He would've dragged the dickhead to the basement himself.

But you?

Price had ordered him to go slow, to make you suffer as the nails were ripped off slowly enough to make you pass out, but he couldn't.

He couldn't go against his orders, but he could do them his way.

If it's done quick enough, the pain concentrates and dissipates faster, leaving only raw, throbbing fingertips behind.

That's the best he could do.

As you pushed your head against his chest, pleading and screaming in pain as Price asked you questions you didn't seem to hear, another nail would come off.

"Give him their names. Please" he whispered, low enough for only you to hear, but you were too gone with pain to pay attention.

Price would order him to go on, and Simon would grit his teeth, and do it as fast as possible.

Every scream made him want to crawl into the tiniest cave, and rot for the eternity.

If you were truly a traitor, he didn't care. He wanted you to break yourself free and steal their guns so you could end them right there. He wanted you to win and take revenge, dance on their bodies for all he cared.

When you said it was done between the two of you, he was glad his back was facing you. Otherwise, you would've noticed the trembling of his lips under the balaclava.

Orders. He had to follow orders.

When the toenails started coming off, your screams reached a deeper pitch. It was as if it wasn't you anymore, you looked like a whole different person. Simon pressed his head to your leg, panting, whispering and begging you to say their names.

"Please" he would whisper, gripping your ankles in hope to ground you away from the pain.

When he was two toenails into the second foot, deep cuts along the arch of the two of them, he decided to pause, as if coming out of a trance. Price had gone out half an hour ago, looking agitated, so he took full advantage of that for a moment.

Simon stopped, looking up at you, but you were slowly passing out just from the little break you were allowed when he stopped.

Johnny was shaking, his shoulder tense as he looked straight to the door in front of you, from where Price bursted inside the room again.

"Follow me" Price said, his mustache shaking. It didn't take long for Johnny and Simon to do so.

The last time he had been this angry, he had nearly killed himself in the middle of his room.

You were innocent.

Simon was faster than Johnny only for a second.

He punched Price so hard that he could hear a finger breaking, but he didn't give a single fuck.

He knew it wasn't Price's fault.

Still, it felt damn good.

Yells could be heard all across the base, confused soldiers who knew nothing of the situation yet would just stare at each other.

"Garrick caught him trying to escape" Price raised his voice again. "He's been detained and has already confessed. The problem is that—"

"I don't fucking care!" Simon snapped, gripping Price's desk hard enough to break the shit out of it. "Bring him here, goddammit. I'll put a bullet through his brain".

"I'm trying to explain why I fucking can't do—"

"The fuck am I here for, then? I'm done with this fucking shit hole" he yelled, not interested in whatever Price had to say anymore.

Johnny and him rushed downstairs, panting, shaking. Price didn't leave his office, the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.

Simon fell to his knees and untied you as quickly as he could, watching you blink your eyes open, your gaze distant.

"I'm so fucking sorry, love. You'll be okay, I fucking promise you that. Fuck, I'm so sorry... I'll carry you, hold on. Hold on..." he whispered, sliding an arm under your legs and carrying you bride style.

He was struggling with his own anger, unable to control his body as he normally would, bumping his shoulders on the walls as he rushed upstairs.

"Watch her head! You're gonna fucking drop her. Let me help—"

"Shut the fuck up, Johnny. Don't fucking try me right now".

If Johnny was hurt by his words, he genuinely didn't care right now. He would get over it.

When he finally reached the clinic, he snapped at however was available to get their fucking arses up.

He knew it wasn't the right thing, but he couldn't afford to be respectful. Not right now. A few medics surrounded you immediately, but one of them started pushing him out.

They kicked him out of your room.

They fucking kicked him out.

Away from you.

"You've two broken fingers, and she doesn't need you. You ain't going in" the head doctor told him. Simon's eyebrows furrowed, his lips curling in a snarl behind the mask, but she was having none of that. "Shut it, you big brute. Now do as I say, or I'm kicking you out of my clinic".

Johnny sat next to him, but Simon wouldn't look away from the door to your room. He sat quietly, not even blinking as the doctor helped him with his fingers. They didn't even hurt.

He didn't matter.

It took you two days to wake up.

As soon as he was allowed in, he barely left your side, only to take a piss or grab a coffee. He would watch the doctors check on you, acting like a dog ready to snap and bite their heads off every time your fingers flicked in your sleep when they touched you.

"L.T. You gotta get some rest" Johnny mumbled, a hand on Simon's shoulder. It was only the two of them and you there. As it should be.

"Not interested".

"Its been four days since you've eaten anything".

"Good for me. Was planning on going on a diet, actually".

"Simon".

"That's my name".

Smack.

Simon finally looks away from your face to look at Johnny with wide eyes, the back of his head burning. "The fuck was that?"

"That's what you get for being a dickhead" Johnny replied, his eyes fixed on you. "She's safe here. Come on, we gotta be fed and rested, so she can kill us when she wakes up".

It took Johnny a lot of convincing, but he managed to drag Simon out. They ate in silence, and slept.

Only a couple of hours.

The moment Simon heard your first scream, just in the back of his mind, he got up to his feet, rushing to the clinic. He wasn't certain if it was his mind or if it was truly you.

When he saw you on the floor, crawling away from him, he felt both relieved and terrified. He sank to the floor instantly, his hands in full display, hoping to ease your fear.

"No, wait. Please. Please. You're okay" he said, his eyes wide, taking in your expression. He will never forget the way you were looking at him, as if he wasn't Simon. Not anymore.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know how to approach you anymore, didn't know how to even begin.

"W-we were tricked" he explained, at a complete loss. "A mole planted evidence against you, but we found him a few days ago, when we brought you here. I'm so—"

"You're sorry" you crackled, and it felt like a stab to his heart. "You're sorry".

It didn't matter what he did, you refused to listen to him.

"Please. I didn't want to do it. I'm so sorry" he pleaded, his hands flat against the ground. "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Johnny and I. You won't forgive us and we know this. Fuck, you should never do so. Lovie... please".

When you started sobbing, shaking and keeping yourself away from him, Simon broke down as well.

He moved slowly, taking his mask off, and leaving it on the floor between the two of you. He didn't dare looking at you, tears or not, but he wanted you to stop being scared at him.

He would've preferred you stabbed him. He would've preferred you made him eat glass and then shot him between the eyebrows.

But scared? He wanted to bite his own fingers off to make sure he would never hurt you again.

Simon was embarrassed. Ashamed.

He had followed orders, but he should've pressed Price harder. He should've helped you somehow instead of just doing as he was told.

The space between the two of you felt disturbing and too big. He wanted to hold you, to kiss your face, and never let go.

But you've been clear. It was over.

He didn't dare trying to convince you.

All he had left was his regret.

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 5

buy me a coffee

by implied I meant fucking obviously. i couldn't leave johnny out, i love him sm. but if you don't like it just picture them as rlly close buddies, then. they might kiss, but who doesn't kiss their buddies, am I right?

i was gonna wait until tomorrow, but i finished way faster than I thought I would, and I'm hyped as hell, so here you go. a gift!

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic @silas-fanfic-favs @nina-from-317 @an-ever-angry-bi @kittygonap @dorothy-rainbird @adventurerabby @defronix @sheepispink @iambuttwodaysold

[pythonmoth]

cw: post torture trauma. depersonalization. denial. sick jokes as a coping mechanism.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

Part 3

Numb. And cold.

The light in the room is cold and white, devoid of any type of warmth.

Laying flat on the bed, you're barely blinking, your expression is detached, and unreadable.

Your body got so used to the torture that every time a medic moves too fast, you mentally brace yourself for a hit or for another toenail to be ripped off, not moving a muscle.

You've three toenails left, after all. Another three chances of pain.

Perhaps they could cut your fingers off, instead. Or your ears.

That'd be new.

Your eyes are fixed on the light bulb above your head, dimly aware of the medics moving around you as if you were in a simulation game. You hear them curse under their breath, sharing looks, and throwing worried glances at you.

At times, it feels like you're watching yourself on that table. You're the light bulb.

It needs fixing.

The medics have already tended to your feet and toes, your fingers, and deep down you can't help but find it hilarious that, despite the drugs they gave you for the pain, your raw fingers throb bad enough for you to remember it perfectly.

You will never forget the pain.

Or perhaps you've already forgotten.

Images of Si Ghost, a hidden smirk behind the mask, ripping your nails off and showing them to you before throwing them to the side, laughing at you with Soap, and Price, fill your mind. Your past screams break through the image, your fingers twitching briefly.

Is it a memory?

You grimace inwardly.

You're not sure.

Perhaps it is. Or not.

As you're held up by two medics and put to sleep on another bed, drugged out of your mind, you stop worrying about it.

You're mistaken. Surely. Must be.

There's no way it was actually Simon; you're just going crazy. He will come and tuck you to bed as he always does. He'll bring Johnny tomorrow and the three of you will have some of the cookies Johnny keeps hidden in his room, safe from the Captain and the rest, the hungry lot. And they'll have the beer Simon bought the other day. And then Simon will give you a goodnight kiss.

There's no way.

Must be a mistake. Your mind is playing tricks.

Disdain. Laughter. Curses.

"Traitor".

No matter how hard you fight it, your eyes fall shut. With a soft sigh, you smile, amused at yourself. The blanket is soft against your cheeks, your mind spinning happily as exhaustion takes over.

You're mistaken.

"The pinky is next. You're still not giving me names".

You will just sleep it off.

"Please, give me their names. Please".

Nightmares.

As you wake up in cold sweat, hastily standing up from the bed, you put pressure on your cut feet with no care, and it makes you let out a sharp cry. Shocked to your core, you fall down on your knees, screaming in pain again when your hands brace your fall, making the raw skin of your fingertips stretch and burn.

You're suddenly aware of your injuries.

Memories rush to your mind. And they're real.

They're very real.

When the door springs open and you see Si Ghost rushing over to you, his eyes tormented behind the mask, you ignore the pain in your body and quickly crawl back, dragging yourself away from him, not hiding the fear in your expression.

You can't hide it, even if you wanted to.

"No, wait. Please. Please. You're okay" he says, lowering himself to the ground in a heartbeat, his knees touching the cold floor, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible.

You don't realize you're crying until you taste it in your lips and, even then, you don't even dare breathing. You're not blinking, staring at Ghost in complete silence.

Funny. Crying will forever remind you of it.

"Please, you're safe. You're okay" he assures you, his voice rough and shaky. Ghost shifts forward slowly, but the tension in your shoulders makes him pause.

"I won't touch you. I promise" Ghost murmurs, keeping his hands on his thighs, in full display. "W-we were tricked. A mole planted evidence against you, but we found him a few days ago when we brought you here. I'm so—"

You burst out laughing.

"You're sorry" you crackle. "You're sorry".

"I won't give you any excuses. Price told me he was certain, and I— I had to do my job. Please—"

"Stay away from me".

"Please. I didn't want to do it. I'm so sorry" he pleads, his hands flat against the ground. "I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Johnny and I. You won't forgive us and we know this. Lovie, please".

Your laughter turns into sobs the longer he speaks. Lovie. It sounds so ridiculous right now that even if you're terrified of him you wish you had the strength to strangle him.

Alas, the lack of fingernails makes it difficult.

You press yourself against the bed, unable to stand up, unable to look at Ghost as he stares at you. You can just shake your head, your shoulders never relaxing, your entire body coiled with pain and grief.

Ghost moves slowly as he takes his mask off, leaving it on the floor in front of him. His eyes are downcast, his blonde hair messy and you can see he's been barely eating, however long you've been here.

He looks like shit.

Perhaps, if this was a few days ago, you'd be making a silly joke so he doesn't feel so vulnerable. You would've kissed him and played with his blonde eyelashes until he rolled his eyes, and playfully smacked your hand away.

Now, mask or no mask, you don't know this man.

taglist: @euphoricn @lilg101010 @enfppuff @carolchaotic

-ˋˏ✄——————————————————

Masterlist | Part 4

buy me a coffee

styling decisions bc this reader is traumatized as hell. and no, no forgiving.

it'll stay for a bit. you'll be noticing the change in reader's emotions through it!

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. heavy torture. stress incontinence (brief). hurt/no comfort.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

Part 2

It's calm.

The sea breeze brushes against your cheeks, your skin warm under the sun, and your toes squirming in the sand. You've been begging your parents to take you to the beach for months since middle school started, and now you're here.

Family. Your cousins, your siblings, your aunties and uncles. Nothing can ruin it! It's perfect.

A bucket of sea water hits you from the back, making you gasp. In an instant, you're up. "You guys are dead!" you scream, laughing as you chase after them.

It's so, so nice.

Then, a weird smell makes you pause as you're chasing your favorite older cousin, knee deep in the ocean.

It brings you back to when you were a toddler, picking up one of your grandfather's old rags, forgotten in a corner. It'd seen too many raining days, all crumpled up. It was sour. Foul.

Almost like poison.

But why did you remember such thing right now?

Your cousin's dark eyes glint, but you can't focus. No, you can't move as she gently makes you lay down in the water, claiming it's a game, and sits on top of you, the sea water filling your lungs.

You scream and fight, your little strength leaving you, until you're finally breaking through the surface.

Another splash of salty water, much colder, wakes you up with a gasp.

"Up" Price's voice says.

You bite back a whimper of pain when Soap roughly grips your hair and drags you up along with the chair from the floor, since Price kicked you the night before. Soap doesn't look at you even once.

"Since you won't open your mouth, let's continue" the captain hums, looking mildly entertained.

"Price, I genuinely don't know anything. I'm not a traitor. You have to believe me, please—"

Smack.

"Save it. It all points to you, so you either speak now, or we start having fun".

Everything hurts, it's all fuzzy and every single inch of your body is burning, yet you still look up at Price, then at Soap. Again, he won't even look at you.

"Where's Simon?" you mumble, trembling. There's silence, but you don't let it stretch. "Please, I really have nothing to do with any of this. Be reasonable. There's nothing in it for me. Why would I sell us out?!"

The door springs open, and your head snaps up. Your world crumbles down as Simon comes in with a little box.

The tools.

At once, you reach another level of panic.

Pure, unadulterated dread.

"Stop! No. No, please. I'm innocent. Simon. Please, stop this!" you wail loudly, your hands clenching hard on the armrests of the chair, uselessly trying to keep them from getting to your fingers.

It doesn't matter how hard you cry out for them to listen. It doesn't matter how badly you fight, leaning forward to push your head against Simon's chest, pleading with him.

There's no coming back from this.

Please. I love you. Please.

When the first nail is ripped off from your fingertip, the intensity of your screams makes Price look away for the first time.

It takes three fingernails and a handful of questions you can't focus on for Soap to turn away from you.

Five.

Away.

Please.

Eight.

It all feels so far away.

Distantly, you feel warmth, right on the chair. For a happy moment you melt into it, too tired to think much of it. Simon's eye twitches at the sight, the white in his eyes bloodshot, and he has to physically stop himself from saying anything.

"I want to die" you croak out, your chin pressed to your chest.

Your heart is pounding in your ears, in your raw fingertips. Your voice doesn't feel yours anymore.

"No. Give me their names".

"I don't know, goddammit!" you scream, your face contorted with pain and anger. So much anger. "Fuck you! I don't know shit. I'm sick and tired of this. I didn't do anything!"

It doesn't matter when Simon rips off another fingernail.

Nine.

It doesn't matter when Soap presses the same disgusting rag against your face, the cold salty water filling your lungs again.

You don't fight.

What for? They want information you can't provide. And you're angry.

Ten.

"I'm breaking up with you" you say, your voice firm, despite the intense shaking in your body.

The pain must have cleared your mind because you just look straight forward, not meeting Ghost's eyes as you speak.

You don't want to look at him.

"I don't want your regret" you continue, your heart slowing down. There's an old bloody spot on the door. You focus on it. "The three of you are dead to me when this is all over".

"Enough chatting. Go on!" Price snaps. You don't hear the trembling in his voice.

The salty water just keeps on coming.

Maybe you hear it. You don't care.

You're not sure for long it goes. Half of your toes are throbbing by the time Price storms out of the room, Soap and Ghost gathering their things to leave.

There are deep cuts in the arch of your feet, several of your toenails scattered on the floor, and the foul smell of urine and blood. Your throat is sore and raw from screaming, and sobbing.

You must've passed out, because you wake up to Ghost's hands untying you quickly, words of apology leaving his lips, curses and promises. You can hear Soap rushing in, the two of them arguing and then running.

Gasps and curses are heard all around the base as Ghost takes you to the medics, demanding them to tend to you now.

It's an order.

Masterlist | Part 3

buy me a coffee

[pythonmoth]

cw: violence. torture. waterboarding. hurt/no comfort.

> i haven't written in a long time. it's good to be back.

× framed traitor f!reader x lt ghost. poly tf141.

Part 1

Traitor.

That's what Price thinks as Simon and Soap drag you from the table, nearly choking on your food as they give you no time to understand what's going on.

Alarms ring in your ears as you force the piece of stale bread down your throat, trying to stand on your feet but they're taller than you, so your feet end up dangling, useless. You take a deep breath, your voice shaking as much as you are.

"What's going on? Is this some kind of sick joke?", you ask, looking at Simon, desperate to find an explanation for this other than the anger and torment in his eyes.

Simon doesn't answer. Nobody does. Soap's grip tightens, but he doesn't say anything, his expression hard.

No.

No.

You can tell they are not joking when you realize they're taking you downstairs. Sweat rolls down your face, fear creeping from the base of your neck to your toes, making you snap. You beg them to tell you what's going on, to explain why you're being dragged down there. You kick and struggle, a sob ripped deep from your chest as you start screaming, begging for a reaction. And then, pain.

Tears fill your eyes when it's Simon who hits your stomach with his fist, effectively shutting you up. You can smell the blood from past tortures mixed with bleach, and, distantly, the scent of forgotten wet rags. There's something salty in the air, and that's when you freeze, the pain in your stomach becoming nothing compared to the fear that grows in your chest.

They know you.

You've been with them for nine years. They know your fears.

"No. No. Please. Simon, Johnny— Please, please, please" you beg, sobbing as you can't do anything but go limp and heavy in their grip, doing the best you can to keep them from tying you to the chair. But it's useless.

Stars and colors dance behind your eyes as a fist connects with the side of your chin. You wonder if it would be better if they made you pass out right now. Maybe if you bite your tongue, it could—

"Gag her" Price tells them.

He's trained you for nine years.

He knows you.

You try to bite down on Johnny's fingers as he stuffs your mouth with an old rag, but it's difficult when your senses are unfocused after such a hard punch. The rag wet and disgusting, the scent and the taste making you sob again, shaking your head, your eyes big as you look at Simon.

Please.

Then a wet rag is pressed to your face. You inhale sharply as cold buckets of salty water are dropped right on your face, the cloth making it impossible for you to breathe. Salty water fills your lungs, making you choke and cough around the gagging rag.

You can hear questions, accusations, but you're paralized with fear, with pain and grief.

Grief.

They've been your friends, your family for so long. It's impossible to tell if you'll live through this. It's impossible for you to think of them as anything but monsters.

You know they usually did this with traitors, with enemies when it was necessary.

And you know they never enjoy it.

You've scolded Simon for smoking so late at night, you've had so many drinks next to him when he can't even speak. Simon often flinches awake from nightmares, startling you and then sharing quiet nights side to side.

You know this.

But then Simon hits your face again, taking the rag out of your mouth, and you can't find the love you have for him. It's expelled from your body with each hard cough, with each drop of blood falling from your nose.

"Did you not hear me?" Price demands, his arms crossed. "I'll ask one more time, then."

Smack.

Your chest is heaving, the fear so paralizing you can't even feel each punch as much as you should.

"What did you tell them?" Price continues, not looking one bit anxious for you to answer. He stands in front of you, his feet dry despite the salt burning your lungs.

"I don't know what you're talking about" you manage, looking up at Price, your eyes wide and bloodshot.

With a hard yank on your hair until your head is thrown back again, you're gagged once more, and the rag is pressed to your face. The salty water keeps on filling your lungs, unable to breathe, unable to cough around the gag.

You can't say anything. You truly don't know shit.

Hours later, when it becomes clear you won't speak, Price kicks you across the chest, hard, and the chair flips back.

You're tied up to the chair, exhausted and wet, your lungs burning with salt.

Memories of you as a child, nearly drown to death by your cousins, fill your mind. It had been a good day, until it wasn't.

Simon had held you when you told him, kissed you, and tucked you in for a good night sleep.

Johnny managed to make you crackle when you told him, patting your head, and saying your cousin had awful skills.

Now, there's nothing. Nothing but pain, and the burning in your lungs.

The door springs open, and the three men leave.

Only then do you close your eyes, passing out.

Masterlist | Part 2

buy me a coffee