Cheese

for all his life, he can’t remember any time he has had an abundance of something. it was always just enough. just barely enough to scrap by and live.

so please, pretty please accept every little thing he gives you. whether it’s his blanket or a pillow when you share a bed or his food, please accept it… because your acceptance is approval.

he won’t say or act like it but it’s quite conflicting to him. your words are telling him you don’t need his pillows and blankets but your actions are telling him you don’t want him. Because why won’t you accept his things..? And if you don’t accept them, you don’t approve of them so…

Ghost isn’t someone you can up and go date with. he’s a dead man with a target on his head, and as long as he’s still alive, that statement stays true.

he won’t approach you, a civilian unrelated to any of the missions he’s been assigned. so what, you approach him? he isn’t the easiest to approach either. you'd have to be persistent, to the point of annoyance, for even a chance. and even then, what after? he won’t let you close. he won’t let you within arms reach. why? because as long as he’s breathing, anyone who knows of his existence instantly has their safety jeopardized.

say you do get past his emotional barriers and that perhaps he does care about you. it’s not like he’ll say it. maybe his actions will show for it, but even then what good are actions when they’re accompanied by berating words degrading you for simple mistakes.

so you ignore all his signs, all the red glaring flags. even he'd admit he isn't and will never be close to a good partner, not even a decent partner. say you do make the first move. you touch him. you offer yourself. you whisper things in his ear that you shouldn't. and what is he supposed to do? Ghost may be a dead man but he's still a man. he takes you up on your offer.

then maybe you'll have a blissful few weeks that you were dreaming of. but when your stomach hurts, you feel sick in the morning, and, god no, the pregnancy test shows positive. what? you think he'd bother with all that protection nonsense? he's chasing after his high. you and him were nothing more than each other's stress relief. he tells you to "get rid of it" with bitterness lacing his words. will you?

you choose to get rid of it. you're lucky you did before it grew too much, too developed. because then, you risk growing attached to the little thing inside you. Ghost is reluctant to keep going with this- whatever you two had. you convince him. you'll go through this cycle until you can't anymore. he'll think about 'it' and hate it. eventually, Ghost will leave. he'll suddenly cut all ties with you and leave you emptier than you were before. you think you'll find him again if you try? wrong. he can disappear from your world in an instant, and there's nothing you can do.

oh, so you decide to keep it? that makes it easier for Ghost to decide. he leaves. it was already risky, you associating with him. so he breaks off any relation he had to you now that there will be a child that's a mixture of him and you. soon, you and that child will be but a memory buried somewhere forgettable in his mind.

the first time both of you technically kissed, you had asked if you could kiss him, he said yes because you looked like you wanted it so badly. the two of you stood awkwardly in his barracks. he’s wondering if he should’ve changed clothes earlier, he just got back and was still in his uniform, probably smelled fowl, but you didn’t say a word. ah, he thought he could handle it. he really did. but to kiss was a lot easier said than done. and he’ll never fully forgive himself for shoving you away slamming you against the wall, and he was choking you. he didn’t actually hit you, you tell him that everyday, but the fact he fully intended to hit you for the moment scared him. plagued with the thought that he truly was no different from his father; he could barely look at you for the weeks following that, much less talk to you. no, he refused to do so much as to stand near you; petrified he wouldn’t snap out of it in time, terrified he’d hurt you.

months later, he asked if it’s alright to try again. the kissing thing, you know? it was months after the previous attempt, you and Simon had already reconciled, as much as possible anyways, so the question left you a little confused. you were happy to, but only if he was really ready. and he said he was, he swore it. although.. looking at you, thinking back about the previous attempt, made him anxious. but he already said he would. so he should? he should stick to his words, right? youd probably think hes a coward. god, a man shouldnt be a coward. and he cant be a coward. and all these thoughts ran through his mind. he doesnt realize he’s zoned out and that you’re staring at him with a concerned look on your face. its not until you decide to speak does he snap back.

“are you sure you want to do this?”

he’s not even sure what to respond. what did he want?  he’s only really thought about what you wanted. it’s not like his wants really mattered in his eyes.

“you know, we don’t have to do this. we can still have a perfectly fine relationship without–”

“no! absolutely, no, we.. we have to kiss.”

he insisted, almost yelling like he’s afraid he wouldn’t be heard. and that you’d leave him because you’d think he couldn’t kiss you, because he couldn't give you of a normal relationship. and you deserved it. you deserved a normal relationship with someone who could give you what you wanted. and god, he wishes he were normal.

anyone could tell he was agitated. honestly, it isn’t easy for you. you could tell he wouldn’t handle it well if you kissed him directly. but if you didn’t then he’d isolate himself, thoughts spiralling like a roller coaster in his mind, and you couldn’t be sure when or where the ride ended. so, grab his hands, hold them in yours, and plant a gentle kiss on each. you hold his hands, looking into his eyes, and for what felt like hours, the two of you stayed put like that. until Simon told you to leave.

it caught you off guard, you’re a little taken back. but respecting his wishes, you leave the room. not even a minute after you leave, Simon slumps against the wall, he can’t stop the hot, burning tears from falling. maybe it was how soft your lips felt against his caloused hands or how careful you were with him, how you knew that he likely wouldn’t react well to either choice and yet you made the perfect one.

Simon Riley who sometimes holds your hand, silently hoping you’d kiss his hand again. he likes it when you give each knuckle a peck. if you bent down on one knee, you’d look like a knight kissing the princess’ hand, and Johnny would say this whenever he saw the chance. Simon Riley who still isn’t ready to kiss you directly, but he’s slowly working on it. Simon Riley who will probably learn to like different types of kisses, but right now, he's smitten over you and your hand kisses that make him feel oh so loved.

Gaz who’s gets so flustered over how… just how bold you are. god, you’re teasing him with those clothes that just fit your body so, so well. his morals are already questioned when you come in, he couldnt stop imagining you in different positions. but now he doesnt have to imagine! because now, you’re bending over, purposely showing him your plush ass, to pick something up, showing him what you’d look like in certain positions. and my, gaz is a little pervert isnt he? getting hard in the middle of the common area just because you dropped your drink and picked it up. his face is flushed embarrassed and his growing erection sure doesn’t help. quick, someone might enter the room and see his throbbing cock strained against his pants so sit on his lap, tell him to be quiet, and help him out, yeah?

Soap who love the confidence you have, he’s like putty around you.. if you initiate more physical contact with him, specifically touches that can be easily misunderstood if anyone were to see, and he’s practically drooling. has been pushed against the wall by you, his hand pushing up your thigh because he just couldnt help himself, and your lips just mere inches from his. he’s rock hard, you can feel it as you press yourself onto him, and he’s leaking so much precum, its like he pissed himself. yet all this to be interrupted by your dear old Lieutenant Ghost who happened to discover the scene. poor Soap who’s most intimate moment with you just disappeared and left with a throbbing cock, but you seem fine. in fact, you’re smiling cheekily. you whisper to Soap, telling him to wait for you in his barracks before happily walking away like nothing just happened. ah, but Soap can’t wait. he jacks himself off twice, unable to stop. and he’s panting like a dog! it only took you 30 minutes to come to his barracks, but he’s already a sopping mess; sweat dripping down his face, bits of cum splattered on his stomach, and a small pool in between his legs. then you start stroking his soft cock, and he shouldn’t like this. he’s can barely get hard, the overstimulation is so painful to him, but he’s a like a bitch in heat in your hands.

Ghost who gets so fucking hard during team briefings. god, his erection is painfully obvious to anyone who just so much as glanced by that area. he doesnt mean to get hard, its just.. you.. you’re there. right next to him. your ass is within reach, god, and your wearing those tight leggings again. he needs you to blow his poor needy cock off and he needs it bad. he usually wants to at least look decent in front of captain Price. oh, but god, he wouldn’t mind the entire crew watching him get a sloppy blowjob from pretty little you. he wouldnt even mind the entire crew watching him stroke his hard meaty cock if it meant you were watching. leans back and as casually as he can, he droops one arm over you. he’s afraid you might say something, anything, about his off behavior but you don’t; you lean into his touch. one hand so close to touching your tits and the other laid near his crotch. at first, its just little touches while he imagines how your pretty tits would feel, especially in his mouth. but within minutes, hes practically openly palming himself while imagining hes sucking on your tits. his mask is a savior for covering his flushed face. god, and he sees you looking over at him, staring him up and down, and he knows you see his big fat cock pushed against his pants. all you do is give a barely noticeable smile, and look away but he’s already cumming in his pants.

for the week leading to your funeral, Ghost cannot, and perhaps purposely does not, process your death. he goes on with life as he usually would. but there are a few moments where he'll call out your name, intending to show you something, talk to you, or just because he wanted your attention. and those moments kill him inside. the silence, the lack of a response, the lack of you, kills him. for a few seconds to minutes at a time, he faces the reality that you're gone. for better or worse, his mind quickly convinces him you're simply busy. and he'll foolheartedly believe it. 

Ghost is silent the day of your funeral. he's forced to face the reality that you are gone; not just for a few seconds or moments at a time, but indefinitely. pitiful glances from empathetic faces and softly muttered 'I'm sorry's feel suffocating. he can't- doesn't want to believe it. you, in that god awful box? it can't be true. as cruel as it would be, he wishes this was all some sick joke.

blurred memories of being driven home, walking inside his house, and mindlessly walking into your once shared bedroom. and as he sits on the edge of the bed, it hits him. the cold, harsh reality hits him like a truck. you were gone. and there was nothing he could do about it. he hated this feeling. he hated feeling like a helpless little boy at the mercy of his heartless father; unable to do anything.

tears threaten to fall, his eyes burning to hold them back as he chokes on air. he hasn't cried in so long. always feeling like his problems didn't matter enough to cry. the feeling, it's nauseating. he feels like he's going to throw up.

he stumbles over to the bathroom sink because he knows you aren’t fond of cleaning up vomit after he got too drunk once. he never got that drunk again. he throws up the bits of food he forced himself to eat earlier because you were always worried about the lack of food he used eat. he didn’t want to worry you. and he looks at himself, and thinks he looks pathetic. pale, unkept, dirty, and he believes he's so undeserving of you; this is why you left him. that you left this world behind, left him behind, because he wasn’t enough to keep you here.

he’s mad at you for leaving him, and he’s mad at himself for being so.. him. and god, he thinks if anything was different about him, maybe you’d stay. doesn’t matter to him if you had no say in your own death, all that mattered was that you weren’t here now. reason had no place in a man blinded by pure fury. all he could think about was how unfair it was that you left him, and how he wasn’t enough to have you stay. maybe, he thought, if he was better, if he was anything else than the pathetic excuse of a man, maybe then you’d care a little more and be alive.

the blinded rage continues for hours. it began with thoughts of hatred he had towards you, himself, everything, but slowly began getting physical. he was never taught to use his words to express his feelings so they came out in actions. holding back tears he didn’t know he had, he took his rage out on anything that couldn’t fight back. a table flipped over and broken, chairs laid on their sides, everything pushed and shoved over leaving him standing in the empty space he created.

there’s no dreadful feeling like what he felt standing in the middle of the mess he made. he felt like his father; taking his anger out on things that couldn’t fight back. the arguable difference was the things Ghost took his anger out on wasn’t alive, but what difference did that truly make? perhaps if he had a kid, he would be his father’s replica. and he feared such a thought. with a heavy heart, he slowly put everything back where it once was, because you wouldn’t like the place being a pigsty.

he hates himself for this but for moments at a time, he’s convinced that it’s better you’re gone. he’ll never have to hear you nagging him to eat more, clean up after himself, go take a shower, take a break; never again. he’ll never be woken up by your laughs because you stayed awake, watching videos, for him to sleep. he’ll never be interrupted in anything again.

but who was he kidding? he misses it badly.

he misses hearing you tell him to eat more, threatening to force feed him if you caught him eating less. he misses you shoving him into the bathroom and yelling at him to shower because he stunk and you couldn’t stand the fact he just didn’t take care of his hygiene. he misses you forcibly taking him away from his work; the cruddy attempts of kidnapping him away from base and the way he’d begrudgingly play along. he misses you reassuring him that he could sleep, that you’d keep watch. he misses being woken up by your barely audible laughs, and how you frantically apologized for waking him. he misses resting his head on yours while the two of you stayed awake watching anything. he misses having someone who cared enough about him to do all that and more. 

alejandro doesn’t sound mean, no, his words are so, so sweet. in fact, every word has you hanging onto his next. god, and his praises are to live for. a successful mission and his hands gripping your shoulder while he exclaims how you did so well, making you feel oh so special.

so special, in fact, you excuse the little actions your colonel makes. the way he sneakily pinches your ass, and how his eyes are most definitely not on yours. his arm hung over your shoulder linger for far longer than appropriate, rubbing on your shoulder occasionally. how he asks you for little favors at the late hours of the night; to go to his office, and sit there silently while he looked at you. and 5 minutes later, you’re dismissed to go back to your barracks while he finished up some… unfinished business. what that is, you don’t ask; alejandro told you not to worry about it and you trust your colonel, don’t you?

there’s little things he does that you don’t know about. going through your records, checking your marital status, just the little details. on occasion, he’ll let it slip, but please, don’t mind him! he’s just checking for safety measures, or something like that.

one day, he’s a little too bothered with his unfinished business and he needs help, specifically your help! of course you feel honored, he’s your colonel, and he’s asking for your help, specifically. so you'll dismiss the fact he barged into your baracks, yeah?

leaning against the door with an arm over his head, hair disheveled, a thin layer of sweat like he just had a workout and hazy eyes like of someone drunk. and you're sitting in bed with nothing more than a thin layer of cloth covering you.

the next few seconds are a blur; he walks over and now you're trapped in between his arms as he's breathing into the crook of your neck. he smells faintly like alcohol and you can't stop squirming around, it just feels soo ticklish when his breath hits your skin. holding your hands down with his to keep you still, he whispers a quick, barely audible "por favor, let me do this..." before slamming your lips with his.

he's all over your lips, only really letting go for a bit to let you catch your breath. his body pressed against yours; you can feel his chest moving as he breathes, a few strands of hair fall on your face, and the growing bulge in his pants. he'll take a good look of you, soaking in every little detail of your pretty little face before going down on you. and he's so, so good with his tongue, you're practically seeing stars. when he's done with that, he'll shove two fingers and spread you open as wide as possible, to test you, prep you.

your clothes are ripped off you and he's fumbling trying to unzip his pants with one hand. the seconds it takes to free his cock feels like forever to him, so forgive your colonel if he's a little impatient, ok? oh he really should do more prep with you, i mean, just look at your tight little pussy. he really should, but god, he doesn' have the time; he might as well die if he doesn't shove his throbbing cock in you right now. and that's what he does.

rams his cock straight into your pretty plush cunt. and it's so thick. he might not have the longest cock, but god, he's a contender for one of the thickest. you're being stretched so wide, so far, no one has ever stretched you this far and it hurts. but it feels so good, and tears flow down your face, and you're too cockdrunk to form words. eye rolled back, you subconsciously grind on him, even after he's made you cum, even when the overtsimulation is getting painful. he's picking up the speed, chasing after his own pleasure, and you can feel his cock throbbing inside. and he's singing you honeyd praises between grunts. praises that keep you staying, keep you wanting more.

it takes him so, so much self control to pop him cock out and cum on your stomach. he's still riding his high, a little drunk when he collapses onto your chest.

"quiero follarte en la posición de perra nalgona.."

you look at him confused. god, you need some spanish lessons don't you? he chuckles.

"guess you need to improve your spanish. so i'll meet you here tomorrow night for some personal spanish lessons, aye?"