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saintship · 3 months

Note

Can i have a prompt #17 with Graves and a tm reader with a lik spice on the side?

Prompt #17 - “Don’t doubt yourself.”

My fics have been a little LAZY recently so this is my attempt at regaining my former glory, I haven’t written for Graves in a hot minute so I had to resurface some feelings lol

Also, I’ve never written mlm before, so if there’s anything that’s particularly off-putting, irritating, inconsiderate, etc, please drop a comment, also I didn’t really mention the fact they’re trans except for one part if you squint, I didn’t know if it was necessary to outright mention it, ALSO the spice is very mild I hope that’s okay :,)

Thank you!

Phillip Graves x tm!Reader - Snowed in

Warnings: description of injury, Gaz possibly being Graves’ gay awakening, internalized homophobia, suggestions of Graves’ racist actions, mild spice, some angst

To be a part of Price’s task force—to be an operator—was to be a team player. No matter what, no matter how genius your idea may be, no matter how good you are at whatever risky bullshit you’re into, you are never on your own until someone says so. This was articulated to Phillip Graves. But there was a reason he ran his own company instead working for one. There was something bold inside him; something demanding and mean. He used it to build Shadow Company, but that didn’t change the fact that his nature was what stranded him by himself in the first place.

You knew from the day you met him that he had walls up that may never come down for the rest of his life. Those traces of insecurity and fear that shot from him in the form of sharp words and trickling bigotry. He was good at ordering. Good at explosives.

Bad at people.

It was warm in the safehouse that the 141, Alejandro, Rudy, Graves, and one of his Shadows were laying low after your ammunition ran thin, and Gaz was grazed badly through the gaps of his vest. You sat at his side while the others gathered themselves, inspecting the wound. Gaz stripped to his bare torso, revealing a sizable chunk missing from just above his hip. The flesh was torn irregularly, and you struggled to find a solution that would avoid infection.

You heard Graves murmur to one of the Shadows,

“Go on.”

He spoke to his men like they were still in training, his tone a smooth blend of authoritative and encouraging. Sometimes you wondered if it was a bad thing that they’d follow his word without a second thought.

The Shadow gently replaced your spot beside him and began working on the wound, his medic badge partially torn from the rock face they had scaled to reach the cabin.

“You look surprised.” Graves’ low voice caught your attention. Your eyes met before he returned his gaze to the Shadow medic, his arms crossed.

“Maybe a little.” You muttered.

“I’m not that cruel, Sergeant.” The smile that he flashed was a dangerous one. His teeth a crystal white, his incisors pointed like a malinois’.

“So you are cruel—a little.” You reply.

“This is war, Sergeant.” He answered evenly, but he could never hide that underlying bite of defensiveness. ‘I’m right, you’re wrong.’

You tilted your head in resignation.

“This is war.”

Graves’ ego was effortless to satiate. He walked away without another smart comment.

“Getting friendly, hermano?”

Alejandro fidgeted with a combat knife where he sat on the tattered couch, his free arm laying on the backrest.

“Not everyone will hate the men that you do.” Rudy chided from beside him.

Your quiet laugh made Alejandro bristle.

“Oye, cuándo dije eso?”

“You’re practically fantasizing with that thing.” Rudy pointed out Alejandro’s knife.

“I..don’t trust him.”

“We know.” You commented. “But he helped Farah, why not Las Almas?”

“Urzikstan does not have a history with America the way Mexico does..” Rudy pointed out. “Graves was born in Texas, he was probably taught all kinds of shit that made him like that.”

It was true; Graves’ file revealed he had never left his hometown until he joined the military. He grew up in the kind of place where the horses and cows outnumbered the people.

“Maybe he’s just the kind of guy that can’t come home from work.”

Your words surprised you.

“What do you get defending him?” Alejandro retorted. “He’s not a good guy.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I think I do.”

As Alejandro stood from his previous position, you heard your name, turning to see Graves leaning in the doorway with one arm on the wooden frame and the other hand having a thumb hooked in his vest. He always stood like that; his hands just had to be grasping something. It made your mouth feel dry.

“One of you, come help me get our truck out of the ditch.” He called.

You heard Alejandro’s scoff and muttering as you crossed the room.

“Thanks.” Graves muttered as he turned to lead you through the snow to the ditch.

“How’d it get in the ditch, exactly?” You spoke, your breath a mist of air in front of your lips.

“Whatever dipshit that was in the driver’s seat left it in neutral.”

“That—might have been me.”

Graves glanced at you, his steps faltering.

“I’m fucking with you.” You murmur.

He just shook his head, that glowing smile flashing again.

You both came upon the trucks, the back two tires settled in the ditch while the front two stayed on the flat ground.

“Who’s pushing?”

“Where I’m from, it’s whoever asks that.” You didn’t miss his grin as he opened the driver’s side door.

“I’m sure you’re not making that up.”

“I’m not..” He laughed a bit through his words, and it made you dizzy. “It’s true..”

“You got a lot of experience doing dumb shit with trucks?”

“You could say that..” Graves’ smile hadn’t dropped. You wanted to keep going, to savor his expression, but your boots carried you behind the truck, and you waited for the wheels to turn before pushing up.

“Don’t let up!”

You heard his shout over the roar of the engine, and tried to steady yourself. But the ice was slick with mud, the soles of your boots providing little traction as you clung to the back bumper.

“Is it moving?” You call to him.

“It’s-"

His words were cut short by a sickening sputter of the engine.

“Get out! Get out of there, the battery’s dead!” His shout was more desperate than you’d ever heard him.

“I can’t-" You muttered helplessly before the weight of the heavy truck pressed you to the frozen mud, the angle of the underside up against the ditch pinning you to the cold earth. The parts that stuck out had raked down your back, cutting into the vulnerable flesh.

You heard him yell your name, your first name. You heard him curse as he dropped down beside where you were trapped.

“Please tell me you’re alive.. come on, talk to me..”

“My legs.. I can’t move my..” You rasped. From the knee down, the crushing metal pinned your legs enough to render you immobile.

“Breathe. You’re gonna be fine, come here.. come on..”

His gloved hand fit into your own securely, and you had to shake off the rush in your head.

When he tried to ease you out, you couldn’t stop the groan of pain that escaped you, devolving into quick, panicked breaths. “I can’t..”

“Easy.. easy.” He had enough room to hold your upper arm steady. “It’s gonna hurt, alright? But you gotta get out from under there..”

You nod, your breath short. “Yeah.. okay..”

“I’ve got you. You hear me?”

“I hear..”

“Alright.”

This time, one his arms worked around your middle, and the warmth blooming in your ribs nearly offset the white-hot tendrils shooting up your legs and back.

Graves pulled slowly, your legs slowly inching free as you gasped and groaned in pain.

“Breathe..” Graves murmured like he was speaking to a small animal, his breath warm on your temple. “Come on.. come on, now..”

Finally, he yanked you free, the both of you partially collapsing in the filthy ditch. You try to stand, but were quickly guided to sit down.

“Hey, don’t be a hero, sit still..” Graves knelt, inspecting your back with a low whistle.

“You didn’t break anything..” You murmured. You couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Told you.. I got you..”

You sit side by side, exhausted from the day, the adrenaline, the pain.

“Thank you.” You murmur.

Graves brought up a knee to rest his elbow on, his other hand waving you off.

“Not an issue, baby.”

When the words left his mouth, any softness in his face hardened into something else. Like he’d made himself angry.

“I-" He looked away.

“What’d you call me?” Your voice was a soft murmur.

“Nothing. I didn’t call you anything, come on..” He straightened to stand.

His expression matched yours now; flushed and confused.

“Graves.”

“I said come on!” He barked, but couldn’t get to his feet before you pulled him to sit back down.

“Sergeant..” His tone was warning. His hand covered yours where you held onto his vest. “That didn’t happen.”

“It did.”

“No.” His words were firm, but his eyes were desperate.

You slid a hand up to his shoulder. “It’s okay..”

“No! I cant-"

“But you want to.” Your eyes bore into his with an unwavering steadiness while your voice quieted to a whisper. “You want to..”

His face conveyed so many emotions, conflicting and fighting one another. He looked at your lips, and exhaled shakily.

“God dammit..”

“I know it’s hard to let go of what other people see you as. It’s okay.”

“You mean cause’ you..”

You nod.

“I—don’t know how.” He managed.

“Don’t doubt yourself like that.”

You were closer now. Close enough for the puffs of your breath to mingle with his.

“No one knows. No one..” He shakes his head, still partially in the headspace that wouldn’t let him feel anything other than bitterness.

“It’s up to you who does.” You murmur.

“Graves?”

Soap’s voice called from a few meters away, sending Graves scrambling to his feet.

“The truck pinned them, they’re hurt. Help me out.” In his fashion, he wasted no time showing his embarrassment, reverting to his wavering authority.

Soap only shook his head, but dropped down beside you. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, he got me out..” You muttered as Soap hauled you to your feet, not missing the way Graves looked away at the mention of his rescuing you.

The rest of the night was tense—your back was ripped up, your legs were sore and tender, but it was ensured that nothing was broken. For the three days left before an exfil helicopter arrived, you spent most of your time with your legs propped on the couch. It felt wrong to take up one of the only spaces to rest, to not be able to follow Graves when he walked outside to scan the surrounding hills. You felt chained in place, your only glimpses of him being his fleeting glances in your direction before he walked away again.

You almost forgot he wasn’t coming back to the base with you. He’d be going back to his own site, onto the next mission, onto the next project. It was supposed to be a short interaction between the 141 and him, but you just had to volunteer to help him move that truck. You just had to press him about it.

The sound of helicopter blades woke you up on the fourth morning, and most everyone else was moving equipment outside. You heard muffled voices.

“Graves, go help him into the heli.” Price’s gruff order sounded from outside.

“You don’t need help movin’ all that?” Graves’ tone was wavering; grasping at any excuse to keep avoiding you. You were starting to get irritated.

“You got a problem with my Sergeant?” Price retorted.

A sigh. “No, sir.”

“Right, then.”

His snow-covered boots tracked in the mud from outside, and you glanced at them before you looked at his face.

“Hey.” He didn’t meet your eyes, offering a hand to help you upright. You didn’t move.

“You’re avoiding me.” You mutter. The frustration crept up your throat.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to his side.

“We don’t have time for this.. we might never see each other again, can you focus on that?” His eyes caught your frustration and reflected it right back in your face.

“You can’t brush this off, Graves.”

“Don’t tell me what I can’t do.” He snapped, walking to the door. “You act like you know me because I fucked up back there, but you don’t. This conversation-"

You hauled yourself to your feet, the pain making you wince. You straightened anyway, walking over until you were in his face again.

“What if you didn’t fuck up? You ever think about that?” You muttered.

His chest rose and fell with angry breath.

“Why’re you doin’ this to me?”

His soft tone caught you off guard, and your shoulders that had been tensed relaxed downward again.

“Because you don’t deserve to live like this. No one does.”

Your hand had found its way to his upper arm unintentionally, but he hadn’t pulled away. You weren’t wearing your gloves, the warmth of your palm radiating through his sleeve and thawing the sparse snowflakes that had caught on the fabric.

“How can you be so sure?” His brow was still furrowed with stress, his body somehow lax and tensed all at once.

“I can’t.” you admit. “But I won’t let you walk away without hearing that there is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Who you love is not up to the rest of the world, and that’s one of the few things you still have to yourself. So keep it close.”

His eyes searched your face, your eyes, and finally your lips. His breath quickened.

Your hand drew upward to hold his jaw in your palm. He smelled like warm linen and smoke. One of his hands crept up your back while the other settled on your cheek, all in an impossibly fast motion before he pressed a kiss to your parted lips.

You felt the anxiety and shame melt from him for a moment, your lips working in tandem. Once he had a taste for you, he couldn’t stop. He deepened the kiss with a groan, your own hands hooking into his vest and pressing your bodies together. His hand was just working under your shirt and up your stomach before the door handle turned. With his hand still under your clothes, he shut the door firmly, keeping whoever it was outside. You heard a vague, confused voice, but most of your brain was clouded by his hand moving over your front, up your waist and ribs that were still wrapped in gauze.

You reluctantly pulled your lips from his, breathing heavily.

“Graves..”

“Oi! What the fuck is goin’ on, I’m breaking the door down in three!”

Ghost’s voice caused you to gently move Graves’ hand from under your shirt, pressing one last kiss to his lips before pulling the door open and putting on your best limp. Ghost’s eyes told you he didn’t buy it for a second, but he stayed quiet as Graves trailed after you with flushed cheeks.

You were the last to board the helicopter, turned around by your shoulder before stepping up to see Graves. He seemed almost shaken; but placed his hands around one of yours before setting off back to the safe house. Looking in your hand, you saw the scrawled digits of a phone number on a scrap of a report sheet. You held it the entire flight back.

#cod requests #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #phillip graves #cod philip graves #phillip graves x male reader #phillip graves x reader #graves mw2 #commander graves

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saintship · 4 months

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Happy new year! I feel a bit more inspired to make longer form fics so stay tuned, I appreciate every bit of support<3 :)

#cod requests #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick

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saintship · 4 months

Note

Could you do #16 with price? Reader is starting to get sick but keeps trying to push that they feel fine

Prompt #16 - “I know when you’re lying, so don’t even start.”

This request is a bit old I apologize!

John Price x Reader - That’s an order

You felt a twinge of embarrassment when, after waking up, you discovered you were drenched in sweat while still held in the arms of your snoring boyfriend. Any gentle attempt of escape made him hold you tighter in his sleep, which was endearing, but you felt so ill that you didn't know if you'd make it to the bathroom. You pried him off eventually, his hoarse, tired voice calling faintly after you when you bolted for the toilet. As soon as the noise of you being sick registered past his tired state, he was behind you, one hand on your back while the other adjusted any clothes or hair in your way.

"It's alright.." His worry seeped through his assuring words.

"I'm fine.." You rid the toilet of the mess, rinsing your mouth in the sink.

"I'll call and tell em' you're ill."

"No, no.." You reached for his phone, which he easily moved out of your reach with an amused smile.

"What're you doin'?"

"I need to go in, I can't ask for my shift to be covered again-"

"You're not leaving this house, love."

"John."

"Not sorry!" He called over his shoulder before dialing your work.

You sighed in resignation as you listened to his voice that had taken on a quality of 'Make my girlfriend attend today, we'll have a problem.'

He made it back in time to help you with a soothing shower, your body aches making it difficult to keep yourself upright while cleaning yourself. Any offer that you could do it yourself was quieted with a firm kiss, up until you were warm, dry and back in bed.

"I'm not a child, you don't need to.. I didn't even know we had Pedialyte!" You ranted half-heartedly.

"Lucky us." He replied simply, setting down the bottle and a sleeve of crackers. "Rest for a bit, then give those a go, okay?" He sat at your side, his hand instinctively running over your sore legs.

"Please tell me you didn't call out too."

"You know I did, love."

Your frustration was hardly a match for the scruff of his jaw as he pressed a kiss to your temple, your eyes closing as a sigh escapes you. Maybe just a day of rest would be okay.

#cod requests #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick

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saintship · 4 months

Text

Wish I could insert a book in my mouth like a VHS tape and absorb it all at once

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saintship · 4 months

Note

Also, i forgot to write this on my request, but if u could, i would love it if the reader is a female, since i'm a girl :).

Summary: f!reader has a journal listing ‘imperfections’ and ‘perfections’, but one category is severely lacking. König & the 141 find this journal by accident. I edited the phone to a journal for the sake of the plot

A/N: I really hope you can find people in your life to confide in, body image is a beast

Cw: discussion of body image and esteem

König & 141 x f!reader - Perfections

Your view of your body was never straightforward, every day a different perspective, a different shift of blame. Some days ran smoother than others.

For the days that left you wishing to crawl out of your skin, it felt like your options were scarce.

You started writing.

The morning after New Year's; murmured goodbyes and pounding heads. You knew you'd be finding glitter in your hair for a week, but considered the night a success anyway. It was a silent victory to have celebrated as a host in the first place; it took confidence to house your closest friends and colleagues, let alone with alcohol involved.

Simon left first; he had woken before you and sent a sweet text before slipping out the door. Gaz and Johnny left together nearly clinging to each other for stability with quiet grumbles of their mysterious bruises. Konig rose heavily, his accent thicker with sleep when he hugged you goodbye and thanked you for the lovely night.

But John hadn't slept there; he'd stayed up past everyone along with you, helping you with the trash and streamers before sitting with you and just talking for hours. He told you about his family; his nieces and nephews that he missed so much, he told you how people like you are what allow him to bend and not break. But just before he left, he remarked he'd left his leather-bound notepad in the other room. He hadn't gotten to his feet before you were on your way to retrieve it for him, afraid that if you let him do another kind thing for you, you might start crying.

Carefully walking through the sleeping forms of your friends, you saw a faded journal on the desk that John had sat near for some of the party, retrieved it, and pulled a blanket over a shivering Simon before returning to the living room and seeing your Captain out the door.

It wasn’t until the first day back from your leave that you realized your mistake. You’d packed nearly everything to return to your on-base living space, but were tearing apart the apartment trying to find your journal. Images of an inspector or your landlord finding the pages where you’d laid your heart out flitted anxiously behind your eyes. That page. A neat T-chart you’d created on a whim, both to try a more organized method of expression, and to hide it all away on a physical copy. For yours eyes only.

One side, a list of attributes that kept you awake,

Stomach, thighs,

and also kept you in bed.

Voice -> too deep, cheeks,

A tangible admission.

The other half was meant to house what you did enjoy about yourself; the small things, the things you took solace in, the acts you did just because you knew it was the right thing to do. What you’re proud of.

But it only bore the marks of the times the ball of the pen had tapped the paper as you fidgeted. It was as empty as you felt when you tried to answer that question. ‘What do you like about yourself?’

Finally, beside the stand mixer, you saw a journal. But as you inspected it, it proved to not be yours. It was smaller, more pristine. Looking on the inside cover, your heart dropped.

J.P.

It had been days. He saw it. There was hardly any chance he hadn’t.

You sped on your way to the base, the horror and embarrassment feeling like fireworks being set off in your ribcage. You abandoned your luggage, first racing inside and impatiently tapping your FOB key to gain access to the office building and sprinting to his office, his rightful notepad in your hand.

Your heart pounded as you collected yourself enough to knock inconspicuously.

“It’s open.”

He was sitting in his mess of paperwork, one hand flipping through a folder in front of him while the other cradled a pen between his middle and forefinger.

“Bright and early, huh? You even moved back in yet?”

His eyes wavered briefly from what laid in front of him.

“Uh—no. No, I wanted to.. you left this.” You set down his notepad, your heart in your throat.

“Right.. got a bit switched up that night, didn’t ya?”

He reached into a drawer, handing you what was yours.

“Thanks. Can’t keep my head screwed on without writin’ shit down.”

You nodded, but still felt a tightness in your abdomen as you spoke.

“Did you happen to.. open this?” You faintly held up the journal.

His eyes flickered to you, then to the wall, then to his desk, his hand fidgeting uncomfortably.

“You should get settled in.”

You knew to accept his tone; the conversation was over.

The walk back to your car felt heavy, like you’d just been scolded by the principal. He hadn’t even done anything to criticize you, and yet you couldn’t shake the tension that stiffened your hand as you grasped the journal at your side. You shoved the journal between the tightened straps of a duffel bag, shouldering that and carrying the rest of your things to your room. Normally you would have one headphone in as you unpacked, taking breaks to visit with the people you hadn’t seen in weeks before wandering back into your space and setting up for another year of your service. But you’d gotten there early; you didn’t feel like music, you didn’t feel like turning the light on, you didn’t feel like doing anything. You opened your journal.

Stomach, thighs,

He’d crossed it.

Voice -> too deep, cheeks,

Why?

What was next to it seemed to release every tensed muscle in your concerned expression, an airy feeling rising in your head.

Perfections

Eyes like stars, soft cheeks

-K

Cute smile, soothing voice

-J.M.

Gorgeous face, stunning top to bottom

-K.G.

Body of a protector, mind of a friend

-S.R.

Wits of steel, feats of a mad woman

-J.P.

There were more, scattered down the page and into the next, the first column forgotten in a crashing sea of praising anecdotes, messages, and love.

Even if you couldn’t see the parts of yourself that were beautiful and important, they were still there.

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saintship · 4 months

Text

This, this, and this.

I encourage people to not take my fiction seriously. A video game about being in the army does not flawlessly translate to very real, ongoing war that has occurred and is occurring. I write in the same fashion you would a fantastical world and story. But, I will make sure to not glamorize anything that could resemble grief, ptsd, suicide, what have you. It is part of the reason I don't write sex. it's not my business if other people attach graphic erotica to those things just for the intensity, but I won't.

*edit, i do consume the bolded content, I just don’t write it. It’s not necessarily wrong to write it, I just don’t, because it’s hard to do it right with such sensitive topics and I’m okay with leaving it alone

'people can write whatever the fuck they want' and 'its good to approach writing about sensitive topics with some diligence and forethought' are statements which can and do coexist

#rant post

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saintship · 4 months

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okay just hear me out!! 13 but with tf141 wherein reader HATES physical touch like they’re completely repulsed by it but they know they can trust tf141, it’s just a matter of getting used to it and time. i’d imagine like it would be them slowly noticing it like if price pats reader on the shoulder for a job well done or if soap just surprise hugs reader from the back and in each scenario the reader freezes up 🤭 also it’s 1 am and i’ve been bingereading your work it’s so good 😭

Prompt #13 - "Take your time."

Thank you so much<3

I’ve struggled with touch aversion my whole life, and it can be upsetting at times so this is free therapy for me,

Hope you enjoy!

Reader & 141 - A little getting used to

Insert excuse to use this gif

The first time they learned of your aversion was at a loosely named ‘work party’, when Gaz had thrown back enough liquor to kill a small animal, Ghost had gathered a few empty pint glasses, and Price drank Soap under the table, literally, when he collapsed to the wooden floorboards of the bar.

You had quickly helped him to his feet and turned to return to your seat when he suddenly enveloped you in a drunken bear hug from behind you, nearly toppling the both of you over with his staggering balance.

You made a low noise of surprise before freezing in place, your hands held up awkwardly as Gaz hiccupped tears of laughter at the scene.

Soap had apologized profusely through the winces of his hangover the next morning, assured when you told him it wasn’t just him, it was touching. But when you were alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but recall how warm it felt, how he held you to him like you were something precious.

It wasn’t long after that night that the 141 had completed another operation, mingling conversation echoing throughout the hangar as they filed out of the jet. Your boots had just touched the concrete floor when you felt a Price’s gloved hand pat your shoulder twice, along with a gentle squeeze and a smile.

“Good work.”

Your rigid body made him retract, but you surprised him by laying your own hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks to the Captain..” You murmured with a nod.

What he took as a small gesture was an act that kept you up that night. It had always seemed like you would always hate touching in general; and you did, but it felt different when it was them.

Maybe it was because they never treated you like a child. Some thought your touch aversion was the result of something terrible, and wanted to talk to you like you were some kind of rescue. But on this team, in this job, they just didn’t care. And it felt good.

You and Ghost shared the same hesitance; he showed his love in different ways. Whether it be his humor, pulling you out of a tight situation in the field, or just staying up when neither of you could sleep because of the flashing images that played behind your eyes. So he was the one who surprised you the most.

The operation hadn’t been going well; there were more hidden explosives than they had prepared for, and the task force were clinging to the only truck that wasn’t shattered into a grotesque metal skeleton. The truck wasn’t meant to fit five bodies, and the uneven weight careened it into a small cluster of metal beams and half-walls that had collapsed from a singed building. The crash wasn’t overly harmful, Price hadn’t been going fast, but you were tossed into a pile of concrete rubble, disturbing a metal beam that fell on your upper arm, snapping the bone and pinning the limb underneath.

Your instinct to struggle only tore at the flesh and ligaments more, a white-hot clamp from your shoulder down. Your nerves spasmed and ricocheted, a fuzzy coating of needles trailing up from the smallest finger of your left hand.

You screamed in a way you likely never would again, your guttural cries of pain alerting Ghost. He knew what you sounded like when you were lacerated, or even shot; you would breathe through the groans, often treating it yourself despite his lecturing that would follow.

Now, there was no breath, no quiet murmurs of discomfort. There was only your screams. Not a high-pitched, piercing tone, but a cry, erupting from deep in your ribs, desperate and hollow.

Gaz was stuck as well, a chunk of concrete the size of a car toppled precariously near him and blocking any route of escape. Price and Soap ran to him while Ghost ran to you, an unspoken divvying of effort. Ghost knelt by you, his adrenaline momentarily halted by your grasping of his gloved hand.

“Please.. please help, please, please-"

You were sobbing from pain, but the beam was too heavy for Simon to lift on his own.

“You’re in shock, Sergeant. You need to keep breathing, you got that?” He spoke steadily, though his eyes darted from one part of your broken body to the next frantically.

“Hurts..”

You felt weak saying it. But that was all that was on your mind. The blinding, stabbing pain.

“I know..” Ghost seemed to murmur under his breath, as if the words escaped him involuntarily.

“Got him!” Soap’s voice rang clear as Price dragged Gaz free. Soap vaulted a pile of brick and cinder blocks, quickly assisting Ghost in lifting the beam off your broken arm. The absence of Ghost’s hand made your palm feel cold.

The pressure being released incited more pain. Your screams increased in severity before you were finally free, Soap discarding the beam roughly. You could see in his eyes he was out of his element. It was unlike you to scream or cry.

“We’ve got to set your arm, we’re too far from a hospital to leave it for later.” Ghost stated. You shook your head vehemently.

“No, no, no..”

“It’s alright, Sergeant..”

He sat behind you, holding your torso in his arms as your injured arm continued to swell.

“Look at the clouds. Don’t look at him.”

Soap had knelt beside you, preparing to set your joint. You obeyed, your eyes fixed on the hazy grey clouds that decorated the muted sky. The season being Autumn accompanied by the fact it was nearing sundown made the sky a gorgeous deep blue, stained with a grey overcoating.

“Just keep looking up..”

Soap set the joint in one fluid motion, and a choked cry escaped you, your flinching only held steady by the arms of a man you hardly even looked in the eye.

“Good.. good job..” Soap touched your knee gently, and any panic seemed to ebb, if only for a fleeting second. You could hear Price radioing for a medical evac through the pounding in your head. You would have slipped into the warm blanket of unconsciousness, had Ghost not been behind you. He had fully settled on the ground, at first to secure you, but now at will. For the first time in a long time, you felt arms around your middle and didn’t want to shrink away.

On the gurney, his gloved hand stayed on your shoulder.

In the helicopter, he held your body steady as the cabin shook during takeoff.

In the medical wing, his palm rested just at your ankle while you were treated.

Every so often, you glanced at his hand, the skeleton print of his gloves stained with grime and blood. And with the warmth of his palm, you figured the touch of someone else might not be as repulsive if it's someone like him.

#cod requests #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #story prompts #ask #requests #request

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saintship · 4 months

Text

🍄 ‘s Request

Synopsis: Reader seems perfectly fine with the rest of the 141 being touchy-feely, but not with Ghost. He wants to know why.

I loved this request it was so detailed!! I hope you like it! -S.S.

Simon Riley x f!Reader - I don’t bite

“Soap, if you keep chewing your gum like that for one more second, I’m going to lose it.”

You sat over a few sheets of paperwork in the common room, Soap at the windowsill tracing patterns in the fogged glass while he waited for the kettle. Unfortunately, a concentrated Soap is also a very loud chewer.

“Haud yer wheesht, yer across the room!” He retorted.

“You’re going to be flying across the room in a minute!” You stood, huffing and walking over to observe his work. He’d drawn a little cartoon ghost with angry-looking eyes.

“Guess who?” He grinned as you rolled your eyes.

“Who’s drinking my tea?” Ghost’s steady voice carried through the tiny kitchen area as he picked up the box of teabags Soap had set down.

“Aye, it’s this one.”

Soap placed his hands on your shoulders. “Wearin’ a mask and all, she’s trying to be like y-"

Soap was cut off by your smacking him with a nearby dish towel, at which he yanked on the end of the cloth and stole an over dramatic kiss to the forehead. You groaned in annoyance, but dissolved into laughter when he attacked you back.

“Get away!” You laughed brightly as Soap snapped the towel at you, turning to spot Gaz walking in, still in his tactical gear from a stakeout.

“He’s insane!” You dodged another one of Soap’s attacks before making a run for it, only to be caught and lifted by Gaz, rendering you immobile.

“You guys suck!” You laughed through your words before breaking free, going back to the kitchen and snatching back the dish towel on the way.

You looked up to see if Simon had snagged Soap’s hot water, but he was gone, the box of tea left discarded on the counter. The lightness in your chest dimmed a bit as you realized the room had carried on with its action and disregarded him.

It wasn’t the end of the world. He was a grown man; he didn’t need to be entertained or catered to at all times, but for some reason it stuck. Like a stone that sank to the bottom of your stomach and remained for days. What that heaviness was, you couldn’t say.

Not two days later, the team was at a dive bar, traditionally following a short and successful mission. You joked with Soap and Gaz that they’d ward off any leering figure. Even though you could defend yourself effortlessly, they were men, and they loved you, so they couldn’t help but edge a bit closer or stand a bit straighter in that sort of environment. At the pool table, Soap was nearly always behind you, warding off any bold patron from “giving you a few pointers”. You barely noticed it now, just continuing in your brazen promises to destroy Gaz at his favorite bar game.

You didn’t see the calm eyes watching you, Simon’s glass being lifted to his lips as the bourbon slipped past his throat and, it seemed, straight into his heart. Your smile, the way you moved, the way you just existed, made him slip into a daydream of kissing you right there at the billiards table, the Task Force both irritated and touched by the display. His balaclava rested just above his nose, his stubbled jaw revealing the faint shadow of a week’s neglect.

It occurred to him that he had never actually attempted to initiate what you had with them.

Sometimes, he would talk to John in his office over a fancy bottle, and sometimes his tongue would slip. On one of those occasions, his Captain couldn’t stand to stay silent.

“Do something about it, Simon.”

Seeing Simon’s state, it was clear the problem wasn’t the conflict of interest, it was him. He wasn’t afraid of Narcos, or sprinting toward gunfire, or any of the things that made his job horrifying, he was afraid of showing you who he was and being laughed at.

“Maybe I will.”

He was drunk and snarky in that moment, but now he’d barely had half a glass, and he still felt that pull toward you. He felt the same ignition in his ribs that he felt in boot camp when another recruit challenged him. His competitiveness, his ambition, it never left. It only simmered, slowly and consistently, until you came along and sent it boiling over.

You were coming over now. He lowered his balaclava, the contact of fabric easing his battering heart.

“Had enough of them?” He murmured. His voice scratched from underuse, and he cleared his throat irritably.

“Always..” You thanked the bartender for your drink, not sitting at the bar but not turning back to the game quite yet.

Simon cursed his own body for the swarm of nerves intersecting in his stomach. Just the sight of you taking off your jacket was forcing him to stay in place instead of bolting to the men’s room and squeezing his eyes shut, raking his hand through his hair and forcing his nervous system down from its overdrive.

He tried to sound casual.

“You winning, then?”

“I plead the fifth..”

“Can’t do that in the Queen’s land, can you?”

The joke slipped like a sleight of hand, and your huff of laughter made his chest warm.

Maybe he could just..

“Least’ you get to show off your artillery.” He tapped a gloved fist on your exposed bicep, the muscle lean from your endless unpacking and carrying of equipment. The touch was hardly even an exchange, a tap to the side of your arm by the side of his hand. It was safe, he figured. But you straightened up and inched away.

His mind blurred your words as you excused yourself back to the pool table. He fucked up. He fucked up.

But you were thinking the same. It had taken nearly ten turns before you gathered enough courage to return to the bar counter, and when he spoke to you first, every faux bit of confidence crumbled to the floor. You saw the shine in his eyes when he made his little quip, and wondered if they looked like that when he cracked those stupid jokes over comms. You wondered what his smile looked like, and then his hand touched your arm, and you inhaled sharply, removing yourself in fear of what you would do, what you would say, how your face looked, how your voice wavered. You fucked up.

Over the next week, somehow you combated your feelings of guilt by doubling down. It pained you to no end, but you didn’t know what to do besides continue what you’d started. You weren’t ready to tell the truth, even to yourself.

You figured the universe decided to punish you for your cowardice by giving you this mission. You and Simon camped on the side of a shallow valley, the foot of the snowy hills harboring a warehouse that a sensitive target was tracked to. The mission was over quickly, but by the time the target was dead, the snow had gotten so severe that the warehouse door was under too much pressure to open. It was safe enough inside, but there was nowhere to go.

“We’ve got to wait it out.” Simon conceded after several attempts of escape.

“It’s definitely below freezing in here..” You grunted as you moved the body to a sealed container.

“He’s not complaining.” Simon nodded to the corpse, making you roll your eyes as you latched the container shut.

After some searching, you started a fire underneath a vent, the wind disturbing the flames but also preventing the smoke from choking the room. The two of you had the brain to pack up your camp before descending the hill, so you laid out what you had and rested on your back. Simon sat on his own bedroll, looking at the flames.

“You’d be warmer if you were closer.”

“I’m right next to the fire.”

“Closer to me.”

Your breath hitched as you avoided his eyes, forcing a sigh. “I’m fine.”

“You know something?”

Your jaw twitched; he saw.

“Cupid could stick an arrow in your back while you stare at me, and you’d still fall for a rock on the floor instead a’ me.”

You adjusted your weight, covering your legs with your thermal blanket. Your heart began to hammer again when you noticed his nose and mouth were exposed. He’d shaved since the night at the bar.

You didn’t reveal a thing.

“What’s the difference?”

But then he laughed, and you saw one of his canines was pointed a bit. You saw he had dimples. You saw the smooth contours of his smile, and it was like your head was fastened irreversibly to look his way. His tongue appeared to wet his dry lips briefly and your cheeks burned. He spoke evenly. You studied how his mouth moved when he talked, following the inflections of his accent with your eyes.

“We’re stuck here, Sergeant. So I’ll be straight. What’s the fuckin’ deal?”

If anyone else swore that way, you’d take it as unnecessary aggression, but his eyes told you he just wanted an answer.

“Not everyone you meet is going to be infatuated with you..” Your words intended to bite, but they fell from your lips like dead leaves.

“Not everyone I meet knows how I think like you do.” His tone dipped with sincerity. “Not everyone cracks filthy jokes and doesn’t care what looks she gets. You’re not everyone, love.”

Your eyes met his at the nickname. “Simon..”

“I don’t bite.” He murmured. “So come get me.”

“Come get..” you breathed, and he nodded.

You sat up, facing him and shifting closer.

“S’a bit cruel, you know..” The quieter he got, the more gravel lined his words. “The other boys gettin’ your lovin’. Leavin’ me out, babe?”

His hand trailed to your jaw, his fingertips traveling from the skin behind your ear until the side of his knuckle held your chin.

“It’s not the same, they’re not.. they’re..”

He was so close now, the breath of his words almost right against your lips. He lifted your mask until he could watch the way your lips parted.

“They’re not me..”

He nailed his words in when he kissed you, slowly and with a confidence you did not expect. He pulled back for a moment, likely to ask if it was alright that he’d practically confessed for you, but you were pulling him back into your arms before he could get a word out. His arm held you upright and close to him, not wandering, but instead soothing up your back with gentle movements, his other hand carefully holding your face and occasionally brushing his thumb over your cheek. The howling of the wind outside seemed to quiet; it was just the sound of his breathing, the faint, intoxicating noise that murmured from his chest. He took a fragment of your lip between his teeth before soothing over the intrusion with his tongue. He was impossibly warm.

“Fuckin’ hell, mate..”

You drew back roughly, Simon grunting in surprise before noticing what had startled you. Gaz stood with the warehouse door pried open, panting from exertion.

“Didn’t know you got down like that, Lieu-"

“That’ll do!”

#cod requests #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon riley x female reader #simon riley imagine

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saintship · 4 months

Text

Rest in Peace, Andre Braugher.

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saintship · 4 months

Text

Psst

🍄 anon,

I see u

your request is the bomb dot com

I am cooking ‼️

#cod requests #cod mwii #call of duty

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saintship · 5 months

Note

Ok imagine this.... force 141 meeting price twin sibling reader that's a retired captain but here's the twist they think reader is an imposter when in reality their just here to visit price and take him to his favorite restaurant for his break...

This is so old I’m sorry :,)

Protective 141 my beloved

“Leaving, on a jet plane..

Don’t know when I’ll be back again..”

Your soft voice cut through the music, singing along as your tires dug across the dirt road leading to the base entrance.

Your keychain swayed gently from the rear view mirror, a tiny toy soldier John had slipped into the pocket of your slacks the day you were promoted to Captain.

As much as you were at peace with retiring from your position, those small pieces of your career never seemed to disappear.

The security personnel were all smiles seeing your truck pull in, joking and teasing as they’d done for so many years. While your car was taken care of, you were lead to your brother’s office before being left to greet him. You listened through the door, only hearing the tapping of his keyboard.

BANG, BANG, BANG.

You grinned like a child when you heard a low curse and angry footsteps. The door flew open.

“You are a pest.”

“Good to see you!” You beam.

“Mhm.” He grumbled, though he guided your shoulders inside carefully.

It had been strange since you left, but just being in his office was reassuring. He told you what he could now that you weren’t in on classified info, and you told him nearly everything. The nightmares, the daydreams, the panic attacks, disassociation.

Talking to him always reminded you that even though you ached to be back in uniform, leaving was for the best.

You displaced his office decorations and spoke with him for a few hours before he hugged you goodbye tightly, reminding you that this was still a version of home, and he was here.

“Always here.” He said.

You closed his door gently, hesitating a moment to run your thumb down the groove of the door seam in thought.

“You lost?”

The voice nearly made you jump, though your years in service didn’t let you show it as you turned to see a young man in uniform, scanning you with a furrowed brow.

“Do you need assistance?” He repeated, adjusting his cap.

You blink in realization. “Oh, I’m-"

“This is a restricted area, mate.” Another voice joined the first, accompanied by an intimidating figure that had appeared from behind a corner. Not an inch of him was uncovered apart from his eyes, his build and layers making him look even more threatening. He seemed to puff up like an angry cat; amusing to your trained eye.

“John is my brother, I worked here with him before your task force transferred here.” You replied smoothly.

“Price doesn’t have siblings.” The masked soldier spoke lowly.

You smiled despite yourself. “Well, that’s news to me..”

“Need some directions?”

Another?

Your patience thinned.

“Look. I served here, he’s my brother. If you open this door, he’ll tell you.”

The first soldier eyed you suspiciously.

“Forgive me for not taking your word for it, uh..?”

“Price.” You deadpan. “My last name is Price.”

The capped soldier hummed, seemingly still off-put.

You sighed, exasperated. “Please open the door.”

“Yeah, alright.” The masked man starts toward you, and you fight the urge to skillfully escape his hold when he guides you by the shoulder back into the office.

“I hope you’re not lying..” The Scottish soldier from before murmured as you passed, and John lifted his head from his work.

“Claims to be your-”

“For Christ’s sake, release your death grip from my sibling!”

His exasperated tone makes you smile as the three soldiers flank you. The hand on your shoulder leaves along with a tense apology that only deepens your amusement.

“If I wasn’t, I think they did a pretty good job interrogating me.” You say lightly.

“I’m so sorry.. what’s with you lot, aye?”

He shut down the protesting of the capped and Scottish soldier with a raised hand, sighing as he brought you to face them.

“Should have thought to introduce you..”

Capped soldier was Gaz, Scot was Soap, mask was Ghost. Their apologetic shuffling of their weight made you comfortable already.

“It’s nice that you’re so..protective.”

You hoped they sensed your amusement and didn’t really think you were rattled. It would have taken a lot more than a strong arm to trip you up.

“They’re idiots.” John corrected, sitting back down.

“You served?” Ghost murmured.

“I did. I retired a few months ago.”

“You’re.. Price’s age?” Gaz’s tone was disbelieving.

“Oi.” John glowered.

“You can’t say that..” Soap nudged Gaz harshly.

“The exact same actually. Well..” You glance at John. “I am three minutes older..”

“And yet you’re the child.” John bit back.

“Why’d you never tell us you have a twin sister?” Soap gestured to you.

“Not your business?” John replied.

“Aye..” Soap rolled his eyes.

“You three should come with us for dinner.” You suggested.

John’s ‘No’ was overshadowed by the resounding enthusiasm of his task force.

“You’re supposed to be on my team.” John grumbled.

“I’m retired, John, I work alone.”

He glared at Gaz’s quiet laugh.

“7:00. We’ll be at that little run-down near the bar.”

“You’re taking them there? I thought you were family.” Ghost shifted his weight.

“Good chips.” You and John both defended the restaurant of choice at the same time.

“Oh, they’re twins for real..” Gaz murmured. “Creepy.”

“See you tonight.” You gently shoved John’s head before excusing yourself.

“See you!”

“Bye!”

“Cheers..”

When you had left the building, the three turned back to John. Soap didn’t get a chance to open his mouth before John rumbled a warning.

“If you so much as think about it, I will tear you apart.”

#call of duty modern warfare #cod requests #cod mwii #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john price #captain price #price #141 x reader #task force 141 #cod 141 #mw2 141

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