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raffe156 · 9 months

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Mate once again it has been a hot minute. So much has happened in my life including me graduating. That's right I officially owe the UK government a lot of money. Unywho just wanted to tickle your brain with a question if thats okiee. What did Price think of Tank when he first saw her? Not spoke but saw. I want to know that initial spark in his brain because I'm nosey. I know he mentions he handpicked Tank himself to Helen which implies he held her in high regard. NGL I like to imagine him first meeting her was during a fighting exercise with another rookie and Tank just annihilating them. Just Price feeling a mix of respect, horny and terrified <3

First off mate well done on graduating!!! I’m so proud of you, you clever little thing! 🤩💖✨

Love this!! So to celebrate you being back in my orbit it’s getting a little Drabble 💕

Well, it was more the second time seeing her he felt something stir.

Price first met Tank when he had a stopover at her base between missions, she was roughly 16/17 (Don’t worry) , he was a Lieutenant. He had heard of ‘Tank’ but didn’t exactly know who she was, just that she was a trouble causer, good but trouble nonetheless.

He was passing the mess hall one afternoon with Captain Doyle (picture Liam Neeson) and Lieutenant Falkirk (Christian Bale) who was Tanks CO at the time. The noise coming from the mess hall was what steered them towards the scene. A crowd of people had gathered around one table in the middle all shouting, yelling, fists in the air. A fight. Not one of the recruits had even noticed the 3 High ranked men. As they approached Price noticed a young female recruit sobbing on another table a few others consoling her. He immediately chalked this up to a lovers tiff, two lads fighting over the same girl things like that happen, but as they got closer a few of the spectators started to back away. Opening the table up to view and instead of two lads fighting Price watched as one lad lay on his back arms up trying to defend his face from the blows that rained down on him, from a much smaller female recruit. She was pummelling him, Price looked at her face the lad must of got at least one hit in. She looked feral.

“ALL RIGHT PACK IT IN NOW!!” Doyle shouted yanking one of the watching recruits out of his way. Falkirk rolled his eyes laughing as he climbed onto the table to pull the female off the poor lad.

“Come on Tank, he’s had enough” he was laughing. So this was the infamous Tank, she was shorter than he had imagined. She didn’t resist Falkirk she went calmly with him.

“What am I going to do with you?” Falkirk smiled, Price watched as he walked her away from the crowd. He followed.

“Ahh Tank, meet an old friend of mine this is Lieu…”

“Lieutenant John Price…I know who he is Sir…” She wiped her bloody hand on her T-shirt before she reached out to shake Prices hand.

“Nice to meet you Sir, I’d love to chat but think I need to head over to medical or just lay low…try to avoid Captain Doyle..” she looked to Falkirk to be dismissed. He sighed,

“Good idea, go on I’ll sort it out with old Doyle” he patted her shoulder. She nodded to the men before running off.

“It was nice to finally put a face to a name kid..” Price called out. She ran backwards a grin from ear to ear.

Falkirk let out a heavy sigh as he lit a cigarette running his hand through his hair.

“Now you see what I was talking about…she’s the reason I’m going grey John…I’m too young to be going grey! I have to get her in-line or else Doyle is gonna have my head on a pike an her out on her arse..” Falkirk started walking towards the exit.

“She does seem like a handful…but you said she’s one of the best recruits you’ve seen in years…”

“She’s not one of she is the best, she just has an attitude problem…” Falkirk scoffed

Price looked in the direction Tank had run off in, he always did like an underdog.

It wasn’t till years later that Price met Tank again in the field he hadn’t recognised her at first it wasn’t until Gaz embraced her calling out Tank did he twig. He looked her up an down it was hard to believe that the stunning woman stood in front of him was the same bloody faced little terror he had met all those years ago. He reintroduced himself, she probably didn’t remember him, the only change was he was Captain Price now not lieutenant. She smiled shaking his hand.

“Nice to see you again Sir…it’s been a long time…you look well shame I can’t say the same for Falkirk” She did remember him. Now a Captain himself, Falkirk walked in. His hair grey on both sides, a full beard he looked shattered.

“See what I mean” she laughed, Price liked the way it sounded.

Price watched as she commanded teams, set plans and went into motion, out on the field she was amazing he was in awe of her. She held her own. He felt a small stir in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. It terrified him. He looked at Gaz.

“She’s good your mate isn’t she..”

“One of the best boss…she’d be a great addition…”

Price looked over at her as she calmed a wounded squad mate.

“Think you right son, remind me to have a word with Falkirk”

And the rest is history! 😌

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soapybutt17 · 28 days

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The Next of Kin

Summary: Simon needed to update his contact information, as dodgy as he was for giving everyone even a glimpse of his private life, he did so. Who would have ever thought that it would become handy after an injury left him high on painkillers and needy for his girls back home. Character: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Wife!Reader. OC Daughter (Cassandra "Cassie" Riley). John Price. Word Count: 1,615 Chapter Warnings: Mentions of Injuries. Drug Consumption. Slight Angst. Mostly fluff.

Masterlist || Request are Open

It was the annual checkup in the base, something that Simon had dreaded the most knowing what it entails. Not only was his current and past injuries being monitored but he was all too certain about the wacky doctor would also make an appearance to check on his mental state. It wasn’t a fun time as any of his other team mates point it out to be.

“Should we update your emergency contact, Lieutenant Riley?” The nurse had inquired dealing with his medical records.

A part of him wanted to say no, but remembering what was waiting for him home, he could not allow himself to break his wife’s heart as well as his own daughter if the time ever comes that he dies in the middle of battle. He would want to ensure if ever that was to happen, you would know and hope that you would move on.

“Yes,” He agreed accepting the clipboard and pen handed to him.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he wrote your name and your number under his emergency contacts.

His handwriting was decent and readable at best, chicken scratch at worst as Johnny had eloquently pointed out during reports. But there was this special care with the way he wrote your first name and his last name that you were more than happy to take as soon as you married all those years ago. Your number was ingrained to his brain as he wrote it, having forced himself to memorize in the event he didn’t have his personal phone with him and simply a burner phone for missions.

What truly took him a second to write was the blank space dedicated to his relationship with you. No one knew he was in a relationship, nor did anyone know about his marriage. It took him a full two minutes before he found himself slowly opening the flood gates of his personal life that he had tried his best to hide from the world.

“Never knew you were married, Lieutenant.”

“Never planned on letting anyone know about it.” He spoke honestly, the cold demeanor and tone enough to stop the conversation from going further about his personal life.

Little did Simon know that the upcoming mission would lead to him having to make use of the emergency contact.

When you had begun your relationship with one Simon Riley, you had always accepted that he would always be gone for uncertain amounts of months in a year, you had accepted that part of him. How mission would always mean the world was a little safer from the dangers of man. You accepted all the big and small flaws that came with Simon and even in your eventual marriage and the birth of your daughter, you had come to accept the danger that would come in missions that would place him badly bruised or beaten beyond repair. You would always be there to tend to each and every single wounds and be the shoulder for him to cry on when he was good and ready.

But nothing could have ever prepared you for another unknown call coming from your phone. You’ve always expected it to be your husband, checking up on you before the mission begins like he always does. But the voice of an unknown man was the last thing you would have expected.

He called himself John Price and you know the man from your husband’s few conversations when he talks about the people he works with. You had feared for the worst as soon as he had explained that your husband has just gotten out of surgery after a mission. A few broken bones and a superficial gunshot wound. But it was enough to worry you as Simon himself has been asking for you as soon as he was out of surgery and in lucid consciousness.

On most days you were calm and collected, but it was the panic of seeing the worse of your husband that had you carrying your two year old and a baby bag towards your car with a mission. The Captain had asked if you could possibly have someone come get him but you know no one else better to check up on him but yourself and your daughter that was all the more excited about being in the car.

The travel was rather long and rather tedious knowing you and your husband had agreed to live away from the city and away from any dangers that may come to you and the baby while he was gone. You had appreciated the distance, the peaceful tranquility that came with being away from the bustle and noise of the city but not this time. It had meant a longer journey and a more hectic one since the base was all the way across the other side.

Once you had arrived to the base, all eyes were on you. Many eyes had lingered on you when they heard your last name. You know for a fact that your husband’s name and reputation beholds him, but you never knew nor did you ever try to question to what extent. It unnerved you more was how avoidant everyone had been of you aside from one of the soldiers tasked with bringing you and your daughter to your husband.

Outside the infirmary room was a rugged man. The man exudes an air or control and intensity and rugged strength, but not as much as your husband did. His posture was upright, suggesting discipline and years of military training. Dressed in an all too familiar tactical gear, he gives off a no-nonsense vibe that immediately commands attention.

“Ma’am, my name is John Price.” The man introduced the moment he caught sight of you.

You spoke your name and your daughter that was surprisingly all too mum in the whole situation, you were surprised that she wasn’t crying at being in an unfamiliar environment like she usually was.

“It is best to assume that you two are Simon’s wife and daughter, I presume?” He inquired.

You took a moment to think if it was alright to agree with his statement. Knowing your husband and the array of precaution he had come to give you, you were uncertain if you could trust the man with such a fact.

“Yes.” You spoke, dealing with the consequence later as there was something more important that needed your attention. “How’s he doing?” You inquired wanting to change the subject now.

“Stable. A little loopy from the drugs, but he’ll make a fast recovery.”

You nodded, hesitation of asking if you would be allowed to see him now in his state.

“He was looking for you.” He opened the door for you and you were welcomed with your husband in bed with his mask still on.

“Dada!” Your daughter squealed upon the sight of your husband groggy still.

You watched as his head turned to look at you and your daughter.

“Love…” He grunted wincing at the pain that you were certain that was coming in full force now.

“I’m here, Baby.” You whispered approaching him, cupping his cheeks gently. “Me and Cassie are here.” You assured trying your best to hide the tears that were fighting to fall at the sight of him.

When Simon Riley had opened his eyes, the first thing that he had come to notice was the pain that surrounded his entire body. The next thing that he noticed was the warmth that wrapped around his calloused hand.

Turning his head he saw the most beautiful sight that he had the fortune of seeing in his life. His wife and daughter. The more pressing matter was the fact that you were asleep in an all too familiar uncomfortable plastic chair with one hand on him, and your other arm held onto your baby sleeping on your chest.

“Baby…” He grunted harsher than he intended.

Slowly blinking away, your eyes immediately turned down towards your daughter before your eyes met his own.

“How are you holding up?” You inquired immediately, trying your best not to wake your sleeping daughter still cradled snuggly on your chest.

“Like a bitch.” He muttered appreciating being able to swear with his daughter still asleep. “But I’ll live.”

“I’m glad.” You sighed, rubbing his hand tenderly. “I was so worried about you when your boss called me. I thought something worse has happened.” You whispered.

“I didn’t really want to worry you—or have you see me like this.” He muttered.

“I know.” You nodded gently letting go of his hand to cup his cheeks that still was covered with his mask. “But I’m still as glad to be here right now knowing you’re alright. Me and Cassie get to see you’re alright.”

At the mention of your daughter, Simon noticed his daughter begin to get fussy from your chest. Gently pushing himself up until he sat on his bed much to your protest, he took your now crying daughter into his arms, gently laying her onto his chest and how quick she was sated in his warmth.

“Daddy’s here, Angel. I’m here.” He began to whisper, pulling off his balaclava to kiss his daughter onto top of her head. “I’m not going soon for a while. I promise.”

He has yet to tell you about the doctor’s insistence that he takes a few months off. It would be something he would tell when you get home. Once he finishes up with the paper works, he’ll let you know of the good news. For now, all that’s important was he had you and his daughter here with him, even in his most vulnerable state.

#cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley fanfic #fem reader #simon riley mw2 #simon riley x female reader #cod fic #mw2 fic #mw2 x you #mw2 x reader #ghost riley #simon riley fluff

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rileyslibrary · 11 months

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I love your sense of humour and have cracked up at your stories multible times. Maby you can find some inspiration in this:

Price ordering the team to an etiquette training so they know how to behave in case they have to go under cover in a more "fancy" environment (or the upcoming mission may require something like this). I'm thinking about Ghosts "sausage fingers" from the origami bit on a delicate litte cake fork... Or him needing to *converse* with someone.

I think putting these hard soldiers in a situation that's out of their comfort zone is always a fun read!

Thank you for letting us enjoy your fantastic writing! <3

Be gentle, man!

Relationship: TF141 x F!Reader with a potential Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader (platonic?) on the horizon. Also there’s an OC in the story.

Word Count: 1,598 (approx. 7-8 min reading time)

Notes: I began writing this last night as a joke, and couldn’t stop. Thank you SO MUCH for inspiring me to do this, anon. It’s a crackfic btw. (There’s a part 2 now here)

———————————————————————

The training room feels out of place compared to its usual purpose. Bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, the once-busy gym has been transformed into a classroom for an unlikely lesson—manners, of all things. Table manners, to be precise.

“Talk about Fitness Vs. Finesse,” Soap whispers, and you playfully nudge his side. The comment reaches Gaz’s ears, and he lets out a chuckle. Yet, Price’s death stare reclaims your attention and brings you back to focus.

You all sit around a long, polished mahogany table atop the gym’s boxing ring, admiring the delicate china and crystal glassware set before you. It reminds you of Aunt Claire’s preserved collection, which rarely leaves its cabinet. Lady Theodora, your etiquette instructor, assures you that each piece serves a purpose, and you will put them all to use. Every. Single. One of them.

Lady Theodora, the epitome of timeless confidence, moves gracefully around the table. Her silver hair is slicked back, framing a face that exudes years of wisdom and experience. Her Bordeaux-coloured shawl billows behind her as she glides, catching the gentle breeze her steps create. She pauses behind Price’s chair and reveals the reason behind today’s masterclass: an undercover operation.

“In the world of espionage, where appearances can mean the difference between life and death,” she says in a soft voice, “the art of etiquette becomes a weapon, a shield, and,” she concludes, resting her hand on Price’s shoulder, “your ticket to survival.”

“Bollocks.”

All eyes are drawn to the far end of the table, where a shadowy figure prefers to go unnoticed but isn’t afraid to express doubts. The only visible sign of life is a hand fidgeting with the butterknife.

“I beg your pardon, Lieutenant.” Lady Theodora says, and Ghost leans forward, revealing his unmasked—and visibly annoyed—face.

“We’re soldiers, not knights,” he claims. “Teaching us how to use all these,” he says, motioning to the various utensils before him, “is a waste of time, both yours and mine.”

Lady Theodora regards him gently as if looking at a child throwing a tantrum. She smiles and walks behind him, gripping the back of his chair.

“You seem quite certain of your own competence and doubtful of mine, Mr Riley,” she says, amused.

Ghost tilts his head to the side, partially facing her.

“With all due respect, Lady Theodora,” he replies, “I don’t believe you fully comprehend how such missions operate.”

Lady Theodora lets a light chuckle as she moves closer to Ghost’s face.

“My record of 25 confirmed kills, three of which were accomplished with a butterknife like the one in your hand, might suggest otherwise,” she admits. “Now, would you kindly move your seat forward, Lieutenant? I’ll show you how to act like a proper gentleman.”

Ghost’s Adam’s apple bobbles as he swallows hard. He returns the butterknife to its original position and pushes his chair forward with Lady Theodora’s help.

Gaz clears his throat and looks at Soap.

“Imagine her dinner parties,” he whispers so Price doesn’t hear him, “they must be perfectly executed.”

“Bet she makes a killer soufflé,” Soap whispers back.

You look at them and mutter, “You two are beyond help.” Unfortunately, it’s your own comment that catches Price’s attention this time, and he gives you a stern warning to behave.

“Let’s get started,” Lady Theodora says. “Projecting confidence and grace requires proper posture: sit up straight, shoulders back, and imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head.”

You all adjust your posture, attempting to imitate Lady Theodora. Ghost used to a more relaxed posture, finds it difficult to maintain the required formality. His broad shoulders hunch forward, and he struggles to keep his legs straight.

“Excellent,” Lady Theodora remarks, catching Ghost’s struggle but choosing not to comment further. “Next, we shall delve into the art of dining. Each utensil on the table has a specific purpose, and it is essential to use them correctly.”

She points to the array of utensils laid out before you. Multiple forks, knives, and spoons of various sizes and shapes make the sight overwhelming.

“The outermost utensils are for the earlier courses, while the inner ones are for the later ones.” Lady Theodora says, “It’s like unwrapping a gift, one course at a time.”

You all nod and place the napkin on your lap to begin the process.

Ghost’s ingrained military habits take over when food is served, causing him to devour it quickly. He shovels forkfuls of food into his mouth without looking up and barely pausing to chew.

“Mr Riley,” Lady Theodora addresses Ghost, who shoots his head up to look at her. “I understand the military inclination to eat fast, but we must remember that the food isn’t going anywhere. Take your time, savour each bite, and enjoy your meal, please.”

“Sorry ’bout that.” Ghost mumbles with his mouth full.

Lady Theodora raises an eyebrow. “Mr Riley, it is impolite to speak with your mouth full,” she reminds him. “Please, swallow your food before continuing.”

Ghost swallows and clears his throat. “Apologies, Lady Theodora,” he mutters.

Lady Theodora smiles and nods at Ghost’s response. “Very well, Lieutenant Riley,” she says. “Remember, dining is about more than just the food; it’s also about the company and the experience.”

As the training continues, you witness Soap’s attempts to initiate a proper conversation, only to subconsciously bring up military strategies. Gaz, on the other hand, struggles with small talk and, when asked about his hobbies, blurts out his love of explosions.

“Kerosene is one hell of a—”

“No kerosene talk on the table, Sergeant,” Lady Theodora interrupts. “How about we talk about something more appropriate, like, for example, what did you do today?”

“You’re not going to like it.” He replies.

“Did it involve kerosene?” She asks and receives multiple excited nods from Gaz.

Ghost forgets about his napkin while using the finger bowl and instinctively flicks his hands to dry them. Droplets of water scatter across the table, and Lady Theodora steps forward with a calm smile. She retrieves his napkin and hands it to him. “Remember, Lieutenant,” she whispers, “the napkin is your ally.”

Throughout this ordeal, Price seems to be the only one who already has a natural fluidity in his movements. Like he already knows about etiquette.

You compliment his impeccable manners, but Lady Theodora intervenes before Price can respond.

“Oh, that’s because the Captain already received my services a few years ago,” she reveals, winking.

Price, caught off guard, coughs and sputters, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. After regaining his composure, he clears his throat and grins.

“Yes, well, Lady Theodora’s guidance has been, um, invaluable,” he manages to say and lowers his gaze to his plate. Gaz raises an eyebrow, and Soap gives a sly smile.

With the etiquette training completed, Price gracefully positions his utensils on his plate and folds his napkin. Lady Theodora hands him a file stack, which he distributes to you.

“These files contain detailed background information for your assigned roles,” he explains. “Study them carefully; familiarise yourselves with the personas you will embody, and don’t worry; with Lady Theodora’s help, you’ll have plenty of time to learn how to carry yourselves.”

He watches you all as you take hold of your respective files, scanning the pages and absorbing the details that will shape your performances.

“Gaz, within those pages, you’ll uncover the roadmap to shape your tech persona, along with essential contacts and valuable industry insights,” Price declares.

“A startup entrepreneur,” Gaz mutters and nods, “nice.”

“Soap,” Price continues, “your file contains the lineage and history of an alleged oil tycoon family; you’ll assume the identity of their sole son and heir to the business.”

“Why do I get the oil-moneyed spoiled brat?” Soap protests, “Gaz is the one obsessed with fossil fuel!”

Price looks at Lady Theodora, silently begging her to take the lead.

“Focus on embodying the demeanour of an heir, Sergeant MacTavish,” she comforts Soap. “Acquiring in-depth knowledge of the business is not a top priority now.”

Finally, Price shifts his focus to you and Ghost. His voice softens, and a smile appears on his lips.

“As for the two of you,” he says, “your assignment requires a convincing portrayal of a couple.”

You and Ghost exchange a brief look before returning your focus to the files in your hands.

“Laswell will provide you with a forged marriage certificate and photos of your alleged relationship,” Price continues. “The documents will serve as tangible proof if the need to validate your connection arises.”

“Any chance to let us know who or what we’re after?” Gaz asks, and Price shakes his head.

“Baby steps, Sergeant; we’re waiting for Laswell to give us more intel,” he explains, “but as far as we know, we’re dealing with people who can buy their way out of some very sketchy shit.”

“Language, Captain.” Lady Theodora reminds him.

“Please accept my sincere apologies, Theodora,” he says and turns to Gaz. “I meant sketchy things, Sergeant.”

As they continue discussing the mission, your mind wanders on the latest information. Ghost’s partner? How? You look at the file and then back at Ghost. You see Lady Theodora walking behind Ghost’s chair and leaning close to his ear. She looks at you and whispers to him.

“I told you, Lieutenant,” she says, “I’ll mould you into a proper gentleman.”

Ghost turns to face you as well. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Lady Theodora,” he replies.

But Lady Theodora smiles and touches his shoulder, “Oh, you’ll see, Mr Riley—you’re my gift to unwrap, one course at a time.”

———————————————————————

Part 2 ->

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saturnville · 2 months

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on the frontline, major john egan

pairing: major john "bucky" egan x black fem oc (major lanessa "nessa" dixon) content: in an unlikely event, john meets another major during the war, but she isn't what he expects. warnings: medical inaccuracies. an: Nessa is inspired by major della raney jackson, first black major of the army nurse corps. tag list: @neeville @turn-thy-paige @ihe4rtisa @ineedafictionalman @lovebyceleste

The mess hall bustled with deep voices and the screeching of rubber soles against the dirty floor. The sun shone through the dusty windows and onto the leather-covered backs of the soldiers. An aroma of breakfast filled the atmosphere and wrapped its arms around them like a warm hug. The chefs made a large meal before missions. It was the last meal some men had to cherish.

At a long table sat 13 men; two majors, two captains, a lieutenant, and eight sergeants. The conversations were minimal, until a sergeant spoke, “Have you met the new nurse?” He whistled he guzzled down a hefty bowl of oatmeal. He grunted after swallowing the hot oats and slurped down the black coffee beside his arm. “She’s a beauty!”

There was a discourse among the men who tried to figure out when they’d see the newly hired nurses. The wages of war came at a high price. Death and injury seemed to be a suitable payment to the creditor. To combat that, the service brought on extra hands to give medical assistance to the troops, especially with more men being enlisted to serve. Hundreds of thousands of men prepared to put their lives on the line; the least they could have was efficient medical care.

“They all are,” another commented. “50 more nurses and half of ‘em are Black. Came in with them Tuskegee Airmen. Never seen anything like it.”

As the pilots bantered about the new nurses, Major John Egan kept his gaze fixed on his coffee, his mind elsewhere. The arrival of more nurses was a reminder of the harsh realities of war, the constant influx of fresh faces tasked with patching up the broken bodies that returned from the front lines. Dread settled deep in his stomach at the thought of encountering them under such circumstances. With a curt nod, he urged his comrades to focus on the day ahead. Meanwhile, the chatter of the mess hall continued, blending with the clinking of utensils and the low hum of conversations.

“Haven’t seen them,” he spoke from behind the rim of his coffee. “Hoping I never have to. Let’s get going, boys.” “Yes, sir.”

“Major Egan’s hit!” For a moment, there was silence. Then, it wound up again when the wounded leader crossed the threshold into the infirmary.

The infirmary was chaotic. Loud cries and deep groans filled the air. Trays and metal utensils kissed one another as they were tossed on carts filled with supplies. White coats here and there sifted throughout the room as green bodies wheeled more patients into the large room.

His breathing was ragged and heavy. With blurred vision caused by tears surfacing in the ducts on his eyes, it was difficult to navigate the infirmary without bumping into objects and solid bodies. His feet were heavy as he stumbled further into the infirmary.

"I got you, Bucky," Gale's voice was frantic as he hoisted the pilot on his body. "You're gonna be alright, y'hear me?" If he had the strength, he would have replied. His heartbeat was in his ears and his stomach was in his throat. He'd never been shot before. Would this be the end of his career as a pilot? He groaned in agony.

"I need a nurse!" Gale hollered, his husk voice reverberating off the walls. "He's been shot. Bullet is still in his shoulder."

In front of him appeared a nurse. A highly ranked nurse, at that. She was dressed differently than the others. There was no matching white skirt set with a pretty hat, no, she was dressed just like him. Dark leather jacket, heavy pants, and dark boots. On her chest was a multitude of badges and pins, including one that was similar to the one on Gale's chest. Major. Well, he'd be damned.

She didn't stay in his sight long, as she began giving orders to two other nurses, who were preparing a bed. She ushered her patient to another nurse and wrapped her black stethoscope around her neck. Around her wrist was a small hair-tie which she used to pull her curls into a makeshift bun. With a thunderous voice, she ordered, “Bessie, get him on a stretcher and bring him to me.”

A fellow nurse, Bessie assisted Gale in getting John on a stretcher. Gale stood behind the ladies, the tip of his thumb against his teeth. As the stretcher was rolled toward her station, she made a quick work of the gloves and ordered him to stay calm. “I’m gonna cut your shirt, okay? I need you to remove your hand so I can take a look. Take deep breaths for me.”

Beads of sweat trailed down John's forehead as he gritted his teeth. His nostrils flared and his jaw shook as he tried to keep his sounds to a minimum. The nurse above him chuckled, which caught his attention. "What's funny?" He managed to ask.

She pushed his stubborn hand to the side and used her scissors to split his shirt in half. She was unfazed as blood trickled out of the open wound. It was ugly, but she knew how to make ugly beautiful. The wound was a wicked one, but it was a clean shot that managed to miss the muscle. It would be an easy retrieval.

"No reason to play big man and conceal your pain here, Major. You got shot. The shit hurts. You can let it hurt here." She pressed her stethoscope against his chest. Heartbeat still strong, she noted. Wavering just slightly, but strong. She called for extra hands. "Administer the shot into the upper right shoulder."

John's eyes were on her as she worked. Her brown eyes were gentle and they remained on him as she poked, but her tone was stern as she said, "Major Cleven, if you'd like to stay, you must stay behind that line. Major Egan, you just received a numbing agent to reduce the sensation. The bullet is retrievable. If you feel anything unbearable, you let me know. I'll stitch you up good as new afterword, am I clear?"

John’s stomach twisted at her authority. His tongue scraped across the roof of his mouth as he nodded, "Yes ma'am."

"Wonderful. Scalpel, please."

"How is he?" Gale's voice was unclear. He felt groggy. His head was a boulder on his shoulders and he felt confined to the small, yet comfortable bed he laid in.

"He'll be just fine, Major. He took it like a champ. He'll be out of commission for six to twelve weeks and will be ordered to physical therapy upon return to base. Don't give me that look, now; he is not fit for battle right now, but he will be okay, I can reassure you that. My nurses and I will take good care of him just like we will everyone else."

John heard Gale's sigh of worry. "Okay, you're right. Thank you, Major..."

She chuckled lightly. "Nessa Dixon."

"Major Dixon. Thank you for all you've done."

"No problem at all. You come to me tomorrow if that wrist is still giving you problems and I’ll wrap it again for you, okay? Get some rest, you'll need it." They exchanged goodbyes and the sound of Gale's footsteps retreating became clear. Finally, John's heavy eyelids peeled open.

"Nice to see you again," she spoke after some time. She was leaning against the wall, hands stuffed into her pockets. and her stethoscope dangling from her neck. "How are you feeling?" She made her way toward him, sitting on the stool she set at the bedside.

John groaned as he tried to readjust. His shoulder was wrapped tightly. He couldn't move even if he tried. Amelia jumped up and propped a pillow up. "Easy now..."

"Thank you," he replied gruffly. "I'm sore. Tired. And I need a damn drink."

His response pulled a laugh from her. Not the small chuckle she'd release here and there, no, a hearty laugh. It made him smile. "You and me both. Let's get you up and moving first. Your procedure went well. You are to stay out of combat for--"

"Six to twelve weeks with physical therapy upon return to base," he repeated her words, clearly unamused. Nessa smiled, clearly amused.

"Good to know you listen," she replied.

John hummed. "I do, Major. Didn't know that was a thing for nurses." He hated to seem painfully ignorant, but it’s what he was at that moment. Nurses in his unit rarely received titles, unless they’d done something extraordinary or had been in service for an extended period. But she, she looked young. Like she couldn’t be much older than he was.

Nessa nodded. She was one of the first Black nurses accepted into the Army Nurse Corps after they began accepting Black women. She worked her way up the chain, she explained, earning the same prestigious he carried. On the same level as a white man whose life was in her hands. Who would've guessed?

"Nessa is just fine right now," she suggested. "I should let you rest. I'll do one more check before I head out. Major Cleven will be here in the morning, I'm sure. Do you need anything, Major?"

"John," he said gently, tired blue eyes gazing into hers. "And I'm okay. Thank you for everything."

She gave one nod before leaving him alone and releasing the breath she wasn't aware she held.

“Nessa.” The woman sighed heavily and dropped her clipboard against the makeshift desk. Silence wasn’t a thing during war. Constant movement, moaning and groaning, the calling of her name. All she wanted was a moment of silence. It was nonexistent.

“Yes?” She didn’t turn around. But, she recognized the voice. Deep. Full of rasp. The way he said her name. It was familiar. Her eyes dropped to her clipboard, scattered with notes and reports that needed to be sent to the leader physicians.

“Why are you awake? I thought you were leaving.”

Her eyes dropped to the watch on her wrist. 1:43am. She’d been up for almost 24 hours. She shrugged and picked up her pen to scribble on the paper more. “I can ask you the same thing, Major. You’re supposed to be sleeping. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

Finally, Nessa turned around. She regretted it. John Egan was a handsome man. She knew that, but she was too focused on ensuring he didn’t lose his arm to focus on his features. But in this moment, in the dimly lit infirmary with no one else present, she had every opportunity to do so. And, she regretted it.

He was tall. Much taller than she was. She assumed her head would be at his shoulder, still leaving inches of distance between them. Though his face was littered with scrapes and healing scars, it seemed to illuminate his beauty. His eyes were blue, a strong contrast against his dark, curly hair. A strong nose and straight lips that she was sure felt amazing. His upper lip was cut in the corner and dried blood remained. He must’ve begun anxiously picking at it.

He managed to change his clothes. Major Cleven must have had something to do with that. He was dressed in dark sweatpants and a sweatshirt. She was curious as to how he got his arm through the sleeve, but she’d heckle him about it later in the day. His curls were damp and tousled messily. God, he was beautiful. Bruised and all.

He chuckled and slowly sat in the chair opposite of her. He groaned softly and readjusted himself to come into a comfortable position. “I can ask you the same question.”

She shrugged, “I’ve got paperwork to do. Go to bed, John. You can’t heal if you don’t rest.”

“You gonna tuck me in?” John’s tone was teasing. Nessa’s eyebrows raised and the pilot threw his head back as he laughed heartily. It was the first time he laughed with passion in a while, and she couldn’t help but crack a smile as well.

“You’re in a good mood. Let’s go. You’re going to bed and I’m going to sleep in the infirmary just in case..” She pushed up from her chair and tucked her documents into a folder. She nodded toward the door and the pilot followed suit.

They walked side by side in silence back to the infirmary, which was near the resting area for the injured who didn’t make it back to their chambers. Luckily, everyone had. Nessa’s eyebrows raised as John lay on the same bed he was on earlier. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m your just in case,” he said simply. He laid his head against the pillow and watched as she stood still. Nessa swallowed thickly. It took her brain extra effort to tell her feet to move. She sat on the edge of the bed to pull her heavy boots off her feet. She sighed in relief.

Nessa swung her feet on the bed and allowed her body to mold into the comfortable mattress. Her eyelids felt heavy, but still, she found his gaze. “Goodnight, John.”

“Goodnight, Nessa.”

Though they did not say anything to one another after that, she found comfort in the silence. They found solace in the quiet of the infirmary that kept them through the rest of the night. Together.

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boozenboze · 1 year

Text

Merged Teams

Tf 141+Los Vaqueros+König x Male reader

Side note-Some oc’s that I’ve made are being included and they are known as Oi Sotíres(The Saviors). I will be giving further info on them in the future and I'll aldo be using them often throughout some other posts. Anyways hope you enjoy!

Females She/Her and She/They DNI

"How 'ya feeling right now L.T?" Archontas asked the h/c haired male, seeing how his feet thumped the ground. The male mentioned side eyed him and grunted. Ah yes, the typical behavior of a rabbit...or the behavior of a human that was given the DnA of a rabbit. For context the government ran a underground experiment which involved the use of a cute white bunny and 6 test subjects. The plan was simple, they would take the DnA of a rabbit and merge it in with the subjects. As expected, everyone had a different reaction to the sudden change in their bodies. Two of them died, another two experienced contractions from the transformation which later led to their demise. The two that remained took in the pain like champs but sadly one couldn't prevail, which leads us to where M/n is currently.

Falken, one of the sergeant's inside the vehicle was seated in the seat behind him. His large hands had been gently tucking the males ears under his beanie. It was a bit chilly inside the vehicle and knowing the sensitivity of M/n's ears he decided to be a good friend.

“How far are we from this place I gotta shit!” Rage complained as they tapped their foot impatiently. The others in the vehicle looked at the second lieutenant in disgust.

“You could’ve kept that to yourself you know?” Opal questioned as the person with the pixie responded with.

“Yeah I know, but I prefer to see your reactions.” The ravenette responded with a smirk on their face.

“Haha...funny..” Opal said as she glanced at the h/c haired males facial expression.

“How are you not nervous right now?” Opal asked the males ears twitched under the beanie.

“I don’t have a reason to be, it gonna be like any other mission. All we have to do is get the job done then we’ll go our separate ways.” M/n replied as Opal sighed at his answer. No wonder he was Oi Sotíres' Lieutenant. Hopps was a serious man when his code name was in use, but the other 4 members in the vehicle knew who he truly was under that facade.

Timeskip

The truck was being drove into the fences of a base. The sergeants within the vehicle were excited but also nervous. What would this team think of them, how would they treat M/n. Considering M/n’s....situation, they were unsure of how they’d treat their lieutenant. Falken was doing a little dance as he walked beside Rage who had been glaring at him. The blue eyed man stopped in response to his second lieutenants gaze. Opal giggled slightly at her teams antics as she sped up to catch up with Hopps and Archontas.

They were led inside the base by a random soldier, who led them to the room that the Task Force and Las Vaqueros were waiting in. The soldier bid their goodbye and left the premises as the group entered the room. Their arrival caught the attention of the men inside the room, to which they all stood up. The group of 6 walked through the door and stood in different places of the room. M/n was next to Opal, who was rocking back and forth on the heel of her foot and Pain stood next to her, playing with their gloves.

"Khalil, nice to finally meet you all." Price said as he and the dark skinned male shook hands.

"Just call me Archontas sir." The man responded as he turned to M/n who was now standing next him, his gaze being towards one of the walls of the room they were in.

"I'm guessing your the Lieutenant, M/n L/-"

"Hopps would be just fine." M/n cut the Captain off causing everyone to look at him strangely. How could you just cut off your superior like that?

"Aye mate, show some respect." Soap scolded the other male only to receive a heavy glare and a low growl. Archontas chuckled nervously before giving M/n, 'The Look'. The h/c haired male mumbled something as he shifted his gaze to the ground which showed signs of M/n being ashamed.

A few moments went by as everyone introduced themselves. M/n stood near a corner next to one of the taller guys in the room. He introduced himself as König. The man was suprised that M/n hadn't been startled at his presence, considering that he had the tendency to scare others because of his height. Although, his thoughts about that passed once he recalled how tall Falken, Archontas, and Rage were. Opal was talking to Alejandro, who was impressed at how well she spoke Spanish, as well as Rudy whose gaze kept shifting to the male whose gaze was on the wall.

"Whats up with him, he's acting strange." Rudy pointed out as Alejandro turned to him.

"I don't know amigo, el es bastante extraño." Alejandro replied as Opal looked at them in question.

"Didn't Laswell tell you all." Opal asked as the two men looked down at her.

"Tell us what hermana?" Alejandro questioned as Opal looked over to Archontas.

"Hey Capt! I thought you said that Laswell told them?" Opal asked as Gaz furrowed his brows. He had already been skeptical during and before the teams arrival, so that sudden outburst unnerved him.

"Tell us what?" Gaz asks in suspicion, what could they have possibly not known?

"I thought she had...-you know what its fine." Archontas murmered the last thing to himself. The group began to become more cautious than they already were, considering what they've been through with the betrayal of General Shepherd and Commander Graves.

"I can assure you that it's nothing bad, but it should be something that you should be aware of." Archontas started off as the other men in the room stared at him warily.

"M/n is a government experiment." The dark skinned male didn't sugar coat the words that had left his mouth, which caused the others to have looks of confusion and question.

"He's a-huh? A what?" Soap sputters in confusion as Rage rolled their eyes. Of course.....the typical reaction for the words that occasionally had to be said first hand. M/n looked over to the others, having heard what they had spoke about. He made his way towards the others and stood next to his Captain. He pulled the beanie he had been wearing off his head, allowing his ears to stretch from the pressure that had been put on his ears. The others stared at the h/c haired males fluffy hair and tall ears. All the attention that had been bestowed on him caused his ears to lower.

"Can ya'll quit the staring it's weird." M/n spoke while gluing his gaze to the floor. They all took one last moment to admire the mans full beauty before being serious again.

"I'm glad that you informed us...this is just, wow." Price spoke, having to eye the h/c haired male one last time as the others agreed. Rage and Opal both stood next to M/n as the same question ran through their heads.

"How are these next few days gonna go?"

It had been 2 days since Oi Sotíres arrived to the base, and things were going better than expected. Due to M/n's situation, he had a room to himself so that he could do whatever he needed to do. Someone who was constantly checking on him besides Archontas was Rudy. Believe it or not, but Rudy had taken quite a liking to the h/c haired male. The Lieutenant was quiet to say the least, he never made an effort to talk to anyone else besides his group. Every time someone tried to greet him he wouldn't acknowledge them at all, so how did Rudy manage to win the male over. Two words- Fruit Bowl.

After gaining some information from Archontas he learned about M/n's sweet tooth. He didn't eat candy often so as substitution to that he ate a lot of sweet fruits. A personal favorite of Rudy is the cantaloupe, its not to sweet, as well as bitter which automatically made it his favorite treat. Him and M/n would be in the kitchen together, a large bowl of fresh fruits that had been chopped up and placed inside there for them to share. The h/c haired male would constantly walk in and out the room, occasionally being still and standing next to Rudy who had been watching him closely. His expession would soften every time the males ears twitched when the sound of a door being shut was heard. It was something so simple, but also something that he began to love about him.

"M/n, quieres un poco de sandía?" Rudy asked as M/n turned to him with a puzzled expression. His head was tilted and his eyebrows were furrowed which caused the other mans heart to beat faster.

"Ah...sorry, I asked if you wanted some watermelon." Rudy said again in English to which he was able to understand. M/n nodded his head and smiled slightly at the offer. Rudy took one of the freshly chopped fruits and put his hand out for M/n to take it. So, imagine the look on his face when the male ate it out his hand. The e/c eyed male didn't think much about what he did, that's usually how he'd eat stuff that was offered to him. Rudy was flustered. Why exactly? Well the feeling of M/n's lips against his bare hand made him feel some things he hasn't felt in a while. It was almost time for them to head off to the training area, where they would be testing out the Oi Sotires' strength.

"I'm gonna go change, thanks for the fruits Rudy." M/n said with a smirk on his face as he hopped out of the room. Rudy only stood there with a stunned expression, being left with his own thoughts and feelings.

Part 2- in progress....

#rodolfo parra x male reader #male y/n #mw2 x male reader #gaz x male reader #cod x male reader #ghost x male reader #lgbtq #captain price x male reader #gay #alejandro vargas x male reader #male reader #soap x male reader #konig x male reader

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ghostingaces · 1 year

Text

We Need To Talk About Glass | 141 x Reader/Oc

Synopsis; There’s something not right about the rookie

Warnings; vague horror themes and foul language

Notes; Glass is technically an oc but I don’t mention a name or physical description in this, even though she has one, is because this is kind of like a screen test for her. The only description so far is she's tall, Irish, and has plale eyes. This au is also inspired by this and this which I absolutely adore. This is my first piece of writing on this site so I hope you enjoy.

Its also only Price and Ghost for now. It’s a bit rough. Part Two here.

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

Most of the file before him was blacked out.

Rows upon rows of dark lines stared back at him as he flickered through the manilla folder, crime scene like photos of bloodshed tacked to pages after pages of mission reports. Occasionally the repetitive drivel would be interrupted by a disciplinary report, but those were drowned out with commendations.

“No picture?” Prime hummed as he flipped back to the first page.

“No Sir” The Irish Ranger in front of him answers. He's a tall man, bald with keen green eyes, and the rookies former CO. Lieutenant Byrne. A respectable and very capable man. A man who’s knuckles had been bone white on the file when he handed it over, green gaze refusing to flicker over the pictures he had probably seen dozens of times already. He had probably lived through several.

Price cast his gaze back down to the first page of the rookies file. Her name was simple and easy to remember, but distinct enough to suit her stature. He read it twice again just to make sure that it stuck though.

He rubbed his eyes as an uncomfortable itch overtook them.

“Infiltration, demolitions, interrogation, guerrilla warfare..., Jack of all trades aren't you...” He read over the callsign inscribed on the page “Glass”

The figure in the corner nodded. A scratchy voice echoed from behind the balaclava “Yes sir”

He had barley noticed the woman when she had walked into the briefing room behind Lieutenant Byrne. Draped in all black and of a similar stature to the man, she had seemed more of a shadow then person. By the time Price had realised she wasn't just an apparition, she had retreated into the dark like she belonged there.

“Before you're cleared for active duty you'll run some sims with the team” He explained. He settled his gaze on where he thought her eyes would be but could only see the shimmer of something staring back at him.

“Yes Sir”

“Even after that you won't be let out on the field for a while, not until you sim scores are perfect. Any objections?”

“No Sir”

“I expect perfection for my team, no room for mistakes.” Price stood from his desk and circled it slowly so he could sit closer to Glass (what was her name again?) and stare into the depths of the shadows that covered her “Understood”

There was what he perceived as a nod “Yes Sir”

“Good.” He grunted before reaching out to the other ranger for a grateful handshake “Lieutenant Byrne, thank you for the introduction but I can take it from here”

“Of course Sir” The irishman smiled aloofly has he shook the captains hand, grip firm, before stepping back closer to the woman “I’ll be out of you hair by the morning.”

Captain Price nodded with an amicable smile and watched as Byrne stepped closer to the woman who had moved to face him. They spoke in hushed voices, a flush of cold sweat gathering across the mans bald head, and what sounds like him snapping out a small ‘behave’ bounced around the room before he moved briskly to the door. It open with a scream of rusted hinges.

“Good luck Sir” Lieutenant Byrne smile tightly and shut the door behind him.

Good luck?

Price watched him go, head turned towards the door, before looking back to Glass.

She was closer than before.

A lot closer.

He could make out the structure of sharp bones under the black balaclava, high cheeks and an almost roman nose, as well as tired pale eyes that seemed to look perpetually glassy. He looked away when the itch returned. John huffed, callused hands rubbing his eyes softly, and watched in his peripheral is Glass continued to stare.

When the ache subsided, he offered a hand to shake “Welcome to the 141″

The corners of her eye crinkled every so slightly and he caught what looked like a smile in her dead eyes “Happy to be here Sir”

He could feel the ice of her skin through her gloves when they shook hands. Something distinctly wrong settled in his chest as he stared into her almost fake looking eyes. (Iris too glass like, pupils to much like a void)

What was her name again?

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

There was something wrong with Glass.

Something almost artificial, something uneven in the way she walked. Something doll like in the way she turned her head.

Ghost, the paranoid man that he was, noticed it first.

Noticed the lights that flickered when she walked into the room, a figure that wasn't her appearing in the shadow, before the bulbs would return to their usual florescent glow. The woman didn't seem to notice (or she didn't care) and was content to to carry on with her day. Ghosts eyes would follow her though, catching her gaze in the mirror she walked past. (He knew for a fact all the mirrors in her room were covered)

Her reflection would linger a moment while her body walked on.

Every instance of wrongness was so quick.

Too quick, like she was teasing him.

Daring him to say something.

He never told anyone he saw it happen

She made attempts to be normal. Well versed on most topics, she held up conversation easily (if you could ignore you own voice echoing back at you occasionally) but her gaze seemed to pierce through you. Glassy. Fake. Eyes more lifeless than the taxidermy deer head his father hung above the mantle.

He’d watch her for the rest of the day.

He'd watch as she stalked from room to room, lingering in the back, ghoulishly pale eyes fixated on the people that milled about, as if waiting on one to walk off alone so she could follow. Stalking like a predator, like something hungry.

People had been going MIA recently

He’d never seen her eat, never drink, never seen a sliver of skin that wasn't the greasepaint covered flesh around her eyes. Hands constantly bound in leather gloves, tall body locked away in layers of black fabric and body armour. However, in spite of the heavy boots she wore, her steps were basically soundless. She moved like smoke.

“Keep sneaking up on me and I might shoot you” He had snapped one day, tone playful but a genuine threat thinly veiled in his words. He wasn't comfortable with her at his back, not with the knife always on her belt.

Glass has simply laughed, the sound as grating as nails on a chalk board, before she slinked off to to bother Soap or linger in Prices shadow, knife hilt glittering like polished gold.

A Celtic cross was carved into the handle.

A similar gold one hung from a thin chain around her neck, weathered with age and handling, but meticulously cared for.

Soap had asked is she believed in God when he first saw it dangling around her throat, polished gold blindingly vibrant against the blood and black of her tac vest. The chain was short which made the sigil sit right on her breastbone, right above rows of magazines waiting to be used.

Glass had chuckled hoarsely, like she thought having faith in something was more of a desperate joke more than anything else, before spinning a painful vague story about a grandmother and family heirlooms.

Ghost new many people in the service who believed in one god or another, he knew how important it was in a job like this to have something to hold onto to ground yourself when the bullets started flying and bodies dropped around you. Knew it was better to have anything than to let horror of the job eat you alive.

But Glass?

He knew no god could help that creature.

#call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john mctavish x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #141 x reader #call of duty original character #Cod oc; Glass #Glass tag #shattered tag #call of duty oc #cod oc

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drenix004 · 5 months

Text

𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐘━━━ 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 141

❝𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲︙She was an odd one, as was her obsession with daisies. But, that made her unique in the eyes of the herd… she became the treasure of TF 141.

warnings: mention of alcohol, drugs, death, obsession, among others, if you are not comfortable, don't read it !

rating: 18+

pairings: Task Force 141, Köning y Horangi x Oc female.

Summary: the hunt for jewels had begun, so Laswell decides to pass her off as a human and send her to the British military base under the command of a colleague, all this without him knowing her true identity to protect her (sorry, I don't know how to summarize).

¡English is not my first language, so there may be mistakes, don’t hesitate to correct me.!

wattapad -> here

●❯────────────────❮●

His footsteps echoed through the gray tiled hallways, he ignored whoever greeted him for wanting to get to the office where the woman works.

She even earned strange looks for not returning greetings as this was unusual for her.

Behind her came someone on her heels, also needing to get to the same office for the same reason she did.

He did get looked at with contempt and hatred for his nature, after all he was not human and those who were not, ended up being marginalized, despised or hated in whatever facility they went to.

She arrived at the woman's office and entered without warning, being followed by the man.

-Tell me it's not true, Laswell," she said as she set the letter, which she had crumpled in her hands on the way there, down on the table with a thump - "all that thinking for missions made you crazy?

The short-haired woman looked at her before answering after a sigh left her lips.

-The base in that place needs medical help, and you have it, besides, you are also a second lieutenant , you have combat training," she answered, "you are qualified for the transfer.

-Do you really think so? You are not only transferring me to the medical bay, you are also transferring their team, and alone," replied the woman, disgusted by the situation, "they are a gang, they will see me as an intruder, in the worst case scenario they could attack me. I'm a damned prey, I'm a human.

Laswell raised one of his eyebrows as he listened to her, glanced at the man next to her, who remained silent, before reconnecting gazes.

-We both know better than that, Harper. Nothing's going to happen to you over there, let alone with the team. Price knows how to control his boys, they're not monsters like the rest of them make them out to be, you have my word-when she wanted to protest, he stopped her-there are rumors that they're starting with the jewel hunt… again.

Harper froze in place, trying to process the last words.

-Hadn't that already been listed as a crime?" the man asked at last, as he placed his hands on his companion and made her sit down.

-That's not stopping them, there are more reports of disappearances-Laswell looked at the woman, who felt dejected by the new information-that's also why I sent you there, you'll be safer than here-he grabbed her hands and squeezed them carefully-this I'm telling you as a friend, I don't want anything to happen to you.

She sighed before nodding, if it was for her safety she would do it.

-Why can't Kamli come? He's my spirit familiar," the man squeezed her shoulders in comfort.

-I need him here, his ability to hide in the shadows can help me find information. We have to make sure there are no rats.

-She looked at her spirit familiar, kamli nodded determinedly.

Yes, as long as I'm connected to you I can visit you at night and re-establish the connection so it doesn't weaken.

-You see it's no problem? It will all be temporary, unless you tamper with the pack-Laswell smiled-and I'll reinforce the magic of the collar so nothing happens, just don't go near the water.

-Ugh, damn Banshee. You always get away with it-Harper held out the necklace with a daisy-shaped crystal charm he had to Laswell.

-This is the best Banshee you'll ever meet in your life," the short-haired woman floated the necklace and filled the flower with her magic, "That will do, you leave tonight.

-I won't even have time to pack everything-Harper sighed as he put the necklace back on.

-Kamli can help you later," she said simply.

-Witch.

-always-Laswell smiled at her before returning to his report, he had to finish it by today-closing it carefully.

-I heard you," Kamli helped her to stop and they both left the office, completely ignoring the woman's inner prayers that everything would go smoothly and without mishap.

That the dark forces would protect and take care of the little flower she had for a friend.

chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...coming soon

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 21 days

Text

Brass Balls. - OC Backstory.

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 1.7K~ cw: yelling, threats, roasting (not even that aggressive really)

At the meager age of 23, Kathleen Mary Moore had succeeded in doing something that no one before or after her could get ever away with: becoming an unofficial charge nurse at the military hospital in Tidworth Camp.

And all thanks to one skill of hers: Conflict Resolution.

Well… more like… Resolution through Conflict.

Didn’t matter if the person that needed their arse reamed out was a patient, a family member or a commanding officer. She had enough sass to last her a lifetime and metaphorical balls big enough to look a superior in the eye and call them a gobshite.

In her case, being a charge nurse means little else than being a glorified enforcer. She’d be called in by anyone, in any department of the hospital, whenever there was a Difficult™️ situation to be solved. And solve them she did.

Maybe it was the Leo in her, maybe it was the Older Daughter blood in her veins. Who knows.

Nonetheless, it earned her an unfortunate nickname: Brass.

Not just because, according to the other medical staff and even some low rank enlisted, she had “brass balls”... but also because she had the brass (the high-ranked officers) by the balls.

And that’s, unfortunately, the way she met John Price.

On March 28th, 2013, the Tidworth Hospital received an influx of 20 SAS soldiers that, although housed in the nearby Stirling Lines Garrison, didn’t have a proper hospital at the base, and so, were placed in Tidworth for emergency treatment.

By April 7th, 2013, only one soldier of the group of 20 stayed behind, a Sergeant Craig Wallcroft, the rest having returned to Credenhill. Wallcroft wasn’t under Kathleen’s care, being in a completely different department, but, eventually, she was forced to pick up his case.

Called to her nurse’s admin office by her Lieutenant-Colonel, Lieutenant Moore watched a small pile of paper being placed in front of her, 14 or so pages long.

“Sergeant Wallcroft’s superior, a ‘Captain Price’ has been very insistent in the release of his Sergeant…” Lieutenant-Colonel Margot Ward, a no-nonsense greying-brown-haired woman explained as she stood face-to-face with Kathleen.

“Insistent, you say?” Kathleen asked, dipping her head slightly at an angle, an eyebrow raising in a display of displeasure. “What’s he done?”

“Very.” Margot explained with a sigh. “He took to filing request after request for the release and clearance for combat… Then to filing transfer requests to the medical ward in Credenhill… To downright harrassing us with phone calls on the matter.” She revealed.

Kathleen’s eyebrows raised and her head pulled back at the chin in a look of utter surprise. To have someone abuse the online request system or maybe the email inbox of the department was one thing… But to downright shout down the phone line over this?

Oh, Kathleen was not happy, her hands already trembling with the anticipation of putting this man in his place.

“And, now, he’s sent one of his Lieutenants to… pressure us into releasing his teammate. The man’s shouted at Lieutenant Byers in the nurse’s station already.” Margot added.

That did it. Hearing that someone raised their voice at one of her closest friends? She didn’t even want to imagine the state her friend Felicity was left in… the poor girl, always prone to tears.

“Leave it to me.” Kathleen said as she walked out of the room, marching away quickly.

The trip to Credenhill was quick. It took no convincing at all for the helicopter pilot, who was meant to transpo Wallcroft back to Credenhill, to turn the chopper around to deliver her, and this Lieutenant he sent for him, Lieutenant Cameron, back to Credenhill.

Cameron then lead her across the garrison in the lightly pouring rain, to the training gym where ‘Captain Price’ was bound to be.

Her brown eyes flittered over the room very quickly, surveying it, to try and locate Captain Price. Most of the men there were on the young end, handsome-ish, muscular and strong, wearing tight clothing while they grappled and tossed each other around.

Before Cameron could lead her further into the room, she took two fingers to her mouth and let out a sharp, deafening whistle, that stopped all the sparring (and observing) soldiers, in their tracks.

“WHICH ONE OF YOU GOBSHITES IS CAPTAIN PRICE?!” She barked at the top of her lungs, the silence in the room so loud that her voice bounced off the walls.

One of the men straightened up from where he was sparring with another of the soldiers and he stood tall and imposing, even from across the room. “That’d be me.” John said. “Who are you?”

“I’m someone that’s sick and tired of your bullshit, Captain.” She told him directly. “Now, come over here, please.” She demanded as she beckoned him close with two fingers.

John approached with a certain swagger, confident steps and swaying hips, strong muscles wrapped by an army green t-shirt covered in sweat, beefy, burly and hairy forearms on display.

“Nurse Corps.” He acknowledged her uniform’s patches as he came to a stop before her, standing a bit below her, a few steps worth of a height difference, as she stood on a catwalk, and him on the gym floor. “You finally transferred my Sergeant?”

He was handsome. Bloody hell, he was handsome, stern blue eyes staring at her from below, stubble on his jaw that she knew would soon grow to be a thick shrub…

“No.” She replied as she set her hands on her hips. “Your Sergeant is still bed-bounded back in Tidworth, where he’ll stay for the foreseeable future because as you’ve been told many times by now, he’s not. fit. for. service.”

John looked at her blankly. “Is that what you came all this way for, little nurse?” He asked her with a cocked brow, his tone almost condescending. “This could’ve been a phone call.” He added and turned away. “Get back to work!” He shouted at his team.

Oh, how she hated being underestimated… And talked down to.

She lunged forward and grabbed John by the collar of his t-shirt like one would to a naughty child and tugged him back with an aggressive pull. “Get back here, you wanker.” She demanded.

John turned to look at her, eye-to-eye, faces mere inches apart, as she finally let go of him. “You’re gonna listen and listen good because I’m not bloody playing around and I have NO PROBLEM embarrassing you in front of your troops.” She gestured to the other soldiers in the room who had not heeded Price’s command to go back to work.

“You have no qualifications to decide what your soldiers need or do not need when it comes to their health. Hell, I wouldn’t trust you to tell your arse from your elbow considering the state of the First Aid that half of your soldiers came to Tidworth with.” She told him point blank, her hands now coming to rest on the railing of the catwalk that separated them.

Her voice grew louder with each word she spoke, venom slipping from her tongue as she continued her tirade. Her face had morphed into a wide-eyed, almost frantic look, her brows set low over her eyelids, and her jaw clenched tight.

“And even if you had qualifications, that gives you no right to talk down to me or my bloody staff. I’ve seen plenty of men like you in the last couple years and you all have one thing in common: hubris. You think that suddenly, what, cause you made Captain you can suddenly treat everyone as if they’re below you?” She confronted him as she leaned forward, getting right in his face.

“Just because your ego suddenly soared sky high thanks to your spiffy new title and shiny medals, it doesn’t mean that you can suddenly proceed as you fucking please. Your inability to fathom that your power over others is only in the scope of your immediate subordinates in the chain of command is not the Nurse and Medical Corps’ concern. We have better things to do than deal with little men with fragile little egos.” She shouted at him, pointing a finger right in his face, her teeth catching her lips as she spat pure vitriol at him.

“So you better hear me well and good-” She added and suddenly grabbed him by the front of the collar, tugging him close to her. “because I am not saying this again. If I hear so much as a PEEP about you, that you put in another request for Wallcroft’s clearance, or, God help you, that you called the nurse’s station and talked down on one of my sisters, again-” She warned him.

“I’ll print out the stack of over 30 requests you’ve already put in, come back here,” She pointed at the floor to mean Credenhill. “...roll ‘em up nice and tight and shove ‘em SO FAR UP YOUR ARSE that when I pull ‘em out your mouth, your teeth will work as a paper shredder. AM. I. CLEAR?!” Kathleen pointed her finger right in his face, almost poking him between the eyes with it.

John was dumbfounded. He had never been spoken to like this. Not since he became an adult. Even his mother wasn’t this intense as she reamed him out when he was younger, and there had been plenty of times where he had deserved it!

So, Price simply stared at her and blinked slowly, his breathing having hitched and his heart beating like a war drum in his chest. He swore he could hear his blood flowing inside his ears. His arms hung limply on either side of his body as he kept staring into the fiery woman’s brown eyes.

“AM. I. CLEAR?!” She repeated herself, eyes still wide, pupils blown, as she glared right into John’s blue eyes, his own pupils blown.

“Yes, ma’am.” John ended up saying and nodded imperceptibly.

Kathleen let go of his collar and leaned back. “That’s what I fucking thought.” She goaded in a vicious tone through her teeth.

Then, she turned around, facing Lieutenant Cameron and nodding at him before she marched off, forcing the lieutenant to rush after her to escort her back to the chopper, and leaving behind a stunned group of SAS soldiers… and her future husband.

#ikea writes 💚#cod oc #cod fanfic #oc backstory #cod modern warfare #oc: kathleen “brass” price #price x kathleen #price x oc

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sofasoap · 8 months

Text

Reason for life

Pairing: Simon “Ghost ” Riley x F!Reader ( OC aka Mini MacTavish )

Summary: Simon Riley finally made up his mind.

Right after the event of “Death, Comes easily”

Warning: Mature theme. discussion of unhappy childhood, OC children, discussion of abuse, near death. Angst. slight deviation from canon as well.

A/N : I finally got to Simon. and this rounds up the task force 141 proposal series. *sigh*

“masterlist”

“Captain.”

Head down, buried in paperwork, Price only let out a grunt, acknowledging Ghost’s presence.

“John.”

Price’s hand stalled. Slowly putting his pen down, finally looking up.

Ghost standing in front the desk, hands behind his back, shoulder slightly hunched. Price noticed the redness in his fatigue looking eyes. Redder than usual. He noted.

“Can I talk to you,” Ghost requested, voice soft, as he eyes the soldiers lingering around in the office, “In private please.”

Price stared at him for few seconds, before commanding the soldiers. “Alright, everyone out please. Lieutenant and I have important business to discuss.” Price stood up, ushering everyone out.

Making sure the door is locked, Price turned back towards the desk, gesturing to Ghost to sit. Pushing the paperwork and files aside, Price took out a bottle of whisky and two tumbler glasses from the cabinet behind him.

Pouring into each of the glasses, he pushed one towards Ghost. Ghost just stares at the drink, motionless for a while before he pulls his balaclava off, exhaustion evident on his pale looking face.

“Do you still have the box?” Simon broke the silence after he drained the whisky from the tumbler.

“So you made up your mind?” Price asked, raising his eyebrows, knowing what he was asking for.

“I can’t delay it any longer. I .. I don’t want another regret.” Voice croaked, “I nearly lost her twice. I don’t.. I don’t know.. “ Simon buried his face in his hands, taking a deep breath. “I would not forgive myself if I miss the chance again. If I can live through the nightmare again.”

Price has noticed Simon hasn’t been himself lately, after the incident. He was quieter than usual, not even responding to any of Soap or Gaz’s attempt of banter or teasing. Burying deep into his own mind.

The mission has traumatised Simon, and made him realise things.

Another prolonged silence lingered between the two. Price took up the bottle, pouring another serve to each of the glasses.

“I’ll get it out from the safe for you tomorrow, Simon. Don’t worry. She wouldn’t say no.” Price comforted Simon. “Good luck Si. I am glad you finally made up your mind.”

Simon slams the tin box onto the table, more forceful than he intended. He winced slightly at his mistake as he saw you frowning.

You stare at the box with a cup of tea in hand, making no attempt to reach for it. He watches you, waiting for your next move.

“What is that?” You asked, finally curiosity got the better of you.

“Box.”

“Of course I know it’s a box.” you rolled your eyes, huffed at his silly answer. “What’s inside the box?” you asked.

“Things my grandmother left for me,” he whispered. “Open it. Please.”

Pushing the cup aside, you reach for the box, Simon’s heart twisted as he sees you open the lid with slight difficulty. Your hands and face were still covered with dressings and bandages from the injuries acquired from the terrorist incident. You are still alive. He closed his eyes, deep breaths in as he tells himself, calming that distress and panic rising from his stomach. You are here in front of him. Everything is alright.

His eyes open again when he hears the pop of the tin lid. You slowly and gently shuffled through the black and white photos, fading letters, and all sorts of trinkets were inside there. Simon held onto his breath as you took out the item he wanted you to have the most.

You held the green velvet box in your palm, like a fragile china doll, afraid it would shatter any minute. Your eyes flicked up towards him, and down at the box again.

He nodded his head to urge you to open the velvet box.

Your breath hitched as you saw two simple gold bands inside.

“My grandmother left me this box before she passed on.” Simon explained. Your eyes open slightly wider, he never talked about his grandparents before. “The only happy memories I have from my childhood. Her and grandpa shielded me from the violence and cruelty that my fath… father… “ he shook his head, body shaking with the painful memory. Taking a deep breath, he continues. “She left this in my possession. Her and grandpa’s wedding bands, along with their photos and correspondence when they were courting.They were married for nearly sixty years before grandpa passed away.” Simon whispered with a sad smile and glint of tears in Simon’s eyes.

Your expression softens as you listen to him, recalling memories.

Raising his head to look at you right in the eyes, “You gave me a reason to live, a reason for life. You and the children.” He professed as he took a deep breath, voice shaking. “I can’t apologise enough for the actions and the way I treated you.. I can’t lose you again. I nearly lost you, because of my stupidity. My own selfishness, My….”

“Simon.” You put the box down, reaching for his hand across the table, to stop his rambling.“ Both of us were in a bad mindset back then. There were too many things happening at once. We can’t go back. We can only move forward.” You lean your body forward, kissing his hand lightly. “If this is what I think it is, my answer is yes.”

He let go of your hand as he stood up abruptly, going around the table to scoop you up into a tight embrace, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You feel the wetness as his tears stream down your neck and shoulder, silently crying with relief.

The weight is finally off his shoulder.

He feels your arm reaching around his broad torso, squeezing tight.

“I love you very much, Simon Riley. The children love their Da as well, they ask about you all the time when you are away.” you murmured, as you professed your love for him. “We will always be here for you, to welcome you home, and be your harbour when the storm comes, be your shelter when the time turns bad. You know you can trust and rely on us. Also the team as well. You have a family. You have us.”

Pulling away from him, you gently grasp his hand, putting it over your heart.

“This is yours forever now. My love. For whatever challenges may come to us again. We will face it together.”

Simon is finally home.

tag list:

@a-small-writer-in-a-big-world @homicidal-slvt

@floral-force @okayyadriana@cumikering @siilvan

@random-thot-generator @random0lover @devcica @jynxmirage@nrdmssgs @glitterypirateduck @rileyslibrarian

@mistydeyes, @groguspicklejar

@whydoilikewhump @gamergirlbones

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x fem!reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #john price #call of duty #cod #call of duty fanficition #mini mactavish universe #sofasoap writes

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maryangelex · 8 months

Text

To Be Alone With You

Simon “Ghost” Riley x f! Original Character

A/N: Hello!! This is my first time writing fanfiction ever and I'm so obsessed with Ghost I thought I'd give it a shot. This is written with an OC in mind, but I'm writing it with nothing descriptive so it can be read as reader-insert, only mentions callsign "Angel" and some character background for plot purposes. Unless y’all would like to read about my OC! Anyways, enjoy, and let me know what ya think!!!!

Summary: A new member gets added to task force 141, and Ghost can’t keep himself together for long.

Warnings: NSFW! MDNI! Third-person POV, Smut, p in v sex (fantasy), masturbation, strong language, horny ass pining, descriptive language, combat injury, blood, military inaccuracy, game inaccuracy, OOC Ghost (?), not proofread, first fic

The 141 Task Force was a well-established team, led by Captain Price, Lieutenant "Ghost" Riley, and Sergeants "Soap" MacTavish and "Gaz" Garrick. As a team, they dove head-first into danger, every risk necessary to be taken, and they did a damn fine job every time. Regardless, Laswell thought this new mission in Las Almas called for new additions to the force.

"She goes by 'Angel'", Laswell states, sliding a file across the table to Price.

"Right," he responds, opening the manila folder with extensive records and information on the new member. "I can see why with a face like that. Looks like a sweetheart," he scoffed.

"She was top of her class in the Naval Academy and a Navy SEAL, one of the handful of women on the job," she started, "She's just as skilled as your boys Garrick and MacTavish, maybe better. She's taken down guys the size of your Lieutenant"

Laswell would've only noticed someone with actual talent, and Price knew this, he trusted her well enough to know she was a no-bullshit kind of woman. And given the information in the file in his hands, Angel sure was an ironic callsign.

"I trust you, Kate, so I know this dove's not gonna disappoint", he said glancing up at Laswell.

A lot of hope and expectations laid on her shoulders on Price’s behalf. Ghost had been notified about the new member upon his arrival with Soap in Las Almas. The two of them emerged from the evac and touched down on their new base. Friendly introductions were made between their other two new members for their time being in Las Almas, Rudy and Alejandro; then she came along, introduced by Price to the task force.

Soap looked like a kid on Christmas morning, fawning over her all giddy and jovial. It was like he’d never seen a girl before, she thought. He made multiple charming and flirtatious remarks at their first introduction, no shame in that one that’s for sure. But she liked the amicable dialogue, she knew they’d get along with him bringing some light to being in the suck.

Meanwhile there was Ghost, stoic and rigid. He shook her hand and gave her a cold yet approving handshake and introduced himself. Of course she already knew all about him, or at least what the gossip and folktales about him said he was; a direct, quiet, intimidating bloke that could kill with a glare and had an arsenal of skills, absolute killing machine with only his whit and sick dry humor saving him from being nonhuman. All she did was gawk at all 6’4 feet of him and get sucked into his expressive yet mysterious eyes. She’d never been so starstruck by a man before yet she kept her composure in front of him. Yet her mind couldn’t help but wander like a high school girl catching the first glimpse of her crush.

Ghost was a man of few words in general, but especially with people he’d just met or started working with. He kept it professional and distant, mainly because he never knew how long they’d last in a mission, so he kept his expectations low for everyone. Angel was an exception though, she piqued his interest. He had read her file handed over to him by Price prior to meeting her, and they both shared the same interest in her and her skills on the field: sharp sniper, close quarter combat expert, trained medic, the list went on with what she was capable of. The difference was how much more intensely Ghost had looked at her file. He would never admit it, but in reality he was captivated. In a professional level of course, nothing else.

Missions together went smoothly. She proved her skills and more time and time again. She made a good pair with Soap since they were out to work together the most often. Same as her with Gaz, they were a match made in heaven when it came to recon and agility missions. The three of them were insufferable, though, pestering and bickering with each other like triplets both in the field and off duty. Ghost was being driven mad, he already had enough with MacTavish annoying him through the radio, now he had to deal with Angel adding fuel to the fire. She did make him smile, though, sometimes even made him hold back laughs but God forbid anyone in the team knew he was a bit keen on her. Thank God for his mask hiding that away from everyone.

The team was cohesive with her as a new member for the months to come. Ghost didn’t think much of anything, not much of her besides quiet admiration and camaraderie, especially since she mainly worked with Soap. No big deal.

Except, after a mission gone awry and things getting sticky making the team struggle to get out alive, and Price having to chew out Angel and Soap for being careless, he decided it was best to change partnerships. Now, Soap was assigned to work with Price, and Angel with the Lieutenant, to teach her a thing or two and keep both of them in check under better supervision.

This is when shit hit the fan for Ghost, when he first stepped into the murky waters that were his feelings, the ones he didn’t even know he had.

Working with Angel was odd to him. He expected for it to be like how he worked with Soap, coordinated with the occasional friendly and comical banter they shared over radio. And it was like that with Angel in the beginning, the two made an amazing pair given their similarities in skill, traits, and resourcefulness.

It was too good of a match, though. Things were starting to get heavy for Ghost. He was starting to care too much about her, to get too protective of her in the field, the distance was getting shorter between them each mission.

On a supposedly easy intel mission, shit had gotten ugly really fast and really badly for them.

“Fuck, L.T.,” she panted, the two of them hiding behind a column of the building they were trapped in, getting shot at from all directions. “I’m hit, get my med pack will ya?”

“Fuckin’ hell, kid, you’re the medic, not me” he growled, rummaging through her gear for the first aid kit.

“No worries L.T. it’s not even that bad” she said with a breathy chuckle. The wound was oozing and spurting blood from her abdomen, her hand pressed against it keeping the pressure as best she could. She looked up at Ghost, who was fumbling with the kit finding a bandage to replace her hand on the wound with. He returned the gaze but his was colder and reprimanding, as if saying this is not the time to fuck around.

He pressed his much larger hand on her abdomen and although not visible he was concerned, a bit scared even. What the fuck was this? He’s never been this scared about a partner. He’s lost enough to not care as much anymore, to be used to it by now. So why was he so breathless and shaken by this girl’s injury?

“I’ll guide you, Ghost. The bullet went through. It looks real ugly with all this gushing but it hit my flank. See? Nothin’ important got hit” she said to him reassuringly, lifting herself up from the floor and lightly twisting to show him the hole the bullet went through on the right side of her waist. The two meet their gaze, his softened by her reassurance.

The two made it out of the building and back to the evac. Angel had guided Simon to tend to the wound and patch her up, and in return he basically carried her out of there.

That night back in HQ had Simon stressing, not because of the mission, not because of Angel’s injury, but because he was so god damn confused about what was clouding his mind so much. This new feeling he had. He felt restless and dazed by it. He felt like he failed that mission entirely by allowing Angel to get hurt, a new instinct to protect awoke in him. That night he couldn’t sleep, no amount of cigarettes out the window of his dorm calmed him down or made him make sense of these newfound feelings and fears.

From then on he was her shadow, and their distance became shorter as a result. Cheeky remarks, overly friendly banter sometimes escalating to flirty insults and jokes. Then came the light touches between the two, accidental of course. And his symptoms got worse each day.

His sleepless nights went from worries and memories of the battlefield to that of what a teenage boy would worry about.

He wanted her, and it was so hard for him to admit that to himself. He wanted her closer to him, he wanted the light touches between the two to become more comfortable, heavier, needier. He wanted her carnally. He thought about the times she was paired up with Johnny, how the two of them clicked and it sent him into a spiral. What if she laid awake at night the same way as him, but thinking about Soap? Or Gaz? Hell, even Price? Or none at all, and he was just horny and pining for her like a creep.

He thought of the softness of her skin when they touched, when she tended to his wounds how feathery her fingers felt in comparison to his calloused ones or the cold ones of any other nurse back at the base. How he hair swung in a braid when he was watching her back during missions. How she smelled when she was close to him, she smelled womanly with the salty tinge of her sweat from busting her ass on the field. It made him feral to think of her at the hands of another man, but he felt so stupid for it because it was the most plausible thing to happen, more so than for her to reciprocate his feelings, or at least for her to let him fuck her, at least once to get it out of his system.

Simon’s new nightly routine was of pacing around HQ finding something to busy himself with like paperwork or a smoke outside. He made his way back to his dorm after enough busywork and attempts to tire himself out. When he went to open the door to his room, she was there, leaning against the arch, and standing there as if waiting for him, with a sly smile plastered on her face.

“Can’t sleep?” She questioned.

“I could ask you the same thing”, he said, standing parallel to her.

She moved from the door as if inviting him to open it, which he complied with.

“Maybe we can help tire each other out”

Next thing he knows she’s sitting naked on his bed, baring herself to him. He’s standing at the foot of the bed looking down at her, admiring the sight in front of him. She’s putting on a show for him, caressing her breasts, down to her stomach and the space between her legs.

“Open your legs, sweetheart,” he says huskily “I know you want me to see.”

She spreads her knees, exposing her soaked cunt that she tenderly and slowly strokes. He’s salivating at the sight, as she slides her fingers through her folds, teasing herself, with her other hand massing her breast, taking a nipple between her index and middle finger. He watches her moan and throw her head back as she circles her clit, slowly, applying the right amount of pressure that sets her body alight.

She goes at it for some time before dipping her fingers in her hole, saturating them in her slick before reaching out to his unmasked mouth which he takes in with a low hum at the taste of it.

Except none of that actually happened, which is proven by Simon waking up alone in the darkness of his room in a cold sweat. He’s in pure terror, his face hot and red under his mask. Fuck, did he just dream that? He’s even more mortified by the tent his rock hard dick is pitching under his sheets.

Fuck, this can’t be fucking happening.

He gets up from his bed immediately, beelining for his en-suite. There’s no fucking way he’s caving into dreams like that, he feels like that’s disrespectful to his teammate, like his body’s betraying him. He removes his mask, turns on the cold shower and steps in, ice cold water hitting his scalding skin. His head sinks between his shoulders, hands placed against the wall in front of him as he lets the water hit from above, as he looks down at his erection.

It’s not helping, it’s not going down.

All he thinks about is the image of Angel sat pretty and baring herself to him in his bed. Of her hands traveling over her body. He brings two fingers to his lips, imagining hers, imagining how sweet she must taste. He closes his eyes and he’s taken back to his dream.

Fuckkk, he thinks. Now it’s not just his body that’s betraying him it’s his whole damn self, he’s giving in completely as he wonders what’s next. As he wonders what would happen if he took those dainty tender hands with those pretty painted nails and wrapped them around his thick throbbing cock. What would happen if he let her stroke him slowly with a mix of her slick and his spit.

Simon brings his own hand in the shower down to his cock and he strokes himself with that scenario playing in his mind behind his closed eyelids. He relishes in the feeling of his hand stroking himself, slowly at first like he pictures Angel would, then increasing the speed.

He thinks about what it would be like to have her mouth on it instead. Oh her full juicy lips, red and smooth, how they’d stretch around his girth, inching down from tip to base.

“That’s it, pretty girl”, he whispers with his eyes still shut and his hand still relieving his cock in the shower.

He thinks about her gagging on his length as he’s encouraging her to take more and more in until the hilt, until it’s encapsulated by her throat. He squeezes his dick thinking about it as he strokes it some more, picturing her bobbing her head at the same rhythm and speed as he’s using on himself. He’d put his hand on that braid she’s always got and grasp it firmly as he commands her head and dictates how deep and fast she can suck him off.

He’s a mess in the shower, moaning lowly and groaning to himself. He lets his head rest on his forearm against the wall, the water running down his back and his hand squeezing and pulling at his cock. His mind wanders some more and now he’s picturing his spit-covered cock lining himself with her pussy, slowly spreading her open, loosening up the tightness of it, molding her to his length. She’d make the cutest noises, they’d drive him insane. Her moans and mewls shooting straight to his cock, making him twitch inside of her. She’d feel so warm, wrapping his dick in her sopping cavern, making him feel whole like she’s a missing piece to his puzzle.

Simon’s stroking himself faster now, panting under the water, cupping his balls with his other hand as he imagines pounding into Angel, imagines the sounds he can pull from her and thinking of the sight of her splayed out under him as his dick is buried deep inside of her, then pulled out and rammed back in, keeping up the speed of his hand.

He’s at it for a few moments more, moving his hips and thrusting himself into his own hands as if he was fucking her. Until he starts to feel that burning pressure at the pit of his stomach, as his balls feel tighter with his release about to happen. And then he snaps. White hot ropes of cum shoot out of his cock, dripping into his hands and out onto the tile of the shower, flowing down the drain. He’s gasping and groaning, cursing at himself as his thighs vibrate from his orgasm. His mind a haze but fuck, he feels good. Like a moment of catharsis.

Now the struggle is gonna be looking at Angel without thinking of his late night activities. Now he’s given into his desires and carries more of the burden of wanting her without being able to have her.

A/N: WELP… Please leave some thoughts if you got this far, thanks for reading <3 divider credit to @cafekitsune

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siilvan · 9 months

Text

bloodsport – prologue

characters: vladimir makarov

summary: all it takes is a chance meeting.

genre: general, angst, slowburn, enemies to ?, fem!reader (callsign: petra, no desc.)

warnings: semi-proofread, cursing, canon-typical violence, minor descriptions of blood/injuries, military/spec-ops inaccuracies, lieutenant!reader, not much makarov in this chapter sorry </3

word count: 3k

note: never thought i'd reach this point. but, here i am, thirsting for my formerly least favorite character. all because they gave him tattoos and showed his tits. enjoy! <3

also totally didn't use my oc's callsign for this. ur crazy bestie. (this is still 'x reader', no backstory/personal info is given to reader)

your head is spinning, the world around you a haze as your eyes fight to regain focus. there's a constant ringing in your ears, deafening you, and you wince once the pounding in the back your skull becomes apparent.

everything slowly begins to come back to you. the operation in al mazrah, the warning from HQ, the explosion, the floor collapsing below your feet. you're laying on your back now, aching from head to toe. the building that you were in with soap and gaz is reduced to rubble, lying in pieces around you.

you manage to turn your head to the left and see soap laying motionless a few feet away. farther away is gaz, struggling to push what used to be a metal support beam off his trapped leg. you blink furiously at the pair, trying to clear the dust and sand out from your eyes, and breathe a ragged sigh of relief at the subtle rise and fall of soap's chest. you attempt to call out to gaz, but all that leaves your throat is a weak noise and a wheezing cough.

price and ghost are probably on their way already. you just need to wait for them. the mission was doomed from the start, you all know that, but it won't end in your deaths so long as you hold out.

the ringing in your ears slowly fades, and you can hear footsteps approaching from your right. it was a small group, judging by the heavy footfall - had price and ghost found help somehow?

you carefully turn again, expecting to be greeted by the familiar sight of your teammates. the harsh midafternoon sun sits in that direction, forcing you to squint in the bright light as you try to make out the group of silhouettes.

the first sign of trouble was gaz's panicked shout of your name. the person in the front of the pack blocks the sun's light upon reaching you, casting shadows in their path and finally allowing you to glimpse at their face. you blink again, angling your head to identify the person hovering over you. it takes several seconds for your foggy mind to recognize them but, when it does, your blood runs cold.

makarov.

⋆⋆⋆

you're woken up by someone shaking your shoulder, a gentle voice calling out to you. with a whine, akin to a child being disturbed by their mother in the morning before school, you bat their hand away and force your eyes open.

"y'not get enough sleep last night, lieutenant?" gaz asks, sitting on the couch next to you. the harsh fluorescent lights on the ceiling make you squint and rub at your tired eyes for relief. "bad dream?" he adds a second later, taking note of your dazed state.

"yeah, just a bad dream. nothin' to worry about." you assure him with a downturned smile. according to the watch on your wrist, it was ten o' clock. you'd be setting out for al mazrah in about half an hour.

gaz woke you up for the mission, you realize. soap was located nearby, occupying himself with last-minute gear checks, and ghost soon enters the room with his arms full of supply crates. anything from ammunition to water and food was packed in, ready to be loaded into the transport helicopter that you'd be taking into the city. price was hunched over a table filled with scattered maps, blueprints, and gathered intel from your allies in the city.

"alright, let's go over the mission one last time. this needs to be a clean operation - we've got no room for error." price stands straight and glances around the room, personally scrutinizing each of you. the four of you gather around the table alongside the captain, the fatigue quickly dissipating as you focus on his words.

"the city's a mess right now; there’s civilians in the north, enemies to the south, and allies scattered in the wind." price flattens a map of the city with various locations circled and marked against the tabletop. "ghost and myself will offload with the supplies in the north. petra, gaz, and soap will touch down in the east and make their way south to the target building. once we're done up north, we'll link up with our allies in the city center and secure the district surrounding you."

price nods towards you and the sergeants. "should buy you enough time to get the job done."

"we'll do it in half the time," gaz boasts with a self-assured grin, crossing his arms over his chest. soap mirrors his confidence, and both earn pointed looks from yourself and the other two men.

"there's a reason you three are working together on this," price says. he pulls a cigar from one of his vest pockets and rolls it between his thumb and forefinger - a nervous habit you picked up on a long time ago. "you sergeants are fast and damn good at clearing a place out, but if left unchecked, you get yourselves into trouble. petra's good at keeping you two in line, so you're going in together."

"we're a small team in contested territory, it's essential that we have each other's backs." ghost speaks up, sending the two a cursory glance. the sergeants nod, and you continue to listen as price details the rest of the plan.

⋆⋆⋆

the helicopter ride to the city was almost relaxing enough to lull you back to sleep. keyword: almost.

a little while after takeoff, laswell's voice comes through your radios, claiming to have some new intel. you assumed it would be something related to the ground forces, be it enemy or ally, until the word missile echoes throughout the cabin.

price attempted to pry more information out of her, only to be shot down - "i don't know" was all she had to offer in response to his questions. laswell's never been one to panic, even in the face of sure death, but the concern in her voice was palpable. if her intel was accurate, than there was a missile being prepped to launch, and its target was the very city you were fighting in.

you've never seen the team look so solemn during a landing. laswell assured you that she was working to locate and disarm the threat, but she could make no guarantees. you couldn't back out, either; the mission was too important to abandon now. as you disembark alongside soap and gaz, price gives each of you a single bullet from his handgun.

"for luck," he said.

as you stealth your way through eerily silent city streets with the sergeants in tow, you ponder on his choice of words. the bullet sits safe and sound with the rest of the ammo for your own sidearm, ready to be loaded in case of an emergency. if it comes down to your final bullet, though, you might as well consider yourself dead.

after some time and several blocks, you locate the target building. it's a high-rise, a sore thumb sticking out against the surrounding local businesses and low-rise buildings, making it easy for your group to identify it.

"captain, we've got the building in sight," you say into your radio. soap and gaz peak out from your current hiding spot, studying the security and forming their own plan to infiltrate. the two are the team's resident experts on CQB - if anyone can fight their way into enemy territory without breaking a sweat, it's them.

the thought allows you to take a calming breath and relax your tense shoulders.

"solid copy. we just finished up here, so we'll be headed your way soon." price replies. you can hear idle chatter in the background, likely the civilians. "we'll talk again once we're close or you reach the target. whichever happens first."

"copy all, sir." you silence your radio and follow the sergeants' gazes, eyes landing on the building again. considering your objective, the security detail was lacking in numbers. either a fake-out to make you lower your guard or a result of the incoming missile, you presume. no matter what the reason may be, you hold your gun close and try to keep your head clear.

"what exactly is the target that we're going after, l.t.?" soap mutters from next to you, tearing his eyes away from the scene. you shake your head before turning to him.

"did you not listen to the debrief, soap?"

"i did, but price never said what we were goin' after!"

"he totally did, dude. you just weren't listening." gaz perks up, prompting the former to stutter over his words to make a defense. after a minute of bickering between the two, you shush them.

"we're just screwing with you, soap," you concede, giving him a comforting pat on the shoulder. "price told me what it was earlier. some kind of scrambling device that's been screwing with people's tech and causing periodic blackouts. we need to deal with it before it causes something worse than a communications loss."

gaz lets out an amused huff. "yeah, like a helicopter fallin' out of the sky."

"actually, i'm pretty sure it's just you falling 'outta the sky." soap chuckles, earning a lighthearted glare from gaz. you shush the two again and start towards the building, sticking to the shadows so as to avoid being spotted.

it takes no time at all to dispatch the guards surrounding the entrance, and soon you're methodically clearing out the ground floor alongside the sergeants. gaz takes point, whilst you stay in the middle and soap follows close behind. the enemy forces appear to be disorganized, you notice after moving up to the second level. they're wearing mismatched gear and using guns of vastly different origins; some even appear to speak different languages. you catch pieces of arabic and russian amidst the group, but what really shakes you is the english that you hear.

"are some of these fuckers american?" soap asks from behind you, looking over a tango he dropped moments prior.

"appears so," you mutter, examining another body near your feet. he wasn't wearing any sort of identification, so you had no way of figuring out what PMC he could be affiliated with. "they're not shadow company, at least. graves may be a bastard, but he's got his own vendetta against these guys."

"could be random mercenaries - guns for hire, y'know." gaz says with a shrug, clearly unconvinced of his own suggestion.

you hum, rising from your crouched position next to the body. "been seeing more of those popping up recently. wouldn't surprise me if al-qatala hired some of them as security." you refocus and motion for the two to get back in formation, nodding towards the stairs nearby.

"device should be on the sixth floor. let's pick up the pace."

the third and fourth floors are relatively the same: rooms full of randomly assorted, underprepared mercenaries that struggle to communicate with each other. you expected to find the same on the fifth floor, only to be stopped again by a peculiar logo taped above a set of office doors.

a snake skull with a sword. konni. you were aware of their presence in the city, even fighting some in this very building, but the logo stood out to you for some odd reason. with an affirmative nod sent to your teammates, you move to investigate it. at best, you'd find new intel about their operations, and at worst, you'd have another room to empty out.

upon opening the set of double doors and carefully entering, though, you come face-to-face with something far worse.

"holy fuck... is this all gas?" gaz mumbles, standing to your left.

the meeting room is filled floor-to-ceiling with gas containers, bright red barrels marked with konni's logo and cyrillic script plastered across their fronts. you take a closer look at the letters and, with the extremely limited knowledge of russian that you've gained from price and nikolai, manage to work out what they say.

"it's the same stuff zakhaev used in verdansk a few years ago," you glance towards the sergeants. you try to disguise your gradually creeping apprehension behind a firm look, rubbing the back of your neck as a bead of sweat rolls down into your shirt collar.

soap steps forward, taking a closer look at the stock. "wasn't zakhaev the one supplying it, though? i thought price took him out."

you sigh, wiping the sweat off your glove against the front of your thigh. "i think he had a supplier, but even if he was making it himself, that isn't stopping someone else from producing more. konni's probably buying it from whomever that is."

"wonder who that could be." gaz says, turning his attention to the large window at the far side of the room.

you open your mouth to reply, but soap beats you to it. "everyone in this situation is friends with makarov, right? price and laswell said he was gettin' active again."

the name sends an uneasy chill down your spine. you've never met the man yourself, but based on what price had to say about him, you're thankful you haven't. if he's working behind the scenes, than you need to be careful. any small mistake could end in disaster.

again, you try to respond, and again, you're interrupted. "uh– y'guys might want to look at this." gaz calls out over his shoulder.

your gaze turns to the sight outside that he was vaguely motioning towards. a bright light sits somewhere in the distance, quickly growing in size and luminosity. you squint, trying to figure out what the light could be coming from, until you remember laswell's warning.

the missile had fired.

"steamin' bloody jesus..." soap utters under his breath, snapping you back to the present.

"we need to find cover - fast!" you usher the two back from the glass and out of the room, sprinting down the stairs three steps at a time. although laswell didn't have much in the way of information, she did provide the team with a key piece of intel: there were bunkers constructed throughout the city, installed before the ballistic missile containers were offloaded in the area. one such bunker was located a short distance from the building you're currently in.

if you hurry, you might be able to make it.

as you descend, you can hear voices steadily drawing closer. gaz and soap hear it as well, and you all prepare your guns upon reaching the second floor.

as expected, there's a group waiting for you when you arrive. you take cover and try to thin out the crowd, but each second ticking by only serves to increase your level of impatience. eventually, you pull a flash grenade off your belt and toss it into the crowd, giving yourself and the sergeants a chance to finish off the remaining soldiers.

the three of you make another break for the exit. as the light outside the windows of the building grows blinding and a deafening explosion is heard, though, you wonder if you could have done something different. the floors above collapse and crash into your team, destroying the floors below you and knocking you off your feet.

somewhere in the chaos, your world goes dark.

⋆⋆⋆

when you come to, your head is spinning. there's a pounding in the back of your skull, muted thumps amidst the violent ringing in your ears. you blink away tears and dust, fighting to make your eyes focus as everything slowly falls into place around you.

you didn't make it to the bunker before the missile hit. gaz and soap are somewhere in this rubble with you - alive or dead, you're not sure. your body aches, muscles screaming at you as you try to move, forcing a pathetic wheezing cry from your lips.

after some struggle, you manage to turn your head to the left. laying several feet away is soap, covered in pieces of rubble and fighting to stay awake, blood pouring from an open wound on his head. farther away is gaz, desperately trying to get his leg free from under a broken metal beam. you call out to them, but all you can muster is a pained noise that leaves you coughing.

midafternoon sunlight beats down on you. price and ghost are somewhere else in the city, and you pray that they're still alive. it's all you can hope for at this point, considering your inability to move.

you hear voices drawing closer. heavy boots stomping through the sand and rubble, footsteps uniform yet distinct from one another. price, ghost, and your allies in the city immediately cross your mind, making you let out a relieved sigh.

when you look to your right, however, the silhouettes are distinctly different from what you expected to see. instead of your teammates, you see a group in familiar, yet unfamiliar, clothing and gear. you try to piece together what you recognize despite the fog in your brain.

when gaz's shout of your real name pierces your ears, it suddenly comes to you. pictures that price and laswell acquired from her global counterparts flood your mind, and you realize that you're looking at a group of ultranationalist soldiers. konni's leader and supplier, al-qatala's strongest ally, and the group that he leads with an iron fist.

ignoring the immense pain as a fresh wave of adrenaline courses through your system, you scramble for your sidearm. the last fight and the building collapse made you lose your rifle and drained you of most of your ammo, but you still had the bullet that you loaded into your handgun before the missile hit.

price's bullet.

one shot is all it should take.

you reach for your holster, but find nothing in its place. you frantically feel around the nearby area, searching for it, but still come up empty-handed. you lost your handgun in the crash and had nothing to defend yourself with. as the group nears, the reality of your situation dawns on you.

your luck had run out.

the leader of the pack blocks the harsh sunlight, casting shadows across your body as he stands over you. slowly, your eyes adjust to the change in light. you blink up at him, feeling a pang in your chest and a pit in your stomach form once his face becomes clear.

makarov.

taglist: @sofasoap, @rohansregret, @lonesome-doves, @roosterr (ty for being the reason i wrote this lol)

⋆ feel free to ask to be added to/removed from the taglist!

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #mw2 #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader #cod makarov #vladimir makarov #sylph.writes

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