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ghostingaces · 1 year

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The Night Is Dark And Full Of Terrors | 141 x Reader/OC

Synopsis; There’s blood in her mouth

Warnings; violence, gore, death, foul language, smoking and vague horror themes

Notes; Part Two to this piece here and is centred around Gaz and Soap this time. Also this is a secondary account so I can't reply in the comments but I see them and thanks for the support. This will be a series and I’ll probably write some for a normal human Glass as well.

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

Her back was to Soap when he stumbled out the door and into the dark.

The bar behind him was bursting with life and noise, the small establishment packed to the brim with rowdy soldiers celebrating the latest win against an arms and human trafficking ring that had dragged them across the globe in what had felt like a wild goose chase. Almost a full year of travel and bullets had built up frustrations and a desire to simply let loose. A desire which had culminated in now drunk and rowdy soldiers.

Soap loved them all, he did, but he needed moment to breath before he dove back into the fray and truly indulged himself in the liquor that had been flowing as free as a waterfall.

It seemed Glass had the same idea.

She sat a few meters deep into the gravelled car park, perched on a low brick wall near an old black Impala with clouds of thick grey smoke hanging in the night around her. She sat just out of reach of the lamp posts golden ring of light, body lingering in the shadow, while the tips of her black boots shimmered when the glow glanced off them. Her back was to him but even from here he could see the dull red of a cigarettes ember.

“Alright Soap?” His own voice called from the dark.

He jumped, the sensation of cold fingers crawling down his spine, but forced a smile and braved onward. Each step was heavy, the gravel crunching under his boot, while the air got more frigid every inch he got closer. By the time he reacher her, his breath was misting with ever exhale. Frost crept towards him from under her soles.

“All good, just needed a breather” He admitted with a forced chuckle, feet rooted firmly in the light “You?”

The cigarette bud glowed as she inhaled and something cat like shimmered where her eyes would be “Needed to clear my head before the pool tournament started”

A real chuckle slipped past his lips this time before they lapsed into a frigid silence that was only broken by the occasional passing car. Strobes of headlights shimmered by, flashes of bright white bouncing off the Impala and frozen puddles. The shadows around the woman remained as solid as obsidian. Glass seemed content, puffing on the cigarette which burned dangerously low against her gloves, while Soap leaned against the frost covered lamp post.

He hated the silence that hung around them, heavy in the air like the tobacco smoke. He was usually unbothered if someone didn't feel like chatting, comfortable to fill in the silence himself, but he found it hard to breathe next to her; let alone talk. Every inhale was sharp while each exhale felt like a fist had been lodged in his throat. A shiver racked down his spine as he blew onto his clasped hands, desperate for some semblance of warmth.

“Was a good win” Glass spoke suddenly. This time, the voice was her own. Low and raspy with a lilting accent that sent a more pleasant shiver up Soaps back. Cautiously, he relaxed back against the still freezing pole.

“You can say that again, just wish we got ‘em sooner.” His skin prickled with the touch of the cool metal and the feel of her unseen eyes piercing through him “Finally done with those fuckers though and I'm desperate for a drink at this point”

Glass chuckled lowly, stubbing her cigarette out before almost instantly lighting a new one “Then go inside before Gaz comes looking for ya, looks like you're freezing anyway”

Her hand reached out from the darkness, smoke cartoon in hand. A temptation to join her in sin. A temptation of self destruction.

Fingers itching in want, he waved her off with a tight smile “And leave you here all lone without a single drop of alcohol in ya? Couldn't call me a good teammate if I did that”

She laughed this time. It was a deceptively human sound. Through the thick smog of nighttime, he could see her lithe silhouette lean back, broad shoulders shaking slightly. His eyes followed the path of the cigarette bud as she lifted it to where her mouth would be.

“Trying to get me drunk Soap?” Her voice was still full of mirth.

Confidence boosted by the surprisingly easy conversation, Soap dared to joke as he cast a glance back to the pub door “More like trying to catch peek of that mug of yours, might even get lucky with L.T too”

“You could just ask me”

The rumble of a passing car was the only sound that echoed through the lot as a feeling of wrongness settled in the Scots gut. A hand, frigid and skeletal, had wrapped itself around his heart while the fist had lodged itself in his throat again.

Do it

He watched Glass from the corner of his eye. She stood slowly, bones cracking, and turned on the balls of her feet to face him. Gravel crunched under her boot. Slowly, she stepped into the light.

Her balaclava was firmly in place, dark green fabric stretched taught over sharp bones. Two black pits, void like and bottomless, had infested the space of her eyes and Soap only watched as she exhaled a thick plume of tobacco. Grey wisps broke through from the fabric over her mouth while more slithered up and out the eye sockets. Something pulsated in the blackness.

Soap blinked.

Ghoulishly pale eyes stared back.

“Something wrong” A new voice warbled from Glass's mouth “ya look pale”

The cold hands returned, tracing patterns over his neck.

“I’m good” He coughed out, ribs shaking as he breathed “Just..., just gonna slip back inside”

He moved slowly, Glass locked in his peripheral. Each step was calculated and slow as if to not startle her into movement, likening her to a feral creature wanting to pounce on something it wanted to devour. Gradually, the further he got away from the woman, his steps quickened until he was jogging across the the gravel towards the glow that crept out from under the pubs back door.

The door shrieked when Soap pushed it open but before he entered, something tugged at the back of his mind. A stray thought had lodged itself into his skull.

‘one last look’

Do it

Hesitantly, bathed in the safe and warm glow of the now open door, Soap forced himself to turn back to the carpark. Lingering under the now colder light of the lamp, Glass continued to smoke her cigarette as a plume of tobacco smoke curled out of where her mouth would be and through the thick fabric of her mask. Through that smoke, Soap could make out the moonlit glow of her eyes fixed on him.

Like nothing was wrong, Glass waved.

Soap shut the door behind him tight.

▄︻̷̿┻̿═━ 一

Gunfire rained down like thunder while the stench of blood was thick and fresh.

The vicious crimson liquid clung to every crease in the skin of his hands, staining them and everything he touched. More of it, older and a flaking brown, stained the from of his tac vest from where a mans head had been blown open standing to close. It was so thick that the embroidered Union Jack was lost under brain matter and skull fragments.

“Fuck!” Gaz hissed. Uselessly, he tried to swipe excess blood off his face but only smeared more across his cheeks.

“Gaz? Report!” The captains voice growled over the radio and broke through the barrage of mortar shells. The night around him was alive with firework like muzzle flashes.

“It's gone to shit, Sir!” The young sergeant yelled into the receiver “Informant was a rat and walked us into an ambush, fuckers were watching as we scoped out the drop point!”

“Informant?”

“Dead”

“Me and the boys are on our way to your position. Hold fast”

“Yes Sir”

“Where’s Glass?” The Lieutenants voice, low and dangerous, floated over the comms. Gaz jumped and the harsh sound before shuttering at the mention of the creature woman that had all but mauled the informant when he had tried to run. Like it was instinct, she had gone straight for the eyes.

“Gone, Sir. Lost sight of her when they opened fire” Gaz admitted as he ducked behind a burnt out car, long strides carrying him across open ground quickly. Most of the gunfire had stopped by now and was focused to randomised burst after they had lost sight of him in the dark. Occasionally, there'd be movement in a widow but they were more shadow than people and it was hard go tell if it wasn't a trick of the eye.

“Shit...” Ghost growled.

“She's not answering the comms, unit must be shot” Price grunted out.

“Or she's ignoring us”

“She wouldn't-”Gaz tried to defend the woman from the Lieutenant but a window shattering drew his attention. He watched, almost in slow motion, as a body rag dolled through the third story window of the warehouse and plummeted onto a a car. The windows shattered, glass singing like a wind chime as it fell, before the metal frame screamed as it twisted around the corpse.

Glass stood and watched through the window.

Quickly, before she disappeared again, Gaz raised his rifle to peer through his scope at her. Thermal scope locked onto her, it took a moment to register that she was colder than everything around her. Lithe figure bathed in purples and blues, she lingered like a phantom in the window before stalking off and disappearing back into the depth of the building.

He scrambled for his comm “Captain, I just had a visual on her but I lost her again but I know she's in the building, third floor moving to the west side.”

“Fuck..,” the radio crackled “Gaz, I want you to pursue her and get her back on comms.”

The young sergeant hesitated for a second, the mission objective rising to the forefront of his mind “The target, sir?”

“Probably already gone, just grab Glass and regroup” Price growled “We’ll be on sight soon, eta twenty minutes”

“Roger that”

“Engage only if necessary”

“Yes sir”

“Good, see you soon. Over.”

The line went dead.

The night was deceptively quiet now, gunfire and mortars completely silenced. The only sound was his own ragged breathing and the crackle of the fires left behind from the explosions. Hesitantly, Gaz crept forward. With his rifle raised, he stalked past the man folded into the car roof and desperately tried to ignore what was left of his face. No eyes, throat mauled open

Inside was just as quiet.

Dust and cobwebs littered every surface, bullet casings more common than pebbles filling the ground. It smelt like wet mould, wood rot, and that familiar copper tang of fresh blood. A lot of fresh blood.

Slowly, body trained to perfection, Gaz stalked through and cleared the first floor. Empty room after empty room greeted him. Blood stains marred the walls, smears and pools and spattered of it, but he couldn't find a single corpse besides the withered remains of rats and crushed bugs. The second floor was much the same. Desolate and quiet, gun posts just completely abandoned like the people had just dissolved into the ground.

Coming loser to the entrance of the third floor, that irony tang of blood somehow got stronger.

A red pool of it oozed around the corner that Gaz was approaching, chunks of brain matter floating in the liquid like a demented and deformed lily pad.

He turned the corner slowly, gun raised.

The body was poised at the top of a small set of stairs, crumpled like a doll on its side with the top of its skull blown open. Thick viscous rivulets of blood oozed from the skull cavity and down the stairs. Carefully, Gaz took the stairs two at a time as he dodged past the dark puddles before he dropped to his knees beside the corpse.

It was a familiar looking man and with half his face missing, it took Gaz a couple moments to fully recognise him as the target.

Head blown open, jaw and throat ripped out, Gaz was left to stare into frozen blue eyes he had seen dozens of times in a photo pinned up in a briefing room. The man had had a sneering and nasty look in his eyes in the photo but now they're frozen over in what looks like terror, seeing something that had savaged him almost beyond recognition.

Hand shaking, Gaz reaches for his radio to call it in.

“What ya doing Gaz?”

His own voice came from behind him.

He spins so fast something in his back pops and his foot looses traction in a puddle of blood ,sending him back to his knees when he tried to stand. Pain rocketed up the joint, blood seeping into the thick fabric of his tactical pants, but he gets his feet under him quick enough and steadies his aim at where the voice had come from.

Glass stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Her black tac gear glistened under the flickering florescent lights overhead, the harsh white beams making the blood soaked into her gear shimmer like oil, while a steady stream of it dripped from her empty fingers. She stood directly in the puddle that had gathered at the bottom of the stairs, boots submerged in a way that made her look like she had simply emerged from the dark pool. Slowly, Gaz let his eyes trails up from her boots to her face.

Even more blood clung to the corded fabric of her balaclava.

Where her mouth should be was nothing but a mess of viscera and blood that dripped from her chin in a steady flow that caught on her tactical vest and further darkened the fabric. The once army green fabric was stained such a deep glossy black it looked more like a void.

“That's a lot of blood” Gaz pointed out, dodging her question while simultaneously holding his rifle steady.

“I know.” She panted, eyes crinkling in what could be perceived as a smile, more blood oozing through the fabric as it was released from behind her teeth “Its not mine”

“I know”

They continued to watch each other.

Gaz was coiled tightly in trepidation, waiting for her empty hands to reach for the steyr AUG hanging around her shoulder or for her to start moving up the stairs towards him. He swallowed shallowly, sweat beading down his throat.

Glass simply watched him like one would watch a rat in a maze, curious of what it would do, which way it would turn. Curious if he'd squeeze the trigger or put the gun down. Watching as he shifted the grip on the rifle, muzzled aimed at the tricolour on her chest, hazy eyes tracking the bob of his throat as he swallowed.

“We should get going.” Glasss said before making a noncommittal gesture to the carcass by Gazs feet “I got everything we needed from him”

Gaz shifted his grip and used the muzzle of his rifle to point “You go ahead”

Something shimmered in her eyes “Scared I’ll shoot you in the back?”

He was more scared she’d go for his throat.

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

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ghostingaces · 1 year

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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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