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lucid-loves · 3 months

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Taste Like Venom ~ Simon "Ghost" Riley Part 4

Pairing: Ghost x assassin!reader (fem!reader, no use of y/n, callsign “Hex”)

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: angst, violence, blood, strong language, scars, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff, clear attraction and sexual tension, smut later on, reader POV and ghost POV, minors dni, Soap lives in this AU

Let me know if I missed any CWs.

Story Synopsis: After Makarov gets away once again, Laswell decides to force a favor from you, the world’s greatest assassin and best-kept secret. You are now expected to help the 141 with taking down Makarov in addition to playing nice with them. It’s hard to play nice when you have always worked alone. It doesn’t help that one of the team members, Ghost, gets curious about you in each interaction.

Chapter Synopsis: While you are alone in your own hotel room, the men talk about you over Italian cuisine. This includes speculation on Ghost’s feelings for you. Meanwhile, you are already gearing up for infiltration to tap the target building. Ghost decides that he wants a front-row seat to your show.

A/N: I am adding a taglist from now on for those who want to be a part of one. I made a post asking people to like it if they wanted to be part of it. If you would like to comment that you want to be in a taglist, you can do so on this post~

Taglist: @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @dory-98 @cum-tea-and-towels @completelymarveltrash

Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Part 7 ~ Part 8 ~ Part 9 ~ Part 10

Good God, authentic pizza was absolutely amazing. The standard for pasta was incredible as well. It beat the standard cafeteria food back on base by a landslide. The 141 grimaced as they thought about someday having to return to the food back home. Even the food they’ve eaten out of your fridge has been refreshing to their taste buds. Soap was the most vocal about his dread of the mass-cook cafeteria food as he devoured another slice of heaven. “Christ, going back to bland spinach and soggy rice is going to be fuckin’ painful!”

“Remember when they tried to do a taco night. Fucking hell, the lettuce was dripping fat like a sponge.” Gaz added as he took a swig of whiskey. It wasn’t the Italian choice of liquor to pair with food, but it was the 141’s choice. Not Ghost’s though. He missed his Kentucky bourbon.

“Last Thanksgiving was the most painful for me. Turkey was drier than my fuckin’ belt.” Soap chuckled, trying not to drip sauce onto the bed with how his whole body laughed with him. They were eating in one of the double queen hotel rooms, away from the public eye. When they were all together in a group, they often garnered attention. Such was the price for being such large, capable men.

“Anyone reckon that Hex is up yet? Food is gonna get cold.” Price inquired. They had saved some food for you. A plate full of different things since no one knew what you liked. Even Kate didn’t know when they called to ask her. Still, they tried their best anyway. And their best was getting cold on a ceramic plate.

Soap shook his head in refusal. “I’m not gonna knock on her door. The lass scares the shite out of me.”

Gaz laughed out loud. “Soap? Afraid? Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Hey, you weren’t the one that nearly lost an ear! With fuckin’ car keys of all things.” He defended, taking a long swig of his own drink. He clearly wasn’t going to forgive you for that any time soon. It made him annoyed when he thought about the fact that you probably didn’t care.

Price shrugged and poured himself another drink. “You were kinda asking for it, Johnny. I think I would’ve nearly killed you too if I’m being honest.”

“Well, Lt. made the joke first and he didn't nearly get stabbed.” He continued to argue, looking to Simon for an answer on how it was different when he cracked the joke. Ghost just stared with indifference, sitting in the corner with his mask halfway up. Even if he was with the people he trusted with his identity, he just felt more comfortable hiding his face while he ate.

The room went quiet for a moment as the men thought about it. Out of all of them, Ghost seemed to be the one that was able to get the closest to you. You still pushed him away by miles, but it was definitely closer than they were getting. Kyle took another slice of pizza, the fresh basil so vibrantly green that it looked like it was glowing. “How do you feel so comfortable pushing her boundaries, Lieutenant? One attempt at our lives is enough for us to back off. Yet, you seem to keep going back for more.”

The men waited for an answer, an idea crawling into each of their heads. Price had already picked up on it by now. He noticed as soon as Ghost lifted you in his arms. Gaz vocalizing his observation out loud just now triggered Soap to realize it too. A slow, knowing smirk crept along Soap’s lips. Simon scowled at the insinuation, reading all of their minds. “All of you can bury your ideas six feet under. I’m just trying to get her to trust us. The mission will go a lot smoother if she does. The sooner we do that, the sooner we can go home.”

All of them returned to enjoying their meals, unconvinced by Ghost’s protest. Was Simon attracted to you? Absolutely. Did he like you? Well, he certainly didn’t hate you. The biggest problem for him was that you were dangerous. Not just from an ability standpoint, but from an emotional standpoint. While he did want to get close to you, he still wanted to keep you just out of arm’s reach emotionally because he knew that you would burn him. Poison him with that venom of yours. He knew if he really did fall for you, he would never stop falling.

For the sake of the mission and his own preservation, he convinced himself that you were only a temporary attraction. A beautiful woman with incredible power that will return to the unknown as soon as this is all over. His teammates knew better, though. In all their time of knowing Simon, he has never shown interest in women. Always too busy. Always too focused on work. Not even making time for hook-ups. When you came into the picture, you got his attention in a way they have never seen before. That meant a lot to them.

“Regardless, you have the honor of delivering our assassin her dinner, Lieutenant.” Price smirked, abusing his power as Captain to avoid feeding the feral woman next door. Ghost clenched his jaw, cursing out John in his mind as he got up.

The men continued their lighthearted conversation as Simon walked out, plate of food in hand. Taking a deep breath, he walked to your door and knocked. When there was no answer, he thought that perhaps you were still asleep. So, he took out his spare keycard to the room and welcomed himself in.

The room was dim, large shadows casing over the beige walls. A few laptops were running on the desks, already hacked into the security cameras of the target building. You’ve actually been up for a while and have been busy getting things ready for your infiltration. It was alarming when you woke up in your hotel room instead of the car at first. However, it didn’t take you long to figure out that someone must’ve carried you. You were pretty sure who it was, but you didn’t dwell on it. There was work to be done and you had wasted too much time with sleep.

Kate helped you get into their systems. From there, a layout of the building was mapped out along with the IDs of everyone working for Makarov. You have watched enough security footage to take note of the guard routes. All that needed to be done was planting the taps to allow you to listen in on everything. Nothing was going to be unheard. Not even the sound of a guard taking a bathroom break.

Simon watched you fasten a black belt tight around your hips that carried a collection of small throwing knives. You wore new pants, a long sleeve turtleneck with a hood, and boots. All tight. All black. His hands ached to reach out in order to trace your prominent curves. He wanted to feel the thin fabric of your shirt, the heat of your skin exuding through it.

Instead of that, he placed the food down on top of your dresser, resisting the temptation. “Not going to eat first?”

You didn’t even glance his way, something he wanted to fix immediately. “No. It will weigh me down. I had room service bring up some fruit earlier. It will tie me over until I get back.”

“You’re leaving now?” He questioned, anger rising in his tone. You should have let them know that you were awake. That you were set up with the tech. That you wanted to proceed with the mission with a lookout. You shouldn’t have intended to do this alone.

But, you couldn’t help it. This is how you have always worked. Besides, to you, there was no reason to waste time with unnecessary things like knocking on their door to let them know you were ready. What were you? A fucking dog looking to be let out? “Now is better than later. Security usually lets their guard down after meals. It’s not too late in the night to expect intruders too. Now is the optimal time for me to place the taps.”

Simon scoffed at your unapologetic reasoning. “And you were just going to do this alone? Not even someone to watch the cameras out for you? What if you get compromised?”

Here we fucking go again. You grabbed the taps sitting on the desk, putting them in a small satchel securely tied to your belt. “Can you not criticize the way I do things every fucking conversation? I’m doing what I do best, Simon. I’ve never been compromised before. That’s a streak I intend to keep.”

He stepped towards you, his frame menacing as he towered over you. Hearing your name come from your lips was still something he wasn’t used to. Despite that, he wasn’t going to let you do this alone. This time, his tone was gentle yet resolute. “I’m letting the force know and I’m going to monitor the cameras.”

Looking up into his eyes, you could see that he wasn’t going to waver from his decision. There was no point fighting about this, you finally decided. Not even twelve hours ago was your last fight with him. A part of you was getting tired of it. Stepping back towards the hotel window to leave, you threw in the towel. It wasn’t going to stop you from getting the job done anyhow. “Do whatever you want. I don’t give a shit.”

“Hang on.” Ghost stopped you, his hand reaching out to grab your wrist. He pulled you towards him, using the advantage of his strength to have you close to him. Anticipating you to either reach for your knives or strike him with your other hand, he prepared to guard himself. However, you never used the same trick twice in a row.

Like a forceful tango, you stepped your full weight forward to catch him off balance. You then pushed further as he was forced to step back lest you headbutt him, your hand now having the room to land on his chest with a quick, sharp force. In Simon’s fall, you swiped his sheathed knife from his own belt. Before he knew it, he was laying on his back on your bed, you straddling him, his eyes locking with yours that blazed with victory.

Ghost’s strong hand was still wrapped around your wrist, but your free hand had his own knife pressed against his chest. Right over his heart that was thudding against his chest like it wanted to break out. The hot blood in his body was pumping into overdrive. Not in fear of death. No. In pure, passionate attraction. He swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to still pull you down and kiss you through his mask. Even if it would cause the knife to be plunged into his heart, the thought of being able to share a passionate kiss with you didn’t seem like a bad tradeoff.

Tendrils of your hair fell past your face, framing a beautiful jawline he wanted to trace with his lips. The image of you gasping in shock and pleasure as he squeezed your hips flashed in his mind for a second. It wouldn't have been hard to do. His other hand was still free but frozen as you pressed the tip of the blade into his chest. He also imagined the potential sweetness of your tongue, giving him a taste of dessert after dinner. He wanted to be the one to catch you by surprise and submit to his will. Only, you would love it and beg for more through feverish kisses and the grinding of your hips against his.

Christ, he was getting a boner.

He wasn’t the only one who was feeling it, though. The sound of your own heartbeat was flooding your ears. You couldn’t seem to pull away from his blue eyes that so heatedly begged for you to come closer. The heat already felt from your body pressing against his didn’t feel like enough. Especially when you began to feel his growing hardness pressing against you. That just made your own sex tingle with need.

You got off of him quickly, putting distance between the two of you. What the fuck were you doing?! What the hell was wrong with you?! You haven't been with anyone for so long, but it was no excuse to get so swept up like this. Not with someone like Ghost. Not with someone like Simon Riley. You needed to get a fucking grip. Get your head on straight. Damn it, you were better than this!

Slowly, he sat up and cleared his throat, trying to pretend that what just happened wasn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever been through. His knife was tossed onto the bed next to him, your movements quick as you rushed to get the fuck out of there.

However, when Simon called your name, you froze. He sounded a little breathless, his voice making you shiver. “Hex, wait.”

Simon stood from the bed to grab something from the desk. Cautiously, he walked towards you, now learning his lesson that it wasn’t a great idea to just grab you so suddenly for multiple reasons. At a slow pace, he opened his large palm to show you a small earpiece. Still being careful with his speed and touch, he lightly brushed your hair behind your ear and inserted the earpiece for you. You flinched as his fingers brushed against your jaw, butterflies erupting within you.

“You’ll be able to hear me through this. I won’t say anything unless I really have to. You’ll be able to talk to me through it too. Whatever you want, whatever you need, just say it.” Ghost promised.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. You feared that using your voice would reveal just how flustered you were over what just transpired. Instead, you gave a simple nod and headed back to your window.

The nighttime breeze flooded in as soon as you opened the window, the chill seeping into your bones. Good. You needed to cool off. Without looking back, you slipped out into the night, leaving Simon behind to wonder if supposed enemies were supposed to be attracted to each other like this.

The shadows concealed you, the moonlight accentuating them on every surface they could touch. Quietly and quickly, you moved from shadow to shadow until you stumbled upon the targeted building. From the outside, it looked like a rundown, abandoned office building up for sale. The place was hidden away, tucked behind the forefront of what Italy wanted to offer instead. Beauty.

You watched armed men standing guard, looking out into the alleyways for enemies. Sticking to the shadows, you crept along the side of the building before spotting an open window just above you. Taking a deep breath to focus your mind, you sprung into action. With a few wall jumps, you were right in one of Makarov’s weapons depot.

From the laptops back at the hotel, Ghost carefully watched the footage, almost holding his breath as he searched for you. His team gathered into the room once he told them you had left already. They had assumed that all the time he spent missing with you was just him helping set up the tech. He didn’t correct them on this. Like you had said before, never underestimate the power of assumptions.

Relief washed over his shoulders as soon as he saw your figure invade the building. Just as fast as you had entered, you hid, dropping a tap that was modeled to look like a dead fly onto the dirty tile. The place was dusty, the smell of stagnant air filling your lungs. The men here didn’t care about the cleanliness of the place. Fortunately for the 141, that meant that they wouldn't have to worry about anyone cleaning up the “dead flies.”

All of the men watched the footage as you swiftly made your way from room to room dropping flies. Soap double checked to make sure that the enemies’ own footage was still scrubbed as you worked. Regardless, you moved so carefully that any video of you just looked like a weird, black glitch. You were in your zone. This is what you did for years. This is what you have secretly missed doing.

Every move you made was calculated, following a strict regime based on the men’s own schedule. As you dropped more and more taps, Price began to check if they worked on his end. Sure enough, they could hear everything.

Gaz noticed that Ghost’s body was rigid, his eyes refusing to leave the screens. He was keeping track of you like he would lose sight of you if he blinked. Wanting to ease his worries, he began to prepare some tea using the hotel’s electric kettle. Kyle was always one to look out for his friends like this.

A hot cup of black tea was placed in front of Ghost, the smell already releasing the tension in his muscles. Gaz pat his stiff shoulder. “She’s gonna be alright, bruv.”

Ghost gave a silent nod, finally taking a moment to let his eyes wander off of the monitor to have a sip of tea. Now that he was more relaxed, he viewed your movements in a more admiring way. None of them could pull off how smoothly you moved. How easy you glided through like a gust of wind passing through. Even when you were close to an enemy, you kept your cool, refrained from killing, and moved on without detection.

You were a god damn modern-day ninja. A fine one at that.

In less than an hour, you had swept through the whole building without detection. Every tap was planted. Not once did you hear Simon in your ear either. You were glad. You felt like if you heard his voice through the earpiece it would break your flow. But, a part of you did yearn to hear his deep voice so close to you.

Getting out was the easiest part. Having no one seen you come in, you took the same route out. When you came back through the window, you were met with grateful smiles and words of praise that were foreign to your ears. Ghost wanted to be the first one to say something about your skills, but loud-mouth Sergeant Soap beat him to it. “Damn, Lass! I think you just set a record for 141!”

“That was quite impressive stuff there, Hex. It was like you were never there. Kate was right about you.” Price grinned as he thanked you in his own way.

Gaz hopped on the headphones to listen to the taps as soon as his Captain moved. “All of them are working just fine. I’ve only ever seen moves like that in movies and video games. Job well done!”

You were unsure of what to do with all of this attention, never having experienced it before. When you worked alone, there was no one to tell you that you did well when you got back. You didn’t know if all of this flattery made you feel good. In all honesty, the confusion you felt about it made you a little sick to your stomach.

Weaving past them all, you grabbed your cold plate of food that Simon brought to you earlier and left without a word through the door. After receiving some worried glances from his soldiers, Price provided some words of reassurance. “Don’t worry, men. Hex probably isn’t used to having people wait for her like this, let alone praise for good work. Give her time.”

As the team brought back some of the tech to monitor from their rooms, Ghost stepped out into the hallway to look for you. He initially thought that you would be in one of their rooms to use the microwave, but you were nowhere in sight. While he wanted to keep looking, a call by his Captain to help made him call it there for the night.

And so he spent the rest of the night bunking with Soap, listening in on private conversations and thinking about you. Meanwhile, you spent your night eating a cold dinner alone on the hotel rooftop. Overlooking the city, your own mind occasionally wandered against your will towards Ghost and how it would feel if his heat saved you from the autumn winds chilling your skin.

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hyperfixiation-station · 3 months

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A Kiss And A Key(Happy Ver.)

TW: Blood, torture, violence

Paring: GhostxReader Summary: You had to go undercover and as a result, Ghost thinks you had betrayed him and the 141. He gets brought in to the base you are undercover at, and now you have to decide whether or not you let him suffer and protect yourself, or help him and risk the whole operation.

You were undercover, trying to get information on Makarov for the 141. It was a hard and painful mission, but you had said yes anyways. You had said yes, knowing you would never be able to hold the trust of your teammates, of your friends, of your family ever again. Price had not wanted to ask you, but he did, and you had agreed, much to his chagrin. You knew you were the only one who even had a chance of pulling this off, and you weren’t going to pass it off to someone less skilled only for them to get killed.

Things were going fine,for the most part. The hardest thing you had had to do was reveal you were a traitor. You will never forget the look in Ghost’s eyes as you shot Soap and walked away with Makarov. Of course, you didn't hit Soap anywhere fatal, just pistol whipped him and grazed the side of his skull, but from any point of view other than your own, it looked like you had shot him in the face.

You rose in rank quickly after that, being able to dedicate your full time to ‘the cause’. Things were going well, and you started to think you might actually make it out of this alive. That is, until Ghost showed up, beaten, bloodied, and caught.

You stand on the other side of the one-way mirror, watching Ghost get beat 9-ways to Sunday as he refuses to give out information. You hear him let out a small, pained cry and close your eyes, knowing what you have to do, even if it‘s going to get you killed.

You spend the day preparing, packing a go-bag, obtaining the key to his cuffs, making sure you would be on rotation to ‘question’ him. You set the cameras to loop for 10 minutes at 8:30, make sure the power will shut off, knowing it will take 9 minutes to bring everything back online. You spend the day high-strung, on-edge about someone catching you before you even have the chance to save him.

The time comes and you make your way down the hall, down the stairs, and to his cell, key stuck under your tongue. You nod to the guard outside of the door and take a deep breath before stepping in.

“Traitor.” Ghost hisses when he sees you. His mask is off, blood running freely from his mouth. You say nothing, just kneel in front of him. Your heart hurts at how bloodied and bruised his body is. You touch his cheek, running a finger gently along a cut under his eye. He flinches back, spitting blood at you.

“Don't think so little of me.” You murmur softly, wiping blood from your cheek, “Why are you here? Did Price send you?”

“I’m not telling you anything.” He snarls. You sigh softly, resisting the urge to cry at the absolute hatred in his eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, digging your thumb into a wound on his arm, “I’m so, so sorry.” He hisses, face contorting in pain and your heart falls even more. You continue like this for almost 15 minutes, you doing your best not to hurt him too much, and Ghost remaining tight-lipped and angry.

“You know,” He gasps out finally, “Soap had hope for you. Said that you could have killed him but didn’t. It’s almost sad that I’l have to tell him he’s wrong.”

You feel a flicker of hope in your chest, relief that maybe someone other than Price will show up to your funeral.

“Tell him I’m sorry, will ya?” You ask softly. He opens his mouth to respond and you seize your moment, grasping his face and pulling him in for a kiss. He makes a muffled sound of protest and tries to push you off, stopping when he feels cool, hard metal being pressed into his mouth.

“This hallway will be clear in 30 minutes for exactly 9 minutes.” You whisper in his ear, pressing a hand over his mouth as he tries to ask you a question, “Tell Price I’m sorry that I couldn’t give him everything he needed.” You press a kiss to his forehead, rise, and walk out the door. “Anything?” The guard by the door asks.

“He won't talk. He is as infuriating as he was when I left.” I roll my eyes, “Never did know what was good for him.”

“Cheers to that.” You nod to the guard, walking briskly down the hallway. If you are going to have any chance of surviving this, you have to get out now.

Rescue

Of course, it wasn’t that simple. You did still have a job to complete. You began to collect every scrap of intelligence you could find, anything to ensure this whole mission wasn’t in vain. It took you 3 days to get everything together, but finally, after 3 days of being scared of your own shadow, you were ready to leave. You planned it all out, preparing to slip out under the cover of darkness, when the guard changes. But life is never so easy.

In those 3 days, they managed to figure out you were the one who helped Ghost escape, and when they did, all hell broke loose. You were dragged to interrogation, handcuffed to the table, and questioned for hours. You said nothing, and soon harsher methods were utilized to get you to talk.

You didn’t break. No matter what they did, you never said a word. You held your tongue through the beatings, the waterboardings, the white room, through fingernails being removed, through stress positions, through electrocution. You would be proud of yourself for how you held up, if you weren’t in so much pain. You latched onto the fact that someone *would* come for you, if only because you would miss your monthly rendezvous with Price. That alone gave you the willpower to not give up completely.

You lay curled in your cell, back up against the wall in the fetal position when the door swings open. Nothing new, the guards liked to try to scare you. You automatically curl up tighter, bracing yourself in preparation for whatever was about to happen. You keep your face pressed into your knees, hiding from the world for one more second.

“I’ve got them!” You could tell he yelled it, but the sound is muffled in your ears. You shift slightly, unused to the sound in the quiet of your cell, and look up. A man crouches over you, his figure blurred and wavering. He looks familiar, but you are so exhausted and in too much pain to think about it. He speaks again, and hope wells in your heart as you recognize the voice.

“We’re gonna get ye outta here, okay little bird?” Soap winces at your bruised, malnourished form. Your clothes are in rags, and he can see your ribs through your skin, which is mottled with bruises, welts, and burn marks. His heart hurts as he sees the fear in your eyes when the medics touch you, collaring and loading you onto a stretcher before moving out.

He follows behind, eyes never leaving your frail, trembling form. Price and Ghost wait outside, and Soap stops next to them, letting the medics take you away. Price looks guilty and Ghosts look haunted, as they see your broken form, and deep inside Soap gloats in their misery.

“I shouldn’t have sent them on this op.” Price murmurs as he watches the medics load you into the chopper. Ghost stands with him, eyes never leaving your limp form.

“Ye shouldn’ta sent them with no back-up.” Soap says, slightly annoyed, “It’s against regulations and if they die, it's on yer conscience”

“I know.” Price says softly. He climbs into the driver's side of the truck once the chopper fades from view, and Soap discreetly nudges Ghost forwards. He takes his spot in the passenger seat, Soap in the back, and they drive back to base in silence.

“They’ll be okay.” The doctor says after hours of surgery, “But they have a long recovery ahead of them. They had a dislocated shoulder, fractured wrist, broken fingers, partially-healed broken ribs, multiple burn marks and contusions, a concussion, a major couple ear infection, and pneumonia. We also had to re-break their femur because it had started healing wrong, and we have them on an IV and feeding tube due to how malnourished they are. They should be coming out of anesthesia soon, if one of you wants to visit them.”

Soap looks at Ghost and Price, expecting one of them to say something. But the guilt that's written in every fiber of their being answers that questions for Soap.

“Ghost’ll go.” He says quickly. Ghost looks at him, and Soap can almost smell the fear. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his friend's stupidity. How a man who had faced war, torture, and death on the daily with a straight face could be afraid of saying sorry, Soap would never understand. He shoves him forward, and watches in disbelief as Ghost somehow manages to hide behind the doctor as they walk down the hallway.

Ghost did not want to see you. Well, no. That's not exactly true. He did want to see you, but he didn’t think you’d want to see him. He had accused you of being a traitor, of betraying everything you had ever stood for, and you had saved him anyways. And got tortured for it. So to be the first face you saw when you woke up? He didn’t think you’d like that very much.

Soap, on the other hand, had believed in you, even after you’d shot him. And here Ghost was, your partner, and he couldn’t even have that much faith in you. He spent this past month wracked with guilt, barely eating or sleeping as they counted down the days until they would be able to rescue you.

The doctor guides him to your room, and he takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before opening the door to sit by your bedside.

His eyes rake over your prone form, the guilt deepening as he takes in the multiple stitches and bandages, atrophied muscles, bruised skin, the tubes and wires sticking every which-way out of your body.

“Hey.” He flinches, honest-to-gods flinches, too lost inside his head to notice you were awake. Awake, and sounding awful. Your voice was low and hoarse, and it hurt him to think about why.

“Hey.” He murmurs, sliding into the seat by your bed with surprising grace. You don’t miss how his hands clasp together in his lap instead of holding yours.

A frown crosses your face as you look up at him through glazed, unfocused eyes. Real or not, this sight of him has joy and fear warring in your heart. Joy, because you still love him, and you are glad your sacrifice was not for naught. Fear, because what if he still hates you? What if he never wants to see you again? What if he’s upset that you got rescued. You can’t help but think about how Soap was the one that found you.

“How are you?” Comes out of his mouth, startling you.

“D’nno.” you slur, “they’ve go’ m’ ‘n th’ gud dru’s.” He doesn’t respond, just nods and goes back to staring at you in silence.

“How ‘re y’?” You mumble. He looks up, his eyes dark and haunted, heavy with guilt. He doesn’t respond for a moment, surveying your broken form again. You almost cry, never once having seen him lay his emotions bare like that. Wake up.

“Fine.” He says finally, “alive.” He looks down, fingering his gloves. You don’t respond, just sink back against your pillows and watch him through hooded eyes. It amazes you how someone so big can make themselves look so small.

“ ’m sor-.”

“Do y’ h-” You stop, both of you speaking at the same time, the minutes of uncomfortable silence finally driving you to talk.

“Y’ firs’.” You slur. He nods, staring at his hands as he opens his mouth.

“ 'm sorry.” He murmurs, “I never shoulda doubted you. I jus-” He trails off, still not meeting your eyes. Hope blooms in your heart, a fragile thing you had not felt in months, a tiny little flame in your chest, fuelled by the thought that maybe he doesn’t hate you. You sigh softly, knowing there's no way that would be true. Wake up.

“Don’ be s’rry. It w’s by d’sign tha’ y’ though’ I w’s a tra’or. I ne’er…I di’n’ thin’ I woul’ b’....I though’ y’ woul’ ha’e me wh’n I c’me ba’.” You pause, breath hitching, “Do y’ ha’e me?”

“No.” The word is sharp, leaving his mouth without a thought. He shifts, finally meeting your eyes, and all you can see in his gaze is grief.

“I ne’er…that’s why I was so angry.” He looks at you pleadingly, “I never stopped loving y’, ‘n I was so angry that I couldn’t…when Price said you didn’t show…” He trails off, and you just know that he is biting his tongue under the mask.

It’s almost too good to be true, you think to yourself. Your exhaustion-addled brain was just conjuring up another story for you. At least this one he forgave you. You laugh wetly, wishing you could stick around. But no, you need to wake up.

Wake up.

Wake up and it will be gone.

Wake up.

Just wake up and you can stop this self-inflicted torture.

Wake up.

Wake up!

WAKE UP!

“Y/n?” You flinch at the touch on your arm, heart racing, your lips parted as you let out a startled cry. Ghost pulls his hand back, and once your vision clears you can see the worry in his eyes. “Are y’ back?” He asks softly, “y’r mind was gone there f’r a minute.” You pant softly, hands shaking as you take in the room around you.

“Ghost?” You gasp, the room vibrant and swirling around you. Your vision tunnels, and you reach for him, needing to feel, to know that this is real. But you are too weak to even lift your arm that far, much less to sit up. You fall back, black dots dancing in front of your vision.

Distantly you feel a hand on your forehead, tucking your hair back. A voice is whispering in your ear, but you can’t hear it. Your eyes flutter shut, the meds and exhaustion finally pulling you under.

"Sleep." Ghost murmurs as your eyes slide shut, "I'll be here."

Part 2?

@alanalanalanalanalanna @bethabear12 @kyojuroslittleflame1 A/N: I'm baack!! Sorry I was gone for so long! I don't remember what order I said I was writing stuff in, so sorry about that. Feel free to remind me if you want :)

#cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #angst #cod x reader #ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #no beta we die like men #cod #john soap mactavish #john price #call of duty #call of duty x reader #sorry i disappeared #i was dying #figuratively speaking #but enjoy

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keresnotceres · 10 months

Text

TF 141: Civilian Lover

[sfw] cw(s): mentions of death/abduction.

sorry for leaving u guys hungry for like two weeks i have no excuse

Likely knew you before he was in the military, perhaps you were someone he went to school with or the two of you were coworkers at a part-time job. Otherwise, how you two managed to get close during his months away on deployment is a mystery.

Ghost keeps his life outside of work private, but you more so. He refused to tell anyone he had a partner until Price accidentally squeezed it out of him during a casual drink.

He worries about you more than you worry about him. He knows what he does, he knows there’s always the chance he won’t make it back to you. He’s only told you that he’s military, not that he goes on near suicide missions.

It likely takes him until a near-death experience, in which he truly thinks he’s not going to make it back to you, that he lets you know a bit more about his job. It’s not much, but he tells you who he works with and why his leaves aren’t as long as other military personnel may be.

Likes having dates at home. He doesn’t want to show you off in public in fear that being seen with him will get you killed or kidnapped to be used as leverage by an enemy. He likes watching movies he can relax during, such as shitty rom-coms, so that he can just admire you instead of having to pay attention to the movie.

Also loves cooking with you regardless of your skill level when it comes to cooking. It’s the level of intimacy that comes with trusting each other enough to be comfortable in the kitchen together that makes him melt a bit.

If you fell first, he absolutely fell harder. Is just absolutely smitten with you. Loves to dote on you and treat you like the most special person to ever exist. Will absolutely give you princess (or other equivalent) treatment just because he can.

Has like five pictures of you in his wallet and like five more hidden in his tactical gear. There’s no theme to them either, they’re just a collection of his favorite photos of you. There’s probably just so many in his room too.

Could probably be convinced to teach you how to handle a pistol. He likes the idea of showing off his own weaponry prowess and wants you to know how to protect yourself if it comes down to it.

Apprehensive to tell you what he does for work besides the military aspect. He’ll tell you he’s a sergeant in a Special Operations unit but you can’t get much else out of him. Has nightmares that he can’t explain to you due to the secrecy of his work and it makes him feel guilty.

At first he didn’t expect you to give him the same love he gave you due to the nature of his job, being away for so long and only being home for a few months (at best) at a time. He realized eventually that you live him despite the fact he’s gone for long periods of time and it made him all the more smitten with you.

Always makes a point to catch up with you when on leave. Likes to hear the gossip you’ve curated over the months, what new things happened at your own job: who quit, who got hired. The possibilities are endless. Sometimes he even comes in swinging with gossip of his own; a few recruits have had their names dragged through the mud.

Probably moved into the relationship very fast, didn’t even think about how his job could put a wedge between you two early on. Didn’t expect you to stay with him after his first deployment was over, but was so happy when you stayed.

Plans dates for you two to go on whenever he has downtime on base. He likes being cheesy about them, too. Always has flowers, always has a stupid one-liner at the ready, and always pays. He will not be convinced to let you pay.

Can and will gush about you to his friends and the other that members of the Task Force. Price is most willing to hear him talk about you and sometimes offers advice if Soap feels stuck, but Gaz is usually the easiest to talk to about relationships.

Please god let him take you shopping. It doesn’t matter if it’s clothes, shoes, or even grocery shopping. Let him take you. He is going to have the time of his life. Will compare prices like a grandmother — and will coupon like one too. Do not underestimate his shopping abilities.

Occasionally brings home trinkets for you that he found on missions. Be it a nice rock, a cool looking bullet casing, or a dead man’s knife; you better believe he is bringing it home for you to indulge in the crow instinct. Once brought you a cool ring he found in the dirt — it cost quite the pretty penny.

Writes you letters when deployed :( Literally writes pages upon pages of letters just so you can have more than just his clothes in the closet and pictures of him. He’ll talk about anything and everything he can do that you can know that he’s not dead and is waiting to come home to you.

You probably thought he was a father the first time you saw him, and that led you to believe he was married. But he is not either of those things until you’re ready!

Has thought about having a family, but doesn’t want to make you feel like you need to have a family to make him happy. He really just needs you to be happy and fulfilled.

Whenever he comes home, he makes a big show of it. Will spend three days just attached to you because he’s missed you too much to even think about letting you go. You will not convince him to leave you alone, he just wants to love you :(

Speaking of, when Price comes home from deployment he is immediately by your side doing domestic things. Yes, he does the cooking and yes he does the cleaning!! Takes care of you while he can and always makes sure you take care of yourself when he can’t.

Has definitely made comments about you to the boys, and has definitely gotten a lot of questions back. Whether it be Soap basically taunting him for information about you or Ghost asking how you’re doing, you’ve become quite the topic amongst the 141 (and you don’t even know it).

Has tried to tell you what he does for work but can’t bring himself to explain that he puts his life on the line for his job and that he could never come home one day. You understand the military can be dangerous, but you don’t know how dangerous his military career is. If you found out without him telling you, he’d definitely feel extremely guilty no matter your response.

#cod headcanons #cod mw2 #gaz x reader #john mactavish x reader #john price x reader #kyle garrick x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #gaz mw2 #price mw2 #cod x reader #mw2 x reader

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wordstome · 6 months

Text

now that we don't talk

I cannot be your friend, so I pay the price of what I lost And what it cost Now that we don't talk

alpha colonel König x beta ex-lover reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, reader's callsign is Eden, reader speaks French, omegaverse, exes to lovers, fraternization

2.2k words

tw: none

I swear to God one day I'll write something that doesn't involve that big hooded freak. But today is not that day.

Shoutout to loganlermanstanaccount here on Tumblr, who I won't tag. The bullet point headcanons with written parts interspersed format is from their excellent college roommate Miguel O'Hara post, which became their fic Rigor Mortis. I highly recommend both!

Also, excuse the absolutely butchered military content. I'm sure none of this is how it works in real life, but alas, this is fanfiction, not a research paper. Reader serves a Laswell-like role, but I refrained from labeling her as CIA even though I do call her a station chief. For the purposes of this fic, she's the voice in the operatives' ear during ops. We're playing a bit fast and loose with the terminology here.

You’re a highly skilled intelligence agent and operative handler.

You’ve spent most of your life dedicated to your career: moving through the ranks, proving yourself, refusing to let anything stand in the way of your ambitions.

You’ve done some things you aren’t proud of, but always for the right reason. Or the reason that made the most cold, logical sense. Even when your heart tells you otherwise. Nobody in this line of work has clean hands, after all.

You’ve always done what needs to be done. For everyone’s best interest.

Today marks the first day of your collaboration with a PMC called KorTac. You’re hunting down a homegrown cult turned out-of-control terrorist cell.

You haven’t had much experience working with mercenaries, but in terms of hardened war criminals, KorTac’s people are quite well mannered.

Not that you had expected them to be rude and discourteous, but, well. You are an outsider. They haven’t necessarily embraced you, but their reception was nice enough.

You’ve got a meeting with their commander, but you can’t quite find the room you’re supposed to be meeting in. Not a great first impression to make, but luckily, someone takes pity on you.

He introduces himself. Korean. Callsign Horangi.

“You’ll get used to the layout of the base,” he says as you follow him through winding hallways.

“I hope so,” you reply. “I’ll be here for a while." You study the walls, the signs and numbers on the doors, trying your best to memorize everything.

"Do you know your commander well?" you ask. You're not the world's biggest fan of small talk, but you may as well know what you're walking into.

"König? Yeah, we've been close ever since he joined up." Horangi says, leading you into a long hallway. "He's a good guy. A little intense, but don't let that get to you. He's just getting the job done."

"We'll get along if he's competent." You can respect a man who forgoes pleasantries for making sure the shit gets shoveled.

"You don't have to worry about that." Horangi stops and holds the door open for you. "After you."

You study him for just a moment before entering the room. He's curt and to the point. Not bad-looking, either. Hopefully you'll get more chances to—

Your heart nearly stops.

KorTac's commander is facing away from the doorway, shuffling through some papers by the looks of it. But you would know him from any angle. The set of his shoulders, the way his stance is at ease but never truly relaxed, the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck.

You have to force yourself to step into the room. And when you do, he turns around.

You're vaguely aware of Horangi stepping around you to get into the room, but that's happening somewhere far away from the headspace you occupy right now. By the way König's eyes widen as they meet yours, he's in the same place too.

He hasn't aged so much as he's gotten more tired. He never did sleep enough, but now he looks like he hasn't gotten a sound night's rest in a long time. He's put-together, but there's a haggardness to him that probably wouldn't be noticeable to anybody but you. Someone who knew him when he was younger, and in the prime of his life. Someone who used to know every scar on his body, every crease of his brow, and now hasn't seen him in more than a decade.

The man who broke your heart stands on the other end of the room, staring at you as if he's seen a ghost.

The two of you stand there for a while before Horangi's voice shakes you back to reality. "Brought the station chief, sir."

"I...see." König—you suppose that's what he calls himself nowadays, the arrogant prick—clears his throat. "Thank you, Hong-jin."

"No problem." Horangi takes a seat. "The others will be in soon."

Horangi seems like a perceptive enough guy. Can he tell that the room feels several degrees colder? You pull a chair out, the furthest one from König's position possible, and ignore the hurt that briefly flashes across his face as you sit down.

The meeting goes well. It's just an opportunity for you to formally introduce yourself to the KorTac operators you'll primarily be working with for the next few months.

You can tell they're a close knit group by the easy way they interact with each other: they've worked together for a while.

König, too, is part of them, which must be how they pick up on the chilly dynamic between the two of you. Some of them are just puzzled. For most of them, it raises their hackles.

It doesn't matter to you. You can barely focus on getting through the meeting without feeling like you're going to faint.

It's absurd. You're not some delicate Regency-era lady. You're a hardened military officer. But it makes no difference.

It doesn't matter how long it's been, it seems. He's still the only one who can make you feel like this.

You can't get out of there fast enough after the meeting has concluded. Not only are the others shooting you suspicious looks, but you've spent too long in his presence. Any longer, and you don't know how you're going to keep your composure.

But you can't escape him. Of course not. Why did you ever think otherwise? You hear him call for you, and you walk faster. But it's futile.

This hallway is smaller, narrower, less open. Nobody's around to watch when he slams you against the wall to stop your hasty retreat. Nobody's around to see the way you sway in his hold, overwhelmed by the smell of him all around you. You're bathed in it, the overpowering presence of him.

"We need to talk." he demands.

"We just did. Meeting's over," you shoot back, making a paltry attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. He loosens his hold on you, but you're still trapped between him and the wall. No exit.

"I didn't plan this, in case you're wondering."

"That much was obvious." He's let his hair grow out longer, you notice at the most inopportune time possible. It suits him, you think.

He sighs in frustration. "If we're going to work together, we have to be civil."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't expose how much of a scoundrel you are in front of your precious squad," you bite.

You feel a twinge of smug satisfaction as regret settles into his expression. Too little, too late.

"I don't want it to be like this, either," he murmurs. "Ignoring and avoiding each other."

"You don't get to tell me how to act."

"You're right. But it's been a long time. Can't we try to get along? Not for my sake, but...yours."

"Well that's not condescending at all."

"That's not what I meant. I know my team. If you're walking around resenting me openly like that, they won't trust you. And they need to, if you're working with us."

He's right, and you know it. But there's that deep instinct inside you, older than your bloodline, waking up after a long slumber. It wants him, snapping at the bit to give into him and do whatever he asks of you. The urge will consume you if you don't fight it every step of the way.

You glare up at him, hoping you come off as brimming with resentment instead of desire. "As long as you and your team stay professional, I can too."

He's not satisfied with that answer, but it's all you're going to give him.

"Fine." He steps away from you, and you pour all your willpower into commanding your body to stay still. To not chase after his closeness. You sway on the spot, dizzy with his scent after having gone so long without it.

"This hallway is a dead end, by the way."

You try, you really do. But it's hard to be around him without feeling the urge to touch him, to press yourself against him and inhale him like the most destructive drug possible.

Your only recourse is to stay as physically far away from him as possible.

You do your best to ingratiate yourself with the other operators. You and Calisto are fast friends: she's got a breezy confidence to her that's quite refreshing. It also doesn't hurt that you speak French, as well. There's a bit of kinship felt whenever the two of you are holding a conversation none of the others can understand.

Horangi's a different story, though. The initial courtesy he showed you is a bit more clipped, now that it's clear something is up between you and König.

You can't believe you missed it the first time, the way König's smell is all over him. It really has been too long.

The two of them must be pretty close. You give up trying not to fixate on the idea.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop on them, but you were curious. Even more curious when you hear your name mentioned.

"It's pretty clear you and Eden know each other. None of us are stupid."

You freeze in your tracks. The door is closed, but you can hear Horangi's voice, loud and clear in the room behind it.

"It's not relevant. She's just here to do a job."

"I think it's pretty relevant that she gets up and leaves whenever you enter a room, regardless of what she's doing. She can't get away from you fast enough."

You give a surreptitious look at your surroundings, then lean down slightly, pressing your ear to the door.

"You're not going to give this up, are you?"

"Hell fucking no."

You hear König sigh. "Fine. We knew each other before I joined KorTac. Back when I was in the Jagdkommando."

Do you want to hear this? Your painful history, relayed to a near stranger? Horangi's not a stranger to him, that's for sure.

"And?"

"We were...involved."

"You and a beta? Never took you for the type."

"Well, neither did I. But she was...special. Smart, pretty, deadeye with a knife. Wouldn't give me the time of day, of course. I was obsessed with her."

"Naturally."

"Give me a fucking break, okay?"

"Can't wait to hear how this ended."

"Not...great. I was a total dick."

You can say that again, you think.

"I was young. Real dumbass who thought he was hot shit."

"You still aren't."

"Shut the fuck up." Something twinges inside you at the hearty laughter the two of them share. You missed that laugh.

"Despite everything, it was the most stable relationship I've ever been in. We looked out for each other. She knew me better than some of my family does."

"How did you fuck that up, then?"

"I got too comfortable. Started thinking I could do better. God, what a fucking idiot I was. I loved her like crazy, but I didn't realize how good I had it until it was gone."

"She left you?"

"No. I was the one who ended things. In the worst way possible, too. I told her the relationship wasn't going to go anywhere, that we were never going to be a serious thing."

"Ouch. Why not?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. You remember that night, like a shard of glass buried in your chest. As hard as you tried to forget, you'll never forget the way you felt. Like the world was ending.

You'll never forget the decision you had to make.

"I told her I couldn't see myself with a beta long-term."

"...that's fucked up."

"I know. I know. I was too caught up in that shitty macho alpha mindset. I was fucking ravenous back then, and I thought only an omega could give me what I needed."

"I get it now. If I were her, I would have quit on the spot seeing you in that meeting room."

"Yeah. She's a better person than I can ever imagine being."

Well. It's nice to know he regrets it, you think. Not that it does you much good now. Quiet as a mouse, you make a quick exit before you can get caught.

You make it back to the the room you've been assigned to. They were nice enough to give you your own private quarters, something you deeply appreciate when you need to be alone with your own thoughts. Like right now.

It's a strange feeling, to sort of get closure like this. Not at the end, but at the beginning of something new. You still have to see each other. Does it help that you know how he feels? Maybe, but it doesn't ease your own guilt. In fact, it makes it worse.

You're not mad at him for telling Horangi. You're glad he did, actually. There are some secrets that cause more harm to keep than not.

You open a drawer and pull out the pill bottle, hidden underneath your other possessions, and stare at the label.

WARNING - SUPPRESSANTS. NOT TO BE USED BY ALPHAS. ONLY CONSUME UNDER PHYSICIAN SUPERVISION.

You would know.

BOOM! There you have it. (In case it wasn't clear, the suppressants are for omegas.)

@sprout-fics's omegaverse 141 headcanons series inspired me to write something based off the idea of an omega disguising themselves as a beta in the military. Please check out her series, it's great.

I was really into exploring how omegaverse dynamics can make complicated relationships even messier. I did consider writing this story without the omegaverse, but I think now it's kind of an essential element. (I also just. Want them to have crazy nasty omegaverse sex. Sue me) I can't picture König ever breaking up with someone he deeply loved and was obsessed with, unless he had a reason like that. Still not a great reason, but a little bit understandable. Eden being a disguised omega also adds a bit of spice to the exes-to-lovers arc, too: she could have just come out and told him she's not actually a beta, but she chose not to for the sake of her career. Oof. Ruthless judgement calls were made on both sides.

I put this out because this idea had me in a STRANGLEHOLD, and I just had to get it out before I burst. Hopefully my writing's still up to par 😅 As for Kingdom Come, part iii may take a little while longer because a lot is going to happen in it, so I hope this can tide you guys over until then.

As usual, comments and feedback are always appreciated! I would love to talk about this au more. And again, if you'd like to be tagged, drop a reply. And if you're in the taglist and would like to be removed/only tagged for Kingdom Come, please let me know!

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria

#könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #konig mw2 #könig mw2 #fic: now that we don't talk

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ladyelissarose · 1 year

Text

‘Look Up’

Ghost x female reader - callsign ‘Grenade’

Summary: After a small rescue mission turns out like no one expected, especially Grenade, Ghost is left stuck with her and her struck out heart. His hard, cold heart refuses to comfort hers, but in the end, the tables turned on him.

Warnings: mentions of deaths, pretty gore, angst, crying, then fluff?

Enjoy!

“This is Price, how copy?”

The 141 Task Force were all separated as they searched the grounds in between trailers in Norway. The sun had begun to set, painting the skies an orange color and clouds a light pink color, a little tint of indigo could be seen on the very top, near the heavens, but was overpowered by the suns brighter colors. The cold weather in their atmosphere was quite bearable, but that didn’t stop them from excessively sweating with anxiety.

“This is Ghost.”

“This is Soap.”

“This is Gaz.”

“This is Roach.”

“This is Alejandro.”

“This is Grenade.”

After Grenade gave out her name, in her delicate but deep voice, Ghost being himself was the first to speak up in confusion about the new voice,

“Price who’s Grenade?”

Price looked behind him and saw his new addition to the team, Grenade, who was trailing behind him closely, maybe 5’5 in height, sporting black cargo pants along with her favorite dark grey oversized shirt, that was tucked in as neatly as possible, shielding her chest was her bulletproof vest. Her round eyes were focused, sharp, and her gloved hands held her gun in perfect position. Price was pleased with Grenade and smiled to himself as he replied simply,

“Couldn’t debrief you boys this morning, but the recruit you all have been asking for was sent in by Laswell today. Later I’ll introduce her. For now let’s focus, have any of you seen that trailer?”

‘Her? He can’t be fucking serious...’

Ghost thought as he rolled his eyes to himself. Sure, he had been expecting a new recruit, (though he wasn’t part of the guys that had asked for one) but what he didn’t expect, was for it to be a woman. He had no hard feelings towards them necessarily, but just the thought of knowing that they can turn out to be like mean bitches like Valeria, (whom he wholly hated) or they can be completely mushy and useless, he never saw in between or a better version. Soap’s voice broke through the radio and through Ghost’s thoughts as he replied to Price,

“I haven’t seen it yet, what if they took it already?”

In that moment Roach’s voice came through, informing Soap and the rest,

“I don’t think so Sergeant, been keeping watch all night and up until you guys arrived, and no ones moved in or out.”

Alejandro huffed to himself as he questioned Price,

“Don’t you think by now we would’ve heard movement? Noise? I’ve heard absolutely nada.”

Grenade who had been silent the entire time as she heard her new teams members communicate, felt suspicion at what Alejandro had said, he was right, they were on a rescue mission after all, and yet, none had seen or heard any signs of life. She sighed to herself as she finally voiced out her thoughts, as she suggested to Price who was in front of her,

“Captain Price, what if we split? I can take the left here, you take the right, these are the two last rows of trailers anyways.”

Price stopped walking and thought for a second,

‘She’ll be in sight anyways... ok.’

“Alrighty then lass, take the left, I’ll be right behind ya going right.”

“Copy copy.”

Grenade went straightaway towards her destination, taking cautious steps, eagle eyeing her surroundings, even balancing her every breath. Grenade had been in many situations like these; tense, nerve wracking, holding onto the ropes of hope, in between life and death, name it, she had seen and been through all of it. Yet she stuck her head out and made it, did the impossible, and dared to push herself even more. Half the time (MOST of the time) Grenade was underestimated and seen as weak and useless by those who judged her by her looks and size. But Laswell knew who the real Grenade was, hence why she believed that Price would be pleased to have her included into the 141 Task Force. Grenade was a fighter, defender, cold-blooded killer towards those who wrote their death wish with cruel and abominable actions. She wore a blindfold to heartlessly take down anyone who came in her way with bad intentions or destruction, but once it was over, she took it off and she wore their blood with pride, knowing who she was and what she was capable of. But also, Grenade happened to still have a piece of her heart, that beat with love and compassion towards those who deserved it. Grenade felt no feelings towards dead criminals or even live ones, but show her a baby, and she’ll melt and hold onto it tightly, as if she hoped it would mold into her skin and stay safe with her forever. Grenade had witnessed battlefields from the clean beginning to the bloody end, what once was free and a good land, would become a cemetery for the unrecognizable and unjustly sacrificed. But if you caught her staring into the starry skies it the night or the gleaming, rising sun in the promised morning, you’d probably catch a small smile leave her usual, tight, sealed lips. Grenade was an Aesthete at heart, and adored life when it beamed in the most beautiful and amazing ways, from good people to the simplicity of nature, but she was also a soldier, after a wars’ and combats’ own heart. Grenade passed a few trailers, not seeing the number they were looking for, ‘624’.

“For fucks sake...”

She cursed to herself under her breath as she was close to approaching her two last ones, believing that perhaps they both wouldn’t be what she was looking for. She passed the second to the last one, and checked the top numbers,

“379... Nope not it. Damn it- Oh...”

Crossing in front of the last one, Grenade huffed in disbelief, she found it, in bold numbers on the trailer read ‘624’ at the corner. Placing her gun in one hand, Grenade stepped closer to the trailer, and with a calm, subtle voice, Grenade called out as she slightly knocked in the metal door,

“Is anyone in here? We’re here to help you.”

Grenade laid her ear against the metal door, letting its cool metal touch her warm face, hopefully waiting for any voice to call out in return, signaling that indeed, there was someone inside. Grenade clenched her fists in sight worry that she wasn’t hearing anything, but let out a soft gasp when she heard the most, childish voice say brokenly,

“h-help us.”

Grenade immediately stepped away from the door and pressed her radio to signal out to Price and the rest,

“I found the trailer, I heard signs of life. It’s on left side of the dock, last trailer in the last row.”

“We’re on your way, Grenade. Start taking them out”.

“Yes sir.”

Knowing that her team was coming her way, gave her enough confidence to engage as Price had ordered. Grenade lifted the heavy lock off the door, grunting while doing so, it felt like it weighed a ton. It took a couple of hot seconds to actually take it off without dropping it onto her boots. But Grenade was successful and began to unlatch the other locks, before grabbing the bottom handle, and pulling it up, opening it. Her heart beat happily at first, wanting to believe that she had found them all, and was going to get them all back home safely. But once she had lifted the door completely, her heart was crushed, shattered, burned and beaten, as she stood in front of the gates of death. All the bodies inside, laid dead on the cold metal floors of the trailer, their skin was pale, and the fading bruises on their skin looked blue and purple. Grenade blinked a couple of times, wanting to make sure that what she was seeing, wasn’t another one of her frequent nightmares, that haunted her. But every time she reopened her eyes, she was met with the same image, death. Grenade let out a deep sigh, trying to swallow the pit of rocks she felt in her throat. She never moved from the door, but instead looked at every person’s body inside, watching to see if any of them moved because they were still breathing, but they were all completely still. It smelled awful as well, like blood and gore, but Grenade was used to it, she had been the cause of a lot of it too while in combat. Grenade was so into her thoughts, about the injustice of Life itself, that she didn’t even hear the 141 Taskforce arrive, who witnessed her still body, standing in front of lifeless people. Her hands shook softly, as they clutched onto the gun tighter by every passing second. Price could see what was going on with Grenade, he could tell that the image she was staring at, was beginning to portrait itself into her mind, drawing every detail more haunting than it looks, creating a sense of guilt and sadness that painted the picture black and red, no white or any other color could ever be found. To stop the artistic works of death himself, Price approached Grenade and carefully placed a warm hand on her shoulder as he shook her away from her own thoughts with simple words,

“I’m sorry lass.”

Price knew that this rescue mission meant a lot to Grenade, she had been working on it for weeks turned into months, wanting to find the traffickers and trailer that was being used to traffic and harm people. Grenade had flinched at both his words and small hand gesture, but was instantly calmed to hear that it was his voice, trying to comfort her. She appreciated Price, he had been welcoming sense the start, and was the only one willing to take her in. Grenade shook her head slowly as she put forth in a low whisper,

“I swear I’m not crazy... but I know I heard a voice calling for help.”

Ghost huffed to himself, as he took in Grenade’s words and appearance with utter disgrace, thinking that she was probably going to be one of the mushy and useless ones. He then squared his shoulders and replied in his thickened accent meanly, wanting Grenade to snap out of her self-pity party,

“Maybe you are bloody crazy. It’s pretty fuckin’ clear they are all dead-“

Spinning around to disagree with who she thought would be a regular soldier, was stunned for a moment as she took in Ghost’s intimidating mask and height, her heart skipped a beat with fear. After being buried with real skulls for 48 hours because of a kidnapping, it left her absolutely terrified of them. She could right away feel the power and dominance he held. But nonetheless, Grenade tried to maintain her calm and addressed back with a stern tone, wanting to appear not afraid of him,

“I’m not. I heard someone say-“

-CLICK!

All of the 141 Taskforce’s shoulders instantly tensed as it grew silent immediately, they all knew that sound, by engraved memory ... and their minds registered to them in that moment, that a bomb had just been ticked. Grenade who was closest to the bomb inside the trailer, pushed away Price from her as she jumped to grab the door and pull it down to shut it..

BOOM!!!

But the bomb was too quick and sent them all flying, including her before she could even try to close the door. The adrenaline they had from the unexpected catastrophe got them to their feet immediately, grunting in pain through the process. Price was the first to call out as he stood to his feet,

“EVERYONE ALRIGHT?!?”

Ghost was the second to stand, and he quickly went for Soap who struggled a little more to stand, but as he picked him up to stand, he saw a group of armored men come towards them rapidly, raising their weapons to fire at them. Ghost held Soap up with one arm and used his free hand to reach for his gun, but he realized he had lost it during the explosion when he didn’t see it there.

“FUCK!!-“

“I GOT YOU COVERED! GO!!”

That was Grenade’s voice, that screamed over the rainfall of bullets, she slid on her knees and came to a stand in front of Ghost as she began to shoot at the incoming men, taking each one down effortlessly. Ghost stood stunned for a second, taking in the unexpected sight in front of him, but Soap poked him out of his thoughts as he grunted loudly,

“We need to get out of here LT.! We don’t know how much more are coming our way! We were ambushed!”

Ghost shook his head no as he saw Gaz running towards them, he let go of Soap as he ordered him,

“No, you go with Gaz!! I’ll stay with this one!!”

Soap was confused for a moment, but he knew that Ghost would protect what was Price’s, even if he didn’t like them. Soap nodded quickly as he shouted,

“I’m going to find the rest!! Meet us at our place!! Stay alive eh?!”

Ghost could see the worry in Soap’s eyes, but he didn’t have time to comfort the way he wanted to, but instead he called him by his actual name, knowing that Soap knew it was Ghost’s way of reassurance,

“I will Johnny! GO!!”

Soap nodded then left and ran with Gaz to find the rest. The gunfire suddenly stopped, making Ghost look back at Grenade, who still stood up, while the enemies were lifeless in the distance. He searched for his gun on the floor and found it a few feet away from him. Picking it up he walked to stand next to Grenade, who was reloading her weapon at the moment, but quickly though, Grenade was impressively fast at it, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Ghost. She had taken them all out successfully, and now looked around vigilantly. Ghost stood in the same position as he looked the opposite way she was, waiting for anyone else who could be coming at them. Back to back they ended up, with their weapons held high and ready. Ghost didn’t see anyone coming his way, and when he was about to inform Grenade, she called out to him in a calm voice,

“And we got more company... fuck.”

Ghost turned around and saw how an outnumbered amount of men were coming towards them. Though he secretly admired the way Grenade stayed put and ready to take them all out with her single weapon, Ghost knew it be impossible after a few rounds, there were to many men who would soon kill them. He saw the maze of trailers that stood next to them, and put his plan to work almost instantly when he grabbed Grenades upper arm dragging her behind him as he began to run off with her. She tried to take his hands off of her as she shouted,

“W-What are you doing???!-“

Ghost held on to her painfully tighter as he said back,

“There’s too many!! We’re fuckin outnumbered!!”

Grenade tired to keep up with Ghost’s long legs that took long strides as they ran away, what helped her keep up was the fact that she was practically being dragged by him. Soon they heard bullets flying around them along with frightening shouts, hence making them run faster in between the trailers. Grenade turned back as saw how close they were getting to them, with all her might she yanked her arm out of Ghost’s grasp and grabbed her large rifle from her back, and began to shoot at the men that were trailing behind them closely, missing some others no. Ghost stopped in his tracks the minute her arm left his hand, but he didn’t stop her when she began to shoot, until she ran out of bullets. She screamed in frustration when she found out she had no more bullets on her,

“FUCK I’M OUT!!-“

Ghost growled in annoyance as he grabbed her arm again, this time even tighter making Grenade yelp in the sudden harsh grasp, but he ignored her pleas as he yelled back,

“I BLOODY TOLD YA IT WOULDN’T BE ENOUGH!!”

Soon they ran out of the trailer lot, and up ahead saw the forest of tall, evergreen trees. Grenade pointed towards them as she suggested quickly,

“Let’s head for the forest! We might find a good place to hide there.”

Ghost rolled his eyes but nonetheless knew it was probably best, so before they could be seen by the armored men, they ran for it. The thickness of the trees and the darkness that began to cover the skies, helped them blend in and hide well in their dark colored attire. All that could be heard around them was a broken branch here and there, howls of the midnight wolves that cried to the shining moon, as well as the panting breaths of Ghost and Grenade who continued to run deeper into the enclosing forest.

They ran for a few more minutes before Ghost hauled them to a stop with his hand raising up in a fist, signaling Grenade to stop running. Grenade took deep breaths as she leaned her hands on her knees, trying to get her mind off of the thoughts that ran through her head. A heavy weight of guilt began to sit in her stomach, as she blamed herself for not being able to rescue the victims on time. She was a part of them, kidnapped along with them, but was separated one day, which she took advantage of and was able to be found after escaping. Grenade promised those she was with that she’d find them and rescue them, but now there was no one to save, they had all been killed. Tears burned in the back of her eyes, and a stone of pain grew hard to swallow as Grenade tried to breathe. Ghost had wanted to start walking again, see if they could find their team, but he saw how Grenade wasn’t moving at all, still hunched over trying to gain composure. Ghost wasn’t a man of feelings or sensitivity, people even doubted if he had a heart, so he didn’t think he was being mean or heartless as he groaned,

“Stand up Officer, we need to move.”

Grenade waved her hand sighing,

“Just give me a minute please.”

Huffing in annoyance once again Ghost disapproved,

“I don’t think so, either you start fucking moving or I’ll leave ya ass here.”

Grenade grew irritated by his demeanor towards her and could only muster out,

“Then go.”

Ghost definitely didn’t expect her to want him to leave her alone, he thought his words would get her moving on his command, but instead she stood in place. Ghost looked around and saw how the darkness began to swallow what was left of the light from the sunset, and knew it would get colder and harder to seek for their destination and team. So he then sauntered over to Grenade grabbed her by the strap on her vest and pulled her to stand straight as he pierced her heart with his words,

“I don’t care who you are or how you fucking feel, if I say let’s go you move. Is that fucking clear for you soldier?”

Hearing those words from him was what broke the dam of tears for Grenade, freely they began to pour out as his intimidating stance and hurting words scared her, and that only made Ghost more irritated and almost angry. He pulled her closer to his face as he seethed,

“The day you signed up for this you should’ve known that this would happen, so don’t pour tears... don’t cry. Expect it, and live with it when it comes and pays.”

Grenade didn’t realized that Ghost held her feet high above ground until he let her go and she fell on her bottom. She winced a little but was quick to stand when she saw how he had begun to walk away, putting quite a distance between them. Keeping her eyes on him she ran without watching her steps, which caused her to trip over a few rocks and thick tree roots here and there, but nonetheless she kept up. Ghost kept his fast strides up on purpose, to give Grenade a run for her life, but he kept an ear out for her anyways, hearing for her footsteps that followed after him quickly, maybe Ghost was an ass but he didn’t dare leave a his team behind, even if he thought he hated them. But suddenly he heard a gasp leave her lips loudly and her footsteps came to a stop, he kept walking thinking that maybe she was taking a quick second to breathe, but when he didn’t hear her footsteps continue, he stopped in his tracks. Holding onto the thin thread of patience that was wearing out, Ghost turned around growling,

“I swear if you don’t move I’ll beat your bloody ass- w-where are you?”

Grenade was no where to be seen, he only saw the trees he had passed in front of him, which made his heart slightly drop as a tick of guilt pricked it.

‘Alright letting her be behind me was my fault. Fucking helll.’

After admitting his fault to himself, Ghost began to walk towards where Grenade was, but paused when he heard her call out in a strained voice,

“Lieutenant! Hello?! Hey! I-I fell in a pretty deep hole.”

‘Just what I fucking needed... that’s what happens to short people.’

Ghost could see where she flashed her light, signaling where she was. He walked toward it slowly, letting the pain of falling in there really dig into Grenades skin, yes, he was being pretty heartless and a bully. As he approached it he saw the big hole, and the flickering light, he looked down and got hit in the face with the light, which made him groan,

“Turn that fucking light off-“

“Oh sorry!”

The bright light turned off after it stung Ghost’s eyes, and soon his eyes adjusted to the night and he was able to make out Grenade’s face, which only showed fear and worry, and Ghost was proud he had that affect on her. But before he could say anything which geared towards getting her out, he noticed her face change, and turn into pure awe. And he thought she was looking at him like that,

‘Why the fuck is she looking at me like that?’

“Why the fucking hell are you looking at me like that?”

Grenade gave Ghost silence as only her soft breaths were heard, she continued to look up, and her eyes grew bigger and brighter by the second. Ghost grew irritated by not receiving an answer from her when he asked, to which he then barked at her angrily,

“GRENADE!”

Grenade violently flinched at his harsh voice that was directed towards her, and when she actually focused her eyes on his mask, she asked in a soft tone,

“What Ghost?”

Scoffing loudly Ghost scolded,

“What Ghost? Fuck... when I ask something of you, you fucking reply!!! Give me your hand!”

Grenade was about to apologize to him but she bit it back, preferring to stay quiet and not anger him more. So she extended her hands to which he grabbed by the wrist instead, and yanked her out of the hole, sending her out of it onto the ground on her stomach. A loud ‘Oof’ left her lips, (for he had kinda thrown her a little harshly onto the ground on purpose, trying to make her see that he wasn’t up for games and bullshit.) But to his surprise, Grenade wasn’t fazed at all by his actions, she instead quickly stood onto her feet and looked up, again, as she explained,

“I wasn’t looking at you Lt.”

Ghost never looked at her as he fixed his sleeves questioning with a stern tone,

“What?”

“When I was in the hole looking up... I wasn’t looking at you-“

Ghost turned his cold eyes towards her and saw how she was still looking up, making him grow even more irritated,

“Then what?!”

Grenade walked closer to him, and pointed at the sky with her hand as she said simply,

“Look up Lt... just look.”

Ghost stayed still, refusing to look up, and continued to eye down Grenade, and for that moment, he actually began to see her. The color of her hair, and it’s delicacy, even when it was everywhere put in place at the same time. Her skin texture that indeed looked better than his, though she had a small scar on her lower lip and cheek and dark bags under her eyes, including a new wound and bruise on her cheek and chin from the explosion earlier. The way she was dressed, it was different, most women he had encountered in his line of work, wore tight, tactical clothing, while Grenade, wore the loosest ones. While taking in her body structure and clothing, he didn’t realize that she had been crying softly, until the most quiet sniffle escape her lips. Ghost’s eyes snapped to her face, and saw a single tear rolling down her cheek, but that’s not what had caught most of his attention, it was what was beaming off of it, a green-bluish light it seemed? He began to see the color turn brighter as it illuminated her skin, which made him turn his eyes to finally look up. And for once after a really really long time, Ghost felt something turn in his chest, like adoration. And for the first time in his entire life, he witnessed one of Mother Nature’s most beautiful creations, the Northern Lights. He let his head hung back to see the whole sky that was covered in light, gleaming wonderfully, it was celestial, unreal, so full of color and life. Curtains of beautiful colors in different shades of turquoise draped over the sky in ecstasy, glorifying itself as the darkness that surrounded it was long forgotten.

Grenades voice flowed smoothly as she said in a whispered voice,

“I never thought I’d see this... it’s one of my million wishes.. one finally got checked off.”

Ghost’s eyes left the sky for a moment as he looked at Grenade’s face, which was covered in more tears as they continued to fall. Ghost today had seen Grenade, whom he had underestimated at first, thinking she’d be in the way of combat, when she actually stood in front of it ready to take it down. She was known as a cold killer and a fighter, resilient towards anything that came her way, never looked away from her work when she destroyed the bad guys, and never let a tear shed for them. But at the sight of the Northern Lights, she was a teary mess, staring at it with her jaw slacked opened in surprise and awe. Ghost looked down to stare at his boots, but he caught the sight of her hands, shaking and covered in dried blood, making him think for a second, that at the end of the day, no matter who they were and who they killed, they were still human, and had hearts, hearts that could hurt and cry, be joyful and love. His eyes flicked away from them when she lifted a hand and wiped her tears away, sniffing as she put forth,

“No matter how much death I see everyday, I try to make an effort to look at what’s breathing and alive, to wipe the memories away. And this.. is perfect.”

Ghost looked back at Grenade’s face, which was already faced towards him as she was looking at him with sincerity in her eyes, sending her warm and inviting gaze towards him, she never looked at his mask, but kept her eyes burning into his blue ones. Ghost felt sunken and taken aback, not taking into thought how much of an affect Grenade was having on him, how much her good heart was awakening his stoned one. He then looked at his feet, and suddenly felt bad for treating her the way he did, so harshly and unforgivingly. Shifting his feet in the ground to sway a little side to side, he tried to ignore the way he was beginning to feel a little warm in his chest. Grenade began to shiver a bit, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to keep warm from the cold, and that’s when Ghost thought it was the best time to show he was sorry. Ghost wasn’t a man of words, he wouldn’t verbally say he was sorry or that he liked something, instead he let his body language speak for him. Shrugging off his large jacket, he quickly placed it over Grenades shoulders, tugging it on so it wouldn’t slip off. Grenade was caught off guard by his sudden change in behavior, but right away grasped onto the jacket and sighed in appreciation as it’s warmth began to seep into her, she didn’t let a second pass before she said,

“Thank you LT.”

Ghost smiled a little under his mask, and put forth in a calm tone,

“No problem lass, Do you know my name?”

Grenade looked away from the sky as she took in his sudden question, a question she knew the answer to, so she replied,

“Yes, you’re LT Simon Riley, but they call you Ghost for a classified reason, hence why you wear a scary mask.”

Huffing a short laugh Ghost questioned,

“Scary? That’s a first.”

Shrugging her shoulders Grenade explained shyly,

“Well, when you’re kidnapped and buried alive with real skulls, it does change your approach to them. Or the way you look at them.”

Ghost arched a brow as his heart pinched a little her confession, he began to feel more intrigued by Grenade, which is why he went on asking,

“And what’s your thoughts on skulls now?”

“Death LT, death... I really thought I was going to die. Shepherd knew where I was all along, yet he left me there to die. That was until Laswell put a team together to find me, which is when I met Captain Price.”

Searching for her face to read her expression as Grenade told her story, was the most heart breaking thing Ghost could’ve done, cause all he could read was fear. Ghost kept his eyes on her as he went on with the questions,

“How recent was this, lass?”

“2 weeks ago... it’s pretty recent.”

Ghost shook his head approvingly before looking around to check the area around them, it was pitch black by now, for the Northern Lights had disappeared already, only the moonlight scarcely shone upon them. Thinking to himself for a moment, he made up his mind, Ghost’s heart trusted Grenade for an unknown reason, but it was a chance he was willing to take. After slipping off his skull mask and skull balaclava, Ghost then slowly started walking up to her. Grenade caught that he was moving, but she didn’t spare him a glance, but Ghost didn’t want her looking away from him as he commanded,

“Look at me, Officer.”

“LT-“

“Officer. I’m not going to ask again.”

Grenade swallowed her fear of skulls as she chose to look up at him, but she was met with the most adorning, scarred face.

Her jaw dropped as she gasped softly,

“Ghost I thought you never-“

“Shhhhhh...”

Ghost had placed his large hand over her mouth, refusing to hear her words about him hiding his identity. She silenced herself, and took in his appearance with wide eyes. His perfect nose that look a little crooked at the top, maybe from being broken and readjusted at the same time. His gleaming colored eyes, that looked both beautiful but mysterious. The little scars that were here and there, like tattoos of hidden stories. His lips, his lips were pink from the cold, but they still look kissable. Grenade was shaken out of her thoughts when Ghost grabbed her chin with his gloved fingers, and began to say in a low but comforting tone while looking straight into her eyes with a hint of compassion,

“Everyday, you and I are going to work together, and worthwhile.. I’ll wear my mask and balaclava. I’ll teach you how to overcome your fear of skulls, for I always wear it no matter who I am with. And also because I know you can overcome your fear lass, you’re a tough one.”

Grenade nodded at his words, and could only muster out,

“Thank you, for this and for willing to help me, Price hasn’t been able to find anyone suitable... to help me out.”

Ghost smiled softly and tugged Grenades wrist as they began to walk away,

“Well now you have me.”

She smiled at him shyly while looking at his scars, but she wasn’t disgusted by them, no.. it was like she admired them, and Ghost saw that, and could only appreciate her more. Which earned Grenade the sweetest words that ever came out of Ghost,

“You can touch them..”

Grenade looked into his eyes hesitantly, but couldn’t think twice about it when Ghost went ahead and grabbed her hand, planted it on his cheek, nearest the largest scar. He dropped his hand and waited for her to begin to move. Grenade then carefully ran her fingers through them and memorized its texture and interesting shapes, only admiring how he could survive every fight he went through to get those scars. Once she was satisfied with herself, Grenade dropped her hand as she complimented him innocently,

“You have a very unique face Ghost...”

Ghost sent her a small smile of pride, for he knew he look good, even with his scars, it gave him an extra touch to every beautiful feature he already had, he was just afraid someone else didn’t like them, but he was able to see that Grenade did.

He sent her a nod as he appreciated her words,

“Thank you little one..”

Rolling her eyes playfully Grenade trudged behind him as he began to walk,

“Don’t call me little one, that’s why I have the name, Grenade.”

Ghost stopped in his tracks and turned around before smirking tauntingly,

“Why, because you’re small but effective?”

Smiling proudly Grenade confirmed,

“Yes sir.”

Ghost sighed as he began to walk again pulling her to stand next to him,

“Fucking hell....”

“What?!”

“Nothing lass... later on you’ll have to tell me how you actually got your name, there’s always a story behind it.”

Grenade tugged on his sleeve before asking,

“Will you tell me yours?”

Keeping his face straight ahead, taking into note how Grenade kept looking at his face especially his lips and eyes as they walked, Ghost nodded,

“Sure lass, maybe one day that could be your bedtime story.”

Bumping into his shoulder playfully Grenade added,

“Thanks-“

“LT??!”

When Grenade heard the unfamiliar voice she stepped behind Ghost and kicked his knees so they’d buckle and he’d fall onto them. He let out a gasp at her actions but once again stayed put as she stood in front of him protectively she looked around carefully. Soon she saw a couple of figures walk up to them with light and drawn guns, but before she could do anything Ghost grabbed her hip firmly as he said with a small beat of cheer,

“That’s Johnny! And that’s Roach, they’re safe. It’s ok.”

“Oh.. ok come on.”

When Grenade turned around to help Ghost up, he already had his balaclava on with his skull mask, making her take a step back while holding in a gasp. But she let out a breath when her mind quickly registered that it was Simon behind the mask, and nothing else.. she was safe and could trust him. Ghost being his observant self had noticed her reaction immediately, but he only approached her, grabbed her hand, and gave it a reassuring squeeze while saying,

“It’s just me, remember?”

With a sigh she replied,

“Yes... I remember. I just wish I didn’t get scared every time.”

He nodded understandably,

“I know... but if you ever go through a tough time with it, I’ll take it off until you’re ready for me to put it back on.”

Grenade nodded with appreciation as he then added to make Grenade feel better,

“If you can overcome your fear... you can have this one, I promise. I have replaceable ones.”

Her eyes brightened as she raised her brows,

“Really? But it’s special to you no?”

Shrugging softly he replied,

“It is, but you overcoming your fear... would be even more special.”

Once Soap and Roach got closer to them Ghost went back to his stern self, but still sounded calm as he spoke to Soap,

“Good to see ya boys, is our safe place near here?”

“It is. Come on, Price and Alejandro started a fire and Gaz started dinner.”

Roach looked behind Ghost’s large body build and could barely make out Grenade who stood behind him quietly, but she looked calm and comfortable. He sent Ghost a questioning look, as he nodded his head towards her. But Ghost shook his head approvingly as he turned around and grabbed Grenade by the shoulder gently and pulled her next to him as he said the words that made Soap and Roach believe that indeed Grenade was someone to trust, for if Ghost, who was a hard man and had trust issues, could trust her, so could they.

“Boys this is Grenade, a brave one I tell ya... Price and Grenade will tell the rest once we get there. But I like this one.”

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #ghost fanfiction #ghost angst #ghost fluff #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #ghost simon riley #cod x you #cod ghost

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papaver-decervicatus · 8 months

Text

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 4, Mus Urbanus

Fatal attraction is one thing but stuck on a stakeout, a certain little mouse decides to push her luck with the cat who's been chasing her... just how far is too far, and how much more can they take?

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Hahaha, remember how I said I was going to do shorter updates? Yeah well, I felt really bad for missing the previous week but I did have a lot of terrible IRL shit happen, so working through that was a priority. That being said, going back through all the amazing comments and everything everyone has written has been absolutely keeping me afloat! Thank you all so so so so so much, you will never know how much it all means to me.

There are a couple of Hannibal references in this part that, hopefully, will start to make sense by the last part of the story (which was, coincidentally, the first part written!) Not going to lie, I am just glad to publish this so I never have to think about this damned part again as I have been stuck on in for literal months. Also sorry if Soap's accent sucks, the only experience I have with anything remotely Scottish in the way of language tendency is my grandmother whose father was a Scottish immigrant and that's it.

Anyways, I hope you like agnst and interrogation scenes, because next week, König loses his faith in god and in mouse while tied to a chair! See you there!

❣️Cura ut Veleas ~ Caedis 🥀

PREV | Pt. 4 Mus Urbanus | 4.2k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

“Mouse?” A voice from in front of her calls out, but only after she deliberately drags her feet into the threshold of the neutral ground, alerting him of her presence.

“Quiet as a.” She utters her usual response, stepping into the little flat in Buenos Aries, Argentina. She hears the smile as Soap sucks in a breath at her little joke. Her callback should be old by now, shouldn’t make him smile anymore, but he does anyway. He’s easy to get along with, something hard to come by in war. She crosses the minimal space between the two and takes stock of his little setup.

For a mission, it’s luxurious. He’s sitting, in a chair might she add, with a scope poking barely out of an antique window on the 7th floor of an apartment building, looking into a busy market square. His arms rest on a table littered with little signs of life, a map of the area adorned with notes and coordinates in inexpensive ink, no less than 7 pens whose caps are chewed through (everyone’s got bad habits but this little sin of his drives poor Price up and down the goddamn wall), two disposable cups with sediment rings denoting how much instant coffee was drunk from them at a time before they returned to their places besides their drinker. Most notably, however, are two radios in a strange moment of near fornication– backs ripped open and wires crossed in an almost pornographic display of field ingenuity.

Damn demolition specialists, she hears the echo of Gaz say in her head and she absentmindedly rubs the scabbed over cut on her left hand where the shrapnel of a certain someone’s frag grenade got her two weeks ago. She wants to be mad but-

“Hear any good ones, lately?” Soap turns to her, he’s disengaging from his post, changing his guard for her to take his spot, just as command ordered. He’s been in this little nest for about 6 hours and she can feel his desire to scuttle and tinker about radiating off of him. As he takes apart his gun, already aware and familiar that she refuses to use anyone’s but her own, his eyes shine to life. The color of sky blue permafrost, yet they radiate a certain lived-in warmth impossible to distance yourself from. Eyes almost like-

She bites her tongue at the thought. Bad time to be thinking about König… she mourns. But, speaking of the man.

“Yes, but it’s bad,” she offers, in fake warning as she sheds her outer jacket before moving to unhook the case that stands between her and the assembly of her gun. She knows the warning will only intrigue the poor pyrotechnic more.

His smile is nothing short of sadistic as he raises an eyebrow.

“No, like, really bad,” she emphasizes, throwing a pleading look his way. His grin gets even more shit-eating-er if that sort of thing were even possible. “I mean it, MacTavish. Pass it along to your long-suffering Lieutenant, and you will be picking teeth out of your shit.” “I’m sure I’ve done worse to Ghost,” he supplies, rolling his shoulders. Yeah, I’m sure you have, she thinks but is much too self-preserving to say, especially aware that the Frankenstien’s monster of a radio he’s resurrected from two dead circuit boards is likely not secure enough to promise any real privacy. She would rather not alert Simon Riley that she’s become a dealer in his and Soap’s arm’s race of terrible jokes. He does not take prisoners, after all…

“Alright, alright, just don’t tell him it’s from me,” she smiles, putting her hands up defensively in a quick jest. “Okay, play along with me now,” he nods along as he steps away from the perch and lets her take his spot at the table.

“So, what's the difference between a piano, a fish, and a gluestick?”

“I know about two-thirds o’ this one.”

Mouse trap baited. She smiles.

“Give it a go, then.” She wiggles in the chair, pressing her cheek to the crux of the sight and its metal holder. She sighs into the familiar feeling of control that settles into her bones as she hunches over.

“Can tuna piano but’cha can’t tuna fish?” He supplies, half teasing her already.

“Yep, but you’re forgetting something.” She sighs and goes to fiddle with the red-light optics extension, Command is confident enough in her abilities that she was specifically told to take it off for this one. She hears Soap whisper a quiet ‘oh shite’ behind her when he realizes he probably forgot to himself and she laughs a little.

“What about the glue?”

Mouse trap set. Poor Soap, always getting himself into ambushes…

She smiles wide and hums remembering how excited her kitty-cat was to tell her this part.

“See, I knew you’d get stuck on that one.”

Mouse trap sprung. A moment of silence.

“Oh fuck me, that one is bad.” Soap chokes out a hearty laugh as he collects his discarded coffee cups from her side.

“No thanks,” she purrs as she finally sets herself into position. “Use it at your discretion, soldier.”

“Aye, that I will.”

Soap goes to rummage through the kitchenette to her right and she takes the moment she lacks supervision to indulge herself. She does not move her sights to alert the man with her of the wandering of her eyes, instead, she scans windows and alleys without visual aid. The stale air threatens to choke her as she rakes over the golden-hued morning scene with desperate efficiency.

After what feels like an eternity of stolen glances switching between her targeted area and anywhere he may be, she sees him.

Technically, she has no way to know for certain that it’s König, she doesn’t have his usual wave or cheeky grin (affectionately referred to as a Cheshire Cat Smile in her own belabored heart) to alert her to his presence. That being considered, there is a masculine figure barely peeking out of a window into an alleyway who is just shy of 7 feet tall and his face is covered. Yeah, probably König. She smiles despite herself and her company. She wonders if he has radio access to her little hideout.

(She remembers the seemingly endless weeks of his arrival to her perch. The early morning light hits the streets the same way it had hit the forest ground that day. Like a fairy tale prince, beseeching a princess on hand and knee, he would always somehow appear in her sights, nearly as though it was just meant to be!

His form stands out tall and proud from its surroundings and she recounts every single reason he should not be here. By the third time their eyes caught she’d decided he was doing it on purpose, but she never let him get away with it without some acknowledgment on her side. She can only imagine that if she’s getting hunted for sport, her calling out his position will, at least temporarily, halt his advance.

But by this rate, she’ll be in his mouth by the end of the year.

His eyes are cold and bloodshot red. Painted tears lick their way down the hood she’s never seen him without, possibly a feeble attempt at impersonality? Maybe if he looks enough like a monster people will just trust their first assumption and leave him alone. But she’s never been one to judge a book by its cover…

“I see you, König.” She warns out to him. He stills among the foliage, bathed in sweet-honey-like warmth from the rising sun. He does not shy away from his imminent death on the business end of her rifle, of course not! Instead, he raises his chest proudly, seemingly aware that the loneliness in her yields to whatever greater magnetism the loneliness in him commands. He’s an enigma, it bothers her that of all the people to put the effort into finding her, it has to be him. Mostly she curses herself for promising him a next time all those encounters ago, if she’d known what sort of a game it would inspire in the predator stalking her like prey despite her flipping sniper rifle, she never would have said a thing.

He may be in her scope, but he’s got her under a finer microscope to seek her out so faithfully. She wishes she got this sort of dizzying devotion from someone, anyone else. It is the third day this week he has found her.

What she expects to happen is what has happened for weeks now, 1) he hears her transmission, 2) he smiles at her as a predator smiles at pray, his eyes find hers and her hackles rise in utter terror, and 3) he hums to himself and turns away, self-satisfied enough to have won hide-and-seek for the time being.

That does not happen.

Instead, König sits down, right where he is, and pulls out that monster of a knife he keeps strapped to himself. He throws it up and catches it without looking at it, instead his eyes are laser-focused on Mouse. This is, of course, despite the fact he should have no earthly idea where she is. He plays with his knife idly for what must be an hour, but she does not- no, can not- look away from him.

She remembers her trigger finger twitching with sinful power, she remembers choking back the insistence at killing another lonely person, devoid of their autonomy on a basic level when they signed up for a mercenary-issued ticket to hell.

She remembers hopelessness. She remembers refusal. She remembers the smile reaching his eyes when she played along with his joke.

“Why don’t rats like cats?” Her radio labors out.

She half forgot what his voice sounded like, surprisingly excitable and shrill for a man of his stature. Her brain stutters around the implication of the only words she’s heard him say to her since the fateful ravine that gained Mouse her own personal 6’10” shadow.

She blinks a few times in surprise, genuinely pondering if her long hours hiking through the woods have made her susceptible to hallucination and general hysteria. She is not thinking when she timidly responds-

“Why?”

“Because they are weapons of maus-destruction.” Konig replies like it’s not the stupidest thing she’s ever heard in her goddamn life. Perhaps it's pity at the memory of his discomfort around his comrades. Of the thought of the way he tries to make his body so small when around others (truly an impossible task he routinely fails.) Maybe it’s irrational fear, twofold and buried in her instinct to shoot despite the clear disadvantage on his behalf and her insistence that she does not do her damn job, or fear of the inhuman man in front of her stalking her through the woods. Or it could be discomfort, no one ever prepared her for dealing with whatever the fuck this is in basic training or field school. In the end, it doesn’t really matter what it is.

In the sparkling, decadent light of a sunrise, her heart hammers in her throat at the first joke he’d told her, in some strange and desperate attempt to fill the meters of silence between them.

She laughs.

And he hears it.

And with his wide stance, his ghastly executioner’s hood in the place of a crown, and his knife back in its holster- his beautiful eyes seem to smile. Suddenly, his eyes look lived in, like someone has just put up new curtains in an abandoned house. His whole affect changes hinging on what was an irresponsible outburst on her behalf at best.

And for the first time, she does not fear a monster hunting her through the woods, silent and purposeful in his pursuit of prey. Instead, she wants to understand a man, whose eyes have lit up like a princess has just laughed when he kissed her hand.)

Soap wanders back into her small perch with two cups of coffee and sets one down next to her. She takes a quick glance and hums with appreciation. He takes another sip out of his and she remembers that they’re supposed to share shift for about an hour before his rotation ends.

“You treat all your girls to coffee in the morning?” She quips.

“Only the pretty ones,” he returns with an effortless charisma and her breath catches.

Not because of Soap, but because in that alleyway, where she really shouldn’t be looking, she sees the uneasy rise of two massive shoulders and-

Oh my god, did König just… get jealous?

The next idea she has is downright evil, really this is not the place or the time or any of that but-

Fuck it. She’s already flirting with the enemy, what more could this do? She’s already told the poor mountain of a man something dangerously adjacent to “God I really missed you when we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks like a horny teenager and by the way I love you desperately and think about you when I’ve got my hands down my pants,” and she probably imagined him tensing up, anyways. No harm, no foul.

Maybe, it's dangerous, to wave a steak in front of a mountain lion, but what if she wants to get mauled?

“Hey Soap, what page are you on?” She says, putting her terrible plan into action. She sees him look up from his report, or more likely an idle sketch, on her periphery.

“Ah, only the second chapter, did'ya move my bookmark?”

“Nope, the book’s in the leftmost pocket in my duffle.”

“Thank ya,” He says and moves from his spot to go fetch the book from it. She takes a quick sip of her coffee, delighted to realize he’s made it to her specifications as far as milk and sugar go, as he rummages around in her bag.

The impromptu book club started nearly eight months ago when Nova passed her copy of Emma by Jane Austen off to Gromsko to help him with his English. That turned into Mouse recommending the book Jane Eyre to Nova on the pure suspicion that she would hate it, which she did. Gromsko still needed to practice and enjoyed the spirited discussions so he joined the blossoming group with an English copy of The Doll by Aleksander Głowacki after he finished Jane Eyre. Never one to be left out, and surprisingly well-read when he wanted to be, Soap had pitched the idea of The Lord of the Flies (because to quote “Fucking Brits,” and he wanted to subject others to his high-school reading list.) If she remembered correctly, Farah and Reyes had also started sharing copies of books they enjoyed occasionally.

“Can’t believe it was Gromsko that put it in rotation.” Soap says, pulling out a well-worn copy of The Silence of the Lambs from the bag.

“He said he picked it up years ago in Polish thinking it was a cooking field guide.” She offers, as the man next to her idly thumbs through pages.

“Yer shitting me, yeah?”

She just shakes her head and smiles into her scope. Soap laughs and removes his homemade bookmark, a pencil sketch of a stake-out view somewhere in Mexico scribbled onto scrap paper. He keeps his thumb on the page and flips through to where hers is, much further along.

“Yer a right romantic, ain’cha Bonnie?” Soap laughs somewhere between the pages and somewhere behind her. “Hmm?”

“This part, that’ya highlighted,” she hears a well-meaning sneer in his words. “The one you put the hearts by and everything…”

Mouse’s mouth tethers itself into a terse line and she attempts her best noncommittal shrug.

Somewhere in her line of sight, a mountain shrugs himself chuckling lightly. She wonders what it would feel like, to lay on his broad, muscled chest as he laughs, how closely he would hold her, how she could rest entirely on top of his chest and not touch the ground beneath them and-

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She lies through her teeth. Soap’s laugh behind her is loud and proud. Suddenly, his casual sadism isn’t so amusing when turned around on her.

“Do you think it's because I like to look at you and think about eating you up—“ he reads from the book, voice dripping in mock chivalry and breathless romanticism. “About how you would taste?"

She feels her cheeks and ears heat up as Soap loudly proclaims her funeral to all those who may care, and she doesn’t miss the way König leans a little too close to his radio as he goes about mocking her. His stance shifts as if he hangs on the very words like he’s found a secret buried deep in her subconscious. Technically, she has no way of knowing, but Mouse knows in her heart that König is smiling. At least someone is having fun.

Once Soap comes down from his laughing fit he puts her bookmark back to its spot and talks at the back of her head.

“With your pressed flower bookmark and everything. Oh, it would be sweet if he wasn’t Hannibal the Cannibal.” Soap hisses out. “I always figured you were…” he pauses searching for the right word, “adventurous from how Gromsko talks bout ya, but seriously cannibalism?”

If she’s not mistaken, König’s hand grips ever so slightly tighter on the radio attached to the best. Maybe the battle plan has to change, but she’s still got some ideas.

Soap is completely oblivious to the electricity licking up the air between her perch and one man on the ground. He looks around frantically, seemingly desperate to find her, and look in her eyes. Mouse is a sniper, she really should hate the attention, but something fatalistic descends into her smile as she lets Soap continue his little outburst.

“I swear. You and him, yer sure there’s nothing there? He’s even given you special field medicine lessons, no one gets treatment like that from Gromsko.”

“His name is Sobieslaw.” Notably, it is not a denial. Technically, everything that’s just been said is the truth.

König’s shoulders rise.

He looks right down her site.

She smiles.

Come and get me, kitty-cat.

“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You’re the only person who calls him by his first name.”

“Because you never put in the effort to learn it.”

“That don’t mean a thing since I don’t have tits.”

“You do, just not as good as mine.”

“Aye, off it. Gromsko is into you.” She can hear from the way Soap’s voice carries haphazardly around the room that he is pacing and talking with his hands. She doesn’t turn her back, gaze still fixated on the looming shadow in her sights. Soap continues, entirely unaware of the exact type of beast he is tempting. “He swaggers around you, never even bothers to fucking ask to pick up your boxes, he just does it. His voice gets all soft around ya, too, like he’s cooing at a goddamn pet animal or something. He nearly got into an actual pissing contest with Ghost the other day when he bitched about you beating him in poker. Face the facts, Bonnie, he wants you.”

König’s eyes have focused with the ferocity of an apex predator and his chest labors out concentrated and sharp inhales and exhales. He resembles a recently sharpened knife, desperate for some carnage after a particular kind of attention. His body is crumpled in on itself not unlike a cat getting ready to pounce. His heels dig desperately into the cobblestones beneath his feet. His hand flicks out his beloved Glock field knife with all the reverence of a praying man.

In short, he looks every part like he does in immediate battle. He looks like he did the split second before he started sprinting for her in the snowy woods, the scene that occupies her lonely nights when she tries in complete vanity to recreate the feel of his hands cradling her sides.

Mouse should be scared of König.

Instead, she sees before her a scene of complete and hopeless adoration focused so intently on her alone that she should be afraid of. Realistically, she recognizes the clear and present danger of the moment. Is König upset at her? At Soap? At a potential adversarial suitor by way of Gromsko? She doesn’t quite know, but after a career of intentionally hiding like a coward, she basks infatuated by the calamitous captivation he exhibits.

He looks like he wants to maul something to death.

As keen as she is on getting him close enough to try to get over to her (and ideally, throw her under him,) in her infinite mercy, Mouse decides the teasing has gone on long enough.

“I like Gromsko just fine, but not like that.” Soap audibly scoffs and König’s entire form relaxes. Both men mutter something to themselves before an encore of gunfire breaks out. Mouse’s heart stutters to a stop when her radio comes in.

“Visual on Gaz, he’s hit!” Nova calls out, clearly alarmed. Soap grabs for the radio right next to Mouse and brings it to his face, holding onto a few loose wires as he does to ensure the amalgamation does not fall apart in his fingers.

“Where is he?”

“Two blocks from south from you, Gromsko is a click out.”

Soap looks at Mouse with his heart bobbing in his throat. The pain and worry on his face is palpable.

“Go.” She says. Soap looks around frantically at their supplies, seemingly taking a split second worth of inventory, making as many life-or-death decisions as he can in such little time.

“Soap, listen to me,” Mouse soothes. “I keep overwatch, you take my TAC vest and stabilize him until he can get a medic.”

“Mouse, I can’t just leave you-” “You can, and you will. Go.” She says with all the finality of a door slamming shut. Soap doesn’t look at her again as he gathers her supplies and nearly sprints downstairs.

Soap leaves. Quickly. Quietly. He never looks back.

Her stomach settles into discomfort and she looks through the door he closed with the same sad nostalgia she looked through falling snow and monumentous trees. She can’t help but think she would not get the same priority in Gaz’s situation. Like some terrible premonition, she imagines bleeding out on the ground as Soap turns away, never once looking back.

Would König come for me? She ponders, before she smothers the paranoia-induced delusion with the memory of his large hands on her sides. She looks down at her shoelace, where she carved a cylindrical hole through his effigy to attach it. The birchwood mouse carving that sleeps at her right toe gives a silent reassurance: he never really left you, did he?

By the time she looks back into her scope, in between the all-too-familiar white noise of war that’s broken out around her, she sees a shadow dart out from the alleyway one down from where König is. The figure is cloaked in the specific type of military fatigue denoting his affiliation, one that is unluckily for him, kill on sight. It ducks behind the building to the right, where König is. It stalks out, lining itself up behind the hooded man, brandishing a drawn pistol.

König doesn’t have the time to react to the blood spray that litters across his back from the other man’s head once Mouse pulls the trigger on her gun, silently thankful (as awful as it is,) that Gaz getting hurt allowed her to take the shot without Soap inquiring into her actions. (But maybe it’s her fault in the first place that König was distracted enough to allow someone to get the drop on him…)

König looks back towards her and his head lulls to the side like a heavy flower bloom weighed down by morning dew. His eyes, somehow the softest she’s ever seen, are also carving a large chunk of her soul like a knife cuts through soft wood. When he lifts his hood to blow a kiss to her, she knows she will never get her traitorous heart back.

“Danke, mein Engel,” the radio on her table whispers in his voice.

“It’s only fair. I did owe you, after all.” She responds, all together unconcerned with whether or not he can hear her. She smiles, thankful she can see those bright eyes another day.

When he turns away, she feels her entire heart walk away with him. With every step of his fleeting form, she feels less and less herself, as though someone had separated her shadow from where it meets her feet. Something has changed in the air between them, a sad resignation settles into her trigger finger when she releases it.

For the first time, she does not feel as though she wouldn’t run if he took her, but rather that some integral part of her is with him as he leaves.

All is fair in love and war, but she’s not sure just how much longer she can stand to play cat and mouse.

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalome @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar @berryjuicyy @haisebo @crowbird

And special thanks to @bucca2 and @ivymarquis for finally kicking my ass into gear to write this. Can't wait to read yall's WIPs!

#Navigation -> Cat/Mouse/Den #König #König x reader #König x OC #König MWii #König COD #Char: Mouse

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sadist1224 · 2 months

Text

I STILL WANT Mafia!141 AU

Part 1 https://www.tumblr.com/sadist1224/742379650222784512/i-need-the-mafia141-au?source=share

Part 2 https://www.tumblr.com/sadist1224/742405536052543488/i-still-want-mafia141-au?source=share

The Mafia!In which you, a former second lieutenant of the police, were kidnapped by unknown people while 141 were in another city on their mafia business.

The first alarm is raised by Val, who does not find you at the bar, although you always arrived on time. The woman starts calling and texting you, but your phone is out of the network area, so the second thing she does is go to your apartment nearby. Not finding you there either, she decides to wait before acting decisively, but don't worry. The waiting period will not be so long, in an hour her people will interrogate passers-by in search of witnesses.

Just imagine Price's face, which Alejandro calls right during the interrogation, and on his work phone, while the Ghost beats the next drug dealer to a pulp. The captain stops the lieutenant as soon as he hears the latest news that Valeria has started making a fuss. Her people are questioning civilians, looking for something. Price asks to keep him informed and hangs up. I have a bad feeling in the back of my head.

The guys immediately sense something wrong with this call. Johnny and Gaz exchange glances with the Ghost.

Kyle, who was able to get Van's phone number almost before he left, just in case. In fact, he wasn't even sure if he could call you or not, but that doesn't mean he didn't want to.

Therefore, when they dial your number 5 times in a row, and you still haven't answered them, their anxiety increases significantly.

Alejandro was actually surprised by Valeria's unusual behavior and watched her actions all day, until eventually he and Rudy came back to the bar to interrogate her. And, of course, they didn't find you there.

You, who always smiled so friendly at them when they met and who had already learned their favorite positions on the bar list. Of course, they couldn't help but flirt with you, but how else would they behave with someone like you? How witty and at the same time cute you could respond to Rudy's flirting and to the same extent you could interrupt absolutely any disliked thing addressed to you. You definitely knew your worth, you made great jokes and could support even the most insignificant topic, or at the right moment take the conversation in a different direction.

You are the perfect bartender, and absolutely the man who completely captured the attention of two Mexicans. In fact, Alejandro has already been thinking about how he can lure you to their establishment. You would absolutely fit into one of their restaurants or casinos. If, of course, the guys from 141 hadn't already had their eyes on you.

Yes, the British liked you just as much as they did. The way Johnny ran after you, how easily and often Gaz communicated with you. Or how the Ghost and Price looked at you.

Alejandro is not stupid. He knows how the familiar coldness in the Ghost's eyes changes when he looks at you. Or how Price's eyes look at you with undisguised interest when you once again bring them the best whiskey from your stock. And how masterfully you manage to ignore it. Alejandro is ready to give a standing ovation to your stoic, even expression when you refuse to let Sope join them.

You're a professional. And you're not that simple. The Mexican likes this mystery about you. Only a very attentive person will notice that you've been through some shit. And it seems that the Ghost and Price have already guessed this.

But now, you're not here. Alejandro knows that he has to call Price, tell him about the disappearance of "their" favorite bartender. And he is already ordering Rodolfo to gather his men and comb the streets, because they all know very well how dangerous members of other groups can be. And they have plenty of enemies in the city and beyond.

Johnny, who just can't find a place for himself after the news of your disappearance, cuts circles around the hotel room. If you could see how worried he is… The man is ready to take off right now and go in search of you.

Gaz, who has been sitting tensely on the couch all this time, clutching his phone and nervously glancing at his watch, waiting for Price to finish the conversation with Alejandro. Of course, what did they expect, appearing so often in a bar, and even in your company?

The ghost knew that sooner or later it would happen, but that doesn't mean he's calm. In fact, he already imagines how in one of the shelters he will clearly show your kidnappers that they should not even pull their hands to what already belongs to them.

Of course, they've almost claimed you. You're almost there, even if you don't know it. Price had already thought about it. He already had a rough plan in his head how he could lure you into their family. Of course, he already had the idea to buy out the bar to begin with, but Valeria sent him far away, even with a very profitable offer for her. So the simplest option has disappeared.

But, never mind, he has plans to the last letter of the alphabet. In his head, you fit perfectly between the four of them. In every sense.

But he just can't choose between you and their job. The latter was still more important. That's why Price decides to finish all the business here first, and then deal with your kidnappers. After all, Vargas and the Couple care about you too, so they may not worry a bit.

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thedirtybeanlife · 11 months

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Random Task Force 141 Headcannons That I Need to Get Out of My Head

-Ghost-

has the biggest heart ever and refuses to show it to 99.9999% of the population

sleeps with a nightlight because he's scared of the dark

has a strict routine after missions are over, and he gets irritated if it's interrupted

prefers savory over sweet

enjoys beans on toast and eats it nearly every morning

listens to so much Queen and old classic rock

hates noisy environments

thinks a hot dog is a sandwich

likes dogs; bigger the better

^^ wants a st. bernard and plans on rescuing one when he retires

always carries a lighter and a single slightly bent cigarette on him

he doesn't smoke it, but he takes it out and looks at it every so often. nobody knows why

(it's his moms)

occasionally, if the times line up right, he stays with Price when they're both on leave.

they usually just grill and talk on the back patio sharing a bottle of the best whiskey they could find on short notice having the most random conversations

makes soap sew parts of his mask back together because he can never thread the string through the needle and Soap has steady hands

refuses to eat seafood

wears fake designer colognes that smell exactly like the real thing and lies about it

has never used mens 3-in-1 and brags about it

-Soap-

the worst case of adhd to ever exist

expert at cleaning guns

loves puzzles with complicated pictures

tired to learn how to play guitar and gave up on the first day

it still sits against the dresser in his room

skydives with practicing trainees when he gets bored

listens to the weirdest mix of music

i.e. Black Sabbath to Childish Gambino

(Gaz influences a lot of his music taste)

always has hidden candy somewhere

broke his wrist once and didn't realize until almost a week later

when he brushes his teeth he practically showers in toothpaste from how violent he does it

spends a lot of his time drawing whatever comes to mind in a small notepad he keeps in his pocket

gordon ramsey level chef over here

the entire task force begs him to cook for them when they have free time

has a shitty stick n poke tattoo on his ankle he did when he was 16 with pen ink and an earring

it's an uneven, wobbly smiley face with x's as eyes

is either really calm or really chaotic

no in between

-Gaz-

loud, contrary to popular belief

at least when he's not out in the field or working

avid video gamer

loves calm games like Stardew and Minecraft

the best music taste to ever exist

can also cook pretty well

soap and him often team up and play their own version of Chopped when they're bored on base

has a golden retriever named Max that stays with his sister when he's deployed

he got Max before he enlisted

hates beans on toast

beans make him gag

Ghost bullies him for it

likes working on the military vehicles and learning about how they work

even with his young age, he struggles more with technology than most of his superiors

doesn't like drinking or being intoxicated in any way

complains he's hot but proceeds to sit under five different blankets

will eat an entire pack of Oreo's in one sitting if you let him

please don't let him

he gets sick and complains that his stomach hurts all day

-Price-

big morning person

always awake by 5:00am

prefers his coffee overly sweet rather than bitter and black

has a small office in his house where he keeps his fancy cigars, liquors, and whiskey glasses

collects cool lighters

the team buys him a new one every year for Christmas

reads every morning when he drinks his daily morning coffee and every night before he goes to sleep

he's supposed to wear glasses but he doesn't like the way he looks in them so he only wears them when he absolutely can not see

cat person all the way

like Ghost, he's waiting to retire until he gets a new furry companion

he's not the best chef in the world, but he can cook a decently good meal

likes to help soap and gaz sometimes, especially if they let him grill something

gets stressed really easily, which makes his job so much harder

this poor man deserves a year long vacation istg

winter is his favorite season

root beer barrels are his favorite candy

always has some stashed somewhere on his person no matter where he is

absolutely has a dollar shave club subscription and uses the code from a survival YouTuber he watches

#fanfiction #call of duty mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #fanfic #mw2022 #simon riley x reader #xreader #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #cod fic

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captain-mj · 1 year

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I would love a follow-up to amnesia Price x Graves. Maybe some more of 141 visiting him and reassuring him that he's safe, or maybe feeding into his fear of Graves or dispelling it. Price's reunion with Graves once he remembers.

I hope you don't mind but I'm borrowing your spleen... For reasons. (Pokes it with a stick)

Part 1 of amnesia PriceGraves here

Also, don't worry, I had a spare spleen on hand that I can use :)

Graves had... made an error. He had went back in Price's room after a few hours. It was just to get his ring. Yes, it was silly and not anything official but it was his ring.

Graves honestly thought Price was asleep. Ghost had been in not too long ago and set he had convinced him too.

But Price had not been asleep and he most certainly had been getting better. In the past few hours, he had managed to get the strength to pin Graves down. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy, Price's hand fit around his throat just like Graves had thought it would.

They sparred pretty often. Not counting when one of them used a dirty trick, they were evenly matched in hand to hand. Price was bigger but Graves was faster. Both smart enough to keep the other on their toes. So Graves knew he could get Price off of him.

But he was worried he'd hurt him. And already his thoughts were getting fuzzy from the lack of air. Price's grip let him get a little air in but not quite enough. His vision blurred.

"What did you do to Simon? Kyle? What the fuck did you do to my men?"

Graves stared up at him, tracing his features. Would Price forgive himself if he remembered?

If. If he remembered.

Graves decided then and there, that he couldn't make Price deal with his death. He slammed up into him and maneuvered them so Price was laying back down, arms pinned.

There would be bruises. He could feel them starting to form, but Price was more important.

"Hope I didn't hurt you, be- John." Graves let go and grabbed his ring. He kept his knee firmly in Price's back to keep him from moving.

"Don't take that. It's my husband's." Price sounded so genuinely distressed as he writhed.

"It's mine." Graves frowned. Oh this was cruel. "My ring. I bought it. It has my initials." He slipped his ring back on. It fit perfectly and Price stared at it.

Graves grabbed Price's ring and dropped it in front of him. He let Price's hand go so he could grab it. His fit snugly too. Price stared up at him, warily.

Graves got off of him quickly. He showed him the inside of the ring.

JP + PG

Price took off his to check the inside. The initials were there. He quickly slipped it back on and glared at Graves.

"I thought you'd stay gone this time."

"I am. Just wanted my ring. Ghost told me you were asleep."

"The bastard. Fucking traitor." Price got up. He moved like a newborn deer. Graves wanted to support him, but he didn't. "I'm taking a shower." His eyes were still glazed.

Graves nodded and despite knowing he should leave, he stayed for a few minutes. He told himself it was just in case Price fell. He was smart enough to leave when the water turned off.

Graves went to sleep in a spare room. It was cold and he had a hard time getting to sleep, but he managed.

His throat had handprints. Both of them very clear. It hadn't hurt that bad at the time, probably because of the lack of air, but it hurt now. The entire area was incredibly tender and painful. Breathing stung just a little, no matter how shallow he tried to do it.

Fine. It was fine.

Graves teared up a little before quickly tucking everything back down. He refused to cry right now. Absolutely not.

The ring caught on his hair as he tried to fix it and he immediately started crying properly.

He wanted his beau to remember him. He didn't care about the bruises or the accusations. He just wanted him to look at him and know who he was.

Graves quickly cleaned himself and left his room. He made sure they were covered, not wanting anyone to be concerned about him.

Soap spared him a pitying glance before sliding a cup of coffee to him. Graves took it, not bothering to mumble a thank you. Soap seemed to get it anyway.

Ghost sighed. "I've been kicked out. He doesn't want to talk to me anymore."

Graves sighed. "Sorry. That was my fault, I told him you were the one that told me he was asleep."

Ghost just shrugged it off. "I'll live. He seems more... aware. Nurses say its a good sign. Also been sleeping a lot today."

Graves frowned and glanced at the clock, realizing how late it was. Jesus. "Didn't mean to sleep so long...."

Ghost shrugged. "You look like you needed it."

It wasn't gradual. It just happened. Price suddenly remembered and the first thing he did was try to leave his room. A nurse got Graves for him since they didn't want him doing too much.

Graves felt awkward. He didn't know why. It had somehow been easier to go in the room with a Price that didn't know him than this Price that did.

Price looked worse than he did the day before but his eyes were blissfully clear. They flicked to Graves and it felt like he was being swallowed.

"Love..."

Graves was not going to cry again. He refused to.

Price pulled him closer and pulled the collar of his shirt down to look at the bruising.

"Did a number on me, John." Graves tried to joke, wincing when Price almost crumpled.

He pressed his lips gently to his throat, but the soft pressure hurt and Graves had to push him away.

"You're still sick."

''Don't leave."

"I won't, John."

Price shook his head. "love... please."

Graves smiled, just a tiny bit. How predictable. "Beau, lay down."

Price laid down and nodded, melting into bed. Graves laid next to him, running his hands up and down his chest.

"i'm so sorry."

"Don't be."

"I hurt you. I said cruel things."

"It's okay, beau."

"I tried to take your ring."

"I got it back, that's all that mattered."

"I want to get married, Love."

Graves's heart started to skip. "When you're feeling better.'

#cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #Phillip graves #John Price #Captain John Price #Price x Graves #Graves x Price

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middleearthpixie · 8 months

Text

Living Proof

Summary: When he puts himself between the Uruk-hai and Merry and Pippin, Boromir knows it means sacrificing himself. But it also means redemption for his near betrayal of Frodo and the Fellowship, and so it is a price he is more than willing to pay.

Kaia has been on her own for as long as she can remember, having escaped a terrible life in a village not far from Mordor. When she hears the sounds of battle, she knows what it means and when she ventured forth and finds a gravely wounded man lying amongst the leaves and debris, she takes him in, not knowing he is actually the son of the steward of Gondor.

Angry at himself and faced with a long road to recovery, Boromir does not make things easy on Kaia and it is only through her own sheer will that she does not give into the urge to hit him over the head with something on a daily basis. That refusal to give up brings about changes neither one of them could have foreseen. She just wanted to save him. She never thought he would save her in return…

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (AU, Boromir lives)

Pairing: Boromir x ofc Kaia

Warnings: Description of wounds, but nothing too graphic

Rating: T

Word Count: 4k

Tag List: @sotwk @fizzyxcustard @evenstaredits @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @emmyspov @finnofamerica @lathalea @ass-deep-in-demons @quiall321 @mistofstars @justfollowtheroad @guardianofrivendell @glassgulls @doctorwhump @kmc1989 @estethell

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Kaia crept along the edge of the pathway, ready to dive into the foliage to her left if the need arose and with the way orcs seemed to have taken over practically all of the woodland areas of Middle Earth, the need was most likely going to arise and soon. The scratches on her arms and legs and cheeks from her last encounter with them were only partially healed. Damn orcs caused more trouble than a thousand field mice on a rampage in her larder. More trouble, more damage, and far more aggravation, that was for certain.

The thunder of pounding feet shattered the silence and the deer she’d been stalking leapt off into the brush like quicksilver. She stood there for a moment, scowling at the skittish deer, then she sank into the brush as well. And not a moment too soon, for she had no sooner moved off the path when the army of orcs came thundering around a bend from the north.

She sank back as deeply into the trees and underbrush as she could and willed herself into absolute silence. From where she stood, it seemed the orcs were endless, pressing on without stopping, without slowing down, and as she moved throughout a good portion of Middle Earth, she was all too familiar with orcs and could say with certainty she’d never seen so many on the move at one time. This was no pack, but an army, and one, it seemed, with a sole purpose.

They stalked something.

Well, it wouldn’t be her, that was for sure.

The thunder dulled to a low rumble, but as she was about to step out onto the path once more, the thunder returned. Only this time, no orcs came around the bend, nor did the thunder come from the north. Instead, it rolled up from the south as the forest came alive with not only that thunder, but with the clang of steel and the whistling thwock of arrows.

A battle? Orcs battled with one another on a regular basis, but never on this great a scale. Somewhere just south of where she stood it seemed they were suddenly waging war. Perhaps they’d found their quarry?

Her curiosity getting the better of her, Kaia crept toward the sounds. Foolish, no doubt, but she needed to know whether or not the time had come to move on, as she did more often than she cared to think about. Not that she wished to move. She’d been in this part of Middle Earth for some time now—although she could not say for certain just how long that time actually was, as the days had a way of blending together. Even so, it was long enough that the cabin that had been abandoned when she found it was now actually something of a cozy little home.

But at the same time, she needed to know if she was in for much in the way of trouble, and so there she was, sneaking through the underbrush with a care she reserved usually for tracking swift-footed animals. She crept over fallen logs and around decayed stumps, picked her way carefully through pricker bushes and all the while, her heart beat fast enough that she could hear it as her pulse pounded through her temples. Still, she’d learned in at the time she’d been on her own, how to move without a sound, and so she reached the top of a clearing surrounded by mossed-over stone ruins that had once probably been white and immense but were now little more than stained and discolored stone scraps.

She crept closer to the stone, using it for cover as she peered around at the scene before her. The halflings caught her attention, for while she had heard of them, she’d never seen any. Compared to the orcs surrounding them, they were indeed small. And terrified, from the looks of it, even as they shouted to catch the orcs’ attention to lure them away from the wide river she knew flowed along the western shore.

Without hesitation, she reached for her bow and slipped an arrow from the quiver on her back. She lay the arrow on the rest, but did not draw back the string. Not yet. There were far too many orcs for her to intervene on behalf of the halflings and while she felt pang of sympathy and the annoying sting of helplessness, there was truly nothing she could do for them. She certainly was not about to sacrifice herself for anyone she did not know.

But then, hurtling over the ridge across from her, came a man and in his grasp, a sword of gleaming steel. Without hesitation, he threw himself into the fray, swinging that blade with an expert precision that was almost fluid in its grace. A large ivory horn banged against his hip and as he swung about to his right, he grabbed it with his left hand to jerk to his lips. The bleats rang out with such power, the sound actually knocked her back a step and she stumbled over a downed branch. She lost her footing, toppling end over end back down into the gully behind her. Her bow went in one direction, the arrow in another, and she landed hard enough that she knocked the wind from herself. Stunned, she lay staring up at the leaf-spattered sky, the sounds of battle sounding so far away and hollow as she struggled to draw breath. The sounds of the battle drowned out the sounds of her fall, thankfully, and when her lungs finally chose to re-inflate, she gasped to fill them.

With a soft groan, she managed to roll onto her hands and knees, and slowly got to her feet again. Steel meeting steel reverberated at a normal volume once more as she shook off the last of the cobwebs, retrieved her bow and the arrow, and climbed back to her perch.

She reached the top in time to see two orcs snatch up the halflings, just scooped each up and lumbered out of the clearing, still moving south while the rest of them continued the battle. The fighting raged, but like the two orcs and their halflings, it moved south as well.

As quickly as they erupted, the sounds of battle ceased and silence slammed down all around her as the last of the orcs followed their brethren south and as the path wound out of sight, so did the army. Kaia waited wit heated breath, to see if any would return. When she was satisfied that they would not, she slipped the bow back where it belonged, the arrow back into the quiver, and instead eased her broadsword from the sheath at her right hip, and crested the hill to descend into the clearing. She looked about for the man with the horn, as she’d not seen what his fate had been, only to find he was nowhere about.

But, as the battle sounds rang into memory, she realized that she still heard something. Wounded orcs perhaps, so she crossed the clearing to the opposite slope, and crept as noiselessly as she could, over the ridge and climbed down into the clearing.

At first, she thought perhaps the sounds actually did come from the battle still being fought further upriver and that the woods for some reason bastardized them. But as she moved about the broken, decimated orc bodies, leaves, tree branches, arrows and other abandoned weapons, toward a large oak slightly to the northeast, Kaia realized that noise was not that of a battle at all. And as she climbed up the opposite slope toward that big tree, her fingers tightened of their own about her sword’s somewhat worn grips, her heart hammering louder still against her ribs, leaving her as breathless as she had been when she’d slammed down into the hard-packed earth only minutes before.

A man lay there, somewhat propped up by the tree’s gnarled trunk. But that wasn’t what made her hand tighten about her sword until her fingers went numb. Nor was it the sight of the the arrows that riddled him which rendered her dumb for a long moment, her grip loosening, the sword clattering into the broken leaves and debris at her feet.

No, what made her stare was that he still lived.

His breathing came rapid and shallow, each breath punctured by a moan of pain that grew softer with each one drawn. Sweat soaked him, plastering his dark hair to his head, the arrows quivering as he fought for air, which in turn led to more moaning.

She dropped to her knees alongside him, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “There, there,” she whispered when he moaned again, “I’ll not hurt you.”

His eyes had been closed, but as she spoke, the lids lifted slowly. His eyes were pale, blue or perhaps gray, she couldn't tell. She could tell they focused on nothing, however, but darted about as he gasped, “They took the little ones…”

His eyes slid shut once more, and he went still. Kaia stared, her mouth going oddly dry as she whispered, “Please… breathe, won’t you?”

“I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper. “I am so sorry…”

“Easy now,” she patted his shoulder again. “The orcs are gone, but they might come back.”

She peered over her shoulder, at where her sword lay. It was just beyond reach. Turning back to the man, she murmured, “I’ll be but a moment.”

A low moan, even softer still, answered her. She patted his shoulder a third time then scooted back to snatch up her sword. Footsteps grew louder and the urge to bolt surged through her. Self-preservation screamed at her to simply run, to blend into the woods and disappear before the orc army returned.

But she couldn't leave him. She might not be able to do much, but if she left him there, he’d be condemned to death. She counted no less than five arrows protruding from his large body. His surcoat and tunic were dark—royal blue and scarlet respectively, so it was impossible to tell how much blood he’d lost. But, a childhood spent on a farm taught her all she need know about bleeding and injuries and how to treat them and her mother’s voice sounded in her head.

With that, she slid her blade back into its scabbard and returned to the man’s side. “Come. We need to leave. Now.”

“No…” he almost whimpered, his head lolling from side to side, “leave me…”

“I’ll do no such thing.” She crouched, grabbed his arm and, whispering, “Forgive me,” hefted him to his feet.

His cry rang out, raw and anguished and she winced as it echoed throughout the clearing. “Hush… lest you wish them to return.”

“I cannot…”

“You can and you will.” She gritted, ignoring the dull ache in her back as it felt like every bone in her spine compacted from the weight of him pulling down on her. He towered over her, far broader than she would ever be, and could barely stand on his own. Two arrows protruded from his left thigh, and with each step, he whimpered as his weight shifted from his uninjured leg to his injured one.

“It’s all right,” she whispered, ignoring the trickle of sweat rolled down along her spine, and down between her breasts. It had been a cool day, almost crisp, but as she all but dragged him from the clearing of Amon Hen, it might as well have been the dead of summer. Sweat soaked her tunic and dampened her hair, leaving it to hang in wet strings about her face, which she was certain was most likely bright red by now from the exertion of dragging a full grown man through the woods. If that wasn’t bad enough, he could barely walk, which mean the toes of his boots caught on every single bit of debris in their path. Never mind the arrows still protruding from his body. Her initial reaction had been to yank them out, but then wisdom prevailed and she left them in place, although she wished she had something to wrap about each one to keep them as steady as possible until it was safe for her to remove them.

“Please…” His voice was fainter still. “Leave me to die and go on… if they come back…”

“Oh, hush and just try to help me, if you can.”

“I beg… your pardon…”

He grew heavier still, but as the thunder grew louder once more, she ignored the pain in her back, the burn of the muscles pulling along her neck and shoulder, ignored everything but the need to get him—and herself—out of danger as quickly as she could.

Black dots danced before her eyes and her blood roared in her ears as the thunder grew louder and the man grew heavier still. Her right shoulder felt almost in danger of separating completely from her body as she stumbled over an exposed root and he let out a howl.

They slid most of the way down the last slope and across a wide path, and it wasn't until she spotted the familiar towering oak tree that marked the beginning of the narrow path deeper into the thickest part of the forest that she allowed herself to think they might actually be safe.

But then he slipped from her to land on his knees and the howl that rang out was primal in its agony, reverberating through the woods with enough force that birds took flight.

Kaia froze. There was no way possible the orcs did not hear that. They had to.

“Please,” she moved around to grab the man’s hands, her right arm only barely obeying her by now, it hurt so badly, “we need to get off this road now. Those orcs are on their way and I cannot fend off that entire horde alone.”

“Leave me,” he whispered.

“I’ll not and I swear, if you say it again, I’ll drag you back by your hair.” She crouched to grab his arm and drape it about her neck once more. “Now, on your feet!”

With that, she yanked and stood, a hot sting racing along the side of her neck as she did. He weighted down her shoulder, but at least managed to stand and there must have been a bit of divine intervention at work for they made it into the darkness, off the path and out of sight of any orcs.

The cabin was foreboding from a distance and no warmer up close, and Kaia kept it that way, as it looked as if it had been unoccupied for ages, which meant no one would stop there if they didn't absolutely have to. From time to time, vagrants thought to pass a night there, only to find themselves firmly evicted at the point of her sword.

Although it looked run down and dilapidated, she’d made certain to reinforce it in any way she could, and so as she shoved open the door, then shoved the man into the great room, she was finally able to breathe easily as she pushed the door shut behind them and locked it firmly.

The great room was sparsely furnished, but thankfully she did have a sofa and that was where she not so elegantly deposited her large parcel, who whimpered as he sank into the cushions.

“I know, it isn’t the most comfortable place, but I’m fairly certain my arm is about to fall off, so you will simply have to make do. Give me a moment to wash my hands and I’ll tend to your wounds.”

“Hopeless…”

“Nothing is hopeless as long as you draw breath.” Rubbing her sore shoulder, she moved to the kitchen, where the ewer she’d filled that morning held enough water for her to wash her hands and still have some left over to wash his wounds.

She kept her meager supplies in the kitchen cupboard, and brought over what she had. Needle and thread, should she have to stitch his wounds, and worn, discolored strips of linen she’d used in the past as bandages. They looked sketchy, but were in fact clean.

“I’ll be back in but a moment,” she told him, setting the things on the stone table before the sofa. “I’ll need to get something I can tear for dressings.”

“Please don't trouble…”

“Stop it. I am not going to keep telling you that.” She turned to go into her bedroom, which was a small room off the kitchen and toward the rear of the cabin. As she rarely wore gowns any longer, she had several chemises she kept folded in the low chest for just such an occasion, although it was usually herself she was patching back together and never another body.

The linen was old, but also clean, and tore easily into strips that would be folded as necessary and when she brought them back out, she said, “I am sorry, but I’ve nothing to give you for pain. A bit of wine, perhaps, but it is more vinegar than anything now.”

He didn't reply, but just let his head loll from left to right. He was frightfully pale, the darkness of his hair emphasizing it, and sweat beaded his high forehead while a scruffy beard shadowed his cheeks and jaw. He looked as if he’d been lost in these woods for months. As carefully as she could manage, she unfastened the elegant jade and silver clasp that held his fine grayish-brownish-green cloak at his throat, pulled off his gloves, then worked the fine leather surcoat from him without causing him too much pain. His tunic and trousers would have to be cut from him, if she was to be able to reach his wounds, but there was no other options. Hopefully she would find something to give him to wear. She picked up many odds and ends in her travels, and could probably come up with a shirt large enough from him to wear. Trousers would be a different story, but she would worry about that when—and honestly, if—the time came.

Along with the two arrows embedded in his left thigh, three more protruded from his torso—one just below his left collarbone, one only slightly lower, and one down just above his left hip. He’d been incredibly lucky, although she doubted he would agree with her. As far as she could tell, she could remove them, but there was no promising he would survive it, or the coming days.

Still, she had to try, and so as carefully as she could, she removed the one at his collarbone, her stomach clenching at the soft grind of the arrowhead against his bone. He stiffened, a hiss of breath leaking through his clenched teeth as she worked it free and blood spilled from the wound.

“I know it hurts,” she murmured, “and for that I am sorry, but there is no avoiding it.”

She dropped the arrow onto the floor and pressed a folded square of linen against his chest at the blood bubbling up. Within minutes, she had the bleeding slowed, her hands reddened from it as she first probed the wound, then flushed it, and when she was certain she had the bleeding under control, she then threaded her needle to stitch the wound closed.

He stiffened with each step, but remained surprisingly stoic, but finally sank into unconsciousness as she went about moving to the next wound. And the next. With endless patience, she removed the arrows, cleaned the wounds, sewed them up, and bandaged them, not stopping to rest or do much more than wash her hands when they grew too bloodied, or to light the lamp when it grew too dark for her to see what she was doing.

Finally, she finished and sat back with a soft groan, bowing her back, and sighed with relief as her spine popped and cracked and the pressure eased. Then, she stood, moving to the far end of the sofa, taking care not to fall over the man’s boots, which she’d simply tossed aside after tugging them off.

The pump for the water was behind the cabin and she filled the ewer once more, then brought it inside, where she’d let it warm over the fire, which was little more than embers, but wouldn’t take much to stoke back to life.

It had to be near midnight by the time she sank back onto the edge of the stone table and as gently as she could manage, set about bathing the man’s face, his neck, down into the broad plane of his chest, along his arms, his midsection—being careful not to jostle him or get the bandages wet. They were bloodstained, but it had begun to take on the rusty hue of old blood, so she breathed a sigh of relief. She had managed to staunch the bleeding and she didn't kill him, so perhaps he would survive the night after all.

She sat there for a while, just watching his chest rise and fall, shallow still, but not nearly as shallow as it had been earlier. His jaw clenched and he whimpered every now and again, but otherwise, he seemed as at peace as one could be in that situation.

Her stomach growled to remind her of why she’d been in the forest to begin with, and so with a sigh, she rose and moved to the cupboard to see what she might have to feed her guest come morning. Not much, unfortunately. She’d have to check the larder, and so out into the darkness she stepped.

All was quiet. Even the nocturnal animals seemed to sense the disruption to their habitat and so remained wherever they spent their days. A gentle breeze wafted through the trees, cooler than it had been of late, which meant summer had actually finally ended and the cold weather was on its way.

The larder was a bit more promising, a few eggs, thanks to the market that popped up every now and then on the western side of the forest. Black market, no doubt, but she didn't care. Eggs were eggs and she was happy to have them, even if they cost nearly as much as gold now. A slab of bacon procured with the eggs. A joint of beef. But not much else.

Still, it would be enough, or so she hoped.

Wood cracked in the distance. Most likely a raccoon or some other creature just going about their business, but just in case… Kaia slunk back into the house and dropped the heavy wood bar into the rests.

A bowl of apples, picked not to far from where she’d found the man, stood on the battered kitchen table. It was better than nothing, so she grabbed one and made her way back into the great room, where she’d planned to sit up and watch over her patient. However, her body thought differently and as she sank into the lone chair, across from the sofa, and leaned her head back for a moment—only a moment, mind you—the apple rolled from her grasp as sleep snuck up on her and clubbed her over the head.

#Lord of the Rings #LOTR AU #Boromir #Boromir fic #LOTR fanfic #Lord of the Rings Fanfic #Fan fiction #LOTR fanfiction #AU #Boromir x OC #Is it hot in here?#Romance #Sean Bean #Everybody Lives #Sons of Gondor

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