jewels-writes

[jewels-writes]

deception (part 3)

Warnings: nsfw, sex, cursing Word Count: 2,123 Fandom: Call of Duty Notes: THERE IS NSFW IN THIS PART! It will be labeled and you can skip it if you don't feel comfortable reading it. Nothing important to the story happens in it, so don't worry about missing anything. As always, my work is poorly proofread. Part 1 Part 2 — — — —

It was another week before everyone was cleared. You couldn’t begin to describe the relief you felt when the agent allowed you back into your own room. Though, all your belongings weren’t where you left them, you were back. 

You wasted no time searching for Price, going to his room first, nearly tripping over yourself in your haste. 

“John.” You called out breathlessly, looking up at him as he was reorganizing his room after the investigation. His eyes widened before looking over to you. You reveled in the way his features softened as he took a step forward, closing the distance and wrapping his arms around you. “I’m so glad this is over.” You murmured into his chest, your arms snaking up under his arms and around his back, your hands clinging onto the fabric of his undershirt.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He murmured, his lips in your hair as he took a deep breath. “How I’ve missed you.” His hands ran up and down your back, feeling the curve of your spine. His hands began to wander, untucking your shirt, his skin meeting yours.

“We shouldn’t.” You whispered, putting your hands on his wrists, pausing his advances. “Don’t give me that look, John.” You rolled your eyes as he pouted at you. “Later, I promise. I want to go see everyone first.”

“Fine.” Price sighed, putting his hands in his pockets, a more respectful option. “But I can only wait so long.” His voice hinted at his impatience. It had been weeks. Weeks without intimacy. Weeks without sex. He was antsy and god damn needy.

Just as you were about to respond, Soap knocked on the doorframe before poking his head around the opening, announcing his presence. “Hey, lovebirds.” He teased with a kindhearted tone. 

“Johnny.” You nodded to him with a knowing smile. “Is there something you need?” You asked, taking a step closer to the teammate you’d been separated from for far too long.

“Laswell wants to talk to us.” Soap’s accent shone through with his annoyance. “Not happy ‘bout it but..” His voice trailed off as he shrugged a nonchalant way. Price’s eyebrows furrowed at Soap’s reaction, something seeming too uncaring about it.

“Oh, lovely.” You retorted, visibly upset at the mention of her name. You were sick of seeing her, sick of being questioned by her. “Can’t wait to see what this is about now. Better be something better than an apology.”

Price placed a hand on your shoulder in an effort to comfort you and you looked over to him. “I’m sure she means well. Let’s go.” He said gruffly, stepping out of his room and leading the way to the meeting room. 

As you entered, Ghost and Gaz were already seated. They looked delighted to see the rest of their team, the time apart effecting them too. Sitting down next to Gaz, you did a small handshake with him, one you’d had since you joined the forces. It made both of you feel a little bit better about the situation.

As everyone took their seats, Laswell walked in, her expression unreadable. Following after her was Commander Phillip Graves, an annoying smirk on his face. You’d always had your reservations about him, something always felt off. You tried to tell yourself it was just that he was an American and that you came from different backgrounds. 

As Laswell reached the presentation board, she plugged in her laptop to the projector, showing her screen.

“As you all well know, you have all been cleared of suspicion. I formally apologize for any inconveniences caused by the investigation.” Her voice sounded fake, like her PR team was feeding her the words she spoke. “Moving forward, duty calls.” She motioned to the screen behind her. “The target is still at large, we need you to find him and bring him in for questioning. Which means we need him alive. Is that clear?” Her eyes leveled at Ghost, arguably the most brutal one of the group. He didn’t seem fazed by the sudden attention.

Your eyes darted to Price who sat across from you. He was already looking at you when your eyes met. He nodded once, a reassuring gesture. As Laswell continued her briefing, your attention turned back to her, absorbing every detail for the mission.

“You deploy first thing tomorrow. Be ready.”

— — — —

Leaving the meeting room and walking into the hall, it felt like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. You’d finally be back in the field where you belonged. You knew your teammates weren’t spies. You’d spent years with all of them, knew everything about each of them. 

Looking back into the room, you made eye contact with Price, giving him a certain look. You knew he was aching for you, you’d seen it the entire meeting. He’d nudge you with his foot, clear his throat, anything to get your attention. As his eyes met yours, you could see how they flickered with a certain understanding. He knew what was coming in his near future. 

He said a few words to the rest of the 141 before striding over to you, his arm going protectively over your shoulders. The scent of his cologne filled your senses at his proximity. It only made you want him more.

“My patience has waned. I’ve got none left.” His tone was low and raspy, conveying just how much he was holding back. “My room. Now.” Your stomach flipped as his voice dropped an octave.

As the door shut behind you, Price made an effort to turn the lock, not wanting any interruptions. He’d gone long enough without you. For this moment, he wanted you all to himself.

!!! NSFW DO NOT READ IF NOT COMFORTABLE !!!

There was nothing gentle about his movements. His desperation showed as he pressed you against the door, the tightness in his pants rubbing against your thigh as his lips connected with yours. His hands roughly tugged at your shirt, his intentions clear. He wanted it off. 

“Fuck.. I’ve missed you..” He groaned as he let his hands wander along your now-exposed skin. “So fucking gorgeous.” He murmured against your neck, nibbling at it as his lips moved down to your shoulder. He couldn’t hide the arousal growing in his pants, how he was desperate to have relief for the growing, throbbing ache.

“On the bed.” He muttered against your skin, a hint of restraint in his tone. Yes, he wanted to fuck you, but he wanted you to feel good too.

He pressed your shoulders down onto the bed, one of his hands moving to undo the clasp of your belt, tugging it out of the loops in a single movement. In a few yanks, your pants were discarded on the ground in a heap, the belt and shirt beside it. 

Taking a moment, he admired your body, his hands trailing up and down your thighs, occasionally drifting up to your tummy before going back down. He could sense just how much you wanted this too. How your hips pressed into his hands every time they got close to where you burned for him.

“You’re teasing me.” You whispered, a hand coming up to cover your mouth, embarrassed about it. As the words left your mouth, he let his fingers dip dangerously close. Your thighs opened for him, an almost automatic action. You wanted him to go further, to go inside.

“I’d never.” He smirked, his hands pressing against the cloth of your last article of clothing, reveling in how you pressed into his touch. “You’re aching for me, aren’t you?”

You were too embarrassed to admit it, but you knew he was right. It felt like your body was on fire with anticipation. All you could do was nod quickly, biting your lower lip. 

“Sweet little thing..” He whispered, tugging at your underwear. He paused for a moment, looking up at you for consent. “May I?” He asked, making sure he wasn’t going too far. Yes, you and him had been dating for a while, but he never wanted to cross a boundary with you. Not ever, you were the most precious thing to him.

“Yes.” You whispered in a breathy tone. The sound of your voice, the needy tone under the breathiness made his body shiver with excitement. 

Almost with a painful slowness, he removed the thin cloth, throwing it to the side. You saw as his eyes flickered with desire. He reached for one of your hands and pressed it to his bulge, encouraging you to massage it while he ripped his shirt off.

“You’re being so good for me.” He murmured, pressing into your touch. Your hand never wavered, you knew what he liked, what made him feel good. 

Soon he was just as barren as you, his length throbbing with need, dripping with precum. Positioning himself between your legs, he teased your opening with his fingers, reveling in how you squirmed, desperate for his entry. Pathetically, you pressed into his touch, hoping he’d understand your nonverbal plea for more. His eyes flickered with recognition and maybe a hint of mischief.

“Need something?” He cooed nudging closer, his tip grazing against your hole.

“J-john.. Please..” Was all you could manage. Your back was already arched up against the bed as you felt him. 

His hands settled firmly on your waist, his thumb stroking you a few times before he pushed his hips in until they were flush with yours. It was a gentle, slow movement. It had been a while, he was sure you needed time to adjust to his size. He watched your face, looking for any signs of discomfort, satisfied when he found none.

“You take me so well.” He murmured, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek. His hips began to move again, this time in a rhythmic motion. Gradually, he built the pace up, unable to deny himself the pleasure he so desperately craved. The noises you made only encouraged him, he basked in the way he could make you feel this good.

After a moan that was a bit too loud, you brought a hand up to cover your mouth, not wanting anyone else to hear. With a low gutteral noise, Price grabbed your wrist, pinning your arm above your head, moving it away from your face. Looking up to him, you saw a bead of sweat trickle down his flushed face.

“Let them hear.” He grunted, pressing deeper into you. “Let them hear how fucking good I make you feel.”

!!! END OF NSFW !!!

You ended up spending the night in his room, the night never seeming to end. By the time you woke up the next morning, your entire lower half was sore as hell, but it wasn’t unbearable. The sound his alarm is what broke your sleep. 

Groaning, you nudged his shoulder, not wanting to reach over to him. Even though his chest was enticing as hell, you knew better than to get him all worked up before a mission.

“John.” You shook his shoulder again, causing him to stir. “Get up, old man.” You giggled, watching him blink his eyes open and throw his arm over to stop the alarm. Groaning, he sat upright, swinging his feet off the bed and rubbing his eyes. After a minute or two of waking himself up, he looked over his shoulder at you. You saw how his eyes widened and you looked down at your bare skin.

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He murmured as he reached a hand over to trace the bruises he’d left on you. It was a mix of his fingers and hickeys he’d put on your body in the act, but it made him feel guilty nonetheless. His eyes trailed up, feeling worse as he forced himself to count the number of them.

“You’re apologizing for making me feel good?” You shot a confused look at him, raising your eyebrow slightly. “John, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m gonna bloody worry about it.” He groans and rubs the bridge of his nose. “If anyone asks.. Christ, I don’t know. Make something up.”

“Our relationship is no secret.” You reminded him, a tinge of confusion passing over your features. Normally he didn’t mind if people saw the result he’d made on you. You weren’t sure what was so different about this time. “But.. If it makes you feel better, I’ll cover up.” His eyes met yours. He sensed that you noticed something was up but didn’t bother explaining himself.

“Let’s get ready for this mission.” He murmured, standing from the bed and reaching for his uniform, kicking his discarded clothes as he walked over to where it hung up. “I’ll see you on the transport.”

[jewels-writes]

deception (part 2)

Warnings: mild(?) verbal arguments Word Count: 1,741 Fandom: Call of Duty Notes: I'm sorry if this part is boring, but it's important for the world building lol. Next chapter will have more action <3 As always, not well proofread, apologies per usual. Part 1 Part 3 — — — —

Interrogation after interrogation went by until the entire team was let out for the night. They didn’t have enough information to accuse anyone for now. Despite this, Laswell had ordered that you were to all refrain from communicating with each other.

“You'll be sleeping in separate rooms. We've arranged everything.” She said to the group after she'd stepped out of the interrogation room, motioning to the other agent to hand out papers that you assumed held your new sleeping arrangements in them. You saw Price clench his fists beside you, clearly unhappy about this.

“You are also to not speak to your teammates–or anyone besides me or agents–until this mess is resolved.” She continued. "I don't care about any personal affairs involved, this is above feelings toward others.” Her gaze leveled at Price and you, her implication clear.

Price might have been able to suppress his anger, but not you. “This is outrageous, Laswell.” You spoke up. You knew acting out like this would make you look bad, but you were upset. The pent up stress and uncertainty weighed on you and this seemed to be the best outlet right now.

As the room fell silent, all eyes turned towards you, their expressions a mix of surprise and concern. Price's grip on his clenched fists tightened, his jaw set in a firm line. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with conflicting emotions.

Laswell's gaze bore into you, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of irritation and superiority. “Outrageous? My orders are for the sake of the mission and the safety of everyone involved,” she retorted, her voice laced with arrogant authority. “In times like these, personal affairs must take a backseat, soldier. We can't afford any distractions.”

The weight of her words struck you, igniting a surge of anger that burned in your chest. You took a deep breath, struggling to control your emotions, but the frustration slipped into your voice. “You expect us to trust each other, to fight together tooth and nail, and then you strip us of the one thing that keeps us grounded? Our connection?”

Price stepped forward, his voice firm, but controlled. “Laswell, we may be soldiers, but we are also human beings. We need each other. Placing these restrictions only weakens us, and it undermines the very unity you seek to preserve.” You looked over to him, grateful that he’d taken your side on this mess.

Laswell's expression hardened, her jaw clenched. “Your emotions won't change the facts, Captain. Until this matter is resolved, the orders stand. Separate rooms, no communication.”

You could feel the rage bubbling within you, the urge to lash out growing stronger with each passing second. But Price's hand on your arm, his grip grounding you, reminded you of the bigger picture. You fought against the anger, taking a step back and tried to regain control.

“Easy, love.” He warned you with a knowing kindness in his tone. He knew you were upset, hell, so was he. But he knew lashing out wouldn't solve this. “It's not forever. Hopefully just one night.”

“Better damn be.” You grumbled before stepping back, standing beside Price, his hand still on your arm. 

— — — —

Soon enough, an agent pulled you away from Price, insisting you follow them to your new room assignment. It was degrading, having to be guided around like some child. Though, you were  grateful there weren't any prying eyes like there was earlier. It was late, most other soldiers were asleep, not wandering around base.

As you were led to your new room, your resentment simmered beneath the surface. The agent escorting you seemed unfazed by your mood, their expression stoic and professional. The hallways were quiet, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the floor. It felt eerie, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air.

The agent stopped in front of a nondescript door, handing you a keycard. "This will be your room for the night. Rest up and be ready for further questioning in the morning," they instructed, their voice monotonous and detached.

You nodded curtly, taking the keycard with a mild sense of unease. The door creaked open, revealing a simple, sparsely furnished room. The sterile ambiance accentuated the isolation and the growing frustration within you. It felt like a prison, a stark reminder of the rift that had been forced between you and the rest of the 141.

Closing the door behind you, you exhaled a heavy sigh, the exhaustion of the day weighing on your shoulders. The room felt cold, the silence deafening. It was in stark contrast to the warmth and security you found in Price's presence. You craved the comfort and reassurance only he could provide.

As you sunk onto the bed, the sheets feeling cold against your skin, you couldn't help but dwell on the unfairness of it all. The uncertainty and distrust hanging over the team had created a chasm that threatened to consume you. And being separated from Price only made it worse.

You just wanted to be held by him, just as you normally were. You weren’t supposed to, but most nights you’d go to his bed, cuddle up beside him. You knew tonight you’d get caught if you tried, but god, you wanted to. 

Before you knew it, you were crying. The tears streamed down your face, the silent sobs shaking your body as frustration, helplessness, and anger poured out of you. The emotions you had been holding back for so long were unleashed in that moment—raw and overwhelming. The room felt suffocating, the weight of the situation bearing down on you.

You longed for Price's presence, his strong arms wrapped around you, offering comfort and peace. But the reality of the situation refused to allow you such a simple pleasure. It tore at your heart, the pain of separation so acute in this moment of vulnerability.

Your cries echoed in the empty room, a stark reminder of the anguish that consumed you. You wished for a release, a way to make sense of the chaos that surrounded you. But there was no easy answer, only the daunting task of finding the truth and proving Price's innocence.

Slowly, your tears subsided, leaving you exhausted and drained. You wiped away the remnants of your tears, your breathing slowly calming as you were left with an emptiness inside.

Grateful for the second pillow on the bed, you held it close to your chest, wishing it was Price. Or even just an article of his clothing with his scent embedded into the cloth. You were used to stealing a hoodie from him, settling for the clothing instead of him when you two couldn’t be close. Though you were sure the entirety of the CIA was going through his things, ruining their smells. Probably going through everyone’s belongings. Probably making a damn mess of it all too.

You sighed, the fatigue and exhaustion finally settling in. Your eyes slowly closed as the heaviness of sleep came over you, claiming you for the night.

— — — —

The next several days dragged on. The questioning never seemed to end. The agents would pull out an article of clothing or one of your belongings from an evidence bag and ask the most unrelated questions about them, digging way too deep into them. 

The room was filled with the eerie sound of silence, broken only by the scratch of a pen against paper as one of the agents scribbled notes. Their piercing gaze remained fixed on you, their curiosity masked behind a façade of detached professionalism.

You sighed heavily, weariness seeping into your voice. “It's just a shirt,” you grunted, your tone laced with exasperation. “It holds no hidden meaning, no secret codes or messages. It's a personal item, nothing more.”

The agent across from you arched an eyebrow, recognizing the annoyance in your tone. “We've uncovered so much about each member of the team. Every detail matters.” They replied matter-of-factly.

Deep down, you knew their relentless pursuit of information was necessary to uncover the truth. But the constant digging felt invasive, like an assault on your privacy and personal history. The weight of their suspicion bore down on your shoulders, overwhelming you.

“Do you have any actual evidence that I did something? Or any of us? Who even suggested there was a spy?” You asked, knowing you probably weren't going to get a solid answer.

The agent's expression remained impassive as they met your gaze with a cold detachment. “We have gathered enough circumstantial evidence to merit further investigation,” they replied, their voice devoid of any emotion.

Frustration welled within you, and the lack of transparency from the agents only added to your growing sense of unease. “Circumstantial evidence? That's hardly enough to accuse someone of being a spy. You can't base a case solely on assumptions and guesswork,” you retorted, your voice tinged with frustration.

The agent leaned back in their chair, crossing their arms over their chest. “We have a duty to ensure the safety and security of the forces. We must consider every angle, every possibility.” they explained, their tone remaining steady.

The answer failed to satisfy you, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You knew the importance of uncovering the traitor, but the lack of concrete evidence and the constant questioning wore away at your patience.

“I just want this to be over.” You muttered under your breath, your voice laced with a mix of exhaustion and resignation. Looking up at them again, you asked, “Has anyone been cleared yet?” The question was a shot in the dark, you knew that, but it had been days without anyone but these emotionless agents. You missed Price. You missed everyone.

The agent studied you for a moment, their gaze steady and piercing. “I cannot disclose that information at this time.” they replied cryptically, leaving you frustrated. Yet again. The hope that had begun to rise within you faltered, overshadowed by the lingering doubt and uncertainty.

You clenched your fists, the frustration and anger coiling within you like a tightly wound spring. “We deserve to know if any progress has been made. We need to trust each other if we're going to unravel this conspiracy.” You urged, your voice determined.

The agent's expression remained unchanged, a sense of detached authority emanating from them. “Rest assured that we are doing everything in our power to resolve this situation swiftly and efficiently.” They replied dismissively. (I don't know how to end chapters lmfao. Sorry if it seems like it just cuts off. Next part in a few days, whenever I get around to writing it.)

[jewels-writes]

deception (captain price x reader)

Warnings: None.. yet >:) Word Count: 1,434 Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: Captain John Price x Reader Notes: There's a pre-established relationship between the reader and Price, you two are already dating when this story takes place. This is the first part of a longer series so please stay tuned!! As always, this is poorly proofread so apologies for any inconsistencies or grammatical errors. Part 2 Part 3 — — — —

It had been tense since you’d heard. Since anyone heard. You remembered your eyes locking with Price’s when Laswell made the announcement, cutting the mission short. Now you and the 141 were crammed into the back of the cargo truck, untrusting gazes passing through everyone. It was one of you, though the culprit would never admit it. 

One of you was a spy. A traitor. 

You sat between Price and Soap, your hands fiddling in your lap. The nerves ate at you, that there was a spy sitting in the same truck as you. Sickness welled up inside you, you couldn’t handle the thought of one of your friends, of heaven forbid your lover being the one compromising the team. 

You were sure everyone else felt the same. You could hear everyone’s tense breathing as their eyes scanned their teammates. You could see Ghost glaring at you from where he sat across from you, his gloves making a noise at how tight he held his gun. You swore he could dent the metal if he tried hard enough. 

It remained uncomfortably silent the entire bumpy ride back to base. 

When you got back, there were glares from every other unit when the 141 walked by, reasonably so. You were sure they’d also been notified, why else would they look like they wanted you dead. Despite everything, Price stayed close to you. He was your boyfriend, after all. His hand rested on the small of your back, never once wavering, even with the sickening knowledge you both now held.

“You’ll be alright. Everything will be okay. I’m sure this was a mistake.” His gruffy voice reassured you.

You knew how this went, what the protocol was. You were ready for the inevitable questioning and tests that came with such an incident. Soon you and the 141 stood before the single interrogation room, the window to the room revealing that Laswell and another agent sat across from an empty chair.

“I’ll go first.” You muttered, knocking twice on the door before entering. Inside, Laswell sat at the head of the table, her piercing eyes locked onto you. There was no kindness or sympathy in her gaze, only the steely determination of someone who was determined to root out the truth. You could feel the weight of suspicion hanging in the air, choking the room with its intensity.

“Sit,” she commanded, gesturing to the empty chair opposite her. You complied, taking a seat and trying to maintain your composure As you sat down in the hard metal chair, you felt a shiver run up your spine. The entire situation made your blood go cold. You couldn’t process how someone could be a spy. Laswell leaned forward, her voice cold and measured. “Tell me, soldier, what were you really doing during the mission? What information did you share?” As the questioning started, you shook off the nerves, realizing the need for professionalism and honesty. 

You met her gaze with a practiced steadiness from years of being a soldier. “I did as I was instructed. I followed orders and completed my assigned tasks. I didn't share any information with anyone outside the team.”

Laswell's eyes narrowed, watching your every word and facial expression. “And what about your relationship with Captain Price? Have you noticed anything suspicious or peculiar about him? Any conversations that raised your suspicions?”

Your heart skipped a beat, the mention of Price striking a nerve. You had to be careful, to protect him at all costs. Your relationship with him was public, you had nothing to hide. You knew he was a good man. 

“Captain Price is an exceptional leader and my partner. We trust each other implicitly. There's nothing that raises any suspicion on my part.” As you watched her scribble down information onto a notepad, you followed up, your tone accusatory. “You’re not seriously suspecting Price of all people, are you?” 

Laswell's gaze hardened, her eyes narrowing further. “Let's not jump to conclusions just yet,” she replied, her voice laced with a subtle hint of irritation. “We can't afford to rule anyone out at this stage. Everyone is under scrutiny, regardless of their rank or reputation.”

A flicker of anger flashed across your features. How could she even consider Price, a veteran soldier, as the spy? He’d risked his life countless times for the greater good, and his loyalty was unwavering. It felt like a personal attack, an insult to both you and Price.

“I understand the need to be thorough,” you retorted, your voice firm and resolute, gaining some volume as she spoke of your lover. “But questioning Price's loyalty seems baseless and disrespectful. He's proven himself time and time again, and his loyalty to this team is undeniable.”

Laswell's cold gaze bore into you, her expression unreadable. “No one is immune to suspicion, soldier,” she replied curtly. “We will pursue every lead until the truth is revealed. Including your Captain.” She paused for a moment before continuing in a lower tone. “Do not let your emotions blind you to the truth.”

You clenched your fists, fighting to contain the rising frustration within you. Despite the anger coursing through your veins, you knew you had to tread carefully. Pushing too hard might only raise suspicion against innocence. Swallowing the bitter taste of your words, you forced a neutral tone.

“I understand, Kate,”  you said with a deliberate calmness. “I'll cooperate fully with the investigation. But I stand by Price. I believe in his honor and loyalty to this team.”

Laswell leaned back, her gaze still fixed upon you. A moment of silence lingered in the room, thick with tension. Finally, she spoke with a dismissive wave of her hand, indicating you were free to leave.

“We'll see about that,” she murmured, her voice tinged with an ominous warning, as if she knew something that you didn’t.

As you left the room, it took everything you had to not let the door slam. Your anger had simmered to the edge, threatening to overflow. Price, who’d been watching the entire time through the small window, rushed to your side, seeing your upset state.

“What happened in there, love? Talk to me.” His voice was low and soothing, desperate to ease your troubles. As he reached you, his hands went to both of your shoulders, forcing you to look up at him.

“Laswell suspects you. You were all she would bloody talk about.” Your voice was trembling, giving way to your inner turmoil.

Price's hand tightened on your shoulders, his gaze narrowing in concern. He could sense the anger radiating from you, and his brows furrowed in response. “She suspects me?”  he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “That daft woman must be blind if she thinks I'm the bloody spy.”

His grip on your shoulders loosened, his expression softening with understanding. “Look, love, I know it's infuriating. But we can't let it get to us. We can't let it tear us apart.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “We'll find the truth, together. We'll expose the real traitor and clear our names.”

“How will I be able to trust then?” You asked helplessly, your voice charged with stress. “These are the people I let protect me on the field. How am I ever supposed to heal if there is actually a traitor? And we’ve been deceived?”

Price's gaze softened, his voice filled with understanding as he spoke softly. “Trust is a fragile thing, love. But we can't let that fear consume us. We've been through hell and back together, and that counts for something. If there is a traitor, we'll expose them, and we'll do it as a team. We won't let them shake our faith in each other.”

He took a step closer, one of hands moving from your shoulder to gently cup your cheek. “You're strong, soldier. Stronger than you give yourself credit for. And I'll be right by your side, every step of the way. We'll get through this together, and we'll emerge stronger on the other side.”

Price's thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch offering a soothing comfort amidst the chaos. “Believe in us, in our bond. We've faced worse odds, and we've come out victorious. This is just another battle that we'll conquer. Trust me.”

And with those words, he pulled you into a warm embrace, enveloping you in a sense of security and love. In that moment, you felt the weight on your shoulders slightly lighten, and a flicker of hope flashed in your mind. You had to pray that he was right. — — — — As always, my requests are open. Send a message if you would like to request anything

[jewels-writes]

Call of Duty - Fatal Injury Scenarios

Warnings: There is character death in all of these. You, the reader, are fatally injured. In Keegan's, there are themes of drug overdose, I know some people can be considerably sensitive to that. Please consider this your warning. Do not read further if you feel you may be triggered by these topics. Included Characters: Ghost, Price, Keegan, König Word Count: 1.9k Notes: This is very lightly proofread, apologies for inconsistencies or typos/grammatical errors. As always, requests are open. — — — —

Ghost (gunshot):

You and Ghost were paired up for a mission, per usual. You had to clear a building, you took the upstairs, Ghost took the ground floor. You heard the occasional pop of gunfire from downstairs, praying it was Ghost’s gun that was making the sounds.

Focusing on your own work, you cleared the upstairs rooms, being as thorough as possible. As you went through the rooms, you gunned down the enemy, not hesitating once. You were a soldier, you knew hesitating could mean life or death.

“Clear.” you relayed into your communications headset. Before you could turn your radio off, a door swung open at you, the enemy raising their gun and putting three rounds through your chest. Your vest normally would have stopped the bullets, but not this close. You made a gurgling noise before crumpling to the ground, your gun clattering out of your hand beside you.

“Report in, what’s going on up there?” Ghost demanded, making his way to the stairs, gun trained at the top of them. “Soldier, come in.” He ordered, but got nothing in response. He knew something was wrong. You didn’t respond, you couldn’t. Not when your lungs were turned to swiss cheese.

He saw the figure of a body on the ground and after seeing the uniform, he knew it was you. You looked dead.

“Fuckin’ hell..” He clenched his jaw and looking around, his gun raised, waiting for the enemy. He knew they were lurking around here somewhere. He heard a floorboard creek off to the right and burst the door down, shooting the enemy with deadly precision. He didn’t stop even after they’d fallen to the ground. He was furious, angry that the enemy had been able to touch you.

With the threat neutralized, Ghost moved to your side, kneeling beside you. His hands hovered over you, unsure how to fix your injury. His face contorted beneath his mask, realizing the bullets went through your vest and to your vitals. His eyes looked up to yours, looking for a sign of life.

Your labored breathing gave him hope. Hope that you were hanging on. 

“Can you hear me..?” His voice was low and careful, his eyes searching your confused expression. “You did good, soldier. You did good.” He could see you were losing your fight and his gloved hand came down to cup your cheek, his thumb rubbing your skin.

He was beside you as you took your last painful breath, his hand on your cheek. His heart seemed to stop with yours. He grieved in silence, never being a man of many words when it came to losing someone. Gently, he removed your dogtag, placing it next to his own.

“Until we meet again, soldier.” — — — —

Price (bombed):

After the mission, everyone was exhausted as they all squished into the transport truck. Price sat next to you, his hand resting on your thigh. It was a tough fight, and he knew you needed your rest. He guided your head to his shoulder, a normal routine between the two of you.

Just as your eyes began to close, there was an explosion in the distance.. It sounded like bombing. Then there was another one. And another. Getting louder. Getting closer.

“Price? What’s going on?” You asked, lifting your heard from his shoulder and looking around.

The next instant everything went black. The truck was targeted by an aircraft, the spraying of it’s missiles were the last thing you heard before you passed out. 

When you came to, it was to Price dragging you out of the wreck. The next thing you registered was the agonizing pain you were in. Everything hurt, everything burned. It was like you’d been used as a punching bag before being thrown into an oven.

“Shh, shh. You’re okay. You’re okay.” Price’s voice was in your ear as he pulled you away from the burning wreck, his fingers looped into your vest’s handles on the back. “Look at me, you’re okay.” He muttered with a grunt, pulling you away farther.

You tried to talk, tried to ask him what happened. But you couldn’t, didn’t quite know why. Reaching a hand up, you felt around your neck, feeling an uncomfortable pressure there. Your hand froze when you felt hot liquid.

“John-” You mouthed, a dreadful realization dawning on you. Hearing your struggle, his eyes met yours before flicking down to where your hand was probing at your neck. You saw his anguish in his expression, no matter how hard he tried to mask it.

“Oh, shit.” Was all he could manage. “Look at me, you’re gonna be fine. It looks worse than it is.” He lied through his teeth, kneeling beside you, one of his hands running through your hair, the other hovering over your neck. He knew you wouldn’t make it. The gash had gone through an artery. He could see the inside of your neck.

“Shh.. shh.. I’m here. Look at me.” He soothed you, placing both hands on either side of your face, looking you in your eyes. “You did good. You’re the best of the best.” He tried his best to not get choked up. He could see you were fading, the blood spilling from your neck onto the ground, staining the grass a brutal red.

He watched as the last remnants of life flickered out of your eyes, left open and unseeing. His face contorted as he registered that he watched your final breath. He reached a hand up to cover his mouth in despair.

“I’m sorry, my sunshine.” Price felt the tears running down his face as he retracted his other hand. Reaching for your dogtag, he clutched it in his fist, holding it to his chest. “I won’t forget you.” — — — —

Keegan (overdose):

“Sweetheart? I’m home!” Keegan called as he kicked off his shoes in the entryway to your shared home. Normally he’d hear you bounding down the stairs, eager to hug him after he’d been away after a long mission, tackling him near to the ground. It sent a pang of concern through his body when he heard nothing but the air conditioning unit in response. “Honey? Where are you?” He called out again, his body tense with gnawing dread. Something felt wrong.

Everything in the immediate area looked fine, but he couldn’t rule out a potential break in. Not when you were his lover. Not when you meant so much to him. His hand reached for his concealed pistol, unclipping the button that covered it, resting his hand on the body of it, ready to use it if necessary.

Remaining quiet, he searched the house, starting with the main areas. Living room, dining room, kitchen. All clear. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, it dawned on him that you could just be asleep. He jogged up the stairs, ignoring the soreness from deployment. 

The light was off in your shared room. It made him feel slightly relieved, realizing you were probably just asleep and that he’d been worked up over nothing.

Quietly turning the knob, he opened the door and let out a slow breath. There you were, sound asleep on his side of the bed, holding one of his hoodies he’d left you. 

“Christ. You’re asleep. Had me worried as hell.” He grumbled, taking his hand off his pistol and walking around to the side of the bed and switching the lamp on, hoping to slowly wake you up. As he retracted his hand from the bedside table, he froze, his eyes catching a pill bottle he hadn’t seen before he left for his mission. Was it new? Picking it up, he inspected the label. “Sleeping pills..? How many..” His voice trailed off as he looked back over to you, his eyes on your back, looking for breathing. For any movement.

“Sweetheart? Oh shit.” His voice gained volume as he shook your shoulder. Nothing. “Babe, wake up right fucking now.” His voice grew more concerned. Reaching for your wrist, he begged silently for a pulse, his stomach dropping when he didn’t feel one.

“No.. no please.” Keegan’s voice hitched as he pressed harder into your cold skin. It was no use. Your life had been taken hours before he arrived home. It was an accident, you were just trying to get some sleep, turning to pills to help your insomnia. You’d taken too many.

“Why..? Oh my god.. Sweetheart, please don’t do this to me. You were my everything..” — — — —

König (poison):

The mission was going smoothly, no issues yet. You and König worked together like a well-oiled machine, picking up the slack where the other lacked perfectly. As you and him reached the office, König motioned for you to go in, implying he’d stand guard as you grabbed the intel needed.

Nodding, you stepped inside, doing a quick sweep over the small office. There was no one inside, just a normal office space. Moving the the computer, you powered it on, hooking up your own laptop to break into the locks. As you worked, you felt on edge, like somethin was wrong. This was too easy. As you saw the file on the desktop, hidden under a false name, you faltered.

Cursing at yourself, you clicked on it anyway. The instant that you did, the room went dark, replaced by a flashing red that came with alarms sounding. König, who’d been standing just outside the door, immediately tried to help, his hand shaking the handle of the now locked door.

“Shit-! It’s a trap!” He called from the other side. “Are you okay? What’s going on in there?” He demanded, his voice high with concern. Looking around, you realized something. The room was filling with some kind of gas. 

Hurriedly, you stuffed your laptop back into your pack before rushing over to the door, putting your whole body weight against it. Your hand came up to cover your mouth as the gas reached your face. You realized it was some kind of toxin. And of course you didn’t have a gas mask. 

“Schatz! Get out of there!” König shouted from the other side, his fists connecting with the door. “Back up! I’m kicking the door in.” He ordered, hoping you’d get out of the way in time.

Stumbling back, you leaned heavily on the desk, the toxin affecting you. Your knees were weak, you felt your mind detach from your body. You couldn’t control it when your body slumped to the ground, your eyes rolling back.

As König delivered a devastating blow to the door, it flew off of it’s hinges, landing on the other side of the room. “Schatz! Nein.. nein.. Look at me.” He kneeled beside you, tapping your cheek. Cursing to himself, he put his arms under you, hoisting you up over his shoulder as he began to run out of the toxic office space. When you two were out of the building, he propped you up against the wall, his stomach flipping when your body was completely limp.

“Hey, hey, wake up.” He begged, shaking your shoulders as he squatted beside you. “Gott verdammt, look at me!” With a sickening realization, he saw you weren’t breathing. “Nein..” He muttered as it felt like his heart shattered in two.

“Schatz.. Come on.. Open your eyes.” He begged, cupping your face in his hands. It was useless, whatever you’d breathed in was toxic enough to kill you. 

“I’m so sorry.. I failed you..”

[jewels-writes]

Surviving the Crash (Part 3)

Fandom: Call of Duty Word count: 1,134 Warnings: suggestive actions, near-smut but not quite smut, not proofread (as always lmfao) Part 1 Part 2 — — — —

It was late when you and Price made your way back to your tent, hand in hand, which he insisted was for comfort only. The rest of the 141 were already asleep, their drunken snores filling the room. Price chuckled lightly to himself, seeing his boys like this. It brought him a sense of peace. 

Price and you made your way to your shared bunk. He held the ladder the same as last time, ensuring you’d be able to safely get up to your bed. As you lifted your leg to begin climbing, it felt oddly weak, and you grunted, stumbling forward when it couldn’t carry your weight. “Easy, soldier.” His hand snaked around your waist, steadying you. His hold was firm, and a very big part of you wanted to stay in it. “Can you get up there? Or do you need to sleep in my bed?” His voice was whispered so as not to wake the rest of the people around him. But it came out a lot more husky than he had intended and far more intimate as well. He realized it as soon as you did and quickly clarified, clearing his throat as he did so. “Not- not with me. Just- we’d switch beds until you’re feeling up to climbing. Christ..” He chuckled to himself softly, the sound of it music to your ears.

“Subtle.” You teased him with a small smile. “That would be nice. I appreciate it, Price.” As you looked up to him, your breath caught. He was much closer than you thought he’d be. And much more handsome than you remembered him being. His crystal blue eyes bore into yours, flickering to somewhere lower on your face before back up again, a silent question.

“Subtility is my specialty, love.” His voice had dropped an octave as he leaned closer, your back pressing against the ladder, his chest pressing against yours. Despite his advances, he held a tone of caution and hesitation. He didn’t want you to feel trapped in his infatuation with you. He stopped when he was an inch or so away from your lips, your breaths mingling with his. 

“Something on your mind?” You whispered, your eyes looking down to his lips, your desire clear in your expression. 

“You, love.” He murmured, staying where he was. His hand trailed down your back, resting on your hip. “Always you.” 

“Price..” You breathed, closing the distance between you two. The kiss was gentle and sweet, his hand coming up to cup your cheek as he pressed himself against you. The world around you seems to fade away. The tender kiss ignites a spark that quickly grows into an all-consuming flame. His touch was both gentle and possessive, his hand caressing your cheek with a restrained need for more.

Price deepened the kiss, his lips parting slightly to invite you in. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing a soft sigh of pleasure from deep within you. The taste of him was intoxicating, familiar yet electrifyingly new. It was a dance of desire and longing, a connection forged in the depths of the night.

His hand slid from your cheek to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. The weight of his body pressed against yours, and the warmth and strength of him enveloped you in a passionate embrace. It's a moment of surrender, of allowing the fire between you both to consume your rational thoughts. You wanted him here and now.

Lost in the intensity of the kiss, you found yourself craving more of him, your body yearning to be closer, to merge with his. But as if sensing this, Price broke the kiss, and his breath came in ragged gasps. His forehead rested against yours, his eyes locked on yours with a mix of desire and restraint.

“We should... We should slow down,” Price panted, his voice filled with a blend of desire and internal struggle. “I want you, love... God, I want you so much. But I don't want to rush this. I want it to be perfect. I want to give you everything you deserve.”

“Why not now..?” Your voice came between your ragged breaths. Your hands still wandered along his body, craving more. Craving him. 

Price's breath hitched at the desperation in your voice, his desire mirrored in his eyes. He felt the hunger in your touch, the urgency that matched his own. Something in the back of his mind told him to stop, that he was your captain, and this was wrong.

“Love, believe me, nothing would make me happier than to give myself to you right now,” Price confessed, his voice filled with a mix of longing and restraint. His hands gently held yours, preventing them from wandering further, knowing he didn’t have much restraint left in him. “But I need to make sure you're safe and healed. I don't want to take advantage of this moment.” 

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm his desire, he saw your disappointment.  “I'll give you everything, darling. Just give me the chance to do it right. Let me be sure that you're ready, that this is what you truly want. We'll have our time, I swear it.” He placed a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch a gentle reassurance.

“Can we cuddle at least?” You asked, your voice small as self-doubt ran through your mind. Price's heart softened at the vulnerability in your voice. He gently brushed his thumb over your cheek, offering you a reassuring smile.

“Of course, love,” he replied, his voice filled with warmth and tenderness. “Come here.”

Carefully, he guided you away from the ladder and into the cozy confines of his bed. He pulled away the covers, creating a space for both of you. His bed was inviting, the scent of clean sheets mingled with his subtle cologne. As you settled down, Price spooned himself against your back, his arms wrapped protectively around you.

His body radiated warmth and comfort, his embrace enveloped you like a safe cocoon. He pressed a soft kiss to the back of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. You couldn’t deny just how safe you felt with him behind you. Like his presence was armor to the rest of the world.

“You're safe here with me, my darling.” He whispered, his quiet voice soothing you, his lips brushing against your ear in his closeness. “I'll keep you close, protect you with everything I am.”

His presence alone was enough to lull you to a peaceful sleep. Despite everything, you felt yourself melt into his tender hold. You didn’t care what your teammates would say in the morning if they saw. Right now, all you cared about was being with Price. — — — — Note: I was going to make this part entirely smut, but ended up changing my mind. Wasn't sure how everyone would respond to it going in that direction so please give me feedback, let me know if that's alright.

[jewels-writes]

Surviving the Crash (Part 2)

Fandom: Call of Duty Word count: 1,664 Warnings: not proofread, vague hospital scene, angst Background information: Your callsign is Crow (again) Part 1 Part 3 — — — —

It had been a week since you’d woken up. A week of apologies from Price. You’d told him each time that it was okay and that you didn’t blame him for what happened. You knew the risks of the job; now you had to deal with the consequences. 

Physical therapy was as humiliating and dehumanizing as you imagined it would be. More often than not, you felt like you were getting worse instead of better. Some days, you could walk a few steps. Other days, you couldn’t even stand.

Price wasn’t there as much as he said he would be. It hurt, sure, but you knew he was busy. But there was another part of you that thought that if he wanted to, he would. You thought you were special to him. The way he treated you before the mission, you thought you meant something to him. Why else did he insist on putting you on his team?

You were lying in the same hospital bed when a gentle rap came at the door. Waiting for your answer, the person who knocked poked their head in.

“Hey, love.” It was Price. Your heart ached at the mere sight of him for a reason you didn’t want to know. “I brought you something; it isn’t much, but I thought you’d like it.” Walking to your bedside, he placed a small white and purple box on your lap, allowing you to open it at your own pace. Carefully pulling at the ribbon that held the top on, you opened the box with gentle motions. “What do you think?” He asked, clearly nervous for your reaction.

It was a wood-carved crow painted a deep shade of purple. Turning it to inspect every angle, you noticed it’s imperfections. As you pieced the pieces together, a realization dawned on you.

“Did you make this?” You whispered, looking up to meet his nervous gaze. He gave you a small nod with a smile. “Price.. I don’t even know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anythin’. I just hope that can bring you comfort even if I’m not here.” He took a step closer to your bed. “The boys miss you. They told me to say hi for them.” “Tell them I miss them too.” You muttered, your eyes focusing back on the crow in your hands.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for a while, neither of you knowing what to say. It was a surprise when his radio flickered to life, giving a reason to end the quiet.

“I’ll visit when I can.” He muttered softly to you. He looked like he wanted to say more but couldn’t bring himself to do so. “Rest up, Crow.” With a nod, he left the room, leaving an emptiness behind. 

A week had passed. Then two. Then three. No matter how many times you told yourself he was busy, the same part from before told you he didn’t care. Wouldn’t he have told you if he was going on a long mission? Or maybe someone would have the decency to tell you, right?

After a month had gone by, you stopped having hope. You knew you needed to focus on getting better anyway. When you were well enough, you’d confront him. 

— — — —

The day of your discharge from the medical wing wasn't anything crazy. Two grueling months in physical therapy had driven you nearly mad, driven only by the fact you could work again when it was all over. The nurses, with their kind words and congratulatory applause, bid you farewell as you strode out of the medical wing. While their well-wishes were appreciated, it wasn't their applause you yearned for.

Your footsteps carried you with purpose towards your barracks, a shared sanctuary nestled amidst the camaraderie of the 141. As you drew near the weathered tent flaps, a symphony of their laughter and loud chatter reached your ears. Their excited voices intertwined, filling the air with an atmosphere of joy that felt alien to you. It was a painful reminder of the life you yearned to reclaim.

“Ay, Gaz! Another round over here!” Soap's voice rang out, his words tinged with excitement that tugged at your heartstrings. The realization hit you like a tidal wave—they were drinking and celebrating, and you were clearly absent. You had found a strange comfort in the medical wing's solitude, believing that their absence was due to the demands of their duties. It was a flimsy shield against the sting of reality.

Anger should have surged through your veins like wildfire. You should have stormed into that tent, raising hell, demanding answers, and retribution. But you were better than that. Your restraint, borne from a sense of pride and a desire to be more than the victim of circumstances, held you back. 

You hadn’t realized it until their cheers died down that you were crying. Tears ran down your face as you tried to grapple with just how little you meant to them. You wondered why they’d fought so hard to keep you alive if they didn’t intend to stay. If they could be this happy without you, then why did it matter?

Despite your tears, you poked your head around the tent, trying to remain unseen. You saw all of them, standing around, opened beer cans in their hands, their laughter surging up again at a joke Gaz had made. Ghost’s arm hug lazily around Soap’s shoulder and Gaz sat on his bed across from them. 

God, it hurt. 

Looking over to your bunk, you realized something. Price wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the tent drinking with his soldiers. You shot down the hope you had, that he was absent because he was upset as well. Before you could think about it, you were walking to Price’s office. Where else could he be if not with his team?

As you walked through the camp, the moonlight shown down on you. Shivering slightly, you wished you would have brought a jacket, not that you could have walked in the tent without being seen by the 141. You brought your hands up to your arms, hoping it would retain some warmth.

And now here you were, your hand hesitating, hovering before the wooden door to his office. You faltered, twitching in your indecisiveness. What would you even say to him if he answered? Was it worth it? Would he even care? As you were about to give up, the shadows under the door moved and the handle turned.

Oh shit.

As the door opened, your eyes widened in dread. There stood Price, looking exhausted as hell. He froze when he saw you, his head tilting to the side in confusion.

“Crow..? What on earth are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in medical why-” His expression faltered with worry and concern. “You’re crying.” 

No matter how much you prepared yourself, seeing him was enough to break your walls down. Your hands came up to cover your face as you sobbed. The confusion and the pain ruining you.

In an instant he took a step forward, his arms wrapping around you. One of his hands went to the back of your head, pulling you in, the other on the small of your back. He rocked you back and forth, shushing you and whispering small assurances in your ear.

“You’re okay. Shh..” He murmured. “I’m here. Your captain’s here.” His hand ran through your hair, an attempt to soothe you.

He ushered you into his office, for the privacy, for the space you were familiar with. As he moved you, you felt the anger well up after the sadness got its chance to come out and you took a step away from him. His eyes searched yours, desperate for answers.

“I see you’ve been enjoying yourself.” You motioned to his desk, an empty whiskey bottle sat on top of a mess of papers. “Your soldiers are doing the same thing, maybe you should go drink with them. Or have you forgotten about them as well?” Your voice slowly gained more strength as you realized that you’d been wronged. 

Price didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what would even soothe you. Figured it would be better to let you get whatever this was out of your system.

“Two months, Captain.” You whispered, crossing your arms over your chest. “For someone who wanted me on their team so bad, you sure have a hell of a way of fighting to keep me here.” The pain in your voice was clear. Price could see the inner turmoil, the doubt, the confusion. His eyes flickered with recognition.

“No one told you?” He asked, a hint of realization in his expression. “We had to finish that mission. The one that you..” His voice trailed off as he motioned to your leg with a guilty expression. “We just got back tonight. I was finishing up a report on it before all this.” His eyes widened as he realized exactly why you were so upset. “You didn’t think I.. forgot about you.. right?”

You didn’t know how to respond. Could you even? Everything you’d thought was wrong? How could you know he wasn’t lying? How could you just push away what you’ve been thinking these past two months?

“Are you serious..?” Your voice was quiet, confused. “No, no one bloody told me anything. God dammit, Price. I thought..”

He shook his head slowly, concern in his expression. “I could never, sweetheart. I worked my ass off, pulling strings to get you to my team. I could never leave you behind.” His arms went around you again, desperate to get his point across. 

Slowly, you believed him. It was in the way his arms trembled around you, the way he whispered to you gently, rocking you back and forth. You eventually leaned into his touch, seeking his comfort.

Finally everything seemed to be alright, for the first time in a long while. Note: I'm so sorry if this sucks, I'm best at writing fast paced action scenes but this was requested so here you go. I love you guys and I'm working on a third part before even posting this. Requests are open if you're ever interested in more writing from me!

[jewels-writes]

Surviving the Crash (Captain Price x injured! reader)

Fandom: Call of Duty Word count: 3,001 Warnings: Blood, injury, cursing, near death experiences, very poorly proofread Background information: Your callsign is Crow. Part 2 Part 3 — — — —

You’d found yourself in Price’s office for the third time this week, a result of your bad behavior. You heard him sigh, shuffling through the multiple reports he’d taken out of a manilla folder. As he read them, he’d occasionally look up at you and your bruised face. You knew better than to speak first. It was not something you did, especially not while he was reading. Sighing, he set the papers down on his desk before giving you his undivided attention.

“This is the third report I’ve gotten this week, Crow.” His words weren’t angry, not even disappointed. Just.. tired. He was tired of dealing with adults who acted like children, and as far as he was concerned, you were just another one. “Let me guess; you want to explain this one too?” he asked, adjusting his position so he leaned on one of his chair’s arm rests, his head resting on his chin. “Go on then. Give me your sob story.”

Your jaw clenched as you heard him insult your situation. You hadn’t intended to get into a fight. In fact, you hadn’t even thrown a punch; your words were enough to send the other recruit climbing over the cafeteria table at you. If someone hadn’t pulled him off of you, you were sure you’d be in a bag right now, with a letter being sent to your parents with the date for your funeral service. The way he’d grabbed your neck, there was no way he wasn’t trying to kill you.

“You read the reports, sir. You tell me what happened.” You were half curious about what the recruit said. Had he lied? Probably. Were they going to believe him? Probably. As the words left your mouth, you heard Price chuckle a few times. He wasn’t interested in scolding you; no, that wasn’t his style. 

“Tell me what bloody happened.” His words were a bit colder this time. “Explain to me why this report said you hit first when that boy doesn’t have a single mark on him, yet you were moments from a ticket to the medical wing. Tell the truth, rookie.” It almost sounded like he was concerned about you. It was in the way his eyes narrowed as he spoke, as if scanning your expression for any involuntary changes in reaction to his words. He leaned forward for effect, his head tilting to the side, waiting for your input. 

In your time here, you’d learned that this captain wasn’t like the others you’d encountered. He genuinely cared for justice and didn’t much care for people who wanted to kiss his ass. Either you told him how it was or he wanted nothing to do with you. 

“I provoked him.” You muttered, fully intending to take the entire blame for the beating. You recalled your exact words, though; you didn’t think it was appropriate to recite them, not to Price. Instead, you opted to summarize. “Something to the effect of how his parents should get a refund for the money they paid for his training.” 

You watched how Price chuckled again at your words, and you couldn’t help but feel confused. What about this situation was remotely funny? You moved your eyes down to his name plate on his desk, avoiding eye contact when he eventually leveled his gaze back at you. 

“And you didn’t fight back? Why’s that?” He inquired, intrigued by your answer. You were an enigma to him, always doing something unexpected. “Or were you restrained?” His voice dipped an octave lower in a way that made your heart flutter. You could hear the danger and power in his tone. In your hesitation to respond, he got his answer.

He sat back in his chair, tucking the papers back into the manilla folder before handing them to you. You hesitated before taking the folder from him, clearly confused. “Sir-?”

“Shred those on the way to medical.” He muttered, reaching for his pack of cigars in his top left desk drawer. “I’ll see to it that this issue is wiped from your record and that recruit is sent home.” As you stood there, unsure if he was serious, he continued. “I’ll have you transfer to my team. It seems you can’t coexist with everyone else; why not run with the big boys, yeah?” There was clear authority in his tone, leaving no room for your own opinion. But then again, you didn’t really mind the change of pace. “You’re dismissed.”

— — — —

By the end of the day, you had your things packed from your old bunker and were hauling your bag over to the other side of the base to stay with Price and his group. When you got there, you were greeted by blank, unamused stares. 

“And who the hell’re you?” The man with the skull mask asked, his British accent heavy as he walked over, his frame towering over you. “Can’t you fuckin’ read, eh? Sign says, Taskforce 141, fuckin’ muppet.”

“Easy, Ghost.” Price emerged from behind you, a hand resting on your shoulder. “They’re our new transfer.” You watched as Ghost looked between you and Price before muttering curses under his breath and taking a step back, retreating to his bunk. As you gathered yourself again, Price moved to your front, offering you a onesided smile. “That’s Ghost, a bit of a grumpy one. Don’t expect an apology from him. You’ll never get one. Follow me; I’ll show you your bed.” He made a motion with his arm before walking deeper into the tent. 

Your bed was above his. You were going to be sleeping above your captain. He muttered a quiet apology as he cleared the top bunk from some of his things, shoving them under his bed awkwardly. 

“Go on, settle in.” He offered a smile, placing a hand on the ladder, assuring you it would stay in place.

You didn’t get much sleep that night. Not because of your injuries from being someone’s punching bag, but rather because of how fast things had changed. Mere hours before, you were sitting in Price’s office, certain you were going to be dishonorably discharged, and now you shared a bunk with him.

— — — —

In the morning, you woke to a friendly banter between your teammates. There was some Scottish man who had been throwing articles of clothing at Ghost, giggling when a shirt stayed on Ghost’s head even as he tried to yank it off.

“MacTavish, you’re on thin ice.” The Brit grumbled through the cloth of the shirt. With a final tug, it came off. In a swift movement, he balled the shirt up before launching it at the other man, chuckling lightly to himself when it hit him square in the chest.

Propping yourself up on your elbow, you continued to watch, a small smile growing on the edges of your lips. You heard a smothered laughter coming from below you and peaking down. You saw Price sitting up, his elbows propped on his knees, as he too watched the two men mess around. He didn’t mind letting them get a little rowdy; he knew moments like this were essential for their morale. 

Stepping down the ladder, you offered a soft ‘hello’ to Price, who simply nodded back at you, his attention on his teammates. Just as you were about to start your morning routine, Price stopped you.

“Let’s introduce you to everyone, yeah?” He offered, standing up from his bed and stretching slightly, rocking back and forth on his feet as he did so. Leaning down to your level, he put an arm around your shoulder as he pointed to everyone in the tent, naming them and calling out to them so they’d wave. “Everyone, this is our newest member, Crow. Treat them like you would treat me, or they get your provisions for a week.” He warned them. It wasn’t necessary; he knew he ran with good men, but after reading your reports, he knew the safety net would put your mind at ease.

— — — —

As you rushed over to the meeting room, your hair still wet from your shower and your uniform hastily thrown on, you were met with annoyed looks from nearly everyone sitting around the table. A woman, you recognized as Laswell, stood by a large TV, clearing her throat before motioning for you to sit. Doing so, you sat between Price and Gaz, muttering a soft apology to your captain who nudged your shoulder. You gave him a small smile in return, grateful that he wasn’t upset. 

As the meeting went on, you were briefed about an upcoming mission. You didn’t expect to be assigned as Laswell went over the mission, but your eyes widened when you heard your callsign among the names of the 141. Price noticed how your head snapped up, confusion clear in your features and he placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

“You’re ready.” He mouthed with a knowing smile. The way his hand squeezed your shoulder slightly before retracting it and placing it back in his lap made your stomach flip. 

After the meeting, you stood around with your team, your hands nervously fiddling with a strap on your vest. Millions of thoughts raced through your head. Were you ready? What if Price was wrong? What if you were a liability? What if-

Price’s hand clapped you on the back, jolting you out of your frantic mind. Seeing him, you instincutally straightened up, a sign of respect. 

“At ease, Crow.” He murmured, though your shoulders stayed taught with tension. He stepped in front of you to make eye contact. “You’ll do fine. I selected you myself. Your delinquency reports weren’t the only ones I read about you.” He chucked. “You’re a valuable asset, one my team needs. Try not to stress too much.” 

“Are you sure?” Was all you could manage to say. You couldn’t fathom why he’d had such a change of heart about you. 

“More than sure, love.” His voice held a note of parental authority that you couldn’t quite understand. “You’ve got a few hours before we deploy. Get something to eat, fuel up.”

— — — —

“..come in! Crow, what’s your status? God dammit..!” Your radio jolted you back to the present as you blinked your eyes open. Immediately you felt the pain from the explosion that had caused you to go unconscious in the first place. Of-fucking-course the helicopter transporting you and your team had to get shot down by an RPG. You didn’t even want to know how far you fell.

The world around you was littered in debris and fire. Forcing yourself to sit up, you grunted with the effort, trying to scoot away from the wreckage. You could see the pilot’s burning body in the cockpit and your stomach churned. He was gone. 

“Crow, come in!” Price’s voice harped through the radio again, a hint of desperation in his tone. Groaning, you reached over to turn on your communications line. Taking a swift breath, you responded.

“Crow to Price, I hear you.” You strained, taking a few breaths before you spoke again. “I’m by the crash site. Pilot’s down. Everything bloody hurts.” You reported in, trying to hide the pain from your voice.

“You broken?” Price asked. You could hear him running in the background of his radio, seemingly toward you. “Christ, I see you. Stay where you are.”

In moments, you heard his footfalls getting louder as he approached your location. He knelt down beside you, his blue eyes assessing your condition. You hadn’t had the time to look for yourself, but you could tell something on your thigh made him freeze. You could see how he hesitated, how he wasn’t sure how to deal with it. 

Hearing more footsteps, you saw the rest of 141 jog over. They surrounded you, their eyes looking down at you like you were a lost cause. 

“Fuckin’ hell..” Ghost’s low voice cut through the air. Taking a step back, he angled his head down to his radio, muttering. “We need medevac, helo’s down.” Your stomach dropped when you heard him, knowing he purposely tried to be quiet about it so you wouldn’t hear. Not quiet enough.

“The hell you mean? I’m fine-” Looking down at your body, your words caught in your throat. A piece of the helicopter’s propeller was lodged deep into your right thigh. “Oh fuck.” Your voice came out as a shaky whisper, your panic rising. 

“Don’t look- dammit, Crow. Relax. Don’t move.” Price urged, waving Soap and Gaz over. “Keep them still.” He ordered to them as they kneeled around you, their hands free and ready. Redirecting his attention to you he asked, “How much can you feel?”

You took a moment to respond, the hesitation from the dread in realizing your entire right leg seemed to not register in your mind. Worst case scenarios rushed through your head. Looking down at your body again, you felt your pulse roaring in your ears. In the split second before Soap pressed your shoulders back to the ground, you could see the propeller plate had cut through bone, something you’d overlooked before. You saw the way it had almost entirely ripped your leg off, how the blood spurted out of the gap it created.

“Oh my god.. Oh my fucking god..” Your breathing was erratic and Price muttered a curse under his breath.

“Hey, none of that. You need to slow your breathing.” His tone was more urgent this time, one of his gloved hands reaching up to your cheek, holding your head in place. “Look at me. Shh, look. You’re going to be okay. It looks worse than it is.” He lied through his teeth. He didn’t like doing it, but he knew calming you held priority. 

“No.. no, no..” Your sobs came out like desperate pleas. “I don’t wanna die. Oh my god..” Price’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked over to Gaz, signaling for him to search the wreckage for any usable medical supplies. As he left, Price looked back down to your thigh, wincing as he looked at it again.

“You’re not gonna die, you’re gonna be fine. Just.. dammit, stay with me, Crow.” Price’s hold on your face stiffenened as he saw your eyes unfocus and your expression beginning to relax. “No, no. Stay with me, dammit.” He tapped your face with his fingers, keeping you present. “You stay awake, you hear me? Fight through it, love.” He’d hoped with the fact that the plate was still in your leg that it would stem the bloodflow, but apparently he was wrong. 

Gaz jogged back, a slightly burnt medical bag in his arms. He hurridly set it next to Price, opening it for him, sifting through it’s contents. Their dread grew when there was nothing that could soothe your pain. Nothing that could fix you. Gaz’s actions became more tense, his hands roughly digging through the bag, pushing the useless supplies around. 

“Ghost, what’s the eta on that damn medevac?” Price barked at his teammate, needing some form of good news. Despite his desperate tone, his hand held firm on your cheek, providing a steady sense of his presence. 

“They’re on their way. Five minutes out.” Ghost replied, his mask giving nothing away from his expression. Price’s heart dropped. Five minutes was too long.

“Crow?” Soap spoke in the pause, his voice nervous. At the mention of your callsign, Price’s eyes darted back down at you. Your eyes were closed, and your expression was relaxed. If he didn’t know any better, he could have thought you were asleep.

“No, no! Wake up!” Price shook you, his hands on both of your shoulders. Your body didn’t respond, not as he shook you, not as he called your name, nothing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” His voice broke in his desperation. At the same time Gaz reached for your wrist, placing his fingers to it, praying he’d feel a pulse. 

“They’re alive.” Gaz breathed. Your pulse was weak, but there. “Not for long, we need that chopper here. Now. Keep trying to wake them.” He urged, taking out a roll of bandages from the bag. 

It was then that they heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter approaching. On edge, Ghost’s hands tightened around his gun, aiming it at the sky. His radio buzzed in, confirming they were friendlies.

The next few minutes were controlled chaos, with the medical team coordinatingly lifting you onto a gurney before rushing back to the helicopter. Price and his team followed right behind them, giving them the space they needed to work on you. Before the doors could even close, Price was ordering that they take off, shouting at the pilot.

Returning to your side as they took off, he rested his hand on your forehead, turning your head toward him.

“Pull through, dammit..”

— — — —

The hours dragged on. You’d been visited by doctor after doctor, each time, checking on your vitals. The beeping of your heart on the monitor seemed to mock Price as he sat beside your bed, his hand resting over yours. The surgery was done hours ago, and yet you hadn’t woken up yet. 

He’d watched as they reconnected your leg, tying the tendons, muscles, and skin back together. You wouldn’t be able to walk for a week, at least while your body healed, but it was better than amputation, right?

“How are they?” Gaz asked as he stepped into your quiet hospital room, worried like hell for you. Sure, you two had just met yesterday, but he still cared about you. He’d have to have zero empathy to not. 

“Still out. Haven’t woken up yet.” Price sighed, lines of worry mixed with his own exhaustion. “Vitals are steady; it’s only a matter of time.” 

The guilt ate at Price. If he hadn’t recruited you to his team, if he hadn’t recommended you for the mission, this entire thing wouldn’t have happened. With his other hand, he rubbed his tired eyes, feeling like he’d let you down.  Maybe he did. — — — — Note: I will not be continuing this unless requested. I hate hospital scenes/tropes. You're lucky I didn't kill Crow outright.

[jewels-writes]

Hey.. uhh.. can I get an order of enemy soldier finding a civilian who's injured and takes pity on them? Civilian is probably shot or has a broken bone and soldier provides basic first aid and comforts them and stuff. Maybe even a side of trying to keep civilian awake?? It can end with whatever you want :3

Hi there! Let’s get that started for you! Thanks for choosing the Whump Drive Thru!

Soldier marched down the streets of the ruined city. They were meant to be looking for survivors. Gunfire rang out behind them, sounded like one of their fellow soldiers had found a survivor. Soldier shuddered and heard a whimper and the sound of rubble shifting. Soldier whipped around, aiming their rifle at the noise. They stared into the frightened eyes of a civilian.

“P-please,” they begged.

Soldier held their rifle tighter, despite their shaking hands. Their finger hovered over the trigger, but they couldn’t bring themselves to squeeze. Another gunshot in the distance. Another survivor. Soldier cursed and slung their rifle over their shoulder. They knelt down next to the civilian and started pulling the rubble off of them. They saw their eyes start to flicker in and out of focus. Their lids started to slip closed.

“Hey,” Soldier said, slapping them, “none of that. Talk to me. What’s your name?”

“C-Civilian,” they said tearfully.

“Keep talking,” Soldier said as they worked, “are you hurt?”

“Yes,” Civilian said.

“Where?”

Soldier got their answer when they removed the last piece of rubble trapping Civilian. Their leg was bent at an unsightly angle. Soldier winced at the sight.

“I’m gonna pick you up now,” Soldier said, “it isn’t safe here.”

Soldier heaved Civilian up into a bridal carry. Civilian screamed.

“Shush!” Soldier hissed, “I know it hurts, but you can’t make noise.”

…

Soldier laid Civilian down on the bed. They didn’t know whose house this was, but they obviously didn’t need it anymore. Half of the roof was blown off and it was a wonder the bedroom was intact at all. Fortunately, this part of the city had already been scoured by Soldier’s comrades. No one would be coming back here anytime soon.

Soldier pulled out a first-aid kit from their pack.

“I need to set your leg,” Soldier said.

“Please, no-”

“I know what I’m doing. I was in medical school before the war. Please, it needs to be treated.”

Civilian looked at Soldier with pleading eyes, then nodded. Soldier worked quickly, trying to ignore Civilian’s screams. Once their leg was in the splint, Soldier sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.

“There,” they said, “that will keep it still. You need to see a proper doctor, but this will do for now.”

Civilian sniffled and nodded.

“Thank you,” Civilian said.

Soldier sighed again.

“I’ll take you to the train station in the morning. We can only go so far on foot.”

“Train station? I don’t understand-”

“We need to get you to a doctor. The nearest town is several miles away.”

“But why are you helping me?”

Soldier smiled ruefully.

“I don't agree with killing civilians. Besides, I’ve just betrayed my country for you. Seems a pity to abandon you now.”

Thanks again for choosing the Whump Drive Thru, you have been served by Huffle!

[jewels-writes]

Hello id like to humbly request a scenario with König where y/n previously went MIA, and is assumed dead. König is sent on a hostage rescue mission and when he gets there finds out not only is she alive, but she’s one of the hostages he’s there to rescue 🩷 i ADORE your writing!

Masterlist

Angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: König x afab reader

TW: Mention of alcohol, several mentions of grief and depression, mentions of injuries, mention of human trafficking, swearing.

Authors note: I've tried to keep all the disturbing stuff very mild, but I can't help but see, as the readers` alleged death would absolutely crush König. Sorry for taking so long. I love this request so much, I can't stop thanking you, dear anon. Love you! This is actually kinda songfic, so if anybody needs music for this one: here you are.

Scarlet shell

“König, listen to me! Please! There is no body! There is nothing, we could possibly miss here!” His squad mate is trying to catch up with König, but it's impossible: he moves forward, maneuvering, between cargo transports at incredible speed.

How many times did he search for you past days? More precisely, how many dozens of times? 

He searched every centimeter of the perimeter where you worked, checked literally everywhere.

He did not take breaks for food or sleep. His team gradually lost strength, but he did not give up: he continued to circle around the place where the explosion thundered on that fateful night.

Koenig could not bring himself to stop and admit the obvious: if you were at the epicenter at the time of the explosion, only a damp shadow on the ground and a couple of scraps of clothing could remain from your body.

You don't need to talk if you don't feel like it, my love. Please never feel sorry for staying silent around me. Never beat up yourself. We all are born different, we walk different paths: your journey has made you waste most of the words we could have shared very early. It sometimes happens so, I know. The truth is that you don't have to put into words what you feel when you are next to me: I see it all in your eyes. You have reached such perfection in these silent speeches that I am ready to sit and listen to you endlessly. Even if "listening" means just looking into your eyes.

At first, he can't make himself come into your room. He comes to the door, holds out his hand and, after standing there for a while, turns around.

He needs to collect your belongings, make room for a new resident. But König can't gather enough strength.

When he finally forces himself into your room, a deafening silence engulfs him: your voice no longer here, your laughter, even your breathing is no longer heard.

König starts to collect your things, putting them carefully in a cardboard box: clothes, equipment, books, small utensils. All this absorbed your smell, your warmth. Every single item seems to burn his fingers.

He doesn't know how long it takes before he gives up: it hurts so much, he feels the pain on a physical level. 

Your shirt falls on the edge of the box. He brushes his fingers against your blanket and pillow. König kneels, then curls up right on the floor, ignoring the dust.

“Meine… meine…*” He can't even say your name - it gets stuck right in his throat, choking him. He never had enough words, when you were around, and he hates himself for that. But now, he loses even your name.

Sometimes I just think about words. Yesterday I looked at you and thought of the beautiful word you taught me: “die Hingabe” or "devotion". What is it in essence? Persistence and immutability in ones feelings, right? I was bored, so I googled this word. The search engine told me that it has approximately 195 million pages in its database that mention this word. Things were better with the word "honor" - almost 2 billion pages. With "love" - 11 billion pages. So love is 56 times more popular than devotion... Although it is clear that only a deeply devoted person can truly love, right?

Sometimes he hates it: his devotion to you does not weaken with time. A few years pass, and he learns to live in constant pain. Learns to wake up every morning, knowing well, he won't see your face. Grows accustomed to all-consuming silence and cold around him.

But what drives him to the limit is a constant urge to finish yet another mission, just to come back to the base, bury his face in your shirt and disappear completely in a slumber without thoughts.

Nothing helps: alcohol tastes like water, training doesn't leave him breathless and too weak to even think of you, no matter how hard he tries.

At some point, he even finds himself talking to another woman. She even takes his number, and sometimes they exchange warm and kind messages. He answers her automatically. 

Returning from their third meeting (he cant even call it a date), he realizes with horror that he does not remember her face.

There are no faces left in his life, except for one - that which he can neither see nor touch anymore. Your face.

My love, I see the scars, your traumas left on your body and in your mind. I know, it hurts. Every time, I ask you about them - I mean no further harm. You don't have to tell unless you are not ready. But I want you to see, that all those things didn't break you: you have not become the monster, you are scared of. There is still so much love, so much light in your hands. I want you to know, that the only reason, I'm asking you about your past traumas is that I want to fight them for you, to help you to heal. I'll fight for that love and light, you bear. Not to get them from you, never. But only for you to feel it all inside your heart.

König doesn't notice anything different. He just needed a new veil and didn't have any old black tshirts on hands.

So first he puts on a dark scarlet veil. It is still convenient. Then his old gloves are torn and he orders new ones... To match the color of the top.

It's just some gear, it doesn't affect anything. But rumors are spreading around the base.

"He's off the chain." 

"Did you see what he did to the hostiles on the last mission?" 

"That animal is unleashed." 

"We no longer have König - there is only the bloody beast under that veil" 

"I'm terrified by those red clothes whenever they flash somewhere on the battlefield. Fucking omen."

König ignores the whispers. He doesn't care. Is he more productive now? Well, maybe it's for better.

I keep writing you these silly letters, but I will never send them. I don't want to embarrass you with my chatter. I'll stack them in my drawer:  letter after letter, confession after confession. I told you the most important words a long time ago, but all this ... I don't want to think about the circumstances under which you could find these letters and read them. But if something does happen, remember: I am yours, from head to toe, completely yours. Even if I'm not next to you now - my body, my mind and my heart - yours. Love you.

His commanders tend not to send him on missions where he would have to interact with civilians. His approach to combat really becomes so brutal that bystanders and hostages run the risk of getting too severe moral trauma.

But when it comes to cleaning up an entire village, where people from all over the world are brought for human trafficking, they simply have no choice. They need the best of the best soldiers, and König tops the list.

And he justifies the title of the best: he sweeps through the village like a tornado, cleaning one room after another.

König is somehow merciful enough to rip the padlocks off the doors where the hostages were being held, make sure there are only civilians in the room, and move on to the next door and the next building.

He unleashes a wave of fury on his enemies, alternating quick kills with slow and painful ones. None of his team dares to speak to him.

When they report to him that the last building is cleared, and they can move back, he turns around with a predatory look.

The building where he stopped is immersed in silence. One of his people says something, but König only raises his finger to his lips and gestures that he is going to check the second floor.

He doesn't hear anything suspicious, doesn't see anything... But some inhuman instinct tells him that he's not alone here.

König tries to step quietly, but the old withered boards crackle treacherously under his feet.

He walks up to the back room on the second floor and pushes the door open. He remembers very well how he himself knocked out the lock some 15 minutes ago, but there was no one in the room ...

This time he comes in and takes a closer look. His eyes linger on the pile of dusty rags, carpets and gutted cushions on the floor.

It appears suspicious. He slowly approaches, pulls out a knife, and throws back several pillows at once.

What he sees makes him freeze in horror. Your face... He saw your face - emaciated, covered with cuts and bruises of all colors. You covered your mouth in horror with your hand, the faded skin tight around every bone, every joint. It seemed that even your eyes had lost almost all color: two dark gray abysses stared back at Koenig in fear of death.

You looked more like your own ghost, but that didn't matter. He very carefully lowered the knife to the ground.

"It's me." König unbuttoned his helmet and removed it and his veil. "It's me..."

You didn't answer. Only large tears glistened in the corners of your eyes.

“Meine Liebe*, it`s me.” He kept whispering, hoping to calm you down, while removing layer after layer of rags and pillows, covering your body.

He throws away tactical gloves and carefully inspects you to understand, if youre injured. His body trembles, his voice fails him and König proceeds to the only way, he can convince you, that you are safe at last: he takes you in his hands, carefully cradles your fragile body and presses kisses against tear stains on your cheeks. 

When his team finds him slowly rocking you in his hands, they step back, giving you two some privacy.

But they notice the bloody-red veil and gloves, laying on the floor as a cracked, broken and finally not needed shell.

*Meine - my *Meine Liebe - my love

[jewels-writes]

Six Words (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader)

Summary: After a mission goes wrong, you're tasked with keeping an injured Ghost safe from swarming insurgents. When you almost fail to save him, you realize your feelings towards him makes you a liability. Ghost disagrees.

Prompt: #61 "I don't know how to love you" From my prompt list here.

A/N: I need prompts, my head is empty with nothing but Konig and Ghost SOS.

Category: Angst - Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Swearing - Gun Violence - Themes of War

Missions were the hardest part.

The gunfire over comms, the callouts and the target indications. Every now and then you’d wince at the wounded cries of your colleagues, it was always the younger ones who screamed.

And although it was eery, you were glad to hear them. If they were crying it meant they were alive.

It was the silence that you were afraid of.

“Sunshine, this is Bravo-6. How copy?”

You blinked, flicking your gaze from your rifle’s scope. Car horns blared from the bustling city beneath you, unaware of the conflict happening 40 stories high.

“Bravo-6, this is Sunshine. Loud and clear, over.”

If Price was raising you, it meant that the fight would soon be moving into your arcs of fire.  You settled in behind your rifle, resting your cheek against the stock. You’d already accounted for the distance and thankfully the wind was steady enough that adjusting your weapon sight hadn’t been difficult to calculate.

“Sunshine, you’ll have company soon, 42nd floor. Clear them out.”

“Copy that, Bravo-6.”

The windows had already been blown out, providing you the clearance to take your shots, so you waited, watching the elevator and stairs with your finger curled lightly against the trigger. However, when someone had finally come busting through the door, you hadn’t expected it to be Ghost.

Jesus. Ripping your finger off the trigger, your heart raced, its panicked beating echoing in your ears like a church bell.

You hissed a curse beneath your breath, what the fuck was he doing in the red zone? Bravo team was meant to herd them onto the 42nd floor so you could clear the board, not pay a house call with them.

“Ghost, what the fuck are you doing?” You snapped into your headset.

You watched him throw himself over a bench on the far side of floor, tucking his body behind it for cover. He turned his head to the window, presumably to where he knew you were nested.

“Shit’s gone sideways, change of plans. I’ll distract them, you shoot ‘em.” His voice was ragged and rougher than usual. Small groans were woven into his words and as you looked at him a little longer, you realized that he was pressing a hand to his stomach.

Ghost had been shot.

Your heart dropped.

“Incoming!” He shouted, twisting his body to face the bench rather than away from it.

You hissed, moving your sights to where they should have been- at the doors. Instantly, you realized there were too many of them, he hadn’t cut down as many as he should have and now it was a race against the clock. Kill them before they killed Ghost.

You got to work, falling into a frenzied rhythm. Spot and shoot, spot and shoot. You forced yourself to not check on your teammate huddled into the corner, to not see if he’d been turned to minced meat.

One by one, they fell. And one by one, anxiety had begun to claw its way through your chest. You had a sniper rifle, not an LMG, it was near impossible to clear this many people before they’d be able to reach him.

“Fuck! Fucking shoot, Sunshine!” Ghost roared through your comms. Your breath was unsteady now. One after the other they fell and one after the other they pushed towards the little bench Simon Riley was hiding behind.

You said nothing, unable to talk, unable to think, only able to shoot and shoot and shoot.

“I’m getting overrun here!”

You pushed your scope to view Ghost. There were four of them on him already and so many more pushing ahead. Your heart dropped as the sounds of your shots became hollower, the tell-tale signs of sound echoing through your mag, you were coming up on empty.

Then there was a dull click where there should have been a ‘bang’.

 “Reloading!” You shrieked, dumping the mag and scrambling for a fresh one from your body armour. All the while you watched Ghost fight on the back foot, offense became defence and fluidity became manic.

He was going to die.

And it would be your fault.

“Covering!”

You held your breath.

Soap slid through the doorway, shooting before he’d even had a good look at the scene before him. He knew there was too many of them, he’d heard the radio chatter and he’d heard your panic.

You could have cried at the sight of him.

You finished reloading, repositioning yourself with a newfound hope fuelling your body. Between the three of you, the rest of the insurgents had been light work to clear out. It was a massacre, a sight that would traumatize most with bodies piling along the floor.

But all you could think of was Simon.

You heard his groans as Soap helped him to his feet, muttering comfort beneath his breath the way only Soap could. “Come on, LT. You’re pretty banged up, let’s get you home.”

As the adrenaline began to seep from your body, leaving you shaking and quiet, your mind began to spiral.

Nights spent on the roof, revelling in each other’s company but not saying a word. The short tit for tat banter that you’d fallen into. The drunken nights you’d sought each other out, to chase the nightmares with touches neither of you would remember in the morning.

You’d almost let him die.

Ghost straightened as best as he could, leaning against Soap as the Sergeant held him up. They both came to a stop by the window near the exit, the battered soldier pausing to gaze out across the buildings. And although you knew he couldn’t actually see you, it felt like he was looking straight at you.

“You did good, Sunshine.”

The words were genuine, almost soft if it weren’t the ragged breathing from his injury.

You bit your lip.

When you didn’t respond, the pair continued on, disappearing into the elevator and leaving you to suffer with your thoughts.

_______

The cold, night air always helped to clear your head.

You were sat on the rooftop, legs dangling off the edge of the building as though it were just a normal bench. Your chest rested against the railing; your arms folded over the top of it.

Your mind was a mess.

How had that mission gone so wrong, so fast? Logically, there wasn’t much more that you could have done. You were on the trigger constantly, a body dropped every two to three seconds, a good enough pace when you were constantly switching targets.

But you weren’t fast enough.

“You’re not gonna jump, are you?”

Your body jolted, gripping the railing tight with a gasp so you didn’t fall right off the edge. Ghost stood beside you, clad in a pair of soft black trousers and a hoodie that was drawn over his head. You swallowed your anxiety when he lowered himself to sit beside you.

You’d seen him without that jumper plenty of times, twisting against each other in the dark with alcohol on your tongues. But seeing him with it, seeing him look like any other man preparing for bed, made your heart soften.

“No.” You rasped, answering his quiet joke.

You both fell into silence, but it wasn’t comfortable like it usually was, at least not on your end. You were stressed, the tension rising in your chest to suffocate you. You forced your eyes to remain on the horizon, observing what you could under the moonlight.

There was a nudge by your hand and you glanced down. The man held out a cigarette and a lighter and you forced yourself not to look at the unlit one hanging from his mouth. It was an unwritten rule, when he rolled the mask above his lips to smoke, you would avert your gaze.

You took the cigarette with a sigh and a soft ‘thank you’, perching it between your lips. You lit the smoke, drawing the first drag to keep it alight and Ghost softly took the lighter from you.

“Didn’t know you were out of hospital,” you said, taking another draw. You blinked away the head-spin from the nicotine, feeling the stress melt from your shoulders.

“If you’d known you wouldn’t be up here,” he said simply. You clenched your jaw, hoping he wouldn’t push the subject. You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face, watching for any tell-tale sign to say that he was right.

But you just took another drag.

“You’re avoiding me,” Ghost finally said outright.

Your heart stuttered in your chest and you made an effort not to crush the cigarette between your fingers.

“I almost got you killed.”

The officer’s breath came out in a short huff, the equivalent of a laugh for the sullen character. “Don’t flatter yourself. We fucked up; you were on clean up.”

Your heart was racing now, but you knew what the problem was. You knew why you were beating yourself up over something that wasn’t really your fault. It was childish and it was immature and one day it might just get you both killed.

You’d become a liability. It was your duty to inform him.

“I’m going to apply for a transfer out of the 141.” Your sentence rang like the toll of a church bell, echoing between you. You couldn’t believe you’d finally said it but you’d known for a while.

“What?” Ghost shifted beside you, twisting his body to stare at you front on.

“I’m going to get someone killed-“

“Is this about today?” Ghost questioned and you risked a glance at him. His lips were curled in disbelief and he flicked the cigarette off the roof. He dragged his mask back over his mouth, but his eyes still flashed with incredulity. “Get the fuck over it, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It’s about you, Simon!” You snapped.

Ghost fell silent.

“I’m fucking compromised,” you stood to your feet, flinging your cigarette over the railing. The soldier followed in suit, towering over you instantly. “I can’t be in a situation like that again- what if I’d have failed? I couldn’t fucking breathe, I couldn’t think-“

His hand came to rest against your shoulder and your words guttered to a stop.

You peered up at him in surprise, meeting that dark gaze. For the longest time, you’d always thought Simon had dark eyes, the blackest you’d seen. The breath left your body when, on closer inspection, you realized they were fucking blue.

For a long moment neither of you said nothing, silenced by the sudden display of affection. There was no end goal, no reason for him to be touching you. No high to be chasing, no bullet to push you out of the way of.

He was trying to comfort you.

He took a sharp breath. “I know.”

You blinked at him, opening your mouth then closing it again. He’d understood. He knew what you were saying, he’d known all along because Simon had been fighting the same thoughts.

When his fingers tightened against your shoulder, your lip trembled.

You wanted to hold him. You wanted to see him.

You knew that you could do neither.

“I don’t know how to love you,” you whispered, “I don’t know how to feel like this and work with you. Watch you get shot at. Be the one to make sure you don’t die.”

Simon shrugged, his gaze never leaving your face, taking in your features as though committing it to memory. He had no words of affection to give you but you could feel it in the way his thumb rubbed against your skin ever so softly, a ghost of his touch.

“You’re smarter than me, Sunshine. You can figure it out too.” His words were careful, and you blinked up at him from where you’d hung your head.

You can figure it out too.

When he pulled his hand from your shoulder, you felt the cold of his absence. But his words had set a fire in your chest that kept you burning.

Six words from Simon Riley were enough to set your world ablaze.

[jewels-writes]

Could I request a little something with Ghost in which reader (soldier from the 141 also) and him fuck casually “without catching feelings” and in a mission she gets shot and thinks she’s going to die, ghost freaks out and she tells him: ‘you know what I think? I think you’re gonna have to find another fuck buddy’, and he confesses that he had loved her all along?

Hello! You most certainly can! Really putting Simon through the trenches, huh? I hope this is akin to what you were looking for! Enjoy 🖤

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female ! Reader

Summary: Fatally injured during a mission, Simon tends to you in your final moments. Keywords: Reader is a lieutenant, angtsy questionmark? Blood, injury, death (or is it 😏). Wordcount: 1051

“You’ll live, just sit still for fuck sake,” Ghost barks demandingly as you feel his palm press against your hand, pressing your wound. There’s an edge to his voice, one you’ve never heard before. It’s… different. Different from his usual, cool demeanour you are often subjected to out in the field. There are no quips, no one-liners. He almost seems agitated with you. At everything around you. 

Well. You have the perfect remedy for that.

“That your professional opinion, sir? Because from where I’m sitting”—you suck in a sharp breath, clenching your teeth as you almost keel over in pain, exhaustion, and whatever the hell this feeling is—“because—fuck—I think you’re gonna have to find a new fuck buddy,” you hiss, attempting to chuckle. You don’t want him to be like this with you. Not in your final moments. You want him to call you a moron, and make a joke at your expense. Call you thick-headed and stubborn. Something, anything. You think hearing the subtle lilt in his voice as he cracks a joke would be a pleasant thing to hear in your final moments. 

“That’s not funny.”

You attempt to raise your head to look at him, though the blood oozing down your eye makes it difficult to see much of anything. You had almost forgotten the nasty scar running across your forehead. Almost. Adrenaline does the damndest thing to your senses, you haven’t even noticed he’s been wrapping your waist the best he could, to keep the blood from pouring further. 

“That’s not fuckin’ funny, I—” Ghost swallows a breath through gritted teeth. His features are hidden beneath the skull mask you’ve become so familiar with. It’s fitting, almost, dying in the face of death itself—a skull. Your eyes feel heavy as you envision what it would look like. Would he carry you across the threshold back to the team? You, bloodied and dead in his arms, and him a visage of death? Carrying you to the afterlife? 

You let out a gasp as Ghost violently shakes you awake, barking your name like it was an order, like it was the worst thing he ever had on the tip of his tongue. 

You want to stay awake, but it’s so, so difficult.

The hardness of the wall doesn’t feel cold anymore. You feel lighter—lightheaded. Teetering on the brink of nothingness, on the lack of life.

“I don’t fuckin’ want someone else.” His voice is wavering, and his eyes are unfocused. Or maybe that’s just you slipping in and out of consciousness. “So stay. Awake.” Ghost—Simon—steels his voice, jaw clenching, and you can’t help but cough a chuckle. He still orders you around, even when you're half a foot in the grave. Some things never change.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” you murmur, eyes fluttering closed. “Orders—“ you wheeze a breath, brows pinching together in pain, “orders denied.” Though not for lack of trying. 

You can’t feel your legs anymore. This is it, you think, and you will the last portion of your energy to lift a hand to his masked face. “Tell the team… tell the team m’sorry.” You want to kiss him goodbye. You want to feel the rough texture of his stubble against your skin. “M’sorry, Simon.” Your voice is choked with emotions. You only call him by his name when you’re teasing him, when you’re testing his limits. When he silently knocks on your door after midnight and you welcome him inside with a purr his name. Better times, you think as the thumping of your racing heart gets louder in your ears. 

You don’t want to die.

You don’t want to leave him alone. 

Your palm leaves a bloodied trail down the white of his mask as your hand falls. 

“Listen to me,” he all but hisses, cradling your face in his hands in an attempt to keep you from slumping over. “Don’t fuckin’ do this to me. Don’t—” His thumbs clumsily dig into your cheeks as you wheeze another breath, doing your best to keep your attention on him.

Whatever he’s saying is drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, by your own heart. Had you the strength, you would tell him his mask was muffling him, coax him to lift it enough to kiss you. 

He always had a hard time saying no to you. 

Your surroundings blur, the area around you slowly being overtaken by a creeping shadow. You feel him gently nudging your face in an attempt to lure your attention back to him, the roughness of his voice echoing in one ear, falling out the other. His tactical gear easily blends into this unfamiliar shadow, and soon, the only thing you can make out is the paleness of the bloodied mask. 

He just needs you to stay awake a little longer.

He’d contacted the team as soon as he’d found you, contacting base soon after. He can’t lose you, not like this, not when he finally found you. Somewhere in his heart, he can’t help but think of this as some sort of divine punishment. Cruelly taking you away from him the moment he started caring for you more than he should—more than he is allowed to. 

The moment he prolonged his stays in your bed to bask in your company. When he sought you out on his own accord without guising it under sex and stringless fun. 

His hand cups your cheek as his thumb wipes away a spot of blood, desperately attempting to catch your gaze despite your lack of response. "I love you," his tone is soothing, mellow. "Don't leave me like this," he says, pleading for you to hear his words. Simon is not a begging man, but for you he will crawl on his knees. He will pray to every God imaginable, and take any devil's deal. "Stay awake a little longer." He drops his words to a hoarse whisper as he continues, "That’s an order lieutenant.”

You feel a spike of pain in your heart, and then, nothing.

That’s funny, you think in an attempt to cling to coherency, it sounded like he said he loved me. And the thought makes you want to smile. Your heart is pulling tricks on you even in your final moments. 

Maybe in the next life.

[jewels-writes]

Don’t Make A Habit of Dying (Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader)

follow @cowboybxtch (my other account) for more ghost content, as i will not be posting on this blog anymore <3

Wordcount: 3241 Content: swearing, near death, graphic depictions of gore, blood, injury, ghost is in love with u, soap is oblivious, heroic ghost, pre existing relationsip, tension  Request: no Note: *just wanna preface this by saying it is not proof read lol* i am absolutely unashamed to be jumping on the ghost bandwagon. i finished the campaign yesterday and honestly i sort of rushed through it bc it was a lot of fun so this is sort of based on one of the missions but it’s all from memory so if anything is wrong or out of place just ignore it and lets call it canon divergence AO3 version here

“Fox, how copy?”

You grunted, clawing at the rain-soaked concrete and grit beneath your fingers as you stretched to reach your communications device. Your head was still spinning from the impact, and your eyes blurred as if you were lying underneath a moving river staring at the wrinkled water surface above. A high-pitched whine resonates in your ears, and you are intensely aware of the urge to vomit.

Keep reading

[jewels-writes]

A Little Injury

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!Reader

Summary: You get shot at during a mission but after seeing Soap getting injured too you decide to keep yours a secret. Until your lieutenant catches on.

Warning: Guns, violence, serious-ish injury, reader shoots someone, blood, you're in a ton of pain, swearing, crying?, reader gets shot, yelling/shouting, Ghost is a bit of a jerk but not really because he basically patches you up in the end <3

A/N: I'm so sorry if I messed anything up plot-wise mainly because I'm not too familiar with MW2 and how the military work. I only know some parts...

(I'm sorry that you don't have a cool nickname to go by, I was struggling on a name anyway)

"Motherfucker!" You yell, quickly grabbing your gun again before you pulled the trigger, (attempting) shooting the guy in front of you. Ten bullets drop at your feet as you continue to unload at the man in front of you. Stopping suddenly as your arms tremble, you reload and shoot the guy again, just to be sure. The adrenaline wears off quickly as you drop your gun in agony, groaning and gripping your leg in pain as you tried to breathe in and out slowly.

Looking up your eyes scanned the now-dead man in front of you, his body slouched over on the wall with his gun in his lap. His hand was unresponsive and lifeless, you could barely see through your squinting how you just barely missed his heart. Your mind was racing the second he shot you and you had no time to perfect it.

A loud screech came through the walkie-talkie you had strapped to your chest armour, your ears ringed and your vision blurred as you mentally cursed yourself. "Y/N come in!" You recognised John's booming and aggressive voice, "Y/N Do you copy-" "Yes, yes I copy." A relieved sigh could be heard from the other side, "Status?" You looked around you, your eyes inspected and examined the room ignoring the voice in the back of your head to state your injury.

"I'm alright, do you need me?" Gunshots could be heard from outside the building, and streets were littered with violence and war. "Soap is down, injured badly we need everyone grouped up now!" Before you could reply John left, a static screeching out from the walkie-talkie just as you let your finger go of the button. But you pulled through, giving yourself a pep talk before grabbing your gun. Aiming it before leaving, your leg getting worse with every step.

♡ ♡ ♡

Limping around the corner you were met with your task force, John, Gaz, Soap and Ghost, their heads all turning to look at you. Soap was in the backseat of one of the military cars, bandages wrapped around his arm as he smirked at you. "Took your bloody time." Ghost mumbled roughly behind his mask, watching as you laugh before opening one of the doors. "Yeah yeah"

Getting in the backseat you were squished against the window, Soap leaning on the other side while Ghost sat in the middle. John and Gaz swearing about what you guessed to be themselves or arguing over another safehouse to stay for the night. Looking out the window you tried your hardest to focus on the horrible environment rather than your arching leg, the sounds of echoing shouting only died down once you got further away.

"Fuckin' battlefield out there" Soap spat, your head turning towards him, "How'd you get injured anyway? Tripped over?" Your teasing tone only made Soap feel better, his ruff chuckling made you smile as he pointed over to Ghost sitting in between you both. "Asshole doesn't know when to move." Ghost eyed him, giving him that jokingly shit-eating look before he continued, "Always in my damn' way." Your eyes drifted between the two of them, the thick tension could be felt between the three of you.

The agony of your leg coming back to ruin the moment, you huffed in frustration as you tried to catch a quick (Sneaky) glance down at your leg. Your heavy cargo pants felt wet when your fingers glided along the fabric. Looking at your fingers more you could spot your blood sliding down them before quickly wiping it away. Unknlowly catching the attention of Ghost.

♡ ♡ ♡

"Fuck I need to take a piss," Gaz said before disappearing into the bathroom. After what seemed like hours of torture from riding in the car ignoring your leg you guys came to a stop at a dingy motel. A more suspicious owner who glared at all of you when you tried to reason with him to get a room. Only the room was not clean and had a weird vibe, looking around you spotted a small TV sitting on a stand with 2 bunkbeds facing the opposite side.

Soap seemed to already claim the bottom bed with his blood and clothes as he tried to quickly discard them to unravel his bandages. You instead took the opportunity of claiming yourself on the top bunk - even though you did want the bottom - you took your time to slowly get up the ladder, hissing under your breath when you put too much weight on your other foot.

You stare at the ceiling, the beige colour was all you could think about as you drowned out everything around you. Your mind raced with thoughts, "Am I going to die?" "It hurts so much" "No one wants to patch you up" "No one cares" The thoughts were the only thing polluting you, they screamed and shouted at you as you tugged yourself to sleep. Telling yourself it'll heal in the morning and no one will know a thing.

The noises of the TV blurred in the background, the sounds of laughing and talking could be heard from below you but you paid no attention. Slowly and painfully drifting to sleep.

♡ ♡ ♡

You sniffled, shutting the door quietly behind you as if the guys would hear you through the loud TV playing an advertisement that no one was paying attention to. Turning on the light a quiet humming filled the bathroom, the uncomfortable, plain beige wallpaper followed into the bathroom as the white tiles fell hard against your boots.

Gripping onto the cold and slippery sink you had no intention of using the bathroom only the thought of weeping silently to yourself. You could have taken some of Soap's bandages or alcohol-free wipes but your mind was only focused on getting to the bathroom you didn't have time to think.

A loud knock shook you out of your struggling state, you nervously looked towards the door before preparing yourself to act normal. "Yes?" You questioned, your happy and normal voice didn't get past Ghost as he replied. "Open up." His British accent was demanding and serious as he waited for you to open up, "Go back to bed, Ghost-" "Open this fuckin' door. Y/N." He interrupted you this time more demanding than before as he knocked more forcefully.

You opened the door after what seemed like forever to him, you were met with his usual mask and muscular body. His eyes scanned you from top to bottom, raking over your puffy eyes and left leg that was lifted off the ground. He pushed his way into the room, closing the door behind him with his foot as he signalled you to sit on the sink. You watched as he dropped the first-aid kit next to you, scavenging through it before he pulled out some cotton swobs and some alcohol-free wipes.

His eyes were met with yours as he stared deeply at you, he didn't say anything but he didn't need to. His pupils told a thousand words, like how wanted to ask you if it was okay to touch your leg, his hand hovering over your injury waiting for you to answer. And when you did he slowly pushed your cargo pants higher up your leg, giving him full access to your bare leg and bloody injury.

"Why didn't ya' tell me." He cursed at you, his fingers gently patting the cotton swab on your leg, soaking up and cleaning all the dripping and dried blood away from your leg. But you only shrugged your shoulders in response, "I can take care of myself" Your low, soft voice replied sounding determined but failed to get through Ghost as he stood between your legs.

"Clearly not." His husky voice only made you feel guilty, the long painful sensation felt sweet against his touch. "You not only failed me but the rest of the team" His stern and disappointed voice affected you, not only did you blame yourself before but now it only felt worse. "I'm-" You hissed feeling the throbbing and piercing sting of what could only be described as hell but instead it was Ghost trying his best to slowly and softly wipe the alcohol-free wipe across your injury.

"I'm sorry..." You huffed out, your gentle and drowsy voice pleaded and sounded genuine to Ghost. He hummed in reply, his clothed fingers dancing and massaging your leg, sometimes you swore he could squeeze or go higher up your thigh. His low and husky breath could be heard through the low humming of the bright bathroom light, leaning against the mirror you felt relaxed now that there was no pain.

"Don't try that shit again, you hear me?" Ghost wrapped your leg up and let go of your leg now he only stood between your man-spread legs. Arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you, "I'd hate to see you hurt again." His dreadfully quiet tone was possessive and penetrating, you swore he grinned once you smiled in return.

[jewels-writes]

Kissing His Scars (Arno Dorian x Reader)

Prompt: Kissing their scars and bruises Pairing: Arno Dorian x Reader Warnings: Healed scars

The soft golden light of the setting sun spilled into the room, casting a warm glow on the walls as I entered. My footsteps were quiet, muffled by the plush carpet beneath my feet. The scent of lavender filled the air, a soothing aroma that embraced the space.

As I rounded the corner, my eyes were drawn to the sight of Arno sitting on the edge of the bed, his shirt discarded beside him. His strong, lean form was etched with scars and bruises, a testament to the battles he had fought, the sacrifices he had made.

A wave of tenderness washed over me, my heart aching at the sight of his battered body. With a gentle step, I approached him, my fingertips grazing his shoulder lightly. Arno turned to face me, his gaze meeting mine, a mix of weariness and strength reflected in his eyes.

Without a word, I knelt down before him, my hands trembling slightly as they reached for the first scar that adorned his chest. Each mark told a story, whispered of trials faced and triumphs won. I pressed my lips to the rugged terrain, a tender kiss that conveyed both admiration and empathy.

Arno's breath hitched, a vulnerable flicker passing through his gaze. He watched me intently, as if in awe of the gesture, his defenses crumbling with every touch of my lips against his skin.

Moving with slow reverence, I trailed my kisses along his collarbone, tracing the pathway of a battle wound. My lips danced over the faint lines, offering solace and comfort, as if I could somehow heal the pain of the past.

As I leaned in closer, my hands cradled his face, the pads of my thumbs sweeping over the fading bruises that marred his features. I pressed feather-light kisses to his brow, his cheekbones, each gentle touch a testament to my love and admiration for the man before me.

Time seemed to stand still as I poured my affection into every touch, every kiss. Arno's guard melted away, his gaze softening as he surrendered to the tenderness bestowed upon him.

In that intimate moment, the room was filled with a profound understanding. It was a silent promise that I would be there to ease his burdens, to heal not just his physical wounds, but the scars that ran deeper.

Finally, as I pressed one last kiss to his lips, a silent message passed between us. It was a vow to support one another, to embrace the battles yet to come, and to find solace in the healing power of love.

Arno's lips curled into a gentle smile, a flicker of gratitude and affection gracing his expression. He whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "Thank you, my love. Your touch, your kisses—they remind me that I'm not alone."

[jewels-writes]

Sacrificed Love (Arno Dorian x Reader)

Prompt: Self Sacrifice Pairing: Arno Dorian x Reader Warnings: Blood, near-death, hurt/comfort. self sacrifice, angst

As you stealthily made your way through the dimly lit alleyways, the tension in the air was palpable. Every step was calculated, every breath taken with caution. The echoes of your footsteps reverberated against the worn cobblestone streets as you neared the Templar hideout.

Sensing danger lurking around every corner, you and Arno exchanged knowing glances, a silent reassurance passing between you. The anticipation mounted as you approached the building, the sound of muffled voices and clanking weapons growing louder with each passing moment.

Drawing closer to the entrance, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. You reached out, grasping Arno's hand tightly. It was a gesture of unity, a reminder that you were in this together.

With a nod, you shared a wordless agreement and burst through the doors, ready to face the enemy head-on. Chaos erupted as the battle ensued, the clash of steel against steel filling the air. The room was a blur of flashing blades, desperate maneuvers, and the acrobatic prowess that defined both of you.

You fought with unwavering determination, skillfully dispatching the Templar soldiers that stood in your way. Arno's movements were a fluid dance of deadly precision, while you unleashed your own formidable arsenal of combat techniques.

But even as you fought valiantly, the odds began to tip against you. Reinforcements poured in, their numbers overwhelming. It was clear that the Templars had been prepared for your intrusion, and the situation grew dire.

Despite the mounting danger, you and Arno fought side by side, a seamless synergy between you. Your unspoken bond fueled your strength and resilience. The battle raged on, each passing moment intensifying the stakes.

But as the skirmish reached its climax, a series of unfortunate events unfolded. A well-aimed blow caught you off guard, knocking you off balance. The world spun around you as you staggered, your vision momentarily blurred.

In that split second of vulnerability, the Templars seized the opportunity. They closed in on you, weapons raised, a menacing glint in their eyes. You were outnumbered, and it seemed that escape was impossible.

Arno, his face etched with concern and determination, lunged forward, his blades slicing through the air with lethal precision. He fought ferociously, his movements fueled by a deep-seated protectiveness for you. But even his remarkable skills couldn't fend off the onslaught.

Cornered and defenseless, you could feel the weight of the impending danger pressing down upon you. Arno's voice rang out, a mixture of desperation and determination. "Stay behind me!" he shouted, his eyes locked with yours.

The seconds ticked by in agonizing slow motion as Arno valiantly fought to shield you. The clash of steel against steel reverberated through the chamber, the chaos of battle engulfing you both.

As the enemy realized they were outnumbered, they took advantage of the chaos and confusion to slip away from Arno's grasp. They darted towards a nearby alleyway, deftly evading Arno's attempts to catch them. You heard the enemy call for reinforcements and your stomach dropped as you looked over to Arno.

His voice pierced through the chaos, urgency etched in every word. "Quickly, behind the wall!" he exclaimed, his eyes darting around the room for an escape route.

With a surge of adrenaline, you sprinted towards the nearest wall, Arno close behind. You pressed your back against the cold stone, your breaths coming in short, rapid bursts. Arno positioned himself beside you, his presence a comforting shield.

The enemy's call for reinforcements worked and you suddenly heard the approaching footfalls of the enemy coming closer. The sound grew louder and closer, sending shivers down your spine. The enemy was closing in, their intent clear.

Arno's grip tightened on his hidden blades, his fingers flexing with anticipation. His eyes met yours, conveying a silent reassurance amidst the mounting danger. The two of you were in this together, come what may.

The footsteps drew nearer, and the tension in the air grew unbearable. Arno's jaw clenched, his gaze fixated on the approaching threat. His mind raced, formulating a plan to ensure your survival.

You grasped his hand tightly, and your voice trembled as you spoke. "Arno," you say, the words caught in your throat. "I have an idea."

Arno's gaze met yours, his expression was grave. "What is it?" he asks, his voice laced with worry.

"I can create a distraction," you explain, determination coloring your tone. "It might buy us enough time to escape."

"No," Arno insists, shaking his head. "We'll find another way. We'll fight our way out of this together."

But you knew time was running out. "We don't have time," you pressed, urgency in your voice. "Listen to me. I can do this. I'll create a diversion and draw their fire away from you. Use that opportunity to get away, Arno."

His eyes widened in disbelief, and his grip on your hand tightened. "No, I won't leave you," he protested. "I can't lose you."

You meet his gaze with a resolute stare. "It's the only way," you say firmly. "Promise me you'll get out of here alive."

A flicker of pain crossed Arno's features, but after a moment, he nodded. "I promise," he whispered.

With that promise echoing in your ears, you turned and sprinted into the open, your heart pounding in your chest. The sound of gunfire filled the air as you zigzagged, doing your best to avoid the bullets that rained down upon you.

Reaching the center of the courtyard, you shouted, drawing their attention. They opened fire, and you felt the sting of bullets piercing your flesh. The pain was excruciating, but you pushed through it, sprinting towards them.

In the distance, you caught sight of Arno and the others fleeing to safety. Relief flooded your being. You succeeded; you saved them.

But then darkness enveloped you.

The smoke from the battle still hung in the air as Arno frantically searched the battlefield. His heart pounded in his chest, fear gripping his every thought. The deafening sounds of swords clashing and cries of pain echoed in his ears, but he couldn't focus on anything else but finding you.

His mind replayed the moment when he last saw you, the moment you bravely threw yourself into danger to protect him. It felt like an eternity had passed since then, and the weight of worry threatened to suffocate him.

Arno's steps were urgent as he moved among fallen soldiers and broken weapons, his eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of you. His breath caught in his throat as he glimpsed a motionless figure lying on the ground.

With a surge of hope and dread, he rushed to your side, falling to his knees beside you. His trembling hands reached out to touch your face, his heart aching at the sight of blood staining your clothes.

"Please, don't let it be too late," he whispered, his voice choked with anguish.

Gently, he cradled your head, feeling the shallow rise and fall of your chest. Relief washed over him as he realized you were still breathing, albeit weakly. Tears welled in his eyes, a mixture of grief and gratitude.

Arno's hands moved with care, checking for any life-threatening injuries. He vowed to do everything in his power to save you, to mend the wounds you had suffered in his stead. His touch was tender, his movements deliberate as he assessed the extent of your injuries.

As he worked, his mind was flooded with a flurry of emotions. Guilt gnawed at him, the weight of the sacrifices you had made for him crashing down upon his shoulders. The fear of losing you threatened to consume him, a haunting reminder of how fragile life could be.

Minutes turned into eternity as Arno worked tirelessly, using his knowledge of first aid to stabilize your condition. With each bandage he applied and each gentle touch, his determination to see you through this ordeal grew stronger.

Finally, as the chaos of battle subsided, Arno held you in his arms, his gaze fixed on your peaceful face. The weight of the world lifted from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of relief that you were still here, fighting to hold on.

"I'm here, mon amour," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of love and gratitude. "Stay with me."

Arno pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, vowing to protect you with every ounce of his being. He would never take your presence for granted again, cherishing each breath you took, each beat of your heart.

And as the sun set on the battlefield, casting its warm glow upon the wounded, Arno held you close, his arms a shield against the horrors of the world. In that moment, he knew that together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, hand in hand, and heart to heart.

When you finally awaken, you find yourself lying on a soft bed, your gaze meeting Arno's worried eyes. His hand clasps yours gently, and he urges you to remain still.

"Rest," he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of relief and concern. "You're safe now."

Confusion clouds your mind as you inquire, "What happened?"

Arno's voice is filled with emotion as he explains, "You were shot. But we managed to get you out of there. You're going to be alright."

A weak smile tugs at your lips, tears glistening in your eyes. "I did it, didn't I?"

Arno nods, a soft smile gracing his face. "You did. You saved us all."

Contentment washes over you as you surrender to sleep once more. In that moment, you know you made the right choice. No matter the risk, you would always go to any lengths to protect Arno, and you're grateful that you succeeded in keeping him safe.

[jewels-writes]

Protected (Arno Dorian x Reader)

Prompt: Arno protects reader Pairing: Arno x Reader Warnings: Violence, angst, hurt/comfort

In the dimly lit alleyway, shadows danced and tension hung thick in the air. You found yourself backed into a corner, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and determination. The group of enemies before you wore wicked smirks, their menacing voices taunting you.

"Give us what we want, or we'll make sure you never see another sunrise," one of them snarled, brandishing a gleaming blade.

Just as despair threatened to consume you, a familiar voice cut through the darkness like a ray of light. "Laisse-la tranquille! (Leave them alone!)" Arno's voice rang out, his tone filled with fierce determination.

In that moment, hope surged within you as Arno emerged from the shadows, his figure exuding confidence and strength. He swiftly engaged the group of enemies, his movements fluid and precise, every strike delivered with purpose.

You watched in awe as Arno's assassin training unfolded before your eyes, his elegant combat style a symphony of calculated moves. He effortlessly disarmed his adversaries, their weapons clattering to the ground, while his agility allowed him to dodge their feeble attempts to retaliate.

As the last enemy fell, defeated and sprawled on the ground, Arno turned towards you, his eyes searching your face. Relief washed over him, a wave of emotion crashing against the walls of his stoic exterior.

"Je suis si soulagé que tu sois saine et sauve, (I’m so relieved that you’re safe and sound.)" Arno breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of exhaustion and genuine concern. "Are you hurt?"

You managed a weak smile, adrenaline still coursing through your veins. "I'm shaken, but I'll be alright thanks to you, Arno," you replied, your voice carrying a tremor of gratitude.

Without a second thought, Arno closed the distance between you, his arms encircling you in a protective embrace. The world faded away as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the comforting rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

"I cannot bear the thought of losing you," Arno murmured, his voice filled with raw emotion. "Tu es si précieux pour moi. (You’re so precious to me.)"

His words resonated deep within your heart, and you clung to him, finding solace in his strength and the warmth of his presence. The weight of the recent danger lifted from your shoulders as you reveled in the safety of his arms.

As the two of you stood in the aftermath of the battle, the street slowly regaining its usual rhythm, you felt an unspoken connection between you and Arno. In that moment, it was as if time stood still, the chaos of the world fading into the background, leaving only the bond that had been forged through shared struggles and unspoken understanding.

As you pulled away from the embrace, gratitude and admiration shone in your eyes. "Thank you, Arno," you whispered, your voice filled with reverence. "For being my protector, my guardian angel."

Arno's gaze softened, a tender smile gracing his lips. "I would do anything to keep you safe," he confessed, his voice carrying a gentle sincerity. "Tu es ma lumière, mon amour. (You are my light, my love.)"

In that moment, you knew that you were not alone in this treacherous world. You had found solace and sanctuary in the arms of Arno Dorian, an unwavering presence who would always be there to shield you from the darkness. And as the echoes of the night faded away, you walked forward, hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that you had found a love that would endure.

[jewels-writes]

Styling His Hair (Arno Dorian x Reader)

Prompt: fixing the other’s hairstlye to let their hands run through their partner’s hair Pairing: Reader x Arno Dorian Warnings: None

The morning sunlight streamed through the window of Arno Dorian's quarters, casting a warm glow over the room. As you entered, you couldn't help but notice the slight frown etched on his face as he struggled to tame his unruly locks in front of the mirror. His hands clumsily attempted to tame the rebellious strands, but they seemed to have a mind of their own.

Unable to resist the urge to help, you walked up behind Arno, a mischievous smile dancing on your lips. "Allow me to be of assistance, mon cher," you said in a playful tone, your fingers itching to run through his hair.

Arno turned to look at you, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Are you sure? I've been wrestling with this hair for years," he replied, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

You nodded, stepping closer to him. "Absolutely sure. Trust me, I have a way with hair," you reassured him, reaching for a brush on the nearby vanity.

With gentle strokes, you started to comb through Arno's tresses, your fingers gliding through the strands effortlessly. As you worked, you couldn't help but notice how he relaxed under your touch, his shoulders easing and his frown gradually melting away.

"It's quite therapeutic, isn't it?" you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as you continued to work through his hair.

Arno closed his eyes, surrendering to the sensation of your skilled hands. "I never realized how soothing it could be," he admitted, his voice soft.

You smiled, your touch becoming more playful as you teased and styled his hair. A giggle escaped your lips as you couldn't resist the urge to create a small braid amidst the tousled locks. "There, a little touch of flair," you said, admiring your handiwork.

Arno chuckled, his eyes still closed. "I never imagined I'd be subject to such styling, but I must admit, it's quite enjoyable," he admitted, his voice tinged with amusement.

You couldn't resist the urge to take it a step further. Your hands moved from his hair to his scalp, gently massaging his head with circular motions. The tension that had built up within him seemed to melt away as you continued the soothing motion.

His eyes fluttered open, a soft smile gracing his features. "You have a talent for this," he said, his voice filled with appreciation.

"It's a pleasure to see you relax," you replied, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Sometimes, we all need a little pampering."

As the minutes slipped away, you found yourselves lost in the moment, a comfortable silence enveloping the room. Your touch became lighter, the massaging motion slowing until it eventually stopped. Arno's hair was perfectly styled, and he looked more relaxed than ever.

"Thank you," Arno whispered, his voice filled with gratitude.

You gave him a playful wink. "Anytime, Arno. Just remember, I'm here to tame both your hair and your worries."

He chuckled, his eyes meeting yours. "I won't forget that. And perhaps, from now on, I'll leave the styling to the expert."