#bravo 0-6

[yumethefrostypanda]

Captain John Price

This mans shoulders AAaa! They sculpted him so well 🥹

[shadowbratt]

Mutual Friend

[patrollingboston]

Hiya! Could you write a fic where we have to share a bed with Price?

Much love ❤️

An awkward conversation // Price x reader fluff

guilty pleasure one bed trope, this is not meant to be realistic!

After completing gruelling week on a mission, You, Gaz, Soap and Price were headed back to the pickup location to take you all back to base. The conversations being shared were short and snappy due to everyone’s exhaustion. Gaz was fast asleep snoring like bear and it was driving you insane. Soap had earphones in as Captain Price drove along the long stretch of road ahead whilst you were directing him from the passenger seat.

A loud crackle buzzed through everyone’s radio; Gaz snapped awake as everyone focussed on the voice on the other end of the radio.

“Bravo 0-6?”

“Price, you there?”

“What is it Laswell?”

Price held down the button on his radio whilst his eyes remained focused on the road ahead. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel occasionally looking over at you. Everyone’s curiosity was peaked as the mission was over, why would Laswell need to contact them now?

“Nikolai has a problem with exfil, his helicopter has needed some uh, um emergency maintenance. We can’t fly you back to base until tomorrow morning, can you all find a motel nearby just to rest up for a night?”

“Oh, fucking hell- “

Gaz groaned, Soap joining him. You flopped your head back against the headrest in protest. Everyone just wanted to go home, sleep in their own beds, eat normal warm food and be alone.

“Is there no other option? I think we all just want to be back ASAP Laswell.”

“Fraid’ not, earliest we can get to you is 8am tomorrow.”

“Alright, we will sort something out.”

Price said taking his hand off the steering wheel for a second to rub his temples, you glanced over noticing how tired his eyes looked. Everyone’s did.

With that statement the radio cut off. Everyone’s eyes were on Price as he was magically going be able to solve the issue.

“Well, what’s the plan?”

Soap chimed in, peeking his head round from the back of the car.

“There’s a cheap motel not too far, look we aren’t going to be there long. It’s already late, it’s just to clean up and get some rest. I know it’s not ideal.”

“I’m sure we can survive one more night, at least it will be warm?”

You spoke, trying to lift the mood of your fellow soldiers only to be met by awkward silence.

Price tapped on his phone to get directions to the motel. He was right about needing to clean up. Everyone was in their gear, dirt and mud were splashed over everyone’s clothes and face.

“I miss real food.”

Gaz said, Soap nodded in agreement as he began bumbling on about a restaurant near his house.

10 minutes later the car pulled up into the carpark for the motel. There wasn’t much to say about it, it didn’t look too bad from the outside but in your current state of tiredness you would sleep in a bed made of cardboard.

“Gaz, Soap go get us rooms, we will unload the car.”

Price ordered, Gaz and Soap split off entering the reception as you and him began lugging in everyone’s duffel bags. It was quite sparse, a few potted plants and a strikingly red carpet that frankly was hurting your weary eyes.

“Cap? They only have 2 rooms.”

You placed the bag down you were carrying and peered over to soap who was stood speaking to the receptionist.

Price sighed so loudly you could hear it from across the room.

“Well, we can go two and two, or we can take a chance on the other motel, think it was about 20 minutes away.”

You stepped over the pile of bags to join the conversation.

“I don’t mind sharing, please I just want to shower and lie down.”

You said rubbing your eyes, smearing the warpaint from earlier.

“Who goes with who?”

You suddenly felt everyone’s gaze on you.

“You pick F/N you’re the only woman here.”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”

You teased as you watched Gaz’s face drop.

“No that’s not what I meant, c’mon.”

You weighed the pros and cons of each person in your head, quickly ruling out soap for how often he liked to flirt with people, that could never end well. Gaz was an option? But you recently discovered he snores and you needed sleep. That only left Price, your captain. You didn’t mind him, in fact over time you had grown quite fond of him despite his grumpy attitude and hat collection.

“I’ll go with Price.”

Price’s eyes widened ever so subtly; it seemed like he was taken back you chose him. His face quickly returned back to normal but you still managed to see the change in it.

A few moments later you stood outside in the hallway shoulder to shoulder with price as he wrestled with the dodgy room key.

“Sonofa- got it.”

He said before cracking a little smile and barging the door open.

You stepped inside looking at the (one again bright red) carpet laden with cigarette burns, you shrugged the bags onto the floor before going into the rest of the room and standing beside price who looked to be in deep in thought. You followed his gaze to find it.

One bed.

One bed that looks like it was made of concrete, with white ruffled sheets and 2 sad pillows.

Your stomach sunk, you had read about this in books and seen it in films and now it was happening to you.

You gulped loudly, praying Price didn’t sense your hesitation.

“I’ll sleep on the floor- “

He said sharply, it caught you off guard. What do you do now? Do you object? Do you share the bed? Do you let him stay on the floor?

“No, I know you’re just as tired as me, I don’t care, please.”

You said gesturing to the bed. He turned around and gave you a kind smile before he sat on the end and started removing his boots.

“I’m going to hop in the shower.”

He nodded as you stepped into the backroom locking the door behind you. That shower might have been the most heavenly experience of your life. Washing away weeks build-up of dirt on yourself. The warm water flowed down your back; you could have stayed in there forever. You stepped out wrapping the white towel around yourself as you reached for your bag. You searched through it trying to find something you could comfortably sleep in. Most stuff in there needed a wash as it was covered in dirt or sweat. You cursed under your breathe as you unlocked the bathroom door and peeked your head out.

“Hey Price?”

He was sat on the bed with his arms folded across his chest, intently watching the little crappy tv.

“Mhm?”

He said his gaze finding you, you could have sworn his eyes faltered and fell up and down you. Pushing back down the blush creeping up your cheeks you responded.

“Do you have anything I could sleep in? My stuff is all uh in need of a wash.”

“Oh, um let me look.”

He hopped off the bed and bent over to rummage around in his backpack before throwing you a khaki green shirt.

“That work?”

“Cheers.”

You closed the bathroom door again before changing into the shirt. It hung below your knees like a nightgown. It was so comfy compared to the mountains of gear you had been wearing for the previous week. It smelt like him too, it was comforting.

You walked into the room; Price had changed now. He was wearing a tight-fitting grey shirt and some baggy shorts. You had never seen him this casual, it was weird but you also liked it however you couldn’t deny how good he looked in his gear too but you would never let anyone know you thought this.

You peered over at the clock.

1:23

Price was just beginning to pull back the duvet on the left side of the bed. Would it be awkward if you did the same? God, it felt like watching an awkwardly married couple get into bed. You both climbed into the bed, the space between you was almost amusing, it was clear you were both trying to avoid one another.

“Night F/N.”

He grumbled, shuffling around to get comfy.

“Night!”

You chirped back, your voice slightly breaking in doing so.

The both of you were so tired you fell straight asleep.

 You woke up to some movement beside you in the early hours of the morning. Your eyes fluttered trying to gather your surroundings only to find yourself wrapped in someone’s arms. Realizing whose arms, it was you were torn on what to do. You decided to stay still, letting yourself take in the warmth. You lay there comfortably, his breathe tickling the top of your head as you fell asleep trying not to think about the awkward conversation this would lead to next morning.

[b1rds3ye]

Radio Silence

The mission required you to separate from the rest of Task Force 141 but when the operation is compromised, all he can do is listen to the panic through the comms until everything goes silent.

Pairings: Captain John Price x GN!Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader Reader Aliases: Breeze (Callsign), Bravo 1-5 (Squad-Member Code) Genre: Angst (open-ended), Drama Warning: Descriptions of violence/crashes, blasphemy/religious references, (probably) inaccurate military terms Word Count: 3k (~1.5k each)

Captain John Price

The captain was not a superstitious man, but when you’re on the battlefield, you take all the good fortune you can get. With age he’s picked up a range of small habits and lucky paraphernalia to get him through the mission; an aged penny in his left breast pocket, a four leaf clover stored in another, he finds himself reciting the lord’s prayer even though he’s not particularly religious (and if there is a god he’d like to personally go up and sock them across the face).

When you noticed his little rituals, you added on a good luck charm of your own - his favourite by far. A quick peck on the cheek followed by a teasing little “good luck, captain” in his ear. Price swears there’s something divine in your affection, it does wonders for his morale and efficiency. He thought nothing of it the first few times, but when he realised that this little gift of yours was here to stay, he started to reciprocate in kind when the others weren’t looking. His soul has become tainted over the years - if anything a kiss from him should be a bad omen - but your beaming smile in response convinces him that maybe he’s given you some luck your way.

And perhaps that’s why, after your ritual good luck kiss, he feels a little more than bothered when Laswell calls you away before he can reciprocate. You notice the slight furrow of his eyebrows and laugh, telling him not to worry and that you’ll see him on the other side. The hold you had on his arm disappears as you pull away, bidding him and the rest of the Task Force good luck as you join your own squadron. Price then returns to commandeering his own men, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind. Perhaps you need that extra little bit of luck today.

Price hates how good his intuition can be.

“Bravo 0-6, do you copy?”

With his squadron grounded and on the perimeter of the site, he stiffens at the tone of your voice. That’s not how you usually sound like over comms, that hint of uncertainty didn’t suit you.

“Loud and clear, in position of Site A.”

“Copy, we’re at the compound but… we’ve got company.”

“Al-Qatala?”

“No, looks like Al-Qatala is buddy-buddy with some mercs and- shit.”

“Breeze, what are you seeing?”

“How’d they get us surrounded…?” You mutter more to yourself than to Price but his blood runs cold regardless.

“Bravo 1-5 you are to fall back and wait for backup-”

He’s cut off by various layers of static but he’s learnt to decipher them. The deeper base of the rustle of fabric as you manoeuvre, the sharp trill of gunshots all overlaying the white noise of distant shouting.

“Price, our exits are blocked, they knew we’d be here, how’d they- Corporal! Fuck, stay with me! We’re dropping like flies here. Bravo-1, we’ve got no choice, we have to push through, full offensive!”

He hears the screams of nearby soldiers. While he’s grateful none of them are yours, he knows that the ride back to base will be a rough one regardless. He feels the eyes of his subordinates burn holes into him and the walkie talkie. Gaz, who was beside him, was the only one moving, animatedly talking to Laswell and filling her in on the situation.

“Bravo 1-5-”

There’s an audible sigh on your end that shuts him up.

Through the time it has taken for Price to become captain, he’s learned a lot the hard way. One of the most important things he’s learned is that earning Lady Luck’s favour is more crucial than any skill for the battlefield. Some of the best he’s ever seen has fallen because they pissed her off somehow, but he still never expected her to shun you.

“Just my luck…” your voice starts off quiet as you curse to yourself. A gulp breaks up your panting as you stabilise your breathing. Your next words are far too calm.

“I’m sorry, Price.”

“Sergeant.” Price’s voice was low, cautious. A warning. He knows how you fight, he knows you don’t do anything extreme unless the situation he calls for it, and once again he’s praying to the unknown that it hasn’t come to that.

“I said next time we hit the pub with the 141 that the first round will be on me but I don’t think I can make that.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Breeze.”

“The merc company goes by Order of Ashes.”

Your words are becoming harder to hear as the explosions seem to be getting closer and closer. Gaz is becoming louder, literally screaming into his comms as he near begs for an evac for your squadron. The rest of his team is becoming restless. Price’s grip tightens impossibly tight on the walkie talkie, any tighter and he could probably crush the metal.

“Rain hell on them for me, yeah?”

Price starts calling for your name, only to be interrupted by a deafening static that has him reeling from his own technology. Inexperienced privates that surrounded him flinched at the sound while Gaz fell silent. Soon Price’s walkie talkie falls silent too.

He brings his hand up to activate communications again, a tentative check in.

“Bravo 1-5, do you copy?”

He waits for a moment.

“Fuck. Breeze? Do you copy?”

The next time he calls out to you is the first time he’s hesitant, to the untrained ear he sounded as strong as ever but to him he recognises how his own voice wavers. A gentle call of your actual name, the last resort.

Silence.

Price gives you a few more seconds to answer, each moment more damning than the last. Gaz sends a concerned look his way but words fail him. He’s a good sergeant but his inexperience is showing. He hasn’t fully mastered the poker face, not like Price has. 

Eventually he lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, counting each racing heartbeat it takes until it has marginally slowed.

Gaz instinctively straightened up, he didn’t need to see Price’s face to know his captain was transforming before his very eyes. Price adjusts his hat, looking at the rest of his team under the brim.

“Alright, we’ve got double the work and half the manpower. No time to lose, I want this site cleared within the hour, and then we're finding our other half."

With affirmatives all round, the soldiers get to work and so does Price. To the untrained eye, he’s calm, eerily so. As captain, Price can’t afford to lose his cool, it’ll bleed over and smother his team, blanket them in a tense atmosphere of panic and uncertainty. So he stays resolute, acting as the team’s anchor as he guides them towards the objective with precision.

The only emotion that breaks his facade is anger. Pure, unbridled rage that casts a frightening glaze over his eyes. His allies can see it as Price stomps towards the entrance of the site. Al-Qatala most certainly feel it as their lackeys are pummeled to the ground, bones cracking against stone and tiles. They’re not gifted the mercy of a quick bullet, but the pain of slowly bleeding out with broken bones, bruised bodies and limbs jutting out in all the ways they should not. Every bruising punch, every bullet delivered does little to quell the raging storm within him. It brings him closer to the mission objective but it doesn’t bring him closer to you, and that’s the only thing that matters right now. There’s no hostages, no chance of salvation for his enemies. Any form of good will in Price was taken away when you were taken away from him. He hopes whatever god that sees the carnage he’s inflicted knows that it is only a taste of what to come if he ever meets that poor sod.

When his side of the operation is done and the squadron is now leaving the site, Price returns to his comms. He needs to address the other half of the mission, you. Suddenly his tongue feels thick in his mouth as his throat tightens. His collar is suffocating.

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher-1 do you copy?”

Laswell’s voice rings out.

“Affirmative. We’ve already dispatched birds to Bravo-1’s location, we’ll do what we can and sort out that compound.”

“Do me one more thing. Find me everything you can on the ‘Order of Ashes’. I want names, locations, families, the whole fucking mile.”

“Can do. … Is this for Breeze?”

“Breeze wanted me to rain hell on them…”

Price’s voice is low as he puts a cigar in his mouth. He lights it up, even when the cigar smokes he keeps the lighter on. His eyes narrow at the flickering flame, fixated on it for a moment longer. He’s never been a particularly superstitious man, but he’s asking for Lady Luck to be on his side once again. For the slim chance that you’re somewhere out there, breathing. He’s never been worthy of her favour, but you damn well are so surely she’ll put that into account. She’ll consider that you still have a lot to do, you still have a good luck kiss that Price needs to return. He puts his lighter away.

“... and I intend to deliver.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost preferred his quieter missions. Others feel safer when in a team but more people mean more variables, and more variables mean more fuck ups, and heavens know he’s had enough of those. For Ghost, the less, the better. And yet, when it came to 141, and in particular to you, he’d pick company over going solo in a heartbeat.

Reconnaissance missions were a personal favourite, they were quiet, less violent if done right and often required only a few people. Of course his first person of choice is you, even if you’d always call these missions an “impromptu date” and then chastise him for not planning something more extravagant just to rile him up.

Even now, when you two were starting on opposite sides of the target site a good few kilometres apart, you were connected through communications. He’d listen as you ramble about anything and everything on your mind when the mission gets quiet. It was endearing, it was soothing. Ghost never thought he’d find someone like you with the power to give him a respite even when on duty - or if he ever deserved such a thing. And yet here he was, sitting against a wall, waiting for further instructions from Laswell as you started the purely hypothetical debate on who in the 141 would best survive the zombie apocalypse.

“Honestly, with a mask like yours you could probably blend in with the horde. 10 out of 10 you’d last your entire life like that.”

“Surrounded by brain dead morons? Already have that.”

He heard your laugh that you tried to mask as an exaggerated scoff.

“How long do you think I’d last?”

“One hour at most.”

“Oh come on Ghost, have a bit more faith in me.”

“All Bravo to Watcher-1, we’re awaiting further action, copy.”

As Laswell replies, Simon can already imagine your offended expression as he changes the topic.

“Bravo-1 this is Watcher-1, you are all clear to close in on the perimeter. Do not engage, just tell us what you see.”

“Watcher-1 this is Bravo 1-5, I’m already seeing hostiles.”

Ghost stills, his hand reaching back up to the comms. You’ve always managed to keep it cool but he heard how your sentence ended with a slight waver. It was too early for speculation, but the alarm bells were already going off in his head. The enemy should be clustered within the site, nowhere near where you currently are.

“I’m counting a dozen men, a couple of trucks and- that’s looking like some impressive cargo.”

There’s some extra static as Ghost finds his pace increasing. He won’t be able to reach you soon, but it doesn’t stop his legs from moving towards the site.

“They’re moving quickly, they’ve got an agenda.”

“Stay frosty, Breeze.”

“Got it, Simon.”

Your voice is more of a whisper now, almost blending in with the static. Was the enemy that close to you already?  Usually, he loved when you used his actual name. Everyone calls him ‘Ghost’ even off-duty, but you were proper enough to at least always call him by his callsign in battle. You were getting spooked and he was too far away to even try and comfort you.

It was a strain to unclench his balled fists. He wasn’t going to have a mission go wrong, at least not one that involved you. He’d be damned if something took you out before him, because he refused to return to a life where you weren’t yapping his ear off.

“Breeze, head back to exfil.”

“Fuck, they’re heading this way.”

If you found a good place to hide, Ghost could reach you before any enemy did. He had to.

“I’m heading towards your position. E.T.A 20 minutes.”

“Ghost, my spot is now crawling with hostiles. I know you’re a one man army but I think you’re pushing it this time.”

Your laugh was different this time. It wasn’t as hearty as the one he heard before, it was a weak wheeze. Half-hearted, the sound of a bitter and quiet defeat. He could hear your rugged breathing against the end of the mic. If he was actually with you, he’d stand beside you in moments like this, letting you put your body weight on him discreetly as he anchored you to the world. His gloved hand instinctively curls as he imagines himself holding onto your arm.

“Breeze, stay with me. Focus on the objective.”

“You owe me a proper date after this, Ghost.”

“Then make sure you get back in one piece-”

The comms are disrupted with a voice that Ghost can’t recognise, with you returning an indistinguishable shout and a curse. He can’t help calling your name into the comms, only to hear the static of indescribable commotion, bodies shuffling and the harrowing crack of broken bones and limbs. It escalates into a deafening crescendo spanning only a few seconds before the grand finale of a thump of a fallen body. The transmission ends with a damning click. He stops in his tracks before he returns to the comms.

“Breeze? How copy?”

The line has gone dead. Ghost slams his fist into the nearest wall, but it does little to quell the pain from within.

“Bravo this is Watcher-1, what’s your status?”

Ghost pauses at Laswell’s request, he wants you to be the one who replies on his behalf, you usually do. Never did a moment feel so heavy, outweighing his military gear and weapons, almost bringing the hulking man to his knees. His hand reluctantly comes up to activate his walkie talkie. He takes his sweet time, giving you the chance to interrupt. When he finally speaks, his voice is slow as he draws out every syllable, every pause a desperate invitation for you to speak up.

“Bravo 1-5 is M.I.A.”

Laswell is silent on the other side. Ghost lets his head tilt back until it rests on the wall beside him, the guilt made his skull too heavy. With that sentence alone he felt like your executioner, as if he just brought the possibility of you being gone into reality. The only thing he can hear now is the slight rustle of grass against the wind, a backdrop to the rhythmic bass of his pounding heartbeat. This was a typical ambience for solo missions, and Ghost was used to being alone.

But lonely? He had forgotten how it felt ever since you barged into his life. And now that the feeling has returned, he forgot just how utter shit it feels.

“We’re sending immediate backup to their position. We’ll meet you there.”

But by the time he and the squadron make it to your position, there are only the remnants of a battle left in your wake. A few unrecognised bodies are slumped against the walls, furniture is overturned, and dried blood paints the floor as a macabre dye. Most - if not all - of this must have been your handiwork, and if it was any other circumstance Ghost would feel proud, but you’re not beside him for him to praise you. That being said, there is no sign of you, and that leaves him optimistic, but the other soldiers seemed to think differently.

“You know, they say Al-Qatala never takes prisoners,” one jittery private said to another.

“What’re you trying to say? I've seen the Sergeant. Breeze is tough.”

“I’m just saying, even if we can’t find their body they’re probably d-”

“That’s enough,” Ghost snaps his head to them, eyes alight with a rage usually reserved only for his worst enemies. His voice is near unrecognisable, more akin to a growl than any human sound. He will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of you or doubting your capabilities as a soldier. He tells himself he does it for your honour, nothing more, nothing less. He disregards the selfish need for you to return to him as it wittles him down to the bone and contorts his face to a scowl concealed under his mask.

The soldiers hurriedly salute before exiting the room, leaving the lieutenant alone, shoulders and chest heaving before he moves to continue the search.

The team returns empty handed, but that means nothing to Ghost. Even as he’s issued new missions he does not falter. He fights with the same brutality, killing his enemy before they can kill him because he needs to return home. Return home so he can organise a covert mission of his own - retrieving you. No matter the rank or squadron that separates you, no matter if you’re shipped out to the other side of this godforsaken earth, you two are a team. Combat has hardened Ghost into a brutally honest man, many would call him a pessimist, but a stubborn voice in the back of his mind refuses to believe that you’re gone. You’ve always been a tough nut to crack, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be dating him. He’s seen you stare death in the eyes only for you to stand back up beside him. And so he faces forward and doesn’t look back. Because until he has to rip off the freezing metal of a dog tag from your neck, he swears on his stone cold heart that you’re still out there. Maybe a little tattered, perhaps even broken, but living.

Call of Duty Masterlist

[blingblong55]

Mistake -141

Based on a request:

I've got a request for you! I got lost in my thoughts and thought of a prompt so sorry if it's a bit jumbled lol So it's like a wrong place wrong time kind of thing where the reader is mistaken for an enemy, and taken to the base. Maybe interrogated a bit before the 141 are told they have the actaul enemy on they way to them and they're like 'then who tf is this....oh shit....'

GN!Reader, angst, civilian!reader, mentions of torture.

141, one of the best military groups the British military has. As always, they have a target to chase after, this time it's in a small town. Their informant let them know it would be a person dressed in a completely different attire than they were used to. You happened to be walking back from your boring job when you passed their location.

"Bravo 0-6, we have eyes on the target," Gaz said over the radio. "Roger that," Price responded, Within seconds you felt as if someone was chasing you. And having that you watched a crime documentary the night before, you quickly thought of a way out. You walked normally but stayed in well-lit areas. The men thought you were just trying to play along with your facade. "Don't let 'em get away," Soap said from his location, his snipe pointed at you. You grabbed your pocket knife and held it in your hand. You walked faster towards a more public road. "Quick, Ghost!" Price ordered. You heard footsteps getting closer and closer.

You ran away, not daring to look back once. You took many detours until you were close to a nearby church, Church service had started but before you could even reach it, Ghost tackled you. "Don't hurt me!" you told him, your hands held high. He took your knife away and pointed his gun at your head, "Why the hell were you running?" You tried to stay calm but two other men approached you, Gaz and Price with their own guns pointed at you. "Soap, you got visual?" Price asked over the radio. "Yes, Sir" was the response, a red dot on your chest. You panicked.

"No please, you are mistaken." your desperate voice pleaded. "That's what they all say." Price growls and Gaz and Ghost drag you back to their temporary base. The entire way there, you cried and begged to be let go. "You have the wrong person, please I'm innocent!" you cried. Soap aggressively cupped your face, "Yer shut the fuck up, ye hear me?"

At base, they threw you to a mattress in an empty room. Wrists tied to the other, ankles tied as well. Your teary face looking at them. Your body is littered with lacerations. Limbs are weak but they wouldn't stop hitting you. You cry, "Please...I beg of you...please stop this" You receive another punch to the abdomen. "Don't you understand we will keep this up, you fucking killer." Gaz held a knife to you. Over the radio, the Delta team came on. "Bravo six, this is Delta 0-5, how copy?"

"This is Bravo six," Price said, his eyes piercing yours. "We found 'em, and are on our way back to base." Ghost gave Price a questioning look. Both men stepped outside of the room, leaving the two sergeants with you. "What do you mean you have the person with you, Delta Five?"

"All features you told us to look for, this person has it and they have admitted to being the subject."

"Fuckin' 'ell." Ghost murmured and rushed inside. "Sergeants, step away." He commanded. "Ghost they are talking now."

"Step away from the civilian, Soap," he advises and approaches you with caution. He kneels in front of you and unties you, "Are you alright?" He asks you with a soft tone. You were too weak to move, all you could do was stare. Whimpers of pain filled the room once Price walked back in and took a look at the injuries they had caused. "C'mon, we have to rush them to the medics." Your vision blurred. In all his years of being a soldier, Price had a day he regretted the most. And that was today, hurting an innocent, treating them as if they were the scum of the Earth. What fucked him up the most? The fact you died on the bed of the medical tent. Your body is weak, blood on the floor and how you died innocent and young, a poor civilian taken hostage, begging to be let out and no one heard.

That day, Task Force 141 lost another piece of their sanity, another stitch with emotions and another shattered glass to the oath they took to protect civilians. Ghost added you to his book of names, the list of all those he lost to war, by his hands, or by the cruelty his job brought. Another soul that Gaz ripped away because of orders, ones he always followed without question. Soap, the one who had the most blood on his hands, now regretted not listening to his instincts.

[kivino]

KIVI, YOU SWEET ANGEL YOU.

can you write a price x gn!paramedic!reader where price is on leave, and maybe he gets into a car accident that isn’t too bad so he refuses to go to the hospital, but the cute paramedic keeps insisting on at least checking him out in the ambulance……….. 😋

DOUBLE VISION || JOHN 'BRAVO 0-6' PRICE X PARAMEDIC!GN!READER

Word counter – ~1.9k

Tags/Warnings – mentions of car crash, intoxication, medical examinations, fluff, first meeting, and lack of medical professionalism, lmao.

A/n – PLSS I HOPE YOU LIKE IT POOKIE, IT TOOK ME A HOT MINUTE TO GET TO THE REQUEST I’M SORRY MWAH. also credits for the name go to @mockerycrow as well, they’re a genious and have the biggest brain out of the two of us.

ao3 link for this fic

It’s always a slow process for John - getting used to the slow, civilian ways when he finally gets his leaves approved. When he spends so much time on the field, more often than not he starts to forget about “the other side” of life. Lack of noise, mundane mornings, and silent nights come and with them, the all-encompassing feeling of loneliness starts to set in his gut. John gets reminded about the lack of anyone’s presence in his life. No one is waiting for him back home, and no one will probably be any time soon, with how work takes over most of his free time. And then the captain remembers he’s not getting any younger.

Of course, he had plenty of experience and relationships before, but none of them lasted until now when his hair was already graying and wrinkles were starting to riddle his face here and there. John wasn’t insecure about his age, no, because that would be foolish, really, rather it was the fact that he had no one to share with all the years that were ahead of him.

What John also had a hard time getting used to was driving the busy streets of London with its crazy drivers after months of not getting behind the wheel, which brings him to this moment. Well, it really was on him for trying to get somewhere after happy hour in all the pubs in the area ended, he should’ve probably anticipated some drunk idiot would want to drive back home today. John wasn’t in the right headspace at the moment to fill out all the paperwork and figure out who was in the wrong. His thoughts were far away from here. Probably all the impact from the airbag and the hit.

He’s had it worse before, of course, so some bruises and scratches here and there wasn’t something he couldn’t handle. John felt some pulsing pain in his knee, making it harder to stand upright, and a bit of an ache in his neck from the whiplash, but again, it wasn’t as bad as getting thrown into the wall by an explosion or falling out of a damn helicopter.

So now he has to spend the whole evening working out things with the police and that drunk idiot who bumped into him, freezing his ass off in the rain. Just perfect. John feels a surge of annoyance and exhaustion wash over him, he pinches his brow, letting out an impatient sigh. Cops have arrived on the scene already and started examining the two collided vehicles, after putting around some traffic cones so some other lucky fellas don’t decide to join in on the fun. From his spot on the sidewalk, John can also see the paramedics, who had to get involved because as soon as cops started questioning that drunk guy, he decided to scrunch into himself and show the world all the contents of his stomach. As if it needed to get even more complicated than it already was.

“Excuse me, sir? You’re the other…driver involved in the accident?” John suddenly hears a voice, a bit on the quiet side, which brings him out of his thoughts that involve strangling somebody in a variety of different ways. And oh, his nights instantly become tens, if not thousands of times better when he sees the owner of said voice.

Judging by the identifying markings you were a paramedic, and a very cute one at that, with your dull green uniform and a big jacket on, brows tied together in a concerned expression. Oh, and your eyes, they looked absolutely lovely in the low streetlights. Price is taken aback for the moment, forgetting every word in his vocabulary. He feels his heart starting to beat faster, blood flowing through his veins so fast he’s sure if it wasn’t for the evening darkness he’d most likely resemble a tomato. But then John realizes he must say something because just staring at you would just make him seem like some old creep. And he absolutely didn’t want that.

“Yes, that would be me.” He speaks up after clearing his throat. You nod to that, attentive gaze still on him. John then adds on after a short pause, which took him to let out a deep sigh. “You need me for anything?” Anything. Something. Please.

“Just checking up.” John feels his heart melt at that small smile that grazes your lips, making it obvious you’re satisfied with his answer. “You seem to be holding up better than the other driver.” You joke in an attempt to either lighten up the mood, which John appreciates, or to calm yourself a bit. It didn’t escape him how you seemed a little shaky. It was Friday night, so today’s shift might have been rough on you. Always the Friday nights.

“Well, anyone would hold up better than that bloke.” He jokes with a bit of abandon, a low chuckle escaping his lips, as he starts to overthink himself. John suddenly feels like a dumb teenager, which is never a good sign, especially when there is someone he’s interested in right in front of him. Price feels like his laugh is too rough, stance is too relaxed and everything is just a bit too much when your eyes are on him. Oh, he’s so going to embarrass himself.

“True, but let’s not tell him that.” You give a quiet laugh and John’s worries die down a little. Not completely, but enough to let his eyes get glued to your face. “How are you feeling? Is there any abnormal pain, anything unusual or out of the ordinary?” Oh, so you’re the type to get straight to business, huh? Interesting. Price liked that. “If there’s anything wrong we’ll get you right to the hospital.” Price declined when he got asked about the hospital before by another paramedic because there was no way he was going to spend even more time out of his house because of some minor scratches. But if it meant you’ll be there, he’s calling dibs on the seat beside you in the ambulance truck, dear lord.

“My knee’s complaining a bit, love.” John can see your eyes going as big as two shiny coins when you hear that pet name, which, to be fair, slipped out completely unintentionally. However, by the way you instantly light up in another shy smile, he can tell you don’t really mind it, so his nervousness caused by this… “happy accident”, comes down again. “Some bruises, but I’m not about to hold you up because of those.”

“Oh, well, that’s alright, come with me and I can check you out…” You stutter over your words while talking a bit too quickly and once you understand what you said, an annoyed groan comes out of you. Way to embarrass yourself. “I mean, check your knee out in the ambulance, alright?” You again shoot him a smile. Which probably is in vain, since he’s a patient at the moment, and you’re at work, and that’s very much frowned upon, but what can you do? You don’t meet a man like that everywhere. He looks a bit rough around the edges, but that’s part of the charm.

“I’m sure your hands are already full with that hero of the day over there, I’m good.” What. The fuck. Are you doing. John. The only chance he gets to talk to you and he’s blowing it, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know why he said that. Maybe not to seem desperate in a very self-sabotaging way, but that’s just. Oh, John, you’re too old for playing some damn games with someone you like.

“You know what? I insist.” Your voice is lower and rougher. And when you top it off with another one of your sweet smiles and a gentle touch on his shoulder? John is a gone man. Turning into a much, a putty, if you will. God, for this perfect smile he was ready to smash and repair every single house appliance and pipe in your house.

“Alright then. Anything for you, love, lead the way.” And you did, with your hand resting softly on his back, helping him forward. John wished you would’ve been bolded with your touch, so he could feel more than just a light graze, but still. It felt good.

And then he finds himself in the back of the ambulance truck, this cramped, tiny space making him hold his breath from being so goddamn nervous in your presence. You told him to take a seat while rummaging through some cabinets and various medical bags for something. Seemingly not finding anything that you needed you spoke up to him again.

“Okay, now let me see your knee, sir.” You mumbled while kneeling in front of him, your eyes concentrated on the man. He didn’t mind you calling him sir at all. John was so used to being called that, but right now it just spread that very pleasant warm feeling inside of him.

“Well, I’m not taking my pants off. Not without a dinner first.” Price chuckled, as he tried rolling up one of his pants legs. And, well, his statement wasn’t that far from the truth. The whole deal with examination was a bit awkward to begin with, so he didn’t want to make it even worse.

“I’ll think about it, big guy.” You chuckle, as you finally start looking at his knee, small, feather-light touches sending sparks over Price’s skin. So, you enjoyed teasing him like that, huh? In combination with that nice, sweet smile? Oh, John is sold. He definitely should you invite somewhere while he still has time on his leave. But before he can open his mouth to make a brave offer you speak up again. “Looks like you have a minor sprain in here, your knee’s all swollen. I’ll apply some elastic bandages, that you’re going to have to wear for some time and redo yourself. But overall you seem to be doing good” Price couldn’t help but feel like that last remark wasn’t about his health.

“Yeah. Yeah. That’s all fine with me, love. Do what you have to.” You only nod in response, spending some time rummaging in the cupboards once again and emerging victorious with a roll of elastic bandages in your hands. You return to your previous position in front of John, and adjust his knee with a firm hand, mumbling a quiet “Hold still, please”. Oh, he’d freeze for centuries if you had asked him to. But he does, and as you wrap the bandage around his knee, which just kept pulsing with hot pain, he couldn’t help but admire you. The trained movements, the concentrated gaze, the warm touch…Maybe he really should act on his thoughts. Maybe it’s his chance. Maybe something can work out and this accidental meeting will become…something more.

Price wanted it to become something more.

His imagination ran rampant, picturing you wearing some nice and fancy, in case you do agree on a date. John totally should not be thinking this when you were right there, finally putting some finishing touches on his knee bandaging, so he forced them out of his mind and cleared his throat. Here goes nothing. But before Price can even utter a single sound you’re already being called over by your colleague. Guess he’ll just have to wait until you’re free of your duties, huh?

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[rainslices]

bravo 0-6 goin dark

[dtrghost]

closeness and proximity part.3

pairing: ghost x f!reader

synopsis: callsign is sunshine, because you're anything but. team 141 thought ghost was bad? at least they could crack a smile out of the guy from time to time, you? you were stone faced, all day, every day. until one day you're not, not with a certain someone anyway.

warnings: inaccurate military language and sequences, angst, allusions to mental illness (reader has sociopathic tendencies) you get the gist. Finally some fluff and emotional stuff between them so yaaayyy.

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT:

word count: 2.6k

The drive back was quiet. Price drove back with Gaz and had Soap drive Ghost and Y/N. He sat in the backseat next to her, growing genuinely concerned for her mental wellbeing. The more she thought about it, about the sudden flood of emotions from a small moment in a dirty, humid bar, the more she remembered. The quicker she'd sent herself back into that room to relive those moments again, the ones she never told a soul about.

Simon had to pull her out once more in the duration of the car ride, talking with Soap and forcing her into the conversation to take her mind off of it by asking her weird, off topic questions that she answered. They got back to base and she attempted to split away from the group to her room, only to be yanked back with a serious look from her comrade.

They sat her down at the dinner table, and she suddenly felt small. She felt like she was being interrogated with the eyes of 4 staring at her intently, waiting for her to say something. Yet she didn't, she stayed quiet for 3 minutes, glancing around the room and sighing irritatedly.

"Well. Are you going to tell us or not." Ghost pressed, leaning forward in his chair next to her. She scoffed, chuckling out of anger, the sound running shivers up their spines.

"What the hell is this. You're not my fucking therapists, so quit trying to act like it." She spat, her eyes full of fire and rage.

"You listen here muppet. It's one thing for you to be angry and violent out on missions, but it's a whole other when you lash out at us." Her eyes narrowed at him, watching the flames of determination and vexation dancing, growing. She was lost in them for a moment, the others completely confused about the sudden moment they were sharing. Simon couldn't describe the urge to help her, to get her to open up to them.

Maybe he was just too curious, but what about the slip up in the bar?

love?

She had none, that he felt sure of. Sympathy maybe, a simple attempt to ground her, that's all it was.

He saw something as he read past her rage, it was small and fleeting, a light. A flicker of a candle, but this one wasn't out of anger, it was soft, gentle.

The phone rang, interrupting them as Price pulled out his phone.

"This is Price how copy?" He listened before his eyes landed on her, and just like that, the candlelight disappeared, blown out and left like it was a figment of his imagination. Now there was a void, a shell of human ready to serve and follow her orders. All of her anger dissipated as she rose from her seat. "Rog." He hung up and sighed, looking at her with a sorrowful look, one that she didn't register nor care for.

"You and Ghost have orders to be shipped out to a distribution hub in Amsterdam, you'll fly in a heli and drive the rest of the way. Your chopper will be here in 20 minutes."

"Affirm." She stormed out after that, pissed off by what had just occurred. She angrily threw her civilian mask off to the side and yanked on her work one, strapping on her vest and clipping her gear.

"This is Sunshine, Bravo 0-7 confirm channel." She spoke into her radio, adjusting her gear to her liking, making it tight and in hands reach.

"Bravo 0-7 confirmed." His voice echoed in her room, earning a sigh of irritation as she turned to look at him. He was geared up, making him look thicker than he already was with the extra padding. Instead of taking him she shoved past him, earning a 'tch' as he grabbed her arm, yanking her back to look at him.

"What the fuck is your problem?" She was angry at him. Not at the team, not at headquarters, at him. Why after all these years he suddenly cared. After all the missions they went on together, all the looks she didn't understand or the fleeting moments where she felt something more than anger or a void nothingness. He could see her confusion, making him sigh and put a hand on his hip as a hand lifted to try and sooth her down.

"I'm just trying to help-"

"I don't need your fucking help. So back off." He watched her stomp away.

"Bloody Americans." He muttered, falling into step with her. She remained silent the whole ride there, from when they landed, she was to carride. He watched her, watched as flickers of emotion passed through her gaze. 6 years of pent up feelings did something to people, he knew that better than anyone, and because of that he knew she was going to crack soon, and it was going to be his fault.

He would continue to push until one day she snapped, whether she'd cry or scream or throw a punch at him, he would be there, he had to be. He recalled the nights he'd spent with her in the last few years, where they barely talked but rather absorbed each other's presence as they cleaned their weapons or read through mission briefs. When they did talk it was meaningless, it served no benefit, no new information learned about each other, but it was comforting. He felt comfort in her coldness at the time, maybe because there was someone just as fucked up as he was.

She thought about it often too, the time they spent together on missions, how it ran smoother with him around. She didn't understand the sensations she'd get around him, the heat that burned in her chest, her face. How if she thought about him at night while he slept on the hard floor next to her, she'd press her legs together because of the heat that festered there too. She knew what desire was, she was aware of the need for pleasure, but she never indulged. What was the point if it were not with him? And in her mind she would never be with him, she wasn't good enough for that, she wasn't there, enough for something so intimate.

She knew that maybe she could live a more normal life if she had let him help her, but everything was so on and off. During the ride there she'd think, maybe she would let him help, that wouldn't be so bad. Then she'd snap out of it and be angry with herself for even allowing that thought to cross her mind. She watched a safe house appear from beyond the trees.

"We're stopping here for the night. Intel says the shipment doesn't come until tomorrow." Their driver informed them. They filed out of their cars and distributed themselves to their assigned rooms, and lo and behold, she was forced to share with Ghost. Simon watched her sigh deeply and nod, following her to their shared room.

"Go shower first." He commanded, and she obeyed without a word. She was too exhausted to fight with him. She'd spent the whole way there trying to figure out her shit before it began to affect her performance, and it killed her. She was far off the mark, easily irritated, snappy. She hoped it would wash off in the shower, and she took deep breaths while staring at herself in the mirror, hoping to turn it all off like she did before.

But she couldn't, she'd look and see anger, or a foreign feeling she didn't have a name for. Sadness? No, she had nothing to be sad about. So she huffed, exiting the bathroom to see Simon waiting patiently on his cot. She didn't spare him a glance and laid down on hers, staring up at the ceiling as he analyzed her for a moment, getting no reaction to his intense stare.

He left for his shower, and she listened to his clothes drop, letting her mind wander to what he looked like underneath them.

It was a better distraction than negativity, it made her feel something more enticing, until she was left sexually frustrated. She listened to him shower. The way the water would hit the floor in ripples, imagining how his skin shined and dripped, the coolness of the substance and how they hit his scars. Yeah, this was a better thought. She stayed there, in that moment, even after he walked out.

He snapped his fingers in front of her face, earning a glare from her.

"What're you thinkin' about now then?" He questioned, grunting as his big frame hit his bed. She didn't respond, and he didn't expect her to, likely because she was still mad at him.

"You in the shower." His head turned to her slowly, flabbergasted by what he was hearing. He listened to the melody of her voice as her shoulders shook. For the first time since they met, she laughed, truly. She found his reaction hilarious, how wide his eyes got in horror and... hope? She found that funny too, so funny she doubled over the side, cackling like a mad woman.

"Jesus fuckin' christ." Simon sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose for a moment before laughing himself. He couldn't help it, she just had one of those laughs that forced you to laugh too, the wheeze, the gasps for air as she hit her stomach and fell onto the floor.

"Sunshine, you're gonna die of a heart attack at this rate." He spoke to her, watching her wipe the tears forming in her eyes as she took a deep breath, sitting on her floor.

"I hate you, ya know." She confessed suddenly, surprising him as he looked at her curiously.

"You piss me off, you fucked me up. Don't understand anything anymore. Spent the whole day trying to put myself back together and it's just-" She mimicked an explosion, her hands dropping heavily onto her lap. He sat up, sitting down on the floor in front of her with his knee facing up to rest in his arm on.

"Well if you tell me about it, maybe I can put some things into perspective for you." He offered. He watched her mental battle, the conflict blazing through her skull. He could practically see them floating around her head like a thunderstorm.

"Oh fuckin' hell, just say it. You're thinking too much." She huffed, letting her head fall back as she stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"I can't. I can't explain it. After I got out, I didn't understand much of anything, they tried to wipe me, break me in a way others couldn't by making me forget myself and replace it with what they wanted. But I was rescued before that could happen. I was thrown back in before I could fully recover, because I had a skill set others didn't."

"Things came back in fragments, pieces of my past came back to me, and I realized that maybe it was better that I didn't remember. That if I stayed a shell I wouldn't have anymore emotion burdens than I already did. But it was too late, and it all came back to me one night in shambles. From birth to that moment, everything. I couldn't handle it, so I turned it off, I reverted back to this technique I learned while I was kidnapped, and from then I could never turn it back on." He knew what she was referring to.

Autopilot, where your mind went blank and your body operated on it's own. You couldn't feel anything, you just did what you had to.

"Then I met you. And at first that was fine. You were just another soldier that I had to work with, and then we talked that one night, and talked some more the next. And feelings began to surface on their own. I don't know what it is, excitement maybe? All I knew was that I wanted to talk to you, I looked forward to it, I got these weird feelings in my gut whenever I did."

Was she confessing to a crush... on him? She didn't care. What she did or did not confess to wasn't a concern. He asked and he was receiving.

"And then you started caring, out of nowhere. Years went by and suddenly a few days ago, after I skinned someone alive and you found out some rough shit happened to me, you changed. It made me angry, because I hate feeling, especially things I can't understand."

He noticed that too, that he cared more.

"New information can change your approach, and you have to adapt and improvise." He explained vaguely. He saw something reaching out in her, even through this dump of emotion and information, he noticed the cry for help deep inside her. The part she buried underneath years of mistreatment and being used.

"Stop talking to me like a soldier." She snapped, earning a soft gaze from him that she hadn't received before. It made her chest feel weird, and he could tell by how she grabbed at the shirt covering it.

"You're pissing me off."

"No, I'm breaking you." They made eye contact. All the breath left her lungs in that moment, from his gentle tone and low volume to the look in his eyes that made her eyes water, it was too much. She couldn't take it. Her stomach lurched, and before another word could be uttered between them she scurried to the bathroom, emptying the contents in her abdomen into the toilet.

He was by her side in an instant, shushing her quietly and rubbing her back. His heart sank at the feeling of her shiver and the sound of her retching.

"I gotcha Y/N. Always have right?" She could feel her mind cracking, tears welling in her eyes from the pressure of the vomit and being an emotional wreck.

"I can't." She muttered weakly, sitting against the shower door, grimacing as the air entering her lungs burned with the raw feeling in her throat.

"You can. In all my years being by your side, there's nothing you can't do love, you and I both know that more than anyone." Her eyes met his, seeing his seriousness and true belief in his words. His hand came up and brushed away her tears before her mask absorbed it, the rough pad of his thumbs leaving sparks in the areas he touched. She didn't say anything at first, taking his hand into hers and giving it a squeeze of reassurance, more for herself than for him.

"After our mission. Please." He couldn't say no to a plead like that, so with a curt nod he agreed and held out his other hand to her. He watched her hand envelope his, finding the size difference amusing as his basically swallowed them in his grasp.

"Let's get some sleep yeah. You've done enough for today." She let him bring her to bed, his arm secured around her shoulders, feeling her hand on his waist. He sat next to her until she fell asleep before laying on his own cot. He looked at her for most of the night, making sure she didn't wake up, pondering about what she could be dreaming about as her eyelids flickered ever so often.

He followed her steady breaths to lull him to sleep, praying that tomorrow would go by without too much of a struggle so he could have another moment as intimate as the previous with her, even if it was small.

And that's part 3!! Finally some fluff and opening up, but I wouldn't get too comfortable with it just yet. I have some plans, not sure how I'll execute it but we're getting somewhere. Thank you so much for reading!!

[vellichor-of-the-solivagant]

How to Plant Snapdragons (pt. 6)

Task Force141 + König + Keegan x Female Criminal!Reader (except Captain Price, because he'll be like a father to the bunch, and König and Keegan won't appear until later on in the story)

CHAPTER SUMMARY: For the first time in your life, you were thankful you had an ankle monitor

You are currently reading Chapter 6. Here is Chapter 5 and the Masterlist!

CONTENT WARNING: Strong Language and Violence, Implied Sexual Content (?) WORD COUNT: 2.6k

“Tie him up,” Price ordered. “Bravo 0-6 to Shadow 0-1, we’ve got the package. I repeat, we’ve got the package.”

“Copy, Bravo-6, the Shadows are still holding down the militia. But better move fast,” Graves demanded through the comms, his voice a bit stifled.

You got up from the man, putting your gun away, and stood beside Ghost, glancing up at him. “What’s on your mind, Lt.?”

“I’m wondering what else ya can do,” he responded in a low voice but kept his eyes focused on the Brazilian.

Gaz and Soap dragged Fabricio up to his feet, trying to remove himself from the soldiers’ death grips, a string of curses in Portuguese and English leaving his mouth.

You chuckled as the sergeants pulled out ropes from the pockets of their vests and bound his wrists on the nearest house’s window railings. “Why don’t you find out, sweetheart?” you questioned, playfully nudging his side.

Upon contact, you felt him stiffen and you quickly withdrew your arm. "Sorry."

He remained silent for a good second and turned to you. "Why not just tell me?"

You looked at him, surprised that he didn’t comment on the nickname you gave him. You smiled. "Eeey, Lt. Ya like to be called sweetheart?"

He frowned. "No, I—"

"Eeey, no need to be shy, buttercup, sweet cheeks, stud muffin—"

"Don't—"

At this point, the rest of Task Force 141 were looking at you two, invested in what kind of cringe name you would give the ever so cool and stoic Ghost. Even Fabricio kept his mouth shut, wondering if you were a mad woman who escaped the Mental Ward and sneaked in with these guys.

"Don't stop the music!" You exclaimed, suddenly pumping your fist in the air and shuffling your feet, before whipping around to Ghost just as he was about to step away. "Where are you escaping, my Pookie, bebegurl, acoochie coochie coo—"

"Enough," he grumbled.

You nodded immediately. "Copy that."

The Sergeants exchanged looks and the Captain sighed, shaking his head.

“Que diabos você quer de mim?!” Fabricio yelled, taking the opportunity to talk, his eyes darting around your figure and the Task Force veiled by the night. Only a flicker of light and your voices could inform him that there were five of you.

“What rubbish is he saying now?” Soap asked, turning to you.

You sauntered towards the target and crossed your arms. “He says, what the hell do we want from him.” Then, you leaned down, leveling your face to his. “Você conhece o inglês?”

(Do you know English?)

His eyes averted for a split second, seemingly thinking, before he shook his head furiously. “Não.”

(No.)

You huffed and glanced over your shoulder to look at the 141. “He knows English, you guys can talk to him instead.” You turned your head back to the Brazilian, who had a frown on his face, knowing you had already seen through his lie. “Say a single word in Portuguese or lie again, you’ll wish you had never messed with these guys.”

Maybe, you were really from the Mental Hospital made in the depths of Hell, because you looked like you added crack instead of salt on an egg at breakfast just now and switched to a seemingly normal soldier who just happened to know Portuguese.

If Bipolarity has four stages, you'd be on twelve.

“I have never messed with any of you!” He shouted, clenching his fist and tugging on the ropes as if he could escape it. “You are the ones who—ugh!”

Soap grabbed his neck and squeezed it tight, his veins raising on his skin. It got you arching your brows, smiling wide, and stepping to the side to let him do his thing, while Fabricio wheezed. What a lucky guy he was to have a beautiful necklace.

“Where is Hassan Zyani?” Johnny questioned, lowering his voice making it sound like a snarl. It made you want to be in the lucky guy’s place, meow, and bark at him if he wanted to.

You were so thankful you had borrowed a mask from the Lieutenant, otherwise, these people would already be dragging you to the mental ward for smiling like a maniac, ready to be a pet for Soap.

Who wouldn’t?

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” claimed Fabricio, his eyes darting from left to right, seemingly looking for something.

You glanced at the other three and it appeared they had noticed the Brazilian had looked around by the way they had also batted their gaze in different directions. Perceiving that as permission to let you and Soap to the rest of the interrogation as one of Price’s tests again, you drew out your knife.

Soap pulled his hand away and stepped aside, eyeing the knife on your hand, before your face covered with mask and night vision.

“It’s no use to lie, sir.” You approached him, holding his hand. “We already know your deals with Hassan. Now, where is he?” you asked and slowly started to drive the tip of your knife on his under the nail of his thumb.

He screamed in pain, his loud voice echoing along the series of gunshots in the air.

These noises were some things you were already used to or rather, they haunted you wherever you went, like a phantom you couldn’t chase away.

Yet it never ceased to be exhilarating.

“I, I don’t—” another scream cut off his words as you lifted his nail from his finger, letting it fall on the ground. Warm blood stained your glove, seeping through the fabric that kept your hand clean.

Just as you were about to do the same to his index finger, he exclaimed, “He’s in Mexico!”

“Where in Mexico?” Soap questioned, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“I—” Fabricio stopped as you pointed the knife to his eye and you could see the big yet dry gulp he had, his Adam’s apple going up and down. “Las . . . Las Almas, Mexico. That’s where I last heard he was going!”

“Las Almas, eh?” Price averted his eyes for a second, appearing to be thinking of something before he stared at the man. “What’s he doing there?”

You slowly planted the tip of the knife under his eye, a warning for him to speak only the truth to the Captain.

“I heard he was making a deal with a person called El Sin Nombre.” Fabricio’s eyes then shifted to you, a bit glossy as tears formed, making you smile. “Please, that’s all I know!”

You kept the knife's blade on his cheek as you turned to face the Captain, quietly waiting for the order he was going to bark. He motioned a hand, swiping his neck which got Fabricio to yell curses at you in his mother tongue, struggling to escape his binds to no avail. With one slash through his throat, his insults that swam to your ears died in the breeze of Rio’s summer night.

You stepped away from the corpse, wiping the knife on your pants, and sheathed it back. You looked from yourself to find Soap, staring at you. You tilted your head in question. “Something the matter, sir?”

“Ah,” Johnny turned away, “nothing.”

It neither looked nor sounded nothing.

“Bravo 0-6 to Shadow 0-1, we’re done unpacking the package,” Price announced, beckoning for the four of you to follow him in an alleyway as he started to jog. You and the guys followed his lead, hugging your assault rifle tight to your chest. The Captain and Gaz were in front of you, while Soap and Ghost were on your rear.

“Copy, Bravo 0-6, that was fast,” Graves immediately replied, amazement evident in his voice.

“She did the unpacking, Shadow-1,” Priced told him, his voice cool, and sounded like a bit of a proud parent when their child achieved something, even if it was small. 

You threw your bag on one of the couches and looked around the place, while the guys scattered around, the Sergeant Duo and the Captain yelling at one another when they found alcohol on the shelves.

You and the 141 were currently in one of Graves' facilities, but this one could be called more of a mansion than a facility. You had heard that this one in Salvador was often only used when he and the Shadows would go on a short vacation after missions. And damn, you had always forgotten the prick was rich.

He had let you and the 141 occupy adjoining rooms with a living room, a kitchen, and a dining place. He might as well call this a suite.

You felt your muscles tremble and the wounds, you realized you had when you got on the chopper, ached.

Not bothering to tell anyone you'd be heading to the bathroom, you got your wallet of personal hygiene, sluggishly dragging your feet towards the bathroom. You slipped off your gear, mask, shoes, and shirt. Then, looked down at the monitor—the bane, the pain, the curse of your life.

You slipped off the first half of your pants, freeing one of your legs—Good—and started fighting for your life, pulling the pants past the monitor with one good arm. You even had to sit down on the cold-ass floor but to no avail.

You rolled down on the floor and kicked the air, breathing heavily through your nose, and got back up again to continue your struggle.

"Look at these goddamn pants and monitor having a relationship stronger than most relationships of kids these days," you grumbled, smacking the monitor as if it would break it down to the point your mind became too occupied with your grumbles and constant motivational speeches to realize the voice outside the door and the sound as Soap entered.

And Johnny was too busy to care about the weirdass pose you were making on the floor as his blue eyes raked over every inch of your skin. His brain took note of the curves of your body, the shades of your skin, your toned muscles, and the wounds you had gotten that he wanted to kiss better and caress each part of you gently to make you relax.

Because you looked angry and his instinct was to cover the growing tent on his pants as he locked the door behind him.

"Wait, shite, wrong, wrong—" your foot slammed on the door before he could make his escape, trapping him.

He couldn't help but glance at your leg, eyes traveling to your thighs and to your clothed cunt, making him run his tongue over his lips. Then he continued up to the flat of your stomach where he'd see the outline of his cock if he was pounding you against the bathroom wall, pretty legs over his shoulders, chest bouncing at every movement, and moaning his name.

Oh, you could feel the desire in his gaze right now and you could see the way his tongue moved across his lips and the attempt to hide his hard-on. And you couldn't help but pursed your lips for a moment, bringing your foot down to the cold tile as heat gathered between your thighs.

The sooner he left, the sooner you could take care of it. But you need his help right now. "Take off my pants."

The lingering blush on his cheeks spread to his ears and neck. "What? No, no, I—"

"It's stuck on the monitor."

"It's stuck . . . ?" He looked down on your leg and almost slapped himself upon not noticing that your pants were indeed stuck on the monitor, and couldn't help but cackle, remembering your position earlier. "That's why yer on the floor!"

"No shit, Sherlock."

"I'm Scottish."

"No shit, Scotlock."

"That's even worse. Alright, stand still. I'll grab a bathrobe." He patted your head and picked up your vest, shirt, mask, and shoes from the floor, putting them on the sink's side. Then, he proceeded to get a bathrobe and slipped it on you, even fastening the ties for you.

“Now then.” He reached down and scooped you in his arm, making your lips part and heart leap in surprise. He set you down next to the sink and gave your thigh a small pat. “I’ll get scissors.”

He turned away and opened the door. “Let’s keep this open, okay?"

"Okay," you replied in a small voice and brought your good hand to your face. "God, he's bad for my heart."

But for the first time, you were thankful you had an ankle monitor.

"Did he just come out of here?" Gaz's voice echoed and popped out behind the wall, raising a brow at you. A chuckle left his lips and he approached you. "Ah, no wonder."

"Don't laugh," you whined, waving your leg and whacking him with your pants like a whip.

His laughter only got louder and you pulled a face. He grinned and pinched your cheek. Then, he frowned as he saw blood soaking the white bathrobe. "What the hell, you're bleeding!"

You looked down at your thigh and clicked your tongue. "Damn, it's on the—"

"Got the scissors," Soap announced and his brows flew as he saw his fellow soldier. You noticed that Ghost was behind him, holding a first aid kit. "Hey, Gaz. By the way, I told the Lt. 'bout your wounds." He gestured a thumb over his shoulder.

"He said you have cuts that are large enough to need stitches," Ghost claimed, raking his light brown eyes over your frame. He could see your hand and thigh bleeding.

"Ah, I was planning on taking care of it later," you said as Soap began cutting the pants and finally pulled it off your ankle monitor. He set it aside and inspected the monitor if he accidentally damaged it.

His eyes narrowed as he placed the kit down next to you. "Later won't cut it, sweetheart." He slipped off his gloves and washed his hands clean on the sink, before patting it dry on the towel hanging on the wall. He extended his hand. "Let me see your hand first."

You put the back of your hand over his, showing him your palm. A cut across greeted his sight, blood running out and making him sigh. "Not so deep to need stitches, this one, but we need to bandage it up." He opened the tap and guided your hand under the running water. "Gaz, put pressure on her thigh. It's bleeding too much."

You winced at the sudden sting as the water hit your wound and the Sergeants had begun to press clean towels on your bleeding cuts, but it was nothing you couldn't take. Soon, after cleaning the wound, he applied down ointment and bandaged it up.

"Alright, your . . . thigh." He looked you straight in the eyes. "May I?"

For someone who had strangled you with his godly thighs, he sure was a gentleman. But more than that, you had noticed that as you had grown closer to the Sergeants, it seemed the more you grew distant from the Lieutenant. He had avoided your touches, even a simple nudge.

You nodded. "Of course, sir."

Gaz removed his hand away from your thigh and Ghost carefully lifted it to look at the wound. His rough, scarred, calloused hand felt warm against your skin.

"We'll have to stitch this one," he claimed and gently set your leg down.

"Are you good at it, sir?" You questioned as he rummaged through his kit. He pulled out a kind of needle you were so familiar with—a curved one.

"Very," he said confidently, putting a thread through the eye of the needle, and disinfected it with alcohol. "Go hold onto something. This might hurt."

"Want to hold my hand, Bonnie?" Soap offered, taking your good hand in his grasp.

"Please," you replied, squeezing it.

"Come closer," Ghost demanded and you inched yourself closer to the edge. "Lift your leg a bit for me."

Ah, another one that was bad for your heart.

The next chapter is Here!

Also on AO3!

Taglist: @yyiikes, @the-faceless-bride, @sae1kie, @sarahedwards16, @kenma-izhu, @kkaaaagt

Note: Sorry for the short chap. I got sick for almost 5 days. I was planning on adding more in this chapter but yeah, that happened. Also, please let me know if I got the translations wrong. I was also planning on making a Halloween Special, but idk when or if I'll post it since Halloween is ending lmao

[lovethetasteofnothing]

You have a thing for accents, they find out/ you have an accent - TF 141, Los Vaqueros + Farah + Valeria + Alex

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙

includes: captain price, simon "ghost" riley, kyle "gaz" garrick, johnny "soap" mactavish, kate laswell, farah karim, alex keller, alejandro vargas, rodolfo "rudy" parra, valeria garza (everyone getting fed today; yes the boys get their smutty content too)

gn!reader, except for laswell x fem!reader (she's a lesbian, argue w the wall), fem terms of endearment

warnings: nsfw content, dirty talk (like a lot), degradation kink, praise kink (yes, you get both) reader has a tendecy to repeat words they like the sound of (pretty much copies the way they say it bc it sounds nice), multiple themes idk what i'm talking about atp

word count: 2.5k+, aprox. 250 words/ character

enjoy <3

Captain John Price

he doesn't notice it at first, he just thinks you're smiling because his dad jokes are good

you say he sounds like a regular British dad at a football match (yes, football, I'm European too)

it makes his day because if he hadn't joined the military he would have probably been one by now

you call him Bravo 0-6 sometimes, you say it in his accent because why wouldn't you

repeating his favorite phrases from missions that he brags about because you think it's cute

insert cute Price smiley face here when he hears you(bc i love it so much)

you asked him for wa-ah once, he still isn't over it

you call him a lad/old man if his accent becomes really prominent

but you can't help the way his words make your heart race and the way he says them...

your underwear is sopping wet, your honor!

you freeze up and blush when he pulls off the filthiest sentence in a British accent

when he starts talking dirty during sex you can't help but moan louder/twitch/squeeze around him

that's when he figures it out

it kind of just connects in his brain and he uses it to his advantage

"look at the way you're taking me so good, princess"

will not let you live, constantly teases you about it

he'd call you 'princess' and 'duckling'

you quack at him if you're reallly feeling silly

recorded you doing it once, his favorite video of you by far

Simon "Ghost" Riley

you call him posh just to annoy him

gives you the hardest side eye of your entire life and you take it back

you tell him the Queen died and he doesn't have to keep the act up when he really pushes it (he calls you a tosser)

insert one of his dad jokes in here

you only laugh because you love him and your humor is broken

probably uses 'bloody' on the regular; calls you 'luv' and 'pet" 100%

like that man could just pull out a "What in the bloody hell did you just do, pet?" and you'd turn back time to make him happy

calls you his princess. emphasis on 'his" because it's never missing

definitely also the type of person to just copy whatever you said if he likes the way it sounds

when you're arguing, you just copy the phrases he said as arguments

good that the mask hides his smile or he'd always lose

loves the fact that you use terms of endearment in your native language for him (for my multilingual babes)

struggles to learn your native language but still tries

listens in on your conversations just so he can learn it better

upset when he can't learn bc his job doesn't give him enough time

turns into a big softie if you scold him in it

you record phone calls and save voice notes so you can listen to them while he's gone on missions

just the sound of his voice is so hot comforting

dirty talker supreme! i feel like he'd praise you more but there's a hint of degradation

just like a sparkle and he'd ask you five times beforehand if it's okay with you

you can't help it when your brain goes blank, the sound of his voice filling up every single corner of your mind (his dick does the same)

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

you also call him posh

actually pulls out a posh accent to egg you on

you're both laughing so hard by the end of it

pulls out the most British of British sentences and leaves you shocked because the only word you understood was 'and'

clap because that's impressive

loves your accent if you have one

makes you say a word three times because he's fucking head over heels for the way your voice sounds

dirty talk champ!

but only when he feels like it

makes you beg for him to do it because he thinks you look cute on your knees so pouty

"my love, look at you getting all wet just from the sound of my voice. isn't that cute?"

his laugh!!

makes you laugh too even if nothing is funny

sends you long voice notes with how his day went or cuddles you on the couch while doing it

and you just sit and nod while listening, not saying a word

not because you're bored but because you love listening to the way he emphasizes certain words

type of boyfriend to send you a podcast of a debrief of his activities

he does it while coming back from missions even though his voice is so tired

and it just makes your heart skip a beat because it tingles your brain in the right spot

groggy morning voice, his accent all over the place, stumbling over his words because he got home late last night and barely slept

mumbles incoherent compliments? confessions? before you kiss him and make him get more rest

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

literally pulls out the most Scottish sentence out of his ass

and you fold for some reason???

he's confused because he's used to Ghost telling him to speak English but you just nod along

you also ask him to translate because you don't understand

you pick up some of the phrases he likes to say and use them around your friends before you realize they won't understand

you try to decipher his accent sometimes

you either nod along even though you don't understand and hope you don't need the context

or you ask him to use less Scottish terminology/tone down his accent

you'd repeat certain phrases he says, out loud when doing random things

it melts his heart

he'd say the funniest joke ever and laugh at it for 10 minutes before realizing you didn't understand him

he explains it, you laugh because you don't want to hurt his feelings (it was a dad joke)

giggled a little the first time he talked dirty, you were flustered already and couldn't hold it back

you make him send you voice notes/ call you when you're masturbating now

his fucking pleasure tbh, has to hide from his team so they don't hear him spewing the filthiest shit known to man

someone caught him once, he said he was talking to his mom

Gaz is now confused as to why he would use 'cunt' in a conversation with his mom

starts saying his Scottish lover's speech and you mumble parts of it because you already know it by heart

you actually start saying it with him at some point

Kate Laswell

really concerned? but also not surprised that you have an accent/voice kink

like wdym call you 'her angel' again because you need to hear the way she says it

pulls out American mom slang on you

you call her mommy as a joke, it wasn't a joke

she catches on because it's not the first time you did it but doesn't say anything about it

understands people with heavy accents like almost perfectly

"i have to"

would pick up little words in your native language

you would also pick up her mom monologue

so when soap does something dumb and you start scolding him like Laswell would you're a little shocked

she'd be somewhere nearby and hear you, little proud smile on her lips

you have to explain whatever slang you're using to her

finally understands what gaz and soap say afterwards

i dont think she'd be big on dirty talk

so when it slips out once, you stare at her in confusion before processing her words

you beg her to do it more often

literally sitting on her lap while she does her paperwork (surprising that she even let you do that)

and you whisper sweet nothings in her ear, trying to convince her to take a break and relax

"come on, hun, you know I can't do that. people depend on me" in that cute concerned tone of hers <3 <3

pulls out the filthiest flirting tactics known to man when a little drunk

"how about you sit there and look pretty for me?" and you do

she pulls you in her car and fingers you until you're screaming while whispering about how cute you sound

it changes your brain chemistry

Farah Karim

disappointed but not surprised

she feeds into your kink thing just because she can

catches you staring in awe when she speaks in Arabic, finds it adorable

lowkey find the way she talks mesmerizing

like you can listen to her voice and watch the way she gesticulates for hours on end

has that leader/public speaker charisma to her that gets you hooked

barks orders at you because she forgets she's not on mission

apologizes immediately because you're her baby and she feels bad about it

also scolds you in Arabic before translating

bilingual queen chastises you in two languages because you did something dumb

but you die inside whenever she praises you

"my good girl, you did well" like yes ma'am, yes you did and you'll do it again if it means you can hear those words coming out of her mouth again

tries to do dirty talk but fails miserably (her face is too serious istg)

makes you un-horny not because it's that bad but because you're laughing so hard for like 10 minutes, you have to comfort her afterwards bc she's sulking not amused

you just weren't used to it

asks Alex for tips on how to improve (she's really sacrificing her dignity for you)

decided to use her new skills when you were close to climaxing because you'd probably be too dazed to care at that point

you weren't, you still remember her words to this day

you play back every single filthy thing she ever said when you masturbate

Alex Keller

our American boy™

you make him do the college bro accent

you both end up laughing on the floor because you joined in and made it funnier

pure chaos ensues

if you have an accent he'd look at you with the most lovestruck eyes

literally grinning ear to ear if you speak in your native language, this man is the biggest simp known to exist

wants to hear jokes in your native language even though they make no sense when translated

he can mimick some British slang/ can say some words in a British accent

you tell him to stick to his American English because he's hurting your ears

you mimick him lovingly when he uses really American phrases/ his accent becomes really white boy™ from the USA

he flirts in frat boy sometimes but it's Alex so you find it cute

another dirty talk champ!

like his voice is so smooth and soothing while he says it. his face is just unbothered, maybe a little smirk under his mustache

"such a sweet angel, already soaking for my dick, hm?"

insert ocean cosplay here

I feel like he'd mimick Siri and be on point

also reads you books while you try to sleep, his voice really does wonders whenever you have insomia

you make him record himself reading so you can listen to it on repeat while he's on duty

Valeria Garza

she figures it out in the first week of dating you

you still don't understand how she did it, you weren't that obvious

she said Chicago once (literally went feral over cartel mommy)

it plays on loop in your mind at random times and you have to ask her to say it again so it stops, she refuses sometimes just to see you suffer

you also copy her facial expressions and her gestures when you repeat something she says

lowkey impressed by how spot on you are, thinks of ways to use it for her own benefit

teaches you Spanish!!! she'd do it herself and give you hw while she's gone on business trips

she'd bend you over her lap and spank you for every question you got wrong

speaks whole dialogues with you in Spanish just to encourage you to learn, would not translate if you didn't understand (her lap looking hella empty rn)

so happy when you can finally understand most of her sentences but doesn't show it, just praises you

"Qué bonito... que bien ahí. Well done" (iykyk, I watch that scene religiously)

Spanglish all the way when she's fucking you

She'd just slide her strap in and degrade you

"Such a greedy slut for me. Aren't you, muñequita?" she wouldn't move until you confirmed it with words

"Eres una chica tan patética" (google translate pulls through until i actually learn Spanish)

she started arguing in Spanish with you at some point, you got wet

she had to stop when she noticed you were looking at her like that

Alejandro Vargas

literally frat boy flirting archetype

but he's so nice and you can't help giggling when he calls you those cute nicknames in Spanish

you start calling him Vaquero because really look at him, tell me he wouldn't be a ranch hand if he weren't in the military

spews out the most toe curling, smutty sentences in Spanish because he knows you don't understand

literally only does it so he can see your cute confused face

would also teach you Spanish

had a period of time when he would refuse to use English with you because you needed to learn

he stopped when you cried in frustration (literally lasted 3 hours)

big simp if you have an accent

just smiles while you talk and when you ask him why he just shrugs

learns random cute phrases in your first language and says them while you least expect it

you had to stop for a second and take it in before blushing

you sometimes share one singular multilingual braincell

when neither of you can remember the word in English or in any other language

the toaster is now officially the bread torch

figures out you have a thing for accents when you keep talking about how nice he sounds while speaking Spanish

it's being used against you

"Eres un cachorro tan guarro~

makes fun of you because you listen to his voice notes on repeat sometimes

he caught you doing it once and now he brings it up biweekly

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

my fav vaquero (sorry Alejandro) bc he's just so sweet

literally praises everything you do, bonus points if it's in Spanish

makes your heart beat so fast

if you get mad he'd wrap his arms around you while trying to calm you down

"Calma, bebé. Take it easy"

and it works? like the moment you hear his voice and his gentle words you're calm again

there's something tranquil about the way he says stuff

mostly uses Spanish right after waking up

gruffy voice + him whispering sweet nothings in your ear

and you understand most of it because he took his sweet time to teach you

corrects you in the sweetest way possible

so happy when you learned how to roll your Rs

begs you to say it again because it makes his heart flutter

soft dom who loves to praise you even if you're being a brat

"Ah mi princesita, you're being so cute right now. " while he's pinning you down and pressing kisses to your whole body

literally kills you with kindness

like you're really going to be a brat after he calls you all those sweet names???

literally giggling and moaning at the same time because you're flustered

like this man is really telling you he loves you while he's balls deep in you

struggles to learn your native language

powers through tho

stumbles on his words and you help him out (that cute boy smile on his face when he gets it right)

rarely yells but when he does...

he got mad at someone over the phone and you overheard him

changes your brain structure

and then he picks you up to complain about it, his annoyed voice literally fueling scenarios to your brain

[yumethefrostypanda]

John Price

[shadowbratt]

Bravo 0-6

[babygirl-riley]

Baroness

141 has a hunch about Makarov and where he could be hiding. Informant stated that the information would be at a event Little did Simon know it would be a woman from his past.

“Well, they’d be like…Shit is crazy right….I ain’t your baby no more.”

Warnings: mentions of smut, violence, break ups, swearing, blood, flirting

simon x reader guide

simon x reader smut list

PT. II

Ghost wouldn’t have predicted on what happened next. Laswell mentioned there was a lady that went by Baroness, that was close to Makarov. They had been searching for him since she showed the picture of him. However, Laswell had found a lead to this Baroness.

She was high up in Russia every year she would hold a masquerade party and that is the only time anyone would see her. No one knew who she was besides three of her close guards, even Valeria didn’t know herself when Alejandro interrogated her. Which brought more attention to this Baroness, Laswell sent out a spy to see if they could see when her next appearance would be.

Her spy did get close enough to know where she would be at. That’s also when he disappeared just to be found in suit cases with an invitation attached. Baroness knew that they were drawing close, so she invited him. Did she know who they were? Or did she just taking that chance?

Price agreed on the assignment for everyone to go. This is a lead that couldn’t be dropped. They will go and know that she knows who they are. Or surprise her that she was cornered.

“Bravo 0-6 what is your status?” Laswell asked over comms.

Everyone was spread out of the party, people dressed in beautiful dresses and suits. Different masks. Champagne or whiskey in their hands. Most of them speaking Russian. Some were from different countries around the world. “On the East balcony. Bravo 0-7.”

Ghost took a sip of the whiskey in his hand looking around. “By the bar. There is a lot of influence here .”

“I agree I didn’t expect one of the one of the politicians from Europe to be here.” Gaz mentioned.

“Like I said before she has a lot of power. Which is why we need to know if she is working for Makarov.” Laswell briefly explained.

“Let’s hope that she isn’t.” Price added as he then explained to make sure to not get in civilian way. This isn’t a war zone.

People laughed and talked about everything that they have been doing. What fundraisers they were in charge of. It didn’t take long until someone announced you coming out for the party. “Eyes on the lass.” Soap said having Ghost look over.

Bloody fucking hell. Baroness was beautiful, her hair was down curled, her mask was black and sparkly, gloved hands that went half was up your arm, red lipstick, green dress that a slit went up to your mid thigh, and heels. People clapped and barely touched you as you walked by.

What else did he expect? Usually women that are higher up is gorgeous or very brutal and or both. Women in power can be dangerous if they are there for something malicious.

“She is gorgeous cap.” Gaz mumbled.

“Stay focused boys.” Laswell said having amusement.

There was a certain part Ghost kept looking at. It was zoning right to it. It was particular spot that he couldn’t put his finger one he seen it. The small scar on her chin. It started to bug him trying to think why that scar was having him, deep down knowing where he has seen it before. It hit him once her eyes looked at his. The smile cross her face. He knew that from anywhere, especially the feeling he got when you did. “Bloody hell.” Ghost whispered.

Memories formed around his mind. Meeting her the first time until the last night together. All the tears and laughter that was caused during that time. Ghost thought you were dead from how things started to line up.

She excused herself as she walked her way towards him. “Ghost she is heading towards you.” Soap mentioned, no shit Sargent. He thought.

“Well well didn’t think it was reaping time love.” His heart raced from hearing your voice. You. You were here. You are the Baroness. It’s been years since you two have seen each other.

“What are you doing here?” He didn’t have time for games. At the same time he wanted to rip that dress off of you and see those beautiful…

“What a shame, thought you were coming here to throw me around.” You said licking your lips subtly.

Fuuuck you knew that drove him crazy when you played with your lips. He remembered fucking you silly once you bit your lower lip. Fucking your mouth with his cock. “No I am not here for that.” He mumbled looking up towards Soap who watched amusingly. He wanted to throw the glass at Soap, of course he would have a kick out of it. Cause when did his lieutenant ever get flirted with like this. In the open.

You smirked placing your hand against his chest before going down to his abdomen. Sending sparks down his spine. Feeling like his skin was burning. Ghost wanted her fingertips on his skin and not his shirt. “Like I said what a shame. What are you here for then Simon?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Your name? You let me scream that at…”

“Enough.” He said looking down at you.

God how much he missed those beautiful eyes. With the glint in your eyes, the glint that you would get when you were ready to a long night, your eyes just drowned him into you. He missed you, god he didn’t even realize how much he missed you but he had to stay focused. He need to thin about the mission. Not about how his heart bested faster and harder, making him less focus He doesn’t know if you’re friend or foe. If he had to slice your throat or press his lips on your throat. Could he even do it? Kill you if your the enemy. God he can’t stop thinking about those lips.

You wanted to kiss him, you wanted to hold him. The last time you both saw each other, he pinned you against the wall fucking your hole before you spilt up. You moved to Russia due to not being able to look around without seeing him. You didn’t know what he wanted, him appearing out of the blue was odd to you. Especially with him not wanting anything to do with you. No flirting.

You now had to see what he wanted, what he needed. “It is interesting that you come here all handsome and mysterious for not even wanting me. Interesting.”

Ghost rolled his eyes. “It’s not the time.”

“Oh baby it’s always time.”

“Fine not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood, I know how to get you in the mood.”

“Damn Ghost you know this woman?” Gaz teased, he will kill him later.

“Keep her talking, I am going to get in her office.” Laswell requested.

“You sure Kate?” Price asked.

“Yeah I…”

“Imagining me naked?” You asked, he didn’t notice that he paused talking. Or didn’t reply.

“No why would I?” He said sipping his whiskey.

“Aw so you didn’t miss me?” You said teasing.

God he did, your laugh, that fucking smile. How he missed taking those stupid baths with you. Holding you. Kissing you. “I do.”

You scoffed. “That’s not what it seems like Si.”

That stung. He didn’t have a choice, he was recruited for the 141 and he knew it was…high maintenance. Instead of informing that for her, he broke it off. After 3 years it just seemed right. Simon did go back to talk to her but she disappeared, never again seen again. Your parents didn’t even know where you went.

“That’s not fair.” He said shaking his head.

“Life isn’t fair Simon. Leaving your girlfriend of 3 years isn’t fair. Not even letting her know isn’t fair. Fairness isn’t in the game of life Si.” You explained rolling your eyes.

Ghost couldn’t say anything besides just looking at you. You waited for him to respond say anything. Are you friend or foe? Did you have to cut his throat? Shoot him a couple of times? Draw blood? Fuck say something Simon. Is all you could say in your mind. Thinking of good and bad things to do to him. Could you even do that? You don’t know if you could trust him with everything that is going on. The shit you put yourself through. You noticed one of your guards signing to you, you frowned before sighing.

You then smirked walking around him. “You didn’t answer my question,” He turned as you grabbed a champagne glass. He watched the bubbles rising up. “What are you doing here?”

Ghost glared down at you. What should he say? He already said he wasn’t here for you. He can’t say sorry for his actions. That would compromise everything. You smirked letting out a chuckle. “Simon, Ghost, Bravo 0-7. What else does your team call you?”

You knew what you called him as he pinned you to your bed. Whispering to each other full of love and affection. Or the laughter he would pull from you adding his name to the sentences. Why was life so unfair?

He froze looking up and around. The guards were close to everyone on the team. Everyone noticed but didn’t do anything. He snapped his head down to you. “I wouldn’t cause a scene, not at this party,” You sighed walking towards him, he watched your hips sway, you heels clicking. “Don’t worry Si,” She walked up to whisper in his ear. “Something’s we can do alone,” You bit his ear, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t with you. “Somethings.”

[wardencouslands]

CAPT. JOHN PRICE — BRAVO 0-6

“These things take violence and timing, I can do both.”

[darth-mortem]

This is a first chapter of my COD fic "At the Crossroads of the Worlds" translated bu @g8se.

Task force "141" was sent to clean up a secret laboratory, the research of which was financed by states recognized as sponsors of terrorism. The soldiers broke into a bunker located in the Caucasus Mountains on the Russian-Georgian border. At first, everything went according to plan, but after the fighters split up, Ghost came across a strange room, the door of which locked automatically the moment he was inside. Without knowing it, Simon Riley had set off an experiment that had been brewing here for years, and now he would have to be very strong to finally return home.

Chapter 1 of 6. 2084 words.

Past character death, angst, action, secret lab, experiment, parallel worlds

August 15, 2030. Georgian-Russian border. Caucasus Mountains. Coordinates classified. Experiment status: Prepared for the first stage. Research No. 16/3. Reality LW-414/2030. Attempt to transport into reality LW414/2016.

Captain Simon "Ghost" Riley walked slowly down the corridor, illuminated by the bright, cold light of built-in lamps on the walls and ceiling. He held his assault rifle at the ready and listened to the conversations of other members of Task Force 141 through the earpiece of his radio. The unit had split up ten minutes ago, and its members were now inspecting all levels of the bunker, each carrying out their assigned tasks. Some engaged in clearing operations, facing armed guards head-on, while others searched for information and civilian personnel in this classified scientific facility funded by the budgets of several countries - sponsors of terrorism, including Russia, Iran, Palestine, and several others.

Ghost inspected this level of the bunker alone. The commander of Task Force 141, Major Price, had ordered the soldiers to form groups of two or three, but Simon didn’t follow this order. He hadn't followed them for seven years since that fateful day, when a bullet from the Russian terrorist Makarov's pistol took the life of Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish.

For Ghost, John wasn't just a partner or a fellow soldier; he was the one who saw beyond the terrifying skull mask and recognized a human in him. He made Simon feel alive again. John reminded him of how to be happy, laugh, and love. He was Ghost's personal ray of sunshine, and when he was gone, the light went out forever.

Riley couldn't come to terms with it and continue to live a full life. He kept his distance from everyone and didn't even try to socialize with the new members of the unit. People came and went, and Simon didn't even bother to remember their faces. At some point, he considered leaving the army altogether, but then he realized that he didn't know how to do anything else, so he stayed. The only person Simon occasionally spoke to outside of missions was Price. He knew that Simon felt guilty for John's death, which is why he turned a blind eye to Ghost's insubordination, especially considering that he was still the most effective member of Task Force 141.

The doors to his right of swung open, and his reflexes kicked in before his brain. The man in a white lab coat received a devastating blow to the face with the butt of the rifle and fell like a felled tree. Captain Riley dragged him into the room he had emerged from and quickly secured him to a pipe using plastic ties.

“Bravo 0-7, took another one,” Ghost reported over the radio. “Checking the last rooms on the sixth level.”

“Copy, Bravo 0-7,” he heard Price's response. “Try to find out what they were up to. We're almost done clearing the fifth level and heading down to you. Copy?”

“Crystal clear,” Ghost frowned, and the corners of his lips under the mask drooped. “Bravo 0-7, out.”

He didn't need assistance. Riley could handle it on his own and escort the captives. But he never argued with Price during missions. Ghost might not follow his orders, but for other soldiers, the authority of the major had to remain unquestionable.

After surveying the room, Ghost went out and headed towards the last set of doors at the end of the corridor. Behind them, was a desolated room in absolute chaos. Chairs were scattered on the floor, papers strewn about, monitors partially turned off, only a few displaying some unintelligible numbers and symbols that constantly changed each other. There could be something useful here, but before sitting at the computer and attempting to extract information, Ghost moved towards another set of doors in the far corner of the room. These were massive air-tight doors with a complex opening mechanism. Opposite them stood a table with several monitors, and looking at them, Simon understood that one of them seemingly transmitted views from several cameras installed in the room behind the mysterious doors. Why this was necessary, the captain did not understand, as the small room behind the doors was absolutely empty. Its walls were covered in some silvery material, thick wires protruding in places. Also, Riley noticed several panels with small screens and numerous LED indicators.

“Bravo 0-7,” Ghost spoke, examining the locking mechanism of the air-tight doors on the room's interior monitor, “it seems I've found something.”

“What exactly, Bravo 0-7?” Price asked.

“Don't know yet,” Riley replied. “Trying to figure it out.”

“Be careful,” the major said. “Bravo 6, out.”

Simon glanced at the other monitors. Two code designations immediately caught his eye: LW414/2030 and LW414/2016. A progress bar flickered between them, showing ninety-eight percent, followed by calculations of adjustments in meters and, for some reason, in hours. Simon couldn't comprehend what it was exactly because everything was encrypted. He tried to look at the papers, but it was even worse, so without further delay, Riley approached the air-tight doors and pulled the lever of the opening mechanism.

As soon as he entered the small square room, Simon smelled the electrified air. An orange light started flashing above the door, and instead of the voices of the soldiers he heard a buzzing noise of interference in his earpiece. Some contour that ran around the entire perimeter of the room opened after the doors were unlocked and now lit up in red. A mechanical female voice from a speaker hidden somewhere in the wall began to repeat something persistently in a language Ghost did not know, and then the doors automatically closed, and the lever of the mechanism moved into the "locked" position. The contour closed, its colour changed from red to green, and the voice from the speaker said something else, after which it started a countdown.

“Fucking hell,” Riley cursed, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and rushing towards the doors. “Bravo 0-7 calling Bravo 6! Bravo 6, can you hear me?”

There was no response. There wasn't even interference, just dead silence. Ghost grabbed the lever, tried to turn it, but all in vain, despite the fact that the captain was a very physically strong person.

The electrifying sensation intensified. The air distinctly smelled of ozone, and sparks began to run along the walls following complex and tangled contours. Riley retreated to the centre of the room, gritting his teeth. The room was too small to blast the doors, and they were so massive that it might not work anyway. The countdown continued, electrical discharges intensified, and then Ghost saw how the laces of his boots lifted into the air. The same happened with other elements of his gear – at first with smaller items, but gradually even heavier objects, like his assault rifle, which the lieutenant grabbed by the strap and pulled towards himself.

“Bravo 6,” Ghost tried once more without any hope, “John, can you hear me? Respond!”

The captain felt his feet lifting off the floor, where lines of contours were also glowing. Numbers and symbols appeared on the screens of the panels, all indicators lit up green, and then the accumulated static turned into a powerful electrical arc that pierced Ghost's body, sending him into oblivion.

Consciousness returned to him slowly but surely. Riley felt the cold wind piercing through his clothes and gear. Somewhere nearby, he could hear rumbling, and these sounds seemed familiar, but Ghost couldn't recall what exactly could be the source.

Captain Riley could only open his eyes on the third attempt. Above him was the overcast sky shrouded in led clouds. He lay on the ground, arms outstretched, listening to the rumbling of... the helicopter rotor!

Simon didn't understand what was happening. He remembered being trapped in a small room deep underground in the bunker. He remembered something strange happening to him, a jolt of wildly powerful electricity, and... he found himself here. And now, as he slightly raised himself and looked around, Ghost realized where exactly this "here" was. The landscape around him was familiar – it was what the members of Task Force 141 saw when they landed and headed towards the entrance to the bunker. Perhaps, Major Price or someone from the team managed to open those doors from the outside. They found Ghost in the blackout and brought him to the surface. So, the helicopter he hears is their evacuation transport.

Having reasoned this way, Ghost stood up, hoisted his assault rifle, and headed towards the sound. Of course, it was strange to be left alone here, but perhaps the soldiers were occupied with captives, and someone went for supplies. Captain Riley, however, felt better, and overall quite normal for someone who got electrocuted. The radio was still silent, but Simon had already climbed a small hill, saw the helicopter, and people around. Captain Riley was about to shout that he was okay when suddenly he realized that these people were not members of Task Force 141. Moreover, it seemed they were enemies. They surrounded two soldiers, one of whom seemed to be seriously injured. The other was supporting him on his shoulders and wouldn't have time to grab his weapon when one of the men – presumably the leader – pulled out his pistol and pointed it at his chest.

Simon didn't know what was happening, but he saw a patch with the British flag on the sleeve of the man the other was aiming at. Without thinking for another second, Captain Riley swung his assault rifle off his shoulder, released the safety, and, chambering a round, fired a short burst into the air, drawing attention to himself.

They started to shoot at Ghost, so he ran, ducking and returning fire, and when the distance closed, he pulled out and threw several metal knives one after another, reducing the number of enemies. The soldier with the British flag carefully laid his comrade on the ground and remained by his side, also starting to return fire. Now Ghost could see his balaclava with a skull print and the bald head of the enemy leader, who, realizing that something had gone awry, was trying to retreat to the helicopter.

"Hey, you!" Ghost found himself next to the guy in the balaclava and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Kill the pilot! Come on, let's go!"

He nodded and ran around the helicopter. Captain Riley stayed with the wounded soldier and quickly replaced the magazine in his rifle. Meanwhile, the bald man turned around, raising his pistol again, and Ghost froze, unable to believe what he was seeing.

"Shepherd?" he finally exclaimed. "It can't be!"

After Johnny’s death, Price himself killed the traitor of a general with his own hands, yet here he was, staring at Ghost with a cold gaze and aiming a pistol at him.

A gunshot echoed. The bullet hit Simon in the chest, but it didn't get through the armoured plate. Captain Riley, purely on reflexes, returned fire. A burst from his assault rifle tore through Shepard's body, and he fell. Another soldier in a balaclava was already running toward Riley, wielding his weapon.

"Shepard is a traitor!" he shouted. "I just received a message from the captain!"

"We need to get out of here," Ghost got up, rubbing his chest. "Let's carry your friend into the heli. Provide him with first aid. I'll take the pilot's seat. Just tell me where to fly."

Two soldiers, both hiding their faces behind skull masks, picked up the third one and brought him into the helicopter. The situation was strange, even wild, but Simon strangely felt neither suspicion nor doubt towards his new companion. On the contrary, this man seemed eerily familiar and inspired absolute trust in Simon. And it appeared that the guy in the balaclava felt the same way about Riley. He didn't ask who his unexpected rescuer was or where he came from, haven’t even asked for Ghost's name. However, Ghost didn't waste time on etiquette either. After receiving the coordinates for the flight, Riley focused on piloting the helicopter, glancing at the dashboard. Somewhere there, they would meet a captain, likely the leader of these two soldiers. Most likely, he could clarify the situation and provide Ghost with information about what happened to TF 141 and where to find them.

“We’re almost there,” Ghost reported, having replaced his dead radio with the one that belonged to the pilot of this helicopter. “How's your friend?”

“Solid,” came the response. “Our guys are already waiting, so land here!”

“Roger that,” Riley replied briefly and started to land, glancing at the two soldiers who were waving at the helicopter.

[sherashalala]

“Bravo 0-7 this is Bravo 0-6, give me a sitrep.”

“Bravo 0-7 what’s your status?”

“Ghost, do you copy?”

“Solid.” Ghost grunts out an answer, yet his voice has long since been left raw. He leaves it low, leaves it strong and solid with no signs of what happened here.

“Almost gave me a heart attack,” Price says lightheartedly, and Ghost knows not to blame him for it. Knows that this situation is not a moment for laughter or anything of the sort. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. “Give me a sitrep.” His Captain tells him. 

“Mission accomplished.” Is all Ghost could manage to say. He’s out of breath, 

“Fuckin’ sweet.” Price says. “Exfil in five. Get you and Soap out of there. Don’t want any more hostels on your tails”

He’s trying. He’s trying. Ghost makes sure that he doesn’t slip off his shoulders, makes sure that he keeps the man’s torso right on top of his back with his weight on the entirety of his back. He is leaned forward, making sure the weight is evenly spread so he could trek faster. The sooner he is out of there, the sooner he could put his attention to it. To Soap.

Ghost has stopped talking. Stopped calling for his Sergeant’s attention because he knows that it’d fall on unhearing ears. He doesn’t think. Not when the consequences of thinking could just as easily lead him towards spiraling. Ghost can’t have that right now. He can’t afford it. 

Still, he misses the noise. Yearns desperately for even the slightest bit of it. A sound. Anything. Please. 

He hisses when his foot hits a slope, and he slips. It twists his ankle at an awful angle but Ghost has walked off worse. Still, the weight on his shoulders is heavy and it makes it hurt worse. But he won’t let him go. Won’t ever even think of it. 

Ghost swallows something in his throat, but it stays lodged. 

“Soap.” he begs. “Johnny,” he calls. “Wake up, you bastard.” He growls under his breath, but it breaks. “Please.”

There’s no answer from behind him. Not even a twitch or a flinch. 

“We never talked about it.” Ghost says. “You never had a lass at home, didya? Or a lad. Never had the chance to tell me about it.” He talks. Johnny always had that effect. Ghost had been a lot more talkative since he’d come into his life. Ghost knew, though. He knew that he had a chance, more than a chance with him. “I’d try harder if– when you wake up.” Ghost begs.

He is still heavy on Simon’s shoulders, and still limp. 

Ghost makes sure that Soap is still on his shoulders when he reaches for his communication device, opening up the channel between him and Price. “Bravo 0-7 to Bravo 0-6,” Ghost opens. “Requesting medical on exfil.”

“You hurt?”

Ghost doesn’t answer. 

“Ghost. Who is hurt.”

“I couldn’t do anything, Price.” Ghost tells him. “He–” Ghost swallows, and he’s not sure if the dampness of his mask is because of his sweat or because of something else. 

The acceptance is hitting him far sooner than he’d wanted it. “He died alone.”