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tassodelmiele · 5 months

Text

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie ⁓

Next parte will be the last one, and let me say I'm pretty proud of this little english writing attempt (that should have been, like, a five pages funny things, and i dunno why now i've got 48 pages saved).

I'll leave you with my stupid disclaimers, and let's have a nice week ⁓

DISCLAIMERS: little bit of blood (not that much, though); totally inaccurate military action; Price is questioning his role in the Task Force, again; Ghost finally managed to get injured; a slightly amount of praising (my god I LOVE PRAISING AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME); planning future chocolate oatmeal's breakfast;

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Seventh part here:

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«Maybe you're doing it 'cause you need some…particular attention»

«No. No, i don't»

«You're gonna get her an aneurysm. Me too, I'm getting one right now». The clicking, metallic sound of a recharge fills the void of words. Price spits out the fag end; he does not remember having signed something about "being the task force's psychologist".

He decides to be brutally honest: «It's so obvious, Ghost. Stop denying it. Make peace with your brain»

«'S not obvious, nothing's obvious in this bloody life»

«I've told you: either you end up with her, or you open up. Your choice»

The answer's a mumbled breath under the mask, an attempt to empty his lungs from responsibilities and fill them with gunpowder and old blood scent. Maybe the blood is even his, it doesn't matter.

Current mission is a piece of cake: a couple hostyles to get rid of, one place to secure, assure Laswell there's no trace of weapons that shouldn't be in a supposed abandoned shack in the middle of nowhere.

Price is so relaxed he's smoked just one cigar in the entire day. On the other hand, Ghost's a nerves knot, a walking killer machine who's, almost certainly, unloading some tough stuff throughout the mission.

Tough for his mind, at least.

«She's killing me»

Price chuckles. Dear god, how damn hard his Lt. was to break…

«She's awakening you. 'S different»

«Is the same as being killed. I'd rather be asleep»

«Seems like your brain cells are sleeping too much, though. Time to make a damn decision»

«I did!» Ghost tilts his head at Price, his eyes so widened he's about to throw his last crumble of patience out of his orbit. «I choose to have nothing to deal with her, but she's goddamn everywhere! Why in the bloody hell did they send a second team with us for this stupid mission, and why, my god, WHY is she in that fucking team??»

«That's your fault» Price sighs softly. «You've chosen her for the special recruitment»

«'Cause I needed the opportunity to speak with her!»

A: «Liar» is murmured under John's beard, making Ghost mutter like a scolded child.

«Is it so hard to admit you just like her company?»

«I swear to god Cap., I'm gonna rip every hair of your beard with rusty tweezers»

«I'm even being good with ya, giving you a choice. Do you prefer being kicked to a good psychologist to make him read your bloody dreams?»

«I-»

A rumble cuts Ghost's voice, making the earth tremble under them. A grave explosion drills their ears, putting them at attention immediately, weapons charged and eyes on the thick, dense smoke cloud that's rising outside the shack.

A bomb. A small one maybe, hidden somewhere next to their target. They rush outside, radio connecting as soon as fuck with the other team.

«Echo one, this is Bravo six, send position, over»

Answer is a disturbed, glitching sound, piercing hoarsely through the radio: «Bravo six, this is ---- ------ thirty meters ---------- the shack, there was a bomb hidden, we ---- immediate help, over»

«Echo one, this is Bravo six, say again»

«Bra-»

Then a sudden hand grabs Price by the gear, slamming him on the shack's wall before a flying shot could pierce his hat. Cap. takes a slow, steady breath as Ghost adjusts his aim and, one second later, hits the target precisely as a sewing machine on a leather jacket.

«Good job»

«Place wasn't cleared» Ghost sticks his head out from behind the wall before allowing the two of them to proceed toward the explosion. «Where the hell are they-»

«Someone's sending reinforcements»

«Where's team b?»

Simon is just finishing the question when he feels some kinda force grabbing him from behind, and pulling him back so strongly he's forced to stumble backwards a few steps before recollecting enough lucidity to turn, gun pointed behind him aiming…

You.

You, totally scattered, covered in dirt and smoke, breathing like crazy as you're grasping onto the two men's uniform, managing to block fourth time your weight with your bare strength.

«North!» You yell so suddenly Price almost jumps at the sight of your bloody injected eyes. «Thirty…goddamn…meters north from…the fucking radio's not…» You mumble, one step away from letting you go on the ground and allowing your muffled ears to close completely.

Ghost's grasp on your shoulder squeezes you strongly enough to make you wimp.

«What happened?»

«The rocks scattered outside the shack» you spit, coughing words as sensible as possible. «Are not rocks. Enemy disguised a bunch of bombs. Team b is safe, there's another shack near-»

Then a burned growl, a sudden lamp, needles through your kettledrums.

And your sight goes dark.

Waking up is like being kicked in the head with a rock.

As far as you can feel, your limbs may have been missing somewhere, since you're not sensing any of them. You're breathing dirt, your throat is so dry you could start a fire in your lungs, and what gives you the good news your ears are functioning is a muffled, mumbled breath a few meters away. You scroll powder and dust from your face, trying to clean your eyes a little without injecting ash under the eyelids, then you take a look around.

First impression: everything felt down on itself. What should have been the shack is now a bunch of crumbled walls put together by the explosion's mastery, sprinkled with ashes and smoke-flavored.

Second impression: illumination's enough for you to spot a darker something backed against a cracked wall. Ops; a darker someone.

«…Lieutenant?»

You surprise yourself with how harsh your voice is. You clear a bit of its roughness before tossing again: «Lt, are you-»

«Alive. Affirmative» he spits, in a voice shittier than yours. He's not moving, he's back's against the wall and one hand is pressed on the left side of his body. You shiver, for whatever reason, just by looking at him, daring to ask:

«…are you ok?»

«Just a bit broken» he murmurs. It is not enough for you.

«What-»

«Another explosion. Bloody shack fell on us. Price managed to get out, calling for help»

«You're injured»

It's not a question. It's obvious: the more you get near to him, the more he curls his hand against his hip; the more you limp toward him (your stupid leg is hurting) the more he tries to clear his throat, sounding as confident as possible as he declares:

«I'm good»

«Oh, yes. Yes, I can see how "good" you are»

«It's-» he suddenly hissed, his fingers clenched and trembling. «There's nothing to…worry 'bout»

«Let me see»

«You can't do-»

«Let me decide what I can do»

«No»

You could definitely ignore him, and maybe you could even take a look at whatever bloody wound he's hiding from your sight, since he's evidently not strong enough to hold your stubbornness.

You do not move, though. You stop in front of him, clenching your fists, waiting for…something. And he notices.

«Ya'r not complaining» he murmurs, letting his head cling to the wall behind to look at you better.

«It's a battlefield. There's no need to play»

«So yelling at someone's your favorite game»

«Why should it be?» «'Cause you do it everyday»

If you were in a different situation, maybe you would have ended up seriously yelling again. But his voice is not harsh; it's not rough, not scolding or mad, he's neither joking nor making fun of you. There's something…soft, just like when he protected you from that stupid rookie who tried to threaten you with that collar joke.

Maybe he's just too weak, maybe he's lost some of his good old cold brain cells all together with the blood, 'cause you can't believe what you hear as he muffles with the lowest, warmest voice you've ever heard from him:

«It would be a shame not to hear your cute whine again»

Damn.

You could melt, right here, in this spot in the middle of this fucking fallen walls, and your eyes would keep on looking at him as if they're glued to his shadow.

You swallow dirt and dryness.

«Could you please don't…don't. Just don't. I-I'm sure Cap. will come back as soon as-»

«Shut» he breathes, half tired and half amused «Your little mouth, gnome. Just enjoy the silence. 'K?»

You open your mouth, ready to say something which could be mean, but also nice, but also worried, but also…nothing. It could be nothing, and this time your brain closes your phonatory apparatus in time, and you just decide to follow his tip.

And you go sit next to Ghost, curling against the wall.

He chuckles under the mask, collecting enough breath to whisper: «Good girl», directly in your ear.

And your shiver.

Not 'cause of the coldness.

He notices. You know he does as he tilts his head a little toward you, whispering:

«Did he used to call you like that?»

You frown, and he specifies, with voice a little scattered: «Your dominant counterpart»

Your body tenses up, curled with knees pressed on your chest. Your eyes are burning and digging under the broken floor as you nod, blushing like an idiot.

He chuckles, audibly, laughing softly under the mask.

«I'm sorry» he suddenly murmurs, taking you completely by surprise. Your eyes jerk toward him in the heast to see if he's really here, next to you, saying those things. You spot his dark figure thrown against the wall, abandoned in a pose that's more and more stiff, tense, while the hand pressed against the wound is loosening strength.

You push your own palm on his, without thinking, curling on his side to reach the blood-wet spot.

He's cold. Too cold. And your hand instantly becomes slimy, warm and wet as the metallic scent reaches your nose.

«You won't be sorry anymore when the mission is over. When you awaken fully recovered» you try a teasing tone, kicking away fears and worry. «You'll regain your sharpness, I'm sure as hell. Sharp as the splinter in your hip»

«Don't know if I can…sharpen myself again»

«No way» you smile. «Lieutenant Riley, the most feared soldier of us all, doesn't know something? Impossible. Outrageous»

«I do know» He whispers back «How much of a dick I can be, sometimes»

And you sigh, not daring to agree.

There is a moment of silence. Then he adds, almost tearing words out of his own mouth:

«It wasn't to…fool you. I…don't know how to need someone anymore»

«And you end up needing me? The worst choice, seriously»

«You're rude to yourself»

«I've told you: I can see clear. Dunno why you spotted me»

«Maybe I thought you were…easy to handle» he breathes out, eyes almost closed as you grip stronger on his hand, pressing it against the dense blood stain.

«I'm not. You should have learned»

«It was a fight I was willing to win. I am willing to win»

«Against whom? Me?»

«Maybe myself»

«And you're gonna win against yourself by touching my panties and scolding my behavior?»

Silence, again.

He breathes slowly, tilting his eyes at you again.

«You're so easy to read. A bloody open book to me»

«Fun. You're kinda the opposite: a goddamn locked spell-book written in hieroglyphics»

«'S that so?»

«Can assure you»

«Then why have you bear me?»

«'Cause you're my superior, ya know-»

«Look at me»

And you do. You swallow your savoir-faire, your jokes and the blood scent in your nose, erasing the wet, dense mud in your hand, and focusing all your energies on raising your sight at him, who's panting scattered cold air but can pierce you through his sight anyway, making you tremble in a sudden insecurity, letting you feel so small even with a hand pressed on his life.

And he repeats, stern but soft, gently yet firmly: «Why have you bear me?»

And you, little bird kicked out of the nest too early to know how to lie, who's been raised with good words and promises of hugs and chocolate if you deserve them, you find yourself answering soft as a love song:

«…'Cause I liked how dealing with you makes me feel»

He lets out a soft breath.

«Good girl»

And your whole body trembles, curling up more against his side, clinging to his body with your hand still pressed on his to secure the wound, and your head pushed on his chest.

But he doesn't dare to touch you more than that; he just lets you adjust over him, peeking at you from above.

The broken room closes on you, knot together in a dark spot on the wall, a breathing clot of blood-scent and ashes. You press your cheek on his arm, smelling gunpowder and grass on his gear.

«Can we…eat chocolate oatmeal together again?»

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#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod fanfic #fanfiction #cod #ghost x reader #writers on tumblr #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #john price #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick #x reader #so inaccurate military action i'm sorry #i swear to god i'm obsessed with praising kink i love it just give me someone to fill up in praises

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