#kyle burns | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

whynot-tryit · 10 months

Text

Angel of Small Death: Chapter 1

John Price x female! reader

Summary: Laswell convinces Price to hire a team medic. You spend your first day meeting each one of the men and you take an instant liking to the captain, and he does so too.

Word count: 5,528

Warnings: inaccurate medical stuff, mentions of blood, insomnia, body parts, body touching, lmk if there’s anything I should add.

----------------------------------------------------------

“John, in the past six months your team alone has made up almost forty percent of overall med bay visits. I’m not saying your team isn’t fit, I just think you should hire a team medic.”

This isn’t the first time the idea has been brought up to Price during his and Laswell’s debriefings in his office. His hands run over his face, racking through his mutton chops before laying them down on his desk with a grunt of annoyance. “I know you guys can take care of yourselves on base and out there on the field but come on John, you guys need someone. You need someone to help you.”

Price wasn’t fond of asking for help but it was starting to get on his nerves with how much Laswell was bringing this up. “I already said no, Laswell.” His annoyance makes his words come out gruffier than usual. Laswell rolls her eyes and rests her back against the chair posted on the other side of his desk. “How about I choose for you? If you hate them then you’ll never hear me talk about it again.”

The sigh that rolls through Price’s chest is the only sound that radiates through the small room for a couple seconds. He hasn’t had the time to finish the mountain of paperwork on his desk along with the daily training regime for the team, along with all the meetings he’s been dragging his feet to day in and day out. Maybe some help would be nice. Did that mean he was unfit in his role? His eyes come up from the papers on his desk to Laswell’s. Her eyes seem to read his mind and her eyes get softer trying to voice her thoughts.

He was good at his job, getting help wouldn’t be a bad thing, he deserved it. The bags under his eyes and stiff shoulders were a tell tale sign of how much he worked, an extra set of hands wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Fine. You pick ‘em.”

..............................

You were an experienced medic, having been stationed in multiple locations, saved a multitude of civilians and soldiers. You were proud of your work. Moving around so much, feeling like you were being tugged in one direction to the other was getting quite exhausting. Once the rumor of a job opening as a team medic passed through your small base you hesitated for a small moment, you had no idea what team, where, but you knew it would be good to get some fresh air and maybe to have a new place to find stable ground for a foreseeable amount of time. It took months of rigorous interviews and paperwork but they chose you. Laswell, chose you. You had asked her why the captain of the team didn’t pick you, asking why they weren’t present for any of the interviews if you were going to be working with them. She had only hinted that they seemed to be a close friend of hers who needed the extra hand and didn’t have the time to pick someone themselves, so she was doing them a solid.

You had always liked the idea of helping someone, that's why the idea of being a medic, a doctor, was one you had had since you were a child. One that you worked very hard to make a reality, so the thought that whoever it was that you were going to work for really needed you made you even sounder in the idea of taking the new opportunity.

Duffel bags are still packed and laying on the floor of your new living quarters, hands on your hips and eyes trailing around the four walls, all the way to the small bed and desk. This would have to do. Since the process of getting here had taken so long you wanted to jump right into introductions. You hadn’t heard a single thing about the team, 141. Cute name, you thought.

Unpacking and making the room somewhat livable for your needs was going to have to wait, changing into your scrubs and grabbing the four manilla folders you made your way to the medical wing on base. Laswell had helped you set up one on one meetings with the team so you could go over their medical files. Military medics, especially ones who didn’t work with the team directly and personally were always known to look over things and forget to file symptoms and problems properly so you wanted to make sure you went over some things. You wanted to do your job properly.

First up was Kyle Garrick.

As you walked towards the curtain which separated your little appointment room for your little meet and greets you noticed the feet underneath the small sliver of space made by the floor and the bottom of the curtain. He’s early, 15 minutes early to be exact. That earns a check in your book.

You take a deep breath to calm your nerves and reach out a hand to pull the curtain to the side and take a quick step inside before pulling it back to its place behind you. “You must be Kyle.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You greet the soldier with a kind smile, moving to place the folders in your arm on the small side table in the corner before pulling out the rolling stool from underneath and taking a seat, scooting yourself a little closer to the cot located in the middle of the room, closer to Kyle who is seated right on top.

“You don’t have to call me ma’am, makes me feel older than what I really am.” You say with a small chuckle. He doesn’t seem to be much older than you, a little younger than the other members in 141, you presume. Your eyes make their way from his eyes down to his shoulders, then to his arms, hands interlocked in his lap, all the way down to his legs and feet. “You can call me Gaz then, that's what everyone calls me around here anyway.” You file the nickname into the back of your mind.

You splutter out a greeting, a more friend like one at least, your name and medic title. “I already went through your medical history and you seem to be pretty healthy or at least your file is a lot lighter than some I’ve seen.” You mentally flinch when you realize that it might come off as you think he’s inexperienced in his field, new to the military, although his age hints at him being quite the opposite. But Gaz smiles, “Means I’m good at my job. Don’t get hurt too often, at least I try not to.” Oh thank God, you think, he didn’t take it that way.

“Well then, I guess me and you are gonna get along just fine then.” You chuckle. “Is there anything you wanna tell me though? Anything like trouble sleeping? Appetite problems? Joint Pain? It doesn't seem like you’ve complained about anything, ever. At least according to your records.”

A deep hum can be heard coming from his chest as he seems to run through his own mind, trying to come up with anything he would deem reasonable enough to complain about, at least to a doctor. As he’s doing so you take note of his clothes, the medical wing is set up like most hospitals, AC blasting, it’s cold, sure, but not enough to be bundled up for. Your eyes focus on his shoes, more specifically his socks, they’re not the military issued kind. They seem to be wool socks, which is odd, not something you see that often. Maybe his feet get cold, at least to a level that he takes an extra precaution to keep them warm.

While you’re finishing reeling in your thoughts after noticing your observation, Gaz finally finishes rummaging through his mind for anything to tell. “I don’t have anything I think is worth complaining to you, Doc. I mean if complaining about the food on base to you can actually change anything then that's about it.” A deep chuckle makes its way out of his throat. You smile.

“Can I see your fingers?”

The odd question makes Gaz raise a brow but he pulls his hands from his lap and lays them out to the space between you and him, palms up. You take a soft hold of his fingers, wrapping yours around them almost like you would grip onto a handle of something. They’re oddly cold. You take note of it in your mind and move his hand to be palm down so you can take a look at his fingernails, softly running your thumbs over them.

Gaz stays silent, watching you as you bring them level to your eyes as you take note of the very subtle vertical lines that run through his nails. You let a slight hum almost like an aha moment and Gaz is very confused. “What is it?” The question comes out with a slightly worried tone.

“Do you get cold easily, Gaz?”

“I don’t think I get any colder than the average guy, why?”

You finally drop the hold you had on his hands and scoot to the desk, opening a drawer to quickly take a pair of gloves out and slip them on before scooting back to your previous position near him.

“You wear wool socks, which aren't really military issued so I’m guessing your feet get cold easily and your fingers too. Your fingernails also show symptoms of an iron deficiency. Is it alright if I check your eyes and gums?” You always try to explain the best way you can, talking slower than you normally would- trying to come off as understanding as possible. He gives you a nod of approval before shifting closer to the edge of the bed so you can do your little investigation.

You take a hold of his face, placing your thumbs underneath his eyes before pulling down his water line to get a good look underneath. The spot is oddly void of red, a classic sign of anemia. You move on to do the same with his mouth, pulling on his bottom lip to look at his gums which are a pale pink- not the exact color that they should be..

Retracting your hands and pulling the gloves off you scoot to the manilla folder, pulling out a pen from your scrub pocket to jot some things down. “I think you’re anemic, an iron deficiency, nothing too serious since it doesn’t seem to affect your work but I’m gonna order a blood test to confirm and to see if it’s just a dietary issue or if you need a supplement to get you to normal.”

Gaz is kind of taken aback. He felt fine, or at least he thought he did. Sure, his feet and hands got cold but he had trekked through waist high levels of snow and water. The soldier thinks of how he gets winded when moving from one sparring match to the next. Was that what that was? “You got that because of my socks?”

Shit, you’re good.

---------------------

Next was Johnny MacTavish, or “soap” at least that's what the red mess -doctor handwriting, right next to his real name on his file read. You had stayed in the curtain enclosed room after Gaz had left, writing out a referral for the blood test you had mentioned when you heard the slight squeaking of boots on the shiny floors headed right your way before they stopped right on the other side of the curtain. You looked up right as they were pulled aside and a friendly face greeted you, and a mohawk- which surprised you.

“You must be the new Doc, names Soap.” He greets you and steps inside, extending a hand to shake yours. You take it, giving him a light shake before introducing yourself and directing him to sit on the cot. Soap’s introduction didn’t seem rushed yet happened all before you could even stand up from your seat. It somehow exuded this confident aura off him, which somehow in your mind explains the haircut for you.

“I see here that you're a demolition expert?” To be frank, when you had read that in his file while going over all the men’s information, and seen all his med bay visits you knew he would be the one that would take up most of your time. You had seen first hand the aftermath of the explosions his people have dealt with. On enemies and on your very own. The thought and images are quickly pushed to the back of your mind.

“Yes ma’am.” He laughs, it's deeper and louder than Gaz’s. “You are the second person to call me ma’am today, please just call me anything else.”

“My bad, Sorry, Doc.” He raises his hands in a mock surrender. “I’m guessing you also know that your file says that you frequently find yourself in the medical wing.” Soap winces, a hand coming to rub the back of the neck. “Yeah, sorry about that. Kind of comes with the job. But, hey! We’ve got you now, so no worries.”

Yep, you had your work cut out for you on this one. “I guess you do, can’t wait to see what you get yourself into that I have to bandage you up for.”

Soap enjoys your replies, the banter settles nice under his skin. His smile doesn’t seem to fade, maybe slightly but never fully gone. “I’m guessing that since you’ve been at this a couple years you know about the annual hearing tests you should be taking.”

His smile drops instantly. “What.”

“You did know that all personnel that deal with explosives regularly are supposed to be given a hearing test once a year while for others it’s every 3, right?”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest, past your rib cage right near your spine as you watch him gape at you- like he’s grappling to find the words that he clearly doesn’t have. “I’m pulling your leg, your file doesn’t have anything on them either so I'm guessing you never had them.” Soap lets out a sigh before shrugging, flashing you a sheepish smile.

You chuckle, “Alright, I’m gonna have you do one for me and let's just hope to God you’re not deaf yet.” That earns a chuckle from him, again. He was a lot more talkative than Gaz yet around the same level of openness. Thank god it seems like you got a good team, no weirdos so far.

“Can I ask you one thing, lass?” Your eyes dart up from your folder where you were jotting down your notes. “Yeah, of course.”

“How fast does hair that's been burned off, by let's say- an explosion- take to grow back?”

Oh boy.

…………��…………………..

It had taken a while to finish up with Soap, he had too many questions for his own good. But the interaction puts a smile on your face at the thought. Your next patient was already waiting outside, Soap greets him right on the other side of the curtain before he comes in.

“You must be Ghost.”

You had heard of him before, small whispers of a skull masked man who never showed his face. To be honest with yourself, it wasn’t quite unfamiliar to have a soldier that preferred to cover their face most times, so the thought of it that wasn’t unsettling to you in the least. Even as his huge frame slips past the curtain before moving to the other side of the room, or at least to the other side of the bed. You suppress a frown, he’s purposely distancing himself from you- normal in his case, you try to tell yourself. There's a long moment of silence where you’re at least expecting him to somewhat introduce himself but it doesn’t come. Alright then.

You introduce yourself instead, trying to get rid of the silence. “Did you know that most of your files are almost completely redacted?” His eyes finally meet yours after making their way across the room. “Yeah, I know.”

There's silence again, this isn’t gonna be easy.

Ever since you were a kid you had always been able to read people, their eyes, their hands, the way they walked. You look at his eyes and the skin around them, at least the small amount you could see through the baklava he wore. They move down to his neck and shoulders, they’re stiff- almost painfully so. Then onto his crossed arms.

“So, how often do you get nightmares?”

Even Though you can’t see his face you know he’s surprised. “Excuse me?”

You give him a soft smile, “Your eyelids are kind of droopy, you have serious under eye bags, both indicative of an inadequate sleep schedule and your right shoulder is higher than your right even though you're standing straight which tells me you sleep on your side very often. It's actually an effect from what we call a sleeping soldier position. You lay on your side, one arm under your head and the other most likely holding onto some kind of weapon.”

He doesn’t answer straight away, it almost seems like he’s sizing you up. Trying to guess if you’re serious, if you’re being condescending in some way but Ghost can’t seem to find anything behind your eyes except kindness. It almost scares him more than what he was expecting. You know you're right, you’ve worked with dozens of cases of PTSD, diagnosing it and treating it. “What have you tried in order to help?”

You almost think he’s not going to answer you, that he’s just going to storm out of the room and somehow you’d lose your job before you even got the chance to do anything about it.

“I don't know how to fix it.” It’s a quiet, muttered reply. You almost miss it.

Ghost feels like he’s out of his comfort zone, sure soldiers had nightmares and maybe he had had them when on a mission, sleeping just a few feet away from his teammates but you were new and somehow could see through him. “Does your captain know?” You hoped the answer was yes because then it meant you wouldn’t have to tell his superiors about his personal problems and you could just help him without anyone having to know and judge him which is what you guess is making him uneasy. “Price knows.” You nod- they seem to be the closest in age on the team so you guess they’ve known each other for at least a decent amount of time, knowing things about each other that only a close friend would. “Then I can help, I don’t have to tell the captain unless he asks and neither do you.”

“No drugs.” Ghost had lost hope on ever truly resolving his problems when he lied awake at night thinking about it. Drugs would be written down, stored and used against him. He’ll be seen as an unstable soldier- a sick man.

“I can do that.” You offer him a small smile, at least you’re getting somewhere- doing your job.

Soap might not be the one to worry about, you thought.

—----------------------

You let out a quiet sign to yourself, the back to back meetings have had you cramped inside the room for hours. The team seems to be a good one, funny and kind, thank god. The last meeting was with the captain. You were nervous even though he had hand picked the three men you had met earlier so he couldn’t be too far off in comparison. But the thought that you were going to be working with him and he hadn't been involved in choosing you was gnawing at you. If he hated you or thought he didn’t need you he could have your bags packed in an hour tops. You try to take a deep breath, he couldn’t be that mean- none of the boys seemed to warn you about him so that means he had to be nice or else they would complain about him somehow.

The thoughts in your mind seem to be clouding your senses, you barely hear the steps coming towards the curtain and how they come to a halt right before the fabric is slowly pushed to the side.

Still lost in your thoughts and sitting in the stool, it seems like you’ve been glued to the whole day at the desk that's been housing all the manilla folders, referrals, and notes you’ve been working with for hours on end- you don’t hear the steps get closer and the figure who they belong to standing just slightly past the threshold. Price knows he should probably make himself known, maybe clear his throat or rustle the curtains so you know he’s here.

He plans to, or at least that's what he tells himself, he can’t help taking your form in, your back to him- legs crossed, seated, elbow resting on the desk, chin in your hand. He gulps, he hasn’t seen your face but somehow he knows that you’re beautiful. He would bet money on it without you even having to turn around. Surprisingly, it's the very gulp that makes him let out a small cough that finally has you turning your head to face him. A part of him wants to back out of the room and call Laswell, curse her out for this idea of hers but that thought seems to slip out of his mind as your eyes meet his.

You’re quick to stand up, wiping your hands off on your thighs before reaching one out for a greeting. “Shit, so sorry. I didn’t even hear you come in. You must be the captain.” Price takes your hand but his eyes don’t leave your face- that smile that he can already feel is going to get him in a load of trouble and gives you his own. “It’s alright, love.” You try to hide the sharp inhale you seemed to have involuntarily made when the name hits your ears.

His hands are calloused, not in a way that scratches you but feels sturdy, warm, somewhat comforting. The grasp he has of your hand lasts a little longer than what anyone would deem normal and you stutter out a soft command for him to take a seat on the cot.

Price does as you say and lets go of your hand before taking a seat, interlocking his hands in his lap. You take the time to turn and rearrange your papers, trying to get your breathing under control, of course no one mentioned he's handsome. Fuck.

“I hope my men haven’t given you a hard time so far.” You finally turn around after hearing his voice, it matches his face- handsome, charming. “ No, they're nicer than I expected.” That makes Price raise a brow, questioning what you mean by that and you catch on. “Gaz doesn’t like talking so much, Ghost is an enigma of his own, and well soap is one hell of a character.” You chuckle while taking a seat on the stool once again and scooting over til you’re a few feet away from him.

To be completely honest, Price had almost forgotten about the deal he made with Laswell. She had come by to drop your file at his desk- for him to look over- but in reality, he had forgotten. He feels what he thinks is guilt eating at him in his chest. He had been adamant for so long on not needing a team medic, that they were a waste of time and money- yet here you were, nice, beautiful and he didn’t hate you one bit.

“Well, Gaz is called Gaz for that very reason and well Simon is Simon, and soap- well he’s most likely the reason you’re here.” Soap had been the sole reason for 141’s increased med bay visits which is what had tipped off Laswell to initiate the month long debate of hiring someone.

“I’m glad you did, it doesn’t seem like you guys have been keeping up with protocol.”

“What do you mean, love?” Concern is laced into his words, the thought of his men not getting adequate help makes the knot in his chest grow tighter.

“I’m having Gaz checked for anemia since he’s got some of the tell tale signs. Soap hasn’t had a hearing test in over five years and Ghost has a severe case of insomnia.” You know that not a lot of teams have the opportunity to have a team medic, often resorting to rotating med bay doctors who aren't very keen on prevention and treating for mundane things. The look of guilt spread across the captain's face, his brows furrowing and lips taut. “It’s not your fault, I’m here now so I’ll be taking care of you guys and I’ll be trying my best, captain.”

Your words seem to settle the man down but you can tell he still seems anxious over his men. You place your hands on your knees, “Let’s worry about you right now.” You offer him a kind smile before standing up from your seat and taking a few steps forward before coming to a complete stop when you're standing right in between his spread knees. Your hands are held up a few inches from his face, silently asking for permission. Price pushes the feeling of apprehension to the back of his mind before tilting his chin slightly up, granting you to do so.

“Any past surgeries I should know about Captain?” The tips of your fingers press into the skin right below his ears, feeling the tension underneath while you slowly make your way down his neck, dotting your fingers into his hair clad skin.

“No.” You don’t know if it's in your head but his reply almost comes out as a whisper, your fingers run back up his neck applying pressure directly under his jaw on both sides of his esophagus. You hesitate for a moment when you don’t feel the usual clump of cells that should be there. You spare a glance at his eyes, taking a second too long to remember the shade of blue you find yourself trying to jot down in your mind. “You sure about that?” Your voice sounds softer, closer to the whisper he seemed to have let out before.

You slowly remove your hands from Price’s head and reach for the pen in your scrub pocket and turn to write something in your manilla folder that's laid out on the desk. “I think I would remember going under the knife, love.”

A small smile graces your lips while you finish writing your notes, scooting back to him. “Well Captain, I’m sorry to break the news to you but you don’t have tonsils.” You try to keep a straight face looking at the man sitting on the medical wings cot, barely a foot away. Your knees brushing up against his. “What does that mean?” You hear what sounds like a hesitation of concern laced in his voice and it almost makes you break the stoic look you’re trying to maintain.

“Either someone drugged you and ripped them out of your throat in your sleep or you had them removed when you were a kid and you didn’t remember and no one ever bothered to check or write it down. I'm gonna go with the ladder so you can sleep better at night.” You let out a little chuckle at your imaginative story to pull his leg. Before Price seems to catch onto your joke you ask a follow up question. “Do you smoke?”

“Does that matter?” He looked like the type to smoke, maybe not exactly a cigarette but maybe a cigar, your eyes flash down to his hands and look at his fingers which are laid out on his knees. Yep, he looks like the type to smoke cigars. Your eyes come back up to meet his.

“Cigars?”

Price doesn’t have to answer your question, the look on his face alone answers for you. Before the words reach your ears you’re already back to writing some notes in the folder. Sparing a glance back at the man you notice how out of place he looks. His dark clothes stand out against the pristine whiteness of the blanket laid out on the medical bed, and the slightly off white colors of the walls, the freshly mopped shiny floors. You have the sudden urge to comfort him even though he’s not here for any actual type of medical treatment.

You can see the questions brewing underneath his lips and behind his eyes. Turning your body back to face him, inching your stool a little closer til your knees are almost back to pressing against his.

“If you got your tonsils removed as a child you have a slightly increased risk of upper respiratory infection and you smoking- even if it’s an occasional cigar increases that risk even more.” You try to show some sense of empathy through your eyes while they meet his. A sense of understanding seems to cross his face from your words and it causes a warm smile to find its way on your face.

“It's not that big of a deal but since it’s now in my job description to make sure you and your men are as healthy as can be I just want to make a note of it in case of anything.”

“Alright, love.”

The gruffness in his voice makes you fight back a shiver. “Do you not like doctors, Captain?” His eyes wander around the room, taking note of the fluorescent lights and sketchy wallpaper with a not too fond look on his face. “Not exactly, just not fond of the medical wing itself.” You nod, “yeah I can agree with you on that, not exactly friendly.” John smiles, it's small but something and you feel a tightness in your chest just from the sight of it. “Well since I’m your doctor now we can always just meet in your office instead of here, as long as I can just bring my supplies when needed.”

Price doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be so understanding, so comforting. It’s strange, out of the ordinary for the man, especially in his line of work. His eyes rack your face, down to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers. “I’m here to help you Captain, that's it.” You can tell he’s thinking, trying to take you in- read you.

Price decides he likes it, likes you.

“You gonna cook me dinner too, love?” He chuckles. You let a small laugh slip past your lips. “Ask Laswell to see if you can upgrade to the doctor deluxe package and maybe I will.” You’re enjoying this, and judging by Price's reaction he seems to be enjoying himself too.

“Deluxe package?”

“Yeah, cooked meals, back massages, the whole nine, Captain.”

“Sounds like a dream if you tell me, love.”

You both break out into a chorus of light laughter and quiet chuckles. The room doesn’t seem so small and suffocating like you had thought a mere thirty minutes ago and that pit in your stomach has seemed to all but dissipate. You finish going over some more of his medical records, confirming some information and filling in some gaps before you realize that it's been over an hour and the day is coming to a close. It doesn’t even hit you until Price brings it to your attention by looking down at his watch.

“I’m so sorry, I’ve probably kept you here for longer than you planned.” You say with an apologetic smile, nervousness etched into your words. “It’s alright, love.”

The boys were most likely waiting for him in his office for the past twenty minutes but he didn’t have the heart to tell you. Your eyes seemed to have glued him to the cot and your voice lulling him into a daze. Maybe having you around wasn’t so bad after all.

He stands- you follow him. “Well, it was nice meeting you, captain.” You hadn’t had time to take him in when he first came into the room. He’s tall, wide shoulders, tapered waist, and a nice strong set of thighs you have to force your eyes off of.

“John.” You raise a brow, lost in thought from seeing him in his full form. “You can call me John.” His smile is warm and it's almost like the warmth of it radiates onto you and you feel a rush of heat crawl up your neck.

“Okay, John.”

“It was nice meeting you, love.” Price gives you one last kind smile, the crows feet along the edges of his eyes come out at the gesture as he walks towards the curtain before pushing it aside and stepping out. The curtains don't go back to their previous place. You watch him as he walks away until he’s out of eyesight and you finally feel like you can catch your breath. Fuck, your captain is hot.

---------------------

Taglist: @sharkiestory

#john price #john price x reader #fluff #cod modern warfare #cod men #x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #slow burn

709 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 2 months

Text

Home [Chapter 6]

Prev Part

Tags: Viking au, Viking!Soap, highlander!reader, healer!reader, Soap x f!reader, slow burn, f!oc cameo(Witch), sea travel, grief, kidnapping(sort of)

Summary: Again you find yourself at the mercy of the Vikings' will, moved without your consent to a place you'd rather not go. You must be going mad, somehow it all reminds you of home.

Packing up camp takes less time than you’d thought, though you suppose many hands make light work. Your hands aren’t saved from that work either. Despite decidedly not being a viking you’re directed to assist with collapsing and packing tents. Mactavish points out where to store them on the ship, before picking up crates and barrels with a soft grunt. You resent being given the easy work, relegated to burden before you even set out, but you would resent being given anything harder too.

Working with vikings. Your blood boils at the thought, but you have no other way to go. With no pressing medical needs you’re treated the same as every other man in the crew. You’re not sure whether to resent that fact or laugh. Are you a woman or aren’t you? Are you surrounded by wolves or are you taken into their burrow? Will you find hands shoved under your clothes, or won’t you?

You stick to Mactavish, try not to be underfoot after the first viking you bump yells at you. The men are all preoccupied with carrying their burdens, if it weren’t for Mactavish you might see threads of escape. You might have taken the chaos of packing the ship as your best chance to get out of here. But Mactavish seems to welcome your company, chattering away as he directs you to grab crates and load the long boat. His hand is firm on your back, always touchy even when it’s not called for.

“Is nae a long journey,” He explains, “jus’ across the straight. We’ll be there before ya ken it.”

It doesn’t escape your notice how excited your viking counterpart is at the prospect of going home. If it were you, and to some extent it is, you wouldn’t be so eager to part with your homeland. As you see it Mactavish may as well renounce the tartan he wears over his shoulders, eager as he is to be a viking. You don’t have much choice in where you go, but you’ll be damned if you’re eager to leave.

You’re employed, that’s it. You work or you die. You catch the captain’s eye as Mactavish shows you where you’ll be stationed for the journey. He tips his head to talk to the viking in the skull mask, his attention off of you as quickly as it had found you. Mactavish catches you staring and sighs.

“He’s just nervous about ya runnin’.”

“As if you wouldn’t strike me down before I left camp,” You mumble, your eyes following the trails of axes and swords where they sit on the hips of the men loading the ship. Mactavish winces. You don’t see how it could mean much to him, you’re just extra cargo, another mouth to feed that shouldn’t be there in the first place.

“Ah wouldnae,” Mactavish tries, you push past him. You’re uninterested in empty promises, in words that have the same substance to them as the air they whisper through. He would, he just needs to be given the order and your life is forfeit. Wants disappear when viking’s greed is on the line.

“It doesn’t matter,” You tell him, you’re already stolen, you’ve nothing to return to, what reason could you have for running? You’re the only woman on the ship, and for who knows how long. That’s reason enough to run. There’s space to run on land, but at sea? You pause, frown at the rocky beach below your feet. You’d be better served dead than passed between oars.

The fears of women, you have no sane way of voicing them to your captor. Mactavish hands you a bag, the contents of it shift with strange shapes as you find your hold. It’s smokey, smelling of meat and brine. It grounds you a little. You clear the anxiety from your mind and glance out over the sea, trying to find the other side the way you used to when you were small.

You’re reminded almost immediately that Mactavish owns you as the longboat pushes off the shore. You’re caged between the wall of the ship and your least favorite viking, his words bouncing around your head as he directs men to row. “My catch,” “my watch,” “prey.” He calls you that again in a hushed tone,

“Dae ya get sea sick, Vaenn?”

You ignore him, turn your head to rest it against the wooden wall of the ship. There’s little for you to do on the ship but wait. You patch a few blisters on the youngest vikings, and tend to the fever that’s brought on by a night of rain. Mostly you find yourself with Mactavish pressed to your side. Big and warm, sturdy when you try to push him off. His eyes are stormy each time you look at him, the clouds parting when he turns to meet your stare.

He pulls on smiles like an old pair of shoes. They’re well worn, practiced to his face, but they never reach his eyes. You wonder what he must be thinking. You try to drown out that curiosity with a different one. What are you meant to do when you get to shore?

Four days of sailing and the only thing you’ve come up with is: doctor. You suppose there must be more vikings, more warriors returning from different pillages, that need patching up. You can’t imagine what that must look like, a whole village of brutes. You wonder if they kidnap all their women, or if you’re a special case.

Exhaustion weighs on you. The rocking of the boat, the unease in your stomach around sleeping with so many strangers nearby, you find little rest and in the short grabs of it you jerk awake to the heat of fire. Your grief has started to numb you, or perhaps that’s the ocean’s chill. Mactavish fixes his fur around your shoulders more tightly, checks the heat of you with a cool hand against your cheek. You wonder if he even has the capacity to worry for others. A man that would turn away from the screams of an entire village is a man that holds no one but himself in his heart. You turn away from him more often than not, feel the frustrated curl of his fingers before they’re dropped in a fist to his lap.

You can see it every time you close your eyes, so you don’t. You can hear your own sobs ripping from your chest, can feel the strength of Mactavish’s arm around you, in your dreams. You don’t sleep. What’s lost can never be regained, and now you slip further from it. Your skin is cold and your stomach churns with the waves. You tuck your resentment close to your chest, and nurse it with bitterness.

You’re not going home. You don’t have one of those anymore.

You’re startled awake by a familiar melody, words you know from your mother’s tongue. You mutter her name, still addled by sleep, and split your eyes open. Mactavish is studying his hands beside you, digging his short nails into the calluses at the base of his fingers. His voice is low, but the tune carries. The usually noisy ship seems to hold its silence. In the dim grey light of dawn you wonder if it’s just the two of you awake.

The only two souls alive that carry the land’s proper tongue.

And yet he mutters it, the words of the lullaby said under his breath, breathed through the chopped melody that leaves his lips. He doesn’t even seem to pay attention to it, his eyes focused on his hand’s work more than the tune. You listen to the sharp pick of skin, nearly louder than the familiar tune, and try not to move.

“-found the trial o’ mountain mist, but ne’er a trace of baby o,” He hums, his lips twitching with pain as he digs his nail too deep. Mactavish looks up towards the bow of the ship and you follow his eyes as best you can, watching Gaz and the Captain speaking in quiet tones.

Gaz holds a telescope to his eye, nodding and directing course when he brings it down. The air waits for them. There’s a near silent beating of wings, and the captain holds out his arm for a black bird to perch on. He strokes its beak with a finger, the creature clicking pleasantly before it alights again, back the way it came.

Your heart pounds in your chest. The threat of land never closer than it is when the Captain turns to the ship and announces,

“We’ll be sleeping in beds tonight, lads.”

Mactavish smiles to himself, his head bowed, while the rest of the crew cheers. You don’t share their excitement.

The port you dock in is nothing like you expected. Mactavish offers you a hand to help you off the ship, and though you reach for it instinctually, you ultimately spurn the gesture. You’d rather make a fool of yourself tripping over your skirts than take help from that man. Again you see his fist clench, dropped heavily to his side as he stares at the space you used to occupy. The skull faced viking directs the unloading of cargo, barking orders to the others while you look out at the town.

It’s not what you thought it would be. There’s no dismal hopelessness to the buildings that dot the grassy landscape. Women and children move between the houses without fear, and market stalls exchange their goods for coin under colorful banners. In the distance you can see sheep grazing, men fish along the shore, farms and gardens dot the landscape. The dirt path that winds around town works its way inward, all roads leading to the center, a longhouse built up on a hill. It reminds you too much of your own home. Bigger perhaps, but twisting the knife in your heart as clearly as your mother’s face might.

A viking carrying a heavy crate bumps you from your observation, and your arm is caught by another. You give a shout of surprise, looking around for Mactavish and finding the Captain instead. He all but drags you along the dock, his grip firm and unyielding even when you struggle against it. You’re deposited in front of a woman. There's darkness under her eyes, runes in coal over her cheeks, and bone woven into her red hair. She smiles at you warmly, and you jerk back away from her.

There’s something unnerving in her smile, in her movements.

Her brows draw together, concern coloring her expression. The black bird that you’d seen greeting the ship rests on the staff she’s holding, its beak clicks curiously at you. You ignore it. Birds like that are only good for eating.

“One Læknir,” The Captain presents you, he says something else, a word you don’t understand that makes the woman laugh. She looks more alive when she laughs.

“You are-” She seems to struggle for the word, your language ill-suited to her tongue, she asks the Captain something uses that same word “Læknir” and he responds with his correction:

“Healer.”

“Healer,” The woman finishes, you glance at the captain and give a small nod. She speaks to the captain again, speaks past you, you try not to take offense. You’re starting to get the feeling this woman isn’t used to people let alone talking to them.

“Need a translator?” Mactavish’s voice jolts you from your thoughts, too close beside your ear. He grins when you glare at him. The woman seems almost relieved to see him. She speaks to him now, and you hear him say it again:

“My catch, Völva, I’ll watch ‘em.” His eyes dart to you as you bristle. The woman, the Völva (you heard him use that word before, you file it as a proper noun, a title maybe), glances at you as well.

“You stay with -” She says a word and you frown.

“Soap,” Mactavish fills in, leaning to murmur it by your ear.

“Soap,” You confirm, “I’m staying with the lye.”

“You’re stayin’ with Mactavish,” The Captain tells you, no hint of amusement in his tone, it startles you still to hear your own tongue so proudly fallen from his lips.

“Not a proper name,” You grumble.

“Needed a bath when we caught ‘im.” The Captain sniffs, “If he’s smart he’ll give you one too.” You stiffen, any humor you may have found in the nickname lost with those words. You don’t look at Mactavish, at Soap. You keep your eyes on the Völva. She must understand that they can’t force you into lodgings with a man. She tips her head, smile blank. You can’t hold her gaze for long.

“You wanted responsibility,” The Captain pushes you towards Mactavish, “there it is, your catch, your watch.”

You suppose it makes sense, you stay with the person that caught you, but it still drops like a rock in your stomach. Mactavish may speak your language, but as far as you’re concerned he’s a viking through and through. You’re not safe with him, not safe in this village. Mactavish settles his hand on the small of your back, and leans close for a third time, his voice is softer but still rings like a death knell.

“Let’s go Vaenn,” He must take your hesitance for exhaustion because he adds, “it’s nae far, then ya can rest.”

You very much doubt that.

327 notes · View notes

toomanywordsnllines · 9 months

Text

They're the Barbie girls... in their barbie worlds And Ghost is just Ken 😔 One day I shall draw Ghost's revenge 😏

#manyrambles #manysart #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #john soap mctavish #kyle gaz garrick #ghost is there too #call of duty soap #call of duty gaz #ghoap is implied #I mean maybe not completly but Soap wants that man CARNALLY #Soap and Gaz should not be together for too long. It's like putting gasoline on an already burning fire :3 #Just a silly doodle page <3 been missing drawing soap in slutty clothing

707 notes · View notes

mphoenix-7 · 4 days

Text

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader] • Masterlist

Book Summary: John "Soap" MacTavish has hated you since the very first day you arrived on base and joined their Task Force. You argue all the time, and one day, it pushes Captain Price to his absolute limit. He sends you both away to an isolated cabin in the woods for a week in hopes you can put aside your differences and bond. Will it work? Or will you two just end up hating each other even more?

This is a slow burn enemies to lovers fan fiction featuring Soap and you, the reader.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Soap is mean, like really mean, smut, rough smut, slightly non-consensual, lots of swearing, violence, descriptive, blood, angst, fluff, slow burn, PTSD, past trauma, comfort, suggestive language, (more to come as I write)

Other Places to Find This Fic:

~ Wattpad

Chapter 1: The Mission

Chapter 2: The Heat of Battle

Chapter 3: The Debrief

Chapter 4: The Cabin: Day 1 (pt. 1)

Chapter 5: The Cabin: Day 1 (pt. 2) (pending)

Chapter 6: The Cabin: Day 2 (pending)

Chapter 7: The Cabin: Day 3 (pending)

• Please do not post my works on any other platforms or use my storyline for AI purposes. If someone finds this to be the case, please let me know •

122 notes · View notes

bluepixiedream · 22 days

Text

I began something…

Good Dogs Only

Unable to be broken by the military and deemed too much of a hassle to be worth anything, your last stop is teaming up with the 141 until your demise. Can you learn to be a good dog, to follow orders and listen, or will one of the guys finally put you down?

(Read as an reader insert, but they do go by a call sign and have backstory. I’m trying to avoid physical descriptions. Does go by she/her.)

[I have an idea on where this is going but honestly, this is all vibes and thoughts. A nice little distraction. Thank you :)]

Content Warning: mentions of violence, call sign is a reference to csa, brief mention of sa w/o details, just a quick meeting a very brief overview.

1) The Meeting

You stared out of the window, taking in England entering the autumn season. The changing leaves. The colder air. Ice threatening to form on the roads and a sickness flowed through your bones and stayed there.

This is your last stop in your very short military career.

The United States didn't know how to handle you anymore. On a tight leash, you were unstoppable. A danger to their enemies. An unstoppable force. But ultimately you were uncontrollable and deemed a hazard. You must be broken at all costs. You must submit.

It almost became a game to your superior, Yena, to see how far you could be pushed. Could you escape a sinking boat in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with a broken leg, a dull blade and a mountain full of soldiers who were ordered to skin you on sight?

Of course.

Almost too easy.

They built you up for six months during your training. And they spent the last few years trying to shatter you in between missions and teams who could not handle someone like you. Solidarity confinement for 200 days. Shoved in the floorboards of Guantanamo Bay and left to rot until you escaped or died. Kept locked in a room with violent men and their violent urges until you were used up. Until you broke. Until you listened to your owners.

But you didn't.

It wasn't wired into you like it was with everyone else and, now as you get closer and closer to your last stop, you almost wished it was. You wish you could retire and move to the deep woods, in a cottage that begged for an owner and someone who would make fires in its belly and make bread in its stomach until it grew alive with hope and feelings. Finally allowing children to run around, making the cottage into a home.

You felt the weight of your past. You felt the grief you caused. The lives you took as a civilian and the chaos you sought while working for imbeciles in military drags.

Good people deserved good things. And you, my dear Lolita, were not a good person and did not deserve nice things.

Not anymore. Maybe never even at all.

"You will meet the 141 at 0800 hours. Laswell is not convinced you will fit in, and I assume the rest of them won't either. Make them believe otherwise." Yena demanded, her tongue dabbing at her bottom lip, her eyes pinched like she ate something sour. She didn't. She was just in your presence and after awhile, it was enough to feel as if she had.

"Yes ma'am." You replied, the mocking tone seated deeply within you, but Yena had been around for awhile. She knew what you meant.

"Get yourself under control and we can discuss an early retirement." Lies. All lies. All pathetic, wasteful, delicate lies.

"Yes, ma'am." You said again, your chest locking in as the jeep rolled to a stop outside of the base you would stay at until your demise. Thick, concrete walls lapped around, barb wire on top, guards holding their post like they were ready for war.

If this didn't go according to Yena's plan, they would be at exactly that.

It took only a short minute before the gate opened and you were rolling through.

The new wound on your side itched. It would until it finally healed enough. You deserved the ache. You deserved the pain. You were a dog after all. And a shitty one at that.

"If they can't control you, Lolita, nobody can." Yena said, almost sincerely as she gazed at your eyes. Trying to telepathically send you a message. A warning, a plea to be good. To listen. To be a good attack dog and listen to your new owners. "We have no use for soldiers who don't listen." Her voice turned down, almost a hush. "We have no use for dogs we can't control." You nodded, reading her loud and clear.

Be good and buy yourself some extra time.

Don't listen, attack unprovoked or bite, and there would be no more punishments. There would be no more moldy bread and sour water, no more prisons and no more impossible tasks.

Only death.

Death shouldn't scare you, but you were hiding from some of the dead, and you would never be ready to face them. You couldn't. Not yet.

The jeep stopped moving. Yena sat back, ran her hand over her pristine uniform before opening the door to greet the team standing outside, waiting for the new member to join them.

The incredible team of four.

The team that made superior officers whisper in fear of being overheard. The team that was sent to their almost certain death and yet, came back time and time again.

The best of the best.

And yet, here you were.

Not the best of the best. Not incredible. Not miraculous. Just you and your past and perhaps the little thing you could do with your memory, if you ever felt like sharing with the class again.

Four would become five.

It was a shitty thing to put any team through. The team knew each other deeply, trusted each other explicitly. There were four of them and it was perfect. A leader, his right hand man, and two soldiers who were eager to do good. To be good dogs and listen and do as they were told.

Throwing you in would be fucking up their whole dynamic. It could ruin them.

All apart of a grand experiment, no doubt.

You followed after Yena. Your boots hitting the ground with a crunch. The cold morning air brought you much needed relief from the stale, tense air. All of their gazes found you immediately and you couldn't help it but stare back at them the same.

Laswell was first. Kate Laswell. Station Chief for over 10 years. Unconventional but respected, feared and dangerous without the team around her. Leader of the 141. Yena's personal crush, even if she never outright admitted it. She was using you to get closer to Laswell and, if you had a heart, you would almost think of it as cute.

"Hello, I'm Kate, but call me Laswell. And you are-"

"Call sign only." Yena interrupted, her eyes on you before going back to Laswell. Laswell clearly didn't enjoy the interruption, nor did she enjoy feeling out of the loop for once. She was normally the person to make the others feel that way. She was not the one to be on the receiving end.

"Lolita." Your voice came out strong, your hand held out and as she gripped yours, you felt her squeezing yours twice. Quickly. A test. You did not engage. Yena might shoot you there if you did.

That wouldn't be a very good dog, would it?

Laswell couldn't help her own reaction, her left eyebrow twitching up, the jerk of her lips. Something died on her tongue. You wanted to seek it out. Make her spill it in front of everyone. In front of you.

Nothing you hadn't heard before. There was power in knowledge, in knowing exactly what she thought, and she was smart enough to keep it to herself.

"Sergeant Lolita. Welcome."

The next person was Captain John Price. Mid to late 40s. Dark brown hair hidden under, what you could only assume, was a fisherman's hat. Bright blue eyes. A half beard, cut off at the chin. He wasn't the tallest, nor the biggest, but there was something about his personality that oozed confidence. A tamer of unruly soldiers. The one person in charge and that would stay that way.

You were almost sad you wouldn't be around for long. You would love to see their personalities play on each other. Was he the dad of the group? Or was he, truly, the most vile and only the men behind him could control him?

Maybe that was their entire group. Everyone kept everyone in check.

An ache filled your heart.

It must be nice to have a team like that, a family like that.

His hand reached out first and gripped yours tightly. You reciprocated, a short nod from you got you a nod in return. You wanted to say so much to him. To all of them. You wanted to let them in on your little secret.

You wanted to be a bad dog already.

But you couldn't. Not yet. Not in front of Yena and Laswell.

Maybe not ever.

"Captain John Price." His voice was like his handshake, strong and sturdy. His accent only made you fall into the twisted maze of control even further.

Maybe Yena was right. Maybe it could be okay to give up control. To submit. To be good. To listen. To obey.

"Lolita. Nice to meet you, Captain. Glad to be apart of the team." He let your hand go and backed away, allowing another to take his place. The man now in front of you was beautiful. It was almost breathtaking. Almost grotesque. What was he doing here? Why wasn't he a model somewhere, on a beach, being fed grapes on a vine from other Gods like himself? His brown skin glowed in this shitty weather. He deserved the sun. He deserved the stars.

You made note that he could be dangerous to your objective, and to maybe keep some space.

And then he smiled. Perfect teeth framed by plush lips. His cheekbones sharp. His eyes glowed, like he was honestly happy to have an extra member added.

You made another note to highlight your previous note, mark it in red and never to forget it. He shook your hand, this time more gently than the Captain but still strong. He needed to feel you out. See what you were made of. You didn't blame you.

You were doing the same.

"I'm Kyle. You can call me Gaz if you wan'." Sergeant Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick. Panty dropper. Partner stealer. A perfect and deadly decoy.

You had to hand it to Laswell, this was a nice team she put together.

"Call me Lola when we're not on field." You couldn't stop yourself and maybe that's why Gaz was here. Open you up. Get you to spill.

You wouldn't. You can't. He gave you a million dollar smile. It almost hurt to give him a small one back.

"You got it, Lola." Just like the Captain, he backed away and allowed another member to take his place.

This time your eyes didn't stray to the face like before, but the mohawk that went down his head. Non compliant. Non military approved. You wanted to smirk. You wanted to look over at Yena and ask her how the fuck she expected you to listen when your new team clearly did no such thing?

You let your gaze travel to his face and fall into his piercing blue eyes. Just like his captain but a lighter shade. A scar broke his left eyebrow in two. His nose was sharp but the slight bump told a few stories of broken bones and a possible refusal on being set correctly. His lips were plush, a bit wet from his tongue darting out to touch them. He was around the same height as Gaz, but perhaps a bit bulkier. He wasn't as pretty as Gaz though.

You didn't think anyone could be. Not unless they were a professional model and even then, there would always be something about Gaz that would rope you in. Something hidden, something dark, something brewing under his surface that made it clear why he was SAS.

The man in front of you smiled, and you were hooked like you were with Gaz. That smile. Full teeth. A small dimple on his right cheek. His hand came out and you immediately grabbed it. His hand was warm and it fully engulfed yours. Not that it was abnormal but it almost made you want to rip it away. It also made you want to grip his hand harder, keep the warmth all to yourself.

"Johnny but ye can call me Soap." Your heart felt off. You were use to using your charms on people, on men, but not the other way around.

It was quite rude when you thought about it more and more.

"Lola." You gave him a small smile back and did nothing to hide your eyes from traveling over his body. Taking in his frame and searing it to memory. You knew you would fight these men to prove your worth and it would happen soon. He was big and bulky. You took your hand back before you began gripping it for a different reason.

What else was big-

"Ay, this tall, dark and mysterious is L. T. Or Ghost."

You almost couldn't believe you didn't see him but that was a lie. You thought a cloud was following Johnny-Soap. No, it was a man. You didn't remember seeing him at first but how could you miss him? Someone much taller than everyone around with the body of a tank. A black balaclava covered his entire head, leaving no skin to be shown and a human skull improperly sewed onto the material underneath. Black gloves covered his hands and his eyes, dark and endless, looked at you like you were a pile of shit under his boot.

That was fine, almost preferred. You liked indifference. You hated lust. It complicated things when eventually you had to put an unruly officer in their place; it often lead to your own punishment instead of theirs.

His outfit was something else entirely and it made you think. It was almost relieving to see someone else who was non military compliant when it came to bullshit like looks and uniform. Someone who played by his own rules. Someone who wasn't scared of what others thought of him.

'But even he was broken, broken enough to be on a team, unlike yourself.' You could hear Yena whisper without having to open her mouth at all.

You gave him a short nod before turning back to your new captain and station chief, happy to be over with introductions. Captain was the first to speak and broke the mounting tension.

"Let's get this over with, yeah?"

You couldn't agree more.

#cod #call of duty #task force 141 #141 x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #slow burn #oh my god why am I so nervous????#definitely mature rating #angst #eventually poly 141 #I love these men #I love all the creators of all the amazing fics too!!#eventual smut

146 notes · View notes

gomzdrawfr · 5 months

Text

a purely self indulgent comic of me visiting the 141 and gifting them present

Gaz - Camera

Ghost - Baymax

Price - Christmas baked goods

angst and mcd ahead :3

Soap - candy cane dagger and bluebells

good night and happy holidays folks

186 notes · View notes

hood-ex · 7 months

Text

Ugh... Catwoman #58 has such fanfic vibes, I can't. Jason keeps calling Bruce "B" and then Bruce gives him a piggyback ride to safety. "Put me down, B, I'm not a kid!" JASON WOULD NEVER. Jason would stab Bruce and then curb stomp him for fucking his brain chemistry over. Then Selina keeps acting like a mother hen as if Jason is her step-son or something. Weird vibes all around.

#i hate this fuckin family 😭#no but literally this is just disrespectful to everyone's characterization/history #what fucking script are these dc writers following my god. burn it!!#Bruce Wayne #Jason Todd #Selina Kyle #Catwoman 58

240 notes · View notes

irisro-art · 5 months

Text

More Kyle MacLachlan fanart

#i hate oil pastels with a burning passion #my post #sketchbook #twin peaks #kyle maclachlan #dale cooper fanart #traditional art #art

90 notes · View notes

drowningyoursorrow · 10 months

Text

(THEY LONG TO BE) CLOSE TO YOU

kyle spencer x gn! Reader

You were new to being in the coven and most often kept your distance from the rest, excluding Violet. So when she brings back a zombie-like boy back from wherever he came from, you were appalled. Everyone eventually had to watch over him and his wellbeing like some baby. You stayed away from him, until you couldn't anymore.

!!!: none? W/C: 1.3k

THE WITCHES had something to attend to, and you didn't want to partake, earlier you had to go over the limit with your powers. Still exhausted and worn out, Cordelia decided that it would be best if you rest. You were a bit ashamed of how weak you still were but knew that Cordelia was always right. You were fine with the suggestion, noting that you could practice a bit more in the meantime and look after the place. Zoe suggested that since you weren't going with them, you could look after Kyle.

You didn't steer clear of him out of dislike, you actually felt sorry for him, and he often made you feel sad. But whenever Zoe were to look after him, he would break down and throw a "tantrum" in the most sudden moments. He seemed to be fond of Zoe, and he would still freak out like that, it scared you a bit. Although he was zombie like and wasn't the best talker, he still had indescribable strength to him. In which you feared him because of it, it was ridiculous, but him being like Frankenstein didn't help your case.

But you knew Zoe cared deeply about his own wellbeing, and she was particularly kind to you. So you decided to suck it up and try your best, now wishing you did help look after him. Because when you walked back into the school, he stood before you, and you didn't know what to do. He had a forlorn expression of Zoe leaving, and it did make your heart ache, so you greeted him with a smile. It seemed he wasn't used to you two interacting either, because he returned with a confused look.

He studied your expression, and you did the best you could to make it seem more genuine coming from you. It sufficed, since he held a bigger smile than you, almost as if he was happy you finally spoke to him. "Alright Kyle, let's uh- what do you want to do?" You paused for a moment, realizing that he can't really answer your question, but he was trying. You tensed, not meaning to already frustrate him, and just grabbed his arm and pulled him with you near the doorway.

"Let's go for a walk, yeah?" You turned expectantly to him, and he nodded sheepishly at the question, extending out his arms. You stared at him confused on what the hell he was doing before realizing, he wanted help with his coat. So you delicately put it on him, afraid that he might react a certain way if you were too fast and urgent. You put his mittens on him too, deciding it was too cold out, he stared down at you as you slid them on.

A smile was adorned on his features as he smiled at you, you were already wearing your coat from previously walking out with the rest. You grabbed your own gloved from your pockets, ready to put them back on, before Kyle stopped you. He stared at you as he wore a big grin and took your gloves, he must'e wanted to put them on you like you did with him. It was a sweet gesture, but it would be harder for Kyle since he already had mittens on, and he was just fiddling with them. Trying to make them fit onto your hands, he was trying his best, but it wasn't really working.

So, you used your fingers slightly redirecting them easier into the opening of the gloves, hum erupting from Kyle. They were crumpled on, but Kyle looked prideful as he looked up at you, awaiting your reaction. "Wow, Kyle, you did it even better than I ever could. You did a good job, thank you for helping me." There was sincerity in your tone as you smiled back at him, "W-Welllcomeee." His reply caught you off guard, you're not usually the one to hear him talk, and you smiled even harder as you led him outside.

You knew Cordelia said it would be better if you were to rest, but how he eager he looked to go on a walk made you want to. Your body and mind were sore, but you figured you could hold off long enough until you get back. As you and Kyle strolled aimlessly, you were thankful that he wasn't able to pick up on much of your staggering. Too absorbed with the scenery and views in front of him and all around him. It made you smile and so you just gazed at him as you walked side to side, you created some distance not wanting to bump into him.

You steered him into the direction of a nearby park, neither of you really speaking. Just enjoying the presence of one another. You finally directed your attention away from Kyle and stared forward, the cool breeze settling around you. "It's so beautiful out here, I should go on walks more." You felt Kyle stifle beside you and give you a pout, unsure of what he wanted, "what, no? I shouldn't go on walks?"

He just shook his head, wanting to obviously say something, but couldn't really muster up the words to do so. Instead, he just took your hand beside him and walked closer alongside you, you were confused now. You two were close now, walking together, "You want us, to go on walks more? Together?" "Yeeess, too....to-togethhherr." You both looked at each other, you nodded at his words as you both giggled alongside each other.

You remembered the proximity of you two, since he got his point across, you separated yourself from him once more. Not wanting to make anything awkward for the both of you, but Kyle snapped his head at you. He was pouting again and tried reaching for your hand again, "are you still cold? Here, you can wear my gloves underneath your mittens." You were beginning to take off your gloves before he stopped you and shook his head, slowly encasing your hands with his. He peered up at you, wanting to know if you understood what he wanted, and you did, you just gave him a small smile.

Confused and unsure of the moment that you two were sharing, you assumed that this would comfort him. So you squeezed his hand to reassure him, and he sheepishly smiled at you before continuing on walking. Although you never really spoke to Kyle, you understood why Zoe cared so deeply for him. Although he was a grown man, he had that sense of wonder in him that disappears in people when they get older. You could see the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you once more, and you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding.

He was so beautiful and throughout your guy's stroll, you acknowledged the amount of times Kyle refrained from lashing out. Instead, he looked deeply into your eyes and relaxed, he was trying not to freak you out, as if he knew why you avoided him. You felt your stomach do something and instead of hesitance and fear as you walked with Kyle. It turned into comfort and relaxation, you let him walk side by side with you and let him be right at your hip. Kyle was smiling incredibly hard as he looked back at you, seeming grateful that you finally let him in.

Neither of you needed to speak and just held each other's hands tighter, not knowing why you both found relief in another. Suddenly you felt hot, very hot, and your skin itched uncomfortably. You felt your legs begin to give out as your breath quickened, your body was beginning to feel incredibly painful. And your steps began to falter, Kyle only turned to you, hearing yelling, before you fell and everything turned black. You should've listened to Cordelia, she was always right.

..............................................................................................................................

- Title is a song that pre-death Kyle would listen to unironically when he's in love - Part two, maybe if I'm feeling romantic - I love Kyle, he's so adorable - Mildly proofread

Hope you enjoyed and if you have any requests or questions please dm!

177 notes · View notes

d-criss-news · 4 months

Text

Darren Criss’ 37th Birthday Celebration | Via Kyle Brown, Alexandra Socha, Riza Takahashi, Miles G. Jackson, Noel MacNeal, Joel Bauer, Bobby Conte, Abby Dodes, Martyna Majok, Tanya Gelman and Clyde Lawrence's Instagram Story (February 5th, 2024)

57 notes · View notes

juvenillia · 9 months

Text

~ Death of Peace of Mind ~ 02: too close

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!reader

photo credits go to very talented @ave661

a/n: this is the first time for me writing something like this, so bare with me if the actions scenes are a bit sloppy, I'll get the hang of it, idc about the actual height of reader, but we're at least the smallest in the group, also little extra note: I'll go on vacation upcoming Saturday and won't be able to write for two weeks, I try really hard atm to prepare as much chapters as possible for the time ahead

CW/TW: mentions of canon violence, smoking, closing off due mental illness

wordcount: 3.2k

prev | masterlist | next

The first beams of sunlight broke through the window just above the bed. Your eyes trailing over the rays of light that were dancing on the ceiling. You lay awake for what felt like eternity. The night was somehow restless, again. By now you committed to a few hours of sleep. As few as possible but as much as necessary. Keeping the risk low to trigger your nightmares. Keeping the chance low to have to look into his eyes again. A lump was forming in your throat while you let your thoughts roam back and forth. Maybe you should learn about a thing called power-napping, you read it in a magazine some time ago while sitting in a coffee shop. It really could save you one day.

With that thought you pushed yourself out of bed. Putting on a casual sports fit. Now that the sun was finally up, there was no need any more to stay in bed. You put a cap on, pulled your hair through the back. Laced your boots up and went out for some casual morning rounds around the base. Price already told you their usual morning routine and it was kind of funny, how all military bases had a quite similar routine. You sneak through the hallway to go outside. Trying to keep as quit as possible to wake no one. It was still early, even for the military. As soon as your feet touched the gritted ground you started running. Keeping a good pace while rounding the base. At some point you nodded your greetings to a few other people already awake and going after whatever, they pleased. You decided to pick up your pace. You didn’t want to waste all your energy, but still wanted to push yourself a bit further. You had quite some busy day ahead, so you needed to get yourself going.

You took a few more corners until you heard a voice. “Skadi.”, turning around you were greeted with a blissful smile. You stopped in your track, jogging slowly at the spot. “Madainn mhath!”, [Good morning] Soap breathed out after catching up to you. “Good morning.”, you replied with a quiet snicker. Your reaction earns you an even brighter smile from the Scot. “Yer understood?”, his eyes were nearly beaming. It was somehow adorable, and you knew, that the two of you would get along at ease. Maybe too good for your liking. “Seems like it.”, you shrugged off while keeping your legs busy. “Dae ya mind if I join ya?”, a nod with a slight smile was your only response. So, both of you started jogging around the base. Not talking much, at least for your part. You were rather listening to everything Soap gladly explained you. The way the team works together, each specialty, some pet peeves, their little rituals. Some fun anecdotes from after mission celebrations. He really was chatty, and you gladly listened in. He was so sincere and pure, plus all his words gave you a good overview about everyone. They also gave you a warm feeling around your chest. Even if you tried to avoid this kind of reaction, he was just too genuine.

Still, you barely told him about yourself. It didn’t sit right with you. He learned that you were quite an allrounder when it comes to the job and that you were obviously an early bird. He didn’t know that you were also a night owl. The sweet nemesis called sleep. A fight you’ll win one day, hopefully not on your last day. He also learned that Price and you met about three years ago. Not really how, but that it was for a coincidence that comes with the job. Also, he learned that you were quite capable of speaking a few languages and understanding even more. He quite often threw some Scottish at you and for once in his life (while being outside of his home of course) he didn’t get scolded for it. It was clear to see that he enjoyed your company, and you would’ve lied to say you didn’t enjoy his. It felt just smooth.

After some time, you came to a halt. Catching your breath, you couldn’t remember the last time you were talking so much while running. Stretching your body while bending down to grab the front of your boots. Halting the position on suspense. Suddenly you saw a bottle in front of you, Soap held it out for you to grab. “Thanks.”, you gladly took it and nearly downed half of it. He only nodded, still a happy smile around his lips. How can a person be smiling non-stop. “Dinnea know about ya, but ‘m starving.”, he exhaled with a chuckle, drinking his own water. “Wanna head to the canteen?”, he looked at you with those clear blue eyes. As you gained your posture again you let out a slight sigh. “Sorry Soap. Still have to unpack and other stuff to do.”, you didn’t look at him. Sure, it was a half-assed excuse, but you didn’t want to get his expectations too high and if you were honest, you didn’t want to get too close. You already felt so comfortable in his company. Too comfortable. You needed to keep your guard up. He was a stranger after all. Maybe he wasn't even such a nice guy, maybe he only treated you so wholesome because of your gender and therefore some different assets. Maybe he had strictly different intentions in his behavior. You couldn't tell, and you shouldn't care.

But maybe that’s why you never called the cute barista guy from around the corner, back at your place. Because he was too genuine, too innocent. You gave it a lot of thoughts to be honest. He was a nice dude, he memorized all your preferred drinks depending on the weather and had them always ready when you came back from your morning run. You loved routine and you kinda enjoyed that he became a part of it, but sooner or later it would break apart anyways. He was just too good for you. He wouldn't be able to keep up with you. It surely wouldn't be something more than a lousy one night stand, what wasn't your thing at all. You were too complicated, too distant and you couldn't let yourself believe that someone could even show a glimpse of honest interest. Well, that's at least what you told yourself all the time to justify pushing everyone away. Same for Marc, or was his name Maik? Your neighbor next door, he even invited you for his wedding. Did you go? Of course not. You only send a card, not even able to look him in the eye to congratulate him.

This way you did what you could do best, you started closing off to the man in front of you. For the rounds it was different. Here it was only the two of you, two comrades having a morning run and just some little introduction, but heading for breakfast together, that was already a commitment. A commitment you were not capable of taking. You’d rather pick a quick snack before looking for Price. See what he has planned out for you today, and God, you hoped it was just getting to know everyone around the base. Spoiler alert, he had different plans.

To your surprise Soap did understand, still wearing a slightly disappointed glance, but he didn't push it and so, you parted your ways.

Going after your day wasn’t so hard. Price introduced you around, you finally got your keycard, you had to fill out a few formulars. Stuff was going along easily and most of the times you were on your own. Until you heard Price’s voice again. He told you, that they could need your help with today’s rookie lesson, and you gladly accepted the duty. Gladly, until you were greeted by Soap and Ghost. Latter didn’t really greet you, but at least he was polite enough to nod towards you. The men were already standing and watching a bunch of recruits still chatting away. You walked over to them with Price at your side. Standing next to Soap and watching the crowd not paying much attention to your arrival. Ghost only needed to step forward to gain the attention of every youngling around. He held an intimidating appearance.

“Listen up.” He yelled out and you totally felt the thick air. He was already a behemoth of a man, but his voice plus the mask really made a silhouette that was frightening. It reminded you of something you’d rather forget. Yourself straighten up as he begun, but before he kept going, Soap stepped forward. Seemed like Ghost was only here to keep them in line and Soap was the official speaker. Maybe it was better for the recruits this way. Soap quickly explained that they were doing sparring sessions today. Especially learning how to read the intentions of your enemy and to be able to be a step ahead before their actual move. You remember how your first sessions were and how you were barely able to keep up with your opposite. How time flies, you thought to yourself and kept your attention on Soaps words. He had quite a way to motivate the younglings in front of him.

Your glance traveling over the faces and catching quite some few females as well. It always brought you a pleasant feeling in your stomach to see, that more and more women would join the army. Especially because you were always underestimated. Your path from the beginning till here was an odyssey. Not talking about the bone crushing weight on your shoulders by now, but to start through in the military as a woman was nearly impossible some time ago. Way too many prejudices.

The recruits were told to find each other a partner for today's session. Soap and Ghost would give them a quick demonstration of what they were up to. So, Price and you would be teamed up in that case. That wasn’t to be going to be so bad, you heard your words echoing through your mind.

That was until you heard the raspy voice of the Lieutenant again. "Don't mix up genders. Shall stay fair.", he exclaimed dry and that way he earned a scoffed chuckle. He turned around and faced you with a death glare. Soap immediately turning around looking at the scenario with shock in his eyes. "Have a problem with that Seargent?", his voice went even deeper when he turned his whole body towards you. Soap made a gesture with his hand shaking before his throat, symbolizing you to stop what you were doing. Unlucky for everyone around - except your Captain - you were way too stubborn to retreat now. "Just a suggestion but let them pick their opponents themselves regardless the gender. Nobody cares on the battlefields either.", you stated calm, your glance not adverting. Price watched the whole scenery a bit too curious. He knew the two of your for quite some time and he already expected that the tension between you would become thrilling.

Ghost stepped closer to you. You couldn't read him, but you could definitely see that you pissed him off. His eyes burning into yours. "We should keep it easy by now.", he was only a few inches away from you. You stared back, looking in that chocolate iris. You could've just backed down, but it was too challenging. "So, you believe women are not worthy a challenge?", your eyes never retreating his state. He was so damn pissed. He stepped even closer to you, you could feel his hot breath even through the mask, brushing a long your skin and sending shivers done your spine.

Soap wanted to step in, but Price let just a hand rest on his shoulder, signaling him to stay out of this. "I'm only saying that they have to learn something without getting real injuries before even placing a foot on the battle ground." He hissed through gritted teeth. He didn't even know why he argued with you, but he couldn't stand it. He knew that one shouldn't miscalculate about the opposite gender. But the way you interrupted him, the way you looked at with him with such a stubborn glance.

It made him furious. But the way you didn't even reacted the slightest to his presence. Well, you did, but you were to pride to show it. "Then you underestimate them." - "They have to learn before proofing themselves." - "You only learn when you can try and error." - "Error doesn't mean getting real hurt." - "Okay, so you're sure about them getting hurt." It went on like this for some time. Back and forth, staying always in polite line, but the tension grew with each word.

Soap looked the most nervous of all watching the two of you battling with your words. Price still holding him back. Of course, a situation with only the team would have been better to test the waters out but he would take what he could. "You're stepping a line, Seargent." He literally growled at you. "Then you're also underestimate me, Lieutenant.", you hissed back at him. Right here, right now you noticed how close he was standing in front of you. Your breath brushing along his mask, and his hot steaming breaths dancing over your bare skin. He was way too close for your liking.

Standing across of each other and staring holes into the other person. You only realized now how huge he was, trying to literally stare you down into the ground. A ground you would gladly like to stand.

"Why don't you pair up and we will see who's right.", a mocking voice of the recruits let both of your heads snap out of the haze you were in. You leaned a bit back. You didn't even notice how you tried to make yourself taller in front of him. "That's...", just as Ghost wanted to scold the rookie, Price stepped in, "a wonderful idea. This way we can exactly demonstrate a perfect example." He stepped forward looking at both of you. A slight chuckle escaped your lips, still looking with vitally at Ghost. His chest was waving heavy. He tried to steady himself and his temper. "Why not.", you turned around to move to the mat that was originally reserved for Soap and Ghost. The latter following you. "Don't hurt yourself.", he teased and with that he only awakened an insatiable competing desire.

Soap wore a face of a mixture between curiosity and concern. He had pushed Simon a few times before, but this was somehow different. You had no suspicious about each other’s limits and you gladly pushed everything over the edge right now. "Don't hold yourself back, big boy." Even with the mask you know his face would be burning.

You already fought bigger guys than him, just keep your cools and be observant. Just pinning him down once would be enough to proof your point. Your mind literally switched and cutting all of the unnecessary surrounding out. He was nothing different to any of them, but oh lord, you were so wrong with that statement. You could see a switch in his eyes, something you knew too well yourself.

In a heated movement he already reached out to you, trying to get hold of you. For a guy with his build, he was especially fast. Something you didn't suspected. Before you could think of your first turn, his giant hands were already onto your shoulders pressing you down. Lucky for you, you were particularly flexible and even more agile. You find a way to bend yourself out, but Ghost was soon on it. Throwing one of his legs in your direction to block your way out. You reached with your free hand to use his thigh as support to push yourself further up. His hands gripped for your wrist to pull you down once more, but he missed, so you saw your chance. Throwing your legs up and literally over his throat. Forcing him down. His legs were weaker in the position he found himself in, so he slowly bends over. He reached for your waist to throw you over his shoulder, but you were quick to use your hands to get a grip of his statue. Pulling yourself further up, that you would literally split his arms away with your thighs. Your completely weight pushing him down, until his knees gave in, and he found himself with his back on the mat. Your upper half resting inches away from his throat, where you had placed one of your arms to give it a bit more strength. Hovering slowly over him. A self-content smile on your lips, you looked him in his eyes. He just stared back; his eyes quite blank. You could feel his heavy breaths onto you, his chest rising and lowering just like your own. Now you were the one staring him down.

Soap was completely paralyzed by the scene in front of him, and Price only chuckled watching his charges. He knew from the beginning that the two of you needed a lot of patience with each other, especially when pushing each other so far, but he also believed that you would fit in just perfectly. You could learn so much from everyone around so that the 141 could even grow better and closer. Ghost for his part was really glad he had his mask. His face burnt from the heat of his own skin. Ashamed, anger, annoyance. He couldn't tell it apart. So many thoughts flooded his brain while staring into your eyes. "You know how to retread, don't ya Lieutenant?", your voice pulling him out of his mind. He let out a completely pissed groan, before lifting his hand and tapping two times at your thigh. You gladly stood up from your place.

You knew he did spare you; he didn't used his full strength on you but this way he really did underestimate you. A mistake he would never commit twice. You reached out a hand to help him up, but he only ignored it and stood up with no problem. You shrugged it off. "Don't be such a sore loser.", Soap cried out behind your back, but Simon did ignore him. He rather shouted at the recruits to keep starting. You turned around and Price gave you a paternal thumbs up, which only made you shake your head. You didn't give too much attention to Soap though. Still letting the incident of the morning washing over your mind. Ghost also looked out for getting away as fast and as far as possible from the Scot. He knew Johnny would be nonstop teasing him about the situation, and Simon couldn't even blame him, therefore. His cheeks were still streaming hot.

taglist: open just lmk

@yyiikes @saffronimagines @originaldeerhottub

112 notes · View notes

mphoenix-7 · 8 days

Text

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 1: The Mission

This is a slow burn enemies to lovers fan fiction featuring Soap and you, the reader.

Word Count: 5,585

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Soap is mean, like really mean, smut later to come, rough smut, lots of swearing, violence, descriptive, blood, angst, fluff, slow burn, (more to come as I write)

A/N: Just a reposting of my story on Wattpad to help generate attention for it! Please go give it some love if you’re liking it so far. My user name is Emily7love or just look up the title.

Master List | Next ->

Bitter Allies • Part 1

"Bravo 7-1, this is Bravo 0-7, give me a sit rep on your position, over."

Soap is currently kneeling in some brush, staring at the small military camp in front of him when the radio call comes through. Despite the fact that he'd most likely need to be adjusting the volume up soon on his ear piece, he still turns it down a little for now.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass." He all but growls back to Ghost. His hand tenses on his rifle at even saying those numbers. Bravo 7-4.

You were Bravo 7-4. Also known as (y/n) "States" (l/n). The all too grumpy Sergeant by the callsign Bravo 7-1 was John "Soap" MacTavish. Also known as the biggest pain in your ass since you joined up with Captain Price's Task Force about six months ago.

Now anyone who knew Soap would be shocked to hear you say that you thought he was literally the worst and most insufferable human being to ever stain the Earth. To everyone else, Soap was a funny, charismatic, rather easy-going, and quite friendly guy. Everyone loved Soap. He was the golden boy of the Task Force, of the entire base. People were just naturally drawn to him, and his warm personality.

You can't say you blame people for being shocked when they learn just how much you can't stand him. Cause all those things about Soap were true. He was funny, and friendly, and relaxed, and just a great guy to be around. He was all those things when he wasn't around you. The second you stepped into the picture, his amused grin turned into a stiff scowl. His sparkling eyes turned hard. His relaxed posture turned rigid.

Yeah, John "Soap" MacTavish hated you. And you hated him.

Why did he hate you? You weren't entirely sure. It just seemed like it has always been that way since day one.

You transferred into the Task Force at the request of Captain Price himself. Originally, you had been stationed at a military base in the United States, where you were from. Then one day your commanding officer called you into his office and told you that you'd been given a new assignment. You would be working with a British Task Force across the pond for the next year. A group of four SAS men. If things worked out, then you'd be staying there indefinitely.

You'd been thrilled at the news. You didn't join the military only for the benefits and the opportunity to serve, but for the opportunity to travel and to potentially live somewhere else in the world. Getting to be that while also being SAS was the dream. You worked so hard to get to where you were today. Sleepless nights of studying, hard days of working out and trying to improve and hone your skills, and now it was finally happening. You were being sent off to a new base and a new team. And not just any team, an elite task force. You'd finally been selected.

You met the whole team day one of your arrival. The first person you met was Captain John Price. He was a friendly but very stern man. The no nonsense type of guy. He gave you a tour of the base, and showed you to the female barracks. Once you were semi-settled in (all your belongings piled into your room) you went to meet the other members of your new Task Force.

Price introduced you to each teammate. They'd all been in his office by the time you and Price showed up. Two had been seated, and one was standing despite there being enough chairs. That had been Soap.

"Alright you lot, here she is. This is (y/n) (l/n). Straight from across the pond." Price introduced you. "(Y/n), these are boys of the 141. This is Sergeant Kyle Garrick."

"You can also call me Gaz." Kyle fills in, giving you a nod and a handshake. "It's nice to have someone from the States joining us." He was the one responsible for your callsign being States.

"This is your Lieutenant. Simon Riley. He goes strictly by Ghost." Price continues. Ghost doesn't make a move to shake your hand. He just stayed quiet. Didn't even give you a nod of any kind. Quite intimidating coming from a guy wearing a skull over his face. "And lastly, this is-"

"Soap." The man barks out before Price can say anything. You remember hearing Price sigh before finishing his sentence. "Sergeant John MacTavish."

"You can call me Soap though. Nothing else." His voice was harsh, and carried a tone of warning. If you to call him by anything else other than his callsign, there were going to be harsh consequences.

His arms were folded across his chest, and he'd glared at you during the whole introduction. It made you so nervous, the reactions you got from both Soap and Ghost. Price assured you later though that they would come around. They just needed to warm up to you. He'd been 50% correct.

At the time, Ghost had been the most terrifying of three, and the one you worried you wouldn't be able to connect with (boy had you been foolish). At the time though, Soap had at least said something to you. Ghost never said a word or even acknowledged you. And when Ghost did talk to you, it was always in a gruff voice like you were annoying him. But over time, you came to realize that was just who Ghost was. It wasn't anything personal. He was like that with literally everyone. It was rare to catch him laughing or to hear his gruff voice become lighter.

Soap, on the other hand, also spoke to you the way Ghost did, but he only used that tone with you. He was so cheery and light when speaking with the guys. Even with strangers, his voice may have been slightly more gruff, but never as harsh as when he spoke to you.

His personality was vastly different around the others as well. Whereas he could joke, laugh, and relax around them, he was the opposite around you. You thought for a moment that maybe he was sexiest and just didn't like women, though every woman he spoke to around base, he was the kindest and most respectful guy.

Now six months later, not much had changed. Soap still spoke to you in a gruff voice. He still scowled when you entered a room. He still glared at you any time he needed to look at you. He had gotten more "comfortable" around you. But really that just meat he was far more comfortable with insulting you directly. From the way you shoot to the way you eat, he could find anything to gripe about. And eventually, you decided that if he was going to be difficult, then you'd return the favor.

The first time you insulted him back, he looked shocked, then just flat out angry. Your encounters went from quiet insults being thrown back and forth and dirty looks to all out yelling at each other. Never physical fights, but Soap had punched a hole in the wall during one particularly bad argument.

The others couldn't stand you fighting. Gaz would do everything in his power to keep you separated and distracted from each other so you wouldn't start. Ghost tried to never be involved, but he would sometimes break up the fights by using his scary lieutenant voice and sending you both to different parts of the base to cool off. Price... he got the most upset. He was normally so calm under pressure but hearing you and Soap bicker pushed him to the limit. He'd yell at you both until he turned red and then normally punish you by making you do extra cleaning, harder workouts, or something else just as labor intensive.

You lost count of how many times you'd been in his office with Soap, getting reprimanded on your behavior. One of the worst had been when Soap actively tried to get you kicked off the team while you were sitting right there.

"She is a right pain in the arse, Price! I didn't even start it this time!" He claims, doing everything he could not to look at you.

"Oh blow it out your ass, Soap. You were giving me a look."

"Then don't fucking look at me." Soap growls through his teeth.

Price slams his fist onto the table, making you both jump a little and halt your bickering for a moment. "Can you two shut the hell up? It's just constant with you. I have had a headache for five fucking days cause of you idiots. What is it going to take for you two to get along?"

Soap is quick with his answer. "All this could be solved if you just deported her little ass back to the US. Seriously Price, she's caused nothing but trouble since she got here."

"I am right here, Soap." You huff out a laugh, not too shocked he'd say something like that though.

"I wish you weren't." He throws back, making Price intervene again.

"Enough! She's not going anywhere, Soap. Whether you like it or not, she brings in a skill set we are missing in this team."

"Like hell she doesn't! We can find someone else." He argues, earning a glare from Price.

"She is staying. I signed a contract that she stays for a year. If we break that, we lose our funding, our reputation, and a whole lot more." Price says, making Soap cross his arms and sit back in his chair.

"So after however many months she has left, we can get rid of her?"

"You'll be lucky if I keep you once your contract expires!" He shouts at Soap, which shuts the Scot up. Sighing, Price continues. "I will reassess at the end of year once States' contract has expired." He says more calmly, which makes your heart sink and Soap smirk.

You were dismissed then, but Price had you stay back. Probably to keep you and Soap from walking with each other, but he also has a few words for you. He reassured you that you were doing great. That you truly did bring a lot to their team and that he was happy to have you there.

"Are you going to send me back at the end of the year?" You'd asked him before you left, looking over your shoulder by the door while he stayed seated at his desk.

"Don't worry about that now, States. But know, I like having you here, and remember, it takes both of to sign the renewal contract."

That gave you hope. Price most likely would want to keep you, but he was also going to leave it up to you to decide whether or not you wanted to stay. At the same time, if things continued the way they were, it wasn't going to be good for team morale. If Price had to pick between you and Soap, you were sure he'd pick Soap. He'd been with the team longer and knew them far better than you did. This was your dream though. Being SAS. It could take years before you got another team. You liked Price, Ghost and Gaz. Could you live with Soap?

That meeting was only three weeks ago. You'd been with the Task Force for almost six months. Halfway through.

Your current mission landed you in Naryn, Kyrgyzsta. You were hunting down a military leader, General Azamat, who was accused of doing an illegal arms deal with Russia. Photos and weeks of gathering intel suggested he was guilty and currently at this military base in Naryn.

This was purely a stealth mission first. You and Soap were tasked with infiltrating the small military base while Ghost provided overwatch. There were three security stations. One on the East, what Soap was in position for, the South, the one you were headed towards now, and the West, where you and Soap would meet to take out the last one.

The East and South stations were backup generators and needed to be taken out first before the main one to the South was. That way you kept the element of surprise and didn't need to worry about the backups going online. After that, your troops would push in and secure the base, capture the military leader, and you could all go home.

Soap had given the update on his position, saying he was where he needed to be, about two minutes ago. Two fucking minutes ago. And he was already griping that you weren't to your position yet. His words rang in your ear through your comm earpiece.

"This is Bravo 7-1, I've been in position. Waiting on 7-4 to move her ass."

"Calm down, I'm almost fucking there. Don't be so impatient." You growl back. "Seriously Ghost, how do you even deal with him?"

"Haad yer wheesht." Soap growls at you, some Scottish slang you don't understand. No doubt he was telling you to shut the fuck up or something along those lines.

"Either speaking fucking English or don't speak, MacTavish." You bark, voice getting a little too loud for a stealth mission. Even if you weren't too close to the camp yet, there could be patrols you needed to be mindful of.

"How about you fucking learn about other's cultures and then we wouldn't have this problem. And don't call me MacTavish."

"I do know about other's cultures! I just don't care to know about the one that you came from." You throw back before Ghost gets involved.

"Shut it. Now. Not another word. Fuck's sake." You could practically see Ghost shaking his head. "States, how long till you're in position?" Ghost asks, directing attention back to the mission.

"Give me two minutes."

"Bloody fucking Jesus." You hear Soap mummer through the comms.

You take a deep breath to try and focus your energy back on your current tasks. Soap was not going to get in your head and mess this up for you. For anyone else, he would have stayed quiet. In fact, it probably wouldn't have even bothered him.

"Hold up, 7-4." You hear Ghost say to you after about 30 seconds of creeping your way to your position. "You've got a small patrol further up from your position. Just over the hill. Two men, I don't see anyone else. When you're in range, get a good shot of one, and I'll dump the other for you."

"On it. Thanks Ghost." You whisper back, readying your rifle and trying to be as silent as you can while you approach the men.

"You telling me it's gonna be even longer now." Soap complains, making you roll your eyes.

"I'm sorry your side didn't have rough terrain or anyone to fight off, Soap." You tell him sarcastically. "Some of us didn't get the easy baby route to take."

"I'll have you know I took down two fucking patrols all by myself while I made my way over here. And I didn't have Ghost's help to do it either."

"Fuck you." You growl at him.

"What did I bloody fucking say?" Ghost growls, his lieutenant voice coming out. You curse yourself as you let it happen again. Just ignore the Scot and focus on what's ahead.

"In position, Ghost. I see them. Clear sight on both, your call."

Ghost does the quick calculations in his head as he prepares his shot, trying to determine which of the two men he had a better chance of taking out. "The one with the flashlight is mine. Dump is mate. In three, two..."

You both took the shot, Ghost pulling his trigger just a millisecond before you to account for the distance. He landed a clean headshot while your first bullet landed more in the shoulder of your guy. You took a quick second shot, which finished the job with another headshot.

"He's down. Clean shots. Though try for the head first next time." Ghost quips. There was no malice in his words. Just Ghost joking around to ease tension. Soap clearly needed to take lessons from Ghost on how to tell a joke without being a total ass about it.

"Noted. Thanks for the advice, 0-7." You banter back, earning a scowl and an eye roll from Soap.

"Less talking, more getting to where you're supposed to be." Soap cuts in, ending the fun you'd been having with Ghost.

"Don't get your skirt in a knot. I'm in position." You huff, pulling out your binoculars and scouting the area. Despite this base housing a military leader, and having two back up generators, they really didn't have much security. No walls, no floodlights. Just a few patrols outside. They weren't expecting trouble.

"It's a bloody kilt. Not a skirt." Soap seethes, his jaw clenched. At this rate, he wasn't going to be able to finish this mission. Everything about you was just pure annoyance to him.

"Yeah whatever you want to tell yourse-"

"Are you two going to be able to finish this mission or am I going to have to pull you both from it?" Ghost barks over the comms, clearly fed up now.

You feel your face flush hot in embarrassment. Ghost has never threatened to remove you from a mission before. You've always been good and reliable. You can't fail and have it on your record that you were pulled from a mission due to not being able to get along with others. That was a death sentence for your career with the SAS.

"No, sir. Sorry, 0-7." You apologize, not hearing anything from Soap's end. He was probably pouting and internally cursing you for getting him in trouble, even though this was all his fault. "Going to head out for the South station. Bravo 7-4 going dark." You turn your radio from the public channel between you three to a private one used only for emergencies. At least now you wouldn't be able to hear Soap for a little bit.

Soap hears your radio beep once, signaling to him you'd disconnected for a moment while you advance towards your target goal. Once you had, he huffs and takes a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and collect himself.

"I can't fucking stand her, Ghost." He complains to his friend. "Why the hell did Price ever think it was a good idea to put us together on a mission?" He looked out into the field, making out the little shadow of you making your way slowly to the base.

"She's part of the team, Soap. Price has his reasons. Just focus on the mission and make it work." Ghost replies, not offering too much help aside from stating the obvious and putting Soap's mind back in the field. "Better get going. Your path is clear right now."

Soap sighs heavily and stretches out his neck a bit by tilting his ears toward each shoulder. One side pops a little, only relieving a little tension. "Alright. Bravo 7-1 going dark." He clicks his radio to the private channel and begins to make his way to the East backup generator's building.

By the time Soap reaches his building, you are already working your way inside the South building thanks to the small head start you got. You stick to the shadows as much as you can, thoughts wandering to Soap from time to time. Wondering if he's cleared his building already or if he ran into trouble. Then again, if it was really bad, he could have contacted you or Ghost and there would have been alarms going off. And as much as you hated him, you had to admit he was really good at this kind of stuff. Sweeping through a place and clearing it out. Quick and clean. Of course he'd never ever hear you utter any praises directed at him.

Your building wasn't too heavily guarded. You assumed most of their men were either asleep in the barracks, standing guard of where the military leader was staying, or off patrolling areas they deemed more important than the backup generators. The main building to the West would have most of their patrols since it was the more important building. That was the reason you and Soap needed to work on clearing it together.

You managed to clear your building fairly quickly with only one close call. One guard had seen you shoot someone else, but you managed to take them out before they could radio for backup, and no one seemed to have heard him yell. Once cleared, you plugged in the flash drive and uploaded the virus it contained to make the generator go offline.

You bring a hand to your radio and speak into it. "This is Bravo 7-4, generator down, South building secure. I repeat, generator down. Heading to the West building to the rendezvous now." You begin to head out the way you came in as Ghost speaks to you over the comms.

"This is Bravo 0-7. Confirm. You're all clear." Ghost responds.

"You got a sit rep on our precious Bravo 7-1?" You ask, forgetting to switch over from the private channel. You duck behind some ammo boxes and sneak along them, not expecting to get an answer from Soap. You expected him to be busy still and not on the public channel that you thought you were on. Before Ghost can answer, 7-1 graces you with a response.

"States, shut your fucking mouth and switch your radio over to public. How the hell did you get selected when you can't even use a damn radio." He snarls, making you pause. Soap's words always kinda stung a bit, but some more than others.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I not allowed to have a sit rep on you?" You ask, ignoring your slip up of being in the wrong channel.

"No." He answers flatly, making you sigh and roll your eyes. So much for working as a team. "And switch-"

You switched over while he was mid sentence, not wanting to hear his grating voice anymore. You were getting a little worn down at this point. It wasn't like you enjoyed arguing with Soap as much as you did. It was exhausting. Being out in the field where you were already stressed was making it a lot worse.

"He's almost done." Ghost answers you, keeping you updated since Soap clearly wasn't going to. "Just head to the rendezvous, States."

You grumble softly but do as you are told. You mutter a "copy" into your radio before slowly and carefully making your way to the rendezvous. You hear a soft beep shortly after, signaling Soap had reconnected to the public channel. You try to avoid using your radio after that, even skipping check-ins since it seemed that Soap was going to make any use of your radio an unpleasant experience. Though eventually you do need to give an update that you were at the rendezvous, that way Soap wouldn't shoot you.

You move to the side of a building and crouch down. "Bravo 7-4 approaching rendezvous." You sigh to yourself before adding, "Bravo 7-1, please let me know when you are on your way."

"I'm already here. Look to your bloody right 7-4." You look almost directly to your right, which is met with an annoyed sigh. "Not that far. Back to your.. straight.. just- Fucks sake, by the crates!"

"You're not giving me good directions!" You silently yell back, still looking for him.

"By the crates! The only crates in the area! I'm practically in the open."

You see him then. His stupidly handsome face turned into a scowl and his piercing blue eyes glaring at you. He was not in the open, only his head poking up from the crates. You sent the same look right back to him and make your way over, looking around and making sure the way was clear so you wouldn't compromise your position. He was kind enough to at least raise his gun and cover you as you made your way over. Once behind the crates, back pressed to them, he relaxes his position and ducks behind them with you.

"States, look at me," Soap says, his voice deep and gravely. The only tone he ever seemed to use with you. "I want this done clean and easy. No fuck ups. You're going to follow my lead and stay out of my way. And I don't want to hear a single word from you unless it's mission related. You got that?" He lectures you.

You are so, so tempted to roll your eyes at him. He was talking to you like you were a marine fresh off selection. Not a five year veteran who was selected for an elite special forces team. He didn't even outrank you by that much. Not enough to make a real difference. The only thing he had up on you was experience and maybe two years in age.

You're silent for a long moment, glaring at him until he repeats himself a little.

"Do you understand?" He annunciates each word, and you swallow down the choice of words you had for him. This wasn't the time or place for that. You were in the middle of a mission that could go belly up and turn dangerous. You didn't need to be fighting the sergeant on this.

"You got it." You say tightly, mustering up all the strength you possessed not to say more than that to him.

Soap seemed surprised you agreed so easily, but he eyes you suspiciously for a moment before nodding. "Good." He nods before reaching for his radio. "Bravo 0-7, this is 7-1. Going in. Rest of the troops be ready in five minutes and wait for the signal."

"Copy, 7-1." Ghost confirms. "Be warned, I see multiple troops in the vicinity of the West security building. Some men have different uniforms. They look to be General Azamat's men. He could be in there."

You furrow your brows at that. You were expecting a lot of troops in that area, but the military leader you were after wasn't supposed to be in there. There was a bunker in the middle of the camp that he was supposed to be in. It wasn't going to be a significant change the mission though. It just meant your job had become a lot harder. More men to clear out without raising alarm.

"This is Bravo 7-4, 0-7 what's the best way in?" You ask, refusing to look at Soap. You saw his head turn to look at you from the corner of your eye.

"If you wanna come home looking like Swiss cheese I'd go with the front door. Around the back might be your best shot, but I can't get a clear view from my area." Ghost informs you.

"Can you reposition and-"

"No." Soap immediately cuts you off, making you glance to him. "We don't have time for a reposition. We need to move before they realize their backup generators have been breached."

"You just don't like it cause it was my idea." You accuse, watching as Soap visibly becomes agitated.

"I don't like it cause it's a bloody stupid idea!" Soap says through clenched teeth. He was getting right in your face. You were about to tell him off until Ghost's voice filled your left ear.

"Soap's right. There's no time. Head to the back and make due with that entry point. We'll go loud if we need to."

Soap wore a smug look as Ghost sided with him. You despised it. "See? Told you it was a stupid idea." He reiterates, still way too close for comfort.

Your anger flared, and you shoved him back with a forearm to his chest. He reacted instantly, grabbing your arm and flinging it away as if it had burned him. The movement was so quick, it surprised you a bit, and all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes.

"Touch me again, and you're going to regret ever signing up for the military," he growled, his finger jabbing the air between you before standing up and storming off without attracting too much attention.

You're left stunned for a moment, though you're not sure how you thought he was going to react to you pushing him. Within a matter of seconds, you gather yourself, reminding yourself that you were still in enemy territory and needed to focus. With a reluctant sigh, you followed after him.

You managed to make your way to the back of the West Building with Soap without too many complications. The most you needed to really do was duck behind some parked trucks as a military jeep rolled by. It exited the compound, likely heading out to meet a patrol for a shift change.

You and Soap didn't say a single word to each other the whole way. For a stealth mission, that was preferable. However, you could feel the tension between you and Soap. Disdain was radiating off him, and you didn't want to get too close to him in fear he was going to blow up at any second.

There's a line up of vehicles that serve as your cover for the time being as you sneak along one side of them. Suddenly, you nearly collide with Soap when he abruptly raises his hand, signaling you to stop. There's a group of four men all standing in a small circle, talking and smoking together. They're isolated from other groups but taking out a group of four could be very difficult to do.

Soap takes a few steps back, waving for you to back up as well. "We can't take that group out by ourselves, we're going to have to go around." He tells you in a hushed voice as you attempt to peak around him to get a good view of the targets blocking your path.

"It's only four. We can both take out two." You suggest, but, just like all your other ideas, Soap is fast to shut that one down too.

"Not a chance. You suck at hitting multiple headshots." He accuses.

That makes your blood begin to boil. You were not the God awful shot he made you out to be. In fact, back on your base in the US, you were considered to be one of the better shooters.

"I don't suck at making headshots." You glare, making him huff at you.

"Oh really? You missed the one earlier. Ghost managed to hit it from hundreds of meters away, and you bloody miss from a few feet. Your aim is absolute dog shite, States. I'm not going to have you mess up this entire mission cause you think you're better than you are."

His voice was harsh, as always, and his glare was biting. You felt your eyes burn as tears formed, but you refused to let Soap see you cry. He'd only roll his eyes and call you a baby. Crying would only give him more reasons to think you didn't belong here, that you weren't as good as the rest of them.

There were so many things you wanted to say to him in that moment, but you couldn't. The words got caught in your throat, and you feared that if you opened your mouth, a sob would escape. All you could do was look away and clench your jaw, masking your hurt feelings as anger instead.

Soap seems to take your silence as you submitting. "Come on. We'll go around that way."

He was motioning to a camp-like area that seemed mostly deserted, though there were probably men sleeping in the multiple tents that were set up. Along with the tents, there was some campfires and some small boxes of what looked to be filled with MREs.

As Soap quickly moved to the new area to bypass the group of men, you glanced back at them. You knew you could land those headshots. If Ghost had been with you, you would have taken them down already. You were tired of Soap thinking you were inferior and wanted to prove him wrong so badly. You knew you could land those headshots...

Raising your rifle slowly, you lined up the shot for the first target and mentally mapped out the sequence. One on the right, then left, then back right, and then back left. A simple zig-zag pattern. Easy enough.

Right as you're about to pull the trigger, you hear Soap's voice crackle through the comms. His voice was deep and full of warning and venom.

"Don't you fucking dare, States."

But you dared. You wanted more than anything to prove him wrong. You slowly exhaled and pulled the trigger.

124 notes · View notes