#task force 141 x original female character

[ghosty-writes-23]

Incorrect COD Quotes Part. 2

!WARNING!: Suggestive (Slightly spicy) & dark humored content.

Ghosty's Notes: Some of these might be a little suggestive or contain dark humor, so you have been warned, V is my own female OC but can be read as x reader if you prefer that, also thank you so much for the recent support, I was a little hesitant to post these, but seeing how people have been liking them, I promise to make more in the future :)

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

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V: *is watching Ghost workout with König* “They are so big and so dumb, and one day I'm gonna top them.”

Soap: “you and me both Lass.” 

*both V and Soap highfive*

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Gaz: “I pull women”

Soap: “I pull men.”

V: “i’m gonna pull the fucking trigger in a second.”

Price: *is looking at V horrified*

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*V is in Price’s office after a successful mission*

Price: *pats V on the shoulder* “I'm proud of you kid.”

*Alexia play daddy issues by the neighbourhood*

V: *holds back tears and voices cracks slightly* “T-Thanks sir.”

Price: *processed to give her a papa bear hug gently patting her back*

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Task Force 141 men: *sees V covered in blood, laughing with an almost psychotic grin on her face*

Ghost: *looks at V with almost hearts in his eyes* “I'm gonna marry that woman one day.

Soap: *chuckles* “Not if I do it first.”

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V: *is being help captive by Valeria*

Valeria: *is standing inches away from her face* "tell me everything you know."

V: *giggles like a school girl and would be twirling her fingers in her hair, if her hands weren't tied to the chair* "your eyes are really pretty."

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*Task force 141 + V are at their local pub after a mission well done*

Soap + V: *are sitting at the bar slightly intoxicated* 

Ghost + Price: *are playing a game of pool, but are keeping an eye on the two at the bar*

Soap: *finishes his drink* “I bet you can’t do a wheelie on your motorbike right now.”

V: *gasps and looked at him offended* “I will have you know sergeant, I bet I can, watch me.”

Gaz: *who is the most sober out of the three* “Guys, I don’t think that is a good idea.”

V: *is already pulling out her keys and is slightly stumbling to the door* “Oh please Kyle, what could go wrong.”

Gaz: *is slightly worried she is going to try and actually do it* “maybe you killing yourself for one.”

*Before she makes it out the front door V’s keys are suddenly pulled out of her hand*

Price: “I'm taking these until you are sober.”

V: *pouts but nods*

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*Both V and König are in his room, V has her legs resting comfortably on his broad shoulders as she brushes her fingers through his hair and König is cleaning his knife from his previous mission*

V: “How is your hair so soft?” *keeps running her fingers through it, pouting slightly*

König: *is thankful she can’t see his face at the moment as it would be the same colour as a tomato* “I don’t know.”

V: *smirks slightly to herself, deciding to tease him slightly and gives his hair a soft tug*

König: *lets out a groan like moan before looking up at her his eyes wide*

V: *is smirking widely before placing a kiss on his forehead* “Cute.”

König:

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Price: *takes the task force 141 men + V out on a camping trip*

Gaz: “how much further.” *is close behind Price*

Price: “not that far.” *steps over a fallen log*

V: *rests her head on Ghost shoulder as she is getting a piggyback, because she sprained her ankle standing in a rabbit hole, not even 20 minutes into the camping trip*

Soap: *decides to tease Ghost* “Do you want to switch there L.T, your looking a little tired.”

Ghost: *scoffs quietly under his mask before tightening his grip on V’s thighs slightly* “I’m fine.”

V: *starting humming a tune* “Toss a coin to your witcher, oh valley of plenty”

Ghost: “You watched that TV show with Johnny didn’t you.”

V: *smiles wide and nods* “The song is catchy.”

*By the time they got to the campsite, the whole group was sing toss a coin to your witcher*

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©️2023-GhostyWrites22 All Rights Reserved.

❌Please don't repost, translate or copy any of my work without permission.❌

[nik-barinova]

Call of Duty OC: Zoey “Doe” Kilduff

Born to a zealous cult leader and notorious international arms dealer, Doe knew only to kill and fight since an early age and would face various forms of punishments if training was not done right under her father’s eye. She has grown to be the SAS’s most efficient soldier, despite her empowering emotions in the field. Though often rash and reckless, Doe’s impressive skills proved herself to be worthy of being a part of Task Force 141, joining Ghost and Soap in Las Almas for a new assignment… and hopes for allowing the mask to crack.

GENERAL

Name: Zoey Elaine Kilduff

Alias(es): Doe, Zo (by Ghost), Bambi (by Graves), El Demonio (by Valeria)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Birthday: March 27

Star Sign: Aries

Nationality: Scottish

Ethnicity: Romani, Balinese, Afghani, Moroccan, Lepcha

Place of Birth: Edinburgh, Scotland

Home: A repurposed Victorian era factory warehouse, Edinburg, Scotland (like this x)

Spoken Languages: Romani Sanskrit as first language, English as second, Scots Gaelic as third, Spanish, Russian, Somali, some Arabic

Sexuality: Pansexual

Occupation: SAS soldier, painter, dancer, Task Force 141

APPEARANCE

Eye Color: Grey blue

Hair Color: Natural dark brown, almost black

Hair Length: Long, waist length

Hair Texture: Wavy

Distinguished Facial Features: Long face shape, high cheek bones, big aquiline nose

Height: 5’10” / 177 cm

Build: Slender muscular

Blood type: AB-

Scars: Several on her body. Most obvious ones are on the right side of her face, on her eye brow and on her mouth, exposing two front teeth

Face Claim: Gratiela Brancusi

Voice Claim: Karen Gillan

Character Aesthetic:

FAVORITES

Color(s): Black, gold, and purple

Food: Sate meats

Drink: Scotch

Song(s): Zombie by The Cranberries and Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie

Movie(s): As Above, So Below and Lord of the Rings

Show(s): Doctor Who and Greylock

Flower: Black rose

Fashion Sense: Alternative, vampire gothic (think Anjelica Huston’s Morticia Addams), biker, casual

Hairstyle: Either down or in a messy bun, sometimes done with a diklo when doing her art

Hair color: Blood red dyed at the tips

PERSONALITY

Myers Briggs Type: ENFJ - A beast on the field, impulsive, reckless, and can be easy to provoke, but can really be joyful and positive. Hilarious but can unintentionally be blunt. Strategical and forward but can often times allow emotions to cloud her judgement. Paradoxical by nature, and for a reason. Tends to be scary when she feels like it and could kill you, but is a cinnamon roll deep down with a heart of gold

Positive and Joyful: Can make the room brighter with her unwavering positivity and put a smile on someone’s face when she can tell they need it

Empathetic: Basically a human mind reader. Can tell when someone’s sad or angry. Also works great as a walking red flag detector

Eye for Detail: Able to see hidden details and find something not many can see at first glance

Strategic and Logical: Can make plans with precision and logistics

Loyal and Loving: Strong sense of loyalty to the ones she grows close to and will do everything in her power to let them know how much she loves them

NEGATIVE TRAITS

Tends to let emotions get in the way of her thinking and may take it too far, ie. taking her impulsive anger out on the enemy and overkilling

Overprotective and argumentative. Will push back the offender with force and give them a death glare

Masks. She hides away everything that bothers her and will not speak about it for too long to the point of bottling up

Touch starved and emotionally depraved. Tends to come off as super clingy when she doesn’t mean to

Reckless and impulsive in execution, ready to fight when the time comes and tends to get out of hand

Zero fucks given attitude when she hears something she doesn’t like. This along with her tendency to have a sailor’s mouth has gotten her in trouble and makes her come off as rash

Overworks herself in order to earn peoples’ approval of her, just wants someone to be proud of her

Bottled up rage over the years waiting to be let out

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

Fighting style: Any, but leans more towards UFC style and judo

Weapon(s): Can John Wick her way through anything

Distinct Weapon: None

Special Skills: Flexible and can squeeze through tighter spaces. Specializes in silent combat and stealth. Street smart due to her past

FAMILY

Status in family: Eldest daughter, first born triplet

Siblings: One younger brother, Gavril (Male), middle born triplet, currently in the Royal Air Force as a pilot; One younger sibling, Zayne (Non-Binary), youngest born triplet, currently Senior Operative in M16 specializing in undercover and disguises

Father: Rozric “Lord Ragnarok” Kilduff, notorious international arms dealer and zealous cult leader. Abusive and power hungry. Sociopathic and unstable. Possibly schizophrenic, but unable to properly diagnose by professionals. Currently imprisoned in Broadmoore Hospital for life

Mother: Ayta Batwal Kilduff, deceased, attempted to escape her “husband’s” growing cult and take their triplet children with her but was killed. Kind and protective. Fierce and compassionate. Died not knowing whether or not her children would make it out alive

Relationship with parents: Despises her father and wishes for him to rot away in his prison cell as his punishment for making her and her siblings’ lives a living hell. Does not remember much of her mother but remembers how warm and caring she was to her children. She knows that her mother would sing for them whenever their father abused them to calm them and Zoey swore she would grow up and protect her mother from her father.

Brother: Gavril Bayek Kilduff, alive, loves him dearly and will do anything to keep him safe while also letting him take on the world for himself. Has protected him many times from their father. Currently in the Royal Air Force as a pilot under the call sign “Vulture”. Very into making music

Sibling: Zayne Arachne Kilduff, alive, loves them dearly but often times have gotten into plenty of disagreements on what to do and how to do it. They tried to keep up with their older sister, but could never seem to do so. Currently in the M16 as a Senior Operative specializing in espionage and undercover. Drag queen on the side and makeup artist

Pet: None, but is a dog person (also loves cats)

TRIVIA

The name Kilduff is of Irish or Scottish origin, an Anglicized form of Gaelic Mac Giolla Duibh ‘son of Giolla Dubh’ ‘the black-haired lad’ from dubh ‘dark black-haired’

Zoey has had four previous relationships in her younger days: two girlfriends, one boyfriend, and one partner. While she has kissed before, she has never actually gone all the way, and therefore is still technically a virgin. She qualifies in giving relationship advice and can pick up red flags in an individual. Despite having four failed relationships, she yearns for having a lifelong partner to give her the love she gives her partners

Ethically collects deer skulls for her art projects and paints them. Most of the paintings are of her fallen soldiers under her watch and makes them as a memorial in their honor

Tends to use dark humor too often and accidentally lets the mask crack to reveal the darkest parts of her past

Swears. Like a lot

Takes pride in her figure and has no problem showing skin. Likes wearing crop tops, sports bras, and tank tops

LOVES Anjelica Huston’s Morticia Addams and Elvira and aspires to be like both women

Her first concert was a Rob Zombie concert and her uncle snuck her out to let her have some fun for the day when she was younger

If she wants to dress up more, her fashion sense leans way more into gothic and alternative fashion

Used to be able to braid her hair in minutes but due to losing her right arm, she can’t do it as fast (and tends to get her strands caught in the prosthetic’s joints)

Her arm tattoos used to be symmetrical but after losing her right arm, her left arm is the only half she has of the tattoo

Speaking of, she has a deer skull tattoo with roses on her chest and one on her back

She was trained in ballet, and she can dance on a more professional level

BACKSTORY

Born to a zealous cult leader and notorious international arms dealer, Zoey knew nothing more than hardships and crime. Her father only wanted a first born son to live up to his expectations and inherit his empire. Sadly for him, Zoey ended up being born first in a set of triplets, and hence forth swore to make her life a living hell for her. She had been set up for failure right from the start, living up to her father’s impossible expectations, enduring beatings and other punishments from him. Her mother would shield her three children from their father’s unpredictable wrath and fought with him, stood up to him and swore she would leave him and never let him see the triplets again.

At age 7, that was the last time Zoey would ever see her mother. No one would tell her or her siblings what happened to her or why she left without them, causing deep heartbreak in Zoey’s heart. However, that was also the same day she vowed to step up in her mother’s place and pick up where she left off. Her father’s cult only grew as did his underground arms dealership. His global connections allowed him to have his children be trained to be his own soldiers in his little cult army. Their teachers also set higher expectations on the triplets and some would take extreme measures to keep them in line, but Zoey would get the worst of it. Despite the cruel and unusual punishments, Zoey still tried to keep her siblings safe and did everything she could to make them smile.

She ended up proving to have above average intelligence than her father expected from her. Her specialties included espionage, sabotage, stealth, and hand-to-hand combat. At 14 after her and her siblings returned from a personal mission of her father’s in Ethiopia as child soldiers, the M16, SAS, FBI, and CIA had surrounded her father’s compound after they finally received a distress call coming from within. Her father suspected it was Zoey and so he used her as leverage to make any further threats, not wanting to be taken into custody. What none of them knew was that Rozric had planted bombs within the compounds’ walls in case he was to be arrested and captured.

As a last ditch effort, Rozric blew up the building and allowed it to collapse, hoping the rubble would kill everyone in the compound, Zoey and her siblings included. By some miracle, Zoey, Gavril, and Zayne were still alive and the two younger siblings were taken to safety, but medics and SAS soldiers had to get a huge concrete wall off of Zoey’s right arm. Unfortunately, they had to amputate her whole arm in order to get her out, and could not save her arm. CIA and M16 eventually found Rozric still alive and captured him, ending his criminal empire and forcing him into custody at the Broadmoore Hospital as he continues his ongoing trial for his crimes.

Once Zoey had recovered and was given a prosthetic arm, she and her siblings did their best to live a relatively normal life with their uncle, but Zoey was always getting into fights she wasn’t involved in and even bullied by the kids during secondary school. By 17, she recalled the day she was rescued by the SAS members and thought about joining the military as an escape from her troubled past, and possibly a way to give closure to her father’s criminal empire for good. She waited until her 18th birthday and both her and her siblings set out to join their respective branches.

Despite being an amputee prior to joining the Royal Army, Zoey’s skills and speed overpowered her disability and was given the name “Doe”. While her skills and abilities had her climb up to the top of the SAS, her behavior problems have gotten her into trouble plenty of times and threaten to be written up if she didn’t improve on them. It wasn’t until she was personally approached by Captain John Price himself that she was recruited into Task Force 141 and assigned a mission in Las Almas would Zoey allow herself to let loose and break the mask she kept up.

[vixenemesis]

Call Of Duty OC: Yasmine "Sage" Lincoln

Sage, who decided to join special operations as a last resort is very successful in the missions. She finishes her job quickly with her quick movements and attention. Sage did not have a good childhood and always had an interest in weapons and that's why they made fun of her. She also has heterochromia, which makes her eye colors different, which is why her friends admired her when she was little. Although Sage is physically strong, she is mentally very weak. Although she is compassionate and usually quiet but humorous, she is also very focused and serious on tasks.

GENERAL INFO

Name: Yasmine Sage Lincoln

Aliases: Yas (By her parents) Mimi (By her friends)

Nationality: British

Gender: Female

Birthday: November 15

sexuality: Heterosexual

Languages: English (Native language) Spanish, Russian, German and more (Learned as a hobby)

Occupation: Medical Secretary (formerly) SAS soldier (currently)

APPEREANCE

Hair color: Dark brown

Eye color: Due to her heterochromia disease, her left eye is brown and her right eye is green.

Height: 1.65 cm / 5′ 5″

Faceclaim: Vittoria Ceretti

Blood Type: 0 Positive

Hair style: Usually a side braid.

SKİLLS-ABİLİTİES

Sniping: With her attention and ability to hold her breath for a long time, nothing escapes her.

Hostage rescue: With her fast movements, strength and logic, she has no difficulty.

Bomb disposal: Even if it stresses her out, Sage can always stay cool and continue to think clearly. But it still scares her.

AFFİLİATİONS

Simon "Ghost" Riley

John "Soap" MacTavish

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Captain John Price

PREFERENCES

Clothes: She loves to dress Gothic. Victorian clothing is her favorite and her favorite trousers are those with bell-bottoms. On duty, she mostly prefers a camo or just a black top that covers her neck.

Weapons: M4A1 and CZ 750.

Knife: Throwing knife.

FAMİLY

Father: William Lincoln. Ex-Serviceman, he worked as a drill sergeant and is now a veteran. Currently a civil servant.

Mother: Mary Lincoln. Sage is very similar to her mother. Mary, a nurse who taught Sage a lot about medicine.

Siblings: Evan Lincoln. Sage's older brother, he's protective and fun. Sometimes he likes to annoy Sage.

FUN FACTS

Sage wants to try Ghost's mask because she finds it very cool. But when she wears it, she doesn't think it suits her very well, she still likes to wear it and walk around.

No matter how quiet she is, when she gets bored she talks so much that others want to put tape over her mouth.

She is quite serious with others on a mission, but when she is with Ghost she gets distracted from looking at him, so it is not a good idea to send her on a mission with Ghost. (they will go anyway)

She sometimes likes to cook for others. Just tell her what you want to eat and she will make it.

NAME HİSTORY

They decided to call her Sage because Sage was knowledgeable about medicine, took good care of her mates, and knew better what to do when they were injured. Additionally, Sage is a beneficial herb. 🌿

FAVORİTES

Food: Lentil soup

Drink: Chocolate Milkshake

Color: Navy blue.

Music: Paint It, Black by The Rolling Stones

accessories: rings and necklaces.

Animal: Dogs. (especially K9)

Season: Winter.

BACKGROUND STORY

Sage was found with a note in front of the door of Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln's house, was abandoned when she was a newborn. The note said the baby's name was Yasmine and it was clear that she had been abandoned. It is unknown who her parents were or why they abandoned her. When Mrs. Lincoln opened the door, she was stunned to see Sage in a stroller. She didn't know whose baby this was so she decided to take care of her. Even though they had a 7 year old son, they didn't want to send Sage to an orphanage so they wanted to parent her. She had always been a smart kid because she was grateful to those who parented her. Until she became an adult, Mrs. Lincoln taught her about medicine and Mr. Lincoln taught her how to defend herself. When she turned 21, she joined the special forces and after a tough training she was able to become a sniper. Thanks to her sharp eyes and ability to hold her breath for a long time she became one of the most successful snipers, and at the same time, she became better with Throwing knives with her fast movements when she was under many enemies. She joined Task Force 141 in 2019 and now she is even an expert at being a translator.

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And that's it. Thank you if you read this far, I hope you like her. Feel free to ask her whatever you want (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

[anotherrickinthewall]

So here's another shameless self re-blog because y'all... a new chapter is online.

@moistuhoh I'm working slowly but steady on it ✪ ω ✪ hope you have a brilliant weekend 💝

[scarletlove2]

'Cause Us Traitors Never Win.

Hi! So this book will also be posted on AO3. Um, also I'm still not the best at writing so any help would be really nice! Also, this is meant to be multiple chapters, but knowing how much I get writer's block. This will go months without another chapter, Also this isn't meant to make anyone upset or anything. It's just something I whipped up for fun! But with that, I will put a list of the warnings now.

Warnings: Betrayal, Death in later chapters, Guns, Knives, killing, General Sherped, poorly translated Spanish, my writing is a warning itself, please let me know if there's anymore

I aimed the gun's barrel toward his head, the briefcase held securely in my free hand. The helicopter blades whirled, causing my hair to sway rhythmically. Tilting my head, I offered them all a smile just before the gunshot pierced the air.

I stood beside General Shepherd in the boardroom, surrounded by members of Task Force 141, Los Vaqueros, and Shadow Company.

"Many of you are well aware of the threat posed by Hans Miller," Shepherd began, his voice stern. "His actions, including the abduction of civilians and numerous war crimes, cannot be overlooked. That's why I've brought Scarletta Sokolov into the fold to address this matter." All eyes shifted briefly to me before returning to Shepherd as he continued speaking.

"Let's ensure Miss, Sokolov feels welcomed and work collectively to strategize ways to bring down Hans. With that, the meeting concludes."

Everyone nodded in agreement and began to leave the room. I gave Shepherd a nod of acknowledgement before trailing behind a man named John, who also goes by Soap. As we moved, another individual, Kyle, known as Gaz, joined me.

"Scarletta, right? I'm Kyle, but you can call me Gaz," he said in a friendly tone.

"I go by Scarlet, Scarletta is for formal greetings and business. But Nice to meet you, Gaz," I responded, maintaining a composed demeanour.

"A Russian addition to the team! We've been missing that diversity. It's great to have people from different backgrounds on board," Gaz remarked, showing no signs of surprise or curiosity.

"Not many of us are eager to join international military operations, given the unfortunate stereotypes surrounding our loyalty," I explained, sensing he might already know this.

"Well, it's a pleasure to have you here. Our team is like a family, you know. Price plays the father figure, Ghost's the enigmatic teenager, Soap's the energetic cousin, and I suppose I'm the normal one in the mix," Gaz elaborated.

"How delightful," I responded, as we approached the waiting vehicles. We all entered the cars, and I found myself seated between Ghost and Soap as we headed to the base.

"Scarletta, Soap and Gaz will show you around. I need to have a word with Ghost," Price instructed, and he and Ghost walked toward his office, leaving us behind.

"Let's begin with the medical bay. Along the way, we'll cover other key spots," Soap suggested, leading the way to the medical area.

"On your left is the shooting range, and on the right, you'll find the training room," Gaz pointed out to a few rookies honing their shooting skills. As we ventured further, we passed the communal showers and boardroom.

"Welcome to the common area. We have regular movie nights and take-out evenings. Feel free to join us," Gaz added, offering a warm smile.

"You're also welcome to use the fridge and pantry. If you need supplies from the city, just let Price know. You'll need to use one of the vehicles," Soap chimed in.

"One more stop on the tour," Gaz announced as we walked down a corridor toward the living quarters. He pointed out the rooms, explaining that each member had a personal bathroom except the rookies, who shared the community showers.

"Why the separate room and bathroom for me, and not the rookies?" I inquired, tilting my head curiously.

"According to Shepherd, higher-ranking members get their own rooms. It's a fairness thing," Gaz clarified.

"Understood," I responded, and we finally reached an empty room.

"This is your room. We'll get a name tag for it soon. We hope you like it. Some of us chipped in to make it feel welcoming. We'll leave you to settle in, and the rookies will bring your belongings from the France base to your room," Gaz explained before he and Soap left.

Standing in my room, I observed its spaciousness, a rarity in a military setting. After placing the items in the basket on the bed, I read the note left for me.

"Hey newcomer, Shepherd gave us some insights about you, so we put this basket together. We hope you like it. P.S. The jelly cat bat is a joke."

I set the card aside, smirking at the bat before arranging the contents of the basket. As I examined the candles and a Task Force 141 patch, a smile formed. These small gestures showed camaraderie.

Having settled in, I kicked off my jacket and lay back on the bed, taking a deep breath. A knock interrupted my thoughts, and I grumbled as I answered the door. The rookies left my belongings, and I took my time unpacking.

I finished unpacking and I picked up my phone and put in a number, I put it to my ear I heard the ringing noise and then heard the woman on the other line,

“ I’m calling to make sure that my animals are alright?” I speak into the phone waiting for a reply 

“ Ah yes Miss, Sokolov, they're doing alright!” I could hear the chirp in the woman's voice as she spoke

“ Good good I just want to make you have all their diets and when they’ll all meant to eat?”

“ Yes Miss Sokolov we have made sure to read everything and double-read everything before we get started” 

“ Good I’m glad cause you all cost me a pretty penny but I have to go I’ll call again tomorrow to check in” 

“Yes Miss Sokolov your animals, are in great hands We’ll talk tomorrow Good day Miss Sokolov”

“Good day,” I said taking the phone away from my ear and pressing the button to hang up

I slipped into my leather jacket, effortlessly tucking my cigarettes into one of its pockets. Retrieving my phone from the nightstand, I casually slid it into my back pocket before exiting my room. As I shut the door behind me, I continued down the hallways. My phone vibrated in my jeans pocket, prompting an eye roll from me. Retrieving it, I glanced at the text and promptly replied. Lost in thought, I reached a corner without paying much attention, resulting in a small stumble when I collided with someone. I quickly stepped back, looking up to find Alejandro Vargas in front of me.

"I apologize; I wasn't paying attention to what was in front of me," I said, slipping my phone back into my back pocket.

"It's alright; I wasn't paying much attention either," he replied casually.

"Where are you off to?" he asked, engaging in small talk.

"I was about to head out for a smoke and some fresh air," I responded, offering him a small smile.

"Ah, alright. I won't stop you any longer," he said with a grin.

"Alrighty then, I'll see you around, Alejandro," I replied, walking past him.

"See you around, Scarletta," he called out, causing me to turn around, tilting my head slightly.

"You can just call me Scarlet," I responded, causing him to turn around, putting his hands up in defence.

"Alright then, Scarletta," he replied with a smirk playing on his lips. He placed his hands back in his pockets before turning away.

A small smirk of my own played on my lips as I shook my head and continued walking, heading toward my destination for a smoke.

[atvace]

Lady Dior and the Seven Dilfs

Call of Duty men x Female!Reader

(y/n) got demoted from the FBI inspector general down to sergeant because of her valiant move in a drug smuggling mission. she has been assigned to task force 141.

"what a bunch of fuckers." she thought.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

available to read in AO3 and Wattpad!

• not owning any character, they belong to their creators whatsoever

• slow building, eventual porn, character development. slow update because I need to play the campaign first

• not so accurate, might ooc a lil

• Los Vaqueros, Mexican Cartel, Kortac included

● This was originally written in my Wattpad (@Atvace) but I decided to post it here too for more recognition.

●warning: Harsh words, incoming shameless smut (non-con will have a warning in the chapter intro), drug addiction, smoking, drinking (me, im sorry), sh, sa, ptsd, mention of rape, angst (from the comics), F/M/M type a smut, etc. chapter that contains smut will have the TW.

copy my work, I hope your cat makes biscuit to your face with their murder mittens and leaves claw marks all over yo shit face, I hope you did your homework but forgot to publish it so you got an F, I hope your mom forgot your lunch and you starved for the rest of the day, I hope a roach fly to your face when you're taking a huge shit, I hope when you take that huge shit it's so huge you got hemorrhoid for the next 5 months

Spotify:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

chapter 8

chapter 9

chapter 10

[bemyawakening]

sunny’s masterlist!

SIMON “GHOST” RILEY

HAYLOFT ➣ Simon “Ghost” Riley x Original Female Character; angst, hurt, betrayal, eventual smut, gore and violence

short summary: Marzia Moretti, known as Siren, is one of the secret agents of the CIA, meant to deal with missions quietly and gather information. Not only did she work on her biggest mission for seven years, digging for information about the Sicilian Mafia which was running the most secretive human trafficking business, but she also did this to get revenge. Recently, she gets assigned to Task Force 141 in order to finish the mission once and for all.

part 1 || part 2 || part 3 || part 4 || part 5 || part 6 || part 7 || part 8

you can find this on ao3

I’LL ALWAYS COME HOME - Simon “Ghost” Riley x Younger Sister Riley (platonic); shared trauma, hurt, acceptance of inevitable, Simon watching Twilight

short summary: coming back late, means watching movies with his sister.

SILENT LOVER ➣ tiny blurb

WHY, SIMON? ➣ tiny blurb

JOHN PRICE

HONEYMOON HEADCANONS ➣ John Price x Gender Neutral Reader

HAPPY ENDING ➣ John Price x Wife Reader; hurt, fear of loss, fluff

short summary: he has a nightmare and you’re the only one who can calm him down

REASSURING LOVER ➣ tiny blurb

RADIANT ➣ John Price x Pregnant Wife Reader; fluff, domestic atmosphere, fear of throwing up

short summary: you wake up in the night from the pregnancy sickness and your husband comes to help you

JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH

BLAZE ➣ John “Soap” MacTavish x Gender Neutral Reader, callsign Blaze; angst, hurt, fear of loss, eventual fluff

short summary: you were never the one to listen to his orders, now look where it got you…

TALL READER HEADCANONS ➣ John “Soap” MacTavish x Tall Reader (afab!reader)

ALEJANDRO VARGAS

RETIREMENT ➣ Alejandro Vargas x Wife Reader; angst, worry, hurt, fluff

short summary: him coming from the mission too late, you think about dismissing him from the Special Forces. After all, you have a higher rank than him and the idea is appealing.

HOW YOU FELL FOR ALEJANDRO HEADCANONS ➣ f!reader

FULFILLING WHIMS ➣ Alejandro Vargas x Fiancée Female Reader; smut, switch!alejandro (backup account)

short summary: you playing a game with him leads into a game you don’t think you can handle

FULFILLING LOVER ➣ tiny blurb

MISC

SHORT READER HEADCANONS ➣ Alejandro Vargas, Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, John Price, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Valeria Garza, König x f!reader

LONGING LOVER ➣ König tiny blurb

DOMESTIC HEADCANNONS ➣ Alejandro Vargas, Simon “Ghost” Riley, John “Soap” MacTavish, John Price, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Valeria Garza, König, Rodolfo Parra x gn!reader

Requests are open!

You can also find me on ao3, wattpad and tiktok.

[padskywalkerrr]

GhostxOC

Ghost x OC - Female original character

Yelena expected everything when she was recruited to work with her team, except that she would end up meeting the infamous and notorious Task Force 141 and that a few months ago she would receive strange (and adorable, she admitted) gifts from someone who would never identify herself.

[all-for-the-simps]

Who is Frost?

CoD x Original Character  Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II 

Context: This is like an AU type deal. I have never played CoD, I’ve only watched the MW2 cutscenes but I am obsessed and I simp for these characters. So, I made an OC for it :). This is that OC (most of his details are mentioned throughout future fics etc etc, so he’s a bit of a mystery on purpose).

A/N: I know this is an x male reader blog, but I just wanna show you my OC (‘cause I love him)

🚫female-aligned people DNI🚫

—--

Who is Frost?

Callsign: Frost

(Real) Name: [He does not tell people his real name unless he can trust them because he wants to protect his family]

Age: 30

Pronouns: He/him

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay

Parents: English father, Japanese mother.

Personality: Sarcastic, extroverted, confident, sassy, a bit of a rule-breaker, chaotic in a sort of immature, childish way, fierce, fiery, headstrong, determined, strategic, intelligent, insecure at times, impulsive, value others' lives above his own, has anger issues, gets agitated easily, and sometimes irritable, talks back to superiors and doesn’t care about consequences.

More: He earned the name ‘Frost’ in the cage because he has a reputation for being cold and ruthless. It’s ironic since he is actually a very warm person by nature. He’s tall and buff and looks intimidating, but it is actually not that scary when you get to know him. He’s not a giant teddy bear or a gentle giant, by any means, he’s too rough for that. He wears a somewhat Japanese-styled shirt that’s cut like a tank top, just so he can show off his tattoos. People think he’s just a himbo, but that’s wrong, he may be fun-loving but he’s not short of intelligent. People are quick to judge him, which he finds annoying, but he proves that he’s more than what they think every time. He learned how to use a sword and other martial art techniques as a child from his grandfather and through the years, he developed those skills and joined the army, cage fighting on the side.

-----

How did Frost join 141?

Frost earned money by fighting at a semi-illegal cage fight ring.

(I say ‘semi’, because while the facility and the fighters aren’t committing a criminal offence, the people betting are.)

At the time, Price had heard about Frost from Laswell, his past training and his skills.

However, Price wanted to see the man for himself.

So, Price went out to find this ‘Frost’ guy. 

Price approached him at a bar (this bar’s basement was where the cage fighting was held) after the fights were over for the night.

Frost was confused about who he was and what Price wanted with him.

Price realised the bar was still full and it’s kind of awkward to ask someone “Hey! You’re soldier material, wanna join my fuckin’ special task force?”

Like no one does that.

So, what Price did was write the address of the base on a piece of paper and give it to Frost and straight up left with little to no introduction or explanation.

It went like this: - Price: “Nice fighting.”

- Frost: “Thanks.”

- Price: “My name is Captain Price of Task Force 141.”

- Frost: “... Oooookaaay???”

- Price: “Meet me here tomorrow morning.” *Hands note over*

- Frost: “... Alright, but why-”

- Price: *Walking out of the bar*

- Frost: *?????*

Frost was beyond confused at this point. Like alright, fuckin’ weirdo.

But after looking at the note, he realised it was a base of some kind.

Being the curious bugger he is, he decided that he’d go check it out.

--

So the next morning, he got up, drove to the address and was stopped at the gate by a couple of soldiers.

Unsure of what to do from here, he just showed them the note he had been handed.

- Frost: “I’m here to see a Captain Price?”

- Guard: “He gave this to you?” - Frost: “Look, man. I know you’re sceptical and shit, but honestly, I have no idea why I’m here either so like…”

When finally inside, Frost got out of the car and just kinda stood there, waiting for someone to show him to Price.

He met up with Price and was shown around the base

He then met the rest of the 141 team and they all exchanged introductions

Frost was asked about his past career and was asked to demonstrate his technique and stuff like that.

Frost did so, not really questioning it. 

When asked which kind of gun he preferred using, Frost just went: - “Uh… Katanas??”

Confusion ensues as people realise this man was mainly trained in the martial arts rather than shooty shooty pew pews.

Price asked if he could show them his sweet sweet Katana skills, so mans ran back to his car and got out his little Katana carrier box. Why he keeps it in his car, no one will ever know, he’s weird like that.

Demonstrate skill and blah blah blah, they all think he’s cool now.

Price takes Frost to his lil office thing and sits him down, explaining why he was there and who everyone was and what they were doing there.

Offers Frost a place on the team, praising his skill and saying what a good addition he would be.

Frost considers this offer for a good solid… 5 seconds before being like: - “Hell yea, dude, I’ll do it. Get paid better too.”

Price does not appreciate the name ‘dude’.

Frost apologises but sorta just laughs it off quietly.

Tells him to go pack his stuff so he can move onto the base.

Frost does that.

The rest is history.

-----

So, yeah, that's who Frost is. If you have questions, please send them in, I love answering :)

[ghosty-writes-23]

Incorrect COD Quotes Part. 1

WARNING: Suggestive (Slightly spicy) & dark humored content.

A/N: some of these might be a little suggestive, so you have been warned, Also V is my own female OC but can be read as x reader if you prefer that.

Thank you for all the support, it means alot❤️

-Ghosty❤️

----------

Ghost: *see’s Soap and V do something extremely dangerous and sighs* “God give me patience for these two.”

V: *overhears him* “don’t you mean strength there sir.”

Ghost: “if god gave me strength you both would be dead.”

Both Soap and V: *gulp*

----------

König: *gives V a beaded friendship bracelet he made* “so you can have a part of me, when your on your mission”

V: *is on the verge of ugly crying under her mask as he placed the bracelet on her wrist* “I will protect this with my life.”

----------

Alejandro: *pats Graves on the shoulder giving him a knowing look* “I hate seeing you like this.”

Graves *has a confused look on his face* “Like what? I'm not upset.”

Alejandro: “no in person, I hate seeing you in person.”

*Dead silence*

V: *covers her mouth to hide the fact she is laughing under her mask and fails terribly*

----------

V: *does something idiotic and stupid that Ghost warned her not to do.*

Ghost: *sees V get hurt* “I don’t care, I warned her that if she hurt herself I wasn’t going to help her.”

Voice over: “but ghost did really care as later that night he made sure her injuries were too serious and lightly scolded her before giving her one of his hoodies to wear and played with her hair until she fell asleep*

----------

Ghost: *takes off his mask revealing his face in front of everybody*

Price: “It's good to see you again, Simon.”

Soap: *lowkey checking ghost out*

Gaz: “not what I expected.”

V: “Why is everybody in this group so goddamn pretty, it makes me feel like a trash gremlin.” 

Ghost: *puts his mask back on*

Soap: “don’t worry V, you will always be our trash gremlin.”

----------

Price: *walks into the briefing room looking for V* "can I have my sweater back"

V: *looks at him innocently* "only if I can have my virginity back"

*Cue whole briefing room goes silent*

V: *laughs before sliding his hoodie off and hands it to him* "here you go sir"

----------

Soap and V are at the pet store, looking for collars for the new squad dog teddy.

Soap: “Okay we got everything, let's go already, wait where is V?”

V *is in the collar section, looking for a choker chain*

Soap: “why are you looking at choker chains, you don’t have a pet?”

V: “how do you know that sergeant” *smirks slightly under her mask and grabs the one she is looking for and places it around Soaps neck before giving it a slight tug*

Soap: *grunts and stumbles forward* “What kind of dog is it?”

V: *giggles soft before taking it off and grabs another in the same size* “ones that need to be house trained, now let's get out of here before Price rings us and asks why we are taking so long”

*Bonus*

*later that week in training Soap see’s both König and Ghost sporting what looked like dog choker chains around their necks*

----------

*The 141 men + V are in the common room, relaxing after training.

V: Spread me apart, lick me with your tongue, grab my sides, and eat my cream and that is how you eat an Oreo cookie.”

Soap: *chokes on his drink* “bloody hell woman.”

Gaz: *is laughing at soap’s reaction* 

Price: *gives her the disappointed dad look* “Really V.”

V: Oh come on captain it was funny.

Ghost: *is cleaning his gun but does chuckle at her joke*

----------

Gaz: “does anybody else notice that people that liked to be choked, hate being tickled.”

V: *feels slightly called out and starts sweating and nervously laughing* “haha, that's oddly specific there Gaz.”

Gaz: “It's like they are completely fine with you cutting off their oxygen supply, but as soon as you try to tickle them, they will kill you.”

V: *looks at him dead serious* “Maybe some people hate being tickled.”

----------

©️2023-GhostyWrites23 All Rights Reserved.

❌Please don't repost, translate or copy any of my work without permission.❌

[ghosty-writes-23]

lmao can I get some Crack fic of Reader (preferably male or gn) being called out and and just the most out of pocket threat comes out of their mouth before continuing what they were doing?

some possible threats for ya:

-I will rip out your spinal cord

-I will knit a sweater using your goddamn nerves

-it takes roughly 45 pounds of pressure to pop and destroy a testicle, wanna test out how much my grip strength is?

-I will harvest your bones boy.

anyways, hope your doing well! remember to have fun with the threats, the more out of pocket, the better.

-🦀

Sergeant V's Favourite Insults.

Ghosty's Notes: Hi, this is my first time doing a 'request' sort of thing, This is to be read in either a Male's POV or GN so hopefully you like it.

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

"The human body has 206 bones, I wonder how many of them I have to break, for you to shut the fuck up."

Sitting in the back of a truck, V could feel the tiredness wash over their body, it has been a successful mission, nobody was seriously injured and none of their team mates died, all the young sergeant wanted was to get back to base, shower and sleep, they would eat when they woke up.

Resting their head on the window, they let out a soft sigh, which caused Soap to look at them worried. "You alright mate?" he asked looking over at the younger sergeant, how just nodded and closed her eyes, hoping to sooth the headache that was coming on.

It was a long drive back, which V would hope would be peaceful, until a small group of Rookie's decided to cause a rucks in the back. Feeling as if their last nerve has been touched V spun around in their seat and looked at them with a glare.

"the human body has 206 bones, I wonder how many of them I have to break, for you to shut the fuck up." they said looking at each of the rookies, they knew they shouldn't have yelled at them like that but they where getting on their nerve, even after Soap had warned them.

Let's just say, the car ride back to base was quiet and peaceful, just the way V wanted it.

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

"You Have 2 Seconds Before I Rip you're skeleton out your ass."

Soap knew he fucked up, when he ate V's last cookie, that he knew they had been saving, at first he went into denial of course V would be mad, until he pulled his big blue puppy dog eyes, nobody could be mad at him when he pulled that face, but then Ghost brought up the time Konig accidently eat something of theirs and they didn't see him for 2 days afterwards.

One V arrived back to base, he knew he was a dead man, not even a minute later, Soap felt the tempter in the room drop as V walked in, They has a sweet smile on their face, but under their mask was a psychotic grin.

"Soap want to tell me something." they said, their voice as soft as silk, Gulping slightly the older sergeant shook his head. "No." he said not meeting their eyes, walking over to him, V stood in front of him, their arms crossed over their chest. "You sure?" they questioned and Soap looked at Ghost for help, only for him to stand up and walk off, leaving the two of them alone.

"I'm sorry." Soap quickly said when he noticed nobody was going to help him, hearing them chuckle he gulped. "You have 2 seconds before I rip you're skeleton out your ass." they said their voice still sweet and soft as they moved a piece of hair out of his face.

After that day, Soap learnt to never take the last of V's things.

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

Bonus Insults.

"your not a clown, your the whole fucking circus" throws confetti and walks away*

"If I saw you where first prize, I would start walking backwards."

"its seems your last two brain cells are bright for second place."

"Splish splash your opinion is trash." (Personal Favourite.)

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

©️2023-GhostyWrites23 All Rights Reserved.

❌Please don't repost, translate or copy any of my work without permission.❌

[bemyawakening]

HAYLOFT; chapter one

fandom: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Original Female Character short summary: Marzia Moretti, known as Siren, is one of the secret agents of the CIA, meant to deal with missions quietly and gather information. Not only did she work on her biggest mission for seven years, digging for information about the Sicilian Mafia which was running the most secretive human trafficking business, but she also did this to get revenge. Recently, she gets assigned to Task Force 141 in order to finish the mission once and for all.

translations of Italian can be found at the end word count: 3076 credits to the gif owner

warnings: strong language, descriptive violence and gore, 18+

The male gaze has affected the movie industry far too much, in her opinion. Jumping and squatting down in tight jumpsuits was uncomfortable, loose hair in a fight most likely would give you the disadvantage and not the opponent, and the seducing part? Lord…

            Her job was to seduce and kill and she mostly worked with a psychology based on men and women. Bringing back their survival instincts was the most important if she needed to wrap someone’s head around her. It was about showing enough cleavage to peak interest and not look suspicious and it was all about the way you present yourself.

            And she already had her target in sight.

            Well, the target was sitting on the chair, tied up not in the way he expected with a towel stuffed in the mouth so that he wouldn’t scream and be heard. It took her about ten minutes to interest him by the bar with the help of the pheromones that she got from the CIA, which were working fucking wonders and the man was glad to bring her back to his hotel room.

            So infatuated, he completely ignored that her Italian accent slightly slipped out while catching him, that she was slightly nervous, but that only proves that the rational mind will always lose against senses.

            “Allora,” Siren exhaled, placing herself on the table that was right in front of where the man was sitting. He was panicking, he wasn’t whimpering like a dog and begging for mercy – he was a fighter, only a really stupid one. “I know you won’t tell me where he is, since you all are sworn to protect his identity, but I’d like you to answer some questions about yourself.”

            The only reason she wasn’t speaking Italian was that Laswell was listening to that conversation in the earpiece since Laswell has openly refused to learn Italian since it was far too complicated and fast-paced.

            Siren could see that if the man would be without the towel in his mouth, he would be smirking and not screaming. That’s why she grasped the other end of the towel and pushed it out of his mouth, receiving a whine from him.

            “Testa di minchia!” The man groaned out and it only made her chuckle.

            “Just a few minutes ago you were calling me amore mia, what happened, huh?” The smile on her face was humiliating him since she knew how much men loathed to see women being better than them. She knew that with his eyes he was strangling the poor soul out of her body, but knowing in which business he is involved, he would much rather sell her for someone to humiliate her until her body can’t take it.

            The man in front of her was involved in the biggest human trafficking business in Europe and South America. All they knew, was that a Sicilian gang or mafia as they call themselves, named Torro were deeply involved in this. Their connections and little traces were splattered all around the world and the CIA was following all of them without any visible ending.

            Torro was playing with them and they were doing it precisely. Every day that was lost meant a woman or two kidnapped in half of the world. They were choosing their targets carefully, not wanting to strike chaos and too much attention on themselves, but by the information that the CIA has gathered the number of abducted women from ages 14 to 35 could be over thousands.

            Their boss was unknown going by the name of Luca Torro. The name was fake, he was basically non-existent. All of the captured members of the gang, just like the man in front of her didn’t utter a single word about him, taking a bullet into their brain was met with more love than saying who it was. It was admirable, really, she knew well that all of the mafias had little rituals and games that brainwashed their members.

            The man sat silently in front of her, smirking at her, watching the slit of her dress that revealed her bare thigh. The pheromones were still raging a war inside him with hormones, and she was barely close to him. She didn’t even know what was in that stuff that the CIA gave her and why it worked so well, but it definitely wasn’t one of those shitty perfume bottles from eBay, who claimed it was going to make men crazy about you.

            “Where are you from?” She asked, slightly twisting the towel in her hands while watching him.

            “Di Italia,” he replied, unbothered that she can inflict pain on him anytime, but she wasn’t even planning to.

            Knowing that Laswell will start complaining, she sighed, “In English, my love. Be a good boy and I’ll let you run off to your boss with your nose intact to your face.”

            “Look at you,” he scoffed, watching her as if she was a disgrace. “Working for the CIA like their little lap dog. With a face like yours, you could be doing so much more.” His accent was heavy, not trained like hers and it was making her slightly chuckle.

            Straightening her back, she gazed at the covered window before flicking her eyes back on him: “Dai,” she smirked, her breath getting stuck in her throat for a second, “do you seriously think a compliment will get me running to your boss and asking for his mercy so he could throat fuck me every night?” She shook her head, their brown eyes meeting together. “You think I’m an idiot?”

            “Yes,” he answered, the tanned skin of his was almost glowing in the dimmed light. “You’re an idiot for chasing us in the first place. How long have you been after us, huh?”

            “Hit him, Siren, he has gotten too cocky,” Laswell’s voice in her ear made her slightly roll her eyes.

            Violence didn’t mean shit to these guys and she wasn’t really an expert on torturing someone like some Special Forces. Her job was to seduce and kill, trying to get the information out. She didn’t have the time to leave him here for days until he pisses himself with a swollen face from her punches, begging for her to just kill him already.

            She got bits and pieces of information from their behaviour and their answers. How? By realising that all of the assholes with their ego through the roof had many flaws they were unaware of. The use of pheromones slightly took their guard down enough for them to relax and her calm tactic of interrogating would make them slip a word or two, unimportant to them, but valuable to her.

            It did take her long to catch all of these trails left by the Torro and it was a sensitive topic to her. But showing your enemy that you are flustered was the worst thing you could do. At this point, you should retire and get back to normal life. She wished.

            “When did you get accepted into the mafia?” She asked, ignoring the order of the Laswell.

            “Always been one,” he replied, nudging his head down, his nostrils flaring – he could still smell her on his clothes.

            It was always the same answer, whenever she interrogated them. Where are you from? Di Italia. When did you get accepted into the mafia? Always been one. What’s your favourite food? My mother’s lasagne. Where’s your mother? Dead. Always had the same answers and she knew them by heart, yet she was still hopefully going one after another, getting a small lead, getting stuck in the same circle.

            “Your interrogation skills are stupid,” he cocked his head to the side and now she wanted to hit him. “I got nothing you need from me.”

            “Perhaps,” she hummed, leaning slightly forwards. “Or maybe I don’t work for the CIA and I just enjoy killing men after I get my fill watching them tied on the chair, bad-mouthing me.”

            That possibility seemed to shut him up for a few seconds before he grinned like an idiot. God, this Italian mafia was getting on her nerves and she was one step from closing herself in a psych ward in order to have some rest.

            “We know the CIA is on us,” he stated.

            “We are not hiding that,” she deadpanned. “It’s a shame he is such a coward not to go out in the open to talk with me.”

            “He has no business with you.”

            Siren’s eyes slightly squinted, “He forgot me?” Her voice raised in displeasure.

            The look on his face was worth taking a picture of. She finally kicked the confidence out of him and replaced it with confusion.

            “Chi sei?”

            Of course, they didn’t know who she is. No one lived the tale long enough to tell the others who was she. A clean slit on the throat or a bullet in the brain was all that met them. That kind of job could be put on many organisations and from all of them, there was quite a number who were doing the job as she did.

            “Where are you from in Italy?” Siren asked, not answering his question as it didn’t matter to her.

            “Calabria.”

            “That’s why your accent bothers me,” she scrunched her nose.

            “There are incoming cars to the hotel from the backside. They were expecting us,” Laswell’s voice informed her, but she didn’t budge one bit. She still had time.

            “Sent for your friends?” Siren asked.

            “He never leaves us completely alone,” he said softly, almost proudly and it made her sick to the stomach.

            Moving to him, she positioned herself on his lap, feeling the way his body tensed underneath her, his chest rising heavily. Placing her hands on his shoulders, she straddled him and kept the eye contact that was making him slowly go nuts. Simple eye contact could make people go crazy. Once they start turning their eyes away from you, it means you succeeded in making them feel nervous. One quality about humans that really fascinates her is that they always want to be on top of what’s going on.

            Yes, the Torros seemed to be trained like a bunch of puppies to give the same answers and be unbothered, dying for a better cause. But no person could be trained to stay in the dark because human curiosity always takes the bigger part.

            The second thing humans, especially horrible people despised, was when the other didn’t react to danger. It made them feel like they finally met their equal – another sociopath. Clearly, the tied man didn’t understand why she was wasting time sitting on his lap instead of killing him and running away before she will get caught.

            “Do you find me pretty?” She murmured, not too far from his face.

            “W-what?” He stuttered, taken aback, his pupils moving down from her eyes to her lips.

            “I asked you a question.

            “Bedda Matri,” he almost whimpered, his eyes moving even lower, reaching her collarbone. “Sì! Sì!”

            “You’d drink Chianti with me? Go to the beach with me? Solo – tu ed io,” she was so close to him, watching the way his pupils dilated, watching her as if she was the finest meal.

            “Yes, I’d go with you,” he nodded, almost like a lost puppy and she put a smile on her face, reaching down into the cleavage of hers that made him gasp for air. But with a swift move, she grasped the towel and stuffed it into his mouth as she grasped the little knife, stored in her cleavage and she slit his throat with a very precise move, moving away so the blood won’t get on her dress.

            “It’s done,” she replied, wiping the knife into the towel in his mouth as the blood kept on coming, his eyes frozen in spot, little choked sounds leaving his mouth. “Approximate time?”

            “Thirty seconds. You know where to go. Use the back entrance. There are two at the door outside. You know what to do. Over and out.”

            Laswell’s orders were clear and she took off her heels, holding them in her hand as she left the room, hearing the distant footsteps by the stairs, so she turned to the other direction, moving into the lift and pressing to the floor one below.

            It almost felt like a game to her at this point. The adrenaline rushing in her veins was slightly blurring her vision, but it helped her to go faster. Going out on the third floor, she walked to the door leading to the staircase, hearing the footsteps moving above her. It was her sign to go.

            Quietly opening and closing the door, she moved downstairs to the ground floor, opening the door where the laundry was kept and walking straight, not looking back once. The few people passing her wanted to show their anger with her presence, but she had no time to spare them. Moving into the kitchen, walking through the slightly sticky floor with her bare feet made her nose scrunch, but she quickly flowed through the white cloud of uniforms opening the back door.

            The two men quickly looked at her and as they reached for their pistols to interrogate her, but she threw her little knife at one man hitting him straight in his throat as she lunged for the other, stabbing the heel into his eye as she covered his mouth that he wouldn’t scream. What a good day to not be wearing platforms.

            The breath got stuck in her throat as she felt her back ache – those two men were huge. But luckily one of them fell right by the dumpster and the other one, she took the knife out of his throat, watching the way his muscles were still spasming, hitting him with a heel right at his temple so he could shut down quicker.

            The rough pavement under her feet was making her wince, but she grabbed the man’s legs and huffed out as she pushed him closer to the dumpster, making a mental note to herself that she should work out on her arms more because this was getting too hard for her.

            Taking out a few trash bags, she put them all over them and she placed her heels back on her feet, making her way away as if she wasn’t hiding a bloody knife in her palm.

            To her luck, it was already dark and around the hotel, there were too many little alleys for her to disappear into. As she was getting near the meetup point, about five hundred meters from the hotel where Laswell should pick her up, with her peripheral vision, she noticed a figure behind her.

            Fuck.

            Walking faster, she made a sharp turn to the right into a dead-end alley, she moved beside a dumpster, hiding her figure as she heard heavy footsteps. Sounded like military footwear and not the gang. What the fuck was going on? Her missions were not interrupted by the Special Forces. They had no right.

            As the footsteps came closer, she suddenly stood up and extended her knife to a man that raised his hands in defeat.

            “Jesus Christ, kid! Thought I’d be getting a hug, not a knife to my throat,” the man wheezed in surprise, but his face was content with her action.

            Siren’s lips curled into a smile and she rolled her eyes: “Dio mio, Price!” She slightly laughed, pulling the knife away. “The hell are you doing in here?”

            The woman wrapped her hands around his neck and they shared their warmth for a few seconds before moving away.

            “Laswell told me I’d find you here,” he admitted.

            “In the middle of a mission?”

            “She said you’re late,” he stated, slightly raising his hands in defeat.

            “I still have time,” she shrugged her shoulders, not really knowing what the time was and that dragging that dead body to the dumpster took quite some time. “Don’t come up at me like that again,” she slightly pointed the knife at him.

            “Wanted to see if you still got it,” he admitted, his rough voice slightly playful.

            “Piss off,” she rolled her eyes at him, but the smile didn’t fade away. “You don’t see me if it’s not necessary. What’s going on?”

            “What about that football game?” Price disagreed, brushing his hand through his beard.

            “Manchester United versus Aston Villa?” Siren deadpanned. “No offence, John, but I couldn’t care less about England playing football. And even after that game, you told me you needed me for a mission. So what is it now? Are you taking me somewhere fancy?”

            “See right through me, kid. Where did the time go?” He mumbled.

            “Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

            “You up for Italian cuisine?”

            Her eyes lit up, only then realising that she was ravenous. “I’m choosing the place and you’re paying.” She turned away, slightly squinting her eyes: “And Laswell?”

            “She knows. Your evening is free.”

            “I’m all yours, John,” she hooked her hand through his elbow and he chuckled.

            The man chuckled as they made their way out of the dark alleys. “I got an offer.”

            “I’m on a mission.”

            The man walked silently for a bit, before speaking up: “We’ve been assigned to your mission.”

            Blood left her face and she stopped in her tracks before turning to him: “What?!”

            Price was already expecting this reaction, so he slightly shook his head: “Orders from above. They want us to take action.”

            “I’m not fucking ready yet—this… This took so long to prepare and I still need time!”

            “We got a lead from another source. We can finally put this down.”

            Staring at him, she almost felt betrayed that no one told her apart when the time came. Staying silent, trying to calm down and ignore how much time she has invested in this, she needed to know what information to have and if it was trustworthy. They couldn’t ruin this.

            “I need a fucking drink,” she mumbled, walking away from him.

            “I’ll take it as a yes.”

            “You are still buying it!”

            Price chuckled, “I thought it’d take you longer to convince.”

            If she wouldn’t say yes, she would be taken off the mission. That’s the least thing she would aim to do. Seven years working on his case in order to get even with them. Seven years in order to get revenge. She won’t give this up.

Translations: "Testa di minchia" - cunt in Italian "Allora" - well in Italian "Amore mia" - my love in Italian "Di Italia" - from Italy in Italian "Dai" - come on in Italian "Chi sei?" - who are you in Italian "Bedda Matri" - Oh my God/beautiful mother in Italian "Solo - tu ed io" - Alone - you and I in Italian "Dio mio" - oh my God in Italian

[bemyawakening]

HAYLOFT; chapter three

fandom: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Original Female Character

short summary: Marzia Moretti, known as Siren, is one of the secret agents of the CIA, meant to deal with missions quietly and gather information. Not only did she work on her biggest mission for seven years, digging for information about the Sicilian Mafia which was running the most secretive human trafficking business, but she also did this to get revenge. Recently, she gets assigned to Task Force 141 in order to finish the mission once and for all.

translation of Italian can be found at the end. You can also read this book on ao3

previous chapters: chapter 1 chapter 2

warnings: curse words, mentions of trauma and death

           “What?!” Siren’s voice raised as she was looking at the cackling figure of the Scottish Sergeant, who couldn’t properly breathe in from how much he was laughing. Tiny tears were welling in the corner of his eyes as he was wheezing for air. “You did not just say that!”

            Gaz was barely holding the cup of tea in his hand, trying to not have such a horrible laughter attack as Soap was having. Siren, on the other hand, took her attention away from the stove for one second and she felt the burning smell of coffee enter her lungs, making her quickly turn the stove off, taking off the Moka pot with a grunt.

            “Vaffanculo, what the fuck,” she grumbled in pure annoyance, placing the Moka pot in the sink as she took a towel, moving it so the burnt smell would fade away faster. “This-” she turned to Soap, “is your fault.”

            The man was laughing even louder after seeing the coffee spill over the stove. The look on her face—he was going to cherish this moment until the day he dies. Now, the whole reason why he was basically on the floor from laughing, was that he shared his thoughts about her alias Siren. In his opinion, he believes that she is called Siren because she has a loud voice and attracts everyone as a passing ambulance.

            With the sharp turn of her head, he understood that he was way off and that he just compared her to an ambulance.

            “What’s that smell?” A sudden voice appeared in the little kitchen as she almost hit herself with the towel from the fear, feeling like a kid who got busted by someone older.

            The masked man was standing in the kitchen, leaning to the doorway, hands crossed over his chest, giving not them, but her the stare that was giving her the chills. After the first conversation yesterday, both of them didn’t interact more apart from being in the same group and reviewing the information they knew.

            “Did you just burn coffee?” Lieutenant gazed at the dirty stove and she gifted him her famous glare as well.

            “I’d like to hear a little bit less resentment in your voice, Lieutenant,” she placed the towel on the counter, taking some paper towels. “Because of that man,” she gave a weird look to Soap, who was biting the inside of his cheeks trying to not laugh, “I won’t have my morning coffee.”

            Ghost didn’t budge in his place, watching every of her move. “There is coffee on the countertop.”

            Wiping the hot liquid around the stone of the stove, she slightly hissed from the heat: “I don’t drink that coffee. Sono Italiana, Tenente.”

            “How many languages do you speak?” Soap asked, his cheeks still slightly flustered from the laughter.

            Throwing the paper towels in the bin, she gave him a look: “Want to guess again? I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d say a negative number.”

            Soap snorted grabbing his cup with coffee in it, “That’s rude, lass. Breakin’ my heart over here.” He hit his chest with his free hand.

            “You made me spill my espresso. Expect wrath,” she threatened with a smooth tone, her expression calm.

            “Alright, enough of this,” Ghost reminded them all about his presence even if it was hard to miss the figure blocking the entrance. “All of you, with me.”

            Puckering her lips, she wanted to say no to him because she wasn’t used to getting orders from someone else than Laswell or Shepherd. In here, she was with a lower rank than Ghost was, so she shut her lips tight and without saying anything, followed him out of the kitchen.

            “There are some matters to be looked over,” he explained and all of them soon ended up in a small room, where most of the leads about their mission were splattered around.

            Captain Price was inside of that room, with crossed hands over his chest and a bored expression: “Prepare yourself, kid,” he mumbled as soon as she stepped it.

            “What’s the problem?” Siren asked, leaning to the wall, watching her superior cover the biggest part of the room, his eyes boring into her. She couldn’t stand the way he was able to hold eye contact for so long.

            “Your leads in Tuscany. Why there?” Ghost went straight to the point.

            “Toscana is famous for Chianti. All of the men I—interrogated, told me they like Chianti.”

            Siren was sure that underneath that mask he raised his eyebrows and scoffed silently. Yet his eyes stayed calm, no emotion visible in them. “That’s your lead? Chianti?”

            Chianti sounded like a curse word with his accent and she slightly scrunched her nose—yes, she was one of those people who couldn’t handle horrible pronunciation of Italian words.

            “All of them lie that they are from Southern Italy. Chianti is made in Toscana.” She shrugged as if it was obvious, coming closer to the map hung on the wall of Italy. Taking a marker, she crossed three places on the map in the region of Toscana. “Biggest Chianti producers. All legitimate business. However, they all have weird transactions with ghost companies or companies that existed. The CIA wasn’t able to track the origin where those transactions were supposed to end up.”

            “And you got this information from your intuition?” There was bitterness in his voice that made her chuckle.

            “I trust my gut.” She motioned at her stomach.

            “I told you,” Price mumbled in the corner, not really paying attention to the conversation.

            “You trust your gut?” Ghost repeated as if he has heard the biggest nonsense. “We work with leads. Names. Places. The source has to be clear.”

            “There’s a source,” she disagreed.

            “Who?”

            “Me.”

            His fingers twitched and she noticed that. A man of facts as it seemed. Yes, Siren was a little insane to trust her gut, but she has been on this mission for seven years. She has searched all over Europe for obvious dirt on the trafficking business that would lead her to Luca Torro. There are none. She wasn’t getting this Chianti out of anywhere. It made sense for them to put something dirty on a legitimate business which was far enough from Sicily.

            “You,” he repeated, his voice dropping. “The source is you.”

            “My gut is telling me that you’re sceptical.”

            “I am sceptical. I think that’s pretty clear without your gut. ”

            “Alright,” she crossed her hands over her chest, coming closer to him. “What would you do?”

            “Find a man and get an actual lead.”

            “Oh, by torturing? These men would rather die than tell you shit. Chop their dicks off and they won’t tell you anything. You don’t understand the hierarchy in there—those men actually think they owe everything they have to Luca Torro.”

            Ghost squinted his eyes as he couldn’t believe that the whole mission depended on her intuition. A fucking intuition. “And everyone’s okay with this?”

            Price shifted in his seat, suppressing a yawn, “I think she’s been on this mission longer than us. The last lead Caswell has found out was a transfer from one of those companies to North America where Siren has taken care of one of their men. That’s the only lead we have.”

            A victorious smile sat on her lips: “Hey, if I’m wrong – I’ll buy you a drink,” she shrugged. But in reality, she knew that she won’t be buying that drink – she was right about this. She had to be.

            “How did you get the whole Chianti stuff from those men?” Soap asked, making her turn around and face.

            A small, cheeky smile sat on her lips: “For the exact same reason why I’m called Siren.”

            The Sergeant snorted out a laugh, shaking his head, remembering that he called her an ambulance.

            “Should’ve seen her file, Sergeant,” Price tapped his shoulder before leaving the room.

            “That’s classified,” she mumbled and rolled her eyes, before turning to her Lieutenant. “Did I ease your worries?”

            “You’re getting me that drink, Sergeant. I like bourbon.” Ghost informed before he left the room, making Siren and Soap share a look.

            “What is on your file?” The Scottish man pried, confused.

            Siren puckered her lips: “Different ways to cut someone’s limbs without them screaming—why? Want a demonstration?”

            “Wouldn’t want to get on your bad side now,” he chuckled.

            “Smart boy. I like that.”

  · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

             The distant shot and the blood splattering on her face made her gasp for air. It felt as if an unknown force was trying to choke her, watching the way his stare got stuck in her mind until the day he dies. His body fell, and so did hers. She was screaming, she was shouting for someone to help her, to help him, but the ringing in her ears made it sound as if nothing came out of her mouth.

            The gurgling sound of her sobs, the metallic taste of his blood in her mouth—his blood—was making her choke for air. She knew that’s how heartbreak felt like, she knew what it meant for her. Yet she could do nothing more than scream.

            Within the same image, she gasped for air, opening her eyes. The cold sweat drenched her body and it felt as if she has been glued to her bunk bed. The snoring from above only soothed her enough that she didn’t wake up screaming.

            Her hands were already clutching the dog tags, feeling the cold metal of the ring as she bit her lips. She wouldn’t dare to make a sound. She wouldn’t dare to cry. She wouldn’t dare to get back to the way it was.

            However, the familiar void on her chest was always there. The metallic taste of his blood in her mouth seemed so real that she could feel it right now. Forcing herself to stand up, she quickly walked into the bathroom and washed her face with cold water. Didn’t even look into the mirror because she wouldn’t be able to stand to see herself right now. There was a high possibility she would see something that wasn’t real.

            The watch on her wrist showed that it was after three. She won’t be able to fall asleep again. Whenever the same nightmare would visit her, she’d know that it was all she will get from the night. Now, it was up to her to find out how to put her mind out of the suffering and do something that wouldn’t lead her into crying.

            She silently made her way out of the little room with bunk beds, a little bag squeezed between her ribs and her arm. She strolled her way beside it, where a little table was, near a small kitchen, but there was already someone sitting there.

            By the cloud of smoke, she quickly realised that it was Price, so she without any hesitations made her way to the table where he was sitting and took a seat on the other end of the table.

            Puffing out the smoke, he gave her a brief look: “Can’t sleep?”

            Shaking her head. It felt like all of the horror was haunting her again, not that it has ever left her alone. However, in the morning, they are all leaving for Italy, their mission is beginning and she felt sicker than she expected to. She didn’t like going back to her homeland.

            “What about you?” She asked.

            “Was up for a smoke,” he admitted, watching the way she took her knives out of the bag and a whetstone, getting ready to sharpen them.

            After a few moments of silence and the sharp sounds of her knives being sharpened, he spoke up again: “If it’s too hard for you to come back—“

            Siren shook her head, her hands slightly trembling as the taste of the blood was stuck on her tongue. “I can do it. I have to.”

            Price looked at her, wanting to offer her comfort, but he knew better, so he did it quietly, without pushing her too much. He knew why this mission was important to her and he knew why she was so determined to finish this once and for all. He knew her nightmares. She has told him what has happened, but after so many years, it was eating her from within.

            “You’re torturing yourself, kid.”

            A sad chuckle tugged on the corner of her lips and hummed: “That’s what soldiers do, Price. There isn’t anyone in here without a reason that doesn’t let them sleep at night.”

            Everyone had their inner demons. There was always a reason why soldiers chose to do this. And the reasons were never pretty.

            Siren placed the knife on the table, leaning back on the chair as she watched him. Price noticed her look and he knitted his eyebrows together: “What?”

            “The beard is making you look older than you are,” she admitted out of nowhere.

            The poor man choked on the smoke he just inhaled and he wheezed out in pain: “Always been the one with the kindest words…”

            “I speak the truth, Captain. You look like you’re seventy. Also, what’s with that beard? Why is the chin barely with hair—what are you doing to it?”

            “Alright, that’s it,” he grumbled like a wet cat, giving her the look. “I preferred your long hair, but I don’t shove it in your face every time I see you.”

            She ran her hand over her short hair. “Long hair was too much of a nuisance for me. Yet you, somehow manage to take care of your beard. Wait till I show everyone the pictures of you without your beard.”

            “You wouldn’t dare,” he gave her a glare, inhaling the smoke again.

            “Remember the Polaroid we took in ’15?” Siren slightly smiled, remembering the excruciating mission Price has recruited her to perform. Not only was it a master plan to take a terrorist organisation down, but it took a good amount of acting skills and Price had to shave off his beard.  

            The man chuckled, shaking his head: “Still have it?”

            “We looked great.”

            They did. She remembers holding out the Polaroid in front of him, hearing that man protest. Price wasn’t really a man for taking pictures. But both of them were just about to get on with a plan that took them two months to prepare and they both looked like idiots. Her hair was the longest she has ever had, reaching below her butt. The dress she was wearing was modest, covering the scars on her body well, but the best thing about that picture was Price.

            He was wearing a tuxedo. It took so long for her to convince him to let the plan go her way. Without the military vests, without the assault rifles. Heard a lot of whines from him, but she knew it boosted his ego a little bit.

            “Took your Polaroid here as well?” Price asked.

            Nodding, she leaned back on her chair crossing her arms: “You were the one who told me about making memories. Just using your advice.”

            “Well, well,” he pushed the bud of the cigar into the table, “Listening to my advice? Can’t believe what I’m hearin’.”

            “Don’t get attached. That was one time.”

            Rolling his eyes, he looked in the other direction: “How’s my team?” He changed the topic.

            Shrugging, she replied: “They do have brains.”

            “They’ll grow on ya,” he promised.

            That’s what she was afraid of. Growing attached to them all and then seeing them die. But she said nothing. She knew the risk of her job very well. Death was inevitable, just a matter of time.

Translations:

“Vaffanculo” - what the fuck in Italian

“Sono Italiana, Tenente,” - I’m Italian, Lieutenant in Italian

[bemyawakening]

HAYLOFT; chapter two

fandom: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Original Female Character

short summary: Marzia Moretti, known as Siren, is one of the secret agents of the CIA, meant to deal with missions quietly and gather information. Not only did she work on her biggest mission for seven years, digging for information about the Sicilian Mafia which was running the most secretive human trafficking business, but she also did this to get revenge. Recently, she gets assigned to Task Force 141 in order to finish the mission once and for all.

translation of Italian can be found at the end. You can also read this book on ao3

previous chapters: chapter 1

word count: 2685

warning: strong language, 18+

Siren was sitting like a child who just lost a piece of candy and she wasn’t going to try to hide the anger on her face. Seven fucking years. Chasing one lead after another, slowly digging into the whole system, working undisturbed and systematically only for it to be destroyed.

            Now, she had nothing against Price’s Task Force 141. She has heard quite a lot about what they have done over the past few years and they were the force the CIA talked about the most. They did everything clean and without casualties. Best traits of a Task Force. However, she didn’t see the need for her mission to be intervened with manpower. Backup is always appreciated, but that also meant that she wouldn’t be the one giving orders.

            “The look on your face,” Laswell commented as she was sitting in her office, Captain Price there as well.

            “What’s with my look?” Siren asked, crossing her hands over her chest while she crossed her legs over each other – how’s that for a closed body language?

            The older woman leaned back on her chair, “Don’t be childish.”

            “No, because this is bullshit, yeah?” She suddenly raised from her seat, but none of them moved further. “It’s my mission. My mission. I was the first one who got Intel about Luca Torro. I was the one who sniffed them out in Sicilia. Did this for seven years and now you replace me because you got information that they are connected in North America? We knew that!”

            Both Laswell and Price shared a look before they Price cleared his throat: “I understand your anger.”

            Extending her finger, Siren squinted her eyes: “No, you don’t.”

            “I know the importance of your mission. All I’m offering is help. And you know it’s not up to me. You do the job clean and well – I like that. But General Shepherd wants results,” Laswell tried to ease her anger.

            “This,” Siren exhaled, trying to calm herself down a little bit, “this is a delicate matter and we cannot rush it. We are talking about the biggest trafficking system in half of the world! Getting inside and shooting them all won’t finish this.”

            “That’s why you’re still in the mission,” Laswell pointed out. “General Shepherd wanted to get you off it, but I convinced him to leave you because the Special Forces will need your knowledge.”

            General Shepherd wanted to write her off this mission. What a fucking bitch! For a split second, she couldn’t think straight, seeing only red. Holding the edges of the table, she looked down, trying to even out her breathing. She gave seven years of her life for this. Seven years of a job that became her obsession and she was nothing without it.

            “So what results does he want?”

            Laswell stood up, passing her the file with everything they have gathered about the Torro, placing a hand on her shoulder: “Getting Luca Torro would be ideal. But the main goal is to get the locations of their bases of theirs. Swipe them clean. Gather the victims and get them to safety.”

            Turning her head to face the woman that she has worked with for over eight years now, she felt her heart slightly clench. Kate Laswell was the only person in the CIA who had common logic and wasn’t a complete dickhead. She knew that Laswell did everything she could to at least keep her on the mission and she’ll have to make it work.

            Grabbing the file, she nodded and looked at Captain Price who was already looking at her with a tiny smile, knowing that she will agree eventually.

            “Welcome to Task Force 141,” he said and she huffed out air, pressing the file between her ribs and her arm, squeezing it. “I think we should get back on some training before getting to the mission. Remind you of the rules.” He clearly was teasing her.

            “Respectfully, sir,” she said with a glare, “I think I’ll do fine without it only if your boys will behave.”

            Captain Price hasn’t heard her call him sir ever since he was her mentor and he almost cringed hearing it. He didn’t even realise how much he has grown to this girl throughout all these years and knowing that she will be under his watch, felt nostalgic.

            “Oh, my boys are the best there is,” he confidently admitted.

            Laswell snorted, slightly shaking her head: “They’re a handful, but they do their job well. Try not to cause any casualties.”

            “Me?” She raised her eyebrows. “As if I could do anything to them.”

            The older woman pressed her lips together, watching her for a few seconds, tapping her shoulder before walking to her table, saying the following words not to her, but to Price: “Keep an eye on her. She definitely changed a lot after you mentored her.”

            “Hell, I saw her file myself,” he agreed.

            Watching them with a glare, she was reminded of the old times when Laswell and Price used to bicker about the smallest things and she would always end up in this office because of something Siren has caused.

            Let’s say, Siren wasn’t exactly the nicest person. She didn’t do well with discrimination and when she was training, she got more remarks about her ass than anything else from the others. There were a few casualties when her teammates ended up at the medic and she had to live through the glare of Kate Laswell. That’s why Siren preferred to work alone – you only depended on yourself and there was no one to hold you back or put you out of the tracks.

            “Alright, kid,” Price cleared his throat, walking to the door, “time to go.”

            Giving a last nod to Laswell, she realised that once she will step out of the door, she will lose the little routine she has grown to depend onto. She knew that missions with Special Forces were far from quiet and ordinary. All she wanted to do was get on her knees and beg them to leave her alone, but she had to work for the consequences she placed upon herself.

            She had to remember why this mission was important. That’s why she stepped through the doorway.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

            The dog tags carried her identity. Choosing, getting forced to join Task Force 141, she had to leave her identity behind. Analyst Siren, who held the dog tags in the drawer away from her eyes. Analyst Siren, who exchanged the cargo for fancy dresses and red lipsticks. The nostalgia seemed to twist her stomach, making her vision blurry, and making her realise a few things on the way to the base.

            Perhaps, it wasn’t the mastermind quality of Luca Torro that kept her chasing after him all these years. Perhaps, she didn’t know who she was without this mission. Thinking about what she could’ve been for all of these seven years—Lord, she knew she wasn’t supposed to be a soldier, but the gun always found her hands.

            The dog tags were burning into her skin, and felt too heavy, pulling her down. The ring attached to them was leaving scars, yet felt so cold. It made her realise that she made her life obsessed with the mission and getting revenge. Oh, how she dreams to put a bullet in Torro’s head. Would the taste of revenge heal her? Show her that she isn’t rotten inside?

            “I can see it’s tough on you, kid. But I promise that the boys are the best they are. It’s not training anymore – they actually have brains,” Price interrupted her moping as she fixated her eyes on the passing horizon that was blurring in her eyes from the sunset colours.

            “Can’t believe Shepherd wanted me off completely,” she admitted, voice slightly huskier than normal.

            Tapping the wheel, he focused on the road as he was driving:  “You know better than me how he is. Weird things can change his mind, don’t put his decision on your shoulder.” He pointed out. “Is it so horrible to be working with me again?”

            Turning her head to him, putting on a cold expression, she spoke: “Yes, Price. You eat beans with a piece of white bread in the missions. That shit scars you when you see it.”

            The man snorted: “You haven’t even tried it – can’t say shit about it!” There was nothing Captain Price was more passionate about than the damn can of beans.

            Siren chuckled and turned her head away, took look at the passing horizon, feeling the silence fill up the jeep. He was slightly tapping the wheel, but there was no music playing, meaning that he wanted to tell her something.

            “Just tell me,” she croaked out.

            “Can’t. You’ll probably attack me and we’ll both die in a car crash.”

            The woman raised her eyebrows: “Price, just tell me.”

            “Laswell didn’t tell you, left me the honour,” he sighed. “Shepherd insisted that you’d have a commanding officer to supervise you.”

            It was foolish of her to think that Shepherd couldn’t think even lower about her. “You didn’t just tell me that…”

            The threatening tone in her voice was well awaited, so he gripped the wheel tighter: “He thinks your teamwork can be a bit rustic, kid. No one doubts your fighting skills.”

            Digging her fingers into her cargo pants, she closed her eyes and smiled pathetically. “This is humiliating. So fucking humiliating,” she mumbled, shaking her head.

            “Shepherd knows you’re the best he has. He just doesn’t want any casualties.”

            “Dio mio, Price!” Her sudden sharp tone almost made him twitch. “We’ve been on missions together – I have the responsibility to be a team player! I know the consequences and how should I act.”

            “Never doubted you, kid. Don’t think these words‘re coming from me. You know I hate being the messenger.”

            Closing her eyes again, she rubbed her temples: “Well, it doesn’t matter. You being my commanding officer will be just like old times.”

            There was a silence after her words. Five more seconds of silence and she opened her eyes, turning her head to him. He wasn’t her commanding officer, now was he?

            “Yeah… About that,” he started awkwardly. “Why don’t we have this conversation when we are out of the car with a zero possibility of us crashing?”

            “Who is my commanding officer, Price?”

            The man sighed, giving up. “Lieutenant Ghost.”

            Siren has heard some things about Lieutenant Ghost. Price has slightly mentioned who consists his team and about the Lieutenant he has said the least, telling her ‘You’ll see yourself.’ There were a few whispers in the CIA about Task Force 141 and Ghost, but it was just simple intimidation and rumours.

            The jeep soon enough pulled at the base, guarding soldiers and saluting their Captain as they got out of the jeep. She took her stuff out of the trunk, putting her two backpacks over her shoulders and another two in her hands, following the Captain to the main building.

            While walking, she didn’t focus on the passing soldiers or that the base was bigger than before. She kept swallowing a bitter gulp of embarrassment down her throat. There was no more Analyst Siren that worked alone. There was now Sergeant Siren from Task Force 141, a team player. She had to remind herself that dealing with the mission was far more important than dealing with her own hurt feelings.

            They soon stepped into a separate division, undisturbed by other soldiers and she dropped her things near the table and walked further near a kitchen where a few guys were gathered. She realised how much she craved having someone to talk to, but at the same time, she was bitter as a wet cat.

            “Boys,” Price started, gesturing at her, “this is Sergeant Siren from the Terrorism and Russian and European departments in the CIA. Now, she’s one of us, treat her nicely.”

            “A secret agent, eh? It’s a pleasure, lass,” a thick Scottish accent reached her ears and she nodded, remembering that this must be Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish. He was a tall, muscular guy with a Mohawk, but the grin on his face told her that he was the trickster in this group and that the two of them will get along.

            “Remember me?” A silent voice made her turn her eyes to the right from the Scottish man to a familiar face that put a smile on her face.

            Quickly walking to him, she shared a hug with Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, who she has worked with on missions before. A few years ago, she had a tiny crush on him, but she kept it all professional as it all faded away eventually. However, it was nice to see not one, but another familiar face in the Task Force.

            “You look well, Gaz,” she said as she pulled away, tapping his shoulder before her eyes dropped to the man, standing in the corner.

            Porca miseria!

            The man was a size of a mountain, making all of them look like they were fucking teenagers. His crossed arms were flexing in the pullover, threatening to rip the material. He was calm, unmoving and that was the moment she realised where the intimidation came from. He was wearing a black balaclava with a skull sewn into it. Only two, dark eyes were visible and they were clearly looking right through her.

            She held her breathing, looking at him, realising now why Price was so hesitant to tell her about her new commanding officer. It felt like if she will try to ease the mood in front of that man, she will get that look which makes her feel as if she belongs with the worms in the soil.

            Price noticed the little staring match and nodded: “That’s Lieutenant Ghost. Your commanding officer.”

            “Where did you serve?” His voice was gravel. Rough, as if she was walking on pebbles with her bare feet. The shivers were twisting her back, but she grinned.

            “Italian Special Forces.”

            “You’re Italian?” Soap raised his eyebrows almost with sound.

            Her Italian accent was non-existent – a part of her job was to sound nothing like her real identity. Ar the CIA, she has worked with dialect experts, to make sure that every language she knows would sound as if she is truly a native speaker. However, when she was being emotional or nervous, her accent would slip up.

            “I’m your ears for the mission,” she admitted, knowing that there were very few people in the CIA or Special Forces who know Italian.

            “When was the last time you were on the battlefield?” Lieutenant didn’t budge again and she sucked in a sharp breath, feeling the shivers appear again.

            “Every day, Tenente,” she pushed her hands behind her. “Last time I was on a mission with Captain about four years ago. If you are worried if I’ll make it to the target – my aim is good.”

            His eyes were alluring, making her have a hard time keeping eye contact. So much for her own tactic being used against her. “I have heard about you, Siren,” the Manchester accent was oddly attractive, making her feel slightly dizzy.

            And the way he said her name… Fuck her.

            “What have you heard about me?” She raised her eyebrows slightly, keeping the tension growing.

            “Clean cuts in the throat, never too deep. Enough to kill someone without making a lot of mess,” he responded, not shifting one bit. “You’re silent, good for infiltration.”

            “Someone’s been snooping around,” she murmured.

            “Wouldn’t call it snooping if you’re under my watch, Sergeant.”

            “I’ll behave,” she promised, but it didn’t sound as sincere as she expected it to.

            His hands slightly twitched, his body moving to the wall a little bit more, the look leaving hot trails on her face. “Welcome to Force Task 141.”

            It wasn’t just her who felt the thickened air between the two. Everyone’s heart slightly increased their rating. Dio mio, she’ll behave like a nice fucking girl if that means getting to watch him longer.

Translations:

"Dio mio" - Oh my God in Italian

"Tenente" - Lieutenant in Italian

"Porca miseria!" - For God's sake in Italian

[bemyawakening]

HAYLOFT; chapter five

fandom: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Original Female Character

short summary: Marzia Moretti, known as Siren, is one of the secret agents of the CIA, meant to deal with missions quietly and gather information. Not only did she work on her biggest mission for seven years, digging for information about the Sicilian Mafia which was running the most secretive human trafficking business, but she also did this to get revenge. Recently, she gets assigned to Task Force 141 in order to finish the mission once and for all.

You can also read this book on ao3

previous chapters: on my masterlist

warnings: curse words

Pushing the papers on the table from all three of the wineries, she placed them all carefully beside each other. Men didn’t think about interrupting her, even if their presence in the small room was making her feel a little bit stuffed.

            Taking one piece of paper, she sniffed it—no smell and no discolouration. This was made by a professional. The men shared a look of confusion, watching her work, not questioning why she just sniffed a piece of paper.

            “Alright, I’ll use ultraviolet light. Turn off the light,” she demanded, reaching into her pouch and taking a small ultraviolet flashlight. It wasn’t the normal equipment every soldier had in their pouches, but she worked for the CIA and a tourniquet wasn’t as necessary to her as some tools.

            Soap turned off the light, all of them coming closer to the table as she flashed the flashlight on the papers. Breathing out in pure ecstasy, she looked at the once innocent-looking paper that now revealed numbers in a light, neon violet colour.

            “What the fuck is that?” Soap was the first to show his confusion.

            The numbers were written in lines. No letters. No words. A bunch of numbers written in even lines, spaces between the numbers in odd places. Moving her hand over the other papers it was just the same—different numbers, spaces and even lines.

            This was a code.

            Raising her head, the man standing at the other end of the table, already looking at her was Ghost, and just from his look, she understood that he realised what it is.

            “We need to connect with Laswell,” she instructed. “Write all of these numbers out and send it to her. It’s a code.”

            Ghost motioned to her flashlight and she handed it to him, watching the way he walked to the end of the table, leaning closer to one table: “These are names.”

            “What?” She quickly got beside him.

            His gloved hand pointed at the odd spaces between the numbers and he was right. Some number sequences were longer than others, some were just two digits.

            “You’re right,” Siren breathed out, slightly shaking her head. “This is a list. Of victims.”

            There were twenty pages on that table. Twenty pages with numbers scribbled on them.

            Moving her finger on the outline of the page and down, she noticed that some sequences were longer, then a space, a few numbers, and a space again and numbers until the end.

            “Names. Countries, perhaps? Location?” The woman thought out loud as Price left the room, quickly bringing in a laptop.

            “If these are names, why would they keep them?” Soap asked, leaning closer to look over the papers.

            Biting her lower lip, she shook her head. She didn’t know. It made sense for a trafficking system this large to have coded messages, but why leave them in a place where a random thief could get them if they really wanted to?

            “Laswell’s on,” Price announced and she rushed to turn on the light, getting beside Price, and looking at the computer screen where Laswell’s face was on.

            “Tell me you found something good,” the woman began.

            “A coded list. Lieutenant Ghost thinks there are names. Could be locations. Anything,” Siren reported, looping her hands around the straps of her vest.

            “You’ll figure it out?” Laswell asked.

            Siren has participated in a few steganography courses and she was quite decent at solving a few riddles. She wasn’t anywhere as good as the specialists at the CIA, but she nodded: “I’ll send you the pictures of the codes, so someone could help me. But it’ll be my priority.”

            “That’s what I like to hear. Keep me updated,” the woman agreed and Siren moved out of the frame, leaving Price and Laswell to talk alone.

            Looking at the papers on the table, she slightly winced. She had to write all of those codes separately, send them out and start figuring out what they mean. However, it was somehow relieving—she was getting closer to catching Luca Torro. It wasn’t about getting his men alone and interrogating them. The actual game has already begun.

            A few horribly tiring days were ahead of her if she will manage to decode it. She already felt the tiredness slumping her to the ground, but she couldn’t let this stop her. All those years she wanted to take a step closer to the end. This was the step.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

            “Has she eaten?” Gaz asked all of them.

            Ghost looked at the door in the distance where Siren has shut herself out for the past 24 hours ever since they connected with Laswell. It was a part of her job and none of them was good, or even introduced to steganography to interfere with her job. It felt odd to him.

            If he was being honest, the moment he first saw her, he didn’t know what to think of her. It felt weird that under the alias of Siren - a deadly murderer stood a whole-head smaller woman with an attitude. He knew she wasn’t fine with the idea of him being her commanding officer, but that was his job as a superior, not that he chose it himself.

            However, something has changed. Ever since she got into the winery, demonstrated her skills of easy climbing and having a drill in her fucking pouch. Still, the whole thing about her intuition was bullshit, but she was locked in that room determinately. Even if she was on this mission for seven years, he didn’t see her as someone so determined.

            He was wrong.

            Ghost appreciated that these twenty-four hours gave them all a moment to rest. He wasn’t much of a sleeper, especially in a different base, but a few naps were necessary. He knew that whatever she’ll manage to reveal what the numbers mean, it will only mean that they will need heavier artillery. Even if he was one of the best on the battlefield, a peaceful day was appreciated.

            “I haven’t seen her leave once,” Soap mumbled, holding his coffee.

            “It’s how she works. She knows her limits,” Price revealed even if he was worried for the woman inside the other room.

            “Any news from Laswell?” Ghost asked.

            The Captain shook his head, “Her team is still working.”

            Raising from his chair, without telling anything to anyone, he moved towards the room where she was in. Slowly opening the door, he was met with a fairly small room with two whiteboards rolled together to the back wall. Beside them, on the wall, the copies of the numbers were hung. In the right corner, there was a desk and the lamp over there was the only light source in that room. On a chair in front of the table sat she, her posture crooked, scribbling something on a piece of paper.

            The whiteboards were painted with different coloured markers. Numbers united into small groups, words, arrows and lines – he couldn’t really understand what was in front of him. Stepping closer to it, his footstep alerted her and he noticed the way she flinched, rolling back with the whole chair a few centimetres.

            Siren grasped her chest, breathing out: “Fuck!”

            “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he admitted, watching her tired frame take the mug that was on the corner of the table and place it back down since it was empty. Averting his stare back on the whiteboard, he asked: “Any progress?”

            The woman raised from her seat, rolling back her shoulders with a grunt as she walked beside him, pointing at the left end of the whiteboard. “I have the vowels figured out… The consonants—a few.”

            The tired note in her voice made him look at her. It was as if he was listening to a whole new person. There wasn’t a sassy undertone in her voice, no smug grin, no glistering eyes with mischief. She was just tired. Without a façade.

            “Have you eaten?” He asked.

            “Not hungry,” she mumbled, moving to the desk and grabbing her mug. “I do need more coffee though.”

            Ghost hasn’t even seen her in the past day leaving the room – she somehow managed to pass through them all to get to the bathroom and for coffee several times.

            “Alright. Time to take some rest and eat,” he commanded.

            “The CIA hasn’t got anything as well. I can’t waste time.” Her words were sincere and her motive was clear.

            Crossing his arms over his chest, he disagreed: “You’re wasting time by doing this when you’re tired. I’m sure you know that.”

            Their eyes met and she offered him a small sigh: “I once stayed up for three days and I did the mission well.”

            “And what did it get you?”

            “A small pat on the back from Laswell and the ER room because I kind of poisoned myself by drinking too much coffee and eating cucumbers.”

            The man raised his eyebrows. She was a peculiar little thing. “Cucumbers?”

            “They have a lot of water inside of them. I was trying to stay hydrated.”

            Ghost was fighting the urge to chuckle. What was going on in her mind? “How many cucumbers exactly did you eat to end up in the hospital?”

            Siren opened her mouth, but then hesitated, squinting her eyes: “Classified.”

            “Hm…” He mumbled before averting his eyes back on the whiteboard. He noticed the numbers from one to ten written in Italian as well as a few letters. “They coded it in Italian?”

            “Thought they will be using an English system,” she came closer. “But it seems like the first letter of each number creates some sort of sound. I think they create an Italian alphabet, making it harder to transcribe it.”

            “How so?”

            The woman pointed at a few words written on the board: “Italian alphabet is mainly based on vowel pronunciation. For example, we don’t say the letter em, we say emme,” she gave an example.

            “Meaning that the number combinations are more messed up.”

            “Yeah,” she suppressed a yawn with that word, moving her shoulders. “Even if some numbers mean vowels, when they mix with others—I can’t understand how it combines yet.”

            Ghost’s head already start to heat up from all of the information and the scribbles in front of him—he wasn’t the type of man to be jealous about someone knowing something better than him, but this was admirable. Perhaps he should consider taking this course, but there was no place for a man like him with no identity and expertise in a different field.

            “Is this the area of your expertise?” He inquired, not truly knowing what the main aims were for a Terrorist department analyst.

            She shook her head: “I wasn’t the one always in the office. My job is mostly infiltration and data gathering.”

            “How did you get the offer from the CIA?”

            Ghost didn’t even realise that he was prying before he met her eyes: “All those questions and I’m not allowed to ask you anything?”

            “What do you want to ask?” He wasn’t planning to give her any answers, but he was curious to hear the questions.

            Breathing in, she wrapped herself in her arms, making him notice the little shivers on her bare arms: “The mask?”

            “Classified,” he crossed his arms, his forearms slightly flexing in his blazer. “My question?”

            Giving him a small smile, the familiar sparkle in her eyes appeared for a second: “Classified.”

            “Fair enough,” he agreed. “Get some food and some rest.”

            “Am I hearing a glimpse of care in your words?” She teased with a soft smile which almost made him roll his eyes.

            “Wouldn’t want you to end up in the infirmary. Would look bad on my file since I’m your commanding officer,” he barely shrugged, catching her wicked eyes.

            There she was again.

            “Is this what a heartbreak feels like?” She dramatically placed her hand on her chest, pushing her lips into a frown. “Just when I thought you care about me—“

            Snapping his gloved fingers in front of her face, his eyes bore into hers. “Shh.” Extending his finger, he motioned it to the doorway.

            “Aye, Lieutenant." She saluted him with that smirk that he didn’t like, almost making him roll his eyes as she left the room, him following her.

            Ghost has noticed before that she has changed the dynamics of this Task Force. However, it was a sight to see that when she entered the room, he saw the way their faces lit up. It was odd—they were all so used up living in the war terror and sleepless nights, walking like zombies. Having a peaceful day was a luxury on a mission and they had it because of her. So all of the team was in a better mood instantly.

            “Coffee,” she sang the word and Price stood up, taking the mug out of her hands.

            “Which cup is it already?” Price’s tone was as if he was ready to scold her.

            “First one,” she responded, pushing her lips together.

            “Your pants are on fire, Siren,” Soap teased.

            Turning around, she gave him a glare, threatening: “You’re just asking for it…”

            “He’s just been sulking without you around,” Gaz shrugged, sipping his tea.

            Price took the mug from her hands, pushing her towards the chair he was sitting in: “Laswell’s gonna kill me if she’ll find out you haven’t slept for more than a day.”

            “Laswell knows how I—“

            Price interrupted her: “A friend of yours asked me to give you this.” He opened the fridge, giving her a Tupperware, making her smile like a little girl who just got a present.

            Opening it, she suppressed a happy noise, seeing lasagne in the container, feeling as if she ascended to heaven. Immediately, she said: “I’m not sharing this. This is homemade.”

            “I thought you Italians were all about sharing,” Soap disapprovingly said.

            “You just ate—“ Gaz disagreed and got a nudge from Soap to his ribs.

            It was odd to see that little bicker, leaving Ghost standing in the doorway, observing it all. It was odd when there was life brought into his job. The laughter was like a reward in his daily life and this kitchen was full of it. Perhaps, there was something similar about her. Not only the distant burning with revenge but the façade she had dropped for a few seconds back there.

            It showed that they were all just humans. No matter how hard they tried to hide it. No matter how hard they tried to deny it. But he was the best at doing the whole denying game, of being someone under a mask. She wasn’t wearing a visible mask, but he wanted to know how she really looked without one.

[bemyawakening]

HAYLOFT; chapter six

fandom: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Original Female Character

short summary: Marzia Moretti, known as Siren, is one of the secret agents of the CIA, meant to deal with missions quietly and gather information. Not only did she work on her biggest mission for seven years, digging for information about the Sicilian Mafia which was running the most secretive human trafficking business, but she also did this to get revenge. Recently, she gets assigned to Task Force 141 in order to finish the mission once and for all.

translation of Italian can be found at the end. You can also read this book on ao3

previous chapters: on my masterlist

  Another 48 hours have passed. Task Force 141 has forgotten what it’s like to have this much free time. Their missions were always involving action since they worked with clear leads and names. Get a name, and a location and get the job done. They weren’t used to figuring out the names themselves – the CIA did most of the job for them and now they encountered how the CIA works.

            Siren was dedicated and wasn’t wasting a single moment. It was admirable – a true soldier’s quality. Soap tried to help her figure it out, but the poor man got so confused that she asked him to leave her alone. Her mood swings were on edge as well. All of them caught her passed out on her desk and they threatened to get her to a bed, but she protested with a lot of Italian curse words and gestures.

            She was like a working machine. The scribbled whiteboards were starting to look like something that will decode the list. Not only did she figure out the vowel combinations, but a few consonants. The letters were appearing, filling in the gaps, but she wasn’t over yet.

            Ghost opened the door to the little cave where has shut herself for the past three days, watching her figure pass out in the most uncomfortable way. She was slightly sliding off the table, the wheels of her chair moving further from it the more her body was relaxing.

            The room was a mess. It smelled like coffee and markers, but the view on the whiteboard was more promising. The papers hung on the wall had some letters written, halfway coded – closer to the truth. He noticed that there were indeed names and locations and another small section that was still unknown—perhaps gender or age.

            Walking to the table, he slightly knocked on it and her body jolted up, the wheels of her chair moving back, hitting the wall. She gasped for air, eyes frantic and wide, looking at his tall figure, mouth hanging wide.

            She mumbled something incoherent, perhaps in Italian and she rubbed her forehead, extending her left arm. “Shit, slept for two hours,” she grumbled, her voice breathy and tired.

            “Need help?” He asked.

            “Make me a coffee?” She offered.

            Nudging his head to the wall, he corrected himself: “Need help with this?”

            Looking at him for a second, he could notice that she was thinking about what to answer. She already told Soap to leave because he was far more interested in why the Italian alphabet sounds like that than actually helping, Price and Gaz were the ones reminding her to eat. Perhaps he could actually help her without driving her into madness.

            “Sure,” she cleared her throat, pushing herself to the table with the chair. Grabbing the mug, she frowned seeing that it was empty. Too tired to move somewhere further, she placed it back down and placed her elbow on the table, leaning on it with her cheek.

            “Names. Location. The third part?” He asked, crossing his arms, and walking closer to the papers.

            “Age. The list will help identify the list of taken ones. Perhaps we’ll be able to create a pattern where these people are getting taken, but…” She managed to stand up and walk closer to him and point at one group of papers on the wall.

            “The names depend on the transaction location,” she pointed at the different businesses the money was transferred. “Italian business – Italy. French – France and so on…”

            “Then why are the location numbers different?”

            “Cities of the abducted.”

            The man furrowed his eyebrows. Why would they make a list with invisible ink and hide it in plain sight? “They are making it easy for the CIA.”

            Moving her fingers through her short hair, she hummed: “They know the CIA is after them.”

            “They wanted for this to be found,” he finally figured it out.

            “Yeah, they’re setting a trap.”

            Ghost hummed, the muffled sound moving even through the mask. Slightly looking to the side to see her, he noticed only from up close how exhausted she looked. Her skin was dull, with a hint of greyness, small pouches sat underneath her eyes, lips slightly cracked from the obvious dehydration. Her shoulders were slightly slumped forwards, the back of her neck slightly red from her squeezing it in exhaustion.

            “Are they targeting you?” His low voice was silent, wanting to hear her answer this question truthfully.

            Siren’s lips trembled, he noticed that. “No,” she truthfully replied. “They don’t know who I am.”

            Saying those words, she felt her headache a bit more—she didn’t know anymore. She thought they didn’t know her, she had no idea if that was actually true. The man she has captured had no idea who she was or else, she would’ve been long dead.

            “Why are you on this mission?” He pried.

            “A lot of lives could be saved. That’s my job – to clean up disasters,” she replied and with an exhausted undertone. It sounded like a confession as if she didn’t want to be here. And he could understand that – it wasn’t easy to choose violence instead of a normal, boring life.

            “You’ll get a medal for this,” he slightly gestured at the papers.

            Chuckling, she shook her head: “Waste of metal, if you’d ask me.”

            “Not a fan of them?

            “I melted all of them into rings. They turned out quite nicely,” she slightly looked at her fingers, straightening them up and squeezing them into fists. Only then he noticed that her fingers were ornamented with several rings, and small tattoos on her fingers as well.

            “Smart woman.”

            Siren chose to not comment on the words he just said, much to his pleasure as she changed the topic: “Any news from Laswell?”

            “They’re still working with the information you gave them. For specialists at steganography, they suck at their job.”

            Breathing out a chuckle, her shoulders slumped forward as she hugged herself with her arms: “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She walked to the table, sorting the papers on it so that it wouldn’t be as clustered. “Deciphering the code is one thing. We’ll have to find out where the trap will lead us.”

            “Why would they want us to lead into a trap? They surely don’t expect the whole bloody CIA to get there.” He had a point.

            “They want to do damage or maybe they hope getting rid of some would keep the CIA off their back.”

            “They already did that. For seven years.” That sounded like an insult with his monotonic tone.

            Grabbing the mug, she slightly patted his firm shoulder, feeling his muscles tense underneath her touch: “You’re the best at motivating, Tenente.” She deadpanned, before leaving to make more coffee.

            After she came back, both of them started to work. It was quiet between the two, only answering important questions and writing stuff down. He slowly started to realise the way the number combinations were working and by the end of the day, he knew the Italian numbers to ten and the alphabet by heart.

            It was odd for him to be cramped in the same room as her without her usual jokes or teasing, seeing her focus. She had the tendency to murmur to herself while speaking, some Italian incoherent words—he thinks he also overheard some Spanish… Her handwriting was almost unreadable because she barely kept her eyes open, so he took over writing everything she told him to.

            “Do you think Jesus was actually born in a manger? Because how the fuck did Mary gave birth in there?” She asked that, after good four hours of efficient work.

            Ghost took a second to process what she just asked—what? Turned his head to the table, and her head was placed on her elbows on the table as she was facing him.

            “What?” His Manchester accent really popped out on this word, already considering the possibility that she was slowly dying from the lack of sleep. The first symptom is blabbering and then hallucinations.

            “It just doesn’t make sense, I don’t know,” she mumbled.

            The man blinked once. Twice. “Why does it even matter?”

            She let out a dramatic groan, closing her eyes for a few seconds before opening them: “You’re right. There are so many inaccuracies in the Bible that it would take too long to figure them all out.”

            “Alright, time for you to sleep.” He raised from the floor without any difficulties.

            “How long can people survive without sleep?” She raised from the chair, a little bit too quickly, holding the edge of the table so she wouldn’t fall off. “Laswell will kill me if I don’t do this quickly.”

            That was a lie—Siren knew Laswell showed more love to her than to any other co-worker. But she never wanted to disappoint her. Especially since Shepherd wanted to get her off this mission completely.

            “I give you two hours. Take it or leave it,” he answered.

            “I can’t sleep,” her face scrunched as if she was in pain. Moving away from the table, she looked at the pages on the wall. “I can’t sleep. I can’t—“

            “Sergeant,” his rough voice snapped, appearing in front of her so she could only look at him. Her eyes were glossy, cheeks sunken, stance wobbly. “Get a few hours of sleep. It’s an order.”

            “If I don’t figure this out,” she extended her hand to the whiteboard. “Shepherd will fire me. He will fire me because he doesn’t like me. He wants me off. I gave everything to this mission and he wants me off.” At this point she was rambling, not realising that she was oversharing information with her Lieutenant.

            He had no idea that Shepherd wanted her off this mission. It was clear now why she was beating herself up about this mission, but she won’t reach the needed results if she won’t let herself rest. “I’ll wake you up myself in a few hours. Meanwhile, I’ll stay here.”

            Blinking a few times, she nodded. “You really aren’t that terrifying sometimes,” she admitted and he was cherishing her honestly without any façade.

            “I’ll be terrifying if you won’t listen to my orders.”

            Raising her hands slightly in defeated, she gave another look, red spots around her brown irises. “Just a few hours.” She mumbled this to herself and left the room.

─────── ·𖥸· ───────

            The distant beeping of her wristwatch sent her body into shock, revealing that she fell asleep in an uncomfortable position. Her legs were twisted, the upper body moving to the right, neck to the left. Groaning, she pushed the button on her watch, slowly letting her body untangle from itself, grasping the ends of the mattress.

            Allowing herself to sleep for two hours precisely, she decided to quickly take a shower before coming back to decoding. She felt sticky and just too warm—she needed to cool down. It was already late and the others were sleeping, well, most of them. Captain and Lieutenant didn’t share the same area of sleeping as she did.

            Looking at the Soap’s figure on the top bunk bed above her, she slightly chuckled to herself since he was quite the snorer, the blanket pushed between his legs, hugging it. Not letting herself linger for too long, she grabbed her stuff from a little locker and strolled into the bathroom area.

            The cold water felt great on her skin—she wasn’t a big fan of cold showers, much more preferred the ones just the right temperature on her skin. However, the coldness seemed to awaken her much more and perhaps, with two hours of sleep, she will manage to challenge her brain into finishing the task.

            Not allowing herself the luxury to stay long in the shower, she quickly washed up and changed into some fresh clothes. She stopped to make some coffee before entering the small room, finding Lieutenant there—huh, so he really meant it when he said that he will stay in here.

            Turning around, he was met with her figure, noticing that she looked a lot better after two hours of sleep. The wet strands of her hair were reaching her chin, giving her that fresh look and the tank top she was wearing revealed the tattoos on her body he hasn’t seen before.

            Apart from the little tattoos on her fingers, he noticed that she had a snake tattoo that came from the middle of her thumb to the middle of her forearm. On the right arm, the inner forearm was a bloodhound—faceless, detailed, gorgeous. Moving up her arm, there was something on her collarbone, moving down that he couldn’t decipher, the material of the shirt was covering it all up.

            And to his surprise, through the wet locks of her hair, he managed to notice a small tattoo slightly below her left ear—a serpent as it seemed. It looked as if she was glistering even in this forsaken dimmed room, bringing something out with her presence. Yes, the two hours without her were quiet, but this was already her area and it seemed to bloom with her presence.

            “Thanks for allowing me to sleep,” she started, her voice even more exhausted and raspier.

            “You needed it,” he raised from the small chair that she has been sitting in, making her release a small, confused breath as to how he fitted on that small chair, but she said nothing. Instead, he walked closer to her, reaching his ungloved hand out to the coffee.

            “What are you doing?” She pushed the coffee away from him.

            “Need a sip,” he admitted.

            “Aren’t you a tea guy?”

            “Does it matter if I am?” His eyes bore into hers, the height difference really showing at that moment. Her chin was raised to meet his eyes as he was looking down. With such a big and flashy presence of her, he didn’t even notice properly that she was a whole head smaller than him.

            Slightly squinting her eyes, she passed him the mug, moving closer to the whiteboard, giving him the privacy to take a sip of coffee even if she did want to pry. But she was sure that if she’d tried to turn around to even have a glimpse at his chin, that mug of coffee would end up right in her face.

            “I see you figured out a few consonants,” she looked at the whiteboard, seeing his handwriting in a few corners, crossing out a few of her theories and replacing them with his own. His handwriting was surprisingly readable. The letters were slightly squeezed together, but the cursive writing from the high-school times was still lingering in it.

            “Bloody hell,” she heard him croak, turning around to face him only to see him fully with his mask, but his eyes were squinted in disgust.

            “This coffee ain’t for a tea guy,” she gave him the look of ‘I-told-you-so’ and she took the mug back from him.

            “This coffee ain’t for anyone. Bloody rat poison,” he mumbled, coming to stand closer to her, the displeasure so audible in his voice, but that only made her smile wider.

            Sipping the coffee, she hummed in response. Made it with Moka Pot and didn’t spill it because there was no one to distract her. It was a good cup of strong coffee. “Cry me a river, sir.”

            His eyes dropped to her bare shoulders, taking another mental note that there was something inked on her back—the shirt covering that as well. Around her neck was a familiar chain, the dog tags hiding in her cleavage and he took his eyes off of her before he will announce himself as a creep.

            He couldn’t blame himself for looking. She was a hilariously gorgeous woman with a temperament that wanted to make him rip his hair out. The smooth, bare skin of hers seemed so soft and his mind couldn’t help, but wander even if he knew he would never do something like that. Not only it was unethical, but he was her superior and the paperwork would be unnecessary.

            In addition, he didn’t indulge in pleasure with the people he worked with. That’d resolve into a lot of unnecessary tension and eventual arguments, and broken teamwork. But he wasn’t a delusional idiot to not acknowledge that it made sense why she was called Siren.

            “I think it’s possible to start decoding. The rest of the gaps will be easier to fill in if we start not from the names, but from the locations.” Siren announced, pulling his thoughts away from her, to the mission.

            “We?”

            Giving him a brief look, she slightly squinted her eyes, “Others are asleep. If you want to – you can go to rest. Or you can stay and help me finish this faster.”

            “Johnny tried to help you, didn’t he? How do I know you won’t tell me to fuck off as well?”

            “Is that what you’re afraid of? Of me, telling fuck off to my superior? Plus, you aren’t asking me to teach you how to sing the Italian alphabet.”

            Ghost allowed a tiny chuckle to tug on his lips: “That does sound like Soap.”

            “Get to work, Lieutenant,” she slightly hit his shoulder before moving to the table.

            They did get to work and the tactic of decoding the location part first was brilliant. It was easier to fill in the gaps in existing places and they soon ended with all of the changing combinations. Clearly, the number combinations didn’t stay the same, with each paper they seem to shift, but just slightly. And by the time the sun started to rise, they had decoded all of the papers. And now, not numbers, but letters were hanging on the wall.

            Names. Location. Age. Blood type.

            Exhausted, but silently happy with their work, they both looked at the wall, slightly amazed by what they did, but taken aback by the fact that there were five hundred twenty-six names in front of them. They were both sure it wasn’t even half of the victims, but it was a start. The first normal start in seven years.

            Siren’s chest was bubbling with some sort of anxiety, the need to do better. To help these people if it was possible. These people can be anywhere already, but knowing their names will help so much for the database to properly identify them and find a pattern between the disappearings.

            “Do you see that?” Siren slightly shifted in her stance.

            “Hm?”

            Walking closer to the fifth page on top, she slightly trailed her finger down to the first letters of the names. LINDA WALKER.

            “It’s a name,” she whispered.

            Ghost came closer, tilting his head, nodding. “It’s a trap.”

            “We need to call Laswell. Send all of this to her team to start searching for connections. This is a trap, but this is all we’ve got.”

            Lieutenant felt the adrenaline spike in his veins. It was time to bring out a little bit heavier artillery.