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gazstations · 4 months ago

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Come Home, My Darling

CHAPTER FOUR

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

Kate Laswell tells 141 the full truth of what she knows behind the reason she pushed for John's family to go into protective custody.

♡ Chapter Warnings: None.

◇ Notes: Happy April Fools! This chapter is not a joke

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

IT WAS THE DAY YOU LEFT THAT JOHN PRICE FOUND OUT THE TRUTH.

The anger gnawed at the edges of his brain like maggots. Slithering around with tiny legs that prickled the ridged flesh just right. It was disappointment in oneself that melded into a chaotic mess. A demon that clawed up from the pits of hell and sunk fire into his stomach. Anger was an old comrade, patting his back and telling him he would never be able to carry on without.

John Price was angry far more than he was civil.

Anger got shit done. You can only take action when your blood is boiling over. Calm cannot take down malice. You have to play the players' game. See the deceit because you are also rigging the system.

Anger was muscle memory. The twitch was a familiar comfort. Told him that some of his humanity was still intact if he still got revolted by what he witnessed.

The captain was a pillar of leadership. He commanded. He was the man who made the tough calls. He had to live with his actions, even when sometimes people ended up caught in the crossfire. No one got through this life without hurting someone. Even good people left someone with scars.

The captain had made far more enemies than he ever had friends. The difference was less than ten to an upwards of fifty. He was the face people plastered on the wall and threw darts at. The one that made their voodoo dolls of him and bent the arms to see if his would break as well.

John Price was a name infamous for getting cursed, damned, and everything in between.

He put away the big dogs. Left them deteriorating behind bars or six feet underground. He was swift. Had a record to prove he was exceptional. That's why he was always on rotation. Hitting the ground running with his trusted men by his side.

But this one bastard was the top of the food chain as well. Put most other terrorists to shame. He made a fool out of John, broke that clean record of getting shit done, and shoved the ripped contents into his mouth. Humiliation was not an emotion John dealt with accordingly. He was so resistant to being wrong that the flames spread with might throughout his body.

Kate had just finished telling the team all that she had in her pocket. She had lied in your presence. John found himself grateful. Detail was still classified, and you were still a civilian. It's just the way things were.

The boys were silent. Gaz eyed John closely, watching the way the stoic captain went rigid. John could feel the weight of his stare, burning his flesh with cautious and questioning intent. He ignored it. Tried to. Even if a bit of him was unraveling inside.

“Vladimir Makarov is after my family?” he questioned with a low timbre, words teetering on collapse.

The name rattled in his head like a loose coin in a bottle, the syllables alone striking the utmost fury without ever physically touching his skin. John’s skin burned, and the hair rose along his arms in anticipation. Back to square one, straight into the lion’s den like a damn puppet.

“Thought we sent his arse tae the Gulag,” Soap remarked. the Sergeant's lips were pouted, disdain on his face.

John knew there was a mutual, burning hatred for the mentioned terrorist. He wanted to wring the bastard's neck. If he had it his way, he’d have Makarov hanging from a flag pole in a town square. Picked apart by vultures and a visual reminder to his supporters that evil had no shelter.

But General Shepard was monitoring them at the time. Got the brass up his ass about military etiquette. John pulled a lot of shit. Dragged his boys through the fire with him. He listened to orders only when he believed they were worthwhile.

Killing Makarov against regulation would've been a swift reason to get 141 disbanded. John was a lot of things, but he wasn’t willing to risk losing his team.

So, he followed rules for once and regretted it a second later.

He knew it was wrong to keep Makarov alive. He was a pure manipulator. His work never stopped when he got put behind bars. No, John knew the gears would keep turning. You had to shoot those bastards in the head twice. Just to ensure the finality of death. Otherwise, they always found a way back.

“You did. There was a full prison break. He was the main retrieval, but hundreds of prisoners also escaped in the process,” Kate informed.

She dropped a small file on the table, the contents inside relayed information about said prison break. A break out of the Gulag was impressive, John had to admit. But he didn't want to give the bastard too much credit.

John gritted his teeth as he glanced at the file. He wouldn't fully read it right now, not while his head was full of cotton.

Makarov was playing games. Going after his family was a sick joke. Helping you and the kids evade the Russian would be like treading through a minefield. While John wouldn't have wished for any of his adversaries to be pursuing you, the last one he wanted was Makarov.

if you were caught, the flesh would be pried off your bone slowly. You were never meant to be a part of that. You were always meant to be separate from the darkness of his job. He got dirty so he could clean his hands at the door and be a simple husband and father. The lines were muddled now. Danger was in your periphery, and John couldn’t be there to block it with his own hand.

No, he had to sit back and let some bodyguard take the reins. Fucking bullshit.

Kate eyed John, and he met her gaze with a steely edge. Her eyes were calculating, thoughtful and he hated when she started analyzing him. She read him almost as well as you did sometimes. He felt stripped down and vulnerable. He loved holding his emotions close to his chest, hiding from anyone else.

Eventually, Kate looked away.

“This is going to get personal,” she didn't outright say it, but John knew well she was mainly addressing him. His jaw clenched.

“Makarov is always going to be personal,” John responded. He crossed his arms against his chest and leaned back against the wall behind him.

Gaz spoke next, “We put Makarov in. We have to take him out.”

Kate sighed, “Maybe. But we all still have jobs. What's happening with John's family is horrible, but we can't let that distract us from everything Makarov can do. He's looking for weak points, and we all know messing with our team won't be the end.”

“My family is my priority, Kate,” John declared.

“And if you were anyone else, I would pull you off the mission,” Kate countered. “I know I can't stop you. But I urge you to at least consider other ways Makarov might try to shake the system.”

John was listening only halfway. Deep down, he knew Kate was right. But his tunnel vision was thick, the walls clearly bordering his family. They were all he saw. He would demolish that cottage he built if he could not return to your soft embrace at the end of the day. He was not losing you.

“We got it, Laswell,” Gaz spoke for John.

“Any pings on Makarov?” Ghost now took the chair.

“No. As of right now, he's in hiding,” Kate said. “We have to wait for a sign. In the meantime, we carry on as normal.”

“Nothin’ normal ‘bout our jobs,” Soap hummed.

That was an obvious fact. Even when John was curled up on the couch with you and the kids, he was still a killer. You and him had created life, and he snuffed other life out the very next day. Normality was a concept they did not know. He could play pretend, but nothing changed the scars he had.

“Is my family settled somewhere?” John asked finally.

“They're still on their flight,” Kate said.

Flight. John's blood ran cold at that. They really were going where he couldn't follow. He wanted to shut the whole thing down, but that would only endanger you. Maybe the universe was finally catching up for all the sins he's committed.

“They'll be okay, Cap,” Gaz said.

“Yeah,” John responded halfheartedly.

Then a thought struck him. How in the bloody hell did Kate know Makarov was the one heading your capture? If he was going dark after a prison break, he wouldn't lay out his cards so fast. That wasn't his style.

“How'd you find out it was Makarov?” John asked. He wasn't accusing. He trusted Kate wholeheartedly, but he was still curious.

Kate didn't waver as she answered. She was clear and poised. “An old friend. Owed me a favor.”

“Old friend,” John repeated with a scoff. “One that knows Makarov's activity?”

“There's a lot you don't know, John,” Kate said.

He nodded, “Sure.”

It was an odd situation. Kate, even as much as John knew about her, was still a mystery. She talked about her wife sometimes, but nothing else about her home or hobbies when she wasn't providing intel to 141. Even then, John considered her his closest ally.

However, he wasn't sure how well he favored this mystery man. He was well acquainted with wolves in sheep's clothing.

“We can trust this friend?” Gaz asked.

“Trust is a tricky word for this situation, Garrick,” Kate remarked.

John almost pulled the plug right then. Yet, even he knew the intricacies of military relationships. They were complicated and had a tendency to be messy.

Hell, John thought of his old friend, Nikolai. The Russian was a loose cannon, but he had been by John's side more than anyone. If there was chaos, there was Nikolai. John trusted him, they were close. But John even wondered if Nikolai was even the man's given name. Though, he still trusted the man enough to also be around his family once or twice. Whenever he came around.

He knew he had to give Kate grace, but it was tough when he never vetted her man himself. John liked control. Which is why he often turned his nose up at official military orders. Got himself in more than enough trouble that way.

“And his intel is viable?” John asked. Enough overthinking, get back on the track.

“Usually is,” Kate offered. “Helped us with the Zakhaev Airport situation.”

John bit his tongue then. He had to accept the situation for right now. Kate wouldn't deliberately lead them astray, but he hoped she wasn't being fooled. They couldn't afford mistakes. Not when his own family was being closed in on. Hopefully, protective custody did its job.

“One wrong move, and I'll put a bullet through your guy's head,” Price said with venom on his tongue.

“I'll give you the gun, sir,” Ghost responded, his eyes said a lot despite the rest of his face being obscured. His second-in-command did not enjoy this either. They both hated following information that they themselves did not partake in collecting.

Ghost and Soap exchanged a glance then while Gaz nodded along in agreement. His men always had his back, and that's why he chose them. They knew they had to get dirty as well. In fact, he was pretty sure they craved the blood. Violence became addicting in a lot of ways, even if it wasn't enjoyable all the time.

They got the job done because one way or another they were fucked up in the head.

“I'm not wrong about this,” Kate stated confidently. “Makarov has been planning this behind bars. Now he's able to act.”

Kate grabbed the file discarded on the table, signaling her part in the conversation was done. She obviously had said everything she wanted to. John just had more questions. He mainly wanted to know where you and the kids were flying. Yet, even if Kate knew, he had to accept she wouldn't tell him. For their safety.

“Get some rest,” Kate suggested. “Shepard has a new mission for you. I'll send you the meeting time.”

With that, she marched out of the room with her shoulders straight and even strides. She was a determined woman on a mission. Admirable, really. Kate Laswell was a force to be reckoned with. She did not take people's shit and always proved why she was at the top with the rest of them.

It was silent for a moment before John sighed and leaned over the table. It was a miracle he wasn't gray yet. The wear and tear just showed more with the lines on his face than anything else.

“I need a bloody drink,” he muttered.

Soap just patted his back, a small hum of agreement.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @crystal-freak24 @haneybunny @tenshis-cake @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @thriving-n-jiving @leon-thot-kennedy

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

#call of duty #call of duty x reader #john price #kyle gaz garrick #john price x reader #captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap cod #soap mactavish #john mactavish #simon riley #gaz garrick #kyle garrick #kate laswell

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bits-and-babs · 2 years ago

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✦ 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✦

captain john price x f!reader (raven) | smut, 18+ | 4.2k

summary: when a seemingly bulletproof mission goes awry, captain price makes the vital mistake of pursuing the target alone and contributes to the chaos that almost claims the life of one of his men. When he returns, he lacks the humility to accept your reprimand lying down.

cw: mwiii spoiler free. war and violence, mentions of wounded, ooc price maybe a little? angst, enemies to enemies that fuck, reader is pathetically attracted to price because same, literally a voice kink fic disguised as a deep throating fic, very light degradation, bratty behaviour from reader, heavy face fucking, hair pulling, praise, gagging, very little aftercare.

price mlist | main mlist | taglist

It all goes tits up.

Shouts of distress arise across the coms in the CIA conference room, blaring through the headphones glued to the watchers’ heads. Ghost’s gruff voice calls out a casualty, leading General Shepard to launch out of his seat and crash his fist against the tabletop. Mugs of coffee tip over from the force of the impact, liquid bleeding into top secret documents- they aren’t his primary concern.

“Lieutenant, this is Gold Eagle. Is there an issue, Ghost?” Shepard’s voice snarls down the coms.

“Sir, it’s Soap- he’s been hit.”

Hanging your head between your shoulders, you barely register the orders that Shepard screams into the microphone of his headset, his spittle peppering the laptop screen where he oversees the mission descending into chaos. Your ears are ringing, your heart thumping wildly against your sternum. Further panic ensues, Gaz shouting a brief, hurried explanation of the mission breakdown. “… snipers in the mountain, sir. Had to dispatch them- I can’t see Captain Pri—”

“Bravo 2-6, this is Raven. Confirm Captain Price’s location,” you insist, swallowing the alarm that threatens to haemorrhage from your lips.

“Negative, Ma’am. Lost him while dispatching the snipers.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, feeling your blood boil at The Captain’s recklessness. “Fuck!”

Your fingers blur over your keyboard, focusing your attention on John Price’s coms. Again, Shepard barks orders at Ghost, but you can’t hear him over your own heavy breathing and pressing tone as you address Price in a fury.

“Captain Price, this is Raven; confirm your location immediately!”

Silence at first. Coffee drips from the edge of the tabletop by your feet, pooling into the navy-blue carpet. It stains like blood, a dark smear. You can imagine it in Price’s camo uniform, spreading thick and fast from a bullet wound- a direct hit to the chest.

“We’re gonna lose Hassan.”

“Captain Price,” you yell down the microphone, simultaneously relieved to hear his voice and enraged at his increasingly frequent decision to go AWOL, “We will most definitely lose Hassan if I must bury every member of 141! Return to Team Bravo immediately!”

You’re almost certain you can hear Price’s teeth grind together, the enamel straining under the weight of his fury and threatening to crack down to the root. “Are you tellin’ me we let him go?”

“Captain Price, I am telling you that we were given faulty intel. I am telling you that we are sustaining heavy losses and that Sergeant MacTavish is critically wounded, and I am calling for EVAC!” Your knuckles are bleached where your fists hover over the keyboard, nails digging into your palms so hard you’re sure the indents they leave burrow straight to the bone as you await confirmation of Price’s retreat. “Task Force 141 is a priceless tool against Al-Qatala. I cannot afford to lose every member for the sake of a man we will ultimately have to chance to apprehend again!”

Your eyes float to General Shepard. He’s furious, his irises swallowed by the hollow blackness of his pupils as he jerks his head in confirmation of permission to evacuate 141. It shouldn’t have come to this.

“Do you copy, Captain Price?” You yell down the microphone, finally losing your cool with the maddening Englishman that continued to defy your authority.

“… Yes, ma’am.”

The ticking minutes-hand of the analogue clock that hangs above your desk sweeps away half of the day before you have confirmation of 141’s safe return to American soil. A further two hours of urgent, life-saving surgery have you chewing your nails to the quick. By the time word reaches you of Soap’s stable condition, your nailbeds are bloody and raw.

“Intel confirms a convergence of Las Almas fighters on the Mexican-Guatemalan border. We believe they intend to smuggle Hassan out of Mexico and into Venezuela, where they would almost certainly grant him sanctuary. Air surveillance suggests that armed guards patrol the border twenty-four seven, concentrated significantly around a central point where we suggest they will attempt to help Hassan over it. Ghost and Soap will lead a special operations unit to kill all Las Almas fighters on sight. Captain Price and Gaz will handle Hassan and the fighters guarding him with the help of the Mexican Special Forces. Captain Price, you have execute authority, but we want Hassan alive for interrogation.”

Enraged by the complete breakdown of the mission, your mind replays your mission briefing repeatedly, scanning the tiniest of details in vain hope of understanding how such a concise and faultless plan had almost killed a vital member of your task force. You couldn’t have made it more transparent, having covered every possible eventuality. Even the risk of faulty intel had been accounted for, enough backup issued should teams Alpha and Bravo find themselves outnumbered, yet…

“Captain Price and Gaz will handle Hassan and the fighters guarding him.”

High-ranking officials sidestep you as you turn the corner to your offices, just barely escaping your warpath as you zero in on your target. The heels of your polished shoes crack against the lino flooring of the hallway like gunfire, the sound ricocheting off the walls and alerting those in your way to your fury.

Perhaps it would explain the wide-eyed shock already present in both Shepard and Captain Price aimed at the door of the General’s office when you throw it open with rage.

“John!”

“I fucked up--“he attempts to assure you of his guilty conscience, gesturing vaguely to his commanding officer, who no doubt had already laid into him over his poor decision-making. It does little to dispel the bubbling temper that churned in your stomach and coated your tongue with a sour taste.

“You’re damn right, you fucked up,” you scoff loudly, watching Price cross his thick, bulky arms across his chest as he surrenders to your verbal onslaught. “Your decision to ignore my plan and, arguably, go AWOL nearly cost Johnny his life! I’d issued a faultless mission briefing and paired you with Gaz against Hassan! With Gaz!”

General Shepard watched you chew up Price from his seat at his desk, lacing his fingers across the surface littered with pictures that looked as though they’d been ripped from the bodycam and air surveillance footage of the failed mission. Photographic evidence of Price’s incompetency—or rather, his blind faith in himself that he could singlehandedly take on a small army of Las Almas fighters and legendary terrorist fighter Major Hassan Zyani.

A bitter spark flashes across Captain Price’s cerulean eyes, his inflammatory retaliation worming its way between his gritted teeth and rumbling in his chest.

“It’s easy for you to criticise my split-second decisions when you sit behind a desk every mission, barkin’ orders with coffee in your hand.”

It’s a miracle that you restrain yourself, momentarily considering issuing a reminder of your military prowess in the form of hand-to-hand combat. If it weren’t for the haggard strain of John’s voice from his bellowed EVAC orders in a desperate attempt to save Soap’s life, you’d have connected your balled-up fists to his face. Instead, you spit in retaliation.

“Need I remind you that before I used to call the shots, I used to shoot people?”

Price lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head at your comment and opening his mouth to argue. You don’t let him, smothering the threat of his stupid rebuttal of ‘with what, a water pistol?’.

“Your decision to pursue Hassan nearly killed Johnny,” you repeat the undeniable fact, punctuating it with a violent jab of your finger towards him, “Do you realise how close I was to calling into Scotland? How close I was to organising the coffin to bring him home in? How dare you undermine me- disrespect the resume that put me in that seat and the people I killed to get there, Captain.”

If it weren’t for you, Price’d be standing in the pews of a church in Glasgow, draped in black and drenched in red.

Clearing his throat suddenly from his seat, General Shepard just barely splits the brutal tension bludgeoning your skull in the form of a migraine that only seemed to arise in the presence of Captain John Price. It thumps against your temple when Shepard makes a show of standing from his seat and pointing to the door.

“I can leave you both here to sort out your differences. The last thing you will both do is undermine my authority by screaming like petulant children in the corridor in front of my colleagues. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you both manage to address him, eyes still pinned to each other like a missile’s locking system. Shepard grunts, and you note the twitch of a muscle in Price’s lower eyelid, his anger threatening to claw its way out of his face before he erupted with it.

The door to Shepard’s office swings open, heavy footsteps passing the threshold. In a sick, comedic chain of events, he doesn’t bother to pull it closed again. Instead, it creaks as the hinge closes achingly slowly.

You feel sick when you stare at Price. Not because you fear the words he could aim towards you in a critical hit—instead, you felt nausea at the concept of hearing the gravelly tone of his voice alone, the stabling force of your commanding officer absent.

It’s a dirty little secret that you’d never allowed yourself to speak. Even four Proseccos deep into a rare Christmas gathering of 141, you’d swallowed the word bile down that threatened to use your inebriation to rid yourself of the guilt. Price had admonished your choice of alcohol that night, commenting on how you could have chosen something better- like whiskey. The rumble of his voice in his sarcastic assessment had pooled in your stomach like the liquid amber he had suggested.

How could you possibly admit that the tone of his voice, so gritty and deep, swelled in your clit when you went to bed at night. That you replayed the ridiculous, pathetic one-liners he’d utter over the coms to you. The one time you’d issued a warning of an incoming threat, and Price had offered thanks in the only form he knew to give you: “Tha’s a girl”. You’d made a late-night Amazon order for new bedsheets and a mattress protector that same evening.

Click.

The door shuts, and the sound makes you jump as though John had slammed his fist on a big, red nuclear button.

“Are you done?”

The swallow that drags down your throat at the husked whisper he’d started with is far more audible in the now silent room. The spiteful gaze you had levelled at Price melts away, transfixing on him instead with something akin to dumb-struck, doe-eyed idiocy.

“P-Pardon?” You stumble over the two-syllable word that had confidently come to mind. Working in a building that relied so much on manners, there was absolutely no excuse for butchering a word you used upwards of fifty times a day.

Price’s eyebrow arches pointedly at you, the flickering ember in his irises that had previously resembled an inextinguishable fury instead glows with an amused curiosity at your very sudden surrender.

“Are you done making me look like a rookie in front of General Shepard?” He clarifies, stalking forward. He crosses the space between you both with long, cocky strides that make your heart pump double time when he finally settles in front of you. “Are. You. Done?”

“Hah-!” You laugh. You mean for it to mock his ridiculous notion, but instead, it’s all choked, nervous and airy because that damn voice knocks the oxygen from your lungs like he’d rendered a sucker punch to your gut. Price’s eyes pin you to your spot on the floor, root your feet to the coffee-stained carpet.

It’s utterly infuriating how he tilts his head in a smug observation of your panicked expression. You can see the exact moment he notes the tremble of your inhaled breath and the heat of your arousal rolling off your body. Fuck-

“John-“

There it is. Comprehension. The glistening sweat at your temple, the wide-eyed nervousness in your expression, and the breathy whisper of his name all surged forward and lit the bulb of realisation in his mind. You can practically see the golden glow of it in his pupils, a switch tck’ing when he murmurs an ‘oh’.

His lips split into a toothy, wily grin, “Oh, look at you, Station Chief.”

You bristle with panic with the way he makes a point to emphasise your rank, your lips parting in shock when he reaches up to grasp your chin in his hand.

“Who are you to question my decisions? You don’t even know if you want my cock in your mouth or your cunt.”

The sheer filth he utters makes your head reel as though he’d fed you some of his mind-numbing whiskey. You’re confident you’re gawping at him when he smirks at your reaction, his calloused thumbpad brushing across the bridge of your jaw. It reminds you of the way he caresses the trigger of a sniper rifle before he fires it and how you’d spent so many nights imagining that touch when you circled your clit-

“How ’bout we start with your mouth?” He urges you with a smokiness that rivals the puffs of his cigar. You loathed him for his smoking habits when the acrid scent clung to your hair but worshipped him for it when you buried your nose into your pillows when you came with a silent cry of his name.

You see his smirk widen suddenly, and it takes you far too long to realise that you’d let out a devastating whine at his lurid suggestion. John’s fingers and thumb settle on the pillowy flesh of your cheeks on either side of your mouth, pushing against them until your lips are pursed. It’s undignified, far beneath your station, but then-

“Gunna wanna open that mouth nice an’ wide for me, Dove.”

You sink to the floor of your commanding officer’s office floor before your rational mind even has a chance to talk you out of the offence- or acknowledge the choice of pet name that cheekily undermined your call sign. Your perfectly tailored office trousers crease beneath the weight of your knees… But suffering through cleaning and ironing them again was worth the rumble of a groan that fell from John’s lips as he watched you kneel for him.

“Fuck,” Price hums in appreciation, those gorgeous sky-blue irises swallowed by the midnight black of his pupils once more, “Spend all your time issuin’ orders, but you just needed someone else to take control, didn’ you, Love?”

For a moment, you hesitate. It’s improper, the way your knees ache with the hard floor beneath them. A tiny, quiet voice urges you to stand and rush out of the room before you damage your reputation any further, but the clink of John’s standard-issue belt buckle has your jaw falling slack before the idea can truly take root.

“Look at you,” he stresses again as he pulls the length of the belt from its loops with a slow thwppp sound, “So greedy for my cock. Anyone would think you’d been desperate for it all this time.”

John drags down his zipper, watching you look at him through your lashes. You don’t dismiss his hypothesis, instead choosing to stick your tongue out for him in an obscene act of fervour. The haggard groan that lurches from John’s lungs settles deep inside your cunt.

“You filthy girl,” he gasps, hurrying his hand into his trousers. He doesn’t even strip the pants from his hips, instead fishing his cock from his boxers and settling his balls against their waistband. “You have, haven’t you? How often did you touch yourself beneath the table while I spoke to you over the comms? Hmm?”

You’re so far gone now, so drunk on the idea of the agitating, ridiculous, utterly infuriating Captain finally fucking you that you might have answered that question-- if you’d heard it. Instead, his voice, which previously captured every fibre of your attention, drowned into the background of the thumping pulse in your ears. His cock sits just in front of your face, and it’s like you can’t breathe.

Ruddy and red at the tip, his cock already drools precum down the curve of its shaft. Veins throb beneath the thin, velvety skin, their ridges glistening beneath the wet tracks that his leaking seed leaves. It settles at the base, where his heavy balls rest against his boxer’s elastic waistband.

His question dies in the thick tension in the air, and you lean forward on your knees to press your drooling tongue right at the base of John’s cock where his precum pools. Your unexpected starting position causes John to spit out a curse, his fingers flying out to grip the strands of hair at the crown of your skull. “S-Shit-“

Saltiness coats your tongue where you lap up his cum, flattening your tongue against the underside of his shaft to trace his pronounced frenulum. Dragging your tastebuds upwards, you collect the tracks the droplets had left behind until the tip of your tongue rests on the underside of his fat cockhead. It’s disgusting, the relieved whine that escapes your open throat, but the vibration tips Captain John Price over the edge.

“Fuck! Eyes on me, Dove. Wanna see your eyes- that’s it.” John’s face contorts, brows creasing, and the edges of his lips turned down beneath the coarse hair of his beard as you look up at him, kissing the head of his velvety dick and slipping it into your mouth.

“Take orders so well. So obedient,” he purrs, the rumbling sound edging into a moan when you ease more of him into your mouth. He’s trying to play off the power dynamic, you note. Getting off on the fact that you’re his superior, but that he held the authority like this. A playful resentment teases the edge of your mind, urging you to remind him of his place.

You drag the edges of your teeth over his shaft. Not hard enough to hurt- just enough for a singing hiss to echo in the quiet room when you pull back from his cock.

It’s a mistake.

John grasps your hair at the back of your head, winding the strands around your fingers and suddenly rocks his hips forward. The length of his cock slides deep down your throat, and you splutter as your nose crushes into his pubic bone. “Couldn’t fuckin’ help yourself, could you?”

His gravelly reprimand swirls a ghost-like touch around your clit, and you gag around the length that intrudes against your throat walls. Price tuts softly, feeling your nails dig into his flesh beneath the camo canvas still covering his muscular thighs. It’s only when tears cling to your lashes that he draws your head back with a pull of your hair.

Gasping down a heavy breath, you splutter when John groans loudly. His cock twitches, drooling more precum as you gasp for breath, and he drags his eyes across your face. “Good fuckin’ girl. Takin’ me like that- didn’t it feel good?”

God, you’re nodding pathetically, tongue already lolling from your lips in a silent plea for more. The heaviness of his cock against your tongue and the vibrations of his lurid tone are enough for you to cum on their own, and you want more of them. John groans, a chuckle settling somewhere between the sound as he grasps the nape of your neck.

“Jus’ like that, you dirty girl,” he urges you, his free hand tapping at his balls in a wordless order. This time, you obey, tonguing over his finger before taking one of his balls into your mouth. You can hear the shaky exhale that rattles in his lungs when you suck.

“So fuckin’ good for me. I’ll fuck you against that desk one day, you hear?” You see him point in the corner of your vision, his index finger aiming at General Shepard’s desk. Realisation slams into you and rocks your clit with arousal- Shepard could walk in at any second and see his right-hand man stuffing Captain Price’s cock down her throat in the ultimate show of disrespect. John doesn’t seem worried about it. In fact, it’s as though he gets off on the idea, his eyes darting to the door as he details his plans for you.

“Think you’d look real nice on it. Far better than ‘is tacky nameplate. We’d make a mess together, get our cum all over it so he can smell jus’ how wrecked I left you-“

Moaning around the length of his cock, your clit throbbing desperately with his words, the vibrations cause John’s hips to lurch forward again. The head of his dick prods the back of your throat, but John’s tight grip doesn’t allow you to pull back. He’s buried to the hilt, twitching against your palate.

“Fuckin’ droolin’ for it, Love. It’s dripping down your chin—Fuck, you look so pretty like this,” He’s slurring his words as he watches you bob your head up and down on his length, swallowing around him and just barely holding back your gag reflex. It’s quick, messy, and loud, the wet sounds ricocheting off the office’s walls.

“D’you think he’s got cameras in here?” John muses, his voice thick with his incoming orgasm. The sound of it, the arousal coating his tongue has you whining desperately, “Why don’t you touch yourself, hmm? Give ’im a show.”

You sob around his girth like he’d just offered you a miracle. Fumbling, you don’t even bother wasting time trying to shove your hand down your trousers. Your fingers find the vague outline of your cunt through the crotch, roughly circling your clit through the layers of material.

It’s all you need. Your eyes roll back into your skull at just how close you are to cumming, your thighs trembling beneath your weight. You soaked through your panties and into the crotch of your trousers.

“Fuckin’ slutty girl,” John gasps, and you feel his cock jump at the sight of you already teetering on the edge, “’s my voice getting’ you off? Fuck, you’re fuckin’ perfect-“

Stop. Stop; you need him to stop. Your orgasm is ebbing at the edges of your abdomen, threatening to swallow you whole and drawing up tight, but John won’t shut the fuck up.

“C’mon, Love. Deeper. Deeper, that’s it. I’ll fuckin’ lick your pretty pussy if yo-“

His promises drown out with the surge of bliss that roars in your ears. Price times it perfectly, rocking his cock further down your throat so that you gag around his length. The lack of oxygen causes your nerve endings to sing when it cracks down your spine, bursting through your abdomen and spidering across your limbs like white-hot plasma.

Everything is loose with ecstasy, and it allows Price to issue one, two, three more brutal thrusts of his hips before he’s choking out a haggard warning that he’s going to cum.

“F-Fuck-“He chokes out, holding the nape of your neck before burying himself as deep as he possibly can without choking you, hot ropes of cum spurting down your throat. Even in your post-orgasm haze, mind numb, you swallow him down greedily. Big, heavy gulps, even licking your lips when he removes his dick from your throat to milk out the last drops of his cum onto them.

“Tha’s my girl, good, don’t let a drop go to waste.”

Price’s hand pushes back the mess of your hair from your face, careful to remove the strands that had clung to your tear-soaked eyelashes. You hold your breath, heart stilling its rapid beat as he brushes his thumb across your cheekbone to swipe up the tear tracks that had leaked from your eyes during his assault on your throat. It’s a single moment of tenderness, barely there, before he withdraws his touch to stuff himself back into his pants.

“Can you stand?” Price asks, his voice even hoarser than when you’d first walked into the room, like the moans you’d elicited from him were like sandpaper in his already raw throat. He holds out a palm- but you’re not cock-dumb enough to believe it’s a makeshift olive branch.

“Yes,” you whisper, matching his brutalised tone with your own as you bat away the helping hand he offers you. Price can’t help but scoff at your dismissal. Turns out even a dick down your throat wasn’t enough to change your uptight attitude. He watches you stand on shaky feet, trying to smooth out your creased knees before Shepard could wonder how exactly you’d made such a mess of yourself.

Besides your heaving breaths, still desperately pulling oxygen in your lungs to soothe the burn, the room is silent. Price finishes righting himself, smoothing his fingers through his cropped hair.

“Don’t forget what I said,” he murmurs, eyes sliding over to the desk. His promise to fuck you on it only barely re-enters your mind following a pointed look. Satiated somewhat by the blistering orgasm that had ripped through you, your rage struggles to roar to life like it had when you’d entered this room. Now it smelt like sex, and your anger only simmers in the base of your stomach.

“That is not happening again,” you promise him firmly.

“Mhmm,” he hums, following Shepard’s footsteps towards the door, “We’ll see about that, Dove.”

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

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#꒰꒰ ‧₊˚ my works ˚₊· ꒱꒱#꒰ ‧₊˚ john price ˚₊· ꒱#john price smut #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price #john price x reader #captain john price smut #modern warfare 2 #mw2 smut #price smut #cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #cod #barry sloane #barry sloane x reader

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shayafury · 9 months ago

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Day 31 - Shepard

This is Commander Shepard - Infiltrator. Also this is the class I mainly choose to play =] It was an amazing journey for the last month to make all the Mass Effect Fan Art Tober prompt list. For this one I used acrylic paint, Ecoline watercolours, ink pen, white gel pen oh a high quality paper 220 grams. I hope you like it!

#shaya fury #art by me shaya fury #art #masseffect art #commander shepard

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kauriart · 3 months ago

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Paragon, Renegade, Pilot Chapter 4

A NSFW Mass Effect fic | Joker/Kaidan/f!Shepard | Read it on AO3

Fucking Udina can suck a bag of dicks.

All the dicks.

Reaper dicks. Udina can suck Reaper dicks.

He grounded the Normandy. How fucking dare he.

Joker had felt it when they landed on the Citadel, the locking up of the flight controls even as the ship docked. He’d shouted to Shepard and tried to back out of port, but it was already too late. The Normandy had gone dark under his fingertips. A flash of panic, and then an agonizing wave of fury, and by the time Shepard had gotten to the cockpit, Joker was already pacing and bellowing, red-faced with indignation.

There’d been a terse exchange between Shepard and the communications officer who had explained what was happening –– Udina had grounded them on the Council’s orders; they have no interest in continued pursuit of ex-Spectre Saren Arterius.

Shepard disconnects the call with as much disdain as humanly possible. “I don’t like this. No one sets foot off this ship until I say so,” she snaps her fingers. “War room. Now.”

Joker is the last to arrive. Navigator Pressly looks grim, and Kaidan is pacing around the table while Shepard sits, hands carefully folded in front of her. She looks the kind of furious that usually ends in a very high body count .

Joker slides into the chair beside her.

“Udina and the Council won’t risk us going to the Terminus Systems,” Shepard says without preamble. “They’re no longer interested in Saren, or the conduit. They don’t want a war with the Geth.”

“It would be disastrous,” Pressly reminds her. He’s a good navigator. A good executive officer. But he’s an Alliance man down to his bones. Prone to defend the chain of command, not criticize.

Kaidan’s built from the same mold, though he’s more likely to follow the ethics of a thing than the written rules. Shepard too follows her own internal sense of right and wrong, but she’s less stringent in its application than either of the other officers. The rigidity of the line she won’t cross is highly dependent on how much you’ve pissed her off.

Joker has seen her plow straight through it at high speed and leave a swath of destruction in her wake.

“Yes,” Shepard rubs her eyes with her hands, she’s only gotten a few hours of real rest since Virmire. “But the Reapers will be worse. You know they will.”

Pressly frowns. He doesn’t enjoy disagreeing with his commanding officer. “We can’t verify half of what was learned on Virmire.”

“I can,” Shepard taps her head. “I’ve seen how bad it’ll get. I’ve been seeing it for months. I don’t want a war with the Geth. I want one with the Reapers.”

Joker has heard descriptions of Shepard’s visions. Dr Chakwas said the Prothean beacon Shepard touched had implanted them, but Joker had always thought of it as an infection. Something more insidious. More invasive.

When it first happened they’d thought Shepard would die. She was in a coma, unresponsive, and having seizures. That was a bad couple of days. Kaidan had refused to leave her side until she woke up. And when she did she started describing a nightmarish blur of visuals, sounds, sensations, and emotions. Shepard called it a tangled memory someone put in her head — too fragmented to have any real meaning. Blasts of noise, silhouettes against a skyline, pain, hopelessness, rage, desperation.

Not a nightmare. A message.

Stop the Reapers or lose everything.

“What do you want to do, Commander?” Kaidan asks. He’s made a full turn around the table and sits on the other side of Shepard.

She presses her lips together in a thin line. “You do not want to know what I want to do.”

Joker snorts. He imagines it involves guns and morally-grey choices.

“What are our options then?” Kaidan rephrases.

“Not many,” Shepard frowns. “We need a ship to take us to the Mu Relay. The Alliance is out. So is the Council. We could try STG, we saved Major Kirahee and a handful of his men, maybe they could get us out of the system at least, maybe to the Quarians, or someone else who might be willing to risk Terminus space. If not, our slim options get slimmer. Hijack a pirate vessel, hope they can’t figure out who's flying it. Hope that that matters to the Geth. Hope that it doesn’t trigger a conflict.”

“That’s the plan?” Joker gapes. “You want to drive a clunker through the Mu Relay and into Geth-controlled space? The council’s worried about triggering a war, and they won’t let us take the only ship with a stealth drive, the only ship that can make that run without—”

“I want the Normandy, Joker,” Shepard nearly snarls. “But we don’t have it, and we don’t have any time to waste. We need another plan.”

Joker drums his fingers on the table, thinking. “So steal it.”

Navigator Pressly makes a shocked, scoffing noise. “Steal what? The Normandy?”

“I can do it. I’ve done it before,” Joker mutters. "It’s not as hard as it looks. It should be a lot harder, but it's not. They do get real mad at you though. Fair warning.”

Pressly’s face is undergoing an interesting set of color changes, oscillating between red and white. “Your plan is to steal the most advanced warship ever designed from the largest starport in the System’s Alliance?”

“Uh-huh,” Joker says.

Kaidan leans forward. He looks less freaked out than Navigator Pressly, but none of this can sit well with him either. “How?”

Joker drums his fingers on the table again, a quick little beat that mimics some of the feeds he observes during takeoff. “Break into the embassy and hack Udina’s personal terminal. He’s the one who grounded us. He can unground us. You know, non-consensually.”

“Madness,” Navigator Pressly gapes. “Lunacy. We should try to convince Ambassador Udina to reverse his orders. The Council will—”

“No time,” Shepard interrupts. She stands and flips a comm switch on the wall. “Attention Normandy crew,” her voice is perfectly steady, caring across speakers, ship-wide. “We’re stealing our ship back and going off to start a war. We’ll be doing so in direct violation of council orders. Anyone who stays faces court martial and possibly execution. Anyone who disapproves of this course of action has five minutes to leave my ship, with my full blessing.” A pause. “You don’t have to martyr yourself for me.” She flips the comm off again.

The war room falls into silence.

“Well, it sounds way worse when you put it that way,” Joker mutters and settles more firmly in his chair. “But I’m not letting anybody kidnap my baby without me. They’ll mess up the settings on my chair.”

Shepard looks around, but no one in the war room moves an inch.

Navigator Pressly heaves a sigh and rubs at his temples with both hands. “And I was only three months shy of making pension. What a waste.”

“Joker,” Shepard says, the smile on her face going from soft to sharp in a heartbeat. “Let’s go steal your ship back.”

***

Twenty minutes later the Normandy takes off with the entirety of its crew intact. No one leaves, not even Navigator Pressly, though he looks a little sour and bewildered. Through it all he’s managed to maintain his belief that the Council has their best interests at heart, even if his ultimate loyalty is to Shepard.

(Joker’s managed to maintain his belief that the Council sucks.)

(It’s good neither he nor Pressly have let recent events change them.)

Joker flips Udina the bird as he pulls out of the Citadel. Cathartic, but not super effective through the Normandy’s hull and a few miles of spaceport. He activates the stealth drive as soon as he’s able, and despite the fact that there is no active sign of pursuit he doesn’t start to unwind until they’re able to jump to FTL.

Never gonna dock at the Citadel again.

Fool me twice, assholes.

He flies the Normandy further and further away from the nexus of council-controlled space. He has to manually plot the course to the Mu Relay, which is wild. No other relay has that requirement. He’s been pretty deep in the Terminus Systems before, but ships don’t usually fly into dark space on purpose.

“Commander, we’re approaching the relay coordinates now,” Joker pings Shepard on her comm.

The cockpit slides open a few minutes later. Shepard –– already in full armor –– doesn’t slide into the copilot’s chair like she usually does, but stands at Joker’s shoulder, peering out the viewport as the shutters peel back. In FTL there’s nothing to see, just a blur of blue-black, stars churning by so quickly they don’t even register to the human eye. But now that Joker’s slowed to an approach speed they can see everything — the multi-colored swirl of far-off systems; gas pockets refracting light into rainbows; and stars scattered like a handful of glitter against the gloom of space.

They aren’t in visual range of the Mu Relay yet, but they will be in a minute.

Shepard leans closer to the viewport. “Let’s hope Benezia was right.”

Joker snorts, “Let’s hope she wasn’t.”

Thirty seconds later they see it through the viewport, a tiny speck growing into a colossal relay, larger even than the one in the Sol System. It has the same distinctive profile as all other relays, but it looks and feels dead. There’s no comm chatter from incoming and outgoing ships, no flares of light as the relay activates, pushing and pulling ships to new star systems. Stranger still, it’s floating at an odd angle, a remnant of when it was blown off-course centuries ago and lost.

“I’m gonna do a visual pass before we go through,” Joker takes the Normandy on a wide, sweeping loop, pinging engineering as he goes. “Tali, I want your eyes on that thing. Tell me if you see anything that’s gonna get us killed.”

He takes three passes around it, just to be sure. The Mu Relay looks like every other relay he’d flown through but four thousand years of non-functionality does not for a high level of confidence make.

“It looks to be in surprisingly good condition,” Tali says over the intercom at the end of his final circle. “But sometimes the damage is not at surface level. The semiconductors are usually the first things to go, and if they’re shot we will likely burn up very quickly when the relay activates. We might not even realize it’s happening.”

“Uh... thanks, Tali.” Joker has a sudden vision of the Normandy exploding in little blue and red fireballs. “So like… fifty-fifty?”

A pause on the line.

“Sure.” It’s hard to tell through her voice modulator, but the tone of Tali’s voice does not ring with confidence.

Shepard chuckles, the sound more sinister than humorous. “I’ll take those odds.”

Of course, she would.

A little bubble of warmth fills his chest. Shepard is fearless. He doesn’t have the right to be anything less.

“Well, damn. Here goes nothing.” Joker straightens his cap and starts to line the ship up for launch position. “Commander, once we’re through the relay, we’re either already super-dead or we’re flying blind. I won’t know what to expect until we get there. Ilos might be––” Joker clears his throat. “Yeah, we won’t know. You gotta be ready to fight by the time we’re through the relay.”

“I’ll be ready in five,” she assures him. “I just need to grab my gun.”

“Punch Saren in the taint, if you can. From me. I mean, you can shoot him too if you like, but it just seems less classy.”

Shepard smiles, a genuine flash of amusement that gives him butterflies. At least if nothing else, he can make her smile.

“Joker…”

Shepard’s voice shifts abruptly. Soft. A little hesitant. Something about it makes him want to nope right out of there. It sounds like she is trying to find a way to say goodbye, or... something, and he’s having none of that.

“Whatever you are going to say, Shepard, don’t say it. Just— not now, alright?”

She takes a breath, expression quietly displeased, but nods. Her hand slides against Joker’s shoulder, and then away again, whisper-soft.

Joker closes his eyes.

The door to the cockpit slides open and he twists around in his chair so fast he feels a twinge in his back. “Tell me later, okay,” he asks urgently. “Tell me after.”

She stands in the doorway, the light spilling in from behind makes it so he can’t see her face, not even the glint of emerald eyes. “Sure thing.”

***

Just beyond the Mu Relay, Ilos looms.

In five minutes everything has gone to shit. Saren’s troops show up as a sea of red on his feed. A swath of enemies so thick he can’t see the edges of them. They could very well cover the entire planet.

(Maybe the Council had an itty-bitty-bit of a point about the Geth.)

“My God…” Navigator Pressly breathes.

“Yeah, I know, I know. I see it.” Joker triple-checks the stealth mode but knows it won’t do any good if any of the Geth so much as look up. "Fuck.”

“We need to get the Commander planetside as quickly as possible, Lieutenant. I’m spotting Geth Colossus out there. Colossi. Dozens at least.”

Something turns over in Joker’s stomach. A direct hit from a Colossus’ pulse canon will fry the circuitry on Normandy's adaptive shielding, leaving little pockmarks across the surface area of her shields. Little cracks that could open her up and leave her vulnerable to any Geth ground troops with assault rockets and advanced targeting systems.

Joker licks his lips. “Find me a spot, Pressly.”

“There’s nothing.”

“Find it,” Joker can hear one of the flight crew marking enemies in range with the firepower to directly threaten the Normandy. It’s a pretty long list already, and the troops will swarm once they’re spotted and the shooting starts. “Find anything.”

“There’s nothing,” Pressly insists. He’s too seasoned to out-right panic, but his voice is tight and brittle. “The terrain is entirely rubbish!”

Joker pulls up the feed of possible drop zones, scanning through it himself.

Nothing.

Nothing— but…

Joker frowns, zooming in. Flat land. Limited boogies. But not enough clearance for a drop. He’d have to—

“Joker,” Shepard’s voice cuts through on the comm. She, Kaidan, and Liara are already loaded into the mako, but she must be looking at the same feed as him. “Remember what you said about mako drops? Ever get a chance to test your theory?”

“Uh…” The sound is flat and long and Joker hopes he conveys the proper level of what the fuck, Shepard because what. the. fuck. Shepard.

“Joker,” her voice is the kind of deadly serious that would freeze most people on the spot. “You’ve got about twenty meters, max. How confident are you about your theory?”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“How. confident,” she snaps.

“Fuck. Yes, alright! I can do this,” he nods even though she can’t see him. “I can do this, Commander.”

He can’t see her expression, of course, but he can practically hear the shark-toothed sharpness of her grin. “Excellent.”

“Goddamnit, here we go,” he flicks his thumb along the flight controls, changing course for the new drop zone, and increasing the Normandy’s speed.

It’s counterintuitive, that’s why it’s controversial. A standard drop requires no less than a hundred meters of space. Mako’s have powerful shock- absorbers so they don’t rupture their passengers during a drop. High and slow, that’s what they all learned in flight school. Reduce the impact. Make the drop.

Joker argued you could make a drop low and fast. Really low. Slide that fucker planetside like a pancake on a plate. No one would ever let him try it. The Alliance generally frowns on planetside approaches that reach speeds of hurtling.

But he was right.

And he knows he was right.

Still, he’s not super thrilled to try it for the first time with both Shepard and Kaidan (and Liara) inside the mako he’s about to bodyslam into Ilos. But today’s all about balls out, apparently.

He checks their course and increases the Normandy’s descent speed. Alarms start to blare, blinking orange and red, and the autopilot engages briefly before he overrides it, and throttles the stick even more. He can feel the vibrations in his flight seat pick up as Normand’s hull skips through the planet’s atmosphere. “Oh yeah. It’s gonna be a super fun Tuesday.”

The Normandy’s flight support VI isn’t being super helpful. It keeps trying to get him to shift back to regulated drop speeds, so Joker juggles the calculations in his head. He can’t just not-squish Shepard and Kaidan and Liara. He’s got to not-squish them perfectly on target and avoid being seen by the Geth, or the whole thing is screwed.

A bead of sweat runs into his eye, stinging, but he doesn’t have a spare hand to wipe it away. “You’ve got about thirty seconds to back out of this, Shepard,” he shouts over the alarms.

“Just get us down, Joker!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

Joker activates the hanger doors and feels the sudden shift of increased air friction all along the Normandy’s underside. He fights with the stick for a moment, fingertips dancing across the flight panel as he compensates for the fastest fucking approach he’s ever made.

For just a second the Normandy tips too far back and he gets a burst of wind up the open hatch. At this speed, it feels like something’s tried to yank them out of the sky, and he tips the ship forward, overcompensating. It shudders violently, and Joker’s forearms ache as he tries to wrestle the ship back into position.

“Joker! ”

“Fuck fuck fuck.”

There’s a horrifying moment when the Normandy skips off the ground like a pebble off a lake, shields protesting with a flare of blue, and he thinks for a moment that if the ship crashes and they all die, at least he’ll be spared from having to write what is sure to be a clusterfuck of a flight report.

A bead of sweat rolls into Joker’s eye and he blinks it away hastily. His hands fly across the flight panels as he gets control of the ship. “Get ready, Commander! Five seconds!

"Four!

"Three!

"Two!"

Joker punches the hangar bay doors open and feels the little hiccup in the Normandy's handling when the mako drops to Ilos. But there’s no time to watch the outcome. He peels away in a turn so sharp the shields light up from air pressure alone. There are a handful of tense moments as they head for the skies, streaking out of range from a pair of Geth destroyers that patrol adjacent to the landing zone.

Joker hates leaving atmo when Shepard and the strike team are planetside, but sometimes there’s no help for it.

As soon as he's out of range of the Geth, he boosts the comms signal as much as he’s able, but there’s too much interference to pick up anything useful. Just bursts of static fading into a crackling buzz. He tries not to imagine that Shepard and Kaidan are pancake-flat in a mako on Ilos, but he imagines it all the same.

“Please, please. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…”

Even through the noise filters, the static just sounds like static, and every once and a while the buzzing whine of feedback, and nothing more. And then—

“Jo— Joker— you copy?”

“Shepard!” Joker nearly bounces in his flight chair, triumphant. “Thank fuck! Are you all alright?”

“Listen. There’s something happening.” Her voice is too measured, too even, like she’s focused on something beyond the conversation, and trying not to speak too loud.

Joker’s relief evaporates in a moment. “Commander?”

“I don’t… I don’t know what it is.”

He starts to turn the Normandy around, to evac Shepard and the strike team out of there. “I’m coming to get you,” he says seriously.

“No. Don’t, Joker. Sovereign is—"

There’s a burst of gunfire and the sound of biotic detonations; from Kaidan or Liara, he can’t say. It doesn’t go on long as firefights go, but every second of it is awful. He can hear Shepard’s assault rifle firing as fast as she can pull the trigger. She swears breathlessly, and there's a long pause where her gun is silent, either from overheating or something more sinister. Kaidan’s heavy pistol, thudding like a hammer strike. More fizzy biotic noises. And Shepard’s gun starts up again, then slowly falls silent.

“Joker?”

“I’m here.”

Shepard’s breathing hard, sounds like she’s running. “Listen carefully. I need you to head back to the Citadel.”

To the…

"I—" Joker shakes his head sharply, the sting of sweat in his eyes. “Say that again, Commander, I think I just had a stroke.”

“The Citadel, Joker. Raise the alarm. Sovereign is headed there. I don’t… I don’t have all the pieces. But you need to get there and stop it. I have to find the conduit.”

Joker feels a cold spear of ice in his chest. “You want me to leave you behind?”

Stranded.

In dark space.

Behind a relay history has forgotten.

Surrounded by ten thousand Geth.

“No…” Joker breathes. “Nope. I–– I’m not doing this again. Not after Virmire.”

“You’re not abandoning us, Joker. You’re saving the Citadel.”

Right now, right in this moment, Joker gives two shits about the Citadel. Let it burn. He’s not leaving Shepard and Kaidan (and Liara!) alone on Ilos. Fuck no.

“Joker…”

The way she says his name sounds too much like she did standing in the cockpit of the Normandy. And for one brief, terrible moment he wishes he could rewind and hear what she had wanted to say to him.

“Get to the Citadel,” she says. “That’s an order. Go!”

Joker closes his eyes. “Going, Commander."

His hands move over the flight controls, propelling the Normandy away from Ilos, even as it breaks his heart.

No one should be able to say that he has no respect for the chain of command. Not with how he carves out a piece of himself with each unit of airspace he puts between himself and Shepard. By the time he reaches the relay tears are rolling down his cheeks, and there’s nothing but gunfire in his ears.

It’s sacrilegious to wish the crew luck during a mission. But he kisses his fingertips and presses them silently to the flight screen as the relay folds space around them, making everything start to blur. “You got this,” he whispers raggedly to them both. To himself. “You got this.”

But there's only the static of a lost connection humming in his ears.

#my fic #mass effect #joker moreau #joker x kaidan x f!shepard #my smut fic needs more smut #it gets spicier I promise

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clericofshadows · 9 months ago

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WREN CLARKSON - CLERIC'S MASS EFFECT OCs & AUs N7 FURY & REGIS SHEPARD'S SHADOWBROKER (DON'T TAG AS FEMSHEP/SHEPARD)

#mass effect #mass effect oc #male shepard #mass effect ocs #cleric's gifs #james vega #meedit #gamingedit #dailygaming #dailyvideogames #wren clarkson #regis shepard #mele #mass effect legendary edition #mass effect gifs #mass effect 3 #flashing gif

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kaunis-sielu · 3 months ago

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Small Town, Big City: 8

You make it home fine but you know that Steve is fired up about the driver. You can’t say that you blame him, having a vehicle zoom that close to you more than once had ruined the comfortable vibe that you’d had before.

You’re surprised when Steve comes out of his room in his uniform.

“I didn’t know you worked tonight.”

“Technically, I don’t. I’m gonna go out and see if I can find that truck.”

“It was a truck?” You hadn’t looked because you didn’t want to give them any more fuel to go after you and Steve. He must hear the alarm in your voice, it’s not like there’s only one black truck but you just have a bad feeling.

“Yea, why?”

“Black?”

“T. What’s going on?”

“It’s probably nothing but, there was black truck just sitting outside the bakery today. I just clocked it because it was the only car on street.”

“If you see it again please try to get the plate.”

“Okay? It’s probably nothing.”

“Just in case Sweetheart.” You nod and he comes toward you, “I can stay in if you want.” He offers but you know he’d feel better if he could go out and try to find the black truck, even if they’re probably long gone by now.

“No, I don’t want him to hurt someone else just because I’d rather hang out with you and watch a movie.”

“Rain check okay?” He promises and you nod then follow him to the door, he kisses you softly at the door before cupping your face in one of his hands. “Lock the door behind me.”

“I always do.” You assure him, “Be safe.”

“Yes ma’am.” He tells you with a little wink and you can’t help but laugh softly, which you know was probably his goal.

You take Fury out to go potty before you hunker down to watch a movie. You think about calling Maria but when you check the time you realize it’ll be a bad idea. It’s too close to bedtime for Peter and you’ve learned that lesson. Instead you call Carol, you’d gone to Veterinary school with Carol and had just clicked.

“Hey! How’s it going in the middle of the desert?” She answers and you laugh,

“It’s good. I got to birth puppies the other day and they had their first checkup today. I might need you to send me some vaccines.”

“Yea, how many will you need?”

“Six. Actually why don’t you send me seven just in case anything happens.”

“Six puppies!”

“Yea. They’re adorable, mom is a lab and dad is a Shepard. I’m tempted to adopt one.”

“Yea that doesn’t surprise me.” You can’t help but grin,

“Excuse me I’m not the one that ended up with an orange cat before graduation.”

“Yea, yea, yea. How’s your hot cop?”

“Sheriff. They’re different.”

“Excuse me. How is your hot sheriff?”

“Really good. We went for a ride tonight and got a little harassed by a truck. Steve wasn’t happy so he decided to go out and see if he could find them.”

“Ooh, protective. That’s hot.”

“Mmhmm.” You agree with a little hum, “I know this was a total fluke to end up here but fuck I’m happy I did.”

“You think you’ll stay there even when you have the money to move home?”

“I’m not in a hurry to leave that’s for sure. Do I miss more consistent vet work? Yea, but if I end up staying it would make more sense to actually open something. You know?”

“You’re not completely committed to staying?”

“I mean Steve is certainly making it harder to want to leave. And I’ve started to make friends here that are cool, you’d like Nat. She’s snarky and funny and owns the mechanic shop. I don’t know. Is this where I thought I’d end up? No but I thought I’d still be with Brock.”

“That asshole.”

“At least he’s not reaching out every single day anymore.” You point out and she hums, “and at the end of the day if it wasn’t for him I’d never have met Steve.”

“Who sounds like a walking green flag.”

“You’d like him.”

“I can’t wait to meet him at your wedding.” She teases and you laugh,

“Oh my god. We just started dating.”

“And you already live together. You’re gonna get married in the next like, six months, then he’ll tell you he loves you.”

“You’re a dumbass.” You laugh, “but for real, if I’m here when you wanna take your vacation you could come visit.”

“Stay in your spare room?”

“We don’t have a spare room. I’m in the spare.”

“You’re not sharing a room yet?”

“We haven’t done more than make out on the couch.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t mind. He’s a really good kisser and I don’t think I’d be moving faster if we didn’t live together. Like, just because we’re living together that doesn’t mean that we have to be moving faster than we would in any other situation.”

“That’s a good point.” Carol concedes, “as long as you’re happy right?”

“Exactly.”

The movie you’d been playing ends before you’re done talking with Carol. When you do finally hang up you start another movie and get comfy on the couch.

You’re petting Fury when the back door opens.

“Any luck?” You call and when Steve doesn’t answer you look toward the door. Horror floods you as you clock that it’s not Steve standing in the kitchen of your home.

It’s Brock.

Tag list:

@foxyjwls007 @andahugaroundtheneck @also-fangirlinsweden @pagina16ps @zaraomarrogers @princesssterek @valsworldofcreativity @dumblani @inkedaztec @loving-life-my-way @animegirlgeeky @shinycupcakebaker @eralen @sophham @gh0stgurl @wonderlandfandomkingdom @patzammit @abschaffer2 @capsiclesdoll @killcomet @sass-masterkittenmama

#steve rogers #avengers #steve rogers x reader #avengers imagine #steve rogers x reader au #avengers au #steve rogers au #sheriff!steve rogers x reader #sheriff!steve rogers #imagine Steve rogers au #imagine Steve rogers #small town story

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musicfeedsmysoul12 · 27 days ago

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reincarnated soulmates au where when you meet your soulmate you both get a flashback to the past life you shared. except izuku has MULTIPLE soulmates in this life. and at ua alot of them are in his year. his first day in class at ua he is getting stuck in consecutive unskippable cutscenes in his head while his classmates take turns getting flashbacks with him.

He met Ochako first.

“Ugh. I thought I'd wake up dead, or rather not wake up at all,” Zevran groaned as he blinked awake.

“I thought I’d torture you for information first,” the gorgeous elf in front of him said. Zevran couldn't help the smirk, seeing from the small context clues that the elf didn't mean it. She stood to rigid, kept her chin up to high.

“Well then…”

It was… odd, Izuku would say. Remembering a life where he was a deadly assassin who'd been saved from a deep deoression by a Grey Warden. Ochako had been so happy to see him though, and Izuku was honestly excited as they walked into the entrance exam. He found his soulmate and remembered some pretty good parkour moves.

He met the eyes of Tenya next and…

“There’s no Shepard without Vakarian,” promised Commander Ilene Shepard, cupping the cheek of her lover. “And if I'm up there in that bar and you’re not. I'm always looking down at you.”

Garrus didn't say a thing, simply leaning in to kiss her.

Tenya had barely been able to leave his side. Ochako had been startled thanks to her not having any memories but she adapted Quickly.

The memories of a war hero rattled in Izuku’s head, giving him more chance to react to things. Good thing since he meet Yuuga next.

“Hurry,” a pale elf was in front of some bushes. Markov, crossed his arms. The Dragonborn’s tail swished behind him. “I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it can’t you.”

“Kill it yourself,” Markov snorted.

“I was hoping...”

The life of a Bhaalspawn flashed before his eyes as Yuuga stumbled. He had quickly joined the small team of people, unable to look away from Izuku.

Izuku didn't ask how long Yuuga had lived once Markov died. He didn't want to know.

After the exam, Izuku had told his mother who was stunned but happily took him to get his soulmate bonds registered. When his fellows also registered their bonds they traded numbers. Yuuga instantly offered up a very terrifying tale when Izuku confessed about the truth behind his Quirk.

All Might had been horrified but they were warned now, and Yuuga eager to take his new master down like they had once before.

Of course that was the background stuff, the kids kept out of it even with memories of being heroes in their heads. Annoying.

The four grew close, and ended up walking into UA together. Bakugou sadly was in their class but the memories Izuju Carrie dhad him uncaring.

He knew what the blonde was now, and he had no interest in even looking at him. Much to Bakugou’s fury. A girl entered the room though as Bakugou flipped out, and then-

“Your hands are meant to heal,” Edward kneels in front of his childhood friend, removing the gun she carried. Winry shakes, staring at the man who had killed her parents.

She bursts into tears.

Momo is surprised by the fact Izuku has more soulmates but comments she should have known. Edward was just like that.

Izuku is confused but accepting. This had to be the last right?

He should have kept his mouth shut.

Denki-

“Never thought I'd die beside an elf,” Gimli snorted.

“What about beside a friend?” Legolas smiled.

Tsu-

“Barbosa!” Elizabeth screamed. Will looked at her in bafflement before she continued, “MARRY US!”

Hanta-

“I may not be an explorer,” Eevee said. Rick snorted, watching her stumble. “Or-or an adventurer or a treasure seeker or a GUN FIGHTER Mr. O’Connel.” she gave him a look. “But I am proud of what I am.”

“And what is that?” Rick asked.

“I am a librarian!” Eevee declared.

Toru-

“Please stop cursing me in a language I don't know!” Laios begged the angry Chilchuck who did not let up.

Memories flashed and Izuku ended up in Recovery Girl’s office from the over load. He hoped that would be the end.

He was happy to have so many but his head…

(He met Hitoshi and Tamaki the next day. Rody a few months later, right after Melissa.)

#bnha #bnha au #soulmate friday #I regret nothing lol #this was fun! thanks!#also I wanna write it now

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radiocrypt-id · 1 year ago

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I got- I can't!

Imagine being 15, you've grown up your whole life with this one belief in this one God and you were told you were Chosen by Him, for Him. And you're 15. You believe so fully in the spirit of your religion, not necessarily the word, that you want to go to a non-religious school to try and help other kids maybe find your God because you genuinely believe that could be helpful to some of them, because it's all you know, and it's helped other strangers (human trafficking victims she helped in the black pit before) so why not other kids her age? You're 15 and all you can think about is helping others. And you start thinking about your religion, and reading books, and asking questions and you come to the conclusion that maybe your God and His Father aren't actually all that great. Maybe the church you're in has done some really bad things that you can't possibly make up for. Maybe that church is still doing bad things. And then you find out your family is actually in a cult for that God, not just part of the normal church, and you suddenly have to undo all the cult shit in your brain you were raised with, while that cult stuff you know about is actually useful to your friends, like having that knowledge is helpful for them! You're 15 and you stop going home. You have no real adult supervision or carer, just your other 15 year old friends.

Imagine you're 16, you're gay and figuring that out on top of navigating your first full romantic relationship and being the sole creator and cleric to a new God that you honestly find to be very two dimensional and empty. You're on a quest to find an evil being and stop them. You nearly die. Your friends nearly die. You're 16. You're 16 and feel something calling out to you, you know it's divine because you've felt that sort of pull before, but you've never felt one like this. You find memories and hints and pieces and you figure out that the evil being you have to stop, isn't evil, she's just hurting. She's hurt and She's a God. She's your God, and she's so happy to see you, and she has so many ideas, and so many hopes.

You're 17. You've spent your rest time (summer vacation) tearing across the world chasing down and defeating another evil thing that you and your friends accidentally released in the first place. Your God is with you, you have no time for Her. No time for anything but trying to survive and stay sane. You know She's disappointed in you, but you're one person -ONE PERSON- and you're 17. You missed your birthday. again. You've saved the world; again. You're so fucking tired -like always. You're Chosen, and alone, and have no idea what to do with your life, let alone your God. You aren't very good at school, but you go to every class. You're drowning as you try to rewrite your understanding of the world from what you grew up with, having no idea how to do anything without a book and godly hand to guide you. You only ever followed before, your new God is demanding you Lead. You don't know how. You're only 17. You see your horrible, abusive parents spitting abuse and racist rhetoric at your baby brother, who you haven't seen in two years, on the front steps to your school and for the first time ever you are filled with righteous fury. Your God answers your call, not knowing what you need but so eager to help, eager for your attention, she starts talking to you but you're busy -why can't she understand that you're fucking busy? trying to not die, trying to be safe, trying to keep your friends alive, trying to navigate a world that hates you, you're 17 and you're busy goddammit just wait!- and she snaps back at you and flees. The next time you see Her, maybe an hour later, She's got a creature with Her that nearly destroyed you and your friends last year sitting in her lap, so smug to see you again.

You're 17- no, 16- no, 15 years old and you're expected to build and carry the world on your shoulders, Chosen from birth, raised a lamb to follow a Shepard, not to be followed behind. You have no one and nothing and everyone expects everything and you can't back up, you can't pause because if you do someone dies and doesn't come back. You have to be a hero, a chosen, a saint. The steps behind you crumble to dust with each step you take forward and the new one is already cracking under your weight. There are only wrong choices. There's no hand reaching for you. God, you were taught, will save and guide you. God knows best. Why is your God looking to you, a mortal human, to be saved, raised and guided? You're a child.

You're just a child.

You just want to go home, wherever that is. You thought it was your God, but She's not exactly helping you out either, is She? She's just disappointed. Like everyone else. Like you.

You're 17. You think it would have been better to never do any of this. It would have been easier to stay, blind and naive. Sometimes you think you should have stayed in heaven. Sometimes you think about the God you killed by not being good enough for it. Sometimes you lay on the floor and stare at the ceiling and pretend you don't exist for awhile. Sometimes you work your body so hard you forget it's there and your mind shuts up and you exist without being you. Sometimes you wish you never asked any questions or read any books. You're 17, but sometimes you wish you were 15, with no idea yet.

You're 17. You wish you were good enough.

#dimension 20 #kristen applebees #fantasy high junior year #fhjy #d20 fhjy #fhjy spoilers #dimension 20 fhjy #dimension 20 fantasy high #d20 fantasy high #dimension 20 spoilers #words #can you tell my religious trauma is popping off?#I have big feelings about kristen #she's just a kid man leave her alone #it's not fair for a god to expect a child to be able to perform what many adults do over many years in just the span of a few months #yeah it's not fair cassandra has had the lot of getting a child for her only cleric but like #she reached out to and accepted kristen! she the God here! it's like when a grown adult expects a toddler to know to not run into a road #without being taught. that's a baby #she's gonna run into the road many times until someone takes her hand and kindly teaches her to not #kristen litterally needs some kinda reliable help. she knows there's something wrong and that she's fucking it up she just literally doesn'#know how to fix it! someone help her!!!#fantasy high

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nausikaaa · 7 months ago

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2024 Roundup

hello! it's that hazy period between christmas and new years, so i didn't even know what day it was until i got tagged for SSS by @that-disabled-princess. i don't have anything to share presently, but Rose, @run-for-chamo-miles @forabeatofadrum and @confused-bi-queer also tagged me for a writing roundup, so here i am!

i wrote 8 fics in 2024, and as i looked through them i realised i wrote literally all of them for events or as gifts. i also worked a lot on an original wip, and started another! however this still leaves the months pretty spotty, so i decided to add in some other achievements hehe.

this is long, but i added photos!

January

i started writing a fantasy novel i have been rotating in my brain for literally years, featuring beloved OCs i've also had for years. it got to 7k words by the end of the month. however i was also attacked by a new novel idea.

books read: Percy Jackson- The Chalice Of The Gods by Rick Riordan, Atalanta by Jennifer Saint, All The Violet Tiaras by Jean Menzies.

February

this is the month where i really knuckled down and got to grinding on my greek myth retelling. i sat in a wetherspoons for an entire day, edited everything i had so far, and wrote until i finished part 2 of 7 (the parts aren't equal lengths) i ended up with 37k words.

books read: The House With The Golden Door by Elodie Harper, Emperor Of Rome by Mary Beard, American Hippo by Sarah Gailey.

March

no writing in March, but i did visit Whitby for my birthday and help with lambing. i also saw Natalie Haynes talk about her newest book in York.

books read: Dragged Up Proppa by Pip Fallow, Helen Of Troy by Bettany Hughes, The Amber Fury by Natalie Haynes, Divine Might by Natalie Haynes.

April

i wrote two fics for @carry-on-sapphic-week!

Spitfire- In the morning, someone will come to collect me, and I will have to leave Niamh, and Simon, Baz, Penelope, Shepard. The friends I have made, and the love I have forged. Back on dry land. How am I supposed to return to the life I had led before, how am I supposed to agree to some other arranged marriage, to another man I have never met, who cares nothing for me? How am I supposed to give up the pistol I have kept close for over a month and pick up my embroidery again? 1.9k words.

Rosebud Girl- I never thought it would be an art class that finished me off. I had hoped it would be a bit of stress relief, a creative outlet sorely needed between my real classes. It’s at a community centre on campus, a short walk from my morning law class. I should have just stuck to football, and said fuck creativity. We’ve moved on from fruit to figures, and the table in the centre of the room has been replaced by a model. A nude model. A nude Simone Snow, my first year roommate. 2.7k words.

books read: The Thursday Murder Club by Richard Osman, The Man Who Died Twice by Richard Osman, The Bullet That Missed by Richard Osman, The Last Devil To Die by Richard Osman, Great Goddesses by Nikita Gill.

May

my goat Juno had her kids, Olive and Jem, but decided she didn't like them very much, so i became their second mother, topping them up with milk. this was a sleepless, stressful month, so i didn't write very much.

books read: Caligula by Simon Turney, In The Shadow Of Vesuvius by Daisy Dunn.

June

my OC wip got to 14k words! and that's about it. i didn't even manage to go to pride this year. i mostly just continued to bottle feed the goats.

books read: Protest- Britain On The March by Mirrorpix Photo Archive, A History Of The Roman Empire In 21 Women by Emma Southon.

July

i wrote two fics for @carryon-disability-week!

comfortable coats, calico cats, and collapsible canes- Simon plans a spontaneous date, but Baz is worried his bad leg will put a damper on things. Luckily, Simon has come prepared. 2.4k words.

a fist amidst the hands- Simon can wield a sword, but not a pen. Baz thinks he's figured out why, and wants to help. Simon just wants to sleep. 2.5k words.

books read: A Short History Of The World According To Sheep by Sally Coulthard, Facing Down The Furies- Suicide, The Ancient Greeks, And Me by Edith Hall.

August

i wrote a fic as a friend's birthday present. i also visited Edinburgh for the fringe, saw the best production of Antigone in my life, and visited the art gallery while i was there.

A Day In Epirus- Pyrrhus is running late. Hermione has a way of distracting him, when today of all days she should really know better. Not that he can hold it against her, when he was so enthusiastic himself. But it’s Molossus’s fourth birthday, and he has a full itinerary to cross off. 2.3k words.

books read: Roman Mysteries- The Thieves Of Ostia by Caroline Lawrence, Roman Woman by Lindsay Allason Jones, From A Rock To A Hard Place- Memories Of The 1984/85 Miners' Strike by Beverley Trounce, Dynasty- The Rise And Fall Of The House Of Caesar by Tom Holland.

September

no writing except for chipping away at my original works. my trojan war retelling hit 60k words!

we also got a new puppy, her name is Suzie. she's mad as a box of frogs.

books read: We Solve Murders by Richard Osman, Percy Jackson- The Wrath Of The Triple Goddess by Rick Riordan.

October

again, just writing my original stuff. it was my nephew's first birthday though! not really my achievement, but still. we went pumpkin picking to celebrate.

i also saw Terry Deary and Edith Hall give talks at Durham Book Festival, and Terry Deary answered my question!

books read: A History Of Britain In Ten Enemies by Terry Deary, Alcestis by Katharine Beutner.

November

i wrote a sequel to my previous year's fic for @carryonthroughtheages! honestly, shoulder to shoulder is probably my favourite fic to have written, and this was a close second.

give them hope, give them strength, give them life- A look into Simon and Baz's life through the years. 7.9k words.

books read: Home Fire by Kamila Shamsie, The Sheep's Tale by John Lewis Stempel.

December

my OC wip stands at 15k words.

my trojan war retelling stands at 65k words!! my goal for the end of the year was 69k, because that sounds funnier and less daunting than 70k, but there are only two days left. let's see if i can manage it, 2k a day?

i got to see my friends for christmas, we met in Manchester. all of us simply making it through this year is the achievement i'm proudest of.

i also wrote a fic for a secret santa exchange in a classics discord server i'm in, it was a lot of fun!

sweet music playing in the dark- Penelope and Odysseus, throughout the years, together or apart. 3.8k words.

books read: Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan.

this has been so fun, it's nice to reflect! i tag @cutestkilla @roomwithanopenfire @prettygoododds @bookish-bogwitch @ic3-que3n @blackberrysummerblog @j-nipper-95 @youarenevertooold @larkral @orange-peony @aristocratic-otter @artsyunderstudy @thewholelemon @alexalexinii @shrekgogurt @comesitintheclover @raenestee @hushed-chorus @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @noblecorgi @shemakesmeforget @ileadacharmedlife @supercutedinosaurs @otherpeoplesheartachept-2 @ninemagicks @otherworldsivelivedin @meanjeansjeans @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists @carryonmylovelies and anyone else who wants to do this! sorry if i hit anyone who has already done so.

#tagged stuff #my writing

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