#of course first thing they do is go get Laswell and her wife out of DC

[sprout-fics]

I've got this apocalypse AU brewing in my mind, and no concrete ideas yet. Just this thought of being on deployment with the 141, Laswell in your ear, when all the sudden the comms start breaking up, Laswell desperately trying to convey something you can't hear. You're in the middle of nowhere, so you don't have any indication of what's happened the way you would if you're in the city, but something is deeply, terribly wrong.

I haven't settled on this being a zombie apocalypse AU, a sudden deadly plague, nuclear exchange, what, but I DO know that if there's any group that can hack their way amidst a rapidly changing, dangerous world full of humanity doing anything they can to survive- even sacrificing each other, it's the 141.

[wiltedflowerpetals]

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John Price is a lot of things. A soldier. A leader. The captain of Task Force 141. And, of course, (Y/N) Price's husband. They are so much in love, in fact, that after a year of dating, John asked her to marry him. But even lovers have secrets... Because John's lovely wife wasn't just a sweet wife with a boring office job. No. She was a killer. A hitman. One of the best...

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It's my first cod fic... I hope it's good. Thank you for reading and I wish you all a great day! x3

Words: 2259

Warning: fluff, a bit angsty

Part 1: (you are reading it) | Part 2: Wife On A Mission | Part 3: Wife In Danger | Part 4: Husband Saves Wife | Part 5: Husband And Wife

You wiped a bead of sweat from your brow as you entered the quiet sanctuary of your home. You placed your weapons carefully in your hidden compartment beneath the floorboards of the closet, where John would never think to look. It was almost laughable, really. Your husband, John Price, a man who had dedicated his life to fighting criminals, had no idea that his wife was one of those killers.

You closed the closet door and took a deep breath. This was your life, your choice, long before you even met John. He didn't need to know about your job. All he needed to know was that you were here, waiting for him, just like you always were. You took another deep breath and needed to switch gears, to become the version of yourself that he knew and loved.

After you took a shower and put on some comfy clothes, you decided to cook your husband’s favorite food. You moved around the kitchen, preparing it as the aroma of simmering stew filled the air.

Your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. A text from Kate Laswell. A good friend of yours.

You smiled before swiping the screen to answer the call.

“(Y/N).” Kate greeted you. She sounded professional, as always, but with a bit of warmth.

“Kate.” You replied. “How did it go?”

“Smoothly. The target is dead, and our friend is safe for now. You did a good job out there.”

“Thanks.” You said, leaning against the counter, watching the stew. “What’s next?”

“Next?” You heard her chuckle. “Next, I’m coming over.”

You raised your eyebrow, stirring the pot. “You're sure about this, Kate?”

“What, afraid to see me in broad daylight?” You rolled your eyes at her. “Yes, John invited me. He’s been telling me for ages about how good your cooking is. How could I refuse?”

You sighed. “I’m a great cook… But, Kate, you know how important it is that John doesn’t find out about… you know.”

“I know.” Kate reassured you. “I won’t say a word. He has no idea we know each other, and it’ll stay that way.” Silence filled the conversation. “But he’s bound to find out. You have to talk to him one day.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I know and I will do it… One day. It’s just… I don’t want him getting involved in my shit. If he knew what I really do…”

“I understand…” Kate said softly. “And I promise, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” You sighed and rolled your eyes as the line went dead before you could say more. You placed the phone back on the counter.

“You could have said bye, Kate.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your husband; it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of him being in danger. You’d lied to him for years, all to protect him. And so far, it had worked.

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

The front door opened. John was home. You turned, wiping your hands on a towel as he entered the kitchen, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Hey, love.” He greeted, his voice gruff but full of affection.

“John.” You smiled, walking over to him. He pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. The scent of sweat, gunpowder, cigars and earth clung to him, a reminder of the world he lived in, the world you knew perfectly well…

“Missed you.” He murmured against your neck.

“I missed you too.” You replied, your voice soft. You kind of did. Can you miss someone that you see so often? Even when your husband went on missions, you were there, watching his back and saving his life more times than you could count.

You always went there to safe him. For Kate and for yourself.

You pulled back, giving him a soft kiss on his dry lips. He was safe. That was all that mattered.

“You’re just in time for dinner.”

John watched you with a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You spoil me, you know that?”

“Someone has to.” You teased, setting the plates on the table. “Sit down. I’ll get everything.”

He obeyed. You placed a steaming plate in front of him and joined him at the table. You two ate in comfortable silence.

John leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a satisfied grin. "You’ve outdone yourself, love."

“I’m glad you liked it.” You replied, gathering the dishes. He grabbed your hand, stopping you.

“Leave it.” He said. “I’ll do it later.”

You smiled, but shook your head. “Let me help then.” John offered, but you shook your head again.

“No, you go take a shower. I’ve got this.”

He didn’t need much convincing. “Alright, but only because you insist.”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, before you watched him head towards the bathroom.

The next day arrived too quickly…

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

You woke up early and ready to prepare breakfast. John was still asleep, his arm draped over your side of the bed, the peaceful expression on his face making your heart ache with affection.

You moved quietly, not wanting to wake him just yet. He needed his rest, especially after the mission he’d just returned from. You poured yourself a cup of coffee and sipped it slowly, savoring the moment.

As you finished up, John stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Morning, love.” He mumbled, reaching for you. You stepped into his embrace, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Morning.” You replied, your voice soft. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

“Smells amazing.” he said, pulling back to look at you.

You two sat on the table, eating your delicious food as John intertwined his fingers with yours.

“Soo…” John started, as you finished your food.

“Soo?” You glanced at him, squeezing his hand.

“A friend of mine wanted to visit us. You, know the friend I’ve mentioned a couple of times? Kate?” You nod your head, feeling a slight twinge of anxiety in your stomach. “Yeah, she will come… Is it okay? Or should I call her back and-“

You shook your head. “No, no, honey. It’s okay. She can come.” Despite her promise, there was still a small part of your that worried, that he will find out about your job.

John smiled at your, happy that you were fine with it and finally could meet his friend.

And due to your nervosity, you start to cook early on for dinner. For the time Kate will come into your home. You prayed and hoped that everything will work out…

John noticed your nervosity, of course. He always did. “You’re fussing too much.” He teased as he leaned against the kitchen counter, watching you.

“I’m not fussing.” You rolled your eyes, but could hear the tension in your own voice. “I just want everything to be perfect…”

“It will be.” John assured you, moving to wrap his arms around you from behind. “Kate’s going to love you. She’s always been curious about the woman who managed to snag me.”

You laughed, though the sound was a bit strained. John kissed the side of your neck, his beard scratching gently against your skin. “Don’t worry, love.”

The doorbell rang and you felt your heart leap into your throat. This was it…

John released you, heading for the door. “That’ll be Kate.” He said.

You quickly wiped your hands on a towel, trying to steady your breathing as you followed him. When the door swung open, there stood Kate Laswell, dressed casually but with her usual air of quiet authority.

“Kate, good to see you.” John greeted warmly.

“Good to see you too, John.” Kate replied with a smile, glancing over his shoulder at you.

You stepped forward, a perfectly practiced look of curiosity and friendliness on her face. It was time to act. Something that you always had to do during your missions. Acting or more likely… lying…

“You must be Kate. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“And you must be (Y/N).” Kate responded. “John wasn’t exaggerating when he said you’re beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes at the false pleasantries, but at least your friend had some fun. This was the game you two had to play after all. “Thank you. Come in, please.”

As Kate stepped inside, John closed the door behind her, looking pleased. He had no idea that the two women had known each other for a long time already.

They moved to the dining room, where you had already set the table. The conversation flowed easily, John and Kate reminiscing about old missions, with you chiming in here and there, careful to keep up the facade of being just a supportive wife with no real connection to their deadly world.

As they ate, John kept looking between the two women. “It’s funny.” He remarked. “I’ve always thought you two would get along great. Glad to see I was right.”

You forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look as strained as it felt. “Well, Kate’s easy to get along with.” You said, but kept your eyes rather on John than on her.

Kate returned the smile, her expression giving nothing away. “And I can see why John speaks so highly of you, (Y/N). You’ve got a real knack for this - hosting, cooking… you’re a natural.”

“… Thank you.” You replied, you were counting down the minutes until this tense dinner was over.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of small talk and laughter, with John completely oblivious to the undercurrent of tension between the two women. As far as he knew, it was just a pleasant evening with his wife and a close friend.

When it was finally time for Kate to leave, John walked her to the door, thanking her again for coming. You followed, staying a step behind, happy that the day has finally ended.

“Thanks for having me.” Kate said warmly, giving you a meaningful look as she shook your hand. “I hope we can do this again sometime.”

“I would love to.” You replied, your voice steady despite of all the emotions you were feeling right now. “It was lovely meeting you.”

With that, Kate left, and you closed the door, leaning against it for a moment, eyes closed as you let out a slow breath.

John came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “See? Told you it’d be fine.”

You leaned into his embrace. “You were right.” You admitted, turning in his arms to face him. “It was nice and went better than I thought.”

John smiled down at you. “You did great, love. I knew Kate would like you. But then again, what's not to like?”

You chuckled. “You give me too much credit. But I’m glad she came over. It was… good to finally meet her.”

He kissed your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. “You know, I think she’ll become a good friend of yours. She’s got a lot of interesting stories, and I’m sure you two have more in common than you think.”

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile on your lips. “Yeah… maybe.”

John’s smile softened as he looked at you. “Are you alright? You seem… distracted.”

You hesitated, your heart skipping a beat. He was always so perceptive. But you couldn’t tell him the truth… Not now, not ever. So, you did what you had done countless times before. You lied… Again.

“Just tired.” You said, resting your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “It’s been a long day.”

He held you close, his hand gently stroking your back. “I understand. It’s been a lot. Why don’t we call it a night? You need your rest.”

You nodded, feeling now tired from this day. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You locked up the house and headed upstairs. As you got ready for bed, you couldn’t help but glance at John, wondering what would happen if he ever found out the truth. How would he react? Would he be angry, hurt, betrayed?

Once you two were in bed, John pulled you close, his arm wrapped protectively over you. He kissed your temple, whispering a soft “Goodnight, love.” before closing his eyes.

You lay there in the darkness, your eyes wide open as you stared at the ceiling. The evening had gone as well as it could have, but the anxiety was still there. Kate’s visit had been a stark reminder of your real life. Your real job.

You turned slightly to watch John sleep; his face peaceful in the light. He had no idea how many times you’d been there, watching over him from the shadows during his missions, making sure he and his team got out alive. You were always just out of sight, never letting anyone know where you were. It was your way of protecting him.

You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up.

But for now, John was safe. He was home, with you, and that was all that mattered.

You reached out, brushing a hand over his cheek, feeling the rough stubble under your fingers. He stirred slightly, but didn’t wake, just leaned into her touch.

“I love you.” You whispered.

It was both a vow and a plea. A promise to keep him safe, and a silent wish that he’d never have to find out the lengths you’d gone to do so.

Eventually, you fell asleep in the arms of your husband.

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[blingblong55]

To live without- 141 + Alejandro

Based on a request:

Hii can I make a request for some angst?? Maybe the reader having an argument with the TF 141 + Alejandro, inside the car or anywhere resulting to a break up?? Cause I'm a sucker for angst, thankss 🫶

F!Reader, angst, established!relationship, break-ups, cheating (not all)

A/N: This will be in 5 parts

Part 2, (Soap), Part 3 (Gaz), Part 4 (Alejandro), Part 5 (Ghost)

It has been a stressful few months for him, between his job, you, his own safety and yours, let alone the current argument over her. It's why you and he are now in the car, having this argument.

Price:

He decided that since Laswell invited him to dinner with a few other soldiers and agents, why not take you? Besides you and him haven't gone out much since his last deployment, so this is the perfect opportunity. While having dinner at some restaurant, Price and a woman, much closer to his age than you, stroked conversation. He was telling her stories that not once he had told you and of course, his natural flirty state was in the mix. You were talking with Kate and her wife when you saw how close the woman was getting with your boyfriend. So, as one does, you took his hand and he immediately let go of it, not once making eye contact with you.

Kate and her wife saw this and knew it would not end well if the woman was not taken elsewhere. After dinner, you were the first one to leave the establishment. All others inside were either saying their goodbyes or getting acquainted. "yeah, this is my-" he turns to introduce you to some agent only to find your seat empty. Immediately he left too, only to find you in the car, probably telling your friend what was going on. He gets in, " alright, so will you tell me what the hell that was about?" he asks you. You look at him, for a while now he has been distant, so of course you had even more motives to suspect him. "You let go of my hand," your voice soft yet hinting at some hurt his past action left behind.

That was it, the final straw that threw him over the edge, "you fucking walked away from dinner because I didn't hold your hand any longer?!"

"Yes, do you even care how that even looks? I hold your hand all the time at dinners and this was the first time you let go of it because of that woman!"

"Don't you dare bring her into this." by this point some of the wine he had drunk was making its way into his system. "Why not, hm? why did you let go of my hand, John!" your eyes teary, trying to blink them away. "You really think this is all about you? That I intend to hurt you by some little thing like letting go of your hand?!" Your argument is being heard by some people. He knows better, that at dinners or in public when you hold his hand it's because you are trying to calm yourself down, your social anxiety gets the best of you and his hold brings comfort. "...she's just a friend.." he murmurs. And just when you were going to say something, he gets a text, "Will you come over after you drop her off?" he knows damn well you saw it and now he is prepared for the storm. "you are cheating on me?" oh the way your voice cracked and how tears spilt from your eyes. "...sorry," was all he could say. "you let go of my hand because you and this fucking whore have a thing!" back to yelling. "R/n, you are just a fucking pain in the ass! So of course I am cheating on you!" the instant regret once those words left his mouth.

The look on your face as he said them, never to forget the last time he saw that face of yours. And now you are far from him, he alone in his empty house, never to be called home again. Never to be greeted by you and your happy personality, truth be told, he still looks for you in every place he goes.

A/N: Hi, so since I don't want to make this post too long I separated it into parts, who do you want for part 2?

[redhothingz]

!!!Mafia Boss HC!!!

This is for COD MW2, requested by mindscape123

They said -

Hey, how do you the 141 would collectively react to a reader who’s a mafia boss and like, just buys them stuff all the time? Like guns? Done. Hot tub? No problem! Hideout which is just a penthouse in the Bahamas? Whatever makes you smile.

I love this so much! Imma assume that they already know that they are a Mafia Boss, so here is the back story, then onto the HC!!!

Y/N pays off political members around the world so they can sell guns and things of that nature. Y/N was in the military for years before they left, and became something like Shadow Comp. Contracted arms if you will, they will go on missions if needed but not a lot. They normally send help, so they can run their shit. Y/N is a contact of Price and Laswell. Y/N also doesn't see any buyer in person, Y/N wants to be safe in public and hides who they are from most people.

John Price - 

He trusts you, I mean, he met Y/N through Nikolai after all. 

John always feels kinda bad when you make bigger purchases, but gets over it. If it’s for a mission, he won’t care about the Price (wink wink). But when it’s you with the mates and you buy all the drinks and food, he tries to keep it to water and a cheaper food at first.

He gives in and gets what he wants after the boys order whatever they want and slam all the drinks they want. 

Price definitely thinks that there is a plant at one of your safehouses, and worries for your life and safety, and has talked to you about it many times before.

Information is Need-To-Know, meaning y’all don’t just spill the beans about what you do. Just if you need something from the other person.

You mostly provide passages and equipment for Price and his squad in “off the books” missions, and Price will take care of anyone getting in your way of money or products. Fair trade after all. 

After he returns, you make sure he is given at least five packs of his favorite cigars. You normally can’t wait for 141 to get back from a mission so this is something you do as a tip for a job well done.

Once asked for a private bar for him and his mates, you opened a ton of them all over the UK. Yes, it is also a smoke shop. They all have VIP ofc.

When you told him, he smiled. :>

Kate Laswell -

You and her have worked together for years, when y’all both had boots on the ground. You two are still close, but not really when it comes to work. 

She tries to follow the books, but will contact you if she has no other choice.

You two never really work together because of this, but you’ll still buy her drinks or send her wife gifts like a new wardrobe or diamonds. On Kate’s request, of course.

You went to her wedding and paid for it, it was a dream wedding for them. Kate still thanks you time and time again. 

Kate and her wife asked you to leave the Mafia life and live normally. A safe life. You declined, but still consider what a normal life would be after the Mafia. But there is no leaving after all.

Soap - 

He doesn’t really know what you do, he just likes to have a good time.

Deff will take any gift from you, and will try to get you something in return. It’s normally something from Scotland like a little flag. 

He loves doing your jobs because he knows that there will be a huge dinner with the mates.

You love getting him drunk, because he starts to pick on Ghost. His accent really spikes, then he's only speaking Scottish. 

Trust you to buy him great food, he doesn’t really think about trust past that when it comes to you.

Soap is 100% the first person to order drinks and food. No shame here.

He is also the first to thank you for dinner. It always makes the rest of the guys mad because it sounds forced from them. 

Ghost - 

He just listens to Price. Ghost doesn’t trust you per say, but trusts Price.

He just looks at you.

When having dinner, you saw that he had his food in a to-go box. The next time you took 141 out for food you gave Ghost a loose mask, kinda like a blanket. Just so he can eat with everyone. 

Make sure y’all are in a VIP room, just for him.

He brings it with him everywhere so he can eat with his mates.

Ghost will order food and a few drinks, but doesn’t like spending other people's money.

Ghost deff babysits Soap the whole time.

He has only asked for one thing, and that was for Lady GaGa tickets for soap.

Gaz - 

Respectful. He is in the same boat with Ghost about ordering anything.

He will ask for stuff for his family. You always do more than he asked.

You get his family passes for Disney World, and pay for the whole trip. I mean, flight there and back, hotel, everything.

Gaz will feel bad, but Price explains to him that that's just how you are and  to not feel bad about any gifts.

He was sad that the Lady GaGa tickets are expensive (Wink Wink).

Alejandro - 

He LOVES it, I mean, you sell out anyone causing trouble in or near Mexico, and he keeps quiet about anything you do. You keep sales out of Mexico, he keeps his operations out of your sales. Best duo, really.

Loves a good party, at any time. You don’t really have to pay for it, but you do. 

He also asks for stuff for his family, but he will be the one to bring any gifts to them. He wants to keep them safe, after all.

Also asked for Lady GaGa tickets…..for……family……yeah……

Konig - 

He doesn’t know how to react. I mean, he’s grateful but feels bad. Like Gaz.

He loves his shirt-mask and bike helmet combo too much to get anything new. 

Will take a new sniper anyday, you even bought him displays for his collection.

He also asked for Lady GaGa tickets. 

You folded and bought VIP tickets for everyone.

I really loved this topic! I tried to keep it GN, sorry if I messed up anywhere! Please tell me what to write next!

[icewazowski]

Little Bird

Valeria x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3.7k

AN: Not a particularly spicy one, here’s some warnings; NSFW 18+ slight thigh riding, deception, reader doesn’t know who Valeria is

Kate Laswell's eyes never left mine as she presented the briefing to me, it was supposed to be easy. Undercover work was my forté, it was something I'd nearly perfected during my time in the military, and now I was practically Laswell's lap dog for these sorts of missions. "Do you have any questions?" She asked me after bombarding my brain with knowledge of who my character was.

At first thought, I didn't have any questions at all, but the more I delved deeper into the woman code-named, 'Serpent', all I could think about was what drove me. The motivation behind wanting to join El Sin Nombre and be in their cartel opposed to doing good. I couldn't just be someone who did it for nothing, "Kate, what's Serpent's motivation?" I asked her, my hands crossed on the desk before me as I picked at the bubblegum pink polish on my nails. "She can't just hate everything and everyone because she wants to,"

"See," Kate smiled softly as she approached the seat opposite mine at the conference table, her face replaced the sinister smiling photo of General Shepherd, "Her motivation, is sex,"

I spluttered, "What?"

"You heard me," She replied with a smirk on her lips, "Why not? It'll be fun for you, and it'll be easier to get your way,"

I looked at the file in front of me, the one without a picture simply because El Sin Nombre didn't exist as far as we knew, "Ma'am, respectfully, have you lost your mind?" my voice was unsteady as I spoke, yet all I could think about was infiltrating the cartel as someone who was motivated by sex and sex alone. Not power, not money, but sex. To be desired.

Laswell's laugh was the last thing I expected to hear as the blush crept across my skin at the mere thought of trotting around like some prostitute, "Maybe, but it's the best way to get you in. You'll be a Bottle Girl, and when it comes to it, you'll find your way to Sin Nombre when he's most vulnerable," she trailed off.

"So, when I'm on top of him, I'll do what exactly? Kill him like Amy did in Gone Girl?" I couldn't even start to believe this, it was absurd. Kate Laswell expected me to go in there scantily clad and for me to sleep my way to El Sin Nombre? Jesus Christ, I needed a drink.

Kate's hands met mine from across the table, "You'll be fine, and besides, who said Sin Nombre's a man?" she said with a wink.

Deep down, aside from our work relationship, I had always been close to Laswell. She was the only woman who really understood what it was like to be gay in the military, although I was Bisexual myself, she understood how daunting it can be. Hell, I'd come out to her when I was drunk in her arms one night by accidentally telling her I wanted to marry her. Of course, Kate being Kate, she was more than loyal to her wife. And, that's how I found out she was married, too.

"Kate, you're going to owe me for this," I sighed, having finally given up to the idea of negotiating a different path for my character, "When I come back, there better be an invitation to your house so your wife can make me lasagne,"

She patted my clenched fists, "Of course," she stood up, her hand reached for the door behind her, "Don't have too much fun," she winked, as though I'd suddenly become the cartel's personal bitch ready to be used and abused by all the men there. This was really going to fucking suck, I just knew it.

---

The mask over my face concealed the person from me, though I didn't need eyes to know El Sin Nombre's personal Sicaria was a woman, come on, it was in the name. Her perfume invaded my senses as I sat rigid in the chair, waiting for her to either kill me or grant me entry. And yet, all I could think about was how attractive her perfume was, how strong it was as the scent wrapped around me warmly.

"Do you speak Spanish?" She asked me, her voice rasped. God, even her voice was attractive, "Little bird?" She followed up with the arbitrary nickname she'd decided to give me. I'd only seen a slither of her lean body as I was forced into the room in the dress that clung a bit too tight to me, but it was enough to make me realise this was not going to be easy.

With a sigh of defeat, I shook my head, "No," I replied, "I don't."

The click-clack sound her tongue made as it flicked across her teeth struck my ears violently at first, but soothed my nerves the more she did it; she was disappointed to say the least, and so was I. "Such a shame," she cooed as she walked around, her voice trailed behind her like a ghost. And, if I was able to, I'd trail behind her too just for another breath of that sweet, sweet perfume she wore. "You're too beautiful to not speak more than one language," she practically purred before her hands placed onto my shoulders.

I craned my neck at the contact, my blind eyes stared up at her as my lips parted softly, "They say the best way to learn a language is through something... but I can't remember what it is," I admitted. It was something I'd heard before, something Alejandro had told me the first time I'd met him months prior, sure, he'd meant it as a flirty thing, and I remember our nights together vividly, but I can't recall the saying.

"The best way to learn a language is through fucking," She finished the phrase, "I'm sure plenty of my men would love to lay their hands on my little bird," she said, and something rustled as she dug her hand into her pockets. The blade clicked into place, and she cut the zip-ties from my wrist before she allowed me to remove the blind-fold. My Little Bird.

The dim light was a welcome for my sore eyes, and it didn't take much time to adjust before I could see her clearly, see the pink polish on her nails which matched mine perfectly, "You like my nails?" I asked her, just to ease the very real fact that she could end my life in a fraction of a second if she so wanted to. I pulled my fingers into a fist to show her, and she took my hand in hers.

The Sicaria had much better nails, hers looked almost professional in how they were done, "They're cute," she said, almost as though she was disappointed mine weren't as polished as hers. The edges were asymmetrical, having done them myself with no sleep was obviously the crux of that mystery, "I'll do yours later," she propositioned.

I drew my eyebrows together, "Are they that bad?" I joked back.

"It looks like a child did them," she purred as she held my hand for a bit too long, "Anyway, I'm keeping you here, you might be of some use to me," she smiled, "At least, more use than the person before you, hm?" she stepped to the side and tilted her head towards the corpse behind her. Such disregard for the dead, it was almost impressive.

What should have been scary, only managed to cause my smile to widen, "I like you," A pause finished my sentence, she hadn't even introduced herself to me, I had no clue what her name was, though she knew mine, that had been the one thing she'd requested when I first met her.

"Valeria," She said, her accent came through as she spoke her own name, and how badly I wanted to say it, to repeat her name as though it was the most prised gem I'd ever come across, as though it would bleed life back into me just to say it.

Instead, I nodded, "Nice to meet you," I said as I stood up, "I guess I'll see you around?" I asked in the most nonchalant way considering she executed three people in the room before she met me, as though I wasn't scared of her. But, let's get this straight, I was terrified of her. In a way that made me excited to make my next move, I was scared.

Valeria, who's name somehow caused flutters to erupt from my heart and into my stomach, smirked at me, "I'll see you around, pájarita," she cooed before she dismissed me into the dark hallway where her other counterpart was. He was the opposite of her. Whilst he looked scary, he also looked like a dad with his bald head, goatee and slight pouch of stomach fat. In fact, he looked like my dad, in a weird way.

"Where too now, hermano?" I asked him, my palms slick with sweat as I walked down the hallway and towards the elevator I had descended in prior to my meeting with El Sin Nombre's personal Sicaria. She was beautiful. God, was I getting a crush on a woman who could easily kill me if she found out I was actually here for her boss? Who the fuck knows.

He pressed the up button, "We're going to the balcony, where you'll serve our guests," he didn't even bother to turn and face me, "I take it you know how to serve champagne?" he asked.

I laughed, "I'm not as stupid as I look," I remarked, though it was in bad taste. I didn't look stupid, because I wasn't. Sure, some subjects I was less academic in, but I was world smart, and that's all that matters in this line of work. No one cares if you can do math, or balance chemical formulas, as long as you know how to get what you want, you'll be unstoppable.

And I planned on exactly that.

---

When I had served at least twenty guests, and when the tray of complimentary Champagne was finished, I decided to wander. Not my smartest idea, I'll give you that, but I was bored. Laswell wanted me to gain intelligence before Soap decided to join the party, and I intended to do just that. No matter what, the mission always came first. What's the worst that could happen, right?

I walked through the stairwell, my eyes trained on the grand piano beneath the spiralled staircase, and all I wanted to do was sit down and play it. Of course, I didn't know how to play piano, but at least I'd have fun playing random notes until one of the guards kicked me out, that would be worth it.

Instead, I carried on my wandering, and made my way deeper into the fortress the Cartel called home. Hell, I was not disappointed. It was so lavish, the sculptures and the food looked so good. If I wasn't trying to squeeze into this dress already, I'd stuff my face with all the food imaginable.

As I continued on my journey, I stumbled upon a supply cupboard full of... cleaning supplies. How very boring. Bleach, bleach, more bleach, a mop, some candles, and then I saw it. The bracelet on the floor looked oddly familiar. It wasn't mine, of course. But it was Valeria's. Wherever she was now, I'd give it to her. But I didn't know where she was, and the compound was far too massive for me to want to give it to her, so I just placed it on a shelf.

And, as I opened the door, someone on the outside opened it. I tumbled forwards, my body unsteady in the dangerously high heels, and then she caught me, and lead me further into the supply cupboard. Past the shelves and the mops, past the sink (that I didn't even notice) and finally into the darkness.

"Fancy seeing you here," I said.

"You can't be seen in here," she said at the same time, her body pressed against mine as mine was flush to the wall. Her eyes never met mine as she kept a close eye on the door.

I cocked my head to the side, "Why not?" I asked her, curious as to why I, a member of their staff, couldn't be seen in a supply cupboard. It's just full of cleaning products, not like I'm going to make a bomb or anything.

She laughed a deep chuckle, one that made my knees weak, "You don't get it," she said patronisingly, "El Sin Nombre doesn't like when his girls go for walks," she purred, still pressed into me. Her thigh was pressing into my heat, and I had to restrain myself because God, she smelled so good and she was driving me crazy being this close.

"Well, what are you doing here, then?" I asked.

She knitted her brows together, "I'm hiding," she lied.

"From who?" I replied, only now at the realisation that my arm was wrapped around her.

Valeria moved her leg, the thigh painfully rutted against my core, "From El Sin Nombre," she said.

"And, what if you're El Sin Nombre?" I joked. She was in no way, shape, or form El Sin Nombre. No one knew who he was, and he was most definitely a he going of the name, surely it would be pronounced differently if Sin Nombre was a female? But that's going off my shit knowledge of Spanish. "What am I supposed to do then?"

She smirked, and withdrew slightly so that she wouldn't crush me, "I'd tie you up and show you how merciless I can be," her voice husked as she spoke through lust clouded eyes, and I was a goner. I knew that much. A Sicaria, a professional hit-woman, gaining a liking to me was not something I wanted to tell Laswell, or Soap, or anyone else who was due to storm the compound at whatever time. In fact, if I could keep it a secret until I died, I would. "Let you know how it feels to be powerless,"

"Who said I don't want that?" I whispered back, too afraid to even say the words myself.

Valeria looked impressed, "Well, I guess I'll have to keep you guessing, because I can assure you, little bird, that I am not Sin Nombre," she purred into my ear before she pressed a tender kiss into my pulse. The one place that would give me away as being completely enamoured with her despite having only seen or known her for... two hours?

"I guess so," I smirked, and allowed her to pull herself away from me before she exited the room before me. There goes my chance of sleeping with one of the most deadly women on the planet. All because I blew it and decided to run my mouth.

As I walked out, defeated, a guard stormed towards me, his mask covered his facial expression, but it didn't stop him from looking pissed off at something. If I didn't know better, I'd turn around and run for it, but that would make a scene, and everyone would think I'd done something wrong then. Which, I had, but that's a surprise tool that'll help me later. Or, kill me. Either way, I'm not bothered.

He said my name as his hand encased my arm, "We need to move," he said, and my first immediate thought was, what the fuck?

"Alejandro?" I asked as I tried to crane my neck to see into his mask, but it was no use whatsoever, "What the fuck? Why are you here?" I asked him. He didn't respond, only continued to drag me towards the stairs where the Grand Piano had sat. As we approached it, all I could smell was gunpowder and the metallic twinge of blood. This had happened a lot quicker than I expected it too.

He dragged me up the stairs, where a trail of dead bodies laid discarded, and he passed me a handgun, "Shoot to kill," he said, and suddenly I regretted wearing a dress, and I cursed the fucker who allowed this to happen as quick as it had done. Right when I was getting what I wanted, it just had to be snatched away because of some mission.

"What the fuck," I said, because I had no clue what happened this quick. I didn't know anything, in fact, I'd been so out of the loop that I had no clue as to who or what our target was, and I'd only been in here a few minutes, but it was enough to frustrate me. "Where's Soap?" I asked.

But, the one thought on my mind was really, where is Valeria? I didn't want her to die, whilst she was a Sicaria, and she should not be admired, I didn't want her to meet her demise through a Scottish bloke with a stolen handgun, that would just be too anticlimactic. Something told me, that if she'd decided to die tonight, it would be all out. She wouldn't go peacefully, and neither would I.

"Fuckin' Nora!" The familiar Scottish accent bellowed as he approached the pair of us, his eyes dark from the focus and the lack of light, "I got the key-card," he muttered, and held up the blood-splattered card as though it was something he'd caught fishing

My eyes narrowed, "Can someone just tell me what we're doing?"

Soap looked at me a little too generously, his eyes wandered to my body, "You look..."

"Like a hooker, I know," I interrupted, "Just tell me what's happening!" I urged as I fired blindly whilst simultaneously praying that no bullet hit Valeria, wherever she was.

Soap checked how many bullets he had left in his Magazine, "We know where Sin Nombre is, and we're going to get him," he urged, my eyes never left his as he spoke in such an animated manner. All I could think about was Valeria, of her joke where she'd said she was Sin Nombre, and God how I hoped I was wrong about it.

---

When we arrived at the penthouse, it was oddly silent. There were no guards in the halls, no security cameras, nothing. We were truly alone as we wandered across the balcony and towards the double doors which separated us from a meeting. I could hear talking, nothing distinguishable, but there was definitely people talking in the background. The sounds were reminiscent of an argument, though I knew no one was arguing.

"Get the snake," Alejandro suggested as Soap approached the door before he crouched down and dug into the bag the Mexican had thrown towards him, "See who's in there, we need positive ID on El Sin Nombre," he said.

I laughed, "You don't know who he is, none of us do," I said, my tone cynical as I spoke. I was fed up of not being able to get my way in this job, I wanted to spend more time here, that's the whole point of me being here. I infiltrate, I'm a double agent, and I'm fucking good at it... for the most part.

"Thank you, captain obvious," Soap tutted as he observed the camera, "Valeria," he seethed, but my heart rate only sped up. Whilst he seemed pissed, I was nervous of all the possibilities from being in close proximity to her again. I wanted nothing more than for her to pepper my body with kisses, but it's immoral considering she was about to be our prisoner. "I'm going in," he said as he stood up and kicked the door wide open.

Valeria wasted no time in her escape, in fact, she moved so fast that if I'd have blinked, she'd have been gone. In itself, it was impressive. But, in reality, it pissed me off. I wanted her to hand herself across to us like some prised possession.

Instead, I carried on running after her, my eyes never left the back of her bob as she sprinted towards the roof. From there, who knew what would happen? She'd get to the roof, escape and be free. And I'd chase her down, I'd look for her in the faces of strangers as they pass by, I'd believe every glimpse of her ghost was her indeed her.

"Valeria!" I yelled between ragged pants as I pushed myself further than I believed was possible, "Just stop - damnit!" I called as I followed her onto the windy balcony. Only it wasn't windy, it was being watched by a helicopter. A United States Marines helicopter.

Soap and Alejandro ran out after me, nearly instantly, and Valeria sank down to her knees, her eyes on me with a pure look of fucking betrayal. "I thought we had something, little bird," she seethed with rage.

"I'm sorry, Valeria," I said, my hands tucked behind my back as I stood over her, "But I have other uses for you."

"Just wait until I get you alone," she said, my name spat at me by venom as she growled, "You'll see what uses you have," she maintained her eye contact as Soap placed cuffs on her, the objects tightened around her wrists as she remained on her knees before me, "You'll see how I treat traitors," she hissed.

Now, I strongly doubted I'd let her get that from me, but I'd be lying if I didn't say the prospect of her getting her way with me would be something I didn't want. Because I wanted Valeria, even if it meant she'd ruin me.

I wanted her

[yeenybeanies]

Smallest Cyber Specialist (pt. 9)

if you found out that your dead partner's ex-wife was trying to contact you, would you give her a call? this is the question pip contemplates after receiving some of the worst news of her life. i apologize––i know my stuff tends to be pretty dialogue heavy, but this one is thick with dialogue --w--" first • previous • next call of duty | john mactavish/soap, simon riley/ghost, & pip lagomorph/lag (oc) 4,221 words strong language warning reblogs > likes!! thanks for reading!! patreon ✨ ko-fi ✨ ao3

Pip woke up with a gasp, her limbs flailing, tangling in the fabric around her. Where was she? When has she fallen asleep? What—? 

With a frustrated grunt, she kicked the fabric off and sat upright. 

The barracks. She was in the barracks, in a nest of blankets on someone’s bunk. It smelled like Soap’s. 

Soap, asleep and snoring softly to her left, confirmed that it was, in fact, his bunk. The sergeant was lying on his stomach with his arms hugging his pillow to his chest and his head turned towards her. His face was soft and relaxed. Her stirring hadn’t disturbed him, it seemed. Good. 

The adjacent bunk—Ghost’s—was empty. With Soap blocking her view of the other side, she couldn’t tell if Gaz was in his either. Many of the other bunks were occupied, though. It must have been night time. That would explain why the lights were out.

Gods above, she’d slept that long? 

Passed out for that long, more like. Pip could taste the lingering notes of whiskey on her tongue. At least she didn’t have a headache…

Unconsciously, she reached to the side for her glove, but paused when her fingers met the coarse fabric. 

The glove. 

Heat rose in her cheeks. This was Ghost’s glove. And, in her half-drunk, grief-stricken stupor, she’d humped the damn thing. 

A fucking glove. How embarrassing. 

Worse still, she could see herself doing it again. 

Pip dropped her head into her hands and bit back a groan. Alcohol and humping spare articles of clothing was not how she wanted to mourn the loss of her best friend. She scrubbed down her face and stared off into the darkness, brows pinched. 

Laswell had mentioned that Dana was trying to contact her. For reasons she couldn’t begin to comprehend, Looker’s ex-wife was looking for Pip. And, against her better judgment,  Pip was coming around to the idea of obliging her. She already had Dana’s number—an in-case-of-emergencies bit of information Looker had given her to use in case no one else was able to inform his family of his death. 

She never told him that she’d found Dana’s contact information and run a thorough background check on her long before that. The point was: one way or another, she had Dana’s number.  

Pip reached past the glove for her backpack and the computer within. She glanced at the time on the screen. Three thirty-seven AM. That would make it six thirty-seven PM back in Texas, where Dana lived. That wasn’t too late to call. 

But did Pip actually want to call? Of course she didn’t. Why was she even entertaining this idea? It was stupid! 

She pulled up her SMS app and scrolled to Ghost’s contact. 

>> it’s lag. where are you?

His response came only a minute later—admittedly, much faster than she’d expected. 

How did you get this number &lt;<

Pip rolled her eyes. 

>> i have everyone’s number. even the secret ones. you’re not in your bunk.

Observant of you. &lt;<

He was being annoying. To use his own words, a right wanker. Pip clenched her jaw and took a breath. She was trying to figure out how to rephrase what she wanted to say to him without all of the nasty words, when he started typing again. 

I’m talking with Price. What do you need? &lt;<

>> i need to make a call. need to go somewhere private.

Get Soap to take you. &lt;<

Ugh. Why was he like this? One minute, he was compassionate—in his own weird, Ghost-y way—and the next he was being an ass. Or, in Soap’s words, a bawbag. 

Human insults were so… dissatisfying.

A part of her welcomed the banter as a distraction. But most of her just found it frustrating. She typed back:

>> he’s asleep. assuming gaz is too. don’t want to wake them. >> if you don’t want to help, fine. i’ll jump down, hope i don’t break my other leg, and find somewhere to go on my own.

Sounds dramatic. Be there in a minute. &lt;<

Yes, it was dramatic. But it worked. Pip snapped her laptop shut and dug her fingers into her hair. Soap stirred next to her, drawing Pip’s attention to him. He adjusted his hold on the pillow, and nuzzled further into it. His chest heaved in a heavy sigh, the warmth of his breath washing over Pip. The pink of his tongue flashed momentarily between his lips. 

Pip shivered. Gods, she missed Looker. 

And then she silently looked away and berated herself for that thought. Pull yourself together. You’re probably about to talk to his ex-wife.  

“Lag?” Soap’s voice made Pip jump. Her head whipped around to face Soap again. He still looked half asleep, his eyes half-lidded. He breathed out sharply through his nose. “Spooky. You’ve got those glowy eyes.” 

Pip blinked. It was true; in low light, hideling eyes did shine red. 

“Go back to sleep, Soap,” she said. 

A soft smile shaped his lips, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. He shifted to lie on his side. “You okay?” 

Pip’s expression fell. She looked away and fidgeted idly with her hands. “No, I’m really not,” she said honestly, “but I’m going to have to be.” 

Soap reached for her, his knuckle lightly brushing her shoulder. “Rough week, hm?” 

She snorted humorlessly. “You have no idea.” 

“I might—” he paused mid-sentence, eyes darting up. Pip followed his gaze to see Ghost’s silhouetted figure approaching. The lieutenant stopped at Soap’s bedside, his arms crossed over his chest. Even through the dark and his mask, Pip could see his raised brow. 

“‘Soap’s asleep,’ huh? ‘Didn’t want to wake him’?” 

Pip scowled up at him. “He was asleep,” she said tersely. 

“‘M still asleep, LT,” Soap said with a lazy grin. “Sleep talking.” 

Ghost rolled his eyes. Pip was tempted to do the same. “Shut up, Johnny,” he growled, but there was no real bite in his words. There never was, when it came to Soap. “Shut your eyes too, while you're at it.” 

Pip put her hand to Soap’s knuckle. “I’ll be alright,” she said softly. “Thank you.” 

Whether or not he believed her, Soap nodded, and pulled his hand away. He exchanged a quick glance with Ghost, then rolled over onto his other side and pulled his blanket up to his shoulders. 

Ghost’s hand came down next to Pip, silently inviting her on. She grabbed her backpack, her crutches, and her glove, then climbed into his palm. A faint smell of cigar smoke clung to him, his clothes. Pip inhaled slowly, subtly, drinking in the smoky-sweet aroma. Price must have lit one up while he and Ghost were having their late night chat. 

She wouldn’t mind a few second-hand puffs, if she was honest.

“Where to?” Ghost asked once they were out in the hall, well out of earshot of any sleeping operators. “Price’s stash room again?”

Pip thought for a moment. She didn’t need the temptation of liquor again so soon. Ghost didn’t need to enable her either. “No,” she said. “No one’s in the mess hall, right? I can work on my pelt when I’m done with the call.” Doing so would probably distract her from some of the grief, at least. And it was a more productive distraction than anything else she could see herself doing. 

“Should be quiet in there,” Ghost said. He turned down a corridor, headed towards the mess hall. 

“I still don’t want to talk about it,” Pip added. Just in case Ghost was curious. 

The lieutenant shrugged. “Still wasn’t gonna ask,” he said. “How much longer until your pelt’s ready?” 

“I’ll finish it today.” 

“Good. Then you won’t have to defile my glove anymore.” 

Pip froze, her mind coming to a momentary standstill. Fuck. Did he know? How had he found out? Heat rose in her cheeks, but she refused to give him a reaction. She wouldn’t even acknowledge his comment. It could mean anything, right? Absolutely.

“Why are you and Price still up?” she asked, pointedly changing the topic. “It’s almost four in the morning.” 

“Woke up. Couldn’t go back to sleep. Not sure if Price ever went to bed.” 

Of all her handlers, Pip was the least familiar with Price’s sleeping habits. Gaz slept pretty solidly, but he did tend to toss a bit. Soap, for the most part, was dead to the world when he slept, though he had woken up once in a startle. Scared the shit out of Pip that time. Ghost was more tumultuous. He didn’t move too much, but he was easy to wake, like his sleep cycle was on a hair trigger. 

But Captain John Price? Pip had never been around Price while he was asleep. 

She hummed a thoughtful note. 

“Who are you callin’ at almost four in the morning?” Ghost asked. 

She hesitated to answer, deciding how much she wanted to tell him. A part of her wanted to tell him everything in hopes that he would talk her out of this very, very stupid idea; another part of her wanted to tell him to fuck off and mind his own damn business. 

Ultimately, she settled on a vague middle ground: “It’s not four AM in America.” 

Ghost eyed her through his peripherals, but didn’t ask for any further elaboration. “Just don’t compromise us, yeah?”

Indignation flared in her chest, hot and fast. Pip whipped her head around to glare at the lieutenant, her lip curled. “Fuck off, Riley,” she snarled. She was pulling out the last name for this scolding. “Me? Of everyone here, I am the least likely to compromise anything.” Asshole.  

Ghost snorted. “‘Riley,’” he repeated. “Sounds like I’m back in Basic getting an ass-chewing.” 

“Probably deserved it then, too,” she grumbled. 

“Probably.” 

The mess hall was dark when they entered. Of course it was dark. It was four in the morning, as they’d established, and no one was in here. Ghost moved to flip on a light switch, but Pip stopped him. 

“I don’t need the light,” she said. “You can leave it off.” 

“All fine and well,” he replied, “but I can’t see shite, and I’m the one carrying you to your pelt.” 

“I’ll guide you. Sidestep to your left, turn to eleven o’ clock, and start walking.” When Ghost didn’t move, Pip tipped her head back in exasperation. In doing so, she locked eyes with Ghost. “We’ve done this already, Lieutenant. A week ago.”

“Same day you got blown up, yeah. I remember.”

She grimaced, none too appreciative of that little reminder. “Just walk,” she said sternly. 

And he did. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much of a change in his gait. His steps were a bit more careful, but he largely walked the same way he normally did, and followed Pip’s direction like a good soldier. When he was one step away from the table, Pip instructed him to stop, and he did. He felt out with his free hand for the table’s surface, finding it with ease. 

“This is good. Thanks,” Pip said as he set her down. 

“Let me know when you need me to come get you,” Ghost said, pulling his hand back once she disembarked. 

“I’ll be fine here tonight,” she replied. “You should rest.” 

“You sure?” 

She gave him an annoyed look, her wide pupils catching that red glow in the low light. “Am I sure that you should rest?”

She knew that wasn’t what he was asking about, but she turned it on him nevertheless. Her handlers needed their rest if they were to keep her safe. That was the only reason she cared. Absolutely. 

Ghost put his hands up. “Lucky I can’t pull rank on you for that attitude,” he said, his voice halfway to a growl. Damn right, too. Technically, none of them could pull rank on her—not even Price.  She didn’t actually work for the 141; she was just here to help on Laswell’s request. 

She also had half a mind to mention that Soap was regularly insubordinate—in how he spoke to Ghost in particular—but she kept that to herself. 

“Good night, Ghost,” Pip said with a dismissive wave. She turned away from him and pretended to examine her pelt, at least until she heard his soft footfalls recede into the hall and beyond. 

Gods, for such a massive human, he could be scarily quiet. 

Once she was sure he was gone, she released a heavy exhale. So, she was really doing this. She was going to call Dana. 

Why? She didn’t know. Closure, maybe? But what closure would this bring her? Was it guilt? These questions rattled around in her mind as she opened her computer and pulled up Dana’s contact information again. Before she could have any more second thoughts, she hit the call button. 

And it rang. 

Nervous energy drove her to fidget. She adjusted her headset. Adjusted her scarf. Adjusted her computer. Adjusted her headset again. Audio only to her? Yep. Voice modulator still working? Of course. 

The line rang twice more. Hope bubbled in Pip’s chest. Maybe Dana was busy. Maybe she wouldn’t answer. She wouldn’t be able to call this number back—

“Hello?” Dana. 

Fuck!  

Pip couldn’t find her voice. 

“Hello…?” 

If she didn’t say anything now, Dana was going to hang up. Pip muted her mic, cleared her throat, and forced herself to speak. Mic back on, she said, “Miss Ortega?” 

Dana Ortega. Formerly Mrs. Dana Ortega-Looker. She’d dropped his name when they’d gotten divorced. 

“Yes? Who is this?” 

Pip’s mouth felt dry. Swallowing didn’t help any. She cleared her throat again. “This is Agent Lagomorph. I was told that—” 

“Lag? You’re Lag?” 

She stammered for a moment. “Uh—I’m—yes, I’m Lag. Miss Ortega, I was told that you—”

Again, Dana interrupted, “You sound different than I imagined.” Pip didn’t know how to respond to that. Dana continued, “I imagined you sounding more like a stupid bimbo bitch from California.” 

Damn. Pip stared at the screen with brows furrowed, a little taken aback. The sudden hostility was simultaneously a surprise, and not surprising at all. “...Did he say I was from California?” 

“No. He never told me anything about you. Not even your real fucking name. A part of me thought you weren’t even real, but, with how tight-lipped he was about you, and how much time you two spent together…” She trailed off with a sigh. She sounded frustrated. Angry. 

“We were partners,” Pip said, keeping her voice even, “and our line of work requires the utmost secrecy…” 

“Shut up,” Dana snapped, making Pip flinch. “I don’t want to hear it. You say you two were partners, huh?”

“Yes—”

“Then why is my husband dead, Lag?”

The question hit her like a punch to the chest, dead center. It felt like it could have knocked the air from her lungs. “He—you—” she paused to take a breath, eyes closed. Calm. Steady. “He was your ex-husband. And he was KIA.” 

Dana scoffed. Pip tried to imagine her body language. Human nonverbal communication was still an enigma to her, but she’d been noticing some things since her introduction to the 141. Balled fists when frustrated. Raised heads. Puffed chests. Clenched jaws. Narrowed eyes. Some things were similar to hideling behavior; others were very different. 

“‘Partner,’” she spat the word like it was a curse, laced with venom. “Don’t partners protect each other? Have each other’s back? So why is Dominic dead?” 

His first name was less like a punch to the chest and more like a knife slotted between her ribs. Pip grimaced and dragged her hands down her face. She tried to keep her voice from breaking, but couldn’t completely mask the strain as she spoke. “I wasn’t near Dom when he was killed. I was performing my duties elsewhere at the time. There was nothing I could have done to protect or save him.”

Nothing at all. And that hurt to know. 

Even if she had been there, what could she have done? The “protection” in their partnership was largely one-sided, as it always was with hideling-human dynamics. 

She hadn’t even been able to see him before he was sent back home in a body bag… The last time she’d seen his face was right after he’d discreetly let her out of his backpack near the server room. He’d wished her luck with a thumbs up, then rushed off to rejoin Ghost’s squad. Fearless Looker...

“So you’re kinda useless as a partner, huh?” Dana cut in. Pip felt her nose crinkle, but she said nothing. She wouldn’t acknowledge that. “You’re the reason he and I divorced, and you got him killed.”

Well, so much for holding her tongue. “I had no part in your divorce,” she snarled. “You left him because of your own insecurities. That is not on me.” 

“Tell me, Lag, were you fucking him? Huh? Did you two fuck?” 

Pip nearly choked on her own spit. The audacity of this woman! “Wha—that’s none of your business.” 

“Anything other than a resounding ‘no’ is a ‘yes,’” Dana said. Pip could hear the cruel smile in her voice, which only pissed her off more. 

Who did this woman think she was? Why was Pip even talking to her? This had been an enormously terrible idea. 

“So he was cheating on me,” Dana continued. 

“No,” Pip said quickly. Defensively. She took a pause to breathe in through her nose, out through her mouth. Calm. “No. He wasn’t. Never did. He loved you, Dana.” Another pause. “We only ever had sex after your divorce.” 

That was unnecessary. It really was none of Dana’s business who Pip—or Looker, for that matter—hooked up with. Pip didn’t know why she’d said that.

“Whore,” Dana spat. 

Childish. Petty insults wouldn’t hurt her. 

“Why didn’t you come to his funeral?” Dana asked. It sounded more like an accusation.

“I couldn’t attend,” Pip said simply. It wasn’t a lie. “I’m still on mission. Our mission. I’d like to send flowers, though, if you tell me where he’s b—” 

“Keep your goddamn flowers.” 

Pip pressed her lips together, a little frustrated, a little confused. Humans liked to place flowers on the graves of the dead, right? Americans, at least… 

“You really are the worst fucking person to be paired up with.” Dana said. “First you let Dominic die, and then you don’t even have the decency to take off work and lay him to rest? Did the CIA give you a new partner yet, hm? Another poor bastard for you to get killed?” 

Pip was starting to see red. She clenched her jaw. Balled her fist. Dana had to be intentionally ignoring what she was saying. 

Breathe in… breathe out… Disregard the comment about her new partner… 

Partners. Plural. Pip stole a glance at her cast, and the four signatures scrawled across it. She felt a pang in her chest.

This was a woman lashing out in her grief, Pip reminded herself. But fuck! Pip was grieving too! 

“You have no idea what we were involved in—what I’m still involved in.”

“Because Dominic would never tell me any—”

“Because you are not authorized to know,” she interrupted. If Dana wanted to act childish, then Pip would speak to her like a child. “Don’t get mad at me because you’re in the dark; it is not my decision. It wasn’t Dom’s decision to withhold things from you, either—about his job or about me. It comes with the territory. You agreed to this when you married him, Dana. When you first started dating him!” 

Gods, she remembered that day—the day Looker told her that he’d met someone that he really liked. Someone he really wanted to pursue. 

Pip had been skeptical from the get-go, but she wanted Looker to be happy.

“It isn’t my fault that you couldn’t handle it—that you couldn’t trust him—and chose to divorce him. As soon as you signed those papers, you lost all right to what little information you were allowed. Even this conversation—I am calling you as a courtesy, because I cared about Dom, and I know he cared about you.” 

“Fuck you,” Dana spat. 

Fuck you too, you hollow bat. Rot in the sun. “I think that’s enough. Good night, Miss Ortega. We—”

“He has a child.” 

Pip froze. She went silent for nearly a minute. Had she misheard? “...What?”

“He has a child,” Dana repeated, sounding smug. “Almost two years old. Born not long after our divorce.” 

Looker never told her about a child. And Looker told her damn near everything. She knew that man inside and out. She knew him better than Dana ever could. He would have told her if he had a kid. Which means that either Dana never told him, or that she was lying. 

She hunched over and started to type on her computer. “You never told him that he was a father?” It was her turn to sound accusatory. 

“Why would I?” Dana said. “It wasn’t like he’d have time for a family. He was always too busy gallivanting off with you.” 

Pip started a search. She could comb through hospital records of births in Dana’s area in the general time frame of a human pregnancy, but that net was too wide. She could do better. She felt no obligation to operate within human legal channels, either. Her whole job revolved around ignoring human privacy laws. 

It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. Pip’s typing slowed. She narrowed her eyes. 

“You’re a liar,” she said dryly. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I said you’re a liar, Miss Ortega.” Dana waffled, but Pip didn’t let her gather her bearings. “There is absolutely no record anywhere of a child born under your name. And believe me, Miss, I am very thorough when it comes to looking through records.” 

“I—what—how could you possibly—”

“What’s the child’s name?” Pip asked. She was no longer interested in playing nice. “When is its birthday? What is its favorite toy?”

Dana had no answers. She could only sputter and stammer. 

“Why would you try to lie to me about something like this, Dana?” Pip leaned back onto the heels of her palms and turned her head to the ceiling. Her energy was spent, and her patience along with it. “Even if there was a kid, telling me this is a disservice to Dom, more than anything. Not me. I’m done talking to you. We will never speak to each other again.” That was a promise. “Have a good evening, Miss Ortega.”

“You bitch! If I ever find out—” 

“You won’t.” Click.  

Pip breathed out a heavy sigh, her shoulders sagging under the weight of… of everything, really. She shouldn’t have done that. She should not have called Looker’s ex-wife. Nothing was gained from their conversation; it only served to reopen still very fresh wounds. 

“Fucking pile of rotten coyote’s guts,” Pip muttered in Hidespeak. Her native insults always felt so much better than English ones. Calling someone a female dog? A sex worker? A body part? Please.  

Telling someone that not even the hungriest vultures would touch their corpse—now that was an insult. 

Regardless, Pip once again found herself questioning why Looker had ever married that gutpile. She’d never liked Dana, and Dana hated that Looker had a secret work partner. Looker knew of this animosity. But it was never Pip’s place to intervene in his relationships. He was a grown man, after all. 

When Dana presented Looker with the ultimatum: her or Pip, their marriage or his career, Pip remembered his heartbreak. He’d taken emergency leave to try and work things out with her. Pip remembered the anxiety she’d felt, waiting at their HQ, not knowing whether or not Looker would come back, wondering if she'd have to be assigned another new handler… But he’d returned. 

Now that she thought about it, she couldn't recall Looker ever explicitly telling her that he’d chosen the CIA over Dana. He’d only said that she was divorcing him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

And now, here she was two years later. Looker was dead, and Pip was stuck with not one, but four untrained handlers, on the most dangerous mission she’d ever been assigned. 

This had been the single-most stressful week of her life. However… not that she'd ever tell them, but these four rough-n-tough soldiers were growing on her. Even Price. 

Ugh. She didn't want to think about that. 

Pip rolled her head to the side, looking at her pelt. It was dried and treated. Now it just needed to be shaped. She glanced quickly at her computer screen, noting the time. Quarter past four. 

Damn, she’d suffered a conversation with Dana for more than ten minutes? How miserable. 

The 141 would be waking up soon. Hopefully Price and Ghost could manage to get some sleep. In the meantime, Pip had a pelt to work on. She could try to distract herself from her woes with the prospect of finally having a proper disguise again. 

A sidelong look to Ghost’s glove gave her pause. She considered it for a long moment, then snorted softly to herself. It was a shit replacement for a pelt in almost every way. 

She wasn’t done with it, though. Ghost was just going to have to make do with his mismatched gloves for the foreseeable future.

[ineylesian]

could u drop some of your tsf hcs for the cobra series (or in general??) also some cobra hcs if we were an oc if you want <33

of course!!

TSF 141 HCS

(with a little bit of other MW2 characters as well)

- soap and ghost are forced to sleep on the same bunk bed if they argue too much during a mission. if soap was picking at ghost (which he does, a lot), he has to take bottom bunk.

- price, gaz and laswell go out on runs together when they have time. gaz is convinced that he’ll be faster than laswell one day, but it’s not happening.

- gaz played on the varsity football (soccer) team in high school. he’s tried to give lessons to soap and alejandro but they, according to him, “just suck.”

- ghost is an expert at sewing up clothes due to the years he’s spent making masks. if you ask nicely, he’ll teach you how to thread.

- most post mission successes are spent inside cramped bars, with gaz, soap, and price bickering about who did what better. laswell is the mediator, and ghost is silently watching, making snarky comments in his head the entire time.

- price bought laswell a pack of herbal cigarettes to try after she mentioned wanting to quit. a few months later he received a letter from her wife thanking him endlessly, and demanding he joins them for dinner soon.

- both gaz and ghost are super, super sarcastic all the time. gaz is more lighthearted, however, as ghost gets more of a kick out of making people mad. both of them are still a nightmare to argue with nonetheless.

- alejandro and farah send homemade cultural dishes to the TSF whenever they can. rudy mails pictures of south america always captioned “hope everyone is well! :)”, and alex sends small souvenirs with a few cigars set aside for price.

CODENAME: FANGS HCS

(if cobra was an oc, and not a reader insert)

- cobra has a small scar on her eyelid that runs just above her eyebrow. this happened after she fell out of the window at the fuerzas hq in “no leaf clover”. the chunk of glass had to be removed surgically.

- graves has offered to take cobra out on a real date quite a handful of times. she’s said no every occasion, however, as she just won’t take that risk after al mazrah.

- (first tsf) roach loves to play charades with the tsf whenever there’s downtime. price, ghost, and cobra can never tell what he’s doing, but keegan gets it right in under a minute every time. price always does painfully obvious things, while keegan will do the most obscure, unguessable movements. ghost sits out because he thinks he’s too good for it (has yet to be proven), and cobra only likes the guessing part, but will dish out ideas.

- (first tsf) cobra and keegan have had numerous competitions over who can speak more languages. keegan wins every time, but she’s convinced he’s making some stuff up. they also argue in latin a lot, since they both took it in high school.

- (PRE “no leaf clover”) ghost has never loved a woman until cobra, so he’s a bit unsteady about a lot of things when it comes to her. the best way for him to show he cares is to take his mask off around her, but he still can’t bring himself to touch her casually. she doesn’t usually touch him either, having constant thoughts about who she’d want to spend the rest of her life with, him, or graves.

- during their time together, alejandro would shamelessly make fun of ghost and soap in spanish. he learns cobra can understand him when she can’t help but laugh when he says “hay días tontos y tontos todos los días” (there are stupid days, and people who are stupid everyday), pointed a soap for tripping over a rock.

[artificialqueens]

Royals (A "The Selection" AU Fanfic) Chapter One - TheQuartzMermaid

AN: Chapter One is here! Thanks again to miss Tiffany for helping me out with this. True Miss Congeniality of this season.

Royals - Chapter One (or The one in which Adore signed up for The Selection)

Adore didn’t want to do this. She wasn’t the “princess type”. But an announcement was made, the letter arrived yesterday, her mom was beyond excited about it – and God, mom could be pretty convincing if she wanted. So now there she was, on a line with hundreds of other girls of Sonage, ready to sign in for The Selection. She could see those snob Twos spinning around with their fine clothing. Adore knew for a fact she wouldn’t be selected, but she would give all the money she got singing at parties to see those faces if an Eight girl was chosen. Even a Four would be fine. It would be priceless: a lower caste girl going to the palace and getting a chance to be Prince Casey’s wife and become a One, those bitches wouldn’t brag about their precious “higher positions” any longer.

“Hey, hummingbird”, a blonde girl called Adore from behind, getting a relieved smile from her. It was her friend from school, Rosalynne, a familiar face among heavily made up girls. “It’s nightingale, Rosie. When will you learn?” Both of the girls laughed, pissing off the Twos they loved to mock. “Both can sing, Adorms. So do you.”

“Shut up, you witch! You clearly know nothing about birds.” Adore joked, before taking a look at her friend’s outfit. “Nice dress”, she complimented. “Oh, this old thing? My mother wore this for King Laswell’s Selection twenty-five years ago. She wasn’t picked, but she insisted it would bring me luck. Terrible bridal rhyme.” Rosie was playing with her golden locks. Oh, she would make a pretty princess. “It better give you luck, I’d love to tell everyone I’m best friends with Princess Rosalynne. AND sing at the palace for Christmas and other holidays. You know, I’m Sonage’s nightingale.”

“As if she would make it into the palace”, a tall girl Adore assumed to be a Two said, voice filled with poison. “King Laswell would NEVER let someone below Three even get a chance. You guys are Fives, so…”

“It’s a lottery, Brenda”, Rosie looked right into the sassy girl’s eyes. “Any girl can be picked”, Adore added, a victorious smile on her face. “Queen Danica herself was a Four. She worked on a factory. Does your school not teach you history?”

Brenda opened her mouth several times, but she couldn’t say anything. Ten minutes later, she added an “if it’s a lottery, why do they want our photos?” Adore was somewhat surprised with the idea, but gladly her mind worked faster than the Two’s, and she said: “It’s because the cameras they have in Angeles are so sophisticated they can capture the evil in someone’s eyes. This is not a fairytale, evil queens are not allowed.” Brenda shut her mouth for good now.

***

Three days passed since Adore, Rosie and many other girls around Illéa returned the application forms to the State Providence Office of their provinces. Today was the day: they would find out who made it and who didn’t. Adore’s mom, Charlie, was already sitting in front of the TV when Carson Kressley - the Royal Announcer - appeared, smile shining brighter than Queen Danica’s crown. Adore could only roll her eyes at the scene.

“Today is the day everyone has been waiting for: we’re meeting our Selected Ladies, seeing their names and faces for the first time”, Carson announced happily to the cameras. Adore’s mom was lip-syncing to it. The girl fought the urge to laugh. “Your Majesty, King Laswell. You’ve already taken a look at the girls. What can you tell us about them?”

“You know, Carson, you were right there when we picked our Selected Girls. But I can say I’m satisfied with what we’ve got. These ladies are excellent, I believe it’s the most diverse group of Selected Illéa has ever seen”, the king replied, holding the queen’s hand. They seemed so happy together…

Adore wondered if this Selection thing really worked, looking the royal couple on TV. They had two children: Princess Agrippa, the oldest, was already married to some prince of Swendway; and Prince Casey, the heir to the crown, who was right there, by his parents’ side. “What ifs” started popping in her head. What if she was the Sonage Selected? What if the prince liked her? What if she became Princess Adore, then Queen Adore? Would Prince Casey let her keep her maiden name?

Forget it, stupid. Adore would never be a part of this. Never. Her mom forced her to apply – in fact, she filled out Adore’s form herself. She didn’t want to be a princess. She wasn’t going to become a One.

“I’m also very excited about meeting the Selected ladies, Carson”, Queen Danica’s voice woke Adore up. “I was a Selected before, and I can’t wait to see the competition from another point of view. And, of course, I want my son to find happiness like his father and I did”, the queen finished the sentence by placing a chaste kiss on the king’s lips.

“Bullshit. True royal bullshit”, Adore blurted the words, to Charlie’s discontent.

“Prince Casey, are you ready?” Carson turned to the younger member of the royal family, eyes lit with anticipation. The prince nodded. “Let’s meet our candidates! First up, Miss Linda Gardens of Angeles, Seven.”

A picture appeared on screen, smiley girl with flowers in her hair. The prince didn’t seem much impressed.

“Miss Yekaterina Zamolodchikova of Columbia, Three”, Carson announced, tongue twisting while trying to say that last name. The picture popped, she was beautiful and, by her name, must come from another country. The prince had a half-smile on his face, the queen seemed amused by the contestant. Adore almost laughed again, thinking about the hard time they would have trying to pronounce “Zamolodchikova”.

The list kept going. Linda was apparently the only Seven to make it, but she was not the only girl below Three. There were two or three Fours, one Five and two Sixes. “And last but not least, our girl from Sonage”, the conclusion tone on Carson’s voice grabbed Adore’s attention. Well, this and her mother’s whispers. “Please be Adore Delano, please be Adore Delano”, Charlie prayed in a low voice, almost like a kid.

Hey God, it’s me, Adore. I know I doubted Your existence before, but I do believe You can make miracles happen. Please, don’t let Carson Kressley call my name. Don’t let him call me. Please, don’t let it be me.

And it wasn’t her.

It was Miss Rosalynne Painter, Five.