#sergeant Kyle gaz garrick | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 2 days ago

Text

How To Plant Snapdragons | 15

Task Force 141, Keegan & Konig x Female Criminal!Reader

Previous Chapter / Masterlist

“I need to put you down.”

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your arms tightly wrapped around his shoulders, and your legs locked together circling his waist. You shook your head in disagreement, feeling as though he would disappear the moment he slipped away from your grasp like grains of sand, and all of this was merely a fever dream.

Keegan sighed out loud, his hands traveling from your thighs then underneath your butt, and hoisted you up, to keep you in place. He took some steps forward, peeking around the corner of an alleyway, and slowly slid down to the ground. His hands took nest around your waist and adjusted you on his lap.

“Fine, let's stay here for a short while,” he said in a low voice, his warm breath fanning your ear.

You clawed onto his clothes and forced yourself to let go. You pulled away from him and gazed into a pair of icy-blue eyes, which you didn’t expect to behold so soon, to have him before you in an unwanted place like this, when you left his side over a year ago. But it was just like this, all the times you had spent with him, always at arm's length, never truly in his arms—never he was yours.

Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but reach up to his mask and pull it down to his chin, tracing your fingers over the line of his jaw which felt a hit rough from the stubble.

You were never his, and yet, you found yourself questioning what he had been thinking over the past year as he pulled you tight to his chest.

You wanted his mouth on yours, and now, in this dark alleyway that smelled of sewers, under the cold rain, on the run from the hunting shadows, it was happening. Your lips parted as his thumb brushed over their petal softness, and you combed your fingers into the undercut at the nape of his neck.

Keegan felt tingles wash down his back, like what you have always done to him as he closed the gap between your mouths, first with the utmost gentleness, then with the hunger of a starved man. You made a delicious little sound, which he drank and responded with the same hunger, sparking a fire in his stomach that he had once lost.

He didn't want it to stop.

You didn't want it to stop, yet you knew you didn't deserve such a wish, and so, you pulled away, or tried, but he kept you in place.

“You're the one who didn't want to let go, now you're the one pulling away?” He muttered on your lips, resting his forehead against yours, and your noses touching one another.

You forced a smile upon your face. “We need to get moving, yeah?”

“Touche,” he remarked and averted his gaze onto your shoulder. “Let’s treat this first.”

You nodded, and reluctantly and slowly, you got off his lap, letting him rummage on kit he had behind him. “We don't have time to stitch it, so a bandage should work for now,” you said, patting his chest for a knife and found one. With it, you tore your sleeve off leaving your shoulder bare, and put the knife back in its place.

He didn't utter an answer, but you knew he was listening and agreed to your statement as he pulled out a bandage from the kit. Lifting your arm up, he quickly wrapped your wound with the bandage, wincing at the tugs he made to secure the fabric in place, but he didn't take long till he tied it up on a knot.

You rolled your shoulder and squeaked when he flicked your forehead. “Bro, the fuck?” You rubbed the sore spot.

“Don't move it too much, idiot.” He got up on his feet and extended you a hand. “And don't call me ‘bro’ after you kissed me.”

“Well, I was just trying to make sure I can still move,” you scoffed and took his hand with your good one, letting yourself be pulled up to your feet. “And you are the one who kissed me, bro.”

He narrowed his eyes at you and pulled his mask back up to his nose. “You initiated it, bro.”

You rolled your eyes, which he copied, and when you met his eyes once again, you couldn’t help but smile. He shook his head at you and placed his hand on your head, ruffling your hair which was already a mess. You grumbled as he started to walk and peeked around the corner for the second time. With a motion of his hand, you quickly followed him into another alleyway, and from your peripheral, you saw corpses scattered on the street, blood staining the pavement red.

You heaved a loud sigh and something crackled from your comms, Soap’s voice coming in.

“Bravo 7-1, in the blind . . . how copy?”

Just before you could click on the comms and speak, Keegan covered your mouth with his hand, pressing you against the wall as a Shadow passed by. He waved his hand, telling you to stand by, and with practiced movements he rushed towards the contractor, plunging his knife through the neck. He dragged him back to your position and carefully laid him down so as to not trigger any unwanted noises. Then, he nodded at you.

That moment, the lieutenant answered, making you sigh in relief. “This is Ghost, how copy?”

You clicked on the comms and in a hushed voice, you said, “Snapdragon, uh, Shampoo to 141, how copy?”

“Shampoo?” Keegan echoed, confusion clear in his voice.

“Long story,” you simply replied to the man, pulling a face as you listened to the 141’s reply, but it seemed like they couldn’t hear your answer at all as they went on a conversation of their own, then cursed out as it dawned at you. Your way of communicating back was the throat mic that you forgot to remove after burning Valeria’s house and Ghost took it back to the ship. “Fuck, they won’t hear me.”

Keegan reached for the wires on your vest, carefully eyeing each one. “They don’t seem damaged.”

“No, but I talk with them through a throat mic.” Your hand flew to your neck, rubbing the sore spot where you scratched and clawed. “God, damn it.”

Keegan watched you tap your feet against the group rapidly in repeat, one of your mannerisms that he picked up throughout the years you spent with him. Seeing your dejected gaze on the ground, mapping out your next moves in silence, he removed his earpiece, disconnecting it, and reached for his comms. “Russ to Walkers, how copy?”

You snapped your head at his way, eyes widening at the mention of surnames, and voices that you had longed to hear.

“Hesh to Keegan, on the way to save a British ass,” then a second of pause, “although, I don’t think this one is British. Ehh, Scottish, maybe?”

At the same time, a quiet voice answered, “On it.”

Your vision began to blur, tears threatening to run down from your eyes as you realized how much you missed their voice, how you prayed and repeated their words over and over again in your head, in fear that you would forget about them. And you let the tears fall as a searing touch, one you would burn the world for, wiped them off your cheeks.

You buried your face in Keegan’s palm, hand cupping over his, as you bit down on your lip, to silence your sobs.

“Good, I’ve got our lady,” Keegan announced and pulled you into his embrace, muffling your cries in his chest.

Immediately, Hesh demanded, “Put her on, let me talk to her. Put her on, Keegan—”

“Shut up, won't you? She's preoccupied.” Keegan swiped a strand of hair from your face and rested his chin on top of your head.

“Preoccupied?” David repeated. “You're not fucking her in the middle of the street, are you?”

Keegan had never rolled his eyes so hard until this moment. “Why the fuck would I—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you glowered, pushing on Keegan's comms, and sniffed to stop your disgusting snot from dripping on his vest. His words made you pull yourself together, almost literally making you push the remaining tears back in your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” a chuckle reverberated from the comms, getting you to smile. “Hey, how've you been?”

“You want the truth or the filtered one?”

“Since when do you filter anything you say?”

“Touche.” You snorted. “Well, tortured, imprisoned, and now I'm here, I guess?”

“I said the unfiltered version!” He yelled through the comms, and muttered a curse, making you shake your head. “Not the short version,” he finished.

“It'll be too long of a talk, man.”

“Good point.”

“Are you alright?” Logan joined in.

You giggled at his question and wiped the excess rain water from your face. “Yeah, never been better. I feel like I could take on anything right now.”

“That's you when you're high,” the younger Walker remarked, making you gasp, his brother laughing and Keegan stifling a laugh.

“Is this a reunion or a roasting competition?” You questioned.

“Both,” he simply answered.

You rolled your eyes, and silence rolled in for a moment, which you immediately broke. “Hey, make sure to mention me to the 141 or show them something that tells them you're not a threat.”

“Rog,” Logan quickly replied, ever the quiet and straightforward man more than Keegan.

“This guy's looking funny tho,” Hesh commented and you knew immediately what he was gonna talk about. “A mohawk, really? He looks like a rooster. It gives off the vibe of someone who made a bad decision in life. He should have just shaved it all off.”

You shook your head. “Like you can talk.”

“At least I don't look like a stegosaurus.”

You covered your mouth, clamping your lips, and closed your eyes to stop the laughter threatening to escape from you. You thought your first impression of Soap was bad, referring to him as a rooster—an ostrich even, and here your brother was, calling the Scot a dinosaur.

You removed your hand from your face. “You need to stop,” you demanded, breathing heavily to calm yourself. “Because if you don't, I won't be able to stop laughing and we will get compromised.”

“Rotten pineapple looking ass.”

“Stop—”

“The dark evil troll from Trolls Movie.”

“Hesh—”

“The visual representation of hair growing on the tip of the penis.”

“BWAHAHAHAHA—hmph!” Keegan's hand clamped over your mouth, but it didn't stop you from laughing on his hand, hitting the Sergeant’s arm. Your body trembled, your eyes watered and it felt like air had been knocked out from your lungs.

You were so going to hell for this.

But your laughter immediately died down as you heard footsteps rushing towards your location, and you shot a look of apologies to the sergeant.

He shook his head at you and gestured at you both to get to work, just like the old times.

Soap looked over his shoulder once more, eyes narrowing at the dim alleyway behind him for the third time. He could have sworn he heard some voices, but everytime he took a stumbling step forward, his footfall and the conversations between Shadows would drown out the noise which had been following him for a few minutes now.

He got in contact with Ghost, but he had not heard a word from their bonnie since he escaped on his own. And the Lt. even stated that you stayed behind to let him escape and gave him a phone to contact Price, but the phone had died down due to the unfortunate weather.

Although, at first, he was a bit cautious of what you wrote on the notebook, at the moment, their last resort was to believe your words, and his mission now was to get away from the Shadows, meet up with the lieutenant and get Price.

Only, if he wasn't so dizzy right now that it seemed like everything was spinning and he fell on his knees.

“Hey.”

Shit. He rushed back up on his feet. That sounded American.

“Leave me no choice.”

The next thing he knew, a hand covered his mouth. He struggled to get out of the man’s grasp, the slickness of their clothes made it hard along with the fact his arm was hurting and he was dragged back into an alley.

Just as Soap got hold of the man's arm, something was shoved before his eyes, making him freeze. A photo of a woman between two men, hugging one another and sporting huge and bright smiles on their faces. His eyes widened at the features of the woman.

Bonnie.

“Recognize her?” Hesh let go of Soap and slowly backed away from him, still showing the photo whilst he raised his other hand in the air.

Soap pushed himself to the wall. “That's . . .” he trailed off, scanning the man from head to toe. Sounds American, looks American.

“My sister,” Hesh confessed and stashed the photo in his pocket. “We're here to help around, by her request.”

Soap frowned. “Ye donnae look like her.”

“She's adopted.”

That made him frown even more. How could someone just casually say that? But more importantly, why didn't you mention any family members to the 141 before? Heck, now that he raked his mind about you, he barely knew anything about you at all. You were like a big puzzle with so many pieces missing and the pieces he had in his hands might even be lies.

“If you don't believe me, feel free to ask anything that can make you believe me,” Hesh offered and reached for his kit, fishing out a roll of bandage and a stim shot, which he threw at Soap.

Soap easily snatched it from the air and stared at the ivory fabric, then met the man’s eyes, cerulean ones to viridian. “You couldn't stop Shepherd from capturing her?”

Hesh raised his brows. “Goddamn, she's hiding this much from you lots?” He clicked his tongue rapidly. “You’re mistaken.”

“Mistaken?”

“She let herself be captured.”

Ghost stared at the photo the man in a skull mask showed to him. He positioned a knife against the man’s neck and had him pinned against the wall. But he remained unmoving from his place, inching the blade closer to the man’s throat. “What's this?”

Logan stayed silent for a moment, eyes unblinking, boring straight to the lieutenant’s eyes, and in a monotone, he said, “A photo.”

“Fuckin’ hell—I know what a photo is,” Ghost grunted, pushing him harder against the surface, but the man remained unfazed. They were at the top floor of the cathedral where they could see most of the vicinity, and just as when he thought he was alone, with no Shadows following him, lurking in the dark to strike him, this man appeared like a ghost on the hunt for another ghost.

“A sibling photo,” Logan quipped.

Ghost frowned underneath his balaclava, annoyance getting onto his nerves. “You're her brother?”

Logan nodded. “We came to help.”

Ghost narrowed his eyes at him. “Why should I believe you?” he questioned and darted his eyes down to the man's hand, watching him reach for his comms.

Logan disconnected his earpiece and with a click, he spoke. “Gremlin, come in.”

Not a few seconds later, your voice echoed from the comms that the lieutenant now could hear. “You with the Lt. now?”

Ghost's grip on his knife slightly loosened and held back the sigh of relief that threatened to rush past his lips.

“Yes,” Logan croaked.

And your next few words made something that Simon had already buried in the dark long ago to step into the light once again.

“That's a relief. Take care of him for me.”

Keegan already getting in action while Simon is still walking to that point 💀 (I had fun thinking of insults to Soap's mohawk, sorry not sorry) The Walkers being menaces tho, and I'm sorry for the late update, I forgot I didn't upload it here on Tumblr.

Next Chapter / Archive of Our Own

Taglist: @yyiikes , @the-faceless-bride , @cassiecasluciluce , @annoyingstrawberryballoon @unicorngirly1, @thriving-n-jiving, @squidalapobre, @tallicaside @eustassh

53 notes · View notes

mrsparrasblog · 5 months ago

Text

COD porn links part 2

You liked my porn links so I thought I'd search again

A/N: for these of you who Klick on it and say you're traumatised or complain it's porn, if it traumatisez you don't Klick on it lol

Johnny

It's okay by military law as long as I don't put it in , bonnie

Johnny has a foot fetish

Just Johnny being Johnny

John Price

He loves to make his wife wet

Your Captain isn't a soft lover

Price after you flirted with a recruite

Dryhumping Price

Kyle

Kyle loves you and your cunt

Romantic kyle

Tinder date with officer Kyle

Ghost

Virgin Simon

How your lieutenant likes to see you

That's 1000000% Simon Riley

Teaching his favourite rookie a lesson

König

Kortac is fine with frateenization

Königs big hand fingers you

König with his barracks bunny

Loser König

Extras:

That's so threesome with Johnny and Simon coded

6K notes · View notes

ghostofvalorie · 1 year ago

Text

This… is stupid, but you know what, it delighted me to draw and that’s the most important thing <3

6K notes · View notes

starsofang · 4 months ago

Text

CALL OF THE SEA / PART FIVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, not much for this chapter, but as always, be cautious! a/n: so sorry for the wait, this chapter isn't as long as the others but i'm in the process of moving! i'll be moved in by late next week, so when that happens, i'll finally have more time to deliver longer parts and be more active! <3 masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

“You let her get away.”

“S’not like I meant to, Cap,” Soap defended, scowling to himself.

The four men stood in Price’s quarters, all shoulders equally tensed and expressions grim. While Gaz and Ghost remained quiet thus far, the intensity rolled off of them menacingly. Soap could practically see the sourness fill the air.

“But you did,” Price reiterated, slamming his palm on the table. It shook the room, quill holders rumbling and threatening to spill onto the floor. “We already take a risk havin’ her on our ship until she grows accustomed to livin’ here. How could you be so careless?”

“Can ye blame her?” Soap spat back. The men fell silent with Price narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “The poor lass watched the four of us burn her village down. Then we took her in like a fit of scoundrels. I don’t blame her for runnin’ off the way she did.”

Price kept his mouth shut, pressed in a firm line. His shoulders were squared, an argument threatening to spill out, yet he didn’t encourage it. After all, Soap had a point, but they weren’t supposed to care. It was a simple part of being savages.

“She’ll understand eventually—“

“But she won’t,” Soap cut Price off, leaning his hands on the table to match the Captain’s. The two of them stared long and hard at one another. “We don’t even understand, so what makes ye think she will?”

“Soap,” Ghost warned. Soap’s gaze flickered over to the masked man, whose eyes were darkened with warning. Gaz shifted uncomfortably from beside him. “Watch your tongue.”

Soap opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Price raised his palm, requesting silence. The look on his face was unreadable, but the sign of authority was clear.

“You need to get your head out of the trenches, Soap,” Price warned. “Carin’ for her will only have you throwin’ yourself overboard, and that’s not somethin’ I can save you from. We needed a medic, and she was in the right place at the right time. That is all.”

“So ye don’t have the slightest bit of sympathy for her, s’that right, Cap?” Soap asked, eyes narrowing in on the Captain.

“There is no place in this world for sympathy,” Price responded meekly. “Let alone for her.”

“And for us?” Soap questioned, gesturing to the other two men in the room.

“You are my men,” Price grunted. “She is an unlucky woman that came from rags rather than riches. That is to no fault but her own. You forget your place, Soap.”

Though Price had remained calm, Soap could see the building aggravation. It was in the way the Captain’s hands clenched atop the table, his eyes glossed over with a heated fire from being rebutted.

“It seems yer forgettin’ yers as well, Captain,” Soap muttered bitterly.

The atmosphere was so thick, it was suffocating. Not a single man said another word, caught in a deadly stare down. It was a rarity to challenge Price’s authority, let alone over an unfortunate woman who they had ruined all on their own.

If Soap’s words affected Price, he didn’t make it known. Rather, his irritability was evidence, and he appeared to be fighting off any resentment towards his own crew.

“Get out,” Price uttered, voice low, but the notion was clear. “All of you.”

Nobody argued. Rather, they filed out one by one, Price’s door slamming on the way out.

Ghost grumbled when just the three of them remained, stalking off to his own quarters for the night.

Gaz joined Soap in watching the masked man leave. It wasn’t until he was fully out of sight did Gaz speak.

“You have a point, Soap,” Gaz said quietly, slapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Good luck makin’ Cap see that.”

Gaz gave him another squeeze of his hand before sauntering off himself, leaving Soap alone on the upper deck, the summer air suddenly feeling frigid and bitter.

The cell was suffocating you all over again. You missed the feel of a bed, the soft furs that lined Price’s bed that showered you in comforting warmth for the night, the flood of fresh air in your lungs.

Part of you felt like you took it for granted. The bitter part of you, though, knew that you deserved to have those things without being in the possession of a pirate.

The shoes Soap left you taunted you from the corner of the cell. They mocked you, called you ungrateful. It painted you with an uncomfortable guilt that settled deep in your bones.

You shouldn’t feel bad for a bunch of savages, but what kind of savages would think to surprise you with shoes, even picking out ones that you might like? You couldn’t speak for the others, but Soap had shed a light of humanity in a time where you needed it, and you had fucked that up.

Now, you wanted it more than ever. The cell was cold and unwelcoming, and you missed the taste of freedom you were given so shortly.

It felt as if you were back at square one. For the first day, nobody came to offer you food like before. Your stomach grumbled with a might that had you coiled over, silently crying into your hands. The second night was torturous, and it felt as if your own stomach was beginning to feast on itself.

The third night, however, was when you were finally graced with sympathy.

What greeted you, or more so who, had taken you by surprise. Expecting Soap or Gaz, or even Ghost to degrade you for being so stupid, you were instead faced with the Captain himself.

Price stood with a steaming bowl of stew and another bowl of simple rice. The sight of it had your mouth watering and your stomach gurgling in desperation.

“Hello, dove,” he offered, his tone surprisingly soft compared to the spitefulness he held days before. It still held authority, one you didn’t think would ever rid itself, but it wasn’t as angry as expected.

You gave him a nod in response but said nothing. A touch of dread crept up your spine. He was all too calm to you, who had nearly sent his men to unforeseeable death.

Price balanced the two bowls on one arm so he could unlock your cell door and step inside. Once in, he carefully placed the bowls on the ground in front of you where you sat, taking a cautious step back.

As much as you wanted to devour the food without. a second thought, you remained frozen and stubborn. You stared at the bowls of hot food before shifting up to look at him. When he gave you a nod in confirmation, that was all you needed to begin eating.

Eating was the nicer word. Demolishing was more accurate.

You didn’t bother to eat with the spoon given, rather you used your hands to grab a fistful of rice and guzzle it down. Grains of rice stuck to your face around your mouth, showing an embarrassing display. You were so hungry you didn’t care.

“Slow down,” Price ordered. You paused in your eating, glancing up at him. He didn’t look angry, but he did look a bit disturbed at your desperation.

Flustered, you swallowed the food down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Picking up the spoon in the stew, you ate it with eagerness but allowed yourself some decency.

Price was silent as you ate, standing with his arms crossed, watching. You were too enraptured in the meal to care, even if you look distasteful. The food had never tasted this good before, and you weren't sure whether it was because you were starving, or because somebody else cooked.

You imagined the pirates in the kitchen together, chopping vegetables and meat to place it in a pot, using an array of spices. Arguing over who got to do what, disagreeing with a choice of meal for the day.

It gave them a small sense of normality in your mind, even eliciting a small laugh from you. Price’s face contorted in confusion, wondering what could possibly be funny, especially in times like this. You, locked in a cell, given the worst hand the world could’ve given you, finding something joyful enough to laugh through it.

“Would you like to tell me why you’re laughin’?” Price gruffed.

You swallowed down your food, peering up at him from where you sat on the floor. “I was just imagining Soap and Ghost arguing over who gets to cook,” you confessed, looking back down at your food. “I apologize. It is not funny.”

You could feel Price’s stare. The air was silent, tense, before he ultimately broke it. “Ghost is the one that cooks,” he explained. “Used to be a butcher back in his day.”

“A butcher?” you repeated, pondering. The mask Ghost flaunted made him mysterious and concealed. You would’ve never imagined him as a butcher, though the more you thought about it, the more it clicked. “That seems to make quite a bit of sense, actually.”

“Does it?” Price hummed with the telltale sign of amusement. It was hardly evident. “Yes, I believe it does. Explains why he’s so good with a knife, aye?”

You grimaced at that. Ghost was certainly good in combat, that was something you could see from the jump. You just didn’t want to envision who and what he uses it on.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot,” Price began. The words took you by surprise. “Might have ruffled too many of your little feathers too soon.”

“That is a severe understatement,” you muttered. Price shot you a look, successfully shutting you up.

“We do not normally have others on our ship. If we have treated you with hostility, then I apologize. You must understand the walls we have built up, you see,” he explained.

“Then why have you taken me if you are going to treat me as a mere rat?” you asked. He sniffed, feigning disinterest. “I thought you appointed me as a medic. It does not feel as though you are true to your word. Is there perhaps another reason for kidnapping me that you are not telling me?”

Price was quiet, eyes wandering off elsewhere. He appeared in thought, as if debating something heavily in his mind.

“No,” he finally said, hesitating. “You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I do not apologize for taking you, but I do… sympathize. Perhaps I should’ve been kinder.”

“Perhaps,” you repeated, albeit a tad bitterly. Price was unfazed by the subtle resentment you held. He didn’t seem to care at all. He was a hard man to read, even harder than Ghost. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that was dangerous.

Price cleared his throat, the aura of awkwardness smothering him. It was evident to you that he wasn’t used to being kind and having to resolve with someone. You briefly wondered what made him change his mind.

“You are right,” he continued. “We took you in to be our medic. Medics cannot work in a cell.”

Price took a step back to leave the cell, yet the door remained open. He gestured for you to step out, to join him. You were weary, slowly standing from your spot and taking a skeptical step out of the cell.

“I will give you the choice in who you wish to stay with until we can arrange a space for you to sleep.” Price began stepping up the stairs that led to the upper deck, so you silently followed. “If you wish to stay with me again, that is fine. But if you wish to stay with Gaz or Soap, that can be arranged as well.”

“No Ghost?” you asked in, dare you say, amusement.

“Unless you would like to be strangled in your sleep, I would not advise it,” he responded.

“That was a jest, Captain. I know how to pick my battles.”

Price paused in front of the doors to the upper deck, turning to you. He stared for a long moment, before you saw the tiniest of smiles play at his lips. It was buried under his facial hair, but from the slight crinkle in his eyes, you knew.

“You’re quite the wise bird, I’ll give you that,” he mused, before opening the doors. “Up you go.”

The moonlight soaked into your skin the moment you stepped out of the brig. It was inviting, basking you in the warmth you so craved. The air was crisp, and you breathed it in heavily through your nostrils, your body immediately faltering in relief.

Oh, how you missed the outside. Though your stay in the brig was much shorter than when you first arrived, it was still just as alleviating to get a taste of being human again.

“You will stay with me for the night,” he explained, guiding you across the creaky decks. “The others are already in their rooms. Tomorrow, you can decide who you prefer.”

You gave him a nod in acknowledgment, following him quietly to his quarters. When you arrived, the familiar scent of musk and cinnamon invaded your nostrils. For a pirate, it was a comforting smell, and you found a strange solace in it.

“I’m sure you wish to bathe, yes?” he asked.

A bath sounded heavenly. To wipe the grime and sweat off your skin, to feel clean again. You would’ve jumped into the dark sea if it meant bathing.

“You do not mind?” you questioned, suspicious.

“You’ll be sleepin’ in my cot for the night. I’d prefer if you were unsoiled. No bad blood, aye?”

Price’s boots were heavy against the floors as he made his way to the back of his quarters, where a lone curtain hung. Pulling it back, he exposed a wooden bowl, large enough to fit you, but certainly a squeeze for him.

A barrel stood behind the bath, and Price made haste to lift it with ease. Water began to pour out of the spout, slowly but surely filling the makeshift tub.

While he worked, your eyes wandered to glance around his quarters. When staying in it previously, you didn’t have the gall to be curious. Now that the two of you were on good enough terms to be acquaintances for now, you allowed yourself to be a bit nosy.

The walls were littered with pinned up maps, all varying in land. You hadn’t a clue where everything was, so none of it made sense to you. However, upon looking over to his desk, you saw another map, one unlike the others.

This one was written on with the ink of a quill. You weren’t sure the location, however, it seemed to be a mixture.

Over some of the islands graphed on the map, a large X was drawn in its place. They were crossed out with the ink, covering up the names printed over the location, deeming it impossible to read.

However, two locations were circled rather than crossed out. One was in the middle of the sea, not a piece of land or island in sight. The other was circled around a small island, tucked away from the Mainland, its name unknown. Beside it, a scrap piece of paper sat.

“The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

Washed away to land and shore

shall be the looking glass for ocean eyes.

Find the one that you shall seek

to end the curse of Shadow’s Peak.”

As you finished reading, a large hand came into view, slamming over the poem. Price loomed over you, leaning against the table.

“Go and bathe,” he ordered. “I will leave you alone to do your bidding and return when you’re done.”

Jostled by the surprise appearance, you offered a meek nod, sauntering off to the tub. As Price left, he rolled up the map as well as the poem, tucking them under his arm and leaving no trace of what you witnessed behind. He had something to hide, it was clear, but you couldn’t decipher the meaning of the passage you read.

Perhaps he was simply a writer. It would explain why he seemed defensive that you saw it, but it wouldn’t explain the map. He also didn’t seem the type to sit at his desk and meddle with written poetry. He was a Captain, and his priorities lied with the men on his ship and the thievery of neighboring villages.

Now left alone in the quarters, you willed yourself into the bath, sinking into the water. It wasn’t warm nor cold, but it was relaxing anyway, biting away the tension in your muscles. You were in desperate need of it, and you were grateful you and Price were at a standstill where he allowed you the pleasure.

While you tried to rid yourself of what you saw, it kept creeping in in waves, burdening you with questions unanswered. Even after you scrubbed away the caked dirt until your skin was raw and changed into clean garments that Price tugged out for you, the sense of unease never went away. You felt tainted, like a lingering darkness was coursing through your veins and oozing from your skin.

The garments you wore were large. They overtook your body, swallowing you whole, but they were much better in comparison to the rags that hung from your body, dirtied with nasty impurity. You didn’t know how to feel about the Captain after everything, but he was showing you humility, and that was enough for you right now. It was the best you could make out of being kidnapped by the four of them and thrown in a life of chaos and uncertainty.

As you tucked yourself into Price’s cot, you took one last glance to the maps that remained on the walls. None were like the one you had seen, not a scribble nor blotch tainting the paper. The one Price held was special, and you knew you’d be fighting tooth and nail in order to find out. Until then, you could let yourself relax. After all the torment you’d been through, you deserved a moment of peace before everything imploded once again.

1K notes · View notes

emmster · 1 month ago

Text

Group shot in the market district

1K notes · View notes

meteraa · 4 months ago

Text

Price: Y/N, did you make sure to buy the scones?

Y/N: What?

Price:The scones?

Y/N: Scones…?

Gaz: They call em “BiScUtS💅💅” in America

Y/N: That’s what you call them? Biscuits sound way better than some that sounds a like a traffic cone…

Gaz and Price: Gasps

#cod #poly 141 #poly 141 x reader #141 x reader #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #task force 141 x reader #captain john price #john price #kyle gaz x reader #sergeant kyle gaz garrick #y/n

720 notes · View notes

skauni · 4 months ago

Text

They Had The Wrong Traitor….

!!WARNINGS!!: Torture, Explicit Descriptions, Gained Trauma, No Happy Ending.

They didn’t know.

How were they SUPPOSED to know..?

Two months ago, Task Force 1-4-1 realized they had a traitor amongst themselves. Someone giving information about them to Shadow Company. They didn’t know who, until all signs started to point to you. Since then has been hell.

They tied you to a cold metal chair with ropes so tight they rubbed your ankles and wrists raw. You still remembered the day it started. Waking up with a splitting headache in the cold, dim lighted, concrete room. A table in front of you. On it you saw a hammer, pliers, a metal bat, sets of knives—even a damn corkscrew.

That first day was hell. You shrieked at the top of your lungs that you were innocent as your main tormentor, Ghost, broke your fingers slowly. Knuckle. By. Knuckle. When you still didn't confess he took the pliers and slowly ripped your nails from your broken and mangled fingers. Making you scream louder in agony.

The rest of the days blurred. Hardly any food or water; just barely enough to keep you alive. Every time a wound scarred they re-opened it. Soap held your jaw open today as Ghost slowly ripped out your teeth. Your voice long gone from hours of shrieking before this. No fight left in you when their radio's crackled to life. "Soap, Ghost, hall. Now." Price spoke. His voice sounded uneasy.

When they left you tilted your head forward. Letting the blood from your removed teeth drip slowly from your lips. It was painful to breathe. Bruised, cracked, and maybe even broken ribs and a broken nose they kept targeting so it never healed. A broken hand and forearm from three harsh strikes of the hammer. Several deep gashes from some of the knives Ghost used on you. A dislocated kneecap from being bashed in by the metal bat.

You couldn’t hear what they talked about out in the hall. But you knew it was something shocking based on the dead silence that came after Price’s muffled voice. In all honesty, over these two months, you started thinking it was your fault this happened to you. Thinking it was your fault you were framed; you just made yourself too easy a target to frame as the traitor.

You heard rushing feet and the sound of vomiting in the trash can down the hall. You guessed Gaz since you heard Soap ask Price something, you heard Price’s gruff grunt and Ghost’s Manchester accent as he swore under his breath. Your eyes fluttered in exhaustion but snapped open on instinct as you heard the door open again. They’d caught the real traitor, a newer recruit who had everyone wrapped around her finger.

Price had entered the room.

“I didn’t do it…” You whispered hoarsely. Your captain nodded. “I know, Y/N… I know…” he whispered softly. You flinched as he unsheathed his knife from its holster, he moved slowly as he cut your hands and legs free. He tried to pick you up but you cried out. He carefully set you back down and radioed for a few medics. They arrived a short while later as Price kept you awake to be sure you couldn’t slip away before everyone could apologize at the very least.

The medics came soon enough and moved you carefully onto a gurney so as to avoid shattering any bones further. They moved you to the med bay as fast as possible to get your wounds tended to and disinfected. Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Price all sat outside of the med bay as they listened to your agonized shrieks and whales of pain from the medics setting your already healing knuckles back in place.

It took a few hours after your corrective knee surgery for the boys to be allowed to finally see you. The medics said you’d be out for a few days so your body could regain a small bit of strength. None of the team wanted to leave your side. They all had set themselves up so they could sleep by the cot the medics placed you on. In and out, they would individually go on missions or go in pairs so two of them could still keep their eyes on you incase you woke up.

A few days turned into a few weeks. And you finally woke up. But not as easily as the team would have wished. A cold sweat soaking your forehead as you groaned in agony in your sleep until you woke up shrieking and tried to curl into yourself for comfort, only causing yourself more pain. The boys had to pin you down so the medic could inject the pain killer.

Through the times you were awake, you refused to let any of them remotely try to touch you. They could see it. The distance you put between yourself and them. The distrust in your eyes. The anger and hurt in your furrowed brow. You had trusted them with your life. And now you were beginning to think you should have never let your guard down. Not for one damn second. But a small part of you thought it was somehow your own fault…

Gaz spent the most time with you. No touching, just trying to get you to talk. Even if in anger. He was slowly piecing your trust in him back together bit by bit. When physical therapy came around you asked him to help you because your knee hurt too much to do it alone and the medic seemed busy with another soldier. The rest of the team saw this, beginning to hope they had a chance at forgiveness as well. They weren’t aware that you never forgave Gaz. You just trusted him enough to count him as a person you will let help you. Not a friend. And not a teammate. Not anymore.

Soap was the second to earn the right to help you, then Price not too long after that. Ghost… was a different story. All he did was glare at you, as if he still thought you were the traitor. To which you returned the hostility. He hadn’t let it show, but he was devastated. He wished he’d have never believed that false evidence. He couldn’t even look at you because all he saw was his work etched into your body. That was why he glared. It wasn’t meant for you, it was directed at his work that scarred your body.

When you could walk on your own without crutches, you went to Price in the break room where everyone was. Expression cold and dead serious as you handed him resignation papers. He froze. “You can’t… we need you on this team Y/N—“ he started but you cut him off. “Need? Or want me here because you loathe yourselves so much you need me to reassure you that you’re forgiven with my presence?” He staggered back. “I never forgave any of you.” You added.

“There isn’t a day we’ve woken up without regretting—“ he tried again. “You don’t get to play that card! Do you know how many times I woke up crying in agony from wounds that are already healed because of you four!? Oh, or how about the fact I can’t stand to be touched by ANYONE anymore!” You snapped back. “Y/N…” Price started to beg. “No. I hate you. All of you. For what you did to me. Don’t even contact me. If you have something to tell me, keep it to yourselves.”

The team was silent. You walked to your barracks and packed. Booked a flight back to your hometown. And walked out the doors of the base. Giving none of them the time of day to apologize or try to fix things between you and them. You hadn’t even told them you neglected to sleep most nights out of fear someone would come out of the shadows and beat you half to death again…

832 notes · View notes