#this is sure as hell not cod anymore

[sunfishsiestalah]

Made a cracked AU where the Collective is a widely popular ВИА/band and Bell is the newcomer

if you can't read the cursive: im sorry

if you can read the cursive, somehow: im so so sorry for butchering the alphabet

[velvetures]

Omg I love your stories so much especially the cod ones 😍😍😍 could you please write a ghost x reader oneshot where the reader maybe gets shot taking a bullet meant for him and maybe they are in an established relationship please with a happy ending

Ignoring Orders & Accepting Lead

A/N: I loved this req. and I hope you're okay with the direction I took this in. I'm trying to get the other asks I've been sent finished in a somewhat timely manner... haha! Honestly, I never thought anyone would enjoy my writing as much as all of you have. <3 Summary: Established relationships mean occasional arguments... You and Ghost have one before a mission. And the make-up conversation is a little less than standard for most couples. T/W: Canonical Violence, guns, knives, Blood, Death (non-major characters), severe injuries, tension, hurt/comfort, HAPPY ENDING, Ghost being a bit overprotective, Reader being a smartass, not proofread.

Arguments with Ghost happened a lot more frequently than anyone would ever suspect. While he liked to stay quiet when the opportunity arose, it was also know that if you could avoid a conflict, you would just to make sure the temperature of the situation didn’t rise too high. As a pair, it made you great operators, just for the skill-set you each had as well as the predisposition to get things done quickly, and quietly. As for being in a relationship, your character’s held zero influence on the way that you cared about each other of how that would display itself during moments of tension or disagreement. Especially in moments during missions where things weren’t going to plan, and your ideas severely countered Ghost’s.

One of those fights had occurred right before you’d been dropped into a very small town outside of Culiacán, Sinaloa. At HQ, Price was splitting everyone up for their distinct purposes, and you’d been immediately assigned with Ghost for an infil job. One requiring both of you to get in and get out of the well-known cartel stronghold without getting caught or being killed. Naturally you accepted the task without so much as flinching, whereas Ghost didn’t have such an easygoing attitude about it.

He was fucking furious.

First he tried threatening Price, demanding that you not be listed for that and go with Soap for the much less risky job of tracking down a small-time dealer who’d been listed as having information valuable to the task force. Price wasn’t stupid enough to not recognize where Ghost’s rage was coming from, and just simply said that if you wanted the job, there was nothing he could do about it since you’d already read the briefing and knew the entire plan just as well as anyone else. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear from the Captain, and that made things all the worse for you when you said you weren’t going to let him go in alone.

One of the worst fights you’d ever had with Ghost since your partnership became a fully-fledged romance happened right off the helipad being fueled-up for your departure. God it was miserable, and it hurt every ounce of you to have to defend yourself over the one thing that you were certain you could do. Your job. Understanding Ghost’s protective instinct was one thing, but there had to be a line drawn where him throwing his weight and rank around to limit your exposure to risk couldn’t be done anymore.

He’d been totally insensitive to your side of the story, and was obstinate that if you got on the helo, he’d not do a damn thing to keep you safe once you got to Culiacán. Merely to prove the bullshit point that you couldn’t to the job without him. That statement alone had you strapping into your flight harness quicker than Ghost could utter ‘jesus christ’ under his breath. Totally stonewalling you for the entire flight and practically acting like you didn’t even exist. Hell, he wouldn’t even go over the mission plan as was typical, leaving you fully to fend for yourself and follow his lead without even a hand signal to lead you through it.

Everything on entry went smoothly.

No guards were stationed in the underground sewer tunneling, leaving you very dry and unhindered on the half-mile walk from your drop-point to the access ladder leading up into the basement of a massive chapel-turned-base of operations. Whether or not you’d been keeping up or not didn’t appear to phase Ghost in the slightest, and he continued on and up into the basements without so much as glancing your way. You were quickly losing your patience, and getting than much more hurt with hoe easily he could turn off the affection and care that he always had for you. Sure, he wasn’t the coddling type, but you’d never wanted that from him; but this was a whole different level of coldness.

Inside the basement there were stockpiles of cocaine, pre-packed on shipping crates with a printed docket of everything contained on each. Just seeing that much shit all in one room made your head spin. It was one thing knowing it existed, and understanding that tons of it were being shipped all over the world, but actually being in a room surrounded by it from almost floor-to-ceiling was quite overwhelming. And Ghost’s own utterance of the sheer volume confirmed that it wasn’t just your own imagination leading you to think this was way too fucking much to handle. Bad part was, you couldn’t touch any of the shit or destroy it, and were solely on the objective of cloning their hard drives and bringing them back for examination.

Clearing stairwell after stairwell, and only needing to dispose of two guards -quick work with a sharp knife- you’d been able to access their massive data stores collected in what appeared to be nothing more than a personal server farm. Kept extremely cold for the benefit of the rows of towers, you’d been given the small cloning chip needed to transmit data back to HQ. But you needed a window of up to fifteen minutes to ensure everything was fully copied. You -and Ghost- both knew that fifteen minutes was far too long to just stand around with your thumbs up your asses and just hope that no one wondered why the two guards you’d shanked hadn’t checked in, or come to make a round inside the server room.

Ghost very instinctively covered the access door to the room, not even bothering to demand you give him the chip or take care of the data itself. A small reminder that he wasn’t totally untrusting of your skills, but still not large enough of a show that made you feel any less miserable about how your relationship was quite strained at the moment, all of something as small as a fifteen minute window of gathering information. By some miracle, you watched the progress on a small tablet linked to the chip and HQ’s data stores, watching it hit one-hundred percent in just under eight minutes. Perfect. It couldn’t go much smoother than that.

You were tapping Ghost on the shoulder, and giving a small thumbs-up just as the sounds of footsteps running up the stairwell outside began echoing. More than just one or two. It was actually a lot more than you even had the ammunition to handle, considering the job was deemed covert. Neither you or Ghost went without some protection… but you’d been packed out a lot lighter than normal. Right away he was stepping back from the door and checking his watch with a stern look in his eyes. One you recognized as realization that you’d have to fight your way out of this. Ugly, bloody, and violent.

Exactly what he didn’t want in the fuckin’ first place.

Ghost was inside of his own mind, trying to balance out the fear of you being in the middle of a cartel fire-fight and the rage he still felt when you just wouldn’t fucking listen to him right from the beginning. He knew what cartels did to women, and a pretty one like you wouldn’t have the mercy of just being killed. No. They’d fucking torture and toy with you until there wasn’t anything human left inside of you. That’s why he’d been so goddamn adamant that you stay behind for this one.

The data you’d copied over was bullshit compared to you living and breathing for another day. And Ghost couldn’t stand to think he’d walked you right into this place without at least trying to show you that he cared enough to see you live. Dying wasn’t a fear of his, but there was nothing he dreaded more than the mental image of you bleeding out in his arms all because of his own fucking mistakes.

Yet, here he stood. Having to make the decision on what to do or how to get you both out of here alive if he could even manage that in the first place. Part of him was already preparing to let them take him and give you enough time to slip away. You were fast enough. Small, so they’d have a far harder time picking you out in a crowd. But if he’s assumptions were correct, the tunnels would still be clear.

He gave you one last look, and grabbed hold of your vest to pull you behind him; Hearing the footsteps of more than six men filling into the large room outside of the server farm. Some barking orders to check down the hall, while others were meant to stay posted at the stairs to block off anyone flushed out. Ghost felt his own body starting to get cold. So desensitized to the violence he was already prepping himself to commit that if it wasn’t for you being there, he’d had already burst through the door and met them head on.

“Fuckin’. Listen,” He snapped as quietly as possible. Your ears perked up, happy to have just heard him speak, even if he sounded downright vicious. Your little hand tapping at his ribs as confirmation you were paying attention sent a shiver up his back.

“Don’t engage unless they’re right in your way. Take the tunnels out, I’ll be right behind you.” He barked out the orders under his breath.

Ghost couldn’t help but feel your hand fist into the material of his shirt. You didn’t like that one bit, and he didn’t need to see your face to know better. Because for whatever reason, you had it in your thick little head that he needed protecting as much as you did. Like it was your job to make sure he didn’t get hurt. Cute and a little bit amusing, Ghost hadn’t the slightest clue where you got the idea from or why it was such a massive trigger for him to challenge it. But right now, there was no fighting about it. He’d not take no for an answer, and when you didn’t give a confirmation right away, he growled in impatience.

Reluctantly, you gave it with a small tap rubbing your thumb over his hip bone.

One minute, Ghost was pushing open the door and spotting only three men within direct threat distance and seeing only one man standing at the top of the stairs. A split second of decision had him throwing two knives, and charging at the third to ensure that you’d only have to take care of the one remaining. He sunk a third knife in, feeling the man sink to his knees and drop to the floor, retrieving two of his blades before turning around right as the sound of a pistol registered. Ghost realized his fatal error in the squeeze of a trigger too late.

Only you saw what was coming, and Ghost watched you crumple to the floor between the shooter and himself; Stopping the man from shooting him in the back, but catching you somewhere of your front that residual splatter from the rained over his mask and tac vest. Everything around Ghost slowed, nearing an entire halt to the earth as you fell limply to the ground. Not even moving to try and cover your wound or catch yourself from the fall to the marble floor. Nightmares couldn’t compare to the sight of you crumpled in a heap of gear and bulky material after watching you purposefully allow your life to be traded for his.

The shooter wasn’t lucky enough to squeeze the trigger again for the knife that embedded itself in his forehead. Retribution. Quick but not as instantaneous as it would’ve been with a gun of his own. He was forced to see his own death approach with the snapped rotation of a throwing knife Ghost had sharpened days ago. He wanted to it last longer… make the bastard pay for it. Torture him for as long as his body could take, then give him just enough time to recover and start all over again.

But you needed him… Fuck. He needed you.

On the ground, you knew you’d taken a shot. But the adrenaline and immediate blow of it had you frozen on the floor. You couldn’t really tell where you’d been shot, or how bad the damage was. Truthfully you’d never experience it, and while many of the stories you heard over the years of your service, nothing they ever did to explain it was touching the utter fire radiating through your body. What you did know was that you were bleeding, and the shot had missed your tac vest; A small stream of blood was rolling through the grout lines in the floor, staining the white marble a sickening color.

Seeing Ghost on a knee in front of you, eyes wide and searching over your face was the next hazy image you recognized. His mask was shifting with the motion of him talking, but your ears were ringing. A pitchy and high whine blocked any other sound, even Ghost’s voice which you’d always been so very keen on paying close attention to. You felt awful. Putting him through this after you’d literally just had the fight about you getting hurt. Guilt flooded your limited emotional capacity, and as Ghost readjusted to pick you up, you felt tears rolling down your face.

You’d not had a single second to react to the fourth man in the room, him having the jump on visualizing Ghost facing the other three. It made him a vulnerable target. And in the split second you had to do something, you’d jumped in the way. Laying out totally flat to use your entire body to shield his. Hoping to god luck was on your side. At this point, hanging over Ghost’s shoulder limply as he rushed down the stairs on his way towards the basement, you weren’t sure if luck was on your side or not.

Thankfully, your hearing was slowly coming back in certain frequencies.

Sounds of gunfire and sirens blaring from the street level let you know that everyone within a few miles of the cathedral would be on the lookout for intruders. With all of the people who’d seen you, killed, no descriptions could be sent out or blared to citizens under control of the cartel. It didn’t help that Ghost was the largest man in the city who just happened to have on a skull mask and carrying a woman leaving behind noticeable drips of blood as a gruesome kind of trail to follow.

“C’mon baby, answer me!” Ghost panting yell finally registered, and you were able to manage a weak pat on his lower back. You felt his hand squeeze the back of your thigh for a moment before his pace slowed from a quick run to almost a crawl.

“We got company…”

There hadn’t been any men in the tunnel. But now that Ghost was less than fifty yards from their extraction point with a “medical” heli waiting for their return; three men were posted at the gated slope leading up to the hillside entry. The Lieutenant could feel your blood soaking into his shirt, wetting his shoulder. A bad reminder that you needed to get the fuck out of here right now. But he couldn’t get rid of those fuckers unless he put you down.

He squeezed at your thigh again to get your attention.

“I need - need to -fuck- set you down…” Saying those words utterly destroyed Ghost. You were the only thing he cared about right now, but the longer he put this off, the risk of you dying loomed closer.

“Need ya t’stay right here… okay? Don’t come out…”

Carefully you felt him settle you behind a large sewage drain pipe connecting from the street into the small walkway. Easing your back against the curved brick wall and once again taking a very hard look at you. This time, he could see where the bullet had just missed the edge of your tac vest, entering through the ripped hole in your shirt just below your collarbone. Every hopeful fiber in Ghost wanted to believe it wouldn’t be non-lethal. But if it shattered your collarbone, the bullet fractured and clipped a vein or small artery, there was plenty to be concerned about.

He would’ve packed the would just to stave off the blood flow. But he didn’t have the luxury of time. And whether or not Ghost would ever admit it to himself, repeatedly shoving his finger into your wound would render him down to a shell of a man. He couldn’t hurt you. Fuck, he couldn’t hurt you.

“Stay here… I’ll be right back.” He whispered against your forehead, pressing his masked mouth to your forehead.

You leaned into him, hearing his words and consciously noticing just how difficult it was to understand the words after hearing them. Almost like you couldn’t natively speak english and the meanings just weren’t instinctual anymore. God it took everything to comprehend that he was planning to clear the rest of the way, leaving you here. Eyes trailing after him sluggishly, you fought with your own arms to try and scoot back just a little further to peek between the large pipe you were leaning against to see if you could spot Ghost or the targets.

Being told to stay was always a difficult order for you. Even if you weren’t shot and struggling to manage simple bodily functions. Surprisingly, you were able to see the shadowed figured standing guard right at the gates you’d come through, holding rifles and totally unaware of Ghost lurking within such easy range. You wondered why he didn’t just shoot them, and get this over with.

Why he needed stealth when the entire city was looking for you didn’t make a lot of sense in your mind. Until you saw five more men walk down to join the others. With one cut of your eyes to look at Ghost, you realized he had anticipated more and planned of making quick work. It’d been a long time since you watched him work alone. Nearly two years. Attempting to shift your shoulder it rocked your entire system. Biting your jaw to keep from making noise, you tried focusing through the tears in your eyes as the only man who held the key to not only your life, but your heart in his fist.

Ghost kept reevaluating his odds with each step closer. Feeling distracted in the worst way with the guilt of leaving you unprotected, and in no position to defend yourself in the case that he wasn’t able to take all of these men alone. Those odds -either realistic or narcissistic confidence- didn’t phase the Lieutenant in the slightest. He was fueled with rage. And while these bastards hadn’t done anything, just being in his path was a death sentence.

The fight started smoothy and efficiently, taking out the largest of the men and using his half-dead form as enough of a shield to eliminate the threat of three 12.7x99mm wielders, too surprised to shoot off five rounds. Another three surrounded him with nothing more than machetes swiping through the air with near misses. One smooth draw of his own pistol dropped two men, and when Ghost turned around to face the third the butt of a shotgun smacked across his vision, dropping him to his knees and hearing his pistol slide across the floor out of reach.

He hauled himself to a knee, watching the man throw the empty shotgun away and approach with a knife, glinting in the sunlight just on the outside of the tunnel. Ghost could actually hear the rotor blades of the helicopter cranking up, set into motion by the small tracker in his belt giving the pilot a comm-less tip off. He’d have to fight this hand-to-hand, and while he didn’t feel the least bit tired, Ghost knew a long fight only risked you further. And fuck if making you wait didn’t make his hair stand up on edge. Even in your state, he knew better than to think you wouldn’t start getting worried in the next couple of minutes.

His opponent took the first blow and used the hilt of his large blade to connect fully with Ghost’s jaw. A heavy crack sounded, but the Lieutenant merely flinched; Throwing his own weight on the weight-matched man, and there ensued a grappling match that risked deadly knife wounds being grazed against straining forearms and a battle of wills that totally opposed one another on every basis… Save for being the last man standing. For the second time in a single mission, Ghost found himself at the razor’s edge of a knife pressing against his throat and no really foolproof tactic of getting out of it.

“Seré el que te mate, fantasma..” The man breathed hotly against Ghost’s ear, jerking the knife closer and fighting the sheer strength in the Lieutenant’s arm. “Colgaré tu cabeza en mi pared, bastardo.”

Ghost fumbled with his other hand under the pressure on his throat began taking away the normal dexterity he functioned with; Trying to find a knife on his belt, or any kind of weapon at this point. Only all of them had been embedded in the dead bodies scattered around them. It had been a bad decision to listen to Price when he said to pack lightly. It would be the end of him.

Simon Riley didn’t show himself often during missions. Always locked away in the recesses of Ghost’s mind, quietly biding his time until there was the few-and-far-between moment for him to appear for a few moments. Typically in the darkness of your shared bedroom with your face pressed between his shoulder blades and your little arm wrapped around his waist.

Simon loved feeling your hand against his belly, twitching your fingers in your sleep and reminding him just how soft and loving you were; Happy to hold his hand tightly in the middle of unconsciousness just like you did when awake. Ghost did everything he could to protect Simon from anyone and anything that could hurt the other half of himself. But hearing another pistol register loudly in the tunnel, echoing back and forth for almost a whole minute; Ghost found himself losing control to Simon.

He felt the man above him slump in dead weight against his back. Muscles slack and the knife held to his throat clanged to the concrete. Looking in the direction of the shot, whatever protective grasp Ghost had on himself utterly dissolved. You’d managed to lay yourself out on the floor, hardly propped up on one elbow with your smoking pistol shaking in your hands. Tears spilled over your cheeks and with each second that passed, he could visualize the pain you felt from such a rough kickback in how you abruptly dropped the pistol in front of you and collapsed flat on the floor with a low groan.

He couldn’t have moved to your side faster.

Immediately picking you up again and making the very short but tense run back to the heli; all the while the pilot was looking between his instruments and the sight of Ghost holding you close to his chest in the floor.

“No one… threatens… to kill you… but me…” You mutter pained, bearing a muddled smile up at Ghost.

Unbelievable… Ghost hardened his stare, putting pressure to your wound and watching in quiet grief that he needed to cause you pain.

“Good shot… did good baby…,” He whispered back weakly, burying his face in your neck and squeezing you against him. Desperate to get you home and safe.

“Gonna ignore how you refused to follow a superior’s orders three times…” He added stiffly, feeling you twitch when a spasm in your shoulder seized. You just bit out another pained noise, coughing a bit with the dust being kicked up from the helicopter lifting off.

The look you gave him couldn’t be seen as anything other than pure, innocent, and unflinching devotion. It nearly ripped Ghost out of the body you clung to, leaving Simon bracing you against his chest as the pilot at the front started giving information to the rest of the squad about fifty miles away at a safe house. Much too long for the Lieutenant’s liking. But close enough that he could get you to his squad and they could ensure you didn’t leave him.

He couldn’t stand losing you, and they’d make sure you didn’t.

“Simon,” Sweet and weak, your hand cups his cheek as you bring him out of an initial trigger. “M’not leaving you anytime soon. Love you too much.” Your eyes close as your head leans agains him trustingly.

His chest crumbled in on itself. “Love you too, baby… I love you too.”

Reblogs & Comments are Appreciated! <3

[marxo-fm]

Sessions

Part One. Part ii

Summary: You’re König’s therapist, and he is utterly and dangerously obsessed with you. He will do anything and everything to make you his.

Warnings: Adult themes and language, plot with smut, smut smut smut, thigh riding (omg this is crazy) stalkerish!König, toxic!König, innocent!reader, virgin!reader, König is filthy…FILTHY, praising.

Words: 4.2K

A/N: I’ve played COD before but just a little so I have no clue about it all (LMAO) but anyways my fyp is invaded with König and Ghost, not complaining, so I decided to write a little something. I heard he’s unstable (?) and there’s a bunch of fics where he has a therapist so I was like…lemme write something like this. I will give credits to writers who’ve inspired me once I find their accounts because I lost them smh. So don’t thank me for this, thank them. Also thanks to Brittany Broski, my rightful leader, for talking about König on the Broski Report Podcast. Made me want to write him some more tbh. ALSO THE GIF??? So scary in the hottest way.

It’s been awhile since König’s last therapy session with you, and it’s been driving him crazier by the minute. He realized now, just how much he wants you, how much he desperately needs you.

——

Weeks turned into days, then hours, minutes, and then seconds. Every tick of the clock had König going mental. The thought of not spending those seconds with you drove him mad and drove him with such urgency to have you by him. To be inside of you, at that.

Fists clenched then unclenched, König couldn't stand it any longer. Desperation ran in his veins like a predator watching their prey. He wanted nothing else but to see what you were up to, and visiting your home, was just the solution to his thoughts and needs.

(…)

It's been a few weeks since your appointment with König, and you're growing concerned. You look at the empty chair in your office, that's been sitting lonely for quite a few weeks. He hasn't called or informed you on why he's been absent, and you're sure he never will

In all honesty, you have no clue why you're so upset about it. Upset about a client who's been absent for weeks too much to count. Maybe it's because you can't help him anymore, well—not anymore, he's still your client. But the mere fact that he's not there to tell you about his problems and stories, or how his day was, bothered you.

Sure, he has things to do. So much more important than meeting up with your therapist right? Surely not, you want to help König to the best of your ability—but he made it so difficult.

You get a phone call that snaps you out of your haze, you pick it up. Only to hear a client of yours on the phone bringing their appointment up, which is today. "Yes! Today at six, correct." You assured, sitting down promptly on your office chair. You're glad you have clients today, something that'll keep you busy.

(…)

König is sitting outside in his car in the rain. The pattering of the rain took over his rather obsessive thoughts. Not only was he in the car alone, but he was right outside your home.

He peeks through your window, seeing only a dim light through the blinds of your house. His chest rose as he took a deep breath, chuckling to himself about how insane this all is. Going all out for your therapist? Never would he have thought to be doing such thing, but he can't help his desires.

He sighs, he gets the urge to exit his car and step foot inside your house and it made him feel dizzy. The thought of just stepping foot inside your property and seeing the items, the furniture—and so forth—that belonged to you. Something you've chosen out and purchased for yourself, with love. Now that, drove him on edge.

He finally exits his car, slamming it shut behind him. The rain drops hit his huge frame and he takes bigger steps to the front of your house. Eager to see the place you call home. The place you eat, sleep, and breathe in. It's all insane, he thought, but he's König. Insanity doesn't faze him.

"Fucking hell, the fuck am I doing?" He chuckled to himself as he somehow manipulated his way into your house. His wet boots are off and placed on the rug that says, "welcome" which is funny in this situation.

He looks around the well kept home, the dimly lit kitchen and living room, as well as the deliciously scented candle that's lit in the living room. Smells like you, coconut and bliss. He takes it in, like the maniac he is.

There was nothing really intriguing to the eye in your home, it's simple and basic, but still very homey. You had your favorite comics on the tv table and the tv was obviously shut off, books were stacked against the bookshelf and a few magazines were on the tables. You love to read, guess that's new information for König to keep to himself.

His big frame hovers over your iPad, without hesitation, he opened it. There wasn't a passcode, just a simple press of the home button and he was in, it wasn't like you had anything to hide and König found amusement in that. König chuckled, there was simply nothing on the iPad besides dates on your calendars that showed you have appointments throughout the month.

"Busy little one, aren't you, Mein Schatz?" He breathed through his mask, though he took it off for the time being, there was no reason to hide himself through a mask when home alone.

He misses you, and it's getting more painful not having you there with him, in your home. He's wondering what you're up to now, and how much time he has left before that lock of your front door turns.

It's a bad idea, he's already seen everything he wanted to see, and now it's time to leave.

Quickly, he puts his wet boots back on and turns the door knob slowly. He looks back at your place and then smiles, this surely won't be the last time he's inside. And he'll make sure it'll be the both of you inside the home at the same time.

(…)

"Anything else you'd like to share, Ghost?" You question Ghost, his eyes telling you so much he hasn't said yet, and you doubt he'll tell you more. You wish he'd say more though, but you're actually proud of today’s session. He shared more than the other sessions, that's always a huge milestone.

"No." He said sternly, his British accent thick and his voice gravely. "Okay great. I'll see you next week then?" He cleared his throat and walks to the door, "busy."

"So when are you able to?" You wonder, "I'll call when I can." He opens the door from your office and leaves. You sigh, at least you tried to the best of your abilities. You close your notebook shut, putting the notebook back into your drawer as you finally set the pen down after.

So, where we're you again? Ah, it's time to go home. Finally.

Well—not just yet. As you're getting your things ready to leave, you hear your office phone ring. Your brows furrowed in confusion as to who's calling this late, all sessions are...closed.

"Hello?" You question, hearing heavy breathing over the phone—you shudder. "Schatz, it's me." The German accent rolled off the man's tongue over the phone, your heart dropped in response. König.

"K-König?" You stuttered, in disbelief at the sudden call. "Mhm, I'm calling to apologize for not coming to our sessions but if I'm being honest...I want to have a session soon this week." He explained over the phone, your brows scrunched.

You're free this week, no sessions left, well one session now. It surprised you that König chose to call you so late over an appointment, but it didn't bother you, just—stunned you. "Of course, when would you like-" König interrupts you suddenly, "tomorrow." He breathed, his voice lower than usual. Laced with huskiness and exhaustion, and need.

Tomorrow? You can't turn that down, because you know that if you do, he won't come to another session for a long time—you feared. You clear your voice over the line, heart beating faster by the second and you're not sure as to why. Must be the sudden urge to come to a session, or maybe because he wants it soon. It's not like you're busy tomorrow or anything, but the mere fact that you'll see König after God knows how long made you nervous.

Something must be wrong, you're sure of it.

"Sure! Tomorrow at two, promise me you'll be there?" He never breaks promises, not with you he doesn't. He agrees over the phone, and the date is officially set. Grabbing your pen you just placed down, you take your König's personal journal and write the date down for tomorrow.

(…)

He was trying to stay composed but it's getting hard. His desires have become more stronger by the minute, and he wanted nothing more than to have you by him.

He ended the call, smirking under the mask after finally hearing your soft voice over the phone. You invaded his mind like a virus he's unable to get rid of, but in all honesty he doesn't want to get rid of it. He would stare at pictures of you all day, and the thought that bothers him the most—the one that boils his blood—is knowing that you have sessions with other men that's not him. Most of them he despises, the other ones he's not really worried about, since well—they're his friends.

It's almost sickening how much he wants you, how much he deeply needs you. Now, König sits on his bed. Mask off and so is his shirt. Revealing nothing but his well crafted muscles and his mind going hundreds of miles per hour of just you.

And to fix that "issue" he takes his rough right hand and puts it underneath his sweats, and then under the hem of his boxers. Finally, he grabs his thick cock tightly and leans his head back. Nothing but images of you holding his dick for him instead, and that just about does it for him. Quickly, he starts to slowly stroke up and down, groans fill the silent room. His strong hand grips the sheets of his bed, the delicate fabric became victim to his touch.

The rings in his ear became louder as he swiped his thumb over his tip that was already leaking, everything around König became a blur as he thought of you continuously. He's never been this obsessed with someone until he met you. He gripped onto his dick harder and his body starts to burn with flames too powerful to put out—and his heart beats quicker.

He's closer to his high than ever, throwing his head back due to the aching pleasure that consumed him. His eyes look at the ceiling, all that hunts his mind is you. You hunt him every second of his day, even when it's König hunting for you. His insides began tightening, the way his cock began to throb in his hand and how his precum brushes against his calloused fingers when his hands move to his sensitive area.

He lets out a final grunt as he looks at the mess he made in his lap, wishing you were there to clean it all up. His orgasm hit him harder than ever, and his breath is shaky. Stunned at how good you made him feel, it wasn't him that made himself feel good, no—it was you. All of it.

He tensed at first, letting rope after rope of his come dirty his abs and sheets. "Look at what you fucking do to me, Liebe." He whispered, beads of sweat roll off his forehead.

(…)

The next day passed, the day König booked his session to see you. Of course he wanted to talk to you about what's going on, but he mostly made the appointment to see you. It's been a long long time. He puts on his uniform and mask, getting all ready for his missions and well—seeing you.

——

You hear a knock. A knock so familiar and it wasn't just like any other knocks from your clients. König had a habit of knocking exactly four times, and it's a habit he has with you. You shout, "welcome in!" as you take your notebook and pen out. You put your glasses on and present yourself professionally.

König's huge frame stands before you, and you gasped. It's been so long since you've last seen him, you’re now practically strangers. "König! You're here." You proclaimed, welcoming him with a simple hand motion to the chair. "Hello, Mein Schatz." He greets, his voice husky. He looks at you through his eyes, investigating the way you sit professionally and have everything well kept and neat. It almost bothered him, in a good way.

You broke the tension with a question, “anything new?” He continued taking a good look at you, hungrily. It doesn’t show through his mask, but his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

You cleared your throat, waiting for König’s response. “I don’t like the new addition to the missions.” He said sternly, his fists clench and you could tell that bothered him to the extreme. “Why is that? Do you perhaps think they’re weak and unnecessary?” You queried.

He shifts in his spot, “Ja, I don’t like unnecessary addictions. I find it a nuisance.”

“Is it because you prefer having the men you’re familiar with more.. than the new men looking to work the same missions as you?” He prompts his elbows on his knees, leaning closer to the conversation. He is clearly interested in answering. “Yes. Exactly. We don’t need anymore men, we have quite enough of them.” His German accent is thicker, deeper. Cutting through like knife to butter. Your pen wrote down his answers as well as your thoughts in the notebook.

He watched you like a hawk, looking at you closely while you do your job. “Is there anything else, König?” You wonder, his dull eyes sparkled when he hears you say his name. “Hm,” he voiced, “you.”

Your brows furrow at his answer, you cross your legs and place your pen down. Unsure of what he means, and well of course, the therapist you are, you think maybe he has something he needs to say about you. “Did I do something wrong?” You stammered, unable to look him in his piercing gaze.

He chuckled, and you think maybe you embarrassed yourself with such question. “No, Mein Schatz, I need you.” He put forth. Your stomach drops at his answer, crimson red swipes across your cheek and you feel as though you’re going to pass out.

Never in a million years would you have thought to hear König admitting to the fact that he needs you. It stunned you in all honesty.

“I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, Ich werde verrückt.” He points his index finger to his head, “what does that mean?” You question. The part where he spoke in German, you wonder what he means.

He stood up, and you scooted your chair back in response. “It means I’m going crazy, Liebe, you drive me crazy.” König voiced.

You mistook his answer, mistook it thinking that you made him crazy in the worst way possible. “I-I’m sorry, we can gladly stop our sessio-“ he interrupts you, and it’s not the first time.

“Ts ts, I don’t want to. I meant,” he paused, then began, “you drive me crazy with need.” He explained.

You never knew you made him feel that way, and you look around the office just thinking about how unprofessional this all is. “König, when would you like your next session?” You dismissed what he said earlier, you just need to recollect yourself. Your feelings, thoughts and emotions. He just looks at you, quietly.

You walk to the door, and he walks behind you. Each step he took was heavy—and loud, sending shudders throughout your body. He stood behind you, the heat radiating from his body and on to yours.

His right arm reaches out for the doorknob and your heart dropped into a million pieces. God, he knew how to make anyone nervous.

He opens the door for you, and he finds himself out first, but before he does, he says something. “Next week, Friday.” He states, and then walks out of your office.

You take deep breaths, like you’ve been choked and you’ve lost all oxygen. You’ve realized now, just how much König’s little actions made you feel hundreds of butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

(…)

König steps foot inside your office. It’s Friday, and what happened the last session felt like it happened yesterday. His mind is all you, it’s all its ever been. Now he will use this opportunity to his dismay. “Hello, König.” You greet professionally, seated on your black chair.

König takes a careful look at you, he misses you immensely although it’s been a week. He noticed your outfit. Your tight black skirt that hugged your curves perfectly, and your white button up accentuating your breasts. He could open your legs wide right then and there and devour you like he hasn’t eaten in days, he’s drooling at the thought.

You turn to speak, and his entire attention shifts to your plump lips. And of course, König’s mind is filled with dirty thoughts. Too lewd to think out loud.

“Is there anything in particular that you would like to discuss today?” Your soft voice made his ears ring, and he couldn’t help the bulge forming in his pants. König wanted to admit that you’ve been on his mind, but he held himself back and contained it. “I’ve just been stressed.” He admits, and it’s true. All the mission stuff had him drained by the second.

“Oh? And why is that?” You questioned, he manspreads on your couch in the office, using the space to sit comfortably. His long legs and big thighs were spread apart, making it a perfect seat for you to sit on, is what he’s thinking. You gulp at the sight in front of you, and he takes his time with his answer.

“I don’t know, honestly. There’s just something new everyday.” He groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

You get up from your seat and prompt yourself next to him. His knees touching yours, and your actions shocked König—just a tad. That’s a lie, it shocked him, a lot.

He wanted to fulfill his fantasies right there, he had you in his sight and reach, but again—containing himself. “Talk to me, König.” You comfort, rubbing small circles on his hand. The action caused him to flinch, but he doesn’t say anything—yet.

After a few seconds, he answers, “I got into a fight with a lieutenant. I’d rather save that for another session.” Groaned König. “Okay, if that makes you comfortable.” You drawl, “how about coming to three sessions in a row? When would you like your next appointment?” You made sure to ask if there was anything else, but to your surprise—there wasn’t.

“Today.” He states sternly, you’re confused. “It’s already today, König?” You trailed off, dissociating at his answer. “I know, Liebe, I want our session to begin today.”

“But we’ve already finished our session for today.” You argued, all that König had contained was finally let out. He grabs his hand and wraps it around your throat, his actions made you let out a loud gasp, and with that—König lifts his mask up and kisses you.

You instinctively kiss him back, aware of how unprofessional this all is, but oddly enough—you didn’t really care.

König groans against your hot mouth, sending vibrations down your entire body. König felt like he was in a dream, finally kissing you didn’t feel real, you tasted too good to be real. He finally has you in his reach, and in his mouth. Your scent overtook his senses, and it drove him right over the edge. He could fall off and die happily, knowing he’s finally tasted you.

You deepen the kiss, and he bit your bottom lip in return, alerting you to open your mouth wider and let him in. He wants to devour you whole and you just let it happen. His tongue finds yours, and there you both are, kissing each other so roughly. His grip on your neck tightens just a little, not too hard, still allowing you to breathe. Though the kiss had you suffocating already.

More, more, more. Is what König says to himself in his mind, but you let go of the kiss. String of saliva leaves his mouth as you let go. Oxygen had left your body entirely, and you’re there gasping for air. You wouldn’t be surprised to see if your lips had been bruised from the rough and deep kiss. You’ve never been kissed like that before, or ever.

The both of you pant, you can’t believe what just happened. You’ve fully realized what he meant earlier, insisting he has another session. This is the session, and you don’t think it’s going to end soon. “Come here.” He ordered, patting his thigh. Your eyes dart to his big thighs, thighs that could crush you if he wanted to.

You did as he said, sitting right down on his right leg, in your point of view—to your left. He holds your waist tightly, balancing you so you don’t fall. Though you’re already holding onto his broad shoulders for support. “Why do you have me like this?” You question, flustered. König loves to see it, to see you flustered even though you never tried to admit it. He had that power.

“Liebe, do you know just how much I crave you? How much I’ve wanted to see you like this…?” he began, “you’re going to do as I say, right?” He asked lowly. You nod, heat rushing throughout your entire body from his needy words. You never knew how much he needed you, and it actually hit you. König, out of all people.

Secretly, you loved that. His desperation made you admire him, it must’ve been so difficult to contain such desires and feelings. Unaware of what he’ll say or do next, you wait. Patiently.

“Ride me, Mein Schatz.” Your mouth gaped open at his words, his fingers dug deep into your skirt, so deep you’re afraid it’ll leave a bruise. “K-König, what?” In disbelief, you stay still. You’ve never done anything of the sort, for fucks sake, you’re a virgin. König doesn’t know that—yet. Though you plan on telling him. And you plan on telling him now.

“I’ve never done this before, I’m a virgin, König.” You murmured lowly, but still loud enough for him to hear. “Oh, meine Prinzessin,” he looks at you like some prized treasure you are. His prized treasure that he wanted to display for the world to see. “Do you want to do this?” He consented, you look at him with eyelids so heavy.

You’re more than sure you want to do this with him, virginity isn’t a game, and you knew that. He knew that too. But you want to give it to König and you’ve already confirmed it before saying anything.

“I…I do.” You cup his face, hidden back underneath his mask. “I can’t go on if you’re not sure, liebe, tell me—do you want to do this?” He repeats his question, and you want to shout at his face the word yes, but you remain calm. “I really do, König. Show me the real you.”

“Want me to show you?” His accent is stronger laced with hunger, pulling you closer to him. He got the affirmation he needed, and you nod in assurance. He grabs your hips at once, and slowly moves them back and forth. Your brows furrow at the feeling of your soaked panties grinding against his rough combat pants. The new feeling had you addicted and König loves to see you fall apart little by little.

His cock ached and pressed harder against his pants as your hands grip onto his broad shoulder, tighter. The friction from his pants and your grinding made you let out a moan you didn’t know you were capable of making. A moan König could only hear in his head, except it became reality, and König was trapped in a haze. He saw the way your face contorted in pleasure, the way your lips pout as he helped you ride it out.

“So beautiful.” He huffs, pulling you back and forth even faster. You could feel your stomach twist into knots, alerting you that your orgasm is near, but riding against his thigh wasn’t enough. You needed more. “K-König…please.” You whimpered out, he tilts his head, getting the hint.

“Please what? Mein Schatz?” It felt like he was teasing you, but maybe he just needs to know what you’re saying please for. “Touch me.” You demand, desperately needing his rough and big fingers to touch you. “Ohhh darling, you don’t have to ask me twice.” He does just as you asked, rubbing slow circles with the pad of his thumb on your clothed cunt. He smiled under his mask at how wet you are.

The bundle of nerves formed tightly, forming at the very pit of your stomach. Flames ran through your veins and your body burned with lust. You found it difficult to hold his gaze as your orgasm is nearing. “You’re too good to me, liebe, you’re doing so good.” He praised, his eyes focused on your motions and he could just come at the sight of that. “K-König! I’m going to-“ he interrupts you, grabbing your hips with both of his hands and moves you back and forth impossibly faster.

“Come, schön, be a good fucking girl for me and let it out. I know you can do it.” He grunts, talking you through it. His praising and words of encouragement did just enough for you to reach your high. It felt like fireworks were exploding in your stomach, and your legs shook. It was all too much to bare, and you still rode it out.

“Attagirl, wasn’t so hard now was it, meine Liebe?” He appeals, holding your waist still as you tried to regain every last bit of dignity left with each inhale and exhale. “You think we’re done yet? Oh love, we’re just getting started.”

——

NOTE: This is just part 1 peeps, I honestly thought it was getting a bit too long (imo) so I thought—hey—why not turn this into a mini series? Hehe. Stay tuned for part 2, coming very soon. Also, if you’d like to be in my tag list, it’d be my pleasure. Just let me know in the comments. (Btw, English is definitely not my first language…so if there are any grammatical errors and mistakes, please let me know in the comments so I can fix them.)

:)

[thefourthwifeoftengenuzui]

some headcanons about dating timeskip!Kenma please!!

thank you Anon, I would absolutely love to share some stuff about this beautiful boy~ As always, feel free to send any other requests you got, I’ll be more than happy to share my thoughts~

status: unedited

word count: 1.4k (damn that’s the most I’ve written in a hot minute)

warnings: cursing, pure fluff, mentions of weed, crackfick a little suggestive? Idk man I’m sleepy

wrote this instead of studying for my physics final exam😋

🩵Aged Up Kenma Headcannons🩵~

Ok first off we gotta get the basic facts down. This boy may be sweet as sugar, but he’s also one lazy mother fucker. And For the most part, I’d say that he really doesn’t change much from when he was a kid. The most I can say about him, is he definitely is a lot more confident being in front of people, ( I mean that’s kinda his job now, but bear with me) and has become less awkward around people. Very different from when he first met Hinata, he can actually hold a good and relaxed conversation now. That’s not to say he isn’t introverted anymore, (he definitely still would rather be at home) but he is more confident in himself to be able to actually be able to engage with someone. Is he gonna go out of his way to talk to someone? Hell no, but he can at least handle being approached without overthinking and triggering his anxiety.

This definitely also translates to his relationship with you. You still will have be the one who makes the first move, or at least initiating conversations.

But one things for sure, once he likes you, he loves you. Like wanting to wife you up regardless of gender. And I feel like, (later on in the relationship ofc) if you ever had kids, he would be the best most present dad ever. Like he wouldn’t be a house husband, (his YouTube gig is completely paying for your mortgage) but because the majority of what he does has him, stream for like an hour, go on call for a few minutes, or just edit his videos for a bit, he would be able to make a lot of time for any and all children he has. But that’s way later on in the relationship.

Once he’s comfortable in the relationship with you, I can definitely see him involving you in his content. Not like a whole boyfriend and girlfriend couples channel, but like a once a year “reacting to fucked up shit with my girl” type beat.

And since we’re on the subject of content, <<<<<<<<

Like imagine having the most shitty day possible and you come home to your boyfriend streaming COD or some shit. You just face-plant into the bed next to him and he snaps his head towards you.

”shit baby you good?” he asks as he raises an eyebrow, looking at you concerned as you mumble angrily. He recognizes the nonverbal gestures and just pats his lap with a quick, “c’mere baby,” and hugs you, letting you muzzle your face into his neck away from the camera, and wrapping a fluffy blanket around you, before he kisses you head and say, “gimme ten more minutes to finish this and we’ll order some takeout k?”. He gives you the most sincere and adorable smile ever sending butterflies not only to you, but all his fans watching, as he smiles and goes back to playing like nothing happened, the chat going wilddddddd. (My gay ass heart go brrrrrr)

I know for a fact that somewhere out there in haikyuu internet, there is a corny ass edit of y’all doing that shit, trust. (I need to keep my slang outta here man 😭)

ok, getting off the sidetrack, kenma is still like rlly introverted. Like his ideal date is just sitting at home watching some cheesy studio ghibi movie (His favorite is the boy and the heron, fight me on that, it’s the hill I’m willing to die on.)

If not some cute Disney movie, I also feel like he’d be into like some mystery or like not quite horoscope stuff. Like I feel like he would really be into Wednesday. If he had to watch an actual horror movie, I feel like I’d be like some of the older ones like scream or Nightmare on elm street type shit.

Speaking of scream, I feel like at least once yall would have to do the ghostface couples costume thing. Like I feel like this would just suit him so well. Idk my brains just going feral on it right now. (This was supposed to have a link attached, but it kept fuckin up and I’m to lazy to deal with it so just look it up, the couples version, it’s hot af)

aside from the specific stuff that I know people hate reading, the next thing you gotta know about this version of kenma is he is a TEASE. Like not even like an NSFW type tease. Just like a “he’s an ass but I love him.” Like when he was younger I feel like he was too nervous and flustered to point that kinda stuff out. But now? Man is a menace and a half. The type of dude to be like, “I have no idea how your ass fits in those shorts. Oh no, you’re not taken them off now~” or like the most basic annoying shit like bro fuck off and let me cuddle you in peace without being annoying. Like, he’d be like, “ damn someone’s neady today~ you tryna fuck me in front of everyone?” Like bro stfu I’m just tryna cuddle. Either that or he’d call you clingy for returning the affection he initiated. Like bro, quit being a lil bitch and let me be happy you butt muffin.

Man is putting full pussy into annoying you. He’s the type of guy to call you the most vile, disgusting, cringe ass nicknames, specifically to piss you off. You need him to take out the trash? “Yes my Pookie Wookie McSmoo Moo bear~” *gags while writing this* You’re yelling at him for some stupid thing, “I sorry my sugar booger~.”

Yeah this part is real OOC, and I was gonna write more but I physically cannot bring myself to do it so anyway, his other 3 favorite things to annoy you by calling you is, Cutesie Poopsie, Shnookums, and side piece #2. (Bro I just gave myself the ick)

Beige flags aside, he does have some green ones . For example, he’s a fabulous listener. Like, you just wanna rant and yell about your day? C’mere babes, he already got fluffy blankets, stuffies, and fluffy socks at the ready. You just wanna cry in piece? Looks like his lap has a vacant spot, he can play games and scratch your head at the same time. #bbgtreatment (regardless of gender. If tumblr has taught me anything it’s that nobody is to thug to be bbg, can I get an amen?🙏 )

The more comfortable he is with you, the more he will make jokes, but in the most monotone voice ever. Like you could be ranting to your bestie on the phone like, “I forgot my umbrella at work… yeah I’m soaked,” and you just hear him from his corner calmly shouting “that’s what she said,” not even turning away from his game, as if it was natural to him. It’s always so easy to talk with him, unless it’s about his problems, but we ain’t gon talk about that rn, I’m feeling too fluffy.

There is one thing that I absolutely have to address for this man though. The average female height in my country is 5’4. And Kenma is only 5’6. Chances are, he’s not gonna be towering over you or nothing. Especially if you a tall specimen like me. (AFAB but gender is a construct yolo on those hoes). So chances are, this mf is for a fact, stealing your clothes. No article of clothing is safe. Hoodie? Sorry boo he got cold streaming. T-shirt? None of his were clean. Miniskirt? Onlyfans- He was pulling a Gojo sorry 😋

Tbh I don’t see him ever really having a wedding, or really ever getting married. Too much social interaction and attention on him. Gross. The most I can see him doing is, one night while y’all smoking pot or something, being like “yo wanna get married?” He wants to be with you forever without the government getting involved, but hey, times are tough, and marriage helps with tax returns. So y’all just kinda go to the courthouse, get it done, then fly off to some place to elope.

in all Kenma is just a great loyal guy, who is the biggest pain in your ass, but the biggest cutie patootie this side of the nuthouse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ hope y’all enjoyed, this was so fun to write, if you liked this and want more content like this make sure to request and check out my other stuff. Love y’all bastards, Thots and Enby Hots🩵

[lunarw0rks]

do you think any of the 141 guys would be ok with a hairy girl? i don’t shave down there and this guy i was going to hook up with was grossed out by it so i’m a bit upset yk? :( if this is weird just ignore! <3 thank you!

a/n: not a weird request, anon! it's easy to be ashamed about it, i know i have before, but you have to remember that it grows for a reason! <3 don't be ashamed of body hair just because of some douche!!! what matters is that you're healthy and do what you want with your body and what naturally comes with it :) you deserve better than a prick who's grossed out by hair of all things. ☆ if it's any consolation, the cod men wouldn't be. hope my writing helps you feel better ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⭑ ✧˖ warning(s); hurt/comfort but horny, nsfw °.🪐⋆｡°✩ ‧₊˚ ⋅ જ⁀➴๋࣭ ⭑๋࣭ ⭑

『 price 』

── I feel like price is quite hairy; everywhere. it's not like he has the time, or the desire to be waxed. he's old enough, that he just doesn't care anymore. beyond some trimming and cleaning up — he won't bother. now, with a partner? absolutely loves it. it's something for him to brush his fingertips over when he cuddles you. and it just proves you're a natural woman, which is all he can ask for.

☆ if you even think about being insecure, he'll shut you up, one way or another. first, it's a gentle scold, reassurance that he loves the way you are. something like body hair isn't going to get in the way of that.

☆ if it ever did, you have his full permission to ring his neck <33 if being verbal doesn't work... there are other forms of worship he'd inflict on you ;)

☆ you catch him in a good mood; he'll eat you out until you're convinced, no matter the amount of hair. a bad mood; he'll have you bent over until the doubt is fucked out of you. it's never bothered him before, there isn't a chance it's going to when you're screaming his name.

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

『 simon 』

── at first, you thought you had soiled the intimate mood and his completely. like it was a point of no return, but it wasn't. simon was just shocked, and he couldn't help his natural scowl. for him to even be close enough to be intimate with someone, is a massive milestone. for him to notice your body hair? not a chance. he won't mention it unless you do, and in this case you did.

☆ you'd made a comment about your hair, how you hadn't shaved. "is that really what you think of me?" his words came out a bit firmer than he wanted them to. he didn't mean it that way, but he couldn't help his disbelief. he was with you for a reason, why the hell would some body hair be a concern?

☆ before you can respond again, even think about looking more upset. he's all over you once more — but he's taking his time. not that he's one to rush often, but this time he knows he should take this slow. simon touches you like you'll shatter, his roaming mouth even gentler.

☆ truly a night to remember, but not because of its lust. that would be the second thing on a list of fond memories. his tenderness would be; the hardened lieutenant reassuring you until you have no choice but to believe him.

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

『 soap 』

── though he's well groomed, and prides himself on the hair all over his body, his significant other being hairy doesn't bother him a bit. finds it incredibly attractive, someone with small features that make them, them. you would be the you he loved so much if you suddenly changed yourself for him. soap has a hard enough time believing that he deserves you in the first place, so your insecurity about something so small has him dumbfounded.

☆ shocking him into silence? not an easy task, but you did it. and now... he has to make his best effort to show you how little the hair bothers him. soap could drone on and on with verbal praises, but that only does so much. what better convincing, than raw actions?

☆ his silence is almost eerie; the cloud of desire and longing that fogged his eyes. you were his, no matter how you looked, and he was going to make sure you knew it once the night was over.

☆ absolutely ruins you, like he had done many times before, only tonight is especially messy. pulls out all the stops — prolonged foreplay, hands guiding you, etc... forces you to keep eye contact with him, and on your body as he pleasures you. and still, he doesn't say anything except praises for your natural self, right into your ear. "fuck, look at you, bonnie. good f' me, aren't ye, pretty girl?"

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

『 gaz 』

── it was a blissful moment until you expressed discomfort towards him dealing with your hair. he's irritated, but not an ounce of it is towards you. who made you feel that way? how could someone like you be insecure? did he need to do more to ensure you knew he paid little mind to something so trivial? he was laser-focused now, and it wasn't going to break. you'd never seen him like this, it was daunting, almost.

☆ he made it clear, that this wasn't a burden of his. "don't ever say that again, sweetheart. don't even think it." gaz whispers into your ear, hand running over your frame from top to bottom. "look at yourself, so goddamn gorgeous, hair or not — you don't see it. I'm gonna make sure you do, no exceptions." though his expression was stern, his speech couldn't have been more tender.

☆ you won't even lift a finger, unless it's to hold onto him for dear life, to paint a picture. yes, he's being tender and reassuring, but that doesn't mean gaz rearranging your guts. his attention to every detail on your body, his whispers of praise, his skilled mouth kissing every inch of your flesh.

☆ you'll think twice before you doubt yourself again. and he's a damn persistent man — so good luck to you if you do ;)

♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡

[whateveriwant]

Heads or Tails

Summary: Ghost has undergone a lot of changes recently, many of which you find concerning. So you concoct a plan to try to bring the old Ghost back, the first and most crucial step: getting rid of that new mask.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: ~4.0k

Warnings: language, slight physical aggression, some uncool boundary crossing, my attempt to sound Bri'ish

A/N: Hello! So this is a new endeavor for me! I've never written for Ghost or CoD/MW before, but I've recently become obsessed with interested in the characters, and so wanted to give it a go. I was rushing a little to get this out, but I really hope you enjoy! :)

"Bet it's a fetish or somethin'."

Your neck nearly snaps as you swivel to the left, your eyes bugging at the Scot's words.

"Probably humiliation kink… Maybe breath play," Soap ponders aloud, eyes trained across the room pensively.

"Nah, mate. I reckon it's a bad trim, or some bad ink," Gaz adds from your right, making you pivot in your seat. "What'd you think? Tribal or teardrops?" He gestures to his own face, attention also drawn straight ahead.

As the two go back and forth positing ideas, your own eyes are finally steered to the figure in question. This conversation, like seemingly all the ones as of late, is centered around one topic and one topic only.

That damn mask.

While Ghost's signature masks are nothing new to the members of the 141, this one in particular has had you all scratching your heads for weeks. Much like his other balaclavas, this one is dark with a contrasting white skull, only this mask has one minor addition that none of the others have ever included: A big, bouncy puffball right on the top of his head.

When you first saw it, you honestly thought it was a joke; you were on a mission in the tundra, after all. But as you started to laugh, the sharp, deathly glare the Lieutenant gave you had you immediately snapping your mouth shut, averting your eyes out of respect.

Where he got that mask, you hadn't a clue, but you figured it would be just a one time thing anyway. However, that assumption turned out to be entirely wrong as Ghost continued to wear it again and again, no matter the mission conditions. Not only that, but he's also been exclusively wearing it around the base too; that is, whenever you do see him around the base. 

It's been weeks now and you haven't spotted him without that ridiculous mask once. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he wears it 24/7. But that can't actually be the case unless he likes waterboarding himself with every shower, which if he does, then good for him, you guess.

Though you have a lot of questions you'd like to ask the Lieutenant, the one eating at you the most is why. Why the switch up? Why the obsession with this specific mask? Why all these little changes you've noticed about him over the past several weeks?

Because that's the thing. Beyond the pom pom, there's something about Ghost that's been… different. Better, even, in some regards, but there's also been a massive decline in others. 

Out in the field, he's shown significant improvement. His aim has been sharper, his knife skills cleaner, hell, even his walk has been more sure-footed. While Lieutenant Riley has always been the cream of the military crop, for the last several weeks, he's been on another level.

Off the field, however, is a different story entirely. Instead of the man you thought you knew, it's like you hardly recognize Ghost anymore. He's been much more curt, closed off, and dare you say, a downright cunt to you all, and that doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of all the other discrepancies you've noticed with his character. 

Like why has he been avoiding the team much more than he ever used to, or why does he immediately shut down any attempts at getting close with him? He's never been an incredibly open or approachable man per se, but it's like he's gone full blown antisocial recluse now.

The sudden switch in his behavior just didn't make sense to you, so you tried casually bringing it up to Price one day, hoping maybe he had an explanation that would help piece things together. In response, however, your Captain simply shrugged his shoulders, dubbing the mask Ghost's "good luck charm" that must've just gone to his head. 

While you didn't necessarily have a better answer yourself, Price's conclusion wasn't good enough for you to accept as the truth. Maybe a lucky rabbit's foot or good luck coin or whatever could explain away Ghost's overnight tactical improvements, but it didn't answer the why of everything else. 

Why has Ghost changed so much?

As you reflect, the sound of Gaz and Soap's continued discussion slowly brings you back to the present, making you blink out of your stupor.

"...been acting all off. Like he's… paranoid or something," you hear Gaz say regarding Ghost. "Like, the other day for instance, when we got dropped off back at base, I swear, as soon as his boots hit the ground, he was booking it like he was about to get shot." 

Well, that's certainly a relief. Not that Ghost is acting strange, but that at least you're not the only one to notice.

"I thought maybe he was just sensitive to the floodlights – those things were ruddy blinding that night – but when I tried to catch up and ask him, you'd think I was chasing him from how fast he ran," Gaz adds.

Though that's a bit unexpected on Ghost's part, you suppose it's not all that uncharacteristic anymore. He's been increasingly aloof nowadays, and while you're not totally sold on Gaz's paranoia claims, you definitely see the cause for concern.

"Y'know, I think you're on to somethin'," Soap agrees with Gaz's conclusions. "Just the other night, 'round two in the mornin', I caught him rummagin' around the kitchens like he was afraid to get caught."

"Hold on," Gaz interjects, craning his head to face the other Sergeant. "What were you doing in the kitchens at two a.m.?"

"Mind yer business, that's what," Soap huffs, waving his hand dismissively. "But anyway, even then he was still hidin' beneath that bloody mask. I cannae even remember that last time I saw him without it," he says, almost dejectedly.

You can't remember the last time you did either, though you're not as beat up about it as Soap is. The man seems to have a certain fascination with staring at his Lieutenant's bare face that you can't say you totally relate to. 

As Soap continues thinking to himself of when last he saw Ghost without his mask, he suddenly snorts, smiling as he tells you, "Y'know, I once tried to break in his room and steal that thing while he slept, but the lad has some unpickable locks on his door, I tell ya," he chuckles.

"Oi, you mental or something?" Gaz's voice pitches up. "Trying to steal his mask? You'd be lucky if he didn't string you up by your bollocks just for thinking it."

Soap scoffs, peeking over from the corner of his eye. "Oh, come on. Like you've never?"

"I'd like to keep my boys securely attached, thank you." Gaz shifts his weight at the uneasy thought, grimacing slightly.

That has Soap turning fully in his seat, making to confront Gaz head on. "So you're tellin' me you like the new mask? That you don't want to see the fucker gone?"

Gaz shakes his head, mirroring Soap as he similarly turns to face him. "I didn't say that. I'm just as tired of looking at it as you are."

At that, Soap throws his hands up, letting out an exasperated breath. "So let's do somethin' about it!" he exclaims, calling back to his attempted theft.

"Like what?" Gaz huffs. "You want me to ask nicely? 'Ghost, would you please lose the mask? There's only room for one ugly hat around here, and Price has already filled that niche. So sorry.'"

As the two Sergeants continue to bicker over the top of your head, you keep your eyes on Ghost who's still in the room. Thankfully, he appears to be completely oblivious to the animated discussion happening around you. You don't think he'd enjoy hearing how his teammates want to throw his mask in an on-fire garbage bin.

Gradually, your attention starts to drift away from the conversation at hand until you're right back at your earlier conundrum: trying to figure out Ghost's deal. 

Why has he been acting so different as of late? What could have brought on such a drastic change in his behavior? As you think, Soap and Gaz's words lightly filter through your mind, and suddenly, the answer becomes blatantly obvious. 

What's the common denominator in all of this? What seems to be the root cause of all this discourse? It all comes down to one thing and one thing alone.

That fucking puffball mask of his.

Ever since he got that new mask, there's been a never ending stream of changes with Ghost, most of which you'd argue are for the worse. You know it's silly to cast blame on such a normally inconsequential scrap of fabric, but at this moment, there's nothing else that makes sense in your mind.

Maybe the change is because his brain is being squeezed too tight or maybe he's been having a constant bout of heat stroke these last few weeks. Whatever the reason, you can see how wearing that mask has negatively affected him, and you're eager to see that rectified.

"I've got it!" you pipe up for the first time, interrupting the Sergeants who are still verbally going at it. You look between them both before once more bringing your gaze back to Ghost. "I know what to do," you say confidently.

Though the old Ghost you knew has been M.I.A. recently, you don't think he's truly gone, not permanently anyway. He's just been squirreled away for the time being, trapped in a cage of woven black thread. You just hope that, with a little luck and a lot of planning, soon…

You'll be able to set him free again.

~~~~~

You peek impatiently around the corner, seeing Gaz standing at the end of the hall. When he notices you, he shakes his head, turning back to keep watch like directed. 

Annoyed, you check your phone again. Soap said they were on their way five minutes ago. You know it's a maze of passageways between here and there, but still, they should've shown up by now. 

At its core, your plan is simple, but so many pieces have to come together for you to pull it off successfully. One screw up and it all comes toppling down, and you doubt you'll ever get a chance at a redo.

Another 30 seconds pass before you're checking on Gaz again, the man keeping a silent sentinel against the wall. The trap's been set, all you have to do is sit back and wait. But you're not sure how much longer you can handle until you go mad.

Just as you're about to text Soap for confirmation again, Gaz perks up, turning and nodding over at you. Before he can be spotted by anyone else, he slips into the room at his back, quickly closing the door shut.

Finally! It's time. Operation Unmask is a go.

You stoop to pick up one of the items at your feet, counting down from 20 as you hear a pair of heavy boots slowly approach your position. When you finally reach zero, you suck in your breath. It's now or never, baby.

Right before the figure can descend on your hiding spot, you pop out around the corner, colliding directly with the man you'd expected to find. Ghost grunts in surprise at the blunt contact, that damn pom pom on his head bouncing as he stumbles slightly.

"Oh, sorry!" you call out innocently. "Didn't see you there." It's not exactly a lie. You struggle to peer around the tower of boxes in your arms, stacked high enough that you can hardly see a thing ahead.

Ghost grunts again as he takes in the scene you've laid out, thankfully seeming to accept it at face value. "Careful," is all he says, moving to continue in the direction he was headed.

"Oh, uh, actually—?" you stop him before he can escape. "Sorry, but… Do you think you could…?" You shift the boxes deliberately in your hold, hinting at the favor you mean to ask. "If you don't mind. They're really heavy."

This plan all hinges on whether or not Ghost will take the bait. Though he's been less than charitable recently, in the past, he used to be quite helpful to you in particular. That's why you're the one who had to ask for his help. You knew that anyone else, he'd decline immediately.

But you can tell Ghost is hesitant to agree to assist you now, not only because of his recent change in character, but because he was currently preoccupied.

"Price is waitin' for m—" he starts to give the excuse Soap had fabricated to lure him out of his room.

"Please," you cut him short, pretending your situation is dire. "It'll be quick. I just need to get these to my office." That's where you pulled them from initially, filling them with whatever junk you could find to weigh them down. Soap and Gaz weren't thrilled to have to lug them all the way over here, but you had to make them heavy to be convincing, you'd told them.

As if on cue, out of the corner of your eye, you see Soap finally make his appearance at the end of the hall. He turns the corner Ghost had come from earlier, having successfully tailed the Lieutenant all the way from his room undetected. Gaz's timing is also stellar as not a second later, he carefully opens and exits the door Soap passes by.

Luckily, Ghost doesn't seem to notice the two Sergeants quietly lurking behind him – a blessing since, sometimes, you swear he has a pair of eyes in the back of his head. 

He considers you for a moment, staring at the stack in your hands, glancing at the others still by your feet. Though you can sense he's warring with himself, another light 'please' from your lips has him caving with a sigh.

As Ghost bends to grab one of the box towers, that's when Soap really makes his move. The Scot creeps forward until he's within arm's length of Ghost, hand outstretching as he reaches towards the Lieutenant's head. Just before he can close his fingers around the mask – intending to snatch and run, the fastest of you three – Ghost does something that surprises you all.

Without even looking, Ghost suddenly jerks away from Soap's grasp, ducking at an almost unnatural speed and angle. At first, it's like he doesn't even realize what's happened himself, but then he turns and sees Soap standing there, hand caught right in the cookie jar.

"What the fuck d'you think you're doing, MacTavish?" Ghost asks roughly.

Soap blinks dumbly, shocked by Ghost’s quick reaction. "S-Sir," he stutters, his brain trying to catch up with his mouth. "Just… thought… I… saw a piece of lint," he makes up the fib on the spot, then boldly reaches towards the mask again.

Once more, Ghost evades his reach, leaning far back like he's in The Matrix. He growls and slaps Soap's arm down. "You wanna keep that hand, Sergeant?" he rumbles.

In response, all Soap can do is nod his head, baffled into a state of silence. 

"Then fuck off," Ghost warns him not to try again. He then nods towards the pile at your feet. "Or better yet, make yourself useful and pick up a box." 

Still in a trance, Soap immediately complies with the Lieutenant's order. The two grab a respective stack, Ghost directing Soap to walk ahead as he no longer trusts him where he can't see him.

Fuck! This is not at all what you envisioned. This train is rapidly going off the tracks, heading straight over a cliff.

But thankfully, you have a potential backup in place, and Gaz quickly makes his way over as he sees things running amok.

"Ghost?" he captures the attention of the growingly irritated man, who stops and turns at the sound of his voice. "Uh… your shoe's untied," Gaz mumbles once he's under the intimidating gaze of Ghost, and your eyes fall shut at the lame excuse.

Christ, this is all going to shit. There's no way you're going to pull this off.

Somehow, though, Ghost chooses to check Gaz's statement, and he cranes his head down to inspect his boots. "No," is all he says, seeing his laces clearly intact. But before he can stand back up, head still down turned, Gaz takes his opportunity before it can slip away.

Gaz tries to grab for the bloated puffball wobbling in his face, but just like before, Ghost seems to have a sixth sense for it. Again, he bends out of the way, spectacularly agile, and shoots a glare at the Sergeant's gall.

"You out of your fuckin' mind? What's gotten into you lot?" Ghost accuses the three of you, turning to look at you all, becoming increasingly suspicious of what you're doing.

Shit fuck ass balls. You need to act fast. He's starting to catch on. 

Panicked, you do the first thing that pops into your head, dropping the boxes to the floor with a thunderous thump. Ghost's head snaps in your direction, eyes wide in confusion, and they only widen more as you purposefully knock the boxes out of his hands too.

"Whoops!" you exclaim and swiftly crouch down, starting to pick up all the bits and bobs that spilled out.

Gaz realizes your intent and quickly follows suit, stooping down to help you clean up the mess. It's a few seconds before Soap catches on as well, and then all three of you are on your hands and knees, crawling around like a pack of vermin.

"The fuck's the matter with you bunch?" Ghost exhales, unable to make sense of the unfolding chaos. Nevertheless, though, he begrudgingly lowers himself down, electing to assist despite his growing skepticism.

As you go about cleaning up the mess you made, you try to covertly catch the eyes of your accomplices. Without words, you ask them which one is going to make a move, who'll grab for the mask next, but both seem a little reluctant at trying their hand again.

Ugh, whatever. You'll just do it yourself then. Really, how hard can it be?

Slyly, you creep around until you have a good vantage on Ghost, his back partially turned to you. You edge closer and closer until you're nearly bumping into him, pretending to still pick up the items scattered around. Then slowly, so incredibly slowly, you raise your hand up, reaching towards the back of Ghost's mask. Just as your fingers graze the fabric, pulling it up a mere centimeter, Ghost jolts, springing to his feet with a start.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he yells.

"What's wrong with you?!" you fire back, your frustrations boiling over. You pop up to mimic his stance, throwing all stealth to the wayside as you figure the jig is up anyway. "We're just trying to help you."

"Help me?" he sneers. "Like hell. You're out to fuckin' get me."

There he goes again with the paranoia Gaz proposed. Though maybe, in this instance, he's not entirely wrong.

"You think we haven't noticed the differences with you? How much you've changed recently?" you continue. "We can see what that thing's doing to you. You'd be better off without it."

Ghost shakes his head in wild perplexity. "The hell are you on about?"

"The mask, L.T.," Soap rises to his feet. "Take it off," he implores.

"Who the fuck d'you think you are giving me orders, Sergeant?"

"It's just a mask, sir, and we've all seen you without one before," Gaz joins the showdown. "What have you got to lose?"

Ghost looks between each of you angrily, pointing an accusatory finger at you all in turn. "You're all way out of line! Get the hell back," he urges as you three start to close in.

"Why d'ya always hide from us now? I thought we were friends, L.T." Soap reaches forward, his hand immediately swatted away.

"Ghost, really, the thing's a bloody eyesore. Just get rid of it." Gaz tries his luck, only to be met with the same result.

Again and again, you all try dislodging the mask, descending on Ghost like a pack of rabid animals. With each swipe and stretch, he expertly dodges your attacks, bending and batting you away like pests.

"Quit fuckin'—!"

"Just let me—!"

"Oh, for cryin' out loud!"

The scene is total, unbridled chaos – voices raised, arms entangled, rubbish littered all over the ground. You three push forward on Ghost until he's backed into the wall, trapped with no way out. He fights and fights, the pom pom jostling around perilously, until finally, bitterly, he's overcome.

Soap gets his fingers hooked under an edge of the mask, and he yanks, pulling it all the way off. For the first time in weeks, Ghost's face is revealed to you all, and you'd be ecstatic if not for one detail that has you freezing.

Is that a…?

No, it can't be. You must be imagining things.

Actually, that looks kind of real. Holy shit, that's definitely real!

Oh my God! Is that a—?

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THAT?!"

You, Gaz, and Soap all jump back in horror at the sight before you: a plump, little, white rat nestled atop Ghost's head. The rodent seems just as shocked to see you as you are it, and it lets out a small squeak as you lock with its beady eyes, tiny fingers clinging to Ghost's hair.

"Aaaahhh!" Soap unleashes a girlish shriek, dropping the mask as he rears back.

"What the fuck, Ghost? No really, what the fuck?!" Gaz asks dumbfounded, hand coming up to cover his mouth.

Before anyone has a chance to fully process what they're seeing, the rat tugs on Ghost's hair, moving him to scoop up his mask from the floor. He's guided to shove the fabric back on his head, perhaps a little more roughly than intended, because you hear a pathetic squeak ring out as he does.

He points his index finger at you in a threatening manner, the holes over his eyes slightly askew. "Not a word," he grumbles, spinning on his heel. "Not one fuckin' word!" 

And just like that, he takes off down the hall, a fat, pink tail sticking out from under the back of his mask. It takes a moment before you even realize your mouth is still wide open, and you close your jaw with an audible thud. 

Vaguely, you hear Soap muttering behind you, near tears as he cowers against the wall. "Steamin' Jesus, I think I touched it! Did— Did it bite me? Am I bleedin'? I think I'm bleedin'!" he blubbers hysterically.

"Nah, you're alright, mate! You're alright!" Gaz tries to comfort him, unsuccessful as he’s also rattled.

As the two huddle together in the corner, you're left staring after Ghost's rapidly fleeing figure, trying to pick up the pieces of your newly fractured reality. 

That… was… 

Honestly, you're not sure what the hell that was.

A rat? That rides on Ghost's head? Controlling his every move and muscle? You guess that explains a few things about his behavior recently, but mostly, it just leaves you with more questions than answers.

Where the hell did he get that thing? How the fuck does it work? Why did he even think to test it out in the first place?

Actually, on second thought, no, you don't want to know. You've seen enough for one day, or really, one lifetime. 

At the start of this, you thought you had such a great plan to unveil – one that would simply reveal the "true" Ghost again. You didn't realize that in the process of trying to set him free, you would release a whole other beast, literally. And while at your core you still believe your intentions to help were good, you realize now that, perhaps…

Some things are better off hidden.

__________

A/N: Squeak squeaker squeaky squeak! [Translation: Happy April Fools!]

It figures that my first venture in this fandom is a crack fic. I expected nothing less lmao. But anyway, I'd love to know what you thought! Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

[ghcstao3]

Hello! Anon who was just asking how the blog worked here, arriving with the first, (of probably many I’m not even going to kid myself here,) cod hc! Not so anon anymore haha!

Okay. Soooooo…..

Soap having a soulmate string for ghost.

Ghost not being able to see that string yet for some reason or another. (Hasn't realized feelings yet, just can't see them, something on his end has to happen first. Whatever the AU dictates)

For years soap has been notoriously awful at finding exfil without being explained the directions like 3 times.

But now that ghost and he are on a team? Soaps just starts using the string to get to exfil.

He doesn't tell anyone why his sudden and

significant improvement to finding the RV, but

Price sure is wondering.

Also the fact that this new found ability seems to

"randomly" completely disappear sometimes (on missions without ghost) I bet the first few times the Sargent regressed to his old ways Price nearly threw a fit.

Sillies ensue.

:D !!

this is such a cute idea

-

It’s not Soap’s fault he’s always had a poor sense of direction. Really, it’s not.

He’s done many things to try and offset the problem of finding exfil—notes landmarks and anything else that stands out, writes down directions when he has time, sketches locations when he has even more—but nothing ever seems to work. It’s just an issue so ingrained in him it’s nearly tragic.

Truly, it’s just a damn good thing he excels in every other area of his work. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t still be here, he’s certain.

But then Ghost appears.

He shows up with that stupid invisible red string trailing after him, surely looped around his ring finger as it is around Soap's, tying them together. Connecting their souls.

And he seems so intent on never bringing it up to Soap. He never even shows the slightest hint of acknowledgement.

But while Soap grapples with whatever that could possibly mean for him—mean for them—he finds a plus side to this string of fate.

No matter where they are for work, that red string always leads Soap back to Ghost. All the while, it just so happens that Ghost has a fantastic sense of direction. So even if the whole soulmates aspect doesn't quite work out, Soap finally has his solution.

...When he and Ghost work the same job, of course. Otherwise...

"Sergeant, get your arse moving! Where the hell are you?"

Soap winces at the Captain's voice in his ear. Deployed elsewhere for the first time since he and Soap had begun working together, Ghost is not currently present to offer Soap his usual invisible guidance. Which unfortunately means for Soap a berating from Price for making a very, very late exit.

"What happened back there?" Price will ask, even as they all make it home safe. "You're usually good at finding your way out," he'll say, and Soap will cringe at his words.

Because he's not, never has been. He just so happens to work with the man tied to the other end of his string, is all, really. But he can't just say that, can he?

"Sorry, sir," Soap will mumble out his apology. "Won't happen again, sir."

It will. It does.

Price is upset again the second time. He's just exasperated the third time and afterwards.

Then Soap is only assigned to missions alongside Ghost. Every so often, one without him, and suddenly Soap is essentially glued to Ghost's side day and night.

Price must have figured out the pattern, then.

Soap just hopes Ghost might figure it out soon, too.

[ivymarquis]

The B.A.G. Coalition

Did I use one of my work breaks on my 14hr shift to write this? Yes, yes I did. I also took time out of my day to make sure my introduction to the COD MWII fandom was a crack!fic despite promising angst with Ghost and simping from Price. Both of which are still coming.

Tags; platonic 141 + Reader, crack fic, drinking, weaponization of barrack bunnies, dunking on Graves.

I don’t know how the military works and I don’t care to learn.

You try really, really hard to not fixate too much on the whole being a woman in the boy’s club thing because you’ll drive yourself insane if you do.

You’re good at your job, you’re not getting preferential treatment, and all is right in the world. Your team was cautious, gauging your capabilities but ultimately warming up to you and welcoming you into the fold.

A mission planned with 141 and Shadow company means that Graves is a tolerated interloper into the group.

Everyone is settled into a booth in the corner of a pub near base, a few drinks in as the night wears on. You are finally feeling settled in and like your feet are firmly underneath you and you’re no longer treading water, watching your back as the other 141 assess you.

And it’s the exact moment when Graves asks “Are you seeing anybody?” that you realize you’ve girlbossed entirely too close to the fucking sun.

The table’s reaction is immediate. Your “I beg your pardon?” is muffled by Ghost’s “Sod off, Graves,” Soap’s “She’s been fucking drinking” and Gaz shooting him a look while Price clears his throat with a pointed “Commander?”

Good to know your team has your back because what the fuck.

“Not like that,” you’re not entirely certain if he’s back peddling or being genuine, “I don’t know what it is but none of the women around this base date. It’s like pulling teeth.”

“Really?” Gaz asks. “I haven’t been having any issues.”

Your eyebrow arches, reaching for your drink as you realize there’s not enough alcohol in the world for this conversation. “Yeah no ever since the B.A.G. Coalition was formed, you’re gonna have to download Tinder or something, Commander” You speak without thinking, a look of horror dawning on you that the alcohol has loosened your lips a little too much. Well, shit.

“The what?” Graves asks incredulously.

You panic, reflex having you turn towards Price. “Please get me out of here,” you plead with him.

“Oh no can do, Sergeant.”

You cling to your glass like a buoy. “I’ve said too much,” you whisper.

“What the hell is the B.A.G. Coalition?” Graves asks again.

Taking a long draught of your drink, you steel yourself for both this conversation and the potential wrath of the bunnies now the open secret was out.

“Have you… noticed how the barrack bunnies don’t have anything to do with you?”

His eyebrows draw together. “Guess I never bothered to worry about it. Not like they’re hard to find,”

That last sentence had some teeth to it that you did not appreciate. Especially coming from a man who’s managed to piss off an entire base of them. “Hey now, I love the bunnies, you gotta be nice to them,” you admonish before remembering yourself and quickly adding a “Sir”.

The alcohol has your mind drifting away from the question at hand and going slightly to the left- still focused on the bunnies, but no longer directly leading to the coalition.

“They do important work and make my life easier when some guy is being obnoxious and won’t leave me alone,” you elaborate. “Also most of them are really nice and I don’t blame them for having a type and staying focused on it. I admire the commitment and tenacity.”

“Wait who was bothering you?” Price would hone in on that part.

“No one anymore, after I weaponized one of the bunnies and pointed her in his direction.”

“You…. Weaponized a barrack bunny?” Soap sounded out the idea, clearly having some image of a tactical assault bunny in mind.

“Yes I did. It was absolutely incredible. Poor guy never saw her coming- it was like watching a lioness take down a wounded gazelle.”

“A bunny battalion,” Gaz sighs into his drink, his pupils damn near in the shape of hearts at whatever image his brain was conjuring.

“What the fuck do barrack bunnies have to do with this coalition you’re talking about,” Graves tries to redirect the question.

Shit. Right.

Like, you get why he’s confused. From his perspective at least. Tall, blonde, conventionally attractive with a southern drawl most girls would go gaga over, not to mention the commander of Shadow Company. He should be having women chase him from all over. And here he was with no bitches and getting zero play.

And yet none of those attributes were actually indicative of him like… being a good person. Graves soured you like 3 day old sweet tea. There was something both saccharine and bitter about him all wrapped together even if you didn’t know for sure what the problem was.

“You did something to piss off the bunnies. I don’t know what and frankly I'm afraid to ask. Like, I thought maybe some supreme pick me bunny would rise from the ranks and make her move anyway but they have made a united front. It is both impressive and terrifying,” you’ve got just enough alcohol in your system that fuck it, let’s tell a superior officer a little something about himself that he clearly doesn’t know. “And the rest of us noticed. So it slowed the not-bunnies rolls too.”

There’s a beat of silence before the lightbulb clicks in Ghost’s head and he is busting out laughing. You don’t think you’ve heard him ever make that much noise even when he’s grousing out orders.

Gaz is the next one for the lightbulb to go off, verbalizing what B.A.G. stood for to a stupified Commander (and equally stunned Soap and Price).

“It’s Bunnies Against Graves!”

[gh0stlyfixation]

Copycat

Paring: Simon Riley x taskmaster!reader, Dreykov!reader. Mention of Bucky and Steve (there married, oops 🙊).

Summary: A new Avenger teams up with Taskforce 141, turns out her and Ghost are a like.

Warning: trauma, mixing the avengers and cod together, grammar errors probably. Not a huge fan on how I ended it.

“You didn’t tell us she was fucking crazy.” Soap said to Price and Laswell.

“You didn’t ask.” Price cheekily answered.

Simon glared at him, “where’d she come from?”

“Fury from The Avengers team sent her, said she was the best,” Laswell responded.

That made sense. The Avengers were a bunch of glorified superheroes. A mix of super soldiers and non-human things, they dealt with their kind while we dealt with wars in other countries.

“She killed twenty men in two minutes with her bare hands. What the fuck?” Soap said in shock.

“What can you tell us about her?” Simon asked.

Price and Laswell looked at each other, “not much. She’s 23, her name was Taskmaster, but we call her Copycat now.” Price told.

“That’s it?” Soap asked.

“She has a violent history that is not ours to tell. I suggest you be nice. She can put us all down in a second. Now walk away.” Laswell spoke.

——

Over the few weeks you’ve been around Taskforce 141, you didn’t speak much. The team quickly realized you also wore a mask like Ghost. Ghost warmed up to you well. He didn’t talk to you much like most of the team but he was nice to you. He offered you hellos and little waves while passing in the halls. He assumed you’d give him smiles, he always wanted to see you smile.

You sat in your room with the door open. No one was around, either on missions or out in training. You open your laptop and clicked on zoom, taking off the mask, you heard your therapist speak, “Hi Y/N,”

“Hi Doctor.” You said quietly.

What the team didn’t know was that you were in court-mandated therapy just like your friend Bucky was. You committed war crimes, however, they weren’t your fault, something you haven’t yet accepted.

“How are the nightmares?” She asked.

Ghost was walking down the hall, something you didn’t hear, Ghost was always light on his feet. He heard your soft voice speaking through your door. You left it wide open, something out of character.

He peaked his head to look in your room and saw you at your desk. He noticed the mask was off, your hair in two French braids. “The nightmares haven’t happened often, I’ve been able to control the noise, you know, so I don’t wake up the team.” You shrugged.

I shouldn’t be listening, Ghost thought to himself, but he couldn’t move away. He leaned against the wall next to your door frame. “How’s the team? Your new placement?” The lady asked.

You were quiet for a moment, “nice. They kinda leave me alone.” You sigh. It wasn’t easy making friends, Ghost felt a little bad, “There is one guy though. We call him Ghost.” You started.

His heart fluttered, he had to place a hand over it. He’s never felt that before. Ghost knew he shouldn’t be listening, but he couldn’t move. “He’s nice to me, he waves and says hi. It feels nice to be acknowledged. I’d like to think he’s cute too.” You admitted.

Ghost nearly choked on air, he covered his mouth at your confession, “you have a crush? That’s good, feeling new emotion. We’ve been working hard on that.” The lady spoke.

That’s when Ghost realized that this was a therapy session, “is that what a crush feels like? I never knew what friendships or crushes were since the Red Room. Growing up with him, being that killing machine, I didn’t get a chance at being a girl. Being me.” Your body is visibly slouched.

The red room? What in the hell was that, and you grew up in it. “The mask too? Ghost wears one.” You sat up straight at the mention of his name.

“Yeah, I find comfort knowing he wears one too, though I don’t know why. I’m sure it’s to secure his identity, meanwhile, mine is to hide the ugly scar I live with.”

That’s when Ghost knew he couldn’t listen anymore. He couldn’t listen to you putting yourself down, belittling yourself. He walked away.

—

You often sat out on training, you’d rather watch the men than utterly destroy them. You memorized every single member of the team's moves, besides, no one offered to spare with you. You sat in silence watching Soap and Ghost spare, 9 out of 10 times, Ghost won.

“It’s not a fair fight,” Soap complained. “But you wouldn’t know a fair fight.” Soap smiled.

Ghost looked up at you, “Cat!” His voice boomed. You looked up confused at the new nickname. “Come on, let’s spare.”

Soap looked surprised. You uncrossed your legs, fixing your yoga pants and grabbing a pair of gloves. “This won’t be fair.” You spoke up.

“Cocky,” Soap said with a smirk.

Through all the matches, Ghost didn’t win but once, and even then, he thought you let him. “I wasn’t called the Taskmaster for nothing.” You said to Ghost helping him up.

You looked around and noticed everyone had left the room, “who calls you the Taskmaster?” He asked, He wanted more information on you.

You gave him a weary look, but you’d consider him a friend and to keep friends you need to make an effort, said your therapist. “The Red Room, heh,” you nervously chuckled.

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want.” He said, Please tell me everything! He begged in his mind.

“No, it’s okay. I trust you.” You quietly spoke sitting down on the mat. Ghost couldn’t help but smile under his mask, “the Red Room was a training facility in Russia. We were trained to be the deadliest assassins. It wasn’t supposed to be my life, my father was the leader. But after the explosion, he couldn’t stand my face and made me who I am today.” You explained.

“He noticed my ability to memorize patterns. He put a chip in me like the other girls, made me a suit of armor, and I was forced to train newbies and kill innocents. I was a daddy’s girl once, but then I was nothing more than an ugly killer.” You whispered the last part more to yourself. “Thats the nonviolent story of my life.”

Ghost sat down with you, “I know you're not ugly.” You scoffed at him, not believing him. “I'm serious.” He said.

“I bet you're not ugly either.” You told him, “take it off.” You said with a little tease. He could see you smile through that mask.

“Only if you do.” He responded. You looked around the room, “you don’t have to Cat.” He said

“No, just, not here.” You stood up then Ghost stood up and followed you to your room.

Shutting the door behind you, you sat on your bed, patting the space next to you. “Thank you for being a friend. It’s scary how alike we are. I only have one friend back at hom, well, two if you could his husband, you’d like him. He’s full of trauma like me.” You chuckled.

“Anytime.” He said. You looked at him and then placed your hands on your mask. Slowly you pulled it up revealing your face. Your hair is in French braids but a little messier. He sees the scar on your face, a big burn scar all over your cheek, and partly on your forehead, but he still thinks you are beautiful.

“I don’t see the ugliness,” he said stroking your scarred cheek.

“Show me your face?” you asked. He pulled his mask up placing it down on yours and he ruffled his hair. He had a deep scar on his lower cheek down to his Adam's apple, “your handsome. The scar makes you look, dangerous.” You admitted.

“I am dangerous.” He replied. You giggled, and his heart started to beat faster. “And so are you Cat.”

You wanted to kiss him and like he read your mind he placed both hands on your cheeks and pulled you close kissing you passionately. He was going to help you feel normal, to feel spoiled and loved for the first time in your life.

[pingurusama]

Update!

"pimgu where have you been? thought your thesis's done so you are free!" I thought so too! but life sometimes very much unpredictable:3

I've been here the whole time but there's a lot of stuff to be sorted out, packing out since i'm back moving to home. Family issues, lots of family issues here and there. Babysit my nephew, (but hey i got niece too now just recently!:D) and guilt eating me up.

This might be just me and my overthinking, BUT I FEEL SO GUILTY SHOWING UP EMPTY HANDED;-;! I've been gone for so long and missed lots moots bday, request and stuff us been talking that i said "omg i have to draw this!" ahh type of conversation. Ngl, in my disappearance i missed my cod moots;-; like ahh... I don't know but i'm feeling like moots will not love me anymore if i showed up empty handed, like "who the hell are you back nonchalantly after so long gone?" that's why i took my time to make up and made drawings to reconcile with friends'-' There's like, around 20+ WIPs i've been doing for the past of my disappearance (there's still a few left and i'm working on it. There's also done art that i'm not yet handing out now for moots's bday^^) I always believed to be loved is to perform, to entertain. No? Well aside from internal problem it's just family issues but eh- i also got new niece:3 so, that's all! and now i'm resting after a whole week babysit toddler. I hope i can be better at managing time in the future^-^ trying my best for sure! And i hope people accept my apology and explanation of me going poof:"3 (its ok if you don't! truly understandable!)

P.S. Notes - i've seen black ops 6 (cold war) trailer and going to be launched, sneakpeek but i'm making Mr.Smirnov (Ophelia's adoptive father) to be my Black Ops Oc :3! been working and understanding the game lore! hehe^-^

[bitchb0ybunny]

Brand New City

(Keegan P. Russ x Reader)

COD men are my roman empire, PLEASE SEND ME ASKS IM BEGGING- I NEED SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT SO I CAN GET OUT OF MY OWN SKIN (this is a cry for help, I'm supposed to be focusing on finals but I cant get these scrunkly ass military men outta my head, so enjoy this spew from the depths of my sleep deprived mind..)

Keegan wasn't sure how he got here.. One minute, he was fighting Federation soldiers alongside Hesh, Merrick, and the Walker brothers and now he was... God, where even was he right now?? It was dark and cold.. He still had his mask, tactical gear, and weapons, but it was like he had been transported to an entirely new goddamn universe.

The city looked clean, it was something he wasn't used to. The Federation had destroyed everything years ago, back when he was in his late 20s or early 30s, he couldn't quite remember, but this place.. It was completely spotless, besides the normal city trash and critters wandering the dark alley he found himself in. He definitely did not miss this air quality, he had only been wherever here was for less than 5 minutes and he was already feeling like his lungs could collapse at any moment.. But the more he stands here, confused, the more.. Familiar this gets. Cautiously, he steps out of the alleyway he was in, ending up on a city street lined with shops that twinge with familiarity for reasons unknown to him. The sidewalk was empty besides himself, and the street was mostly empty besides a few cars that drive by every five or so minutes as he walks down the pavement in a random direction- the direction that just felt right. He didn't know where he was, but being a Ghost for most of his life has gotten him to trust his gut no matter what.

And he does just that.

He heads in whatever direction he feels like he's supposed to go, turning down side streets and such whenever he feels like he's supposed to, it's.. Almost concerning how his gut knows this city but his mind doesn't. Everything is in-tact, theres no destroyed buildings or cliffs that clearly hadn't been there when the roads were paved and parking garages made, it looked like a city from before the Federation bombed the States.. Had he gone back in time? No, no, that's not possible. Had he died? Was this his version of hell, or maybe heaven? How did he even get here?

He wasn't sure of anything anymore.

It took about two hours of walking until he stopped, suddenly the feeling of familiarity vanished and everything was so unfamiliar that it made him feel sick. Made him feel like he was going to vomit all over the pavement.. But then a jingle of a bell rang out as a door opened across the street, voices rang out in the night as people bid each other goodbye and went on their separate ways. The sounds of talking and jingling didn't seem to help curb this feeling of sickness, uneasiness, in fact the voices made him feel worse. He felt dizzy, his vision was spinning and he couldn't stand right, whatever was making him suddenly feel ill was getting worse. His legs gave out beneath him, and suddenly one of the voices from before got louder.. The last thing his vision managed to focus on was an all-too familiar face, the face he saw in his dreams and the face that haunted his nightmares, staring down at him with an all-too familiar concerned expression that made his heart clench.

It was you. You, who had become one of the many casualties caused by The Federation the day they bombed the United States. You, who had plagued his mind for years. You, who he kept a picture of on his person all the time so they could be with him all the time. You, who loved him dearly, even with your last breath.

[waffles-art-writing]

One Hell Of A First Mission - Task Force 141!Platonic x F!Reader - JOKER

Summary: The very first mission you (JOKER) go on with Task Force 141, you end up clearing a house and finding the one person you need to find wasn’t there anymore. You’re then quickly flown out to meet the Los Vaqueros which results in you jumping off a cliff and being helped out by the one person you wish you never had to work with again. (THIS FOLLOWS THE LINES OF THE START OF THE COD:MWII 2022. And is before the events of JOKER and the previous parts)

Proof Read: NOPE

Pairing: Task Force 141!Platonic x Female!Reader

WordCount: 5k

Age Rating: 16+ preferably

Codename: JOKER

KEY: Y’all should know this by now… Y/N - Your Name so on and so forth

Warning/Info: Normal COD Stuff, Guns, violence, swearing, depiction of action, horrible writing on my part. Kinda a slow burn but it is the back story of how JOKER join the 141. Philip Graves gets his own fuckin’ warning. Sorry not sorry. A lot of time skips, because I’m following the plot of the game for this one the next chapters coming!

PLEASE READ THE PREVIOUS PARTS TO GET A BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF JOKER! (If you want) This does take place before the events of JOKER and the previous parts.

Previous Parts can be found here: MASTERLIST (And other things I’ve written)

TagList: @studywithrosie01 Sorry for tagging you but you’ve shown so much love for this series so I thought I should tag for you this part! I hope you don’t mind! And @robins-fanfics (I hope I got the right user name lol) (Tell me if you want to be added or taken off the tag list for this series!)

———————————————————————

Your boot taps the ground rapidly, hands curled around the gun in your lap. “Calm down kid, they aren’t that scary” Price states, you’ve known him for a long while. He’s practically your dad at this point, he helped you throughout your career in the military. Pushed you to your limit to get you into the SAS which you’re beyond thankful for, yet right now you’re wondering if that was a bright idea. You’re meeting up with the Lieutenant of the Task Force that Price has made. You were the first one to meet Laswell in person, she had a nice, friendly smile but you could tell she is tough as nails. “I know Captain, but… he’s ‘The Ghost’ the man everyone is scared of, he bloody appears outta nowhere!” You state, looking over at the bearded man, he shakes his head lightly. “Well, you’ll be following his lead for now kid. He’s being instructed by Shepherd on this mission” you sigh at hearing this, you’ve had a few run-ins with the US military a few times. They couldn’t understand your accent for the life of them, that’s one of the many cons from living in a household with multiple accents under one roof.

You have no clue what this mission is going to be like, you’re meeting up with another man apparently. He’s meeting you and Lieutenant Riley at the tarmac, just as you’re scheduled to fly out. You can’t help the nerves that are filling your energy, the jitters of anticipation and the fear of what is to come next. “I’ll see you soon kid, stay safe” Price states, drawing you out of your running mind. You nod to him as you give him a fist pump, a light head bump. You two have always done that, a fist pump which turns into a light head bump of good luck, and see you soon. You never part ways without it.

You steel your nerves as you walk out onto the air field, catching a plane to meet up with the Lieutenant and the new guy. Not sure what to expect of your new team mates when you meet them, or how they operate. But there’s excitement bubbling in your veins.

———

“So you’re the new kid?” A grumbly voice sounds out from behind you. Spinning on your heel you come face to face with the signature skull of Lieutenant Riley. “Yes Sir” you state, not breaking eye contact, even though the cold sweat dripping down the back of your neck is screaming at you to run. “Come on then” he states, walking past you, his large frame towering over you, gulping back the nerves you trot after him. Quickly falling into step with the man.

The engine and blades of the chopper are loud, the wind it’s creating ruffling your jacket as you stand next to the Lieutenant. Both of you have stopped when an armoured vehicle with a bunch of soldiers in the back pulled up. Ghost was talking with Shepherd, “The Sergeant?” Ghost questions, he knew you were coming but didn’t know himself and another person were going to be leading this operation. Your interest piqued when you hear him say that. You subconsciously readjust the balaclava that’s on your face slightly, the sinister joker-like smile staring at anyone who looks. You watch as men jump off the armoured vehicle, waiting to see who is this new Sergeant that’s going to be leading you and other men into a war zone with the Lieutenant.

A man in a dark jacket approached you both as soon as he jumped off the vehicle. A smirk on his face already. “Let’s get ourselves a win, yeah L.T?” He states, bumping the Lieutenant’s shoulder with his fist. “Save ya a seat, sir…” you watch the exchange with raised brows, the black war paint around your eyes cracking slightly. The man nods to you too, the smile back on his face as he jogs off towards the chopper. “See you on the Chopper, Lieutenant” you state, quickly following the Sergeant. You hear a faint “Fucking Hell…” from behind you, a short snort leaving you as you jump onto the ramp. Looking for a seat. Waving from the corner of your eye catches your attention, it’s the Sergeant. You smile under your mask as you make your way over, throwing yourself into the seat.

“They call me Soap!” He states, holding his hand out to you, you take his hand with a firm grip. “Joker! Good to meet ya!” You notice the Scottish accent, it’s interesting to hear one compared to all the English accents you hear on a daily basis. Your nerves have been drowned out by the adrenaline rushing through your veins. This Soap seems to have a good energy about him, you could get used to this.

————

“Bravo team offloads here. Alpha team stays on board to land down range. Both teams meet in the middle. Remember, we want Hassan alive, but this is capture or kill” the Lieutenant states as he approaches the ramp that is lowering to let Brave team out. Both you and Soap stand to follow Ghost, you flick down your night vision as soon as you step out. You snicker lightly at hearing Ghost saying “Keep up Soap” honestly surprised he didn’t say that to you instead.

You kneel in the grass, out of the way of the chopper as it takes off to drop Apha team off down range. You jog after Lieutenant Riley, keep a few paces behind him. Your sniper rifle in your hands as your Semi Automatic is strapped to your back. You hear the radio chatter of the chopper in your ear, it’s louder than the blood rushing through your veins as you weave through the ruins of a stone building. You're zoned in on the mission, keeping your eyes peeled for anything and everything.

Suddenly you hear the frantic calls from the chopper, the whooshing hissing sound of a RPG being launched echoes through the night. The flares are not helping the chopper for the second missile. You come to a halt at the top of the small hill, the ground shakes form the impact of the aircraft plummeting into the ground. “Shit…” you curse under your breath, your knee digging into the dirt below you as Soap crouches down on your right and Ghost on your left. “Alpha, what’s your status?” Ghost asks over the comms, the crackling sound of coughing breaks through the haze. “Alpha, how copy?…” Ghost pushes for an answer. “Shit…” you curse under your breath. You block out the conversation over the comms, raising the Sniper up. Watching the flames lick the ground like a hungry beast, another missile hitting the chopper along with countless bullets raining down onto the downed bird.

“Ghost we need to secure the crash site now” Soap calls, his eyes moving from the chopper to the Lieutenant. “First, we clear for Hassan, that takes the heat off Alpha. Then we secure the crash site. Clear?” The timbre of Ghost’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. “Roger that.” Both you and Soap reply. “Let’s move” as soon as his words leave his mouth, you’re off your knees immediately, quickly falling in behind Ghost. Your boots hit the hard earth like thunder on the horizon, your rifle up and ready. You weave around small bushes, following Ghost through the low walls of what looks like a garden. “Force up to the house” his command is clear as you branch off to the side, Soap filling the gap between you and Ghost. You position yourself on the other side of the door, looking down the scope of your rifle. You glance up at Ghost and nod to him, he nods back to you and Soap. You hear the muffled yells of  “Kill all that they send here!” From the other side of the door. “Breacher Up” Ghost calls as he swings the heavy breacher into the wooden door.

—— Time Skip —— Mission With Los Vaqueros —

Your heart is thumping in your ears as you groan, pushing yourself to your hands and knees. “You good lass?” Soap questions, both of you just dropped down to a ledge on the side of a cliff. It has a hearty drop. You’re following a few of the men who work for Alejandro. Ghost is watching from above you, Alejandro with him. “Y-Yeah..” you cough, gripping your gun tightly as you turn around. “Oh hell no” you state, seeing the gap between the ledge you’re on and the one you have to jump to. Alejandro says something about cutting school and playing around these parts when he was younger. “Until the cartels moved in?” Soap quips before taking a running leap onto the ledge in front of you. Alejandro and Ghost jump down, quickly cutting in front of you and Soap. They easily shuffle along the small ledge on the side of the cliff, backs pressed against the wall as they move along it, you swallow down the nerves in your throat. Soap goes ahead of you, followed by Rodriguez - one of Alejandro's men - then you follow after. Your hands shake as you shuffle along the wall. Then the sound of a bullet flying past your head into the rock wall behind you makes you freeze. Ghost yells something that you don’t process as you watch Rodrigues get shot multiple times. His body falling away from the cliff, rag dolling down.

“JOKER MOVE IT!” Soap yells, ducking when a bullet flys over head. You shake your head free of fog, quickly shuffling most the way, taking the risk of leaping to the ledge. You do a tactical roll when you hit the ground, sliding up onto your knees. Breathing heavily, you don’t get a chance to breathe, Soap already pulling you up by your arm. You push yourself up onto the ledge that's higher, running after Soap and Alejandro. Ghost right on your heels. You throw yourself off the ledge onto the one that's lower, landing on your feet, stumbling into a sprint again. Rifle gripped tightly in your hands. You watch Soap disappear behind the lip of the ledge, realising you're gonna have to slide. Your hand falls behind you as you stick one of your legs out to brace yourself while sliding down the rough rock face, thankful you're wearing gloves and thick cargo pants. You stand just behind the others as they stand at the edge of the cliff, Ghost sneers out a “You led us to a dead end, mate.” You internally curse Alejandro.

Your blood runs cold when you see the Mexican soldier launch himself off the cliff, yelling out “We jump from here!”. “WHAT THE FUCK!” You yell, quickly looking over the ledge. “Don’t lose your weapon” he yells just before he lands in the water. “Your turn, Sergeant!” Ghost states, both you and Soap look between each other. “See ya down there, Lass.” He quips, doing a two finger salute before jumping. You back away from the ledge slightly, your head whips towards the Lieutenant. “Go kid, there’s no time! We stay here, we’re dead. Now jump!” you gulp as you tighten your grip on the rifle, you take a running leap off the ledge. You plunge into the icy water, your eyes screwing shut just before the impact. You quickly resurface, the water soaking the balaclava. Not helping with breathing, your breathing is heavy as you tread water. “You good, hermanos?” Alejandro asks. “Affirm” Ghost states, he’s next to you. “Soap?” The Scotsman nods his head “Breathing” he quips. “Joker?” You let out a small cough, shaking your head lightly to get the water out of your face. “Alive…” you mumble.

“Move down river to the bridge. Use the rocks for cover” Alejandro instructs, you all take off swimming down the river. You’re thankful you're going with the current, cause god knows you would’ve bailed and just went on land if you were desperate enough. Alejandro tries contacting someone on comms, you're too focused on not letting your heavy tactical gear get caught on anything under water, or drag you to the river bed. “Radio’s picking up somethin.” Soap states, you’re in the middle of the group, your smaller size getting dragged by the current quicker than the others. “Sounds American” Ghost states, he’s just behind you on your right. “Great, Yanks” you sneer. Everyone dives as soon as a vehicle comes into view, Alejandro stops behind a rock. Soap right behind him, Ghost a little further down. Before you can even attempt to stop at one of the rocks, Ghost grabs the strap of your vest, dragging you up next to him. “Thanks Lieutenant.” you mumble, you are situated just below the large long log that’s fallen across the river, resting on the large rock both you and Ghost are behind. You duck occasionally whenever bullets whiz past your head. Your feet slip and you plunge into the water, resurfacing quickly. Gasping for air as you grip onto the rough rock, you're thankful for the strap on your stifle still around your shoulder. “Fuckin hell” you curse.

“Keep pushing up river.” Alejandro calls. You groan as you struggle to keep your head above the water, and your gun trained on the shore where the enemies are. All three of the men are six foot plus, while you're below all their chins on flat ground. You dive underwater, seeing Ghost come to a stop at another set of rocks, Alejandro and Soap go around the two of you and perch themselves slightly down from you. You practically throw yourself onto the rock shelf that's just below the water, taking the short time to regain your breath. “Move up river! Go!” Alejandro calls again, you groan as you see them move off. Your eyes meet Ghost’s for a second. You bite your tongue and push off the rock, following after them. You dive under a log that's just above the water's surface. You resurface just behind a rock, coming face to face with a Mexican soldier who has their gun aimed at you, you're quick to train your rifle on them, letting a bullet lodge itself in the man's skull.

“The rivers slowing us down, mate!” Ghost calls, you can tell he’s agitated by being in the water for so long. “It gets shallow up ahead!” Alejandro states. “Oh thank god, the waters up to my fucking eyes!” You call, shooting down a few more men that are on the shore. You feel like your skin is in ice cold water, your clothing sticks to you as your plate carrier weighs you down. Boots slipping over the algae covered rocks, you just wanna rip the boots off your feet and the plate carrier off your chest. You push your way through the water, quickly grabbing the rock. You’re beyond thankful for the shallow water, you are crouched low behind a rock. You hear your lieutenant’s strong accent cut through the air, your stomach dropping when you hear what he’s saying. “Vehicles on the bridge!” You whip your head around to look at the bridge, “They’re not ours!” Alejandro calls “Fuck-! It’s the army!” You peek over the edge of the rock to look, eyes widening to see the heavily armoured vehicles roll onto the bridge. “Get to cover!” Ghost calls, you quickly duck back down and press your back up against the rock. “We have to hold here and get extraction” Alejandro states. Soap slides up next to you, Ghost next to him then Alejandro. “We can’t do shite against that armour!” The Scotsman states, you reload as you listen to the firefight happening.

Suddenly an American accent cuts through the firefight “This is shadow-1! Engaging the bridge north of your position. Danger close!” You realise who is speaking, it's Philip Graves, the man you’ve worked with in the past. “Who the hell is that?” Alejandro asks, “Commander Graves. Shadow Company. They’re with us.” Ghost states, he glances at you when he realises you’ve gone very quiet when the American’s voice cuts through. The rumble of the bridge getting hit by the large shots trembling the ground, you watch as the bridge crumbles  “Shadow-1, Bravo 0-7! Good Shots! Fire for effect!” Ghost says over the comms. “All stations, no enemy movement detected. You’re clear.” Graves states over the comms, you sigh as you stand shaking out your shoulders. “It’s good to see you boys.” You grumble lightly under your breath when the American states this “Likewise, mate” Ghost states, he nudges you to move when Alejandro calls ‘This way!’ You fall into a run, splashing through the water, jumping over a few larger rocks. “Graves, we’ve located a vehicle for exfil.” Ghost states as you all run up the slight hill from the river towards a pick up. “Roger that. Be advised, we got a possible hit on Hassan, two kicks north of your position.” Grave states, you roll your neck as you come to halt by the back door of the pick up, climbing into the back. “That’s cartel land. They have a compound there.” Alejandro states, you’ve been quiet the entire time. “Load in!” Ghost calls. “Shadow-1, stand-by…” You watch as Ghost slides in next to you, Soap climbing into the front seat and Alejandro into the driver's seat. “I’ll drive,” Alejandro states. “You boys, good to roll up Hassan with some fire from the sky?” Graves asks, everyone looks at each other. The boys nod, you just shrug as you look out the window. Ghost watches you with a raised brow hidden under his mask. “Let’s wrap this fucker up, Graves” Soap states. “Solid copy. We are pushing to the target di-rectly. Shadow-1 out.” You slump back into the seat. Letting out a sigh, you rub the space between your brows, pushing the balaclava up a little.

—— Time skip to grabbing Hassan ——

“Breaching” Soap calls, the door gets bashed open by the Scotsman. “They’re here!” “Get the Major upstairs!” Multiple cartel members yell. You’re the first one to shoot down a few men and spot the man you’re all here for, you quickly switch on the comms, the throat mic switching on. “Shadow-1! Positive ID on Hassan!” You call, rushing forward. “He’s moving upstairs!” Soap calls, he’s right behind you, followed by Ghost and Alejandro. Grave’s brows raise when he recognises the female voice come through the comms. “Graves, he’s exiting the second floor! North-west side!” Ghost states over the comms. “Got a visual on Hassan!” Alejandro states, you're quickly moving across the second floor outside. You ignore whatever is happening over the comms, you enter the building again. “Get down!” Soap calls “Get down! Now!” Alejandro growls. “Get the fuck down!” You sneer, your sights aimed directly at Hassan’s head, “Who the fuck are you?” Hassan questions, his voice holding venom. The man who was with Hassan is now dead on the ground, Alejandro moves forward. “Mexican Special Forces, you're coming with us…” the restraints get secured around the man's wrists. You can see the anger in Alejandro's movements when he restrains Hassan, you keep your gun trained on Hassan. “Shadow-1, Bravo 0-7. Jackpot. I say again, jackpot. Target is secure.” Ghost states over the comms, you look over at the Lieutenant. Graves asks a question about the exfil, which Alejandro answers. Soap slaps a hand down on your shoulder, giving you a nod of approval. You nod back, a small smile hidden under your mask. A few moments of conversations between Graves and Ghost gets drowned out by the rumbling of heavy tires on the earth, your own stomach twists into uncomfortable knots as you realise that it's the Mexican Army. “For fucks sakes. Do we ever get a break?” You ask, the question not directed to anyone. “Not this time ‘round Lass” Soap states as he looks out the window towards all the heavy armoured vehicles.

Graves says something about the shadows being able to engage the convoy, the next thing you know is the whisper of a large 25mm round flying through the air. The deep thunderous sound of it hitting the earth shakes the building, the sound of metal crunching and being destroyed rings in your ears as you look around the room. The earth continues to shake when smaller rounds and bigger rounds make contact witht he earth, your blood is bubbling under the service, you need to move. You want to do something and not just sit around and wait for your next order. The next thing you know you're running down the stairs at breakneck speed, Hassan being dragged behind you as you kick open the door to the outside, the exfil vehicle ready for you all. Ghost cuts in front of you as you get out the door, followed by Alejandro then Soap who has Hassan in a death grip. You spin around keeping your gun up and looking for any movement that needs to be dealt with. “Come on! Come on!” Rodolfo calls over the comms, you are happy to see him again. Hassan spits something out that you don’t quite catch as the screeching of tires and the blood rushing through your ears is all you can hear. You do clearly hear Soap growl out a “Shut the fuck up!” When he shoves Hassan into the side of the Vehicle. “Fuuuuuck” you groan as you realise you're the smallest on the team, you immediately open the door and climb over the back seat into the back compartment of the vehicle. Rodolfo and Alejandro speak to each other in Spanish, you only make out a few words as you're trying to get comtoble in the one spot no one is supposed to really sit in these types of vehicles. “We’re good!” Soap calls, “Go!” Ghost growls. “Joker?” Rodolfo asks as he glances up in the rear view mirror, spotting you peeking over the back of the seat between Ghosts’ and Hassan's head. “Happy as Larry!” You joke, you're not comfortable by any means but you know you just want to get the hell out of here already.

—— Time Skip To Interrogation of Hassan ——

You sit on the hood of one of the Vehicles, the headlights cutting through the thick blanket of darkness that covers the desert. The animals of the night linger just beyond the lights. Alejandro and Soap drag Hassan into the middle of the group of vehicles, shoving him to his knees with a bag over his head. “On your knees” Soap growls out as he steps back. You got here before Graves did, you aren’t happy about having to conduct this interrogation with the American present, you hated working with him in the past and right now you still are sour about being near him, especially on a mission that you were hoping to just be yourself and the 141 accompanied by the Los Vaqueros. Graves is kneeling down setting up the laptop which has General Shepherd and Laswell on the other end, your Criss cross applesauce on the hood of the vehicle. “Y’all got a clear picture?” You cringe at the drawl in his words. You hear a “Crystal” and a “All Set” fromt he other two members of the video call. You inch your way forward to have your feet dangling off the edge of the hood as soon as Graves moves away, your feet coming to rest on the bumper. “Alright, we are live, folks” Graves states as he approaches Hassan, the bag no longer on the kneeling man's head.

“Do you sepal Arabic?” Hassan questions, looking up at Graves.

“No one other than you” you mumble, knowing he won't hear you.

“No” Grave relplies.

“Farsi?”

“No.”

“Course not.” Hassan states with a smirk playing on his lips, “Then I’ll speak your bastardised Medieval English because you are all uneducated street dogs” You jump off the hood to curse him out in every language that you have learnt, but you get held back by a heavy hand. You look over your shoulder at who has stopped you, Ghost shakes his head lightly knowing that anger that is bubbling in you. You have too much adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

“Ahh, see… we’re getting off to a bad start here, Hassan” Graves starts as he tucks his thumbs into the top of his tac vest and looks down at the ground, something he always does when he's about to interrogate someone. “You are talking to a Quds Force officer” Hassan states. Graves leans in slightly, “You’re the commander of a foreign terror organisation” “I can say the same to you.” You know Hassan is gonna get under everyone’s skin, but you know damn well that Philip Graves has that skill as well. “What’s your target, “Major”?” You almost snort at the way Hassan’s brows scrunch in displeasure.

“What was your target when they sent missiles to my land?” Hassan questions.

“Oh well, wild guess… To nail your ass” Graves looks down at Hassan.

“So insolent and foul-mouthed. You will learn to respect me when your nation sees fire”

Graves steps closer to Hassan “You are in bed with the cartel, Hassan” he starts “If you disappeared, no one would know where to look for the fuckin’ stain” he growls out through a tight lipped frown.

A small shiver runs down your spin when you hear Hassan let out a small tiny pathetic chuckle of a ‘ha’.

“I have no doubt you’ll take pleasure in torturing me.” Hassan states when he looks back up at Grave from shaking his head lightly, a smile on his face. This time Soap speaks, his voice accent thick compared to the others.

“Who’d you get American missiles from?” You lean your elbows onto your knees, you jerk lightly when you suddenly hear General Shepherd speak. Almost forgetting him and Laswell are on the video call.

“I don’t care who they’re from. I wanna know where they’re going.” You almost want to yell at the older man, for overpowering Soap’s question which was a good question.

Graves was looking at the laptop before stepping away from Hassan, that's when the laughing yaps of coyotes cut through the air. They sound close, not too close but close enough for you to not feel comfortable. Graves walks a few half paces before turning around to look at Hassan. “Take a look around, Hassan” he states before stepping up the man and leaning down to get in his face “Now you can either become part of the food chain or you can start talking.” You watch the conversation from the shadows, just like your Lieutenant. “I’m a hostage here.” Hassan states, “This is illegal.” Alejandro speaks up from behind Hassan. “You’re a prisoner of war.” Hassan turns to look over his shoulder at the Mexican. “Iran is not at war with Mexico. I’ve broken no laws.” He turns to look back at Graves and motions his head to his surroundings “These men and their commanders are the law breakers.” He glances over towards you and Ghost but you can tell he is mainly looking at the laptop, he still makes eye contact with you through the haze of the lights, and with Ghost. You stare the man down, the dark oil paint on your skin making your eyes stand out against the rest of your dark outfit.

Ghost takes a small step forward “You and your beloved General Ghorbrani broke every—-” “DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME!” Hassan yells, cutting Soap off. “You executed him and you will pay for your crimes…” he pauses briefly “Only god can help you now-” he yells in his mother tongue. You understood him barely, you wanted to snatch a knife from Ghost’s plate carrier and throw it between the screaming man's eyes. You attention cuts to below you, where General Shepherd's voice comes from the laptop “I want this bastard in permanent custody or looking up at the goddamn grass…” he sneers, Laswell is quick to cut in “General, killing Hassan is an act of war, keeping him is illegal. Right now, he is too hot to hold.” She’s right, you all know this is illegal but you’re still doing it. “Tell me you’re getting something actionable, Laswell.” The general growls, you move to slide off the hood of the vehicle when Laswell states something about working on it.

You stand next to Ghost who has moved over slightly to allow you to jump down. You both watch as Graves brings the laptop onto the hood of the vehicle. Grave's voice lowers as he looks at the laptop. “Actual, let me finish this” you tense up his words, you glance over at Soap and Alejandro then to Ghost who is just staring at Graves with no emotion in his eyes. Yet you can still see the thoughts playing like a movie. You focus back into what Shepherd is saying, only catching the end half of his sentence. “Without proof we need to turn him loose. See where he leads us” you watch as Graves leans away, Soap quickly walking up and leaning into the conversation. “He’s right here. You can’t be serious” his voice is low gravely when he speaks, his accent a strong contrast to the others. Graves moves off the side slightly, Ghost as step forward an inch, his arm coming in front of you when he sees Graves look at you. “I’m afraid I am, son.” Shepherd says. You look down, looking at the phone in Ghost’s hand. “Laswell, did we get anything from his phone?” You bet Ghost to it, he looks at you with a clearly raised brow, you can tell. You give him the same look. “Affirmative. We got a hit.” Laswell states, “Good” the General pauses “Now take him back and let him go”. Ghost moves slightly, making eye contact witht eh eyes and nodding his head.  Alejandro bags and drags Hassan to his feet, Ghost slyly puts Hassan’s phone back in the man's pocket when he walks past. You notice this as you have done it many times, but you were taking the phones and not giving them back. You hear the familiar ‘thunk’ of the laptop closing, you nod to Soap who seems pissed. Not surprised.

[cod-dump]

I just looked up Price & found that he was in the WWII COD games as well as the modern-day-setting ones. IDK but my immediate thought was the boys finding out that he's some kind of time traveler OR that he's an immortal--

& then they start calling him "Gramps" or "Pops" instead of "Dad" :D

Old Man ___

It was Gaz who found the box. It was in an old storage shed on base, kept shut by a rusted lock and decorated by boarded up windows. He found the building and went to Price to ask him if he go through it. Price was waist deep in paperwork when Gaz asked him.

“Storage shed?”

“I took some pictures of it, if you would like to see.”

Gaz showed Price and the man went through them before shrugging and handing him back his phone.

“Probably here from when the base was used by the old SAS. Whatever is in there probably isn’t relevant anymore.”

“So… can I go through it?”

“I don’t see why not. But be sure to burn any old files and bring me any technology you find.”

Gaz had to restrain himself from jumping around in excitement, “Yes, sir.”

Gaz always loved going through old things. Old technology, books, antiques— He loved going to antique shops with his mom when he was a kid. Something about old things really fascinated him. Gaz drove out to the old storage shed, armed with bolt cutters, gloves, a flashlight, a portable LED lamp (he doubted any electric ran to it), and a face mask (to fight off the dust).

He clipped the lock and looked at it. It looked old. The handle to the door looked old, too. Gaz set the lock aside before attempting to open the door. He ended up having to bust open the door due to the rusted hinges. He was greeted by a wave of dust.

“Fuck, when was the last time someone was in here?”

Gaz shined his flashlight into the small building before stepping in. He was more than delighted to see that the ceiling held up well and that there wasn’t any animals that made their home inside. Gaz gasped when he saw a box of floppy disks on a shelf directly next to the door.

“Score!”

Gaz grabbed the box and started looking at disks. Other than the blanket of dust they were covered in, the seemed to be in good condition. He tried to read the labels, but a lot seemed to be in code. Though he was able to make out something on a couple of them. A Chinese character: 天. He took a picture of the character before he moved on to some ledgers, going through them each. He was out there for hours until the sun started to set. Gaz only noticed when he got a text from Soap.

Suds: Are you alive?

Gaz jumped when he saw what time it was. It was almost time for dinner and lights out. Gaz quickly put the ledger he was looking in back on the shelf before leaving the building. He had to slam the door shut. He ended up putting a new lock that he brought with him on it to keep anyone out before he left. He was interrogated when he finally made it to the mess hall.

“Where the hell were you? You’ve been gone all day!”

“I’m going through an old storage shed I found in the woods.”

“God, must be ancient if you have taken a liking to it.”

Gaz rolls his eyes, stuffing a spoon of slop in his mouth. While Soap teased him for his ‘obsession’ with old things, Gaz thought back to how much stuff was in the storage shed. He wasn’t surprised Price didn’t know about it. There was a lot of grounds of this base covered by woods. Could be several other buildings like the storage shed, hidden by trees and the paths to them reclaimed by nature.

His next free day Gaz went back to the shed. He was pleased to find that the lock he placed remained and none of the boarded up windows were messed with. Gaz pulls his mask on after he removes the lock and heads back in. Gaz immediately went back to the ledgers, deciding to see what the oldest date he could find. The newest thing in the building that he’s found so far were the floppy disks, and even then they went out of style in the 90s.

Gaz flipped through the ledgers and found that the dates were going further and further back.

“Shit.”

It became increasingly obvious that the storage shed was all relating to a project under the code name ‘Shòu’. The ledgers mostly covered expenses but the floppy disks could have other information on them. Gaz flipped through the pages of the ledger he was holding, stopping when he came across a date.

2/7/1776.

Gaz blinked before he took a picture of the date. That’s as far back as the ledgers were dated but he knows they ledgers themselves were newer than the 80s at least.

“Were they keeping track of transactions since 1776?”

Gaz couldn’t see how transactions from more than two centuries ago were relevant now. Gaz puts the ledger back, accidentally knocking another off onto the floor.

“Fucking hell-“

He gets on the floor to grab it when he notices something over in the corner through the shelves. It was a box with ‘Ash’ written broadly on the side. Gaz stood up and made his way to the corner, kneeling next to the box. He opens it up and finds several files inside. He picks one up, seeing the name ‘Thomas Ashburne’ written on it. He opens it, surprised to see little information that made sense.

“Discovered 2/7/1776? What?”

Gaz read further, brows knotted in confusion.

Subject was found alive after impaled by three arrows to the chest. He was missing an arm, the severed limb laying three feet away from him. After a fortnight under observation, Ashburne was still alive and the severed limb showed no signs of rot and was reattached to young Ashburne.

Gaz closes the file, giving himself a moment to process what he had just read. He sets the file aside and looks at other ones. There were many different names but they all appeared to be the same person. Though he kept thinking it should be impossible for them to be the same person, especially since this person should’ve died over two centuries ago. But these were SAS files. They don’t joke about stuff like this.

Gaz picks up another file and freezes when he sees the name on it.

Captain Jonathan Pryce.

Gaz shakes his head, seeing that the file was dated from 1939 to 1945. He opens the file with shaking hands and immediately drops it when he sees a picture inside. That was fucking Price. Beardless but it was definitely him. Gaz breathed heavily as he sits there. His heart was pounding as he tried to think of how he was looking at Price in a file from eighty-three years ago.

A relative. Just a relative.

Gaz stares at the file again, opening it up to look at the picture before reading the information listed.

Heaven’s Hands Agent Ash.

Gaz blinks before reading more.

Agents Ash and Agent Zima headed the Heaven’s Hands division against German forces in Operation Barbarbossa. Agent Ash deployed after three days of the blitzkrieg attacks started across the border. Agent Ash’s orders were to help defend Moscow and fend off German invaders.

Gaz skims through the report. The Heaven’s Hands Agents were the ones that helped the Soviet Union push back against Axis. Gaz puts the file back after taking out the picture of Jonathan Pryce. He swears he was looking at Price but that couldn’t be possible. Was all of this a joke set up by Price and the others? If it was, they did a lot to set it all up. Gaz picks up a file that appeared newer than the rest. It was labeled ‘Ash’. Inside were various pictures and sketches of… Price. Of him in different time periods, clothes. But it was him.

In the older pictures, which were sketches, Price appeared younger. Maybe late twenties. But in the latest one, which was the 1940s one, he looked like he aged. But only maybe a decade. Gaz actually couldn’t recall if he had ever seen Price without a beard. All of these pictures were of him without one.

“This is one elaborate set up for a fucking joke.”

He could maybe see Price joking around, going along with this joke that Soap came up with and Ghost decided to go along with because he had nothing better to do. But Gaz couldn’t think of how they would’ve managed to set this up without him knowing… or without paying a good bit of money. Gaz stuffs the picture of Jonathan Pryce into the file with the other pictures, deciding to take it with him.

Gaz made it back to base, keeping the folder tucked under his arm as he made he way to Price’s office. Price was a damn good actor but Gaz liked to think he knew the man’s tells by this point. He felt weak in the knees when he made it to Price’s door, having to give himself a moment before he knocked.

“Who is it?”

“Sergeant Garrick, Captain.”

“Come on in.”

Gaz steps inside, Price staring at him computer screen when he did. Gaz shut the door behind him and walked up, swallowing.

“Been busy in that old storage shed?”

“Yes, sir.”

Price hums, still focused on his computer screen, “Find anything interesting?”

“Yes, actually. A couple old files. Several ledgers, too.”

Price looks over, his eyes drifting down to the file that Gaz was now holding up so he could see the label. Gaz likes to think he knew all of Price’s tells to when the man was faking. But that look of shock and how he paled looked pretty damn real to him. Price straightens in his chair, swallowing hard. Gaz could see him biting his tongue, looking around before he met his eyes.

“So… that’s what was in the shed, huh?”

Gaz nods and Price heaves out a heavy breath before he holds his hand out for the file. Gaz hands it over and Price opens it, face stone when he looks at the old pictures inside. Price shakes his head when he looks at the picture from WWII.

“Fuckin’ hell…”

“Are those… of you? Like actually you?”

“Afraid so, Kyle. Sit down. We’re going to be here awhile.”

Gaz sits and Price looks at a picture from the 1880s. Or that’s what the date on the back of it said when it was from.

“I can’t believe- You’re fucking with me, yea? You and Soap and Ghost?”

Price doesn’t say anything, just looks up at Gaz with a dead serious expression that he’s seen in interrogations and on the field. This was very real.

“The-The first file I looked at… the report inside said that a Thomas Ashburne was ‘discovered’ on the battlefield after-“

“Found with a severed arm, ripped from him by musket blades with three arrows to the chest. Later it was reattached after they discovered it wasn’t rotting or that… that I wasn’t in pain anymore or dead.”

Gaz stared at Price he looked at the pictures.

“I don’t remember everything. Hard to. But I remember that day. My ‘birth’ as they called it.”

Price looks up at Gaz and he could see something he never noticed before. Without thinking, he speaks.

“What’s the Heaven’s Hands?”

Price sighs, “My old outfit. They had been operating since the Roman Empire.”

Gaz gaps and Price laughs quietly.

“Disbanded after World War II. A lot of internal issues that had been building up for a long time. Us Hands ran went off to do our own things when the last board member left.”

“There’s others like you?”

“‘Like me’? You mean old? Yes, there is. Some are older than me.”

Gaz hums, staring off, “Other… Hands?”

“Look, I didn’t pick the name. It’s just what they called those who… don’t die by normal means. I’ve lost my arm, been shot through the heart so many times that I’ve lost count, and I have some lead in my head.”

Price smiles softly when he picks up a picture that Gaz hadn’t seen, “We just don’t die. Made us the perfect soldiers. Told us we were ‘blessed by our faith’.”

Price sets the picture down and Gaz reaches over and picks it up. It was Price and a man he’s never seen before. Big beard, wild hair.

“Zima was my shadow.”

“What happened to him?”

“Oh, he shaved and learned to style his hair, learned to fly. Now he wears stupid sunnies all the time to make himself look cooler.”

Gaz slaps the picture down, “NIK?!”

Price snorts as Gaz really looked at the picture. It really was Nik!

“He’s-“

“Old as shit, too. But I’m still older.”

“How is it possible for you to be-?”

“Immortal? I don’t know. None of us know, actually.”

“You don’t know how you’re immortal?”

“No. The Heaven’s Hands looked into it for almost their entire existence. But none could figure out why we were like this.”

“You said the Heaven’s Hands disbanded and that you went off to do your own thing… does anyone else know about… your age?”

Price closes the file and leans back, “Laswell does. She stepped up to be some sort of ‘handler’.”

That explained so much about why Laswell kept such a close eye on them. She was actually watching Price. Does she also watch Nik? Or does he have his own ‘handler’? Has Gaz met other immortals in his life without him knowing? Is anyone one else he personally knows immortal?

"I can only answer the questions if you actually say them out loud."

"Who else is immortal?"

"Nik is the only other one that you know who is immortal. He's the only other Hand I've seen since the disbanding."

Gaz went to say something but Price stopped him.

"Kyle, no one else can know about this. About me or Nik."

"Why not?"

"The Heaven's Hands did a lot during their operating days. Turned the tides of wars, fell leaders and empires while rising others in their place. Few know about them. For everyone's safety, no one can know."

Gaz swallows as Price takes the old picture of him and Nik and puts it back into the file, closing it.

"I need you to bring me everything that you can from that shed."

"Everything?"

"Mostly files about me. Those ledgers you can burn. Anything else you bring to me so I can figure out what to do with them."

Gaz nods and stands, heading to the door. He grabs the knob and Price says something else.

"I'm serious, Sergeant. Not a word to anyone. Not even Ghost or Soap. That's an order."

Gaz looks back at Price, finally seeing the countless years that the man has lived weighing on his soldiers.

"Yes, sir."

Gaz leaves the office, walking with purpose. He wasn't sure what he walked into, but he knew this was only the tip of the iceberg.

[the-kr8tor]

Random movie Hobie headcanons I've had for some time;

(small tw: Hobie's trauma/PTSD+ angst tbh)

IF YOU THOUGHT YOU NEEDED THERAPY LAST TIME JUST WAIT FOR THIS ONE <3

-Love fish and chips, will absolutely NOT eat it with lemon (wrong opinion) and is a vinegar type of man. He will genuinely look at you with DISGUST if you squeeze lemon on your beer battered fried cod.

-Owns a turntable! Probably a radio and multiple other music related things in general. Would learn how to scratch old radiography acetates (X-ray's) into vinyls (an actual thing that was done in Russia as part of the punk movement! Fun fact)

-I can imagine that since he's lived in poverty he doesn't actually like sharing his food, especially with how sad his backstory is. Hell he might not even eat in front of you for a good bit until he genuinely gets comfortable with it all. Starting with eating snacks to full meals next to you, not scared that you might steal it away or yell at him anymore. He comes to understand that maybe he just needed someone to understand him

-All to say I imagine him with PTSD, he has nightmares on some nights. At first he refused to tell you why but as he went on...he just felt the need to tell you. To express himself and tell you how bad he feels, how his soul feels torn apart and shattered. You still think that even with all the pieces of glass on the floor you can help him recuperate so he can make himself back into the beautiful mosaic he is. Something unbroken, something breathtaking and shining. You hope he realizes he's perfect

-He doesn't yell at home, that's one thing you come to find out. His footsteps are light even with his long and slender frame you thought he'd make more noise. But he walks like he's not there. It's enough to break your heart when you see him crying over a broken glass as he whispers soothing words to himself.

-His inner child needs a hug, hell HE needs a hug as he is now. He needs comfort, he needs trust and he needs to be able to open up. He's so strong, like obsidian. Sharp and straight edged. But he'd be lying if he said he doesn't feel weak sometimes.

-I think it's safe to say that he has very few objects left from his childhood. He holds on to his mother's necklace, hiding it away in his house boat to make sure no one finds it. He has a certain anxiety with the thought that someone will steal his very last few possessions that remain from when he was nothing but a loving and trusting kid. A kid who had it bad. And you help ease him into a sense of security again, gently and very softly guiding him through it.

-He wouldn't be fully ashamed of his emotions but he hates crying in front of anyone. He fears he'll get mocked, that you'll laugh at him even if all he knows from you is kindness and soft tender words. There are times when he freezes up, his fists curled up and shaking. He tries his best to avoid crying in front of you but he ends up tearing up as you ask him what's wrong, holding his face in your hands.

-🪦

And here I thought the bonnie and clyde one hits hard 😭😭😭

This one went from being so cute to dread

Poor Hobie 😭😭😭😭😭 i wanna hug him and tell him everything is alright

[tactax-art]

Basics: Hauke "it" Petterson German mid 30s, 1st Oct he / they / it Aromantic, overall Queer rank ??? (i don't understand ranks) Visual: - 170cm / 5'7 - heavy & muscular build - all blonde blocky blackout tattoos - very old scar from childhood accident on the center line of his lips

Personality: - easy-going and calm - keeps no secrets if you ask the right question - will laugh at all your jokes (the worse the better) - generous (in attention, affection and it's limited belongings) - spends the majority of his time in the base's public spaces (kitchens, rec room, gym, etc) even if it's for reading or just napping - they nap a lot and anywhere - if prompted they'll tell you about whatever romance novel they're reading like it's office gossip - will make sure you do your PT - not materialistic - forgets he's got a paycheck now and will trade stuff - it doesn't like to be (alone) in quiet spaces, - obsessively makes sure it's packed and prepared for any medical emergency feasible in the field (negligent in base/civil) - superstitious

It doesn't like to be (alone) in quiet spaces, obsessively makes sure it's packed and prepared for any medical emergency feasible in the field, and is hella superstitious. It's gonna exfil you come hell or high water.

Skills/Specialisation: - combat medic - physiotherapist - emt - nurse - close range/hand-to-hand combat (preferred) - mid-range combat - k-9 handling - heavy lifting (can carry people at speed) History: - grew up in Germany, small family, lower class, country side, - 16, completed [german mid-tier highschool] - 17-20, physiotheraphy apprenticeship - 20+ enlisting in military, EMT & nurse medic education, frequently deployed (I'll not pretend i know how german military works, i know more about the US one through my dad *shrugs) - 24-ish, goes home for a while to help ill older sister who needs care - 25-ish, starts looking for mercenary work to finance sisters care/treatment, takes a bunch of different jobs and builds a bit of a rep/resumee, never seems to be enough to do right by her though, (i know germany has healthcare, no idea how good tho so lets just suspend our disbelief) - 26-ish, Shadow Company approaches him with an offer he can't refuse, no matter how their reputation grates on his morals, a lifetime contract for a lifetime financial security of his sisters treatment. - Hauke realises soon what he's really got himself into, selling himself to Graves with 'built in blackmail', so he keeps his head down. He never tells his sister or anyone else, this was one of the few secrets he ever kept (he doesn't keep it anymore). - Hauke subsequently gains a reputation to be very loyal to Graves/Shadow company. Respected for staying and surviving so long. - Gets K-9 Findus. He didn't train findus himself but learned how to be a handler. - [befriends Harpia (@/tamorisana 's CoD OC) in his time with Shadows] - 35-ish, sister passes away, Hauke is adrift, grieving, and just continues his work to keep his mind busy (and what friends he's made in shadow company alive) - " , Hauke is sent into Las Almas (canon: Alone mission) as part of the teams that search/raid homes and hunt down 141. It isn't (even close to) the first time he's done things like this or attacked/killed civillians on orders of Graves, he initally follows orders out of habit/grieving-numbness but quickly realises that his usual coping method for going against his morals (his sisters health and safety) doesn't exist anymore. - " , Hauke deserts the very same night as soon as he can get away. - ??? - Joins Taskforce Apocrita - [meets Harpia again]

K-9 Findus - aloof - bitey (mostly playbites/noms, will make it hurt if he's done playing) - a slut for table scraps - will sleep on people, usually Hauke

(The entire OC happened cause listening to multiple Shadows questioning the thing they are doing in Las Almas, I kept thinking how cool it would be if one of them went turncoat and helped 141. As such, in Hauke's 'og fic canon' he deserts and helps Soap and Ghost escape Las Almas, gives them everything they got on Graves' setup in the prison and Fuerzas Especiales base, helps if he was permitted to, and eventually is invited to 141 by Price.)

[xxavengingangelxx]

Long Way From Home 3/?

YA'LL, trigger warning again:

For the love of God, please read the triggers and tags. I'm gonna go ahead and add: Dead Dove. Minors DNI. Smut starts!

TRIIGGERS: Implied/attempted suicide, self-harm, torture, brainwashing, physical abuse, mind fuckery, threatened rape, EXTREMELY dubious consent. If I miss, any let me know, please! DARK FIC

This fic is taking away from my COD MW playing time, ya'll ;)

Probably not important but this fic was born and continues to be created with the Inception soundtrack blasting through my headphones.

Phillip Graves's track? Dream is Collapsing. That track is so evil sounding and fits him well!

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

You found yourself back on that concrete floor and against that same cold concrete wall. Lying in a bed for however long you did made the floor feel almost painful. Days passed. Or you guessed days passed.

And of course, there was Graves again. It was like the man never left you alone.

“What’d you want?” you whispered.

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” you replied. “You’re using all kinds of sensory deprivation.”

“10 days,”

When you heard Graves say you’d been there 10 days you almost had a complete mental breakdown. 10 days?! You sat up.

“No way,” you met his gaze. He was kneeling in front of you again.

He pointed to the wounds on your chest and signaled at your left wrist. The bastard had the audacity to say that you must’ve blacked out when they stitched up all the cuts on your body because it was done with no pain control whatsoever. Your left wrist was still bandaged so that couldn’t have happened too long ago.

You heard him say that you screamed when they stitched you up.

He added that they’d had to put you on an IV line 2 days ago because you refused all liquid and food intake. That’s not something you remembered.

“You don’t remember ripping the IV out of your arm and saying you wanted to die?”

You did not.

You then realized that you weren’t even wearing your uniform anymore. Just a long-sleeved hooded shirt and simple black sweatpants. At least they’d let you keep your boots.

You were obviously losing it. You had huge periods of time missing and it was freaking you the hell out. Who knows what the fuck else they’d done to you that you couldn’t remember. And what had you told them, if anything?

“You’re lying,” you glanced up at him as he smirked in front of you, still kneeling to meet your gaze. You couldn’t even hold his gaze anymore. That’s how broken you were.

You pulled up the sleeves of your shirt and sure enough…along your right arm were IV track marks. On your left arm there was a bruise that ran from the crook of your elbow and followed a vein until the bruise disappeared under the bandage on your left wrist. It was obvious that the action of ripping an IV out had bruised you horribly and lacerated your skin. It was sure to scar. That laceration? 3 inches of sutures.

You were really starting to feel hopeless, helpless…where the hell was 141?

Your impulsive and intrusive thoughts won and you lunged at him. He shot to his feet as did you.

“You’re lying!” You yelled.

“Getting violent with me isn’t gonna do you any favors, darlin’,” Graves warned. “That’s a guarantee.” He stepped closer and you shoved him. Or tried to. You were nowhere near big enough or strong enough to even make him budge.

“Next time you put your hands on me I’m gonna break your arm,” he warned. He sounded serious and you believed him.

He again stepped towards you. And fearfully you said, “Don’t get any closer.” You were on edge and if you were completely honest you were on the edge of losing your sanity.

“When did you get here?”

You did the math in your head. 10 days would make it…

“I’ll prove it,” Graves said. He was trying to hide a smirk and that just reminded you of how sadistic he was. He unlatched the military watch from his left wrist and tossed it to you. You caught it.

10 days. It had been 10 days. He hadn’t been wanting to play mind games with you. He was telling you the truth. 10 days, about to be 11. You’d spent almost two weeks being tortured and tormented all for information you prayed you wouldn’t reveal.

“Havin’ a rough night?” There was that smirk again. He easily plucked the heavy watch from your trembling hands and put it back on his left wrist.

“Tell you what,” Graves started, “Come hang out with me tonight,”

Your horrified gaze must have told him everything he needed to know. You were terrified of him. And he knew it.

“On my life,” Graves stated. “I won’t hurt you.” He paused before adding, “Unless you try somthin’ or get violent.”

You were desperate to get away from the freezing cold room you had associated with pain and torture and pure misery. He really hadn’t lied when he said that if you didn’t cooperate you’d suffer. You couldn’t keep this up.

“You won’t let them hurt me, either?”

“Who?” he started walking towards the door but still didn’t dare follow him.

Your exhausted, terrified look must have told him everything he needed to know.

“My boys?” he scoffed. “Nah,” he shook his head. “They don’t do anything unless I tell ‘em to.”

You still weren’t convinced.

“And I’ve told them hands off when it comes to you.”

That was all you needed.

So you walked next to him.

You had no clue what the hell he wanted with you or what the hell mind game he was trying to play here but if you could get away from this room and the horrible isolation for a few hours and get away from physical pain, you’d take it.

You followed him like a puppy. “You got 141’s puppy? That cute little thing?” Shepherd’s voice echoed in your head. So did that mean you were now Graves’s puppy? Graves’s cute little thing?

You assumed the room he led you back to was his. It was neat, clean. It smelled like a combination of gun oil, fresh laundry, and cologne. It was a much nicer smell than the smell or that tiny room they were keeping you in. That room smelled like a hospital: so cold and sterile.

You glanced in his direction, almost flinching when you heard him close and lock the door.

“Relax,” he chuckled. “We’re not doing anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Why the sudden nice guy routine? Did he know how desperate you were to feel anything but pain? How desperate you were to escape the isolation from that tiny room? Had you revealed information and didn’t remember?

And in your completely unstable mind, you did the last thing you ever thought you would do. It was the last thing on your mind since you were taken. When you were first taken, you had the mental power to plot a plan to try and get Graves into bed and then escape. But the almost two weeks of sleeplessness, torture, pain, and suffering had totally ruined your decision making ability. You obviously weren’t getting out of here any time soon.

You walked forward to where Graves was, placed your hands on his vest, and used it as leverage when you got on your toes to kiss him. You hadn’t had any pleasure, any real rest, since before Las Almas.

He wasn’t completely caught off guard which made you think maybe he had planned this. But you didn’t care. You’d do anything for a gentle touch, for pleasure, for the ability to sleep in a bed instead of a hard concrete floor.

He placed his hands on your hips at first before tracing his fingers up your arms, and into your soft hair. He kissed you back and you moaned. Because you were frantic for a gentle touch.

Graves clearly didn’t need to be told twice. He moved one of his hands to his mouth, where he used his teeth to pull his glove off. He repeated the action with his other hand. He then easily broke off the kiss, reached for your shirt and pulled it over your head before tossing it aside somewhere. His calloused, rough hands ghosted over your ribs. You glanced down and saw you still had blue and yellowing bruises from the beatings you’d taken, from the bullet your vest had stopped almost two weeks ago.

Again desperate, even more so, you leaned forward again, got on your toes again, and kissed him. He tasted the same as the last time you’d kissed him. It was his turn to moan into your mouth and his hands worked quickly to untie the waistband of your sweats. You kicked your boots off. He hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Just like old times. He trailed kisses and teeth down your throat and you gasped, your breaths coming hot and heavy.

You were dropped onto a bed and it was so damn comfortable. You felt him climb over you, and he was quick to slide your pants off followed by your underwear. He straddled you, his knees on either side of your hips.

Graves’s lips fell on yours, hot and heavy and his tongue swept your mouth possessively. His rough hands were kneading your breasts and it was one of the most pleasurable things you’d felt in your life as far as you were concerned. So much better than pain and torture.

You heard the sound of Velcro ripping and saw as he lowered his vest to the floor next to the bed. Velcro ripping from a Kevlar vest had to be an aphrodisiac for you. His hands left your body for a second and he quickly unbuttoned his shirt before getting rid of that, too. You heard him unbuckling his belt hastily and it wasn’t long before you felt him at your entrance.

His cock was replaced by his fingers and when you felt him penetrate you with those coarse fingers you gasped and moaned. He worked you open, his fingers curling inside of you like he’d never forgotten you. He knew exactly how to touch you.

Graves’s sharp blue eyes met yours. You could barely see the blue as his pupils were blown wide with lust. He withdrew his fingers and despite yourself you almost whimpered at the loss. His eyes were almost asking for permission.

While you weren’t entirely sure this was entirely consensual. You were clearly mentally unstable after having learned how long you’d been held with Shadow Company. But you’d decided you needed this. You needed pleasure to balance out all the pain and suffering you’d suffered for almost the past two weeks. Besides, you’d been using sex as a coping mechanism and escape mechanism since you were a teenager.

Apparently your eyes communicated everything he needed because that was when he started pushing himself inside of you. And fuck if you didn’t almost moan his name because hell that was so much better than torture and sleep deprivation and pain. So you did moan his name. And you remembered that he preferred hearing his last name when he fucked the common sense out of you.

His hair fell on his forehead as he eased himself into you. It was his turn to moan and he did as he bottomed out inside of you. As he leaned forward to catch your neck and breasts in his hot mouth you felt his dirty blonde hair further stimulate you as it brushed your skin. It was sending tiny electric shocks through your body.

Those hot lips finally brushed yours and you felt his short gasps before you met his lips and kissed him. He, of course, took control and possessively swept your mouth with his tongue. You fought for dominance but it was no use. Just like all those nights before this one, he loved being in control. He got off on it.

You wanted more. You wanted these sensations to make you forget about all the suffering you’d endured in the last two weeks. So you placed your small hands on his broad shoulders and met his thrusts. He was going too slow and it was making you desperate.

He chuckled, the bastard. You were almost certain this had been planned.

You saw him about to reach up and pin your wrists down like he loved doing before but he stopped himself and you wondered if he stopped himself because it might feel too much like rape, like he was using force given the current situation that you were his hostage and he was your captor.

So he placed his arms on either side of you and continued his deliberately slow movements.

So you then wrapped your hands around his shoulders and scratched him. You full on scratched his shoulders, hearing him groan and making his thrusts stutter. He’d always liked women scratching his shoulders enough to make him bleed, or so he claimed.

He picked up his pace and you met him thrust for thrust. He was hitting that spot inside of you and his thrusts were picking up pace. You squeezed his cock with your muscles, prompting him to whisper, “Fuck.”

He then abruptly stilled his movements. You groaned in annoyance because damn it you’d been building up a momentum and you had just started to feel that heat, that heaviness deep inside of you that signaled you were close to climax.

Graves ground himself against you, rubbing against you clit in a way that made you see stars. And then he reached towards your chest and he dragged light fingers over the cuts he himself had inflicted almost 2 weeks ago. It was almost creepy but then again your hypersexualized, unstable mind thought of it as hot seeing as he had marked you as his.

The blue in his eyes were barely visible due to his dilated pupils, and as a result the only blue visible was a thin circle. And then he seemed to catch a second wind. His hands grasped your hips as he pulled you forward and before you knew it your face was inches from him and you were in his lap, straddling him as he and you both sat up with you on top.

Graves’s bruising grip in your hips continued and that was all it took for you to grasp his shoulders and ride him. It wasn’t long before you were both breathing heavy and sweating. Your breasts rasped his chest and it only added to the cacophony of pleasurable sensations. You ground against him, getting stimulation from your clit and from deep inside you as you felt him meet your thrusts.

His breath came in short, hurried gasps and his grip on your hips was almost painful, almost tight enough to where his fingernails cut into your skin. And it was with all those sensations combined that you let yourself go, giving in to him completely. You moaned your release but he was quick to cover your mouth with his.

In pursuit of his own orgasm, he shoved you back down on the bed, climbing over you once more. He lasted half a dozen sloppy, desperate thrusts before he spilled inside of you, riding out his own climax with shuddering gasps.

“Fuck,” he repeated. “You’re as good as I remember you.”

You tried catching your own breath and that was when the pain came back. You felt it in your arm, in your wrist, your ribs, and around your knees, elbows, and palms, which were scratched raw and bleeding from all the time you’d spent on concrete.

And that was when Graves did something surprising. He led you to lie down, told you to relax.

It wasn’t something you were expecting and it only confused you further.

 -

You had your first hot shower. All the other showers before had been freezing cold and after you got dressed, from what you could remember, they’d toss you back into that tiny cement room that only seemed to get colder and colder. You wanted to relax and enjoy, to let the warmth ease your body it but something was nagging at you. Why the sudden change in treatment? Had you finally broken under all the torture and given them something? What if you betrayed your team…your ex-team? You couldn’t help it if you thought of them as your ex team, right? You’d been here almost two weeks and you were starting to feel abandoned.

Plus almost every time you moved somewhere deep inside your body you’d be reminded of what you’d done only an hour before. Sleeping with the enemy, Valdez, really? What would 141 think? They’d probably label you a traitor and a whore. A small voice in your mind told you that no they wouldn’t, that they would understand you adapted and had to do what you had to in order to survive. But that small voice was getting quieter and quieter.

And another, louder voice was taking hold. Graves was only following orders, right? Orders were orders in the military. If Shepherd have given orders, Graves had no choice but to follow them, right? Was he really that bad a guy?

You look at yourself in the mirror for the first time in almost 2 weeks and you almost didn’t recognize yourself. Stitched cuts on your chest from that first night they took you. A laceration on the left side of your face from where Graves had struck you with his firearm when trying to find out that rendezvous point that you refused to give up, also that first night. Your knees? Scraped raw. Your elbows? Also scraped to the point of bleeding. The palms of your hands were also raw and red.

You ran a gentle hand over the cut on the side of your face and you wondered if it would scar. That tiny voice was trying to scream to blame Graves, that he was the one who’d mercilessly struck you across the face with a fucking firearm, his sidearm, when you refused to break that first night. You face had other injuries but those looked mild. You looked exhausted.

You torso was laden with bruises. Some were yellowing while others were fresh and blue and purple. You had marks on your body from where they’d forcefully held a Taser to you again trying to draw out information. You had no idea how long ago that was but the marks were evident. Some memories, unfortunately, were coming back in pieces.

*

You were still putting up a fight despite being exhausted and sleep deprived and in pain. They had come into your tiny room right as you were dozing off. Graves stepped through the door first of course. Three Shadows, one commander made 4 men and one of you. Your small stature and build had been useful in the past, for reconnaissance and intel gathering but you hated it now. There was no way you could fight them off.

As a woman you feared the worst. That Graves was going to make good on his threat to rape you and then let the other three pass you around.

You started crying as you tried to push them back, all to no avail. One of them damn near broke your arm restraining you.

Graves was asking you what the code was to get into 141’s homing beacons so they could track where 141 was. You said no.

The next few minutes, hours, or days were all the same. Electric shocks from a Taser being buried in your ribs and in your chest. They would let you doze off at times only to wake you up and do it all over again.

You startled easily one time and so swung at a Shadow from a sitting position on the floor. He easily dodged it and laughed at you.

Graves then reached out and smacked you so hard you woke up curled up on the concrete floor, bleeding. You were sure how long you’d been out but Graves’s voice brought you back to lucidity, back to the living hell that you were now convinced was going to last forever.

“You don’t swing at my boys, you understand me?” Graves snapped. He knelt next to you as you tried to catch your breath. He grasped your hair so hard you cried out, raising your hands to where his was tangled in your hair, desperate to get him to release you. “They might not have directives to put hands on ya yet but they can certainly defend themselves.”

*

And that was when that tiny voice faded away and that louder voice took over in your head. All the pain you’d gone through. It was your fault. You’d refused to give them what they wanted…what they needed. So you’d brought that torture on yourself. Besides, even if you had given up the rendezvous point, Graves said he wasn’t going to kill anyone, right? He wanted to recruit them.

And for all the torture you’d suffered Graves had never really hurt you badly, did he? He’d just hit you. Not once had he inflicted pain himself since you were brought there. And for all the times Graves had hit you, he’d never once punched you. You’d seen him in close combat and knew he could almost break someone’s neck from the punches he delivered.

He’d never really hurt you, right? And he sure as hell hadn’t killed you. He’d spared your life. So didn’t you owe him?

-

It still bothered you later. You assumed it was night but you were back to not knowing what day or what time it was. Graves’s bed smelled like him and you found it somewhat intoxicating. You’d missed him. You really had.

As always, open to feedback! Let me know what ya'll think of this dark fic :)