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reds-skull · 3 months ago

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Revenant Side Stories

Story VI: Farah

[Konchar] [Graves] [Gaz] [Price] [Novikov] [AO3]

This was originally going to be a retelling of the entirety of Farah's story in MW 2019, but I underestimated how long that would be, so these are more of snapshots of her life, up until 2019.

Farah is going to be a central character in part two because it will revolve around Urzikstan, so I was very excited to get into her character in depth. This was probably the hardest side story to write because I think the original story was already good (it's easier to write for something that had a lot of flaws in it rather than something good... maybe that's why I like cod after all these months lmao)

Anyway, I also decided I'm actually not done with the side stories, and the last actual one will be of... Roba, of all people. I know I made the comic for Ghost's origin story, but I never got to show what he did to Roba.

Alright That's enough rambling let's get to Farah's story

She doesn’t remember the first time she has heard of revenants. Humans who are saved from death, only to come back with abilities from worlds beyond their own. Of how they are revered, looked up to. And yet, misunderstood.

They don’t look up to revenants in Urzikstan.

The once-dead are not heroes among her people. They’re something to be pitied; people who chose to stay on earth and suffer, instead of move on to a better, calmer existence in the place after death. Take on the burden of the Reapers, dust off the dirt of their graves, and continue the endless fight for freedom.

In Urzikstan, revenants are called “those who sacrifice”.

Her baba taught her and her brother the different names of Reapers, told them tales of those who sacrifice as bedtime stories. She always found them fascinating, as opposed to her brother. They were often grim, their ending tragic and unsatisfying, but they felt more real like that. Felt more like her day-to-day life than any other fairy tale could.

She wouldn’t know how much her story would be like those, before it was too late.

The day she died is muddy, in her memory. Yet another thing she sacrificed, in order to stay in this world. A deafening whistle, followed by walls collapsing around her. Streaks of ash on the bloodless face of her mama. Pain, unlike anything she could imagine. The voices of her baba and brother and uncle, searching. The sickening shifting of concrete above her, whispers praying for mercy, the walls closing in on her-

And she dies.

At seven, before she knew how to write the alphabet, buried beneath the earth with only the pale face of her mother as comfort, Farah Ahmed Karim died. Yet, she did not move on.

The memory of the first time she saw her Reaper was clear. She may have forgotten her mother’s lullabies, or her father’s laughter. She has not been given the privilege to forget her Reaping.

The first thing she noticed was the clean air, an odd odor to it but blessedly lacking the dust she has been inhaling for what felt like hours. The lack of pain was the second - her legs no longer crushed under thick concrete walls.

The monster, was the third. A being made of sharp shapes, glistening metal melting and hardening, flowing through cracks in the stone face of the Reaper.

As the stone face moved, grinding against itself, Farah got up to her feet. Her legs screamed at her to run, but the memory of her baba’s stories calmed her.

“The ones who take do not mean harm to the ones who sacrifice, Farah.” he told her, whispering as to not wake her brother, “they need each other. They need our sacrifice.”

“What for, baba? Why would the ones who take need to give humans their powers?”

Baba sighs, a small smile on his lips as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear, “we don’t know for sure, but we must have something they don’t. Some say we humans were chosen by chance.”

“What do you think?” she asks, her endless craving to know more yet satiated.

“I think we and the ones who take are connected, somehow. I think we are the only ones that can sacrifice.”

Instead of running, instead of listening to all of her senses, Farah stepped forward, and with a small voice asked, “w-who are you?”

The stone face turns to stare at her.

“I AM MIGHT. THE STONE, THE BLADE, THE BULLET.”

The Reaper tilts its head, metal rivers splashing into an endless void.

“DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?”

Farah blinks away the tears that have gathered in her eyes, tries to speak louder, “I’m… I’m Farah? I’m a human, I’m-”

“YOU ARE NOT HUMAN, FARAH. YOU ARE DEAD, BURIED, CRUSHED.”

Her lips turn downwards, and she can’t stop the tears any longer, “w-why are you asking if you know?”

The rocks grind in an almost rhythmic way, and somehow Farah knows it is laughing. It makes her avert her eyes.

“Can… can you save my mama?” she asks, and the sound stops.

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

“S-she… I think she also died, can you-”

“I CANNOT SAVE YOUR MOTHER, FARAH.”

She grasps at the torn edges of her dress, sniffing her runny nose, “it’s not… it’s not fair…” her face scrunches as she sobs.

The Reaper leans forward, the light surrounding it reflecting with dazzling colors off of its body. Farah closes her eyes, not because she is afraid of it, but because she is afraid for her mama.

“I CANNOT SAVE HER, BUT I CAN SAVE YOU.”

Farah opens her eyes. Baba said he thinks only humans can sacrifice, but maybe not all humans can. Maybe mama wasn’t able to sacrifice, but…

She lifts her hands to wipe roughly at her face, tears and snot smearing on her skin. Her eyes trail up the falling liquid metal, beating heart deafening her ears.

Her voice is steady when she says, “I want to see baba and Hadir. I don’t want to leave them!”

The stones grind once more, a sort of excitement shaking the very ground.

“YOU WANT TO LIVE, FARAH.”

She nods and repeats, “I-I want to live!”

The Reaper tilts closer, its face level with hers.

“I WILL GIVE YOU THE MIGHT, THE STRENGTH, THE POWER TO LIVE, FARAH. AND I WILL TAKE YOUR SOUL.”

The metal drips near her feet, heat emanating from them. It reminds her of home.

“I choose to sacrifice. For you, for baba, for Hadir. For… for mama.” Farah whispers.

The stones shift, circling her. Her breath picks up at the thoughts of crushing walls, but it is not dark here. No one is shouting. She doesn’t smell death.

Metal singes her clothes, and she wants to jump back, but the stones stop her. It burns. It hurts.

It is not dark, but the bright colors blind her all the same.

“I ACCEPT YOUR SACRIFICE, FARAH.”

“MY MIGHT IS YOURS.”

When she wakes again, Farah doesn’t feel pain. She’s still under ruin, somewhere different from where she was before. All she sees of her mama is a hand, and she holds it. She notices the skin of her own hand glistening in the meager light filtering through dust and ash, like colorful metal. Like her Reaper.

It felt like hours pass before baba found her. She feels hunger and thirst, but the weight of the building doesn’t pain her anymore. Baba is crying when he finds her, pulls her out of the wreckage carefully, asking if she’s hurt.

She tells him nothing hurts. He pulls back from their embrace, his brows scrunched in confusion until he notices.

“I chose sacrifice, baba.”

Baba closes his eyes and hugs her harder, and she knows it would’ve hurt if she could feel it. He tells her everything will be alright. She wanted to believe it. She couldn’t.

They find mama. Hadir tries to wake her up, but Farah pulls his hands away. She tells him mama is in another place now, somewhere better than here. Hadir’s hands shake in hers, but he nods and pulls away.

Uncle and baba rush them home. Farah wants to cover her ears, the sirens don’t stop sounding, the noise pitching up and down along with her heart. Loud explosions make her flinch, so Hadir grabs her hand. It makes her feel safer, for a moment.

They run through the market. There’s a truck stopping in their way.

The Russians.

Baba lifts her in his arms, Uncle taking Hadir. They tell them to cover their mouth, when the Russians throw weird gas at them. It smells like the liquid mama used to clean their house, and it made her eyes itch and burn.

They enter their home, but baba doesn’t stop moving. He gives Hadir a gas mask. He will have to share his with Farah. Uncle leaves, telling baba he’ll meet them later.

“W-where are we going?” Hadir asks, clutching the mask.

Baba grabs a backpack, hidden behind the kitchen cabinets, “we’re going to the bridge, then to the mountains. There will be no sirens there.”

Farah hurries to follow him, wiping blood on her dress. Her skin isn’t bruised, but it feels weird.

“I don’t want to go…” Hadir says with a frown. Baba turns to look at him. He crouches and pets his shoulder.

“I know, dearest. I know. We will return, I promise.” his tone changed, stern like when he taught her not to touch the hot pan, “you need to be strong for your sister now, alright?”

Baba points to Hadir’s heart, “you keep mama here,” his hand moves to his head, “and you keep this clear. That’s how we survive, you understand?”

“Yes, baba.”

Baba shoulders the backpack, and begins walking towards the door, “when we get outside, you stay with me, okay?”

As he goes to open it, the handle moves, and the whole frame shakes. Someone is trying to get in.

“Stay behind me!”

The door slams open, a large man with a gas mask walking in. Farah takes a step back. The man meets her eyes and closes the door, and she stares at his gun.

Baba pleads with the man. He does not listen.

Baba throws his backpack at him, the man shooting a couple of bullets into the floor. They miss Farah’s feet by a few centimeters, and she freezes, breath held in her lungs. Hadir throws himself against the man, but gets shoved back.

The man pulls out a knife, baba manages to take it, stab the man. But it doesn’t change a thing.

It doesn’t save him, when the man pushes him to the floor, and shoots one, two, three, four bullets.

Only then do her feet unstick, and she mutters to herself, “hide!”

She runs back to her and Hadir’s room, crawling under the bed. The man shouts angrily and she hears something break.

Hadir. She needs to help Hadir!

As the man talks to someone on his phone, Farah crawls towards the kitchen, finding a knife. Mama always warned her not to play with them, but if the man catches Hadir…

In her heart, she asks for forgiveness from mama.

When she finds the man, he’s leaning against a wall, his hand clutching his side. Before she can think it over, Farah lowers and slashes at his legs. The man screams in pain, shooting a few bullets at the ground, and turns around to slap her.

It doesn’t hurt, but she drops the knife, so she runs away again.

One of baba’s tools is on the ground, must’ve fallen from his backpack. She grabs it and continues running, the man on her tail now.

The man says mean words to her, in Arabic, but her ears are pounding, her own heavy breaths the only thing she can hear. Her grip on the tool tightens.

“I’m going to kill you!”

Farah watches the man stumble in the hallway, searching.

“You’re going to see father soon, you piece of shit child!”

He trips on the rug. She sneaks closer.

“You’re dead, you hear me?! YOU'RE FUCKING DEAD!”

Farah runs forward, aiming for his other leg, but he turns around and grabs her hand before she can stab him.

“There you are!” he grabs her by the neck, slamming her to the floor, “got you!”

She can feel his hand wrap around her, crushing her windpipe, but it doesn’t hurt. The man grunts, before he freezes.

“You’re- you’re one of them?!”

Hadir jumps on the man’s shoulders, screaming, “get off her!!!”. He uses the knife she dropped to stab him in the neck, “get him, Farah, now!”

Farah grabs the tool, and uses all her strength to stab it into the man’s chest. He screams as flesh gives under the metal.

“It’s working! Again, sister!”

She pulls it out, and repeats.

“Good, Farah!”

And again.

Four times, until the man stops moving and making any sound. Farah takes his mask, the gun too heavy and tool buried in his gut.

Farah and Hadir return to baba. Hadir tries to help him up, but baba stops him.

“I can’t… I can’t go with you.”

Tears well in her eyes. Baba is leaving as well.

Hadir wraps his hands around baba’s, “what do we do?”

“You survive. Whatever it takes.” he turns to look at Farah, “even… even your sacrifice. Never give…up…”

Baba’s head drops. He’s gone.

Hadir stares at him for a moment longer. He gets up, “let’s go.”

They weave through the town, a murky green tinting the air. People are gasping and coughing around them, until a gunshot silences them. Hadir says it’s not fair. Farah knows.

It’s not fair, that they pass by people who get shot, and don’t get back up. It’s not fair, that she has to kill twice more, just for them to get a chance at freedom.

It’s not fair, when a man drags both of them away from it, a cruel smile on his lips as he inspects her.

It’s not fair, that she knows to recognize the malice in his eyes.

The soldiers take them to a prison. They find out she is one of those who sacrificed.

It’s not fair, she tells to the Reaper in her heart, that her sacrifice was not enough to save anyone.

She learns very quickly to hate Barkov. He learns, quicker, that his usual torture methods don’t work on her. He finds her weakness not in her own flesh, but in the flesh of the others. Hadir, in most cases. They keep the men and women separated, only allowing her to see him once every few weeks, and every time she gives them trouble, he takes the punishment. He tries to hide it, but he can’t hide his limp, or his bloodshot eyes, or the scars that keep multiplying upon his skin.

Contrasted with her flawless arms, glistening oddly in the light.

She gets into fights with her Reaper, in the earlier days. Demanding answers, for the simple question of “why?”.

Why her? Why this power, that only protects her? Why taunt her, tell her she’s under the Reaper of Might, yet show her every day how weak she is?

There are whispers among the guards, of a person by the name of “Karim”. A Commander, aiding the prisoners, attempting to contact foreign forces by transmitting messages from the inside. Barkov spends hours torturing her and the others, trying to find them. After a while, Farah notices a glint of playfulness in the wretched man’s eyes.

He knows who Karim is. He just wants to break them, annihilate the sense of fragile hope Karim gives the prisoners.

Barkov wants their spirit broken. Farah knows he will fail, because as long as any of them stand, they will not give up. For those who can't fight any longer, for those who are still with them in this hell, for Urzikstan.

They think one can uproot it from them. What they don’t know, will never understand, is that you can’t kill an idea. You can’t torture the memory of freedom out of them.

The soldiers seem on edge, mumbling in Russian about rumors of enemy forces invading Urzikstan. One of them slaps the back of her head when she stares too long.

The cycle continues - Barkov interrogates her, always keeping another prisoner in the room to torture in her place. Today it is Azadeh, younger than her by two years. Azadeh doesn’t flinch at the glint of a knife, but she screams as Barkov buries it in her thigh.

Farah’s guts burn at her wailing, at Barkov’s cocksure grin, his hand easily yanking the knife out of spasming muscles.

She breaks. Tells him she is Karim. It feels like an end.

Barkov freezes, before he pounces. Knocking her out of the chair, he covers her mouth, pinches her nose, deprives her of air.

Not many things can hurt her, but Farah still needs oxygen to live. Her wrists twitch roughly against the bindings tying her to the chair, Azadeh calls for her. Barkov snarls.

“I will not let terrorists like you ruin my country.”

My country… My country?

Urzikstan will never kneel to the likes of you.

As the edges of her vision darken, a soldier bursts into the room, his movements rushed as he informs Barkov the prison is under attack.

Barkov, always needing to have the last laugh, tells her she hasn’t saved anyone, that Karim’s role was only to doom her people, and orders his soldiers to the warehouse, to kill everyone.

Air fills her lungs as she inhales for the first time in over a minute. Barkov tells the man to take Azadeh to the warehouse, and her to solitary confinement. She gives Azadeh an encouraging nod, before they’re separated.

Karim hasn’t failed yet. As long as they’re still alive, she hasn’t failed.

Solitary is part of the older section of the building. Farah has been here enough times to know the rebar in the far corner of the cell is loose, and she herself have made sure, should the need arise, it will be easy to extract from the cracked concrete floor.

The moment the soldiers leave, she gets to work, pulling the metal with a grunt. With a few well-placed hits, Farah breaks the lock, and opens the door.

It is silent outside, in the way a graveyard is. Something sick spreads on her tongue, as she sneaks out of solitary. A few soldiers are making their way to the main cell block, to take the remaining prisoners to the warehouse, Farah assumes. The rebar feels lighter in her hands.

The first soldier she hits over the head screams as he goes down. The rest instinctively start shooting her. It doesn’t do much to stop her from caving their skulls in, besides ripping a few new holes into her clothes.

Searching the bodies yields her a key and an extra mag for one of the rifles. All of them were either empty or jammed, the frantic soldiers not recognizing her.

For them, all Urzik are the same.

Her sisters are relieved to see her approach. The gunshots scared them, fearing it was anyone but her. She opens the cell, freeing them. She uses the key to open a gun locker, and orders them to take up arms. No hesitation is visible on their faces. They all know this is an end.

Of the soldiers or theirs, it is yet to be seen.

“Our brothers have been taken to the warehouse to be executed. We are not going to let that happen.” Farah snarls, fingers aching as she grips the rifle, “are we?”

“No, Commander!” her sisters yell in unison.

Farah feels pride bubble up within her. They haven’t broken their spirit.

A series of far away explosions makes their little group flinch. Ayah asks, “who is attacking us, Commander? Are they on our side?”

“I don’t know. And as long as they distract Barkov and his dogs, it doesn’t matter. We need to move before it’s too late.”

They slam open the doors, Russian soldiers already ready at the other side. Her sisters’ aim is wobbly, the recoil more than they’ve experienced, but they have one thing the Russians don’t.

They don’t fear death anymore.

Nadia was injured in the firefight against a sniper. Ghalia has been limping since an explosion knocked her down. Darine and Azadeh are tired, they’ve been in solitary for days with little to no food or water.

They manage to hole up in the warehouse, but there’s no one there. Farah shouts for Hadir, her echo the only answer.

“Commander!” Azadeh calls, “there’s a way through here, this is must be where they are!”

Farah kicks the door open, turning right to clear the hallway, when a body slams into her from the left. She falls to the ground heavily, teeth bared as a barrel lines with her forehead. The other two soldiers aim at her sisters, Azadeh screaming in horror, “please don’t shoot!”

For a moment, Farah loses hope. Her mind supplies her with Barkov’s words.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

In the next, the skylights shatter. Precise bullets take out the three soldiers, not a single wasted shot. Ropes are thrown through the broken windows, and men wearing gas masks repel down. One of them looks at her, “Whose Commander Karim?”

Farah huffs as she pushes a dead body off of her, “I’m Karim.”

The soldier swings his weapon to the side, “we got your message” he lifts the mask up, revealing a pale face, “Lieutenant John Price. Where are the others?”

The Lieutenant offers her a hand, and Farah grunts as he lifts her, “in there. Straight ahead.”

Price looks at the dark hallway, before turning back and lowering his mask, “stay close!”

Azadeh’s expression is uncertain when Farah stops her from following them. Wordlessly, she nods and returns to her wounded sisters’ side. They both know the path ahead is meant only for trained soldiers.

Trained soldiers, and those who cannot die to a bullet.

Farah keeps her rifle up as the soldiers and her scan the hall. Tanks with warning signs plastered on their exterior line the narrow passage way, and she doesn’t need to know Russian to know what’s inside.

“Got two!” Price warns, and takes out one of the guards. The other doesn’t waste time watching his partner go down, and before one of Price’s soldiers puts a bullet in his head, he aims and shoots Farah.

Straight shot to her heart. These guards are more skilled than the ones she fought through to get here.

Two hands clamp onto her shoulders, and Price’s wide eyes stare at her through the gas mask, “you’re not wearing armor- Karim, sit the fuck down, I saw the bullet hit you-!”

Farah frowns, following his line of sight to the hole in her shirt.

“Lieutenant-”

He holds her as if she’s about to collapse, muttering, “why are you not bleeding…”

Farah grabs his hands, and the Lieutenant’s brows shoot up.

“You’re a revenant.” his hands loosen, and drop to his side.

Farah nods, “no bullet or blade can hurt me.”

Something odd passes by Price’s eyes, but he doesn’t say anything to indicate what.

“Lieutenant, the prisoners are here! We need the breacher for the door!”

They run towards the back, and Farah slides to a stop at the scene.

In a room with large bullet-proof windows, where fire wars with the Russian’s sickly green gas, her brothers pound on the glass, their screams muffled.

They were going to watch them suffocate and burn.

She shakes out of her stupor when she notices Hadir. Slumped in the corner by a door, unmoving.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

Farah runs to the other side of the door, where Price and his men are attempting to pry open it. They don’t have time for this.

“Stand back!” she grunts, and Price barely pulls the other soldier away before she shoots 4 bullets into the lock.

She barely manages to catch Hadir when the door slams open, her brothers running out towards fresh air. She should feel happiness, that they were fast enough to save them.

But in her arms is the still body of her brother, the one who has been through this hell with her from the beginning. The one with their mama’s eyes, and their baba’s kindness. Farah feels tears run down her face as she presses two fingers to his pulse. Nothing.

There are voices around her, speaking to her. She doesn’t hear a thing. No sound is worth hearing when her brother’s heart does not beat.

Price crouches in front of her, his mask off despite the gas filtering in from the room. His voice is gentle when he speaks, “Karim… we need to move.”

She shakes her head. It reminds her of how Hadir didn’t want to leave their house, when baba knew they had no choice. She has no choice but to leave him.

Oh, how could she leave him like this?

As the Lieutenant urges her again, as her brothers and sisters start to realize what happened, as Farah’s fingers stay on a paling wrist, she feels it.

A heartbeat.

Hadir gasps, his hands shoot up to claw at his neck frantically, and he jumps away from Farah. Everyone is watching him carefully as he catches his breath, silent and knowing.

Farah clenches her fists, failing to quell the shaking, “...why…?”

Why did you choose this over seeing mama and baba again?

Hadir turns to face her, but his eyes don’t meet hers. They’re not the blue-gray they were before, she notices. Green, like the gas that killed him.

“You survive, whatever it takes. Never give up.” Hadir repeats their baba’s last words. “Not even death will come between us, sister. Not anymore.”

“May your soul find rest.” she says, and her brothers and sisters murmur it with her. Hadir then lifts his gaze, and he gives her a sad smile.

Price and his soldiers stand back, looking properly shaken by seeing a dead man return. For them it is an anomaly.

In Urzikstan, they all know what a sacrifice looks like.

Farah gives herself a moment more to mourn Hadir, mourn the peace he refused to receive in death.

She gets up, grips her rifle, and orders her people, “collect survivors and supplies. We’re leaving.”

“Sister.”

She stops cleaning her knife for a moment, acknowledging Hadir’s presence with a nod, before continuing, “any sign of Barkov?”

Hadir drags a chair to sit in front of her, “no, we’re secure here. The Lieutenant cleared the area well.” he watches her hands work on the sharpening metal, “I… I wanted to tell you about my powers.”

Her hand freezes. “Immunity to the gas. I know.”

“No.”

Farah opens her mouth to question him, but when she looks up at Hadir…

Mist flows from his eyes and nose, pouring down his features. Green, toxic, smells of chemicals and death.

When he speaks, more gas flows from his mouth, “I’m not only immune, sister. I can create it.” fear paints his words.

“Enough.” she orders, though to her ears it sounds more like begging. Hadir stops using his power all the same, and it is with shame that he looks at the thin level of gas coating the floor of the run-down room.

Farah puts the knife and whetstone away, and hugs Hadir. He presses closer, and she feels his body tremble with silent sobs.

“You will not use this power. We do not need weapons of the enemy to win this war.” Her brother may be doomed, cursed forever to bear the gas within him, but it does not mean he needs to continue Barkov’s legacy.

Hadir doesn’t respond for a while, but when he pulls back, he nods. “Yes, Commander Karim.” he says, pride in the title. “What are your orders to our brothers and sisters?”

Farah sheaths the knife, her voice strong and clear, “Barkov must’ve had more prisons. It’s time we find more hands to help our cause.”

Alex Keller is… odd.

He had a surface level knowledge of the situation in Urzikstan when he arrived. Not from a tactical standpoint - CIA doesn’t let details like those escape them, of course. But from a human’s, and perhaps a revenant’s, it was clear Alex was not used to seeing such disgusting levels of violence unhidden for all to see. Barkov doesn’t need to hide it. America already knows.

The world already knows.

Keller’s abilities as a revenant proved advantageous from the very first mission they had. Infiltrating has never been easier, with a man able to become invisible to the naked eye. Later on he has told her of his weaknesses, that his form is still corporal even when see-through, and that electronic optics are able to catch traces of him. His honesty doesn’t go unnoticed, and Farah appreciates the trust he puts in her.

Hadir didn’t trust him at first. Despite his relation to Captain Price, he was wary of the American. It didn’t matter much to Farah, as long as they were amicable enough to work together, but seeing Hadir slowly let his guard down over the weeks was a moment of happiness in her days.

It helps most in days when Hadir seems distant, when a fog she can only call a thirst for revenge clouds his eyes. It feels like the times she has to fight against his violent suggestions double every new mission.

Something is brewing in his mind, she can tell. Hadir doesn’t want to share it with her.

At least Alex doesn’t push back against her orders with no good reason…

They’re on ground now, Alex using Hadir’s Sniper to scope the Highway of Death, and Farah spotting for him. They’re waiting for forces of Al-Mudahiyn, The Sacrificers, to pass through.

Al-Mudahiyn and the ULF used to be one and the same, until they weren’t. They share the goal of liberation, but where the ULF chooses to prioritize the safety of the people of Urzikstan, The Sacrificers choose the retribution on the Russians to be theirs.

Liberation will not be achieved peacefully, Farah knows that. But revenge won’t bring it either, and as much as she would hate it if it were to happen, if she had the choice to free her country but let her oppressors walk away unharmed, she would. She is sick of seeing her brothers and sisters die, and sacrifice, and bow their heads to men who see them as lesser.

In that, Al-Mudahiyn and her disagree. The militia focuses its powers on creating chaos among the Russian’s ranks, within Russia itself, and anywhere where its sympathizers live. And while they both deal in violence, Farah cannot agree to it being the objective.

It is a tool. One she will wield only as long as her enemy does.

The SAS and CIA have begun to retaliate against Al-Mudahiyn, as has Barkov, their actions too flashy to ignore. Stealing several containers of Russian experimental gas was the last nail in the coffin.

The ULF along with Captain Price’s team decided to work together to stop them.

“One vehicle approaching from the east!”

On her mark, Alex takes down the two snipers that attempted to set up on the roof. Killing them is a calculated risk; it could alert their target and cause them to change course, but leaving them alive could’ve risked Hadir and his team, who are nearer to the road.

Two fighters from Hadir’s team take the truck and park it in the middle of the highway as a makeshift blockade. She watches as they rig it up with explosives, and orders them to wait for her signal.

Their target, as do many in The Sacrificers’ ranks, is a revenant. According to Alex’s sources in the CIA, they’re just a Revenant of Flesh. Their healing powers could save them from some injuries, but an explosion should kill them.

And if the explosion doesn’t do them in, bullets will.

They were ready for an ambush. Armored trucks, snipers, mortar teams.

“We need help! Where is Captain Price?!” Farah shouts as she fires on a few fighters making their way through the ruined house they’ve taken cover in. Alex pops up to shoot as well, but she pushes him behind her when a few bullets hit too close for comfort.

Her clothes are riddled with holes.

Hadir shouts from the rooftop beside theirs, “we cannot wait! I’ve got more firepower in the truck!” an explosion shakes the foundations of the house, “Alex! Follow me!”

Alex looks back at her, and she nods. Hadir’s intuition never failed them, his habit of preparing for the worst saved operations more than once. He’s not her second-in-command just because of their blood relation, she trusts him more than anyone else.

That is why, when green, toxic gas started covering the abandoned village rapidly, Farah didn’t dare think it was him. Hadir wouldn’t do that, he promised her.

She hears him shout to Alex that there are gas masks in the bunker. It should’ve tipped her off. It didn’t.

Coughing horribly, she ran towards the bunker, her steps unsteady as the gas coats her lungs. She has never forgotten the way it claws down her throat, burning, seizing her muscles.

Alex comes into view just as Farah’s vision begins to fade, and the last words she hears singe worse than any chemical could.

“H-Hadir… You’re… a revenant?”

When she comes to, it’s to the smell of dust. Her throat still burns, but as she coughs, she feels clean air filter through her nose. Farah blinks her eyes open, to see Hadir equip a gas mask on Alex’s face. He notices her eyes following his movements.

“Sister…” Hadir leaves Alex to approach her, his arms open. Before, she would’ve taken comfort to see he is not injured.

Now, all she sees is anger. Green, sickly, violent anger.

Farah pushes him away, but she is weakened, so his arms don’t leave hers, “how could you do this?!”

He tries to placate her. It makes her shake with exertion to get away. “I had no choice, Farah! I-”

“No. Not like this.” her eyes roll back, and before she loses consciousness again, she mumbles, “you promised…”

“-Farah!… Alex!”

She grunts. Her arms feel weighted when she pushes the dusty gas mask up and off her face. Alex does the same, trying to get up on his feet and failing.

Price’s voice invades her mind, and she winces. It is an unfamiliar feeling, still. “You’re alright, Farah. You’re alright.”

Still unused to the powers, she chooses to speak, “where is he…? Where is he?!”

Price finally reaches them, helping Farah get up, only for her to push off to rush out the crooked door, “he’s gone, Farah…”

She snarls. How dare he run, how could he leave- “no… Hadir… HADIR!!!”

“Farah!” Price follows her, catching her when she stumbles on the steps outdoors, “Farah, stop! Stop, he’s gone!”

Her fists clench on dry earth and she screams. Coward, liar, monster. No curse is bad enough to describe that fucking dog.

She feels Price wrap an arm around her, not to support, but to comfort. It reminds her why they’re here in the first place.

“There is no thief.” she tilts her head up, staring at Price’s blue-gray eyes. His brows knit in confusion, and she continues, “he created the gas. I’m sorry, Captain, I didn’t know, I didn’t know…”

She feels Price pull images from her memories. She lets him.

The Captain looks through her interactions with Hadir for the past few weeks. At first, Farah thinks he doesn’t believe her word, but Price relays to her that he’s not doing it for himself.

He’s proving her she’s not at fault.

“There’s no way you could’ve known, Farah.” he says out loud.

Alex joins him behind them, leaning on another soldier, “it’s okay, Farah. We’ll get him.”

She wants to bristle at those almost meaningless comforting gestures, but the look in Alex’s eyes is pleading her to let it go, for now.

Price helps her up again, shouting to Alex, “we need to un-ass this target- NOW!”

As they board the helicopter, Farah looks down.

Corpses line the desolate streets, no bird dares to sing at the sight. Both Al-Mudahiyn and ULF fighters lay still, eyes bulging and throat scratched raw. She grits her teeth, but her eyes don’t stray from the sight, even as the aircraft rises to the air.

Alex places a hand on her shoulder after a while, a questioning hum following.

She shakes her head, and with it his hand.

A voice that has haunted her for the last two decades drifts closer to her, whispering into her ears a sentence she hates to acknowledge has never been wrong.

“You haven’t saved anyone.”

At twenty-seven, Farah Ahmed Karim has lost the last remaining blood relative she had. There was no one left to mourn, except her.

In a dusty helicopter, with the smell of noxious gas still in her every breath, Farah promised to find him, the walking corpse of her brother, and stop him before he drags more of them down.

And unlike the man who once was her brother, Farah keeps her promises.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod farah #cod alex #cod price #farah karim #hadir karim #alex keller #john price #revenant au #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #farah.... <3333 #her story makes me so fucking sad every time #i cant see the cutscenes from mw2019 without tearing up #shes my fave character from base game bc shes just so complex #doomed to be in an american military propaganda game...#i decided to change AQ since they havent been mentioned in part 1 #and i dont really like how theyre handled in canon #like... russia is the one occupying urzikstan but AQ operates in europe and decided to do what they did in piccadilly circus #but the brits supposedly arent aiding barkov/makarov and are actually against them??#but they cant show americans/brits conquering and violently occupying countries bc cmon guys america doesnt do that its only russia \s #also AQ literally translates to 'the killers' and im sorry but thats... not it #you cant really have nuance with a group called 'the killers'#sorry i just hate when the american military propaganda game propagandas #i hope i managed to make Al-Mudahiyn more... sypmathetic? maybe?#like you could understand more why ppl from the ULF would choose to be part of Al-Mudahiyn... rather than fuckin AQ

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the-californicationist · 10 months ago

Text

That Fire is Repeated

AO3 Link

From an anonymous ask: fic of where instead of Price, it's reader who's been infected with sex pollen?👉👈please and thank u!

Deep in the southern jungles of Urzikstan, Captain Price is sent to help with your extraction. On your way out of the makeshift Konni laboratory, you accidentally step on a trap, and Price volunteers to save your life.

“I can’t hear her comms!” Simon yelled out over the noise of the helicopter, pointing to his headset and giving the thumbs down to Laswell.

She typed something into her datapad and showed it to him, yelling back,

“Dead zone! You’ll have to go in on foot.”

Price adjusted his vest and checked to make sure his gun was fully loaded,

“I’ll go. She’s my recruit, my responsibility.”

“Sure you’ll wanna be the big hero for her, too, huh?” Farah laughed from the cockpit, glancing over her shoulder as Price twisted his face, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink from his shame.

It was well-known that Price had a terribly strong crush on you. You had accepted his advances, but he was reluctant to take it further, realizing that fraternizing was frowned upon. So, you pined for each other from afar, and the whole base knew about it.

Laswell rolled her eyes at Farah’s comment,

“Should we go back to basics? Captain: don’t subtract from the population,” her eyes narrowed, “Don’t add to the population…”

“Yeah, alright, Kate. Got it. Loud and clear,” Price waved her off, staring out the window and ignoring the obvious ribbing from his colleagues.

“Go get Sparrow and let’s go the fuck home,” Laswell hollered at him, opening the door to the chopper and letting the air whoosh inside.

The wind stung his cheeks, and the tall grass blades spun and twirled like violent dancers as he made his way towards the old, dilapidated lab. You’d been sent to infiltrate secret Konni operations here, disguised as a chemist. Now that the Konni operatives had been dispatched, you secured the intel and were ready for extraction. Price was ready to have you back. These types of ops were so delicate. One wrong move would put you in danger. He was glad the worst of it was over.

As quickly and as carefully as he could, Price made his way inside. It was a little odd that you weren’t outside waiting for the extraction, so his guard was up. In the main lab, he spotted you, standing with your bag and your weapon with your back towards him.

“Little bird?” Price questioned under his breath, moving forward slowly, using the pet name he saved for when you two were alone.

“Hey, Captain. Glad you made it,” you called out to him, your voice tinged with obvious sobbing and stress.

“What is it, Spar? What’s happened?”

He made his way around the lab table and saw you. You were standing stock-still, staring down at your foot. Then, he knew what had made you cry.

Jutting out of your pant leg, a giant syringe was stuck into your calf, empty.

Price leaned down to help you, removing the needle, panicking at the thought of losing you,

“Can you move?”

“When I do… Captain, it’s excruciating.”

“Fuck,” Price tried the comms. But, then he remembered it was a dead zone, and no one was coming to help him. He asked you, “Is it poison? How’d this happen?”

“They call it XLR8. It’s what they’ve been working on. A prototype. I was bending down to grab my bag and this was rigged to hit me. They knew I was a spy.”

“What does it do, this prototype?” You heard his voice quiver at the end of his question.

You blushed, laughing a bit,

“It incapacitates you, first. Removes your inhibitions, next. Then, it causes extreme vasodilation…”

“In the Queen’s bloody English, love. Please…”

“John,” you used his name, looking up into his eyes, “I may ask you to do things to me. Things that I might not usually ask for. And I want you to know that you don’t have to listen to me. I don’t want you to do anything… I don’t want to force you to do… things…”

“Birdie. Tell me what I need to know.”

“When the Konni scientists injected it into mice, they would breed… for hours. They wouldn’t eat, they wouldn’t sleep. One time, a researcher opened the door to the cage, and they didn’t escape. They only bred…” You looked at him in his eyes, making sure he heard you, “But, the mice who were alone in their cages and were given XLR8 got a high fever and died. Every last one of them”

“Are you… “ Price pointed down at your leg, “Do you mean to say that you’ll need someone to…”

You looked down at the ground, steeling yourself for the harsh reality of what was to come,

“When the drugs hit my system, the effects were immediate. Stage one should be almost over now.. You’ll… you’ll know it when you see stage two. But, listen to me, John. I couldn’t live with myself if I forced you to do something that you would regret. Please. I’m sure they’ll think of some other way to help me…”

“Little bird,” he caught your gaze and smiled softly at you, “I’m here for you. I’m not going to let anythin’ happen to you. I won’t lose you to this. I can’t… I care about you too much. I’m going to catch you, and we’re going to get out of here. Just fall forward into my arms, love. I know it hurts. We need to get you to the bloody medic as soon as we can.”

You nodded, and then you did as he commanded. Every movement felt like some sort of hell. You could hear yourself screaming, but it was muffled, your face buried in his chest. You were hanging, limp, against John’s body. You could feel every stinging step he took as it jostled your body. Suddenly, you heard the angry clipping of chopper blades. Then, you passed out.

Sometime later, you awoke, still on the chopper, sitting in the jump seat way in the back. Well, that wasn’t quite accurate. Price was sitting in the jumpseat and you were… straddling his lap.

You were humping him, shamelessly, right in front of Farah, Laswell, Gaz, Soap, and Ghost. The helicopter was full of soldiers, and here you were, uncontrollably rocking your hips against your captain. The others tried to avert their gazes, sitting at awkward angles, trying not to watch, but that somehow made it worse.

You cried out as if you were in pain, and Price held you closer, soothing you with his deep, rumbling voice, speaking to you right in your ear,

“Shh, shh. It’s alright, little bird. I’ve got you. Almost home. Just a few more minutes.”

“John… fuck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry… I need… oh, God.”

“I know what you need,” he kissed your neck, and he took his hand and shoved it down the front of your pants, giving you something to grind against.

His fingers were strong, and the tips of them were thick, easily pressing through your folds for you, exciting your nerves just the way you liked.

You moaned loudly, unable to stop yourself. When you did, you saw Soap’s head peek around the back of his seat. Then, a gloved, skeletal hand yanked him back around to face the front. If you didn’t die from the XLR8, you’d die from embarrassment afterward, that was certain.

“It’s okay, bird. It’s not your fault. They know that,” he tried to reassure you, but you hid your face in his neck anyway, unable to stop your wanton writhing, soaking his fingers until they slid against you unimpeded.

You felt your hands reach for his belt, digging under his vest and all of his equipment straps. You wanted to spear your body onto his thick cock. You were sure that it would cure you. The fever made you feel too cold and too hot all at the same time. You shivered in his arms, but your brow was dotted with beads of sweat.

He caught your wrist to stop you,

“Just a little while longer, love. Shh, shh, shh. I know…”

You sobbed into his shoulder, ashamed and needy, too weak to fight his grip.

“Hey, look at me,” you obeyed, and he rubbed your cheek, “I’ll take care of you. Don’t worry.”

You shuddered, cresting over a brief, sharp orgasm, coming on him as quietly as you could, biting your cheek so you wouldn’t cry out. For a few seconds, you experienced some sort of relief, but then it was gone, and the overwhelming internal fire raged in your belly once more.

The chopper pitched, landing on the pad at your base, and everyone cleared out of the hull except for Laswell. She looked down at you, pity in her eyes, and then turned to him with concern,

“I’ll send a few supplies to your room. The medic wants to run some tests. How long is this supposed to last?”

John shrugged, petting the sweaty hair out of your face, tucking you in close to him in his arms,

“Not sure. Just trying to get her through it. Take her datapad. It’s got her notes from the lab.”

Laswell took it and stepped down from the chopper, jogging off to the med bay.

“C’mon, love. Let me help you take that fever away, hm?”

You nodded, feeling dizzy and dehydrated, letting him carry you from the helicopter. It seemed like the tight coil in your belly was getting more and more tense by the moment. Your orgasm had been too weak, and it was almost like you hadn’t quite completed the event. You were just stuck in between coming and not coming, waiting for someone to put you out of your misery. What you thought had been relief was really just a prelude to the main event. It was torture.

As you lay your head on his chest, you could smell his aftershave as it mixed with his skin, a comfortingly warm scent with woodsy spices and the faint hint of tobacco from his favorite cigars. You wanted more of it, so you turned your nose into him, running your hands across the belt of his pants, trying to pry your way in..

When he arrived in the barracks, he kicked open the door to a dark room. It smelled just like him. You realized then that you were in his quarters. He lay you on his bed and set to taking off your gear. Your boots and socks slid off, and he unclipped your vest. Then, you felt his fingers on your neck, carefully inspecting your wounds.

“Birdie…” He shook his head, obviously regretful for what you were going through.

You whimpered, looking up at him as you moved your hand down your own pants, rubbing yourself in front of him out of a desperate need,

“John, I don’t know how to ask you this.”

“You don’t have to. Medic’s gonna check you out, and I’ll give you whatever you want, little bird. I promise.”

“I need you, now. I don’t… I can’t… mmmngh...”

“Captain?” A woman’s voice floated into the room from the doorway. Price cracked the door and when he saw it was the medic, he let her in.

She knelt by the bed, and took your hand,

“Hey, Sparrow. I’m just going to check your vitals, okay?”

You nodded, trying not to stare down the dark opening of her lab coat. Her voice was so sweet, and her breasts looked full and soft. Her olive skin would probably feel so warm on your lips. Before you could stop yourself, you had your hand behind her head, kissing her neck, trying your best to unbutton her blouse.

“Easy! Easy does it,” John sat himself down behind you on the bed, positioning you between his legs, and held you back, keeping you from accosting the medic.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I… oh, my God…” You writhed, trying to fight the demonic need building inside of you.

“That’s okay,” she said, “They warned me. We’re going to get you some help… Let me take your temp… Goddamnit. She’s burning up. I’m going to give her a light sedative and something to try and cut her fever, but…”

She stopped speaking, looking up at the captain, trying to be delicate,

“You probably need to… um… begin. The sooner the better. I’ll leave these with you,” she dropped two blue pressed pills into his hand, “Just in case you, uh, need a boost.”

Price recognized the sexual enhancement drugs and put them on his side table. He waited patiently for the medic to take a small vial of your blood. He thanked her, trying not to sound like he was in a rush (even though he was), and eventually she shut the door, leaving you two in each others’ care.

John stayed where he was, but he softened his grip, kissing your neck. He reached down and unbuttoned your pants, giving your hand room to move. You rubbed your folds faster, making tight little circles around your clit, struggling to come.

“Nnngh… fuck. Fuck, I can’t do it. I’m so close, but…” You whined, gritting your teeth and struggling against the XLR8. It was making you woozy, and you couldn’t keep your strength up in order to get yourself over the edge.

“Show me,” he whispered, staring down at your furious masturbation, watching your hand as it worked, “Show me how you like it, little bird. Teach me.”

Your heart raced, equal parts excited and embarrassed to show him something so personal and intimate, but you did as you were told, letting him see how your fingers worked your flesh. He sighed, and you felt his cock shift against the small of your back.

He took over for you, sliding his hand down below yours, mimicking your movements, and getting very close to perfection.

“That’s it!” You hissed, keening for him, “That’s… oh, fuck, that’s so good. Don’t stop. Please, don’t —”

Your orgasm was almost immediate. Your body locked up, every muscle squeezing you until you were frozen, rigidly convulsing as you came on his hand. Your mouth hung open in a breathless, silent scream. Then, to your horror, you felt the heavy stain of some sort of fluid soaking through your pants. At first, you thought you’d wet yourself, but then when John pulled his hand away to inspect your emission, you saw the sticky, gooey consistency shining on his fingers.

“What… I don’t understand. What is that?”

“It looks like your come, yeah? Quite a lot of it…” He observed. Price brought it to his nose and mouth to smell it. Then, he licked his fingers tentatively, and his eyes rolled back into his head, “Mmm. Fuck. It’s sweet.”

He lifted you so easily, it was as if you weighed nothing. Propping you up on his pillows, he helped you out of your pants and boots, stripping you down. When Price saw you, dripping and pink, splayed in front of him like a gleaming prize, he stalled. Then, he looked up at you, eyes wide with glorious wonder,

“Little bird…”

“John,” you gasped, “Please.”

He didn’t waste any more time. In a flash, your thighs were hitched up toward your chest as he shoved them back, giving his mouth access to its warm, wet reward.

The first long lick was like its own kind of drug. Your whole body sang like a bell, trembling and ringing out for him and his soft tongue. He licked you again and pulled away, confused but pleasantly so,

“Fuck, love. You taste like strawberries. That’s… fuck.”

You lost track of time as he devoured you. His whole face was shining with your stickiness, and he couldn’t get enough of it. He was gasping for air, practically drowning himself, rubbing his chin and nose through your folds as he tried to writhe his tongue deeper into your core, fucking you with it to draw out more of your slickness.

The sounds you were making seemed almost inhuman. You were convinced you had never had a true orgasm before if this is what they were supposed to feel like. Every lap of his tongue felt like its own crescendo. You were putty in his hands, figuratively and literally judging by the dampness beneath you.

Eventually, he made his way back up your body, peeling away your shirt and bra, rustling out of his own clothes as quickly as he could, his muscular arms getting trapped in his jacket, stretching and pulling against his heavy bones for freedom.

“You alright, little bird?” He asked you softly, crawling over you and settling himself between your shivering thighs.

You nodded,

“Yeah, that was so amazing, John. I know its selfish, but I need more. Can… can you fuck me? Please? I’m clean, I have an IUD. Please? I won’t —”

“Shh. Hush, love. I’m not leavin’ this room ‘til I’ve cured you, one way or another. C’mere.”

He pulled you to him, kissing you, covered in your come. You tasted yourself on his lips, and he was right: it was exactly like strawberries. It must have been the stimulant, you thought. Something to… entice…

Your mind went blank as John began to feed his fat cockhead into your hole. All of the pain and the heat from the fever disappeared, and you were normal again. Well, a very horny normal, but at least you felt some relief.

“Oh, my God!” You cried, “That’s it. That’s what I needed. Oh…”

“Yeah?” Price narrowed his eyes, studying your face, watching your reactions with rapt attention. Where you were stabilizing, he was falling apart at the seams.

His whole body shuddered as he slid himself into you. It was shallow at first; he was too thick to fit inside of your tight pussy, no matter how wet you were. But, as he lubed himself up in your body, he squeezed deeper and deeper inside, eventually drilling down right to his base, slamming his hips into yours like a hungry machine.

Your screams echoed in his small room, and the metal bed creaked under his enormous weight. You could feel his power through his thrusts. He was so incredibly strong, and his muscles bent and twisted just to serve your pleasure. It was hypnotizing to watch. You were focused on the straining sinew in his immense neck when another orgasm threatened to bubble over inside of you.

It was too soon. You’d barely recovered from the first one, and as he felt your body start to contract around his shaft, he began to moan right along with you.

“That’s it, Birdie, let it out. C’mon. Come for me… That’s it. That’s… ungh!” He coached you, talking you through it, fighting his own pleasure like the dragon it was, the heat of his breathing furling in hot bursts down your neck.

His eyes were wrenched shut, but between his long, aching thrusts, he rambled, spilling out his words instead of himself inside of you like he wanted to.

“Spar… don’t you know how badly I’ve wanted this?”

Your pussy was being pounded so hard you could feel your pulse slamming against your skin.

“...I’ve wanted you… wanted to feel you…”

His face was near yours, close enough that you could still smell your sweet slick on his beard.

“...it’s so good. I never want it to stop. Feels like heaven…”

When he wasn’t speaking in that hoarse, smoldering timbre, you could see his jaw working against itself, fighting the inevitable.

“...so damn responsive to me. Such a good girl…”

Then, his tone turned dark, burning into your face as he spoke against your cheek through gritted teeth,

“You want more, hm?”

“Yeah…” You whispered, your voice sounding so small.

“Harder? You want it harder, don’t you, little bird? I can tell.”

You nodded, whispering your pleading to him in wordless gasps. He smiled. You could feel it against your skin,

“Bloody hell. Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he lamented, rising up above you, wrenching his fingers around your waist, the gentleness gone from his touch, “Fuck, Birdie. You’ll make me come. You… ah!”

He brought you with him as he tumbled over the edge. You felt like you’d been hit with a flashbang. You couldn’t hear, and your vision went white. When you begged your lungs to breathe, you couldn’t take in the air. All you could feel — the only thing your body would allow you to feel — was each silky throb of his cock as it pumped his come inside of you. You could feel it as it burst from him, and then as it melted down your walls, flowing across his fleshy head. It was lava-hot, and you knew nothing except that you needed more.

Price collapsed on top of you, his heavy, furry body sweaty and panting, gasping for air himself. He seemed spent, but you weren’t done.

You flipped him, planting him on his back, enjoying the shocked look on his face, his eyes wide and uncertain. He couldn’t speak; there wasn’t enough time. But, as you began to rock back and forth on his softening rod, he cried out with something between pain and bliss.

“Oh, fuck, love… wait! I’m… oh, shite…”

“I’m… so sorry, John. I can’t stop…” You ground your swollen pussy down to his base, fucking him raw and wild, feeling his come slipping out of you in foamy smears.

He nodded, hiding his eyes behind his palm, struggling to get his breathing under control,

“It’s alright, Birdie. It’s alright. Take what you need.”

As you rode him, he fully softened in you, and you cried out, trying everything you could to bring him back. Then, you watched as he fumbled across the end table, reaching for the blue pills the medic had left behind. He took one, and stared up at you,

“I’m sorry, love. C’mere.”

He grabbed your thighs, and with very little struggle, situated you across his face, grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto him, forcing you to put your weight on his jaw. He began to eat you out, licking long circles around your messy hole at first, and then he thrust his long tongue inside of you, rubbing his nose deep within your wet folds.

You screamed for him then, trying to battle your insecurities and failing. It was overwhelming. The pleasure just built and built inside of you, mounting up and then… nothing. It remained there at its peak, a tightened coil, ready to bust.

“John! John, I can’t… Help me, please.”

With all of his strength, he lifted you off of him, shoving you on all fours, situating himself behind you.

All of his movements were rabid and unwieldy. He was struggling, trying to overcome his soporific pleasure to accommodate you. Hungry for you even though he’d recently been sated.

Your chaos quieted for a moment when you felt his fingers prying your lips apart between your legs, slipping into you like a cork, sinking down to his knuckles into a perfect fit.

“Oh, Sparrow. So fuckin’ soft. So sweet.”

As he praised you, he ate you, pulling out more and more of your stickiness onto his hand, lapping you up with his tongue. You were coming unwound, and it felt amazing. It was as if he was pulling pulsing orgasms from your body on a long silk ribbon, one after the other, soft and slick, neverending.

Then, finally, you felt his head tapping its way into your wet hole once more. Fucking you from behind seemed to be your commander’s preference. It was either that or he had become beyond overstimulated. His noises were a cross between whimpers and growls. He kissed his way up your back, sinking his sharp teeth into your neck and shoulder, grunting like an animal as he buried himself into you.

“You’re so big. I feel so full,” you whispered to him, glancing over your shoulder as he knelt over you like a feral hound, bucking into you shamelessly.

“Feels good, little bird? ‘M not hurtin’ you, am I?”

“No, John. You’re perfect,” you found his jaw as he kissed your neck, nuzzling his face with your own, rubbing against him like a cat.

“Gonna come for me, love? Squeezin’ the fuck out of my cock.”

“I can’t help it,” you cried, feeling hot tears run down your cheeks. You were so overwhelmed, your body was processing every sensation, fraying your nerves. He wiped your temple with his hand,

“I know, Sparrow. I know. Let it out, love. C’mon. I can take it.”

“Nghah!” You screamed, trying to relax into the blinding pleasure, feeling your legs start to tremble from it.

“Mmm,” Price groaned deeply, sitting back on his knees as he felt you spill over the edge. Your sticky come coated his cock and the dense hair at his base, matting the dark fur, “Tha’s it, baby. Fuck, so wet.”

You sobbed through the orgasm as it wrecked your body. John gathered you up in his arms, taking the sheet with him, clutching you to his chest messily, still humping himself into you as gently as he could, but unable to quell his own lurid desire.

“Lay down, Birdie,” your captain whispered, pulling the sheet away and pushing you prone into his mattress, “Try to breathe for me. Tha’s it.”

You tried to do as he commanded. You wanted to be good for him, but your breath kept hitching in your throat. You needed more, and you didn’t know how to get it. You writhed below him, feeling his cock slipping in and out of you, the wetness from your body pooling beneath you.

“John, I’m still so hot. Feels like I’m losing my mind,” you looked at him over your shoulder, and you had to admit he didn’t look much better. He was spent, fucking you on auto-pilot at this point, letting nature take its own path. He was nothing more than base instincts at this point, and you could tell he was having trouble keeping himself tied down.

He wanted to come again, you could feel it in how rigid his cock had become, helped by the pills. Something inside of you wanted to force his come from him, to make him explode in you again, filling you up. So, you pushed your hips back, arching your spine to allow more of his cock inside of your pussy, teasing him with your swollen hole.

“Oh, fuck. Sparrow… don’t…”

“Does it feel good, John?” You asked, not following his orders for once, “Do I… make you feel good?”

“Holy fuck,” he spat, his voice dark and animalistic, unable to tear his eyes from where your bodies were joined together.

You twisted your hips back and forth, effectively jerking him off with your drooling sheath, listening to his deep whining as you tormented him, pushing him to the brink but not fucking him fast enough to toss him over.

“Little bird… Please…” John whimpered, overstimulated and eager to come.

“Tell me,” you teased him, not recognizing your own voice, “Tell me how you like it.”

“I fuckin’ love it. Just like that, Birdie. So damn good. Keep movin’ your hips like that, pretty girl. Gonna make me come again.”

You could feel his eyes watching you fuck him. He used his hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, giving him a bird’s eye view of both of your holes. You could feel the cool air rush across them, exciting you and making you shiver from the sensation.

“So damn pretty,” Price crooned, whispering almost to himself, petting your stretched skin with his thumbs, smearing your wetness all over you.

You felt him grab your hair, right at the nape of your neck, forcing your back to arch, pulling you up to him,

“You want me to come in you, little bird? You want my fuckin’ come? Hm? Tell me!”

“Nghh… Yes,” you hissed. His grip was so restricting, and you felt the air try to escape your throat, “Come. In. Me.”

“Sparrow!” Price shouted, releasing your hair to hold you across your belly, wrapping your body in his arms, ramming himself into you as deeply as he could, letting his cock spill into you once again.

You were full of him. John was everywhere. He was wet and dripping within you, and as he fell to the bed with you, his body covered yours fully, wrapping you beneath him. You shifted a bit, convincing him to roll onto his side, kissing his neck and face, whispering sweet nothings to him as he caught his breath.

“So good, John… You are so good to me,” you let your lips sink into his warm, panting mouth, letting your lips slide together.

“Mmm,” he sighed, “Still hard. The medic was right about those pills.”

“I’m so sorry,” you straddled him again, humping against his still-rigid shaft, “I still need you, John. Please?”

“Sure, little bird. Ah! Oh, fuck, I’m sensitive. Easy… Ngh!”

“I’ll go slow,” you leaned forward to kiss him, capturing his long moan in your mouth.

Suddenly, there was a quick knock at the door and then a slit of light as it creaked open. A skeletal gloved hand reached in with a stuffed bag and dropped it just inside the room before shutting it tightly again.

Price removed you gently, watching you pout, and he explained,

“Laswell’s care package.”

“Come back, John,” you pulled his hand toward you as he opened the bag with the other.

He started laughing, letting you guide his cock back into you while he was standing at the edge of the bed. You watched as he pulled a couple of water bottles out of the bag and set them on the end table, still chuckling to himself.

“Hey,” you pet your fingers through the hair on his belly as you writhed against him, “What’s funny?”

“Strawberries,” he smiled as he pulled a small box of the fruit from the bag, his eyes twinkling in the low light, “You want one, little bird?”

You nodded, but then felt the sudden emptiness of him removing his cock from you again. Then, with a devilish grin, you watched him dip the tip of the bright red fruit into your pussy, twirling it around in your juices, coating it with your thick stickiness, and then sucking it into his mouth, eating half of it and letting it drip down his chin.

He brought it to your mouth, at the same time thrusting himself all the way inside of you, making you gasp,

“Open wide, love.”

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