TW: Angst, Violence, Blood, Human Experimentation, Human Trafficking, and Death
Description, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Main Masterlist | CoD Masterlist
Note: They're baaack!
“Down, Soldier!”
You were grabbed from behind and roughly shoved to the floor as bullets were exchanged. You grunted and quickly composed yourself— rising from the ground and knocking down hostiles with a bullet through their fucking skull.
“Move to secure the hostages, Gaz.” You commanded with ease, eyes never leaving your targets, each bullet shot with precision. Gaz grunted and replied with defiance— “We need to focus on the hostiles first.”
You grit your teeth, sick of the disrespect and disregard for your authority. If it was Price or Ghost, the man would have followed with no second thoughts.
Before, perhaps you would have conceded and backed off— not wanting to argue or fight with your team. But right now, you were just done with their shit.
“Sargeant, that was not a suggestion. You either follow my command or face the consequences for defying said commands.” You barked out, maybe your tone was too harsh but he needed to hear that.
Gaz was a little taken back— had never faced any bark nor bite from you in the months he'd spent with you in the team. You weren't a pushover but you weren't intimidating either.
But in that moment, when your eyes quickly brushed over to meet his— he heard himself gulp and meekly nod before immediately moving to your command.
Kyle Garrick wasn't a weak man, there was a reason he was in the 141 task force after all. But under the heat of your gaze— he might even prefer the cold glare of his other Lieutenant.
You mentally sighed in relief upon seeing Gaz back off and heed to your orders before putting your full focus back into the situation at hand.
“Hostiles down! More are on the way so move quick.” Ghost announced after he took down the last one. None of you can even take a break as you all were on your feet, rushing to free every last one of the hostages.
There were too many of them that your small group could handle. Too many with too little people and too little time. The odds weren't looking good on your favor.
“Fuck, what do we do?” Soap brushed a hand on his mohawk, glancing at Price for his decision. “We can't help them all, Cap. Not enough hands, not enough time.” Soap voices out your exact thoughts.
“We have no choice then.” Price sighed, already tired and wanting to get this all over with. “We'll just have to eliminate every hostile in the area and give ourselves more time. After that, we can contact for more back up from Laswell.”
“Ready?” Price reloaded his gun, examining the state of his men. “We don't really have a choice but to be ready.” Gaz took a deep breath before nodding along.
You were ready. One last mission. You gripped your gun tightly, gritting your teeth. After this, it would all be over.
You took one last look at your team before sighing to yourself— “Here we go...”
──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────
Maybe you weren't that ready.
Fuck, there were way more hostiles than you anticipated.
You let out a shriek as a bullet went through your right thigh, swearing left and right as you ducked behind a container crate for cover.
You looked for your team, breathing out in relief once you saw they were all still kicking. By the looks of the team's state, they weren't as ready either.
You all were able to knock down the number of hostiles a large amount but there is still a good number of them out there.
You surveyed your surroundings from a safe spot without the enemy seeing you. Your team needed an advantage— something to turn the tide in your favor.
Your eyes kept scanning the area before landing at a crate not too far from you and just in reach to the hostiles, it was marked highly explosive with chemicals stored inside. It looked like it was supposed to be stored somewhere else but someone must've left it in a hurry after the alarms had sounded.
You just needed to get a bit more closer and this thing could wipe out almost most of the enemy out there. You first looked over at your time— they moved positions, moving back from the hostiles to create more space. Good.
“Fuck me.” It was risky to get closer but it might just do the trick. “Brace yourself.” It was your only warning through the comms before you rushed forwards, hoping to not get shot before you could shoot the crate.
It seemed as if luck was on your side today as you avoided getting shot as you aimed for the explosive crate. You grinned as your bullet pierced through the thing.
It hissed out smoke for a minute before all you heard next was— Boom!
Fully Masked! Mark "Invincible" Grayson x F! Reader
TW: Violence, Death, Murder, and Mental Health Themes.
Description:
When Angstrom sent those variants of Invincible through a portal to a wasteland, he accidentally sends Fully Masked! Mark Grayson to a different world.
A world where Mark Grayson dies but you still live.
Main Masterlist | Invincible Masterlist
Note: Don't worry Mark, I love your Mom too.
"We'll just torture you instead. Duh."
"..."
Seeing all these twisted versions of himself made him sick to his stomach. But he understood. He truly did. They didn’t have you. They didn’t have her. And without his mom… without you by his side, he could’ve ended up the exact same way.
That’s why he had done the terrible things in this world. Why he’d committed atrocities he never thought himself capable of. Because he was alone. Because the two people who grounded him—his mom and you—weren’t there.
He didn’t care about the crown.
He didn’t want a throne.
The Viltrum Empire meant nothing to him.
All he wanted was his family.
The only two constants that ever made him feel human. Made him better. Happy.
So when Angstrom came to him and whispered about another world—one where his mom was alive, and you were too—how could he not listen?
But it was a lie. A cruel, soul-crushing lie.
His mom was nowhere to be found. And you… you were dead. Crushed. Torn apart. Just like in that nightmare he could never wake up from. Just blood and broken pieces of the only person he loved.
Tracking down the version of himself responsible was easy. Killing him was even easier.
Painfully so.
"What…?!"
He recoiled, startled as multiple green portals suddenly bloomed in front of them. His jaw clenched as Angstrom's devices flared and sucked each of them into their own vortex.
When he blinked next, he wasn’t in his world anymore.
But he wasn’t with the others either.
Wherever he landed, he doubted this was part of Angstrom’s plan.
──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────
"Sweetheart, are you sure you're going to be okay?"
Today marked three years since Mark Grayson died.
You gave Debbie a soft smile. “I’m fine. Really.”
She had always been so kind to you, even with everything she’d suffered.
“How are you doing? And how’s Oliver?”
It hadn’t been easy—Omni-Man going rogue. Nolan killing his own son. And then, months later, coming back with a baby in his arms, begging for forgiveness.
Debbie hadn’t forgiven him. But she had agreed to raise Oliver. Because the boy had no one else. His mother was gone, and Nolan couldn’t stay.
Debbie had hesitated. But the moment that baby reached out with curious little hands and cooed at her, she melted. He reminded her too much of her own son—the one she lost too soon.
“Oliver’s growing so fast. Just yesterday, I could still carry him. Now he’s already got friends at school.” She sighed, tired but proud.
“Mom! Is that sis?”
Oliver’s voice rang out as he raced into the room. He had started calling you ‘sister’ after all the time you spent caring for him. You never minded.
“Oliver,” you smiled, catching him in a hug as he tackled your waist.
“I CAN FLY!” he announced, eyes wide. “I tripped on the stairs yesterday and floated instead of falling!”
Your breath caught. “Really?” You looked up at Debbie, who nodded with a small smile.
Just like his brother.
You remembered the first time Mark floated instead of falling—he’d looked so proud, so thrilled. That memory felt sacred now.
“That’s amazing,” you told Oliver.
“I know, right?” he grinned, puffing up with pride. So much like Mark.
You swallowed the ache in your chest. God, please don’t let him turn out like Nolan.
“How about you help your mom clean the house with your powers? I’m just going to take a quick walk.”
A lie, of course. You just didn’t want to cry in front of him.
“Okay!” he chirped, bouncing off with Debbie, who caught your eye and gave a subtle nod. She understood.
──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────
Mark drifted above the unfamiliar skyline.
This wasn’t his world.
It wasn’t the one from before, either. Somewhere new entirely.
Strangely, no one tried to stop him. No heroes. No threats. Just… wide-eyed stares and hushed gasps as he flew overhead.
People weren’t afraid. Just surprised.
He wasn’t a villain here, it seemed. Not yet.
Maybe this version of him had done something right for once.
He stayed in the air, keeping low, keeping quiet. He was tired—sick of the bloodshed, of the failures, of chasing ghosts.
He just wanted to go home.
But this world… something about it felt different. Warmer.
And he had a gut feeling he wasn’t here by accident after all. Maybe it was fate.
He could’ve missed it. Could’ve flown right past, too focused on his goal—too desperate to find a way back home.
But then, in a split second, his eyes caught something. Someone.
A figure.
Familiar.
Too familiar.
It couldn’t be.
But it was.
“...Darling?” he breathed, voice soft, disbelieving. His body stopped mid-air, frozen. He just hovered there, staring at the figure walking below.
God. It was you.
You were alive.
“Darling,” he whispered again—and this time, he didn’t hesitate. His direction shifted instantly, diving toward the one person he had torn worlds apart for.
You didn’t see him coming. You were too caught up in your grief, still walking slowly down the sidewalk, tears silently streaming down your face.
You were wiping at them, frustrated, exhausted.
"My love?"
That voice.
You froze in place.
Not again. You thought the hallucinations had stopped. Thought you were healing.
But here you were, hearing him again—hearing that voice you would have given anything to hear just one more time.
You didn’t turn around.
You couldn’t handle the disappointment.
“I can’t do this,” you muttered, voice cracking as more tears welled up. “Not today.”
Your hands went back to your face, desperate to rub away the hurt.
“Easy there,” a voice said gently, a presence stepping in. “Stop rubbing so hard. Geez, your eyes are all red. What made my lovely girl cry so much?”
You froze again.
Hands—not yours—brushed against your cheeks, careful and warm. Soft thumbs wiped away your tears like they had all the time in the world.
It felt so real.
Too real.
“You, you idiot,” you hiccupped, unable to hold it in. “It’s your stupid death anniversary. You couldn’t even give me one day of peace.”
Your sobs were broken, helpless.
The man—Mark—blinked at you like that was news.
“So… I’m dead here, huh? he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Makes things a bit easier.”
You cried harder. “You’re not real. And it hurts. It’s not fair.”
“But I am,” he said softly. “I’m real. And so are you.”
His hands were still cupping your face with that same gentle care he always had. His eyes searched yours with aching tenderness.
He looked… different.
Worn. Tired.
Hair a little longer. Shoulders a bit heavier.
But still him. Still your Mark.
The warmth. The love.
That unmistakable feeling that wrapped around you like a blanket in winter.
“You’re dead,” you said again, as if reminding yourself.
He hummed, nonchalant. “Not anymore. You were dead too, remember? But now you’re alive.” A dark glint passed through his eyes. “And I’ll make sure it stays that way. No matter what.”
His voice was calm, certain. Steady in a way that was both comforting and unnerving.
“Now,” he said, lips curling into a half-smile, “how about we go see Mom? It’s going to be one hell of a reunion, don’t you think?”
Note: It hasn't been long since I wrote this series but wow there's a lot of you already! Hope you enjoy!
What made Mark Grayson different from the others you've encountered?
What made this Invincible stand out compared to all the other variants you’ve met?
What made him so unlike the rest?
"Earth to Miss Genius. You’ve zoned out again."
You snapped back to reality, realizing you weren’t alone—sitting at the lunch table with your friends.
All eyes were on you, full of concern. The longer you sat there, staring off into space, the more it felt like you were slipping away from them.
"Are you okay?" Eve’s voice broke through the silence as she nudged you from beside you. You forced a smile, scolding yourself for zoning out.
"Sorry. Just... work." You shrugged, your voice almost too casual.
Immediately, both Eve and Mark exchanged a pointed look. "Work" was their code for one thing: Cecil.
While Eve and Mark worked for him as heroes, you worked for him as his secretary—the mind behind his operations. You fed him the intel and resources he needed, and in return, he gave you the power and money that kept your life afloat.
Cecil knew about your ability to traverse dimensions after death. In fact, he was helping you find a way to tap into that power without having to die each time. He believed that as long as the abnormal energy ran through your veins, you could shift between realities. You just had to unlock it.
"Your boss giving you too much trouble?" Amber asked, voice laced with concern. Eve and Mark leaned forward, both watching you intently.
"Just the usual. Nothing new." You assured them, though the look in their eyes told you they weren’t buying it. They didn’t push further, but it was clear they weren’t fully convinced.
"Soooo... is this a bad time to ask for some help with Physics?" Eve slapped Mark lightly on the back of his head.
"I could use some tutoring too!" William piped up, and Amber kicked his leg under the table.
"I swear—boys," Amber sighed, exchanging a tired look with Eve as the guys stared at you with pleading eyes.
"You two are ridiculous." You sighed, shaking your head. "Fine. I’ll tutor you both, but it’s not free anymore. You owe me." you warned.
Mark immediately brightened. "I’ll buy you all the pudding you want." he offered, while William winked and made a heart with his hands. "I offer you my undying friendship."
"I’ll take it in the form of something less... questionable." You raised an eyebrow at William, who gasped dramatically. "Okay, ouch."
"Mark, you better have your wallet ready." you said with a mischievous grin.
Sure, you could easily buy a lifetime’s worth of pudding with the money Cecil paid you, but it just felt better when it came from someone else’s wallet.
"Should I be scared?" Mark looked at Amber, who knew you better than anyone. Amber smirked and answered with a deadpan tone, "Yes."
──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────
"How are you holding up, little Grayson?"
You’d heard about the Mauler Twins incident. Neither Debbie nor Mark were happy about it.
You weren’t exactly ecstatic either, but after 87 lifetimes with a murder-happy partner, you’d gotten numb to it.
This wasn’t your first time meeting Oliver. You’d crossed paths with him in other worlds as well, but this was the first time you saw him as a child.
"I just don’t get it! They’re not the good guys! Why should we just let them live?" Oliver crossed his arms, his frustration mirroring Mark’s stubbornness.
"You know, your brother’s no saint either. Does that mean Mark deserves to die?" You stepped into Oliver’s room and sat beside him on the bed.
"No! But these guys are bad. I’m doing the world a favor by taking them out. They hurt Mark!" Oliver’s voice rose, a mix of righteousness and anger. You ruffled his hair gently, trying to ease the tension.
"I hurt Mark too." you teased lightly, nudging Oliver’s side. "I hit him pretty good in the back of his head. Bet I left a nasty bruise."
Oliver pouted, clearly not amused. "That’s not the same, and you know it."
"Sometimes, yeah, killing is necessary—for the greater good. But it’s never the only option." You said it seriously, trying to drive the point home.
"That's what Mark wants you to understand. By sparing someone, we might be doing the world a bigger favor. We prove that there’s more to life than death."
In all the other worlds, you barely got a chance to talk to Oliver. Your focus was always on Mark, often ignoring those around you.
"If you ever need me, or your family, we’ll be downstairs." You said as you stood up to leave. You paused at the door, turning back to see Oliver watching you closely.
"You’re part of the family too." He said softly, and you smiled before heading downstairs.
"Hey." Mark’s voice greeted you as you descended. He made eye contact, his expression anxious. "How is he?"
Debbie was pacing, her worry clear. She stopped when you reached the bottom of the stairs. "Is he upset?" she asked, voice tight.
You paused for a moment, carefully choosing your words. "He’s fine. A little sulking, but he’s processing it."
"He was raised by good people." You reassured them, offering a comforting smile. "He’s going to be just fine."
Mark sighed, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He leaned down, resting his chin on your head, his arms wrapping around you in a quiet embrace. "Thank you."
"What would I do without you?" He mumbled, his voice soft against your hair. You smiled up at him.
"You’d be fine, you big baby."
──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────
The world lay in ruins.
What was once an organized empire was now a burning apocalypse, its ashes swirling in the wind.
Amidst the chaos, two figures faced each other.
"I’m here to offer you a deal."
The other scoffed, unimpressed. "What could you possibly offer that I don’t already have?"
"Do you not want another chance to see her? You know who I'm talking about. I'm only offering once."
Note: Mark and Amber broke up in good terms here. Amber also isn't aware of Invincible's identity.
"I thought…"
"You thought…?"
You faced a smug-faced Mark, unashamed and filled with pride for his actions. He floated above you, looking down with no regret for what he’d done. This was the 87th time Mark Grayson abandoned you. The 87th time Invincible crushed your hopes.
"I just thought you’d be different. You hadn’t lost anything. You have what may be the definition of a perfect life. I…"
I thought I saved you.
The words stayed unsaid.
You stared blankly as Mark laughed at your little statement. You used to adore his laughter—back when you were kids, cheeks flushing at the way you could bring a smile to his face. Now, you knelt before him, horrified by the same laughter that sounded the same, yet felt so different.
87 variations of Mark Grayson. 87 failures.
"Funny, sweetheart," he mocked, calming down from his fit. "You always know how to make me laugh, don’t you?" He floated closer, stopping right in front of you. "Maybe I’ll keep you."
"No thanks."
In another variation, you let him. You let him treat you like a pet. Let him ruin you. Then, like a bored child, he abandoned you. You were surprised how long you lasted without food or water. A year.
The only thing keeping you alive was the abnormal energy—the one that let you jump dimensions upon death. But even that had limits. Eventually, you succumbed to starvation and dehydration.
So this time, without waiting for another word from Invincible, you wrapped your hands around your neck and pulled—
SNAP.
Invincible’s feet dropped to the ground, your body falling into his arms, neck twisted unnaturally.
"Sweetheart?"
──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────
"Hey, genius. Mind if you let me borrow your notes?"
You were done with Mark Grayson. You wanted nothing to do with Invincible. That’s what you told yourself when you landed in the 88th dimension. Growing up, you kept your distance from the raven-haired boy—ignoring the clumsy kid that clung to your side.
You held no expectations. You didn’t want to be disappointed again. Betrayed again.
But as the years passed, as that same idiot never left your side, your walls began to crumble—slowly but surely.
Because that’s always the case with him, isn’t it? You can never hate him. You can never abandon him. You never had, and you never will.
So here you were, in class, while he bugged you for calculus notes.
"It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention, Grayson." You huffed, but handed over your notes anyway.
He smiled brightly and leaned over, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek.
"Gross." You swatted at him. He ran off, waving the notes and yelling his thanks.
You told yourself not to hope this time—but you couldn’t help it.
This Mark Grayson felt different.
He got his powers much later than the others. Debbie’s influence was stronger than Nolan’s.
"You cave in so easily. It’s sad," Amber commented from behind, unamused by the whole interaction.
"Shut up. Don’t act like you weren’t the same when you two were dating," you shot back.
"I only said yes to a couple of things. You say yes to everything he asks."
TW: Angst, Emotional Abuse, Violence, Blood, and Death
Description, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Main Masterlist | CoD Masterlist
Note: I haven't forgotten about this fic, don't worry!
ᴛɪᴘ ғᴏʀ ᴛᴇᴀ!
“I can't do this anymore, Laswell.”
Your voice was steady but the weight behind your words felt heavy. You were currently standing in front of Kate Laswell's desk in her office, your fingers clenched in a tight fist as you held out your transfer papers.
The room was silent, save for the mumbled chatter from soldiers out the door. Laswell exhales slowly, you observe her closely as she sets her pen down and looks up at you.
Her gaze was sharp, assessing, but you don't show a slight waver.
“You're serious about this.” Not a question nor inquiry but a statement, an observation.
You nod, your jaw tight. “Certain, ma'am.”
She takes the papers from the grasp and scans them, you felt a bit lighter now that it wasn't in your hands. Laswell sighs, rubbing her temple with two fingers after reading the entire front paper, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“Perha—” “I am done, Laswell.” You cut her off. You weren't this disrespectful to a higher authority usually but you knew Laswell and she knew you.
You would crumble and cave if she opened her mouth and convinced you to give the task force another chance.
But you've give enough chances.
Chance after chance, time after time, you told yourself that things would change. That they would change. You told yourself that you were just overthinking things, that you needed to prove yourself more. That one day, they'd see you as their equal, as someone worth listening to, respecting, trusting.
But it never happened.
They left you out of key decisions. Ignored your input in briefings. Brushed you off when you voiced concerns. They treated you like a backup plan, an afterthought—never the first choice, never someone they truly counted on.
You were exhausted. You were done.
Laswell stops at your words. She watches you carefully, searching for any sign of hesitation, when she finds none in your resolve─ she concedes and sighs.
Slowly, she leans back in her chair, setting down your papers on top of her desk. “Alright.” She finally agrees. “I'll process your request.” She confirms.
The words were simple but it settled something deep in your chest, there was no sense of relief but there was finality.
You thanked Laswell for her time and consideration, turning when she dismisses you and left her office without another word.
Behind you, just as you shut the door closed, Laswell sighed for what seemed to be the hundredth time, massaging her temples. “What did you do, Price?”
──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────
Alaska ─ 3 days later.
The air was bitterly cold and it was sharp enough to bite through the layers of your tactical gear.
“Fuck, Ah'm freezin' ma bits aff!” Soap cusses through your comms, the annoyance for the weather was shared among you.
“English.” Ghost's gruff voice cuts in. You hear more cusses come from Soap's side before he responds again. “I'm freezing!”
Snow crunches beneath your boots while you move, blending into the white landscape with your gear with practiced ease. The closer you got, the clearer the facility seems to loom ahead, the massive structure were nestled within the frozen wilderness.
Human trafficking and drug smuggling.
That was what the mission entails. The intel your team got suggested an underground network that operated in a scale bigger than anyone had anticipated. The 141 was given the mission to infiltrate, gather evidence then shut the whole operation down.
You grit your teeth from the cold, hating how freezing it felt. Soap wasn't joking when he complained about the frost.
At the moment, your transfer request was still being processed, which meant that for now—you were still part of this team.
“One last mission.” You mumbled with your comms turned off. “One last and we're done with them.”
Price's voice crackles through the comms. “We breach quiet. No alarms. We get in, secure intel, and get out. Clear?”
“Clear.” you and the others respond in unison. Moving in perfect sync, you and your team infiltrate the facility. You navigate through dimly lit corridors, following the intel’s mapped-out layout.
Then you reach the heart of the operation.
A massive storage area stretches before you, rows and rows of steel cages holding people who looked malnourished, faces hollow with exhaustion and hunger. They don't even react to your team's presence, you doubt they even noticed, their eyes were glazed over, lost to the horrors they've endured.
You hold back the feeling of nausea that flooded your senses upon seeing the sick sight. You were used to blood and gore but you'll never get used to seeing victims.
“Bloody Hell.” Ghost comments, followed by the others with their comments as well.
You glance around, scanning the area.
Something seems off, something isn’t right. The setup, the location—this is too big for just human trafficking and drug smuggling. You notice a reinforced door on the far side of the room, marked with a faded biohazard symbol.
A bad feeling stirs in your gut.
“Guys.” You called out, bringing their attention on you. “I'm checking that door.” You motioned at the reinforced door, already moving towards it.
“Don't seperate from the group.” Ghost frowns, disapproving of your decision. You ignored him, still pushing forward.
The closer you got, the more intense the bad feeling you got.
Once you reached the door, you pried it open, making sure you were slow and silent.
Whatever expectation you had beforehand, cannot compare to the actual sight of what was inside. You felt your breath catch in your throat.
A secret underground lab laid before you, the area lit up by white lights. Tons of people are strapped to medical beds, in far worse conditions than the people you saw in the cages. Then there are what seems to be scientists in lab coats, writing down whatever they've noted in their clipboards, unbothered by the horrors surrounding them, the horrors that they were doing.
This wasn't some simple human trafficking and drug smuggling get go. Fuck, this was a human experimentation facility.
You felt sick down to your stomach.
All these people with unnatural scars, deep surgical incisions running along their limbs and torsos. Some are unconscious, while others are awake quite barely—but their eyes are vacant, distant, like the life had been drained from tthem
Just when you thought that it could get worse. One of the scientists looks up. Their eyes widen in shock as they lock onto you.
TW: Angst, Emotional Abuse, Violence, Blood, and Death
Description, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Main Masterlist | CoD Masterlist
Note: First Chapter Rewrite!
ᴛɪᴘ ғᴏʀ ᴛᴇᴀ!
The Task Force 141.
Everyone in the Military respected and looked up to the special task force.
They were perfectly disciplined soldiers working in perfect sync— extremely loyal with an unbreakable bond like no other.
Once, you used to look to them as well. You adored them and idolized them. That all changed the moment you had entered their circle— you had been faced with the cold hard truth. You were an outsider.
Your arrival to them disturbed their perfect balance. Unlike the rest of the team, Price did not choose you. He didn't want you and nor did the others.
You could not blame them, your first impression made a nasty mark on the team. It was one thing for the 141 to not like you but it was another for them to hate you.
Months before you joined the 141, you were a proud member of a different team. A team that happened to have been assigned accidentally to the same mission as the 141. In the confusion, mistaking Soap for the enemy— you took the shot. The shot that almost costed the Scot his life as it pierced straight through his jugular.
It was only after your Captain had knocked the rifle out of your hands did you realize what you gunned down wasn't the enemy but a fellow soldier.
They would have had your head if not for your combat medic that saved the scotsman's life and pleaded for yours to be spared.
The guilt of what happened clung to you and stained your hands with red.
You thought you would never cross paths with the 141 again after the incident, ruining your first impression with the task force.
Years later, things changed after one mission gone wrong with your team.
A mission that cost the lives of not only your Captain but your First Lieutenant as well. It wasn't much of a surprise to you when the rest of your team disbanded, leaving you behind in the field.
The deaths of their superiors and close friends was a sign for them to finally retire.
You were the last remaining member of your team that still persisted to continue in your duty. So you went to Laswell for reassignment and was met with shock once she announced you'd be going to the Task Force 141.
The one task force who you would rather avoid your entire life if you could help it.
She spoke to you of how your potential can be properly utilized under the right team and she believes that the 141 would need an asset like you.
Emphasis on the need. Not want.
The team was not delighted with the news of your addition, you weren't all that excited either. The team saw different from Laswell, they saw a liability rather than an asset.
A reminder of what haunts them years back. A person that almost costed them the life of their friend.
Captain John "Price". He's the team's steady leader, always maintaining a polite facade. You noticed that his signature handshakes and shoulder pats— a small yet important gesture of his trust— were absent when it came to you. He liked to keep his contact with you in the minimum. It hurt you seeing how he acts like touching you hurt him.
Sargeant John "Soap" Mactavish. He and his easy charm and chatty mouth. He was neutral around you, always quiet and keeping the conversation quick and straight to the point. You felt shame whenever he would trace the scar on his neck, never letting you forget what happened.
Sargent Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. He was known for showing affection to his team in subtle ways, never afraid to show his loyalty through actions. They did say actions speak louder than words and when he often actively avoided you— it stings. He may be subtle with his love for the team but his dislike to you was clear as day. His posture often becoming stiff when you were both in the same room.
Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley. He wasn't just rude or cold like the others, he was terrifying. His tones always sharp, always scrutinizing your every move, and the weight of his glare made you feel like suffocating. Whatever respect he afforded his teammates, he withheld from you with deliberate intent.
You had tried to make amends.
For two years without relenting— you took up the responsibility of the reports, organizing the armory, and cooking meals after missions knowing that Gaz would be too exhausted.
But nothing you did seem to matter.
Today was just another reminder.
“Apologies, Lieutenant.” You held back tears, feeling like a kid under the heat of Ghost's scolding. The mission went a bit sideways after an enemy managed to take you hostage— almost using you for escaping if not for Soap's clean shot.
The bullet slightly grazed you cheek as it landed a finishing blow in the enemy's head. “This better not happen again, Lieutenant.” Ghost stormed off without another word, leaving you feeling embarrassed and ashamed.
It was unfair. You knew that they hold great resentment against you but still— “This isn't fair.” You mumble, close to tears.
Why did you have to apologize? Soap never did when he made a mistake— everyone laughed it off. You got taken off guard and it wasn't your fault yet they still blamed you.
The team was supposed to stick together and they left you behind, never bothered to check if you were still following. Probably never noticed until you got taken hostage.
They never even felt scared for your life— you saw how Ghost looked at you when the enemy held you in gunpoint. He was ready to drop you for the mission. He had decided then and there that your life was not worth it. You saw how ready he was, never faltering his hold on his gun.
You snap out of your thoughts.
“Hey, sweet girl.” You blinked away tears before it could escape as the German Shepherd entered the room. She immediately circled your feet and tilted her head curiously, sensing that you were upset. “I'm okay.” You assured, kneeling down to rub her head.
After a while, you retreated back to your room. You slumped onto your bed and looked at the picture frame by your test. A photo of you and your former team. You missed them.
You missed being in a team that actually accepted you. A team where you actually belonged.
You drowned in your thoughts for a couple minutes before mumbling, “I don't wanna do this anymore.” You don't want to retire but you didn't want to stay in the 141 any longer. It was torture.
──────⊹⊱☕︎︎⊰⊹──────
You left your room, heading to the kitchen to get something to bite, food was always a welcome comfort. It was better than sulking.
You passed Gaz on the way but didn't bother with even acknowledging his presence. The Sargeant paused mid-step, glancing at you as you continued to pass him.
For once, he didn't become stiff but felt uncomfortable nonetheless. You looked... blank. A look that he had seen from tortured vitims that seem to have given up. It didn't well with him that you looked that way.
In the end, he didn't think much of it and brushed it off as exhaustion after the mission. But you were never the type to ignore a person even when tired and when you just passed him—
TW: Violence, Blood, Death *temporary, Light Angst
Main Masterlist | CoD Masterlist
Description:
A routine mission turns deadly, leaving the 141 Task Force shattered by your loss. But as grief settles in, they notice something else settling in from the ashes.
Note: Talon is your codename.
ᴛɪᴘ ғᴏʀ ᴛᴇᴀ!
"You broken, lovie?"
Soap's voice rung through your overstimulated sense of hearing but you understood him nonetheless. "I'm fine, Soap!" You assured the scot despite every being of you screaming that you were not fine.
Your left arm was broken, laying limp on your side as you now depended on your right to shoot. Your right eye was busted as well, limiting your vision on the field. Not only that but you could feel one of your bones not in place somewhere in your rib as it poked and prodded at your insides.
"Now go and tear those bastards down! I'll join Gaz in the sky." You smiled and Soap didn't buy that smile for a second but he had to go.
You grunted as you forced yourself to lift off into the sky, your wings straining from all the cuts it had.
"Hi, pretty boy." You chuckled, joining your lover's side in the air. Your eyes only scanning Kyle for a moment before your focus returned to the field. You raised your gun, raining hellfire to the hostiles beneath you.
"Aw, your wings." Gaz commented. You could hear the pout in his voice. "I swear- I'm going to spend a whole day grooming your wings back into proper condition."
You laughed at his declaration. "Only if you let me do the same to you, baby." You cooed.
"Less flirting, more fighting, lovebirds." You hear Price's voice cry out. Dragons and their very enhanced hearing- you swear.
"Copy, Captain." You grinned, returning to wrecking havoc on those unfortunate souls below.
"Look at my baby. One hell of a spitfire ain't they?" Gaz had a lovestruck look despite the ongoing bloodshed. "Get your arse in the game, birdbrain." Soap laughed, though more like howled.
"Y'know... We never really got to know what breed of harpy is Talon yeah?" Soap grunted as he quite literally tore on hostile in half.
"Huh, I never really asked." Gaz muttered to himself, just realizing. You'd think that 2 years into the relationship, you'd know by now. While it was known knowledge that the two of your were harpies, Gaz was specifically a crow breed while your breed remained unknown and undiscussed.
"AH- FUCK." You cursed in agony as one of the werewolf motherfuckers ripped a wing out your back. Price moment.
Eyes snapped to your form immediately. You curled up in the ground, clutching at your back in immense pain.
They couldn't even process what happened properly. The next thing they knew- your curled up form was picked up and your head was smashed into the ground.
It was quick. Should they be grateful at least that it was quick? Should they be fucking thankful that at least you won't have to live with the pain of a missing wing?!
The entire 141 Task Force was enraged, distressed and absolutely pissed. To touch one of them was a death sentence, signed and delivered to death herself.
Gaz was in pain. Everyone that was in his path met their end quickly as he rushed to your side. Nothing was more important than you. He felt pain like no other as he cradled your limp form.
Gone. You were gone. Just like that.
"My birdie?" He whimpered, calling out to you desperately. The feeling of grief choked him from the inside out. His wings spread out to curl around you, shielding you from the hell that the 141 unleashed on the bastards that touched you.
He gasped as your skin was fading into dust, your body crumbling into ash in his hold. He cried as he tried to salvage you, tried to hold you closer to keep you from leaving.
"What the fuck is happening?!"
"Don't go, baby. I'm here now. I'm here now, birdie."
"Please. God, please. At least let me keep their body, don't take them away from me even more."
The last part of you crumbled into ash and he curled his wings even more to keep you two in your own private space.
Cries of "I'm sorry." on repeat spilled from Gaz's lips. The hell outside of his private space went silent as the task force finally finished with dealing with the bastards that dared to lay their hand on you. That dared to end your life.
"I'm sorry, Garrick." Price offered his condolences.
"Shut up." Gaz didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He didn't want to listen to anyone. All he needed now and all he needed ever was you. Just you.
It was silence. A shared mournful silence between the four men. The remaining four of the 141 task force.
"Chirp?"
A small fire came to life from the ashes. Gaz hissed as his fingers got burned a bit from the heat. From the dust, there was a small movement before a little chick's head popped out. "Chirp!"
Eyes that stared up at the harpy sargeant with the brightest glint of a thousand suns. "What the fuck is that?" Soap cursed as all men stared shocked. Gaz knew what or who that was, he was familiar with those pretty eyes. "Birdie?" He called out.
"Chiiiirp!" You responded, your tiny chick form cuddling up to your lover as he scooped you up in his hands.
"A fucking Phoenix." Price was the first to snap out of the stupor. His boisterous laughter infecting the other men as they joined him.
"Should've known my birdie would be special. A Phoenix, of course you are, you spitfire." Gaz chuckled, bringing you close to cradle you.
"My beloved Talon is more like a little toothpick now aren't you?" Gaz teased as you angrily chirped back at him. Nonetheless, you nuzzled closer into his touch.
Not minding the slight tremble in his hands. You cuddled close, comforting your lover while looking into his relieved but still terrified eyes.
"I'm never leaving your side again." Gaz promised. "I pity your arse then, Talon. Looks like you're stuck with Kyle for eternity." Soap joked and the harpy sargeant nudged playfully at the werewolf.
"Stop it, Soap. Let him have his moment." Ghost interrupted what would be a playfight between the two sargeants. The three men watched as Gaz cradled your small form close to him.
His eyes a bit slitted and wary, even towards his own allies. It was clear that the whole scenario set off Gaz's instincts. You wouldn't be leaving Gaz's sight after what just went down, that was for sure.
"Let's get you home and into our nest, yeah birdie? Let's get you safe and tucked in. I'll need to check your wings as well. It's good to see you still have a complete set after returning."
Ah, you just know that the two of you will spend hours grooming feathers.
TW: Angst, Emotional Abuse, Violence, Blood, and Death
Description, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Main Masterlist | CoD Masterlist
ᴛɪᴘ ғᴏʀ ᴛᴇᴀ!
The 141 disliked the Reader. In fact, they held great disdain for her.
You wouldn't need to be a genius to see their clear resentment.
Reader was just human and even she can lose patience. It was no surprise that one day after years of trying, she just gives up on chasing, realizing that it was all pointless.
She accepts that the 141 would never accept her and files for transfer.
Laswell agreed on the condition of one final mission for permitting her transfer. Maybe one final mission was what their team needed for things to change and for the table to finally turn.
