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[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The soft click of the suite door echoed like a trigger pulled.

Charlie turned around slowly, her breath catching the moment her eyes met his hardened gaze. Standing still by the door, one hand resting on the lock while his other hand rest in his pocket, his expression unreadable.

"What now?" she asked softly.

John didn't answer. Not right away. He pushed away from the door and his hand was free. His shoes muted against the plush carpet, and closed the distance between them with slow steps.

There was something predatory in the way he moved—controlled, composed, but brimming with tension beneath the surface. Then he dropped to his knees in front of her.

"John... what are you..." she trailed off, her voice trailing as she watched him reached her hands and raised one to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to her knuckles. Then the other.

When he finally looked up, his eyes burned with something deep, dark, and reverent.

"I'm a starving wolf, Charlie," he said, voice low and husky. "And you're not a clueless little lamb."

She blinked, lips parting at the weight of his words.

"But I'm reckless," he muttered, eyes flickering away like he was ashamed. "Because I can't stop wanting you. About what it'd feel like to sink my teeth into every inch of you until you forget anyone else existed."

Her cheeks flushed hot.

John inhaled sharply and shook his head, as if trying to push the thought away. "It's too much. This... need."

He clenched her hands tighter in his.

"No matter how much my body longs for it, I'm just a stupid old man who dreams about a young woman who did nothing but undo me," he paused, his voice faltering. "I want everything of you, Charlotte."

She stared at him, breathless.

"Get up," she whispered. "Please."

He didn't.

Instead, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her hips, pulling her to him in a firm embrace. His forehead rested against her stomach, his breath shaky and hot through the fabric of her sweater.

"Let me stay here," he murmured, his voice muffled against her. "Just... let me hold you."

Her fingers trembled as they drifted into his hair, combing through the dark strands with a gentleness that melted in his chest.

"You're not stupid," she said softly. "And you're not broken. You're... human."

He let out a soft, bitter chuckle.

"You don't know how damaged I am."

"I don't care how broken you are, John. I want you."

Her words pierced him. John looked up and his hands were still resting on her hips.

"You don't know what you're doing, love," he said, his tone strained.

Charlie knelt with him, their eyes meeting. Her hands cupped his face, her thumbs brushing the beard on his cheeks.

"Maybe I do," she breathed. "Or maybe I don't, but...if we don't go all the way. I really like you. I like you for who you are because you make me feel safe."

Something shifted in his eyes—something feral. But when he spoke, his voice was velvet and control.

"Do you?"

"Yes."

"Then, I'll show you what it's like to be wanted," he said, almost a vow.

He stood up, prompting her to do the same. Once more towering over her, he kept his hands on her waist. His eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation, but found none.

"Are you sure?" he asked huskily.

She nodded.

"Yes," she said breathily.

And he dipped his head and kissed her lips.

Lifting her almost, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as their lips moved together. Until John broke the kiss, and he gazed down at her. Her flushed face and eyes a mirrored his own yearning.

Without a word, his hands traveled to her hips and quickly lifted her before a soft gasp escaped from her. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Their lips found each other again.

John carried her toward the bed, and when he reached the bed, he lowered her carefully before breaking away. Her lips parted to say something, but the words caught in her throat when she saw his eyes.

His lips curled into a smile as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. Her eyes closed softly, and she took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself. The scent of his cologne—spicy and musky, a mix of wool and woodsy notes—still in him along with his clothes.

"Breathe, love," he whispered huskily before his lips touched her cheek.

Trailing down to her neck, the roughness of his beard brushed against her, igniting a tingling sensation through her nerves. Charlie tilted her head, giving him more room as he placed another kiss just below her jawline. Opening her mouth, she released a soft sigh.

John paused, his lips hovering over lips.

"I won't cross the line until you're ready, alright?" He said in his deep, raspy tone that made her body shiver.

Her eyes opened slowly, meeting his steady gaze again.

"Sit up," he commanded.

Charlie slowly pushed herself up. Her brown eyes met before him as she straightened. His tall frame looming over her as he reached out and untied her braid.

The soft strands of her golden hair slipped free and fallen onto her shoulders. He took his time admiring her youthful beauty, making his heart ached more.

He moved away and knelt before her when his large hands moved to her feet.

John lifted her feet and took off her sneakers, one at a time, and set them beside him. Her small, socked feet were soft against his large hands as he peeled off her ankle socks, revealing her bare feet. Making him brush against her arch, they were petite, almost fragile compared to his strong, worn hands like sand or rust.

She reminded him of gentleness—qualities he thought no longer existed in his world. Yet here she was, a lamb in the presence of a wolf. John paused, his hands resting on her feet as he looked up at her.

"Take off your jeans," he said, his tone firm. "But leave on your underwear."

A comforting heat enveloped her, both strong and enjoyable. She hesitated for a moment. Charlie nodded to him as he began to unzip her skinny jeans. She slipped out of them, and he assisted in removing what separated them, leaving her clad only in an oversized sweater and pale pink lace underwear.

His eyes darkened.

John picked himself up and stepped back.

Admiring the view, he was breathing hard and his jaw clenched. His eyes moved to her now-bare legs. Her beige sweater was short enough to show off her hips and thighs, exposing most of her legs. The sight of her smooth skin, her bare feet barely touching against the plush carpet, sent his pulse racing.

"Look at you," he muttered, more to himself than her.

She looked away, cheeks aflame.

"No, no. Look at me," he ordered softly. "Don't you ever hide from me."

She met his gaze again, pulse fluttering.

"That's my girl," he praised with a low growl. "Now lie back."

She laid her back against the bed, and her hair had spread around behind her back. Her breathing was uneven, waiting.

John moved forward and stopped as he lowered his gaze and studied her. The sight of her bare legs, her sweater askew, and her wide eyes—was almost too much to bear. But he wasn't going to rush this. He knelt down, gently spreading her legs.

One of his hands rested on her knee, while the other caressed the top of her foot. His lips followed, pressing soft kisses up her leg—starting at her calf, then her knee, and moving to the inside of her thigh.

Charlie whimpered, making her body trembling.

The tenderness in his touch sent shivers racing up her spine, and with her hands gripping the soft duvet beneath her. Her mind was racing, torn between his actions' and her blind trust in him.

John paused, and his eyes flicked to meet hers.

Her face heated under his stare.

"You like that?" he rasped, placing another kiss on her knee before raising her sweatshirt to expose her small belly and kissing it.

Speechless, her lips parted, but no words followed. Eyes half open.

"You'll remember every second—because you're exactly what I want for my needs."

Her gasp was soft—shock and arousal twined together.

He grinned wickedly. "You feel that ache already, don't you?"

She nodded, arching slightly, thighs instinctively squeezing around him. His palms slid up to keep her open.

"That's it," he murmured. "Let me see that want in your eyes."

He rose, crawling over her, his body pressing hers into the mattress. She leaned almost against the bed with one of her hands to support herself. His clothed, solid body was obvious—the hardness she could feel through his pants against her stomach.

"You want to ride me, don't you?" He said darkly. "Nod your head as yes."

She nodded dumbly.

He flashed a wicked grin and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling back to look at her again. Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade. She looked away, but his hand gently grabbed her jaw, guiding her gaze back to him.

Before she could speak, his lips found hers again, and she kissed him back.

Eyes still half open, she shifted beneath him, her leg moving to rest over one of his leg, allowing herself to brush against his pants.

John froze and he broke away.

"Mmm.. don't," he growled, his voice tinged with a warning.

Her eyes widened in confusion. "What? Why?"

John sighed hard, his eyes filled with bliss and restrained. "Trust me. I don't want to tear your underwear off and fuck you like a bunny."

Her heart skipped a beat. She blinked once and twice until her pupils widened. Realization dawned on her as her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.

"Oh!" she yelped. "No... no... we don't want that yet. I... am—"

Before she could finish, he shook his head and gave a low, hearty chuckle. "You're going to be the death of me."

Her embarrassment melted into a shy laugh. "It's not my fault you're you!"

"And it's not my fault you undo me." He chuckled before bending down to kiss her.

She giggled softly against his lips, "I can, um... feel you."

John groaned before pulling away.

"Damnit," he muttered under his breath.

Charlie couldn't help but laugh, her hand covering her mouth as she tried to stifle the sound.

"I didn't mean to say that," she said shyly.

John chuckled, nearly groaning. "It's natural, love. Your sweet self is doing its many job on me."

Charlie giggled before kissing him back.

Her lips moved from his to his bearded cheek, giving him soft butterfly kisses that made him catch his breath.

He tightened his grip on her waist as those gentle kisses sent goosebumps through him. Her warm breath caressed his ear as her lips brushed over his beard, leaving more kisses that made his body tense up.

They changed positions, with her knees now between his hips as he pulled her against his chest.

John let out a deep, guttural groan, his head falling back onto the bed.

He wrapped his arms around her body, but when Charlie shifted, pressing herself against his aroused member within his pants. He hissed and exhale hard.

"Shit," he said through his gritted teeth.

Charlie froze, her eyes widening. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," John answered, though his voice had a hint of strain.

"Then, what's wrong?"

John sighed hard again.

"Just... you..." he paused before groaning quick and continued, "... working me up. I need some relief."

"Uhm... what do you mean?"

"It means I want to fill you up, love. That's where I take you. To fuck you or make love to you. Whatever it may be."

Her cheeks flushed more, if that was possible, as she absorbed his blunt explanation.

"Oh," she breathed. Color bloomed across her skin.

He felt his aching groin throb and he took another deep breath before tucking her hair away from her face. "It's... normal. I promise, I won't do it unless you say it."

She bit her bottom lip sheepishly.

John scowled, causing her to pause, flustered.

"Keep biting your lip, and I'll want to bite you back."

Charlie quickly let go of her bottom lip. Her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

His intense gaze didn't help, making her feel both self-conscious and desired at the same time.

She couldn't find the words to respond. He chuckled softly, his gaze roaming over her flushed features before giving her a quick kiss and switched position. Her back was against the bed again as he hovered above her.

"Close your eyes," he said, his tone both commanding and soothing.

She obeyed.

Charlie felt the bed shift more when his large hands brushed down her legs before his lips followed. Soft, slow kisses traveled along her calves and ankles again. He kissed her feet before kissing all the way to her leg to her knee.

"Sit up," he ordered. "And do not open your eyes until I tell you too."

She sat up with her hands resting on the bed for balance. Then the mattress dipped as John adjusted himself, and then his strong hands found her waist, guiding her thighs to straddle him. Her underwear dragged across the hard line of length between his pants, the friction dizzying and he groaned in relief.

Her breath stuttered.

"Oh my God..."

He grabbed her hips, fingers tight.

"Just relax. Let the world blur away, okay?" he whispered huskily.

She nodded quickly, while breathing heavy and steadily.

"You don't have to think about what's next or what you should have said or done," he continued, his chest rumbled with a growl. "You're here now and that's enough. And I'm here too."

Charlie could feel her heart beating faster the more she takes in his English deep and gravelly accent.

"You are perfect."

She gulped, and she could feel her throat began to constrain. Squeezing her eyes tight. Like there was an invisible shame that she had carried with her.

"You work so hard and yet, you become hard on yourself each time your brain spins around, like you couldn't focus. You think you are in control, you need the noise. When, in fact, you need me," he stated softly before kissing her face—nose, closed eyes, temple, cheeks—his warm lips leaving tender marks.

She struggled to hold back her tears, sniffing softly as she nestled her face into his neck.

"You're my good girl, and I'd do whatever I could do for you."

At those words, something inside her cracked.

She pressed herself closer without thinking, a desperate wordless plea tucked into the way her body respond. His lips continued to trail along her jawline, each touch igniting a fire within her.

He cupped her face in his hands and tilted it upwards, capturing her lips in a heated kiss that stole every air from her lungs. His tongue pushed into her mouth, teasing and exploring every crevice, while his hands roamed down her back, skating over the curve of her hips and resting at the edge of her underwear.

"Now, relax," he said huskily between kisses, a low growl vibrated in his chest. "Now, ride me."

She hesitated, but his grip taught her. Rocking her body against him, he forced her into a rhythm—controlled, overwhelming.

"You feel that?" he said huskily against her mouth, grinding her down more harder. "That's me. Fuckin' hard because of you."

The heat of his body and the way his arms held her. She could feel his rough hands roaming underneath her sweater like he wanted to feel every inch of her soft skin against his sand-like skin.

Breaking away, breathing hot against her face. The feel of his large hands traveling below to clutch her ass, urging her to move more faster. Though, her eyes remain shut. Her breath matching his labored breathing each time he huff and pant. Like a wolf panting for water, making her more vocal.

"Mine," he growl darkly. "Every sounds you make—I own it."

Her body trembled in his arms, but she didn't stop grinding against him.

"That's it... come on... show me how much you want this."

A small, broken sob caught in her throat. Those words almost hurting more than his rough hands. She wasn't used to being handled like this. She didn't know what to do, except cling tighter.

Just as her pleasure peaked, John let out a deep groan from his chest, his hips thrusting against her a couple of times.

A guttural growl escaped him as he paused and adjusted his position.

He lifted her from his lap and laid her back onto the bed. Holding onto him like a lifeline, her body sank into the soft sheets after he removed himself. Earning her to respond with a soft moan.

The sound of his belt unbuckling filled the room, followed by the rustle of fabric as he removed his jeans and socks altogether.

She could only make out the sounds and the movement when she felt his large hands grab her waist again, guiding her back onto his lap. The warmth of his hard body pressed against hers, and her legs wrapped around him for balance.

"Just feel me," he commanded huskily. "That sweet little body—move again."

She nodded, sensing his hands slide down to her hips. Guiding her movements before encouraging her to grind against him with his boxers.

The friction sent jolts of pleasure through her, and her mouth parted with a quiet gasp. The feel of his manhood against her underwear felt more lighter than his pants, the more she grind against him. Her breaths came steady, and her hands moved to his shoulders, clutching for support.

"John..."

"Keep goin', baby girl," John praised with a quiet growl.

She couldn't believe how much she was enjoying this. Rocking her hips against his, Charlie moaned louder.

Her eyes still closed but the vision of his heated stare and his gravelly voice filling her mind. The sensations built within her like a raging fire, consuming every last bit of sanity she thought she had.

His hands traveled up her back, pulling her closer as their bodies slammed together through their barriers.

"Fuck, you're so good for me," he rasped in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

Charlie whimpered in response, unable to form any coherent words. Her swollen sex throb between her legs that demanded more.

Suddenly, he stilled her body and his hand slipped beneath her underwear. His fingers seeking out the source of her growing need. He circled her clit, coaxing a high-pitched moan from her.

Charlie arched her back as he pressed against her most sensitive spot with the right amount of pressure.

It was too much, yet not enough.

"Tell me you like this," he said huskily, locking onto his lust-filled gaze as he continued to tease her mercilessly.

With every soft cries, she tried to speak, "I... I do..."

Her admission unravel inside him as he groaned low in his throat, removing his finger from her sex. He licked them clean before moaning in satisfaction.

"You still taste good," he praised, his deep and raspy accent thicker than before as his self-control slowly slipping. "Now, be a good girl and move fast."

Panting, she started moving her hips again, increasing the rhythm of their grinding motion. Her eyes remained closed as her body responding with a growing eagerness.

The heat in his hot breath fanning over her sent a fresh wave of arousal through her. Pressing her soaked core against his boxer, the dampness between them, her sticky juices. She could feel the outline of his shaft beneath him. Hard like a rod insistent against her sex, it sent shivers down her spine.

"Jon..." she said before trailing, "... John..."

He growled and huffed before gritting his teeth and closing his eyes.

The way she moaned and letting go. It was feeding him to the point that his hands moved from her hips to grip the sheets beneath them.

Knuckles turning white as his hands became veiny-like to show more restraint, arching his hips upwards into her. He met her thrust against her each time. His breathing grew labored, matching hers stroke for stroke as they both hurtled towards the edge of ecstasy.

"Good girl," he praised in his rough tone. "Shit—you're gonna make me finish!"

"I... ha..." she panted, her mind hazy with the overwhelming sensations coursing through her. "I don't k-know how... much..."

He silenced her by kissing her in a deep, heated kiss before breaking away. His hot breath fanning over her face before opening his eyes.

"Let go," he purred against her lips, breathing heavy.

The bed creaked at every weight pressed down as the tension between them reached a breaking point. He removed her underwear, eliciting a loud gasp from her after he moved her back onto the bed. She leaned back against the headboard, adjusting her thighs over his hips.

With a low growl, he slid two fingers between her moist folds. He watched her eyes rolled shut, allowing her to release a soft moan.

"You're almost there," he groaned, tracing slow circles around her swollen clit.

Her flushed cheeks and shaky breaths revealed her lack of experience.

Pulling his fingers back and, instead of licking them, he touched her lower lip. Forcing her to part her lips and he slide his fingers into her mouth, where she began tasting herself while cleaning them off.

"That's my girl," he said, grinning.

His other hand gripped her hips and forced grind her until she writhed against him. She arched her back and his arousal strained against his boxers now, demanding for release.

She clung to his shirt, torn between the heat of his words and the safety of his touch.

Her actions grew more daring along with her ears picking up his growls and curses. Her body syncing with his punishing thrusts.

Then, he stilled his body and he howled, his seed dampened his boxers—a release that caused him to grip her tight.

She paused before letting out her soft cries. Even her release dripped slowly between her thighs and her underwear. Tears burned behind her closed eyelids. Not from fear, nor shame, but from something missing she hadn't realized of a name.

Wanted.

It was stupid. She wasn't supposed to fall apart over words like this.

Yet, every words from his lips felt like balm over old scars she hadn't known were bleeding.

Leaning into him, her forehead rested against his shoulder. Breathing hard.

John sighed hard, his arms wrapping around her as he sank back onto the bed, pulling her with him.

His broad chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, and Charlie could feel the heat radiating off him. Her own breaths came quickly from the closeness and the sticky juices they'd shared. She became aware of the dampness between them, her soaked core pressed his boxer.

Her cheeks flushed crimson as she buried her face against him, flustered yet unable to stop panting.

"Open your eyes," John murmured, his rich voice almost in slur.

He watched her lifted her gaze and opened her eyes, meeting his flushed gaze. His forehead was covered with hints of sweat. They stared at each other before she laughed breathily.

"What?" he asked, smiling.

A shy smile tugging at her lips as her voice almost high-pitched. "I can't believe it."

"Don't believe what?"

"I don't know... uhm... it's not sex, right?"

John smirked in return. "It is, love."

Charlie blushed before blinking at him. "What?"

"That was dry sex," he said gently, brushing her hair back. "Still sex. Just not the kind you expected, yeah?"

Her cheeks burned even brighter.

"Oh," she breathed out, feeling dumb for not knowing the term. John kissed her forehead.

"I never thought I'd see the day that I'd be the one to explain while in this position," he joked, earning a small giggle from her.

"So... did I do good?"

"No, little one," he answered before kissing her lips quick after her change of reaction. "You're better than good."

Charlie rested her head back on his shoulder. He responded by encircling her, nearly embracing her.

"You want a boy who'll take you on dates and send you flowers? Or a man who'll make you kneel and remind you who you belong to?"

Moving her face to see his gaze, she thought about his question. The intensity in his eyes was both thrilling and terrifying. She knew the answer when she smiled.

"Both," she breathed.

Then, his lips curved into a slow, satisfied smirk.

"Well, Ms. Daniels," he drawled, his accent more pronounced than ever. "You've found the right man."

He dipped his head and kissed her—slow, deep, and claiming—until she trembled against his mouth. When she broke away, his voice dropped to a gravelly whisper, eyes locked on her like prey.

"One day, you'll beg me to ruin you, and I won't stop until you wear my name between your legs."

Her heart raced, yet she remained still, simply gazing at him. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Then, quickly, he captured her lips one last time. Slower this time. Softer.

"Sleep."

Charlie nodded and rested her head against his chest, finding peace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he sighed, almost with relief.

Eyes fluttering shut, she drifted off—not because she was tired, but because she felt safe in his arms.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 72✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The ride back to the hotel was steeped in silence—but not the kind that begged to be filled. The cab's interior was dim, the only light coming from the city that slipped through the windows in passing streaks—golden, fleeting. The world outside blurred, but inside, everything between them was sharp.

Charlie sat beside him, tucked in the corner of the backseat, her breath still a little uneven from the dance. Her chest rose and fell softly, her cheeks flushed in the soft glow of the city lights. Her sweater hugged her, her skinny jeans clinging to her thighs. His arm rested on the console, fingers wrapped around her hand while his other hand on the steering wheel. But when his let go of her hand—he moved to her leg.

The warmth of his palm settled just above her knee. His thumb traced a lazy arc over the denim, slow strokes that made her pulse stutter. He didn't say a word. His eyes stayed fixed ahead, watching the road.

Charlie swallowed. Shifting herself in her seat, the tension in her core building, like her body was waiting for more. His thumb slid higher. Only an inch. But her breath caught like it was a mile.

"John," she whispers, breath catching.

He doesn't look at her, eyes still fixed on the road. But his thumb brushes slow circles into her thigh.

"I didn't say you could speak," he says lowly.

Her thighs instinctively press together. But he noticed.

"You think I'm lettin' you sit there all quiet and untouched after that?"

She bites her lip, trying to keep her breathing steady—but her legs part, just a little. He finally looked at her then, his icy-blue eyes catching hers in the dark.

"You didn't want to let go of me, do you?" He said like it was a fact and not a question.

Charlie exhaled and nodded, heat crawling up her neck.

His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Well, I've got you sittin' beside me, wearin' those jeans..." His fingers squeezed the inside of her thigh lightly. "And I'm wonderin' how long you'll last before you start beggin'."

She didn't answer. She couldn't. Her body was already answering for her.

"Be good, sweetheart," he rasped. "Or I'll pull over and drag you into my lap right here."

Her thighs instinctively pressed together, and he felt it.

"Thought so,” he smirked in return.

The rest of the ride felt like a slow, torturous burn. And she didn't want him to stop touching her.

***

Her body was buzzing—too aware of everything. Of him. As they entered the hotel, he walked beside her, calm and composed, but she could feel it in the way his hand never once left the small of her back. He said nothing since they stepped out of his truck. When they passed the front desk, the hallway stretched before them in warm golden tones—empty, quiet, just them.

She felt it building in her chest, her pulse thrumming in her ears as they neared the elevators. His hand slipped lower on her back—just a fraction—but enough for her to notice. Her stomach clenched.

Then the sound.

Ding.

The elevator arrived, and the doors opened. '

She stepped in first. But before she could turn around, John was right behind her. And then—he pulled her fast. One arm around her waist, the other catching her jaw as he spun her to face him, back flush against the elevator wall. Her gasp barely left her lips before he kissed her hard and deep.

His mouth claimed hers with zero hesitation, swallowing every sound she made as her hands clutched at his shirt. He was all over her—his thigh pressing between hers, his hand gripping her hip tight she swore it bruised.

The doors slid closed behind him with a soft thud, enclosing them in heat. Charlie whimpered against his mouth, her body arching into his. John pulled back, just barely, his breath hot against her lips.

"Mine," he growled in a sinful way.

He didn't wait for her to respond—he kissed her again, rougher this time. His fingers slipped into the waistband of her jeans, just enough to tug her closer. Her back hit the mirrored wall with a thud, but she didn't care. Her hands tangled into his shirt, gripping like he was the only thing anchoring her. Her head tipped back as he kissed down her jaw, his teeth scraping over her neck.

"That little smile of yours... the way you danced for me back there."

His lips ghosted over her lips.

"Sayin' my name," he breathed. "But sittin' in my truck like a good girl... thinkin' I wouldn't notice how bad you were squeezin' your thighs together."

The elevator climbed—slow, steady—but they weren't moving. Not really. Time stretched thin around them.

He grinned wickedly. "Speak, little one."

Charlie looked up at him, wide-eyed, flushed, trembling beneath his touch.

"Please," she whispered.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear.

"Atta girl," he said low.

Just as his hand slipped down to her thigh again—gripping it hard through the denim—

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

His forehead pressed to hers, both of them panting quietly.

"Once we get in that room," he said in his warning tone. "I'm not stoppin'."

Her eyes blown wide. Yet, she nodded.

He kissed her one last time—slow, claiming—before he pulled back and took her hand in his.

"Come on," he spoke in a gentle but commanding tone.

She nodded and followed him along.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 71✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The streets of East London glowed beneath the golden haze of antique streetlamps, the night humming with distant traffic and city life. But as his truck turned onto Grace's Alley, the noise melted into quieter space.

Wilton's Music Hall stood at the end of the narrow cobbled lane like something out of another era. Its brick façade wore its age like a badge of honor—arched windows flickering with warm amber light, wrought iron railings, and a timeworn elegance that whispered secrets of years past.

It didn't scream for attention like the city's trendy spots. She watched him stepped out of his side before opening the door for her to step out. Holding her hand and her shoes steeped softly against the old stone. She looked up at the building in awe.

"This place..." she breathed.

John came around to her side, hand slipping naturally to the small of her back. "Not what you expected?"

She shook her head, still taking it in and looked at him. "It's like something out of a vintage film."

"That's the point," he said, giving her a smirk.

The air here felt different. Quieter. More intimate. Music drifted faintly from inside—low, romantic, the kind of melody meant to be swayed to rather than danced.

John led her to the entrance, hand steady at her lower back. He opened the old wooden door for her with a slight bow of his head, a teasing glint in his eyes.

"After you."

She stepped inside, the warm scent of aged wood and candlewax embracing her like a velvet curtain. The interior was dimly lit by chandeliers and old-fashioned sconces, casting shadows across the red velvet walls and worn wooden beams. Tables circled the perimeter of the open floor, most empty now as the live music continued—soft jazz giving the room a heartbeat.

The stage ahead was modest, spotlighted in gold, with a three-piece band playing smooth instrumentals. There was no crowd—just a few other couples nestled in the shadows, whispering over drinks or swaying slowly under the soft light.

She turned toward John. "How did you find this place?"

His eyes didn't leave hers. "Been comin' here for years."

She blinked. "Really?"

"I like the old ways," he added. "A good drink, a slow dance, someone to spend time with."

Her breath caught and she watched him step closer until his hand graze to her hip—possessive but gentle as he pull her close."Not everything needs to be fast, loud, or flashy. Sometimes slower makes it sweeter."

He leaned down, brushing his lips near her cheek and kissed it.

She shivered.

He straightened, eyes never leaving hers. "Come on."

As he led her through the hall, like the space recognized him. He didn't fumble or second-guess—taking her the edge of the dance floor, dimly lit by a lights above fro them.

He simply held out his hand to her, palm open, waiting.

Charlie stared at it, pulse quickening.

"You're serious?" she asked, blinking.

"I am," he said, his voice low. "Let me show you how I dance."

She slipped her hand into his, and he pulled her slowly to her feet, holding her close without hesitation. One hand on the small of her back, the other cradling her hand in his—John moved with intention, guiding her into the soft rhythm of the current jazz music.

Charlie followed, her body flush against his as he swayed them into the middle of the floor.

"This okay?" he asked low against her ear.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

He pressed her closer, one arm around her waist now, the other hand sliding to her hip. His body was warm, firm. With her face leaned close to his chest, her cheek brushing against him. His scent—cologne, smoke, leather—wrapped around her like a second skin.

The soft strum of piano and gentle swell of strings filled the air like smoke curling from a lit match.

The first note alone sent a beat through her heart.

Oh my love, my darling

I've hungered for your touch

A long, lonely time

Her eyes lifted to John, and something had shifted. Gone was the teasing smirk. In its place was quiet intensity—reverence, even.

And time goes by so slowly

And time can do so much

Are you still mine?

I need your love

Her hands curled into his shirt, feeling his eyes met hers, stormy and steady.

I need your love

Godspeed your love to me

He took a step, slow and controlled, drawing her with him. They swayed in place—no fancy footwork, no flourishes—just bodies, pressed close, breathing together. Moving together.

Lonely river flow

To the sea, to the sea

To the open arms of the sea, yeah

Lonely rivers sigh

"Wait for me, wait for me"

The last lines hit her as it tugged in her heart. The news she remembered of him leaving soon for deployment. The ache that it hit her after he rescued her from the cold lake.

I'll be coming home, wait for me

I don't want him to go.

She gulped to herself.

I don't want him to leave me.

"Charlie,"

She snapped from her thoughts and lifted her eyes up to him.

"You know this one, don't you?"

She shook her head, turning left and right softly.

He smiled more.

Oh, my love, my darling

I've hungered, hungered for your touch

A long, lonely time

His hand slid slowly up her spine, guiding her inch closer—until there was no space left between them. Charlie could feel every breath he took, every beat of his heart pressed against her chest.

He leaned down, his lips grazing the edge of her hair.

"I used to listen to this in the barracks. Old speakers, one scratchy record. Didn't matter who was listenin'—this song just... stuck to me. A shame that I didn't have anyone to dance with, other than feeling sorry to myself after Penny was gone." His voice was deep, almost gravelly, thick with memory. It brushed over her like velvet, pulling a shiver from her skin.

She swallowed hard. Her heart constraint as the song continued to hum through them both.

And time goes by so slowly

And time can do so much

Are you still mine?

John shifted their weight gently before twirling her around before pulling her closed. His hand dipping lower to the curve of her hip. She let herself melt into this moment, her forehead brushing his collarbone.

The way he held her—steady, commanding—it didn't feel like dancing anymore.

I need your love

The press of his body against hers was no longer soft.

She could feel him—his strength, his warmth, restrained just beneath the surface.

I, I need your love

Her thighs brushed his as they moved. Slow. Controlled. Almost too slow, like each step was drawn out on purpose, drawing tension like a string pulled tight. She exhaled a shaky breath, her fingers sliding up from his chest to around the back of his neck.

His hand slid to the small of her back again—lower this time, fingertips teasing the edge of her sweater. Her spine arched into his touch.

His mouth brushed her temple. "You're tremblin'."

"I can't help it," she whispered.

"Don't," he said, voice dark and low. "Let it happen."

Charlie gasped softly as his hand flattened against her lower back, pulling her tighter into him. Her breath hitched as her hips instinctively shifted in response.

He felt it.

He growled—barely audible, but it vibrated against her. A primal sound meant only for her ears.

Godspeed your love to me

The music wrapped around them like smoke.

John tilted her chin with two fingers, guiding her gaze to meet his. She was flushed. Her pupils blown wide. He was looking at her like he could memorize every inch of her features. Like he wanted to commit it all into his memory bank.

"You're mine, sweetheart," he stated, touching her forehead against his. "You understand?"

"Yes," she breathed.

Then, he kissed her—not rushed—but slow and hot.

It was a kiss of meaning, full of a man who knew how to make her seen. His lips parted hers gently, claiming her with his mouth in the same way his hands had already claimed her body.

When he pulled back, she was dazed.

"Only you."

She could feel his heart, feel the press of him between hers as they were closed.

"Say my name," he whispered.

"John," she breathed.

He pulled back just far enough to look into her eyes—dark, burning, beautiful. "Say my full name."

"Johnathan."

A slow, hungry smile tugged at his lips. His hand curled under her jaw, guiding her face to his—foreheads touching now, noses brushing. "My girl."

She nodded, speechless.

His thumb brushed over her lower lip, slow and possessive. He kissed her one more time. Not rushed. Not aggressive.

Just right.

The kind of kiss that built slow and deep and burned through the chest. She whimpered softly into it, her fingers sliding up into his hair. His other hand gripped her lower back, keeping her flush to him.

John broke the kiss just enough to breathe, their mouths still brushing.

"You belong to me."

And he kissed her again—deeper this time, the kind of kiss that didn't care who was watching. And Charlie melted into him.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 70✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

Today's post is Captain John Price, just to be different this time (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

Clos Maggiore was everything she had imagined—an oasis of romance tucked away in the city's bustling heart. The low hum of soft conversation and the faint clinking of glasses created an intimate symphony that blended with the quiet crackle of the fireplace in the corner. The air was fragrant with fresh food, delicate floral notes, and the aroma of drinks. 

Overhead, fairy lights twinkled like a constellation against the soft canopy of white blossoms and greenery, which hung artfully from the ceiling. It felt like stepping into a dream, a secret garden hidden within the city. The tables were adorned with white linens, candles flickering in the center, casting a golden glow over everything. 

Charlie glanced around, taking in the dressed patrons seated at their tables. 

Most were couples, their laughter and soft whispers weaving together in a melody of company. The men wore sharp suits or casual styles with polished shoes, and the women were dressed nicely enough to present themselves for a date night. Her stomach tightened with excitement and nerves as she became aware of herself.

I don’t stand out, she thought, and her gaze darted to John. She smoothed her hands over her sweater, wondering if she looked too casual for a place like this. But before her self-conscious thoughts could spiral, John shifted closer to her. His hand found hers, his large, calloused fingers intertwining with her smaller ones. His eyes met hers, with a soft smile tugging at his lips' corners.

"Relax," he said smoothly. "I got you."

She glanced down at their joined hands. As if sensing her thoughts, John squeezed her hand before leading her toward the hostess stand.

"We have a reservation under Price," John said, his deep voice carrying over the gentle murmur of the restaurant.

The hostess, a young woman with a polished smile, nodded and scanned her tablet. "Oh, yes, Mr. Price. Right this way."

John held her hand as they followed the hostess through the restaurant.

They moved past tables occupied by couples engrossed in their little worlds. They reached their table—a secluded spot near the fireplace. John pulled out her chair, his hand brushing against her back as she sat down. She glanced up at him, catching the faint smile on his lips as he took the seat across from her.

"You've been quiet," he said, his tone teasing but gentle.

Charlie tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Just… taking it all in. This place is beautiful."

"It is," John agreed. "But you're the one catching my attention tonight."

Her cheeks warmed again, and she looked at the menu before her, trying to hide her growing smile. "You're too smooth, you know that?"

"Not smooth, love," he replied, shrugging as he leaned forward. "Just honest."

Charlie dared to not look back up at him. Her lips pressed into a pout. The faint flicker of the candlelight danced across her face, highlighting her soft features as she tried to make sense of the endless options listed on the menu.

She let out a soft huff.

"This menu is… overwhelming," she admitted, her voice tinged with nervous laughter. "I don't know where to start."

John smirked, his hand resting casually on the edge of the table. "Pick whatever you fancy, love. Sky's the limit."

Charlie glanced up at him, her brow furrowing slightly. "That's easy for you to say. I've never been to a place this fancy. I don't even know what half of this means."

He chuckled. "Want me to order for you, then?"

She bit her lip, her gaze darting back to the menu. "No… no, I'll figure it out. Just give me a minute."

John raised an eyebrow, the teasing glint in his eyes making her blush. "Take your time."

For about a few minutes, Charlie pointed to one of the dishes. "Okay, I'll go with this. The roasted Cornish hen."

"Good choice," John said before turning his attention to the waiter, who came just in time. "I'll have the beef fillet with truffle mash."

The waiter jotted their orders before John looked at Charlie. "Now, let's settle somethin' else. Sweet or salty?"

Charlie blinked, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"

"For your drink," he clarified, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Do you prefer somethin' sweet or salty?"

"Oh," she said, her cheeks flushing as she considered his question. "Sweet, I guess."

John nodded. He turned to the waiter and said, "We'll take a bottle of your best sweet wine. Somethin' light and easy."

The waiter gave a curt nod before disappearing.

"Wine?" Charlie raised an eyebrow with a smile.

"You'll like it," John said simply.

As they waited for their drinks, Charlie couldn't help but glance around the restaurant and then him. She noticed how easily John was at ease, while she still felt like a fish out of water.

"I feel like… I don't belong here," she admitted quietly.

"Don't say that, Charlie," he said, his voice low but firm. "You belong anywhere you want to be. Especially with me."

A soft laugh escaped her lips, and she felt some of her nerves begin to melt away.

"You're good at this, you know," she said, her smile returning.

"Good at what?" he asked.

"Making me feel safe," she said honestly.

His gaze held hers, and his smirk returned. "That's the idea."

Their wine arrived shortly after, and the waiter poured the pale golden liquid into their glasses with practiced precision. John raised his glass to hers, his smirk softening into something more genuine.

"To us tonight," he said, his voice low and warm.

Charlie smiled, clinking her glass against his. "To us."

As they sipped their wine, Charlie set her glass down and continued.

"You know," she began slowly, "my mom would be shocked if I ever told her about this."

John raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Why's that?"

Charlie leaned slightly forward. "Because she doesn’t know I’m dating you. She'd probably faint if she knew I was sitting here, in a place like this, with you."

John smirked, taking a slow sip of his wine before replying. "Someone like me?"

"You know," she teased, waving a hand at him. "Tall and mysterious. Basically, every mom's nightmare for their daughter."

He chuckled, his deep voice resonating warmly. "I'm not that bad, am I?"

"No," she said. "But she'd definitely be surprised. Especially since you brought me to a place like this just to treat me."

John leaned back slightly, his smirk fading into something more genuine.

"You deserve it, Charlie. Don't think otherwise."

"I don't know if I deserve this."

"You do," John said firmly. "You're worth it. And I don't mind spoilin' you a bit, so don't go arguin' with me."

Charlie laughed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"So I've been told," he added.

She smiled, the tension in her shoulders easing a little more. "If I ever told Hailey about this, though…" She let out a laugh, imagining her roommate's reaction. "She'd never let me hear the end of it."

"She sounds like a handful," John said, chuckling.

"Oh, she is," Charlie agreed. "But she means well. She'd probably be cheering me on right now, actually."

John grinned. "Sounds like she's got the right idea."

"Yeah, she'd probably pester me for every little detail about you. And then she'd tease me for being so smitten and you being overprotective."

John tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Am I?”

Her cheeks flushed. "Yeah."

He chuckled, his gaze warm as it stayed on her. 

"Don't worry about what Hailey would think. This is about you and me. I protect what’s mine."

Charlie smiled, her heart beating at his words. "You're dangerous, saying it like that."

"That’s because I don’t it lightly," John said, swirling the wine in his glass before taking another sip. "Now, tell me more about your mum. She sounds like someone with a strong opinion about you."

Charlie rolled her eyes at him playfully.

"Oh, she does. She's very protective, like you. Always has been. Sometimes a little too much."

“What does she do?" He asked, curious.

Charlie paused, her fingers grazing the rim of her glass. She wasn't sure how much to say, but she figured a little honesty wouldn't hurt.

"She works in… government," she said carefully.

"Government? What role does she play?" John asked.

"Uhm... My mom never talks much about what she does. It's always this… vague thing. She's busy with work, traveling, and on calls. She says it's confidential."

"Confidential? Must be some serious turf."

Charlie nodded, her fingers tracing the edge of her glass. "I think so. All I know is that it involves intelligence and sometimes military operatives. She deals with many cases, but she never goes into detail."

“Military intelligence?" he repeated, his brows furrowed.

"She's good at it," Charlie said, shrugged. "She's always working on something. But she's never really talked to me about it—like, really talked."

John nodded slowly, his mind turning over her words. There was something familiar about what she was describing, but he couldn't put his finger on it yet. The combination of intelligence work and military operatives felt like a thread he'd tugged on.

"And you've never asked her about it?" he pressed, his tone careful.

"I have," Charlie continued. "But she always says the same thing—that it's not something I need to worry about. She doesn't want me to know, I guess."

John hummed, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Sounds like she's got her reasons."

"Yeah," Charlie said, her smile turning wistful. "I wish I knew. It feels like there's this whole part of her life I don't get to see. But she's good at what she does. She's always been committed to her work—sometimes too much, if you ask me."

"And that's how you ended up here in London?" John asked, his voice was curious but not prying.

Charlie nodded.

"Yeah. She's the reason I got my tuition covered. She always made sure I had everything I needed for school. It's one of the things I appreciate most about her. She can be a bit… scary sometimes, but she's always looked out for me."

His gaze softened as he listened, his fingers tapping lightly against his glass. "Sounds like she's done a lot for you."

"She has," Charlie said quietly. "Ever since... Dad hadn't made it home. Mom tried to be there for me. I was mostly raised by my grandparents, and when..." she paused, trying to regain her voice before continuing, "Mamaw Hazel passed away, it was only me and Papa until my aunt had to take me in when Papa was put into nursery home. I was raised with my cousins all through my age until I was ready to step out on my own."

John hummed, his lips curved into a sad smile. "I'm sorry to hear about your grandfather."

Charlie shook her head. "Me too. He's no longer in pain. Honestly, he wanted to be with Jesus and Mamaw Hazel and possibly see his dad and mum again. The funny thing is, both of my papas are retired veterans."

"Really?" John raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Yeah," Charlie said, "My great-papa served in World War two. My Papa served in the Vietnam War. My dad served in Iraq and Afgathsitan and..." she paused and thought this through, "... trying to remember what else... oh! And the post 9/11."

"War on Terrorism," John pointed out without a flinch.

Her eyes widened.

"You served in that time?"

John nodded. "I did. Long before I ended up in the SAS. When the War on Terror was at its height, we worked alongside in joint operation."

Charlie tilted her head, her brown eyes locked on him. "What was it like?"

"A mix of fellowship and pressure, if I'm honest.” John explained. “Different tactics, different approaches—but at the end of the day, we all had the same goal: take down insurgents and keep our men safe."

"Did you ever get to know the American teams well? Like, personally?"

John smirked faintly. "A few. You'd be surprised how much a good cup of tea or coffee can do for morale. Some of the lads on the U.S. side had a knack for making jokes, even in the worst situations. And there were times when their intel saved our arses. Respect goes both ways in situations like that."

"Sounds like you worked well with them," Charlie said.

"Most of the time," John replied. "Though, there were moments we didn't see eye to eye. But that's the nature of these things—you learn to adapt."

"That must've been hard. Being in the middle of it all, balancing everything." Charlie commented.

John shrugged. "It's what we signed up for. You focus on the mission and the men next to you. Everything else comes second."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered his words. "I can't imagine what that must've been like."

"You get used to it," John replied, his tone lighter now. "But it's not all bad. I've got plenty of stories to tell from those days—though most would bore you."

Charlie giggled. "I don't think so. You've already got me hooked with this joint operation."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hooked, are you?"

"Well, yeah," she said. "I mean, it's not every day you get to hear firsthand stories from someone who's lived it."

John chuckled, shaking his head. "You've got a knack for makin' a man feel like a hero."

Charlie tilted her head, her smile softening. "Maybe because you are."

For a moment, his smirk faded, replaced by something deeper—an appreciation he didn't often show.

"Careful with words like that, love. They tend to stick."

She laughed, the sound light and warm. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Mind if I ask you about your father?" John asked but quickly added. "You don't have to answer if you're not ready."

Charlie smiled at him, a sad and kind smile. She inhaled and exhaled before she answered.

"No, it's okay. I... I don't know much about what he does, but I do remember some tidbits of him serving in the Army on a special side."

"Special Ops. Green Berets." John pointed out.

"What are those?" Her eyes widened.

"You said your father served in the Army, right? It seemed like he was away often back then. Your father may have had his hands tied with high-profile cases that I can't declassify. But it sounded like I could meet with your father, and we may have something in common."

Charlie stared at him with a deep sense of pride and sorrow. She looked away, pressed her lips together, and then glanced back at him.

"Yes, he would," she said softly. "I wouldn't be here without them. To mum, we don't always see eye to eye, but I know she's trying to give me the best."

"That kind of drive runs in the family, doesn't it?" John smiled in return.

Charlie blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean?"

"You've got that same spark," he said, his tone straightforward. "You're out here makin' your own way. Bet she's proud of you."

"Maybe," Charlie said softly. "She doesn't say it often, but I like to think she is."

"If she's got half a brain, love, she's proud as hell."

Charlie laughed softly. "You've got a way with words, you know that?"

"Just callin' it like I see it," John said with a smirk. "So, what does she think of you studying politics?"

"She supports it," Charlie said, relaxing a bit. "She's always been about making a difference, and I guess I got that from her."

"Good trait to have," John said, almost with a hint of admiration. "Shows you care about somethin' bigger than yourself."

For a moment, she smiled. A part of her wondered if John knew just how much his approval meant to her.

"She'd probably like you," Charlie said, her tone light and teasing.

"And why's that?" John replied.

"Because you're serious, and you don't take any crap from anyone," Charlie said, grinning. "She'd like that."

"Well, let's hope I never have to find out."

Charlie giggled. "Why not?"

"Because if she's as protective as you say, I'd probably get grilled worse than a recruit on their first day," John said dryly.

Charlie laughed, and the waiter arrived. Placing their dishes in front of them. The roasted Cornish hen on her plate was golden and crisp, surrounded by a bed of roasted vegetables—carrots, parsnips, and brussels sprouts glistening in a light herb butter. She looked at his plate, and it was perfectly seared beef fillet paired with creamy truffle mashed potatoes and a drizzle of rich red wine sauce. It was mouthwatering.

"Looks good, doesn't it?" John said, his smirk returning as he picked up his knife and fork.

"More than good," Charlie said, her eyes wide as she took in the beautiful presentation of her dish. "This feels too fancy for me."

"Nothin's too fancy for you, love," John said, cutting into his fillet. "Now, dig in before it gets cold."

Charlie picked up her fork and took a bite of the hen. The flavors were rich and savory, the meat tender and perfectly cooked. She let out a soft hum of approval with each bite.

***

As the last bites of their meals disappeared, Charlie leaned back in her chair, savoring the wine's warmth and the food. She glanced across the table at John, who was finishing the last sip of his wine.

"What's the plan after dinner?" She began, her tone curious.

John set his glass down. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On you," he said simply, his deep blue eyes locking onto hers. "What do you want to do next?"

Charlie tapped her chin thoughtfully, her lips curving into a playful smile. "Hmm… Do you dance?"

John chuckled, shaking his head in disapproval. "Not much of a dancer. But I can do a slow dance. That's about it."

Charlie leaned forward. "Just slow dancing? No waltzing or salsa?"

He shook his head, a faint grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Afraid not. You'll have to settle for somethin' simple with me."

"Well," Charlie said, her eyes twinkling with mischief, "I used to be in a dance club growing up. I did a bit of cheerleading. So, you're lucky I can carry the rhythm for both of us."

John raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Cheerleader, eh? I didn't peg you for the pom-poms and high kicks."

Charlie laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, trust me, I was all in. Even had the ribbons in my hair. But it's been a while since I've done anything like that."

"I'll bet you were good," John added.

"I held my own," she admitted with a smile. "But what about you? Any hidden talents besides slow dancing?"

"Plenty," John replied with a faint smirk, leaning back in his chair. "But I reckon you'll have to stick around to find out."

Charlie rolled her eyes at him.

"If you're interested," John leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. "I know a place where we can have fun and time to spend and count."

Her face lit up. "I'd love to check it out."

"Perfect," John said, his smile softening as he studied her. "Then, let’s go."

As the waiter cleared their plates and brought the check, she watched him took care of the payment. He stood before her, extending his hand for her to grasp. Charlie took his hand, and his large, rough hand covered hers before their fingers intertwined.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 69✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The drive to Bloomsbury was peaceful, with the soft hum of the engine filling the comfortable silence between them. Charlie occasionally glanced at John as he drove. His hands were steady on the wheel, and his eyes focused on the road. It made her stomach flutter, though she wasn't sure why.

Her breath hitched when they pulled up to The Montague on the Gardens.

The boutique hotel stood elegantly amidst the charm of Bloomsbury, its brick facade framed by ivy-clad walls and wrought iron balconies. Gas lamps flickered softly along the entrance, glowing warmly against the crisp winter air.

Across the street, the quiet park offered a view of bare trees.

John turned off the truck, his hand resting on the steering wheel before he stepped out. Charlie reached for her door handle, but before she could pull it, John was already there, opening it for her.

"C'mon," he said, holding out his hand.

Charlie slipped her smaller hand into his. His grip was firm but gentle as he helped her out of the truck before getting his and her backpacks. She shivered as the cold air brushed her cheeks, but the warmth of his touch grounded her.

She couldn't help but take in their surroundings as they walked toward the entrance. The Montague's garden courtyard was quaint and charming, with neatly trimmed hedges and twinkling fairy lights strung along the pathway. The subtle scent of blooming winter flowers and the crisp air give the place an almost magical feel.

Inside, the lobby was just as inviting. Polished wood paneling, plush armchairs, and roaring fireplaces greeted them. The soft murmur of classical music played in the background, blending with the faint clinking of glasses from the nearby bar. Her eyes took it all in.

"Not bad, eh?" John said, his voice low as he leaned closer to her. His hand lightly brushed the small of her back.

"It's beautiful," she admitted.

He smirked, clearly pleased with her reaction.

They approached the reception desk, where a smiling clerk greeted them.

John handled the check-in process, his deep voice carrying a quiet authority as he gave his name and discussed the room details. Charlie stood beside him, her hands clasped with her backpack.

When the clerk handed John the key card, he turned to her, his expression calm but committed.

"Let's go."

She nodded, following him toward the elevator.

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding, enclosing them in almost a tight space. The soft lighting above cast a warm glow, reflecting off the polished metal walls. Charlie glanced at her reflection in front before shifting her gaze to John.

He stood beside her, his tall frame occupying more than half the space. Their bags were placed near the doors and closed for him to reach.

She steadied her breathing, feeling the faint heat creeping up her neck.

John glanced at her.

"You look nice," he said casually. "Casual, like I said. But cute, too."

Her cheeks burned, and she glanced at him. "Cute?"

"Yeah," he said, smirking. "It suits you."

She shook her head, trying to hide her grin. "You're just saying that."

"No, love," he replied, leaning against the wall as his gaze hadn't left her. "I mean it."

Then, she smiled and said, "Well, thank you. You don't look too bad yourself."

"Oh?" he teased, raising an eyebrow. "Not bad?"

She tilted her head playfully. "Fine, you look good. Happy?"

John chuckled. "Very."

As the elevator climbed, Charlie became aware of their proximity—his scent was subtly strong and masculine. She looked away for a moment before looking back at him.

He noticed. His smirk softened into a small, knowing smile. Instead of meeting her gaze, he turned away, looking at the floor indicator above the doors.

Charlie looked away, too, trying to will her racing heart to calm down. But then he cleared his throat.

"Are you comfortable with me standin' this close?" John asked. His voice was low, almost hesitant—an unusual tone for him. "If not, I can step back."

She blinked, caught off guard by his bluntness. Charlie turned to him, meeting his gaze. His expression was unreadable, but the softness in his eyes told her he wasn't teasing. He was giving her the space to speak honestly.

Her mind scrambled for the right response. Until she found her voice.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice softer. "I don't mind."

John studied her for a moment as if gauging her sincerity before he nodded. "Alright."

He shifted, but instead of moving away, he stepped closer.

The small gap between them disappeared, and she could feel the heat radiating from him. Her head barely reached his shoulder.

Charlie smiled shyly, her cheeks warming as she tilted her head to look at him. He glanced down at her, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but he said nothing. 

Reaching out to grab her hand, he lifted up to his lips and he kissed her knuckles.

It made her blush more, and she giggled.

“What are you up too?”

“You’ll see,” John murmured while smiling.

In a short time, the elevator dinged softly as it reached their floor. The sound breaks the spell and the doors opened.

"After you," he said with a calm tone.

Charlie gave him a quick smile before stepping out into the hallway. She waited for him and stepped out last before she followed him.

***

The suite was warm and inviting, with a subtle elegance that wasn't too over the top. Soft golden lighting the space, reflecting off rich mahogany furniture and deep, plush carpeting. A small seating area with a leather armchair and a loveseat sat by the window, while a sleek flat-screen TV was mounted on the wall. A bottle of wine and two glasses rested on the coffee table, along with a small card welcoming them to The Montague. But it was the bed that caught her attention.

Large and neatly made, the king-sized bed sat in the center of the room, its crisp white linens tucked perfectly into place.

The headboard was upholstered in a soft gray fabric, adding to the cozy yet sophisticated feel of the room. There was only one bed. Charlie blinked, her cheeks turning a faint shade of pink as her mind raced.

Her heart fluttered at the realization.

She wasn't naive—she understood what this setup could imply. It made her stomach twist nervously.

Her gaze shifted to John, who had already started moving around the suite. He walked over to the windows, his broad shoulders framed by the soft light spilling in from outside. With a swift motion, he pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the rest of the world. He turned and flicked on a small lamp, the warm glow filling the room as he leaned casually against the wall. His sharp icy blue eyes glanced at her, catching her mid-thought.

"Like the room?" he asked.

Charlie snapped out of her daze, quickly nodding.

"Yeah, it's really nice."

John walked over to her and stopped a few feet away, close enough to make her heart race while still giving her space.

"So," she said, her voice quieter than she intended. "What's next?"

He shrugged, his smirk softening into a casual grin. "That's up to you, love. We've got one hour to kill before dinner."

She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "What should we do?"

"We can talk or makeout. Your choice." He said, his tone light.

Her mouth fell open, and she blinked at him, caught off guard by how easily he threw those options out there. She let out a laugh, her cheeks burning.

"You make it sound so simple."

"It is simple," John said, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly. "Pick one."

Her breath hitched as she glanced up at him, her heart pounding. She couldn't tell if he was teasing her or if he genuinely meant it—or both.

"Alright," she said after a moment, trying to sound braver than she felt. "Makeout."

John smirked before stepping away briefly.

"Good choice."

She watched him pick up the remote from the near dresser and turned on the TV mounted on the wall. Adjusting the volume to the right level—not too loud, but enough to fill the room with some noise.

"What are you doing?" She furrowed her brows.

John glanced over his shoulder.

"Just makin' sure this space is ours. No one needs to know what's happenin' in here, and the walls might be thick, but I don't take chances."

She blinked at him.

Ours.

The word stayed in her mind.

"And the curtains?" she asked, gesturing toward the windows he had drawn shut earlier.

"Same thing," John replied, his tone steady. "Private's private. What happens in here, stays in here."

His straightforwardness made her stomach flip.

He turned back to her and then sat down on the couch.

"C'mere," he ordered, patting the spot next to him.

Charlie hesitated before dropping her backpack. She stepped forward, lowering herself onto the seat beside him. His arm stretched casually along the backrest, his body relaxed yet commanding. Her stomach flipped again when she noticed how close they were. The faint scent of his cologne mingled with the warmth of the heat between them. He never tore his gaze away from her. His lips curled into a soft, teasing smile.

"You know," John began, "you had more confidence when we first met."

"I did?" Charlie blinked.

"Aye," he said with a small chuckle. "You asked me all sort of questions, and didn't hesitate. Now look at you. You're sittin' here like a deer caught in headlights."

She laughed nervously, glancing down at her hands. "Well, that's because this is different."

"Different, how?" he asked, his tone curious but still carrying that teasing edge.

Charlie glanced up at him, her brown eyes meeting his.

"Because..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Being this close to you feels... different. Like, I don't know how to act."

"That so?" His smirk softened.

"It's not a bad thing," she added. "It's just... you make me nervous but in a good way. If that makes sense."

"Oh, it does," John said, his voice softer now. "And for the record, I like this side of you. Keeps things interesting."

She smiled shyly.

"Speaking of nervous," he said, his voice calm but inviting, "tell me more about your progress of your thesis."

Charlie giggled, shaking her head. "Now? On our date?"

He shrugged, watching her like he could read her hesitation before it even formed. "Is it a crime to ask how you're doing in your homework?"

"No," she sighed, curling one leg onto the couch so she was facing him more. "But it's not exactly a sexy topic."

John leaned back, his arm resting along the back of the couch behind her, fingertips brushing her hair. "I disagree. There's nothin' sexier than watchin' someone chase on what they love or do for difference."

Her breath hitched a little, and she looked down at her hands. "I'm... still behind," she admitted. "I was supposed to finish the second half of my draft before the weekend. But I—" She paused, biting her lower lip. "It's just hard sometimes."

His hand slid lower, brushing over her shoulder behind.

"I stare at the screen and all the words mix up," she continued. "I retype the same line ten times. I lose focus. I start over. My brain just... it doesn't process the same way everyone else's does."

His expression didn't change—no pity. Just quiet attention.

"I can't sit still when I need to. I get distracted, I overthink, and then I freeze. And when I freeze, I feel like a failure."

"Hey." His voice was low, commanding. One word, firm enough to make her look up at him. "I've watched you work through that paper that night," he said. "Watched you fight for every word that doesn't come easy. You're not a failure, Charlie."

The way he said her name—low, slow, thick with that rasp—made her stomach flutter. She swallowed.

"You've helped me with it," she whispered. "You've made it easier to push through, even when it's hard."

His eyes darkened just slightly, his hand sliding down her arm to her thigh. "Then let me help you in every way, sweetheart. Not just with your homework."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

John leaned closer, and the hand that rested on her thigh gripped just enough to make her breath catch. "I mean... let me take your mind off of everything else. Even if it's just for tonight."

Before she could respond, his hand slid to her jaw, angling her face to his.

He kissed her—slow and sure.

And she kissed him back.

Her fingers tangled into the front of his dress shirt as his mouth moved over hers, coaxing her lips apart. His tongue slid against hers with practiced control, not rushing—teasing. Taking his time.

He broke the kiss only to press another one to the corner of her mouth. Then her jaw. Then lower—right beneath her ear.

Her body flushed against him.

"You always get this quiet when I kiss you?" he murmured huskily.

"I..." she breathed out. "I can't think straight when you do this."

He smirked, lips brushing her neck before he shifted. Leaning forward and tugging her into his lap, she straddled him, allowing her thighs to tangle around his waist, hands braced on his shoulders.

His grip tightened at her hips, controlling her position.

"You always run your mouth," he said lowly, eyes locked on hers. "But when you're on top of me, suddenly you're shy?"

Her breath hitched again, and she couldn't muster a retort. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat.

"I like when you get like this," he added. "Soft. Breathless."

Her fingers gripped his shoulders tighter.

He pulled back, meeting her gaze with a dominance that sent a chill down her spine. "But I also want to hear it."

"Hear... what?" she asked weakly.

His hand slid beneath her sweater, spreading wide across her lower back. "How much you want me."

"I..." She swallowed, her heart pounding in her chest. "I want you."

"Say it again," he murmured, his other hand resting against her throat—not tight, just there.

She whimpered softly. "I want you."

His voice dropped to a growl. "I want to turn your world around and never think of anything other than this."

She nodded, dazed.

His eyes darkened with quiet possession, his thumb brushing over the hollow of her throat. "You're my girl."

The rumble of those words alone made her breath catch in her throat.

He leaned in, capturing her lips again—this time deeper. His hand at her back tugged her closer, until her chest pressed against his. Her hips guided against his lap. She felt him, hard and heavy beneath her, and it made her body respond instinctively—hips shifting just in search of friction.

The movement earned her a low, warning growl in her ear.

"Careful," John muttered, his hand sliding down to her hips to still her. "Keep grindin' on me, and I'm not lettin' you go before dinner."

"I wasn't..." she started breathlessly, but trailed off when he kissed her again—rougher this time.

The way his hand gripped her waist, pulling her down onto him with purpose. She gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed it like it belonged to him. His other hand threaded into her hair, tilting her head just the way he wanted as he deepened the kiss, devouring her sensually. The way a man kisses when he knows he has time—and full intent to ruin.

Charlie whimpered softly against his lips. Her fingers tangling tighter into the fabric of his shirt.

"My girl," he rasped when he pulled back, brushing his nose against hers. "That little sound you make—I want more."

Her cheeks were burning. Her breathing shaky.

He lowered his mouth to her jaw, down to her throat, lips dragging along her pulse. She trembled until her lips parted.

"I want to know when your mind starts to go blank, and all you can think about is me." He pulled back enough to look at her, eyes dark and commanding. "You've been pushin' through every day—school, daily pressure..." His voice dropped to a deep, steady whisper. "I see how hard you work, how hard you try. But right now, I want you to let go."

His hands moved under her thighs and in one fluid motion, he stood up—lifting her with him as though she weighed nothing. She let out a quiet gasp, arms wrapping around his neck as her legs tightened around his waist.

"John—"

"Let me take care of you," he cut her off gently.

He walked them to the bed and laid her down carefully, never once breaking eye contact. His hand smoothed down her thigh as he hovered over her.

"I want to hear you say it again," he said, his voice a low, gravelly command.

Her eyes fluttered. "That I want you?"

He leaned down, brushing his lips over hers. "Yes."

"I want you," she whispered, and it wasn't just desire in her voice—it was trust.

John smiled against her mouth, wicked and possessive. "You'll be mine tonight, sweetheart. I want every part of you."

And as his mouth captured hers again.

His hands roamed slowly—possessively—over her sides, thumbs brushing the curve of her waist beneath her sweater. Every touch was intentional, never rushed. John didn't just touch to tease. He touched to claim.

Her breath trembled beneath him. Her chest rising and falling in rhythm with her racing heart, while her hands slipped under his forearms, her nails grazing his lean, hairy, and muscular arms.

"You feel that?" he murmured between kisses.

She nodded, her voice caught somewhere in her throat.

"This is a warm-up," he said, his tone almost raspy yet gentle. His hand slid up the back of her thigh, fingers trailing higher until they paused just beneath the hem of her sweater hem.

She whimpered after he adjusted her body under him with confidence that it made her dizzy. Feeling his body pressed against her. She opened her mouth to speak, but the moment she did, he kissed her harder—shutting her up with a low growl.

"Don't interrupt," he warned between kisses.

Her head fell back against the pillow, breathless. "You're very bossy."

"You like it when I am," he replied with a smirk, trailing slow kisses along her jaw.

"I do," she giggled, cheeks flushed.

"Mmhm. That's what I thought," he rasped, his deep voice vibrating against her skin. And just as his hand slid up the back of her thigh again, the shrill buzz of his phone cut through the air.

John stilled.

The vibration rattled against his pocket.

Charlie blinked up at him, dazed and flushed, her hair mussed beneath her on the pillow.

He let out a breath—part annoyed, part amused—and dropped his forehead to her shoulder.

She giggled softly, breathless. "Was that your dinner alarm?"

"It was," he groaned.

Charlie smiled, her fingers tracing slow circles along his back. "Guess we've got a reservation to catch."

John tilted his head, meeting her eyes again. "We can skip dinner."

"John," she laughed. "We'll be late."

He grinned, pressing one final kiss—just enough to make her toes curl again.

"Fine, I'll behave. For now."

Then he slowly rolled off her, running a hand through his hair and grabbing the phone to silence the alarm. "But when we get back..."

Charlie sat up, cheeks pink, hair tousled, eyes still dreamy.

"I'm yours?" she said softly, smiling.

His lip twisted into a mischievous grin.

"Yes."

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 68✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The hiss of the milk steamer was loud enough to drown out her thoughts—but not loud enough to drown out him. 

Charlie stood behind the counter at Briki Café, her hair pulled up into a hasty bun, a dark apron tied snug at her waist, and a black Sharpie marker clenched between her fingers like a weapon she was trying to remember how to use. She squinted at the paper cup in front of her. The name was supposed to be "Ben."

She wrote Neb.

She stared at it for a full two seconds before groaning under her breath.

"Charlie," her coworker Riley called gently from down the line, "that's, like, the fourth one."

"I know," she muttered, grabbing another cup and scribbling messier this time, praying the customer had low standards or poor vision. "Sorry. My brain is just... tired."

Tired wasn't the word.

Her brain was on fire. And all of it was his fault.

It had been a day.

One. Whole. Day.

Since his hands were on her waist. Since his tongue was in her mouth—on her neck—between her legs. Since she'd sat on his lap, straddled his thighs, and told him not to stop.

And he hadn't.

Since he had helped her with her thesis, taken her fishing, and taught her how to swim. Her memories of him—his dry humor, his smile, his demeanor, and those icy blue eyes that were a crisp, ultralight shade of blue—made her melt, yet remain still. The way he kissed her, his tongue gently exploring her mouth, made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing.

She tried desperately to push the memories away. But the more she tried to push it away, the more he invaded her thoughts. His rugged looks and calm but cool presence wasn't hard to forget. 

The way his smooth but deep, gravelly voice whispered in her ear each time she closed her eyes, even when he just talks. She would want to listen to his deep voice all day.

The espresso machine screamed again, and her heart stuttered like it had something to be guilty about. She frothed milk with a trembling grip. The foam bubbled too fast, too high.

I need to focus, she told herself. Just one drink at a time. One name. One order. Not his hands. Not the way he said my name—

The memory came uninvited. The way he growled it in her ear, rough and hungry, like it physically pained him to hold back.

"Keep going before I plan on fucking you in the couch..."

The way he said in almost a demanding way, yet, she clenched her thighs instinctively. Her body shivered as she grip the take-out coffee tight. 

"Latte for Talet!" she called out—too loud, too sharp.

Someone blinked at her. "Do you mean... Tate?"

She winced. "Right. Tate."

Great. She was officially losing it.

Pouring another shot of espresso, she reached for the iced tea pitcher—and accidentally dumped the shot right in.

"Damnit!"

Riley's head whipped toward her. "Charlie—?"

"I'm fine," she said too quickly. "Didn't sleep well."

Didn't sleep at all, she thought. Not with his voice in my head. Not with the way he kissed me replaying like a broken tape I didn't want to fix.

She moved like muscle memory the rest of her shift—frothing, pouring, calling names, getting half of them wrong. The blurs on the cups danced more than usual. Her struggle hadn't been so cruel to her. 

And he had never felt so close.

She was wiping down the tables near the window when it happened again.

The memory. Of him. The way he looked at her that night—like she was the lamb, but he wasn't hungry to devour her.

"When a lamb strays too close to him. She should know she doesn't belong to a wolf... unless, if she wanted him."

Her hand slowed over the damp cloth as she stared through the glass.

I didn't run. I let him touch me. I touched him back. And he didn't bite. He held me like I was something he'd been wanting for. Like he was the one that might break if I ever said stop.

A hiss behind the counter made her jump. It was just steam. Just steam. But it sounded like him. Like that deep, chesty sound he made when he buried his lips and his mouth trailed along her jaw—

"I wanted you."

She pressed her thighs together again, heat curling through her abdomen like she could still feel his fingers inside her. She bent over slightly, pretending to wipe lower just to hide the flush in her cheeks.

What is wrong with me?

Break time couldn't come soon enough.

Charlie slipped out the back door and perched on an old milk crate, pulling her apron loose from her waist. The breeze kissed her hot skin, making her blink into the daylight like she hadn't seen it in hours.

She closed her eyes.

The way his hands cradled her small body like he'd been sculpting the shape of her in his dreams. The way he kissed her—not like he wanted sex, but like he wanted everything of her.

He didn't take. He waited. Begged for her to ask for more.

And she had.

Not because it felt good.

But because it was him.

For some reason, to her, she felt safe with a man who had power over her. Power in every inch of her body. He could've crushed her—or fucked her—but he chose to hold back instead.

She bit her lip.

God, she wanted more.

A little more of him.

More of his mouth. More to swallow his deep and gruff sounds into her mouth when they kiss. More of him who looked at her like she was the only thing that could soothe the burn.

Even if it was terrifying. Even if it meant handing her heart to a man she'd knew in less than a month.

Charlie exhaled and stood.

Her heart was still pounding as she walked back inside, tying her apron tighter like she could somehow secure her sanity with a knot.

She passed the pastry case—and froze.

There they were.

The sugar-dusted lamb-shaped cookies.

Back in stock.

She stared at them, lips quirking as a laugh puffed from her nose.

You'd think I'd be afraid of the wolf by now, she thought to herself before walking back behind the counter.

***

The drive back from Briki Café felt longer than usual. Maybe it was the cold air biting at her cheeks, or maybe it was that her body still hadn’t caught up with her brain after a day spent trying not to daydream about John.

Charlie reached the apartment door with her backpack slung over one shoulder and her jacket zipped up to her chin. She fumbled for her keys, her fingers half-numb, and finally shoved the door open with her hip. The warmth of the apartment hit her like a blanket. She sighed in relief and stepped inside, kicking off her sneakers with a soft thud near the entrance. The place smelled like fresh soap and the faint trace of his cologne—woodsy, and warm.

Her body was tired from work, her head still spinning from everything she’d tried to not think about all day. Quickly, she unzipped her jacket, shrugging it off as she walked down the living room until she heard the faint murmur of a voice. Deep and Controlled.

Her heart jumped in her chest as she froze in place. Her brows knit as she crept closer, the low rumble of his voice carrying through from the kitchen.

“Yeah, table for two,” he said. There was a beat of silence, and then, “Seven o’clock works. Thanks.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

A reservation?

But that wasn’t what froze her in place.

It was him.

John. In that outfit.

A black dress shirt, unbuttoned just enough at the top to hint at his collarbone—and maybe more if she dared look long enough. There were hint of his dark hairs on his chest in the heart center. The sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing his thick arms, the veins beneath his sun-worn skin, and the flex of muscle as he tapped his thumb against his thigh.

The shirt was tucked into navy tailored dress trousers, fitted snug across his hips and legs, held in place by a brown leather belt that matched his polished dress shoes—deep cognac in color, classic, refined.

He looked… fresh.

Not like Captain Price.

Like John.

Masculine in the way that made her knees feel like melted marshmallow fluff. His hair was trimmed and shortened, and so was his full beard. Her cheeks warmed as she tried not to let her gaze drop too far, but it was impossible. Everything about him was carved in clean lines and confidence. The kind of man who didn’t need to prove anything.

When he ended the call and turned, his eyes locked onto hers immediately.

“Hey,” he said, lips quirking up into that half-smile—sharp, amused. “You plannin’ on standing there all day, or are you gonna come in?”

Charlie blinked.

“I—uh—wasn’t eavesdropping,” she stammered, heat rushing to her face. She stepped into the kitchen, her heart rattling inside her chest.

“Never said you were.” His smirk deepened.

She crossed her arms, attempting to seem nonchalant. “You’re dressed up.”

“Am I?” he asked, as if he didn’t know how perfect he looked.

Charlie cleared her throat, trying not to let her eyes drop to his forearms again. “Yeah. Got plans?”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer—just enough to cloud her sense of personal space. “What do you think?”

“I—uh,” she blinked. “You look like you’re going somewhere important.”

He tilted his head, that teasing smile deepening. “Maybe I am.”

“Is it… work-related?” she asked, quieter this time.

He chuckled, low and warm. “No, Charlie girl.”

Her name never sounded the same when it came out of his mouth. It dripped with something else—heart curling around her ribs, making herself to breathe right.

John leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, the movement pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his chest.

“Thought I’d take a trip. Do something different. Maybe even take someone along—if she’s interested.”

Her mouth went dry.

“Oh.” She swallowed, her voice barely above a whisper. “That someone being me?”

He gave her a slow nod. “If you’re up for it.”

She nodded dumbly. “Okay.”

“Good,” he said. “Go get dressed. Something casual. Pack an overnight bag—we’re spending the night elsewhere.”

Charlie turned to go, but his voice stopped her in the doorway.

“Oh—and Charlie?”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

John was watching her with a smirk that sent chills down her spine.

“Try not to stare too much,” he said, eyes glinting. “Might give me ideas.”

Her face went up in flames. She squeaked and ducked out of the kitchen, his quiet laugh echoing behind her like smoke in her lungs.

***

Charlie stood in the guest room, staring at the open closet like it held the answers to all her questions. Her fingers drummed against the dresser's edge as she debated what to wear. John had said "casual," but did that mean his version of casual—jeans, boots, a blouse, a dress shirt—or something more laid-back?

She glanced at her phone, pulling up the weather app. Fifty degrees. Chilly but not too cold. She'd need something warm enough to be comfortable but not so heavy that she'd look like she was preparing for a blizzard.

Her eyes roamed over the options she'd unpacked earlier. A sweater and skinny jeans seemed a safe bet, but she hesitated. Her fingers brushing against a soft beige knit sweater she'd brought along.

It was cozy, the kind of sweater that hugged in all the right places without trying too hard. Paired with light skinny jeans and her white Arch Fit Skechers, it could strike the perfect balance between casual and girly.

"This will work," she said, pulling out her clothes and shoes and placing them on the bed.

Satisfied with her choice, she grabbed her toiletry bag and headed out of the guest room toward the bathroom. The cool air from the hallway made her shiver, a reminder of the temperature she'd soon be facing.

Inside the bathroom, she locked the door behind her, setting her things on the counter as she glanced at herself in the mirror. Her golden hair was still a bit wild, and there was a faint pink flush on her cheeks from earlier. She shook her head, trying not to think about everything at once.

Turning on the shower, she let the water heat up before stepping inside as the warm spray hit her skin. She reached for her shampoo, working it through her hair as the steam filled the small space.

As she rinsed the shampoo out, her thoughts drifted back to John. The way he'd looked at her in the kitchen and heard his voice when he'd teased her. Charlie grabbed the body wash and lathered the body wash over her skin, taking extra care to scrub away the grogginess from her day’s work.

After a moment's pause, she reached for the razor she'd brought with her, making quick work of shaving her legs, arms, and underarms. The slight chill in the air made her glad she'd thought to pack it; the last thing she wanted was to feel self-conscious.

When she stepped out of the shower, the mirror was fogged, and the bathroom was filled with the faint scent of cherry blossom from her body wash and shampoo.

Charlie wrapped herself in a towel, patting her face dry before reaching for her moisturizer. She saw herself in the mirror as she worked the lotion into her skin. Her reflection looked softer. A small smile tugged at her lips that hadn't been there earlier, and her cheeks were still flushed.

"You got this," she said under her breath, brushing her damp hair back before blow drying it and pulling it into a loose braid. She changed into her chosen outfit, smoothing out the sweater as she looked at herself in the mirror one last time.

The sweater was as flattering as she'd hoped, its soft fabric clinging to her curvy figure without being too snug. The jeans fit well, and the shoes made her look like a college student.

A sudden thought struck her. 

A college student out on a date with someone older.

The idea made her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink.

She couldn't help but think about all the stories she'd heard—or rather, the rumors on the internet—about girls her age being picked up by older men. Some for their charm, some for the allure of a different life, and others just for the mixture.

And now, here she was, about to step out with John.

The thought made her heart race, her mind conjuring images of other girls whispering enviously about how lucky she was. What would they think? That I'm dating a sugar daddy?

She let out a small, breathy laugh. Shaking her head as she turned away from the mirror. But the idea lingered as she tried to brush it off, making her stomach flutter.

John wasn't like those men she'd met online—he was respectful and stable in a way that made her feel safe.

He's so much more than that, she thought to herself. The thought of other girls her age envying her made her blush more.

She grabbed her overnight bag from the closet, folding a change of clothes neatly inside before adding her toiletries. Her hands moved quickly, but her mind was a swirl of nervous energy, replaying the moment in the kitchen when John had looked at her with that teasing smirk.

Stop overthinking, she told herself firmly as she zipped up the bag. This is just a date. A casual, spend-the-night-at-a-hotel kind of date… Her cheeks burned again at the thought.

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the bag and slung it over her shoulder before heading out of the guest room. Grabbing any spare clothes—sweatshirt and jeans with clean underwear and bra. The soft step of her shoes on the hardwood floor was the only sound as she returned to the living room where John was waiting.

He turned to face her, his sharp eyes sweeping over her in a way that made her heartbeat. She felt self-conscious under his steady gaze, but the faint smile tugging at his lips eased her nerves.

"You ready, love?" he asked, his voice warm but steady.

Charlie nodded, clutching the strap of her bag.

"Yeah."

As they headed out the door together, Charlie couldn't help but feel like she was stepping into something that excited and terrified her.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 67✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

Captain John Price in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 20/??

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

Cam lay draped across his chest while his calloused hand rested lazily on her spine, tracing idle lines over her skin. The blankets had slipped down to his waist, leaving him fully naked beneath her while she wore nothing but his T-shirt, bunched up around her ribs. Her legs tangled with his. Her cheek pressed against his heartbeat.

They'd been like that for a while now.

Not talking.

Just breathing.

Cam had felt it—something in him had been off for days. That faraway look in his eyes. He still smiled, still teased her, still kissed her like she was the only good thing left in this world—but something inside him wasn't right.

He hadn't talked since he stepped inside after the operation she was aware of.

"You okay?" she said softly.

His chest rose slowly under her. His hand paused against her back under the shirt, then resumed its slow path up her spine. "Yeah," he answered, voice low and hoarse.

Cam lifted her head just enough to look at him, her curly hair spilling over her shoulder. "Liar."

He cracked a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Never could lie to you, Mo ghaol (my love)."

Her lips curved at the nickname, but her gaze stayed locked on his. "You don't have to pretend with me."

"I know." His hand drifted to her waist, squeezing it lightly. "Just... needed to forget for a bit."

"You needed something," she murmured. "That's why you pulled me into bed."

His silence said more than words ever could.

Cam shifted slightly, the cotton shirt lifting with her movement. She placed a soft kiss to his collarbone, then another just below his neck, lips lingering. Her hand slid up to cradle his jaw, light stubbles she felt since he could be growing his beard, her thumb brushing along his cheek.

"Just don't shut me out, please," she whispered against his skin.

Johnny let out a breath. His hand slid down her back again, this time slower.

"Never," he rasped, his Gaelic accent made her shiver listening to him speak low. "You're the only thing keepin' me from goin' off the rails, Cam."

She laid her head back down on his collarbone, ear tuned to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arm wrapped around her back lazily. She felt him inhale—slow, deep.

"Still breathing heavy," she murmured, eyes closed. "You alright?"

Soap didn't answer at first until he answered.

"I should be askin' you that," he finally said, voice lower than usual. Rough, like gravel under his tongue.

Cam raised her head, resting her chin on him now. "Johnny."

He didn't meet her gaze. Just stared at the ceiling. His jaw was clenched, and his brows were tight, like he was somewhere else entirely. It was the quiet that hurt her the most.

"I haven't stopped thinkin' about that bastard and the words he said," he said after a beat. "Makes me want to commit crime on my own but your da did."

Cam listened.

"He pulled that trigger right in front of me and Kyle—" His jaw flexed again. "Your da is a tough bastard, I'll give him that. But I wanted to. But Gaz stopped me. And now, Rich is dead and Laswell is going to be pissed."

"Johnny," she sat up slightly, still straddling him, her bare thighs cradling his sides. "You think my Dad expected you to be like him? To shoot first, ask questions later? That's not you."

His ocean eyes locked on hers now. And she saw it—what he'd been carrying since that day. The fear.

"I care about you," he said through clenched teeth. "If anything happens to you, that's a scar it'll never fade. I'd go to war for you."

Her lips parted, breath catching.

He sat up with her now, their chests pressed together, foreheads nearly touching. His hand slid up her back, burying into her hair, the other gripping her thigh.

"I know I joke a lot. I smile. I flirt. But if someone takes you from me—there won't be anyone left to pick up the pieces of what I'll do to 'em."

Cam exhaled, stunned by the weight in his voice.

"You're mine, Cam. And I should've made that clear from the fuckin' start. Your da did all the work while I didn't do enough. Like I was a fucking useless," he said, his voice cracking again.

She cupped his face now, her thumb stroking over the sharp line of his jaw. "You're not a disappointment, okay? I don't want you to lose yourself because of him."

He swallowed thickly, like that thought alone haunted him more than any op.

"He sees everything, Cam. He knows when I'm bluffing. He sees when I hesitate. I know he's watching. I feel it."

"Good," she said quietly. "Then let him see how much you love me."

Soap leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers again.

"I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," she promised. "You're mine, Johnny. That matters more to me than who pulls a trigger first. Let my Dad be him and you be you."

His arms wrapped around her fully now, and the vulnerability he'd tried to hide gave way to something real. Cam kissed his cheek a few times before his lips until his phone buzzed on the nightstand. Cam stilled against him, eyes flicking toward the screen.

Soap didn't need to look. He already knew.

"It's her," he muttered, his voice low as he reached for it.

Cam slid off his chest, her body brushing over his, reluctant. He sat up on the edge of the bed, the sheet hanging low on his hips as he answered the call.

"Laswell," he said, voice rough.

"Finally," Laswell snapped. "You picked up."

Soap rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Sorry. Was resting."

"I've been trying to get ahold of Gabrielle," she said. "No answer. Tried Simon too. Nothing."

He blinked, brows knitting. "You serious?"

"She was supposed to check in with me after submitting her report," Laswell continued in her sharp tone. "The one detailing what happened with Rich."

The room suddenly felt colder.

Cam sat on the bed behind him, silent, her hand gently resting on his lower back.

Laswell didn't wait. "Tell me why John killed him."

His throat felt dry.

"You were there, weren't you?" she pressed. "I want the truth."

"I—" he started, then stopped. His hand dropped to his knee. "Rich threatened us."

"Threatened?" Laswell echoed, voice full of disbelief. "That justifies an execution?"

"He said things... about the 141. About Cam. About what he'd do if he was cut loose," Soap said tightly. "You didn't see how Price looked. It wasn't just a shot—it was a decision. A fuckin' judgment call."

"And you agreed with it?"

"I didn't stop him."

Silence.

Not even a sigh on the other end. Just stillness.

Then—her voice dropped. Cooler, quieter. "And Charlie?"

Soap blinked. "What?"

"Charlotte Daniels. What the hell is she doing involved in this?"

"What are you talking about?" he asked carefully.

But Laswell didn't answer. The line went dead.

The call had ended.

Soap pulled the phone from his ear slowly and stared at the screen.

Cam leaned closer, her brows furrowing. "What happened?"

"She hung up," he muttered and looked at her over his shoulder. "After asking about Charlie."

"Charlie?" Cam echoed, confused.

Before Soap could answer, her phone lit up beside them.

Kate.

Her heart jumped. She looked at Johnny—his expression tensed again—and picked up the call.

"Kate?" Cam answered, cautious.

"Don't play dumb," Laswell snapped on the other end, her voice tight with disbelief and exhaustion. "I just got off the phone with Johnny, and he couldn't give me a answer, so I'm asking you."

Cam sat up straighter, the tension climbing her spine. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play," Laswell hissed. "Why the hell didn't you tell me what Charlie was involved in? You were on base. Don't tell me you didn't know."

"Kate—Laswell—I wasn't on the op. I was home with Ivory," Cam explained. "I don't know anything about Charlie and I met her at the cafe on my birthday. Dad was with me along with the rest. She's seeing my Dad."

That silence again.

Her breath came through the speaker, this time colder.

"...Wait. Seeing your father?"

Cam slowly frowned. "Yeah. She's seeing my dad."

A sharp inhale.

"She's with your dad?" Her tone dipped low. "What. Do. You mean."

Her eyes widened slightly. "She's—uh... dating him?"

Another silence. Then—

"You mean to tell me..." her voice broke, somewhere between disbelief and fury. "Charlie. My daughter. Is dating your father?"

Cam froze.

"...Your daughter?"

Johnny stiffened beside her.

"Yes," Laswell growled. "Charlotte Daniels is my daughter! And you just told me she's dating Captain Price. An operator twice her age—your father—and you knew?!"

Her throat was dry. "I—Laswell—no I didn't know she was yours! I swear—"

"You let this happen," Laswell cut in, sharp and livid. "Who introduced her?"

Cam glanced at him. Guilt written all over it.

Soap mouthed her a word of, "what?"

"Kate, please don't--"

"Answer the question, Cameron. Who did it?"

She sighed and rubbed her forehead before looking away. "It was Johnny."

His face was pale. Eyes widened as his jaw opened wide.

"And how the hell did he got these two hooked?" Kate said, almost in a condescending way.

Cam pressed her lips thin. There was no way out of escaping Laswell and her interrogation through a phone call.

"Through a dating app," she said, almost like she was caught red handed from cheating on a test day. "But, Soap didn't just hook him up. Dad started talking to Charlie on his own, after Soap found her and encouraged him."

There was more brief in silence before everything Cam felt, she felt her heart picked up the moment Kate threw in the towel.

"Alright, I'm leaving Virginia in the next twenty-four hours," Laswell stated, clipped. "Tell the whole damn 141 that I'm coming in. And I want a word with Captain Price. Alone."

The line disconnected.

Cam stared at her screen after removing it from her ear.

"...What the fuck," she whispered.

Johnny looked at her, brows furrowed. "What?"

She turned to him slowly, still stunned. "Charlie's her daughter."

His expression went blank. "Whose daughter?"

"Laswell."

His mouth fell open and then closed. 

"She's coming to London to rise hell on you and my Dad after us!"

There was a pause—then Johnny slowly leaned back into the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

"Fucking hell..." he muttered. "I'm screwed."

"... Correction. We are screwed."

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 66✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

Charlie gazed at herself in the bathroom mirror, giving off an air of calm that belied her mood. She was dressed in her navy pajamas with stars and moons. Her hair tied up in a messy bun while brushing her teeth like any typical college student following a bedtime routine, all while residing under her parents' roof (or with a roommate).

She spit onto the sink, rinsed her mouth, and set her toothbrush down before stepping out of the bathroom barefoot.

The soft sound of the television could be heard as she walked barefoot across the living room and saw John was lounging on the couch. The telly's screen light highlighted his sharp features, giving a gentler cast to his usual stern expression. He wasn't in his typical alert mode—instead, he was in his simple hoodie and gray sweatpants, looking almost boyish and relaxed.

Charlie hesitated, uncertain whether to disturb him or join him, but before she could slip away unnoticed, he looked in her direction.

"You heading to bed early?" John asked.

She nodded, shifting herself awkwardly. "Yeah, I was going to—"

"Join me," he interrupted, his tone casual but inviting. He patted beside him. "Only if you're up for it."

Charlie glanced at the couch, then back at him.

"I don't want to bother you," she said, hesitant.

"You're not bothering me," John said simply. "Come on, love. Sit with me."

Her lips parted as she considered his request. She nodded, almost without thinking.

He smiled and shifted to make room for her.

When she sat down beside him, the cushions dipped under her weight, and she tucked her legs under her. 

The sitcom played on, and the sound of canned laughter filled the room. But her attention wasn't on the screen. She could feel his presence and it was both comforting and nerve-wracking.

"You cozy?" he asked, turning his face to her.

She glanced at him and smiled. "Yeah."

John hummed in approval and turned his gaze back to the television. She did the same until five minutes passed, John shifted himself to where his arm touched her.

Her heart quickened.

"You're fidgeting," John said suddenly without looking at her.

She turned her face to him and said quickly, "I'm not."

He lifted an eyebrow and grinned at her. "Liar."

Charlie frowned, her blush deepening.

"I'm just... watching with you," she said, looking away. "Whatever it is playing."

"Right," he rolled his eyes. "You've been staring at the same corner of the screen for the last five minutes."

"I have not!" she protested, looking back to him.

John chuckled, the sound low and warm, and shifted again. Only this time, he moved more closer and his arm rested behind the couch on her side.

"I'm just teasing you, little one," he teased, his tone soft yet laced with that dry humor she was beginning to recognize. "Now, I need you to tell me what you're thinking?"

She blinked and looked away.

"N-nothing."

He tilted his head, his sly grin widening as he watched her. Her flushed cheeks and the way she avoided his gaze revealed more than words could. Without any words, she glanced at him again.

"No need to be nervous," he said gently.

He reached out and tenderly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Her breath hitched at the contact. 

Before she says more, her hand moved unconsciously and it rested against his knee. 

She froze and his body stiffened before he relaxed again.

"You alright?" he asked calmly, though his eyes betrayed a hint of hunger.

Her hand jerked back as if she'd been burned. "I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't say I minded," he said, interrupting her with a hearty laugh.

This only intensified her blush, causing her heart to beat loudly in her ears. Redirecting her focus to the telly, she tightened her grip on her hands resting in her lap, she bit her bottom lip. Feeling his eyes on her, he frowned, almost.

"You're biting your lip," he said.

"Sorry," she mumbled after she looked at him.

"I'm not gonna bite."

"Are you sure?" Charlie raised an eyebrow.

His expression changed instantly when he frowned to being relaxed.

"Positive," John said before moving his eyes back to the screen.

Yet, the sensation of her hand on his knee kept replaying in his mind, fueling his struggle to control himself. Clearing his throat, he pressed his lips into a lopsided grin.

"Can I ask you something?"

She looked at him. "What?"

"What's your favorite animal?"

She paused for a minute and answered. "Lamb."

"Lamb?" he echoed. "You mean a baby sheep?"

"Yes, a lamb. They're cute and soft."

"Hmm."

"What's yours?"

"A wolf."

She giggled in respond. "So, you're a werewolf fan?"

"Ha-ha. I prefer Van Helsing than a cheesy romance like Twilight."

She was shocked. "Take that back!"

"Not a chance," he replied dryly.

She rolled her eyes. "I can't stand horror films."

"We can change that."

She crinkled her nose and tilted her chin up to him. "Try me."

He stifled a laugh and shot her a warning look. "Don't start something you can't finish, Charlie, or I'll have to step in and finish it on your behalf."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

His grin widened. "You'll know someday."

She shook her head and moved on.

"Alright, Mr. Alpha. What's so special about wolves, then?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned back a little more comfortably as his arm remained stretched out behind the back of the couch on her side. His fingers lightly drummed against the cushion.

"They're predators," he said. "Not because they're wild but they're calculated. Strategic."

Charlie tilted her head. "So, you like them because they're smart?"

"Yes," he agreed. "But the alpha also protect his pack and his mate."

The word mate hung like it was unspoken.

"He doesn’t attack unless provoked," John added, his voice softening into dark. "But when he does, he won’t stop until the threat's gone."

Her throat became dry, causing her eyes to remain fixed on him.

"And lambs are innocent," a faint smile curved his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. "They don't belong to the wolves."

"Why?" she asked gently. "Is it because lambs are weak?"

"It could be, but sometimes," he went on, eyes still locked on her, "when a lamb, not lambs, mind I correct you. When a lamb strays too close to him. She should know she doesn't belong to a wolf."

His tone dropped further, laced with something raw.

"And when the wolf tries to warn her to stay back, yet, the lamb keeps coming closer. Maybe for comfort, or whatever her motive. He’ll slowly give in to his hunger," he said, leaning closer so she could feel his hot breath near her lips. "Unless, if she wanted him."

She stared at him, her brown pupils almost widened. "How can she know that he won't hurt her?"

"That's the thing, love," he said, smiling sadly. "It's not about the wolf promising not to hurt."

He lifted his finger and touched her cheek, almost like studying her.

"It's about the lamb choosing to surrender."

"I don't understand," she whispered.

"Surrender isn't weakness," he said, his voice gravel and silk at once, "It's trust.”

His hand—big, rough, warm—slid down from the back of the couch to the top of her shoulder. Just a single touch. Barely there. “If a lamb knew the wolf could ruin her... but still chooses to lay at his feet."

She gulped, and his gaze dropped to her lips before returning to meet her. Her brown eyes and his piercing icy-blue ones remained locked on each other.

"The wolf will worship her," he murmured, his fingers hovering near her hair. "He treasures and guards her as if she is the most important being in his world."

A pause.

Then, his tone turned lower. "Because once a lamb offers herself to a wolf. She belongs to him."

She stared at him.

"And what if... the lamb isn't ready to offer herself?" She said softly, almost in whisper.

"Then the wolf waits," he said, his thumb brushing against her collarbone now through her night shirt, unbuttoned in half slowly. "Until she does."

Her chest rose and fell as his large hand hovered barely above her breast. 

The warmth of his hardened skin seeping through the fabric of her night shirt. 

His fingers, roughened by years of labor, inched closer, applying a gentle pressure that nearly drew a gasp from her lips. She found herself spellbound by his piercing icy blue, which seemed to ignite within her. It dawned on her just how his tall, broad-shouldered frame towered over her, making her breath quicken. 

Her eyes drifted to his lips over his thick, rugged mustache, before moving her eyes to meet him. His touch sent a jolt through her, and his other rough fingertips brushed against her cheek.

He leaned in and kissed her.

She closed her eyes halfway.

The only thing left was his big hand gently holding her cheek, his thumb lightly running along her cheekbone as he deepened the kiss.

Her free hand moved and she grabbed his hoodie. His thick beard brushing against her tender skin, while his other hand slide around her waist, firm yet careful. As if he was holding onto something fragile.

Pulling her in, their bodies pressed together and he let out a low growl between kisses, his lips brushing against hers, and his tongue gliding over hers, eliciting a soft moan from her.

"You're my girl," he growled into her mouth.

His hand rested on the small of her back, a touch that sent a thrill through her. 

Pulling away from her lips, he let his hot tongue trail down her jawline, his rough and prickly mustache leaving a trail of goosebumps on her skin. His hands slipped under her shirt, tenderly caressing her soft, rounded breasts. Her nipples stiffened at his touch, and she arched her back.

One of his hand moved away from her breast and lowered her pants to where he slipped a finger inside her damp panties, moaning into her ear as he felt how wet she was.

Fuck... she needs me.

"Uhm... John... wait,” she whimpered, her nails digging into his back.

He pulled back, his lips hovering over hers as they both struggled to catch their breath. His forehead rested against hers with his eyes closed. He opened his eyes again.

"Was that okay?" he asked gruffly.

She nodded quickly as a 'yes'.

"You don't know what you want, do you?" he asked huskily.

"No," she said weakly.

Pulling away from her sex, he raised one of his fingers to his mouth and tasted her, groaning low as her sweetness hit his tongue.

"You taste good," he smirked devilishly.

Charlie swallowed, making her face flushed more warmer.

His other hand moved from her cheek to the back of her neck, holding her still as his lips met hers again, this time softer. She closed her eyes and tasted a hint of her arousal on his lips. It was unhurried. When he drew back, his gaze held a blend of longing and self-control.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice strained. "Because if you don't..."

"No!" Charlie pleaded, shaking her head quickly as her hands loosened his hoodie and caressed both his cheeks. "I don't want you to stop."

Again, he leaned in and his lips claiming hers again before breaking away. His moved her small body and had her settled on his lap before kissing her again. Their breaths mingling and every control he had before was becoming thin. She wasn't some fleeting desire. She was a jewel--his to keep, not to conquer. She deserved every bit of care he could give.

Pressing his lips harder against hers, he savored the taste of her and feeling her soft hands resting on his face. He tilted his head and his hand found its way around her waist. Her breathing became shallower, and she could feel the heat growing beneath him.

John groaned low in his throat. Deep and raw he released from his throat. His other hand moved under her shirt again and traveled its exploration, making her lift her hips before it reached between her legs with two fingers.

Charlie softly cried in his mouth in pleasure as he slipped his third finger between her folds, rubbing it in circles until she broke the kiss and her cheeks flushed red as shade of rose.

"John..."

"Do you want me to stop?" He almost growled.

She shook her head quickly.

"No."

He growled before leaning in and his lips trailed along her jaw. His beard scraped her skin, which left her gasping for air and the sensation. 

"I'll behave like a gentleman if that's what it takes for you to accept me,” he said huskily.

Her body responded unexpectedly of his large fingers caressing under her cervix. Sparking her nerves and prompting more cries. She rolled her eyes shut and buried her face into his hair, the musky scent of his hair drove her senses wild.

"Jon..." she muffled and moaned in between.

He couldn't help but smile a little. Hearing his name said in a breathless way was music to his ears.

Slowly, when he removed his fingers and brought them to his lips, tasting her again. He hadn't left his eyes from her.

"I've dreamed of you," he rasped, before leaning in and brushing his lips against her earlobe.

Charlie could whimper since she couldn't speak. Her body ache on his touch.

He took this opportunity to slip his tongue into her ear, prompting her to sigh from her lips. His hands gripped her hips tight, guiding her to grind herself against him. Making her wet core clench more. He was rubbing his erection against her center, teasing both of them with what they both wanted. And they didn't care about the telly playing whatever it was on either.

"Fuck," he growled, his tone deep and husky with approval. "You want my cock, do you? Grind me, if you do."

She was entranced. Gripping his shirt tightly, she whimpered and nodded quick before moving against him in a desperate way for relief. Between the fabric and friction, he closed his eyes and continued caressing her neck with soft kisses, prompting her to tilt her head to grant him better access. A gentle sigh fell from her lips, feeling his hands ventured upward beneath her night top, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of her ribs.

"So soft... and perfect in my hand," he almost moaned, reverent. His hand grazed the underside of her left breast and squeezed them. "Fucking hell. I like you."

Trying to form words, she couldn't speak since all that escaped from her lips was a shaky exhale.

"John."

He let out a deep growl in his throat as he shifted his hands from her breast and the other from her rib to grabbing her ass and squeezing them hard. Pressing her center against his aching groin. His hands still remained from her ass, squeezing it again. All while her fingers stroke on his beard.

"You're perfect."

Her heart pounded.

"How far is too far?" she asked, her voice slightly shaky.

John opened his eyes and chuckled darkly.

"You draw the line. Whatever makes you comfortable—that's where we stop."

Her lips parted. She'd been worried that her 'inexperience' would turn him off, but his calm demeanor put her at peace.

"I've never... done it," she admitted shyly, her blush deepening. "Like, any of it."

The corners of his mouth tugging into a faint smile.

"Doesn't faze me, little lamb," he said, eyes locked on her. "In fact, I want to be your first."

The way he said it without hesitation—made her heart burst.

A soft smile appeared on her face before she leaned forward and kissed him. 

He took her hand from his beard and pressed her palm against his lips before kissing it. His icy eyes stared at her. Silent. Charlie let out a gentle breath. She never imagined being touched like that could feel this safe. This right. Like she'd been seen--not just being used for sex.

"Finish it," he said hoarsely.

She nodded.

Then, he directed her hand inside his pants. She gasped softly as she felt his hardened erection between her finger tips. He guided her hand to take hold of his shaft and pressed. And it felt hot against her palm as she wrapped it and he hissed before gritting his teeth. Removing his hand from her, he groaned as she did it again. He began bucking into her touch.

The feeling of him in her hand sent new waves of desire coursing through her. 

One of his hand slid up to cradle the back of her head, allowing his fingers thread through her hair before pulling her to kiss him. Coaxing her to follow his lead. She did, and her breath hitched as his tongue brushed against hers. His other hand rested on her hip as he broke the kiss, breathing hard.

"Do it fast," he said in a low, commanding tone. "I'll still be the luckiest man alive if this is all you want—bouncing me like this. With or without clothes."

"H-uhm..."

"Keep going before I fuck you in the couch," he almost pleaded.

She nodded quickly and increased the pace as he felt himself nearing the end.

"Fu-fu-fuck... that's it... babygirl..." he suddenly went still, and he gasped loud. She yelped after felt his hot seed spilling onto her hand, her eyes widening in surprise.

John exhaled in relief and leaned back against the couch. Closing his eyes, he let out an air chuckle.

"Aw... shit."

"Are... you okay?" she asked slowly, her cheeks still flushed.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. 

"I've never been better, love," he held out his hand, offering to help her clean her hand against his hoodie since he'll change anyways.

"First time for both of us, eh? I've never had a woman make me... er... come quick."

Charlie couldn't help but blush as she pulled her hand from his pants and rubbed against his hoodie he allowed.

"I'm sorry, I..."

"Don't apologize, it's a compliment," he said with a grin, pulling her into an embrace.

She nestled into his arms, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief wash over her. "Thank you... for understanding."

"Understanding? Sweetheart, there's nothing to understand. We take our time, alright? Whenever you're ready for more... or if you change your mind... I got you."

She smiled and kissed him. Not minding about the mess she cleaned her hand with, stick against her night clothes. He grinned back and hugged her close. 

When she break apart, her lips moved to his beard and kissed more before burying her face against his neck.

"I like you, too."

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 65✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

John rested his elbows on the balcony railing, shoulders slumped while inhaling the smoke from his cigar.

The flavor of earthy, bold tobacco with hint of bitterness filled his mouth. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts and process everything she had disclosed to him and the operation in recent days, so he could decide on his next step.

Inside, through the half-opened balcony door, her soft footsteps padded across the hardwood floor as she rearranged the living room—again. His sharp eyes noticed the way she'd pulled one of the throw blankets from the back of the couch and folded it neatly over the armrest, smoothing the corners like it was second nature.

His gaze flicked to the coffee table, now holding a small stack of books—her textbooks—not the ones that had been there when she moved in. It's interesting how she could be so disorganized with her personal affairs, yet when it came to her living space, she arranged everything in a way that she found pleasing.

He found her quirks quite intriguing. She adjusted the pillows on the couch, turning them outward as if to make the space feel more lived-in, more hers.

In his space.

His hoodie was draped over the back of a kitchen chair, right beside her backpack filled with notebooks and various items. It was the same bag she left there after coming to his apartment after work. He had noticed this habit she had.

And when she disappeared into the kitchen, he could hear the soft clatter of dishes—probably cleaning the dishes neither of them had bothered with after they came back from swimming.

She was making herself comfortable.

Making herself part of his world without realizing the kind of man she was inviting herself closer to.

Or worse—how he was letting her.

He took another pull from his cigar, longer this time.

He was close to crossing a line he wouldn't be able to come back from.

Not when she was already making herself belong here.

Focus, Price.

She was oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside him.

Harkin. Rich. Zakharov. Makarov.

All of it circled in his mind like vultures. The puzzle pieces he had tried so hard to avoid were now laid bare.

Harkin wasn't some lowlife bum to Charlie, who happened to date. He was linked. He was connected to the very filth John had been trying to bury a part of him. He knew Rich died knowing exactly where to stab him—in the one place he had no armor.

Starting with your daughter. And after Cam? Maybe your sweet girl, too. Charlotte, isn't it? That yellow American bitch?

John clenched his jaw, grinding his jawbones so hard it hurt.

His hand tightened around the cigar until the wrapper cracked.

He hadn't hesitated.

Not for a second.

The shot had come naturally. It was the simplest decision he'd made in years. Rich was a threat. No—Rich was preying on what was his.

And John didn't tolerate threats. Especially not against his girls.

Never bury your enemies alive.

He could still hear Makarov's voice from the tunnel. That low, calm tone like a viper underfoot.

John exhaled roughly, the cigar's smoke trailing into the night. He remembered what Diane had told him the last time they talked before his third date to see Charlie.

God's plan doesn't always make sense to us. It's not about whether you're ready. It's whether you're willing.

He scoffed at himself.

Religion had never fazed him much. He respected it, maybe. But it had never governed him. Yet sometimes, when things grew dark, those old sermons from his youth crept back in like ghosts.

His mother—Olivia—had tried to keep them straight. Even when she worked two jobs. Even when the bills piled up. Holidays and some Sundays, she dragged the boys to church. She'd call it armor for the soul.

John and Thomas (his middle brother) never fought her on it. Not like Marcus. The oldest had always rebelled. But Olivia had ways of making Marcus to behave, both in church service and at home. She was stern (or strict) but fair.

When she spoke of God, it wasn't just fire and brimstone. It was about choice. About accountability. About knowing that when the day came and you stood before your Creator, you didn't get to say "I didn't know."

John almost smirked at the memory. For all Marcus's rebellion, even he bowed his head when Olivia made them kneel and pray at their worn-out sofa.

God's plan, huh?

Was this part of it?

This life?

This young missus, Charlie, in his flat, rearranging his living room, not knowing he wasn't a man built to kill?

Was it his plan or just my lust screwing in my mind?

He wanted to believe it was more. But the ache in his chest, the way his fingers itched to pull Charlie against him more, to claim her fully, to make sure no one ever tried to take her away again—that wasn't intentional.

That was hunger.

That was need.

That was love, maybe. But it wasn't innocent.

He inhaled sharply, but the cigar tasted bitter more. He wasn't sorry for killing Rich.

John closed his eyes. His fingers gripped the railing tighter as another conflict clawed at him—the one he'd been pushing down longer than he cared to admit. Every time he imagined her smiling at him, those wide-doe eyes meet him... he fell deeper.

Careful, or she'll give me ideas that are too dangerous for someone my age, he thought to himself. But... what if I don't mind that? What if I want her now?

Opening his eyes, John nearly chuckled. If only she knew.

If only she knew how many times he had looked at her and thought about grabbing her chin and smash against her lips. He would make sure every other man on earth knew she was his.

And yet, he exhaled smoke slowly through his nose.

She still saw him as safe.

Innocent little one.

He didn't realize how close he was yesterday morning to pinning her against the counter when she questioned him about Harkin. The way she stood there, staring at him, shock and awe. She was standing in front of a man who could—and would—own her—if she let him. Instead, he remembered she never slept with anyone.

How could men be drawn to her if she had no experience? He wondered. Was she nervous? Scared? Or doesn't she know what she wanted?

He could still feel the ghost of her lips from the kisses. The heat of her small body pressed against him each time he pulled her from the lake and when she was close to him. He thought if he kept Charlie at arm's length, maybe she'd stay safe too. But Rich had proven that to where he had pulled a trigger. John hadn't had any remorse if anyone, anyone, touched her. He would burn the world down—and he wouldn't feel sorry about it.

Taking one last drag of the cigar before crushing it against the ashtray near him. He straightened and stretched his arms wide, it cracked and popped before he groaned in relief before his phone buzzed in his pocket.

Cami.

His heart kicked—not out of panic, but out of that old, fatherly instinct. He answered. "Cam."

"Hey, Dad." Her voice, steady but with concern. "You busy?"

John leaned against the railing behind his back, eyes moved toward Charlie, who quietly left the living room into the hallway he couldn't see her. "Not at the moment."

"You okay?"

His jaw worked slightly as he crossed his arms. "I'm fine."

"Right." Cam wasn't buying it. "Johnny's been off and I know when he is off and when he is not. You know, he gave me that look—you know, don't ask me anything face."

John exhaled softly through his nose.

Cam continued. "Dad... what's going on?"

He shut his eyes again for a second. He could have lied. Should have lied, but hearing her voice softened him, peeling away the hardened layers of Captain Price, leaving just Dad standing there with much weight on his shoulders.

"He knew things. About me. About you." He said quietly.

"What?"

"Including Charlie." His voice dipped lower, almost trembling, but he forced it steady.

There was another pause before Cam, sharp as ever, asked, "How bad?"

John lowered his head and closed his eyes. His throat tightened when he lifted his face and opened his eyes. "Bad enough that I didn't hesitate."

Cam didn't speak right away. She knew what he meant.

"He talked like he could take you whenever he's pleased to do," John said, frowning deeper. "Makarov may be aware of my soft spot... just like he would do to Gabby."

Cam stayed silent, but he could hear the quiet aftershock of her breath.

"Oh my god... this gets a lot complicated, isn't it?"

"It gets better," John chuckled bitterly.

"What does he want?"

"He wants war."

"Obviously," Cam replied with her eyes rolled in her end. She was on a couch with a blanket wrapped around her while Ace was asleep and Pepper was near her, resting too. "But what does he exactly want besides war?"

John sighed hard.

"Five years ago, I was in charge of the operation to eliminate Barkov. I suspect Makarov either wants me dead or seeks complete control over the West or the Middle East, or both."

"Dad, please stop. Don't you dare say like that."

"It could be true. You can't hide the truth, Cami. And you know what scared me most?"

"What?"

"I've got my daughter and a young missus I've no business being drawn to—both under my watch," he murmured. "Both with targets on their backs because of me."

Cam was quiet, but not out of fear—she was listening. Like she knew this wasn't Captain Price, but her father speaking.

"It's not your fault."

"Yes, it is," he frown to himself and continued. "I don't know how my former enemy knew about you but if he hadn't known... you wouldn't have been hit by the missile... and we wouldn't be talking..."

"Dad, stop," Cam calmly cuts him off. "What's done is done. Here's the crazy part, I wouldn't have met Johnny either if I wasn't being hit by the missile. We wouldn't be talking also. Stop being so hard on yourself. I'm alive, that's what matters, okay? If that fucker knew about us, I know you will take him down regardless. You would do the same to Charlie."

His throat tightened.

"You care about her, right?" Cam pressed.

John didn't answer.

"Dad?"

"What if I do?"

"Be serious. Do you care about her or not?"

John chewed his bottom lip and huffed a chuckle. "Yeah."

"Good," she continued, her voice softening into a rare daughterly plea. "Because you've done enough. I'm safe. I can handle myself. I have Johnny. I trust him because I know he will bare his hands in blood if he knew who hit me. I need you to be okay. Charlie needs you to be okay."

He shut his eyes. For the first time in hours, maybe days, he felt the ice around his heart crack—not break—but crack a little.

"What're you saying?"

Cam exhaled like she had already known.

"I just need you to stop being Captain, and start being John. Start being my Dad. I mean, I get you're trying to look out for me and your team but there's a fine line between personal and duty. I know you're crazy at times when I'm in danger. You would do the same to Charlie because I know she's living with you."

He opened his eyes and frowned.

MacTavish.

"What else has he told you of my business?"

"Just about Charlie living with you," Cam answered dryly.

He hummed. "Is that why you called me?"

"Partly."

"What else?" He was still frowning.

She paused, then slowly added. "... I'm still wrapping my head around this thing with you dating Charlie."

There it was.

John tensed but kept his voice even. "She's one year younger than you."

"Oh god, even worse," Cam almost whined.

"I know it's a bad thing for you," he said gently. "But Charlie is special, Cam. In a way I haven't felt about someone in a long time."

Cam was silent for a beat and she exhaled. "Okay, but like... I mean... it's not like I don't like her, Dad. She's fine, I guess? I just... I'm not used to the idea of you dating someone almost my age."

John couldn't help but chuckle at his daughter's response. The age difference between him and Charlie would raise eyebrows. But it didn't change how he felt when she was near or the protectiveness that surged through him at the thought of her being hurt.

"Come on, she's not that bad. Plus, she can cook, and that makes me a happy man."

"Great, even better," he could pick up her dry response or sarcasm. Even if he can't see her, she could be rolling her eyes.

It's a bad habit she contain, while growing up, and he didn't like when she does that.

"I know it's not what you expected," John said, almost frowning.

"I'm sorry but it's—" Cam hesitated. "Weird. But I keep thinking... what if Mum were here?"

His shoulders tightened, his hand gripping the railing again. "Cam—"

"No, hear me out," she pressed gently. "I keep wondering what she'd think about all this. About you dating Charlie."

John shut his eyes briefly. He hated this part. He loathed it.

"And some days, I wonder if Mum left because of me," Cam continued. "Is it true?"

John swallowed hard. "No."

"No? Then, where is she?"

"She's in a better place, Cami."

"You always say that. Was she sick?"

His heart twisted.

"She—" He stopped himself and he inhaled before exhaling as he took another long drag. 

Penny had been gone for years. 

How do you tell a child that not only did her mother have lost custody, but because of a fact that she couldn't bare the thought of being alone? Useless? Not good enough? She'd died in an accident, yes. But, he'd carried that secret because it seemed kinder than the truth.

"She was sick," John answered cautiously.

There was a brief pause and Cam let out a soft gasp. "What happened to her?"

"It took her."

"Was it covid?" Cam guessed.

"No."

"Then what is it?"

He closed his eyes, memories of Penny—good and bad—briefly flashing through his mind. But they faded as quickly as they came.

"Listen, I can't tell you everything," he said firmly. "Let's make that clear, alright? I'm still your father, and I don't care if you like my decision or whatever I do, okay? I do it because I love you. Mainly. You're first. The team is second. I just need you to trust me, okay?"

Cam let out a humorless chuckle. "That's what you always say."

"I say it because I don't want you to carry that weight that I do."

"Dad, I'm just asking you a question—how did Mum die?" Cam pressed, her voice cracking, sharper now. "Can't you give me a hint?"

His jaw tensed. His fingers curled tightly around the railing until his knuckles paled.

"I just want to know if she left me," she pressed. "Or is she dead?"

He stared out into the darkness, the night air cool against his skin, but not enough to numb what twisted inside his chest.

"She didn't leave you," he answered, half truth. "She loved you."

His throat worked as he thought back to the day Penny's body was buried in the grave, alone, when he was off-duty. He never attended the funeral, let alone, make his presence known because of her parents. 

Her boyfriend at the time—who acted accordingly of two acts. A civil man and a no-name drunk who kept getting her loaded, dragging her further down until there wasn't anything left of the woman John once knew. He'd begged her to get help. Begged her to come back for Cam.

But she didn't. Or maybe she couldn't.

And when the call came, it didn't left his memory of a paramedic telling him of a cause of death.

"She was sick," he finally said, his voice rough. "And it took her real bad to the point that she couldn't make it longer."

Cam was quiet. She wasn't satisfied with that answer, he could hear it in her breath.

"You're not just saying that to lie to me?" she asked, her voice wavered—small, scared.

That question gutted him.

"Cami," he said, quieter this time. "I wish I could bring her back for you—I swear to God—I would. But it was your mother's choice, and I loved her but not much like she did."

Cam sniffed, and he heard the faint catch in her breath. "Is it true?"

"She loved you," he said again, almost like a prayer.

"But you won't tell me why she left or how she died," Cam said, almost her voice cracked. "You don't know how I feel of this, you know? Why I had to grow up wondering if I wasn't enough."

His heart cracked open at that.

"It wasn't you," he said quickly, fiercely. "It was never you, Cami. You are enough to us."

"Then tell me."

He stopped, biting the insides of his cheeks. He needed to manage his emotions as his teeth clenched, while his nose scrunched.

"Not right now," he whispered. "Soon."

Cam was silent for a long time. The kind of silence that wasn't angry—but wounded. "Fine."

"I'm sorry, Cami," John said, barely above a breath. "It's for your own good. Sometimes the truth... it doesn't make things better. It just breaks what's left."

Another beat of quiet passed before Cam finally sighed.

"I mean, yeah, truth hurts. I just don't know what Mum would think of this, if she ever sees you with Charlie."

"You don't need to worry about that," John said, his tone almost hard. "It's best for your mother to be free from any pain."

The ache in his chest stayed long after the line went quiet, until Cam sighed.

"Alright," Cam said with a hint of disappointment, "if you can't tell me how Mum died, can you at least tell me what's up with him? Soap has been acting like he's pissed off about something."

“Ah, just give him space,” he said and sighed. “He’ll calm down and be as cheerful as a golden retriever again in a few days.”

Cam huffed a short laugh but still sounded wary. “If he’s a golden retriever, you’re a grumpy old bulldog.”

He raised an eyebrow at her snappy comment. “Bulldogs bite, you know. Mind your words.”

That got a soft giggle out of her.

“And for the record,” he added dryly, “if anyone’s the retriever, it’s Gaz. Simon is a German Shepherd. Loyal but can kill you with bites. Soap’s more like a border collie—thinks he’s smarter than everyone, never sits still, and barks at things that don’t matter.”

Cam snorted. “That’s actually accurate."

“Course it is. Don’t question my expertise on my team. Or dogs.”

That earned a longer laugh, the tension finally easing.

“God,” Cam sighed, the smile audible in her voice now. “Only you could make this whole thing sound like a kennel.”

“Well, I did consider running a dog shelter after retirement. Seems I’ve already got a head start.”

She giggled. "You? A dog shelter?"

"Gabby keeps pushin' the idea," he said dryly. "She claims we've already collected enough strays. Including me."

“Dad,” she laughed. “Stop.”

"I'm serious. She told me if I ever settle down and quit getting shot at, she'll buy the land and I can manage the 141 rescue squad."

"You'd be awful at it."

"I'd delegate," he replied and smirked. "Simon can handle the antisocial ones. Gaz can train the easy ones. Soap can chase's when they get loose."

"And Gabby?"

"She can run the whole damn business. Obviously."

Cam laughed so hard he heard the blanket rustle on her end. "Please tell me you've actually discussed this."

"We have. Over whiskey and tequila in drunken night. We might've drawn up a floor plan on a napkin."

She snorted, finally letting the weight of the earlier conversation go. "Okay. That's the best thing I've heard all day."

John finally relaxed, the knot in his chest loosening at the sound of her laughing again. It made his heart ache even more. Reminding him of the times he used to make her laugh by tickling her when she was a child, back when he wasn't on duty. The time he had with Cam was only what he has left to make every minutes count.

He attempted to control his emotions, but he couldn't stop a lump from forming in his throat. Keeping it together was hard at times. His heart ached so much that it (almost) brought tears to his eyes. The stress and regrets about how he should have acted differently weighed heavily on him. If he hadn't been so stern with Cam, she might not have left him after she turned eighteen.

"See? I still got it. Made you laugh."

"Yeah, yeah." She grinned. "If you're gonna adopt a puppy—or date one—you tell me first."

"No promises. I can’t tell you everything what I do."

"Whatever you say, Captain Price. I'm only talking to my father on this line."

John grunted. "I'll try my best to be your father. Not as your Captain."

Then, the silence stretched. Cam bit her bottom lip, she too tried to compose herself but she lifted her finger and quickly wiped her one eye.

"Do you love Charlie?"

John chuckled in response. "Too early."

"I doubt it."

"Do tell."

"How much do you like her?"

He paused. Assessing her question as if she was testing him to see if he was ready to move on.

"Why?"

It was her turn to pause. Cam cleared her throat and continued, "do you miss Mum?"

A pause in two beats. John inhaled and exhaled through his nose. "I do. And I know you do too."

"Every day." Cam added.

"Are you okay with me moving on?"

There was another pause. He could tell by her non-response that Cam may or may not be ready yet. But, she cleared her throat and asked, "What kind of question is that?"

"I'm only asking because I don't want you to think I'm replacing your mother," he paused before adding, "and neither do I want to hurt you, Cami."

She sniffed then, and coughed a little.

"To be honest with you, Dad. I may be."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you?"

"Well," Cam began slowly. "You want honesty, and here it is. Yes, I want you to move on, but I don't know about me. I mean, Charlie is okay and I don't have a problem with her. It's just that... it's weird, really."

John chuckled, half heartily. 

"I know, and we'll be alright. Now, to answer your question. Yes, I like her."

"It's way early for you to say that, Dad."

"Too late."

"It's still weird that you're dating someone my age," Cam repeated a remark, making her feel uneasy, though the tone was playful.

"Blame your man. He went behind my back, but he's quite persistent."

"That's true, and it's one of the reasons I love him."

John almost smiled. "I know you do, but you'll always be my little girl, even though you've grown into a woman."

"Dad, if you keep talking like that, I'm going to start crying."

He chuckled once more, and she responded with a laugh, though it was tinged with a sniffle and the tears she was trying hard to hold back.

"I'll always love you, Cami."

"Me too," she said and added, "and Dad?"

"Yeah?"

There was a pause in the line, and Cam exhaled before she said, "if you really like her, then... I want you to be happy and... maybe... I'll give her a chance."

His lips curled slowly at the end. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Then we'll make it happen. You make the shots."

She inhaled and exhaled through the end of the line. "Give me some time and we can plan a visit. I know Soap wanted to eat at Hong Kong Buffet. You know, the place we ate when you brought me back here?"

"Yeah, I do. Give me a call, then."

"I will. Love you, Dad."

"Love you too, Cami."

After the call ended, John put his phone back in his pocket and walked inside.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 64✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The Colicci café was situated at a distance from the shoreline, providing a view of the lake where ducks drifted leisurely. The area was dotted with small tables, complemented by the soft sound of leaves rustling in the gentle breeze.

John was relaxed since he sat across from Charlie at one of those tables. He had changed into a red t-shirt that clung slightly to his damp chest, hinting at the toned muscles beneath, and a pair of athletic pants with zipper pockets he had swapped from wet shorts. His hair was still damp. The small and front tips curled, almost touching his forehead. It made him more like a boyish since the scent of the water still lingered on him.

Charlie had swapped her earlier outfit for a loose-knit cream sweatshirt and comfortable pants. Her golden hair was moist and hung in soft waves around her shoulders she had dried them thoroughly. Noticing that she had barely taken any bites, he observed that her attention had been captured by the lake.

"You alright?" John asked, taking in the way her expression softened as she looked at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

John raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Fine?"

She paused before lowering her gaze. "I was just… thinking."

"About what?" he pressed, his voice low, inviting.

She glanced at him before her chest rise and fall as if she were preparing herself.

"I nearly drowned when I was five years old,” she glanced at him again, eyes searching his face. "It was during a family trip, we went hiking near this lake. I was running ahead of my parents, being… well, a kid. I slipped on the rocks near the water, and before I knew it, I was in."

John frowned. His posture straightened as his attention zeroed in on her.

"I remember the cold, how it pulled me under. I couldn't breathe. I could hear my mom screaming my name, and everything was just… quiet."

John stared at her. He didn't interrupt, letting her speak at her own pace.

"My dad… he was the one who pulled me out," she said, and her voice suddenly crack as she takes deep breath and continued. "He jumped in without a second thought. I remember choking on water, and my mom would wrap me in her arms and wouldn't let go of me. But after that, I couldn't look at water without feeling that same panic."

She laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "And here I am, years later, still letting it get to me."

"Charlie," John said, leaning forward as he rested his elbows on the table. "That's not letting it control you. That's surviving something you experienced as trauma. But you're here now, facing it even when it scares you—that’s courage."

"I don't feel very brave," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, you are," John said firmly. "You don't see it, but I do."

She swallowed hard, and she averted her gaze back to the lake view. The warmth in his gaze was disarming, making her feel seen in a way that unnerved her. Charlie let out a deep breath, which she held for a while. She looked back to him and smiled.

"Thank you," she said softly. “About last night and… the lesson.”

"There's no need to thank me. I only look for reasons to be around you," John remarked playfully, folding his arms.

“Yet, you still say that you’re dangerous.”

“Maybe,” he said huskily and he smirked. “Girls like you should be afraid.”

She shook her head. “Not me.”

“No?”

“I don’t believe you’re that dangerous.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, little one,” John frowned.

“Why are you calling me little one?” Charlie asked, lifting a brow.

“How tall are you?”

She pondered. Lifting her eyes to the sky as if she was thinking, she met his eyes again.

“Five-foot three.”

John chuckled.

“What?”

“You’re little.”

She scoffed. “What are you? A big foot?”

He chuckled more. “Cheeky. I’m six foot two.”

“Oh, well…” she trailed off and looked away again. “I thought you were five foot eight.”

“Good guess, but no.” He smiled as he noticed her biting her bottom lip and her cheeks became flushed pink. “I like you small, actually. Makes me want to protect you.”

Her lips curved into a shy smile when she glanced at him. The way he gazed at her—as if she were a masterpiece, with the sun enhancing her golden glow. It hurt him to find her youth more appealing than ignoring the fact of their differences.

He wanted to protect her.

He wanted her in his arms.

He wanted her close to him.

He wanted to make love to her.

And how he wanted to pin her hands above her head and fuck her until he make her his.

To own her.

Mine.

"You remind me of him."

Her gentle voice stirred his focus back to her.

"Who?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

"My dad," she answered. The words left her mouth before she felt exposed. As if she’d handed him something fragile without asking if he wanted it. "The way you carry yourself, you always look out for those you care. He was like that, too. I try not to think about it too much.”

John blinked, his expression shifting into one of surprise.

"Didn't think I'd be compared to someone's old man,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Charlie laughed shyly, shaking her head. The sound was light but tinged with sadness.

"It's not a bad thing," she assured him quickly. "You have that… vibe. Like you're always in control, even when everything is crazy around you. I miss him.”

John tilted his head, studying her as if trying to piece her words together. "What happened?"

Her smile faltered, and he watched her gaze drop. Holding a slow breath, Charlie pressed her lips and looked at him straight.

"He didn't make it home," Charlie replied, her voice trembling despite her effort to remain composed. "He served in the Army, Special Forces."

John closed his eyes, his eyebrows still narrowed. He opened them and leaned forward, resting his arms on his lap, his hands clenched and his shoulders hunched.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She pressed her lips together, nodding as she blinked back the sting in her eyes.

"It's okay," she said, though her voice trembled. "Well... it's not really okay, but my mom missed him too and she moved on. I accepted it later on."

John nodded. His eyes lowered when he turned from her, looking at his sneakers.

"I was ten the last time I saw him," she continued. "He was leaving for deployment. He hugged me tight that day and told me he'd return before my birthday. But he never came back. I used to think if I'd held onto him just a little longer, maybe he wouldn't have gone."

"Charlie," John said before he glanced at her. "You know that's not on you."

"I know," she said, a sad smile crossing her lips. "But when you're a kid, it's hard not to think that way. Even now, I still wonder sometimes."

"Losing someone you loved is not easy," he said gently, with a hint of sympathy. "But he'd be proud of you. Look at how far you came."

Her chest tightened at his words, and her eyes glistened as she quickly wiped away her right eye.

"You think so?"

"I do," he stated with conviction, his face showing he was certain. "Honestly, when you talk about your father, he seems like the person who would want you to enjoy your life without carrying his burden."

Just like me. He added to himself but chose not to say it.

Charlie nodded. Her lips pressing together as she tried to hold herself together. She took another breath, the cool air soothing against her heated face.

"Yeah," she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. "I've never met a guy like you who... 'really' gets me.”

John smiled. "Trust me, I've worked in different branches with many men and women. Joint operation. It's tough."

Charlie nodded before crossing arms to herself. She reclined against the chair and shifted her attention from him to the view.

"Then, I trust you."

"Do you now?" John teased.

"I do, really," she said cheekily. 

He let out a low chuckle. "Good to know."

He leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his head as he studied her. The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow on her skin and made her blond hair shine like honey.

"You know, you're a pretty smart girl, Charlie," he said after a moment. "Going after that graduate degree, moving halfway across the world on your own. I never would've had the guts to do something like that at your age."

"What, the big bad special ops guy was scared to study abroad in college?" She said, one corner of her mouth quirking up. 

"Terrified," he said, jokingly, yet his eyes twinkled with admiration.

She let out a laugh. The sound was bright and melodic, momentarily lifting the somber mood that had settled between them earlier ago. He found himself studying the curve of her smile, the way it lit up her entire face. 

She really was lovely, he thought to himself.

Far too lovely for the likes of him.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 63✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

Two days went by, and Saturday was ideal for a swim.

The park was bustling with chatter and laughter, joggers zigzagging around picnickers, and ducks gliding leisurely on the tranquil lake. The sun warmed the cobblestone paths and cast sparkling reflections over the Serpentine Lido's waters. The cool breeze touched your skin just right, offering a perfect day for relaxing or swimming.

Charlie shifted from one foot to the other at the lido's edge, her sneakers scraping the worn dock wood.

She gripped the straps of her backpack, containing a towel and a change of clothes. Her simple white shirt fluttered in the gentle wind, while her shorts felt a bit too short for the outing. She glanced over at John, whose rugged look was suited to the lake's scenery.

He wore a snug olive-green t-shirt that hinted at his fit physique and dark swim trunks ending just above his knees. His sneakers lay next to the duffle bag he'd brought. With arms crossed, he stood there, watching the water like it was his mission.

"We're really doing this?" Charlie said, her voice tinged with a nervous laugh. She tried to play it cool, but her stomach twisted into knots.

"You'll be okay," John said, focusing on her with a faint smirk. "You trust me, remember?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation. The weight of his gaze made her pulse quicken. "It's just... I'm not exactly a natural in water."

"Good thing I've got patience for you, then," he teased, kneeling to unzip the duffle bag. He pulled out a folded towel and a plain black t-shirt, setting them aside before standing again.

"Right," she mumbled before looking around the surroundings. Then, she watched him peel his shirt off in one fluid motion until her breath caught.

He stood there, half-shadowed in the morning light, like the sun’s warmth draped across his shoulders like it belonged to him. Broad and sculpted, his body carried the kind of strength that wasn’t built in a gym but through years of physical endurance and combat.

His chest was covered of dark hair that trailed down his abdomen like an arrow she wasn't ready to follow, causing her cheeks to burn. 

She hadn't expected him to look like... that. 

The tattoos that adorned his skin, they moved with him. Each line and symbol catching the light like stories etched in stone. His abs, lean and ridged, tightened with grace that made it impossible for her to look away.

God, he looked like a soldier carved from heat and purpose.

She parted her lips, yet no words came out.

Oh... wow...

"You okay?" John asked, a knowing grin tugging at his lips as he caught her staring.

"Yes! Nothing at all," Charlie blurted, taking an unsteady step backward—only for her heel to slip on the edge of the dock. She flailed for balance, a panicked yelp escaping her lips.

Immediately, his arm shot out, catching her wrist before she could tumble into the water. He pulled her upright with ease, his grip firm but gentle.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice laced with humor.

"Yeah, um—totally fine," she stutter, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she avoided his gaze. Her face burned, and she could've sworn he held back a laugh.

"Careful, Charlotte. Don't want you falling in before we even start."

"Ha-ha," she muttered, folding her arms as he stepped closer to the water's edge.

John jumped into the lake first and appeared up ahead through the cool water. He was now wet, and his front hair was sticking against his forehead.

"Come on, it's not cold."

Charlie hesitated, toeing off her sneakers before stepping into the water. The sensation made her shiver, and she wrinkled her nose. "You're kidding. It's freezing."

"You'll get used to it," John said, waving her farther in. "Come on. You can't learn to swim from the dock."

Muttering under her breath, Charlie followed him in. The water reached her knees, then her thighs. She stopped abruptly, her arms wrapping around herself as if that would make the experience less intimidating.

"Okay," John said, moving towards her as the water reached his waist. "First things first—relax. You're not gonna sink. I've got you."

"I-I don't know if... I can do this," she said, almost trembling as her eyes darted to the deeper water beyond.

"You can," he said gently, stepping closer. His hands rested lightly on her arms, his touch steadying her. "Deep breath."

Charlie nodded, swallowing hard as she tried to match his calm demeanor. But when he moved behind her, his hands settling on her waist to guide her.

"Alright," he murmured near her ear. "We'll start easy. Just float. Lean back—let the water hold you."

"I'll sink like a rock," she protested, but his hands remained firm.

"You won't," John assured her. "Not with me here."

After moments of hesitance, Charlie did as he commanded, leaning back into the water. His hands supported her as she floated, and though her body was stiff with nerves, his voice helped her relax.

"There you go," he said softly. "See? You're doing good."

She let out a shaky laugh, her hands gripping his forearms for balance. "This is harder than it looks."

"You're making it harder by overthinking," he said pointedly. "Relax, Charlie. I've got you."

Charlie nodded and continued floating until her grip loosened from him.

"There you go," he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. "You're floating now. Let's move on."

Charlie tipped her head back, her eyes wide with uncertainty as she broke the floating position, her feet sinking back into the cool water. "Move on to what? Not diving, right?"

John chuckled, the sound low and warm, and she felt it ripple through the air between them.

"Not diving," he assured her. "We'll keep it simple. I'll teach you how to tread water and kick properly."

She groaned, running a hand over her damp ponytail. "Do I have to? I'm fine with just standing here."

He arched an eyebrow. "That's not swimming. That's surviving."

"Survival's underrated," she grumbled, but he only smirked.

"You're doing this," he said firmly, his hands brushing her arm as he adjusted her position. "Now, lift your legs and kick softly. I'll watch you."

Charlie paused, looking up at him with dread. But the confidence in his eyes softened her retreat. She lifted her feet, her hands grabbed onto his forearms as she tried to keep herself from thrashing. The first few kicks sent water splashing everywhere, and John had to step back to avoid getting hit in the face. "Easy, love. You're not trying to fight the water—work with it."

"Sorry," she said, her cheeks flushing as she slowed her movements.

"Better," he said, his tone approving. "Now, steady rhythm. Like this."

He moved to her side, demonstrating a smooth, controlled motion with his legs. Her eyes followed his movement, and she couldn't help but notice how the water highlighted the muscles in his hairy thighs.

She tried to mimic him. Her kicks became less frantic, though her movements were far from graceful.

"This is so awkward," she mumbled.

"You're getting there," he said, his lips curving into a smile. "Keep at it."

As she continued his guidance, it became more hands-on. His touch was always careful but firm, correcting the angle of her arms or how she moved her legs. Each time his fingers brushed against her skin, a spark of warmth bloomed in her chest, making it harder to concentrate.

"You're overthinking again," he said, his voice closer now.

She looked up to find him standing just a foot away, his gaze locked on hers.

"I can't help it," she said, her tone almost quieter. "This is all new for me."

"That's the point," he said, his tone softening. "You're not supposed to get it perfect on the first try. Right?"

Charlie nodded, swallowing hard as she let go of her doubts. She kicked again, and this time, her movements became fluid. She smiled big and turned to him.

"I'm doing it!" She beamed.

"There you go," John said in approval. "See? You're a quick learner."

She laughed, and the sound bubbled up like a release of all her earlier nerves.

When Charlie caught his eye, her laughter faded away. The way he looked at her, as if she were the center of his world, made her heart flutter. His playful smirk had disappeared, replaced by a genuine smile that made her pulse quicken. John made his way through the water towards her, and she remained motionless. She noticed his eyes linger on her lips before locking with hers.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

She wanted to say something—but the words wouldn't come.

Only then, he smirked when her cheeks flushed.

"Careful," he said, his tone low and rough. Almost as if he were speaking to himself instead of her. "You might trip again if you're not paying attention."

His words snapped her back to the present, and she blinked, realizing that she had unconsciously moved closer to him. Charlie redirected her attention to her actions, but her heart continued to beat rapidly. Feeling her cheeks becoming flush, suddenly self-conscious under his gaze. She lowered her eyes, focusing on the ripples her kicks made in the water.

"I think I've got the hang of it now," she said, trying to steer the conversation to safer territory. She wasn't sure what had just passed between them, but the charged energy in the air made her pulse quicken.

John cleared his throat, seeming to shake himself out of the moment.

"Good," he said approvingly. "Now let's try some arm strokes to get you moving forward."

He demonstrated a smooth freestyle stroke. Charlie copied him, concentrating on the mechanics of keeping her body straight and her strokes consistent.

As she swam back and forth in front of him, John critiqued her form.

"Keep your hips up...don't bend your knees...reach farther on each stroke." His gruff and raspy tone made her skin prickle each time he talks, command, and teach.

She may got the hang of it.

Charlie paused and tipped her head back to look at John. "How am I doing?"

"Really good," he said, giving her a rare, full smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Think you're ready to try swimming a full lap?" he asked.

Charlie bit her lip. The lake suddenly seemed very large and imposing. Sensing her hesitation, John waded closer.

"You can do this, little one," he said. "I'll be right here if you need me."

His stable tone in his eyes made her nod and she began swimming. Using each skill John had taught her.

Reach, pull, kick. Breathe. Reach, pull, kick.

She repeated his instructions like a mantra in her head.

As she approached the halfway point, her strokes faltered. But then she heard his voice calling out encouragement, spurring her on. She finished the lap strongly, touching the ledge from where they jumped off from the start with a gasp.

"I did it!" she cried, wheeling around to face John.

"You did it," he said, looking pleased. "We'll do this again next time. Maybe a challenge."

Charlie treaded water, practically glowing from his praise.

"Oh, yeah? Let's hope I don't drown while we swim further and you would have to rescue me."

John shook his head and chuckled, swimming closer to her before helping her to the shore. He held onto her small hand with his strong grip as she stood before him, drenched in her wet clothes. Her ponytail remained slicked, sticking against her skin, but as they stood close to each other. Enough for John to reach out and lift her chin up, meeting her gaze.

The temptation of kissing her made his heart race, but he tampered his hidden urge.

Not yet.

Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

Charlie shut her eyes and let out a gentle exhale through her nose. Her legs felt weak, so he held her tightly in his embrace. The sensation of his strong physique against her petite frame made it even harder for her (and him) to resist any longer.

"Oh... uhm..." She raised her face to meet his after her chin pressed against his wet and hair chest.

John tilted his head, the smirk still present in his teasing gaze as he asked, "Yeah?"

She looked away, and her cheeks became warmer.

"Never mind."

He chuckled heartily. "What is it?"

Charlie bit her lip before she answered. "It's just...I've never felt this way before. Being around you is exciting but also a little scary."

She slowly glanced at him. His expression was serious now, his piercing eyes searching her face.

"Believe me," he said after a moment. "I understand."

He reached out and tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. Charlie drew in a shaky breath at his touch. She closed her eyes as calloused finger traced along her cheek. His touch was sending shivers down her spine despite the warm sun. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as he gently tilted her chin upwards more.

Their eyes met, icy blue on brown.

An unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them.

Here, alone by the lake.

John slowly leaned in, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. But she didn't, and her lips parted.

When their lips finally met, it was tentative at first, both a little careful until Charlie wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as she deepened the kiss. John groaned softly against her lips, one hand tangling in her damp hair while the other pressed against the small of her back waist. Charlie melted against him, a warmth spreading through her that had nothing to do with the sunshine.

After a long, blissful kiss they broke apart.

Charlie kept her eyes closed. She couldn't believe it happened again.

When her gaze finally met his, his eyes were dark, but there was also a tenderness in them. John brushed his thumb over her cheekbone, as if he wanted to remember this moment forever.

"Charlie," he murmured, her name a tender caress on his lips.

She shivered at the sound, yearning to kiss him again.

"I would never do anything to compromise what we have growing between us," he assured her.

Charlie nodded, comforted by the sincerity in his gravelly voice.

"Okay," she whispered.

Then, he flashed his roguish grin and he scooped her up in his strong arms. She shrieked in surprise as he carried her toward the water.

"John, no! Put me down!" she protested, though she was laughing.

"As you wish," he said playfully, setting her down by the lake's edge.

Charlie pretended to glare at him but couldn't keep a straight face, and his grin widened.

"Alright, no more games. I'm starving," he said, slinging his towel over his shoulder and picking up his shirt and duffle bag. He offered her another towel.

She wrapped herself in the towel, shivering slightly as the breeze picked up. She couldn't stop replaying the kiss in her mind, the way his strong arms felt wrapped around her, his beard tickling her forehead. She glanced at him sideways as they walked back to the public restroom, taking in his rugged profile.

John caught her looking and raised an eyebrow. "See something you like?"

She blushed and looked away. "Maybe," she said coyly.

He chuckled back, a low rumble in his chest. "Well keep your eyes to yourself. I'm an old man, remember?"

"You don't seem that old to me," Charlie said, bumping her shoulder against his arm.

John slung an arm around her, pulling her against his side. "Careful, or you'll give me ideas that are too dangerous for a man my age."

She grinned up at him. "I'm not sure I'd mind that."

Her light answer made his expressions change quick from relaxed to serious. He shook his head. "This can't last forever, you know. My world is too chaotic."

Charlie nodded slowly before her grin faded. She knew he was right. Whatever was growing between them felt special, but she couldn't ignore the reality of his life. She smiled at him again and came close to him.

"Then we enjoy it while we can," she reminded him softly.

John stopped, and she followed suit. Turning his gaze down at her before he said, "While we can," he repeated with a sad smile.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 62✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

The cursor blinked at her like it was mocking her.

God, blinking. Why do they make it blink like that? It's like it knows I'm stuck.

Charlie exhaled through her nose, trying to steady her focus. The dining table was a battlefield—papers spread like casualties, highlighters uncapped and scattered, including notebooks.

Her laptop open with three different tabs she wasn't even reading. A half mug of lukewarm coffee sat close to her, and another empty mug placed near the edge like it wanted to jump off ship.

From her laptop, the low beat of Anxiety by Doechii played in volume enough for her to let it play in a background, looping on repeat. Sometime after the second failed paragraph, or maybe after the fourth. It filled the room like fog, pressing against her chest with every hum of the lyrics.

Solo, no mojo

I bounce back, no pogo

Unhappy, no homo

New brands, no logos

Money on my jugular, natural hustler

Think I need a smuggler up in Russia

You could be my butler, shine my cutla'...

Her eyes tripped again over the jumbled mess of academic jargon. "Humanitarian interventions require a framewor—framework of legitt... legitim..." She groaned, dragging a hand through her hair. The sentence was her own, typed a few minutes ago. It still didn't sound right.

Okay, next thing, my life is a wet dream

I call it a sex scene, the back is a nice tease

I tried to escape, my life is a X-rate...

The song didn't help.

Or maybe it did.

Somewhere between trying to stay on track and rereading her thesis statement for how many times. She looked down at her planner. Half-highlighted, half-abandoned, doodled with tiny stars and little margin notes that was her do-to lists that somehow she made it through half the day (except a slow progress to achieve when it comes to her homework).

Anxiety, anxiet-, oh, I feel it tryin'

Keep it tryin', keep it tryin'

The dining table had become her war room, but the real battle was inside her head.

And maybe... maybe she wasn't cut out for this.

Maybe John was right—that her ideas were naive.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek.

Is that what he sees when he looks at me? A silly girl who doesn't know better?

The microwave clock blinked: 11: 42 PM.

Charlie exhaled again and sat back in the chair.

Her legs were curled under her like she'd been sitting there for two hours—which she had—and her neck ached from hunching over. She stared down at the blinking cursor, the soft, hypnotic bass of the song lulling her into an anxious haze.

And then her phone buzzed.

Hailey.

FaceTime.

Charlie hit accept and was greeted with the blurry image of her best friend in their shared apartment, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito.

"Girl," Hailey said immediately, "you still up?"

Charlie nodded, rubbing her temples. The soft pulse of Anxiety by Doechii continued quietly through her laptop.

"Wait, is that Anxiety playing?" Hailey pointed out.

Charlie blinked, only just realizing the lyrics were still looping.

Anxiety, keep on tryin' me

I feel it quietly

Tryin' to silence me, yeah

Hailey leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "You only put that on when you're spiraling."

Charlie groaned and waved her hand. "It's just background noise."

"Background noise, my ass," Hailey said, voice laced with gentle concern. "You're doing that thing again where you rewrite the same line five times and then spiral because it still doesn't sound right. That's your brain doing Olympic flips. Just write the messy version first."

Charlie stayed quiet, unable to argue.

"I'm barely hangin' on," Charlie replied. "Tell me there's life outside academic hell."

She laughed, turning her camera to show their apartment's living room. "No, but it's boring since you're not around. I ate the last of your Cadbury bites, sorry not sorry."

Charlie gasped. "You traitor. I was savin' those for victory!"

"You mean for the day you turn in your thesis or the day you snap and run off into the woods barefoot?"

"Either or," Charlie muttered, leaning her cheek into her palm. "God, Hails... I keep rewritin' the same sentence. I know what I wanna say, but when I type it out, it's like the words go all scrambled."

"Did you even eat?" Hailey asked.

"I had... half a Pop-Tart and a banana."

"Girl," Hailey said, her voice thick with judgment and affection. "That's not food. That's a tragedy."

Charlie gave a weak laugh, eyes flicking back to her screen. The blinking cursor hadn't moved.

"I just..." She paused. "I wanna get it right, y'know? Like... for once. Like maybe if I can make this sound smart enough, they'll forget I'm the girl who needs extra time on exams."

Hailey looked at her with those best-friend eyes. "You are smart, Charlie. You just learn different. And that's not a flaw, it's just you."

Charlie swallowed. She hated how much that meant to hear.

"Take a break. Five minutes. Breathe. Walk around. Then come back," Hailey leaned in, her face close to the camera.

Charlie nodded slowly. "Yeah. Alright."

"I'll stay on if you want," Hailey offered. "You don't have to talk. I'll just be here. Being annoying."

Charlie gave a soft smile. "Thanks. I think... I needed that."

"Speaking of thesis..." Hailey dragged the word, propping her chin on her fist. "How's living with your grumpy British boyfriend?"

Charlie blinked, lips pressing into a line. "He's not my boyfriend... yet."

"Uh-huh," Hailey said, clearly not convinced. "Says to the one who accepted his proposal to stay at his place. I still can't believe he scolded me through a freakin' Ring doorbell."

Charlie groaned, dropping her head back. "Not this again."

"I will never forget it." Hailey sat up straighter, voice shifting into her best dramatic imitation. "'Charlie. Inside. Now.'" Her tone dropped lower and British, mock-serious. "'I won't ask again.' Like, who does that?"

"It wasn't like he was tryin' to be—"

"Possessive?" Hailey offered.

Charlie opened her mouth, then closed it.

There was something about the way John watched her lately—not quite distant, not quite close.

Somebody's watchin'me

It's my anxiety, yeah

Anxiety, anxiet-, oh, I feel it tryin' (oh)

Keep it tryin', keep it tryin'

But she couldn't tell if it was protection or... pity.

Maybe to him, she was just someone who needed lookin' after.

Charlie rubbed her temples. "We almost got into an argument the same night you left. He's just... he's the way he is, okay? Real aggressive... sometimes."

Hailey narrowed her eyes. "Let me guess. He got all serious and protective, and instead of being gentle, he went full special op."

Charlie didn't answer. Her silence said everything.

Hailey grinned. "Yeah. He's into you."

"No, he's not," Charlie insisted, voice too high-pitched to be convincing. "He's just—he's like that with everyone. I think. Maybe. I dunno—he's... complicated."

Hailey folded her arms in her blanket cocoon. "Mm-hmm. Spill."

Charlie hesitated, chewing her bottom lip. "We went to Pizza Hut."

"That's your confession?"

Charlie groaned. "No, listen—we got into debate over my thesis. He read part of it and started pickin' at it. Said I was being naive. Said peace isn't realistic without violence. That kind of thing."

"Well, he is a soldier."

"I know, but I pushed back. Told him he can't just accept that war is the only answer," her brows pinched. "And then he said something—Hails, I can't stop thinking about it."

She leaned forward. "Okay, now I'm listening."

Charlie hesitated again, cheeks warming, but continued, "he said—well. He looked me in the eye and said, I'd burn the whole freakin' world down before I let it touch you."

Her jaw dropped.

"What?" Charlie flushed, but her mind spun faster than her heart.

"Girl. That's number two!"

Charlie squinted. "What number two?"

Hailey held up a finger. "Number one was when he went in full Dad mode on me through the Ring cam. Which, by the way, I stood up for you, and he still managed to scare me without even being there. He's an asshole, by the way, but a good asshole."

Then she held up a second finger. "Number two: Burn the whole world down? That is not normal talk, Charlie. That is I-will-ruin-empires-for-you talk."

Charlie shifted uncomfortably.

What if he kissed her that morning because he didn't know what else to do?

He was older. Experienced. He'd seen things she hasn't yet. And here she was—young, so easy to sway, breakable. Maybe he was just protecting her, like he always did.

"I mean, who says stuff like that?" Hailey continued, eyes wide. "That's straight-up out of a dark romance or a romantasy novel. The kind with brooding antiheroes and very questionable morals in love with a female lead."

Charlie buried her face in her hands. "You're making it worse."

"I'm making it real," Hailey said and leaned back. "He is one hundred percent into you. And you are one argument away from either having sex or throwing a textbook at him."

Charlie groaned into her palms. "It's not like that."

"Isn't it?" She arched a brow.

Her fingers twisted the edge of her hoodie sleeve, eyes darting anywhere but the camera.

"There's, um..." she began, voice small. "Something else."

"Tell me."

"We were fishing again this morning," she mumbled. "Out at the lake in the same park he took me before."

"And?"

"I fell in."

"Wait—you what?"

"I slipped," Charlie said defensively, like she'd practiced this part. "And he jumped in after me. Like, full-on into the water."

"Of course he did," Hailey agreed, but rolled her eyes. "You can't swim, duh!"

Charlie tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and continued, "And when he pulled me out... I was kind of panickin'. You know how cold it gets, and I couldn't breathe right and—"

"Did he give you CPR?"

"No!" Charlie hissed, though her blush deepened. "He—he held my face, real firm-like, made me breathe. Said I was okay. And then he just..."

Hailey gasped. "No."

She bit her bottom lip, finally meeting her best friend's gaze. "He kissed me."

Then, in brief silent. She screamed.

Charlie yanked the phone away, wincing.

"I knew it!" Hailey squealed, practically vibrating in her blanket cocoon. "I knew it from the Ring cam! I knew it from the 'burn the world down' line! He snog you?! What was it like? Was it a tongue kiss? Was he good? Was it hot?!"

"Stop!" Charlie covered her face again and tried not to laugh. "It was gentle. But also not. It was like... like he'd been holding back forever, and then finally just—let go."

Hailey squealed again.

"Wait, what is snog?" Charlie asked suddenly.

"It's another word for kiss," Hailey explained quick. "If he snog your cheek or your forehead, that's a respect. But in lips? He's so into you."

Charlie blinked twice, her cheeks turning even redder. As she lowered her gaze, he had kissed her forehead multiple times.

"He kept his hand right here," she continued, touching her cheek absentmindedly. "And when he pulled away, he didn't say anything. Just looked at me like I was... different."

Hailey clutched her chest like she'd been shot. "Okay. Number three."

"And there's more..."

Hailey leaned forward, eyes wide. "Girl. If you're about to tell me you two did it, I'm gonna scream again."

Her eyes shot wide. "No! It's—" She swallowed. "This mornin', before fishing... we were in the kitchen."

Hailey narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Uh-huh."

"I asked him about the 'business' he did last night and he came home late... and—" she swallowed, heat crawling up her neck, "he cornered me."

"Cornered?"

Charlie nodded sheepishly. "He got real close. Like, arms on both side of me and I was trapped behind the counter."

Her mouth dropped again.

"I mean—nothing happened," Charlie kept rambling, trying to downplay it. "He looked at me like—"

"He almost had you!"

"Was it?"

Hailey let out a loud groan, flopping backward. "Yes! Don't you know what that means?"

Charlie bit her lip. "I thought maybe he was mad at me for butting into his business."

"Mad? Charlie, he's not mad. He wants you, if he's actin' all horny or... acting normal but horny. He really wants you. Remember? He wants you to take your gloves off and get dirty with him!"

No words came out from Charlie.

She could still feel where he had stood—close enough for her to feel his hot and cigar breath, close enough she thought for a second he would—

"He wanted to have sex with you," Hailey pointed out slyly.

Her face flamed and she looked away, making Hailey giggle like an evil witch.

"Damn, this is too good to be a slow burn romance movie. If you don't make a move, he's gonna keep hoverin' 'round you like a horny wolf."

Charlie looked horrified. "I'm not gonna throw myself at him!"

"Right," Hailey rolled her eyes. "Listen, next time if he gets all Captain Bossy with you, ask yourself if he's being protective or not. 'Cause from the way you're talking?" She pointed at the camera. "That man wants you."

Charlie sat there, stunned.

"And that's number four. And five."

Charlie huffed. "We've gone on four dates now. Coffee, two times fishing, and the pizza slash debate date. He's been coming closer. Like, not physically, but... I feel like... he's watching me closely."

"Because he likes you," Hailey said again, as if it were obvious.

Charlie laughed half-heartily. "Okay, fine. He likes me but he told me something after he pulled me outta the lake."

Hailey tilted her head.

"He said he has six weeks until he's deployed again. Not sure where. He wouldn't say."

She softened suddenly. "Oh..."

"I didn't show it," Charlie said nonchalantly. "I smiled, said it was fine. But then he kissed me again, and it just... made it worse, in a way."

It settled in her chest like a stone.

Was she just a fleeting comfort for him?

Something soft to hold onto before he went back to whatever dark place he always returned to?

Hailey, sensing the shift, stayed quiet. Then, with a gentler tone, she wiggled her eyebrows, "Okay... not good news. But on the bright side, sugarplum."

Charlie glanced at her.

"You've got a SAS soldier who is your daddy and he kissed you like he is so into you. He might shag you hard before he leaves—"

Charlie grabbed a sticky note and threw it at her phone screen. "Ohmigee Hailey! Seriously?"

"I'm just saying!" Hailey laughed. "Five weeks is a long time when you've got that kind of tension hanging in the air. Seriously, I think he's gonna make a move on you later before he leaves."

Charlie flushed so hard she felt it in her ears until she heard the sound of the front door unlocked and echoed. The door opened and shut softly for how solid the man behind it was. 

She stiffened, eyes darting toward the sound.

He always moved like that. Heavy, purposeful, but somehow still quiet. And every time, her heart reacted first, before her mind could catch up.

Did he know what he did to her? Did he see how easy it was for him to rattle her without saying a word?

Hailey heard it too. "Oh my God. Is that him?"

"Yeah," Charlie whispered, voice suddenly tight. She scrambled for her phone. "I gotta go."

"Wait—wait! What are you wearing?!"

"Goodnight!" Charlie hissed, jabbing the screen.

"Tell your daddy I said hi—"

Call ended.

Shoving her phone far from her after listening to the heavy boot steps approaching from where she was seated.

John stepped into view.

His broad frame filled the kitchen doorway, shoulders weighed down by something she couldn't name. His eyes heavy and his lips were tight. The music still murmured behind her, like a heartbeat she couldn't quiet.

Oh, I feel the silence

Keep it quiet, keep it quiet

Oh, somebody's watching me

His icy blue eyes flicked toward the sound, his brows twitched as he listened to some lyrics. She held her breath and gave him her weak smile.

"Hey,"

He didn't say a word.

Instead, he walked over, and coming near her. He tapped the volume button of her laptop until the music faded out.

The silence hit like a drop, and her smile faded. Their eyes met as she lifted her gaze above.

"John?"

"Hmm."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he answered gruffly before stepping into the kitchen. 

Charlie had expected him to say something about the table, but he didn't. Like it didn't faze him about her disorganized chaos on the dining table. Papers, highlighters, sticky notes—it looked like a thesis had exploded on the wood.

"I got your dinner ready," she said, watching him carefully. "Mac'n Cheese Casserole."

John paused, then looked over his shoulder with a nod. "Appreciate it."

But his voice was different—calm, but distracted. 

No sarcasm, no teasing. 

Her throat tightened. 

The quiet felt too loud now without the song filling the gaps.

She didn't ask what was wrong. Didn't prod. She turned her eyes back to the screen, fingers resting near the keys even though her brain had all but flatlined. When she felt him move—heard the faint clink of silverware, the microwave door open and shut after the beep.

And then the chair across from her scraped against the floor.

Charlie glanced up, watching John take a seat.

Right in next to her, at the same war zone of a table she'd completely overtaken. He didn't cringe at the clutter. Didn't complain about the mess. He dug into his food like this was normal—like sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with her at almost 12 a.m.

He didn't say anything at all.

"Still workin' on it?" he asked eventually, voice low between bites.

"Trying," she said weakly. "It's just... taking longer than I thought."

"'Cause it matters," he said simply. Again, without looking at her.

She stared at her screen a second longer before whispering, "Yeah."

The only sounds between them were the quiet clinks of his fork and the soft stroke of her keys typing.

Until—

"What's the thesis about again?" he asked casually.

Charlie blinked.

There was no pause in his chewing.

Charlie swallowed, sitting back a little, fingers running over her hair.

"It's about post-conflict recovery strategies. Proxy wars and how they contribute to global instability. Like... how humanitarian efforts can actually work with security measures to rebuild communities. Not just going in with guns and call it a day."

John then swallowed his food and raised an eyebrow at her. Eyes locked on.

She could feel her heart thump harder in her chest.

Still, he didn't say anything—just nodded slowly and returned to his plate. But she saw it. The way his jaw tightened. The way his eyes lingered a second too long.

There it was again.

That look.

The one that made her feel like she was under a microscope, or she was both soft and gullible. Either one of them made her want to make an excuse and hide in the guest room. She turned back to her screen but before her fingers could touch the keys, John stood up.

Charlie glanced up, startled.

He didn't say a word as he left the table, just disappeared down the hallway with the same tension he'd walked in with. The silence stretched for a beat too long. Charlie sat frozen, the cursor blinking impatiently on the screen in front of her, but she wasn't focused on her thesis anymore.

Something was off.

The way he entered the flat. The smile that didn't quite match his demeanor. Her brows drew together, heart tugging tight. She wish she could ask if he was okay, but she chose not to say ask him instead.

When John returned a minute later, he had a small few stack of books tucked under one arm.

Charlie blinked as he sat back down, laying the books beside her papers with a casual thud.

"What's this?" she asked softly, glancing at him.

"Some of my own," he said simply, pulling the top one forward. "Military strategy. Peacekeeping failures. Post-conflict stabilization. This should help your homework make sense."

Her stomach sank.

Was this just another one of his ways to be... kind? Or did he genuinely think she could handle this? Maybe he was just trying to fix her. That was what soldiers did, right? Secure the perimeter. Patch the wound.

"You think my thesis is useless?" she asked without accusation, just truth.

John sat down and said. "Not useless. But you know what you want to talk about." He nodded at the books. "If you're gonna write about peace efforts, you need to understand the failures. How things have fallen apart. You can't build a solution if you don't see where it's broken."

Charlie stared at him as he started eating again, like he hadn't casually walked back in and started helping her without asking. And it wasn't condescending. Not even close. Her face warmed. She looked back down at the books. The titles were intense. Dense. Full of the kind of language that usually made her head ache if she stared too long.

She licked her lips nervously. "I'll... I'll need to find these online, maybe in audiobook form, if you have one?"

John paused, and lowered his fork before looking at her.

"Why?"

She braced for it.

The polite nod. The pitiful smile. But when he didn't flinch—when he didn't even blink—something inside her ached.

He was looking at her.

Charlie nodded, embarrassed. "I... I can't read textbooks like other people can. Not on my own."

He didn't say anything.

"I mean, I can read. It just takes longer for me to retain information, you know?" she admitted, eyes lowering. "I use software that reads it out loud. I can listen and take notes better that way. And I'll rewrite 'em until I understand it. But if I read from the page too long, it's like the letters move. Like I can't hold them still."

Her cheeks were hot now. Voice quieter.

"I don't really... tell people... about my struggle. Some people assumed I'm slow, and, maybe, I am." She laughed at herself, but it was hidden ting of shame laced in her words. "Maybe you're right. I'm gullible because... this is really the hardest project to write about wars and peace and yet, I am not a soldier, but you are. And you know more than I do. So... yeah."

Never leaving her gaze, John exhaled through his nose and leaned against the chair before crossing his arms.

"You ever think that maybe you're not the problem," he said, tone firm but not unkind, "but the system's just not built for how you work?"

Her throat tightened. She looked away in silent, eyes lowered before hugging herself.

"Why didn't you tell me the first time?"

"I... I don't know," she murmured.

"Eyes on me."

Her heart raced as she glanced at him.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I...I was embarrassed," she admitted quietly. "I didn't want you to think less of me, or treat me different."

John considered her words, he exhaled through his nose as his expression giving away nothing. "Why would knowing how you learn change how I see you?"

She bit her lip. No one had ever asked her that before.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "I guess I'm used to people making assumptions. That I'm not smart, or that I need extra help."

"Don't care if you're strugglin', love," he said quietly, but direct. "I'd rather you be honest with me than break yourself trying to keep up some image."

She stayed quiet.

"I don't need you to be anything other than who you are," he continued seriously. "The way your mind works is a gift, not a disadvantage. Don't ever let anyone make you feel lesser for it."

Charlie swallowed hard, emotion swelling in her chest. She had never heard anyone describe her learning difference as a gift before.

He leaned forward slightly, nodding at the books. "You're not alone in this, yeah? I wouldn't have handed you these if I didn't think you could handle it. You just need a better way in. Different tools. Doesn't make you less sharp."

She blinked quickly, trying not to get emotional as she rubbed her eye quick and breathed out.

John maintained eye contact with her, then picked up her laptop and glanced over the draft on the screen.

"Alright," he began. "Here's what I can do for you, I'll order it in audio format and you can start there. When is that paper due?"

"The end of November," she answered.

He hummed. "Good. You still have time so let's get into it."

Charlie pursed her lips and kept her gaze on him.

"Your thesis." He tapped the margin with two fingers. "Let's switch gears."

"But aren't you—"

"I need a distraction," he stated, cutting her off gently. "Had a hell of a day. So, you're here and that's all that counts."

Her mouth parted, surprise washing over her. She watched him grab a pen from her scattered supplies and her sticky notes like he did this kind of thing every week.

"I'm not a professor," John added, glancing up at her. "But I've written my fair share of reports, briefings, and mission overviews. You learn how to cut through bullshit fast in my line of work."

Charlie gave a small, nervous nod.

"Rule one," he continued, scribbling on the note, "don't bury your point under fluff. Get straight to the objective. You're leadin' the reader—don't make 'em dig through a maze to figure out what you mean."

She grabbed her notebook and began writing it down like he was giving her a military composition rules to follow. Better than the professors or teachers she knew, who wouldn't give her a simple rules to follow when it comes to writing papers.

"Second," he went on, pulling out another sticky note. "When you're drawin' from sources, cite it, always. Don't change any wordings unless you have too. That book—" he nodded at one in the stack, "the one with couple of red tabs. Read those chapters if you can or find the summary online. It breaks down how U.N. peacekeeping ops failed in Bosnia. First-hand accounts. Ugly truths. That's the kind of thing that makes your thesis stick."

Her hand kept moving, her pen almost flying now. He spoke fast but direct.

After a beat, John set the pen down and leaned back again, watching her with that unreadable look.

"You takin' all that in?" he asked.

Charlie nodded, still writing. "Yeah. You're... you're good at this."

He gave a quiet snort. "Don't be surprised."

"I'm not," she giggled back. "I should've paid attention back then when I took composition classes."

"A good thing is you need a refresher, and you got me."

She peeked up at him, cheeks warm. "Yeah, I guess I wasn't expecting a breakdown on how-to write political thesis at midnight."

He smirked. "You'll get used to it."

They sat there for a moment, the gentle scratching of her pen filling the silence. Then he cleared his throat.

"Tell you what," he said, standing and gathering his empty plate. "I'll teach you how to swim, if you can survive your thesis."

Charlie paused. "Wait, what?"

John gave her a look—half amused, half serious—before picking up his plate and headed to the kitchen.

"You need it," he said over his shoulder. "After this mornin', figured you need someone to show you the ropes before I leave and you fall into another bloody lake where nobody won't save you."

Her face turned crimson.

"You're offering swim lessons as a trade for helping me?" she said, nearly laughing.

He glanced back after he finished washing the plate on the sink. He turned around and drying his hand with a towel nearby. Lips twitching into a real smile this time—one that did reach his eyes. "Nah."

She turned her head around to him.

"I'm offerin' it as our next date."

Charlie just sat there, dumbstruck.

Without waiting for a response, he went back to the table and took a seat near her.

"There's a word for girls like you getting mixed up with men like me."

She swallowed and didn't look away.

His gaze flicked over her face—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the softness in her eyes. Then he added, "You should be out there fallin' for someone your own age. Some lad who writes poetry and is a good boy. Not a man who's spent half his life killin' insurgents and can't fall asleep unless there's a loaded weapon by the bed."

Her breath hitched.

"But here you are, sittin' in my house. Safe. Yet, I wonder if you're aware that I'm twice your sin and half your future," he said, lips twitching with something between disbelief and desire. "So tell me, love... what's a girl like you really doin' with a monster like me?"

"You're not a monster," she pressed quietly.

"Maybe I am," he said gruffly but gentle. "But I'm the monster who could keep you afloat."

She swallowed, feeling her cheeks building up flush more from her body. Warm.

"So," he asked lowly, but laced with something heavier. "You in?"

The weight of his words settled deep, curling in her chest. She could've laughed it off. Could've blamed the late hour or the stress. But instead, she found herself saying—

"I'm in."

His gaze lingered on her longer before the corner of his mouth twitched into a satisfied smile.

"Good girl."

Then, he stood up and kissed her head before walking away.

She turned over her shoulder, exhaling a shaky breath—part relief, part something else. The flutter in her stomach hadn't settled, and she wondered if Hailey had been right.

✨Return to Masterlist (RTM)✨

✨Chapter 61✨

👉🏽 Return to Main Post (RTMP) 👈🏽

[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

Rich felt his head pounded like a war drum as his temples throbbing in ways he couldn't stop it.

Slowly, he blinked himself awake.

His body felt sluggish, weighed down by something heavy—until he realized his wrists were tied, letting in a sharp inhale before exhaling.

His pulse jumped as his eyes darted around, taking in a room he doesn't recognize. Still, seated and tied on the center under the light. This time, only a small table was set beside him.

His stomach dropped.

Lennox and La Reina.

He recognized the couple from the Red Room.

Except now? They weren't dressed in glamorous attire. No expensive suits, no lace masks, no teasing glances.

Soap stood with his arms crossed, his once-charming smirk now grim, unreadable. He was in his casual attire of his dark navy shirt with washed out jeans and heavy and dirty boots.

Gabby? She leaned against the far wall, twirling a switchblade between her fingers, her expression bored. She was in her tank top with a jeans and worn-out sneakers. Her hair was braided and neat.

Gaz stood beside with Soap with his arms crossed, still in his three-piece suit but without a tie and his collars are unadjusted to show his collarbone.

Ghost was an inch closer to Gabby. Zero emotion.

And then, Rich moved his eyes before his breath held when he recognized a man standing still with his hands clasped together on the front, as if he was ready to speak with a stern gaze.

"Johnathan fucking Price," Rich said distastefully. "I should've known." He adjusted himself in the chair, forcing a fake sense of calm as he lifted his chin. The way he said it—like an old friend, like he knew him—made Soap's brow furrow and Gaz did the same. Gabby tilted her head, intrigued.

"Start talking," John started.

Rich arched an eyebrow. "Talk about what?"

"We both know Zakharov must've mentioned me," John said calmly, too calm. "Now, tell us what you know."

Rich chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "And if I don't?"

Click.

He flinched as sound cut through the tense air. His eyes dropped, and his blood ran cold as he saw John casually set down a M1911, the classic A .45 ACP Rich recognized, was set on the table beside him.

John placed a hand on the table, right beside the gun, fingers tapping lightly against the weapon.

"Then I get bored," John said simply. "And that's bad for you."

Rich clenched his jaw. His mind scrambled for a way out—any way out—but John was already three steps ahead.

The Captain leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing.

"You think you're a hard man, don't you?" He said, dangerously husky. "Rich businessman. Fancy suits. Lotta good shit on your disposal. But I know you."

Rich stiffened.

"My handler was kind enough to dig through your dirty secrets. And you know what I found?" John said, voice dangerously low.

A pause.

A smirk curved on his lips.

"You like 'em young, don't you?"

Soap and Gaz exchanged looks. Gabby lifted an eyebrow while Ghost stared at him hard.

"Human trafficking. Pimp King. You run business to ruin every innocence for money. Sex sells, right? The kind of thing that—if made public—destroys everything you've built legible businesses you've owned, including your image."

Rich stared at him, his nostrils flared as if he wanted to scream or fight back.

"So," he said, tapping the gun again. "You either start talking, or I take everything from you."

The room grew colder.

Rich's fingers twitched against his restraints. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment—it looked like he might actually refuse.

But then—

His breath wavered.

The realization set in.

John wasn't bluffing.

Rich gritted his teeth before exhaling sharply, his posture sinking just a little.

"...What do you want to know?"

"Everything," John said in his cold tone after his smirk faded. "Start from the top."

Rich exhaled. He blinked once, glancing around the room, as if sizing them up before deciding to speak. With an irritated sigh, he leaned back in the chair, his shoulders rolling as much as they could within the restraints.

"You know... you have a knack for pissing off powerful people, Captain Price."

John didn't respond. He didn't even blink.

Rich continued. "You know, one of your soldiers have killed men like Hassan Zyani and Damien Tatriek, you don't remove a problem. You create a bigger one."

"What the fuck do you mean by 'bigger one'?" Soap asked, almost growling as he was in his soldier mode.

Rich hummed and almost smiled.

"Ah... so you folks remember Hassan—the one you put down at Chicago?"

John stared at him, remaining unreadable.

"Hassan was a piece in a very large puzzle. And Damien? Well. Let's say you made my job harder when you killed my business partner."

Gabby spoke up, her tone laced with sarcasm. "Cry me a river."

Rich ignored her.

"You see..." He licked his lips and continued. "Damien and Hassan filled two very important roles. Biochemical and nuclear weapons. And without them?" His lips curled into something almost playful and annoyance. "It leaves a gap. A gap that someone like me had to fill. And I'm getting sick of it."

John narrowed his eyes. "Who's demanding it?"

Rich exhaled through his nose, as if unamused by the question. "Come on, Captain. You're smarter than that."

John hummed. Although his patience was about to become thin by seconds. His fingers tapped the table near his weapon.

Rich sighed.

Then—

"Vladimir Makarov."

Silence.

Soap stiffened.

Gaz locked his jaw.

Ghost hadn't moved when Gabby's switchblade stopped flipping mid-air. Her fingers gripping the handle a little tighter.

John hummed again.

Makarov.

That name alone was enough to shift his mindset into the past.

For a moment, John was no longer in the interrogation room.

His mind transported him back to the Channel tunnel in London, where the Konni Group, orchestrated by Makarov, was planning to strike terrorism in their home. He recalled when Soap took a bullet for him, nearly losing his life.

John had wished he had taken the hit instead. It had penetrated Soap's chest, nearly reaching his lung, and John had almost witnessed him die right before his eyes.

Take this to hell with you, Captain. Never bury your enemies alive.

Makarov's words echoed in his mind as he prepared to fire again. But John leapt at him, grabbing his gun and headbutting him. They fought until Makarov was shot in the shoulder, thanks to Gaz's expert marksmanship. John was ready to finish him off, but more members of the Konni Group appeared, giving Makarov the chance to flee. This left John with no choice but to concentrate on defusing the bomb with Gaz instead of chasing after Makarov.

Meanwhile, Ghost and The Ghosts arrived just in time to neutralize as many Konni Group members as possible, while Gabby rushed to Soap to staunch the bleeding. They knew Makarov was a master of chaos. Manipulate events like a puppeteer holding a knife. And now, his name had resurfaced.

John didn't even realize his teeth had clenched until he felt the sharp pressure radiating through his jaw.

Gabby was the first to break the silence.

"Let me guess," she drawled, thought there was a hint of grudge in her tone. "Makarov's getting impatient."

Rich exhaled sharply, his irritation becoming more apparent. "That's putting it lightly."

Soap finally spoke. "Good. Maybe the bastard will drop dead from stress."

Rich chuckled darkly. "Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you? I hate to disappoint, but Makarov isn't the type to simply die off. He's hungry for more. And thanks to you?" His expression twisted into something sharp. "You've been disrupting the chain."

John didn't flinch.

Rich continued, his voice like venom. "The whole operation is in shambles now. Do you understand what kind of mess you've made?" He let out a humorless laugh. "You've pissed off three people. Makarov, Victor, and me."

"Zakharov," he said flatly, ignoring his frustration. "What's his role in this?"

Rich smirked, but it lacked humor.

"Zakharov is—" He paused. "—the kind of man who always deliver results." His fingers twitched slightly against his restraints. "And right now? Makarov's breathing down both of our necks. You think I like being stuck playing middleman? Do you have any idea how many contacts I've lost because of your fucking team?!"

"Aw, need a tissue?" Soap grinned and added.

"You don't understand," he hissed, his nostrils flared. "Damien was brilliant. A genius in this biochem profession and since Russia disowned General Barkov. Damien knew he had to leave Russia before they catch him, if his crime was on the light. He had a mind of his own, and power is his motivation. And now? It's all incomplete.

"Remember Hadir? The man you once turned him over to keep peace over proxy war? Well, I don't have to remind you since you've also killed my business partner, Victor Zakhaev, by throwing him over the edge where the nuclear weapon was about to be released. To release chaos and create more war, starting with Urzikstan and many other region."

"Are you saying that Victor was the one who released Hardir?" Gaz asked, frowning.

"Ah, so you do listen," Rich said. "Yes."

"Your point," John said it straight.

"Since Hadir was turned over to the Russians by you and the CIA. And before his sister have killed General Barkov, you pathetic soldiers destroyed his lab in Georgia," Rich paused and looked at John and the rest before continuing. "Damien had to escape and make himself unknown for about two years, which don't ask me how he escaped, but the bastard is always ahead. It wouldn't surprise me that Hadir would want to warn you and Farah Karim about us until Zakharov had to get one of his men to shut him up."

Gaz stared at Rich.

"Bloody hell, it's all coming together," he said, more to himself than to the rest.

“To keep Makarov's presence unknown, you and that pesky Scot were responsible for bringing him into custody in Verdansk and sending him to the Gulag. This was all thanks to his financier, Mileena. She got him out on time before Covid have become a world-wide issue. 

“His plan was to make Russia a powerhouse again, restore a Soviet Union. To regain a reputation of the militia power. Russia wants to be against NATO, and so do Hershel. He wants a war, starting in the east and the west.”

“Shepherd?” Ghost asked.

“Yes, he was a part of the hush-hush plan too. Only then, he wanted more medals. Be a decorative leader. You all are so naive, thinking you’re playing heroes and making yourself important.”

John tightened his jaw as he listened. This web of deceit ran deeper than he could have imagined. Before he could respond, Soap stepped forward and stopped, eyes blazing. 

"You know what I think is naive? Trusting scum like Makarov and Zakharov. They'll put a knife in yo’ back the second yer no longer useful."

"So why don't you do yourself a favor," Gaz added. "And tell us where he is.”

Rich huffed a sigh, glaring at them before moving his focus on Gabby. "Did I mention that your brother, Hudson Knocks, was killed by Makarov? Damien was ordered to do that to send you a message."

Gabby froze. Her breathing became stilled and Ghost immediately noticed.

"It was a punishment but also message to you, La Reina, to quit screwing his operation."

Her switchblade clattered to the floor as she took a step forward, eyes blazing, posture tense like a coiled snake about to strike.

"Hijo de puta chupapollas! (You cocksucking son of a bitch!)" she snarled, every word cutting through the room like a blade. She lunged without hesitation, blind rage taking hold.

Ghost was faster.

He grabbed her by the waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest before she could get within arm's reach of Rich. Her shoes scraped against the floor, but Ghost didn't let go, locking his arms around her even as she kicked and struggled against him.

"LET ME GO!" Gabby screamed, venom dripping from her voice. "LET GO, SIMON! I'LL SKIN HIM! I SWEAR I'll SKIN HIM ALIVE!"

Ghost gritted his teeth, tightening his grip as he was strong, yet feeling every tremor in her body.

"No," he said firmly. "He's not worth it!"

Gabby thrashed, her nails digging into Ghost's arms as she growled, "THEY KILLED MY BROTHER!"

Soap stared at the scene, eyes widened.

Gaz stiffened too, barely keeping his own breathing steady as the air in the room turned suffocating.

John didn't flinch. His gaze remained locked on Rich, but there was something darker behind his eyes now. Rich, smug, leaned back slightly in the chair as if pleased to watch them fracture.

Ghost barely kept Gabby restrained, her sobs turning guttural. "Makarov used Damian to send a message! To me?! And you want me to just stand here?"

"I know," Ghost said in his low but desperate, trying to keep his own emotions in check.

"Enough."

The word echoed.

Her breathing slowed, but she didn't stop struggling.

"Ghost," John said without looking, "get her out of here."

Ghost nodded without waiting. He gently pulled Gabby toward the door, even as she shouted every obscenity she could think of at Rich, her voice raw.

"You're dead! Do you hear me, tu perra?! (you bitch?!) I'll put you six feet under myself!"

Ghost pushed the door open with his back, dragging her with him as gently as he could manage, disappearing from room.

Soap's chest heaved, still furious. His hand flexed, itching to grab Rich and follow through with what Gabby couldn't.

John turned fully toward Rich now and he moved, stepping forward before leaning in to him as his face was close to his.

"You like to stir the pot, huh?"

"Depends," Rich answered cheekily.

John smirked darkly, voice lowering, "No wonder you're so bitchy about all this."

He blinked, thrown for a fraction of a second.

John saw it.

The little twitch.

The pride Rich usually held so high cracked, just a hairline fracture, but John knew where to press.

"If you're the kind of little bitch that always needing someone to notice you," John continued, circling the chair like a wolf stalking its prey. "You don't run this game—you beg for scraps at the table. I'm not sure how else to say this but it's all coming together."

Soap's brows twitched in surprise, but he kept silent, recognizing the shift. Gaz kept his arms crossed, watching carefully.

Rich clenched his jaw. "Careful, Captain—"

"Oh, I'm bein' careful." John cut him off sharply, stepping around to lean on Rich. "See, you don't scare me. Never did. And now? You've pissed off the wrong people, like Knocks. I could've let her kill you in front of me. But, I want to play with you myself. You think I don't know your type? Hiding behind your paychecks and playthings. Always pretending you're the one pulling the strings."

Then, his voice dropped further.

"But deep down, you're just another bitch waiting for Makarov's approval."

Rich inhaled and exhaled, almost in moan but nervous.

"You were the lapdog, Richard," John whispered with venom.

His knuckles turned white against the ropes as his breathing quickened.

"Hard? Are ya? Hate to say that I ain't ya type," John tapped the gun again near him. "Now, be a good little dog. Speak."

Soap and Gaz glanced at each other, their brows almost risen with a nonverbal cues of, 'damn.'

Rich scoffed, almost annoyed. Yet, the way John was bringing in this room was now forcing him to corporate.

"Makarov doesn't like incomplete work. And if you think I'm frustrated?" He paused, exhaling again and continued. "You should see how pissed off he'll be if he finds out I'm dead."

"Oh, I could kill you after this talk. Right now, I'm a judge and an executioner right here. So give us exactly what we need. You'll be in our custody, if you don't piss me off."

Rich tilted his head, as if weighing his next words carefully. Then—

"Right, yeah," he paused before continuing."Your ex-friend and your former boss, Zakharov talks, and I listen." He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering into something almost... admiring. "You're not just a soldier, are you?"

John stared at him hard.

Making Gaz and Soap turned their gaze back to John from behind.

Rich let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "No... you're more than that. You play well on both sides. A felon and a warrior."

Silence.

Soap shifted, his brows furrowed. "Captain?"

Gaz moved his eyes to John behind. His lips parted as if to speak, but he didn't.

John remained impassive, yet a tension twisted tightly within him.

"Zakharov told me a lot about you and your brothers," Rich continued, his voice dripping with amusement. "Knew what you were before you found your nice, polished uniform. And yet, even now, you act like you're above it all. See, that's the thing about men like you, Price. You bury your past, pretend it doesn't exist—but people like Zakharov? He never forgets."

His fingers twitched.

"Because, unlike you, Captain Price," Rich paused before he smiled wickedly. "He has unfinished business with you."

John still didn't react, but his muscles had coiled tight beneath his skin.

Then—

"What about the drive?" Gaz spoke as he crossed arms.

Rich scoffed. "I'm not telling you anything what's on the drive."

"Sir—"

"Speaking of Zakharov..." Rich interrupted Gaz, his lips curled into a cruel smirk. "He's quite aware you have a daughter."

The room dropped into silence.

Soap froze before his expression hardened. Gaz stood his ground before his brows knitted.

But John—

His heart began to pump more blood within his veins as suddenly, his ears are picking up his heartbeats.

"Cameron, isn't it?" He said, seeing the small shift at John. "Lovely name for your only child."

John clenched his teeth within his lips.

"Zakharov was the one who nearly killed her and her squadron, you know. That missile strike?" Rich leaned back and clicked his tongue, his tone almost casual. "A test run. He wanted to see if it would work."

His hands tightened into fists. John hadn't moved from his spot, but the temperature in the room dropped.

All he could picture was his daughter.

The flash from last year—at the Germany Hospital. The nights he sat awake next to her while doctors weren't sure if she'd survive. The way her hand felt small and cold in his large hand, while he swore to himself he'd never let anything touch her again.

And now this piece of shit was confirming it was intentional.

"You sonvabitch!" Soap surged forward. The scrape of his boots on the floor echoed as he marched forward to Rich until Gaz had to wrestle him back.

"Johnny! No—"

"GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME KYLE!" Soap snarled, muscles flexing as he fought to rip free.

"STAND DOWN SERGEANT!" John whipped his head and commanded him like a knife cut through it's skin.

His chest heaved, but slowly, Soap relented under the Captain order. Gaz didn't let go until he felt the tension drop. John didn't look away when Soap paced furiously toward the far corner, muttering curses under his breath.

"Get your fucking head straight," he ordered, firm but harsh. "You lose your shit, you give your enemy exactly what he wants."

Soap clenched his fists and looked at him back. His face, fury red along with his ocean eyes. He said nothing—just stood there, visibly restrained.

Then, John turned to Rich.

"You think that was clever?" John said icily.

Rich grinned. "I struck a nerve again, didn't I?"

John moved fast that no one had time to react. Picking up his sidearm, the barrel pressed against Rich's knee.

And then—

Bang.

The shot rang through the room and Rich screamed. His body seized as the pain hit him like a truck, his head snapping back as his bound wrists jerked.

"YOU MOTHER FUC-"

The others flinched at the sudden crack of the shot, but John watched without a remorse. Listening to his cries filled the space, his chest heaving as Rich trembled against the chair. His face twisted into agony, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Gaz held his breath as he couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

John had never lost his cool, back in St. Petersburg in Russia. But, to the interrogation he remembered of choosing not to escort the Butcher's wife and a son, which was five years ago. Gaz sometimes have questioned John's morality and the fine line between right and wrong.

The last time he remembered was when Gaz chose not to engage the interrogation, using the Butcher's wife and the son, as a hostage leverage since this was the line he wouldn't cross. But to John, it was necessary.

Gaz had found the dead bodies after John got the intel before the Russian forces arrived on the scene.

There is a fine line between right and wrong.

Butcher was last existed after he and Gaz had watched him pulled a trigger on an innocent bystander father with a child. It was known as a pay back for what Butcher have done back at Urzikstan in the U.S Embassy raid attack by the Al-Qatala forces after the capture of "The Wolf".

Mercy is weak.

That line haunted Gaz.

And so did John.

Now standing right here today. Gaz watched as John leaned down and gripped Rich's jaw.

"Keep talking," he growled, his fingers digging into Rich's face. "Or I'm gonna take the other leg."

Rich gritted his teeth. "F-Fuck you..."

"I can strip you of everything you built," John continued, his tone deadly. "Your reputation? Gone. Your money? Gone."

His body shuddered in pain.

"And Zakharov?" John continued, his voice dropping lower. "Makarov?" He let go of his face and stood tall. "They'll turn on you before you can beg."

Rich panted. His leg throbbed, his face twisted in agony while glaring up at him.

"It doesn't... matter," he wheezed. "They'll get you. They'll get all of you."

Then, Rich let out a choking laugh.

"Starting with your daughter."

John's breathing became heavy as he stared at him.

"She'll be gone before you even know," Rich rasped, his grin turning wicked. "And Makarov? Oh, he'll make sure one of his men has their fun with her first."

Soap growled, even his anger became known as his primal side of him began to crawl out of his skin slowly.

But to John, his vision darkened. His pulse slowed. His muscles coiled.

Rich laughed, the sound weak but cruel. "And after Cam?" His voice dropped. "Maybe your sweet girl, too. Charlotte, isn't it? That yellow American bitch?"

Then, suddenly, the room felt smaller.

He exhaled hard through his nose before he lifted the gun, pointing at his forehead. Rich barely had time to react before he pulled the trigger, and the shot cracked through the air.

His head snapped back. The chair rocked back from the force as it fell behind. His blood splattered faintly on the ground.

Silence deafened.

His chest rose and fell steadily, but John stared down at the lifeless. Lowering his sidearm, his expression was stone cold. Controlled. Deadly.

"Price, what the fuck did you do?!" Gaz called out harshly as he stepped forward. "He's our custody!"

Soap stared, his mouth almost opened.

"John! Do you hear me?" Gaz frowned, touching John's shoulder, watching as John looked back at him with an inscrutable, icy stare.

"I don't lose what's mine."

Gaz stared at him. Stunned.

And with that, John shrugged his hand off his shoulder and turned toward the door without looking back.

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✨Chapter 60✨

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[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

|| A/N - Hey readers! We're almost to the end of the operation undercover and since any characters can sing either in karaoke and whatever, but Gabby (OC character belongs to @callsign-denmark) will sing this song, it will be treated like she wrote this song. So enjoy the final setup! ||

As soon as Gabby set foot on the stage, the atmosphere change. 

Conversations quieted, drinks paused in mid-motion, and all eyes were drawn to her as the lights subtly faded—just enough to envelop her in a warm glow, making her appear like the center of attention. Grabbing the microphone, she tilted her head and smiled as she was aware of the influence she wielded in this lobby.

The pianist began with a gentle playing, setting the mood. Then, the saxophone then joined in, providing a sultry, heartbeat-like rhythm that she opened her mouth and her voice infused with a rich Latina charm.

I don't care if you're here or if you're not alone

Or, if you're not alone

Soap and Gaz maneuvered skillfully, directing Rich along with them. They made it seem as though he was simply a drunken guest being shown the way out. No one paid them any mind. Not when Gabby's voice commanded the room.

I don't care, it's been too long 

It's kinda like we didn't happen

Her tone was soft, teasing, drawing in the audience, luring them in closer—just like a siren pulling sailors to their doom. Gaz kept his grip firm on Rich's arm, moving toward the back exit with steady strides. Almost there.

The way that you lips move

The way you whisper slow

Gabby swayed her hips, eyes half-lidded as she let the song take over.

I don't care, it's good as gone

I said, I won't lose control, I don't want it

I said, I won't get too close but I can't stop it

Her voice was playful, smooth as silk, curling around every word with deliberate ease.

Oh, no, there you go, making me a liar

Got me begging you for more

Rich's bodyguards—some of them had noticed him missing.

One turned his head.

And just as he did—

She snapped them back. The beat dropped, deep and sultry, rolling through the speakers like the very air itself had a pulse. Gabby leaned into the mic, owning the stage as the tempo picked up.

Oh, no, there I go, startin'up a fire, oh, no, no

Oh, no, there you go, you're making me a liar, I kinda like it though

Soap and Gaz slipped past another table, unseen.

The bodyguards hesitated. A few had turned to glance toward the VIP area—but then the bass hit again, and the room was hers.

Oh, no, there I go, startin'up a fire, oh, no, no

She twirled, her dress catching the light, reflecting just enough to keep their attention locked onto her.

You're watching, I feel it

I know I shouldn't stare

I picture your hands on me

I think I wanna let it happen

Another sip of whiskey.

Another nod of approval from some drunken businessman. Another reason why the guards hesitated just a second longer.

But what if, you kiss me?

And what if, I like it?

And no one sees it

Soap and Gaz reached the back corridor.

The exit was meters away. Just a few more seconds—

I said, I won't lose control, I don't want it

I said, I won't get too close but I can't stop it

Gabby dragged out the last note, voice melting into the melody as her fingers traced down the mic stand.

Oh, no, there you go, making me a liar

Got me begging you for more

Oh, no, there I go, startin'up a fire, oh, no, no

Oh, no, there you go, you're making me a liar, I kinda like it though

Oh, no, there I go, startin'up a fire, oh, no, no

It was effortless, seductive, a distraction so well-crafted that not a single person had noticed the two men and their unconscious target slipping out of sight. Then they were gone.

***

The cold night air slapped Soap and Gaz across the face as they exited through the far-back door of the Red Room, dragging Rich between them. The alley was dimly lit, tucked behind the lavish glow of the cocktail lounge, and dead quiet except for the distant pulse of the bass thumping through the walls.

Rich groaned weakly, head lolling against Gaz's shoulder.

"Oi, keep it together," Soap grunted under his breath, giving him a not-so-gentle nudge forward.

They rounded the corner where a white van idled against the curb, engine low and steady. The side door slid open. John came out, and he was wearing his signature dark beanie with his jacket zipped halfway within his dark t-shirt and dark jeans. Ghost sat behind the wheel, mask on, arms casually draped over the steering wheel as if this was just another Tuesday.

Soap and Gaz wasted no time hauling Rich inside, propping him against the van wall.

Before anyone could speak, Rich's head lolled upright, eyes fluttering open just enough to take in the sight of John.

"What the f—"

A fist connected with Rich's jaw before he finished the sentence, making him slump back again like a sack of bricks, out cold.

"Still got it," Ghost commented casually.

John calmly stretched his fingers and then fixed Rich with an intense gaze.

Gaz shut the door with a solid thunk and climbed into the back seat beside Soap.

"Where's Knocks?" John asked.

"Still inside. On stage. Doing her 'La Reina' thing." Gaz answered.

"On stage?" John said, his brows furrowed. 

"She's singin'," Gaz clarified. "Distracting the entire party so we could haul this prick out without half the room noticing."

"My wife wrote that song, by the way." Ghost said, a hint of pride known his voice when he added. 

John turned his head toward him. "What?"

"Yeah. 'Liar.' Inspired by someone specific." Ghost said nonchalantly.

Soap choked on a laugh, immediately catching on, and Gaz bit his lips to keep him smiling.

John's eyes narrowed. "Don't say it."

Ghost tilted his head slightly, voice dry. "What? I'm just saying it's about a certain type of man. Dangerous, stubborn. Refuses to admit when he's already gone soft for someone."

Soap outright snorted.

John grumbled under his breath, tugging his beanie lower. "Piss off."

"Didn't say it was you, Price. But if the shoe fits..." Ghost said, smirking in return within his balaclava.

John muttered something about bloody musicians under his breath, but no one missed how his ears became red.

***

....I don't believe myself when I say

That I don't need you, oh

I don't believe myself when I say

That I don't need you, oh

I don't believe myself when I say

So, don't believe me

Oh, no, there you go, you're making me liar

Got me begging you for more

Oh, no, there I go, startin'up a fire, oh, no, no

Oh, no, there you go, making me a liar, I kinda like it though

Oh, no, there I go, startin'up a fire, oh, no, no

Yeah

Uh, yeah, yeah,

Nah, yeah

Oh, no, no, no

Oh, no, no, no

Oh, no, you're making me a liar

'Cause my clothes are on the floor

As the last notes of the saxophone blend with the ongoing rhythm of the bass guitar, Gabby fluttered her eyelashes—

Huh, huh, huh

Uh

Oh, no, no, no

Another fire

Then, savoring the silence before the crowd erupted into applause. She bowed, her lips parting as she heard her earpiece buzz into life.

"Party's over, Knocks. We got the package." She heard him said in his gruff but calm raspy tone.

Gabby lifted her head, flashing one last dazzling smile at the crowd. Then, with a graceful turn, she stepped off the stage and stride with confidence, knowing the job was accomplished.

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✨Chapter 59✨

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[ajqwrites]

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

Gaz moved the corridors of the Red Room Cocktail Bar with each step intentional, keeping his demeanor calm but mission orientated. 

The lounge's music played gently in the background, while the chandeliers' golden light stretched long shadows over the gleaming floors. He adjusted his dark navy three-piece suit, keeping his pace casual as he trailed Rich at a safe distance.

The earpiece in his ear crackled softly.

"Keep it low profile." John said firmly. "No fuck-ups."

Gaz smirked slightly. "Aye, Cap. I hear you loud and clear."

"Try not to get too friendly," Ghost's hard accent of Manchester echoed in his earpiece as he rolled his eyes but said nothing, keeping his focus on the target ahead.

The French businessman moved with a hint of urgency, his shoulders tense. Gaz observed as Rich pushed open the restroom door and vanished inside.

He waited.

A beat. Two.

Once he was sure no one else had entered, Gaz made his move.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside and the restroom was classy—a blend of black marble, gold fixtures, and an intoxicating scent of expensive cologne.A soft, low hum of classical music played through unseen speakers.

Gaz approached the sink and turned on the water, his ears keenly attuned to the conversation happening in one of the stalls. Rich was on the phone, and his voice sounded tense and agitated.

"—I don't care about Harkin's impatience." Rich's voice was clipped, frustration clear. "He gets paid when I say he gets paid. And the drive—"

Gaz stilled, narrowing his eyes at the mention of the drive.

"He was supposed to deliver it, but he's wasting my time and I—I know you need confirmation before we move forward."

A pause. Then, a sharp exhale.

"Well, how the hell should I know? No. If he tries to back out, he's dead. If he doesn't get me the drive by the end of this week. He's disposable. Make him understand that." He paused, nodding and pressing his lips tight until he began to chew on his bottom lip. "Yeah, I don't know how did he found my drive from. Unless, if he's trying to outsmart us."

Gaz frowned more.

Drive? Thumb drive? Outsmart them? This is new.

Rich ended the call with a quick and clip response, it was his cue as Gaz turned off the water, shaking his hands lightly before reaching for a towel. As the French businessman came out from the stall, Gaz waited until their eyes met in the mirror. Then—he smirked. Slow. Easy. Just enough to be noticed.

Rich tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering over Gaz in mild curiosity.

Cut bait.

Gaz dried his hands before adjusting his cufflinks, speaking smoothly.

"Sounds like a rough call, yeah?" His tone was low, inviting. "Something I can help with?"

Rich exhaled through his nose, turning to the sink as he ran a hand through his slicked-back hair.

"Oh, it's a business complication," he murmured, voice carrying that effortless European charm. "Nothing that concerns you."

Gaz chuckled, shifting slightly to lean against the counter, his posture casually relaxed yet exuding quiet confidence.

"Shame," he mused, watching Rich through the mirror. "Would've thought a man like you had everything under control."

Rich paused.

For the first time since stepping inside, he actually looked at Gaz.

The way the suit fit the chocolate man perfectly, the way his mask added an air of mystery.

Rich was curious.

Interested.

Hooked.

"Control," Rich echoed, his lips twitching into something resembling a smirk. "It depends on what we're talking about."

"I'd say power, business... maybe something else." Gaz said, letting his words hang and his gaze locked onto the man next to him.

Rich's lips parted slightly, his gaze darkening—

And then Gaz made his move.

He leaned in and kissed him.

And it lasted long enough to shock Rich into stillness.

Before he could react, Gaz pulled away and—

"What the fuck am I walking in on?"

Gaz froze.

Turning his head around, he met Soap, whose eyes wide and his jaw dropped. He was standing in the doorway.

Gaz barely reacted. He simply cleared his throat subtly, ignoring Soap's absolute disbelief.

Rich was still dazed, shocked but distracted by a handsome young man younger than himself—which gave Gaz just enough time. His hand shot up after pulling it out from his pocket. He plunged the syringe into Rich's neck.

The Frenchman barely had time to register before his entire body went limp.

Gaz stepped back casually, letting Rich collapse against him before he guided him onto the floor. He smoothed out his sleeve, adjusting his suit jacket as if nothing had happened.

Then, he turned.

Soap stared at him.

"What the actual fuck was that?!" Soap hissed, still stuck at the door.

Gaz arched a brow.

"Jackpot," he said smoothly, tapping his earpiece. "Target is secured."

"Cap'n, Gaz kissed a man!" Soap replied back after pushing his earpiece as well.

Silence.

Then, a voice came through their piece.

"... What?"

"Laswell forgot to mention that Rich is gay," Gaz said casually. "Would've been nice to know ahead of time."

Soap blinked. Still speechless.

John's voice came through the comms, clipped and more confused than Soap had ever heard him.

"Say that again?"

Gaz felt his ears were still burning.

"And for the record," he added, ignoring the Captain's response as he forced himself to continue, "I have kissed a guy before, back in my selection days. I was dared to do it."

Soap blinked again.

And then—

"Congratulations, Kyle. You're officially a bi wanker," Ghost's voice finally crackled through the comms, sounding dry and unimpressed.

Gaz scoffed back, though his face burned even hotter. "Shut up."

"Did I hear bi wanker? Who are we talking about?" Gabby chimed in.

John sighed sharply into the mic. "I don't want to know any more."

Soap seemed frozen, like his entire perspective had just been turned upside down.

"We should probably get moving, right?" Gaz grunted, bending down to lift Rich's lifeless body over his shoulder. "Before someone comes looking for him?"

"Hello? Can someone tell me who it is?" Gabby asked, sounding irritated that no one had answered her the first time.

After a pause, Soap finally replied, "Gaz kissed a man."

"Holy shit," Gabby laughed breathlessly. "For real?"

"Yeah," Soap said, chuckling nervously. "I'm not getting over that anytime soon."

Gaz rolled his eyes. "Do me a favor, Gabby—" he adjusted Rich's weight on his shoulder, his tone shifting back to business. "—we need a distraction and we have to get out."

"Don't worry about me, I've got it all under control. You guys go ahead, and I'll meet you at the extraction point because La Reina is about to take the stage," Gabby said cheerfully.

They understood what she meant before leaving the restroom.

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✨Chapter 58✨

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