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simp-ly-writes · 2 days

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Suits, Ties, and Thus Spies (pt.6)

Pairing: Spy!Task Force 141 x Handler!Reader

Summary: With a princess to save, you are willing to do just about anything to get this mission done and serve your country just as you have promised since signing that contract all those years ago as an up-an-coming agent. But you are not the only one with mentality and soon enough, you are running...

Warnings:3000~ words, light swearing, blood, highly suggestive scenes and trauma. A/N: be prepared for some angst served hot and ready! Masterlist | Taglist Request | edited.

Sun slips through the sheer curtains, warming your face as you toss and turn to hide from his warm caress. Whitby groans out from beside you, turning off his alarm and slides over to wrap his arms around your torso. “Few more minutes,” he murmurs in a bed-ridden voice, you smile, easing back into his arms as you interlock your legs together. An odd banging sound has you raising an eyebrow but you ultimately squeeze your eyes tighter together. “I’ll be there…” you begin to grumble, stirring back asleep but their knocks are unrelenting against the wooden door. A voice shots out in your dream, “Handler…. Handler… fucking hell… DANIELS!!!”

You are up in an instant, smacking Witby right in the jaw as he cures out, rubbing the beginnings of stubble. “Princess is on the move, Samantha just reported a suspicious vehicle that matches the one she arrived from in the airport, we are cleared to intercept!”

“Stunning!” you cheer, quickly suiting up and leaving Whitby in the dust as he enjoys his vacation days. Beige suit equipped, gun loaded and sunglasses on you rush out of the room, bumping into a tired Gaz and jumping Johnny who eagerly cleans his tools and reloads a knife into his suit. “Mornin’ boys! Let’s go get ourselves a princess,” you announced as they cheered in reply before a concerned Price placed a hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him as he tilted his head towards the living room and you followed.

“You joinin’ us for he mission? Who's gonna be on comms?” He asks. Fixing your suit jacket and tie with a smirk, you look up at him through your eyelashes. “Are you insinuating I cannot do two jobs at once?” you press, watching as he stands up that much straighter, chin tilted upwards as he looks past your shoulder- the inner soldier coming out. “No Ma’am/sir- just a friend concerned for another…”

“Who said we were friends,” you continue to press forward, raising an eyebrow as the edge of your smirk twitches. John starts to smile, noticing your failing bluff before emitting a chuckle. “Hmm, maybe since Samantha told me you were crying’ in the car over some old man.”

“Well maybe this old man has to check his hearing too, was not just you I was sobbing over… ego much?” you tease as he nods his head. “Oh, definitely. Someone has to keep you in check-”

“I’ve got Whitby to do that for me- is that not right?” you question. Not having to look over your shoulder to see him leaning against the door frame, keys dangling off one of his fingers, swishing back and forth lightly before throwing them for you to catch. “Sorry to interrupt, lovelies but times-a-tickin’.”

“Alright, Samantha and Whitby here are going to be doing comms. They are being tested for a promotion for my position soon…” you smile towards the man, eyes thoughtful as you exit the villa and towards the driveway where a red car is parked- ready and waiting. “What are you going to do after?” John questions, opening the door for you as you mindlessly sit in the passenger's side- he snags the keys from your suit pocket with a steady hand.

The door closes gently beside you, pulling you away from your thoughts on the future as you roll your eyes. Smooth… you think to yourself, watching as he slips into the driver's seat with a wink towards you, turning on the engine and begins to follow the rest of the crew in the yellow car ahead. “I would go off into administration or management, Handler of Handlers,” you say, watching as the landscape transforms from beaches and cliff sides towards white-painted buildings of the city. Blue doors and roofs greet your eyes as do the hordes of tourists that would only further complicate this mission.

Suddenly your sunglasses spark to life, “Hello Agent Daniels, Samantha” fires at you- you can swear to feel her smile at the side of your face where a hidden camera was placed, observing John's movements in the driver's seat. “Samantha,” you stress her name out, “now is not the time to get back- how many more intersections till the last-”

A porsche goes flying down the hill, their sideview mirror crashing into the building, breaking off chunks of stone as they fly across the hood of your car. John grunts, turning the steering wheel harshly as the wheels of the car skid and drift around the corner in pursuit of the vehicle. “We have eyes on the car, I repeat eyes on” you yell through the radio. Gripping the top of the car as you roll down your window and stick your head out to catch a glimpse of who was in the car. “Three figures in the car, Sam I need a ID stat!”

“Already on it, Matteo Victor, Lycia Steros and Princess Theodosia. Royal is in the back- passengers side, we are cleared to use guns or otherwise disruptive methods until we come to a stand still.”

“Fuck” you whisper underneath your breath, watching as Price has to slam on the breaks as a group of mindless tourists roam the vast streets and alleyways without a care to look where they are headed. Thankfully the yellow car that Simon is handling comes flying, slamming into the side of the Porsche that hurls to a stop. Blocked by a wall and the smashed hood of the car.

They stumble out of the vehicle as you jump out, Price cursing out as the vehicle is still moving yet you stumble into a room, chasing after the kidnappers and the kidnapped with Gaz and Johnny hot on your tail. “Take a left next turn,” Whitby’s voice fills your ear in a clear even turn as you blindly turn the corner and smash into the side of a wall before continuing your sprint.

Blinking twice in quick succession, your glasses fire to life as a screen projects itself to the side of your view. A map blinks open and a series of coloured lines showing each agent on the group pops up. Simon and John are two blocks down, having an odd encounter with the foreign police before making a break for it as Whitby reports.

“Gaz, move left, it’s a shorter path- we are going to cut them off both sides-”

“Understood!” his voice echoes down the alleyway and his footsteps are no longer heard. You turn your vision back, sunlight hitting your face once more as you see a sea-side market. Various colourful stalls paint the picture in patterns and smells as you knock into a barrel of apples as they pour down the angled street. You see Gaz waiting at the other side of the street, groping his knees as he falls over- trying to collect his breath.

Johnny has scaled one of the stands and climbs up to a residential balcony on the second floor where he waits, gun drawn and eyes on the alleyway they should be running out of any minute. John and Simon are pressing them in from behind- they have nowhere to go as you smile, cracking your neck to the side. Oh how I missed this rush…

A pink and flowing dress emerges, the Princess hikes it up, their ankles bleeding and bruised from the heels they are forced to run in as their arms are impaled by uncut fingernails digging into their tanned skin. You curse out, hundreds of screams being sound as the safety of a gun is clicked off and pressed into the side of their brown hair, tears and ruined makeup coat their face like a bad clown costume as they swear out for you to drop your weapons. Picking the gun out of your waistband, you make no further eye contact with Johnny still unseen and by the looks of it, Kyle has been ordered the same.

You hear the heavy breathing of Whitby in your ear, you understand his current anxiety better than anyone and a bitter side of you hopes that he will now feel how you do- having to repair his torn body every night. You fling your gun to the side before turning your shoulder sharply, arm extending outward and fingers pointed straight towards the man's throat. You watch as the knife curves and slices through his vocal cords- cutting off any sound of scream. Blood splatters the dress, dyeing it a deeper blush colour as they collapse to the ground in shock.

The gun pressed to her head now laying overtop a drain cover as the other criminal races to pick up the gun as you do the same. Head down in a full blown sprint, your legs burn as do your lungs. Shoving the woman down to the ground as you move to wrap your legs around her neck. She stumbles to a stand, hands clawing at your thighs- trying to remove you from her. Their stance wobbles as you rip the gun from their hand- face going blue as you tighten around their throat.

“No shots,” Samantha reminds you. Switching the barrel for the grip, you slam the metal weapon rapidly into their head as they fall back into one of the shops, getting you both cut in a fishing net. Cursing out, Gaz rushes forward securing the Princess yet John and Simon are still nowhere in sight. Blood coats your hands, as you race to find another knife within your suit jacket. Their hands grip at your beige suit, turning it black as they slam a bucket into the side of your head and reach towards your tie, throwing it around your shoulder and pulling back harshly as you choke. “DANIELS!” Whitby cries out through your earpiece only to be silenced by your face, communicator falling out of your ear and meeting the pavement as you force yourself to fall backwards and out of their touch.

They stumble to a stand as you rock on our feet, bringing up your fists in front of your face. The woman smirks, bleached blonde hair in a rats nest as they spit at your dress shoes and rush towards your waist and you feel as if you're floating. Light rain hits your features before your eyes widen, realizing you're falling down a cliffside. The woman falls towards you, punch resting to your nose as you yell out in pain. Clicking your heels together. You hear a blade sharpen before the world goes black. Eyes burning form the salt water.

The woman swims hastily towards you, knife in hand, you mentally curse out- searching yourself to find a blade missing. Fuck, you twist away and raising your leg from their attempted stab yet the blade grazes your side as you hiss out- air bubbles floting towards the surface just as your sunglasses do. You slam your foot into their side as they drift past you in the force of their stab. They hiss out in pain, body shuttering, eyes rolling back as the whites of their eyes turn a deep yellow- mouth foaming and their corpse floating upwards to the surface.

Whitby had arrived at the scene, leaning over the barrier, thankful to see the mission finished yet their heart ached to see you, to feel you in his arms, to feel the warmth of your body against his own and your joyous laughter as he served you your favorite drink at the bar later tonight. But in what felt like hours passing him by, various horrified faces begging him for explanations and a Princess pressed into the back of his suit jacket. Pleading for him to allow her a trip to the airport, he shoved her off, readying himself to pull you out of the water before a series of ripples emerged.

He braces himself for a lifeless you only to cry out in happiness, arms raised at the sight of you gasping for air. A rescue helicopter soars overhead, a harness is lowered and soon you are airlifted up the cliffside. Whitby races over without a care in the world, the blades overcome any other sound above as they cut through the sky and the remaining shop fronts. You stumble out, uncaring of the healthcare provider's words as you drop the space blanket and grip at Whitby's torso, head resting against his chest as you hold one another.

Whitby steps back, tearing off his suit jacket as he places it over your shoulders, its warmth hugging your figure as you step back in life and address your team with a proud smile. Gaz and John chaperone the princess to the back of a black SUV that Whitby arrived in. Simon was already in the driver's seat and drifting off into the distance with one knock of the roof.

Lost in the adrenaline, in the victory as Whitby hands you his glasses, showing an overjoyed Samantha clapping happily from headquarters in the video call. “DRINKS ON ME BITCHES, I’m GETTING FUCKED PROMOTED!” You wince at the scale of her voice, side bleeding out still as Whitby does his best to apply pressure, offering a remorseful smile as you wince at the pressure. Soon a scream is heard as you look around to see where it is coming from, Whitby's eyes go wide, his shoulders still and his hand dropping from your side- blood pouring out at your shoes.

His body falls, turned towards the sky as he observes the clouds in a peaceful state, you are frozen in horror, knees falling as you grip at his jacket and scream. The medical crew from behind you shoves you aside and the helicopter roars to life once more, its wind whipping your back hardly as you shiver with the impact. You swear to be underwater once more. Your hands wet, your skin cold and lungs burning for air. Another shot rings out from a nearby balcony in response, the thought to be dead body finally perishing as you twitch away from the sound, stumbling to a stand as you run back down the alleyway, Gaz and Price hot on your feet.

Samantha calls for you, yet you swipe the call away and rush back into the city centre, acting just as those annoying tourists and run across the street without checking, horns honking and voices swearing out yet you remain unrelenting and continue your run. “Stop! Daniels- PLEASE,” Kyle yells out from behind you, stopping to listen to whatever Samantha was reporting as he looks back towards the seaside and up towards your running from. Cursing out he is forced to run back to help Johnny to kill-confirm the people in the car.

John still carries on after you, hopping over the hood of a car hot on your heels. You can barely hear the word he yells out up towards you. You wonder what the locals think of you, bloody and bruised as a man yells out for you to stop for him- maybe an abusive newly-weds. Your mind goes dark, shaking your head as you take a turn into a dark street. The buildings untaken care-of. Their white paint peeling off the bricks, the roof filled with holes and you don’t even wish to know what liquid drops onto your head as you lean against the wall, taking a breather.

Your hands shake in guilt, your rip the jacket from our shoulder, “FUCK!” you scream out, hands gripping at your hair, threatening to tear it at the seams as you slam yourself into the wall in front of you, needing the feedback of the pain as a reminder. I killed my partner, you think to yourself, that dark little vice protruding through your consciousness. “I killed my parenter, I FUCKIN KILLED HIM!” you yell out into a sob, kicking the rocks at your feet before falling to your knees and letting out a guttural scream.

A deep chuckle sounds from beside you, your shoulders flying themselves upwards as you cringe at the tone. “A Murderer we have here,” they speak, their voice echoing in the dark small space you find yourself in. Their body heat warms your wet back, you shiver- the reminder of Whitby's arms around your frame. “And a gorgeous one at that,” they whisper, spit flying into your ear as you shove weakly at their face, returning to a fight stance as your body fights to keep itself uprising- exhaustion setting in your bones as you hear John calling for you just down the street, out-of-breath.

“Did you know how much money I lost today?” they coldly ask you, teeth shining under the small light that gets flickered on overhead, an apartment stunning to life with the commotion you have caused. “But a person like you, oh-ho-ho,” they chuckle, forming a sharp grip at your neck as your hands fly to grip theres- black spots forming in your vision as your feet begin to sway over the ground. “You would surely get me at least a quarter of that back, and I think I know just the right dealer…” you couldn’t hear what further they had to say. Body limp and being thrown into a bag at the back of a landscaping truck.

John hears the wheels turn as he manages to get to the alley way, cursing out he sees no signs of life and places a finger to his ear. “Samantha, this is Price.”

“Yes, John?”

“We have Handler Daniels MIA…”

↳ Taglist: @thriving-n-jiving @cringeycookies @lilliumrorum @brokenpieces-72 @ashy-kit @notsaelty @hindi-si-ikay @sleepyycatt @no-lessthan3 @yuujisbearx @cod-z

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 2 days

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Into Your Arms. - Price x OC

|| [<- Part One] ||

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 4.3K~ cw: smut, piv sex (unprotected), car sex, unsafe sexual practices, pussy slapping, flirting, insults, banter, sexual innuendos/intentions, love confessions.

a/n: yes this is a musical fic/chapter thing and it's inspired by Into Your Arms by Ava Max and Witt Lowry.

Yeah, I don't mean to make you wait, just the pressure's been gettin' heavy

I know if I fuck us up, we'll be over, done, you'll forget me

They dated for a solid 4 months. 4 months straight of him driving over to see her both at work and out of it. With some small missions in between, but constant time together nonetheless.

Showing up at the military hospital with coffee, or a pastry, or a meal to-go, kissing her on the lips, strong hands gripping at the extra fat on her thighs or her ass or her tummy.

Taking her on fancier dates, dinners, films, tea and sweets, little gifts here in there, letting her drag him around the shopping centre, and swipe his card on the machine before she could.

Ending up in her bed more often than not, sneaking out the next morning, meeting her roommate, Molly Cole, on many of those mornings, only to have a message in his phone by noon complaining about how Molly goaded her over him having spent the night over again.

Meeting her friends, her meeting his. Going out together for drinks at the pub, and clubbing, watching her dance and drink, feeling her body against his, seeing her curves in those dresses, watching how she came close to his height in those tall heels of hers...

Only to have to leave, sent on a mission. Many months long... Uncertain of how long just a "Until it's done" promise.

Their relationship was too carefree for a label or title... and too fresh for a 'I'll wait for you'.

It caused a difficult conversation.

One he hadn't expected to go the way it did.

I'm feelin' bad that I act this way, 'cause you let me

They call me king, but I know my queen will be there to check me

A breeching of feelings that they never had to before.

Standing in her bedroom, she was getting dressed, while he stood in the ensuite bathroom, looking in the mirror.

"I don't know when I'll be back." He announced from over his shoulder.

"That's fine." She replied as she fastened her bra.

"No, you don't understand." He grunted as he turned to look at her.

He watched her reach over to grab a black camisole from the hanger.

"What don't I understand?" She asked as she glanced at him before throwing the camisole over her body.

"That I don't know if and when I'll be back... and I don't want you to wait." He leaned against the doorway, looking at her.

"You severely overestimate how invested I am in this, John." Kathleen said as she pulled her brown hair off from the accidental tuck inside her camisole.

"So you won't care that I go?" John asked her as he crossed his arms.

"Were you expecting me to?" She chuckled as she crossed her own arms, mirroring him.

"And you won't miss me, huh?" He teased.

"Nope." She replied nonchalantly.

"Won't even worry that I might die out there?"

"I hope you do, actually."

John rolled his eyes and scoffed. "You're a horrible woman."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, war criminal-" She rolled her eyes. "I'm just saying, don't expect me to be waiting for you with open arms."

I'm out of my head, out of my mind

If you let me, I'll be out of my dress and into your arms tonight

Feels like I'm always waitin'

Kathleen is good at lying. Normally.

When John told her he had to go, and for the next three weeks, she acted as if she didn't care, as if she wouldn't and didn't miss him at all.

But it was slowly tearing her up from the inside out.

Whenever an SAS team was sent back and came into Tidworth for treatment, she'd stiffen up.

She'd run out to the helipad, rushing for the chopper and directing the other nurses and doctors and triage, and then she'd look around, amidst the chaos, wide-eyed and feral, as if expecting to find her boyfriend on a stretcher...

Was he even her boyfriend?

Had he ever been?

Two months came and went and it settled however. She started seeing other people, one-night stands (shameless ones), a couple of dates with blokes she found a bit too nice (boring)...

It was an earnest attempt at moving on.

Then he came back. She heard of it from others...

He didn't contact her for the first two weeks.

Acting like he was single, like he had been single this whole time.

Like she had been too, she guessed.

Yeah, I don't mean to make you wait or to contemplate about us

My ex, she loved to lie, guess that's why it's harder to trust

I been searchin' to find myself and not get too lost into lust

But she couldn't help but wonder if when he said 'don't wait for me', he really was just looking for an excuse not to continue dating her when he came back.

Then on the Saturday of week three, at 11 P.M., she received a text from him.

Big Bastard 🙄: "Can I come see you?"

And she let him.

She opened the door for him and he pushed his way inside, arms wrapped tight around her waist, a hand digging into her scalp, pressing her into the wall and claiming her mouth with a greedy kiss.

His tongue dug into her mouth like he was trying to stake claim on her from the inside out, pressing her body to his, her heavy breasts pushed tight against his muscular, nearly spilling out of her cami top as he groaned into her mouth.

They ended up tangled in each other's web again for two more months, having picked up right where they left off.

Going on dates again. Beach days, pool days, picnics, hikes, long drives, concerts and films.

Being all over each other, in each other's beds. In each other's arms.

Then he got another mission. Another 'don't know when I'll be back'.

Another 'I won't wait for you'.

But this time, when she said it, he saw through it.

He saw the look in her eyes. The exact opposite of the look of relief she had shown the day he came back into her life.

And he promised himself that when he did come back, he wouldn't reach out. That he wouldn't crawl his way back into her bed, her arms, her life.

If it was up to you now, you would be mine

I'm on the road more than I'm home, and still I find it's only you on my mind

He came back four months later. Early february.

And as he touched down and the helo lowered the back hatch, he stood there, with his arms crossed behind his back...

And he sought her out. As if expecting her to have somehow heard of him coming back, and would be there waiting.

When he left the base to hit up Hereford for a drink with his team, or his mates, he found himself missing the turn because the muscle memory to speed off to Tidworth was too much.

He'd be at the pub with his mates and look around, scanning the crowds of women with fake tans and skimpy dresses, as if look for those legs, that tummy, that set of tits.

You can't buy time with your money

And you love goin' to the beach whether it's cloudy or sunny

He'd go down to the shopping centre to get a new shirt or pants or shoes, and he'd pass by a window and take note of what in there he could buy to surprise her with.

He'd find a new restaurant she'd have wanted to try, a local shelter advertising a cat for adoption, her friends posting pictures with her on social media...

And he'd open her contact on his phone and his fingers would type a message...

Kat 😾 John: been thinking about you x

He couldn't reach out to her though, he couldn't. Not when she's that attached to him. Not when she needs him to stay, to be hers, to make promises and uphold them.

And you love drinkin' all your wine until it hurts in your tummy

You call me, "Honey, I'm tipsy and really all I want is for you to love me"

And then at 0200 hours, in one of the nights where he was out for a drink, his phone rang. He nearly jumped out of his seat when he saw her name on the screen.

"Yeah?" He greeted once he picked up, after having stepped out of the pub and standing in the dark and cold street under the pub awning.

"John..." She murmured, sounding whiny on the other side of the line.

"Kat..." He returned the greeting. "What's wrong?"

"I miss you." She whimpered into the line with a huff.

He knew that tone. It was the tone she always had when they'd go out together and she'd get pissed.

"We can't do this, Kat."

"John..." She whined.

Needy, soft, desperate to be held, to be kissed, to be fucked.

Fuck, how he missed her.

"Where are you?" He ended up asking her.

That's all it took. A drunk call, a messy drunk kiss as he helped her into bed, cuddling all night.

That's all it fucking took.

And then they ended up tangled in each other's web, once again.

Five months.

Dates, birthdays, a vacation overseas to Portugal, and sort of, but not really, pondering about moving in together.

And then he got called for another mission.

And as he sat her down again, this time, they breached it much differently than the other times.

Because this time, he had a timeline. Somewhere between six months and a year and a half.

"I'm not waiting for you." She told him directly, before he even had time to say anything.

He swore the ring box in his pocket was burning a hole through the fabric and onto his skin.

He just clenched his jaw and nodded. "That's your choice, then."

"It is." She replied. "Easier for the both of us."

"Right."

And so he went and, as assumed, he came back nine months later.

And he tried. He tried. He tried to fucking stay away. He really did...

For two fucking days after touching down.

But his hands itched to touch her, his arms longed to wrap around her, his body felt colt and alone in his twin bed in the barracks;

His ears itched to hear her mewl and croon as he worked her sensitive bundle of nerves between his lips;

His soul itched to argue with her, to watch and hear her fight him, to witness her preen when she delivered a devastating insult, only to be hit with one back, to watch the smirk on her lips and the shine in her eyes as they challenged each other;

He missed her sitting pretty in his passenger seat, he missed her pulling him by the arm in public like a dog on a lead, he missed her being vocal when someone pissed her off, he missed surprising her at work with food and drink, he missed being sent out at night because she ran out of fags, he missed keeping a change of clothes in her closet, and a spare key in his pocket, he missed the looks men would give him when he walked around with a beautiful woman like her hanging off his arm...

He missed the dulcets of her voice even when she raised it.

He missed the scent of her shampoo, and her perfume, and her lotion.

He missed the red lipstick stains she'd leave all over his face.

He missed her.

I know I need to tell you, I care before it's too late

Before someone steps to the plate

Before you decide not to wait

Before you decide not to chase

So, like a bloody coward, he showed up at her flat door at 2000 on a Saturday, finding Kathleen's roommate, Molly Cole.

"She's not home, John."

"Is she having a shift at the hospital? That's fine, I don't mind waiting all night if I have to."

"No, she's on a date."

He felt his blood run cold.

No way in fucking hell was he letting another man have Kathleen.

He didn't care how pathetic it made him look.

So, after getting the information of where she was and with whom, John took off after her.

The text pinged Kathleen's phone while she was halfway through talking to her date.

A nice bloke named Edward, with whom she'd been on dates a couple of times by now. He wasn't completely boring though she had yet to feel the spark.

Probably because every bloke she'd go on dates with between John leaving for deployment and coming back would always get compared to John.

Big Bastard 🙄: I'm outside. Leave him and let me take you home.

She glanced at it and only answered after asking for a moment from Edward, claiming it to be her roommate.

Kat 😾: I'm not leaving.

Big Bastard 🙄: Either you leave or I'll go in there and take you back myself.

Kat 😾: I'd love to see you try.

She didn't know what she was saying. Not really. She always loved to play games with John in the past, to taunt him and goad him and tease him until his buttons were pushed too far and he acted.

But they had never had a moment like this.

One where the door of the restaurant was pulled open by John, and he marched inside, still in uniform, right up to her table, eyes locked on her, like a predator zeroed in on its prey.

And she had no intentions of running away.

He came up to her and grabbed her by the forearm, yanking her up and out of her seat, causing the cutlery to rattle against the plate.

"What is this? What do you think you're doing?" Edward spoke up as he got up as well, as if he could somehow stop this from happening.

John shot a look at Edward, a glare that could make most men freeze in the spot, as he grabbed her coat and draped it over his free arm, same with her purse.

"Your date is over." John said bluntly as he stared at Edward. "She won't be calling you again."

Then he walked off, pushing Kathleen along toward the door, carrying her things for her, as he dragged her toward the car.

Kathleen was almost ashamed to admit how much she had enjoyed that display of caveman-like possession on his part.

Hell, it turned her on.

But that didn't mean that she would just lay down and take it.

No, John, despite everything, had no right to do this. To come waltzing back into her life as he so pleased, acting as if he had a claim to her.

And she was going to make sure he knew it.

As John got into the driver's seat after having helped her into the passenger's, and began driving off, she threw a hand at him and started hitting him in the arm.

"How bloody dare you?!" Kathleen raised her voice as she hit him repeatedly, fists slamming into his arm and shoulder in such a way that he knew in the morning he'd have bruises.

Heavy handed she always was. Just like him. She'd leave him bruises and bleeding, he'd leave her bruises and crying. After sex, that is.

"Stop that, Kat, I swear to God." John grunted as he moved his arm a bit to try and catch her hands and stop her from hitting him.

"What do you think you're doing, ruining my date like that and... kidnapping me like a... Neanderthal?" She continued scolding him and hitting him, dodging his attempts at grabbing her.

"I didn't kidnap you, shut your fucking gob for once, you cunt." He told her. "You're acting as if I threw you over my shoulder while you were kicking and screaming. I just walked ya out!"

"It doesn't matter! You have no fucking right to do that, I was enjoying myself!"

"Like hell you were!" John shouted as he suddenly hit the brakes, pulling the car over to the side of the secluded road they were on, and turning swiftly to face her. "Say that again."

Kathleen went quiet as she glared at him and him and her, chests rising and falling, breaths erratic.

"Go on. Say it again. Say you were enjoying yourself." He goaded her. "Say you were truly and whole-heartedly enjoying yourself. Say it and I'll take you back there."

She continued staring at him. She was normally a great liar, an excellent one, a great poker face, quick at coming up excuses...

And sure she had been enjoying herself... just fine during that date. Maybe... maybe not as much as she would with John. But better than the others.

But she knew she couldn't lie about it this time. So she just huffed and muttered a 'Fuck you, John'. Her brown eyes jumpy and erratic, flicking between his blue ones.

"Oh, is that how it is?" He asked her with a cocked brow as he pulled the break on the car and then leaned over the centre console toward her. "A 'fuck you' is what I get?"

"Yeah, it's what you get." She replied with a sharp nod, her brows furrowing in anger and frustration.

"Well, then, fuck you too, sweet'art." He replied as got right in her face, both of them staring deep into the other's eyes like they were seconds away from throwing fists.

"Oh, I already know everything about how you want me to go fuck myself, Jonathan." The brunette told him and, for once, her voice quivered for a moment.

Vulnerability. He never thought he'd see the day.

"I've never wanted that." John said while shaking his head. "You're the one that always says you're not going to wait for me and you don't care about me going on deployment, Kat. So who's really making who go fuck themselves?"

"I do that for you, you bloody fucking idiot." Kathleen spat in a vitriol tone as she glared at him. Then, she turned her face and looked away, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh what? Do you? And how's that?" John confronted her as he leaned his head over so he could get back in her line of sight. "By acting like you don't care about me? About us?"

Kathleen's head snapped toward him again, eyes widened. "Oh, so there's an 'us' now, is there?" She asked with nothing if not disbelief in her voice.

"There always was an us." John replied as he glared at her. "Never fucking wanted anyone else. And you can't tell me you've wanted anyone else either."

"Oh piss off. You think I don't know what you soldiers do when you're overseas?" She goaded and nodded upward in an act of challenge. "I'm an Army nurse, John, not a civvy."

"I won't lie and say I didn't get involved with other women overseas." John told her point blank. "Just like you can't day you didn't get involved with other men either." He raised his brows, which caused her her grimace and nod.

"But we both know what the fuck that was. And what it meant. And where it stands compared to us."

"Oh don't give me that bloody 'us' bullshit." She grumbled and rolled her eyes. "You don't like me all that much, and I don't like you all that much."

John reached forward and gripped her around the jaw, tugging her face toward him, before looking right into her eyes.

"I might not. And you might not." He nodded as he stared into her eyes. "But it drives me fucking mental to not have you with me. I think about you every fucking day."

Her lips parted for a moment as he continued. "I want you by my side and not some other wanker that you know doesn't do it for you the way I do." He warned her, his eyebrows setting low over his blue eyes, causing them to darken.

"You're such a bastard, you know that?" Kathleen told him, eyes widened and pupils blown as she glared into his eyes too.

"I know. And you're such a cunt." John grunted in reply.

They stared at each other silently for another moment before they both lunged forward and kissed, their hands finding their way amidst each other's hairs.

John slid his seat back as far as it could go and then lowered the backrest all the way until the headrest was flush against the backseat.

He flipped him and Kathleen over, breaking the kiss for just a moment in order to slot her beneath him on the driver's seat.

He parted her legs and rolled up the hem of her little black dress, exposing her backside and cunt to him again.

"Fucking slag, not even wearing underwear..." He grunted at the sight of her cunt, deliciously wet and glistening in the orange light provided by the street lamps above.

"Fuck you, John. I had a date." She complained.

"Of course, how could I forget... You never wear knickers for those, do ya? Never did with me." He goaded.

Slipping off her high heels, he tossed them haphazardly onto the backseat as he slotted one of her feet on the ledge of the driver's side window, the other over his shoulder.

"You're still in bloody uniform, you want to talk?" She pointed out, which earned her glistening cunt a smack from his calloused fingers. "Shut your gob."

Hissing, she rolled her eyes and lifted a hand at him, flipping him off, which caused him to growl under his breath and slap her pussy again, making her squirm beneath him.

"Bloody hell... I missed that cunt of yours..." He grunted as he ran his fingers over her folds affectionately, collecting some of the wetness before he slipped them into his mouth, for a taste of her, due to lack of a better position for it.

The groan that came from him after tasting her again was obscene. "How'd I go almost a whole year without tasting you?" He complained.

Kathleen bit her lip to hide that smirk that wanted to take over her lips, trying to act like she was still unbothered by it. By him.

"D'she miss me too, da'lin'?" John asked her with a cocked brow as he got busy undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants.

"No." Kathleen lied with a shrug. "Been keeping her awfully busy." She remarked nonchalantly.

"Right..." John said as he pulled down his boxer briefs, allowing for his hardened cock to spill out, too heavy to bounce back against his stomach, and instead hanging low, the head already brushing against her glistening cunt.

"But none of those knobheads you've been getting busy with are me, now, are they?" He teased.

And, before she could come up with a scathing, hurtful comment about how the others were better, which John could anticipate her doing, he plunged his cock balls deep into her in one swift motion, causing her to let out a startled, choked sound.

As he bottomed out inside her, feeling like he was home again, he leaned over her, pressing his weight forward on her leg and folding her over herself.

"That's it..." He grunted, pulling his hips back barely an inch before thrusting them forward again, causing a squeak to escape his woman's plump lips as his cock stretched her full.

"John..." She whined, one hand leaving a handprint on the glass window beside her, the other with the arm wrapped over the centre console of the car for support.

"Yeah, call my name." He demanded and hissed through his teeth before he pulled a few more inches back and then thrusted back in, his cock stretching her sinfully and his cock head pounding into her cervix.

Kathleen squirmed and gasped, feeling every inch of his thick cock push and pull across her gummy walls, his heavy balls beginning to steadily slap against her ass as he pounded into her.

One of his hands found its way around her neck, squeezing the sides as the other gripped the top of the driver's seat for support, allowing him to continue in his filthy avenue: taking her for all she's worth.

"Fuckin' ell, Katy..." He grunted as he looked down at her, the way her mouth hung open with desperate gasps and little whines escaping her.

Digging her nails into the leather cover of the console next to her, she whined in delight, already breathing heavy even if he wasn't actually squeezing her throat.

"I can never have enough of you." John grunted, his head rubbing against the plush interior ceiling of his car with each thrust of his.

"Look at me." He demanded, her brown eyes flittering to find his blue ones, the pupils wide and dark. "Keep your eyes on me..." He huffed.

Nodding, Kathleen continued making eye contact with John, though she was so overwhelmed by pleasure that she couldn't necessarily focus.

"Fuck... I swear... It's like you love when I call you a cunt... when we argue... You always get so fucking wet..." John grunted through clenched teeth and ragged breaths, his ears honing in on the filthy sound of his cock plunging into her dripping cunt.

"You'll be the bloody death of me, Kathleen..." He grunted as he leaned forward and caught her mouth with his, sucking her lips greedily.

Their tongues slipped out of their mouths and met in the middle, the both of them nearly drooling from the intense pleasure, eyes falling closed as they panted and moaned, muffling each other and trading saliva.

"I love you..." Kathleen moaned as she looked up into his eyes, which caused John to groan, eyes rolling back, before letting his head fall forward to hide his face in her neck.

"Fuck..." John moaned in her ear. "Tell me again... tell me you love me."

"I love you, John..." Kathleen whined, causing him to hiss again.

"Again."

"I love you..."

"Oh, fuck... I love you too..."

#ikea writes 💚#cod oc #oc: kathleen “brass” price #price x kathleen #john price x oc #cod fanfic #cod fandom #cod smut #john price smut

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danibee33 · 7 hours

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The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 4: Enough

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

CW: dark themes - no graphic depictions* but non-con, sa, domestic violence, suicidal ideations *read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.5k

[<<< chapter 3]

“Hen..” Johnny turns to walk backwards, looking at you with a lopsided smile before you see his eyes cast up and to the right- lids narrowing for a split second, but the expression passes as he continues, “It’s swelterin’ out today, what’s with the fashion choice, eh?”

It had been a terribly, unseasonably, hot day- the sun was bright and oppressive as you walked through the hedges. You can feel the individual pearls of sweat beading off your skin under the high collar, your teeth clenching at the way they trickled down between your shoulder blades and collected in your cleavage-

And may all the gods damn this forsaken corset..

You don’t say that, though you sorely wish you could. No, instead, you fan yourself; fighting vainly to keep your breaths measured and at a normal pace.

But that’s incredibly hard to do when your lungs can only expand as far as the rigid boning that lines your torso would allow.

Your handmaid, Elia, had fallen ill late last night, and her temporary replacement seems to have a grudge against breathing, apparently..

“It is supposed to be autumn-”, you mutter back, gratefully taking his arm when he returns to your side, “not bloody summer.”

“My, my.. Do they teach ya how to speak like that at Queen school, Your Grace?”

He belts out that wonderful, smooth laugh at his own awful joke- nudging into you when you give more of a strained huff than the actual chuckle you’d been going for.

This would be his last day here. The week had gone by so quick, far too quick; the days had felt like the usual whirlwind and calamity that is your life, though you admit that as soon as the King left the castle walls, you were quick to reschedule nearly every event that you could manage. Not wanting to miss any more time with Johnny than you absolutely had to-

Then there’s Simon.. Wasn’t it also a week ago since the night in the hedges? Oh- right here, actually! How painfully convenient-

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at the thought, recognizing the specific spot you had been with him- fight the urge to wonder desperately if he feels the same turmoil over what occurred.

Nothing had changed between you, well, nothing outwardly, anyway. Internally? You were confused, and ashamed, so fearful, and yet, every time you let your mind recount how sinfully good it felt- to have him so close, to have his lips caress your skin, and that deep, brassy voice reverberate through your ears- you feel that awful, terrible ache for him grow even more.

“Earth to Sunny…”

You look up too fast, or maybe it wasn’t even that fast; but the moment your head tilts toward his voice, and the sun bears down on your face, you see a flurry of black stars dance across your vision, thickening until there’s nothing at all. No more light, no heat, no heaviness, no restriction around your lungs- just pure, blissful nothing.

”Mm.. My Queen..”

Warm lips press a long kiss behind your ear, his voice silky and muffled as he speaks- calloused hands roam your body, they leave the most delectable chills in their wake. Your skin impossibly hot and cold at the same time-

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon. Remember?”

He moves to hover over you, his mouth never leaving your skin as it traces every curve, and slope, and freckle with the softest kisses you’re sure you’ve ever felt. The sensation of them is more like a feather being dragged over your flesh, slow, every delightful stroke made with purpose, intention.

And when he chuckles, you can't help but to suck in a sharp gasp at how his breath tickles the skin of your tummy, how it seems to fan out, warming something much, much deeper inside you-

“Love.. You’ll always be my queen. Or, do you not remember the first time I kneeled before you? The oath I took- my fealty sworn to you, and you alone, for as long as I live.”

The image of Simon kneeling at your feet makes you squirm under him; recalling vividly how large and menacing he was even in such a vulnerable position, how he had looked up at you under his brow- molten amber irises practically dancing in the light, so full of guile and adoration, even then.

A shrill noise parts your lips when he hoists your thighs over his shoulders, your heart racing, blood rushing to your cheeks and neck as you dare to look down at him-

And you know the minute you meet his eyes, see the intensity behind them, even with the rest of his face obscured as he nuzzles further against your cunt, that it would be your undoing.

How would anyone, or anything, ever compare?

Certainly not your King- no, not yours anymore. Wait.. is that right?

The thought disappears just as quickly as it had come, the pain of it replaced by the reverent worship of Simon’s tongue-

You’re slammed back into reality by a rush of cool water streaming over your face- it feels heavenly, since you now also feel that ungodly heat wrapping around you again, your senses slowly coming back into focus-

The earthy, sweet smell of the garden filling your nose, the feel of the water evaporating from your skin, the dry taste that coats your tongue, and urgent voices resounding in your ear.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus..”

“My Queen?”

You’re gently shaken, large hands holding your face- but it’s your name spoken in that voice you’ve dreamed about, so deep and laced with concern, with worry, that settles heavily in your heart, bringing you even further into the moment. And you so badly want to reach for it, for him-

But when you try to raise your hand, it feels like lifting iron chains, your energy thoroughly depleted; you move to sit up anyway, needing to fix this- whatever this was.

“W-what.. What is it?”

Gods, it even feels impossible to speak- but, finally, it seems your eyes have decided to work again, even if the view before you is blurred and hazy at first. You blink away the remaining starbursts, seeing two imposing silhouettes perched over you-

“Grianach..”

It’s when your gaze meets Johnny’s, your brain able to register the horror, the anguish- that you scramble to clutch at your throat.

Oh no.. no, no, no-

In their efforts to relieve you of your many insulating layers, it seems they cut the laces of your corset, and ripped the collar of your gown apart at the seams-

The high collar that you insisted on to cover the angry purplish bruises that currently wrap around your neck, the outline of a hand turning green and yellow with age. There were other bruises in much the same state on your arm and your thigh, and you thank the gods that those could not be so easily seen- because the murderous gleam in Simon and Johnny’s eyes is scary enough.

What would they do if they saw the rest…

You order them to help you up, dismissing their reservations as you simultaneously plead for them to call no one else-

“This is.. embarrassing enough. I do not wish for anyone else to see me, there are too many rumors and baseless speculation as it is-”

Simon is close again, right there supporting your weight, his body tense and ready for anything- but his eyes..

A shiver wracks through you as the image of those same eyes settling between your thighs flits through your mind; a motion they both mistake for the start of another fainting spell, judging by the way they grip you a little tighter- Johnny’s hand at your waist in an instant,

“Let me fetch the physician-”

“No.”

“Sunny..”

Looking between them, between cobalt blue and rich copper, between the man you’ve known your entire life, and the one that has somehow upended everything you thought you knew, your knees feel weak again.

“Please- Just.. Take me to my chambers.”

Simon moves immediately, leaving Johnny no choice but to follow as the towering man leads you through the hedge- but he doesn’t go towards the usual entrance you should be taking. You follow his long strides to a shadowed alcove, one you never would look twice at; but, to your surprise, when he pushes against an odd section of wall, it opens.

Johnny casts you a sidelong glance, and you wish you had an answer for him- hells, you wish you had an answer at all. It shouldn’t be surprising there are secret and hidden passageways within the castle, you suppose you’re just surprised you were never made aware of them. Especially since the corridor he chooses takes you directly to your rooms-

Your mouth opens the moment he closes the three of you in, a demand already on your tongue to know exactly how Simon knew about this, but all coherent thought turns to mush when he turns on you, pulling the black glove from his hand,

“Did he do this to you?”

The feel of his bare fingers on your skin sends your entire body reeling, unable, or maybe just unwilling, to pull away from his touch, even when you see Johnny’s eyebrows furrow in equal parts confusion and anger.

“Yes.”

“The King?” Johnny nearly choke on his own words, running a hand through his mess of hair as he watches Simon back away.

“It’s not-” You start, but you don’t have a justification, or an excuse, just the horrific memory of how angry your King had been, how he stormed into your room after the feast- his breath so laden with the smell of wine that it made your stomach queasy.

He took you that night before he left, by force. Pinned you down, and hissed the most obscene and vile things in your ear, his hands marking you for everyone to see; but you think it was mostly for his own depraved pleasure-

”Tell me about this Lord of yours- hm?” “Dancing with him like some common whore- you’re a fucking embarrassment to my crown-” “Well, since you want to act like one, I’ll show you exactly how I treat my harlots.”

As much as you tried to reassure him, he wouldn’t listen, didn’t want to hear what you had to say; and it was too easy for him to silence you with a strong grip around your neck-

You feel the hot tears threaten to spill at the memory, but you won’t, you refuse to let them fall- you refuse to shed one more single fucking tear for that monster, and certainly not right now.

So, you swallow the agonizing lump in your throat, pinning the men in front of you with a determined glare, “This shall not leave this room, am I clear?”

Johnny steps forward, “What?”

You raise your hand to stop him, holding your ground, “It isn’t a suggestion. It is a command-”, your feet move on autopilot, crossing the distance to the spacious washroom.

“But, Sunny.. You can’t let him get away with this! What else is there, huh? How else has he hurt-” Simon moves to cut him off, a strong arm reaching out to hold the Scot back, “Get your hands off me.”

They stand toe to toe, Simon’s eyes practically burning a hole through Johnny, the shorter man giving it back just as severely,

“Enough..” You sigh, moving quickly to push yourself between them, an open palm placed over their chests- Johnny’s, solid and warm, the muscle underneath heaving with every breath, and Simons.. The obsidian steel, cold and unforgiving, but it’s impossible to miss how his breathing is just as labored.

He’s just as livid-

“Please..”

At the same time, they relax under your touch, the sound of your plea softening both of their hearts for a moment- long enough to hear out, at least.

“Come back with me.” Johnny says, his voice so strong and steady that you swear you could feel the conviction behind the simple statement-

You shake your head, stepping from between them, “You know I can’t. That’s my home, our home, which you stand to inherit. The King would-“

Yes.. What would the great and benevolent ruler do? Would he make up a reason to attack your beloved homeland, to round up your family and have them executed? Would he make you watch Johnny’s head roll before casting your own off with it? He had already shown you a taste of how far his jealousy could go, how truly malicious and cruel he was willing to be when you angered him- and that only seemed to be happening more as of late.

“I will not go. I will not endanger your-” He tries to speak again, and you can see the flush of anger color his cheeks, his bright eyes so dark now, so full of turmoil, rage, “I WILL NOT.. endanger your life, or the lives of any of my people, Johnny..”

“Then I’ll take ya somehwere they won’t find us! Somewhere, where we’re nobodies, not a lord, or a queen- somewhere our names won’t matter. We’ll pick new ones, and it’ll be just us, just like it used to be, Grianach-”

A series of knocks at the doors throws the room into an eerie silence, agitation still hanging thick and heavy in the air around you as you look to Simon with a small nod; watching him cross the space and walk out of sight; your ears straining to hear who has come to seek you out, eyes staying glued to the wall, waiting to see him round it once again-

Johnny’s voice is sudden and low in your ear, so close it almost startles you as he speaks in your native tongue, or well, the bastardized slang you had always spoken to each other as children, ”Do you trust him?”

You turn to look up at him, eyebrows furrowed and your tone just as low, ”Yes, I do.”

There’s a moment when he seems to question your answer, question how little hesitation there was behind it- his eyes dancing over your face before darting up and back down to you just as quick,

”Bring him, then. Would that make you say ‘yes’?”

A familiar sequence of taps causes you to look back towards the entryway, where Simon stands as casual as ever, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he looks between you and Johnny,

“Lord MacTavish’s horse has been prepared, along with his things, as previously requested-”

“Well, tell ‘em to take him back to stable, ‘m not leavin’.” Johnny spits back with a venom you’re not you’ve ever heard from the man.

But Simon, characteristically, is entirely unfazed by the outlash, looking back through his helmet, his expression almost comically bored.

“I answer to the Queen.” He hums out, eyes now on you in a way that feels far too personal, too intimate, as he moves forward with slow steps, “Not you.”

No.. No. I can’t do this- not here, not again. I don’t even know what this is, but it’s too much.

“All right, both of you- out.” You seethe, your hands clenching and unclenching as you all but shove Johnny back to the secret entrance- because the last thing you needed was for one the King’s many eyes in the castle to see him departing from your chambers.

He doesn’t try to stop you, but he does beg once again, softly, quietly- a plea for which you don’t have an answer to, not right now anyway. What he wants is impossible and improbable, it would never work. Right? Right.

There is no way out of this for you- there never really was.

“Later, Johnny. When we’ve calmed down and had time to think. I need to dress, now, go. I swear, I will find you.”

You watch him go, watch him spare one last glance before disappearing into the damp shadows of the tunnel, leaving you alone yet again with your Ghost. And that same, awful ache that never seems to leave you, makes itself apparent at the thought- your reeling mind certainly not helping to quell it by any means.

“You, too.” You say, squaring your shoulders and steeling yourself to face him, “I just need-”

When you do finally look up, your stride falters- seeing him already looking at you, his hand reaching for yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do- but, at the last second, he stops himself. His long fingers curling into a fist as they fall back in place at his side, and you don’t know why his restraint only serves to enthrall you more.

“I understand, My Queen..”

You want to scream and cry as you watch him slip his glove back on, covering the pale, scarred skin again-

“Si- Ser.. I’m sorry-”

“No.” He cuts you off gently, his voice warm and kind as he turns into you fully, “You have nothin’ to apologize for.. Not a single thing.”

Gods, why does he have to make it so difficult to be in his presence? Just standing here with him, his frame dwarfing your own, tall and broad, so immovable, so powerful; and yet, he somehow manages to make you feel like you’re the one looking down at him, like a deity gazing down on their devout disciple; like just allowing him the grace of your time and attention is what he lives for-

That is absurd.. And blasphemous. What is wrong with me.. It’s just a silly infatuation that I’ve aggrandized, that I’ve made more important than it is, obviously. I don’t know any better, anyway. This could be a ruse, and I wouldn’t know it, only ever having been with one boorish man; they could all be like that, Simon included-

“I’ll be at my post, Your Grace.” His voice is closer to normal now, not low and rich, spoken like it’s only meant for your ears-

All you can manage is a lame nod, turning away as he leaves because you know you couldn’t bear to see him go. Instead, you busy yourself finding another dress to cover your neck before calling in the handmaids for help.

Yes, busy, that usually tends to ward off the wayward and errant musings, the fantasies of what can never be- you’ll hone your focus on the mundane, on the way this new dress is softer than the last, the dark green velvet hugging you tenderly. Focus on the pinch of the corset, your eyes glancing at the wardrobe where you know the mutilated one now resides.

You simply won’t think about him. Or Johnny, and his preposterous proposal-

Oh, your sweet Johnny.. still ever the bleeding heart he is. You’ll send him back home with grand gifts, and hope he finds the letter you wrote for his eyes only, hope he can move on, and forget what he regrettably had to witness.

It will be ok. You’ll make sure he’s taken care of, that he won’t be cast into an unsavory light, or blamed.

Not when you’re so painfully aware that he’s the only wonderfully bright light you had been blessed with in so long, and gods forbid it’s your fault that his light is snuffed out-

The mirror catches your eye, reflecting someone so different back to you now. Different from a few short months ago, different from just a week ago, an hour ago, even. And while you don’t know if you particularly care for the woman you see, you know she is necessary for what’s to come.

It will be ok.

Simon stands guard at her door, unwavering and vigilant- but his mind races.

How could this have happened to his Queen, on his watch no less, how could he have allowed that monster to enter her chambers?

To hurt her.. defile her- his Queen. He swore his life to protect her, but he never imagined the one she needed saving from would be his own sovereign.

No matter. Because at the end of the day, the King is just a man; mortal, made of flesh and blood, a beating heart that can so easily be pierced by a sharp blade. A soft, squishy neck just made for cleaving-

And he doesn’t know this cousin of hers, doesn’t know what kind of lord he is, but she seems to trust him implicitly- they seem close in ways he can quite grasp. But, perhaps he’s on to something, Simon could get her away from here, away from this hellish place that drains her more and more, every waking moment.

He would take care of her, it would be so easy to make them both disappear.. they already called him ‘Ghost’, why not live up to the idea the mindless drones of court already have of him?

Hm.. Ghost-

The name rolls around on his tongue, Simon Riley has been called many things in his life, but none of them ever sounded so fitting.

[chapter 5>>>]

#knight!ghost #queen!reader #simon x reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #lord mactavish #cod fandom #call of duty #cod mw2 #also on ao3 #ao3 #simon riley x reader #dark aesthetic #medieval au #cod medieval au #cod fanfic #thank you for sharing your time #you have my heart

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hecateslore · 2 days

Text

When you talk about the lack of diversity in certain fandoms or when people fetishize non-white characters and losers reply with

“[Blank] is not real hope this helps!”

you’re so fucking annoying and I hope you know your family is ashamed of you.

And I hate you.

#lunden’s open mic ૮ ˆﻌˆ ა #cod fandom #to be specific #that passive aggressive tone and blatant ingnorance makes my blood boil #like no der you stupid bitch but YOUUUUare the weirdo

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

Text

Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after.

On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before.

Hell, you wished you were drunk.

“Sergeant.”

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop.

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles.

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function.

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars.

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out.

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…”

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe.

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony.

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day.

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood.

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did.

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away.

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present.

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out.

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?”

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before.

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished.

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen.

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest.

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team.

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well.

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died.

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.”

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.”

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry.

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost.

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver.

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks.

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day.

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets.

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred.

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone.

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest.

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later.

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend.

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade.

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart.

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on.

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight.

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment.

You on the other hand.

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.”

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.”

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness.

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils.

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself.

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.”

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells.

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain.

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life.

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed.

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment.

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!”

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one.

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat.

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely.

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple.

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.”

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?”

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds.

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth.

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp.

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart.

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.”

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs.

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.”

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.”

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.”

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house.

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise.

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form.

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine.

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.”

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter.

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?”

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.”

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured.

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb.

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body.

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention.

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.”

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body.

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back.

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you.

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to.

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.”

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.”

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles.

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him.

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward.

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward.

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head.

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.”

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread.

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide.

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue.

“I think that was a challenge.”

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can.

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

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namikaaah · 2 months

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NIKTO

I was so tired while I was painting this. I hope it was worth it...😪

#Nikto #Nikto cod #nikto call of duty #digital art #digital illustration #digital painting #artwork #drawing #call of duty #cod art #cod fanart #cod fandom #Nikto fanart #Nikto art #Nikto cod art #call of duty warzone #call of duty fanart

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ledgersmountain · 9 months

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more of our pretty princess samuel roukin 🧺🌿

(he looks so proud of his drawing btw)

credits to lily_redfeels on twitter 🧺🌿

#samuel roukin #call of duty #cod fandom #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost cod #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader

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anonymousqualities · 24 days

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Ghoap Au: Where Soap lives but retires and helps his family on their cattle farm.

He sends pics of their cows to the groupchat and ghost is invested in the well-being of a particular highland calf

Soap answering a facetime call from Ghost: Hey Si-

Ghost: Where is she?

Soap:

Ghost: Where's the baby.

Soap:

Soap: I'm doing well love. Thanks for asking-

Ghost: where's Rosie?? bring her here!

Soap grumbling as he flips the camera to show said calf trotting over at the sound of Ghost's voice:

Soap fondly listening as Ghost coos and talks with Rosie: ......You know I got shot in the head once-

Ghost: shut up

#ghoap #ghost retires and helps soap run the farm #ghost/soap #ghost x soap #cod fandom #cod soap #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #john mactavish

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arthurlovesarthurmorgan · 1 month

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My little (he’s everything BUT little) princess <333

#barry sloane #captain john price #john price #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod fandom #cod captain john price #cod captain price #cod john price #cod mw3 #john price/reader #john price x reader #captain johnathan price #captain price/reader #captain price #i need him so bad #please please please #ONE CHANCE PLEASEEEEEE

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ghosting-you-bravo · 2 days

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Random head canon of Ghost saying to Captain Price he’d rather eat ass than mres. 😂

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konigsblog · 2 months

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crazy, how the majority of my haters are either hypocrites, or are just straight up LYING. lmfao, i've written rape before and i apply appropriate warnings, but i've never ever written PEDOPHILIA. 😬

their username on tumblr is @asgardswinter, they have continuously mentioned me on their blog. it's literally creepy and clearly obsessive, lmfao, and lying about me writing pedophilia is real fucking weird considering they don't apply any further context or include any evidence to back up this claim...

i'd appreciate it if you reported their twitter account or blog for like harassment 😮‍💨

#their username is asgardswinter. i think #cod #lmfao i've been sent death threats. being threatened with doxxing. and insulted countless times...#begging for them to comprehend what “don't like don't read” mean #these are the same people saying the care about SA victims whilst insulting them for having a different coping mechanism #they probably have the idea of a “perfect survivor” when there's no such thing as a perfect survivor...#🤷‍♀️🤦‍♀️#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #cod x reader #discourse #cod fandom

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 3 days

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First Date. - Price x OC

|| [ Part Two ->] ||

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 2.8K~ cw: flirting, insults, banter, smut mentioned, sexual innuendos/intentions

"NURSE 20040132, RECEPTION ASAP."

Kathleen looked down at her pager and cocked a brow. Usually, she didn't get called to reception unless stuff was going down.

Sighing, she took off her latex gloves and walked over to the sink, washing her hands up to her forearms, before she left the A&E area through one of the double doors.

Scanning her badge on the sensor by the staff-only doors, she stepped out to the reception, clad in her royal blue scrubs.

She had been expecting a reception packed full, or maybe a very distraught family member reaming out the receptionist... But instead, the reception was not very full, and her eyes locked on one very tall and burly Captain Price.

He looked different this time. Still tall and imposing, with big hairy arms on display...

But sporting a thicker, fuller beard... and now wearing a full uniform. A quarter-zip fleece with camo print on the arms, and plain tan on the body, cargo pants and boots... and a kevlar vest.

It had been two weeks since she'd gone over to Stirling Lines to ream out the man and, true to his word, he didn't put in more requests for Wallcroft's release... But now, being here, it rang alarm bells in Kathleen's mind.

Was she about to get reamed out in front of hospital staff the way she did to him, in front of his inferiors? Or was he about to warn he was pursuing Non-Judicial Punishment for her?

Approaching him, she clipped her I.D. back on the left breast pocket of her scrubs and approached the reception desk, leaning on the surrounding wall of the desk, where one of the admin nurses was stationed. "Parker, you rang?" She beckoned.

"I did." Price spoke up before Nurse Parker could get a word in. Kathleen turned her face to look up at John with a cocked brow before she sighed and nodded.

"What can I help you with, Captain?" She asked him, placing her hands in the front pockets of her blue scrubs top.

Price looked at her with a slight tilt of his neck and head, as if he wanted to appear smaller for her, or, maybe, to hear her and see her beter.

His blue eyes took in the shape of the beautiful woman in front of him, the way her uniform didn't conceal the curvy nature of her body, or the size of her breasts, even with an extra layer in the shape of a black underscrubs top beneath the blue scrubs.

"Wanted to see you." He replied as his gaze slid back up to meet her brown ones.

"See me, huh?" She asked and tilted her head to the side, noting the way his hands slid up to grip the straps of his vest right below each shoulder.

The man nodded in agreement, eyebrows raising up to his hairline, which was concealed by a toque, as if he was inviting her to argue about it.

"Well..." Kathleen trailed off as she looked at him. "You saw me." Kathleen said. "Now if you don't mind, I've got better things to do than stand here looking pretty." She began to turn away to duck back behind the security doors.

"Moore, please, wait a minute." Price said, calling her by her surname, which she had no clue he knew. It caused her to stop and look over at him again, over her shoulder.

Sighing loudly, she turned fully to face him and rolled her eyes. "What, Captain?" She asked, conceding in giving him another moment of her time.

John took a step closer, and another, until he was standing over her again. "Let me take you out."

Kathleen cocked a brow. Not the first time a soldier or officer had tried asking her on a date. Hell, not the first they'd turned up after they had been cleared or discharged from treatment just to see her...

But it was the first time that a man invited her out after she had cussed him out.

Shaking her head, she turned away again, and walked over to the double doors she had just emerged from, scanning her I.D. on the reader and pushing the door open. Then, she looked over her shoulder.

John was still standing there, hands on the straps of his vest, looking at her with a deep gaze, like he was trying to see through the layers of her scrubs. Sighing and tapping her foot on the floor twice, she finally waved him over with her hand.

He quickly rushed toward her just as she pushed the door back fully. "Walk with me." She demanded as she began moving down the hall. The man obeyed, staying by her side.

"Don't touch anything, don't look anywhere, don't talk to anyone." She warned him as they passed another doorway, which she pushed open by pressing the crash bar down with her wide hip.

Price followed after her, slipping past the door by turning to the side. "Are you going to let me take you out?" He insisted.

"I'm busy." Was the only reply she could give him, eyes glued forward as they weaved through the hallways.

"I mean on your day off, love."

"I'm a nurse. We don't have those."

"Well, when's your next break?"

"I'm on my feet for 12 hours a day. I don't eat a full meal or drink water for those same 12 hours. I'm genuinely considering starting to wear an adult nappy so I can cut the amount of times I have to go to the loo which are already not a lot because I have a strong bladder and don't drink nearly enough to need to go often, hell, I already wear nicotine patches because I can't get myself smoke breaks."

A normal man would've flinched or winced or shown disgust at what she was saying. At the very least, because it was TMI, and at the most because she's clearly trying to gross him out and scare him away.

And yet John remained impavid, looking at her with the same expression as always, a slightly amused smirk tugging at his lips, eyes locked on her face, on her mouth, as she spoke.

"Didn't answer my question, love."

"I don't have breaks, Captain."

"John." He corrected her.

"Hm?" She cocked a brow as she finally turned to actually look at him.

"John Price." He replied, introducing himself to her.

Sighing and rolling her eyes, she introduced herself in turn. "Kathleen Moore."

"When are you free, Kathleen?" He insisted as he looked at her, right in her eyes, head dipped at an angle.

"Not anytime soon."

"Well... whenever 'not anytime soon' comes..." John began as he reached into his pocket and produced a piece of paper in which he'd scribbled his number prior to the conversation. "Give me a ring." He reached the folded up paper toward her.

Kathleen took his number carefully and stuffed it into her breast pocket. "I'll think about it."

"I'll make sure to wipe all the thoughts from that busy head of yours when you do, love."

"Yeah, right." Kathleen scoffed as they finally entered the A&E department and she quickly washed her hands once more and popped on a pair of latex gloves, before disappearing behind a curtain to check on a patient, leaving John standing there, by the doors leading back out.

As it turns out, 'not anytime soon' was actually almost a week later, on Saturday. She shot him a text a bit last minute and, as such, they agreed on coffee, not far from base.

Kathleen arrived and went inside the quaint coffeeshop, immediately catching a glimpse of John in the corner of the room, having claimed a booth to himself. He caught sight of her too, blue eyes flittering over her body, almost shamelessly so.

Kathleen got in line and ordered herself a tea and a raspberry tartlet, paying for them before she headed over to John's table. He was already sitting with his own cuppa and a lemon drizzle cake slice in front of him.

"Took your sweet time, love." John told her as she took her seat beside him, placing her purse on the other side of her body, leaving her left side open for John to come closer.

"Yeah... I didn't want to come." Kathleen replied as she shook her head and gave him a dismissive, mocking glance.

John sighed and shook his head. a smile tugging at the corner of his lips... which only grew when he noticed she was smirking too.

"You think you're funny, huh?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so, I am funny, Captain." She teased him.

John's blue eyes squinted at her in mild amusement, before he leaned a bit closer to her, setting a hand on her hand over the table. "Worth the wait, though, I've gotta say." He remarked, looking her up and down.

His date smiled a bit in the face of the compliment and shook her head. "Thank you..." She said sincerely.

Kathleen looked radiant, her long brown hair tied in a half-up half-down style, wearing pretty make-up and jewelry, and a stunning black and gold cami top, with skin-tight blue jeans and black high-heeled boots.

"You could've put in a bit more effort, though." She quipped as she looked at him. "Looking like you've just rolled out of bed and threw on the first thing you saw in your closet." She said, a mean smirk on her lips, as she watched his eyes narrow.

She had a point however. She had definitely tried harder than him... In his blue jeans, grey quarter-button shirt and black jacket, paired with blue sneakers.

"Oh is that how it is?" John taunted her while cocking a brow, sliding even closer to her, wrapping an arm around the small of her back and onto the side of her hip, pulling her tight against him.

A normal woman would already be pulling away. John was too bold, too handsy... But as Kathleen stared right into his eyes, she couldn't find it in herself to mind.

"Mhm... that's how it is." She murmured as she leaned into him as well, swiveling at the hip in order to face him, setting her hands on his chest.

"We'll see who'll look like they just rolled out of bed when I'm done with you." He murmured in her ear, only pulling away as soon as the waiter came over with Kathleen's order.

It reminded them, forcibly so, that they were in a public place, and caused them both to put some distance between them.

"Portuguese, huh?" John asked as he sipped on his second cuppa, holding it around the brim and trying not to burn himself on the hot liquid.

"Mhm..." Kathleen stirred the spoon in her own second cup almost mindlessly.

How they had gone from flirting shamelessly and nearly jumping each other's bones to having a normal, cordial getting-to-know-each-other conversation was beyond them.

They had been at it for nearly two hours now... and they had talked about it all:

What they studied and where (RMA Sandhurst vs. King's College);

How they came to be in their respective careers (wanted to do something good with his life vs. got recommended to enlist due to her bedside manners being 'tough');

What they do in their free time (reading and working out day-to-day, and fishing, woodworking and home/car restoration when he's home vs. reading, yoga and baking);

And now, of course, they were venturing into getting to know more of each other's pasts.

"Where in England did you grow up?" He asked her.

"Around Colchester." She said with a shrug before setting down her spoon and sipping her tea as well. "You?"

"Right around here. Hereford." He replied as he set down his cup and rested his right hand over hers again, fiddling with her feminine hand with his calloused hands, admiring the red nail polish she had put on.

"Big family?" She asked him with a cocked brow.

"Already asking me about my family, da'lin'? A bit eager, aren't ya?" John teased her while cocking his brow, then, slid closer again, lifting her hand up to his mouth and peppering a stupid kiss on the back of it.

"Oh, I'm sorry, 's it making it seem like I want to take yer last name or something, you big bastard?" She taunted in return, which earned her a laugh from him.

"You're a terrible woman, you know that?" He replied, causing her to roll her eyes. "God help the man who marries you one day."

Kathleen scoffed at him and rolled her eyes again. "And this is coming from the man that nearly groveled on his knees to ask me out?"

"I didn't grovel, you hellcat."

"Right, you just accosted me at work and begged me to go out with you, innit, John?"

John scoffed too but dropped another kiss on the back of her hand, and then over her fingers, and onto her palm, blue eyes glued to her brown ones.

There was something in his eyes, something in his kisses. Every nasty word they traded, paired with those stupid kisses of his, and his beard rubbing against her soft skin... She could see herself getting lost in it. In him.

"Didn't answer my question." She told him swiftly, changing the subject as she slipped her hand off his grasp and pushed his head back playfully by the forehead, before grabbing her cuppa and sipping it a bit more.

John didn't feel deterred, he simply slid over, wrapping an arm around the small of her back again and looking into her eyes from up close, even as she drank from her steamy tea cup, his lips almost pressed to it from the other side.

She regarded him through the steam, and over the rim of her cuppa, as if forcefully drawing out her sip of tea, to force him to wait, to have to answer her, the eye contact between them electric and full of heat.

"Just a younger sister." John finally gave in and replied, and so, she finally pulled back the cuppa and set it over the table again.

"Two sisters, two brothers." Kathleen replied in exchanged, which caused John's eyebrows to shoot up.

"Big fuckin' family, that there." John remarked, and she nodded in reply. "You're the big sister?"

"Second oldest." She replied, causing John to nod this time.

"No wonder you're so feisty, sweet'art."

"And no wonder you're such a cunt, John."

"Oh, are big brothers cunts for ya, are they?"

"They are. It's like they make it their life mission to be cunts to their little sisters."

"And you'd know it all about being a cunt, wouldn't ya?" John teased with a cocked brow.

Kathleen didn't deny it, she didn't even seem offended, she merely shrugged and smirked.

John's eyes caught the way the corner of her plump lips curled up in satisfaction and smugness, the cupid's bow well-defined even with just a light layer of peach coloured lipstick.

He leaned his head forward again, taking advantage of the cup no longer being in the way and, slowly, rubbed his lips against the corner of her mouth, his beard rubbing against her jaw and cheek.

His large nose brushed the side of her shorter, upturned one and, softly, he whispered against the skin of her cheek. "Should let me get you out of here..."

"And why would I do that, Jonathan?" Kathleen asked in return, playing coy.

As if her breathing hadn't already hitched in anticipation at the idea of what John was proposing, as if she hadn't been boldly staring a him and the way his clothes clung to his muscular body, the way his cologne wrapped around her like a cloud, as if his strong arm around her didn't make her want to mount him.

"If you keep saying my name like that..." John murmured under his breath as he pressed his lips to the corner of her mouth. Kathleen's hand slid down his stomach and over his belt buckle, before settling over the growing bulge in his blue jeans.

"Fuckin' 'ell... You'll be the fuckin' death of me, Kat." He added with a hiss, eyes fluttering a bit from the mere fact her hand was rubbing over his bulge under the table. "Let me take you out of here, sweet'art." He pleaded in a whisper.

"I don't know..." Kathleen continued teasing him in a coy tone. "I'm not really the type that goes to bed with a bloke on the first date... Not that this even counts as a first date." She added in a scathing tone, causing John to hiss again.

"Right... except I'm not a bloke... I'm a man." John murmured. "And this isn't a first date, according to you..." He listed off. "And... I don't plan on taking you to bed. I plan on watching you ride my cock in the back of my car..." He added, his blue eyes finding hers at the same time as she sucked her bottom lip behind her teeth.

Kathleen wished she could argue with him... But it's not every day that a man not only tolerates her attitude but hands it back equally. And, hell, she couldn't deny that John was attractive... Maybe a bit too attractive...

"So what do you say?" John added with a smirk.

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