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blingblong55 · 9 months

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Eternal Sleep- John Price

F!Reader, loss of a child, stillbirth (I'm not sure if this is the correct term), angst, some fluff

This super short one is dedicated to all those mothers whose babies are in eternal sleep.

Inspired by: Sign Of The Times- Harry Styles

R/N and John, are a happy couple in their early to late 30s. They met when John was a lieutenant. Met each other's parents and decided to not get married simply because they weren’t ready to elevate their relationship to a legal one. Or that's what John says. In reality, he's afraid of giving in and failing, but he really does love her. They've been together for over 7 years, Some may say it's been the best 7 years of these two love birds' lives, but we’ll leave that up to you.

And nearly about 8 months ago they found out they were pregnant. John got a promotion as a captain and R/N got a promotion at her office. She's now a manager of a small but important team. They’ve saved up for their baby’s life, it's not much, but it's something! Jolene is now on maternity leave and John in about 3 weeks will be on leave too.

He decided to not get any vacations since the announcement of her pregnancy just so he could save the days for their baby’s arrival, he even works extra hours too. R/N is now at their baby’s nursery, she's placing everything they might need for when the baby arrives. She holds her stomach and looks at the reflection in the window, She feels the baby kick her belly,

“Just a little longer my sweet angel” she smiles. John arrives, he leaves his bags at the door and walks upstairs. “How is my pretty girl doing?” He walks behind her and hugs her. She never understood how a girl like her could be with a man like him, but she was lucky nonetheless. “Pretty good for a chilly October” She looks down and watches as the kids go by, running in costumes and candy in their bags.

“Soon our little angel will be running down the streets with a bag of candy,” he says, he walks back to the hallway and turns the heat on, “I don’t want the both of you to get sick darling.” he loudly says as he walks back down the stairs. “Promise we won't!” She answers back and walks downstairs too.

“How was work? Any new drama I can hear about?” she asks, sitting down on the sofa and smiling. He laughs knowing she lives for all the gossip he’s about to give her. “C’mere, my sweet sweet r/n”

And for the remainder of the evening, he watched her as she gasped, laughed and even added comments to all the gossip he had for her. Once he finished his rant he leaned in and kissed her, Do her lips taste like heaven, pure heaven and I’m the one who gets this glory he thought.

“Marry me, R/N, marry me darling, please” he almost whispered his words. His face got warm. And when he thought she’d say no her smile creeped in and she looked him in the eyes, “The answer is yes, but are you sure? I know you have that issue and-”

“Can I kiss you? and give you this ring?” he furrowed his eyebrows, afraid of her response. “John? You don’t have to ask me silly” She placed her hand on his chest.

“Consent above all my darling”

She nodded her head.

He was never the one people would think he'd settle down and start a family, but the dates and many days he spent with R/N he slowly and hopelessly fell in love with her. He never thought of another woman. In fact, when another woman would tell him they bought new perfume he’d ask which one they wore because maybe his lady would like the smell of it, anything that he would see or hear about he would immediately think of her and wonder if she'd like it. If she talked about a new makeup, jewelry or any sort of product he would write it down and take her to the stores that weekend. But she always felt bad and would only get one thing, just one.

-3 weeks later-

R/N slept on her side and John slept on a chair beside her, patiently waiting for her to get any sort of signal their baby was ready to be delivered. At around 2 a.m. she woke up and he jumped to her side, “You think it's time doll?”She nodded and he ran to the nursery and grabbed the bags they had prepared a few days before tonight, he rushed to the car and back to her, she was already sitting on the bedside.

The entire way to the hospital he kept checking on her, he held her hand and would often kiss it.

Once they got there a nurse rushed outside and took her inside in a wheelchair. He waited out in the hallway and paced back and forth. He had promised her he wanted her to feel free when delivering their baby. But curiosity kicked in, and he made his way inside her room. There she was, smiling through the pain. She reached her hand for him to take, and he walked to her side and held her hand in his, “You got this, you’re so strong” he kept whispering in her ear. The nurse gave him a towel so he would dry the sweat off his forehead. When he thought everything was going right he heard alarms going off and more doctors rushing in. They pushed him aside and took her elsewhere.

A nurse told him it was so they could focus on R/N and the baby. He stayed in the room alone. Walking through the room, he called his parents, and they called hers. He cried and even prayed. He hadn’t done that since he was nearly 6 years old. A kid praying for his brother's return now praying for his girl and baby’s life. He remembered all those moments of him and her dancing in the kitchen while they baked some food for Easter and running down streets drunk and messing around.

“I think I love you!” he said as she took her hand and kept running from their friends and she kissed him, and at that moment he knew there was no other girl for him. No one could replace her, she filled up his heart, and memories. To him, she had become his gold memories, the ones he went back to when he felt sad.

A doctor walked in, his face told what his voice couldn’t say.

“Doctor?” he walked up to him, “She is fine, you can come in now.” John still had doubts, why didn’t he mention the baby? “And our baby?”

“Looks healthy”

Once he walked inside of her new room for at least the next day or three, he saw them. He felt all that weight gone from him. A tear threatened to fall down, but he played strong. “Hi handsome” she whispered, her voice sounded weak, like she was sick. But he understood that she went through too much pain to even mention this. “Hey, beautiful” his voice cracked. His hands felt sweaty, but when his eyes laid on his baby all that fear and nervousness left his mind.

“Is this angel really ours?” a nurse walked back in, ready to poke another needle on the baby’s foot. R/N nodded. “You want to hold it?” He looked at her and nodded, his smile widened. “Please,” he answered. Thankfully her bed was pretty wide and he sat right next to her. She handed her their baby. He was afraid of hurting it, “W-wow, darling….you created this, thank you. Truly thank you. Now I have these two angels with me.” he kissed the baby’s forehead and smiled. “Thank you R/N for making me a father. I respect how strong you are, seriously babe.”

But tragedy struck. The baby stopped breathing. The nurse rushed to their side and called for backup. She took the baby off his arms and rushed elsewhere. John walked into the hallway. A security guard kept him out there. About ten minutes later a doctor came up to him. A few nurses followed behind. “I’m sorry” he paused and looked down, “we did our best, Your baby fought for every breath left in their little chest, but it wasn’t enough.”

John took a few steps back and shook his head, the tears now became a river stream. “Please tell me this isn’t true, Our baby can’t be dead, please.” he cried and at moments his voice would give up on him. “Can I see her?” was all he was left to say. “Please, I need to see my r/n” his voice felt weak, almost like a breaking point.

“My baby, where is it? I held it but they took it away, do you have it, John?” His eyes water and his skin shivers, how is he supposed to tell her this news? “Darling, our baby” he inhales and looks at her, Her eyes are filled with joy, but when she takes another look at him it all vanishes. “They did everything they could, they even gave us this.” he hands her a teddy bear, the weight of their baby. R/N held tight and cried. She shook her head and cried for so long that he walked out and into the hallway once more, he cried out there. Holding himself. Holding the pieces of a memory, the memory of a forever sleeping baby.

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thisfanisgonesorry · 3 months

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in sickness (and in flames) — john price

first you get hurt, and then there’s healing; its a process, believe me

tags: kyle “gaz” garrick mentioned, angst, hurt/comfort, injury resulting in chronic pain, ptsd, flashbacks and pov switches. -> fem!wife reader but also not really an x reader fic if that makes sense? just give her a chance;; 4.7k wc

a/n: this is self indulgent "fuck off and die" fic /lh (nerve dmg sucks) but might add more to it yet, who knows

💊

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching his fists periodically. The memory ingrained in his head as he ignored the figure looming over him.

Bullets whizzed past them as he barked orders, directing his soldiers through cover, to eventual evac. To safety. There were so many of them that there wasn’t time to stop and shoot, the only option was to run, sprint, hide, use cover to your advantage, don’t let them get to you. His orders filled the air and cackled over the radio as he demanded backup or some form of overwatch.

He stood in the doorway to a building, his ears ringing from the sudden outburst of violence, dust covering every position, impossible to see how many shooters were from any angle, he waved his arm, gesturing to them to rush from cover-to-cover. He kept a count of his soldiers, mumbling names and numbers under his breath. His fingers looped into the edge of their vests or backpacks like you would on the scruff of a dogs neck, heaving them into the room and pushing them past the doorway threshold as he counted.

Bravo 6-2 walked through the door and John sighed in relief, giving him a pat on the back, and he continued to lead them through the building, not giving himself a moment of repose. ‘Everyone made it to safety’ echoed in his thoughts, the only thing that mattered.

“Anyone hit?” His voice hoarse as he scanned the group. He was met with reassurance from them, everything and everyone was fine, maybe a few minor injuries, but they were okay. That’s the only thing that mattered.

He raised his hands, two fingers pointing upwards as he glanced, squinting through the dust before waving, rushing through. His mind was fogged, which he now kicked himself for. He wanted to rush this, get out as quickly as he could manage. But if he just took his time —

A loud thud as he fell to the ground, blood seeping through his uniform but his body numb and tingly. He patted himself down as he tried to figure out where he was shot but nothing, the blood was thick to cover its origin, and his eyes wide, his eyebrows knitted in focus, trying to clear his thoughts despite the heavy rain of gunfire surrounding him.

His men covered him quickly, trying to pull him to his feet, but a rough, barked. “Go!” filled the air, a demand of desertion that was swiftly ignored.

“Sir, we’re not leaving without you.” 6-2 spoke firm, picking up the fallen soldier quickly and heaving his arm over his shoulder. There was an unspoken glare between them, a silent argument. Though the soldier averted his gaze, taking his role as second in command immediately in stride.

John was silent, observing, uncontesting the willingness of his soldiers to save him. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe they’d truly leave him behind, but the quick thinking would earn some medals.

The hospital was worse than the battlefield. Half of his body was numb, though he sat there clenching and unclenching his fists, wriggling whatever part of his body could move. His voice was ragged from exhaustion, and rough from the lack of hydration. Despite knowing better, he just couldn’t bring himself to drink anything, or to eat. He simply laid there, fighting for control over his body.

The bullet was removed from his spine and laid next to him, covered in his dried blood that crusted the pristine silver, it laid idly in the metal tin, but John couldn’t help but glare at it like it offended him.

His body laid straight and flat on the hospice mattress to ease the spinal column. His eyes stayed glued to the roof, though his eyes failed him, and despite his instinct, he fought to look away from the offensive side-table.

He’d been hospitalised for weeks while the army did their last duty to support him. Nurses coming in and out to make sure he left in the best of conditions, though he couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

A letter of discharge sat on the table next to him, sided with a bottle of water and using the metal tin with the bullet as a paperweight. The victoria cross was placed formally on top of the discharge paper, gifted to him while he slept.

As weeks went on, small tidbits were left on his side table as farewells, as souvenirs, as gifts. It wasn’t long before the news of Captain John Price’s discharge made its way around the base.

His spine recovered quickly, no major damage — not paralysed permanently. Once he was able to sit up without insufferable pain, he analysed the few items that were left for him. He rattled the tin, staring down at the bullet and cursing it for changing the trajectory of his life. The paper insulted him slightly, and he dreaded the day where he’d have to sign it, he was putting it off as long as he could, doing his best to ignore it’s presence, but his time was nearing. He couldn’t stay in this infirmary forever.

The Victoria Cross, in all its glory. He picked it up carefully, treating it like it was fragile. It wasn’t his to discard. He analysed the soft red ribbon, running his calloused finger over it. Awarded for astounding bravery. He flipped it over, to find the date of such an event labelled on the centre of the cross, and one ‘Kyle Garrick’ engraved into the suspender bar.

“You’re lucky to even be able to walk.” Were words that made his eyes glaze over, and they were always met with a brisk, formal nod. How was he supposed to respond to that information? He was bombarded with information like that, how he was lucky to be able to walk, how he was so lucky that it didn’t do more damage than it did. How much luck would he have needed to not get hit at all?

So he laid there, staring up at the ceiling at the memory. Fists clenched and unclenched. “Honey?” Was called out from the dark, and he turned his head, sitting up briefly to see his darling wife. “Made you some tea.”

The glass was sat next to him and he stared up at me like he’d seen a saint. “I love you.” He spoke, like if he didn’t say it, then there would be no way for her to remember on her own. A chaste kiss, and a reassuring palm on the back of her waist was the physical touch that soothed his mind, though he continued to linger on the thoughts.

He was tired, beyond so, a permanent scowl hidden behind his outgrown beard, he’d neglected most forms of self care at this point in his life. He’d shaved it once — the day before he came home. He stood in front of the mirror for an hour just staring at his reflection, dreading what would come next, like it would be something bad until he forced himself into maintenance.

He walked up to the doorstep, his bag slung over his shoulder and the discharge paper firmly on his hand. He presented it like a child who just got an ‘F’ on their test, handing it to their disapproving mother that expected better. The look of shame that covered his face. The pleading in his eyes.

I carefully took the paper from his hands, confused by his expression before seeing the glaring sentences. ‘Certificate of discharge from active duty’ plastered across the top, as well as his name and neighbouring information. A mumbled ‘what?’ escaped my lips as I continued to skim, knowing few of the words, but wanting that extra confirmation.

‘Medical discharge’ stuck out awfully. There was information about the discharge scattered throughout the letter, something or other mentioning medical retirement and the permanent disability retirement list. “John, what’s this?” I asked, met with silence, the soldier continuing to stand tall. “What happened?” His heart sank, his reserve falling. God, did he feel selfish.

He walked into the large, oh-so-empty house, and he half-expected to get dragged by the ear. “Got shot.” He grumbled under his breath. “Don’t even know how it happened — it was all so fast.” His breath quickened, his heart racing at the shooting memory of the pain that slithered down his body before the numbness took hold.

I wrapped my arms around him, and he fell silent. The words stopped pouring and he slumped down, letting his large, strong arms wrap around the smaller torso, and he accepted the act of affection warmly despite the way his gut churned in disappointment in himself.

All that hard work, and for what? What did it even pay off for?

Weeks passed, and he struggled to cope with the knowledge that he’d never go back to work. The pension came in smoothly, he was given what was needed to live comfortably, they did their part to make sure he was well-cared for. Government wise or other. He was supplied for, and that left a tight feeling in his chest that he didn’t like.

He wasn’t disabled — not by a long shot. Not in his eyes. Though that fiery pain that starts in the heel of his foot and quickly strikes up his leg like lightning spoke otherwise, like an echo behind his voice that said the opposite of his words.

Once again, he laid in bed, the sheets kicked off his aching, touch-hot legs, though they stayed wrapped around his doting lover. Why wasn’t he able to support his wife the same way he did before? It twisted him up and spat him out.

“Love you.” Was mumbled into the flesh of his neck, and he gave a sharp exhale, sighing at the words and closing his eyes, basking in the moment. He held his breath when he thought about these things — holding his breath in hopes it eased the tightness in his chest. He let out a soft laugh. She noticed, of course she did.

His arms squeezed them closer together, the same way he used to. Not much had changed besides his body. The sudden ache in his muscles, the discomfort. The all-too-well known demotivation that came with upheavals of change. The only other thing that changed, a good change, was his lack of motif bred a healthy amount of weight gain.

‘Soft around the edges’ were the words of choice. They reverberated around his skull for a few days, and he sulked and sulked, unsure how he felt about it. Initially taking it as an insult before that consciousness in the back of his head reminded him that he was loved.

“Love you too.” He brooded.

“Stop thinking so much.” I hummed, letting it hang in the air the same way he hung his head in shame. He let out a gruff hum of approval, letting me know my words were heard, but he wasn’t happy to hear them.

He woke, stirring slightly and noticing the distinct emptiness in his arms that he’d grown familiar with, though it continued to be strange. His arms reached out, patting a side of the bed, before he picked himself up, opening his eyes to be met with the distinct *clink* of his cup of tea placed gently on the bedside table.

“Hate it when you do that.” Was his confession. He loathed the feeling of waking up alone, and it was salt in the wound to know that she did it for him. He always felt like it was his job to be the caretaker, the provider, so for it to suddenly be ripped away like that? It killed him. Anyone with half a mind would be incredulously grateful that their partner loves them enough to care for them back the same way, versus whatever Jennifer Tilly has going on the side. But for whatever reason, never John Price.

He wasn’t met with a response, just an affectionate smile as the day continued, not pausing for a moment, it never did anymore. He missed the closeness, the affections. More than anything, he missed the intimacy.

He was kicking himself for letting it affect the marriage, because of course it did — of course it would. He couldn’t believe himself. He managed to find someone so loving, so caring, so supportive, so radiant. So unbelievably perfect. His own bitter, brooding pushing away the one good thing he had left.

The only thing he felt that continued to function in his body correctly was his heart.

He gave a deep sigh, his hands tightly holding onto the side of the sink as he sat in the big house alone, oh; it felt so empty sometimes. His knuckles noticeably paler from how tight he held onto the sink, analysing his face.

He picked the sleep from his eyes and ran his hands over his beard, running his nails through the messy hair. The electric razor buzzed to life in his hands, he held it to his cheek and let it remove all the excess unkemptness.

A low growl rumbled through him, his hands struggling to respond to the actions his brain told him as he tried to trim his beard, the guard pressing into the fur and trimming it as it fell into the sink. The door behind him clicked, his arm tensed and the safe-guard failed, pressing deeper and a ball of fluff falling into the basin, a small bald patch forming on his cheek.

I apologised needlessly, assuming I was the distraction that caused the incident. “I’m sorry.” — I greeted him warmly, a reassuring touch, and he scowled, though there was no frustration; only disappointment. — He sucked his teeth, moving his jaw for easier access as he clean-shaved his face, leaving his cheeks bare and naked for the first time in years.

“Not your fault.” He responded gruffly, turning the razor off and swapping it between hands, shaking his dominant one briefly before going back to his actions. His cheeks were stubbled as he tried to keep it smooth, though he was heavily limited.

The razor was placed down on the side of the bench, and he rubbed the smooth skin, feeling the dull bristles over his fingers. It took him a moment, the person in the reflection looked nothing like him, it almost prompted a double take. He hadn’t looked this baby-faced in so long but it was welcome. Maybe even the change he needed. “I’m proud of you.” He froze, nodding with a thick swallow and slight gasp of air, almost like the words itself hurt more than a gunshot.

“Thank you.”

“It looks nice.” I whispered, my palm on his strong, muscled back. “You look nice.”

He leant into the touch, his shoulders relaxing and his body untensing at the reassurance. I rested my chin on his shoulder, and ran my hands up and down his arms, taking in his beauty. He was tired, and the conversation felt like a stab in the chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He grumbled, shuffling from foot to foot, rolling his shoulders as a slight innuendo that he didn’t want me touching him, and the conversation ended there. His words were terse — and I pulled away slowly at his actions.

He turned to me hesitantly, breaking eye contact with his own reflection, a million untamed thoughts running through his head. “I love you.” He reassured, a soft kiss on my forehead, feeling the stubble scratch me slightly, his nose pressing into my hairline, a firm hand on my shoulder as a vague form of affection like he did to his soldiers, the ones that he misses so dearly.

The sound of dishes clinking into the sink filled the kitchen. “I’m sorry.” He spoke with his chest, all puffed like a scared animal trying to survive against a predator. The tall, strong ex-soldier was now acting like nothing more than prey. “For everything. For.. All of it.” He struggled on his words with a sigh.

“What? You didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t.” He commented, his voice low like it was a warning. “Don’t try and act like it’s nothing and don’t—” His words caught in his throat. “Don’t think you have to take care of me.”

The silence was overwhelming, consuming the room and filling the air like a noxious gas. What was I meant to say to that? I shook my head, wordless, unblinking, unmoving, unbreathing. My mouth fell open to speak, though I pressed it into a thin line, keeping myself quiet. What do I say? He noticed the awkwardness, and sighed once again.

“Didn’t mean it like that.” He admitted, the roughness to his voice like gravel, like a man who hadn’t slept in days, lying awake, memories haunting him and the rigid words he planned to say to his doting lover filling his senses, but now he was here saying them it was fleeting. “You know what I meant, just..”

“John.”

“I know that this can’t be easy for you—”

“Like it’s easy for you?” I quickly retorted and he fell silent, his eyes staring through me as his mind lingered on the next argument for him to make. Though it seemed every argument he made quickly fell to an impasse.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.” “I’m your wife, I’m doing what I’ve always done.”

“I should be the one supporting you.” “You’re still getting paid, aren’t you?”

“What kind of man gets like this?” “A man that gets shot in the spine, and should count his blessings that he can still walk.” “I should’ve done a better job.” “You could’ve done better by telling me you were hospitalised.”

The room fell silent after the last dry, airy comment. He felt like he’d been shot all over again. “Look.. I’m sorry for that.” He said earnestly. A pause, a beat. “I don’t think that this is what you signed up for.”

“What about ‘in sickness and in health’?” Another silence, another pause, another beat. The air felt humid, sticky with tension, like a bead of sweat could roll down the side of his forehead, down his temple and slick onto the now bare-faced man.

“Don’t twist my words.”

“I know what I signed up for.” And the argument ended there. His stomach twisted up, why was he doing this? He was once again chewing himself up. Why was he pushing everything away? Why couldn’t he just get over it.

His thoughts scurried as he sat alone, dwindling on the minor argument, a common sight now. Why did he do that? How can such a tiny piece of lead do so much damage? How can it rewire his entire life? How can it rewire his brain? He dreaded the thoughts that always came next — is he selfish for wishing it took it instead? It was never a thought that he meant. Never truly, earnestly something he meant.

He was lonely. It was obvious. He’d lost his job, all his friends and all of his connections. He loathed it, and he wanted anything to take up his time. He itched to distract himself, to move his mind away from the guilt. He was fighting and he hated it — so he walked.

Walking made his feet burn, his big and heavy combat boots never felt like such a burden. Weighing down his body as he trudged along. He continued to walk anyway, working his legs back into metaphorical shape. It was a struggle, a fight, and how he managed to do this every day of his life before was a distant memory.

The ex-soldier continued to brute force his way through the pain. He convinced himself that the pain was like a runners-high where if he pushed past it, there’d be a sudden burst of renewal, though it never came.

He pushed through the front door, heavy footsteps banging on the floor, a wince in each step. He had a tired frown, searching the house idly. He placed a bag of food on the bench, a sigh escaping his lips as he wrapped his arms around his beloved. “Darling..” His voice was gravelly from the sudden uptake of smoking and yelling. “Got us some food.” He tried to speak sweetly as a surrender, a statement that there was not an argument to be had.

“You’re done being a baby?” I mumbled and he let out a silent grunt of disapproval, though he took it in stride. A weak stride as his chin rested on my shoulder, his beard scratching my neck as he nuzzled slightly.

“Guess so.” He sighed, earning a nod. “‘S your favourite.” His eyes drooped, peaking at what kept my hands occupied. He tried to keep his attitude light, but all attempts of talking fell flat on its face. “C’mon, talk to me.”

I slinked out of his hold, turning to face him and he locked me into place, both hands holding the bench on either side of me, his tall figure looming over me dearly, the ghost of an embrace. “This is f’you.” I commented, handing him the cup of tea. Honey, herbs, tealeaves, sugar, milk. Spice, everything nice. He smiled, half-lidded eyes. “How was your walk?” He shrugged, he took the cup, and he was less domineering as he no longer trapped me between the counter and his large build.

“Good — and good.” He nodded, sipping the tea and gesturing to it with a short lift. He adored the new tea flavours, the variation between them. He was just a bland black breakfast type of guy, enforced by the lack of choice between being a military man and living alone with no desire to explore, but he can’t say he didn’t enjoy the list of flavours being thrown at him, too many to count or remember, but he knew most of them taste amazing, but he couldn’t distinguish if the love it was made with had something to do with it.

“And you? How are you?”

He licked his lips, excess tea wet on his moustache. “Suppose ‘m good.” His eyes were untelling, keeping all the secrets he’d ever seen in his life balled up in his pocket like a handkerchief, stained with the blood, sweat and tears of the memories, the ultimate grime that got stuck under his fingernails and buried into the crevices of his brain. He noticed the way he was being analysed, scanned by those knowing eyes. “Things should’ve been different.” He eventually grumbled, caving slightly at the all-too-intimidating stare of a lover wanting the truth.

“But they’re not.” Were the harsh words that responded to him, he knew better; it didn’t mean to come across like that but with all the lingering tension filling the air like dust mites, what was he to do but take it personally? “And there’s nothing you can do about it but move forward. You should know that.” I continued, trying to make my tone more gentle but failing.

“I do know that.” He said defensively, and there was a moment of silence as the tension peaked. Another argument loomed, and he coaxed himself into relaxing. “I’m just trying to get through it.” He explained. “I think if I just—”

“You’re pushing yourself.”

“That’s what I’ve always done.” He responded dumbly. “You gotta push through the—”

“Stop.” Cracked through the air like a whip, and he tensed, putting the tea down with a clink. “Pushing yourself is how this doesn’t get any better. You need to just relax, and get used to everything.”

“You know that’s not what I’m like.” He said back like a warning, though he caught his words between his fingers before they could be twisted. “And I know I’m not in the army anymore.”

“So why don’t you act like it instead of making everything worse?”

He cleared his throat, averting his gaze at the words that made his heart sink into his gut, like he could digest it at any second. “I don’t want to fight. I never want to fight you..” He said calmly and slowly despite his tense demeanour. His tone was low and cautious like he was talking to a cornered animal. He took a step back, hands raised in defence, physically moving away for space, trying to relieve the feeling of being trapped. “I want to eat dinner with you, ‘n’ watch a movie on the couch. Like we used to, yeah?”

Part of him felt that lingering doubt. Were these arguments just misguided, misplaced care like a child forgetting their toy? Or were they a symptom of a vacant husband that for once, is finally home, and is that too much?

He watched the awkward shuffles as the figure pushed past him, inspecting the bag like he was a liar, as if he didn’t actually get his wifes favourite food. The tension was unbelievably palpable, and he watched every move carefully. A short huff, and they met glances, and he had a knowing feeling in his chest.

“Can we just pretend everythin’s fine? This.. This is jus’ a rough patch, baby.” He spoke reassuringly, trying to calm the thick air but his words were calloused and rough like he didn’t fully believe them, like how the next reaction went would define the difference between truth and wishful thinking. “Look at me.” He said firmly, interrupting his degrading thoughts. “We’ll be okay. We’re okay.”

“Are you saying that for me or for yourself?” I commented, handing him his takeout dish, and an airy silence took us before he gave a light shrug, a soft smile. He took it briskly, almost curtly, and he reached to grab mine, holding both in his large hands then deftly moving around the kitchen, swinging around to avoid any flying bullets that could fire randomly from the argument.

“Does it matter?” He answered, happily carrying both of our meals over his head, knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach him and stop him until they were placed on the coffee table with a clink of the cutlery. His large hands looked comical, his small cup of tea in one hand and his other hand carrying everything else together.

I bit back all the sardonic grumbles, slumping down with a thud onto the couch, it creaked under his large figure and we shared an expecting glance, unspoken words were beyond audible.

“I want you to understand that I need to do what I’ve always done.” He brooded. He’d spent every other day of his life pushing himself to the limits, following orders, doing what he’s told, risking his life, everything that’s expected from a soldier. “It’s who I am.”

A silence, a distant sound of clicking of the remote skimming through the TV, trying to find some form of movie that’d fill the tremendously awkward silence. Click-click-click. What to watch, what to watch? What to relive the youth of the strained relationship? To pretend that everything is honestly, truly fine, just for a miniscule moment.

“I know this — change — is hard on you.”

There was a moment of eye contact, a look of pleading recognition, a want of his life back despite what was taken from him. A want flashed behind my eyes of simply wanting him to be grateful for what he still has, not for what he lost. There would always be that miscommunication and he knew that it would always be a critical language barrier.

“I love you.” He reminded me like there’d be no tomorrow. Like all these temporary problems would all pile up and result into one permanent landslide of a solution, something drastic, something he dared not even mention or think or say aloud, nor spell in his mind with fear of accidentally jinxing his life.

A sigh escaped my lips, and I understood, of course I did, but was this argument even worth it anymore if it created nothing but incessant guilt and paranoia? The TV flashed to life, the movie was selected as he tried to move onwards, away from the taut past. The intro sequence played out slowly, the music quiet and low in the apartment air like white noise.

“John.. It’ll get better, you know?”

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raffe156 · 6 months

Note

Sorry in advance, but Zombie Tank…

Oh god Anon…

Tbh this is perfect for Halloween

This is sad 💀

You were different, you felt it in your bones, in your flesh, every atom of your being was different…it felt wrong. You stumbled trying to standup, unsteady on your feet, what was the matter with you?

You looked to Price for help, he would know what to do, he always did. Where was he? You turned your head looking for him, but the sound of your blood rushing inside your head was so loud, it made you squint your eyes. You wanted it to stop, you called for your Captain. No answer. The blood thrashed louder. You pressed your hands to your ears tightly, your nails digging into your head. A loud thudding noise rumbled the wall behind you. You cried out again for your Captain. Fat tears threatening to fall as a lump in your throat began to form, cutting your cries for help short. A prickly heat began to creep up your spine and before you could even register, it had spread through your body, every vein felt like fire was running through them. The thudding noise shook the wall again. What was happening to you? Where was Price? Why did you suddenly feel anger? Where had this urge of malice come from? Price?….Where?….what?….Help…

You felt something shift in front of you. The familiar smell of cigarettes and wet earth. Ghost. He looked and felt different, but he was still Ghost, he was still Simon. You reached up to touch his mask, even with your hand jittering and jerking he didn’t move or flinch, he just let you place your hand to the side of his mask, almost leaning into it.

“You good?”

“Yeh LT”

“That’s my girl” the words never made a sound, but you heard him say them inside your head clear as day.

You suddenly realised that even though the feeling of pure rage hadn’t left your system, you no longer felt any pain and at least now you weren’t alone.

Price watched from behind the thick glass as you thrashed and cried out in pain for him. You needed him and there was nothing he could do to you help you. One minute you were right behind him then the next thing he knew doors were sealed and you were surrounded by purple gas. He pounded on the glass, he needed you to know he was there. He needed you to turn around if you could just see his face, he would make everything right.

Your cries became curdled as they morphed into screeching, He banged the glass again, calling your name more desperately now. He just needed you to turn around…

Just as your screams died down Price watched in horror as a large figure made its way over to you slowly. His brain couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing…Ghost, but he wasn’t the man he knew, not anymore.

His eyes were a milky white, his jaw swung low hanging on by a thread, blood spattered his gear. He’d been missing for days…he was the reason you were here in the first place….Price watched as you placed your hand on Ghost’s mask. His body language was non threatening, though there wouldn’t be anything he could do even if it was, but if Ghost had wanted to hurt you he would have done it already.

A Groan came from Ghost, as he looked over you. Price felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as you let out a screech. Another gurgled groan from Ghost.

Price turned his back to the glass…he didn’t need to see your face, he knew you had gone somewhere he couldn’t follow…

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cherryjuixce · 1 year

Text

Trust me. (Captain John Price x reader)

Warnings: swearing, slight mentions of reader being s/a in the past, if that triggers you please skip this one!, reader is a smoker.

A/N: This was requested by a lovely anon! Just for a disclaimer, this is completely platonic. It took me a long time to finish this because I haven't had the perfect time to actually write out all at once, and I don't know if It's even good or not but I hope I lived up to the expectations of my anon<3

Words: 2.4k

Your back was aching in absolute pain. The only thing on your mind is to go to bed, even though you knew you wouldn't get a lot of sleep as always.

Price was currently driving next to you. The silence between you two and the neat road making your eyes drop every few seconds because of how tired you were. The radio in the car was off, thinking about if you should turn it on or not crossed your mind many times, at the end deciding it was better off, even though the awkward silence was killing you.

You were on a mission with Gaz and him when it sidetracked a bit, making you and Price be seperated from Gaz due to Laswell's request of him helping her to find the drug cartels.

You never admitted it, but this was the first time you were alone with Price. He was always kind of intimidating to you, the reason why you guys actually never spent more alone time together. He was much older that's for sure so you felt like he didn't have much respect for you because you were a lot younger than him and constantly got yourself in trouble.

You reminded yourself of the times when he stared at you differently. Soap and you were getting back from training, talking about of how you both could improve and roasting each other a bit. Price was getting coffee in the kitchen when you walked in, passing by him.

"Ay Cap. Good morning"

"Good morning Captain."

"Good morning Soap" Price said while taking a sip of his coffee. "And morning y/n" He said changing his expression completely, almost mumbling while passing by you two.

You weren't confused, because it wasn't the first time he acted like that towards you. But you were pretty sure in that moment he didn't like you that much.

And yet here you were. In a car alone with him, trying to find the nearest hotel you can both sleep over in so you could continue the mission in the morning.

"You cold?" Price's sudden voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"Ah, no I'm okay." You said with a nervous smile, turning your head back to the window trying to avoid his gaze.

Silence filled the air once again until you spoke up, trying to get rid of the akwardness between the two of you.

"Did uh, Gaz call?"

"Yes. He's still settled up with Laswell somewhere safe. We didn't exchange locations for security measures, but if something happens i'll let you know." Price said as he kept looking at the road in front of him, a bright sign slowly appearing close to us that said 'MOTEL'.

"Okay, good" You answered as Price turned slightly left nearing the Motel and parking in front of it.

---

You carried your bag as Price went in front of you, going up to the register. He talked to a woman working there asking for rooms as you looked around. The Motel wasn't anything fancy, but you would rather settle in a motorists hotel than somewhere on the street or some crappy old safe house.

It was pretty quiet inside of the Motel. But as you glanced at behind the register you could see just a few more keys on the key stand. Not paying much attention to it you walked around the lobby slowly, playing with the ends of your hair.

"Y/N, let's go." Price called out for you as he held up the keys in the air signalling to the elevator.

You both got inside, Price clicking number '3' as the low hum of the elevator going up could be the only sound you hear.

When you got to the door, Price unlocked it. Moving to the side he mumbled a quiet "after you" as you walked inside of the room, turning the lights on you stopped in your tracks.

You were definietly confused for a second, because at the right side of the wall you could only see one queen sized bed. Looking around, there was only a door to the left were you assumed was the bathroom, in front of the bed was a dresser and on top of it a small TV, as well as the door leading to the terrace.

"Uh, Captain did you order a queen sized bedroom on purpose or?" You said as you turned around to meet his gaze. Price was entering the room right as you turned around holding his bags.

"What are you talking about?-" Price said as he finally got next to you, realising that what you said was true. The beds weren't seperated, it was just one big bed perfectly fitted for a married couple or...worse.

"Um, I'll go downstairs and check with the receptionist." You said as you turned around leaving the room.

You knew it wasn't intentional, but the thought of sleeping in the same bed with Price made your palms sweat and your head hurt. Not because of him, you trusted Price more than you trusted yourself. It's because you were nervous. Nervous about the fact that you could share a bed with a man, and the last time you did that you trusted one too easily.

The elevator doors opened as you stepped inside the lobby again.

"Oh, hello again is everything alright?" The woman behind the reception called out.

"Actually not really. My uh- friend asked for a room with two single beds, and you gave us one with a queen sized bed."

"Oh I'm so sorry! But unfortunately we don't have any more single beds available."

"Not even one with a pull out, or a chair or anything?" Your voice was high pitched, while you awkwardly held your hands on top of the register. Hoping that she could have anything you asked for.

"I'm so sorry, we don't. If you came maybe a bit earlier we could've given you even two seperate rooms, but as you can see it's our busiest time of the year." The woman looked around, the christmas lights and a bright big colorful tree at the corner of the lobby showing that she had a point.

"Alright, uhm- could you sent extra pillows to our room by any chance?"

"Of course! And we're sorry again, I hope you have a good nights rest."

You hoped so too.

---

The door clicked shut behind you, Price was standing by the end of the bed, searching through his bag. He turned his head around at the sound of the door closing.

You sighed, throwing the pillows that you got on the floor as you sat next to him on the edge of the bed.

"They don't have any other rooms available."

Price hummed, continuing to search through his bag once again. Your back connected with the bed as you kicked your feet, huffing at a few strands of your hair.

"Soo what are we gonna do now?"

"I'm going to go take a shower." Price said as he finally took some stuff from his duffle bag and left the room. The sound of the water coming from the shower head draining your thoughts away as you got up a bit, propping yourself on the bed with your hands.

"Don't worry darling, I'm not gonna hurt you."

The line coming to your head, reminding you of what could happen again. You got up from the bed immiediately stripping down from your clothes, taking the time while Price wasn't in the room to undress and take a few pillows to make your own bed on the floor.

You rushed to the light switch to turn the lights off, the only light source now peeking through the bathroom doors. Quickly getting yourself on the ground you closed your eyes shut, pretending to sleep so Price wouldn't protest, if he even would.

The sound of the water stopped and some shuffling was heard from inside of the bathroom as the door finally opened after a few minutes.

It was quiet at first, Price stood at the bathroom entrance confused, seeing your sleeping figure on the floor. He sighed as he got closer, inhaling a bit, he wanted to say something. Tell you you shouldn't sleep on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed next to you. To tell you an old man like him should be asleep on the floor, not you. To tell you you were safe with him, and that you can trust your Captain enough to sleep next to him.

But he didn't wanna wake you up. As much as he wanted to, he knew how tired you were. Reminding himself a few hours earlier how your head would drop every few seconds in the car but yet you wouldn't let yourself sleep.

So he got in the bed, dissapointed in himself of how he didn't say earlier that he should be the one sleeping on the floor.

---

You were squirming.

That's right. It was so fucking uncomfortable to sleep on the floor. Surprisingly it wasn't your first time, there were worse places that you've slept in. But the hard wood floor was killing your back, and it suddenly got extremely cold as you didn't have any blankets with you.

You got up quietly peeking up at the bed, the only light source you had was from the moonlight and some street lights outside, seeing Price soundly asleep as he lightly snored. Standing up slowly, you sneaked towards your duffle bag pulling a sweatshirt from it and putting it over the t shirt you were currently wearing.

You knew that you wouldn't be able to sleep tonight as you glanced at your watch on your wrist, seeing that it was 3:08 am. So you took your pack of cigarettes out of your jacket pocket and headed out to the terrace. The cool air instantly hitting your face as you quietly tried to open the door from the terrace.

You sat on the plastic chair that was close to the railing. Lighting down your cigarette, you took a big puff out from it.

"What, you think I'll try something with you just because you're a woman? You're funny."

"But I didn't even mention you'd try anything.."

"I know. But that's what most women think so I just wanted to clarify."

"Um yeah, you're right. Silly me." You answered as you fidgeted with your hands, standing at the edge of the bed.

"Well? Come on. Get in the bed."

You hesitated for a second as you finally got under the covers, laying so close to the edge to try and not make any physical touch.

Not expecting for him to actually pull you in, holding you by your waist.

You cringed at the memory, not wanting to think about it any further, but the past resurfacing because this exact same thing happened to you once before.

You were even younger back then, not knowing what to do in the situation or if it was right or wrong.

"You shouldn't have worn those shorts to bed."

It wasn't your fault, right?

Sniffing, you used the sleeve from your sweater to wipe down the tears.

"You're awake."

You gasped at the sudden voice, turning around you placed your palm on your chest where your heart was and saw Price leaning at the doorway to the terrace.

"Captain, you scared the shit out of me."

"And you scared the shit out of me. Why the hell are you awake y/n." Price said as he sat on the plastic chair that was next to you.

"Sorry Captain, it was too uncomfortable to sleep on the floor.."

"So why didn't ya' wake me up?"

"What, why?" You looked at him, shaking your head a bit. The cigarette already burning out.

"Because I should be the one sleeping on the floor."

You stayed quiet, still looking at each other.

"And you've been crying, so clearly there's something more than just an uncomfortable floor." Price sighed as he looked away from you, gazing at the stars.

To be honest, you didn't know what to say. Because you couldn't say that you didn't trust your Captain and that it was just your stupid imagination that thought you could get hurt again.

"Captain, please go back to sleep."

"I'm not leaving until you go to bed." Price said as he leaned more in the chair.

"You can't do this, you can't- do this to me right now." You said, your voice stuttering a bit.

Price turned around to look at you and stayed quiet for a moment.

"I don't want you to lose your sleep because of me Captain."

"Fine, then let's both sleep in the bed." Price said finally as he stood up not looking back at you.

"Wait! No, I don't wanna- do that." You said as you stood up, your voice dying out at the end as Price turned around to look at you. His expression changing, as if he was intrigued by your statement.

"May I ask why, sergeant."

You glanced around the room, not daring to meet his gaze again as you rubbed the palms of your hands onto your sides.

"Do I have to say, why?"

Price looked at you as he let his hands fall to his sides, his gaze softening.

"Nevermind I'll just sleep on the floor-" You passed by him as Price took your arm stopping you in your tracks.

"Y/N..you know that I wouldn't let anything happen to you, and I most certainly wouldn't do it myself."

You looked at him again, his face showing that he meant every word.

Price looked around for a second, seeing the pillows on the floor he let go of your arm and placed three pillows in the middle of the bed, seperating both sides.

"Are you,- comfortable with this?" You blinked, not knowing what to say. Finally nodding your head as you stepped on the other side of the bed.

Hesitantly, you took the covers and got in the bed. Price doing the same as you felt him lay down next to you. Your breath hitched as you stared at the ceiling, glancing at your side where one pillow was you couldn't see his face. You slightly gripped the pillow and moved it to your side hugging it, Price's face now being clear.

"Is this okay?" Price asked as you nodded at his question.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Price. Please call me Price you're making me feel old."

You huffed a laughter, a small smile forming on your face.

"Thank you, Price."

Price smiled at you as he closed his eyes, you doing the same.

Not even expecting to sleep better than you have in a while.

#captain john price #price x reader #request #one bed trope #platonic #price angst #cod mw2 fanfic #modern warfare 2 #price fanfiction #price imagine

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criminalamnesia · 3 months

Note

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

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stinglesswasp · 5 months

Text

Forehead smooches 💋

It's important to smooch your Soap at least once per day <3

#please accept this humble apology for my previous angst comic #soapghost #ghostsoap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #kyle gaz garrick #john price #call of duty

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klaart · 6 months

Text

CW:// angst + implied mcd

Their dialogues were really fun,, always bouncing off each other

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marcsburnerphone · 3 months

Text

And they were roommates

(Captain John price x F!reader)

Summary: that captain wants somewhere more homely to settle down and when an offer like yours comes alight on Zillow he must take up on it.

Warnings: some awkward moments but nothing crazy.

part 1 - Part two!!! - part 3 - part 4

—————-

You indeed did not see John price the next morning but what you did see was a handwritten note stuck to the fridge beneath a magnet.

“Good morning, as I mentioned my job is demanding. I’m not sure how long I'll be gone for but I can estimate at least a month. If you need me, my phone number is below along with my check for this month's rent and the next. - John price”

You reach for the envelope that is attached behind the note and pull it open and what the fuck. You knew he had to have money but in what world would someone pay this much rent for a house with a roommate? You immediately grab your own checkbook and write him for the amount that’s overpaid, making a mental note to make sure you give it to him.

————

Weeks pass slowly and life goes on as it did before. The only difference is you're no longer struggling to make ends meet. So to celebrate your success you order that 6 foot canvas you’d been wanting for ages and a new oil paint.

When you got the notification that it had arrived, thank god for two day shipping, you squealed and ran to grab it before the mailman even walked away. He offered to help you as he watched you give it a bear hug and waddle it through your door yelling out a meek ‘no Thankyou’. You dragged it down the hallway and into the sunroom resting it up against the wall. Ripping the clear plastic film off of new canvases comes in third place to the best things in life.

Sitting in the sun that evening you stroke deep blue oil paints that try their best to replicate ocean waters, and white specks that wish they could induce the same feelings stars do.

You’ve been at this same painting for 3 weeks, coming home and straight to it. Now that it’s finally done it sits sunbathing till it dries. You still visit it and admire its larger than life beauty.

John’s been gone for 1 month and 3 weeks now and in that time some problems have arisen, 1. The faucet in the kitchen leaks and below it the pipe also leaks and the only plumber that’s willing to drive out to your house and inspect it says he won’t be available for another week which means the water bill will sky rocketing till then. And 2. you have no idea where the huge painting will go.

You walk around wondering where to place it. You thought maybe the living room, or even in your room but after testing both those places it still didn’t look right. You can only think of one other place which is the hallway to John’s room. Of course that spot is perfect, maybe he wouldn’t notice since he only spent one night here. You grabbed the drill and got to work mounting it immediately. Once all was said and done you gave it a once over, smiled, snapped a picture of it to send to your sister and walked away.

———

John arrived back exactly at the two month mark early in the AM. He opened the house door as quietly as possible and removed his boots by the door to avoid the creaking wood of the floor and continued sluggishly hauling his bag to his room. Being the man he is, he notices everything, those watchful eyes of his never miss a detail so he does indeed notice and take a second to admire the newly found painting hung in front of his bedroom door before unlocking it to set his stuff down.

After a much needed and appreciated shower he reads the clock at 7AM thinking he can sleep for a little, that is of course until he hears a knock at the door. Making his way down the hall he peeps through the window and sees a handyman?

“Good morning sir, how can I help you?” He says opening the door.

“Good morning, your wife called for a leaking pipe, told her I’d come by sometime today.” He looks down the hall towards your room and confirms the fact that you're definitely still very well asleep.

“My wife? Oh yes my wife, that lady I could’ve sworn I told her to cancel this appointment we actually got it all sorted out.” He lies like it's second nature.

“I actually charge a late cancellation fee that must be paid upfront.” He inquires slightly annoyed.

“How much?” John replies feeling sorry for this man that drove out here and is now being sent away.

“100$ flat.” John shuts the door and quickly fetches his wallet from the pocket of his cargo pants and returns with two bills one for the inconvenience and sends the man on his way.

Sleep can wait.

—————

You wake up to the sound of clanking in the kitchen and as a woman that technically lives alone in the middle of the forest you're terrified.

Grabbing the bat beside your bed still fully dressed in the least threatening attire, you tiptoe to the source of the noise and breathe out the strongest sigh of relief ever known to man.

“Jesus Christ John you scared me, what’re you doing?” You loudly admit startling him in return.

“Fixing this pipe that you called an overpriced handyman for.” You stare at him subconsciously admiring the way he looks, slightly disheveled, face screwed in concentration and strong hands twisting the wrench in his hand and let’s not mention the rise of his shirt.

“You okay?” He says removing himself from under the sink leaning back on his knees to stare up at you.

“Yeah, yes I’m so sorry, um so where did the handy man go?” He stands with a grunt and leans his back against the counter.

“On his merry way.” He replies, turning around to turn the faucet on checking if it leaks, then off to see if it still drips and as he expects, it does neither.

“How much do I owe you for the late cancellation fee?” That man has handled your plumbing issues before and you’ve definitely canceled late more than once.

“Technically you didn’t cancel on him, I did so don’t worry.” He says picking his tools up off the ground placing them messily into the tool box.

“Well Thank You.” You say awkwardly.

“Of course.” He smiles making the dimples beneath his beard awfully noticeable.

“Oh and by the way your rent is only two thousand five hundred a month.” You say walking to the kitchen drawer beside him and pulling out a check that’s already filled out and handing it to him.

“Utilities included?” He asks, grabbing the check written out for three thousand and also taking in notice that same scent that clung to those sheets you made his bed with weeks ago as you sweep by.

“Yeah I don’t mind paying more cause I mean look around, this place has my style written all over it which makes it feel more like mine than yours.” He looks baffled at your reasoning.

“I actually like the decorations, not sure I’d change a thing about it.” You laugh at what has to be a lie.

“I doubt it.” You chuckle and slightly blush at his kindness.

“No I'm serious, I especially love that painting in the hallway, where’d you get it?” You seem surprised at the mention of it and even more flattered at the compliment.

“I actually painted it.” He gives you a surprised look.

“See you’re even hand painting the art, please I can afford much more than twenty five hundred.” You act like you're considering it for a moment.

“As much as I’d appreciate it, I'm already grateful for what you pay.” You say truthfully.

“Also, welcome home.” You quip before turning around walking back towards your room to get ready for the day

—————

John’s been home for nearly two weeks now and he’s slightly growing on you and you on him. You co-exist in harmony most times. That doesn’t mean the two of you still don’t clash from time to time.

“Good morning.” He says scrambling eggs in a pan as you walk into the kitchen reaching in the cabinet for a coffee mug.

“Morning to you too.” You say groggily, setting your feet flat on the ground and placing the cup on the counter, reaching for the pot to pour some coffee.

“If I can just- oh I’m so sorry.” He says accidentally bumping into you making the coffee spill on the counter.

“Oh no don’t worry about it, I can just clean it.” You say turning around quickly to go grab paper towels and end up accidentally running into his chest.

He grabs your shoulders to hold you in place and let your brain catch up with the speed of events.

“We will learn to both be in the kitchen together someday.” You affirm with a laugh that makes you feel alive.

“Hey the first week this happened almost everyday. If anything this is a huge improvement.” He jokingly abides.

“True.” You say as he turns around handing you the kitchen towel to clean it up. He watches you with amused eyes and a smile that still hasn’t left either of your faces and for a second something alights in John something that scares him so bad he doesn’t hear a thing you’re saying.

“John, I said did you sleep well?” You speak a bit louder, snapping him out of it.

“Yeah darling sorry I’m just going to take this to my office. I've got some work to cover.” He says hurriedly plating his food and scurrying off.

“Okay well I’ll be heading to work soon.” He doesn’t even let you finish before closing the door leaving you to stand there a little stumped.

“So I’ll assume he didn’t sleep well.” You say to yourself before pouring another cup and heading to your room to get changed.

——————

Comments and reposts are appreciated <3

@beebeechaos

@ttsbaby01

@arminarlertssword

@quakeroaksguy

@waves-against-a-cliff

@depressed-but-make-it-cute

#captain price x female reader #john price #angst #barry sloane #captain john price #john price x reader #task force 141 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #cod x reader

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whoslibby · 3 months

Text

when you joined the 141 you were one of the youngest members being only nineteen while your colleagues in their mid thirties. it didn’t phase you too much it was only work but when you began making a bond with them all it was nice, they’d give you advice and wisdom.

during one of the mission debriefings it was hard as they were talking about how they could do better next mission, how some of you guys were being a tad sloppy but the usual. as you wanted to point in your own ideas it was shut down instantly by ghost, ‘y/n the adults are talking,’ he tells you in a snappy tone.

you bit your tongue as you stood back realising that was all they saw you as, the child they babysat. you left after that moment, upset of course feeling as though these connections you had made was just them being good people not friendly. maybe you were overthinking it but how could you not when your friend colleague says something like that to you.

you headed back to your quarters for the night, writing in your journal and such doing other things, wanting time to pass. wasn’t long until price was knocking on your door, ‘come on the guys are having a drink.’

‘i’m good, I wouldn’t want to interrupt you adults,’ you mutter at him still not looking up at him.

‘yanno it’s not like that, so don’t act like it,’ he tells you off landishly, the complete opposite of price.

‘well it is so ill stay here until I get my apology,’ you tell him standing your ground.

‘you wonder why we think it,’ he says before leaving shutting your door. maybe it was a tad immature but you wanted an apology. you stared at the door anazylyzing the words in your head, we just repeating. who else thought it?

part two which is less angsty 🙏

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d0youc0py · 3 months

Note

heyy - 🍄

Can you write something with 141 reacting to the reader going to sleep alone in another room? like just the reader wanting to be alone or they fought. the way you prefer

Hurt/comfort ♥️ your writing is my favorite

Hi! 🍄Thank you so much! I absolutely loved this prompt!

He thought you were being dramatic. Too sensitive. And he made sure to let you know.

“It was just a joke, sweetheart. Nothing more. I’m a light sleeper, you know that.” His voice was careful, yet firm.

Even though he had assured you he hadn’t meant anything by it, here you were, staring at the ceiling as pm turned into am. He had his arm snug around you, tucking you under his chin. Normally this position had you out like a light, but now you were just focusing on trying not to breath too hard.

Earlier that day the two of you were relaxing on the couch when you commented on his yawn.

“You’ve been yawning a lot, Si. Should put you to bed early.” You snickered.

“Your fault.” He yawned again. “Movin around every five second.” His tone was teasing. His fingers even brushed up and down your foot that was resting in his lap. Despite this, your heart dropped. Were you really that uncomfortable to share a bed with?

Laying in bed was growing increasingly uncomfortable. Your side ached from you spending too much time on it. Your nose hadn’t stopped itching and it took everything in your power not to scratch it every five seconds. Even your quieted breathing felt like it was shaking the bed. The guest room was sounding more and more inviting. You’d be able to flip over whenever you wanted. Scratch that nose of yours, all without having to worry about stirring the sleeping giant behind you.

You carefully gripped his arm and squirmed your way out from under it. He woke up halfway, holding his arm up for you.

“Sorry, Si.” You whispered, guilt already tugging at you.

“Don’t even think about it.” He assured in a groan. He watched with curious eyes as you disappeared down the hall, instead of going to the bathroom like he assumed you were. You must be getting water.

One minuted turned into three, then three turned into five. He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face, your side of the bed already growing uncomfortably cold. His socked feet sunk into the plush carpet as he made his way down the hall. The kitchen light wasn’t on, but the guest bedroom that was normally shut was wide open. Even in the darkness he could make out the lump of your body- already asleep.

The realization was instant. And it hurt.

“Sweetheart.” He knocked at the open door. He didn’t feel too bad about waking you up. He needed to. You gasped awake, your head springing up from the pillows. It seemed even your absence kept him awake. “What do I have to say for you to get out of that head of yours?” He hummed, plopping down next to you. He leaned over you, pressing a slow kiss against your forehead.

“I just feel bad knowing I’m constantly waking you up.” You murmured, rubbing at your eyes.

“Sweetheart, waking up to you isn’t something to feel bad about. It’s nice, being woken up just because someone wants to be closer to you. Now we are going to knock it off with all this ‘afraid to wake me up shit’ and go back to our bed, you hear me?”

You did hear him.

“John, enough! I’m tired of arguing with you, I’m ready to go to bed.” You growled. He followed closely behind you towards the bedroom, unbuttoning his white dress shirt.

“Yeah, let’s just go to bed and forget all of this happened.” He mumbled from behind you. You began tugging off your clothes, throwing a glare his way.

“Don’t do that.” You chided, throwing you clothes on top of his in the hamper.

“Do what?” He gruffed back.

“Mumble things under your breath.” You explained. He tsked and rolled his eyes at you. The action caused another flare to ignite in your stomach. He reached into his dresser and pulled out a nightshirt, tugging it over his head. He reached back in and grabbed one for you, holding it out to you expectantly. It was your favorite shirt of his to wear.

“I’m not wearing that.” You spat, turning away from him. You marched to your shared bed and grabbed your pillow, beginning to make your way down the hallway.

“Where are you going?” He stopped you. His large frame taking up the whole doorway.

“John”-

“Love.” His voice was calm and you hated it. He should be more upset. Upset that you were upset with him. “Don’t go”-

“Why should I liste”-

“You need to stay in bed with me. That’s where you belong.” He said it as though it was a fact. “I know you’re not too happy with me right now, but you aren’t sleepin away from me tonight, honey. Now let’s go brush our teeth.”

*this is so dramatic*

Johnny had fucked up. He admitted it too. Yet it seemed no matter how many apologies flowed from him- you were determined to put a rift between the two of you. At least that’s how he saw it.

You yawned next to him on the couch, your hand brushing some hair out of your eyes.

“Gettin sleepy?” He hummed. You smiled softly, nodding your head.

“Should probably head to bed.” You yawned, stretching as you stood.

“You remember where it is?” It was a snotty comment. Distasteful. You had been sleeping in the guest bedroom for the past week. He was able to choke down his hatred for it the first few days, but after you referred to it as “your room” all grace had been lost.

“You just can’t help yourself can you?” You growled, not bothering to wait for an answer.

“Just don’t understand why you’re so hell bent on punishing me.” He shouted after you. You stopped, turning on your heels.

“Punishing you?” You snarled. “The only one getting punished in this situation is me John. I know to you I’m being dramatic but I really don’t know how I can trust you after all those shitty things you said to me.”

His chest twisted and his hand scratched at his shirt.

“I don’t know what else to do, sweetheart.” His voice was uncharacteristically soft and it made you feel worse than you already did. “I’ve apologized in more ways than one and I’m still not getting through to you. I’m not saying I’m giving up, I just miss you. I know lashing out at you isn’t the answer.” He sighed rubbing at his face. He was exhausted- that was evident just by looking at him. You were his safe place- his favorite person in the whole world and he hurt you. “I made a mistake saying nasty shite to you, but I hope you remember everything before that. We’ve been together for years and I hoped I’ve showed you just how much I love you in that time.”

By the end of his speech tears were rolling down your cheeks.

“Dammit, Mac.” You huffed. You moved forward quickly, practically flinging yourself at him. He reciprocated immediately, wrapping his arms tight around you with no intention to let you go. He wouldn’t let go till you forgave him.

You woke up to two arms wrapping around you.

“Ky.” You grumbled sleepily.

“You took so much medicine, I didn’t think you’d wake up.” He whispered back. You were sick and the last thing you wanted to do was get Kyle sick. He rubbed his hands over your stomach, the action already lulling you back to sleep.

“I just don’t want to make you sick.” You murmured. He ‘tsked’ at you, pulling you even closer to his warm body. You wished it was easier to stay away from him. He was the perfect temperature for your chilled body and he smelled like vanilla and coffee.

“I’d wear it like a badge of honor.” He smiled against you. You rolled your eyes.

“You just always find a way to make everything romantic don’t you.”

“Well I had to get you to fall for me one way.”

“Are you going to be this cheeky when you get sick?” You hummed.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but challenge accepted.”

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nastybuckybarnes · 6 months

Text

Welcome Home

Pairing: Simon Riley X Reader

Summary: Nothing shatters the tension of a fight quite like needing your boyfriend to rush home to save you from people who would do you harm.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Fighting, Fluff, Kind of mean!Simon but not too bad, very minor violence, home invasion, I think that's it...?

Word Count: 1.5K

A/n: we're gonna dip a toe in the COD water and see what happens. I love ghost and Konig so we'll see what else I do there. For any and all COD stuff, I use Canadian Military as a basis for the readers background.

~*~

"I've had enough of this. I'm not gonna argue with you about somethin' so stupid," he hisses, glaring at you with hard, cold eyes.

"It's not stupid, Simon, you just don't want to ever entertain the idea of talking about things that might make you slightly uncomfortable!"

"Oh fuckin hell." He drags a hand down his face and shakes his head.

"Everythin's always gotta end with you being right, doesn't it?"

You frown at his absolute lack of any sort of understanding or empathy.

"This isn't about me being right, this is about you at the very least hearing me out!" You try.

"You knew what you were getting in to the moment you met me, m'not sure what you're expecting of me now. S'not like I can go and change the way things are, now can I?"

You narrow your eyes at him and his blatant ignorance.

"I understand full well, Lieutenant. I've been there, which is something you seem to conveniently forget."

He lets out a humourless chuckle and shakes his head, "don't go put yourself in the same category as me now, lovey. You know you weren't exactly at my level when you served."

His words are a slap in the face.

Sure, you were never quite JTF2 or SAS level, but that doesn't mean your time in the military is any less valid than his.

Seven years of your life you devoted to serving your country, the medical help for teams like his, and all he can do is turn his nose down at it as if it means nothing to him.

"You know what? Fuck you, Simon. I never even insinuated that we were at the same level and for you to try and..." you stop, pinching the bridge of your nose as anger fills you.

"What? Got nothin' to say now? That's a shock."

It takes all your strength not to lash out at him and even more to stop your bottom lip from quivering at just how mean he's being.

Sure, he's always been a little rough around the edges, a little harsh and brazen, but never has he been so downright mean to you.

"Get out."

"What?" This seems to genuinely catch him off guard, his arrogance faltering for a moment.

"Get out. Leave."

Simon Riley isn't a man who gets scared. He's been chewed up and spat out of hell before. Nothing on Earth can get the jump on him and nothing can scare him.

At least, that's what he thought.

His palms tingle and he needs to grind his teeth together a few times to collect himself before speaking.

"So that's it then?" He asks, his deep voice barking the question like he would an order.

You two have had your fair share of fights in the time that you've been dating, even more since you moved in together, but none where he's thought you might end things.

"I'm not gonna stand here and take a verbal beating from you, Si. Get out and come back when you've had a chance to fucking cool off."

He stares at you for a long moment, testing your resolve, waiting to see if you really mean it.

When you hold his glare, not backing down, he grabs his coat, mask, and keys and storms out of the house without another word.

You stand there in the kitchen for a long moment, the silence ringing heavily in your ears before you storm up the stairs to take a shower and, hopefully, argue out all your hostility in private.

The warm water runs over your tense shoulders for a few minutes and you try your hardest to relax, to let the anger seep out of you and run down the drain, but when you hear the front door open you're filled with rage once more.

You stand in the shower silently, waiting for the door to open and close again, signalling his departure, but instead you just hear boots on the kitchen floor.

Scoffing and shaking your head, you start to seethe.

As if he's wearing his shoes in the house on top of everything else.

You yank the shower curtain aside and step out onto the mat, not bothering to turn the shower off.

A crash from the kitchen makes you freeze.

Simon is never this loud.

Like a deer on the highway, you stay still, silencing your breathing as you listen to the noises coming from the kitchen.

Instead of calling out to him and potentially causing more trouble, you take a silent step to the counter where your phone lies.

You grab it and hit his icon quickly, listening to it ring for a while before he sends you to his voicemail. A loud beep sounds tauntingly in your ear and you huff out an angry breath.

You hang up and call him back, grinding your teeth together when he sends you straight to voicemail again.

The noises in the kitchen continue, and your heart jumps into your throat.

Answer your phone, Simon.

You shoot the text off quickly then immediately call him again, your stomach settling when the call connects.

"Are you home?" You waste no time on pleasantries, and instead hear him sigh heavily.

"You told me to get the fuck out, didn't ya? Why would I be home."

Your breath hitches and you press your back to the bathroom door, turning the lock silently as panic fills you.

"Simon, someone's here."

The fear in your voice has his blood running cold, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter as your fight gets shoved from his mind.

"What do you mean 'someone's here'?" He asks, his voice lacking the anger it had only moments ago.

"I heard the door open and I can hear someone in the kitchen."

You hear his tires screeching on the pavement and his engine roaring as he speeds home.

"Where are you right now?" This isn't Simon talking now. You recognize the change.

This is Ghost.

"I'm in our bathroom. Door locked and shower on."

"Good. Keep that water running. As long as they think you don't know they're there, you should be okay until I get home."

"Okay." You feel a little bit safer knowing he's on his way home.

"Keep me on the line."

"Okay."

There's a few seconds of just breathing before you speak again.

"How far are you?"

"Two minutes away."

"Okay... After you deal with these guys we can go back to yelling at each other," you whisper, wrapping a towel around your body and leaning against the wall across from the door.

He chuckles softly and the sound makes a small smile tug at your lips.

As much as he pisses you off and even sometimes hurts your feelings, deep down you know you'll never love anyone the way you love him.

You don't realize you've been quiet until he calls your name softly.

"You still with me, dove?" His voice is soft and you hear him turn the car off.

"I'm here."

"Good. I'm home now, don't come out of the bathroom 'till I come get you, understood?"

"Understood."

Sometimes living with Simon reminds you of being on base, and there are times when you despise it.

And then there are the times when you don't mind it as much. This is one of those times.

You hear the muffled sound of what must be him putting his phone in his pocket, and you close your eyes as you hear the soft click of the door handle through the speaker.

His footsteps are silent, even through the phone, and you feel ridiculous for ever thinking you'd hear it if he came home.

You can hear him as he takes down one intruder, and then what must be a second one.

He says nothing to them, that you can hear. But a series of dull thuds echo through the house before silence remains.

A few minutes go by of nothing, but you don't dare speak or open the door.

Ghost gave you an order, and you have no intentions of disobeying.

There are a few more moments of silence before you hear a crisp knock on the door.

"Lovey? You can open up now."

Breathing out a sigh of relief, you open the bathroom door and are immediately engulfed in Simon's strong arms.

He walks you backwards into the bathroom and squeezes you to his chest, mask hiked up over his nose so he can breathe in the scent of you.

"You all right, love?" He asks softly, his voice gruff and ever so rough.

"M'okay, Si. Thank you for coming home."

"S'my fault anyway. I shoulda locked the door before leavin' in a huff the way I did."

You frown and shake your head, pulling away to look up at him.

"This is in no way your fault, Simon. I could've easily locked the door after you. I'm just happy you got home in time."

Though you're not sure what the intruders really wanted, you're glad you didn't have to find out alone.

"I'll always come home."

And with those four words, he puts to rest not only the intruder situation, but also your argument from earlier.

Because he will. He'll always come home to you, regardless of what he needs to do, he'll make sure he comes home to you.

#simon Riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon Riley x reader fluff #simon x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod fanfic #cod mw2 x reader #soap #price #gaz #fluff #angst #simon Riley fluff

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a-b-riddle · 2 days

Text

Part 2

Can't stop thinking about reader finally cutting them loose.

For three days there was nothing but radio silence. In those three days you had told yourself that it was a grace period. Time for Simon to cool off and realize how much of a bastard he was for saying all those things he obviously didn't mean. Johnny coming back over with a bouquet of flowers and endless apologies and cuddles.

Simon didn't apologize for his harsh words.

Johnny didn't call you later, as promised.

For three days you jumped at every single notification, silently hoping it was one of them. Any of them.

But it wasn't.

And you, unfortunately, got the answer to the question you had been asking yourself for months.

Did they still want this?

The answer was clear.

You didn't let their unofficial dismissal get to you. You still had shit to do. A life to get on to. A book signing to go to.

Jesus.

A book signing. A book you wrote. A book that was being published and released the day of the expo. You weren't expecting a huge line because this was your debut novel, but with the help of some ARC readers who had took to social media, there had been a bit of a storm brewing.

You had listened to John when he had mentioned writing under an alias. Don't know how crazy people are out there. They'd do anything to get close to you, Dove. Just better to protect yourself where you can. You almost hated yourself for listening to him now. Now you would just have to keep writing under your pen name.

You were getting ready to close up shop early when your phone finally pinged.

Kyle.

Fuck.

Of course it was Kyle. The one who hadn't treated you like you were constantly bothering him. Not the one who made you feel guilty for agreeing to your arrangement. Nor was he the one who fucked you and left you. No. He was just the one who just wasn't there.

Maybe that was just as bad.

What are you up to today?

That was it. Almost two weeks of radio silence and that's all he had to say? It just added more evidence that you were making the right call in ending this now. It had already carried on for too long.

You had two things on your to-do list and you wouldn't let Kyle's sudden reappearance deter you.

E-mail the publisher back.

Change the locks.

You didn't have the strength to face them again. If they groveled, it would be too easy to take them back. One against four wasn't much of a fair fight. And if they didn't care to fight for you... you don't know if you could survive it. Coming face-to-face with the proof that it didn't bother them to give you up even though it was killing you.

No. Cutting it off completely was the best thing to do.

So you didn't respond.

You left Kyle's text unanswered as you e-mailed the publisher back that everything was set for your flight on tomorrow morning. You would spend Thursday adjusting to the time difference and Friday you would rest up before the expo this weekend. She assured you that you would need to rest up your writing hand. Whatever that means.

You left Kyle read as you closed up shop several hours earlier than usual. You needed to drop off the bank deposit before you started on task number two.

You didn't bothering responding to Johnny when he had texted you when you were leaving the hardware store, purchase in hand. Asking if you were free Friday. Promising dinner. 'In or out. Your choice.'

It was almost second nature when you got home to pull up your phone. Ready to text one of them to see which one of them could come over and help.

Fixing a leaky sink? Nothing Johnny hasn't seen before. Need help moving furniture? John won't mind when you change your several times on what should go where. Kyle would always come in with take out the moment you mentioned you were hungry and whenever you felt like going for a walk when it was a bit too late in the evening, Simon was the first to volunteer as your personal guard dog.

But asking them to come and change the very lock you planned on using to keep them out seemed... counter productive, if not downright petty.

You were almost done with the lock when your phone sounded off. Only this time it wasn't a text. Someone was calling you.

You almost faltered when John's name came on your screen.

Fuck.

That almost got you.

You almost answered it.

Almost.

You clicked on the 'Sorry, I can't talk right now. Options, before finishing up your work.

And just like that, you were done. No help needed. You had changed the lock. Even adding on a deadbolt. Replacing the flimsy chain Simon had taunted you about. If someone wanted to get in here, that wouldn't stop them.

Well, now you didn't need to hear it anymore.

Not that you would really hear it again...

Your flight was in twelve hours. Although that seemed an ample amount of time you hadn't even begun to pack. You had luckily narrowed your outfits down, but now was the task of folding it nicely into your suitcase rather than just stuffing it in there.

On my way. We need to talk.

It was too late for talking. Three days too late. Several months too late.

The last message sent was four weeks ago. A new Thai place had opened up close to your apartment that you were wanting to try. All of them had given you excuses.

Not my taste, Dove.

Cannae do it tonight. Next weekend? Next weekend didn't happen either.

I can do tomorrow. Kyle ended up bailing. You forget the excuse he used.

Simon hadn't even bothered to reply.

The final nail in the coffin of your relationship. Almost two years wasted with nothing, but a broken heart to show for it. And the worst part is, they had all chipped away at your heart, leaving you to deal with the final blow that would shatter it.

Im sorry. I can’t do this with you anymore. wish you all the best.

Your fingers made quick work in blocking their numbers. It was best. If they wanted to reach you, they couldn't. On the other side of the coin, if they didn't care to reply, you wouldn't spend countless hours crying over the fact that none of them had been affected the same way you had.

You would deal with getting them their belongings that they had left behind another time. You had big things, great things happening for you. You were cutting your loses. You were cutting them loose.

You just hoped you didn’t regret it.

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #call of duty #john soap mactavish #poly141 #angst #grovel #groveling

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raffe156 · 7 months

Note

Imagine Price laying there in an abandoned warehouse surrounded by his Taskforce. He's bleeding out. They have done everything in their power to slow the bleeding just until evac arrives but they know evac won't make it and Price knows it's too late. So whilst surrounded by those he trusts the most, he makes Ghost promise him. Promise he won't let Tank spiral into depression. Promise he will be there when Tank will scream and damn whomever is watching them from above. Promise he will be there for Tank and the twins. And with a shaken breath and a promise from Ghost, Price knows he can let go. As he closes his eyes he can feel the lads attempt to shake him awake. He can hear the blades of an incoming heli. But all of that is background noise to the sound of Tanks humming in the kitchen and the twins laughter as they run around her.

Haha how do you do it mate? The emotions you have just made me feel from a few lines?

It hurt Ghost to even agree to it, but he had to, he needed to…he wanted to.

If he had just been those few seconds quicker, the bullet would have missed Price and would have landed in his side instead. It should be him laying on the cold concrete floor, clinging to what little life was left in him thankful that his retched life had meant something, thankful he had a team like this, a Captain like Price, it should be him dying, not Price.

He clutched his Captains hand tightly, Price’s blood soaking through his skeleton gloves. Gaz was still trying to keep him alert, Ghost could see the steady stream of tears coming from his eyes, the lad was losing a father figure. No matter what life threw at him Price always dusted himself off with his hat and got back up, but not this time.

Soap looked on as he painfully kept watch for the evac helicopter, that was just on the horizon, the beat of its blades felt in his chest. His eyes glistened too, but he wiped them away with his wrist. He had to keep watch.

Ghost could almost hear the screams of anguish and pain from Tank, she would lash out, she would kick and scream he would be her punching bag. His mind turned to the twins, so much like their dad and what a dad he was, he wouldn’t even compare, but he had to try for his Captain.

Ghost could feel Price’s grip loosen, but he held tight the man who had saved him years of pain and torment. Till the end he said.

Price looked up at his Lieutenant, he knew he would honour his promise. He closed his eyes, the pain had stopped, he wasn’t cold anymore, but was now enveloped by a warm glow. The sound of laughter and tiny hushed voices, little feet thudding towards him. A warmth crashed over him as the smell of overly sweet porridge, jam and coffee filled his lungs. He heard Tank calling him, her voice singsongy as she kissed his temple. He had been a lucky man.

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sky-is-the-limit · 1 month

Text

Meddle About (Part 1)

P: Captain Price x F!Reader

Summary: You meet a handsome stranger at a pub and begin a beautiful friendship. Though you start developing feelings for the older man, he doesn't seem to reciprocate. That is, until you flirt with someone else to test the waters.

NSFW part 2 here.

WC: 2.3k words

CW: Nothing other than some angst (light), age difference and jealousy.

Notes: The age of the Reader is mentioned only because I feel uncomfortable writing about an age difference where X person is under the age of 23-25.

@glitterypirateduck

You stumbled into the pub, your heart heavy and your mind clouded with the weight of your breakup. The air was thick with the aroma of alcohol and the sound of muted conversations. You sought solace in the dimly lit corner, choosing a table far from prying eyes, hoping to drown your sorrows alone.

As you sat there, lost in your own misery, your gaze wandered aimlessly to the booth next to yours until it landed on him, the older man sitting alone, his presence almost ghostly in the shadows. He seemed lost in his own thoughts, drinking a glass of whiskey with a distant look in his eyes.

At first, you paid him no mind, too consumed by your own despair to acknowledge anyone else's existence. But then, just as the ache in your chest threatened to overwhelm you completely, a notification on your phone pushed you over the edge. It was a message from your ex, a cruel reminder to pick up your things from his apartment.

With a choked sob, you buried your face in your hands, tears streaming down your cheeks to the thought. And then, as if sensing your despair, the older man's voice cut through the haze of your misery.

"Are you alright, love?" He asked, his words gentle and filled with genuine concern.

Startled, you lifted your head to look at him, your vision blurred by tears. His face came into focus, and you found yourself momentarily captivated by the sight of blue eyes, the ruggedness of his features softened by a hint of kindness. He extended a napkin towards you, a silent offering to wipe away your tears.

For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of whether to trust this stranger even with such an innocent gesture. But something in his demeanor, the warmth in his gaze, made you lower your defenses.

And so, with a shaky breath, you accepted, allowing the soft material to soak up whatever was left of your relationship.

As the night dragged on, the heaviness in your heart began to ease, replaced by a sense of relief as you found comfort in conversation with the stranger. He didn't speak much, but his attentive listening spoke volumes.

You found yourself pouring out your heart to him, recounting the details of your breakup, the betrayal, the lies, the countless nights spent crying yourself to sleep, wondering what you had done to deserve such treatment.

Were you ruining his night out? Was he growing tired of your rambling? Was he secretly wishing for an escape from your company?

Your overthinking vanished every time you looked into his eyes, finding nothing but genuine interest and compassion staring back at you.

The hours slipped away and the pub grew quieter, you realized that this stranger had become more than just a sympathetic ear. And though you couldn't quite put it into words, you knew that his presence had brought you a sense of peace that you hadn't felt in a long time.

As the night progressed, you learned that he was a military man, a Captain stationed at a base just twenty minutes away. His hesitance to get into the specifics of his job only added to the air of mystery surrounding him but you respected his boundaries, content to learn other parts of his personality. It wasn't like you'd understand much of the military life anyway.

In between sips of beer, you discovered common ground in unexpected places. He spoke passionately about his love for football, declaring his support to Liverpool with pride and that sparked playful banter between the two of you, given your loyalty to Manchester United. And then there was his love for 70s rock music, a good old Sunday roast and his German Shepherd named Bucky.

Everything he uttered seemed to captivate you. But it wasn't just his words that kept you staring in awe. It was the way he carried himself, the undeniable aura of strength and confidence that followed him.

His strong, masculine features were impossible to ignore. The full beard that hugged his face and trailed down to his neck, the small charming beauty mark on his nose, his ocean blue shaded eyes.. There was no force im the world that could tear your gaze away from him.

Despite being seated, he seemed to tower over most in the room, his tall frame accentuated by his broad shoulders and defined physique with thighs barely fitting under the table.

Each time your eyes met, you felt a rush of excitement, a flutter in your chest that you couldn't quite explain.

He definitely noticed, there was no doubt about it. You caught him watching you, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his lips but he never made a point of it. It was as if he welcomed your attention, basking in the way you were taking him in yet never crossing the line between polite conversation and flirting.

Around two after midnight, the pub began to empty out, leaving only you and the interesting stranger as the sole costumers.

Stepping outside, the chill of the rain hit you both, shimmering under the moonlight as it landed on the darkened street below and he wasted no time in offering you his coat.

You protested but he insisted, draping it over your head as you both dashed towards your car. The rain poured down relentlessly, soaking him through and yet he seemed unaffected, almost as if he enjoyed the feeling of the water against his skin or perhaps in a way to make the night last a little bit longer.

As you turned the ignition, a sudden realization struck you. In the midst of the conversation, you had forgotten the most basic of exchanges. Names.

"Hey!" You called out over the drumming rain, "I never asked for your name."

"John Price." Came his simple reply, accompanied by a a small smile.

You reciprocated with your own name, something so simple suddenly feeling intimate, important. After saying your goodnights, you closed the door and began to drive away, the rain beginning to taper off.

But then, a nagging thought tugged at your brain. His coat still laid draped over your shoulders. Without giving it a second thought, you turned the car around and rolled down the window, calling out into the night.

"Hey, John! I still have your coat!"

He turned, his silhouette illuminated by the fading streetlights, and yelled back, "Bring it back here tomorrow, same time."

With a smile tugging at your lips, you nodded in agreement. That night, as you drifted off to sleep, the thoughts of your recent breakup seemed distant and insignificant. Instead, your mind was filled with the memory of the handsome Captain and the promise of tomorrow.

/////

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, your meetings with John at the pub became a tradition. Every Wednesday and Saturday, like clockwork, you would find yourselves drawn back to that familiar corner booth, where the outside world faded away and it was just the two of you, lost in conversation.

Your advances were subtle yet unmistakable, a brush of your hand against his, a playful flirtation laced with innuendo. And though John never shut you down, his demeanor remained restrained, as if he was holding himself back from crossing an invisible boundary.

He never pushed for more, never crossed the line into something deeper, leaving you to wonder if the attraction was one sided.

It was both frustrating and endearing at first, what had started as a playful game of cat and mouse had morphed into something deeper, more profound and the anticipation of seeing him, of sharing those precious hours together, became the highlight of your week.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you couldn't fully comprehend. It was borderline obsessive how you tended to every detail, choosing the perfect outfit and spending hours grooming yourself to ensure you looked your best for him.

While his eyes traced the curves of your body with hunger, his hands always remained glued at his sides. Always a good conversation, a walk to your car and a goodnight to leave you awake at night, going through every scenario possible.

It was maddening, the way he welcomed your touches and flirtatious banter without ever making a move of his own.

Perhaps, if he was to turn you down outright, to reject your advances and put an end to the torture, it would be easier to accept. You could move on, content in the knowledge that you had tried and failed. But John never did that.

And so, that particular night, you swore, it would be different.

////

Another Saturday night unfolded and you found yourself once again nestled in the comfort of your favorite booth at the pub, opposite of John.

Dressed in figure hugging black dress that accentuated every curve, you couldn't help but feel confident and ready for what you were about to do. The neckline dipped low, offering a glimpse of your cleavage while the bold red lipstick painted your intentions clear for all to see.

Taking a moment to gather your courage, you lifted your glass to your lips, the sweet aroma of your fruity cocktail easing your nerves. After taking a sip, with a playful smile, you turned to John, nudging the glass towards him.

"Wanna try my drink?" You asked, your voice laced with a hint of playfulness.

You knew all too well that John was a man of simple tastes, his preference for whiskey never changing. Your intentions weren't supposed to change that, anyway.

John's gaze lingered on the glass for a few seconds and returned to yours, a small smile playing at his lips.

''I don't think I'm gonna enjoy drinking that one, love.'' He replied with a chuckle as he took another sip of his usual choice.

That was your moment.

With a coy smile, you took another sip from your cocktail, savoring the fruity sweetness that danced on your tongue and then, with a boldness you hadn't known you possessed, you placed your hand on John's thigh, the touch of your fingertips freezing him into place.

"You don't have to drink it to enjoy the taste." You replied, your words dripping with innuendo whilst you took in his unusually tensed reaction.

Without waiting for John's response, you leaned in, the anticipation coursing through your veins like wildfire.

Your heart pounded loudly against your chest as you pressed your lips against his, the taste of whiskey and strawberries mingling together the more you took his bottom lip between your own. There was a hesitance in the way your mouth moved, your tongue grazing his own as you awaited for him to deepen it.

Feeling the warmth of John's palms resting on your shoulders, you couldn't help but anticipate his next move, to reciprocate the kiss and finally make you his.

But to your surprise, instead of drawing you closer, John gently pushed you back, disconnecting your lips with a tender touch that almost felt like betrayal. His eyes remained closed, his expression unreadable as if he was still lingering on the taste of your kiss, contemplating what he was about to do next.

Feeling the weight of John's eyes piercing through you, you couldn't bring yourself to meet them, the sting of embarrassment and disappointment burning hot against your cheeks.

You felt exposed, vulnerable in a way you had never felt before. As his hands left your shoulders and came to rest on the table, you could sense the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

And then, finally, his voice broke the silence, "Y/N, I can't." He said, his tone filled with a mixture of pity and regret.

"Even if I want-" He started to say, but then abruptly stopped, as if his own thoughts had betrayed him.

You wanted to scream, to cry out in frustration and anger, but all you could do was sit there, confused and curious to the thought of him finishing that sentence.

Summoning every ounce of courage you had, you took in a deep breath and with trembling hands, you finally raised your face to look at him.

All you managed, was a one word question coming out as a barely audible whisper, ''Why?''

His hesitation, his struggle to articulate his thoughts only grated against your nerves but you sat there patient, waiting for him to state a good enough reason that would match with his last sentence.

"You're so young and I-" John began but his words only added to your ticking bomb. His excuse felt like a slap in the face, and before he could finish, you cut him off, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"Young? Is that it?!" You exclaimed, the anger in your voice palpable. "I'm 25 for fuck's sake!"

In that moment, what he said, the implication of his excuse became painfully clear. It wasn't about age. It was about fear, about his own insecurities. But you refused to be dismissed so easily.

"Younger, then." He persisted, correcting himself, his tone tinged with frustration. "You should be out there flirting with guys your own age, not messed up middle-aged men that you meet at a shady pub."

How dare he, you thought, how dare he belittle your choices, your feelings like that?

Your eyes widened in disbelief at what he was saying, the anger bubbling up inside you threatening to boil over. How could he be so blind, so oblivious to the depth of your feelings?

"Guys my age, huh?!" You retorted sarcastically, raising the volume of your voice just enough to make him look back into your eyes.

But instead of backing down, John simply nodded to your question. And then, as if to salt to your wound, his eyes trailed around the pub, landing on two young guys ordering a drink at the bar.

"Someone like him, not me.'' His tone devoid of self-pity or insecurity.

It was as if he was protecting you, shielding you from the potential pain that could come from being with someone like him.

His words only added more fuel to your fire that was threatening to consume you whole and so you stood up from your seat, straightening your dress with a determined flick of your wrist. Every fiber of your being screamed with frustration, but you refused to let it win.

"You know what, maybe you are right." You said to John, your voice tinged with bitterness.

Trailing your gaze towards the blonde guy at the bar, who seemed more interested in his reflection on his front camera than anything else, you saw an opportunity.

With a calculated move, you turned back to John, his eyes awaiting your next move. With a forced smile, you continued, "Maybe I should take my chances with a younger guy."

Without another word, you turned on your heel, grabbing your purse and made your way towards the bar. As you approached the blonde guy, you could feel John's eyes boring into your back but you tried your hardest not to take a peak.

Instead you sat down next to the new stranger, who finally put his phone down and turned his attention towards you, giving you a warm smile before introducing himself with a simple, ''Hey.''

Glancing back at John for a brief moment, you noticed an unfamiliar look in his eyes. A mixture of possessiveness and jealousy that sent shivers down your spine.

With his jaw clenched and posture tense, John seemed poised to stand up. But you refused to let his sudden change dictate your actions and so maintaining the same fake smile as before, you turned back to the blonde guy.

"Hey, there." You replied, your tone light and casual as you greeted him back.

It was time for you to finally be the cat and it was only a matter of seconds before the mouse came running back to your claws.

#self insert with that Manchester United line sorry guys 🙏#captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain price x female reader #captain price smut #captain price angst #cod #call of duty #cod x reader #task force 141 #141 x reader #john price #captain john price #ocaptainchallenge

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