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cordeliawhohung · 18 days

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Leftovers [3/3]

Simon Riley x fem!Reader | a non-canon addition to my mafia!141 series

part 1 | part 2 | playlist

you love him

warnings: non-con!!!! attempted suicide, self harm, abusive relationships, spanking/impact, threats, stalking, mind the tags!!! dead dove do not eat

wc: 5.2k

The dilapidating motel room that you were unfortunate enough to take refuge in smelled like Simon. Vaguely, anyway.

Damp air greeted you the moment you opened the door to your room, and the old, wet scent of cigarette smoke nearly suffocated you. You flipped the lights on where they greeted you with a flicker and buzz, yet hardly did anything to illuminate the dull wallpaper and discolored carpet. Every documentary about real life crime warned you against places like that; it was the type of room where people entered yet never exited without a gaping hole in their chest.

Its unpleasant welcome nearly had you second guessing your escape, and a pang of trepidation echoed throughout your chest. Could you really subjugate yourself to a night alone and survive? Solitarily rotting in bed just like you used to as a pet? A shaky breath expelled past your lips as you tossed your bag onto the foot of the bed as you locked the door behind you. No, that was a different kind of solitude. Not one that you were forced into. Not something intentionally loveless.

That was freedom. The only reason it terrified you was because you had never experienced it before.

The digital clock on the nightstand read 2:36 which did little to quell the lump in your throat. If Simon wasn’t already home by then, you knew he would be soon. He would come home to an empty apartment, devoid of the woman he so fondly called sweetheart, and that made your stomach protest something fierce. You had only ever experienced short bursts of his anger previously over minor transgressions you had committed previously. Ones that you quickly solved lest he completely burst. If he had gotten upset by you merely asking to have your phone back, you didn’t even want to imagine the rage that would erupt within him when he realized you were gone.

A heavy breath expelled from your chest as you sat on the edge of the bed. A thin layer of grime seemed to cover the sheets, but you knew you couldn’t expect anything more from one of the cheapest and low rated hotels in London. It was your own fault for trying to lay as low as possible; you weren’t sure there was enough money on your card to afford anywhere without bloodstains, anyway. Ignoring the uncomfortable filth that surely stained your clothes, you fished your phone out from your pocket where the screen lit up brighter than the light above your head.

John’s text messages illuminated the screen, and you felt your throat grow tight again. His terrible wish for you to be there with him and Mrs. Price, and that fucking video of the ultrasound. You still weren’t fully convinced that it wasn’t all some sort of cruel joke. Simon said he had told John about everything. How you were done with them, how you were tired of being treated like nothing. So why the messages?

Unless Simon had lied about that, too.

An unsteady sigh passed between your lips as your thumbs hovered over the screen. While John and his wife hadn’t exactly been the most loving, they had never once lied to you. Not that you knew of, anyway. Since you couldn’t get the truth out of Simon, maybe you could get it out of them, yet the task was so daunting you swore you would throw up again.

So you sat there, hunched over on the side of the bed with your phone in hand, until the red glow of the digital clock read just past three in the morning. Frayed nerves hindered your brain’s ability to hold a coherent thought, and you had spent so much time sitting there trying to think of something to say that your phone was nearly dead. Nothing good would come out of a conversation with John that late in the night, if he was still even awake. With lethargic thumbs, you typed out a quick message asking him to call you in the morning, and then the screen went dark as you locked it.

Answers. That’s all you wanted. But your fuzzy and exhausted brain couldn’t handle that. You had spent the last few hours running like your life depended on it — running like a bad pet. Come morning, you would get what you wanted. In the meantime, you would pray sleep would take you away.

That night was the first night that you slept fully dressed since you started living with Simon. Always had to have you bare with your naked body up against his while you slept. Such easy access to your cunt all he had to do was slither his hands between your legs to get you purring like a kitten. Some poor touch-starved creature that would do anything for the attention of something with teeth too sharp to love properly.

You tried not to think too hard about it as you set your phone face down on the nightstand and settled into bed. You weren’t brave enough to climb underneath the covers in the fear that something truly might bite you, so you curled up like a cat on top of the comforter. The lights stayed on that night, as it had been so long since you slept alone you weren’t sure you could stomach the darkness. Childish. That thought made you cringe, but that’s what you had been reduced to. Maybe it was all you had ever been.

When you hugged your pillow tight to your core that night, the full weight of the silence around you made your eyes sting. There was no heartbeat to lull you to sleep that night. It was one of the things you remembered craving so dearly when you lived with the Prices, something Simon had provided you without question. You wanted to cry. To mourn the things you had and the things you lost, but you refused to let those walls see your tears.

Once your eyes closed, you swore you only slept for a single moment before they opened to find the summer sun peeking through the tacky curtains. A dull ache in your neck blossomed and radiated from the back of your skull to your shoulder blades, and the sour smell of smoke had permeated into your clothes and hair. Rolling over to stare at the digital clock revealed that it was just before seven in the morning. You had hardly gotten any sleep at all, yet you already buzzed with anticipation and uneasiness.

An anxious hand reached for your phone where you quickly checked through your notifications. Several junk notifications clogged up your phone since you turned it on. Old emails that you hadn’t checked in months and stupid spam call notifications from weeks back. But John had yet to respond to your text, or even see it, and though that ignited a pit of worry in your stomach, you knew you had to give him time. He always got home late. Him and Mrs. Price probably slept in.

You hated that you still had their routine so ingrained in your mind.

No matter. There was a plan you had in your mind; steps you had to take in order to really be free from your old life. The first step was getting clean, and then getting the fuck out of there.

Time didn’t exist in the shower, and neither did the water bill. You had quite the time watching droplets of water dance on the foggy glass door as you stood underneath the stream's embrace. Each time one fell, another formed to take its place before falling too, like some neverending dance. You watched the streaks form as you washed your body with the skin stripping complimentary body wash the motel left on the counter. It hardly got sudsy, and it didn’t leave you feeling refreshed, but it replaced that stale smoke scent with the vague idea of green apples, and that was enough for you.

A thick veil of mist greeted you when you exited the shower, and you blindly nabbed a towel to dry your body off with. Its fabric wasn’t at all kind on your skin either, yet you still found yourself wrapping it around your body before exiting the bathroom. The sun had changed positions in the room as the morning meandered along, and you found yourself praying that John had finally answered you as you entered the main part of the room.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.”

Simon sat on the edge of the motel bed with his elbows on his knees. A dim light illuminated the silvery scars on his face as he scrolled through the phone in his hands. Your phone. His dark eyes broke away from the screen to look up at you, and the twitch in the corner of his mouth left your mouth dry. He turned the screen to face you where he then gently shook it as if it were contraband; something you weren’t supposed to have. Though you couldn’t read what it said, you could see John had responded to your request to call him.

“You’ve been busy. Been naughty,” Simon continued as he turned your phone off and tossed it next to him. “Didn’t even leave a note. Just think you could up and leave?”

Your hands gripped the knot in your towel as your body began to turn to stone. It was difficult to tell if you trembled because of the cool air of the room or if you trembled because of the fear that coursed through your veins. Either way, your mouth wasn’t able to form any response to his biting tone.

At your silence, Simon tapped his fingertips on top of your phone, causing it to lightly bounce on the old boxspring mattress. “Decided you had enough of me? Is that it? Wanting to go back to John? Go back to bein’ a fuckin’ pet?”

“No,” you said once your tongue finally decided to work. “I just… wanted answers.”

“Well, I’m all ears for any questions you have, sweetheart,” Simon snapped.

His tone had you recoiling against the wall, yet you refused to look away from him. If you did, you knew it would give him enough time to pounce like an animal, and he looked almost excited to sink his teeth into you. It was wrong. You thought you would have had more time. Simon wasn’t supposed to find you that quick; no, he wasn’t supposed to find you at all. Yet there he sat, on the edge of your bed, like an owner trying to wrangle a bad dog back home.

“How did you find me?” you asked.

“You used a card. Anything electronic is easy to track, ‘specially in a place like this. All it took was me saying I was your husband to get the lad at the front to give me your room number. Surprised you made it this far on your own, considering how pathetic you are without me,” he said with a sour chuckle.

“My card?” you repeated. “But… you don’t- how do you have access to my account? You can’t track me without-”

“One of the perks of working for John Price,” Simon deadpanned.

Every word that came out of Simon’s mouth unraveled you, and it only got worse. It was as if everything he had ever told you was a lie. How naive of you to think otherwise; of course they were lies. He had lied to you from the very beginning, and instead of running then while your feet were unchained, you chose to ignore it. Hope and pray it would go away. Now, it was too late. Every part of you seemed bound to Simon, and you weren’t sure you could stand to tear yourself from him.

“I thought you said-” you started.

“That I wasn’t working for him anymore? That I told him how you chose to live with me? No,” Simon interrupted. “He’s got too many resources. Besides, no one just ups and leaves the mafia, sweetheart.”

Your bottom lip began to tremble at that word. Mafia. Everyone knew about the violence that plagued London, even someone as much of a recluse as you. You didn’t want to believe him, but it made sense. Why else did John always work late? Why else would he come home some days with scuffed up knuckles? Besides, he only ever seemed to tell the truth when he tried to prod a response out of you. Simon’s smirk was faint but painfully noticeable in the crease of his lips as he tilted his head at you.

“Yeah, figured he didn’t tell you about that,” he huffed. “No one leaves. Not even pets. Not even you. Who do you think was protectin’ you from him this whole time? Who do you think removed his tracker in your phone? Why do you think we always used my money to pay for everything? If it wasn’t for me, you’d be right back where you started. Unloved, neglected and fuckin’ abused.”

His words cut you to pieces worse than anything else ever had. It was worse than learning Mrs. Price was pregnant. Worse than the first time Simon had ever lied to you. Hot, fat tears rolled down your cheeks while your throat constricted so tightly you swore you would choke. You made the mistake of looking away from Simon as a small sob rattled your shoulders. In a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself, you wrapped your arms around your front, keeping your towel in place as your knees nearly buckled.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Simon’s feet were surprisingly soft against the stiff carpet of the motel room, and it took everything in you not to lean into his touch. Warm fingers ghosted against your arms, and something primal and pathetic yearned for more. But you didn’t miss him. Not Simon Riley. You just missed the warmth of someone else; warmth you were certain you could find in someone less hurtful.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Simon urged. His thumbs rubbed against your shoulders, and something that should have felt like knives in your skin felt all too comforting instead. “Let’s go home.”

Some broken part of you wanted to say yes. To slap the band-aid back on and continue to let those pathetic feelings fester inside of you with no air to breathe. It would have been easy to say yes, to follow him back home like a wounded animal and continue to live in your cage. But you were so close to freedom, to living on your own without the need to be chained to anyone else.

You didn’t bother to wipe your tears before looking at Simon. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, making your skin feel clammy. A few more tears blinked free from your eyes, staining your cheeks like glitter as you stiffened your upper lip.

“I can’t,” you finally said, though the words felt like they would kill you. “I don’t want to. I… just wanna be left alone.”

Simon’s face began to morph in front of your eyes. All that softness in his expression hardened into something more firm and demanding; dissapointment. It wasn’t until your back hit the wall that you realized your choice had already been decided for you. No wasn’t an answer. Neither was yes. It had only ever been what Simon had already chosen for you.

“Wasn’t asking,” he warned.

His grip seared your skin through your towel as his hands rested on your hips, but you had nowhere to run. Useless hands pressed against his chest as you tried to fight back against the immoveable object that was Simon Riley. Hot breath fanned across your face when he pressed his forehead to yours, and you tried not to flinch when he yanked your towel off of your body, tossing it aside where it fell in a limp pile by your feet.

“C’mon, you’re smarter than this, arent’cha?” he prompted. Simon began to move backwards, and his firm grip on your waist gave you no choice but to stumble after him. Shame pricked the corners of your ears with a searing heat as he dragged you around, naked, like a dog on a leash. “If you don’t come home, Price’ll find ya. You understand that, yeah sweetheart? I’m the only thing keeping you from an early fuckin’ grave.”

All it took was a simple turn and a harsh shove to get you face first on the bed. The mattress was unforgiving as it hardly gave way underneath your weight, knocking the breath from your lungs. Sweaty palms dug into the crummy comforter as you tried to push yourself up, but once Simon’s knees sunk into the mattress next to you, his hand pushed against the back of your neck, keeping your face into the bed.

“Simon!” you cried. “Wait- please stop. I’m sorry! I just- please don’t. Please, I didn’t mean to upset you I just- there had to be a reason for it! For them to treat me like that!”

Ignoring your pleas, Simon snaked an arm underneath your hips and pulled up, putting your ass on display. An angry hand rested on the crux of your bum where his fingers twitched with anticipation.

“A reason? It’s because they saw you as a fuckin’ pet. Nothin’ more than an animal to feed and play with,” Simon bit. “Until I found ya. Saved you from that shit, didn’t I sweetheart? Then you fuckin’ run out on me. Ruinin’ everything I worked so hard to build for ya. Ungrateful slag.”

“Please stop!” you sobbed, cries half muffled by the bed.

He allowed you no more time to continue to snivel before his hand raised from your bum only to slap against it with a firm palm. Its sting pierced through your skin with such force it stole your breath away, and with Simon’s hand still on the back of your neck, you had nowhere to run from the pain. Your chest heaved with a sob at the sensation, and you felt your feet involuntarily kick behind you.

“Quiet,” he warned, voice dangerously low. “Don’t need you causin’ anymore trouble than you already have.”

Once more his hand came down with a sharp crack where pain prickled across your skin. In some pitiful attempt to ward him off, you reached your arms behind your back as if you could push him away. All it did was make him chuckle as his thumb rubbed against the back of your neck.

“Yeah, ‘nuff of that. Of all of it. I’ll set you straight and take you home and we can forget all about this little stunt of yours,” Simon hummed.

Despite it all, your body could only react viscerally to the thought of returning home with him. That was the day you were supposed to become your own person without being bound to anyone else. Go out on your own and finally live your life as a human rather than a trophy. You were so close to tasting it you could scream.

“I can’t. I can’t…” you whined.

Another spank and your thoughts cut off with a squeak.

“Don’t fuckin’ understand anythin’ do you?” Simon hissed. “Either you leave here with me, or you leave as John’s. He’ll find and track you within a heartbeat, and he won’t be as kind as me. Dunno about you sweetheart, but I’m not gonna sit around and let him take you again. So you leave here with me, or you don’t leave at all.”

Not a single word rose in your mind at his threat. Tears and snot continued to stain the linens underneath you as you took his punishment, and as his hand came down on you once more, you started to believe that you deserved it. Every single bit of it. How ungrateful of you to deny him after everything he had done for you. Keeping you safe. Keeping you away from John. From the worst members of the mafia. Everything he had ever done had been to protect you, right?

“Did you really think I’d let you run off like that? After everythin’ I've done for you?” he continued. His weight shifted on the bed as he slipped from your side to your backside. With his hand no longer on your neck, you were able to take a deep breath, though the air felt stale and salty. “No, my girl doesn’t run away. Not the mother of my kid.”

Ice formed in your veins at his words, and you were too shocked to even cry about it. You blinked rapidly as you raised your head from the bed, and your stomach turned so violently you nearly puked all over the sheets.

“What?” you choked out.

Simon’s hands rubbed over your sore rump as if soothing the pain he inflicted on you only to fall from your skin a moment later. A sharp, distinct clink sounded behind you, followed by the unzipping of his pants.

“It’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he asked as he pulled his cock free. “You said it yourself. You want what they have.”

Electricity jolted through your body when the head of Simon’s pre-cum smeared cock tapped the underside of your ass. Your breath hitched in your throat as he grabbed your hips and raised you higher up, angling you just right so he could press against your cunt. Everything in you screamed to run, but the prey in you knew you wouldn’t get far enough for it to matter.

“You wanted love, so I gave you that. They never fucked you, so I gave you that, too. Just wasn’t enough for you, was it?” Simon droned as he pressed into you. Without your arousal to assist, the stretch of him not only burned, but felt like it tore. Only the head of his cock had made it inside of your constricting cunt, and even that was too much. “Still cryin’ all the time. Still upset. The only thing that they have that we don’t is a kid. If you want one so bad, then I’ll give ya one.”

“Wait, please,” you choked out as you wiggled.

“What’cha so worked up for, sweetheart?” Simon patronized. “With how often I’ve fucked you before, you’re probably already knocked up anyway. No harm in trying a bit more, yeah?”

It was impossible to answer once Simon began to press further into you. Everything within you was wound up so tight with muscles revolting against him as he made you take every painful inch of him. His love had never hurt like that before. Never felt like it tore you open to fix what was never broken in the first place. Not until then as he speared you open with no regard for the way it ripped you to shreds.

It only got worse when he bottomed out, forcing your cunt to take what it didn’t want to. His hips snapped against yours with force so strong you were left breathless. Each agonizing thrust left you a mess as half created sobs erupted from your throat. No amount of begging would get him to change his mind or set you free. This was what you deserved for biting the hand that fed you.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Simon grunted. Searing anger kept his body going as he fucked you, hands digging into either side of your hips. “A man to fuck you. To be the sweet little trophy wife. Have a cute kid or two. Isn’t it? Say it, sweetheart.”

But you couldn’t. Even if it wasn’t for his cock bullying every breath from your lungs, you didn’t think you would be able to admit to anything. So you dug your face further into the sheets, no longer caring about the filth of it all; you just wanted to hide away as best as you could. Simon wasn’t impressed with your silence, and his hand came down hard against your backside as his relentless pace continued. You could almost feel his blood boiling in his veins from his touch alone.

“I said, say it,” he barked. “Tell me what you want.”

Agonizing aches ripped through your pelvis at the intrusion, and you found your hands pawing at your stomach as if you could soothe the pain. There was no love behind any of his actions. Perhaps there never had been. You just knew that you wanted it to stop.

“You!” you finally wailed. “I want you!”

“‘Course you do. Can’t fuckin’ live without me, can you sweetheart?”

It was enough to satisfy Simon, and he stopped verbally antagonizing you as he continued in his pursuit. Trembling fingers dug into the sheets as you kept your face hidden in the musty bed. It couldn’t go on forever, and as Simon’s hips began to stutter, you knew it would be over soon. You did your best to stifle your whimpering as he approached the end, yet he only seemed to pick up speed as if to egg you on.

In that moment, your mind painfully reminded you of the first time you ever met him. How he just appeared in your life sitting on the living room couch as if he had always known you. You wished that you had never obeyed John that night. Never allowed Simon’s arm to wrap around you as he intertwined your lives together to the point you could no longer undo the knots. It was too late for regret. You were bound to him, soul, mind, and soon to be body.

“Fuck.”

Simon’s groan was deep in his throat as he remained fully sheathed inside of you while his cock twitched unabashed against the screaming walls of your cunt. The aches only got worse as he kept himself pressed up against your bruised cervix, but you bore it as he gave you every last drop of his spend.

There was nothing left to keep your rump up in the air when Simon pulled out and away from you, and you collapsed on the bed as a mess of sticky flesh. His chuckle, once so soothing and melodic, sounded like nails on a chalkboard as he fixed his pants behind you. The bed rocked with his weight as he sat with his back turned to you, yet you paid no mind to it as you squeezed your eyes shut. You prayed that if you squeezed them tight enough, something would whisk you away and take you far, far away from that fucking motel room and away from Simon Riley.

But you never had such luck before.

That stale scent of cigarette smoke only grew stronger as Simon lit a fresh one. His chest expanded as he took a hefty drag, and you hoped that the ash would fall onto the carpet and burn the whole building to the ground. Half the cigarette burned by the time he turned around to face your motionless body on the bed. He cooed as he reached out for you, fingers gently raising your chin so that he could lean forward and press a kiss against your limp lips. A little bit of smoke still lingered in his mouth, and when you opened your eyes you tried to pretend that they watered because of the burn rather than the pain.

“Ready to go home, sweetheart?”

You didn’t remember if you fought against him when you got in the car. You didn’t remember anything. It was a complete mystery how you ended back up in Simon’s bed in that apartment, naked just how he liked you. All you knew was that everything hurt, and he had won. The next few weeks consisted of nothing but an incomplete recollection, like you looked at your memories through shattered glass. There was a vague memory of him bathing you in the shower, and another one of him feeding you by hand. It was all disconnected. Unreal.

Your body didn’t belong to you anymore. Maybe it never did. You had become an outsider, watching that useless hunk of flesh meander around an apartment you were too tired to escape from. There was nothing in the world that would save you from whatever curse that was wrought upon you; that Simon Riley.

The only thing you could somewhat remember were your dreams. One night, you dreamt you hid yourself away in the bathroom. It angered Simon, for some reason you couldn’t articulate. Mean hands pounded against the wood of the door as if he tried to break it down, all while he demanded you open it. You remembered voicing how you wanted to go home; how you just wanted to sleep. There was some deep dark feeling harbored inside of you that you couldn’t purge with your hands alone.

When the door finally came down, you suddenly were no longer in the bathroom. It was cold, but you were wrapped in more blankets than you could count while Simon wrapped bandages around your arms. They felt like cuffs. Like they were more chains to keep you tethered to him, yet you didn’t fight. You couldn’t fight. You knew not to anymore, because bad pets always got punished.

“Not leavin’ me yet, sweetheart. Not like this,” he mumbled.

Those bandages were still on your arms the next day, and you realized it had never been a dream at all. Just another bit of your life that was too fuzzy to fully experience. It was then that you finally realized that not even Death Himself could save you from Simon Riley. Nothing could.

It wasn’t until you were in the bathroom again that you were slammed back into your body. Each sensation that had felt so terribly numb before suddenly became painfully sharp. A terrible ache buzzed throughout your arms, stomach, and head the moment you returned to yourself. Something had stolen your conscience for a while just to kick it back in that silly brain of yours the moment it was bored, and your entire body grew cold with stark realization at what was in your hands. A pregnancy test, with two faint little lines that smiled up at you.

Adverting your gaze from that terrible object gave you no solace as you were met with the stomach-churning image of yourself in the mirror. Between the red veins that strained in your eyes and the peeling skin on your lips, you hardly recognized yourself. Still, Simon saw past all the broken parts of you as he stood behind you, hands snaking around to your front to grab your stomach. He was much too comforting for the pain that grew in your body.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered as he kissed the top of your head.

He breathed in your scent and you wondered if he could pick up on the notes of rot that laid underneath the smell of shampoo and product. He had killed you a long time ago, at least some part of you, and left it to fester and decay in a place you couldn’t heal. With shaky hands, you placed the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter as you let Simon pull you against his chest. His warmth threatened to engulf you, but you knew nothing would ever burn hot enough to ignite that smothered flame inside of you.

“I love you,” he whispered.

With a voice as empty as your eyes, you replied: “I love you, too.”

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #dead dove fic #dark fic #dead dove

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granddaughterogg · 4 months

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You Let Me Complicate You - Part 1

This is a love story about Simon "Ghost" Riley and you, starting with a random hookup and later navigating your increasingly complex feelings and desires towards each other.

~~Reblogs are always Greatly Appreciated!~~

PART 2 HERE

SUMMARY: You're all alone in London because of Reasons. On a particularly dreadful, windy, rainy Halloween evening you venture outside for a quick pint - but find Simon "Ghost" Riley instead. He's a consummate fuckboy who uses fleeting trysts to blow off steam collected at his deadly job, and you're a cynical, world weary girl who nonetheless very much enjoys no-string-attached sex. None of you are prepared for the horror of Actually Falling In Love. Also - the mask stays on for ridiculously long. What, oh what will become of this fateful encounter?

Chapter 1: SKULLFACE

As with many other adventures in your life - this one started only because you wouldn’t quench your curiosity.

It was an insatiable force, one that has driven you into a lot of shit over the years. On the other hand, you could call your life path - that collection of irregular zigs and zags off the beaten trajectory - anything but dull. And you owed it to that ever-present itch at the back of your head.

Let’s go back to the very start, shall we?

The start was unpromising. For one, it was Halloween evening, but you were on your own and it was pissing it down outside.

You sat in a tiny squalid apartment, its walls painted a nauseating shade of green and stared at the darkness behind your windows. Cold water splashed against the glass. Technically speaking, those windows weren’t yours. Nothing here was. You’ve just Airbnb’ed this hovel for a few weeks. The thing is, you’ve been awaiting news about a job.

They haven’t contacted you yet. You’ve been paying through the nose for this musty abode, bristling at the prices of groceries – at the prices of anything, really. London’s famous charms were lost on you. You hated this city. To you, it felt as if someone had squashed a dozen smaller towns into an amorphous heap. You didn’t know a single soul in those streets and you weren’t sure if you wanted to change that.

But how long can a lonely girl sit on her ass, browse youtube and marinate herself in misery?

And it was All Hallow’s Eve after all.

You always loved Halloween.

The weather discouraged kids from trick-and-treating. Yet you could still hear multiple footsteps going every which way on the wet pavement below, snippets of conversations and muffled laughter. Londoners decided to enjoy themselves tonight, weather be damned.

You paused the video (it was about a groomer, tending to a particularly matted, hissy cat). You stood up with a sigh, slammed your laptop shut and went to the suitcase lying in the corner.

It’s been a week here and apart from your sensible job interview clothes, (which have been hanging on the door, properly steamed) you still haven’t found it in yourself to unpack.

Never mind that now. You unceremoniously threw the suitcase’s contents on the wooden floor and fished one particular object out of the pile; a little velvet dress, as black as the night.

You stood in front of the dusty mirror and pulled the garment on. It was one of those strappy numbers which start late but end pretty early. Hugged all your curves, not leaving much to the imagination. Your dear mother would’ve described this dress as „slutty”.

Just the way you liked it.

You’ve learned before that excessive preparations only dull your enthusiasm for the unknown. So you’ve slid your feet inside your trusted combat boots, smudged some black eyeliner here and there, put your hair up in a French twist with a simple metal pin, and threw on a jacket - and you were good to go.

Wherever those streets would take you.

***

It turned out that the streets wouldn’t take you far. Because it was raining fucking hard.

It's one thing to merely observe the skies opening, and another to withstand their fury. You were trudging the pavement under your flimsy foldable umbrella, almost bent in half because of the gusty wind. You walked turned to the side, trying to avoid getting ballistic rainwater in your eyes, one half of your face damp and cold already. The light jacket offered little protection; soon you were soaked to the bone, and furious.

Screw it, you thought. I’m just gonna get inside any old place, have a pint and then go home.

You turned the corner and came upon a narrow crooked staircase leading below the street level, as was usually the case with pubs in this area. Some people were just leaving the premises, laughing and talking as they went. You caught a glimpse of bluish light, pouring from the inside along with some muffled bass beats.

Good enough.

You descended down the staircase; concrete steps crumbled under your tractor soles, threatening to throw you off balance. You passed by some folks on your way, squeezing yourself past them on a narrow path cutting through an overgrown courtyard. You pulled the handle of a heavy iron door. It was covered in graffiti and layers upon layers of old stickers.

You stepped inside.

Your first thought was: This is not a pub.

You weren’t a local – hell, you weren’t even British – but after some time spent in this country, you’ve more or less become acquainted with the trappings of this cornerstone of any local community, what with its cosy nooks, mandatory fireplace and dark polished woodwork. Those kinds of places you knew. The beer wasn’t half bad, the tunes were usually tolerable and bartenders had this well-practiced cordiality to them. You liked the atmosphere of an English pub.

This, however, was different. Like, much noisier.

Your ears got filled with the metallic beats of dark industrial music. You couldn’t name the song that was playing. Deep inside there was a small dancefloor, where bodies swayed along with the slow, reverberating rhythm.

This place was so dimly lit, that you had to squint just to adjust. The walls were raw concrete, with exposed brass piping running up and down in complicated patterns. It reminded you of a bunker. All the furniture seemed to be worn down and mismatched as if someone scavenged it from various vacant buildings. The bar counter was one giant slab of concrete too, its greyness punctuated by rows of tiny lights hanging from the iron truss under the low ceiling.

The patrons all wore black. Not just your basic, nondescript black, oh no. You looked around (as much as you could while drifting in this neon blue semi-darkness, which revealed so little) and noticed some people in gothic finery. Velvet, lace, the works. Others chose leather or elaborate corsetry.

Ah, it’s one of those places.

You got your shit together, folded the damn umbrella, shook your damp hair to get at least some of the water out of it, and beelined to the concrete bar. At this point of the evening, you’d kill for a hot beverage.

The bar area was not too crowded, thank fuck. You clambered gracelessly onto one of the free barstools and smiled at the bartender. He was completely bald, with a ginormous nose ring and a thin face, eternally crumpled into an expression of faint disgust.

"Hello! One hot tea, please", you said breathlessly.

Dude looked at you as if you’d just spat on his mother’s grave.

"Tea? You sure 'bout that?"

"Well yeah", you answered. "It’s bucketing down out there, and I got chilled to the bone..."

The bartender wasn’t moved by your plight.

"This is a club, not your Granny’s living room, see? We serve adults here..."

"Give ‘er a damn tea, Geoffrey. Don’t be a cunt."

A man’s voice rang out from your left. It was low and throaty, but also perfectly even in tone. It cut through the music and the bustle like a knife wielded by a steady hand. Your ears twitched pleasantly at this sound.

Geoffrey blinked at whoever it was that scolded him. Then he made a face and turned away to fulfil your order.

"I’m just saying, we’re trying to run a business here…" he muttered, putting the kettle on.

"I see that”, you assured. "Make that a tea and a glass of Scotch then. I could use both."

"Right." The bartender was seemingly placated by your offer.

When he put the drinks in front of you and turned towards other customers, you emptied the sugar packet inside the cup, stirred your tea for a while, finally sipped it - and sighed with delight. It all took a while. When the life-restoring elixir started to course through your veins, you stole a glance at the man who spoke earlier.

"Thanks for putting in the word for me", you said with a slight smile.

"Geoff's not a bad bloke. Just overworked."

The stranger was tall and dressed in a black sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He was looking straight ahead, away from you, cradling his whisky glass in two large, strikingly pale hands.

"I can imagine, with the place being so busy on Halloween and all...Anyway, I’m feeling better by the minute."

"Drink up then, and that whisky too. You look like a half-drowned cat."

That voice was something to behold. So deep and guttural, with a thick accent that made short work of most of the consonants. As your ears helpfully suggested, it was probably Mancunian. One doesn’t simply grow such a voice. One earns it through incessant smoking and other recurring bad life decisions, no doubt. It was kinda hot.

...Wait a moment, did this perfect stranger just smack-talk you?

Your head darted upwards.

"Did you just say that I look like shit?"

Your tone was still playful - if underlined by a suggestion that you’re always ready to drop the playfulness.

The hooded man must’ve heard that undertone because he chuckled. That rumbling sound reverberated somewhere deep within you. Probably in your bones.

"Don’t be so hard on yourself, love. You're just a little worse for wear, is all."

That impassive tone of his stabbed you in the solar plexus. You've straightened up as if pulled by a string. The teaspoon fell into your tea, making a soft clatter, while you spun around on your stool to look this insolent git straight in the face.

"How do you know?" you bit out. "You weren't even looking -"

The following words got stuck in your throat.

Not only was the man hooded, but he also wore a mask. A tight black one, covering his head and the lower part of his face. A balaclava, your brain hinted helpfully. It looked like a part of the regulation equipment of the armed forces, and that's where the similarities came to an end. For the mask has been printed over – or painted, maybe? - with the image of a skull. Mainly its lower jaw. White paint glimmered in the bluish light, forming a wide, ghastly smile which grinned at you.

But even more striking were his eyes, large and protruding. Your stunned stare met two opaque irises, as dark and dense as a black hole. You weren't able to decipher their expression. That cryptic intensity of his gaze seemed to bend space-time.

His eyelids and skin around the eyes have also been blackened, but his long lashes remained pale as frost.

You stared at this vision with your mouth ajar, like a dead fish.

"What?" He asked calmly and quietly. "Do I have something on me fuckin' face?"

You were always quite outspoken, but at that moment words eluded you.

"Cool mask,” you said finally because something needed to be said. „Cool...disguise. Is it for Halloween?"

He didn't blink. It was unnerving.

"I don't do 'alloween, love."

"So you wear this thing 'cause it makes you more interesting and mysterious and shit?"

The tall man leaned towards you, his eyes creasing in a smile.

"Look at you, sweetheart. It's clearly workin'."

"That's because of that stare of yours. It could pin a person to a wall...", you murmured.

"I could pin you to a wall. Just ask nicely.”

You felt suddenly weightless. Out of breath.

"For how long?" you quipped, trying your damnedest to sound flippant.

The nerve of this fucking guy!

"For as long as you'll need me to. I'm a dedicated man.”

There was no bravado ringing in his gritty voice. Just a calm statement of fact.

You cut a look at his arms. The black cotton of the hoodie did little to conceal their immense size.

He could probably deliver on his promise.

You took a long breath, trying to regain your lost composure. It wasn't easy when this hulking freak stared you down, but you'd been in tighter spots before.

Goths, amirite, you thought. Ever the contrarians, regardless of their age. They tended to be good in the sack though.

You studied this new specimen very thoroughly - and there was plenty to stare at. The man was built like an industrial-sized fridge. Ridiculously tall even while sitting down and broad-shouldered, with a firm chest stretching the plain black cotton of his sweatshirt. Which, by the way, he wore zipped up almost to his very chin, like a layer of protective gear. Weird.

Those dim little lights over the bar made it hard for you to discern the details, but you also noticed the width of his torso and his powerful thighs, clad in simple blue denim. He was by far the plainest dressed patron of this edgelord cellar joint. Apart from the mask you didn't notice anything even remotely Gothic about his style or bearings. Although he sat motionless, cradling a glass of whisky in his long, strong fingers – he still exuded that kind of primal strength which you've learned to associate with the outdoorsy hiker type or the avid sportsman.

"Like what you're seein', love?”

You winced, a bit perplexed that he had caught you taking stock of his impressive physique. But you weren't about to let him know that.

"Yep”, you blurted out instead, staring boldly into those eyes, as dark and impenetrable as a shark's. "Do you?"

"I do, yeah."

Aaand here we go, you thought, relaxing immediately. For now, you were on a beaten path.

"You've said that I looked like -", you chuckled accusingly, leaning back on your stool. His stare was gliding all over you without any shame, probably filing the best finds away for later.

"I know what I said," he cut you off calmly, leaning closer. The height difference between you two was striking.

"Your mascara got smudged and ran off...to there."

You stilled as this complete stranger traced a pale finger across your eye socket. You drew in a deep breath as he touched your zygomatic bone, where nothing possibly could've smudged. His fingertip travelled even further, brushing over your sensitive skin and freeing a lone strand of hair from behind your ear. It was still damp from the rain.

He did it very slowly. Very gently.

You let him. As if you were hypnotized. Attempted a smile, but the corners of your mouth felt strangely numb.

"See? Now that's perfection", he stated in the same hushed, impassive tone of voice before turning back to his drink. The whisky glass disappeared in his hand.

You were silent. Your head was buzzing as if someone had set the radio inside to a non-existent channel.

The thing is, you knew perfectly well who you were dealing with. When it comes to seasoned fuckboys like Skullface here, it's all very simple; they're nothing to be afraid of. Such men are what a high wave is for the swimmer. An opportunity for a fun ride.

Back when you were a teenage girl, you liked to spend hours on end in the sea. At the time you'd like to imagine that this cool, salty, malachite green vastness was your lover. You drifted in the water, letting the wave carry you, surrendering yourself to its tender ruthlessness, allowing the element to hold you for a moment without dealing any harm, to guide you like a dance partner, and then to pass by and disappear into the distance.

It is just like dancing. As long as you know the steps, something beautiful can come out of it.

And you haven't had the chance to let loose on the dancefloor for so long.

You calmed your body by taking a few deep breaths. You couldn't calm your heart. What you could do, though - was to let your audacious spirit take the wheel.

You grabbed at your glass and emptied it in one sweep. Vile whisky did as it always would; it burned your gullet only to flare into a ball of pleasant warmth once it reached your insides. It was not a connoisseur-worthy beverage, but its aggressive sweetness suited your current mood.

You threw your head back and exhaled slowly.

He was watching, you could tell. He tilted his head slightly. Amusement emanated from behind the black mask.

"Say..." you drawled, leaning towards him with your eyes sparkling, for you felt a surge of vigour and boldness along with a freshly bloomed, alcohol-induced blush.

"Does your mum know that you being a goth is not a phase?"

Skullface snorted softly.

"I am not a goth, love."

"Then why are you in this den for kinky weirdos?" You gestured around the dark interior, including the bare walls, the blue neon light and the throbbing, metallic, dark rhythms pulsing around you.

"I like goth chicks”, he admitted. Cheeky git.

"Why?" you prodded.

"Tattoos in fun places."

"Animal”, you chided him, setting your empty glass down with a bang.

"Excuse me, sir!" you called out to the bartender. "I shall have another."

"Like you came here for some lofty purpose. Wanna discuss the works of Kierkegaard...dressed like that?” The masked man snorted, summing up your entire scantily clad person with one tilt of his chin.

You chuckled quietly, taking no offence.

"I'm surprised that you even know how to pronounce his name."

He remained silent, so you fired away again, buoyed by the alcohol in your veins:

"Weren't you supposed to add something scathing after the 'dressed like that' part? I'm still waiting for that burn to sting."

"If I did, I'd be a fuckin' hypocrite", he muttered. "Cause I very much enjoy it."

That solemn note of appreciation in his voice made you smile and nod. What an earnest freak.

The bartender came over and took away both of your empty glasses.

"What can I get you?" he asked, his gaze moving from his face to yours.

"Two glasses of bourbon, Geoffrey", the masked man said.

He noticed that you were opening your mouth and nipped those objections in the bud by raising a finger.

"Hey. Bear with me here. If you don't like it, you might drink whatever you want next. Even more of that fuckin' coal sludge you've been having."

"Excuse you, Scotch is hardly a sludge".

"That's what the bloody Scots would tell you. In much more...colourful terms, I s'ppose. I have a Scottish coworker and every time that we go drinkin', he gives me a bloody earful about the superiority (he pronounced this word rolling his r's) of the local distilleries over that Kentucky brew."

"You're friends with a highlander?" you asked. "Does he curse at you in Scots whenever he gets agitated?"

"All the fuckin' time. He's a twonk." A smile laced his words.

"You sure are passionate about your liquor choices."

You propped your chin up with your hand, smiling at him.

"If I wanted to taste a fuckin' fireplace, I'd chew on a burnt log. Bourbon is the way to go. Much sweeter."

You couldn't help but laugh at his sudden fervour.

"You don't seem like the kind of lad who pursues sweetness," you quipped, trying to look into those impossible eyes of his and not blink. So far, it was a downhill battle.

The bartender came back. Two glasses full of amber liquid landed on the counter with a dull clink. You didn't have the time to focus on them, because Skullface leaned towards you, shading you with his powerful torso and obscuring the source of the blue light. Your nostrils were suddenly filled with his pleasant manly scent, mixed with the fragrance of fresh laundry, some kind of a woody-citrusy aftershave, and a hint of something you couldn't decipher even though you knew that smell. Its memory, devoid of a name, tickled at the tip of your tongue. Fireworks?

"Sweet and rough things should go hand in hand in life. That's how you make it all bearable somehow."

"Somehow?..” you asked absentmindedly, mesmerised by his deep voice. By the promise tilting at the edge of those slowly, intently enunciated words.

"Hey, true balance is hard to find, 'cause life's a fuckin' mess. It's chaos, it's cruel. No point to it at all."

Holy mackerel, you thought. A goth girl admirer, an apparent powerhouse of a man and a homegrown nihilist in one. With eyes like two abysses and a voice like grit. This was going to be an enchanting evening.

Don't go crazy just yet, you admonished yourself. Don't let this stranger in a mask get the upper hand on you. Keep your calm so that he doesn't sweep you off your feet prematurely.

"So," you murmured, your tone casual, "What did Kierkegaard have to say, exactly?"

Dark eyes twinkled.

"Many things. Like that our whole existence is absurd. It doesn't really matter what we do, so we might as well do whatever the fuck we want. And right now, I want to do...this."

He dipped a finger into his glass of bourbon and glided it across your lower lip.

You parted your mouth without protest, giving in to the shamelessness of this gesture.

"Just taste it."

#ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost modern warfare #ghost simon riley #reader x ghost #simon ghost riley smut #ghost is a fuckboy #the mask stays on #simon riley fanfic #ghost mw2 #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader

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melanieph321 · 4 months

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Ruben Dias x Reader - City Girls Part 4/8

Yeah, this chapter is not for the kids 😮‍💨

18++

Reader plays for the Man City girls academy. She struggles a bit but gets Ruben to mentor her. The the two don't hit off despite having many things in common. It all gets worse when Reader eventually catches feelings for Ruben.

Enjoy!

You've done well in training, well enough for coach to let you travel with the first team to their away game in London. If there is one thing you've gotten in bedded in your head from training with Ruben, it would be to "play with your mind." He would shout this at you every time you tried to dribble, or dribble when a pass could be made instead.

"Play with your mind, Y/N."

It was during the last minute's of Manchester City's fixture against Chelsea when their coach called you up from the bench. It was unexpected, terrifying even. But when an opportunity presents itself you take it.

"Play with your mind." You mumbled, as you ran down the field like your life depended on it. A pass was made and suddenly the ball was at your feet. You charged towards the Chelsea defenders, sweping past one without challenging the others. With a late pass to another charging City girl you managed to assist your first Super League goal whilst taking a knee to the side of your body. A price you were willing to pay for more moments like that.

"You should have seen me Ruben, I was amazing."

Despite it being a Friday night, Ruben had been more than willing to train you. "You shouldn't have charged the defender." He said. Raining on your parade.

"I got knocked down, so what? Isn't that what football is about, sacrifice?"

"You call getting injured and missing games sacrifice? I say it was a selfish move against your own teammates."

"Whatever." You scuffed.

You didn't expect anything less from Ruben. What you had gathered from spending more time with him was that he was uptight and practical beyond what was necessary. However, he did help you collect the balls at the end of every training session and for that you were grateful.

"Some of the girls invited me to celebrate the win with them, you should come." You said.

"You're going out? Tonight?" Ruben grabbed a ball, dumping it in the bag you held. He wore a skeptical look on his face, judging you.

"Just for a few drinks." You shrugged. "I thought it'd be good. Who knows, if I get cozy with the first team coach might let me play with them more?"

"Y/N, you're rated based on your performance, not your ability to socialize. Besides, you should be recovering from a game not to risk future injuries."

"Well, how do I do that?"

You tied a knot on the ball bag, letting Ruben carry it for you.

"Recover?" He frowned.

"Yes?"

Normally you'd consider a goodnight sleep the best way to recover, however, Ruben thought otherwise. "Hydration is most important, preferably water. And you must eat somthing, not less than forty-five minutes after you've exercised."

It was strange, being invited to Ruben's apartment on a friday night. It was big. You stood in his kitchen, his dining table overflowing with healthy nutrients. The two of you were quite comfortable with each other by now, and Ruben was nothing short of a gentleman around you.

"I've prepared the heating pod to help with your blood circulation and then you can continue recovering in my message chair."

It was a passion of his, you could tell from the way he was explaining everything to you, like he really wanted you to learn.

"But first we eat?" You said hopefully.

Ruben blushed realizing that he was getting a bit carried away. "Yes, first we eat. Could you grab that jar for me?"

"Sure."

You reached up, the jar of pasta within your reach. Just as you grasped it with your fingers, a sharp pain shot through the side of your body.

"Y/N, you okay?" Ruben rushed to your side, seeing how you winced.

"My ribs." You groand.

"Let me see."

His arms grabbed your shoulders, helping you stand up straight. Your fingers trembled trying to raise your shirt, the pain too sharp.

"May I?"

Ruben asked for consent to help you. You nodded, letting him roll up the hemn of your top.

"Fuck."

You didn't need to look down to know that it was bad, Ruben's reaction said it all. He looked to you. "Ice bath, now."

Your body shivered in the cold water. Ruben had you sit in it for eight minutes, a timer going off when it was time for you to rise.

"Y/N, you alright?"

There was a light knock on the door, Ruben's voice heard on the other end.

"Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Um...I brought some clothes."

You wrapped a towel around yourself, moving to open the bathroom door. Ruben appeared in the frame. "It's just a t-shirt but it's big enough to cover..." He coughed. "....you know."

"Thank you Ruben, the t-shirt is fine." You moved to shut the door but Ruben's arm appeared in the gap. "I um....I also brought some ointment."

"Oh."

"For the pain." He said, offering you the bottle.

"Thanks Ruben, really. I just don't think..."

"What's wrong?" He frowned.

You shook your head, seeing how worried he became. "It's nothing, really Ruben. It's just that..."

"Y/N, please. If there's somthing I can do."

"Well..." You closed your eyes and sighed. "It hurts too much to lift my arms, so you're gonna have to help me apply the ointment."

Ruben froze.

"Of course, If you're not comfortable..."

"No." He protested. "only if.....you don't mind me helping you?"

Heat rose to your face, realizing what you were asking of him. Either way you nodded. "I'll be right out."

It was awkward, so fucking awkward. You stepped out of the bathroom wearing Ruben's t-shirt. It was shorter than you had expected, cutting just above your knees. Ruben sat on the edge of the living room couch, raising his head when you approached. His hair sprouted upwards as if he had compulsively been running his hands through it. "Shall we begin?" You immediately regretted uttering those words. Ruben looked unsure weather to sit or stand so he let you decide as you stepped up to him, letting him raise your shirt until he could see the bruise on your ribs. Your legs tremble beneath you, the draft between your legs not making things easier for you.

"Is this okay?"

Ruben scooped some ointment out of the bottle, applying it to you skin. He was gentle with his touch, easing up on the pressure if his movements made you wince.

"Ruben, I'm so sorry that I..."

"Sshh." He hushed. "It's okay, I agreed to it."

"Yes but..." It was really awkward, not to mention the tempting weight you felt in the pit of your stomach.

"It's okay Y/N, I'm almost done."

"Okay."

He kept his eyes above your waist, despite you practically offering him a view of the shape of you. Your legs, your thighs...your ass. He looked so focused, eyebrows furrowed and one hand held flat against your lower back to prevent you from moving as he applied the ointment. It was strange, being taller then him for once.

"I could have challenged that defender." You said, still thinking of the game. "If I was stronge enough."

Ruben grunted. "It's why you don't see as much dribbling in the Super League or female football in general."

"What do you mean?" You frowned.

"Well, defenders are usually the fittest players on the field. They're supposed to be. But the rest of the players..."

"Ruben are you saying women aren't capable of dribblin because weren't strong enough?" An outrageous opinion, to you.

"No, not dribbling." Ruben raised his head, his chin caressing your abs. "Dribbling is easy for men and women, but getting past a defender one on one is different and not recommended in women's football. I'm sure that's why you can't get your coach off your ass. To him, passing the ball would the most efficient way to get past another teams defense."

"So you're saying there's a chance coach will let me play football the way that I want?"

Ruben chuckled. "If your willing to gain a few pounds, sure."

You frowned. The idea of gaining weight was not that appealing to you.

"I meant pounds of muscles, Y/N. Not fat." He read you like an open book. You looked down and smiled. Ruben was done applying the ointment. His hands now caressing the back of your knees, slowly, moving up and down.

"I should probably call Ester, tell her to come pick me up?"

Ruben shrugged. "Or you could stay the night?"

"Ruben."

"If you want."

He pushed you forwards, his hands moving from your legs to your ass. You gasped as his nose nudged your belly. The nerves along your spine came to life, raising the hair on your arms.

Ruben looked up, eyes drowsy. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please, yes."

You were practically begging for it, for Ruben to touch you, pleasure you anywhere that ached. He pulled you forwards his face nuzzling against his t-shirt. "You smell good."

You smiled. "I smell like you."

It felt like unfamiliar territory, a man in awe of your body, his hands moving all over you.

"Is this okay?"

"Yes."

Ruben had gone to raise your shirt again, serenading any exposed skin with lingering kisses.

"You have to tell me if you're not comfortable with what I'm doing."

"Ruben." You raised his head, cupping his face between your hands, his rough beared between your fingers. "I want this." You nodded, not sure if you've ever wanted anything else this bad. Ruben's eyes burned in the dimmed light. "But you're hurt." He said, arms wrapping around your body, craving something that he couldn't have. Forbidden fruit.

"Fuck me with your mouth then."

Ruben looked up, his eyes batting in suprise. You met his gaze, biting your lip.

"I'm sure."

It's all he needed to hear. Ruben's hands suddenly become less gentle. They had previously moved around the area where it ached the most, but with your permission he slid a hand up your thighs, not stopping until you drew a sharp breath.

"Yes, baby. That's the spot isn't it?"

It was filthy. Whatever was unraveling between you seemed forbidden, meant to be kept behind close doors.

"Y/N, say you want this."

"I want this."

Ruben slid fingers between your folds, moving to please the aching burn that had its epicentrum at the tip of your clit.

"Tell me what to do?" He demanded, his hand not rubbing you fast enough.

"Please, fuck me Ruben."

"Fuck you how?"

You threw your head back, the pleasure immense. "Fuck me with your mouth."

It was wet and warm. Ruben's head tilted in search for your opening. Your panties had already been pushed to the side, revealing the part of you that needed his attention the most. "Yes." Your cried, almost loosing your footing to the pleasure that shot through your body, head to toe. "Yes, Ruben, just like that."

He groaned below you, his tongue helping himself to all you had to offer.

"Fuck."

Your hands went to his hair, your eyes squinting shut. Ruben had covered your clit with his mouth, gathering it between his wet lips, sucking you dry.

"Please Ruben, I'm gonna...."

It sent you over the edge, that and Ruben's rough hands reaching under your shirt, rolling your stiff nipples between his fingers.

"Yes." You cried out. Melting into a puddle of nothing as you climaxed. Ruben caught you in his arms, immediately climbing on top of you as he layed you back against his couch.

"I want to fuck you so bad right now, but I can't because you're hurt."

"No." You whimpered, your thighs wrapping around his stem, the bulge in his pants putting pressure against your sensitive pussy. "Yes, like that. Fuck me just like that."

"You sure." Ruben paused all movment, raising his head to look at you.

"I'm sure Ruben, please keep..."

You could say no more. Your shirt came off, tossed aside. Ruben then lowered his hips against yours, his hard erection aligning between your thighs. The friction between you wet pussy and his jeans would be enough to send both over the edge. And so he began, dry humping you like a horny dog.

"Please Ruben, harder and faster." You clung to him, locking your legs around his hips. Ruben groaned, his body trembling like yours. "Fuck Y/N, I don't want to hurt you."

"Por favor, Ruben, me machuque." (Please Ruben, hurt me.)

He continued to hold back, sucking your nipples to slightly increase the pleasure. You were horny enough to be satisfied with what he was already doing to you.

"Ruben, I'm gonna...again."

Your head fell back against cuchens, mouth open, eyes rolling back in your sockets. Ruben himself moaned into the crease of your neck, with one last thrust ejaculating his load into his pants. You were both out of breath laying on top of each other, coming down from the high together. Ruben sat up once the mist of sex seized to linger. He ran a anxious hand down his face, looking less than pleased with himself. You felt strange too, a sudden need to put your panties back on. However, Ruben rose to his feet, towering over you.

"This can never happen again."

He picked up your shirt from the floor, tossing it your way. The expression on his face said it all, it was obvious regret.

"I'm calling a cab. You need to leave."

#fanfiction #football imagine #ruben dias #man city #manchester city #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer imagine #footballer x reader #football angst

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kriffingstars · 6 months

Text

Johnny MacTavish; rule breaker

pairing: Johnny MacTavish x Price!Reader summary: You're practically delivered to Johnny, you can't blame a man warnings: verrrrrry slight age gap (I imagine reader to be around 20, Johnny is 26), allusions to sex ;) a/n: You guys!!! I've loved your asks SO much. Hopefully this little interaction tides you over until part two :)

Price's Niece Masterlist

You're in Edinburgh, for a conference at the university about how modern technology can assist in the renovation process of old pieces of art, the case studies being used are newly found renaissance paintings.

It's the middle of the fringe festival, so you were only able to get accommodation for the day before your conference, planning to get the 5-hour train back to London, and then the train home after it had ended.

It's sod's law when after an interesting but long day, all the trains are cancelled. Torrential rain has caused major flooding, and now you're stranded, soaking and without a way to get home.

Price isn't expecting a call from you so early, but after you explain your predicament he transfers you enough for a decent room and tells you he'll sort you out a train, or flight home in the morning.

Unfortunately, luck really isn't on your side because of course everything besides some really sketchy AirBnb is booked. You really don't want to stay there on your own. If you were with your uni friends it would be different, but it was just you who went to the conference, the rest of them more interested in curating than restoration.

Begrudgingly, you call your Uncle once again and explain what's happening. You know he's busy, he's been in meetings all day and you know he's had to step out to answer your call.

Gritted teeth, he tells you he'll sort it, and calls you back a few minutes later.

"Soap's coming to grab you, find a pub and get yourself something to eat on me. I'll give him a text to let him know where you are."

This really isn't the solution he wanted, but your safety is paramount and there's no way he's letting you sleep anywhere potentially dangerous.

The stars aligned in the most infuriating way, practically delivering you to the man he wanted you to stay away from. Soap had too much leave to use up, and so he was taking an extra week at home.

It's far from ideal, and he once again, reminds Soap that he's expecting no funny business.

"Aye Captain, best behaviour I promise." his scottish drawl mumbles through the phone as he hears am engine start.

"I'll even take the sofa."

That does nothing to ease the stress, that the two of you are inadvertently causing him.

It's gone nine by the time Johnny get's to you, the rain still hasn't let up, and he jogs, bag in hand through the front door.

"Bonnie! It's been a while," he greets as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a giant bear hug.

And it has, your communication had dropped in in the last couple of months. Both of you becoming busy, and texts that were once answered straight away lie unread.

He's warm and firm and practically engulfing you. He also smells really good.

"Jesus, you're freezing," he notes as he pulls back, cupping your hands in his as he blows on them to get the heat back into your digits.

Johnny makes it way too difficult to not like him. It's like telling you not to imagine an elephant. The more you tell yourself not to do it, the more you do.

He's kind, funny, charming and ridiculously handsome.

It's even harder when he swaps your bag for his, telling you there's some warm, dry clothes for you if you want to change before you head back to his.

In the bathroom you dig out the clothes, the t-shirt is one of his work ones, with the SAS insignia embroidered on the chest, the same one your Uncle wears. That's not what stops you in your tracks though, it's not the sweats either. It's the zip up hoodie, this one isn't army issue. It's well worn and smells absolutely divine, there's a few smells mixed in together but it's overwhelmingly him.

You lift the collar to your nose, breathing it in again and your chest flutters slightly.

Your Uncle's warnings bounce around your head as you leave the stall, and make your way back to the bar.

They also leave your head as soon as Johnny looks up at you, eyes lighting up and smile softening as he sees you dressed in his clothes. You've still got your hat on, covering your damp hair.

You Price's and your bloody hats he thinks when you get close enough again for him to tuck you into his side, as he leads you to his car.

All to warm you up though, he's simply making sure you're not going to get ill. There's definitely no other reason at all that he wants you as close as possible.

"Thank you again, I don't know what I'd have done if you weren't here to rescue me," It's not meant to be flirty, you're genuinely just relaying your gratitude.

But Johnny lives to serve, his whole life is built around that and he thinks that he'd come and rescue you wherever because the way you're looking up at him is sending him haywire.

No funny business. Yes Sir.

The hour drive back to his flat flies by. It reminds the both of you when you first met, and you don't let him forget how he properly put his foot in his mouth.

"We even look similar!" you shriek as he tries to justify why he thought that a trophy wife was the correct conclusion to come to about your identity.

"Nah, you're too pretty to look like him," Johnny doesn't think before he speaks, but he's glad he didn't this time, because when glances over at you as he checks his mirror he's greeted with you wearing his clothes, face hot, and eyes already looking at him.

It really should be illegal for him to rest his forearm on the ledge next to the window as he drives, one hand on the wheel, the other on the gearstick.

"Nearly here now," is all he says, and you hum in response.

Despite living in a new build, the flat is relatively cosy. Maybe it's just the giant 'L' shaped sofa in the corner that looks like you could sink onto and sleep for days on.

"You take the bed, I'll be just on the sofa if you need anything. Bathroom's that way, toothpaste's in the cabinet above the sink."

He was really looking after you, when he stopped for petrol he grabbed you a tooth brush and some make-up wipes, as well as a packet of your favourite sweets.

He really is making it hard, when he's so thoughtful.

Settling down for the night happens pretty quickly, he leads you into his room. Shows you where the phone charger is and grabs a pair of sweats for himself to change into.

Sinking into his sheets felt so wrong, when you thought about lying in his bed it was never like this. Usually, it involved you under him, trapped between the mattress and his frame as he pulled ungodly noises from your throat. Instead you've got a pretty thin duvet, the man you want as your blanket is sleeping soundly on his sofa.

You don't bother to check the time before leaving the confines of Johnny's bedroom, your throat dry after spending far too long thinking of what you wish he'd do to you.

Creeping as silently as possible down the hallway, you make it to the kitchen, without stirring too much noise from your gracious host.

Unfortunately, Johnny didn't tell you where he kept his glasses, it felt invasive to go rummaging but needs must.

"What you looking for, Bon" Johnny mutters, scaring the ever-loving daylights out of you.

With a shriek, you leap into the air before whirling around. If you thought your heart was beating fast, it's beating faster now because he's shirtless in front of you, sweats hanging low on his hips and he's speaking in the sexiest sleep-filled voice.

You don't even noticing him walk towards you until he's standing right there. Christ, he really is toned.

"I-eh...a glass," your garbled response makes him let out a small huff of air as a smile breaks out over his face.

And if you didn't think that you could become more of a mess, he leans even closer and reaches a hand behind your head to grab the cursed object.

Your faces are inches apart, his nose grazing yours so gently you question if it was even there. In this light, his eyes are darker than usual, and his eyelashes seem a lot thicker as his blinks begin to slow. Your gaze flutters down to his lips, and you can't help but reach up to trace the scar with your fingertips.

When your gaze reaches his eyes again, you're already ruined. He's looking directly at your lips, tongue darting out as he swipes at his.

It's you who makes the first move, capturing him in a searing kiss. The flutters in your stomach have moved their way up to your eardrums, where they pound to be let out.

The kiss is all-consuming, your arms wrap around his neck finding anchor in the hair at the base of his neck. His arms have you pinned in, one snaking around your waist and finding refuge on the small of your back, pulling you closer and the other tenderly cupping your cheek.

"We shouldn't," he whispers breaking the kiss, but instead of backing away like you thought you would he dives in again. More passionate and with more tongue this time, teeth catching the bottom of your lip.

"I promised your old man I wouldn't," once again he pulls away, cupping your face, as leaves open mouth kisses down your neck, stopping to nip at your pulse point, before soothing it with his tongue.

"Johnny," you breathe, chest heaving. He lets out a growl against your throat which sends vibrations all the way south.

"He doesn't have to know."

#john mactavish x reader #john mactavish headcannon #johnny mctavish x reader #johnny mactavish headcannon #john mctavish x reader #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mactavish x price!reader #cod mw soap #price!niece!reader

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3rdsleeper · 2 months

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r/s fics rec list!

(simplified by highly specific tropes)

remus does not want sirius paying his rent and sirius is having a normal one

inflations, invitations and flirtations by mblematic

summary: The Li-Lo at Lupin's. In which plenty of people crash on Remus' air mattress after Hogwarts, and Sirius isn't jealous at all. complete - 9k

practical oddities by lurikko

summary: Regulus needs a place to stay, Remus needs to get over Sirius. It’s August 1979 and things are getting out of hands. complete - 47k (ok this one technically they do live together, but its not necessarily remus' first choice iykyk please read it)

how remus got his groove back by RealityShowJunkie

summary: Remus Lupin becomes king of the cockroaches, Fabian Prewett writes a book, Gilderoy Lockhart is a catfish, and Sirius Black realizes he's a fucking idiot. complete - 42k

the son and heir of nothing in particular by aeridionis

summary: Remus is nineteen and tired, now. And he knows that if he and Sirius were ever going to become anything—if Sirius loved Remus the way Remus loves, and will probably always love, him—it already would’ve happened. complete - 23k

frog and toad aren't friends anymore by swordfishtrombones

summary: “Some people just aren’t good flatmates. I wasn’t trying to say I liked Adrian and Mary better than you, or whatever you’re thinking.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair and squints at the streetlight, twisting his mouth like Remus is truly hopeless. “It hurt,” says Sirius, “my feelings.” complete - 10k

an episode of skam (in the sense that remus is avoidant dismissive /j /j)

the lord of desperate longing by reyghost

summary: Sirius has a lot of feelings, Remus has his own issues too, and James is a very good best friend complete - 13k

and only felt good while moving by aeridionis

summary: The summer before university, Sirius falls in love and throws a punch and then he makes a friend. complete - 17k

SHAME by wiltedtddaisy (taotu)

summary: Sirius has some figuring-things-out to do. He’s not sure if Remus helps or makes things worse. complete - 82k

angle of doubt by mblematic

summary: The Map had been going missing. Or—not missing, exactly. Sirius always knew where it was; Remus had been spiriting it away. Which, it should be said, was fine. Really. complete - 9k

a bird at your door by moongnome

summary: Of pub quizzes, old films, Chinese takeaways, broken arms, and impassioned discussions of literature: Remus is confusing, and Sirius is just trying to figure him out. complete - 31k

if you're the bassist, and i'm the lead singer, then who’s flying this plane?

the cadence of part-time poets by motswolo

summary: After losing his mother at age eleven, Remus has spent the better part of the last four years bouncing from school to school or else running around London and pretending as though he wasn't the kind of well-bred boy his father brought him up to be. Now, with his chances all run out, Remus is sent to Hawkings Independent School as a last-ditch effort to clean up his act. There he meets the very people who will set up the rest of his life, and is forced to confront the pieces of himself he'd long thought had been lost. complete - 979k

dress up in you by MsKingBean89

summary: Sirius attends a charity rock gig organised by his best friend's girlfriend, and the tall, quiet bassist catches his eye... complete - 88k (ok sirius is not in a band in this one but please just go with it)

sirius black & the six by BellaBabe

summary: Remus shrugged. “Not much for the spotlight.” “Right,” Sirius drawled. “I bet you’re also not much for the rock ‘n roll perks.” Remus tensed, sparing Sirius a scathing glance. “I’m sober now.” Sirius quirked a brow in disbelief. complete - 79k

saturday nights and sunday mornings by SoupyGeorge

summary: A story about music and family, the price of fame and finding love somewhere completely unexpected. (its an arctic monkeys au) complete - 121k

sirius black learns the meaning of true love. remus lupin does too but in a much more put together and chill way

a series of sketches done in black ink by musntgetmy

summary: Sirius had always imagined the aftermath of falling in love would mean lightness, and an escape from all the horrors of his childhood. But the past never leaves, and even love can't stop bad memories from resurfacing. complete - 57k

dissonance by renaissance

summary: Remus searches for solace in all the likely places, but somehow he keeps coming back to Sirius Black. Featuring sad acoustic indie, spearmint gum, and irresponsible usage of social media. complete - 4k

the time when you were mine by renaissance

summary: the walk from Grimmauld Place to Parliament Hill is just under an hour, but it's easier going at four in the morning complete - 9k

as red as hearts and autumn by Rosie_Rues

summary: it's the autumn of sixth year, theres a flu epidemic at Hogwarts, and the Blacks want their heir back. complete - 43k

#fic recs #do people still make these? wtv #wolfstar fic rec #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #hp fic rec #marauders

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elderberries-and-honey · 3 months

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One of Lawrence's favorite parts about Queenstown was the shops lining the coast. It wasn't as bustling as the streets of busy London that Winifred grew up with but it was certainly busier than what he was used to.

His favorite shop in particular though was the used bookstore. After Winifred had flown through nearly every book at the cottage, he was thankful for the cheaper prices and being able to provide with new and exciting stories.

While browsing books one day, he could hardly believe his eyes as he gazed into the window of the little shop. 'Could it really be?', he thought to himself, 'it truly is! A used typewriter!'

New ones had always been far too expensive, and the ones that weren't, never seemed good enough when he browsed the catalogs. It had been far too long since he'd seen Winifred get lost in her writing and this was just the thing to help her find her spark again.

As he entered inside he was greeted by the shopkeeper he'd become friendly with, Maragret March, who preferred to be called Marmee instead.

Smiling warmly, she came around the counter. "What is Mrs. Baudelaire getting-" She stopped herself, puzzled when she noticed there wasn't any book in his hands.

"The typewriter in the window... oh Marmee, it's perfect! How much is the asking price?" He enthused.

Grinning at his enthusiasm, she went on to explain it would only be €45, almost half the price of a new one. "I'm afraid though Lawrence, she needs some work done."

Lawrence's heart dropped when he realized what she meant. It wasn't in working condition, hence such a low price. After a bit of back and forth, he soon realized it would cost far too much for repairs and it was a task too far outside his respected skillset.

He thanked her for her time but couldn't keep the hint of disappointment from lingering in his tone before making his exit, completely forgetting to even purchase Winifred a new book.

"Mr. Baudelaire, wait!" Marmee called after him, finding him out on the cobblestone. Sighing, she put her hands on her hips, knowing she would never hear the end of it when she told her girls about what she was about to do.

She offered to sell him the typewriter as is, cover the cost of repairs herself and return to him as good as new. "My Jo, she's a writer too...I know how important this is." She explained.

It was such a generous offer, he almost couldn't bring himself to accept. After all, she had four girls to support and this would be an incredible loss for them.

But when he thought of his own wife, the passion that rose within her with a quill in her hand, he couldn't refuse it.

next / previous / first

#ts4 historical #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 storytelling #sims 4 storystelling #ts4 legacy #sims 4 legacy #the baudelaire legacy #1890 #winifred baudelaire #lawrence baudelaire #marmee march

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yourvirtualgoddessforlife · 1 year

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Where do I think the MW2 cast live?

Headcanons on locations and what their homes look like :)

Alejandro, Gaz, Ghost, Graves, König, Price, Ruddy, Soap

A/N: I always list characters in alphabetical order because any other order makes my brain itch 🤷

~~~~~

Alejandro

He has a moderate sized house not too far outside of Las Almas

In game he didn't tell Soap where his family is to protect them so it makes sense he'd keep them distant from Las Almas for their safety

It's a big house

You two get plenty of space to keep your stuff and the spare rooms are for visiting friends and family

He fills every wall he can with photos of you, his family, and his friends

Overall his house is very cozy with soft seats and nice wooden furniture

But he also decorates with his heart, there are sentimental items throughout the house

Gaz

A small London apartment

His accent screams London and I think city life suits him

London prices are high so the apartment has only the space you need, no spares rooms except for a home office if you need one

Gaz has a driving license but doesn't have a car because he is too use to the convenience of London public transport, there's a bus stop right outside the building

His decorating style is clothes on the floor 😮‍💨

The guarantee is really good electronics

Nice TV, fancy coffe machine, roomba

This guy even owns an air fryer

Ghost

Outskirt of a village or a remote location

Simon is from Manchester but following his childhood there I don't think he'd be happy living there

I also can't imagine him enjoying bustling cities or even towns

He's a private man and he wants to keep you safe so having more than five neighbours is a no-go

His decorating skills are non existent

You have to decorate and he'll just help you assemble furniture

Has one room in the house with no windows and it's just filled with blankets and pillows, he does not explain this and you just have to accept it's there

Graves

This is entirely because I love the idea, a ranch

Or maybe if I'm being more realistic it's a decent sized house in a suburban area

But the ranch idea is more fun so let's work with that

It's about a forty minute drive from the nearest city

It's a really big place, bigger than it needs to be

On enof those where the garage is separate to the main house

The bedroom has a giant bed and en suite bathroom

His kitchen has a table that seats more people than you know

Giant TV in front of the comfiest sofa you've ever experienced

He loves you and spoils you so he wants you to live in luxury

König

Welcome to: I know a lot about Europe except for Austria!

König had a bit of trouble while looking for places to live because he's too tall for doorways

I was looking at the standard door height in most countries and the highest was 6'8". Poor guy.

Door issue aside he'd like his privacy and he has social anxiety so I think he'd be another city hater

His house is probably big but it doesn't feel like it

1) because he's massive and so everything seems small in comparison

2) he's a fan of organised mess

Something about filling a house to the brim with stuff you like and definitely need is soothing

And you can't call it a mess because according to him everything is organised

How else would he know where everything is?

Price

His home country of Herefordshire (I don't blame him, the place is nice)

I don't think we ever learn where in Herefordshire he is from so I'll presume he was from the city of Hereford and I can't see him living there still

It's a nice city but the villages are nicer but there is another reason

Price was part of the SAS (Special Air Service) which is based in Hereford. More specifically the base is just outside the village of Creden Hill.

His house has such a comforting vibe to it

The low ceilings with the wooden beams

Wooden flooring with a really soft rug

Sofas with lovely cushions and throw blankets

10/10 I love village houses (biased)

Ruddy

In Olmeda, Las Almas

I think Ruddy would be in a similar mindset of Alejandro in regards to keeping his S/O a secret and Olemda doesn't receive too much cartel activity

For reference Olemda is the town in the campaign during the mission hardpoint... The one you mostly blow up using a helicopter. Whoops

Asides from that little incident the town isn't too far from Las Almas and isn't entirely ravaged by the cartel

The most lived in room in the kitchen

You too cool together and eat together and then sit at the table and just talk for hours

Because of this the kitchen is the most loved room

Soap

One of the towns outside of Glasgow

I don't know from which part of Scotland Soap is from but I feel like he likes Glasgow

One of the few guys on this list aside from Gaz who likes living in cities

There's more shops and they're easier to get around. Oh, and more restaurants! (He can hardly take you to a restaurant for a date if there aren't any around)

He knows your neighbour's names, how many pets they have, and when they last went on holiday

He spends a lot of time on the front garden just talking to them when they bump into each other

I hate to say this but he probably has a "Man-Cave" but it's a cool room and he asks you to spend time in there with him

It has a darts board, how could you say no??

#call of duty x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty headcanons #simon ghost riley #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john mactavish x reader #kyle gaz garrrick x reader #phillip graves x reader #konig x reader #gn reader #alejandro vargas x reader #rudolfo parra x reader #soap x reader

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shanastoryteller · 1 year

Note

HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!!! Enola Holmes?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6

Victoria quite likes her sister in law.

Her husband can't stand her, but her husband can't stand much of anything, so she hardly considers that a point against the girl. In fact, on his most irritating days, Victoria considers it to be quite a large point in her favor.

It's a bright and blissfully quiet morning when the butler says, "The Marchioness is here, madam."

She doesn't ask which one. There's only one that would bother coming here. It's also one that she doesn't change to receive - it's not like she'll appreciate the effort.

"Enola," she says warmly as she steps inside the sitting room, leaving off all her official titles like she never does in front of her husband.

It's a good thing Mycroft has a large fortune and a rigorous work schedule. He'd be intolerable otherwise.

"Victoria," she returns, returning her hug with that deceptive strength that hides behind her wiry frame. "Are you - can I - there are some questions. That I have."

"For a case?" she asks, guiding her onto the couch so they can sit together. She assumes that someone is already setting up for tea.

Mycroft may hate Enola's past times, but Victoria thinks they sound exciting. She loves family dinners, listing to her and Sherlock talk animatedly of their latest case.

She shakes her head. "It's - personal. I'd ask my mother, but she's a little busy at the moment."

The price on her head is so high in London that she rarely bothers to come here. Victoria wishes that Mycroft would take care of that, but he's so touchy about his mother.

"You can ask me anything," she says.

Enola hesitates. Victoria is starting to wonder if she should be concerned, when she's seen Enola ask some of the rudest questions she's ever heard out loud with a straight face.

"It's about babies."

Ah.

"Are you...?" she asks leadingly, glancing down at her stomach.

"No!" she yelps, then bits her bottom lip. "Not yet."

"What do you want to know?" she asks, doing her best to keep her humor tucked away. Enola hates not knowing something, it must be terrible for her to even ask. "You really can ask me anything. I don't mind."

Victoria is only older than Enola by a handful of years, but this is what her mother had raised her for, and what she'd been focused on during her first year of marriage.

Thank goodness she'd had a son. It means that Mycroft left her alone, for the most part.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #anon #enola holmes

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chemicallywrit · 21 days

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Well well well, look who's having a real day off for the first time in six thousand years! I'm gonna write because that's what my soul needs! It's time for Audio Drama Sunday! Here's some shows I enjoyed this week...

♟️ @camlannpod first of all. I called it. Second of all. How DARE you. The discussions about names and power in this episode were fascinating and...I don't know, I love a hero who's devastatingly normal. Gwen/Shujun can make anything happen with her words, is the damsel in distress, but she's just normal. Perry is normal, Morgan is normal, and Dai might not be normal by neurotypical measures, but he's just some guy. Except that he's really not. And the group of them can either embrace it or suffer.

🧃There is never a week when @thesiltverses doesn't go all the way off, and this one went ALL the way off. We have to talk about Shrue having a whole breakdown and then moving forward anyway. Felix, Ray, and Daisy were amazing, but I also have to give all the flowers to Rhys Lawton, who I met recently and was an utterly terrible villain in this episode. Corporate horror. Who knew? (Anyone who works in corporate knew.)

🐗 The season finale of @victoriocity was funny and amazing and incredibly well done as always, but the stand-out moments are the moments of friendship between Clara and Fleet. I just. I love them your honor. They are best friends. Do not separate them. It's really good to see Fleet cracking open a little bit. Just a little. He's still Fleet, after all.

🍦I listened to the new Among the Stars and Bones on the way home from work and it was absolutely chilling. My word. The number of times I screamed. Oliver Smith was incredibly scary even in the midst of the horror, Jordan Cobb is always a treat, and my word, the crowd of Nabonidas crew members...Hey, Chris Magilton, writer of Among the Stars and Bones, what the hap is heckening???

1️⃣3️⃣ I've started listening to Thirteen! I love a horror anthology, but especially one with a central theme. So far most of the stories present you with a protagonist who is missing closure, and a creature who offers it, for a price. Thirteen is about grief. The stories are rhythmic and spooky, and at one point alone in my house I actually really scared myself listening. Check out Thirteen, it's a treat.

⛽️ In other shows I've started listening to, @desertskiespodcast is gorgeous and lovely and...the only word I can think of is effervescent. It's like a cold soda on a road trip. It's maybe just what I needed. My favorite part is definitely the cold opens, especially the one about Cash laughing. Jared Carter has incredible comedic timing.

In Inn Between news, we just posted 5.8: The Blood, which might be my favorite episode of the season, depending on how the next one turns out. In The Dead news, this next story is a HUMDINGER. Did you cry at Giancarlo in the last story? GOOD, now it's time to run for your life through London. Y'all are gonna love this.

Catch y'all next week or whenever I have time to write again! If you like what all this is, maybe drop me a tip?

#audio drama #fiction podcast #audio fiction #audio drama sunday #camlann #victoriocity #the silt verses #among the stars and bones #thirteen podcast #desert skies #freaking podcasts

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captain-mj · 7 months

Text

Lazarus

Might do a part 2 to this?

Ever hear about the book of revelations?

Something happened. The only reason Soap knew was because it was hard to not notice how secretive Price got.

“What do you think it is?”

Gaz sat with him, both staring at Price’s empty seat. “Don’t know. It’s gotta be bad, right? Why else would he just not talk to us about it? He told you anything, Ghost?”

“Not a word.” His gloves hands were tapping hard on the table. “Keeps walking out to answer phone calls. I think it’s something in Britain. His accent thickens when he comes back.”

Soap sighed and stretched, popping his back. “Isn’t he from London? Doesn’t that mean it’s someone from there he’s talking to?”

Ghost grunted but Gaz just grinned. “Don’t think it’s someone he has waiting for him at home? Maybe he picked up someone on leave and he hasn’t told us yet.”

They all knew that wasn’t it, but it was a lot nicer to joke about that than anything else. Lot nicer.

Then, Price told them all they would be dealing with a mission in Manchester. He said it with such a grave tone, Soap had anticipated a lot worse. Middle of Siberia since it was winter or Buckingham Palace was going to be blown up in an act of war. Possibly even the fucking Pentagon. Something worthy of the way that Price gripped the desk and looked afraid.

So to hear that it was Manchester was a little confusing.

“Manchester?” Ghost asked, tilting his head. Ah. Ghost grew up there. That’s why Price seemed so nervous. He was probably worried about how Ghost would hold up.

Soap didn’t know everything, but he knew enough about Ghost to know Manchester was not a good place for him.

“Yes. I need all three of you. Something… happened there.” Price glanced at Ghost again before looking down at where his hands were white knuckling the table. “Get your gear together. We leave as soon as everyone is ready.”

Gaz nodded. “We’ll get ready as soon as possible, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant. We’ll be going by vehicle so meet me in the base garage.” Price wrapped his knuckles against the table before departing.

The unease that had started earlier only intensified. It suffocated them until even Soap struggled to think of things to say to fill the silence. Ghost was his normal, quiet self. He looked out the window and drifted as Soap liked to call it. But Price, who usually was willing to joke around since he knew the long silences would get to Soap and Gaz, was silent. Which left it up to Gaz and Soap to keep everything going. They spoke loudly, cheerfully, trying to burn out the thick fog of tension.

It didn’t really work but it was an improvement.

Ghost put music on about mid way through, some rock music that sounded a bit older.

“Your mom.” Price asked and the oxygen left the room as Ghost slowly turned his head towards him. His eyes widening to an almost comical degree.

“What did you say sir?”

“Your mom. You told me once that she likes the Beatles, right? Especially Hey Jude.”

Ghost stared at him and Gaz quickly glanced at Soap, horrified that Price would so… casually drop something so personal about Ghost.

“Yes, sir. She did.”

Price nodded. “Right…”

“Why do you ask, sir?” Ghost’s voice had slowly gotten cold and taut. Ready to snap at any moment.

Price didn’t answer. They kept driving. Soap and Gaz avoided talking about music for the rest of the car ride.

They pulled into a facility that looked… rather dark. Something about it was very unsettling. All concrete and rebar.

Ghost followed Price, looking at him warily. He glanced back at them and Gaz stared back, both of them silently communicating about how weird it was for Price to be acting like this.

They were checked in and when the person at the desk, who looked to be heavily armored but not armed, went to check Ghost’s identification and Price was quick to stop her. Ghost held the fake id in his hand, always keeping one on him, but he followed Price’s lead and slowly put it away.

There were cell like rooms dotting the main hallway. Each one unnerving and quiet. People were in a few of them, most of them just… staring. Several hand dirt all over their hands or over their face, even though their clothes were clean.

Ghost checked each one. It was because of instinct, nothing more. He checked each person, slowing after a second. Some were… familiar. Just vaguely. Their faces bouncing around in his brain. They flinched away from him, unsettled by his skull mask.

Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong. He kept slowing down, trying to piece these people together. One of them he finally recognized as working at a store when he was a teen.

What were they doing here?

“Get that fucker away from me.” A man barked at them, glaring at Ghost. “Swear to god, he’s fucking insane. You need to lock him up.” The man was medium height with bright blue eyes and a shock of dirty blond hair. He’s looking at Ghost like he’s afraid.

Soap opens his mouth, intent on asking when Ghost throws himself against the bars like an animal. “I’m going to fucking kill you. I’m going to rip your goddamn insides out.” He reached between them, so erratic and violent and unlike Ghost that it startled the three of them. Then they were trying to drag him away from the bars.

Ghost turned back on Price like a snake, dark eyes the only indication of anything. “You knew? How long has he been here? Did you know he was alive the whole damn time?” He managed to get his hands around Price’s throat, clearly ready to kill him.

Price just barely got a grip on his wrists, trying to keep him from cutting off the oxygen to his brain. Soap tried to physically yank Ghost back while Gaz tried to pry his fingers off of Price.

“Fuck you, John. You brought me here. Knowing that man would be alive. I thought I killed him. He should be dead. You should be fucking dead.” Ghost hissed at the man.

“This is why you weren’t allowed back in the military.” The man spat at him, full of venom.

Ghost staggered and swung back to him. “Fuck you, Sparks.”

“Riley. You’re fucking insane. Still hiding behind that fucking skull. I told you, all you had to do was come to the fucking-”

Something happened to the bars, like a shock. It made Sparks jerk back.

“Simon.” Price rubbed his throat, clearly not as upset as anyone else would be. He understood why Ghost had the reaction, even if no one else did. “Let me explain. Something happened. We’re not sure if they’re… the real people.”

Gaz looked at Price, finally managing to tear his eyes off of Ghost. “What?”

“Dead people just… came back. To life. We’re trying to figure out what exactly happened. The reason we’re here is one of the cemeteries affected was the one of the biggest Protestant cemetery in Manchester.”

Soap took a deep breath.

“John…”

Ghost had been glaring at this mystery person for twenty minutes so far. Where most people would shake or beg for their lives, this man just stared back.

Fluffy natural blond hair and gorgeous green eyes. He had a thick manchester accent just like Ghost. “Are we going to do this all day, Simon?”

The three witnesses snapped their heads to look at Ghost. His hands were flat in front of him but incredibly tense. “Who are you?”

“You know the answer to that, but I’ll give you some time.”

“The person you’re mimicking is dead.”

Mystery guy looked at himself. “Nah, I look fine. Just had to get the dust off. What are you trying to do? Prove it’s me? Prove it’s not me?”

Ghost stared at him. “You’re not him. He died a very long time ago.” There was a tense silence.”

“How can I prove it? Name every street name for coke? Tell the people watching us where you hid your dirty mags?”

“...my magazines?” Ghost sounded genuinely surprised.

“Third plank under your bed.”

“Lucky guess.”

He groaned and got comfier. “Si, come on.”

“You’re not Tommy.”

“You know I am.” It’s why you’ll look me in the eye.” ‘Tommy’ leaned forward. “Don’t be like this. You know it’s me.”

Ghost shook his head, hands clenching. “Can’t be sure.”

“What do you want? I can showing you the tattoo on my ribs you gave me. Talk about how, despite griping, you held me the entire night I was shivering from withdrawals. Though I’d die in our childhood room until you sat next to me. Same way Mom did when you had nightmares.”

Mom.

Childhood bedroom.

They were siblings.

Soap frowned. He felt like an idiot for not realizing sooner. The hair and manner of speaking.

It was difficult to imagine a baby Ghost having nightmares or going to his mom or even just… being little. Another idea that felt very foreign was Ghost taking care of someone like that. He was a good person that cared a lot and very deeply. But it felt so sweet and sincere. Maybe it was just that Soap had a hard time imagining Ghost off duty. He liked to sometime. Try at least. He admired the man and maybe he had a little crush on him. The idea of him being a big brother and a very good one at that was…

Interesting.

“Not proof.”

“I thought you were going to come out to me when I asked you to be my best man.”

“You said thought. Doesn’t mean anything.”

Sopa and Gaz glanced at each other, silently raising eyebrows as they examined the fact that Ghost did not deny the coming out part. Or acknowledge it.

Tommy sighed. “I’ve known since I was 14 and caught you and Jason making out behind the school house.” Ghost went to interject, but Tommy cut him off. “You haven’t cried since Dad made you go to the concert. You apparently cried on the way back and Dad beat you so hard he broke something in your face. Closest you came ever again was when I told you that Joseph’s middle name was Simon. He was a premie. Two months early and tiny. Could fit in my hand so I knew he could fit in yours. You insisted on checking on Beth first, claiming you were worried about her, but we all knew you were just scared to hurt him.”

Ghost was quiet. Not his eerie practiced quiet he used to scare recruits. A vulnerable, almost mournful quiet.

“I once asked when you’d finally settle down. I was careful to never say wife to you. Said you didn’t see a point because it would never be what Beth and I have. Didn’t say anything but I thought you were an idiot for that. Cause you wouldn’t have what Beth and I do. You’d have what Simon and whoever got lucky has.” Tommy smiled and leaned forward. “You’re my best friend. You know me. You knew me strung out. You knew me when you crawled home from Mexico. And you know me three years after I died. Because I’m your best friend too.”

Ghost stared and Soap felt like he was intruding. For a moment, he though of pulling Gaz and Price away, but if this was a trick and this guy was dangerous, he’d be living Ghost, an emotionally vulnerable Ghost apparently, all alone.

“Yeah, Price. He’s definitely Tommy.”

Tommy laughed. “You’re a giant sap. Just wanted me to call you my best friend, didn’ you?” He tilted his head at him.

Ghost stood up and glanced around the room, like he was trying to find a reason he could leave. Tommy stood up and hugged him. Like it wasn’t a big deal to touch Ghost. The Ghost. Simon Ghost Riley. Simon hugged back tentatively.

“I’m right here, big guy. Love you too.”

Ghost crumbled into him. He mumbled something to Tommy who patted him. “I know. I know. Missed you too. Guys can we have a moment?”

“Price was still staring at Tommy with what they now recognized as a shock and awe. “Yeah, come on sergeants.” He backed out, keeping his eyes on them.

“Captain. Who was that?”

“A dead man?”

“Suicide mission?”

Price shook his head. “Murdered in his home. Had nothing to do with the military.

Soap nodded. “How many people came back to life?”

“So far? We have no clue. But it’s a lot.”

“How many does Simon know?”

“A lot.”

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #call of duty modern warfare ii #cod mw2 #ghostsoap #soapghost #cod #ghoap

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sofasoap · 9 months

Text

Lastochka AU - Strange blind date

Pairing : Nikolai x F!Reader ( OC/Mini MacTavish)

Summary: One and only time you want to twist Gaz's neck off.

AU to my Lastochka series

WARNING: Mature Theme. Crack Fic. I repeat. Crack fic. don’t take it so seriously. Swearing, alcohol use, innuendos.

A/N : part 2!!! I don't know. Thanks to @siilvan for bouncing and plotting the story with me, and @nrdmssgs post inspired me.

masterlist

“Oh Crap.” Gaz quickly flicks his eyes towards his phone, looking at the caller ID flashing up on the screen. He knew the time had come. He threw his controller towards Soap as he grabbed his phone, he mumbled, “Wish me luck.”

“Why?” Soap stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he took over the controller and the game.

“Someone is going to kill me.” With that parting word and look of confusion on Soap’s face, Gaz quickly darted out of the common room and into the corridor.

“KYLE GARRICK!!!” Quickly pull his phone away from him, ears ringing from you screaming down the phone.

“DID YOU REALISE WHO YOU SET ME UP WITH FOR THE DATE?!!!”

“Come on, trust me on this!” Gaz pleads.

Throwing the last bit of your clothes into the washing machine, you swap the phone onto the other side of your shoulder as you put the powders into the washing compartment, “Last few times you said this, it turned into disaster.”

“Well, not all of them ended in disaster??”

“Well, how about that IT guy? He was nice enough wasn’t he?” Gaz said meekly.

“How about that girl you set me up with in London?” You huffed as you slammed the machine door closed and set it to wash. “She was only using me to try to get close to Johnny!”

Oh you felt an off vibe from that girl the moment you sat down. She wouldn’t shut up about Johnny, and she practically ignored you when he came to pick you up at the end of the date, eyes all glued on him.

“He was nice , yes, but to be honest? Too nice and bland.” you sighed. You felt bad for that guy. There were moments of good conversation, but there was no chemistry there. You ended up introducing him to your mate instead, and now they are happily together. You two stayed as friends.

“Alright, trust me on this one really.” he emphasised on the word trust.

“I am having a very hard time trusting your judgement on people’s character now.” You sighed. For someone who is in such a elite task force and the only person in his batch to endure both physical and mental torture simulation? He is really crap at seeing through people’s true character.

“Price knows him personally, so you know he is a good quality sort. I guarantee you he will treat you nicely.” Gaz reassures you.

And you let Gaz talk you into it. Again.

“He will come and pick you up. I’ll send you the details! Don’t worry, I already warned him of all your likes and dislikes.” You really don’t like that conspiring tone he has in his voice. He is up to something. You know your friend.

Standing right in front of your apartment, all nicely dressed up, you begin to wonder what this person is like?Is he young? Or older? Does he live in this part of the world as well?

A black car suddenly pulls out as your mind was clouded with dark thoughts, you snapped back into reality as you heard it honking at you.

Price knows him, so there is a high chance of him being in the military? You seriously don’t think Price has much of a social life outside work. To be honest, dating a military man wasn’t on top of your list. You have enough heartaches sending your brother and friends off on mission all the time and not knowing in what state they will return. Walking out of the gate, or being rolled off the plane in a body bag.

Hum. somehow it looks very familiar. Too familiar.You narrowed your eyes with suspicion.

A dark slicked back hair man with an aviator stepped out from the driver side of the car, with a huge smirk on his face.

Fuck.

“Hello Lastochka, we have met again.” Pulling down his aviator, “You look very beautiful.” he commented casually.

“Why are you here?! Are you stalking me?” Stepping back from the kerb, ignoring his compliment, you questioned him alarmingly.. Maybe it’s time to move house, or find a new job. Or maybe you need to move countries. Or go underground.

Nikolai’s lip turned down, feigning a hurt expression on his face. “Come on, not happy to see me?” he lamented.

“I don’t need to see you today. I am waiting for someone to pick me up.” You wave your hand dismissively, trying to be as polite as possible.” Now can you please move along.”

Nikolai blinked a few times, slight surprise and amusement on his face. “ What are you talking about? I am here to pick you up for your date.”

Ok, he is definitely stalking you. “How do you know I have a date?”

“I know your date very well, let’s just say.” That cryptic smile on his face again.

You already started plotting all sort of different ways to torture or kill Gaz in your mind.

“How?”

Putting his hand over his heart, winking, “I am your date, my little bird.”

He chuckled as he observed the different expressions flashing across your face.

“Don’t blame Gaz or Price for this. I asked them first.”

Nikolai walked around the other side of the car, he opened the passenger side door, bowing like a butler as he urged you into the car. You feel like de javu, you have no choice but sighed and gave up on resisting, and slid into the car.

Ok, add Captain Price onto the hit list as well. At this moment you are beyond care that he is your brother’s superior or someone who you look up to almost as a life mentor.

After a short drive and parking his car, you had a good look. He brought you to the riverside boardwalk, a nice part of the city centre where your new colleagues had mentioned about when you ask them what and where are places to explore in this city.

“I booked a table at a bistro on the side of the river, they serve really good local food. Gaz mentioned you haven’t had a chance to try out the local cuisine?” he smiled down at you warmly.

Shaking your head to answer his question, “Been too busy with moving house and thrown straight into work. I haven’t had time to really check out this area yet.”

Holding his hand out, waiting for you to accept his invitation. You gulped. Is this really a good idea?

“You’ll love the food there. Come. We still have a bit of time before the restaurant opens. Let’s take a walk along the river?”

Before you can register, your arm is already out stretched, he gently takes your hand into his large callous hand. So warm. So… safe?Taking a peek at his side profile as both of you stroll down the walkway. A face etch and hardened with traces of battle and wars, you noted. A tired fatigue hidden behind the wall of resoluteness. A look you are too familiar with. Your heart actually aches at the thought. Aching for him.

“Now, along this river.. Is where the civil war started.” pointing towards the far side of the river, “ they tried to land a helicopter there, but ended up crashing it.” he sighed. “A pity. It was quite a nice one too.”

He pulls you in closer to him, carefully shielding you from the large group walking towards you, crowding the walkway, leaving limited space to pass through.

You can feel the heat radiating through his body, hint of leathery musk and sandalwood smell of his cologne and familiar whiff of cigar you often smell on Price. You instinctively lean in even closer to him. Wanting to smell him more. Feel him more.

It feels very intimate. Almost.. romantic?

Ok. scratch that. The romantic level suddenly dropped below negative.

The rest of the walk was dotted with anecdotes of historical facts of the city, occasionally him pointing out good spots to hang out or to avoid.

Dinner was full of surprises too. True to Gaz’s word, he already knows what your likes and dislikes are, and ever being the gentleman, pulls the chair out for you, lets you decide on the food, the drinks, and makes small suggestions here and there.

When you flick your eyes at him, silently asking for help when the waiter starts speaking in a local dialect which you haven’t quite got the hang of, he slides in to help, without pushing in and overtaking the whole situation.

He let you lead the conversation during dinner. Letting you ask him all the questions. Almost all the questions.

This man is officially a bigger flirt than Johnny. You declared.

Probing him carefully, “Nikolai isn’t your real name, is it?”

“Why would you want to know?” Taking a sip of his grappa, he leaned slightly forward, closer to you, “So you can call out my name… in private?”

“In your dreams.” tapping your fingers on the table, “First date is still in progress. We haven’t even decided on a second date yet.” you scoffed, face heating up slightly with embarrassment.

Cocking his eyebrow, “Oh? Already thinking about the future?”

“I am a planner. I like to think ahead.” He wants to be a tease? So can you.

His smile broadens as you banter with him. Why does he look so pleased?

At the end of the night,he walked you to your door, making sure you got in safely. This is where you two part ways for the evening. But not before he grabbed one of your hands carefully, cupping your face with another, gently caressing your cheek with a thumb. He murmured a few words in Russian, voice too low for you to catch anything. Looking into your eyes with his deep brown orbs, he brings up your hand, lip lingering on your knuckle for a few seconds, and finally giving it a soft kiss, and bid you goodnight.

Leaving you standing there, stunned. And burning like a furnace.

Holy heaven. You are NOT falling for this charismatic man already. No. You are NOT.

“You set me up with HIM! The guy who threw you out of the helo and nearly killed you!” You screamed again.

“Well I am still alive…?”

“.... it was actually nice.” you admitted, begrudgingly. “He wants to take me on a second date.”

“And he nearly killed me by driving like a maniac!” you slump into bed, haven’t bothered to change out of your dress.

“You lived? Didn’t you? And you got to work on time.” He laughed. “So, are you going to tell me how the date went?”

“Did you say yes?”

You bit your lip. “Um…..”

“Ah,come Lastochka, let me take you on a helicopter ride and show you around this beautiful city! Don’t worry, You will be nicely secured with a seat belt. I promise I won’t throw you out of the cockpit like I did to Gaz”

Lord have mercy, why did you agree to this second date?

Tag list:

@homicidal-slvt@nrdmssgs@siilvan@roosterr

@preciouslittlecreature@floral-force@jynxmirage@gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot

@glitterypirateduck

@whydoilikewhump

@alypink

@liyanahelena

@caramlizedtomatos

@ashwasherelol

@okayyadriana

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findingnemosworld · 8 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐜

• 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 ( 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐮𝐥𝐢 𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧. 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐚𝐚𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭. 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐮 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 🫶🏻)

[ 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭 ]

Y/N never really had a stable relationship in her life, with her growing fame as a singer came the unfortunate price of her privacy being non existent, while she was more than appreciative of her fans and their long time support, their supposed protectiveness had been the root of why two of her last relationships were an unfortunate failure, and why she'd been so scared to open herself up again for any man at that point, instead choosing to pour her focus on working to create art that'll resonate with people, and through music - she had met the man she firmly believes is the reason that color has reentered her life once again.

Christian Pulisic.

She'd been asked to sing at the event to honor and celebrate the USMNT on winning the CONCACAF cup, that was when one of her close friends, Gio Reyna decided to play matchmaker and introduce her to Christian as in his words, you need to meet him, he's literally your biggest fan. Christian was the picture perfect image of what a sweet man should be, while shy for the most part; they'd managed to get along with Gio jokingly chiming in and saying, " I better be your first kid's godfather, girl or boy I don't care "

They worked around their schedules, Christian at the time was playing for Chelsea Football Club and Y/N lived in New York City - and each time they had free time, she would either travel to London to see him play and support, or he would travel to New York to see her, almost always being present to support her through the making of her new music, their relationship wasn't free of arguments, every now and then Christian would subtly bring up the prospect of them living together in London, and while Y/N loved him dearly, she feared the public realizing their relationship as the pair continuously remained mum, choosing to be as private and secretive as they can.

With a tough season at Chelsea, between the management and the rather unfortunate rebuilding which saw several of the key players depart from the club, Christian had accepted the offer from AC Milan and had informed Y/N about it, " I didn't want to do this without you knowing " He began, " I want you to be there every step of the way "

" And I am always with you baby, no matter what happens " She smiles, pressing a kiss to his cheek before shuffling closer to him as the pair laid down together on his bed.

A wave of silence takes over as neither one wanted to address the obvious and lingering problem that's been hanging in the air, " Y/N, baby " Christian murmurs, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

" Yeah " Y/N whispers, refusing to look at him as she had an inkling feeling on which direction the conversation was going.

" Have you given any thought about it? " Christian asks. " About us moving together "

" Chris " Y/N whispers with a frown, she would be lying if she said she didn't think about it, yet the daunting feeling of the paparazzi following her every move, and her fans throwing any kind of hate to Christian flashed before her eyes. " I just ... "

Christian nuzzled his face in her neck, " Baby " the word comes out slight muffled coupled with a soft kiss that instinctively had her relaxing in his embrace, " You can work from there, and if there is anything necessary you can fly back to the US "

Y/N remained silent, debating on the idea; it wouldn't be too bad as the pair were closing in on two years together. " I'll think about it " she said, turning her head slightly to press a kiss to his cheek.

" Good enough for me " Christian beams, tightening his embrace as they both fell asleep.

With his move to Italy, and her traveling back to the US; the pair remained in contact through facetime calls, text messages and occasional voice calls when neither one is free. And once her album was out for the world to listen to, and she had wrapped up all related promotions, Christian had called her that night to congratulate her and also surprise her with an all paid flight to Milan, which was exactly what Y/N needed to relax and unwind, as well as finally see Christian after so long.

Once she landed in Milan, Christian was there waiting for her and to say that she missed him would be an understatement, their kiss was of longing and pure unconditional love.

Christian drives straight to his new home, and along the way he tells her all about how his season was going, " I'm telling you babe, I feel so comfortable here " he continues talking about he feels more at ease then he was back in Chelsea.

" I'm proud of you baby " Y/N states with a loving gaze, reaching to grasp his free hand squeeze it, " It was worth staying up and watching every singe match "

" I'm so glad they gave you this time off because I plan on spending every waking moment of my free time with you " Christian said, lifting her hand to press a kiss on it.

And true to his word, whenever he was in training; she took the chance to explore Milan alone, and when he was finished with training he'd take her out on dates and spend their nights, making up for lost time with soft kisses and touches, and during one of those nights while they laid entangled in each other's arms that Christian had brought up the subject yet again.

" Baby " Christian breaks the silence between them, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade,

" Yes " She responds with a soft smile.

" This apartment feels lonely sometimes " Christian said, subtly dancing around the topic at first. " I mean ... don't get me wrong, I love my teammates, they're always trying to cheer me up but, some times I feel alone and - um - I've been thinking about it "

Y/N giggles, and swiftly turns to face him; placing her palm across his cheek and stroking her thumb back and forth, she pressed a soft kiss to his lips, smiling when she felt his arm snake its way around her waist to pull her flush against him. " I talked to my manager, my record label and everyone around me " she whispers, digits instinctively toying with his chain. " They've all been nothing but supportive and helped me make my decision "

Christian's brows furrowed, " What do you mean? "

" It's going to take a while to get everything I need but ... " Y/N smiles widely, " It's going to take a while for me to get around but I think I can learn Italian " she adds, " and ... if I need to practice, surely a lot of people will be down to hear me sing "

Christian beams, " Are you saying what I think you're saying? "

Y/N pulls Christian in for a gentle and passionate kiss, " That should answer your question, so Pulisic, you better make room for me cause I will be here for a while "

Christian tightens his embrace, pressing yet another kiss to her lips before he said. " I love you, I love you so much baby "

" I love you too " Y/N smiles widely.

___________________________________________

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝

📍 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐚𝐧, 𝐈𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐲.

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: beyond excited for this fresh start with my person 🫶🏻

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐜𝐦𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐜, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 and others.

𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬:

user1: 😍😍😍

user2: no way, she said special person that's got to christian 😭❤

yourbestfriend: will miss you babe but enjoy there

- 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: I will babe, miss you more xoxo

cmpulisic: my girl, excited to have you with me ❤🥹

- 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞: me too baby, I love you 🥹❤

user3: I knew it 😭😭😭 they couldn't stop hiding anymore.

#christian pulisic #christian pulisic x reader #christian pulisic imagine #ac milan

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isabella-kr · 1 year

Text

Chapter Nine: Housekeeping

This story will include mature themes, please only read if you are 18 years old or over.

If you are underage, you can read the Wattpad version instead as it will include no smut.

This is a work of fiction and does not represent the real Army.

Synopsis: Captain Price and his team comb through a townhouse in London in hopes of finding the stolen Russian Gas.

Pairing: John Price x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, violence, blood, injuries, gun violence, terrorism, death.

Word Count: 4k

Note: Really sorry it took me so long to update; I was going through a rough patch and didn’t have the energy to write! But I’m back now :D

Note 2: Special thanks to @deriley whose work was the inspiration for the Gaz joke :))

Series Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

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Splashes of colour danced behind her eyelids like those of a firework on a cloudless night sky. The pads of her tired fingers pressed into her sensitive eyes and an exasperated sigh tumbled past her dry lips as her elbows dug into the soft skin of her thigh. The force no doubt left a circular mark underneath the thick material of her cargos, but she paid the tension no mind as she continued to rest her head in her palms.

Despite securing her place inside the building, the cold, late October air continued to leave an uncomfortable prickle against the apples of her cheeks and tips of her ears. Right now, she wished for nothing more than to have one of the hats Price adored so much covering her own head.

“You good?” Came Thomas’ croaked voice.

The sergeant sat beside her with a packet of sweet chocolates in his hand. He offered some to her, and although she often refused the treats, this time she could not help but accept. She reached for the packet, and feeling it crinkle around her hand, she pulled out a small number of star-shaped chocolates. Placing them on her tongue, she hummed in delight as the sweetness gracefully crowned her tastebuds.

“Just tired,” she told him, rubbing her hands over her face once again.

“Me, too.” Thomas hummed, “Hope I get shot and sent home.”

Her head snapped in his direction with a furious look. With a sharp swing, she slapped her hand against his forehead, watching amused when his head was flung backwards. His palm soothed the sore, red spot that was quickly growing on his assaulted forehead, and the scowl that formed on his face showed just how little he appreciated the gesture.

Hesitant footsteps coming their way caused them both to turn before any more words were exchanged, their eyes landing on a very uncertain Gaz. He was biting on the inside of his cheek, and his hands moved from his pockets to cross over his chest in an unsure manner. The nervousness was practically radiating off him in waves, and so the two decided to take pity on him.

“Garrick,” called Thomas, his hand gesturing at the young Sergeant.

He approached the two with a stiff smile as his hands fell limp at his sides. He sat on a small bench opposite them, a sigh leaving his parted lips when he rested his back against the cold wall.

“Gaz, right?” No-Face asked with a gentle tilt of her head.

He confirmed with a nod.

“Cat got your tongue?” she raised a brow with a teasing smile.

“Sorry,” he suddenly straightened his back, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Really keeping up those formalities, eh?” Thomas chuckled, “Why the nickname? You gassy?”

The young sergeant looked taken aback by the question. His brows raised and eyes narrowed slightly.

No-Face almost laughed. Almost. She caught herself just before the sound escaped her lips, and sent a fake, scolding look in Thomas’ way.

“Wiz,” she warned.

“I’m only asking,” he defended with a grin, “Come on, tell us.”

“It’s Gaz, not Gas. Ga-z,” the youngest of them all retorted.

Thomas puckered his lips, “So you’re not gassy?”

“No,” he stated. After a short pause, he spoke once again, “When’s the brief?”

“When Price gets here,” No-Face decided to answer, cracking her neck as she leaned against the wall, “He was on the phone with Laswell last time I saw him so it might take a while. You can go inside if you want,” she gestured at the room the brief was to take place, “The others are already there, I think.”

He nodded with a hum of acknowledgement, “You two known him long?”

“‘Bout five years,” Thomas revealed.

Kyle looked to her then, and she let out a breath before replying, “Almost a year now,” she said, “Don’t worry Gaz, he’s a good Captain. Might look intimidating, but he’s nice, really.”

“Speaking of the captain,” Thomas manoeuvred in his seat to face her, “Since when do you call him Price?”

Her brows knit in the middle, “What do you mean?”

“Before you went on leave, it was always ‘captain’, and now it’s ‘Price’,” he pointed out with wild eyes, “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” she denied with a shake of her head, “You’re overthinking it.”

“Am I?” he raised a questioning brow.

She nodded, “Yup.”

“Alright, then,” he exhaled sharply, “Keep your secrets.”

“There’s no secret.”

I just don’t want any false rumours to spread.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching caused their mindless bickering to cease. Speak of the devil.

Price approached the three with a quizzical look. His brows raised and arms lifted to hold onto his vest before he spoke, “Why aren’t you inside?”

“That’s on me, sir,” No-Face quickly replied, “I had a headache and wanted to wait out here before having to sit in that stuffy room. Thomas decided to join me and then Garrick somehow got involved, too.”

He only nodded, and then gestured for them to enter the crowded room. Gaz was the first to walk through the door, closely followed by Thomas, and then No-Face who was almost at the very back of the group. John was right behind her, his hand gently squeezing her shoulder before they entered walked through the threshold of the door.

She decided to stand at the back and lean against the cold wall, whilst John moved to the very front. He placed his jacket on a chair and began to speak, his gruff and stern voice making sure all were paying attention to his words.

“Alex and Commander Karim’s forces have destroyed General Barkov’s Forward Operations Base, temporarily limiting Russian air capability in Urzikstan.” He explained to the large group, wordlessly congratulating the CIA agent and Commander, “We need to move fast.”

The captain then looked towards Gaz and sent him an acknowledging nod, “Sergeant Garrick, thanks to your intel, we’ve tracked the Al-Qatala cell responsible for the Piccadilly attack to a townhouse in North London.”

He half-leaned against the desk that stood behind him, “Three SAS teams will get inside and connect the dots. If the Wolf is in possession of the stolen Russian gas in Urzikstan, we need to find him. Be advised: there may be non-combatants on target. Check your shots.”

The helmet felt heavy on her head, and if she wasn’t already used to the extra weight, she was certain she would have struggled to keep her head up. The engine, although powerful, was quiet as they drove throughout the empty side-streets of London. Or rather, as quiet as an Army vehicle could really be.

The moment the car came to a halt, silence settled upon the soldiers. Thomas and No-Face shared a look, and she pulled the black mask up until it reached over the bridge of her nose. Upon Price’s signal, the door was opened, and the captain’s voice echoed throughout their comms.

“Targets are up, boys. Let’s kick this off,” he said as his boots slammed against the stone pavement.

Price and Gaz took their positions at the front of the group, their guns held securely in their tight clutches as the others followed behind them. No-Face found herself just behind Thomas, her eyes scanning the area for any danger they might not have anticipated during their plans. She found nothing. The area was clear.

The group of soldiers stopped as they approached a metal gate, only resuming in their march once Gaz cut the chains which held the gate secure with a pair of bolt cutters. The chain dangled from the metal, but thanks to Garrick’s careful movements, it made little noise to alert any civilians of their presence.

“Bravo 6, moving on the rear garden,” Price spoke through the comms once they reached a small, wooden gate before pushing it open.

The soldiers were quiet as they moved in, their guns aimed at the brick house whilst infiltrating the back area of the house. The wild barking of a dog echoed in the distance, but the soldiers were much too focused to pay the otherwise distracting noise any attention.

“Bravo 6, this is Alpha 2,” a male voice answered through the comms, “About to enter the west alley.”

“Copy.” Was the captain’s reply.

As Price and No-Face took their place at the back door of the house, the latter moving to her knees to unlock the door, Thomas and Gaz stayed in the back. The newest addition to the then opened up a ladder and positioned it at an open window above him.

“Bravo 6, moving interior.” Price announced once the lock clicked, and the soldiers began to move in.

They remained quiet as they gathered in the kitchen, only the voices of the hostiles filling up the space in the house. “I’ll put the kettle on,” a female voice said from the other side of the door, but once the door was opened, a soldier grabbed and pulled her to the ground before she had the chance to scream or let alone gasp in surprise.

“Attacking Russia’s the wrong move,” One of the hostiles spoke, his voice almost getting overshadowed by Alpha 1’s order to remain quiet.

“It’s what he wants,” another hostile replied as the soldiers began to move into the corridor.

Price and No-Face were first in line to engage, prowling through the dark corridor as the voices continued to speak in an urgent manner.

“Won’t that encourage them to align? We’ll be fighting everyone,” one of the Hostiles said.

“We’re working with an ultranationalist group,” a woman replied, “They’ll handle operations in the East after the attacks.”

“Trust the Wolf,” a man retorted.

“You know I do,” another male hostile spoke, “But this operation failed, so why are we doing this?”

It was difficult to not alert the hostiles of their presence, but the darkness aided them in their mission. “Take the front room,” the captain told Gaz as he and No-Face sneaked in further, only stopping by the steep staircase. “Drop ‘em.”

“It did not fail,” a female hostile argued, “Your dead brothers made sure of that.”

“We were supposed to have double the body count,” a male hostile raised his voice at the woman, “It’s all over the flippin’ tele-!”

“That’s the point!” a man yelled, “This is the United Kingdom. Do you think anyone walks around worried that they’re gonna get blown up? Well now they do.”

No-Face and Price exchanged a look. The former assassin moved up one step and aimed her gun at a male hostile who sat comfortably one of the chairs. He looked relaxed, and if she wasn’t as good at controlling her emotions, his demeanour would have made her snap.

She didn’t understand; how could one knowingly cause so much pain and suffering? She was in their place once, she had to remind herself. But then again, she never knew the aim of her missions. It was ‘kill or capture’, and return. No questions asked, no further information given.

If she knew, she would never have done the things she did. But they knew what they were doing, and it made her blood boil.

“Al-Qatala is a household fucking name,” the hostile spoke again, “We need to coordinate with the other groups. Paris, Moscow, Munich...”

“And the Yanks?” the woman questioned.

“Soon.” He paused, and a certain silence enveloped them all. “Where the hell is that tea?”

That’s when they struck.

Pressing the trigger of her gun, she shot the man sitting at the table. His body went limp in an instant, and before havoc could spread in the dining room, the soldiers shot all the other hostiles present in the room.

“Secure,” Garrick announced through the comms.

“Alpha 3, entering through the front door,” A man from one of the squads spoke.

“Mark?” No-Face pointed her gun upwards when a panicked voice sounded from the first floor, “Mark, what’s going on?”

The front door opened and the hostiles on the floor above began to panic. The bedroom doors slammed and hushed voices gave out urgent orders. John moved in front of her, gesturing for her to move behind him as they waited for the others to join.

As she placed the night vision goggles over her eyes, Thomas and Kyle joined the two on the stairs, standing behind the captain and the lieutenant. Only once everyone was ready, did they begin to move forward.

“Bravo 6, moving to the first floor,” Price informed the other squads.

The hostiles’ yelling was muffled from inside the rooms, men and women arguing in a panic as they contemplated their next moves. Before they could come up with a clear plan of action, the soldiers infiltrated each and every room.

With her gun securely in her hands, No-Face pushed open one of the doors and stormed into the room. A man, with a woman held tightly in front of him, aimed his own pistol back at her. Unfortunately for him, she was better trained, and before he could even think of injuring her, she aimed her gun at him and shot him right between his eyes.

He fell to the ground, and with a fearful scream, the woman fell on her knees and crawled away to hide from the intruders. “Hostile down. Careful, there’s a civilian here.”

“Copy,” a man replied through the comms.

“Two X-Rays down,” Garrick’s voice echoed in her ear.

“The floor is secure,” Wiz added.

“On me.” Price said.

Everyone once again gathered by the staircase, and it was only once everyone was back in their earlier position that they began to climb further.

“Bravo 6, moving to the second floor,” Price announced.

They moved as quietly as they possibly could through the house. Their footsteps were feather-light despite the weight of their boots, and if it wasn’t for the creaky wooden panels, she was sure their whereabouts would not be exposed.

“Outside the door!” And angry voice yelled before a series of bullets flew their way, creating a large hole in the door that separated them.

As though it was instinct, No-Face took hold of the flash grenade attached to her waistline and threw it inside the room. The white flash that lit up the room blinded the hostiles, temporarily proving them useless in the fight.

“3-1 get up here, now!” Price yelled through the comms as the soldiers barged into the room.

“Roger! Moving!” The other squad leader replied, their boots stomping against the wooden floor as they rushed up the stairs.

Still blinded, a man ran out of a room. His shots were aimless and erratic, most bullets lodging in the walls and missing any soldiers standing near him. Gaz was quick to react to the man’s yelling and shot him before he could cause any injuries to the special forces.

Another man rounded a corner, half-hiding behind the edge of a wall as he shot at the soldiers. No-Face hid behind a turned over table and shot back, ending his life on the spot.

The areas turned quiet, then, with no bullets flying and no yelling echoing throughout the house.

“Floor secure,” She spoke over the comms.

“Rally at the stairs.” Price ordered.

Just as she was about to step out of the room and join her superior, the injured body of Captain Davies was pulled across the corridor. He groaned in pain as blood gushed out of his wounds, staining the floor beneath him a bright red.

The corners of her mouth curled downward at the sight, but she shook off any feeling of sympathy and marched towards the staircase. She was back behind Price, with Thomas and Gaz lining up right behind her.

“Bravo 6, taking the third floor,” John spoke as they stalked up the creaky stairs.

The concerned words of a woman echoed throughout the old house, “They will kill you!”

“I swore an oath!” a male voice replied, “I will not betray the wolf!”

“Then let me help!” the woman argued, “I don’t want to be here if you’re gone...”

The rest of the conversation fell upon deaf ears. No-Face tuned out the hostiles, and tightened her hold on her gun before looking over her shoulder to check up on the sergeants behind her. Thomas sent her a small nod, but Garrick was much too focused to even notice her looking in his direction.

“Check your shots,” Price warned with a deep voice as he stopped on one side of the door, No-Face mirroring his action on the other.

Garrick then kicked down the door, the end of his gun coming face-to-face with a frightened woman. “Hands up, now!” he yelled as she ran to the side of the room, where the loud cries of an infant bounced off the walls.

The frightened mother took the baby into her arms and clutched it tightly against her chest. Thomas was first to approach her, yet had to remain cautious and kept his gun aimed her way. “Don’t move!” he ordered and helped the woman get on her knees.

“Secure ‘em,” Garrick spoke, “Shut that kid up.”

“Wiz, escort her out,” No-Face ordered. He followed in an instant, helping the woman back to her feet and leading her out of the room.

He covered her eyes with his hands as they descended the stairs, assuring she would see no dead bodies or blood that littered her home. She was crying all the way down, but the sounds of her sobs and the infant’s screaming slowly grew fainter as they made their way out of the townhouse.

Garrick was quick to burst down another door, but hid behind the wall when a series of bullets came his way. The room looked empty, with no person in sight. That is until she saw him; a head peaked out from under the bed, and handgun was aimed in their direction.

Taking the chance, No-Face looked through the scope of her gun and with one easy shot, she killed the man before he could kill them. His hand went limp then, followed by a loud thud of the metal gun slamming against the wooden floor.

“Secure,” she told her team after infiltrating the room to find no-one else there.

“Last floor,” Price’s voice spoke in her ear, “Take point, sergeant.”

Kyle enjoyed breaking down doors, she realised. Every single one that blocked their entryway was torn down by his skilful hands, and then he was swift to run up the steep stairway. She was close on his trail, staying right behind him when he stopped by a metal door. He attempted to burst this one down as well, but when that didn’t work, he groaned in displeasure.

“Locked,” he complained on the comms.

“I’ve got it,” Price appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and made his way up towards them with large piece of metal that he slotted between the door and its frame. The door groaned as the metal pushed it apart, a loud crack almost causing her to flinch when it finally opened. “Try and take ‘em alive.”

A dim light escaped from the newly opened room, allowing them vision they did not previously have; it wasn’t bright, but it allowed them just enough vision to no longer rely on the goggles. It was a relief, really, and No-Face was happy to push the heavy goggles up from her eyes and over her helmet.

They entered the room with slow and calculated steps, their eyes scanning the room carefully in case a sudden hostile decided to take their chances with them. Aside for the clutter of old books, and unwanted rubbish, the place was mostly empty.

“Down! Get down, get down!” Kyle yelled when a woman came into view, but before she had the chance to answer, or move out of his way, his bullet was lodged in her body, and she fell to the floor as papers flew into the air around her. “Clear!”

“No-one else here, sir,” No-Face eventually spoke, looking over her shoulder to lock her eyes with the captain. She attached the rifle to the waistband around her hips and ventured further into the room, crouching beside the woman and placing her fingers against her pulse. She was gone. Dead.

“All teams, townhouse secure. Commence SSE,” Price spoke into the microphone connected to his earpiece.

“Fuckin’ hell,” the sound of Kyle’s gasp caught their attention. No-Face cautiously made her way towards him and analysed the metal box that he was suddenly holding in his hands, “She was going for the bloody detonator.”

Placing a laptop on top of the desk which the detonator was previously sitting upon, Price stepped beside them, his shoulder briskly brushing past hers, “Good job we dropped her, then.”

Garrick’s brows knit together, “We made the right call, sir?”

“Bet your arse,” Price hummed with a nod of approval, “We got a location on the wolf.”

He turned the laptop their way, and the two immediately began to scan its contents.

“Ramaza Hospital?” she voiced.

Price nodded, “In Urzikstan. Alex and Commander Karim are planning their attack now. We should know more soon enough.”

The late-night air felt chilly against her exposed cheeks. Being back at the base brought her a certain type of comfort yet sleep still refused to find her that night. She had been granted much more freedom in the past weeks, and one of them included being able to move around without her shadow; the soldier previously ordered to keep an eye on her at all times seemed to be gone, and she couldn’t have been happier.

She smelt the smoke before she even heard him approaching her. Price leaned sat down beside her on one of the few benches located on the base. It had to be way past midnight at that point, and she couldn’t help but wonder why he was still awake.

“Can’t sleep?” she asked after a few moments of silence.

He hummed, and despite not touching him, she could practically feel the vibrations rolling off him, “Paperwork.”

“It’s a nightmare,” she admitted, “If you told me I would have to do so much paperwork, I would never have agreed to being a lieutenant.”

He laughed. His eyes crinkled as he brought the cigar to his lips and blew the smoke away from her. She could still remember, in the early stages of their relationship, when he cared little about smoking around her – he would even smile smugly, she recalled, when uncomfortable coughs would leave her throat in his smoke-filled office. But now, despite them sitting outside in the open air, he made sure the smoke would go nowhere near her.

“What are you doin’ up?” he asked with a raised brow.

She shrugged, “Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted.

“You look exhausted,” he pointed out.

“Thanks.”

He rolled his eyes at her sarcastic tone, “Just worried. If the missions are too much-”

“They’re not too much,” she cut him off, “Really, Price, they’re not. I’m fine.”

Despite the sceptical look in his eyes, he nodded, “Alright. Never sleep past six.”

“Sorry?”

“You never sleep past 6am,” he said, “Never fall asleep before 3am either. You get three hours of sleep tops; that’s not healthy.”

“And you’re the definition of healthy,” she sent him a look, then glanced at the lit cigar between his fingers.

Silence. Their eyes locked, and she wasn’t sure whether he was going to scold her for her attitude, and for pointing out his obvious hypocrisy, or laugh at her words.

“Fair point,” he licked his lips and then stood back up. His hand was held out towards her, and after staring it for quite some time, she placed her hand in his and allowed him to help pull her back to her feet. “Gotta get some sleep.”

She exhaled sharply, but nodded nonetheless.

“Don’t give me that look,” he told her with a small laugh.

She couldn’t stop herself from mirroring his expression, a smile growing on her own face. “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight,” he squeezed her shoulder.

She wasn’t certain when the change happened; when his touches were no longer fleeting, but rather lasting. When his fingers remained on her clothed shoulder or upper back a little bit longer than normal. She wasn’t certain when they became so comfortable with touch. She didn’t know when, or why, but a part of her was happy it did.

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 5 months

Text

for @glitterypirateduck December Challenge - COD HOLIDAY 2023

John Price x fem!OC

word count: 1.9K

Inspired by The Carpenters song of the same title

18+ Minors DNI (smut, P in V sex, cowgirl, fingering, hand jobs, dirty talk, and just the tiniest smattering of praise kink, creampie, unprotected sex)

A/N: this fic pulled me out of a writing slump (also thanks to a friend for cheering me up and listening to me ramble about ship stuff) so this is about as self indulgent and sickly sweet as it gets with me, sorry for giving anyone cavities!

smut under the cut:

It was Christmas Eve and London twinkled with light as flakes began to fall in the darkened sky. Rory was already set for a quiet Christmas this year, with John on a mission she’d be left to get through the holiday alone. She hadn’t even bothered to set up the tree this year, there wasn’t much point when it was just her.

The clicking of her heels along the pavement became quieter as the snow started to settle, the wind blowing wilder, a winter storm about to hit – she’d need to get inside soon. Thoughts of snuggling up on the couch with a hot toddy and It’s A Wonderful Life filled her head. Climbing the steps to her townhouse, her fingers started to burn with the freezing chill in the air. Her keys jingled in the lock like sleigh bells, and as the door creaked open she was surprised to find John there to help pull the coat from her shoulders.

Her face lit up instantly at the sight of him, her eyes shining like starlight, her nose and cheeks pink and prickled by the frosty bite outside. “John? I thought we weren’t getting Christmas together this year?”

“And leave you all on your own?” His brows raised, creasing his forehead, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “I’d find some way of getting to see you, darlin’, you know that.”

She stepped into his warm embrace, pressing her shockingly cold hand to his cheek, but the soldier didn’t shiver, even as she stroked her thumb through his beard. His arms wrapping around her waist sent comforting tingles throughout her. “Father Christmas came early for me then, eh?”

He hummed, “That he did, love.” Giving her a wink, he leaned down and kissed her wind bitten lips. “Bloody hell, your lips are cold,” he mumbled as he continued to press his mouth against her. “Best get you warm.”

His strong arms squeezed her tighter, pressing her chest against him until she was bathed in the musk of his cologne and the rich smoky scent that clung to him from his cigars. Running her hands over his broad shoulders, she gripped at the thick knit of his sweater. “And how exactly are we going to go about doing that?” She asked with the cock of her brow.

“Why don’t you slip into something a little more comfortable,” he purred, his accent thick and gravelly, “and I’ll pour us the drinks.”

“Perfect idea.” She kissed him softly once more and then ran her thumb over his lower lip.

Parting to slip off her shoes, suddenly shrinking in stature as her heels clunked against the hardwood floor, she walked further into the hall to head upstairs and change out of her work clothing. Passing the entrance to the living room, she noticed the tree in the middle of the room dressed in lights and ornaments. Rory turned to look over her shoulder at John, her lips curled into a grin. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” he said with a shrug, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Figured I should set the mood.”

“Did you get the good Scotch while you were at it too?”

“‘Course,” he smirked.

The smile spread on her face and she started to beam. “You really are the best present I could ask for.”

He bounced on his heels with a little puff of his chest and a thrust of his hips, his cheeks starting to glow pink with blush. “Go on now, don't keep me waiting.”

…

Coming downstairs, she found John adjusting the volume on the stereo and two glasses of whiskey poured for them, waiting. A soft haze of smoke from his cigar gave an almost dreamy appearance to the room only added to by the soft white lights of the tree.

Looking up from the media cabinet, the cigar hanging from his mouth glowing brighter as his eyes widened at the sight of her wearing one of his cable knit sweaters and nothing else, his throat bobbed. Swallowed heavily, John’s interest was piqued, despite the fact that she was practically swimming in the oversized top.

Rory drew closer to him, and slipped her hand around one of the glasses. Taking a sip of the whiskey, the warmth spread throughout her and she licked her lips as she met his gaze, his eyes focused entirely on her mouth. “I hope you know I haven’t wrapped your gift yet. Wasn’t expecting you home.”

“Quite alright, love. There’s something else I’d rather unwrap first anyway.”

She chuckled quietly, fluttering her eyelashes at him as she took another sip of her drink. “Now, if I recall correctly you did say you were going to warm me up, didn’t you?”

“That I did.”

She placed her drink down and grabbed the bottom of his sweater, dragging him towards her. His arms snaked around her and he grabbed at her arse, fingers squeezing into the flesh of it as he leaned down to kiss her. Left to walk on tiptoes to keep their mouths from parting, Rory smiled against his lips, all too happy to have him back in her arms. Directing him towards the couch, she shoved him down into the overstuffed cushions and climbed up into his lap as if he were Santa and she was about to whisper all the gifts she wanted in his ear.

His hands slid up her thighs, grabbing at her hips from under the sweater, quick to find nothing there below it – just as he had suspected. Squeezing at her soft, supple flesh, a low rumbling groan came from deep in his chest.

“You missed me, my darling?” Rory asked, nuzzling her face in against the crook of his neck, placing tender kisses to it as she started to grind her hips against him.

“You haven’t the faintest, love.” Pressing his nose into her hair, breathing in the scent of her, John’s eyes fluttered shut as she found just that right spot below his jaw to kiss. Pulling the cigar from his mouth, he rested it on the ashtray beside the couch, and leaned his head back. Yet more deep, rasping groans fell from him before his hand curled around her chin to bring her mouth back to his, kissing her deeply.

Her hands moved to the button and fly of his jeans, deftly handling them before slipping her hand in past his boxers. Wrapping her fingers around his already hard cock, she stared into his steely blue eyes and started to stroke his length up and down. His shaft throbbed in her grip and his mouth fell open, another moan slipping past his defenses. “Jesus.”

“Well that’s hardly going to put you in the good books,” she teased before kissing him again.

“I’ll take the lump of coal if I’ve got you.”

She combed her fingers through his hair, her focus set entirely on him. “Maybe if you squeeze it as hard as you are my arse you’ll get a diamond out of it.”

John’s eyes went wide as he huffed out a laugh. “Well then maybe I should show another part of you some attention, eh?”

Their mouths met in hungry kisses, his tongue sliding in past her lips, and all she could taste was whiskey and smoke. Kissing him harder as she continued to stroke him, John started to thrust his hips up towards her hand, fucking into her fist as one of his hands slipped between her thighs, his fingers delving into her folds. Wet and warm, she was already dripping with arousal, and the friction of his jeans against her mound was only making her drenched. Once his fingers found the bud of nerves at the apex of her thighs, rubbing against it and rutting into her hand with the same hunger, they both started to moan.

“Need you right now, Rory,” he mumbled, rasping as he started to lose himself.

He didn’t need to ask twice, she wanted it too. Shifting in his lap and lowering herself down on the girth of his cock, she gasped as he stretched her. Slowly settling as he filled her completely, barely able to fit him all inside of her.

“Christ,” John moaned as her tight walls fluttered around him.

“Well now you’re definitely not getting anything from Father Christmas.”

Laughing, Price took her face in his hands pulling her in for another passionate kiss, sucking on her lower lip until her mouth was red and plump, only pulling away for air. “This perfect little cunt is all I need,” he purred. “You spoil me enough.”

“I do love to spoil you,” she whispered against his mouth as she leaned in for another kiss. Her hips grinding against him, rotating, driving him in deeper. Her thighs lifting and falling, bouncing on his cock. Her arms draped over his shoulders and the back of the couch as she pressed herself tight against him, her forehead resting against his. The wet sounds of her cunt filling the room, loud enough to drown out the crackling of the fire.

He held her tight against him, bucking up into her with some force, their breath panting in equal measure as they picked up the pace, being driven by that same passion for each other they always felt.

Rory mewled, low and slow, whimpering out his name over and over again as her hands clung to his chest, feeling the muscles shifting beneath her touch.

“That’s it, darling. Come on, Rory. Come for me.”

Biting down on her lip, she started to fuck him harder. Faster. Desperation taking over as sweat started to form on her brow and she chased her high. His big hands traveled up her body under the sweater, cupping her breasts and squeezing them, pinching her nipples and making them stiff, that final push to cause her muscles to all start tightening. Her thighs shook as her velvet walls clamped down around him and she was brought to the very edge before having her whole body rocked by her orgasm.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” Price cooed as his hands wrapped around her once more and stroked the soft skin of her back.

He continued to thrust into her, a slow rolling of his hips to meet her own, his rumbling timbre whispering words of praise into her neck as she rested against him and he pressed kisses to her smooth skin.

Her arousal coated the inside of her thighs now and dripped down the length of his cock, allowing him to easily slide in and out of her, his thrusts lazy and slow like good morning sex, keeping her pinned to him, in no race to seek out his release. Rory moaned as he continued to stretch open her sensitive cunt. The dark, wiry pubic hair surrounding the base of his cock rubbing up against her clit as he pushed himself into her only added to her pleasure.

The steady in and out, tender and loving, was the perfect way to bring in Christmas. Their mouths meeting in kisses as if there was mistletoe hung above them. Lovers lost in abandon. There was no denying Rory was warm now, their lovemaking easily heating up the entire house.

Reaching his climax, John’s thrusts slowed down to a crawl, his hands wrapped up in her hair as he looked up at her with a warm smile on his face. “Merry Christmas, darlin’.”

“Merry Christmas, love.”

#codholiday2023 #cod fanfic #captain price #john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #cod smut #skelly writes #ship: you are the sword to my shield

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jokeroutsubs · 6 months

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Joker Out in Tvornica Kulture - Jokeroutmania

On Friday, the first of two sold out concerts of the Slovenian music sensation, Joker Out, was held in Tvornica Kulture.

“This is the first post-Yugoslav Slovenian band that sold more than 50 tickets in Zagreb”, Ivan Ramljak, a longtime music journalist who has since turned into one of the best domestic documentary film directors, jokingly commented to me on Facebook. The truth is an inseparable component of every good joke, including the joke mentioned above.

The last post-Yugoslav Slovenian band that performed in the same concert venue was the band Siddharta, who also filled Tvornica Kulture, two decades ago, but in unusual circumstances in which a considerable amount of buses full of their Slovenian fans also came with the band. In 2003, at the peak of their career, Siddharta filled Bežigrad Stadium in Ljubljana and their loyal followers really followed them everywhere, and to Zagreb as well. That was the only night in Tvornica Kulture in Zagreb when I couldn’t hear Croatian spoken in the audience almost at all, so in that sense maybe the theory that the Zagreb public didn’t buy even 50 tickets was correct, despite the euphoria that dominated in a full Tvornica.

Twenty years later, Joker Out is a whole different story. Maybe it wasn’t obvious this summer, when they were the opening band for the popular Serbian duo Buč Kesidi at Šalata, but it definitely was at Špancirfest in Varaždin before Franz Ferdinand’s concert. To picture it, it’s enough to retell the story from the backstage, where the Scottish stars arrived right when the audience was screaming, saying goodbye to Joker Out. Alex Kapranos was delighted and surprised by it at first and asked if people were really so excited for Franz Ferdinand, but his mood was ruined when he got the answer that the reaction of the public was towards the opening group. On the other hand, maybe that was one of the reasons Franz Ferdinand delivered an excellent performance that night. Competition is a good thing.

The Zagreb promoter of Joker Out’s recent concerts was also very surprised when the tickets sold out and the decision to add another date was made. The tickets for that concert sold out as well, and the final tally is approximately 3,400 tickets sold for Joker Out.

The Croatian general public found out about Joker Out from Eurovision, where this band represented Slovenia. “They’re really handsome guys. We’d love to play around with them, if we find the chance. Maybe we’ll stick carnations up our asses or have group sex”, Mrle from Let 3 joked around in his usual fashion, but in a somewhat patronizing way. However, now at the end of the year there’s no joking around with this Slovenian band, who’s not only in demand in our region, but also more widely, from Scandinavia to Gibraltar. In addition, they recorded the song “New Wave” together with the legendary Elvis Costello, and a fairly well known British agency took them under its wing. Translated from the promoter’s language: If you want to book Joker Out, calling Ljubljana won’t work, for that you’ll have to dial a number in the UK and agree on their terms and prices. Sharp, isn’t it?

Now, it’s not exactly appropriate to stick a carnation up someone’s ass when they can teach about success in jumping to the most lucrative position in show business, which is being a teen rock star. Carpe Diem? Joker Out have definitely ‘seized their day’.

The Zagreb concert, scheduled for 21:00, started at 21:00, accompanied by screams of the entire Tvornica Kulture. Yes, screams that are an integral part of the song “Sunny Side of London”, which starts with a Beatles polyphony from Joker Out, followed by a ‘Beatlemania’ from the audience when the frontman Bojan Cvjetićanin appears. Basically, a ‘Jokeroutmania’, without exaggeration. I haven’t seen or heard that kind of mutual engagement in a long time.

This wasn’t a case of initial enthusiasm, which usually lasts for 10-15 minutes and then the band has to pull it on their own in order to raise the tension again to a new peak, according to the invisible sinusoidal rule. No. Last night, the venue sang with the band from the first until the last song for almost two hours, and when “Sunny Side of London” was performed as the last encore, it was followed by even louder screams than at the beginning. As if the enthusiastic and adrenaline-charged youth in Tvornica Kulture didn’t dance and sing the whole time in between.

I dare to say that the Slovenian language has never been sung so heartily and accurately in Tvornica. English as well, and we can’t even talk about “Demoni”, which is in our language. The band itself is full of first-class musicians, and one of the more experienced visitors said that evening: “We watched far more unstable British bands at INmusic festival”.

Of course, Joker Out’s songs are in the rock sphere, which massively attracts the teenage audience. But these songs are neither bad, nor do they bring with them the well known “stink” of pandering to the public. Joker Out believes in their songs. There’s no fraud with them, and their strongest “joker up their sleeve” is Bojan Cvjetićanin, who is a born frontman - he learned all the lessons, and managed to maintain naturalness and spontaneity, especially in communication with the audience.

With the exception of drummer Jure Maček, who cannot move around the stage due to “his job description”, the entire line-up alongside Cvjetićanin, i.e. guitarists Jan Peteh and Kris Guštin, as well as bassist Nace Jordan, formed a barrier at the very edge of the stage during the entire concert, which was an added bonus to the euphoria. No one turned their back to the audience during the performance, on the contrary, they were “on the front line” from the beginning until the end.

And of course, Joker Out are far ahead of similar bands that use pre-recorded instrumentals and samples during their performances. Namely, they have that old school, organic approach, which brings success in a time when there is a lot of talk about the popularity of trap music and similar genres, and about the lack of relevant young guitarist bands that could attract significant interest, primarily from a young audience.

And finally, we’re not talking about a band that was created as a project before the Eurovision Song Contest and is now flying on the wings of that success, but about the guys who have been working since 2016 on something they were recognised for across Europe six years later. As much as I appreciate Let 3, I have to express my doubts about who has better “group sex” with the audience. The only thing I have no doubt for is that Tvornica Kulture will be on fire tonight as well. The teenage audience chose their heroes and they didn’t choose wrongly.

Original article Ravnododna (11.11.2023)

Translation credit @moonlvster

#joker out #bojan cvjeticanin #jokeroutsubs #jan peteh #kris gustin #bojan cvjetićanin #nace jordan #jure macek #kris guštin #tvornica kulture #zagreb

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