darksxder - Tumblr blog

darksxder · 10 months

Note

I AM SOBBING SO LOUD

hello !! if it’s not too much of a bother can you write another piece featuring Lion 🫶 maybe another angsty piece, maybe a lil lion + farah combo or something else like lion and gaz getting separated from the 141 during a mission and having to fight their way back to the extraction point (?). totally up to you !!! also thank u for keeping us well fed 🙇‍♀️

Lions and Ibexes

PAIRING: John Price x Wife!Reader 'Codename Lion'

SYNOPSIS: Impulsive was what John always called you - affectionately, of course. But he sure does worry when you disappear without him.

WORDCOUNT: 4.0k

WARNINGS: Blood, death, canon typical violence, a tiny bit of angst, fluff, banter, no connection to 'I'll Take the Night Shift' except codenames, protective!Price, suggestive jokes, etc.

A/N: I wanna give Farah a big smooch on her forehead.

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

“So this is the woman that the Captain won’t keep quiet about,” you smirk and place your hand into Farah Karim’s, eyes shimmering as you both share a tight grip.

“Commander,” greeting the black-haired woman, your light gear hangs off of you easily and efficiently; clean and well-taken care of.

“Lion,” she nods, smirking back. “A pleasure.”

“Please,” you huff a laugh, “I wish it could be.” Expressions dim as you instantly get to work, the hot sun and dry air sticking to your flesh like a second skin of humidity. Releasing Farah’s hand you sigh and look around the old town, skimming over the forms of other Urzikstan Liberation Force soldiers.

Farah does the same, breathing lowly.

“On that, I believe you’d be right.” Brown eyes flick to yours, looking you over before the woman nods. “Come, we have much to discuss.”

“Lead the way,” your feet push you onward, following behind the Commander as your wedding band clinks against your chest. Held on that long chain, a hand comes up to brush it carefully, letting the man who wears the mirrored piece bring you comfort even from so far away.

John was set to ship out in two days—there were some other important operations that had taken precedence. While you could have stayed behind with him, as you had wanted to do, a plea from one of the far-distant operators of One-Four-One had caught your ear. The name Farah Karim was known.

If you didn’t offer assistance, you’d never feel right with yourself. One call to Laswell and it was all set up.

“I’ll be there in two days,” John had muttered into your scalp as you both lay in bed, tight to one another; lashes fluttering. “Wait for me, yeah? No running off.”

Your smirk had made him sigh a chuckle. “No stunts of heroics, my Love? Please, do you know who you’re speaking to?”

“You’ll be the fuckin’ death of me, y’know?”

“Well,” the words are uttered into his neck and John pulls you tighter into him. “I think that’s just about the most romantic thing to happen to someone.”

Smiling to yourself, you bring the ring to your lips and kiss it lightly before letting it drop. In your head, John is still in your shared flat in London, and you’ll be back by the hour. If only.

“You contacted Laswell and said you had encountered more of Barkov's remaining cells?” Your voice carries easy authority; ingrained confidence.

Farah looks back and nods firmly.

“They’ve taken over a town in the mountains, my forces can’t break the line.” She sighs aggressively and you stare with a sliding frown. “Even dead, Barkov cannot leave my people alone.”

In the back of your throat, you hum, “Well, parasites tend to be resilient.” Farah leads you into a home with maps on the tables and low talking of strategies from others. They pause when you enter and you nod politely. Many here knew your husband as the Commander did—all those years back when he was still only a Lieutenant and had broken Farah and her brother Hadir out from the Russian’s jail; labeled as prisoners of war.

John had told you about it during one of the many late nights in your joint offices. Eyes tired and his hands playing with your hair.

“What do you need me to do?” You ask genially, standing near the table and placing your hands down on it—standard M4A1 resting over your chest and your secondary weapon strapped to your thigh. Unlike most, you’d opted for lighter gear to allow you to move faster.

Fewer packs sit on your vest, and the gleam of the knife on your shoulder was a testament to your preference to close, silent, encounters. Though you liked to use your silver tongue to get out of situations, unfortunately, that wouldn’t work in this instance.

“Captain Price told me you’re one of the best undercover agents he’s seen.” You perk at this, looking over with raised brows.

“Hell,” your chuckle echoes, “when you said he couldn’t keep quiet I thought you were exaggerating.”

Farah smiles cheekily at you before pointing to the map of a mountain town surrounded by red Xs.

“My soldiers have marked off choke points all around the area. They’re the only pathways to the town, but heavily guarded.” She glances around the room and you hear her sigh heavily. “I wouldn’t have asked for assistance unless I knew I needed it. I’d prefer to leave foreign fighters out of this conflict, unlike my enemy.”

“I understand,” your head shakes. “It’s your home—I’ll go where you need me to. John should be here in two days to assist.”

Farah’s face flashes with surprise, her full brows rising on her head. “Price is coming?”

You shrug and laugh, “he’s stubborn.”

The woman chuffs before moving to fold her arms over her chest. “I think perhaps he’s more of a smitten husband, hm?” At the sheepish expression on your face and dipping eyes, Farah barks a laugh.

The band around your neck clinks into the stock of your gun as you stand to your full height.

“Is it that obvious,” you tease, tilting your head to her. You knew it was.

“I believe the simple action of asking is proof enough, Lion.” The commander looks at her work on the table, smiling easily but focusing still on her plan of attack. “But, regardless, I give my thanks for flying out on such short notice.”

“We help our own.” Resting your hands on the body of your weapon, you smile fondly. “Now, who do I need to kill?”

—

As it turns out, killing was the very baseline of what you needed to do.

Shuffling into the dark armor of the dead Russian soldier at your feet, you grunt at the slick spread of blood on the ground as you strap arm braces to your limbs.

“Heavy as all hell,” you grumble under your breath, picking up the large helmet and shoving it over your head with a puff of air.

Farah was going to lead a distraction on the far side of the western choke point while you slipped into the ranks, placing packs of C4 in some of the large-stocked weapons buildings. Easy enough for you, you admitted. You’d done things like this a million times over.

When all was said and done, slipping your knife into the new belt at your waist, you gaze down at the dead man with a huff of air; seeing the blood still pooling from the very obvious signs of a slit up the left armpit. You blink and stuff your wedding band down your shirt.

“Bad day, buddy,” grabbing his legs, you bare your heels and drag the body behind a large outcropping of rocks—long streaks of crimson left behind. “I’d hate to be you right now.”

Grunting, you drop the limp flesh with a thump like a paper-towel roll meeting the counter.

Shuffling back into the open, your feet make tracks to get you closer toward your targets. You hike the small pouch Farah gave you farther up your back without a word more.

John had always said you were quick-witted, but when he got here he’d lose that hat of his in disbelief. The truth was that you had forgotten what little of the Russian language you’d initially known, and the situation you found yourself in now was frankly not ideal.

C’mon Lion, you think to yourself, just pick up social cues and you’ll be good.

Oh, your husband was going to lose his shit.

—

“Come again?” The Captain barks. “What do you fuckin’ mean she’s in the base?!”

“I just explained it,” Farah levels, raising a brow. Blue eyes narrow with a growl until the Commander's lips flicker in a smirk. “We just had word three minutes ago. She’s fine, Captain.” Fingers find John’s nose bridge, digging deep into the flesh in large exasperation and worry.

He had caught a C17 and came here a day early after he’d gotten a bad feeling—internal wife radar going off as it usually did when you placed yourself in danger without him. Which was more often than not.

I told her not to be impulsive.

John sighs long and low, shaking his head. “Farah…you sent her in alone?”

“She is quite capable, Price.”

“I fucking…” He stops himself and puts his hands on the table in the center of the building. Men and women were snickering from the corners, sending amused glances. “I know.”

Farah sends a glance to her soldiers and they turn away to cover their smiling mouths. Enjoyment was in her tone as she grabs the walkie-talkie from the table top and clips it to her vest.

“There were more men than we anticipated—she had to be more careful when placing the charges. Captain,” John glares up at her when his eyes leave the maps. The Commander teases, “She is fine.”

As if on cue, the radio fizzles with your voice. Farah looks down with surprise and the Brit's eyes snap to it immediately; body tense.

There’s a moment of garbled static where the Captain feels his heart beating out of his chest. The panic that had snapped through him when you hadn’t come out to greet him when he’d landed was primal; genuine fear stuck in his bones like spiky grass. The bond the two of you had was closer than anything on this plane of existence. It was rare to not see one without the other.

Your voice cuts through and John’s shoulders sag under a non-existent weight.

“You should tell your men to move unless they want to be scorched, Farah!” The woman in the room smiles ferally and raises a smug brow as she looks at John.

“Copy, Lion. You have my thanks.”

“I didn’t know you could improvise Russian—it’s like the Slavic blood just entered my body!” The Brit covers his eyes with his hand and groans at the base of his throat.

“Tell her to get her arse back here before she gets bloody shot.” John takes off his bucket hat and tosses it to the table with a gloved hand, punching his hair back from his forehead. “Giving me gray hairs,” he grunts.

Farah laughs and says eagerly into the walkie, “Someone’s here to say hello.”

“...Oh, fuck.” Your panting breath clears and after a long glare at the device, John hears you say in a slow and awkward tone, “Hello, my Love!”

Farah tilts the radio closer to him and looks highly pleased.

“Get back here. Now.” John grunts out, fingers digging into his arms as he crosses them. “I told you to wait for me.”

You laugh nervously, deflecting, “...did you, Dear? I guess I misheard you.” The Brit’s jaw clenches but Farah can speak before he can.

“Lion, are all the charges set, then?” You seem thankful for the distraction, sighing over the line.

“All good over here! I just need the O.K from your men and then it’s about to get a whole lot brighter.”

“I’ll relay the news—get away, as far as you can.”

“Already on it,” your breathy chuckle exits and you pause before saying. “See you soon, Love!”

Tiny blue eyes bug, “Wait–!” The line clicks off and Farah is already tapping into the frequency for her soldiers, turning slightly away to converse in quick Arabic.

—

Evening rolls around and you jog back into the Liberation Force’s base, greeting the guards stationed with a breathless sigh; utterly sweaty but happy you’d gotten half a ride back from some locals. You’re back in your original gear, sear marks on your cheeks and hair slightly burned, but nonetheless unharmed.

Everyone welcomes you back with handshakes and pats on your shoulders—brushes to your arm as people pass. You guide yourself back to the main building with chuckles and deep smiles of achievement.

“Someone’s happy.” John’s voice freezes you halfway into the home and you cringe like a leaf. After a moment your eyebrows slide up with a cheeky smile.

“John,” you draw out his name and turn, seeing him leaning against the house with his arms crossed and legs stiff. He looks unimpressed in all of his handsome glory. “Well, don’t you look nice—did you trim your beard before coming out?”

Walking slowly towards him, you loop your hands around his waist and press kisses into his neck sweetly. The man sighs long and you feel his large palms rest on your hips heavily. You blink innocently into his orbs.

“Your silver tongue won’t work on me, Love.” The glint in his expression eggs you on as his nose tints down to touch yours. You smile brightly, seeing the wrinkles on his forehead dim as he melts into you easily.

Whispering, you utter to the air, “I’d say you like my tongue, you brute. Tell me often enough.” Not a beat is missed, but you feel his cheeks go slightly red.

“Keep it on a leash and maybe I’d like it more, yeah?” You snort loudly, head dipping only to feel his lips press into your scalp; his smile is teasing as his beard drags against you.

John breathes you in along with the scent of sand. One of his hands travels up to lock into the back of your neck, playing with the chain of your necklace. The one that mirrors his own down to the very dents and scratches.

“You alright?” The words are a murmur into your flesh. You let him play with your wedding band as your smile softens to the same sensation of warm pelts on a wooden floor.

There was no use telling you to stop your crusades, the Brit knew that. You did what you wanted and damn the consequences; John was stuck with damage control but knew you had the skills and know-how to break all odds. You still held that same fire that the woman he married wore like a crown of fangs without fail.

“Always,” you reassure him, hugging his waist tighter and staring into his eyes.

The both of you lapse into a delicate hold. John’s arms cage you in and you’d have it no other way as fingers drag over warm flesh, never mind the brutal dig of gear or the stain of blood. Neither could keep you away from the other.

“When will you stop making my heart rip out of my chest, Sweetheart?” John asks, smirking down at you. “Trying to give me a heart attack before forty, eh?”

“Oh, please,” you whisper against his lips, eyes alight with mischief as he watches you closely—pulse pounding against yours. He could never be angry at you. “We both know that if you have one, I’ll be having one too. We’ll end up being brain-dead at the same damn time, no doubt.”

He laughs against you lowly, having to pull back to shake his head at your bland confession. “You’re fuckin’ mental, Love.” He breathes in soft puffs of breath. You gaze up at him, laced with affection and care, as he rests his forehead on yours. “Ah, but that’s alright, isn’t it? We’re all a bit crazy.”

“You might be a little bit higher on the metaphorical scale,” you tease, face serious but eyes betraying you. They always would when it came to John; the only person to break through that ‘cunning nuisance’ that everyone always mentioned in your file.

“Really, now?” He blinks, smirking and rubbing at your hip absentmindedly and leaning closer—pushing your neck to the side.

“Just a bit,” you huff, not even realizing.

Before you can utter another word, firm lips capture you like a beast in iron bars, bulky forearms stuck at the curve of your spine. You chirp into John’s mouth in surprise but melt into him as his large purr resonates into your bloodstream. Singing, you bring your hands to his cheeks, digging through those bristles to feel the burn on your hands.

Humming, your husband nuzzles his nose into your cheek like a dog would, letting him take in your scent as you feel your legs go weak. You enjoy the worship he gives you; always would. Your body is tightly held against his own and you gladly would have shown him how much you enjoyed him being here if only for the small fact you needed to talk to Farah.

With one last pass of his reddened lips, you slip back and kiss his bristly cheek with a chuckle.

“Later.”

He groans into you. “Tease.”

“I didn’t even do anything!” You laugh loudly, moving out of his hold to walk into the house as he follows at your heels. John’s hands go to the top of his vest collar to rest.

He leans down and whispers, “Don’t need to, Love.”

Your face burns for him and only him as he grumbles out chuckles at your blown pupils. Huffing, you turn and roll your eyes, trying to dispel your flaming blood. Farah waits for you and with a happy glance up she comes from around the table and claps you on both shoulders. You grunt in surprise but grip her elbows with a laugh.

“Barkov’s remaining cell was wiped out—my soldiers are hunting down the remnants as we speak.” She squeezes your gear and you sigh in relief. “Thank you, Lion, for coming out when you did. The Captain was not wrong in his assessment.”

You turn your head to the side and glance back at John. “Hear that my Love, I’ve heard you talk about me. That’s so precious.”

His face goes red under his beard, and his feet shuffle as you and Farah share a joking glance. John releases under-the-breath grumbles before the Commander addresses him. The woman releases you but speaks past your person.

“Some of my younger soldiers wanted you to mentor them with the use of their weapons, do you plan on staying the night?” You and John share a look, a seeming telepathic communication going on.

He nods at you and you smile. “Only tonight, we ship out at first light. I’ll do what I’m able.”

“Then you also have my thanks. They’ll learn much, I’m sure. Lion,” John comes and gives you a kiss on the cheek before leaving. You watch him go for a moment before rubbing at your dirty neck while you listen to Farah. “Come with me, there’s fresh water on the roof.”

“Oh,” you perk, suddenly realizing the fatigue in your bones and the dryness of your throat. “Thank you, that’d be great.”

As you both ascend the stairs to the roof, there’s a still silence that falls, a calm nothingness. When you finally stand on the flat roof, you look over the vast land as Farah hands you a chilled water bottle from a mini-fridge. You take it with a small nod in thanks.

“Nice view,” you motion with the bottle before taking a long sip—downing half of it in one go.

Farah smiles and hums. “Urzikatan is a beautiful place,” you listen and wipe at your mouth; seeing people walk the streets below as the red sun grows even lower. In the wind, your nose twitches to sand and dust, with some hint of floral notes and arid cleanliness. Farah’s face seeps with a low sadness when she looks out to the land and you pause your drinking. Brows pulling in, you watch her.

“Farah?” You ask, carefully. It’s a moment before she responds.

“I…” She crosses her arms and sets her feet. “I wonder if this place will ever see its freedom. We’ve been fighting for so long already. My family has known war more than anything else.” Brown eyes drift to you from the side of her eye.

There’s a tightness in your chest. You can’t imagine what Farah feels right now, what she has felt. Years of this…and still her home is under foreign subjugation. A frown grows on your face and you put the half-full bottle to the small wooden table near the roof’s corner.

“You’ll get your sovereignty, Farah.” You try your best to speak your mind to the woman but remain truthful to your belief. Farah stares out as you sigh lowly. “Maybe not now—maybe not in this generation—but someday the sun is going to set on a free Urzikatan. You’re plenty strong enough to assure that and you’ve done a proper job so far. The frames are already set.”

The Commander hums and gazes at her soldiers below as they mull about, laughing with each other and enjoying the company of their fellow countrymen.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like?” Farah asks you, and you study her genuine interest in her own thoughts. “Who we would be if nothing ever happened to us.”

You stare for a moment, skull tilting down to gaze at the top of the roof. It’s not an easy question to answer.

“Sometimes,” your lips admit. Farch eagerly pivots to your form like you hold the greatest answer imaginable. She’s been through so much—losing her family, and her home. Humming, your eyes shift to the setting sun; blinking at it. Against all of this, your lips flinch up into a smile. “But not often.”

Farah’s eager gaze turns confused, her brows furrowing deeply with a scrunched face.

“Because right here, right now,” John walks down the street below, and your eyes fall to him as easily as a leaf dances to the ground. The expression on your face eases. “It couldn’t have happened if there were never bad days.” Your husband looks up, and you see him pause among the ranks of other fighters. You chuckle softly, head tilting to the side.

John stares at you as if you’re the only person to exist, moving one hand from his vest to jerk two fingers in a subtle greeting. Farsh watches the interaction closely, tension loosening from her body. Your head nods slowly to your husband and you say to the woman, absent-minded, “I’m right where I need to be…And the sun has never looked brighter.”

Farah huffs a laugh, eyes running back and forth between the two of you.

“He loves you,” she says, “deeply.”

“God,” your laugh echoes, “I sure hope so.” The both of you laugh.

It felt easy to speak to the Commander, truthfully. Being surrounded by four men all of the time can get catty even with such a strong bond as you had with One-Four-One.

You dare to share more.

"In my mind, John and I are still in Hertfordshire for our wedding,” The words come out of you slowly, unwrapping emotions one layer at a time as if swaddled in a dark veil of internal nostalgia. You watch John as he walks along, oddly sad but filled with something that makes you want to take him up into your arms with a wet laugh. “Sitting back on the grassy hills outside of town in my gown and him in his tux. The wind is cold…but neither of us can find it in ourselves to shiver. The sun's setting on our heads and making everything glow gold. His fingers are running through my hair…” You pause and hear Farah’s soft breath in the air, but you don’t look at her. Your eyes stay stuck on one person only. “When I die,” your words continue, “I can't ask for anything more than just a glimpse of that again. Just a flicker of that hill. Of those blue eyes looking into mine. I don't think it would be all that bad if I could live in that moment for senseless eternity. If I could live in it for only one second."

John looks back at you from over his shoulder, your form shrouded in the setting sun as he slowly walks away from you. You gaze with melted eyes, the ring around your neck shining all the brighter.

“I’m right where I need to be,” finishing, you turn your glossy eyes to Farah, who stares with a wide pull to her lids. “And you need to believe that even if you never get to see that freedom—that hill—you’ll make sure someone else can climb it just an inch farther.”

It’s a long moment before Farah answers.

“The both of you will do this until one of you dies, hm?” You blink before you shrug.

“Not one.” Your tone is easy, and John’s shadow turns a corner; out of sight. “I’d never let him go without me.”

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#STOP BEING SO TALENTED HOLY GOD #talented people are scary #fic recs #my love price

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darksxder · 10 months

Text

price is bee-keeping age and if you don’t agree argue with the wall

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darksxder · 10 months

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btw I know ppl on this site go on abt mutuals but if you are someone that shows up in my notes regularly who I don't follow, I do notice and I am fond of you and if you reblog something from me I do think "YES I have pleased the follower with good taste"

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darksxder · 10 months

Note

Okay darling, I have another request but with a hint of tomfoolery involved! Can I get some headcanons for Ghost and Soap on how they'd react if you tried playing a prank on them but it goes awry? 🤣

the prank war (one sided)

a.n.: of course! anything for my lovely belle! ily! <3 hope you enjoy the last bit ;)

pairings:

ghost x gn!reader

soap! gn!reader (wearing a dress)

fem!reader x ghost x soap (poly!)-an extra treat ;)

ghost

pranking ghost was a dangerous game so you’d stick to small things like moving everything on his desk one inch to the right

everything BUT his stapler

and everyone else thinks this prank is stupid, but que ghost ABSOLUTELY losing it

like him drenched in sweat after training, entering his office and stopping completely once he sees his desk. squinting at the perfect change

it was subtle. but enough to have his eye twitching

he knew it was you. you were the only other person with a key to his office. but he gave you one warning once you mentioned pranks a week ago

he said he wouldn’t start the prank war, but he’d end it

so now he knows you're aiming for a prank war, and he is on the lookout, overly careful and cautious

honestly it takes you another week to make another move

ghost made a pot of coffee, pouring it into his favourite mug (you gave him a skull one :,) before he's called away to talk to soap

and he'll give you credit, you did it all in seconds, very covert, and quiet, but he saw it

he watched you pour salt instead of sugar into his coffee and he choked on a laugh

this was going to be good

he waited for you to scatter away and sit at a table nearest to the door, saying goodbye to soap before reaching his tainted coffee

and you watched so closely as he picked up the mug and happily sipped at it

your jaw dropped as you watched him down the black coffee topped with an obscene amount of salt

he turned to you, the light in his eyes making it clear he was smiling as he lowered the balaclava again

“this pot came out super good, wanna try?”

you know you're caught, heart racing and palms sweating but you just sigh, and give a weak nod

better to get it over with

he hands you the mug, and a silly part of you is almost convinced you messed up the prank, that maybe it truly was sugar and not salt

but one sip had you choking and sputtering coffee all over the table as ghost laughed deeply

after the slew of swears and coughs, you confess to your crime

he just laughed, leaning back in the chair across from you

“i know, kid. just messing with you.” and the warmth in his eyes and in his voice dims as he leans towards you

“touch my coffee again and I'll make you regret it, private.”

you nod hard and fast, wiping coffee off your flushed face

he had certainly ended the prank war

soap

he was easy to prank honestly

but he always returned fire with something much worse

one day where task force 141 were marked to be on ‘standby’ (still on mission but with no clear objective) you get overly bored

bored and very hot

the air conditioning had crapped out a week ago and now it was 40 degrees, a dry heat

you're sweating, fanning yourself as you organize the rec room closet, dusting off your flowy dress that you heaved from the bottom of your bag

(again you’re bored)

but you come across a gold mine in the task riddled with spiders and cloying dust

a sealed package of 200 water balloons

you drop every pretence of organizing and practically sprint outside with an empty blue bucket, beside you-laughing softly (no one really questioned it-they were all getting a little stir crazy)

rounding the building you found the hose and started building your army of watery, latex covered death traps

you would absolutely pelt johnny with them after he came back from his run

he might even thank you, honestly, the water was nice and cold

instinct even had your sticking your face under the cold silky spray before you even considered using your procured prank materials

a half hour of slippery hands and muttered curses ends as you tie off the last one, crouching near a bush by the dorms and wait

on mission you were a stealth operative, you had to have patience, but you were also a restless and heat exhausted person currently

so soap got one step around the corner before you threw a red water balloon at him, a direct hit

it slapped against his chest on his gray tank top, leaving a wet mark, but it simply fell to the ground

only breaking once it hit tarmac

you stand, a blue one in your grasp and hurl it at him trying again

all whilst soap tries to talk around his laughter “why you attackin’ me lass?”

the same thing happens and you sigh, rolling your eyes, stepping out from behind the shrubby bush and collapsing on the hot tarmac, defeated and burning as the sun beat down on you

thankfully a very sweaty and beautiful soap blocked the sun from your eyes as he stood over you

“a solid try.” he sighed, holding a hand out to you

“thought they would break.” you whispered, cheeks burning, wiping the cold water from the balloons from your hands all over your heated cheeks

“figured that.” his scottish accent thick as he leaned down

“should use those as condoms.” you joke, gesturing back at the bucket. eyes firmly closed despite the tall shadow he gave you

he just laughs, suddenly pulling you up, and dusting off the sides of your dress.

“if only your parents used them.” he quipped

que you hitting this man and him laughing, weakly dodging the blows, but failing to pin your arms to your sides

and as the sun burns down around you, finally setting, in a layer of peach hued gold, the weather is forgotten

the touch of him enough to handle the embarrassment of a failed prank

fem!reader x ghost x soap (poly!)

you had been dorm mates with soap and ghost for an age on base

It was nice and you were all close

truthfully it had once awkward and tense, you spent most time training to stay out of their space

but after saving each others asses many times, it was now warm and cozy

it was truly a home for you all away from your home countries

a stable place of safety and no judgment

like you and soap shared body wash (his smelled so good)

and simon felt safe enough to remove his mask around you, but you still made it a point to turn away whenever he did (just in case)

no matter how much he assured you that he trusted you

anyways now you were here, a lack of energy having led you to avoiding doing laundry on your only off day this week (today)

so the only sleeping clothes you had was a soft silk slip your mother snuck into your pack before your deployment once she heard you would be again rooming with the ‘beautiful and tall gentlemen who were very polite to her over the phone’

It was a deep green, a nice emerald shade that made your scarred skin look lovely

with a bright white lace trim along the v line neckline and the hem and slit driven up the right thigh

you figured to aim for a joke instead of letting it be awkward when they came in

apart of you wanted them to see you out of your casuals, your uniform, something that showed off the pillowy curves and muscles you worked hard to maintain

so here you were, on ghost’s bed, on your left hip, your hand propping your head up as you posed, hearing footsteps get closer and closer, your heartbeat echoing the sound

soap comes in first, his blue eyes going wide as he sees you, the long lines of your lotioned legs and the soft silk hugging your waist

he whistled a low and deep tone that had you laughing, nearly falling out of the pose as ghost came in behind him before stilling

“you’re in my bed.” he says, british accent thick, raspy

“yeah? come join me. there's plenty of room.” you coo, voice a low purr you barely recognize, “for both of you.” you say, looking over to soap, who's jaw is currently on the concrete floor

then you're moving up and throwing your legs over the side of the bed, leaning back on your hands, chest arching softly

it was a joke, truly, but everything was so hot in the room now, so still-buzzing

you barely get to blink before johnny is throwing off his tactical vest and stripping off his boots

ghost joins him as you choke on a breath, words failing you in any other way than mumbled jumbles of sounds that only translate that you're confused and flustered

when they're half dressed they walk to the bed

these tall and horribly deadly men falling to their knees on either side of you as your heart beats so hard you're scared it will shoot out of your chest, ripping past your ribs

“i-i was joking.” you stutter, body flushing with waves of heat, swallowing hard

and its ghost that leans in, stealing a quick look over to soap before placing a gloved hand on your cheek. “doesn’t have to be.”

#ally's birthday bash #ally replies #y’all seeing this??😳#send in more requests! I promise ill write em all #on a roll rn #ily #cod #ghost x reader #soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #call of duty x reader

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darksxder · 10 months

Text

Fanfiction Writing Asks

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

Where do you get your fic ideas?

Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself?

How do you choose which fics to write?

How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

What’s the last line you wrote?

Post a snippet from a wip.

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Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip?

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Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?

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If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?

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What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

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Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Are there any fics that you would change or rewrite if given the chance?

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Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?

Have you participated in any fic events/writing challenges? If yes, what were they and did you enjoy them?

In [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot?

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Free space - asker can come up with any writing or fic-related question they want!

#prompts #ally’s birthday bash

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darksxder · 10 months

Text

having good blogs follow you is a lot of pressure when you’re annoying

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darksxder · 10 months

Text

this is perfection.

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬? | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

you have a bad habit and miguel finds a solution —a begrudgingly in love miguel deals with his gf’s oral fixation. 1k. requested here

cw mildly mature themes/love bites. mdni

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel knew when he passed you his hand that you'd start some weird shit like this. You withhold for a while, but eventually his fingertips end up by your mouth. You brush them against your lips absent-mindedly. He knows you like the feeling, knows you draw an unconscious comfort from being able to chew on something, and he's not interested in demonising you for something you can't help.

What he can't abide is your using him like a dollar store chew toy. The second he feels your breath against his fingers, he pulls your joined hands down into the gap between your thighs on the workbench and warns, "Don't."

"Sorry, Miguel," you say, blinking back to attention.

"Can't you chew on a pencil like a normal person?"

"Sorry," you say again, not really sorry. Miguel's not really mad. "I forget that it's you."

He likes the sound of that, even if he's still disapproving. It's hard to be mad when the level of trust you have for him extends so far, the comfort he gets from your mere presence reflected in you and your lack of shame surrounding a bad habit. Miguel sighs and goes back to his sketching. You squeeze his hand twice and do the same.

If you can't bite him, you'll bite yourself. It starts with your nails and stretches to your cuticles. You've hurt yourself doing it before, and Miguel doesn't want to see you do it again. He winces at way you nibble your skin.

"Could you cut it out?" he asks.

"I'm not doing anything."

"You're trying to start the next apocalypse."

"It's not hurting anyone," you insist.

"It's hurting you."

You let go of his hand to take the computer mouse, dragging and dropping a file from the first monitor onto his. He doesn't bother opening it. It's some flirtatious drivel or tech he doesn't want to deal with, undoubtedly.

"It's okay," you sing-song quietly. "You're such a worrier."

He thinks, Fine. Leaves you to your work, gets on with his own, and tries not to worry about your poor fingertips. Ten minutes become an hour, and he forgets what you'd been squabbling about, distracted by work. You drop file after file onto his screen until he gives in and opens one, finds a note drawing done with a jagged cursor of him, he assumes, frowny-faced with a bright red heart drawn around himself. The majority are the same, though the first one you sent him is Miguel with a smile, his cartoon version captioned, "secret softie :3". He puts a couple in his files and the rest in the recycling basket.

He's retrieving the ones he deleted guiltily when you hiss. He checks on you from the corner of his eye, and notices the little red line of blood building in your cuticle.

"There's actually something wrong with you."

"Ouch," you murmur, waving your finger around. "Stings."

"I told you."

"D'you have a bandaid?"

Miguel doesn't have a bandaid in the workshop. His first aid kit is half nano tech, half traditional wrap around bandages, all overkill for your surface wound. He takes pit on you and your crinkled face and pulls your hand toward eye level to inspect the damage. You've pulled the cuticle skin up toward the bed and torn skin that should be left alone, blood quick to congeal in the air. He should've just let you bite him.

"Idiot," he says, and kisses the side of your hand. "Don't do it again."

You grumble at his name calling but seem otherwise appeased. It's not long before your hand is going back to your mouth, but you must remember his demand, choosing to tuck your hands between your thighs. You squirm in your seat and can't focus on your work.

Miguel thinks, Fuck it.

"Alright, come here."

You wheel your chair closer.

"What, I have to do all the work?" he asks, holding out his arms. "Come here."

You stand and slide between the desk and his legs. His thighs are big, and your own press to the top of the desk from the lack of space. You put a hand on his arm curiously.

"Kiss me," he says.

You lean in quickly and kiss him. A tentative thing where you're usually confident laying one on him.

"What was that?" he asks.

"A kiss?"

"Kiss me properly," he says. He bracelets your elbow in a big hand, a soft touch to reassure you. "You've wanted to all day."

You have the decency to pretend (albeit weakly) that he's wrong. "Whaaaat? Who told you that?"

Miguel sighs and takes your face into his hands instead. He takes in your expression slowly, your eyes, your pupils like black dimes, lashes kissing in the outer corners as you look down to his mouth. You bite the inside of your lip and he loses it —Miguel tugs you against his chest and kisses you firmly, hand at the small of your back and pulling urgently upward in an attempt to bring you closer.

He can feel the little line from your own biting on your lips as he presses against the seam of them, and he doesn't know what he's going to do with you besides kiss you: he won't let you chew on him, no matter how nice your mouth is. He'll just have to kiss you until you can cope.

Or you could always bite him in other places.

"Wait, wait, I can't breathe," you say, pulling away.

Miguel works his fingertips under the back of your shirt, feeling the slope of bare skin there absentmindedly. "My bad. How's your compulsion?"

"Wanna play vampires?" you ask.

He laughs and leans away from you, a feigned disapproval. "Wanna play get a grip?"

"Grip on your neck?" you ask.

"How about I bite you? See how you like it."

You pull your knee up, socked foot digging into his thigh as you lay your cheek on his collar, straining up every time you want to kiss his neck. You press sweet, chaste kisses into his skin, seemingly unbothered by the pretzel-like position you've twisted yourself into.

"You act like I'm a chair."

"You told me," —kiss, kiss— "to sit here, Miguel, I don't know what you want from me." Third kiss, then a fourth.

He tamps down goosebumps and gives up. "Can you chill out while I work?"

"... I can keep kissing you?"

"Do what you like. I need to finish this net."

You lounge. Miguel struggles to keep it together, but at least you aren't biting your nails anymore.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed!! if you did and you have the time, please think about reblogging <3

#talentedpeoplearescary #fic recs

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darksxder · 10 months

Note

Oh darling, I'm super excited for your event! ❤ If I may go ahead and drop a headcanon request: What would it be like to go to the beach with Price (CoD)?

ILY! ‼️❤️thank you for being the first to send in a prompt!! and i love this big burly man so bad help <3

pre-beach

this man is someone who rarely gets leave, and someone who rarely ever takes it either when it’s offered (he is forced to take it lmao)

i think john is so ingrained in a system that strains his own morals so bad that he doesn’t like to be out of it much.

once you have such a taste for blood, the usual comfort of life have a certain tinge to it

i think you would have mentioned it mid mission. in a gasp, swiping dust from your eyes onto to squint at the sun. half delirious and dehydrated “ever been to the beach, captain?”

and he smiles softly. looking perfectly content in all black with the sun beating down on you all. “why?”

it’s said with a soft drawl that has your heart flipping and hands sweating.

“uhh i don’t know. just wondering. thought maybe a team date at the beach would help with bonding?” and you say it like a question, the confidence that you had to line up a shot or take a man down to the ground with a jump and the force of your legs, never quite correlated with talking to price (it never would)

and like you did in early training runs and drills, and under the scream and spittle of your many older male superiors, you dropped it. gave it up. “you know- forget it-“ you start but his deep british lilt had your words fracturing into silence.

“sounds like a good plan. you have quite the knack for team bonding.” he teased

your body flushed with heat, a thousand times the sun deep in the balm of the desert around you. it was a joke. you had never been subtle about the lack of connection you felt between your teammates and many games that usually started with ‘what’s your favourite colour’ were not uncommon to be lead by you

and you forgot about it. not really. but truly you had thought it a joke. him agreeing.

but when you were laying across your couch on leave, bored as all hell, mind buzzing, lower lip worrying between your teeth, he called you.

called you for the first time ever. his voice awash in your ears, a thousand times more pleasant than the ocean as he told you to “get your swim suit private and head down to the blum in’ beach.”

the beach trip

this man immediately complimenting you. even if you’re wearing a cover up. or your clothes are completely on over your bathing suit

with his uncannily good instincts he notices how you can’t even look at his eyes, even avoiding him entirely. facing the side of sand beside him as you spoke.

it was hard not to. he was in simple black swim trunks, all the broad shoulders, muscled and soft curves was ripe to your sight

and he was smirking at you. his stupid bucket hat still on, but now finally matching the setting around him

his hands on his hips instead of on the neck of his vest like you were used to when he was looking over you

you have to chase this man down to put sunscreen on him (we have seen the lovely amount of freckles ofc)

100% picks you up and puts you deeper in the water when you refuse to go past the water sloshing at your hip bones. no matter your sharp gasp and grip, he will dunk you at least once

absolutely is down for any sport on the beach okay- football, ultimate frisbee, a plain game of catch, everything. but especially beach volleyball

and because gaz is a snitch this man knows you played in high school, so he offers you first serve to “see your moves” and “how you set the pace, love”

it’s canon you absolutely obliterate him on every round. every. single. one. and you’re so humble about it

meanwhile soap is losing it, literally slapping at your shoulder and treating you like a god when you spike another hit directly on their space of sand. his scottish yells drowning your ears

and every new round, when you hand price ‘his ass to him ‘- he gets hotter. from exertion or something else, he will never tell

1000% is the person to tell you to ‘c’mere’ then quickly rub some sunscreen on the bridge of your nose and the soft highs of your cheekbones

he spends the entire time holding his breath instinctually. his lungs strained when he saw your features up so close. he counted every scar and mark, every dip in your smile and the butterflies that bloomed from your soft exhale of warm breath on the inside of his wrist, as the pads of his thumbs trace along the seam of your cheeks

you end up staying till sunset

he brings a cooler with his own ‘prissy beer’ as gaz says. but you make him drink many fun coloured sweet drinks that would be characterized as alcoholic popsicles. all of them in chimed glass bottles and unnaturally bright colours (he downs five)

price loves how your filter dissolved with the alcohol and that you apologized for everything, even if it was just walking alongside them

hours later he spends at home, wondering why he can’t stop thinking of you. the burning image of sand slipping past your fingers, the wind carrying tiny grains along your stretched leg, a soft and true smile carved on your face. every part i grace in his chest. it was a small smile. but private, almost secret, sincere. it made his heart flip and ache. both at once, always the case with you

places you in shade and makes you drink water and rest when you almost get heat exhaustion and get all cranky and weak :,)

brought a nice fluffy towel but shared your barbie one ‘for the principle’

saw you laying in the sun and thought you were tanning, but soap was kind enough to point out “nah she’s just not used to feeling the sun. you know, with her hermit habits..” that got him a kick to the shin and a rumbling chuckle from price that had your eyelashes fluttering along with your stomach

you guys building a sand castle because you strayed from the group and found him in his and i quote “old man time”. smoking a cigar perched on a beach chair, a ripe sunburn on his chest that had you sighing and wincing at once. hands itching to take out some aloe and help ease the burn, but he didn’t even flinch

he just sees you drop off your stuff and head to the shallows with a tiny orange bucket and he just kinda follows you. watches for a moment before he feels pulled to trudge through the warm sand towards you

at first only making short and direct comments on your sandcastle architecture whilst taking puffs of his cigar

loving the burn of sweetness in his chest it gave him. it was nearly the same feeling when you laughed mid recom mission in the Arctic. it had been the first time he ever heard you truly laugh. he never forgot it. the hue. the pitch. he remembered he stopped shaking, as if his brain was in too much shock at the beauty of the sound to realize he was freezing. as in that moment he had never felt so warm in his life.

but after you huff and tell him to ‘do it himself’ he folds and basically throws the stub out (you make him throw it out properly after istg) and this 37 year old, 6’2 unit, gets on his bad knees to help you form the damp sand monstrosity

and after a genuine hour of hushed focus and teamwork

“looks like an evil dwelling.” you say it seriously. your hand poised on your chin, eyes catching ever smoothed edge and exaggerated curve and dip on the soft structure

prices lips twitched. “that right?”

“mhm.”

and he took a minute. fingers drawing a moat along the side of the castle that had your teeth biting into your lower lip slightly. “why work so hard on something just for it to wash away?” he asked, eyes on the separating sand drawn from his touch

it’s not about the sand castle. you know that. but this was surely something you should be asking instead and having him reassure you about

“was the work purposeful?” your voice as strong as the setting sun behind you

he nodded. his eyes a bright blue in the bright peach rays of the setting sun. the light catching onto strands of his beard, and framing his mouth in gold

then maybe it washing away was apart of the job. the end of it. we just didn’t know it.”

and he holds your gaze, noting the glaze in your eyes. the sheen.

sometimes he forgot how young you were. but with your hands next to his and covered in sand, knees knocked and pricked with bruises, hair up and secured with a scarf, you looked painfully young.

too young to know the pain of all your hard work washing away. again and again.

and he’s speaking before he’s even thinking

“i’d build a thousand sand castles with you.” he rasped.

you smiled, bright and beautiful. unrestrained. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he mocked.

and you shuffled closer, just a little scoot of your knees in but it has his breath catching hard

“and i’d wait for them to wash away. and truly only be excited, because we could start anew.”

#john price x reader #john price fic #cod drabble #ally’s birthday bash #prompts #i love you belle

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