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kjmalfoy · 19 days

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Fatherly Love Pt2• 18+ Content

Warnings- Age Gap, Inflicted Self-Harm, Daddy Issues, Mention of Verbal and Physical Abuse, Description of Medical Attention, Mentions of Blood, Childhood Trauma, PTSD.

Summary- Waking up, the last thing you expected to see what John; and when you? You didn’t know how to react. Everything hurt, and ached at your heart. But, nonetheless; you let John tend your wounds.

Pairings- John!Price x F!Reader

Word Count- 2.1K

Author’s Note- I apologize this took FOREVER, college has ruined my passion to write; please forgive me my lovies:( also.. ending is so bad so yeah! SORRY ILY AND THE SUPPORT

My Masterlist <3

You woke up the next day, attempting to rub away the puffiness from your eyes– memories from yesterday already creeping in as you stared down at the tear-soaked pillow, damp spots still staining the pillowcases. You could feel your head throbbing, the pounding aches thumping in the middle of your skull, making your eyebrows crinkle from the pain.

The sound of glass shards cracking made your head twist, glancing over at the shattered mirror– you felt your breathing hitch, heavy but a short gust of air filling your lungs as you saw him. Price was bent at the knees, picking up the glass shards from the floor, and placing them in a small paper bag. Price noticed the large glass shard on the dresser, your dried blood still staining the tips of the transparent color.

“What did you do to yourself?” Price asked sternly, still holding the glass as he turned to face you. His eyes peered over at your body, immediately darting to the bloody shirt that was wrapped tightly around your palms.

Staring at Price with soulless eyes, you feel yourself being suffocated with your childhood's looming memories. The gut-wrenching feeling of Price’s actions from yesterday acting as a bar-wire around your neck. “Why are you here?” You sneered, pure and deadly poison smeared across your tongue.

Price sighed exaggeratedly, placing the piece of glass in the bag and the others he collected off the ground. He took careful steps towards you, noticing your quivers as he approached the bed. “Look, I’m not going to hurt you, Just let me take care of you, please?” He spoke sadly, a sympathetic tone just barely slipping through.

Snickering in disbelief, you sucked your teeth making the sound of blowing raspberries. You shook your head firmly, inching away from Price. “Oh, now you care?” You questioned his actions with a gravelly voice as you tried to fight back those memories of childhood, but failed miserably as Price’s facial expression dropped.

You could almost see your father’s disappointed eyes as you watched Price’s facial expression drop, the only movements were his slow blinks that shook away his teary eyes. His hands dropped to his sides, feeling like dead weight as he stood there, almost dazed by the sudden disgust in your voice.

The dead stare you gave Price made his guilt smother him, a giant bubble of regret popping over his head— leaving him suffocated with the agony of hurting the woman he truly loved the most. He choked down the dry lump in his throat, feeling the pain from holding back his tears as the lump moved down the pipes in his throat.

“[Y/n], please. Th-That never should have happened, I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, the usual harsh and intimidating tone completely wiped away— replaced with the sound of sympathy as he spoke to you. Price’s tears became more evident, his pupils now dilated as he watched you process his apology— but truly knowing it wouldn’t go anywhere, understanding how deeply he has hurt you.

You looked down at your hand, cringing at the bloody shirt. Slowly, you unwrapped your hand with caution; hissing in pain from the burning sensation of the cold air hitting the fresh cuts and puncture wounds on your palms. “Yeah, but it did. It happened and you didn’t bother with me until the next morning.” You muttered with a shaky voice, pulling yourself from the bed.

Walking into the bathroom, you stood there like a robot; both arms dangling freely at your sides as your swollen eyes peered into your reflection. You were expecting to see the same broken little girl from yesterday, but to your surprise; you saw the broken, traumatized adult you were. Standing there without a soul, emotionless eyes that your bloodshot sclera took control of, and the pain of a million punctures burning your palms.

Without realization, Price appeared behind you; his heavy hands softly finding their place around your waist. You shudder at his touch, the mix of fear and comfort making you dazed and confused. Not being able to peel your eyes away from your reflection, you glared at Price— finding uncomfortable warmth in the way his body towered over yours, and the way he rested his chin on the top of your skull.

You could hear Price’s deep breathing behind you, feeling it trickle down your neck; goosebumps raiding your body. His eyes cascaded over your body, watching how you shuddered and trembled in his presence. “Please, let me clean your wounds.” He pleaded, the shame and guilt so clearly visible— It almost made you rethink your emotions.

Turning around, you pressed your back against the sink and looked up at John— studying the softness in his eyes, and the tenderness of his touch. Your chest shuddered as you inhaled, gulping down the anger that bubbled inside you. “Fine, but, This isn’t me forgiving you.” You spoke firmly, letting Price gently reach for your punctured hands.

Price nodded thankfully, slowly and carefully reaching for your hands; holding them gently in his calloused palms. He held your hands up, shifting them cautiously as he examined the brutality of the punctures. Before you could realize it, John let go of your hands; softly placing his fingers underneath your chin— examining the soft bruises on your cheek.

“I did that... Didn’t I?” He spoke tenderly, almost like he was afraid to raise his voice. Price looked up at you, remorse swimming in his eyes; completely washed away from anger and resentment from last night.

Gulping down the dry lump in your throat, you glanced up at Price; nearly drowning in the remorse that clouded his eyes. Nodding slowly, you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing but a measly squeak came out. “Ye-Yea..” You muttered with an airy voice.

John stayed quiet, analyzing the bruises on your face for a few more seconds before taking your hands in his again. He looked around the bathroom and opened the mirror cabinet— grabbing the pair of blue tweezers. Lifting your hand closer to his eyes, he flashed you an apologetic look. “This might hurt a bit. I’m going to take out the remaining pieces of glass.” He informed you with a gentle voice.

You nodded your head, grimacing in discomfort as John started picking the small shards of glass out of your hand. Instinctively, your fingers danced toward Price’s forearm– gripping the long-sleeved shirt that protected his skin from your fingernails. With each pinch from the tweezers, you found yourself gripping harder– your knuckles almost turning white from the strength of your grasp.

Price didn’t seem to mind the aggressive latch you had on his skin, in fact– he didn’t even budge. He stood there like a stonewall, keeping his attention focused on your grated palms– taking each scratch and scrap of pain your nails could latch onto him. You could sense by the slight sneer on John’s face that he was hurting a bit– and you felt guilty. For some bizarre reason, you felt guilty for hurting him; hurting the same man that was the cause behind all of this. The man whose name was practically written on the glass shards being pulled from your hand.

Taking a quick glimpse at Price, you looked down at your hand; watching him intently as he worked on fixing your hand to his best abilities. Using your free hand, you wiped your palm across your mouth– slightly dragging your bottom lip down. “I’m sorry if I’m squeezing you too hard.” You muttered out, crinkling your nose in pain.

His eyes narrowed in cynicism, his medic-like movements stopped instantly. John’s lips scrunched together beneath his mustache, his doubtful eyes boring into you; trying to study the apologetic tone on your tongue. Price made a clicking sound with his tongue as he shook his head– “No. I don’t ever want to hear you apologize again.” He spoke firmly, placing the tweezers on the cabinet shelf.

The feeling of warmth invaded your body, John’s large palms gently cupping your tear-swollen cheeks. He bent his knees slightly, staring at you at an eye-to-eye level; resting his forehead against yours. “I should never hear another apology leave your mouth… Especially not after what I did.” He took a heavy breath, caressing your cheek gently– feeling your heated cheeks under the calloused pads of his thumb.

The two of you shared heavy; almost suffocating eye contact, penetrating each other’s soul with just a blink of an eye. You watched as Price’s eyes trickled down to your lips, watching as your bottom lip quivered anxiously from the proximity of his body. His fingers slowly slid down your face, tucking themselves underneath your chin— playfully tugging at your trembling lip.

John took a small breath of confidence, closing his eyes and dragging his lips across your cheek; tasting the bitter saltiness of your tears. “I will forever regret my actions.” He whispered, gently pressing his lips against the corner of your mouth; careful not to overstep your boundaries. “I love you so much, [Y/n].”

You stayed silent for a minute, frozen in shock and adrenaline as John taunted you with his soft kisses. Hands twitching, you reach for Price’s hand again; holding it tightly in your palm. Your heart was thumping, pounding heavily against your chest— making your head spin in emotional distress.

Tilting your face away, you stared at the ground in shame; bubbling with disgust from the soft kisses Price littered around your lips. “I-I’m sorry. I’m not ready to forgive you fully.” You babbled softly, feeling your teeth jitter with nerves.

John nodded, pulling his face away from you the moment you retracted your consent. His big eyes were solemn and dull, eyebrows furrowed together as he glanced away. “I’m going to clean out your other hand, okay?” He said, a hurt tone coating his tongue; but he remained respectful of your withdrawn consent.

You held your tongue, remaining silent as you watched John gently grasp your mangled hand. His adam’s apple twitched, swallowing thickly as he reached for the tweezers again. “This might hurt more. Your right hand is badly punctured.” Price mumbled.

His hands shook softly as they inched closer with the tweezers, barely grasping the largest shard that was slicing your hands. Price pulled out of the shard of glass, the clear material covered in the richness of your blood. “A few more pieces, then I’ll clean them out.” He whispered, looking grimly at all the dried blood.

Staying silent, the only response you gave John was a nod of your head. He worked carefully, grabbing the glass with gentle hands; slowly and cautiously removing the smaller shards. They looked like tiny diamonds and rubies coming out of your palm; still maintaining to glimmer under the dim lighting of the bathroom.

After removing the last few pieces, he tossed all the blood-stained glass away; the plastic trash bag became shredded as glass scratched at the bin. Shakily, you spun your hands around; looking in disgust at all the cuts and scratches that stained your delicate skin. “It’s worse than I thought.” You mumbled to yourself, glancing at Price as he grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and anti-infection cream.

John placed all his items on the counter, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for bandage wrapping. You watched him search carefully, grabbing a gauze pad and thick wrapping for your sliced palms. “This might sting a bit. Grab my arm, if it hurts too much.” He mumbled, watching you with a gentle eye as he grabbed the rubbing alcohol.

With a swift nod, you latched onto Price’s bicep; digging your fingertips into the fabric of his clothes. John reached for your wrist, holding it softly as he held your hands over the sink; unscrewing the cap of the alcohol in the process. He glanced at you, nodding his head stiffly; warning he was about to disinfect your wounds. As the alcohol touched your skin, you hissed loudly in pain; the burning sensation bubbling through your veins.

Squeezing onto John, he poured some of the alcohol onto your other hand; the burning tingle only growing more fierce. “It’s alright, love. Almost done.” He reassured with a tender voice; grabbing a rag and patting your palms dry.

As your hands trembled, John reached for the gauze pads; wiping an antibiotic cream on the material before laying it over the puncture wounds. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” He whispered, reaching for the bandage wraps; carefully concealing your raptured hands.

Pulling your hands towards his face; he gently kissed the top of your hands, his warm lips connecting to the skin of your knuckles. “I won’t hurt you again…’ He whispered, the trail of his kisses leading up your arm.

Your felt your body freeze again, the warm feeling of his lips made your skin crawl. Closing your eyes, you focused on your breathing; counting each and every heavy gust of air you took in. As if you were split in half, your body craved the affection and desire of his forgiveness; but, your other half absolutely despised his need for forgiveness.

Gently shoving his shoulder, your eyes opened; staring at him with dazed emotions. “It’ll take time, John… You promised you wouldn’t be like him.” You spoke unsurely.

John knew immediately, what “him” meant. It was your father; the man behind it all. He dreaded the fact that he was now connected to the same abuse your father put your through; but, he caused it. He blatantly let his anger control his own mind, and now he was facing the consequences.

Inhaling heavily, Price gave you a soft smile; respecting your wishes of withdrawn consent. He looked at you for a second, holding out his hand; slowly reaching for your cheek once more. His eyes focused on your bruised cheek; the fingerprint indents becoming more visible as time set in.

Tenderly brushing his thumb along your cheek, he felt your withering body against the pad of his thumb. “I understand, [Y/n]. Please, take all the time you need, love.” He spoke respectfully.

“Let’s get some ice for your cheek.”

thank you all for the very patient wait! I sincerely apologize if the ending seemed rushed (it was) as i said in the author’s note, i truly lost my passion for writing. i’m so mentally drained from college, but i will try my best to feed my lovies with new fics soon <3

as always reblogs, comments, and likes are ALWAYS appreciated. BUT, please DO NOT post or copy my work on any other social platform. 💗

TAG LIST: @theirkenfiles @fanficwriterlover @chubbysciencenerd @patyog @pan-with-a-pan @mysteriouslydeafeaningwerewolf

#captain john price #support your writers #cod mw2 #captain price fanfic #fanfic #john price #captain johnathan price #john price cod #captain price x you #mw2 captain price

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vverevulf · 1 year

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Sorry this is my head-canon and y’all don’t have to agree but in my eyes Soap listens to Drum n Bass, he gives me those vibes, I’m talking sub focus, rudimental all that good shit that you would blast in a car doing 120mph down the M25

Not sure what music Ghost would listen to but he for sure liked a bit of cheeky N-Dubz when they were still a thing, I feel like Ghost would be into drill, and basically typical “roadman” music like he gives the vibes

Now Price, he strikes me as a guy that listens to R.E.M, ABC, Madness, Haircut 100 British dad music essentially

These two lads definitely listened to some Propa Br’ish music, none of that cavetown and uwu soft boi music

#mw2 2022 #cod mw22 #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #soap mctavish #simon ghost riley #soap mw2 #captain price #mw2 captain price

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bigguyenthusiast · 2 months

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COD P★ LINKS

Yawll……dis is horny… so like fair warning

John price

Price tying you up after he catches you disobeying him by touching yourself :(

Overstimulation with John <3

Price eating you out after a loooooong mission

More price eating pussy (the guy LITERALLY looks like him or am I tripping)

Since you like using them so much, this shouldn’t be a punishment for you, correct ?

John getting you to ride his thigh

Theres a reason why they’re his favourite

Kyle Garrick

Gaz after ruthlessly fucking you for three hours ;3

What you get for flaunting yourself in front of his mates :(

Lazy night in with gaz

Shhh don’t want anyone to hear you

Late night humping with your clingy boyfriend

Roommate! Gaz getting tired of your horny whining

Simon Riley

Just a quick reminder of where you belong

Quick polishing’

A goodbye gift

A welcome home gift

Roommate! Ghost pounding you till you wake up :(

Owner! Ghost with his lil pup

Little film for later

Gettin’ crafty

John McTavish

Riding him until he’s dumb <3

Mornin sex with Johnny boy

Self restrain

Virgin! Johnny

Just his doll

Convincing your friend, Johnny to join your live 🫣

König

Hes just too big you needed a photo for confirmation

Need your colonel to reach you a lesson?

Just a quickie before he leaves for work

Quickie part 2

Good girls beg

#okay yall lemme go to bed #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #captain price #ghost #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #konig x reader #konig #konig cod #captain john price #john price x reader #john price

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metallictastinglifesupportliquid · 3 months

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Y/N: Hi I'm your medic and I'll be drawing your blood today, as soon as I finish this capri sun Y/N: *misses the hole four times then finally punches the straw through the side* Ghost, sweating: PRICE

#incorrect cod quotes #incorrect quotes #cod incorrect quotes #incorrect call of duty quotes #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #captain price #john price #captain john price #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty

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chamomiletealeaf · 6 months

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Thought of this at work today lmao

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loveindefinitely · 3 months

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task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

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ghouljams · 5 months

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I think Price is a tummy man. Loves to kiss your stomach, grab it to pull you back into his thrusts, loves to see your shirt lift up a little when you reach for something on the top shelf. He's a provider, he likes knowing you're well fed, healthy, that he's providing for you. He likes his baby soft. Maybe he's a little old fashioned like that.

And Ghost likes thighs, he will not budge on this. Nothing you can say will change his mind that there's no better spot to lay his head, nothing softer he'd rather be between, and certainly nowhere better to mark up. Again it's the softness! He's got enough hard shit to deal with(wink) that he wants to have some softness with you. Let him be soft and needy and lay his head on your lap, he won't fall asleep this time he promises.

#ghoul speaks #cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #john price mw2 #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price cod #captain price mw2 #just thinking about them #my boys

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bubuslutty · 5 months

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That Price printer thot was SO uncalled for! 😭 But also, domestic hubby thot where Price purposely flexes his muscles when doing something mundane like mowing the lawn cuz he knows you're watching. Then he sees you and goes like "morning love, c'mere" for an embrace.

Like, sir, just pick up the damn newspaper and go??

Or he just flexes when you both are in the yard/store and some guy thinks he has a chance with you. Y’know, like chickens puffing up their chests ✌🏼😔

OMG I GOT THIS ASK AGESS AGO BUT FORGOT TO ANSWER SO MANY TIMES 😭

Also, uhm yes??? him flexing as soon as you're withing 10 metres of radius to him, he doesn't gaf, he'll puff out his chest, flex his muscles, cross his arms over his huge chest, spread his legs like his dick is massive (it is) for him to stand normally.

And he'll do it whether you're his girl or not (not yet at least, he's on a mf mission to get you.)

He's also the type of man to run and help you if you try to take out the trash and he isn't your man yet. And he'd scold you like "Pretty girl like you shouldn't get her hands dirty."

he's shameless and so so horrible. because the man would be fixing the shower head for you and if you come up to check on him, you don't see how he 'accidentally' hits the tap and so water started spraying everywhere and his tank top gets all wet, and so do you as youre screaming in your tiny bathroom and he tries to shield you from the water but ends up getting you even more soaked because of him.

And you can't even be mad when he looks sorry and sheepish as his stupid tank top sticks to his chest and you can see everything. and his hair is wet and he looks at you under his wet hair and chuckles, pushing your wet hair out of your own face.

and then he takes his tank top off and you can't look away and he knows. the fucker knows he's absolutely sexy and good enough to feast on. and he smirks a lil and turns around to dump his tank top in the sink, rolling his shoulder baldes and sighing, fully knowing you're ogling his massive back and shoulders (he's showing off the goods to you lol)

you can't be mad at him. never.

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aeoncss · 9 months

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having the worst brainrot about professor riley & professor price rn, like this isn’t even funny lmao

the way i want to write about them both so bad 🧍‍♀️

#srry for the crappy quality #had to use screenshots #but like?? hello??#captain john price #captain price #john price #mw2 #mw2 captain price #mw2 price #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost mwii

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sweet-as-an-angel · 8 months

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MW2 Reaction to You Being A Virgin

Warnings: 18+, Implications of Smut, Corruption Kink, Purity Kink, Innocence Kink, Ownership Kink, Age Gap, Implied Slight Yandere Graves Inexperience, Objectification, Dominant MW2, Soft MW2, Gaz is anxious :-( but trying his best, MW2 Trying To Be Smooth, Profanity, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Ghost

The fact that you, innocent, are his to love and corrupt sends white-hot anticipation between his legs.

He’s imagined what you’d be like in bed: how you’d take him, the sounds you’d make. Of course he has – practically everyone on Base has.

But now, his fantasies are tinged with something feral. A primal need to show you that he is the best choice for you (even if he doesn’t believe it himself) – the only one strong enough and skilled enough to be yours and to make you his.

He’s fantasised about you looking up at him with doe eyes while he pins your wrists to the mattress, voice meek as you tell him, as if it’s a secret, that you’ve “Never done this before…”

He can’t live without it. The fact that he can – will – be your first time. Satisfy you in ways nobody else will ever be able to compete with.

He’d never admit it, but a dark part of him has plagued him with ideas of ravaging and corrupting you, about making your first time so pleasurable and carnal that nobody will ever be able to satisfy you as he can.

“Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he tells you, taking your chin between his fingers. He lowers his lips to your ear. You don’t see the dark gleam in his eye. Don’t see the deliciously dark idea cross his mind – the impulse to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to feel anything, nevermind pain. And he makes a promise to you anyway.

“I’ll take care of you.”

König

“Thought as much.” König’s words are blunt yet sharp.

“Seeing as you have everyone wrapped around your finger, it’s clear you have no regard for the way you conduct yourself.”

You may construe König’s words as mean. Derogatory, even. He means it as a compliment. Even if you don’t know it yet.

“You think I don’t see the way you flaunt yourself in front of the soldiers – thinking that you’ll be able to get away with it without consequence.”

König’s frame towers over you. His gaze is ice, and any trace of the socially anxious soldier you knew is gone.

“I wonder how you like it.” he muses aloud. His voice is tinged with something unreadable. Venomous.

“How you’ll take it. Rough, gentle…” His eyes narrow.

“Mean.”

He’s boxed you in with his stature alone.

“Makes no difference to me,” he tells you. Deceptively calm. And then, an offer. One you can’t refuse.

“I’ll fuck you every which way until I find what makes you scream the loudest.”

Soap

“Oh, really?” he says, eyebrow quirked and a hidden smile teasing his lips.

Johnny really couldn’t care less that you’ve never had sex before. But, the fact that you shared this information with him – albeit after he steered the conversation towards more…intimate topics – gave him hope that you were hinting towards something.

Something that Johnny’s wanted since he realised he was massively, whorishly down bad for you.

From his position opposite you, against the kitchen counter, he takes a step forward.

“I suppose you’re not very experienced then, are you?”

He advances until he’s in front of you. A wolf and a lamb. Close enough that you can smell his cologne.

His eyes are piercing, but there is a softness behind them. Something that writhes and wants and needs.

His hands come to rest upon the counter behind you. Nowhere for you to run. The heat from his body is scorching.

“Though, I’d be more than happy to…” His voice husks. “Beef up your résumé.”

Valeria

Corruption kink to the MAX

Valeria is a territorial, dominant woman – that much is easy to see.

And the fact that you haven’t had anyone else before her just does something to her.

Alters her brain chemistry permanently.

There’s not one soldier, police officer or government official she doesn’t own in Las Almas.

So why shouldn’t she own you, too?

Now she’s thinking of every conceivable way she’s going to take ownership of you.

She thinks about it so often that she struggles to complete her paperwork without having to disperse the issue before she can continue.

But be warned: there will come a day when satisfying herself just won’t cut it. When she’s going to seek you out and ruin you.

“It might hurt at first, mi Amor,” she tells you, hand stroking your cheek, coming down to your jaw. “But trust me when I say that–”

Her hand grips your jaw. Tight. A viper’s strike. A fire burns in her eyes and the corners of her lips curl up in a cruel smile.

“I’ll make it hurt a whole lot more if you don’t do as I say.”

Price

Given his age, Price has had his fair share of experiences.

But that doesn’t harden him to the simple fact that you haven’t.

In his eyes, there’s something endearing about how you’ve yet to give yourself to another person.

Another person that, he hopes, will someday be him.

The idea makes something in him stir. The fact that the difference between your age and his makes him that much more confident in his ability to please you in ways no mere boy can makes him anxious to act.

“Oh. Is that right, Love?” He says, eyes light and his smile dangerous.

“S’ppose you’re waiting for the right person.” His posture is inviting. Tempting. Belies the rush he’s feeling — the desire to have you at his mercy in the most carnal sense.

“Pretty little thing like you, you could have your fill of men.”

He’s angling for something. His face says it all.

He steps towards you. Again. Again. He’s in front of you.

His chest is almost to yours. His smile is shallow now. Strained. Like his pants.

“Probably looking for someone with experience.”

He thrives on the way your chest flutters. His does, too, but it’s masked beneath a heavy stare.

“And trust me, Love,” his voice is low. A message for you and you alone as he brings his lips to your ear, breath hot against your skin.

“I’ve got plenty to spare.”

Horangi

You don’t hear it for his mask, but Horangi lets out a shuttered breath.

“That’s why you’re always so quiet when sex talk comes up.”

He says it as a fact, but you take it as a question. You nod.

Horangi’s arms unfurl from his chest, come to rest at his sides. He’s looking at you.

Even through the layers of his mask, his gaze is heavy. Leaden.

He steps towards you. His frame, broad, fills your vision.

You can hear how heavy his breathing has become. How thick the air is.

How much he’s trying to restrain himself.

“How about a deal,” he proposes. Commands.

“You give me something to have a nice, long, hard think about,” his hips are to yours. You feel him pressing against you.

“And I’ll give you something to talk about.”

Alejandro

“You surprise me, mi amor,” he says, natural as anything. As if he already knew.

“I’d have thought someone would have swooped in and claimed you by now.”

Truth be told, Alejandro wanted to be that somebody so badly that it made him ache in places he’d rather not think about. Especially when you’re already making containing himself incredibly difficult with that pouting, wide-eyed, innocent look.

God, you had no idea what you were doing to him.

“Or…are you saving yourself for someone specific?”

Before you, his frame is broad and imposing even without all his military gear on.

He takes your chin between his fingers. Tilts your head so your gaze can’t escape his. A shiver runs up his spine at the sound of your breath stuttering.

His words aren’t rhetorical. He’s pulled the answer from you – seen it in your eyes.

“Or are you just waiting for a man who knows how to take care of you?”

Rodolfo

“O-oh!” Rudy chokes out. His cheeks are already giving way to a telltale pink. He tries to cover it.

“But– you’re so pretty and smart and kind – I thought you’d have a boyfriend by now!”

In some ways, Rudy’s a bit of a traditionalist: his mind still jumps to the idea that you’d typically only be intimate with someone you’re already in a relationship with.

Not that he’d judge you if this were not the case for you.

But he sees his chance. And he takes it.

“Well, if you’re not with anyone, then…would you like to go out sometime? With me?”

His eyes are wide and filled with hope – something you’d never have expected from a man in such a brutal line of work.

Sex is the last thing on his mind right now: truly, he’s so taken in with the idea that you’re single and available that your sexual status means very little to him.

Though, that isn’t to say he hasn’t thought about you like that before, or that he hasn’t spent many a night with his face smothered with pillows as your name escapes from between his lips, panting, moaning.

That’s a little secret for you to uncover later in your relationship…

Graves

“So you’re tellin’ me that no one’s had the privilege of fuckin’ that pretty little ass of yours?”

Graves sure has a way with words.

For all his slimy business practices, this is the one time he’s genuinely surprised. Unable to be slick.

He puts his game face on. Gives you a half-lidded stare and lowers his voice. His heart hammers: he conceals it behind a cool tone.

“Well, colour me impressed, Angel,” he says. A hand comes to the hem of your shirt, takes it between slow, intentional fingers. He has to resist the urge to look at your chest when he pulls the fabric taut.

“And here I was thinkin’ I already knew everything about you.”

He’s moving in before you can analyse his statement. Before you can begin to understand how badly this man has lusted after you – how deeply entrenched in your life he’s become. And all without you knowing.

He places a hand on the wall behind you. Presses himself closer to you.

“How much to let me be the first,” he drawls. Your eyes widen. His thin smile grows.

“And last.”

Gaz

Bless his little cotton socks, he doesn’t know what to do with both this information and himself.

See, despite being incredibly intelligent, Gaz is still the youngest of the 141, so he’s not entirely accustomed to situations like this.

He can’t tell if you’re hinting, flirting, or just telling him something about yourself.

He remembers what Soap taught him, though.

Should a situation arise where someone is flirting with you, just use your intuition and don’t fuck it up.

Gaz leans against the doorframe, almost misses, scrambles to resume his ideal posture.

“Oh, so we’re more similar than you’d think, then.”

He can feel Soap banging his head against a wall. Jesus, Gaz – at least try to impress (Y/N) !

At your raised eyebrow and your playful “Oh?” Gaz coughs. His voice lowers.

“But…” he steps closer. “Maybe we can un-virgin each other.”

Long story short, Gaz has no idea what he’s talking about. But, somehow, his nervous disposition and pretty boy charm have enamoured you. And you may have told him you’d take him up on his offer 👀.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

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kjmalfoy · 9 months

Text

Fatherly Love• 18+ Content

Warnings- Age Gap, Verbal And Physical Abuse, Inflicted Self-Harm (Reader Smashes a Mirror), Daddy Issues, Mentions of Childhood Trauma, PTSD.

Summary- After nearly risking a mission, Price calls you back into his office— not afraid to let out his anger, trigger some rough childhood memories.

Parings- John!Price x F!Reader

Word Count- Roughly 1.3K

Author’s Note- I’ll admit, I wrote this for myself.. and this isn’t my thing. This was supposed to be smut butttt my daddy issues said nahhh

Mixing pleasure and business was never a good idea, especially when it was your captain. Nonetheless, you and John gave in to your desires. Working out a romantic and business relationship was extremely hard, and right now was one of those hardships.

Nearly getting yourself killed on a mission, Price gave you an earful… Not holding himself back in front of the team. John was fuming, and you knew he wasn’t done with his lecture when he demanded you into his office.

Standing there like a lost puppy, you looked up at John with wide eyes, fighting back those tears. Price stood against his desk, his hands covering his mouth as his eyes bore into you; undetected emotions pooling those blue eyes.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that stunt you pulled was?” He questioned with a calm tone of voice, almost a hint of disappointment.

You sighed heavily, “Look, I’m sorry. I panicked, okay?” You attempted to explain yourself, not truly understanding the intensity of the situation.

John scuffed, looking at you in shock. “You panicked?! [Y/n], this is exactly why I didn’t want you in the field. You can’t handle it!” He scolded, raising his voice.

You gulped down, tears slowly clouding your vision. The disappointment and rage in Price’s voice flipped a switch in you; making those unresolved fatherly issues bubble up.

Frozen in place, you stood there just looking at John; blinking like a lost puppy who had been dumped by their owner. You could feel your lips quiver, strong; heavy emotions starting to unravel.

Price coughed, “Well, do you have anything to say for yourself?” He questioned you, his voice was stern, almost clear of any leniency.

Sucking in your quivering lips, you took a gust of air; filling your lungs with fresh air. “I-I’m sorry..” You said, just barely above a whisper.

A sarcastic chuckle slipped from John’s mouth, his cold eyes just gazing into you. He kept his eyes on you for a solid minute, just standing there— those emotionless eyes boring into your soul.

You averted your gaze, staring down at your fingers; watching yourself as you anxiously picked at the skin around your nail beds. You could hear his fingertips tap along his desk, the gears in his head working in full motion as he studied you.

The eerie snap of John’s fingers drew your attention back to him, his eyes still not giving up on breaking you. “Come here, Sergeant.” He spoke with a demanding voice, the thickness of his accent making you cower.

Obeying to his words, you slowly stepped forward— closing off the gap between your bodies. Without a warning, Price latched his hands on your cheeks; his rough grip making your lips pucker in a pout.

With widened eyes, you stared at Price— taken back by the sudden form of roughness. “John?” You muttered, barely able to speak from the grip he had on you.

Price shook his head, his grip only tightening. “That’s not my name.” He said coldly, leaving no hints of gentleness in his voice— his main goal was now to put fear in your body.

You took a shallow breath, attempting to blink away the tears glossing over your eyes. “Yes, Captain.” You said formally, submitting to Price.

He pulled your face closer, his beard barely brushing against your skin. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll have your ass removed from this team.” Price warned you with a grave tone of voice.

“You’re a goddamn Sergeant, act like it.”

Just like that, the switch flickered on. You felt like a young child again, standing awkwardly as your father reprimanded you for idiotic behavior— yelling about how much of a “screw up” you were.

Uncontrollably, the tears in your eyes ripped free— heavy streams of hot tears poured down your cheeks, staining your skin with the glossy effect. Price’s words cut deep, digging up the memories and emotions you fought so hard to bury.

Although he wasn't yelling in your face, his demeanor put you on edge. Those cold, lifeless eyes made you quake— fear and anxiety consuming your body as he refused to look away from you... As if he were enjoying watching you cry, watching your body crumble from his words.

Your chest heaved, sniffling uncontrollably as you tried to suck air back into your empty lungs. You reached for Price’s wrist, trying to pull his grip away from your face. “Captain, please. I’m sorry.” You said with an airy voice, the aching feeling consuming your throat.

Price narrowed his gaze, looking at you with unamused eyes. He didn’t seem to care for your crying or the way you clawed at his wrist. Finally, he let go— indentations from his fingers burning into your skin, making your skin throb with pain.

You placed your hands over your cheeks, trying to soothe the pain. Unintentionally, you backed away from Price— the close distance putting you on edge. But, yet you didn’t leave. Afraid of going against his permission, you stayed in his office.

You cleared your throat, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your shirt. “Can I leave?” You asked in a whisper, almost afraid your voice would set him off again.

John turned his back to you, walking around his desk; sitting in his leather chair. He kicked his feet up, crossing his legs as he grabbed his cigar. He tossed you an unamused look, “You can go now, Sergeant.” Price dismissed you without any concern.

Without another word, you eagerly left Price’s office— not bothering to shut the door before running to your shared sleeping quarters. You slammed the bedroom door shut, pressing your back against the wood and sliding down.

You brought your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your legs— desperate for the fatherly comfort Price failed to give you. Tucking your head between your legs, you let the tears fall— no longer fighting against them.

You could feel your body tremble with each desperate cry for help— your eyes starting to sting from the excess crying, the ducts in your eyes feeling like they would dry out.

Lazily, you reached for the doorknob; switching on the lock as you knew Price wouldn’t come sleep by your side tonight. You pulled yourself to your feet, walking towards the mirror attached to the dresser.

You stood there, staring at your reflection. You didn’t see the woman you were currently, instead, you saw the little girl who was sobbing her heart out after her father had ridiculed her for a simple mistake.

Moving closer, you examined the fingerprints that Price has embedded into your skin. Anger slowly mixed into your sadness as you studied the bruises on your cheeks. Without thinking, you grabbed Price’s cigar box— throwing it at the mirror, shattering the glass to pieces.

As you slammed your bawled-up hands against the dresser, the tiny shards of glass pierced through your skin— prickling you with a stinging sensation, but yet you couldn’t feel it.

You didn’t feel anything, your body was so numb and tired with sadness and rage; all you could do was stare blankly at your bleeding hands. Shakily, you pried open your hands, glass shards poking out of your skin.

Taking a deep breath, you yanked out the large shard of glass that poked into your skin— making no noise as the fresh air penetrated your sizzling wounds.

You grabbed an old t-shirt, not bothering to wash your wounds before wrapping the fabric around your hand— letting it soak up the blood. The gray fabric soon became a dark red color, your blood seeping through the soft fabric.

Sighing loudly at your impulsive outburst, you wanted to do nothing but crawl into bed— and that’s precisely what you did. You crawled into your bed, clutching onto John’s pillow; starting to tremble as you inhaled his cologne.

You pulled his pillow closer to your chest, letting it soak up your tears as you cried yourself to sleep; consumed with the feeling and memories of being dad’s screw-up.

Thank you all for reading! I apologize for being somewhat nonexistent anymore. I’ve kinda fell out of my writing phase, but I’m slowly working my way back into it.

I’ll still be working on my Bucky fics, but I will be exploring other fandoms now.. Especially since I have an MW2 brainrot LOL.

Reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated 🤗

Masterlist ❤️

#cod mw2 #captain price fanfic #daddy issues #captain john price #price mw2 #angst #mw2 fanfic #call of duty mw2 #mw2 captain price #captain price x you #task force 141

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criminalamnesia · 3 months

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

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

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

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“points to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“or should we take off another?”

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

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

“ghost!”

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

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

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

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

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

“it’s fucking shepard.”

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

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

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

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

you pass out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“and whose fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“how’re you feeling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

————————————————

authors note:

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

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

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