#Call of duty modern warfare 2

[graveseveryday]

Day 10

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!Reader

Chapter 7

Nikolai returns you

cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, physical abuse

Masterpost

This is what it felt like to be devoured. To be held above gnashing teeth, ready to be masticated to bones and blood. A whole year of being chewed on till you could barely recognize yourself. 

A year ago you were in a similar position. Standing in your flat, crying to Marcus about the eviction notice when Arno walked in calling your name. Seeing him next to Nikolai made it seem like your world was collapsing all over again.

A year ago you screamed and begged for Marcus to save you, to not let this happen, to protect you. You wouldn’t debase yourself by doing the same with Nikolai. You shrugged off the fur and pushed it into his arms.

“Keep it.” He went to throw it over your shoulders and you skirted to the side.

“I don’t want it.”

“I’ll take it.” Arno snatched the coat from the air and threw it over his own shoulder. “You still owe me for all this time, Nikolai. Consider it a gesture of good faith.”

Arno grabbed your bloodied arm and yanked you out the door. Nikolai’s lip twisted in anger, “Get out of my house.”

You scooped up your clothes and quickly changed, trying to avoid Arno’s leering. You still had your coat and the cash inside. You kept moving to avoid breaking down. You weren’t leaving heaven but Arno was a different type of hell.

You made it two steps outside before being thrown to the ground, a bright spike of pain radiating from the back of your head. Arno put his knee on your back and grabbed your hair, pulling your head back as far as it would go.

“You stupid fucking bitch. What did you do?” He shook your head up and down rapidly. You moved your hands in front of your face to avoid eating the pavement. You prayed for a gunshot, to feel Arno slump on top of you and to be pulled out from under him by Nikolai. He was so close, a couple meters away. 

Arno dragged you by the hair to the car, the snow soaking your legs through your pants. You didn’t dare fight him. Arno lacked all of Nikolai’s restraint, always letting his anger explode into violence. You had to crawl into the car after him, hand scraping against the dirty carpet. 

“You know he hasn’t fucking paid me.” He kicked your side, battering you against the driver’s seat. “This whole time he’s put off paying for you.”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you up onto the seat, “Can you believe that?”

He smushed your cheeks, fingers digging into your jaw. He looked to Abel as they pulled away, “I think we should just fucking kill him. He talks about respect then he fucks me!”

“I never trust Russians.” Abel shrugged. “Just refuse to send him any more girls. But there is a reason your father told you not to piss him off.”

“I’m not afraid of some arms dealer! This cunt,” he shook your head, “isn’t fucking afraid. She scratched up his fucking face.”

Abel laughed, “Did she really?”

“Yes and now he won’t pay me.” He slapped you. Your head was pounding now, the car spinning around widely. Drugs or concussion you didn’t know at this point. “Waste of fucking time. Getting rid of her this week. Hear that? You’re too much trouble for what your cunt is worth.”

You put your head between your knees, your stomach lurching up towards your throat. 

“Maybe the Austrian will take her. The big one. He breaks his toys so often, always needs a new one.”

You had one moment. One chance. If he got you back to the club you’d never escape. You had 1k in cash. That could get you out of the country. 

You forced yourself to gag till you felt it bubble up from your stomach. Arno yelled in disgust as you threw up in his lap. Abel cursed as he pulled over the car. You grabbed the back of Arno’s neck and put all your weight into throwing his head full force against the center console. Blood poured from his nose, mixing with the vomit on the floor. 

The doors unlocked as Abel parked the car. You threw yourself out of the car and took off down the street.

You had never run so fast in your life. You thought about Cassie. You’d make it for her. You’d make it for yourself.

You rushed down the steps into a tube station and jumped the turnstile and flew onto the first train you saw, not carrying where it was going. You collapsed into a seat once the doors closed. You didn’t see Arno or Abel on the platform as you pulled away. 

Your hands were shaking but you were free. You’d made it. There was a limit to Arno’s reach and once you were out of it you’d never have to worry about him again. 

Nikolai…

“I will hurt her more than they ever could.”

Maybe he would never look for you. Arno would never admit you got away. He’d tell Nik you were dead. You hoped that your supposed death haunted him. He would haunt you.

Up until last night he’d lulled you into this state of pliancy. A doll for him to dress up and fuck as he pleased. His cruelty felt disingenuous, a forced reminder to the both of you that this was the man he was. It pulled apart your heart to think about. All those nights where you fell asleep with your head on his chest or tucked up against his side. His hand would graze over you till you squirmed, complaining he was tickling you. He’d smile softly and do it once more just to see you laugh. You would never see him again and a part of you felt sad. 

You didn’t get off the train till the line ended. You went to the nearest Lidl and bought food for the next couple days. Hopefully you would be on a train this time tomorrow. You’d go to Edinburgh and figure out how to get home from there. You just couldn’t stay in London. 

There was a cheap hotel a few blocks away from the grocery store. It was disgusting with stiff sheets and the pervasive stench of mildew but you had a whole bed to yourself. You just slept on top of the covers. 

For over sixteen hours…

Your arm ached the next morning. In the dingy bathroom you peeled off Nikolai’s improvised bandage. It wasn’t bleeding but the skin was discolored and swollen. You’d get it looked at later. 

You didn’t really have a plan. There were organizations that could help you but you couldn’t tell them anything about Nikolai and Arno would sell out anyone and everyone so you couldn’t tell them anything about him either. Would they even believe you then?

You could answer that question in Edinburgh. You had to just keep moving. 

You knew LNER ran trains to Edinburgh out of King’s Cross. You and a friend had gone once. You ate an apple and granola bar before setting off again, keeping your head down and the collar of your coat up.

You held back tears as you approached the station. In less than five hours you’d be good. No more looking over your shoulder. Your hands shook as you handed over the money for your ticket. A hundred pounds.

You had roughly half an hour before it arrived. Enough time to get a cheap cup of coffee. Nikolai had an espresso machine but it lacked the comfort that a shitty cup of coffee gave you. One that you customized with the exact amount of cream and sugar you liked. 

You sat outside the station cafe and smiled down at your little paper cup. 

“This seat taken?” A large hand rested on the back of the chair across from you. The voice made your stomach drop.

John stood there, a teasing smile on his face. You pushed your chair back, ready to sprint away, scream for help.

“I’m not going to stop you.” He sat down, pulling his leg over his knee. “Our mutual friend hasn’t told me you ran off so you either killed him or you ran away from someone else.”

“Arno wants to kill him.” You blurted. John raised an eyebrow at you. 

“It would be funny to see him try,” He chuckled. “How’d you escape?”

“I threw up on him and then broke his nose.” 

John covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. “Nik always knows how to pick them.”

“Are you going to bring me back?”

“No. Unless you want me to.”

You could prostrate yourself at Nik’s feet. Clean his feet with your hair, humiliate yourself in an attempt to win his favor again. It would be easier than rebuilding your life. He could keep you safe from Arno. 

“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“You break his nose too?”

“I scratched him.” John wasn’t a priest so your confessional state surprised you. This was the man that had assaulted you only two nights before. 

“I’ve done worse to him.” He shrugged. “He does like you. More than I’ve seen before. Thought he was gonna rip my head off when you passed out.”

He’d been so gentle when you woke up. You remembered that. How nervous he looked. He never said sorry yet still blamed himself for ‘overdoing it’. 

“My train is going to be here soon. I have to go.”

“If he wants to, he’ll find you.” There should be a word for things that are both comforting and terrifying. Like the ocean or thunderstorms or Nikolai. 

You quickly downed the rest of your coffee before standing.

“Have a nice day, John.” 

You turned around and walked into another person.

“I’m sorry…”

Arno stood there with a bruised, bandaged nose and a sneer. John’s chair scraped harshly against the floor.

“Sit the fuck back down.” Arno looked over you, towards John. Something sharp pressed against your stomach. “I will gut her, right now.” 

You looked back over your shoulder. John was looking over the two of you. 

“Don’t ruin my day by making me talk to the police.” John sighed before waving his hand away, “Take her. She’s not my problem. Might want to keep a better grip this time. Though she can only improve your ugly mug.”

Arno yanked you closer, you sucked in your stomach to prevent being punctured. 

“C’mon. We’re going home.” 

You gave John a pleading look. If you screamed you would die. If you didn’t you would die. This was it. Your last chance of escape was being called for boarding over the speakers. 

He held up three fingers before tapping the outside of his wrist. 

“I’m going to have so much fun killing you.” Arno growled in your ear as he dragged you down a side street. Abel was waiting by the car. You were shoved into the open boot.“Pick which fingers you want broken first.”

He slammed the boot shut, leaving you in darkness. 

[the-palelady]

as a big titty lady myself i just know ghost would instantly fall asleep the second he rests his head on your boobs

lad would be drooling all over them come on

[kittykittyneowmeow69]

MDNI

(John price X solo traveler!reader)

Melancholic reader plagued with everlasting ennui decides that solo traveling ( socially acceptable wandering) is going to fix her, take her out of the rut she is in.

So, she stumbles into a quaint little beach town dead set on spending her days sipping Aperol spritzes and lying on the sand, and since no one really knows her there what’s the harm in spending the night with the burly, barrel chested,ex-military man with a peculiar beard she meets at the bar, oh and he is certainly more than a decade older than her.

It’s not like she will ever see him again right? When she sputters off to the next spot in her itinerary in a few days.

Well, a weird instinct, call it a women’s intuition tingles in her brain, a little voice

(dulled by the burning stretch, the overwhelming fullness ,his cock buried to the hilt, so deep that she can feel it in her throat)

That maybe it’s not baseless licentious talk when he rasps into her ear…

“gonna keep you love , not gonna let you go”

“Will be a good little wife, won’t you”

That maybe her days of wandering around are over that maybe this man , this stranger is serious.

cage the pretty little bird that oh so willingly wandered in.

[umedrawzz]

[justyaraya]

I took a minute for them🥲💖

[roachy-draws]

Following Samuel Roukin (Ghosts Voice actor) on insta is so funny, like wdym he just follows a gardening acc? And a dog photo acc? Lol

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

naps to lovers?

price is an accident, you fall asleep watching a movie with him after he cradles you in his bed. plops down with you to do some paperwork and he's out, too. you wake up cuddled into his chest and pretend not to notice his boner.

next it's johnny. you're both exhausted from sparring and workouts. instead of showering, he pulls you to his bed and tells you to wait for him before you get in. by the time you want up, the sheets are crusted with sweat and soap is on top of you, crushing you to the mattress.

after that, it's both johnny and kyle. smooshed between them after a long hard mission, it's hard not to appreciate two nice pillows. simon has the picture of you three asleep on each other.

kyle finds you in the mess hall after, pulling you to your room with the promise of takeout and uninterrupted rest.

simon is standoffish at first, but eventually offers himself up as a weighted blanket for you after being reprimanded by another force's captain (don't worry, price and gaz are handling it). he lets you hold him close while stroking your hair and face until you drift off. he frequents in odd hours with you (when he knows your alone or stacked up with another one of the boys).

you don't mean for it to, but it becomes much more regular. price pulling you into his lap during late night briefings, soap's head in your lap, and kyle following you back to your room. they get so much more casually affectionate- hands on you at all times, forehead kisses, and sweet words. they begin to take you out together after missions and on off days to movies and shopping (they love dressing you up).

this all builds up to a random friday where they bring you to a house about 30 minutes from base. lately, they'd all been a bit more secretive and making investments "for the wellbeing of the team" like price's new truck that could seat 7. the house has all five of yours stuff in it (ash trays, half finished sketches, sewing kits, kyle's hat on the table). you see some of your missing clothes in one of the big dressers half-opened drawers.

it shouldn't be a surprise to you then when you walk in the bedroom and there's a california king. you really should have expected it, hen, they've been courting you for months!

yeah, johnny's naked on the bed, so what?

[imreadng]

simon riley with a bilingual reader. grocery shopping is tough because—

“what’s the red thing called again?” you look up at him with furrowed brows. you swear you know what you're talking about, the word is there at the very tip of your tongue.

simon, on the other hand, is wracking his brain trying to guess the thing that you want. apples? meat? what has been missing in the kitchen lately?

“y’know, the thing in pasta...” you mumble with your head now hung low, gesturing with your hands as if you could feel the very thing on your palms.

ah. simon finds himself nodding at the realization.

“y’mean tomatoes, lovie?”

just like that, you’re clapping your hands and pointing at him with a “yeah, tomatoes!” and he couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle.

“wha’s it called in y’r language, anyway?” simon asks, and he would try pronouncing it to the best of his abilities.

there have been times when you have been too frustrated to clarify whatever you had in mind. you would either say it in broken english or abandon the cursed speech all together so you could murmur to yourself in the language you’ve always known.

it wasn’t easy having this barrier between you two, but man will simon give his all if it means being able to understand you. he wants to hear your every thought, need, and desire — to connect with you in a way that’s so personal.

you better believe that he’s working his ass off to get to that point. in the end, he will do anything for you.

even if that means having to utter words that are barely comprehensible.

“hey, you’re doing it!” you beam at him, eyes twinkling with mirth as simon tries muttering tomato in your native language. “you’re doing really good!”

maybe it isn’t so bad if you’re cheering him on like that.

next part : “it isn’t garlic, is it?”

[grimmroach]

i thibk i haivd covid

[slater-baby]

Simon being all big and tough and mean and noncommittal…

But if you ride him good enough?

You’ll catch this motherfucker moaning louder than a siren, saying all kinds of whack shit like, “I love you,” “you’re perfect,” “fuck, you’re all I need”

Make him blow his load good enough, and you might even get this wild card.

“Marry me,” he says, still panting on the mattress. Meanwhile, you’ve got semen dripping down your leg, your panties halfway up your thighs. Your hair is a rats’ nest in the back, and you trip over the leg hole of your underwear when you hear what he says.

“What?” You stutter out.

“I want you to marry me,” he states in the calmest, most bored voice you’ve ever heard. Hell, he’s still wiping cum off of his stomach, staring down at his wet hands like it’s just a normal Tuesday.

Simon’s weird. He’s abrasive, inconsistent, and generally not romantic at all.

But when a car’s headlights shine through the blinds…you can see it.

His face, bright pink. Fingers twitching against his naked chest. And it’s then that you realize it.

Holy shit.

Simon is being romantic. Like, actually, genuinely, beautifully romantic.

When you start crying, he complains about having to comfort you. Yet, the water gathering around his lash line says otherwise.

Long story short, you’ve got a nice little ring on your finger by the end of the week…

That, and Simon manages to ask you out to dinner. For the first time ever. Since, y’know, you’re his fianceé now.

(He’s already thinking about what your baby’s name will be.)

[ramvur]

good morning

[euno11a]

it is proven that majority of women can’t orgasm from intercourse alone. So imagine reader who can’t make herself cum, no matter how she touches her swollen little bud.

it’s becoming more annoying as you keep trying, different speeds, pressures, and angles, but nothing seems to work for you! It’s gotten to the point where you’ve quite frankly given up on even touching yourself. You’ve tried for so long, yet always get nothing.

so imagine telling Simon when he asks you, oh so kindly when on deployment, to touch yourself with him to make you both feel good. The silence over the phone when you say you can’t.

“What?”

“I just can’t. I’ve tried, but it just doesn’t work for me.”

“‘Ave ya-?”

“I’ve done everything, Simon! I can’t, okay?”

it was clear that this was something that you weren’t comfortable with talking about. It made you upset that you didn’t “function correctly” like other women. So the night Simon came home, he greeted you with a soft kiss. There wasn’t any harsh underlying emotion, just soft and sweet love. His large and calloused hands would cup your cheeks and look at your eyes, watching the slight confusion slip into your gaze.

now laying against his sturdier chest, looking at yourself in the mirror with him behind you, you knew what was happening. He gently pulled down your sleeping pants, taking his time to let his fingertips brush against every inch of your thighs, all the way down to your ankles. And soon enough, off came your panties too. He started by admiring the slight glistening of your slick right by your entrance, using his fingers to gently dip into the fluid that he loved. Dragging his fingers upwards, he brought his fingertips to the side of your clit, letting your slick be the lube for his fingers.

Simon looked at you through the mirror, keeping eye contact as his fingers pressed onto your clit. The gasp that left your lips was sudden, almost reaching down to grab his wrist, but stopping when he gave you a stern warning look. Everything felt different - his touch felt electrifying, while yours felt like watching paint dry. Why was it so different? Your eyes fluttered shut, head resting on his shoulder when he started speeding up his small circular motion. Your thighs spread a little more, shuddering when you felt a build up in your lower tummy. That burn you never felt unless you used a toy, the burn you got before you were clouded with euphoria; it was coming. You let out small squeaks and whimpers as your hips lifted and you came undone. Usually that’s when you’d stop, let your body just relax, but Simon kept a firm hand across your torso, using his leg to keep yours pinned down so he could still rub you till complete satisfaction.

once his movements slowed and he was panting along with you slightly, he pressed a gentle kiss to your shoulder, looking at your eyes through the mirror again.

“I don’t care what time of day it is, if ye need t’cum, y’tell me and I’ll help, love. Alrigh’?”

you mustered a small nod, droopy eyes falling to the wet and sticky mess between your thighs, and the lovely hands that helped you along the way.

[the-palelady]

YAY REQUESTS ARE OPEN! :D can I please have a lil smth with Simon and his squadmate? I thought about this and ho boi now I feel all sorts of emotions.

I feel like Simon is the type of person to sometimes lose it and push himself to his limits, especially during training. And so he would be ok, but Y/n sees through the facade. And so BAM! Simon is laying down from exhaustion, with the summer heat making everything worse. He desperately needs water, but cant move and every recruit is staring.

We see Simon and imediately go Mama Bear ™️, almost scolding Simon for this despite being lower ranked than him. We bark orders at others to look away, while we give him some water behind his mask.

When Simon gets better and remembers, he is pissed that we might have looked at his face, and says so. We sass back that no tf we dont and that next time he should take care of himself. Simon can only be flustered by us, because 1. We are right and 2. We took care of him in the heat of the moment. He can only sit there like a scolded puppy

Guess who has a bigger crush on us now :)))

i’m so so sorry this took so long!! i drafted this up twice and never got it where i wanted it to go, but we’re finally here!!

It had been a week since he had collapsed in front of a group of recruits, and the whole thing replayed clear as day in his mind. A broken record repeating itself in his mind as he did anything and everything to try and forget about it.

Ghost could still feel the exhaustion that seeped into his bones that was somehow worse that day than it ever had been. The sweltering heat felt more like molten lava than anything. It didn’t help the recruits also seemed to get under his skin more than usual, primarily you, your already defiant nature seemingly ten times worse. Yet for some reason that day you were different. Your sarcastic remarks were instead replaced with quizzical expressions, eyes narrowed, assessing him. He could still feel your eyes watching the way his steps faltered, the twitch of his eye when his balaclava seemed to become one with his skin because of the sweat underneath.

He felt like an open book under the scrutiny of your sharp gaze, his patience dwindling at your rare silence.

Until everything went quiet, for just a moment.

Admittedly, Ghost could hardly remember who he was speaking to or what he was saying, likely terrorizing some poor recruit who had messed up their stance during training. All he could remember in that moment was one second he was standing, and the next he wasn’t.

His eardrums rang for a beat, then it was replaced by a voice.

Your voice.

You shouted to some recruit to grab some water, their rushed footsteps padding off somewhere Ghost couldn��t see. His vision was blurred, your figure above him just a shadow in his eyes even as you bent down at his side, grabbing the base of his neck and holding him up.

You mumbled something, your voice soft, caring, a contrast to what he was familiar with when it came to you. Then he felt the push of damp fabric underneath his jaw, moving its way up and over his nose.

At the time, Ghost didn’t register that you had lifted up his mask. Instead, he laid against the ground, neck comfortably cushioned by the palm of your hand that seemed so cool despite the heat that threatened to suffocate him.

“Hey!” He didn’t react to your screaming, only mentally begged that you’d hurry the hell up and press the bottle of water to his lips.

“What did I say? I said turn the around! Gawking like this is a fucking zoo.”

It was like heaven found home within that single bottle of water when it finally pressed to his lips, the cool liquid making Ghost’s eyes almost roll into the back of his head. He barely paid any mind to your annoyed grumbling.

“I have half a mind to kick your ass you know?”

What?

“Our Lieutenant, our superior, supposed to be an example for us, but instead you’re wearing yourself thin. I mean look at you: bags under your eyes, boots hardly tied when you showed up to training. Barely pushing 0900 hours and you’re already on your ass trying to catch a quick fucking cat nap.”

You continue to dig your own grave as you go on about how he isn’t taking care of himself, how he is supposed to be leading you and the other recruits. If Ghost weren’t on his ass he’d throw you off base himself.

However, that’s what he thought at the time.

Rather than ponder on the rage he felt at your words, he instead realized two things, the first being you were right. Ghost always put the job before himself. Things were easier that way. Instead of living in his mind he dedicated his entire life to his career even though it was as physically taxing as it was mentally.

The second thing he realized was that you had seen his face.

At least half of it. 

And for some reason this ate him alive more than the rest of the situation.

A week had gone by and he had done nothing, but allow his anger to grow. Admittedly, you were right. He didn’t take care of himself. Even so, he couldn’t live with the fact that you had seen something that was meant to stay hidden under the shroud of his mask. You had seen the man underneath Ghost, the man he had pushed down and kept hidden for so long.

The anger grew, festering like an untreated wound, puffy, hot, and seething red, blood boiling. Ghost knew anger could lead people to make stupid decisions, and yet here he stood in front of your door, chest rising and falling, fists clenched tight at his sides. His nails left crescent indents on his palms, those same fists coming up to bang heavily on your door.

The sound echoed throughout the hall. Ghost didn’t even notice some people had peeked their heads outside of their doors before retreating back inside. He finally heard the click of your lock before your door slid open.

You wore the usual military issued attire, grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. Your hair was damp, a hand running a towel through it to catch any excess water. Your expression was neutral even when your eyes met Ghost’s, and for some reason his words got stuck in his throat.

“Lieutenant?” He continued to stare at you, almost completely forgetting why he was here, “What do you want?”

The words were caught in his throat. What did he want? Why the hell was he here exactly? It was like all the hatred he held for you suddenly packed its things and vanished. Although he couldn’t say he necessarily hated you. There was just something about you that got under his skin.

The two of you never exactly got along. You questioned authority, his especially. Despite your ability to outperform the other recruits, your behavior was contentious. You were a thorn in Ghost’s side. You’d roll those sparkling eyes of yours when he’d have to adjust your hold on your gun, a rare occasion. He’d bark at you when you’d run ahead of the group during your morning runs. Your head would tilt back as you’d let out a laugh, a sound that made his fingers twitch, a song that he could get used to hearing. You always saw light in a world you knew was so full of darkness, and that just-

“Hellooo? Lieutenant?”

“M’face.”

Your eyebrow arched almost immediately at his words and lack of context, the confusion written all over the way your eyes darted from where his lips would be underneath the mask to his eyes.

“Other day, during training. When I collapsed, you saw m’face knowing damn well I keep what’s underneath hidden for a reason.”

The tone of his voice was accusatory, and he couldn’t help the way he took a step closer towards you. Even so, you didn’t make a move, hip pressed into the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. When Ghost continued to remain quiet, the only thing you offered him was a scoff, looking down at the floor beneath you as you crossed one ankle over the other.

“Didn’t see a thing, actually.”

There it was. The sass. Ghost could already feel a blood vessel coming to the surface right above his eyebrow, twitching, desperate to burst.

“Ya lucky I didn’t take ya arse to the curb the moment ya decided to mouth off, but looking at something ya have no busin-”

“For Christ’s sake…I didn’t see your damn face, Lt!”

Your shout echoed throughout the hall, but this time no one peeked out. Ghost’s searched your face, your eyes closed. Your hand came up to massage your temple.

A sigh left you, “What’s underneath…it’s none of my business. I would never step over a boundary like that no matter the situation. Kept my eyes closed…”

Ghost could still detect the annoyance laced within your tone, but your voice was softer now.

“Just wanted you to understand the gravity of the situation,” your gaze was resolute when you finally looked up at him, “Everyone here knows how…incredible you are at what you do, Ghost, but none of the dedication you put into this job will matter if you don’t take a step back.”

His ribs vibrated with the beat of his heart, his ears pulsated wildly, rendering him practically deaf as you spoke. Johnny and Price had told him a few times to take a break from work. He knew their concern was genuine, but this was different.

You weren’t them. They didn’t pry open a piece of his mind and make a spot for themselves there as you had, insistently taking up his thoughts like some clingy house cat. That anger he felt slowly dissipated into a forgotten mist, evaporating off of him as he deflated right before your eyes.

“But next time you want to accuse me of something, at least ask first before almost ripping the damn door right off the hinges, hm?”

You raised a brow when he failed to answer you, something foreign fluttering within the pit of his stomach when he failed to maintain eye contact with you. Rapidly blinking to disguise his sheepishness, he nodded.

“Y-Yea…”

He chose to ignore the smirk he was met with when he finally looked back at you.

[kittykittyneowmeow69]

John price x journalist!reader

Part 1

Cw: non-con

Obsessed with the idea of a morally righteous journalist!reader who sticks her nose in Prices’ business , only to find out how he takes care of pretty little muckrakers who stick their paws where they don’t belong.

MDNI

You were sharp,quick-witted, your tongue like a whip, persistent, fire coursing through your veins, cynicism woven into your very core. Pragmatic, too, which is why you never hesitated to bat your big eyes at the camera, at the people you interviewed—tight dresses, a hint of cleavage, pretty little muckraker. A patriarchal bargain: give them something to gawk at, and maybe they’d listen to the alarms spilling from your lips, to your agenda, to the siren song.

It worked, so you operated with an air of arrogance, pride ,a chip on your shoulder. Which is often why you flew too close to the sun, which is also why thought you were equipped to stick your nose into Price’s business.

(After all he is man with more blood on his hands,more skeletons in his closet than most, and no matter how thorough he is, he leaves an infinitesimal trail behind)

He gets a whiff of you sniffing around, digging up the dead bodies that he so carefully buried, a kitten nipping at his heels, a headache, a nuisance , a tenacious little thing at that. ——But he is fundamentally a good man, or so he thought , despite the ruin he leaves under the guise of his dogmatic utilitarianism. He thinks you need a warning—a firm hand to set you straight. And like the gentleman he is, he’s going to deliver it himself.

(Some might say break and enter, all semantics really)

You stumble into your apartment after a few drinks,cotton headed,your instincts dulled.—So you Immediately don’t question the faint smell of tobacco in the air, and almost don’t question the man lounging in your arm chair statuesque,still as a predator , faint warm light illuminating his features, his gaze so intense that you feel like you are going to turn to stone , shatter into a million pieces.

You stand there stock still, for what might be hours, minutes or seconds.

“How-how did you get in….?”

You stutter, cottony soft, your voice small, barely a whisper, tugging at the hem of your dress which barely reaches past the middle of your thigh. It’s an asinine question really, the mechanics of how he bypassed your electric lock or guessed your passcode,the least of your worries.

“Ain’t the only one who knows how to dig around now are you now love—”

he hums, almost bemused, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, head propped up on the headrest, posture relaxed, easy, like he’s has been here a thousand times before, done this , a thousand times before.

(And well you, you are well aware of his transgressions aren’t you,after all you opened up the Pandora’s box which should you had no business fidleing with, went down the rabbit hole which lead you to the lions den. )

You stand there wide eyed, heart in your throat, fire in your veins, staring at him.You can’t comprehend the site of him, he looks almost like a mythical creature, a chimera of a beast, an angry god.

Fight or Flight.

The age old dilemma , and you are not too sure if either would do you any good.

“——yo…you can’t get away with what you do in the Middle East here Cap..Captain, there are rules, consequences, even if you think they don’t apply to you….”

You sputter out breathlessly before you can even comprehend your words, your heart clawing out of your chest. He looks at you like you have transparent skin and glass bones, like you are made out of gelaton.

“Careful now, already walkin’ a thin line sweetheart. ”.

He says through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched, tucking his chin to his chest, almost paternalistically definitely patronising.

(And if the room were any brighter, or you were more coherent, you would notice him thickening in his trousers, the visible bulge. Oh, he cannot wait for you mess up further, to dig yourself in a deeper hole. He’s astounded at your sheer gall really, your childlike brazenness. Stupid girl, playing a stupid game, doesn’t even know what she looks like standing in front of him in her slutty little dress, wide eyed, pretty little thing too, tempting the beast. )

“Or what, you will do what you do best”

You snap—sharp, wild, like a feral kitten backed into a corner, spitting and clawing in a desperate last stand. But that’s it. The cord of restraint has frayed, then snapped. The beast has tasted blood, and now there’s no stopping him. He’s lurches for you.

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

[umedrawzz]

Part 2