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fallen---alien · 14 days ago

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While I don't write for CoD anymore, I still have the right to protect what I wrote. This is lifted RIGHT from my story that I wrote three years ago.

And it's not vaguely similar. That I would be alright with. They copied it WORD FOR WORD.

Here is my story, Safe House, posted on November 25, 2022 and see if you can spot the similarities.

Look familiar? Yeah, because it's literally WORD FOR WORD.

This shit is unacceptable.

This author IS NOT ME. I am Alternate_Alien, Fallen_alien, and adhdbaby on Archive of our own. I can prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that these are my accounts and have been for YEARS. Possibly even a decade (fallen_alien, anyway).

Ya'll want to know why authors don't update their stories or give up on a hobby that used to be fun and bring joy? THIS is why. Not just the constant bullying, but having our ideas stolen so blatantly? It's disgusting. It hurts. It's betrayal.

Safe House

(Bodyguard!)John Price x Reader

Your perfect summer by the pool comes to a screeching halt when terrorists put a hit on your father’s life and yours. Now you’re forced to spend your last remaining months of freedom hidden away in the middle of nowhere, stuck with a grumpy, (but kind of hot) bodyguard that wears a bucket hat and thinks you’re a spoiled brat. Could things get any worse?

wc: 2k

18+ bodyguard romance; enemies to lovers; age gap: older man/younger woman; flirting; sexual tension; lots, actually; slow burn; boners mentioned; masturbation; kissing; minor violence: guns, gunshot wounds; eventual smut; angst and hurt/comfort; oral sex; dry humping; voyeurism; protectiveness; daddy issues if you squint; (no use of Y/N—Instead use of “Reader”)

It’s a rare occasion that you get to enjoy a day of quiet and solitude. After graduating college, you had hoped you could come back to your childhood home and relax for the next few months of summer before having to get serious about your career. A nice break from the intense study sessions, brutal exams, and chaos of your senior year at university.The thought of spending your days at the side of a pool, soaking up the sun while getting day drunk on wine was what got you through your last semester. And it didn’t even take a whole day, more like six hours, before that hope came to an abrupt, screeching halt.

Being the daughter of a US foreign diplomat usually had its perks. You’d traveled to some of the most beautiful, luxurious places on Earth, spent Christmas in Italy, summers in Belize, and could afford almost anything you wanted. It even allowed you to pursue a degree in art history that most people wouldn’t be able to turn into a career and while you knew a tad bit of nepotism would jump-start your future, you were okay with that.

What you weren’t okay with was the occasional chaos that surrounded your father and his particular career choice. You weren’t a stranger to it, having spent most of your life surrounded by your father’s numerous assistants, but for fuck’s sake, you had hoped for at least one full day of poolside tanning and getting drunk to celebrate your graduation—which no one but your aunt and best friend attended.

Sure, your dad had sent a gift basket, a dazzling graduation card with a handwritten note in his assistant’s perfect handwriting, and some cash, bur you’d have given it up for some actual attention from him.

Then again, maybe the chaos surrounding your childhood home on a random Thursday morning was the real reason why he hadn’t attended. At least, that’s what you were hoping for. Knowing your father, this was something new that popped up in the last couple of hours.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Standing at the top of the stairs, looking down at the hustle and bustle of the numerous assistants and yes-men running back and forth, ducking in and out of your father’s office. You couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was going on. Not that you’d ever been included in the everyday life of your father’s diplomat duties; but you weren’t a child anymore. He hadn’t seen you since Christmas and this is the welcome you get?

Even the housekeeper, Mrs. Morris, hadn’t greeted you or offered you a nice treat or drink from the kitchen and she always welcomed you when you came home. Which means something big must be going on.

Anxious tensions settled like a knot in your stomach as you slowly made your way down the circular staircase. As you walk around the main foyer of your father’s home, you duck and peer into his office from the entryway.

It was a man’s office through and through. Dark green walls, rich, pine paneling, and shelves filled to the brim with books and historical biographies. Most of which looked more like textbooks than something one would read for enjoyment, were some of your father’s favorites.

Framed diplomas and pictures of your father shaking hands with various presidents and prime ministers, hang between the windows and bookshelves. You used to love listening to him tell you the stories about each picture. It wasn’t until you were a teenager that you started wondering why he had no pictures of his only child on the walls.

“Sir, General Daven is on the phone.” Martin, your father’s number one, right-hand man, crosses the room and hands a cell phone to your father. You’d known Martin most of your life. He never cared for children, teenagers, or young adults and therefore, barely paid any attention to you at all. You treated him the same.

As your father took the phone from him and turned to face the windows, you noticed for the first time that a man you didn’t recognize was standing just outside the office. Though you couldn’t see all of him from your position outside in the hallway, you could see the left side of his body and you frowned in confusion.

He was wearing dark green fatigues, boots, and a brown shirt that stretched tight over his bicep. But the strangest thing was the bucket hat sitting atop his head. Well, that and the facial hair covering his jaw. His military-like presence was a stark contrast to all the men in suits and ties running to and fro, their faces cleanly shaven and hair cut short and neat.

Your father spoke quietly to General Daven—whoever that was—and you crossed your arms over your chest as you stood in the hall, curiously watching. Martin was busy with another cell phone, balding head ducked low as he typed furiously at the screen. Another assistant raced passed you, nearly knocking into you. You scoff as the guy hurried to the office and presented your father with a few papers in hand.

The sound of annoyance you’d made gained the attention you had been hoping for; but instead of your father lifting his head to notice his daughter standing at the door of his office, it was someone else who turned around to face you.

Bucket hat guy was definitely military. Even without the fatigues, you could tell just by the way he stood with his arms crossed, legs evenly spaced apart. And if that wasn’t enough, the dog tags hanging on the center of his chest was a dead giveaway.

You blinked as he turned to you. Just beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes caught yours and you blink in surprise. He was tall, towering over you even from afar, older than you by at least fifteen years. Though the look he gave you lasted no more than a single second, your confusion froze you to the spot before he turned back around.

Who was this guy?

The sound of your name snatched your attention and you jump, eyes cutting to desk at the center of your father’s office. He’s still on the phone but his eyes are on you, lifting his hand and beckoning you into the room. You’re suddenly too nervous to go in.

After hesitating for only a moment, glancing sideways at bucket hat guy once more, you hurry inside, stopping in front of your father’s enormous, oak desk. He holds up a single finger to silence you before you can even open your mouth. Saying a quick goodbye to General Daven, finally ending the call.

The sigh he lets out is heavy and worrisome. You stuff your hands in the pockets of your jeans.

“Everything okay?”

Another sigh. Your father stands from his chair and motioned to Martin behind you. An unspoken command passes between them and half a second later, the door to the office shuts with a soft click of the latch. You glanced over your shoulder and were surprised to see Bucket hat still standing there.

For some reason, his presence made you nervous—more nervous than before, that is.

“Listen, sweetie,” your father’s voice pulls your attention back to him and he taps his fingers on the corner of his desk. A nervous habit you noticed dozens of times before. Usually, when he disappointed you. Like telling you he couldn’t come to your first piano recital or he had a meeting with the prime minister of India that took precedence over your tenth birthday party. “Something has happened.”

“Okay…something bad?”

“Some bad people have made threats on my life.”

Not surprising. He was a diplomat. Being in the public eye and close to multiple governments and countries ran a few risks. One of them being a target on his back. Which was why he had damn good security.

“Okay. So, are we on house arrest or something?”

He glanced over your shoulder to his assistant and you shift nervously from foot to foot. You hated the tiptoeing around the actual topic as if he were treating you as delicately as peace negotiations instead of just talking to his own daughter. After twenty-two years, you’d think he’d know how to actually talk to you without thinking you’d launch some nukes in retaliation.

“Not exactly.” He stepped out from the desk and stood in front of you, forcing a smile that was anything but reassuring. “They didn’t just threaten my life but several colleagues as well…and our families.”

“I’m your only family.” Your mom had bailed early in your life, unable to take the pressure and neglect that came with being the wife of a highly regarded diplomat. And while numerous girlfriends and one fiancé came and went over the years, none had actually stuck. Couldn’t take the lifestyle after it became clear his job would always be number one in his life. The only one who had stuck around through it all was you.

“I know, and you’re what’s most important in my life, dear. Which is why I’ve hired someone that can keep you safe.”

You frowned.

Huh?

Your father looks away from you and gestures across the room. Slowly, you turned and followed his hand to find Bucket hat right where you’d last seen him. Arms crossed over his chest, standing as still as a statue by the door. Bucket hat didn’t look at you this time, his intense stare focused on your father.

Your eyes drift down to the facial hair covering his jaw and most specifically, his lips pressed into a thin, serious line. It was only when your father’s voice cut through the silence of the room that you finally pull your attention away from the man standing behind you.

“Captain Price is a highly skilled soldier in the British Special Forces. He’s capable of keeping you safe and getting you to safety if someone threatens you or comes near you.”

Stunned, you whirl around to face your father and shake your head. Bewilderment pinching your face into a frown. “Wait…so you’re telling me he’s like my bodyguard?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”

Fucking christ.

Not at all what you had planned for you summer of freedom and relaxation. Not only was a threat made on you and your father’s life, but now some strange man was going to be your shadow?

“For how long?”

“As long as it takes.”

The voice came from behind you, deep and accented, and if you had heard it under any other circumstances, you might have liked the sound of it. But as it was, now in this situation, it only made you purse your lips. Annoyance bubbling to the surface, heating up with every passing second.

You looked up to your father again and crossed your arms over your chest. “So, what, I can’t leave the house?”

He sighed and again, making your anxiety heighten with a clench of the knots in your stomach. Oh, no.

You just knew you weren’t going to like what would come out of his mouth next.

“No. You won’t be in the house at all.”

You stared at him and shifted on your feet again. “Then where will I be?”

“We’re moving you to a safe house.” Bucket hat said, making you gnash your teeth together almost painfully. Forget your thoughts from earlier. That accent was definitely going to get on your nerves if you had to listen to it much longer.

“A safe house…is there a timeline you can give me? Are we talking days? Weeks?”

Don’t say it. God, please, you think, tilting your head back to stare up at the wood beams of the ceiling. Please, don’t say it.

“Hopefully weeks…” Your father says with a sigh that makes you shut your eyes at the mere sound. “But it might be months.”

“You have got to be fucking with me.”

And just like that, your perfect summer of poolside relaxation, getting drunk on expensive wine, and enjoying your last few months of freedom is ruined.

Now, you have to spend them in a safe house with a burly bucket hat man.

Fucking perfect.

Bucket hat smiles.

⋆⁺₊✧ ༺♡༻ ⋆⁺₊✧

Hiii!!! Welcome to my first like actual official, serious, im actually gonna write, tumblr acc!

NOTE:

Im hoping to make this a series. It’s a fic I’ve been rough drafting since MWII came out and I’m finally having the guts to put time and effort in it and show my work!

I hope you all enjoyed my set up to this fanfic so far :) I don’t know if anyone will ever see this but if you do please feel free to leave comments or notes of thoughts, ideas, questions, tips, etc.

BABY TUMBLER HERE!!! I NEED ALL THE HELP I CAN GET 🫶🫶

#plagarism #myghostsarebored is a theif #report this user #theif #ao3 #call of duty #Captain Price #fanfiction

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