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glossysoap · 11 months ago

Text

unknown number ; keegan. 1 of 3.

warnings/tags: stalker keegan, retired keegan, stalking, perv keegan, fantasies, fem! reader, afab reader, choking, degradation, blowjob, possessive, marking kink, free use, mating press, panty sniffing, hidden cameras, photographing w/o consent, lemme know if i missed anything.

PLEASE READ. regular italics are flashbacks. bolded italics are fantasies that take place during flashbacks.

warnings are marked above. it is your responsibility, and your responsibility alone, to judge whether you want to read this or not. if you click the read more link, you’re responsible for any consequences of reading this dark material. do not try to make yourself the victim when you chose to read it.

this may be ooc in the sense that keegan wouldn’t be a stalker. he’s a fictional character, it’s not the end of the world for him to be ‘mischaracterized’, especially when this is an au. again, by clicking on read more you are making the choice to consume the content. again, do not try to make yourself the victim when you chose to read it.

playlist: runrunrun - dutch melrose

word count: at least 8k

🏷️: @divine--serenity @blissful-bunny @damnirina @wrathofcats @claymorexpunisher @krakenbabe @ghastlybirdie @luvecarson @mandalover2023 @undeadsthings @kiroshang @vgilantee @itzzjxlyn @msdevil333 (if ur name is struck out, tumblr won’t let me tag)

You never thought a simple ding from your phone would make your stomach drop, let alone send you into an anxious spiral. Feeling your heart threaten to pound out of your rib cage, and hearing the thump thump of blood rushing in your ears.

And yet, here you were. Practically jumping out of your skin from it.

All because you knew what it meant; another cryptic text from yet another unknown number.

No matter how many times you blocked one number, in its place would appear another number texting you the next day. Rinse and repeat.

Every text made your eyes widen as you stared at your phone screen, then gulping as you took a peek at your surroundings. The texts always included some type of detail that no one could know unless they were watching you at that exact moment you receive the texts.

The texts would reference your clothes or the way you were wearing your hair. Sometimes the texts would reference what you were eating or drinking — naming the exact latte that was in your left hand while your phone was being held in your shaky right hand.

You never answered them, obviously. You had that much sense.

No matter how easily you could just block and swipe the messages away, you couldn’t forget them that easily. The sinking feeling stayed with you the entire day, weighing heavy in your stomach like lead.

Even when you weren’t getting texts, that feeling remained. That feeling of being frozen with fear, looking over your shoulder with every step.

Your whole body felt like you were doused with ice water, shivering as if you were in the freezing cold but not actually feeling that temperature. The shakiness in your hands, your fingers quivering. Your teeth would chatter, no matter how much you tried to clench your jaw. Your legs felt unstable, like they were made of jello and might collapse under you at any moment.

That feeling would start the very second you hear that ding, and it wouldn’t end until you were in a deep sleep that night. Sometimes it wouldn’t even end then.

It all started about three months ago, in the peak of Autumn. When the weather was biting cold and you shivered from the harsh temperatures, instead of anxiety or paranoia.

The first time you received a text was on a Friday evening, right after you had gotten off work.

The cold air of the parking garage made you wrap your coat tighter, pulling the wool fabric flush against your stomach. You huffed as a shiver ran through your body, your breath visible in the air in front of you. Teeth chattering as you reached a mitten clad hand to press the elevator button labeled for the first floor, where you had parked your car in the morning.

Once you pressed that button, the elevator doors slid shut. You leaned against the elevator wall and gripped the metal rail — instinctually preparing for the brief dizziness that always comes with the sudden drop of the elevator.

You cringe and squeeze your eyes shut as you feel the elevator drop for a few moments, before slowing at the last few seconds and coming to a stop. You open your eyes with a sigh before pushing away from the wall, pocketing your hands in your coat as you waited for the elevator doors to open.

Once the doors opened, you fished your car keys out of your pocket and started walking in the direction of your car. It wasn’t parked very far from the elevator, as you kept this situation in mind when you parked this morning.

The parking garage was empty except for you, as far as you could see. Your steps echoed against the concrete walls. White strip lights flickered on the ceiling, the yellow tinged light poorly illuminating the parking structure as you made your way through the dark of night.

Your shoes scraped against the concrete as you walked, passing many cars but keeping an eye on your car. You could just feel the stress of the hard work day melting away by looking at your car, because it meant you were one step closer to being home — where you could shed your scrubs and take a nice bath, before curling up with a hot bowl of soup.

As you approach your car, your lips curl up in a grin at the thought. After a long day of dealing with an onslaught of complaining customers, ones who had a nasty habit of demanding a name brand prescription instead of a generic prescription, your head was pounding. All you wanted right now was some peace and quiet. You yearned to bundle up in blankets and warm yourself up with soup and hot chocolate.

With a press of a button on your car keys, you unlocked your car. The headlights blinked twice before staying on, the bright light hitting the concrete ahead of it. You reached for your car door handle and pulled it open, ducking down before sitting in the drivers seat.

Your teeth chatter as you sit in the cold drivers seat, pulling your coat closer to you again.

You took a moment to tilt your head back against the head rest, closing your eyes and bringing your hands up to massage your face. Groaning as you rub your eyelids, trying to rid the fatigue from your heavy eyes.

You were yanked from your thoughts when you heard a ding from your phone that was sitting in your lap. Your phone screen lit up with a notification, the bright light illuminating the dark of your car. Your brows furrowed as you look down at your phone, seeing that the notification was from a text message. You picked it up from your lap before swiping up to unlock it, and pressing the green message bar.

You wait a moment for the text to appear. Only for your brows to knit together once more as you stare down at your phone. Your brows furrow at the cryptic message sent from an unknown number.

You really shouldn’t sit in your car with the doors unlocked.

You felt your blood run cold and chills prick down your spine as your eyes skimmed the text over and over. You read it over and over, convinced that the letters would disappear from your phone altogether.

But the ominous text remained, no matter how many times you blinked or rubbed your eyes furiously. The words were almost burned into your brain, seared into your eyelids.

Your body moved on autopilot from that point forward.

You couldn’t lock your car doors fast enough before shoving the phone in the cup holder next to you. Then you practically punched the ‘start engine’ button as you stepped hard on the break, hearing the engine roar to life.

You could still hear your heart pound in your ears over the running engine as you sped out of the parking garage.

You went to bed without eating that night. You weren’t hungry anymore.

That number was the first among many of unknown numbers blocked.

After that, you tried to brush it off. You tried to forget it ever happened, forget that someone was there watching you in that parking garage, seeing you sit in your car. But you couldn’t shake it. You couldn’t shake that damn text message or that string of numbers that it was sent from.

The text was still burned into your brain, even as days passed.

You thought about it any time you picked up your car keys, feeling a chill run down your spine as you thought about that night.

You thought about it whenever you got into your car, especially when you were about to drive to and from work. A sense of dread would fill your stomach as you thought about what happened the last time you got in your car.

Finally, you thought about it whenever you got a notification on your phone. The second you heard a ding or a chime, your mind would be sent right back to that cold night in the parking garage.

The second text you got was three days after the parking garage.

It was the following Monday. You were wearing the same coat you wore in the parking garage, cursing yourself for not owning multiple coats, as it served as another reminder for that night. The noise of holiday music and chattering customers flooded your ears as you stood in line at your usual coffee spot.

‘Come on, come on…,’ You thought to yourself, practically crawling out of your skin with nerves. Ever since that night in the parking garage, something about being stuck in one place always made you very jittery. You felt like a doe stuck in a forest, about to be ensnared in a predators trap.

You felt so on edge ever since then. Always keeping an eye on your phone as if at any minute another text would pop up on your phone screen, labeled ‘unknown number’. You were afraid that you would get yet another text reciting some personal detail about you, one that they would only know if they were watching you at that exact moment.

Even as you were bundled up inside the coffee shop with your scrub shirt and thick sweater, you found yourself shivering at the memory of someone watching you as you sat in your car that night.

You tapped your foot as you waited for the line to move, listening to the woman in front of you drone on and on about her order being done wrong. It wasn’t lost on you that she was the one who ordered it wrong, and yet it was still somehow the baristas fault for not being able to read her mind and know what she actually meant.

You rolled your eyes because if that was her biggest problem, she had it pretty good. She didn’t have that itch in the back of her mind, telling her to look over her shoulder every five seconds. She didn’t have to worry about someone watching her every move, texting her things that they couldn’t possibly know.

“I did ask for a bigger size!” She barked, making you heave a sigh in annoyance — because she definitely did not ask for the bigger size of whatever coffee she wanted.

But of course, to shut the lady up and move the line along, the barista would be stuck with nodding, apologizing and ‘fixing’ her coffee. All for free.

It’s exactly what you would have to do at your own job. You would be stuck with placating customers who couldn’t admit when they made a mistake, putting up with their attitude and getting burnt out in the process.

Though after the incident in the parking garage, the antics of annoying customers started becoming the least of your worries. You would gladly take being yelled at by some high strung customers instead of jumping out of your skin when you heard a ringtone.

You sighed when the customer was finally done, knowing that your lunch break was dwindling by the minute.

You told them your coffee order and fished out your credit card before swiping it on the card reader.

When you caught a glimpse at the time on your watch, a glaring reminder that your break was ending soon, you waved away the baristas offer for a receipt with a polite smile.

Then you wasted no time in leaving the line and waiting for your name to be called at the end of the counter.

The minute you were waiting at the counter felt like five, with how much you kept glancing at your watch and looking over your shoulder. Your foot tapped away as you waited for the barista to finish brewing your coffee, your eyes skimming the crowd of customers around you.

You weren’t looking for anything specific, or more aptly, anyone specific. But something just felt… off.

When you heard your name being called by the barista, you pulled yourself out of your funk and turned back to see them holding out your order with a polite smile.

“Thanks, have a good one.” You took your coffee from their outstretched hand with a grin before turning to leave the coffee shop.

Your legs moved on autopilot as you almost jogged to the exit, desperate to be away from the crowd of customers. The screaming kids and chattering couples was all so overstimulating for you, especially when you needed to be aware of your surroundings.

You pushed open the door to the coffee shop, wincing at the gust of cold Autumn wind that hit your face as you walked outside.

Your shoes scuffed against the pavement as you walked on the sidewalk, glancing at your watch again to see how much longer you had in your lunch break.

You had a good ten minutes left before you had to clock back in.

You nodded with a sigh — it helped that your go-to coffee shop was only a short five minute commute back, even quicker on bus.

With a quick glance over your shoulder, you headed towards the bus stop on the street corner. Feeling that familiar itch in the back of your mind, your legs couldn’t move fast enough.

A few minutes passed before you were taking your seat on the bus, shivering as your scrubs came in contact with the cold plastic underneath you.

You savored the warmth of your coffee as you took a sip, enjoying the taste of sweet vanilla mixed with the slight bitter notes of espresso.

You shrugged your bag off your shoulder before placing it in your lap. Then you glanced at your watch again, counting down the minutes before you had to clock back in.

Your eyes wandered around the bus as it moved along the bumpy road, scanning the rest of the passengers. It was almost instinctual, the way your eyes surveyed the people around you and studied their behavior.

Some were parents, bouncing their crying infants on their thigh in an effort to shush them. Overwhelmed mothers carrying their baby in one arm and juggling a bottle in the other. The high pitched whining made you cringe inwardly, almost tempting you to dig through your bag for your earbuds to drown the noise out.

Others were just random people. Scrolling on their phones, unaware of their surroundings as their thumbs moved on their screens, typing and texting away.

All of them seemed blissfully ignorant as they were too buried in their own lives. Their own problems occupying all of their attention — no matter how trivial.

You could overhear other riders complaining about stupid things, things you would love to be complaining about.

You would love to be complaining about missed meetings and forgotten anniversaries, or petty arguments that held no substance.

You would love to be occupied with the most mundane problems, instead of worrying about being watched every minute of the day. Instead of looking over your shoulder with every other step.

Then suddenly, a shiver racks through your body as your phone dings in your purse.

That same ding that you heard that night in the parking garage.

You immediately felt your heart rate pick up at that noise, the pounding in your ears making your head ache. Your blood ran cold in your veins as you reached a shaky hand into your purse, digging through your bag and fishing out your phone.

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t.

But it was.

Enjoying your latte? You take it with oat milk, right?

You almost started hyperventilating.

It only went downhill from there. Even more so.

The creepy messages got even worse and more frequent as days passed, soon turning into weeks.

They weren’t even just text messages anymore. They were private messages on social media, all from throwaway accounts with no profile picture or anything in the bios.

Your account is always the only name in their following list.

You should wear that perfume more often.

One message was sent, referring to a new perfume you had bought. One that you never posted about. One that never left the privacy of your bedroom nightstand.

That dress is gonna look great on you.

Another message would come a different day, referring to a flowy sundress you had bought from a department store. A dress that you never took a selfie in or posted about in any way. A dress that you never even took off of the hanger in your closet.

Ever since the texts grew more and more invasive and personal, delving into details that the stranger couldn’t possibly know, your mental health deteriorated even further.

You couldn’t go a single day without a panic attack, all crumpled up in a sniveling ball and hyperventilating.

You booked an appointment with your doctor for an anxiety medication, practically begging for the highest dosage you could get. You never missed a dose.

The medicine worked well enough, quelling your racing heart rate and preventing you from devolving into an immobile mess.

Besides the paralyzing fear that ran through your body whenever you heard that ding from your phone.

It worked decent enough — at least, until things started disappearing from your home.

It started with smaller things.

You would be looking for your favorite necklace when it’s nowhere to be found. You know it should be on top of your dresser, sitting in the little jewelry case — but it’s not there. The little jewelry case is empty. You even yank open your drawers and dig through your clothes to see if maybe it fell in your dresser somehow, but to no avail.

You write it up as just a simple misplacement. You probably just took it off during your shift and left it at work. Or maybe you left it in your scrub pants pocket, before tossing your clothes in the wash.

You couldn’t bring yourself to think about it too much. That anxiety medicine could only help so much.

Then you couldn’t find your favorite lip gloss. It was a small tube with a silver cap, intricate black lettering scrawled along the glass of the tube.

You rummaged through your makeup bag, maybe it had fallen to the bottom and was buried everything else. Then when you came up empty, you looked in your car. Maybe you set it down in the console when you were in a rush?

But no matter where you looked, just like your necklace, it was nowhere to be found.

Then bigger things started disappearing.

Like a matching set of lingerie.

The black lace bra you loved wearing, with the soft fabric that never chafed your skin, was nowhere to be found. No matter how much you rummaged through your drawers or your closet, you could never find that damn black bra. You looked through all of your dirty clothes and anything that was in the washer or dryer, and you would always come up empty.

The corresponding black lace panties were missing too.

No matter how much you painstakingly rummaged through your laundry, the panties were never to be found.

(….)

Keegan saw everything, from the very beginning.

The first time he saw you in person was in that parking garage. Though that’s not when his interest began.

He wore all black, complete with a black compression shirt and tactical pants, and combat boots. He also sported a black surgical mask and a black beanie. He blended in perfectly with the darkness of the parking garage. He watched you step off the elevator, wrapping yourself in your coat as you shivered. He could see your breath come out in puffs from the cold air. He drank in your vulnerable form as you walked next to a row of cars, completely unaware of him standing behind a concrete pillar near your car.

Completely unaware of him hiding a mere forty feet away from you. Phone burning a whole in his pants pocket and binoculars hung around his neck.

Anticipation built in his chest as he admired you from afar, squinting as he scanned your form for any detail he could make out at this distance. Then he raised his binoculars up to his eyes before adjusting the lenses accordingly, until your frame was perfectly focused.

His icy gaze burned into you as you walked away from the elevator, drinking in every detail he could get his eyes on. The way your hips swayed with each step. The way your scrubs were cinched at the waist, accentuating your figure. The way your hair was pulled up out of your face, revealing your bare neck for him to see.

He saw you wearing a delicate necklace, though he was too far away to see much else about it. What he did notice though, was that the charm on it was hanging low — nestled in between your breasts. Your cleavage was barely exposed because of your scrub top, but the dangling charm disappearing beneath the neckline of your shirt just made his cock throb in his jeans.

Only a few moments of looking at you sent his mind spiraling into conjured up images, images that made his heart race.

He wanted to lick stripes up and down the valley of your breasts, catching the cold chain of your necklace between his teeth. He wanted to nip and kiss at the sensitive skin of your tits, squeezing whatever breast he wasn’t worshipping with his mouth. He wanted to take a nipple in his mouth and suck, making whines fall from your lips before he bit down gently.

“Fuckin’ love these tits. Can’t get enough of them.”

He couldn’t wait to hear how your whines sounded, or how your skin tasted on his tongue.

All he could think of as he saw your neck on display was how he would mark it up, littering your neck with bites and saliva. He could just imagine himself gripping your jaw with his big gloved hand, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. More room to dive into the crook of your neck, leaving open mouthed kisses and bites into the sensitive skin.

Then he thought of wrapping a muscular arm around you and gripping your throat with a rough hand as he pounded into you from behind. He could imagine your heartbeat thrumming under his fingers. He imagines your hands clutching onto his arm as he squeezes just enough to make you dizzy, all while thrusting his hips into you. He imagines your juices and his precum mixing, making little wet sounds with each thrust. He imagines you letting out little whines of pleasure as he fills you up with his cock, stretching you out just for him. He imagines your cry as he angles his hips to thrust further, hitting that sensitive spot inside your soaking cunt. Your breath would hitch.

“Oh, you like that, huh? So fucking tight.” He all but growls into your ear, husky and full of gravel. Lips hot against your ear, sending shivers down your spine as you clench around his cock.

“Such a needy fuckin’ pussy.” He grounds out into your ear, his voice rough and unbridled with lust. “So fucking soaked, doll. Knew you wanted me.”

He imagines your pretty face contorted in ecstasy as you howl out his name, just like you should be. He imagines your tight pussy clenching and squeezing around his throbbing cock, milking him for all he was worth as you squirt around him.

“Atta’ girl,” he would croon in your ear as you cried out, your cunt spasming around his cock. “You just needed to get filled, huh? Needed me to fuck you stupid?”

Finally, he imagined rutting into dripping cunt and emptying his warm load into you. He imagines the pearlescent liquid dribbling down your thighs.

“Feel that? All stuffed full of my cum, just dripping out of that cunt?”

His erection throbbed in his pants at the thought, but he just kept looking at you walking across the parking garage.

Patience was a virtue, one he barely had. ‘Barely,’ he thought as he snapped a photo of your walking form.

He saw your lips curl up into a grin as you approached your car, and his eyes narrowed. When he catches a glimpse of your glossy lips, his mouth quirked into a similar grin, teetering on the edge of a smirk, under his mask. The sheer wash of cherry that tinted your plump lips only made his yearning grow.

He wanted to cup the back of your neck with his gloved hand and pull you to him, smashing his lips to yours. He wanted to devour you, slotting his mouth against yours and tasting the hint of fruit from the lip gloss. He wanted to nip your bottom lip between his teeth and force you to open your mouth with a gasp, letting him slip his tongue inside. He wanted to taste you wholly and completely — savoring every last trace of flavor. Toothpaste, mouthwash, tea, coffee. Anything.

The more he stares at your shiny pout, the more he slips into the fantasies that clouded his mind.

He could just imagine you on your knees, settled in between his legs as you looked up at him with your pretty eyes. All glossed over, just like your lips, as tears brimmed along your lower lash line. He imagines your glossy lips wrapped around his cock, completely enveloping him in your warm, wet mouth. He imagines the gags and whines you let out as you force yourself to take him to the base, feeling the scratch of his hair against your nose. He imagines his calloused hand gripping your hair and using it to hold your mouth down on his cock.

“That too much for ya’, doll? Hmm?” He imagines himself crooning down at you with a sickly sweet voice, mimicking a show of concern. “You chokin’ on it?”

He imagines the whimper you let out around his cock as you struggle to accommodate his girth, trying to breathe through your nose and relax your throat. Then he would see the tears trailing down your cheeks and he would laugh.

Keegan would be yanked from his filthy thoughts when your car’s headlights flash a few times. You were walking up to your car, only a few feet away from the hood of your car. Which put you only fifteen feet away from the concrete pillar that he was hiding behind.

His heart pounded in his ears. He’s never been this close to you before.

It took every fiber of his being to not just dart out from the shadows and snatch you up; wrapping his strong arms around your exhausted form and drag you away. No matter if you were kicking or screaming.

He put the binoculars down and let it hang around his neck once more. He didn’t need it now that you were this close to him.

His eyes followed you as you opened your car door, burning into you as you ducked your head to sit in the drivers seat.

His hand moved almost on autopilot as he dug in his pocket, fishing out his phone.

Click. One shot of you right as you sat in the drivers seat, but before you shut your door.

Click. Another shot of you sitting in the drivers seat, but this time through the glass as you had shut your door.

Click. A shot of you with your head tilted back against the head rest, your eyes fluttered shut.

A perfect example of how you would look splayed across his bed, your head thrown back against his pillow and your eyes clenched shut in pleasure.

Click. A shot taken a split second after the previous one, with your hands rubbing your face in exhaustion.

Then he noticed something that made his brow furrow.

You never locked your car doors.

All he could think about as he swiped away from the camera on his phone, was how irresponsible and reckless that was. Didn’t you know that locking your car was one of the first things you should do after you get in your car? Someone like him could just yank your door open and drag you away, stuffing you in their car.

So he couldn’t help himself when he clicked on your number in his contacts. It was already long saved in his phone, ready to be used and abused.

You really shouldn’t sit in your car with the doors unlocked.

He watched as your phone screen illuminated your face, indicating that you had just received his text. He watched as your hands come down from your face and your eyes dart down to your lap, presumably where your phone lay.

His lips stretched into a self indulgent, almost hungry, smirk as he watches your expression shift from tired confusion to that of a frightened doe. All wide eyes and shaky gasps.

He couldn’t help but snap one last photo, perfectly capturing your fragile and scared state.

He watched you speed out of the parking garage, leaving black skid marks on the grey concrete.

He was in no hurry to follow you, though.

He only had to look down at his phone to see where you were going. On his phone was a map with a moving green dot, indicating the tracker he planted on your car.

Later that night, he couldn’t help but chuckle as he sees that your contact was no longer available. You had blocked him. On that number, at least.

The next time he saw you was a few days later, during your lunch break.

He tailed you right from the very moment you stepped out of the lobby of your work. Always keeping his distance, letting a few civilians act as a barrier between him and yourself. Always keeping his eyes trained on your white beanie, making sure you don’t stray too far.

He always needed his eyes on you.

He studied you as you walked the short commute to your favorite small coffee shop. You were all bundled up in the same coat from that night. You were still wearing the same mittens, too. Just one look at the thick wool fabric made his lips curve into a grin, serving as a reminder of that unforgettable night — the first night he ever saw you in person.

He saw you look over your shoulder every minute or so, wearing that same frightened expression you wore in the parking garage. All wide eyed and panicked. A sick part of him enjoyed it.

He reveled in it.

He reveled in every wide eyed peek over your shoulder until you had arrived at the coffee shop. It was cute how you scurried inside the door, almost like you knew you were being followed.

A few more civilians filed in behind you, still providing that safety net that kept you from spotting him.

He didn’t miss a beat in stepping inside behind you.

He sauntered over to the dim corner of the shop, sinking into one of the wooden chairs. He pretended to scroll on his phone to avoid rousing suspicion, eyes darting up to look at you every few seconds.

With every glance he snuck at your figure, he savored any details he could get his eyes on. He easily tuned out the noise of chattering customers and screaming children as he looked at you, drinking you in.

As his eyes burned into your face from afar, he felt endlessly grateful for the daylight illuminating your features properly. Especially as you stood underneath the light fixtures in the cafe, the light hitting the high points of your face just right. The shadows accentuated your bone structure and your lips.

He notices how your hair is tied up and out of your face, revealing your neck — just like it was that night. Realistically, he knows you tie it up out of convenience. But some desperate part of him doesn’t care why, he just knows that he wants to mark your neck all up and claim you as his own.

Then he studies your body language. You unconsciously biting your lip. Your foot tapping on the wooden floor, a clear sign of nerves and impatience. He’s sure that you’re itching to get out of there and get back to work, away from his prying eyes.

His eyes remained glued onto you as the line moved, committing every little expression you made into his memory. Every eye roll brought forth by the annoying customer in front of you. Every exasperated sigh that fell from your pretty lips.

His lips spread into a full blown grin when you fish your phone out of your pocket, sparing it a quick glance to check for notifications. Your eyes would always be a bit wide when you glance down at your phone, as if you were expecting a text from him any moment now.

You reminded him of a wounded doe, with its ears pinned back and tail tucked between its legs.

He loved how he affected you. How even now, he could see a shiver rack through your body, when you were bundled up with layers of clothing. He had a sneaking suspicion that you weren’t shivering from the weather, though. He knew you were shaking from nerves.

When he sees that there were only two customers in front of you, Keegan’s legs moved on their own. He felt himself get up from his seat in the dim corner and step into the line. Right behind you.

He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. You were so close. So close.

He could smell the slightest of traces of your perfume, notes of vanilla and fruits hitting his nose with every inhale.

His hands twitched at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you. He was itching to just reach forward and feel you, to get his hands on any part of your body he could touch.

He wanted to finally feel your soft skin under his calloused touch, gripping it in his hold after admiring it for so long. He wanted to finally grab your face in his hands and capture your lips in his, slotting his mouth against yours. He wanted to finally feel your plush lips all wet and slippery from his ministrations, swallowing every whine and moan that fell from your pretty lips.

“Love these lips. Dreamt of kissing them for so long.” He would murmur against your mouth, only giving you a moment of reprieve before diving back in. He would nip and bite at your lip, savoring every yelp and whimper that tumbled from your mouth. He would smirk against your mouth.

He couldn’t help but imagine how your mouth would taste. He could imagine the sweet notes of your vanilla latte mixed with the sweet flavor of your lip gloss.

He knew every part of you would taste just as good.

Then he was pulled, yanked out of his thoughts as he heard your voice, for the very first time. It was the perfect pitch, no matter how high or low it was. It made his chest fill with warmth all the same.

“Can I have a large hot dirty chai latte?” He heard you ask the barista, in that perfect, cute voice of yours. He committed every single syllable to his brain, every lilt and cadence.

He overheard the barista’s chipper reply as he slipped out of the line.

Only a few minutes would pass before he was boarding the bus, taking his seat in the middle. Sitting next to a chunk of unassuming passengers, letting him blend right in as you stepped on the bus.

All shivering and on edge, your bag hanging from your shoulder while one hand grasps at the metal railing and your other hand is holding your hot latte.

His eyes followed you as you walked, crinkling at the edges as you just so happened to choose a seat right in his line of vision.

Just like that night in the parking garage, his lips quirked into a sick grin as he brought his phone out of his pocket. Keeping his phone hidden in his lap, only barely tilted up enough for the lense to catch a glimpse of you. It wouldn’t be the best shot, but it would do.

Click. He snapped a photo of you sitting there, your cold hands cupping your warm beverage as you took a sip.

Click. Another photo of your eyes fluttering shut for a split second as you savored the warmth from your latte.

The more he stared at your expression, the more he wanted to be the source of it. The more he needed to see your face etched with fear and paranoia. Brows all furrowed and eyes widened, pulse thrumming on your neck in a panic.

So he pocketed his phone before fishing in his other pocket to retrieve a burner.

What other choice did he have when you blocked him?

Enjoying your latte? You take it with oat milk, right?

He heard the ding from your purse just like you did.

Your expression sure didn’t disappoint. Your eyes widen and your breathing picks up, coming out in little gasps as your shaky hand reaches into your bag.

He can’t help but laugh when you reread the text, your eyes skimming the screen over and over as if it would make the text disappear if you read it enough. As if it would make him disappear.

You couldn’t be more wrong.

A few hours had passed by the time he was driving into your apartment complex. The sun was already setting. You were still at work, picking up your usual overtime shift.

Leaving your apartment empty for him.

It had a piss poor level of security, which disappointed him for your safety but worked out just fine for him.

There was no code to gain access to the apartment complex. Just some gate that used a motion detector and let anyone in. Then the entrance to your apartment was on the outside, instead of the inside of a big building.

No doorman, no elevators, no security systems.

He couldn’t believe his luck.

The corners of his lips quirked up under his mask as he walked up to your front door, backpack slung over his shoulder. Dressed in all black, just like that night in the parking garage. Latex surgical gloves slipped on his hands.

He knelt in front of your front door, his knees resting against the hard concrete. The small metal rods felt cold in his gloved hands as he began to pick the lock, sliding the rods inside and angling them around. He pressed his head against the door, right next to the lock so he could hear the telltale click of the door unlocking.

Just a few more twists and turns and then.. click.

A pleased rumble came deep from his chest as he rose from his knees. He took a brief look around the hallway to make sure no one could see before he took the long awaited first step into your home.

He was immediately hit with that comforting, sweet smell the moment he stepped inside. Your smell.

It was dark when he walked in, you had turned off all of the lights when you left that morning. He pulled out his phone that was burning a hole in his pocket, tapping the screen to use as a flashlight.

He patted along the wall, feeling around for a light switch.

When he found one, he flicked it on and watched as light flooded the entrance of your apartment. He reached behind him to lock your front door.

The entrance led directly into the kitchen, the small island scattered with a few empty coffee cups and a wilted potted plant. It wasn’t terribly dirty by any means, just a bit of clutter as a result of rushing to work. The dying plant was a result of being too busy to take care of something else.

His icy eyes moved to survey the rest of your home. He was eager to drink in every detail he could, especially after waiting so long.

He walked into your living room that was connected to your kitchen. It was small, but good enough for one person. Soon it would be good enough for two.

His eyes landed on your couch. It looked comfortable enough. The cushions were large and fluffy, perfect for you to be nestled against while his fingers or cock were buried inside your cunt.

Which is exactly what he imagined at that very moment.

He imagined your naked and vulnerable form caged underneath him as he straddles you. His big, calloused hands rested on your stomach, thumbs tracing small circles in your hot skin. Your head laid on the armrest as you stare up at him with glossed over eyes. Pupils blown wide with lust. Little gasps leaving your pretty bite-swollen lips as your breasts heave with each pant. That same necklace you always wore resting against your tits.

His tongue darts out to wet his lip, hungrily eyeing your breasts. His hands move to cup your tits, not caring to be gentle as he squeezed and groped at the sensitive flesh.

“Love these fuckin’ tits, bunny.” He mutters as he dips his head down to take one nipple in his mouth, sucking it with a growl that vibrated against your skin. You whine quietly, bucking your hips against his clothed thigh. He could feel wetness soaking through his jeans as your wet cunt grinded against his thigh. He nips at the swollen bud, tugging the nipple between his teeth and pulling just a bit before letting go with a pop.

“Could suck ‘em all day.” He bites the skin around your nipples, leaving indentations in your flesh. “And you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like it if I marked you all up, huh? Ruined you for anyone else.”

He could feel your hips buck against his thigh again, all needy and sensitive and desperate to be filled. So fucking soaked.

“Any other man.” He pinches your other nipple.

“What? Gonna pretend you wouldn’t like me ruining you for anyone else?” He would press, eyes staring up at you as you bit your lip. Simultaneously trying to silence your moans and your answer to his condescending question.

“Oh, not talking? That’s alright.” His eyes crinkle at the edges, before he moves down your wriggling body. All the way until he reaches between your legs. He wrestles your legs so they’re resting over his shoulders, his strong arms snaked around your thighs. Keeping you locked in place.

“I’ll let your pussy do the talking for you. She’s always honest for me.” He’s cruel and teasing with his touch, almost like revenge for your show of silence. For your stubbornness.

Your cunt squeezed around nothing as his breath hit your sensitive skin.

His thick finger works to spread your slick along your slit, feeling your juices coat his digit. You couldn’t hold back your gasp. Gathering your wetness on that finger, then rubbing it against his thumb. Watching with an almost fascinated look as a string of juices connected between his finger and his thumb.

“Wow. She’s so wet for me.” He murmured casually as he dips his finger just inside your slit again, only pushing in one inch. Just enough to observe your reaction as you got the slightest bit of penetration. Then he pulls his finger out.

“Look. Look at that, pup. Look at how wet she is for me.” He shows you his soaked finger, all slick and slippery with your juices. Still referring to your pussy like she’s her own person, and not something that belongs to you.

He didn’t miss how your cunt pulsed at his words.

“She soaked my finger. Barely even touched her and she soaked it.” Was all he crooned before he was shoving his wet finger in your slack jawed mouth, forcing you to taste your own juices. You whimper around his finger as you suck it clean, your brows furrowed and your eyes glossy. “Oh, good girl. Don’t even have to tell you what to do and you’re already suckin’ it clean.”

He pulls it out of your mouth with a pop.

“But now I think I wanna taste her for myself.”

His mouth came down hard on your waiting cunt, his tongue making quick work to devour your juices. Licking a flat stripe up and down your slit, savoring the flavor of your wetness.

He’s messy and sloppy in the way he eats your pussy. Making obscene noises as he groans against your cunt, tongue dipping inside and lips sucking on your clit. Hands digging into the skin of your thighs as he pries your legs apart impossibly further.

You feel him smirk against your cunt as he hears you whine and moan in unbidden pleasure.

“Mm? You like that?”

You couldn’t help but nod over and over, just wanting him to keep licking you. Keep touching you. But of course, he couldn’t make it that easy.

“No, no, no. I need to hear you say it.” His fingers trace around your slit as his breath fans against your entrance. Your hips buck desperately against his face.

“Look at how fuckin’ loud she is for me. Hmm?” He dips two thick fingers into your slit, rubbing your pussy just enough to make wet sounds but not enough to actually penetrate.

“Why can’t you be that loud, huh?” He asks against your thigh.

You swallow.

“Please, please! Keegan, plea—,” Your pleas would be cut off by your own moans as his tongue dives back in, his fingers accompanying his mouth.

You throw your head back against the armrest with a cry as his arms pull your pussy impossibly closer to his mouth.

“Love this fuckin’ pussy.” He moans into you, suckling on your swollen clit and pumping two fingers into you. His tongue kept moving along your pussy, licking along your lips before kissing and sucking the sensitive skin.

His fingers never stopped moving. His thick fingers kept feeling around inside your soaking cunt, exploring every bit of warmth and wetness.

He drinks in every moan and whimper and cry that fall from your lips as he eats you whole, feeling you draw closer and closer to the edge with each lick and pump.

“What if I just.. curl my fingers like this?” He asks, mouth still flush against your pussy as he curls his two fingers at just the right angle. The perfect angle to hit that spongey spot over and over.

He laughs against your pussy as you wail his name, feeling your orgasm rock through you. You squirm and writhe in his snake like hold as you squirt on his tongue and fingers. Your juices absolutely soaking his chin and palm.

He forces himself to shake off those thoughts in favor of surveying other parts of your home.

Feeling his cock throb in his pants, he moves on to the most anticipated part of your home. Your bedroom.

A smile stretches across his face as he takes a moment to study your most sacred place.

You had decorated your room the best you could afford, with what little time you had too. You had hung some decorative lights along the ceiling that glowed a warm white, and you had hung some paintings along the walls.

Your dresser had some trinkets scattered along the top, some unlit candles and a fake succulent plant. One thing caught his eye, though. Your jewelry case that was sitting there, filled with a few rings and earrings. But what really caught his eye was that your favorite necklace was sitting there too. That same necklace he saw you wearing in the parking garage.

His hand moved on autopilot. Before he knew it, he was snatching the necklace up and pocketing it.

Then his eyes caught onto a lip gloss that was perched on your drawer. He just knew it was the one you wore in the parking garage.

He slipped that into his pocket, right along side your necklace.

Then his eyes landed on your bed. It looked so comfortable and sturdy, perfect for him to fuck you into the mattress on.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You cry out as he pounds into you. Your legs pressed against your chest and his arms caging you in, keeping you locked in a mating press. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, making him dip his head down to take a nipple into his mouth. His eyes are staring up at you, grinning at your fucked out state. All glossy eyes and bite-swollen lips.

“Yeah, you like that?” He croons against your breast.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah—,” You nod, babbling mindlessly as you feel that knot in your stomach tightening.

He smirks against your skin, before biting it.

“Aw, yeah. I know, bunny.” He coos, hips never faltering as he felt your cunt squeeze so perfectly around his cock. “Especially right… here. Hmm?” He angles his hips to be able to pound into you even sharper, reaching that sensitive spot with every thrust.

“Oh!” You wail, clutching at his back as he reaches down to rub at your swollen clit.

He shakes his head, forcing himself to move on from that image.

Then his eyes caught onto your perfume that was sitting on your nightstand.

Vanilla and fruity, all sweet and comforting.

He couldn’t help himself as he sprayed a few mists of the perfume in front of him.

He inhaled, and he only felt the throbbing in his pants grow.

He moved on to your closet.

He took his time in flipping through your hung up clothes, squeezing the soft fabric in his gloved hands. Imagining you in every outfit that he saw in front of him, imagining your tits peeking out in every dipping neckline or bikini that he saw.

Until he came across a sundress. All flowy and lightweight. Pastel blue with white silk straps and a little white bow in the front, right where the neckline plunged.

The skirt of the dress didn’t leave much to the imagination.

He could tell if you were wearing it now, it would end right at mid thigh. If the wind was blowing, the dress would fly up and give a clear view of your skimpy little thong or bikini or whatever other panties you wore.

That kind of dress would give someone him easy access to do whatever they pleased.

He could just imagine you standing in your kitchen, washing dishes as you wore that damn dress. Your hands all wet and covered with suds as you scrub at a plate. He cages you in from behind by planting his hands on the counter on either side of your body. He brushes himself up against your ass, rubbing his throbbing cock against you.

“Feel what you do to me, dolly?”

You drop the plate into the sink and you quietly gasp, heart pounding in your ears as you feel him grinding against you. His mouth comes down to the crook of your neck to leave open mouthed kisses, stubble scraping your skin.

“Don’t stop on my account, doll.” He murmurs against your ear, before sucking a rough bite into the crook of your neck.

You pick up the plate and go back to scrubbing, all while feeling his mouth move along your skin. Down your neck, to your shoulder blades. His hands move from their place on the counter and cup your tits, squeezing them in his big hands. He can feel your nipples hardening under the thin fabric of the dress.

“Fit so damn perfect in my hands.”

You gasp as he tweaks your nipples over the fabric. His hips rock against your ass again, making you whimper. Then his hands trail down your stomach and all the way to the skirt of your little dress. His big hands splay under your dress, his hot skin burning against your cold flesh. He gropes and squeezes at your hips, loving how soft it is under his hands. Then he gives that same treatment to your godsent thighs. So fucking strong and soft all at once.

“Love these hips. These fuckin’ thighs, fuck. ” Speaking of thighs, you can’t stop rubbing your thighs together. Your stomach was filled with heat the more he grinded his cock against your clothed ass.

That heat only grew and grew as he unzipped his pants and freed his cock from his boxers. It was already throbbing and swollen, the tip an angry shade of red.

“Got me so hard already, bun.”

He uses one hand to lift your dress and pull your panties to the side, revealing your soaking wet cunt. Then he uses his other hand to guide the head of his cock and rub it against your slit.

Your breath hitches as the tip of his cock breaches your folds, your hands coming to a screeching halt.

You hear him groan against your neck as he pushes further in, fraction by fraction until he was buried to the hilt. You throw your head back involuntarily, mouth gaping open as he filled you so fucking good.

You just wanted him to move. You needed him to move.

“C’mon, love. Keep workin’ or I’m not moving.”

You whimper, forcing your hands to keep moving and scrubbing, despite the pleasure flooding your nerves.

“Atta girl.” Was all he murmured in your ear before he started thrusting into your tight cunt.

He pulled himself out of his own fantasy for what felt like the millionth time, knowing you would be getting off work soon.

He was just about to turn and leave your room when he spotted your laundry hamper sitting in the corner. His legs moved on their own accord as he walked to your bin of dirty laundry.

There was only a few articles of clothing sitting in the hamper, but only one caught his eye.

A pair of teal panties. Used panties.

Before he knew it, he was reaching down into the hamper and picking up the panties. He noticed a wet spot right on the crotch, one that must have come from your wet cunt earlier that morning.

His cock twitched as it sat painfully hard in his pants as he imagines your wet pussy nestled right against the very fabric he was blessed enough to be holding right now.

He couldn’t help himself as he pulled his mask off and lifted the fabric up to his face, taking a whiff of the wet spot.

He just couldn’t believe that he was smelling your fucking essence.

While he was holding your panties up to his face, his other hand was hard at work unzipping his pants and fishing his cock out of his boxers.

It sprung up against his stomach right away, he was so fucking hard. Especially after all of the fantasies that have been trapped in his fucked up head.

“Fuck, smell so fucking good.”

He groaned as he inhaled again, your scent filling his nose perfectly. He immediately started stroking his hard cock, wrapping his hand around his shaft and squeezing with each stroke. Up and down, up and down.

He would take a huge inhale of your scent with every breath he took. As he sniffed the wet fabric, he went back to those fantasies in his head. All of those images of him pounding you from behind. Images of you on your knees. Staring up at him with glossed over eyes, tears running down your cheeks as he came down your throat. You moaning his name as he finger fucked your needy pussy. The sounds of your wet cunt and your juices mixing with his precum.

He felt that knot in his stomach build up unbelievably quick as all of those images run through your head.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The more he imagined your sweet fucking voice moaning his name as you squirt around his cock, the closer he got to shooting his load on your bedroom floor.

His fist moved faster around his cock, twisting at the head and rubbing at the tip. Hissing at the sensitivity and bucking his hips as he felt himself growing dangerously close to cumming.

To push himself over the edge, he brought the panties down to his throbbing cock and used them to finish stroking.

“God, fuck!” He would all but shout as he shot rope after rope of his hot cum onto your bedroom floor.

He panted as he stroked himself through his orgasm, letting the aftershocks ebb away.

Once he caught his breath, he adjusted himself back in his boxers and zipped his pants back up.

Then he couldn’t help himself as he shoved those pair of panties into his backpack that was still on his shoulder.

After making sure everything looked the same, all he had left to do was plant the cameras.

He planted the first one in your bedroom, right above the window. It would be too high for you to see it but high enough for him to get a good view of everything in your room.

He planted the second one in your living room, right underneath your television. It was black so it would blend in with your television perfectly.

He planted the last one in your kitchen, right on top of your high cabinets. It would be way too high for you to notice, let alone remove, but it would be a perfect view for him.

Within five minutes he was out of your apartment, using the same lock pick equipment to lock it behind him.

All he had to do was look down at his phone to see the video feed of the cameras he planted.

Now he could watch his bunny you any time he wanted.

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

#SoundCloud #modern warfare x reader #call of duty x reader #call of duty ghosts #keegan russ x reader #keegan x reader #keegan p russ #cod keegan #keegan p russ x reader #tw stalking

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mistydeyes · 1 year ago

Text

pain killer fueled thoughts

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summary: Finally leaving the comfort of your base pharmacy, you're thrown into a makeshift medical tent. With the change of scenery, you went to work to make yourself useful to both the medics and the soldiers. This isn't your first deployment but it is the first time that someone under the effects of morphine and ketamine confesses their love to you. A sequel to "a panacea"

pairing: Price x pharmacist!Reader

warnings: medical/pharmacy terminology, medical inaccuracies, swearing, depiction of wounds, fluff, and flirting

a/n: it's finally here! to all my price fans who carried 49% of the votes, i hope you enjoy :)

🏷️ @fan-of-encouragement

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Assignments overseas were both exciting and painful for you. While you liked the different atmosphere, you spent most of your time making sure your makeshift pharmacy was stocked and ran around providing aid when needed. Every day was spent looking at the shelves and counting every bottle, vial, and box. When you weren’t occupied with that, you were prepping IV bags and debating with doctors regarding their treatment plans. You by no means had to face the horrors of fighting but it was frustrating, monotonous work.

However, besides the paperwork and bureaucracy, you hated seeing the friendly faces of your patients twisted in agony as the doctor reset their bones or stitched their wounds. You would spend your lunches at their bedside trying to ease their mind away from the pain and entertaining them with stories and your never-ending facts.

As you entered the temporary infirmary, you recognized the resting face of Captain Price. He was the only man there as the others had either recovered or been set home. You had heard he had become injured earlier this morning. A bullet through his neck/upper chest you would later learn. Miraculously, the bullet exited in one piece and missed his vital arteries and clavicle bone. You knew he’d heal well but you couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. He would be sent on the next flight home and was only here for the remainder of the afternoon. You worried about his condition.

As you entered, the field medic whispered that the Captain had just been wheeled onto the cot. They described his unit's quick actions in applying a Hemcon dressing to the entrance and exit wound. Once back at the base, they provided him with IV Lactated Ringer to provide him with some necessary electrolytes and nutrients. His case was a priority so within the next two hours he would be transferred to a proper hospital.

As you nodded at the standard procedure, the medic added, "The nurse and I hooked him up to an IV drip so hopefully it kicks it in soon." With that, the medic was off to either take a nap or get something to eat. If it were you, you’d be stealing some melatonin and passing out. You appreciated the medic’s information and started to walk towards Price’s cot.

“Y/N, what a surprise to see you here,” Price said, eyes still closed.

“I can see why you rose through the ranks. You have a scary sense of observation,” you joked and grabbed a stool to sit next to him.

“You’re just predictable. Plus how could I miss your recognizable perfume and soap? You have to tell me how they let you out of that mandated shit they call bar soap.” He replied, now turning to face you. He tried agonizingly to lay on his side as you rose from your seat trying to calm him.

“If you stop moving and rest, I’d let you have some,” you said adjusting his pillow and placing a hand on his stomach to lay him back down.

“Now doctor, is that a way to touch your patient?” he flirted. You knew the IV was beginning to kick in. You examined the label and noted the Captain was being infused with a cocktail of ketamine and morphine. You knew this was one of the strongest agents there was, learning it was first-line in extensive battlefield injuries.

His blabbering did come as a shock though as Price was always professional with you. Yes, the loving pet names left you wondering if there was more to him and you but you never received full confirmation.

Following Gaz’s visit to you, Price had become a close friend and you both were able to vent about your frustrations of the day. Although you both had confidential information you couldn’t share, he entertained you with requests to give Soap something that would shut him up and calm the Scot.

He was laughing on the verge of tears when you told him once that he should ask the veterinarian department for a muzzle and dog whistle.

“Oh, they really gave you the good stuff. There’s no way this is the strong, commanding officer I know,” you wanted to add ‘and love’ to the end of that statement but weren’t going to compromise yourself like that.

“I am much more than a commanding officer, Y/N.” he drowsily replied. “I can be anything, a lover, a boyfriend, even a husband”

God, they must have given him a hefty dose by the way he was speaking. You blushed profusely and soon felt too hot to be around him.

“Well, I’m sure some lucky person would cherish all of those. Although I’m no fisherman, I would say you are a catch, John” you responded with a giggle following.

“Not just any lucky person, I’m talking about the pharmacist Y/N,” he began and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Besides the fact he hadn’t remembered that you were sitting next to him, he was confessing his desire to marry you. What kind of £1 romance novel was this? “They’re beyond smart and I swear, their touch feels like silk. Oh, and I love the fact that florists have the red and blue striped pole in the front because of historic bloodletting practices.”

“Barbers,” you corrected, “barbershops have that.” You had told him that story on a late evening at the pharmacy. He had graciously shown up with a cup of his famous coffee as he knew you were preparing your medication list for tomorrow’s long meeting with the heads of the medical department. This was your 2nd assignment overseas and you knew they wanted a comprehensive list regarding what was necessary for deployment. Worse yet, this three-month timeframe meant you needed to supply for six months, in case anything happened. Somehow, as you sipped you both sipped your coffee into the early hours of the morning, you had landed on the history of medicine and barbers.

“Anyways, Y/N would make the perfect partner. I want to wake up to them in the morning and know they're safe in my arms,” he continued, “No one would pass up on the opportunity to have someone to come home to and share moments with.”

“I’m sure Captain L/N is an amazing person. Maybe you should consider taking them out of their pharmacy and have something more than just your coffee” you replied. After that night with Price, you would constantly look for his signature hat and dashing smile everywhere you went. You always happened to visit his office when you knew he was working long nights and always were coincidentally getting some fresh air as he took an afternoon smoke.

You wondered how his calloused hands would feel intertwined in yours and if you could taste the smoke on his lips from his bad habit.

“As soon as I get overseas, I’ll be sure to march into the pharmacy and sweep them off their feet, soldier. Just wait and see,” he said followed by a large yawn.

“John, I think it’s time to rest,” you said and slowly got up off the stool.

Reacting to your movement, he lazily grabbed your arm and asked, “Do you think they’d drop that stop-smoking crap if we were married?”

This man was full of jokes and painkillers. You wished you’d be able to take a video of him in this state. “Might just have to ask them yourselves when you’re better. You should get some sleep Captain, you have a long flight ahead of you,” you whispered as his eyes fluttered closed.

When Price woke up the next day in a proper hospital, he noticed his prized hat on the table next to him along with some other belongings. Leaning over, he reached for it and saw a small note written on a doctor’s prescription pad in its inner lining.

In precise handwriting, he read “To my coffee hero, I was touched by what you said even in your drug-fueled state. If you mean what you said, then I have a proposition for you. Once we’re both on leave and you’re recovered, fancy a date with me? Maybe we can roam the streets of London and I’ll be sure to keep you entertained with my facts.

With love, Y/N”

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It wasn’t years later that you provided Price with the exact words he had said to you. He would have loved it, only if you hadn’t revealed it to him in front of friends and family during your vows. ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

a/n I’m breaking the stereotype that pharmacists and doctors have bad handwriting

#task force 141 x reader #task force 141 #cod x reader #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #mw2 imagine #madebyizzie #john price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #price imagine #mw2 #pharmacist! series #izzie is writing

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