pinkslaystation

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Please we need second part where reader successfully escape and make a run to her parent's alone, your toxic König is too good and amazing well written 😭😭💖

toxic! König x Reader - [King and Prince: My Escape] THANK YOU!! i planned to make a bunch of one-shots under this AU, but this received a lot of love and continuation requests so here it is! I'm also finally finished with exams and coursework, so I'm actually able to breathe a bit now- oh, oh. Never mind, 2nd term starts next week, okay. Trigger warning: Kidnapping, mentions of reader's mental health, poorly translated German (oh how I love you so DeepL.com and ChatGPT) There's also a poem that's mentioned here: "Der Erlkönig" by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, written in 1782. I recommend checking it out, it's a short, yet chilling read!

"Wo ist sie, verdammt?" [where the hell is she?] König mutters to himself, his voice laced with frustration and hurt.

He looks at the now empty ropes with no sign of his wife, huffing at the lack of her presence. In contrast, Leon giggles as he latches onto his father's head whilst sitting on his shoulders.

"Mama's playing a game with us, papa!" He says enthusiastically.

"Was meinst du damit?" [what do you mean?]

Leon hums in mock confusion, "Vielleicht will sie, dass wir sie erwischen." [maybe she wants us to catch her].

It's 9 P.M. and you've running in the middle of a field in nothing but an over-sized sweatshirt and joggers. Of course that fucker decided to tie you up in a basement in the middle of fucking nowhere. In fact, you don't even recall him ever owning that property, something similar to an abandoned farmhouse. But I guess the only animal getting played here...would be you.

You're questioning all the other things he might have hidden from you...other properties...maybe other women...and what's the deal with your son?

"Leon honey, listen. Mama's going to get out of here, and after that we're going to go somewhere safe, okay? We'll go to your grandparents, I'll take you home, okay?" You sweat out, exhausted after numerous times of pulling at the ropes.

"But I'm already home." Leon smiles eerily. There's something broken in that kid, you think. The way he smiles with no emotion makes you fear for your life.

You try to caress the top of his head but the ropes dig at the possibly infected gashes on your wrists, making you hiss in response.

"Mama, you're bleeding." He state inquisitively, grabbing your wrists to examine them.

Groaning at the new contact, you curse out, "FUCK. Leon, stop. Just get me out of this, please sweetie-"

You breath hitches at his expression.

A deep toothy grin is plastered on his face.

"Red's always been mine and papa's favourite colour."

When you're eye catches his red beaded bracelet, the one mirrors König's, a part of you had to come to terms with losing both your husband and your son.

"Stupid kid, should have had a daughter..." You whisper to no one in particular, stretching over thorny bushes and rocks.

You can't tell how long it's been in that room, could be days, could be weeks, but the moment you left the house, it felt like taking a breathe of fresh air for the very first time.

"König, pleas-"

"Schnuki, quiet please, I'm trying to read Leon a poem." König scolds you, whilst sitting on the floor against the wall with Leon resting on his chest. For some reason, they both like to spend time with you.

By spending time with you, that means going about their day, in your presence...just, without paying any attention to you.

"König, I need to fucking piss again."

"Es war eine kalte, dunkle Nacht, und ein Vater ritt mit seinem kleinen Sohn durch einen nebligen Wald." He reads, completely shutting your needs out. [it was a cold, dark night, and a father was riding with his little son through a foggy forest.]

"Kö..." You drag out the syllables to see whether that would make a difference to his reactions. It doesn't.

"Der Junge klammerte sich ängstlich an seinen Vater und flüsterte-" [The boy clung fearfully to his father and whispered-]

Leon speaks out now, clutching his father's shirt as he sleepily recites from the book, "Papa, siehst du ihn nicht? Dort, zwischen den Bäumen! Der Erlkönig ruft nach mir!“ ["Papa, don’t you see him? There, between the trees! The Erlking is calling me!"]

The two giggle at their reenactment.

As they continue their story, the loudly spoken story begins to anger you, for days you've been practically caged in the room, forced to listen to such mundane tasks. Reading a story before bedtime (but they happen to sleep upstairs with actual beds, leaving you to practically rot downstairs), or when König decides to blast his tunes whilst working out, or even when Leon simply chooses to study right in of your shivering body in the afternoon.

"DOES ANYONE HERE HAVE FUNCTIONING EARS?" You scream.

In a instant, König flashes his eyes on you as Leon flinches at the tone of your stern voice.

There's a moment of silence, a quiet battle between you and König, who seems to want to rip your vocal cords and shove them into a book to read about to his son.

"Was haben Sie gerade gesagt?" [what did you just say?] He murmurs with his eyebrows furrowed.

When you don't respond, your son decides to speak up for you.

He turns his head around to berate you, "Sprich dich aus." [speak up]

Your gaze turns to the floor as you watch droplet after droplet hit the surface, "...why."

There's no response. Perhaps, they didn't hear you or perhaps they simply don't know.

"Why are you doing this to me. All I wanted was a husband and a son that respected me. What the fuck did I do to deserve such a shitty family?!"

Before you know it, you begin wailing at the end of your outburst, tears rapidly streaming down your aching cheeks. You look up at the pair, hoping to feign any sense of remorse or sympathy.

But you're met with none.

"Maybe if you hadn't broken this family, you could have got what you wanted."

You're not too sure who spoke, at that point it seems like both father and son began to share a twisted mind.

A large vehicle drives by you and you let out a sigh, maybe there is an escape for you after all.

"Wait! Wait for me!"

The look of pity the driver gives you as you ask them for a lift wasn't as bad as the ones your own family have been giving you for the past few days, so you don't complain. Instead you give a vague description of your parent's house, your childhood home.

With a deep breathe, you make your way to safety, and for a second, you allow sleep to evade you that night. A sleep so deep, you don't hear the quiet ring of a phone...

"Hallo König. Ja, sie ist bei mir. Du hattest recht. Ja, sei einfach da, ich bringe sie in 20 Minuten vorbei." [hello konig. yes, she's with me. you were correct. yes just be there, i'll drop her off in 20 minutes.]

"Miss, we're here. Miss-" The voice urges you to wake up, poking your shoulder as if you were roadkill.

With a groan you awaken, at the sight of your parents house, safety as last.

You thank the driver for troubling him, and for getting blood on his seats, "I'm sorry I don't have anything to repay you with...if you give me a minute, I can run in and get you some cash?" You ask, apologetically.

The stranger shakes his head, "No need, payments been taken care of already."

Oh. Okay, cool.

You squint your eyes in confusion, but choose to brush it off, it's been days since you've engaged in human interaction, maybe you just forgot the small quirky things a person can say.

"...okay, thanks again."

"Bis ich dich wiedersehe." [until i see you again.]

You stop midstep, looking back at the stranger, but he's already hit the pedals and driven off without a trace. That was German, right? See you again?

It seems like a coincidence, and you want to brush it off, but the way he spoke mimicked König's dialect a little too well....Many people speak German though...

You reach the door of your parent's house, admiring yourself in the reflection of the door. A frail being, dressed in tattered clothing, with blood marks decorating your wrist. Afraid of being bombarded with questions, you pull the sleeves of your sweatshirt down and re-tie your hair into something more acceptable.

The door opens and your met with the relieved look of your poor mother.

"Sweetheart, I'm so glad you're okay!" She pulls you into a bone crushing hug, with her face tucked tightly into your shoulder.

Humming against her, you question her, "I'm okay...wait, how did you know? Where's dad?"

"He's okay sweetheart, he's in the living room. But don't think you're off the hook, now that you've come back." She smiles, kissing your forehead, as she guides you through the house.

You scoff, "What do you mean?"

"Running away is a serious matter, don't take it lightly, sweetheart. How do you think we've all felt? I understand, if you're you know..." She starts.

"...Know what?"

"You know, you've become a little..." She spins her finger around her ear in a circular motion, "I guess...cuckoo! Um...but don't worry, we're already looking into treatments."

You stare at her blankly, stopping her, "Ma. I'm fine. W-what- I'm not crazy, where on Eart-"

Every muscle in your body flinches.

It's like your body hit flight or fight mode but instead decided to switch off. You've never remembered a time where your mind has ever been so silent, but I guess now counts.

Those blue eyes.

2 pairs.

Staring back at you, soullessly.

Not a word is spoken.

And yet both your parents seem to be gleaming at the scene, of what looks like a family reuniting.

Family.

If that's even what this is.

"Why did you run away from us, schatz?" [darling]

You can't distinguish between your husband and your son.

"We've missed you."

thank you for coming to my ted talk.

lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum , @kxtz3 , @poohkie90 , @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es

Exam season is almost coming to an end...so a fic? 😀

Who'd you prefer to read about!

Welcome back❤️ also I'm going to unis next year, if you don't mind me asking what's your major lol?would you recommend?

Econ major 😻 learning about money but I got none 😁

Honestly I'd recommend it, because I found it interesting in high school, but really choose a major that you'd enjoy (yes I definitely didn't look at the careers and salaries post grad...)

But good luck next year !!

It doesn't get any better <3

heyyo where have you been? are you okay?

IM ALIVE IM OKAY 😭😭😭

I've just been so stressed with uni and work 😭 lemme make a comeback over the holidays yall 😔

His name is Ghost.

Toxic!Ghost and ...not you

You're friend wants you to meet a special someone, and he happens to be closer to you than you think. Literally. Word Count: 4.3k

"Yeah he's great, you should come meet him! Although I dunno, he said he wanted to keep 'us' a secret..."

You look up from your laptop at your best friend Michaela, who has blabbering about her new fling for an hour now. You hum in acknowledgment, but come on ... you're not really listening.

"And he has a sick motorcycle, but he's never let me on it..." She drones on.

"Uh huh."

"And he said I would look prettier with longer hair! Which I think means he finds me already a little pretty...?"

"Wow, I agree..."

"And- YO ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME?"

You shut your laptop and focus wholly on her. "Mickey I love you, but this is the eighth guy you've loved this year. Whose to say this is gonna work out?"

Mickey sulks into your bed as you lecture her, finally being able to pour out your emotions.

"The last guy, who you planned a wedding for, you ended up dumping 'cos he reminded you of wet ketchup." You complain, moving your hands around over-dramatically. "And the dick before that, couldn't even pronounce your name correctly-"

"To be fair, Mickey is quite a hard name-" She butts in.

"It's a fucking Disney character, for Christs sake, who the fucks Missy? Listen, Mick, I'm happy for you, but you keep on dating douches, and then a month later, you come back crying to me about it. This isn't good for you or for me, you know how busy I am on this thesis."

Mickey's face contorts to a look of displeasure and betrayal, her eyes squinting as if she's trying to restraint the tears that look like they're about to burst in a moment.

She looks away before recollecting her thoughts, "I- I just thought you'd be happy for me-"

"I am Mickey! I really am! But it's like you search up 'world's most toxic asshat' and decide to bone the dude. They never treat you well Mick...come on, even a blind guy can see that..."

Your friend looks down, playing with the hem of her jumper, as if she's carefully considering your words, but you know her enough to know that she doesn't care for her advice. 4 weeks from now, and shes going to be sitting on your bed bawling her eyes out over another prick.

"You really are the worst, you know that?" She mumbles almost inaudibly, before getting up and heading towards the door of your dingy flat. You call out her name, telling her to come back, but give it a month, she'll come back trying over a different person.

It's a dark stormy Friday night, not even a week since your last contact with her, and there's already a brash pattern of knocks bombarding at your door. You look up from your laptop, almost a quarter into your thesis.

I swear if it's my fucking landlord again... You think as you grab a bat to protect yourself with, Mickey always complains about how dangerous your neighbourhood is.

You sigh out of relief when you peer through the peephole, it's Michaela...but she looks hysterical.

"Mickey...hey listen, I didn't mean what I said..." You start when you open the door to her furrowed eyebrows and hiccuped sobs.

"H- He- He keeps ghosting me-" She tries.

"Mickey, what's going on, who-"

She digs her face into the nook of your right shoulder, and your sharp nose detected the slight smell of booze, "Saw him at the grocery store, b-but he ignored me."

"Michaela honey, sit down. Okay what's going on." You bring her to your bed.

And so she tells you all about it. About the new guy that she's been seeing for 2 weeks now, how she met him at a new bar opening in your area, about how he sweet talked her into buying her a few drinks, and how he drove her home like a real gentleman. Your face scrunches when she accidentally spills about the part how rough he pounded her in her bedroom, with both her wrists tightly gripped and bound by one of his large callous hands, as he bent her over her desk.

The skillful way in which he dug his hips into her ass, 'thrusting into her like God told him to' as she put it. You mumble a little blasphemous when you hear that part.

A few more, 'Oh the dick was so good, I can't, I'm obsessed' and 'He fucked me like my future husband would', and she finally stops, her train of tears coming to a halt and she blankly stares at your ceiling, laying on your bed.

You nod dimly, not knowing whether to use the pep talk that you'd used for the last guy.

"What's this guy's name again?" You question her.

She shrugs, without energy, and the idea of injecting with a tranquiliser faintly disappears from your mind.

You look at her with amusement. "What do you mean-" you shrug, mocking her actions, "Does he have an ugly name like the other guy...what was...oh, Lester?"

Mickey snorts, looking up at you, "Lester didn't know how to eat me out, like he did."

"You don't need to bring up every sexual detail, Mick..."

"Sorry virgin..." She huffs.

You cringe at her, "Okay, so what's his name, it can't be as bad as Lester." She doesn't respond, her eyes tearing up again, "Um, okay, Imma say some names, tell me if I get it. James, John, Joseph, Jeremy, Jeremia-"

"Why are they all J names?" She mutters.

"Uh hello, you barged into my flat at 11 P.M. and you're drunk, considering how toxic this guy is, it's gotta be a J name. Jerome, Jude, Javon, Julius, Jason-"

"G." She stops you.

"G? Jason with a G...what the...Gason? Yeah, girl, if his name was that ugly, I'd be crying just as hard at you-"

"NO UH." She shouts so loudly, dragging her words, that even the gust of wind stops in fright. "His name starts with G...I think it does at least. He wouldn't tell me his real name...just a nickname."

You nod, as if in agreement, but you stop yourself because you've never been in a similar situation. As much as you love Michaela, you despise almost everything she does.

Like how in 2nd year of university, she missed an exam just so she could go on a date with a guy she was seeing. And she wonders why she had to retake that module over the summer.

There was also the time at your 20th birthday dinner, where she uninvitingly decided to bring her fling for the month, and no, you couldn't the food given the amount of time they decided to share saliva right in front of you.

"Wow Mick, your standards be dropping like this economy." You kid, although some part of you really questions how much truth lied behind that, "So, hit me. Who's this guy you've been seeing. Tell me about him."

"You for real?" She smiles sweetly at you, and for a second, every bone of hate towards her actions wash away. At the end of the day, she still is your best friend, and you should support her decision no matter what. That's what friends do, no?

"Yeah. I'm sorry. What's his name...or nickname? What do you call him?" You hold her hands, rubbing above her thumbs.

She sniffs a bit, but her smile doesn't falter, and her cheek blushes at the mere thought of him.

"His name is Ghost."

It's official. This was the worst guy Mickey has dated.

You've made a list of all people she's been with, ranking them with how well they'd treated her.

Okay so, Derek was a pass, he cheated on her with the Philosophy professor...literally worst degree ever. What kinda dumb career can you even go into with that.

Then there's Jonah, reaaaal bad boy, but he screamed like a girl and was way too deep into feminism. Pass, how do you manage to mansplain feminism??

Marc, aspiring footballer. You know what, smash, he was fine, I'll give her that. But then he left to play for Spain and never texted back... But he had dimples, so I'd forgive him.

Oh how did I forget Oliver. Auditioned to be a k-pop idol but lied about being Korean the entire time...pass for sure.

GAAH! There all so trash!

And yet there's another member on this list. Nameless, faceless 'Ghost'.

"What does he look like?" You begin your interrogation.

"Dunno." Mickey shrugs.

"How old is he?"

"Dunno."

"...Career?"

"Dunno."

"Dunno as in you don't know, or dunno as in this freak's unemployed?" You rub your temples in frustration.

Mickey sighs seeing how annoyed you are, she begged and dragged you out of your flat into the bright lights and atmosphere of a cafe.

"I think he's loaded, he-"

You sigh, "You said that about the last guy, and that was just because you couldn't see the minus sign on his online banking app."

"Can you not get annoyed at me for a second? This is my potential husband for all I know." She says exasperatingly.

"Ah yes! Your husband is a nameless, faceless, jobless knobhead who you've had sex with once, talked to...ONCE. Remind me why you're so hooked on this guy? Here's a challenge, don't mention his dick."

An elderly lady sitting on the table besides you two, grumbles and leaves after hearing that.

"...Can I have a sip of your frappe?"

"Oh would you look at that! Princess Mickey DOES know how to ask a question! You couldn't just, I don't know....ASK for his name? Don't act like this was the hardest thing you've done, remember when you considered proposing TO A MAN-"

"The only hard thing about Ghost...was his penis."

The cafe goes silent when she blurts that out.

You sigh for what felt like the 100th time that hour, and you lean in to whisper to Mickey, "Mick, it's been just over a week since you've last seen him- whose to say you'll see him again?"

She rests her head in her hands, clenching her eyes shut at the thought. "I thought I'd run into him again, I don't know...Am I stupid for wanting him so bad?"

Yes, yes you are. You want to say. But you bite your tongue.

"nOoOoO, oF cOuRsE nOt, gah, why'd you say tha- yes. Yes, you are." So much for trying, "You don't even remember what he looks like, are you sure we're not stuck looking for a character out of one of your sex dreams?"

Mickey leans in so close to you, that you can smell the coffee breath.

"I know I was drunk, but I swear, I woke up and there was hickeys all over my neck-"

"But you said he was wearing a mask-" You're interrupting her and you can tell it irritates her, with her eyebrow twitching.

"Yes, but I don't remember-"

"What colour was the mask?"

"Uh, black."

"Was it a surgical mask or a balaclava?"

"Um, a baklava."

"Bitch, that's a pastry dish."

"I CAN'T! I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!" Mickey screams, standing up so abruptly, everyone in the cafe stops and turns.

You gasp, purposely loud so everyone can hear, "Are you breaking up with me...because I'm homeless?" All of the cafe goers murmur to each other at the scene in front of them.

"We were at your flat an hour ago, you fool- come on we're going." Mickey hisses, dragging you out the cafe, uncomfortably smiling at all the people that looked at you with sympathy, "No, don't feel bad, apparently a thesis is more to important than my future husband."

The walk home was pleasant, with Mickey hooking her arms around of yours, onlookers may have assumed that you two were a couple. But overall, it was nice being in her presence without the mention of any men.

"Hey look, the room next to yours is vacant. Maybe I should move in!" Mickey points out, when both of you have made it down the stairs of your building.

"I don't want you that often, jeez." You joke.

And for a while, your days do seem to be getting better.

It's been a month since your little cafe date, and you're still stuck at home grovelling through your tedious thesis.

The good news is, you're about 3 quarters in, the bad news is, your new neighbour has no apparent spatial awareness, having blasted his rock music through the floor. Unlucky for you, there's only 3 apartments on the floor of your building: you, Mr Feldman (who you're sure is deaf considering he hasn't made any complaint from the noise) and you're new neighbour, whom you've never met but already hate.

"TURN DOWN YOUR MUSIC DUMBASS." You bang on the door of your neighbour.

Yet no one opens the door and apologises.

In the evening, the noises get worse. Instead of rock, it's a combination of Weeknd songs and the loud female moans and bed shaking next door. Once you'd heard voices that had belonged to 2 women, so you deduced that you lived next to a sex-crazed lesbian.

"Mr Feldman, how are you okay with it?!" You complain. You've had enough of the noise, especially the headboard banging since it seems your neighbours bedroom is just a wall away from yours.

"Okay with what, sweetheart?" The elderly gentleman croaks out, standing at his doorstep.

"The noise! You don't hear the loud ass music?" You groan, having being repeating yourself for a 2nd time.

"Yes, the music is ass, but it isn't loud." Mr Feldman says, his finger tapping at his chin, comically pondering with his jurassic-age brain.

You roll your eyes, walking away and towards your own room, "How- I feel forgetting how old you truly are...."

"I heard that."

"I really doubt you did." You shut the door on him.

This is a real issue, not like the ones Mickey has with men, you can't focus on your thesis, this could seriously jeopardise your education.

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: have u talked to ur landlord

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: duh i unleashed my inner karen, but he isnt doing anything cos this dick offered to pay almost double the rent for his flat

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: damn he loaded

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: yet he cant afford earphones apparently

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: why dont u get him some

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: wat

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: as a joke

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: hm thats funny mickey

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: thanks who am i talking to again

So you did just that, you placed a pair of pink wired earphones in his mailbox... which happened to be right next to yours. And you waited.

And waited.

And a week later, and no response.

Your neighbour definitely doesn't know that he has a mailbox does he? A week since you're little prank, and yet you can still hear the music through the walls so loud, you think you've developed tinnitus. The throbbing in your ears is so painful, sometimes you feel phantom drips of blood running down your ear.

"Asshole doesn't even turn down the music. Come on, play some Beyonce at least."

Mickey snickers, she's on your bed texting other people.

"You're not even listening, are you?" You throw a pillow at her playfully to get her attention.

"Babe, it's 1 in the afternoon and I can't hear any music now, let's not start the day like this. Say, there's a lil get together in that bar down the road, you there?" She says, but you're not even sure she's talking to you as she hadn't looked up to you since saying that.

You crack your neck from exhaustion, "Nah I'll pass, need to finish a draft of my thesis and sen-"

"Blah blah blah, all I hear are excuses, thesis this thesis that." She rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, well you would have failed high school and university if not for me. So you paying with cash or card?" You boast.

Mickey gets up, dusting herself, "Listen I gotta dash, but I better see you there- it starts at 11."

"Woah, wait, which bar, who's going, what's the dress code- Okay you're gone."

And for a first time in a while, you're stuck in your room alone, without the loud obnoxious music and without anyone constantly whining at you. Peace and silence-

Hold on, what's that?

You press your ear against your bedroom wall, which is funny considering you usually complain about the noise. It's not music, it's more sultry and sexual. Deep and gruff moans escaping someone, and this time it's actually enjoyable to listen to. Nothing like those pornstar like squeals you were used to, no. This was more raw.

The way his voice broke at certain points combined with the lazy irregular slick noises, which you imagined to be his dick slipping through his tight, cocooned fist.

"Fuck, mhm."

That voice.

If this was the voice of your neighbour, you would have never complained about the commotion. Was this why Mr Feldman has no issue with the noise? Was he blessed with the intimidating whimpers next door?

You press further, ignoring the growing wetness pooling at your underwear. You could tell he started thrusting faster, his voice increasing in volume just a little bit.

You could tell he's close.

But some part of you wanted to deny him of this pleasure.

So instead of touching yourself with your neighbour, you're standing right in front of his door, banging against the door frame with all the might you can muster, you fear you might break it down.

The door opens.

And you're face to face with your neighbour.

And a minute the warmth between your legs actually makes sense. Because you're neighbour isn't a sex crazed lesbian...you're neighbour is a-

"Sex God,"

"Excuse me?" His voice is deeper when he's talking.

"... I said, oh God. Can you keep the music down?" You reroute your words, drinking in the appearance of this beast in front of you.

He's tall, maybe a few inches taller than 6 foot, with short dusty blonde hair, and a prominent scar running through his thin but well moisturised lips. And his jawline, wow, the Gods above must have spent eons perfecting his jaw structure-

"'m sorry. But uh, hey thanks for the earphones." He pulls out one of the hot pink earbud from his ear.

You blush, he had seen his gift, "Uh huh, how'd you know it's from me?"

"Y' think old man Feldman's gonna buy a bloke hello kitty earphones?" He kids.

"Maybe, it's 2024. Live and let live. Don't be shocked if you see Feldman walking around in a skirt." And you're surprised he laughs your joke, admiring the crease lines by his mouth when he smiles, almost forgetting that you had an imagine in your head that he was the worst possible neighbour alive...

"Cute." He comments, looking down at you.

"Me...? Or are you visualising Feldman....." You drag your words, until he laughs again, leaning onto his door frame and just then you understand why Mickey would chase guys the way she does.

"No, please, he's not my type. I lean towards um...cute, short neighbours."

"You're literally just describing Feldman, dude,"

"That's on me," he smiles widely at you, "If I had known it was you banging on my door, I'd 'ave opened it a while back." He flirts.

You blink at him, no ones ever flirted with you. What would Mickey do? No, she'd just snog him this very moment. I mean, what's stopping you?

"If I'd known you were my neighbour, I'd be banging you a while back. Wait."

There's a pause in the conversation and you're too scared to correct yourself. "I-"

But he cuts you off, letting out the loudest laughs at that you'd ever heard, almost as if he was cursed not to laugh and it had finally been broken. The type where he hand gently grabs your shoulder and you could almost feel the vibrations from his broad chest.

What a sight.

"You know what I meant." You giggle, wait, when did you start giggling?

His laugh ends in a fit of small coughs, "Didn't catch your name, dove."

You introduce yourself, opting not to sticking your hand out like you're in a job interview.

But he does it for you, placing one large callous hand in front of you, for you to shake.

"Simon." He says as he kisses the back of your hand.

You thought when you met Simon, that you two had bonded, like he was about to ask you out bonded, but alas you were wrong.

You laid in bed the rest of the day, intending to complete a draft for your thesis, yet instead you found yourself on Sims creating a family for you and your beloved Simon. And a short nap later, you wait up to over 20 notifications from your friend.

4 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: yoooo wru??? its 11:30

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: HOEEEE WAKE UP

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: fuck ur thesis come hereee im drunk

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: BABE THE GHOST GUY IS HERE NO JOKE

5 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: you better be dead

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: oml he saw me

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: black baklava btw

2 missed calls from ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: hehehehe im going back to his place

ᴹᶦᶜᵏᵉʸᴹᵒᵘˢᵉᶜˡᵘᵇʰᵒᵘˢᵉ: if i die yk where im at yh

Oh shit. It's past midnight, you try calling Mickey but her phone goes straight to voicemail, curse her and her DND.

You start looking for your keys, there's no way you're attending the party, you're just going to pick her up from whomever's place she's at and take her home.

"Mhm, doll, jus' like that."

You pause in your step. Mickey's safe right? A quick listen wont hurt anyone.

"'lil deeper pretty girl, yeah, like that."

Some part of you wishes it was porn Simon was watching, and that God was playing a cruel joke on you, introducing you to the prettiest guy you've seen, and now suddenly you're stuck hearing him fuck someone else? Yeah, you've heard it before but...this time it made you feel uneasy.

This time you knew who was behind the voice, you knew who was moaning. And forgive me, but you thought you had a connection, no? That talk earlier today...did it mean nothing?

And when did he suddenly become so vocal? What was so special about this girl than the others?

You stand still, with your ear pressed so tightly against the wall, you've probably left a mark against it. And his moans never stop.

And hers start. For a second you feel like you recognise the female voice, but through the slurs and hand-covered whimpers (you presume), you can't figure out if it was familiar to you or not.

You flinch when the head boards banging, and you feel yourself throwing every romantic thought you've had of this man when you hear his degrading tone towards her.

"C’mon, make yourself cum on my cock, dove."

You gulp hearing him use the nickname he gave you on someone else.

30 minutes of torture.

You stood against that wall, with your ear so firmly pressed, someone might have thought it was glued on. The only sounds you were focused on was his whimpers and you caught the way his voice broke when he spoke, and your infrequent breathes.

When the noises stopped, you stepped back in embarrassment. You felt so shameful practically peering into a man's sex life. How disgusting are you truly?

You reach into your pockets, feeling for your keys and your phone, suddenly remembering Mickey's whereabouts.

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: just woke up

You lied. You couldn't ever tell someone of today.

ᵇʳᵒˢᶦᶜᵏˡᵉˢ: omw wru

You open your door, feeling the abrupt urge to surround yourself within nature after doing something so distasteful. And if it couldn't get any worse...

Simon's door opens.

One part of you wants to turn and see which lucky girl had the opportunity to getting plowed by him, and yet the other part knew you'd immediately crumble at the thought of it not being you.

"Oh my god! That's why this place looks so familiar....!"

You widen your eyes, your breathe getting caught once again.

"Mickey...?" You whisper, not even turning your head to look at the horror next door.

"Yes, it's me silly. Come here, want you to meet someon- oh can't walk, fuck." She giggles, barely conscious.

You turn your head towards her slowly, like a movie character.

It's Mickey in the flesh, wearing jeans and a black tube top that had been worn so sloppily, you were almost scared you were going to get flashed. She smiles innocently at you were half lidded eyes.

"Oh...I-"

A figure walks out, dressed in a blue-gray 3/4 sweater and a hood, and you swear you feel yourself sinking into the ground. Could this get any worse.

And your wishes were answered. Mickey turns back to press a vulgar, almost cringe-worthy kiss against his clothed jaw, and you shift your eyes down... to see his dark jeans... and the zip undone. You turn your head around, almost debating to ignore the couple and lock yourself into your bedroom until death overcomes you. Your darting eyes rest on his face, begging for him to say something to remove the awkwardness.

Yet, something about Simon was different...

His eyes bore deeply into your soul as if trying to read you, his once kind face contorted into a look of pure disgust, like he were looking into the eyes of a killer. This didn't look like the man you talked to this morning...

His eyes drag down over your crooked frame, a raised eyebrow twitching almost in mock sympathy. To make it worse, he had his arms crossed so tightly around him, he looked like the human epitome of a 'side eye'.

You pray to God it's the effects of alcohol. Or maybe you're the drunk one! Maybe you're sleeping and this is all just a dream, or nightmare...

You put your hands on the doorknob, wanting to resign yourself from this situation when your eyes drift back to Mickey, who seems to have taken the liberty of speaking.

"I want you meet the guy I was talking to you about. His name is Ghost."

First of all, thank you all for 6200 likes and 300 followers?!!!! THE BEST <3 Also, my writing schedule is so poor, I'll try to update as much as possible!! tags -> @lilliumrorum , @kxtz3 , @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk , @spankmydepression , @yourfavbabigirl

Trading notes with König (highschool au) <3

A/N: I'm a minor, and yes I'm aware that the cod community mostly consists of adults, but I really just want to have fun and play around a bit, so if you could please respect that, I would be more than grateful<3

💚 = reader ❤️ = König

I hc that König can't hold a pencil or pen or whatever correctly cause his hands are so fuckin big so he writes terribly

OMG I JUST HAD A THOIGHT. What if like on this fic that you wrote “tulips or roses”, what if Rose and reader met?!?!

PLSPLSPLSPLS MAKE IT ANGSTY TO FLUFF TOO 🙏🙏🙏🙏

AMAZING THOUGHT POOKIE I WAS THINKING THE SAME >_< also i'm on holiday rn visiting family so ofc the wifi decides to the shittiest rn so apologies for slow uploads and errors :( and tags aren't working??? Word Count: 2k

Tulips meets Roses.

It was a Friday evening at the pub, where you sat beside John Price, your arms interlinked with his clenched bicep listening to another one of Johnny's story.

"'n' th' mornin' efter we shagged, she juist vanished! Efter a' th' love we made?"

Ghost grunts in mock sympathy, and Gaz stifles a scoff next to him, "She probably got scared of your haunted puppet collection mate-"

"Oh ye leave Bonnybelle oot o' this-"

These outings weren't as frequent as one would hope, considering how busy the Task Force usually was, but when there was a break with the missions, most of the soldiers found themselves at the hustle and bustle of the local pub, and it made it better when you could bring a plus one.

It's been a few months since the 'argument' about Rose, and even though John likes to name it a 'dispute', he's drilled it into your head how it was his fault completely not yours.

"Yeah well, me and my girl visited Bali for our anniversary-" Kyle boasts to the group.

"Yeah 'n' Simon gaed tae Croydon wi' his grandma, sae whit." [to all my non-londoners, Croydon is THE GHETTO. always in support of croydon slander]

John snickers, and you smile as the feelings of his arms encapsulating you. "You'll find someone one day, Johnny, I know it." You smile sloppily, partially tipsy from all the alcohol consumed and partially from all the sweet talk.

"Aye ah better, a'm wantin' th' Tulip tae mah Price."

Ah, turns out John's been calling you Tulip to everyone.

"She's limited edition, find your own fuckin' flower." John comically dismisses, taking a hefty sip of his beer, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

Your smile at the compliment is cut short when a blonde bob catches your peripheral, and just as you're about to turn your head to catch the face you're looking at-

"Is your garden in bloom?" Simon casually questions.

The table immediately erupts in coughs and laughter, with Gaz side-eyeing Simon's question, and Johnny laughing at the clever Bridgerton reference. John corrects his posture at the comment and covers his cough with his fist, a light tinge of pink painting his pale bearded cheeks. He'll make sure Simon runs double the amount of laps during practice.

"And that's my cue..." You press a warm kiss against John's temples, before heading off to the women's bathroom, not blind to the 'awwws' and coos from Soap, and the "What does it mean? I only watched the sex scenes..." from Simon.

Walking to the women's bathroom, you yawn and stretch your tense back after sitting on the wooden chair at the bar for so long.

"Tired?"

You snort, "An understatement, I'm sleepy as fuck- Oh."

Locking eyes with the voice in the mirror, grounds you back to reality. The once fictitious woman you were most worried about stands next to you in the bathroom, returning your glance through a mirror.

You break the silence, feeling awkward at the tense scene, although you're unsure if she's feeling the same. Does she know who you are? Does she think of you as her replacement?

"Weather's nice." A terrible comment considering it mid November in England; the weather's far from nice, yet Rose chuckles. For a moment, you can see why John longed for this woman, from the way her skin creased around her mouth as she flashed you a grin through the reflection.

"It's nicer in Greece, moved a few years back." She smiles amicably.

You hum, nodding as if in agreement, even though you hadn't even set foot in a Mediterranean country, "When did you come back? To the UK?"

She looks up, recollecting the days, "Hmm, must been a week now, Greece is lovely, but the UK's home, you know?"

Once again you just nod, watching as she pulls out a red Dior lipstick and reapplies to her supple lips. Watching her intensely focus on her lips makes you question John once again, a wave of insecurity rushing through you like that previous time.

She's so much better than me... You think to yourself.

"How's he been then?"

There's a pause in your breath, your eyebrows raising slightly. Rose makes eye contact with you again through the mirror, and you're grateful that she doesn't turn to look at you physically, you're scared that you might pass out in nervousness.

"I- uh, who?" You manage to blurt out, mentally cursing yourself for what you think sounded like a helium-produced high pitched squeak.

Rose chuckles at your response, "John Price. I see the way he looks at you, you been dating him for long?"

You purse your lips into a thin smile, even after years of dating and marriage, any compliment given to the both of you would send your heart to a warm frenzy.

"Been together for 4 years, married for 1..." Your smile in inevitably giddy as you admire the glittering rock plastered on your ring finger. Rose looks at your ring, her smile faltering a little, but you don't notice it in time.

"And you?"

"Me?" She straightens her posture, and even her mannerisms reflect that of your husbands a bit, "A few years of marriage...it's...nice." But it sounds like she's trying to convince herself more so than answering your question.

Your response is again, a shy nod.

Silence evades the conversation as she closes her lipstick delicately, placing it back into her expensive purse. You want to press the conversation further, beg her for more answers about the history that she might have had with John, you wanted to hear it from her perspective.

"I loved him you know."

Oh.

The world stops for a moment, and you feel the slow emergence of bile erupting from within. You're silent for moment, your thoughts halting. What kinda woman just announces that she had feeling for another's man...no, not just feelings...love.

Her reflection in the mirror breaks into small minuscule frames, as your eyes tear up. Not even a breath escapes from your mouth.

A droplet of sweat cascades down your back and you tremble at the thought of John kissing Rose.

"I...of course, realised too late. When we were celebrating my retirement, me and the team, I, uh...I was about to tell him...and I saw his phone screen...didn't know about you then, but it was a picture of you," She giggles at the memory, "Thought you must have been important 'cos that man's had that brick phone for years, and this is the first time I'd seen a different lockscreen."

You don't respond, unsure of whether to scream at her, calling her a homewrecker, or just to let her complete her speech. You realise she had used the past tense, loved. Did she still feel the same?

"And then I followed him back to his office...he was on the phone...to you. And oh my God. I swear I looked through the crack of his door, that guy was literally melting. Caught him twirling the invisible phone line and everything."

You can't suppress the tiny smirk on your face.

"And it was just a mundane conversation, nothing special...and it looked like he would kill the task force, just to have a spec of your attention on him. I've...never seen him this way, not even with me..." She whispers the last part, looking down at the droplets of water on the porcelain sink.

"I'm sorry if I'm intruding, I guess I just came here to get closure-"

"Did you get it?"

The first you've said in minutes, and the tone was so gruff, one would think you were berating her.

She nods, still smiling, and for a second you wonder how strong this woman would have been, flying all the way back, just to see someone she'd harboured feelings with another.

"And even if I hadn't, I wouldn't do anything to either of you...forgive me, I'm not like that."

You nod, intaking some air after what felt like hours. You force yourself to turn your body towards her, a question still stuck in your head, urging to be answered.

"Rose." You whisper. She looks at you with a sweet smile, and for a second you feel bad for even thinking such inhumane thoughts about her.

"Do you still love him?" It was short and curt, no hesitation in your question, which did sound somewhat more like a command.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror, as if assessing her flaws and imperfections. There's another uncomfortable pause in the atmosphere, and it feels like the two of you have sucked a breath in anticipation.

The truth is...she doesn't know. What even is love? Is it measurable? Is it subjective, objective, definite, is it yes or no? Are there layers to love? Can you love two people at the same time? Has she ever felt love?

Does she still love John?

Did she ever love John?

Did John ever love...her?

She thinks back to when she walked into the bar, her eyes searching for the bearded captain, only to see them locked on...you.

Oh the way he looked at you. It reminded her of a loyal dog watching upon his master, like a peasant being granted a sip of golden delicious nectar for the first time. Like the way the moon orbits the Earth indefinitely, following Mother Earth on her orbital path.

Like the way a wounded man would rest in his knees painfully, praying for his Goddess to notice at least one his pleas, as he weeps for her.

It was a look she never gave to him, and one he never gave to her. That look, he had only reserved for ... you.

"No, I suppose not, not the way he loves you." It comes out in a pained whisper, and Rose can't tell if she wanted to go back in time to have John all to herself or if she believes that she would ever experience that kind of connection with him.

You hum, it felt like your voice box was strained every time you responded, but you felt at peace, finally.

How long have been in the bathroom for?

Run along now, John's probably looking for you.

You hug Rose, and you can tell she's not used to physical touch, the way her tall frame freezes at the contact. She smiles to you, silently apologising for her burdensome self.

You leave the bathroom, with a smile bigger than you had ever worn.

Soap's points towards you, at the table, and the others smile, John immediately whisking his head so quickly, you fear he might have pulled a muscle.

"Hey baby," you whisper into his hair, sitting down next to him, with his arm around you, where you belong.

"Jesus, sweetheart, 'was about to go to the bathroom m'self to look for you..." He mumbles, pressing his soft lips against your temple, purposely brushing his beard against your cheek.

You hum, as he presses fluttering kisses against your neck, whispering all kinds of affectionate names, oblivious to the fact that Ghost was already submitting a letter of compliant for excess PDA.

Rose shortly leaves, exiting the pub, her eyes falling on John's blushed cheeks burying into your hair, as she opens the door.

He turns to her, feeling someone looking at her, but instead of freaking out, he just smiles, acknowledging her presence, and quickly shoving his cheek against yours.

Tulips truly were his favourite flowers.

"SHE GAED TAE TH' BATHROOM 'N' DINNAE WASH HER HAUNDS"

tag yourself, i'm gaz's wife 😹 tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk , @spankmydepression , @yourfavbabigirl

Reblog if it's okay to invade your ask box.

Always

Question 🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️

No longer a memory [Simon 'Ghost' Riley]

You are reading: [Part 2] Read [Part 1] here! Word Count: 1.4k You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he did feel the same.

When Ghost was asked about his emergency contact, he mentioned Soap's name.

"You can't put down another soldier, mate. Gotta be yer ma or summit." His higher-ups informed him.

"Why no'?" He grumbled, leaning against the wall in the dingy office.

"Wot if you're on a mission with 'im? Wot if he's injured too? Hm? Just do me a favour and put down yer missus, will ya."

Ghost rolled his eyes in annoyance, slamming the door shut as he walked out. With an important mission coming soon, it was vital that everything was in order before they left.

He just doesn't get it. Why does a skilled killer like him need an emergency contact? He's only been fatally injured once, and when they contacted his previous emergency number back then, was it really a big deal with someone at the nearest Maccies picked up?

Gaz frequently laughs at him, "Tried to call your mother, ordered a quarter pounder instead." It's a running joke in the team.

Ghost skims through his phone contacts, and he's embarrassed to see how few numbers he has: 5 being his teammates including Gaz, Soap and Price, one being KFC, one being his mother which he had saved under Slag. He scrolls up and down rapidly, debating to himself, should he just give them a fake number?

No...they'd find out again.

He clicks under the spam numbers.

His eyes shift to a familiar number.

It was yours.

The monotonous ticking of the clock paired with the irregular typing of the keyboards were burnt into your brain unknowingly. You've lost count of the number of days you've been in the menial job now, your first job since graduating university. How long have you been with that company, 2 years? 602 days now? You're counting the days 'til the weekend but even during that, you've got no one to come home to.

What a pathetic life.

Sometimes you wonder what Simon was doing in that exact moment was he working like you? Was he also in London? Did he...think of you, the way you think of him? It's possible he's forgotten, I mean after 5 years you've lost contact with the majority of your classmates- so much for best friends for life.

You check your phone, 9:28 P.M. 2 more minutes and you're running out of there.

By the time it hits 11 P.M., you're tucked away in bed a movie playing the background as you're aimlessly listening to reddit stories on TikTok whilst watching a minecraft speedrun.

You switch to using Instagram, by that I mean stalking. Your friends seems to be growth further away from you, one sending you an e-invite to their wedding, one welcoming their 1st child into their families, and yet you're still hung over about the last day of secondary school. The way the last time you had seen him had been in form, when he glances at you walking in late. The way his hands would purposely linger against yours when you were asked to hand out sheets to the class.

The mere thought of him jolted you. That, and the sound of your phone ringing.

It was an unknown number.

There's a hitch in your breathing. Was this a sign? What's the phrase, speak of the devil and he has appear? Was it perhaps...Simon?

You wait for a minute before picking up, not wanting to come across as desperate.

"...Hello?" You murmur.

"Hey." The voice is harsh and cold. It reminded you of Simon.

"Simon?" You whisper, a smile appearing on your face.

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

"What? No- Alan. From Accounting. You left some documents here at work, they seem important. You gonna pick 'em up?"

You blink. Once again your're stuck in another fantasy. In what world would it be Simon? The man who couldn't even reply to your texts in summer holidays. The man who wouldn't even attempt to return a full smile when you locked eyes in the corridor. The man you shouldn't have feelings for. Because, well, it's not like they were ever reciprocated.

What a pathetic life.

Alan, the dickhead from Accounting interrupts yet again. "Yo, you there? Wan' me to bin them?"

You sit up in your bed, sighing deeply uncomfortable, "Pull up your pants man, I'll be there in 30, Jesus. Just leave them on my desk."

Question. What's short but intense, most people dislike it, but you find it thrilling? One would think a conversation with Simon. But the answer is: London traffic.

You'd assume the usually busy roads to be dead and empty at 11:30 P.M. ish, but you're heavily mistaken, my friend. Seems like London nights are the life of the party. Driving past busy clubs and lit up pubs, whilst listening to One Of The Girls by The Weeknd [SUCH A GOOD SONG-] made you feel like a movie star in a coming of age film.

One where the guy gets the girl.

Of course, the majority of the drive you've being beeped at, or you're doing the beeping, but it's what really appealed to you when making the move to the heart of London. Life moves on whether you want or not, might at well be at the capital of England. Though sometimes you feel you're more likely to run into Simon in the north...

By the time you reach the entrance of your workplace, you begin regretting your outfit decisions, making eye contact with yourself in the reflection of the glass doors: A black hoodie and flared joggers. Nothing wrong in the clothing of course, but compared to the Data Analysts and Investment Bankers that are judging you right now, it makes you feel like the smallest person in the room.

Just a elevator ride up, grabbing your shit, another ride down, brisk walking to the car, and you can go back to the comfort of your bed. Easy, no?

You're in the elevator finally. The weird look from the receptionist really was the cherry on the cake.

Soon enough, the doors open again at the 9th floor, and you're met with the dark room of your department, which only had 2 of your colleagues slaving away at their desks, one which you're 99% sure is rotting away as they type on their keyboard.

You briefly nod at the two as they look up from the elevator doors opening, to which they returned.

Where's that file, where's the fucking file. You mumble to yourself, sifting through all the papers from your desk. The rotting lady looks up to you, shushing you for the noise.

Yeah, if only you had the courage to shush your toxic-ass husband...You think. Soon we'll hear your reddit story next to some trashy ass run on Subway Surfers on Tiktok...

The way down the elevator was excruciatingly slow, which was odd considering it was working perfectly fine 5 minutes ago.

The doors open again, at the 8th floor and 3 analysts walk into the once quiet elevator, and now you're face to face with the loud chatter of clients, and business meetings and...who left a mess in the men's toilets...

A phone rings again, and the analysts all search their coats, thinking it was theirs.

Not me.

Neither.

How is there service in this elavator-

Someone coughs, and you open your eyes from drowsiness, the 3 business musketeers silently urging you to pick up your from and rid them off that irritating ring tone.

Silently apologising, you bring your phone out of your hoodie pocket. It's another unknown number.

With no hesitation this time, just pure frustration and fatigue, you pick up the call, "Alan, I swear to God, if you're calling me again-"

Correction. There is service in the elevator. It just wasn't good.

The line breaks at the other person on the phone speaks.

"He- Co- It's an emergen- He- -mon Ril- -jury-"

"Huh?" You respond, partially not hearing as the line breaks every now and then. but also because the other 3 people decided it was okay to talk on full volume.

You try once again, "I'm sorry I can't hear you."

"Missi- crash- 3 dead- -husba"

You snort, you wish these 3 analysts were dead right now-

"-Rile- Come- t- -ocation- sen- -by text- -sband-"

The line goes dead, and you're stuck staring at your phone with more confusion than you had started. Husband?

What was that? Wrong number? No, they had addressed you by your full name. You couldn't hear much, but from what you gathered...an emergency? I mean, that alone you could tell from the shrill from the speaker's voice.

The elevator door opens again and this time, it's the ground floor and all 4 of you walk out. It looks like the scene where the rich, popular characters make a grand entrance, straight out of a K-drama, except one person clearly missed the memo about dressing formally.

You check your phone's call log, debating whether to call them back.

Before you can lock your phone and shove it back into your phone, it dings again, a text from the very number. They've given you a location. A quick search on your phone, shows you google images of an army training ground. You check the time. It's just past midnight.

Looks like you're going on an adventure.

The drive to the army grounds was shorter than Google Maps had said, and now you're parked on the side of the roads waiting for the gates to be opened.

Theories are racing through your head right now, who do you know that's in the military currently?

Your coworkers? No.

Your university friends? No.

Your secondary school classmates? No.

Simon? Can't be.

The gates open, and you drive to the 2 men standing by the doors to the building, one is dressed like a doctor, the other? Like Stalin.

You get out of your car worried, "Hi, someone called over the phone?"

"Aah, yes. Mrs Riley. A pleasure to meet you. I mean I didn't think you were even going to come." He turns to the doctor.

You don't fail to hear the words exchanged between the both of them.

"What if she works at Maccies as well...she's dressed like it-" he murmurs, smiling at you widely.

The doctor on the other hand, seems to be more tense about the situation, "Sir, can we just send her in already, it's 1 A.M., I got a family to go home to-"

"Wasn't your wife cheating on you though-"

"Sir- How do you know- Okay, Miss. Mrs... Riley, was it?" The doctor turns to you.

You raise an eyebrow at him, "No. Um, no. My first name's not Riley, it's-"

"Will you just follow us. Please."

The inside of the building was almost the opposite than the outside, a loud brightly lit environment with crowds of doctors and nurses rushing around, compared to the silent dark grounds.

"Sorry, where are we going exactly?" You question, as the two men walk in front of you.

"You're handling the news better than I expected, Riley." The military leader (?) notes.

What news?

"What news?"

There's no follow up answer, instead they lead you to a quiet corridor, just outside a room, to which they gesture you to open. The doctor reads from a file, "He's going to be fine, just a few cuts and bruises-"

You interrupt, "I'm sorry?"

"What he's trying to say- we found him unconscious, seems like he inhaled too much of the gas. Thought he was in grave danger. Wasn't responding to anything. Broken rib cage, but he'll be fine. He always is, this man."

The doctor agrees with the solider.

"Indeed, a few months of bed rest, and he's be back in better shape."

The two stare at you, as you look at them with an unreadable expression.

"...And...I'm here because?"

They share a confused look.

"You're his wife, no? His emergency contact? That's what Simon said at le-"

"Si-Si-Simon?"

One second you're at home, the next you're a work again, and now you're in the bathroom with your head in your hands, sitting on the toilet lid, panic pulsating through your blood. For some reason, you can't find it in yourself to tell the truth, that you're not Simon's wife, so instead you pussied out and excused yourself to the nearest bathroom.

The good thing is, the 2 men believe you're crying over Simon's injuries, the bad thing is that he's awake. And he's been made aware of the call to his emergency contact: his wife.

"Good to say you mate. Called your wife. Sensitive one, that. Rushed-"

Simon breaks out of his dazed look. "Wife?" He barks.

The doctor shares a knowingly glance to the solider, Simon's higher up. "Yes...the one under your emergency contact?"

"Wot- Oh. Er- Yeah." Simon clenches his jaw, rubbing his temple, "Did she pick up or sum-"

"No Simon, she's here. In the bathroom."

The minimal colour in Simon's pale bruised face drains out in a click, and he's staring dead straight in front of him. For a second, no one talks, there's no movement, not even a breath is exhaled. Simon's not religious but he prays the 2 can't hear his beating heart thumping rapidly.

How was do when he sees you? A smile? A wave? A 'haven't seen you in so long'? No...he selected spouse when he put your number down for his emergency contact, if anything, he's got a role to act in front of the staff and higher-ups.

There's a knock on the door that breaks the silence. The door creaks open awkwardly, and a small head peeps out.

Simon's breath hitches.

When your parents instructed you to get out fairy land, you did. You were called delusion by your friends throughout adolescence, and you're teachers feared your expectations in life were always too high.

You remember the first time your parents told you the story of how they met. In your mind it was a romantic story, two doctors meeting together for the first time in the hospital, locking eyes and blushing furiously when their fingers touched through gloved during a high-risk heart transplant surgery. So when they mentioned that it was mere 'marriage of convenience' type relationship to you, your belief of love at first sight hit the iceberg of reality and sunk. Sunk deep.

So mustering the courage shouldn't be that difficult, right? Love doesn't exist...

The first step into the hospital room felt like walking into every exam hall you've ever entered in your entire life merged into 1...times 10. Nerve-wracking was an understatement.

Your goal was to just lie and act at his wife, play pretend and hope Simon plays along with it. It's all acting.

A marriage of convenience, you could say.

"Hey, Si-"

Your breath breaks, cutting off your own words as your eyes lock with Simon's. The room seems to shrink, and the bustling noise from the hospital corridor fades into the background. Simon's gaze is intense, his usual stoic expression softening for a brief moment. It's something the doctor and the soldier haven't seen, given the 5 years of knowing SImon.

He reaches an arm out, without speaking a word.

"Oh, erm." Taking his hand, he gently drags you, motioning you to sit on the chair beside his bed. Small electric shocks course through his fingertips and into yours, a warm feeling bubbling through your chest, and you can't help but smile at the way his eyes lock onto you, as his fingers gently caress your hand.

Simon’s grip tightens ever so slightly as you sit down, his touch simultaneously reassuring and questioning. You swallow hard, nerves prickling your skin. It feels like a minute has passes by the 2 spectators in the room feel like their watching a slow-burn romance movie.

The soldier clears his throat, breaking the silence. "We’ll give you two some privacy," he says, gesturing for the doctor to follow him out. As the door clicks shut behind them, the heavy silence continues to fall over the room.

Simon’s thumb strokes the back of your hand, a gesture that feels both foreign and familiar. His mask of stoicism cracks, revealing a hint of vulnerability beneath. "I didn’t think you’d come," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. Your heart rate increases with every word he speaks, the hints of his northern accent peaking through the harshness of his voice.

You smile. "Well, here I am," you reply, attempting to sound casual despite the thundering of your heart. "Guess I couldn't ignore the call of duty." Your attempt of a pathetic joke makes him grin.

Simon interlocks his fingers with yours, and you swear your body changes to manual breathing. "SImon...You don't have to act, they're not here..." You mumble.

Simon chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. His eyes, usually so guarded, now seem to search yours for something unspoken. "I'm not acting... and...I'm sorry," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What for?" Both of your hands gently hold Simon's and you notice the way just one of his hands dwarf both of yours.

"That day...the last day. I tried to come, I swear, love. I was late-"

"I waited for you Simon." You blankly state. Simon freezes at the slight frustration in your voice, "I waited so long for you, hell, the teachers nearly kicked me out."

Simon nodding understandably, grinning slightly at the thought.

"I know. I asked our form tutor, missed ya by 15 minut-"

"Then why didn't you call me Simon? Hm?"

The lack of response let's you continue, the heat from your hands warming Simon's.

"I called you, I texted, I reached out to your friends-"

"-but it's difficult when I had none, right?" Simon cuts you off, his eyes urging you to look at the situation from his perspective, "The moment I saw you in that classroom on that first day, you were the only person that smiled at me. When I forgot my lunch, it was you that shared with me by your desks. Fuck, it's always been you, and I was too fucking embarrassed with myself to even be around someone as perfect as you."

Simon squeezes your hand as he continues.

"I didn't want you to be seen with me, because...you deserved better, love. You've always had. Good grades, good school, good life, didn't was you to be dragged down by a dick like me." He huffs out, turning away, "Signed up for the military that day, y'know. Remember when you said you wanted to just give up on your dreams of uni and jus' join the army. Just use all your frustrations on a gun or sumthing... I bulked up over that very summer."

You stifle a warm tear as it escapes and runs down your cheek.

"Wanted to be someone for you, swear down. So I signed up for the military...and I- that day. I was going to tell you...and ask you out."

Raising your eyebrows, you feel the atmosphere shifting, he continues.

"Yeah," Simon chuckles, reminiscing, "Wrote a letter cos I didn' know how to get my feelins across. But uh, I was too late. And when I asked your friend, and they told me you were moving out for uni...I just thought it was better to let my feelins die out. Didn't wan to drag you down any further..." He mumbles the last part.

A mix of emotions flood through you as Simon's words settle in the room. The weight of the years apart, the misunderstandings, and the unspoken feelings hang in the air. You take a deep breath, wiping away the tear that escaped earlier.

"Simon," you begin softly, your voice trembling with a blend of sadness and hope. "You never dragged me down. If anything, I felt lost without you."

Simon's gaze shifts back to you, eyes searching for any hint of resentment or anger. Instead, he finds warmth and understanding, a look he's not seen in years. "I thought you'd be better off without me. That you'd move on and find someone who could give you everything I couldn't."

"But I never wanted someone else," you confess, your voice firm despite the quiver in your heart. "I wanted you, Simon. Even when you weren't there, I kept hoping you'd come back. Do you know how many times I've looked at my phone hoping it was you that was calling me?"

Simon laughs, moving ever so slightly closer to you, his thumb continuing to stroke your hand, his touch grounding you both in the present moment. He takes a deep breath, seemingly trying to gather his thoughts.

"I'm here now," he says finally, his voice steady. "And I'll call you ever chance I get. Don't want to waste any more time."

You squeeze his hand in response, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Neither do I."

Simon presses a chaste kiss against your forehead and you lean against him.

"The name Riley really does suit you, y'know." Simon whispering into your hair.

"One step at a time, Si." You whisper back, burying your smirk into the crook of his neck.

Maybe your parents were wrong, maybe love at first sight does exist.

Outside the room, the 2 men straight in awe at the couple. The doctor sighs, "No more trouble in paradis-"

The solider nudges the doctor, "You wish that was you, huh."

me rn

tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @chessecakelover, @owkittie, @cheomain, @corvusmorte, @k4es, @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese, @yyiikes, @funkyysho3es, @delta98-idk, @spankmydepression, @yourfavbabigirl

Just a memory [Simon 'Ghost' Riley]

You are reading: [Part 1] Read [Part 2] here! Word Count: 1.4k You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he didn't feel the same.

Being friends with Simon was not something you'd expected to happen, even though you'd known him since secondary school. You recall a young boy entering the classroom, your teacher introducing the new kid from Manchester as Simon Riley. The small chain of snickers erupts from the classroom, you weren't able to tell why then, only learning after that he was teased and picked on due to his ragged appearance, mainly the dark eye bags and the bruising plastered on his arms. But that didn't stop you.

You found your edging towards his presence, talking to him in between classes, sitting on his table and admiring him from afar, but your attempts to befriend him were futile. He just never reciprocated it.

You never shared the same classes, to your dismay. Though you were in the same year group, you were distinctly cleverer than him, that was a fact, excelling in your A-Level subjects, considering your high ambitions of applying to the best universities in the UK. Simon, on the other hand, always found himself at the centre of trouble, getting detention after detention for insignificant reasons such as failing to get his planner signed by his parents, or talking back to teachers, even when they had asked him questions.

Once you finished your after-school extra classes, only for students that had been handpicked from the year group, you'd purposely walk the longer route through the now empty school just to look through the doors of the detention room, to see Simon carelessly slouching on his chair, whilst graffiting the school furniture. How the teacher never caught him, you'd never know. But you could tell who the culprit was, you'd sit down in classes where the table was littered in small skull faces carved by biro.

Sometimes, he make eye contact with you through the door, when you'd walk past, the constant snarl on his face slightly faltering when you'd flash a gentle smile his way. Of course, the smile was never mutual. In fact, you often find yourself thinking of the last time you'd seen his smile, flicking through the yearbook and class photos, only to find that he was in neither.

Ah, you remember that. The end of school was approaching. The last year you'd see your fellow classmates, the ones you've grown around for almost 7 long years.

Simon Riley entered form time late. It was the last first day of secondary school. The first day of Year 13. He strolls in, the tie around his neck still sloppily wrapped around his white shirt collar. You remember that fondly as, the moment he looks up to you, you point towards the collar of your blouse, hinting to him that the teacher was going to cause another scene at his attire that week. He raises his eyebrows at your gesture, blushing furiously as he rips the tie off, the teacher beginning to raise his voice at Simon.

In your mind, Simon's blushes at you, after seeing you for the first time since summer holidays had started. But that thought is pushed away, when your friend asks you if Simon had replied to your texts. He had not, for your information, they had been left on delivered.

But you don't fail to notice the change of appearance from Simon, in fact most of your classmates open your jaw in shock, the once scrawny boy had seem to hit a growth spurt, his body almost doubling in size.

"Simon mate, hitting the gym?" A boy asks, when Simon walks past to sit in his seat at the back of the class. His attempts of a conversation are unanswered, and a small part of you is happy to see that he treats everyone harshly, not just you.

Trying to talk to him in the lunch line was also so much harder, now that he was surrounded by a bunch of popular kids, the girls squeezing at his bulging arms, and the guys patting his shoulder, conversing with him as if they hadn't ignored him for the previous years of school. He'd catch your eye once in a while, and sometimes you'd find a look of desperation within them, help me, like he called out for you.

All in all, the last 10 minutes of lunch always consisted of you sitting at your desk, ready for the next class, with Simon sitting rather close to you, even though his designated seat was rows behind yours.

"Maths was boring today, I know we're not in the same set, but when you finally get to the same topic, I beg you'd start cryin'." You'd mention, not turning to look at him, but he knows you're talking to him.

He hums, listening, "Speakin' from experience, huh?" He'd always refer to you by your surname, his manny accent seeping through his words.

You'd chuckle in response, jolting suddenly when the bell rings signally the end of lunch and he gets up and walks to the back row, even though it was still just you and him in the room. Perhaps he was embarrassed to been seen by you, given his new-found popularity, or perhaps he thought you didn't want to see with him. Who knows.

Many months pass by, and as exams had finally come to a finish, the schools opened the hall for a get-together for the final year students. Many had turned up with pens and markers to sign their fellow classmates school uniform, as memoir before heading off into university. Others had their yearbooks open, asking (or begging) people to sign them. You sat down, watching your friends mingling with others, a hot pink sharpie in your hand, knee bouncing as your eyes skimmed the loud room for a tall muscular guy.

Hours had gone by, your shirt only consisted of 7 signatures from your friends and one janitor that you'd been acquainted with, yet no sign of Simon. And when the clock hit 5 P.M., you were one of 5 people in the hall, the rest leaving to head home for the holidays.

"He's not coming, dude. C'mon, ice cream on the way home?" Your friend would suggest.

"But...but it's the last day of school...I mean there weren't any classes, why wouldn't he show up, I don't understand..." You frown, admitting defeat as you start zipping your bag up ready to leave.

"Did anyone truly understand him?" You friend states, rather than questions, locking arms with you and she drags you towards the exit, ranting about her holidays plans.

15 minutes later, the room was nearly cleared out, with just your form room teacher tidying away the paper cups and plates.

"These bloody kids, why am I even a teacher, I would have been on Broadway if it weren't for puberty messing up my lovely voic-" His mumbling is interrupted by the doors slamming open and a teenage boy with a black balaclava mask running towards him.

"AAAAH- This is a school- This is a school in the afternoon, who in earth wants to rob a school past 5 PM, what you even in here for? Gonna steal some pens and pencils, yeah I'd like to see you try, I'm a white belt in Karat- Riley, you? Mate, you're like 6 hours late."

Simon pants in exhaustion, his mask now in his hands, "Sir, -huff- is she here? Am -huff- I too late?"

The teacher huffs in annoyance, "You're not the protagonist of a romance film, Riley, go home. We finished at 4:30. It's 5:15, don't you boys haven't nothing better to do?"

Simon rolls his neck, "Ta...cheers for the wise words." He makes his way towards the exit.

"Happy to help," your teacher groans turning away from him, "Had you been here 15 minutes earlier...maybe you would have caught her...."

Simon pauses in his steps, cursing loudly. Maybe he shouldn't have signed up for the military that day.

He walks home that dark afternoon, forgetting his card for public transport. He checks his phones for notifications, clicking the text messages that he'd marked a spam. It was from you.

He knows he should have called you, at least even texted you. But he was too much of a pussy. It would be weird to hear your voice over the phone, not like hearing it as he sat by you at lunch hearing you ramble.

It's not like you meant something to him, you're...you. Replaceable.

Like every other person he's met.

You don't mean anything to him.

And just like that, 5 years go by just like that.

Okay, so I got this idea in bed, let's see how it goes on paper :P or on my laptop should I say...part 2 in the making hehe

tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @chessecakelover , @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyysho3es

Gaming with König

something short to break the writers block :P

With exams finally finishing, you find yourself slouched against your desk chair, eyes glued to the screen in front.

"Liebling...c'mon let's talk..."

König mumbles, walking into the room. With your finals done, and him on a break, he just wants to spend time with his lover, but instead your attention is devoted to your video games.

"Hmm...5 more minutes..." You grumble out, clicking aggressively to shoot the enemy team.

"Baby, you've been playing for so long..." He tugs at your hoodie, forcing you to fix your posture and sit up straight.

You groan his words, realising your character had died. You turn to König, an idea popping into your head.

"For a sniper, you're quite bad at shooting long distance...oh wait, you're not-"

"Scheisse." König blurts out, the character now frantically running around, taking some damage from a bullet shot. "This mouse is faulty, schtaz..."

Snorting at his words, you lean into the crook of his neck, "Come on, Colonel, you bought it for me for christm-"

"Was zur Hölle- [what in the hell] Schatz! I hate this game." He screams, sitting up straight again, incidentally shoving you away. "When's the next round."

You laugh at his tantrum, massaging his tense shoulders.

"How about I take you with me for the next mission and I'll show you some real shooting, hm?" He suggests, rubbing his temples.

"I dunno babe, given the way you play, I might not come home alive-"

"Schatzi, please." He interrupts, turning to face you with a strict expression, "...the games starting again."

The next few rounds were very hectic, consisting of König screaming at his teammates with the mic on (which definitely led to your account being reported), and then König almost raising his voice at you.

"Why's the gun on the floor?!"

"Kö, you dropped it-"

"How do I pick it up?!"

"Babe, clic-"

"Who's behind me aAaAah-"

"König! Stop-"

Ultimately, the game ended with a disappointing score of 1 - 13, and a few new nail marks imprinted onto the desk where König has gripped out of irritation.

"That was a good game, I see why you like it Schnuki."

You hum in response, inquisitively picking up a random button that had be torn apart from your keyboard - the space bar, amidst König's shooting spams.

He gets up and pats your back, heading to the kitchen to prepare some dinner for the both of you, "Same time tomorrow?"

holy shit exam season is finally over and i'm so bored lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @chessecakelover, @owkittie, @cheomain, @corvusmorte, @k4es, @mandythemint, @copiasratscheese, @yyiikes, @funkyysho3es

König und Prinz: Meine Entführer

toxic! König x Reader - [King and Prince: My kidnappers] Your attempts to run away with your son fails, and your husband confronts you. Seems like he's really influencing your little one. Word Count: 2.8k This is intended to be a oneshot :P SHOUT OUT GOOGLE TRANSLATE, RLY CARRIED THIS FIC

The picture of your husband and father of your child of 10 years, with his arm slung around another woman, really was the pinnacle of your disappointment for the man.

The house, once decorated with handcrafted creations by you and your son, Leon, whom König had frequently nicknamed 'mein kleiner König' [my little king] and 'mein kleiner Prinz' [my little prince] was now all packed away, stored in numerous duffel bags and small cabin suitcases.

"Mama, wohin gehen wir?" [where are we going?]

"Your grandparents." You huff.

It's not like König was cheating on you. He really wasn't. He loved you too much for that. But the constant nagging and the berating on your side truly stressed you to a point where you heavily questioned your relationship.

"Take all your belonging Leon, dunno if we're coming back in a while..."

"Und Papa? [and papa?] Do we need to pack his clothes too?" He aks innocently, peering up at you from down below.

He was a smart boy, your son, though he was barely 7 years old, and already at an outstanding height of nearly 140 cm, there was no doubt that he was König's son.

"No." You halt your movements, thinking of an excuse, "His clothes are already there."

Leon nods. He may be 7, but he's not stupid, and he's upset that you think so little of him. It's apparent that he's closer to his father than to you, and although you're grateful to have such a loving family, you can't help but feel a spike of jealousy whenever your Leon visibly preferred your husband over you.

Like his school's sports day, when you and König had cheered him on as he raced to the finishing line quicker than his classmates. It was an easy win, I mean look at him.

As he crosses the finishing line, he rushes to the both of you, and although you're standing in front of König, with your arms wide open to hold your son, he only just makes a beeline, straight to his father, jumping to press his face into König's chest.

It's little things like this that makes you wonder if your son even recognises you as a parent equal to his beloved father.

The drive to your parent's house was long and awkward, with Leon making small remarks like when his father was going to be there, and what his father was doing at that very moment, and why his father wasn't with you guys that very moment.

"Busy with his bitch I presume..." You mumble under your breath, and you know that if König had heard you, he would've pulled you aside and scolded you for using such foul language around his precious son.

The bond was mutual it seems.

"Mama, papa is calling you." Leon mentions, grabbing at your phone.

"Disconnect." You bark.

"But mama, what if it's wichtig." [important]

"Leon. I said, disconnect it."

He hesitates but eventually listens, hanging up König's call. It's the 5th one of the car ride.

The phone vibrates once more.

Kö: meine liebe, wo bist du??? [my love, where are you???]

Kö: schätze [treasure]

Kö: where are your clothes??

Kö: where's everything???

Kö: where's my son.

Kö: Hör auf, mich zu verarschen [stop fucking with me]

Leon looks outside the window, debating whether to tell you about the spam of texts you're receiving, but he ultimately chooses to stay silent. I mean, you don't need to know.

On the other hand, König is shaking with fear. He never met to be near that woman. I mean she didn't mean anything to him, he barely knew her name!

She was just his senior, and he had to do what he did for that promotion in the ranks...schätze, you would understand, ja?

The moment he enters your home, the eerie silence spooks him, considering he's used to being tackled almost instantly by his wife and little one. Instead, he's faced with the empty walls and cupboards. You were even petty enough to take the TV remote with you, so he was restricted from watching from the newly bought TV.

He calls out your name numerous times, then your son's, running up and down the 3 story house. You two were nowhere in sight, and the lack of clothes from the wardrobes confirmed that his two favourite people had left him

He checks his phone to see a message from you.

Schnucki: hallo papa, wo bist du? Schnucki: it's leon papa :-D

It's his son!

Kö: mein kleiner prinz, wo ist deine mutter? [my little prince, where is your mother?]

"What's happening Leon?" You ask your son, your eyes only darting quickly to your son by the passenger seat, who's squinting and tapping away at your phone now.

"...Just watching Cocomelon, mama."

"Boy, your father told you, you're too old for that show..." You mumble once again, and your son mentally notes that he's going to inform his father about all this mumbling that seems to get on both on their nerves now.

Schnucki: we're going on a trip, where are you papa?

König scoffs, "A trip?", he's going to have to discipline this attitude out of you when he finally gets his hands on you. You should know, König plans all these 'trips', your little self isn't as efficient as he is.

Kö: i'm on my way. remind me where we are going again? Schnucki: an Ihre Schwiegereltern [to your in-laws]

König's rushing to his Jeep when he hears this. This reminds him of the previous time you had run off to your parents with his son. 2 years ago, when Leon had just turned 5, König had suggested that you quit your full-time job so you be a stay at home wife for him and his son. You could home school Leon, but also look after the home with all this new time on your hands.

Of course, you laughed in his face. A Bachelor's degree, a Master's and constant slaving away within a male-dominated industry, just to become a housewife? After a fight ensues, you run for your parents with your infant glued to your hip.

And it's happening all over again.

König starts the car, the journey to his in-laws was about 2 hours by car, a little over 1 if you're speeding. He makes sure to shoot a text to his son whilst driving.

Kö: coming. what can you see around you prinz?

Leon looks out of the window, recognising the area to be one where him and his parents would often frequent to. He sees the Wendy's where he spent his 6th birthday at, with his father munching away at his and Leon's burger in front of him. He cried hard that day.

Schnucki: i see wendys :-D and there's a park, and a field, and a roundabout and a traffic jam Kö: coming

König knows where you are, just half an hour away from your home, you're not too far, and he knows if he speeds quick enough, he can catch up to you soon enough.

But he knows that's not good enough. He needs to teach you a lesson this time for running away for what felt like the 10th time, though it was just the 2nd.

"Mama, why are you mad at papa?"

Leon breaks the silence after 25 minutes. He can't sit here any longer knowing you're this upset at his father.

You stay silent. To be frank, you don't know what the exact reason was.

It was König's behaviour first, the way you'd tell him to clean up after himself and him not listening to you. Sometimes it was him forgetting date night just to watch Austrian movies with his son at home, even if you have them once in 3 months.

The breaking point was for sure when he mentioned a possible promotion at his job at Kortac, him running home and pressing wet kisses all over your's and Leon's face.

He warned you that one of the higher-ups was quite touchy with him, though he'd reminded her he was married with a son multiple times, though pulling his ring finger multiples times. He truly was so proud of you for fulfilling his wish for a family.

Somewhere down the line, it got mistranslated, and at the ranking ceremony, he gets promoted by his superior, with her (unprofessionally, might I add) pressing a kiss against his cheek when he had bent down to receive a new badge.

Though he was shocked, he had to suppress his disgust behind his eyes through his mask, and fake a smile for the camera, which unfortunately captured his arm sitting uncomfortably around her waist.

"Your father's getting bored of me." You say nonchalantly, to your son.

Leon scrunches his face. He's used to coming downstairs in the morning to seeing his parents smooching away, or walking in front of his parents, only to look behind to see their fingers intertwined, with a warm red colour flushed against both their cheeks.

There's no way his father was getting bored, in fact the other way round was more plausible.

"Nein." He defends his father. [no.]

"Nein?" You peer at him, still weary of the cars surrounding you.

"Papa ist verliebt in dich, why can't you see that?" [papa is in love with you]

Leon senses slight hesitation in your answer, and he glimpses at your downturn eyebrows.

"If he's so in love with me, why does he not listen to me..." You state plainly.

The phone vibrates in his hand, silent enough for you not to hear, and his attention turns to the unread messages from his father.

Kö: Prinz, do see a petrol bunk?

Leon looks out the window.

Schnucki: Ja

König thinks to himself, trying to pinpoint your exact location, now that his car is closer to yours.

Kö: tu mir einen gefallen [do me a favour] is the fuel light on?

Leon looks at the beeping petrol light.

Schnucki: Ja Kö: Gut. [good] Tell your mother to fill the tank, I'll meet you at the gas station. Don't tell your mother. Schnucki: was ist, wenn du nicht rechtzeitig kommst? [what if you don't come in time?] Kö: then stall her.

"You need to fill in the tank, mama."

You look at the fuel light beeping, humming in agreement. You wonder how your son even knows what the tank light is, let alone how he realised it was on in the first place.

After driving into the petrol station, and parking by a pump, you fill your car up. As you're about to make a quick trip to the shops to pay for the petrol, your son pops his head out of the open window.

"Can I come? I want a Schokoladentafel [chocolate bar]."

It's about 10:30 P.M. when you make your way to the empty till, ringing the bell on the counter to alert a worker. The gas station was dimly lit, with no one inside, no even by the pumps. You question whether the gas station was even open.

"Where are these people..." You grumble to no one in particular. You begin to look at the close to empty trays of chocolate bars and small packets of crisps

"Keine Ahnung [no clue]." Leon replies, holding your hand in one, his other hand still gripping at the open messages on your phone.

Schnucki: We're here papa, und du? [and you?] Kö: Ich sehe dich [I see you].

Leon giggles to himself, he's finally going to see his father!

"Where's the damn cashier..." You groan, spamming the counter bell now.

"Looking for me?" You hear a voice behind you.

Leon let's go of your hand.

"Jesus, dude finally. Can me and my son pay already, we're alread-mHmMmHPh-"

Before you realise what's happening, a wet cloth is pressed against your mouth and nose, a large hand supporting the back of your head as you falter on your feet.

"Leon..." You eyes close completely and you faint against a chest musky chest. König smiles, finally having his beloved in his arms, gripping your backside and hoisting you up to his left shoulder, where you rest, motionless.

Leon on the other hand, as if witnessing his mother being drugged in front of him was the most normal thing in the world for a 7 year old to see, was jumping against his father side.

"Papa! Pick me up too!"

König chuckles, lifting his son and carrying him on his right flexed bicep, before snatching a few sweets and walking out of the deserted gas station. He hands one to his son, rubbing his mask against his little one.

"alles für meinen Sohn." [anything for my son]

By the time you wake up, the room was dark and it's difficult for you to differentiate whether it was the same day or the next morning. You turn to find your son, only to find that you can't move a muscle.

Ropes are tied around your waist, arms and legs, so any sort of movement was completely restricted, and you're kneeling on the cold smooth floor, bruising your skin. The ropes aren't tied expertly, so you know it's not the work of your husband, whom you're aware was a professional at the art of knots, given his career.

"Meine Blume..." [my flower]

You squint at the sudden voice. Your ears are mildly ringing so the voice is slightly distorted.

"Papa! She's awake..." A second voice, resembling your son's.

A light is shone in your face, and you put your head down, avoiding the light.

"Leon? K...König?" You're not in the same clothes, having been changed into a black sweatshirt and joggers.

"Schnucki...." [sweetie pie] It's König, you recognise the nickname through your phone contacts, "Why do you keep trying to separate this family?"

You're shocked by his words, separate?

"Why must you take my son away from me?" He demands now, his voice getting louder.

You look up to the figure, slowly adjusting to the light, it's König, with Leon still sitting on his biceps.

"Are the ropes too tight, mama?" Your son interupts.

You look down at the tight ropes, ripping at your skin under your clothes.

"Yes...König, what is this? Let me go...Let go of my son..." You can barely speak, the effects of the drugs stlll present in your system

Leon smiles at you, his dimples poking through, "Gut, I tied them on you!"

You blink at your son. They're working together?

"König- König, what are you making my son do-" you cough, and Leon leaps down from König's arms and hugs your head.

"Mama, aren't you proud of me? We can finally be a family together! You don't have to be mad at Papa, I forgave him alre-"

"That's not how it works!" You scream, interrupting Leon.

"Don't you dare shout at him."

You jolt, as König seethes at you, leaning towards you. "If you're going to be mad at someone, be mad at me. Don't drag Prinz into this."

You laugh nervously, "Me? I'm dragging him into this? Are you listening to yourself Kö? You made Leon tie me up- THAT'S NOT NORMA-"

Leon stops you, "Prinz."

"Leon...Prinz..." You try reasoning with him, he seems like the only sane person in the room, which is worrying given that he's only 7.

"Prinz. König und Prinz." König firms, crossing his arms and standing, dominating you physically.

"König, why -cough- are you doing this?"

He laughs, "Schatz, why must you run from me?"

"You and that lady-"

"Nothing happened between them." Prinz interrupts. You cough, looking at Leon Prinz.

"You told my son?"

"He's my son, not a stranger."

"And me? You think it's normal to kidnap your wi-"

"Like you tried to kidnap my son?"

A pause lingers in the air.

"That's not kidnapping.." You reply defensively, "We were visiting my parents..."

"Don't lie, mama..." Prinz shakes his head, disappointingly. "Papa plans all the trips, you know this."

This kid... You think to yourself.

"I'm sorry...okay. It won't happen again..."

Your husband and his sidekick stare down at you, waiting for you to stop beating around the bush.

"You can...can let me go now..."

"No." You can't tell who said that, your son or your husband.

"You'll sit here and think about what you did-"

"-trying to separate this family-"

"-how dare you-"

"-who do you think you are-"

The light turns off now, and your eyes fail to adjust to the rapid light changes, clenching them tightly to rid yourself of the blaring pain in your head. You can't tell who's speaking and the sudden thought of failing as a mother flashes through your head.

"Kön...my head...my son-"

You hit the floor, head first, laying in front of König and Prinz.

There's a silence between the father-son duo.

"Next time, I'll tie the knots better, papa."

König ruffles his head, "Gut gemacht." [good job.]

König, I volunteer 🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️🙋🏽‍♀️ lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply-blog, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @chessecakelover, @owkittie, @cheomain, @corvusmorte, @k4es, @mandythemint, @copiasratscheese, @yyiikes, @funkyysho3es

I’m a bit late to “if I meant something to you” but I JUST READ PART 2 & 3 AND OMG IT WAS SO GOOD EJWJSNDNF

I CANT BELIEVE SHE JUST FUCKING SNAPS AT THE END LIKE YES GIRL YOU DID THAT 😍

It was so good I loved it 🫶 keep up the good work!!!

— 🌘 !

Let's be real the girl had to grow a pair - AND THANK UUU

cutest emoji !! 🌘🌘🌘

your tulips and roses fic was SCRUMPTIOUS omggg 🥹😫✨ i was also wondering are we going to get more Captain Price angsty fics in the future ??

Thank uuuuu

Duh ofc! I live for angst 😝🫶 feel free to give me ideas, anything in particular?

[Part 3] If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Here's Part 1 and Part 2 hehehe enjoy ;> Word Count: 5k trigger warning: drugging. viewer discretion is adviced.

Dating Simon reminded you of the British economy, constant fluctuations.

He would stay over at your flat, shower you with wet kisses, and the next day he'd walk right past you as if you didn't exist.

It felt like at times Simon did really love you. He listened you to, he brushed and plaited your hair post sex, but sometimes it's like his brain would switch and his behaviour would mimic that of a ghost.

Though it been nearly 3 months since he'd popped that question in the car, you often found yourself regretting your decision.

"I do like him...but I mean- it's just, he doesn't like me back you know? Sometimes I wake up and he's just staring at me like I've just told him I've killed his dog. I mean, he doesn't have a dog I don't think, but if he did, he'd prefer the dog over me, y'know.

I don't even know why I said yes that day. I mean, he's the first real guy that's actually shown interest in me. Maybe that's why I crave his attention so much. He makes me actually enjoy being with my family, if that's so hard to believ-"

"With all due disrespect, d'ya know you?" Your neighbour answers finally.

You stare back, blood rushing to your face, "I literally live next door to you. I smile at you before I leave for work every morning-"

"So, there's nothing wrong with your face?

"What? You know me- and I'm talking about Simon, he's next door to me too..."

"What?"

"You know skull face..."

"Who?"

"Tall buff dude, y'know."

"Huh?

"Riley-"

"Oh, the guy with the big dick."

You choke on your saliva, "What- How? Um..."

"Military dude yeah? The fit blonde? Yeah, he's big, if you get what I'm saying, virgin."

You furrow your eyebrows, words trailing off, "No I'm not...I'm sorry, how'd you know..."

"Yeah, he's fucked like everyone in this building, girl. Why d'ya think he doesn't come to the flat meetings? 'Cos then he'd be surrounded by all the people he's stuck his dick in, duh." She states like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Guy comes in, drinks a bit, and runs out."

"...I thought it was because he was nervous to see....me?" At this point, you don't know if you're telling your neighbour or asking her.

"Oh girl don't be delusional, you ain't no Beyonce. Anyway, been a while since I got that dick. Let 'im know next time you see 'im." She winks at you before, hobbling off with her walking stick.

"Yeah...sure...wait- Mrs Brenda, you're like 65... AND MARRIED-"

When the 3rd month anniversary mark finally reached, Simon decided to treat you to an expensive meal at a luxurious restaurant.

And by that I mean, 6 McNuggets at Maccies.

"They're cold, babe." He complains, slouching across you, one leg bent and propped on his seat.

Yes, Simon. Because you spent 15 minutes arguing with the worker for an extra packet of mayo. But you refrained yourself from saying that, in case you'd anger him further.

"So how's the task force?"

You've learnt very little about Simon, one part that stuck out to you was that the people he was closest to was his team in the military, naming his Captain John Price, who seemed to pop up in every conversation the two of you had.

"You got that 'lil mustache on yer face again."

"Excuse me?"

"Nah babe, it's cute. Reminds me of Captain's."

It hurt even more when he showed you a picture of John Price and you're face to face with a middle aged man with a full grown beard, who's being compared to the peach fuzz on your upper lip.

"Team's good." He sighs out of exhaustion. "Soap's engaged now, y'know."

You smile, mind suddenly racing to the thought of Simon proposing to you, but you shake it away, oddly cringing at the thought.

"'Old man's thinking of getting transferred to the States. Finally..."

The thought of Simon being jealous over his Captain was always a hidden theory for you. He'd mention it so frequently, it was as if he was keeping tabs on his superior, bringing it up at every moment at his signs of weakness. And when he'd compare Price to you, it was never in a positive light, rather one where it felt like he was looking down at Price, but through you.

You wondered if Simon had a superiority complex, and maybe that's why he'd chosen a little naive lamb like you, to project all of his insecurities onto you.

I mean, you're not gonna do anything about it are you? Nah, you're gonna take it like the good little girl you are.

I mean you are right now- literally.

His dick is cramped right in your pussy, his rounded tip rapidly kissing at your cervix. His chapped lips crash against yours, but you can't seem to ignore the faint taste of his Big Mac through his mouth.

"Can tell your cunt likes that, 'lil slut." He seethes out, through inconsistent breaths. You can barely hear him, through the sound of your sweaty bodies colliding and the ringing through your head.

You hum uncomfortably. It was gonna be a long night.

The following weekend, you find yourself spending eons getting dolled up for a get together at the base. You decorated your face with a bold smokey eye, paired with a lined red lip, only to be mocked by Simon.

"Red? We're going to base, not the circus."

So you take off the lipstick. And the eye makeup. In fact, even when you changed from a tight black pencil skirt to a matching sweatshirt and joggers combination, you still find yourself being berated by Simon.

"Getting kinda lazy with the clothes huh, love?" He asks, cocking his eyebrows towards you.

Is he for real?

Grunting in response, you look out the window, shoving your headphones in, grateful for the noise cancelling feature so you wouldn't have to sit through Simon's mouth breathing throughout the journey.

The meeting itself was as awkward as imagined. The moment the pair of you entered the room, Simon decided to detach his arm wrapped around your shoulder and immediately brisk walk to the nearest woman possible. If he was trying to fool his team to thinking he was single...boy was he good at it.

Being left out in an unfamiliar space was unfortunately not too foreign for you, and you quickly found solace by the water fountain, sipping on a plastic cup of lukewarm water.

"Bored, eh?"

You jump, having zoned out.

You turn to a man you've seen oh so many times on Simon's phone.

"Captain John Price?" You smile.

"The one and only, lass. My, a pair of sweatpants. Priorising comfort, are we?" He jokes, lightly.

"Were you expecting lingerie?"

"Pretty either way." He chuckles, and you eye the way his eyes squint as he smiles, and the smile lines painting his cheeks. You shouldn't be looking at your boyfriend's competition captain this way.

You're at peace with John. You find yourself opening up about yourself, something you now know you couldn't truly do around Simon. John cared about what you said, reacting to every joke you dropped here and there, unlike Simon, who plays connect the dots with your forehead blemishes as you rant passionately.

John chuckles, "Oh God. Work sounds intense."

You hum, admiring his laughter, which cuts off to the sound of a loud buzzing (buttplug?) coming from his back pocket. He excuses himself from the conversation, but you can't help but eavesdrop.

"John Price speaking. Yes. Uh huh-what? Another soldier? Same substance? Christ's sake...Doctor's got a name? Succiny- Succinylc- what? Okay, okay. I'm coming, gimme 20 minutes-what, now? I'm...busy" He turns to flash you a small smile, "Okay, fine. Dammit."

"You okay, seemed urgent?"

He dramatically sighs, "We both got work problems...There's been a...how do i say this...another one of our soldiers have been getting drugged?" It sounds more of a question than an answer, "We think it's some sort of new drug on the black market, and now that our enemy's have a hold of it, our soldiers...fuck, getting drugged left, right and centr- Sorry, um, unauthorized information..." He trails off, realising he's said too much.

You're ears perk up, "Drugs? What are the um, symptoms?" You can't help but be curious.

John looks around, as if to check if anyone was listening to the conversation, though most people are hammered on hardcore liquor and cigarettes. He lowers his voice, "Starts off with headaches, nausea, then there's seizures...worst case scenario is paralysis. Gotten 4 of our soldiers already, poor men, had to be medically dismissed...."

You hum, silently and unsure of what to reply with. If you were attempting to flirt with John, the mood had definitely dissipated.

"But hey, listen. You ever need a change of pace, a better job, you can call me." He grabs your hand, and messily writes his phone number with a biro, winking before he leaves.

Maybe you will call him.

As the sky becomes darker and the clock strikes past 9 P.M., you find yourself walking outside the building, searching for Simon.

"...annoying."

Huh? You peer over the corner to overhear the conversation. Was that Simon?

"..follows me around a sad 'lil shit."

Was he talking about you?

You catch a quick glance, confirming that it was indeed a drunk Simon, with who you believe was Soap.

"Her mum's hotter, too. All over me." Simon boasts, whipping out his phone, presumably to show them a picture of your mother, as it sparks a 'milf alert' comment from Soap.

"...nothing compared to her. She's like a doormat."

You look at Simon, and for a second, you swear he made deliberate eye contact with you.

"She's fuckin' spineless."

For a moment, time pauses.

...

Spineless.

You're spineless.

I mean, it may be true. But the truth doesn't always have to come out, no?

After doing so much for this man, you'e still...spineless?

Laying at the comfort of your bed, dragging a tipsy Simon out of the car and him rushing to his flat, you find yourself gazing down at the smudged ink on your palm. Maybe it's time to switch your job.

Who knows who you'll run into...

That night, you rest, dreaming about John Price.

You're in an abyss in your dreams, John's pale muscular arms wrap around your frame, with the faint scent of cigars and whisky wafting around your nose. You blink and you see the bottom of his groomed beard, and small smile resting on his tired face.

You blink once more. But this time, you don't see John Price. This time, you're staring into the sullen eyes of a skeleton-masked man, lifelessly staring straight at you with no emotion. You look down the body of Simon.

The lower half of his body was missing.

By the third blink, you jolt awake and look around, but this time you're on the floor wrapped in your quilt and covered in sweat. Very much alone.

What was this dream trying to tell you?

The jump from retail to cyber-operations was large and challenging. You went from serving customers to quite literally serving the country, from scanning items to defending the weapon's system. But 2 weeks into your new career and you feel like you've actually put your degree to some use.

Your family have been ringing you almost weekly, asking about your new position, although it's mainly your mother interrogating you about Simon.

And to say he was upset with your choice of working with the army, was an understatement, in his words, he felt like you were crowding him in all areas of his life. His home, his workplace, and now his mind.

You'd ask him to drop you off, considering he's going the same way, but he'd come up with unjustified excuses.

"Can't. Need to be there early."

"Nah, gonna distract me, love."

"Can't be seen with you." He mutters the last one, but you're not deaf and Simon can't exactly whisper very well. Sometimes you wonder why you haven't broken up with him.

So you've resorted to the next option.

Public transport. Calling John Price.

"You're not a burden, sweetheart. Who's been tellin' you that?"

You subordinate <3 But you can't say that, so you resort to casually laughing at his question. You can't help but think about the reoccurring dream you've been having, they always start the same.

You're in a abyss, and you're in the arms of John Price, you blink and suddenly face to face with the half-corpse of Simon. You're struggling to work out the deeper message of the visio-

"Love, you there? Went to lala-land or something?"

Think about John Price. Focus on him, why are you still bound to that jerk? You think.

"I'm good. So uh, how's the situation with you? And the um...drugs thing?" You look at him, your words surprising yourself, since when did you have an interest in drugs?

"Oh, uh. We're not allowed to disclose that sweetheart...besides, Simon didn't tell you? Kinda big thing here..."

Of course, Simon wouldn't tell me, why would he? You tell me, John.

You give him your best puppy dog eyes, eyebrows knitting together, "Oh..."

He runs his thick fingers through his brunette hair, adjusting himself in his seat, "Succinylcholine. There's a mixture, but that's the main component. Causes paralysis to the legs and spine...seems like that's what they wanted, to paralyse our soldiers, 7th victim this we..."

Paralysis huh. You turn to look at the passing trees outside the windows. Paralysis to the spine and legs...

By the time you reach work, you're at your computer by your desk, typing away at the lines of code on your programme, once again eavesdropping to the conversations in your vicinity.

"...it's the same location they keep getting deployed, why are they getting deployed there again?"

"Captain Price is going this time..."

"...2nd guy's in a coma now..."

The chatter dies down to the loud slam of the door: Your supervisor.

"People. Come on. Chop chop, we have deadlines to meet. Stop the chatter, fucks sake."

You get back to your screen, but you can't help but shake the unsettling feeling off your mind.

Ding!

11:26 A.M. Si:- Come outside on your break. Need to talk.

I guess you're finally breaking up.

"Getting deployed."

Simon's scarred hands caress yours, gently lifting your ring finger and slotting a shiny silver ring, with a skull stuck in the center. You think back to the times where you told Simon that you preferred gold jewelry over silver, since it complimented your skin tone better. To love is to be seen I guess.

A crowd of soldiers begin whistling at the scene, and Simon retracts his hands almost instantaneously.

"Wanted to give this to you for anniversary...but I ordered it a little late."

You hum, immediately twisting the ring around your ring. It's tight and cramped.

"How's work?" He asks, his eyes roaming around the people behind you, his gaze not falling on you once since the conversation had started.

"Oh it's goo-"

"Cool. So um, here's my key if you need something." He hands you his key, more like shoving it into your chest, before pressing a chaste kiss on your forehead and running off towards the crowd of soldiers that were now practicing drills.

Seems like you've gotten promoted from girlfriend to house-keeper.

By 8 P.M., you and a handful of your colleagues began to go home.

With your 4th cup of caffeine in your hand, you check Simon's text once more.

7:52 P.M. Si:- What time u finish Si:- 8? Si:- Too long to wait, going home

He couldn't wait 8 minutes?

As you trudge past the empty hallway, you're met face to face with the door of the lab, which you notice was half open.

You felt like a character in Alice in Wonderland. Trespassing is a crime, is it not?

A normal person would just inform a staff member and go home right? Definitely wouldn't enter the room. And definitely wouldn't head straight towards the counter that held various labelled test tubes.

Definitely wouldn't snatch a test tube labelled danger, and most definitely stuff it in their bag and run out the door, as if they haven't basically committed a crime.

But it's a good thing you wouldn't consider yourself a normal person.

The wind blows against your skin when you finally make it outside, and it feels like natures punishing you for breaking into the army's laboratory. With your bag clutched tightly against your chest, your mind begins racing - what if someone saw you? What about cameras? What if-

"There you are love. Thought I'd have to come 'n get you myself."

John leans against his range rover, wrapping his large military jacket around your shoulders, and you instantly lean into his towering frame.

"John...didn't you go home?"

He shakes his head. "Saw Simon speeding off the moment we finished, thought you needed a ride, especially at this time."

The wind blows against you again, and your smile falters, remembering the contents of your bag.

"Can we go home now? Please?"

A comforting silence accompanied the drive, with John's palm ghosting your thigh ever so slightly and you had to resist every urge in your body to just lock hands with him.

So you do.

His large hand encompassing yours completely. If his grin could widen anymore, they just did, and you swear you could see faint dimples decorating his cheeks.

But they fall just as quickly, jerking his hand back.

"Nice ring."

You're visibly confused, eyes dragging back to the tight skull band wrapped around your ring finger.

Fuck you, Simon.

When you exit John's car at the entrance of the block of flats, your eyes catch another deep brown pair of menacing eyes, standing at the balcony, hiding behind a black balaclava. You can't see the lower portion of the face, but you'd bet your life that there was a smirk hidden behind the cloth.

You grit your teeth, tossing the ring by the nearest bush as the car drives off. The grip around your bag tightens, and you remember the test tube.

If you're going to ruin my chances of love, I'll ruin your chances of life, Simon Riley.

A week later and the test tube lay aimlessly on your bedside time, alongside a small post card gifted yesterday from your truly. John Price, that is, not Simon.

Leaving soon - If I find something you like, I'll bring it for you :-D - J Price

Even the way he drew his little smiley faces warmed you.

On the other hand, Simon had shot you a single text, ignoring all the spelling mistakes.

Si:- bee home ina mont. by.

When he gets home, you're immediately breaking up with him, assigning yourself mental homework.

But for the meanwhile, you have to decide what to do with the test tube...for now you decide it's too risky to keep it at home, who knows if the wrong people get their hands on it.

So you opt to shoving into deep into your purse.

At work, as you walk back to your team's common room, you hear the commotion coming from the...laboratory?

"Doctor, how careless are you?"

"Sir...I-I-I didn't do anything! The lab was locked, I don't know who would have taken it-"

"And how are we sure you haven't stolen it? I mean for all we know, you might have the drug at home. How do we know you're a traitor and working for the other side. I should have you reported."

"Boss, you've known me for the longest! And why don't you stop shouting me and get these cameras fixed already-"

"Captain Price's gonna flip and fire his entire team when he comes back-"

"If he comes back that is-"

"Boy if you don't shut your mout-"

Scurrying to the common room, you shut the door abruptly. You don't why you stole the drug, but you do know you can't let anyone find out about what you did.

Not Simon.

Not John.

A month had nearly gone by, and a train of gifts has began coming, from small affirmation notes to bags of lego flower bouquets and teddy bears. All of course, accompanied by a small note with the signature smiley face :-D.

Considering the notes weren't hand written, you couldn't tell whether it was from Simon or John, though it was quite obvious. Even though you liked John, you couldn't help but feel some sort of sorrow towards Simon. I mean, who else does he have apart from you?

On a dark Friday evening while you and your team were getting ready to leave, the sound of shouting followed by stampede coursed through the hallway. Screams of terror broke from whom you made out to be doctors and nurses.

"What's happening?" You turn to your coworker.

"More people have gotten drugged, like 7 this time..."

You couldn't help but feel a wave of guilt washing over you, considering a sample of the weapon of the crime was quite literally concealed with your belongings.

"Oh -"

"Apparently, Captain Price and Liutentant Riley were involved."

That was enough to strike a nerve. You don't know which name hit you harder, but before your colleague could even stop you, you began sprinting down the hallway towards the hospital rooms.

By the time you reach though, it's already too late, and the doors have shut, the nurse informing you that surgeries have already begun undergoing. But for who, they didn't disclose.

It didn't matter who it was, you just had a reoccurring thought that if maybe you had left the sample alone, maybe a curve could have already been developed.

Oh God, this is your fault isn't it....?

A person's going to die in your hands, and you're not even a soldier.

With discomfort running through your nerves, you sit by the hospital rooms, your hands feeling heavy under the weight of your head, waiting to hear more from the nurses. But as they rush in and out of the room with urgency, your voice gradually drowns out by the monotonous beeping of the machines inside.

4 hours go by, and you can't tell if it from the lack of sleep or not, but the staff around you shoot you looks of pity as if you're in critical condition. Those hours in the waiting room felt like hell, and you couldn't help but notice the lack security in the building. No cameras again, huh?

"Nurse, is John Price in there?" You ask wearily, the strain in your voice was evident.

The nurse shakes her head, "It's Lieutenant Riley."

Your breath hitches, and unfortunately you can't help but a slight feeling of relief.

"Is he okay? Was he...drugged?"

The nurse clenches her jaw, "That information can't be disclos-"

"He's my boyfriend." You urge, standing up to meet the nurse eye to eye.

The palpable tension in the air was uncomfortable and pervasive, hanging over the room like a heavy fog, and the nurse eventually breaks, slowly opening the door to what looked like a corpse.

"No traces of the drugs were found in his body, but there's no way to really say in the early stages...He is displaying some symptoms however..." She reads off a clipboard.

You nod, though her words aren't really getting to your head, "Like...paralysis?" There's no movement from the bed, just the constant ringing from the machines.

The nurse pauses, "No. Headaches, and muscle pain, just the regular. Bullet shot in the shoulder, but that's been taken care off. We're still monitoring him. I'll be outside if you need anything." With that she leaves, shutting the door behind you. And you find yourself alone with Simon's corpse.

Simon's face looks like broken china, like fine art but damaged externally, yet still holding the essence of its beauty within. His features, usually composed and serene, now bore the cracks of strain and worry. His under eyes were now darker than ever, and you couldn't help but press your now tear soaked lips across his rough cheek, until you stopped.

His neck, though scarred, bore scattered red marks, which you know could be confused with a rash. But it wasn't.

They were hickies.

Fresh hickies.

It's been a month since you've last seen Simon, so you immediately rule out yourself, disregarding the fact that you haven't even been intimate with anyone in a while.

As you sit beside the bed, a surge of anger rises within you, fueled by the betrayal and disappointment coursing through your veins. You want nothing more than to confront Simon, to unleash a torrent of accusatory questions upon him, but you know it would be futile.

His chest rises and falls gently, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you.

The situations looks like that particular scene straight from your dreams. Dark room, alone with Simon, him laying there still.

His body is still intact, you think. Intact and littered with marks.

You try to recall what happens in the dreams after this, but you always wake up at the last second.

And you can't help but inch your hand towards your purse., the outline of the test tube screaming at you to finally use it.

Use it for the reason you had originally stolen it for.

Use me.

Drug him. It screams. It's not like he ever loved you? Francesca, remember her? The other women? Your own mother, your own flesh and blood? Think about the times he forgot your anniversary, your birthday, when he insulted you, in front of you, in front of others, hell, even behind your back! You're spineless remember.

I mean you'd be doing the world a favour, getting rid of this from this world, wouldn't you?

Wouldn't you.

John Price would be proud of you wouldn't he?

He finally be with you.

With a steady hand, you reached into your purse and retrieved the test tube, its contents glinting in the dim light of the hospital room. You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest, before steeling yourself and uncapping the tube.

The acrid scent of the drug filled the air, its toxic fumes making you gag slightly. But you pushed past the discomfort, focusing all your attention on the task at hand. With precision, you extracted the entire liquid from the tube and carefully poured it into Simon's IV drip, mentally wincing at how effortlessly you had manipulated the situation.

You have to get rid of the drug somehow, and if it means using it against him, then so be it.

The next morning had come and you're awaken by the phone buzzing by your bedside table, the screen lighting up with John's name. You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before you finally answer, steeling yourself for whatever news awaits you on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Your voice comes out strained, betraying the anxiety churning within you.

"Hey angel, it's me," John's voice crackles through the phone, the urgency in his tone palpable. "You need to come to the hospital. It's Simon."

Without a word, you hang up the phone and hail a cab, the journey to the hospital passing in a blur of anxious thoughts and racing heartbeat. Did they find out you stole the drugs? No...how could they? The empty test tube is in your bin, at home, not at the hospital and there's no cameras at you recall...

Arriving at the hospital, you're met with a scene of controlled chaos. Doctors and nurses bustle about, their faces tense with worry. You navigate through the maze of corridors, the familiar scent of antiseptic hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, you reach Simon's bedside, and what you see makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach. Simon manually lies propped up against the pillows, his face pale and drawn, his body racked with violent tremors as he retches into a basin. The sight is enough to make you physically ill, although it slowly dissipates, seeing the now purple marks on his necks darkening.

John appears beside you, and without a word, he takes your hand in his, his grip steady and reassuring, pressing a small kiss at the side of your head. In that fleeting moment, the world falls away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time.

"I'll be outside," he mumbles, leaving with you with Simon.

With a heavy heart, you take a seat beside him. Simon looks up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of confusion. It takes all your strength to meet his gaze, the truth burning like acid on your tongue.

"Hey." He groans out. He can barely move, as his head painfully cranes to look at you, the effects of the drugs taking effect slowly.

"What happened." But it's more of a demand than a question.

Simon sniffs, "Traces of drugs..."

"No. I meant your neck."

He pauses, like he was trying to carefully choose his words, though he didn't have much of a escape now.

"Don't act like I see you and Price-"

"Don't bring him into this, Simon."

Don't lie to me anymore.

A tear rolls down his cheek, but you can't tell if it's crocodile tears or not.

"They-they... dismissed me."

You hum, a smirk gradually building up on your face.

"Why?"

Simon closes his eyes, "Back. My spine. Can't move it..."

You let out a slow, deep breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you like a heavy stone.

"I know." Your voice is barely above a whisper, but the words hang heavy in the air between you. "I drugged you."

Simon's eyes wince once again, studying your face silently.

"Excuse me?" He begins.

You stand up, placing your purse back on your shoulder.

"What- what do you mean? You he-heard me? Love. Listen to me-"

You walk towards the door.

"WAIT. Wait. What do you mean you knew? You said you knew. What. What did you do. Sweetheart. Come back. Let's talk. You love me don't you? I love you! Where's that ring I gave you?"

You laugh, twisting the door handle.

"Baby, you better not fuckin' leav- THEY'LL FIND OUT-"

"And who's going to believe a damaged, deluded man, Simon Riley? You were out on a mission, I'll pin the blame on the enemies."

Simon shakes in his bed, unable to control any part of his body now. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME- HOW FUCKIN' DARE YOU- After that life I gave you-"

"Life? You call that living?"

"I LOVED YOU WHEN NO ONE ELSE DID-" His voice is painfully loud now, you're wondering how no one's running to his room already.

"Love? You don't know one thing about love, you fucker."

"I should have never fucked you, you- YOU BITCH-" He shouts, his body flailing violently, globes of tears racing down his clenched jaw and red cheeks.

"Rot in hell Simon Riley, I guess we're both fucking spineless now."

And that's a wrap for this mini seriesss - thank all of you for sticking around ;D IM AWARE IT TOOK SO LONG- I KEPT WRITING IT AND FOR SOME REASON IT DIDN'T AUTOSAVE LIKE TWICE??? SO I HAD TO REWRITE IT- Quick Notes: Let's all be real. We wanted reader to get with ol' john boy. But let's also be for real, if Reader was an object, she'd be a doormat. Although I've implied John Price x You, the bitch really needs to focus on herself and sort her shit out right now 💀 in the near future they're together for sure. ALSO the reference of drugs is highly inaccurate but let's all switch our imaginations on <3 lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12 , @restrictionsapply-blog , @lunamoonbby , @nigthmar3moon , @thychuvaluswife , @itsnourm , @bubusi11, @owkittie, @cheomain , @corvusmorte , @k4es , @mandythemint , @copiasratscheese , @yyiikes , @funkyyysho3s

HEYY DAWG, hope you’ve had an awesome time so far. I wanted to ask if you have any plans to make a part 2 of “A Ghost of a Connection” Ghost fanfic. I lowkey been stalking ur page, hoping. No pressure tho. 😊😊

DAWG YOU GOT ITT part 2 under constructionnn

The pressure is on 😭

Again I apologise for the delay, I've got uni exams coming so I've been busy revising 😭😭😭

i literally check ur acc everyday for part 3😭

NOOO IM SORRY ITS COMING PROMISE IM HALFWAY THRU

hey girlie.just wanted to ask a question if you are working on 'if i meant something to you' part 3, when are you gonna update 'ghost of a connection' ? love ya tho bye💕

Ly222

I wasn't actually planning to write a part 2 to Ghost of a connection, but if that's what the people want, then that's what the people get :P

Lemme write part 3 to If I meant something to you, and I'll see from there!

I'm so excited for the Ghost fanfic part3 <333, Also bro you're doing great and your English is actually amazing, thank you for blessing us with your cute fics ♥️

Thank you so much for being here!!!

I'm gonna try harder to get the grammar perfectttt

lord i need part 3 of if i meant something to you to have a happy ending for reader at least 😭🙏 other than that i love tulips and roses so glad i found you

THANK U FOR FINDING ME 😄

What if I fucked around and gave reader a sad ass ending heheheheh-

Okay so I'm rereading Tulips and Roses, and omds there's so many spelling errors 💀💀💀

I wanna say it's cos English isn't my first language, but it practically is...

And everytime I try to edit them, Tumblr glitches and the changes aren't saved-

Omg I love your fics, your writing is so good! When are you going to update the "If I meant something to you?" Simon Riley fanfic?

Thank you!!!!

I'm currently writing the 3rd and final part but icl I'm going through writer's block and I've literally only written one sentence, but dww it's cominggg, thank you for being patient 😄

OMG THIS IS SO NICE THANK UUUU 🫶🫶🫶🫶

I'm happy that the writing affected people this much heheheh

Lemme make it clear -> The act of John giving roses (+ tulips) to his wife at the end was meant to symbolise that he no longer associates Rose with roses, rather now with u !!

rose era is over :) tulips are now in season 🌷

(Rose<<<)

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

[Part 2] If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Here's part 1 hee hee hee hee Here's part 3 You believe Simon's changed his ways after your sister's engagement. After his actions, you still want him, but does he want you? Word Count: 3.6k

A half naked woman running out of Simon's flat? A surprise indeed it was.

You really thought he reciprocated the same feelings as you did at one point, for once in your life feeling as if someone truly did want you for you, but that fantasy had dried out, and it was clear Simon had no intentions with you.

Your replacement proved it.

Before you began to weep in front of the Brit again, you hurried to your flat door, rummaging through your sweatshirt pockets for your key, wanting to wallow back into a state of depression in the comfort in your own home.

Simon didn't follow you, instead he just leaned against his door frame, sexily might I add, intensely watching you clumsily rip out past receipts and snotty used tissues from your pockets. He wanted to say something, ask you how your day had been, even thought it just turned 9 A.M.

Then it hit you.

You think back to your previous steps. You woke up at 8:30, you read the texts from your sister, made yourself some coffee, which you definitely think had gone off, and left your home, feigning a state of happiness.

You didn't take your keys with you. They sat on your kitchen counter, almost like they were mocking you for being so careless.

Banging your head against the door, you curse, "Fuck's sake...."

You mentally note that this is probably one of the most humiliating scenes you've found yourself in, nearly as bad enough as your 18th birthday, when your parents congratulated your younger brother instead of you accidently.

Simon exhales a puff of smoke towards your direction, you were so fixed on trying to get inside, you didn't catch him lazily eyeing you whilst lighting a cigarette into his mouth.

"You...wanna come inside?" He asks nonchalantly, looking at the sky, avoiding your gaze as if to seem cooler than you.

"Why would I do that? I don't wanna know where that bitch has been..." You scoff, referring to the girl. You want to look away from him, but his blonde chest hair glistens in the sunlight, enticing you to follow his instructions. He's not even all military mode on you but you already find yourself acting submissive around his presence again.

He grunts, thinking about what to say next, "Well for starters, Francesca's no one...and, where else are ya gonna go?" The sarcasm is sharp in his voice.

So you were replaced by a Francesca.

"And listen love, face it, you need something from me, come in so we can talk. Can't guarantee we'll do a lot of talkin' though..." His words trails off, trying to convince you. Boy, is it working...

His eyebrows are raised, and he purposely flexes his still wet pecs.

Fuck it. You think, barging into his room, purposely bumping shoulders.

You finally enter Simon's room for the first time.

Simon wasn't completely heartless.

Yes, his childhood trauma resulted in his avoidant nature, ignoring his team in order to work alone on the field, disobeying his Captain to do what he'd deemed as best, and even ghosting you ever time you tried reaching out to you. What you didn't know though, was that Simon had given you his previous phone number, one he doesn't use anymore...

Late nights in his hospital bed led him trying to stalk you through Facebook, which no one your age uses by the way (don't tell him that), and every time his searches led him to nothing.

Had he not been so foolish, he would have manned up and straight up demanded you for your number. But he didn't, instead he told you he'd find you if he needed you, which was becoming more and more infrequent.

Yet here he lies, now clad in a loose black top and sweatpants, sitting across from you on his couch in his oddly empty room, hearing you out.

"'Kay so, your sister wants you at her engagement and you need a date, and you have no other friends but me, and you want me to be your fake date." He repeats back to you.

You hum, "For someone that didn't finish secondary school, you're quite smart."

Simon chuckles at the reciprocates banter, "And...what's in it for me?"

You scrunch your nose, "What?"

"What's in it for me." He enunciates his word, as if speaking to a baby, "What do I benefit from this?"

"Are you fuckin' for real, you've basically used me for your own pleasure, and you can't even fake a relationship in front of my family for like a couple of hours?"

You stand up, ready to leave, not willing to be disrespected again.

"Love, listen," Simon pulls on your arms, and you begin to notice the fresh scars decorating his forearms.

"Our relationship...platonic of course, it's like a business. You want something, you gotta work for it."

You're stunned, did he just insinuate that you were merely a business partner to you? Can this man be anymore of an ass, than he already is, reducing your relationship to a step below a 'situation-ship'.

"What possibly could I have that you need?"

"Yeah," he gruffs out, contemplating his decision, "not money 'cos I got more of that than you..."

He sits there in mock confusion, but you had a feeling he knew what he wanted from you the moment you spat out your request at his door earlier.

Before you try cursing him out again, your attention shifts to the ping from your phone, another unfamiliar number, but not from your sister.

10:32 A.M. ####:- Hey kiddo, how's life been treating you. ####:- Finally gotta a job? ####:- Can't wait to see you, your brother's been waiting to introduce you to his new girlfriend, good addition to the family this time I think. ####:- You're getting older now, unmarried and unemployed. Chop Chop.

Great, just a monthly reminder from your father that you've already been replaced by your brother's new fling for the week.

Now you really needed that date.

"I'll fuck you." You state.

Simon stares at your new found dominance, standing up to purposely look down at you and tower over you, disliking the sense of authority shifting between you two.

"Once again, dove."

"Just. Fuck. Me. Simon. Get this shit over with." You command.

Okay, now you actually felt used. Blackmailed into having sex with Simon, just for him to get what he wants really was the all time low for you. And you've hit rock bottom multiple times.

You wake up light-headed, in Simon's empty bed. The bedside table held a small note in messy handwriting and a singular key.

Headed out to the pub, got a spare key for your room. You better be out of there by the time I get back. Jesus, you got the hint.

You wonder why and where Simon got a spare key from, realising that this situation could have been rectified from the beginning, instead he basically coerced you into sex just to fulfill his needs.

Your mother would die if she knew what your life was like.

Walking back into your room, you shoot a text to Simon, your now fake date, informing him of the fool-proof plan you'd come up with.

As you rest on your couch, thinking about the future ahead of you, and your head unconsciously drifts to that dreaded question:

What if you hurt Simon like he's hurt you?

The next few days was filled with your evenings trying to explain the dynamics of your family to Simon and teaching him more about you.

"And what, they went to the theme park and just left you there? Ain't that borderline abuse?" He questions, a small guilty feeling arising in the pit of your stomach learning about how similar both of yours fucked childhood was like.

You shrug, used to being kicked to the curb. You stop yourself before making some remark that he has no right to act upset about your parents behaviour when he's acting no better.

You tell him your middle name, hell, you tell him the correct spelling of your first name, and you stare at him, embarrassed that this hunk has pounded at your core but doesn't even know the vowels in your name.

"And last week was my birthday if they ask, and you better tell them I celebrated it by going to the cinema with my friends." You inform him, hoping some of this information gets retained into his pea sized head.

Simon cringes, unaware of your birthday, recalling the numerous amount times you'd shot him a smile that day, urging at least one person to wish you a happy birthday. He cocks his head, "What friends?" before correctly himself, "I mean, names wise."

"....you gotta make them up."

Note to self: Make new friends.

The big day comes and you and Simon had driven to the venue of your sister's engagement party. Extravagant was an understatement. Anyone that would look at this event would assume your parents were millionaires, but they're not considering only 2 out of 3 children received trust funds.

You wore a sleek black dress with a slit by your right leg, and Simon matched with a clean black suit which, by the way, you paid for.

Though you would usually drink in his appearance, his recent brooding behaviour gnawed in your mind, so no matter how many smiles he sent your direction, they couldn't dispel the unease settling in your gut.

The first hour consisted of the pair of you awkwardly standing around, drinking numerous glasses of the finest champagne, with his broad arm hovering over your shoulder.

"Where's the family?" He asks eyeing every guy that even so glances your direction.

You shrug, glancing at your unread messages to your sister.

1:00 P.M. You:- hey :) made it, wru??? You:- looks very grand btw!! 1:29 A.M. You:- hello? where's ma? 1:37 A.M. You:- champagne's tastyyy You:- hi wru 1:59 A.M. You:- bruh did you rly invite me just to ignore me???

Simon winces at your phone, reminding himself to finally get your number so at least someone would reply to your messages.

"You made it!"

You both turn around at the chirpy voice, instantly locking eyes with your sister.

"Hey, you didn't read my texts, been here for an hour now." You question, as you're being pulled into a hug.

"Oh that was you? Sorry, I haven't saved you on my phone," she laughs. You glance at Simon almost offended by that, even though you hadn't saved her number either.

"Introduce me to the big guy!" She nudges you, and Simon interrupts you before you open your mouth.

"Lieutenant Simon Riley, and uh- also boyfriend." He extends his arm, and you can't tell whether he's faking his grin or not.

She drags his forearms, yanking him away from you and ushering him along eagerly., "You need to meet my family, come come!", as they walk off together, and you find yourself standing there, left to socialise with someone else.

At 3 P.M., you navigate yourself to your family and your 'boyfriend', whom at this point, had really seemed to fit in with the community. Your father hadn't believed that you scored a buff military commander, and if he wasn't unhappily married to your mother, you'd bet 10 quid that he'd be all over Simon.

"Served in Afghanistan huh?" He chuckles boisterously.

"Yes sir." Simon actually looks like he's having fun, displaying the look of admiration for having an almost father-like figure in his life. He begins you question why you dislike your family so much, they're great!

"And you watch football lad?" He pats Simon on his back.

"Avid fan, sir."

Your father shakes Simon's hand, immediately surprised by his firm grip, "Good man. Don't let go of this one, love." He nods towards you, his smile twitching at Simon, who's basically gripping the bones through his wrist.

You force a smile hugging into your boyfriend's side, shouldn't he be saying that to your Simon, rather than you? I mean it's either your biological daughter you've sort of brought up her entire life versus a solider you've known for about an hour.

"Son, take some notes from your sister, no wonder you're single every other day." Your father reprimands your brother, who flinches from the sudden sound of disapproval and grips his girlfriend's forearm tighter. For sure the first time you're actually than him, at finding a better fake partner.

Your mother, on the other hand, was virtually glued to the other side of Simon, gripping his biceps and fawning over his muscles to your brother, who's actually looked like the only one who saw through your facade.

"Wow, you must really enjoy the gym, sweetie." She bags her eyes, disgustingly.

"Yes ma'am."

She addresses you, for what you think was the first time in over a year, and mouths sternly, "I was wrong, I approve."

The entire event was a drag to you, something you weren't used to at all, considering the majority of your childhood was mainly you being left home during such big events, but Simon managed to enjoy the evening whilst successfully lying to your entire family.

"Me and the missus have been together for 10 months now. She's very happy." He raises his glass to you, eliciting a genuine smile from you. It was times like this that you wished that you and Simon just tied the knot and just began dating. However, you couldn't ignore those underlying feelings of a simmering anger, a desire to confront him publicly for using you for so long.

"I am..." It sounds more like a question than a reply, kissing him, in mock affection.

"You need to stay over our place, Simon darling," Your mother gleams, with your father agreeing, "You can stay in the study!"

"You mean my old bedroom?"

It's midnight, and your family have finally fell asleep in the place you once called home.

You lay next to Simon on your old bed, inspecting your previous room. The walls were no longer painted your favourite colour, but now was coated in a dull grey, your desk now replaced by a vintage looking oak table, definitely all to accommodate your father's taste. Any speck of 'you' had been wiped out from the room, and Simon wonders what young you was like.

"That was very fun...I like 'em, your family." He whispers almost inaudibly, fatigue evident in his words. His arm is draped comfortably around your neck, your head resting in the nook of his armpit.

You hum. The unfamiliar attention Simon had brought up on the two of you exhausted you, though a small part of you liked it, that now your mother actually cared about what you got up with him on a daily basis.

"Simon..." You begin, "What- what are we? If anything..."

You're anticipating his rejection.

"Neighbours..." He mouths silently.

You nod at him, hoisting yourself up on your elbows, although his eyes are closed.

"Simon. It's just that. I know it's all a show...but today it didn't feel like pretend...And when you said you wanted to marry me to my mum, it's just, I don't know, didn't feel fake you know. Felt real..Simon...Simon?"

He snores in response.

Great. You're just confessing to the thin air.

If he doesn't take you out, socialising for almost 9 hours straight will. You pass out next to him, no longer under his arm. Simon lays next to you, watching the slow rise of fall of your chest, after faking a snore.

He stares at the ceiling thinking about the day.

Come morning, and you find yourself sitting at the dining table next to Simon, who'd found himself in a hearty conversation with your parents, sister and future brother in law.

Across from you is your brother, whom you're sure didn't fall for your ruse.

His expression reveals concern as he gazes at you, almost as if he's silently urging you to unravel the tangled web of lies you've woven.

With a swift motion, he picks up his phone, arching an eyebrow in your direction, just as your phone chimes with a notification.

9:12 A.M. ####:- ik you two aren't dating. ####:- better fess up before i do

He smirks at you, your expression mirrors one of close defeat.

9:13 A.M. You:- ik you mad that she cheats on you every friday. You:- better check her private 2nd insta account before i do

Your brother looks up, hesitant to curse you out in front of everyone.

You 1, your brother 0.

Breakfast was served at this time you actually got the same amount of food as your siblings did, although Simon beat all 3 of you for it. Even though your sister was celebrating her engagement, the entire conversation was stuck on you and Simon.

Credits to your parents, because you were actually learning things about Simon, and you wonder if he thinks you're self-obsessed given that you've forced every fact about you down his throat and you haven't even given a minute for him.

"...and my Captain John Price, great guy. She loves him actually." He nudges you, breaking you from your trance.

"Huh."

Everyone on the table turn to you as Simon rubs your knee softly.

"OH. Um, yeah. Mr Price, John, um, great guy, handsome and so hot. Love him. The best really."

As you stumbled over your words, trying to cover up the slip, Simon gave you a reassuring squeeze on your knee. His eyes conveyed a silent message, telling you that it was okay and that they didn't catch you in a lie.

Your brother, however, shot you a knowing look, his expression a mix of amusement and annoyance. It was clear that he had caught onto your the slip up.

"Alright, enough about work," your mother interjected, steering the conversation away from Simon's military life. "Let's talk about something more fun. Like the wedding!"

The topic shifted to your sister's upcoming wedding, and you found yourself for once engaged in a lively discussion with your family about venues, dresses, and guest lists. Simon chimes in, his comments light-hearted and filled with humor.

As the breakfast progressed, you couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt gnawing at you. Your brother's text had reminded you that you were deceiving your family, and although it had started as a harmless ruse, it was beginning to feel like a weight on your shoulders.

After the meal, you and Simon got ready to depart, and as Simon and the rest of your family went to his car, you stood back at the front door, watching how perfect Simon fit in with them.

"It's obvious you don't like him."

You turn to the voice: your brother.

Your groan, "You again? Can't you just leave me alone, God's sake..."

"Aren't you a 'lil worried about how easily he lies though?" he taunts, "how'd you get him here? Money? Or you hold him over a secret? Maybe...sex?"

"What's your problem? Can't you just be happy I'm with someone?" You step back from him.

"Of course I am, if he doesn't like who, who else will, no? I'm just looking out for you bro. It's not gonna last, take it from someone who's in and out of relationships like your guy's in and out of other women."

You squint your eyes at him, confused.

"Grace, Josie, Francesca..." he trails off walking slowly towards the rest of the group. Francesca? That name rings a bell...

"Word of advice, don't leave your phone out in the open, I mean the amount of nudes on there, you'd think his gallery was a porn site! And without a password? Didn't know you were into whores, sis." He cackles.

And here you thought the trip had altered the dynamic.

The ride home was 2 hours too long and too silent. You contemplated your next move. Do you beat around the bush or straight up ask him if he's still seeing other people behind your back? You know he doesn't owe you anything, he is your FAKE boyfriend, right? But, why did it feel so real?

"So..." he starts.

You rest your head on the window, "So..."

His hand moves to your thigh, squeezing gently before moving towards your core slowly.

"That was fun." He states.

You hum.

"Real cool family, huh."

You hum once again, unsure what to say.

"We should do that again..."

You look at him confused.

"Are you serious? I think they still think that they have 2 kids, they focused on you the entire time-"

"Well, it's not like you put in much effort to talk, love."

That shuts you up.

He sighs at your silence, "Listen, I've been thinking."

You glance at him, hoping he'd kick you out of his car and let you walk the rest of the way home, too ashamed to be in his vicinity.

"Your parents were hinting us to take the next move you know..."

"Neighbours to friends?" You question.

He laughs, "Your family's great, your sister's and her lad, real cute couple you know, I felt at home...so I was thinking...we should try it you know, going out I guess."

You scrunch your face at him, was he really convinced into asking you out because your parents asked him? And here you were, months of trying to hint to wanting more, and the moment your demanding parents butt in, he's just going to do what they say? And the fact that he couldn't even say the word relationship.

Who the fuck does he think he is?

You cross your arms in annoyance. You were tired of being pushed around like a doormat.

Your brother's words ring through your head, as Simon drives.

It's not gonna last, take it from someone who's in and out of relationships like your guy's in and out of other women.

All the signs point towards rejecting his proposal. He doesn't want you, he just wants the safest route. You being in a relationship with him isn't going to stop him fucking other women.

Why would you waste your time with a guy to whom you meant nothing to?

So you decide to give it to him directly.

"Yes. I'll be your girlfriend."

Thank you all so much for the interactions on part 1! Means a lot :D THERE WILL BE A PART 3 LMAOOO i did not intend for this fic to be long but here we are. lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum, @kxtz3, @poohkie90, @rainlovesyou12, @restrictionsapply, @lunamoonbby, @nigthmar3moon, @thychuvaluswife, @itsnourm, @bubusi11, @owkittie

If I meant something to you.

toxic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

You want him, but does he want you? Part 2 :> Part 3 :< Word Count: 2.1k

Whatever you did, you always found yourself being a disappoint to your parents.

First, it was getting rejected from the university your parents intended you to go to. Then, it was working at a job that didn't utilise your degree. And now, it's complaint after complaint for being in a 'relationship' with some they didn't approve of.

"Honey, I just don't think he's the right one for you..." Your mother complained on the phone for what felt like the thousandth time this day.

You rolled your eyes exasperatingly, happy that she couldn't see your annoyance through the call.

"Ma...you haven't even met him, I don't see why it's such a big deal, I'm finally out of your hair anyways, isn't that what you wanted?" You argued.

Everyday felt like a battle for your parent's time and affection.

Living under the shadows of your siblings was a pain. Your older sister had pursued a law degree at a top university when you were just in high school, and moved abroad to practice at one of the best law firms in the US. Your younger brother, on the other hand, was in their 2nd year studying Aeronautical Engineering at the same university as the elder. You felt like the odd one out in every field.

And here you are, stuck working in retail even though you complete your Bachelors degree in Computer Science.

Whatever you did, just was not enough for your parents.

So you saved enough money from your job, took out a small loan and made the decision to pack your bags and move to the Midlands, which was just regionally higher up than where you initially resided in your family home. How funny was it that you were the last sibling to move out?

After weeks of working your ass of at your new 8-6 job...still in retail, one silent evening after taking out the trash, you found yourself coming face to face to your neighbor.

And to say to he was attractive was an understatement. He had a tall tower-like frame, height ranging anywhere from 6'2 to 6'4, his scarred face was decorated with dirty blonde, short yet soft, hair and a slight stubble. His face, though rough, looked almost model worthy and held a permanent angry face, eyebrows furrowed and jaw clenching as if it hurt to open them.

"You got a staring problem, love?" He scoffed at you, the first time your met. You stumbled over your words, eyes wide as saucepans.

"!- we- um..who..who are you?"

The blonde chuckled at you sarcastically, "Your neighbour, Riley, you won't see as often so close that bloody mouth of yours."

And he was right, out of 7 months of living at your new flat, you'd seen him only a handful of times. You often found yourself questioning his occupation, why exactly he hangs out and about the area for a week, then just suddenly just disappears, like a ghost.

You'd learnt from the other residents that he worked within the military, whether it was the marines, the air force or the army, you never knew, until one faithful morning, you found yourself nestled against his broad warm chest, both of you hungover from the block party that all of the residents had been invited to.

"Hmm...mornin'" He grunts out at you, and the slightly reddening marks running down his neck and the bruising hand prints on your waist told you enough about the previous night.

You stiffen next to him, but his rough skin grazing against your skin urges to continue to curl up beside him.

Fast-forward another 5 months, it's been nearly a year of knowing 'Riley' and nearly a year you'd seen anyone from your family. You've always wanted to know how long they would be able to go on without you...and you'd finally got your answer.

You've learnt a lot of things about 'Riley'. For starters, his full name was Simon, though everyone in the building referred to him by his last name (you'd pestered him too much, and he finally caved in and allowed you to call him by his first name). He was almost 10 years elder to you and his striking face was usually masked with a black balaclava or those disposable ones.

"Ma, I'm happy, why can't you just be happy for me?"

"Sweetheart, why don't you come home for the weekend and we can finally meet this man. I mean since you're exclusive and everything."

"We...we're not that level yet-"

"Your older sister's getting married and she's only 4 years older than you.-"

"Why do you keep bringing her up? What's she got to do with this?"

"Honey, listen, me and your father are happy you're with someone. I mean this is the first time someone actually liked you right?"

Ouch.

"It wouldn't hurt to meet the old fella, no?"

Ah, one important part I forgot to mention.

You weren't dating Simon.

In fact, you guys never really established a relationship between the two of you. When he was home from deployment, your evening usually consisted of lazing about after work, wine in hand, Simon walking in, a few words exchanged here and there about his work-

Oh, and the night ending with a good rough fucking.

The morning would come by and you'd walk into your shift, your hickey-adorned chest and neck covered with a black turtleneck although it was the middle of August (and against the uniform policy).

So one night you decided to break away from his dominating kiss, and sit him down for a heartfelt conversation-

"Why'd you want to complicate things," he sneers, "we're just fuck buddies yeah?"

"Excuse me? So, what those 5 months didn't mean shit to you?" You scoffed, rather offended that he looked down at you, just like your family.

"You're old enough to be my kid, what make you think this was gonna go anywhere?" He stands up, lighting a smoke, knowing you hated the stench of his cigarettes in your room. It was always your room, always your flat. You can't remember the last time you even went to Simon's place, if there ever was a time.

"Who has a kid at 10? And why'd you keep fucking me? And I'm 24 fucking years old, Jesus, why does that not go through anyone's thick ass skull?!"

"Calm down love, thought this arrangement was mutual, I've got pent up frustration from the military, you're pent up 'cos no one else wants you-"

"Those nights didn't mean anything to you?"

"You don't mean anything to me." He asserts furiously. You studied him, the glimpse of that comforting man who stroked your back and kissed your forehead post-sex really wasn't there.

The fuck does this guy think he is?

"Get out."

"Done."

And he gets up and leaves, blowing a puff of smoke as if to scent the room. Just like that. Wow, was there anyone in your life that actually cared about you?

All those Wattpad stories taught you that the guy usually fights for his lover, screaming back saying that he won't leave without a fight, arguing that that the pair deserved each other. And yet, here you are, sobbing in the shower, unable to differentiate whether your body is getting soaked from the water or from the river of salty tears streaming down your dull, lifeless face, all because the guy you wanted never truly wanted you back.

You felt used, mainly your body. Rubbing yourself full of soap just caused your mind to flash back to his thick calloused hands massaging every inch of skin.

When you occasionally saw him at the building get together, which you wonder why he even attends considering he just hates and complains about everyone (everyone but you of course), you'd find yourself glued on the spot, lips quivering, tears threatening to spill again- and the throbbing. Man, the throbbing you felt between your legs. If it wasn't for his dick, you'd really be wondering why you craved him so bad, because it's definitely not his nasty personality.

And every time you open your mouth to say something to him, to call him over, to greet him, hell you should be cursing him out in front of everyone, he just stormed out with his head down with what looks like a combination of embarrassment or grief.

Until one night, you get a phone call from your older sister, the unsaved number appearing unfamiliar to you. Your hesitant to pick up.

"Hello?"

"Heyyy," She drags out her words, as if to waste time. You can tell your mother meddled in between, "So, I'm having the engagement party by the end of this month, and um...you free to come? No worries if you can't."

You pause, did she even want you there?

"Sure."

"Cool. Um, Mum says you're seeing someone, you can bring 'em if you want."

"Sure."

"Yeah, dunno if it's serious enough but there's enough space in the venue."

"Sure."

There's a pause on the other line.

"Hey can you say anything other than 'sUrE'?" She mocks you. Your eyebrow twitches in amusement.

"Did you just call to brag about you and your fancy ass engagement party? And the audacity to not send an invite, if you don't want me there, just say it. I'm not a baby anymore." You frustratingly answer.

Your sister remains quiet on the other line and you can tell you struck a nerve.

"I- listen I know we never get along but can you please come? Ma keeps mentioning you, surprisingly, and- and we haven't seen you in months, you don't even reply to the memes on the family group chat..."

You blink. "We have a family group chat?"

The rest of the month was empty, and although you were thankful for no more surprising run-ins with Simon, you missed having a warm body next to you. You learnt from one of the residents that he's been deployed for 3 weeks, this particular one shorter than others.

He confused you, Simon. He hated the idea of being in a relationship with you, yet he did 'relationship things' with you. He disliked when people assumed you two were a couple in public, but he always had his arm around you protectively. Not even education was this stressful.

And as much as you wanted to sit and let the misery marinate into your mind, you knew the date of the engagement party was nearing and you knew you couldn't come empty-handed.

By the end of the 3rd week, you knew Simon had come home, recognising the sound of the heavy footsteps entering his flat next door at 3 in the morning, you being awake from all the stress your high-maintenance sister had thrown suddenly at you. But you couldn't help but notice the sound of a softer treads following his. Maybe he got a pet?

That night, you had trouble sleeping, unsure whether it was the stress of trying to impress your family or the light sound of the headboards of next door creaking. That sound was familiar, reminding you when he was over at your place, rocking gently inside of you, though you question why he's not with you this moment. Usually you'd find him at the other side of the door, tired eyes resembling those of a stray puppy looking for a place to stay.

You close your eyes, your mind racing to the thought of the burly man on the other side of the wall rubbing himself to the thought of you. You sink into the bed, disregarding that unignorable pulsating feeling.

Saturday morning come, and you stretched contently, knowing that you finally had the day off from work. But that short-lived happiness dimmed when you checked the unread notification blasting through your phone.

7:29 A.M. #####:- hey listen i meant it when i said i wanted you there. pls come. #####:- it wouldnt just make ma happy but me too #####:- u gotta be there to make look better haha im joking

You had a feeling that she was not.

7:56 A.M. #####:-and uh, bring your guy as well pls, ma's so excited planning this wedding she wants to get started on the next one too lolol #####:- also she thinks your lying :/

Great, now there's actual pressure to bring someone.

Your morning dose of caffeine didn't hit today, as your body feels heavier than usual as you trudge all the way to your doorstep. When the last time you actually left your apartment if not for work?

Forcing yourself to look decently good, you make your way to your neighbour's doorstep, knocking so softly you almost tried again, until the door abruptly open, revealing a wet toweled Simon.

An eerie silence captures the atmosphere, consists of his eyes drinking in your disheveled appearance after almost a month, and yours undressing him, as if he wasn't already standing almost-nude.

He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it, "Listen I know you've been deployed for the past 3 weeks, but listen I need a favour, I know you hate me and don't want to be with me but I really need a date to an engagement party, and I hate men and men hate me so I don't know anyone but you, and here me out, but could you please take some time out of your month to please be my date, I know you don't like me like that, which makes no sense to me 'cos you're in that mask almost the same number of times as you're in me- just please give it a thought-"

There's a cough behind Simon.

A half nude woman runs past you, head down in shame, smilingly guiltily as she tiptoes out of his room. She heard it all, you thought.

You look at Simon, suddenly recollected last night's events, the 2nd footsteps, the headboard banging. It all made sense. You really didn't mean anything to him.

Simon shifts on his feet uncomfortably.

"Surprise?"

its's 2 a.m. as i post this...why do my brain cells suddenly begin to work post-midnight I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

Tulips or Roses?

John Price x reader

In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you. Word Count: 3.6k -> blurb - rose meets tulips

Being a civilian to a soldier was hard enough.

And it was even harder when your husband was a commander for one of the most skillful task force. So it wasn't unusual for him to be gone for long periods of time.

So on a random Friday evening, anticipating his arrival in the coming week, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows, you found yourself at the door of John's study, with was decorated with a glass name plate, with the words 'Study' accompanied with a painted heart created from blue and pink fingerprints from you and your husband.

John was never the man to tell you off if you entered his study, instead he encouraged it. He's beckoned you to bring him his evening tea to him, to give him a massage, sometimes when you wanted him, he'd allow you to help him under the desk, if you get what I mean. (speaking from experience ;>)

As you stepped into his room, you noticed the ceilings adorned with sizable white cobwebs, cringing at the apparent neglect of his study. When was the last time someone had even been here?

Sweeping his desk, wiping away the dust, you find a box underneath beside his chair, which prompted you to lifting it up and placing on top of the desk. Man, you underestimated it's weight. You struggled to lift a small but heavy moving box, and it caused a few books and papers to fall out.

You cursed at your clumsiness, picking up the loose sheets, until you fingers caught the spine of a red vintage-like book, which had the word 'diary' written on the front. You didn't take too much notice, skimming through the pages until you caught your name being mentioned a phew times.

You giggle, it's a diary probably with John confessing his love to you numerous time! You know you probably shouldn't look through it, I mean privacy exists, but you just can't help it.

So you look through some of the infrequent entries, the oldest dating back to 10 years back, and the most recent one being nearly 4 years, when you and John had first met.

30th February 2010

Suffering in Afghanistan, the lads and I are stuck in the safe house for a week now. Rose is here too, I should ask her if she's okay.

Ahhh you remember this story. When the Task Force was stuck in the city of Kandahar, in the safe house. You also remember John's team, whom you are well-acquainted with, Soap, Ghost, Gaz, Roach, Rose?

You skip through the boring entries, most of which are just John documenting his work-out plan and the places him and his team had visited.

5th July 2016

Gaz's going on and on about his lass. Someone tell him to talk to her at least, he doesn't even know her name! I keep bringing it up but he keeps mentioning when I'll talk to Rose.

You chuckled, assuming the chick was Gaz's current wife. But the last part caught your attention, Rose again? You remember John telling you that she'd retired, went back north to settle with her family now, so you don't think much of it, I mean they are team mates.

19th June 2017

Saw a cute kid and her mama, wishing I had kids, without this lifestyle. Rose wants a son but I don't particularly mind. Soap overheard our conversation and spammed me lols on Whatsapp, but I thought lol meant little old lady? I am a man though.

You raise your eyebrow at another mention of Rose, why doesn't he care if Rose wanted a son? You didn't realise how close your husband was to her.

2nd December 2018

Christmas this month with my boys. Rose invited me over for a smoke. Ghost rolls his eyes when I mentioned it to him, says I need to man up and make a move.

You squinted your eyes, rereading the entry, and hesitantly skipping to the next one.

7th April 2019

Drinks with my men (and Rose haha, she doesn't like being part of the men). It's her birthday and she wants to tell us something. She's got her red lips again. I'm excited, Soap kept nudging me the entire ride, that cheeky bugger.

Then immediately below it, an update: She's seeing someone.

You're slowly piecing the puzzle, though you don't want to assume anything.

21st August 2019

She came into my room crying, seems like it's not going well, good for me. I hope she's okay and she realises there's better fish in the sea. She hugged me, she smells like roses, I love floral scents. I tried leaning in, she says I'm like an older brother to her.

Your heart breaks a bit, sniffing at your freshly washed hair, which smelt like ... like roses.

You thought floral scents were YOUR thing.

You continued, to the next entry which was marked the date you remember meeting John for the first time at the pub. You force a smile, hoping the entry would lighten your mood.

30th November 2020

In the pub and bored. Rose brought her lad... they're back together. What does she see in him? Soap urges me to find someone else but my heart is set on someone, for a long time. Won't change. He keeps gesturing to a girl on the other end of the counter, she's pretty, but like a tulip. Not like a rose. Not like my Rose.

You grip at the notebook and you try your hardest not to rip the papers out of the book and set his entire study on fire.

You remember this day, when you were dragged to the pub by your friends after being dumped by your ex for another girl. You sat at one end of the counter, with tears in your eyes but one look at that buff Englishman on the other end and your mood flipped instantaneously, 180 degrees.

"Kelsey, look at that guy, Mr Army over there." You beckon towards John's direction, to your friend., slightly tipsy after a peg of beer.

Your friend looks at you with a raised eyebrow, then turns to the guy whose piqued your interest, "You should go for it." She encourages you.

So you get yourself 2 drinks and approach the guy, more confident that usual due to your alcoholic state. A beer would do.

"Hi, this seat empty?" You smile at him innocently.

All this time you had recalled a look of fondness towards you, when he'd first locked eyes with you. You remember bragging about how it had been love at first sight for the both of you, but thinking back, a feeling of doubt starts bubbling inside you.

"It's reserve- you know what. Take a seat."

You remember sitting next to him, passing him a drink, and telling him your name, "...and you are?" you question, although you see him wincing. At first you thought it was just an army thing, so guarded that even the slightest of movements would make him twitch.

But now you're questioning whether he really wanted to engage into a conversation with you.

The following hours, as you painfully recall, was filled with you talking about yourself and occasionally asking him after his life, though he gives you one word answers and frequent nods.

But that was just because he'd just come home from a mission right?

"...and he just broke up with me out of the blue! Like was my 12,000 followers on TikTok not good enough for you?" You chuckle, attempting to crack a joke. He smiles confused, and you note he's probably too old to understand what TikTok was.

"Sounds like an asshole, love." He replies.

"Hmm, he was...I- I just don't know what he'd leave me for her...like I gave you my everything, I was always with you through thick and thin and what, that wasn't enough for you?" You trail off, the effects of the 2nd beer hitting you.

"I understand dove, you just give 'em everything and they just find someone else. What does he have that I don't?" He spaces out, his eyes falling on his teammates sitting at a different table. You follow his gaze, smiling slightly when you lock eyes with one of his smirking subordinates, whom you know know as Soap.

"Those people, they're your team?" You question.

His eyes aren't on you though as he responds, "That mohawk, that's Soap, Ghost next to him, tough as steel but soft at heart, Gaz on the opposite, funny lad, Roach, good ol' Roach..."

You look at the woman to the right of 'Roach', taking in her beauty. Though she's sitting down, you can tell she's taller that you by least 4 inches, with a blonde pixie haircut and painted with a dark smokey eye. A deep smirk is plastered onto her plump ruby red lips as she looks at John Price finally talking to a woman that isn't her. She raises a hand, waving to the both of you, which is almost instantaneously reciprocated by John.

"And her?" You ask, head nudging towards the woman.

"Her...That's Rose. You should meet her, you would like her, but who doesn't..." His chuckle fades out and you at how his attention was fully directed to her. A sinking feeling told you that you should have backed off from the married man, but it disappeared when John pointed out her partner, with gritted teeth.

Your hands are gripping the pages at this point, as you recall memories from the diary from his point of view.

You turn the page to the next entry, dreading the words.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub, I'm once again unfamiliar with the lingo, I'm not Simon?? She's nice but, not sure I see anything further than a friendship. Gaz and him are picking out an outfit for me, she wants to meet up for bowling apparently. I just want to be with Rose...

Clenching your fist, you shut the diary and toss it aside, feeling all kinds of emotions. Upset that John had never truly looked at you the way you'd looked at him. The way he never wanted you, like you wanted him.

Every time you'd seen him online on Whatsapp, but still hadn't opened your messages, he was ghosting you? Sure after a while of being friends, his behaviour gradually changed, accompanied with rapid texts, but you felt like this relationship was built on lies.

Did he even want to go bowling with you that day? Did you win because he purposely let you, because he was bored and wanted to go home, be with Rose instead? When he asked you to be his girlfriend, did he ask you with Rose in mind?

The ding of the oven stopped your trail of thoughts, so many questions swirling around your head. You walk out of the study, slamming the door behind you, the combined mess of dust and cobwebs remaining untouched.

The glass name plate falls to the ground, the edge shattering, with shards of clear glass laying dangerously on the wooden floor.

A couple of hours go by and the doorknob rattles at 8:45 P.M. on the dot. John was never late when he had to come home to you.

He reaches base at 7:30, drives exacting an hour to your shared home, after making a quick pit stop at the florists within 10 minutes to give you a freshly scented bouquet of red roses.

Roses. So that's why he'd give them you every time...

He makes sure to leave him 5 minutes of spare time, which was designated to flipping open a small metal notebook you'd gifted him, and writing his thoughts down. And once those 5 minutes were up, he places the notepad back into his jacket pocket and practically runs towards the front door.

"Dove, I'm home!" He exclaimed, gently placing his belonging on the floor, before walking into the living floor, where you sat on the sofa with your legs and arms crossed. (MY BITCH POSE IS NASTY)

"Sweetheart, you didn't run up to me at the door, you alright love?" He sits next to you, his calloused and freshly bruised arms rubbing your knee.

The silence was deafening and you couldn't find it in yourself to look at him after all you've read.

He takes it as a cue to continue, "I got you some roses, baby. Your favourite-"

"When did I say they were my favourite?"

John blinks at the interruption, "I mean, you don't like them? It's tradition to bring the same red roses for you every time I'm back..."

"And when did I say I liked them? Are they my favourite? Or are they her favourite?" You shift towards him, anger evident in your voice.

"Her? Who? Sweetheart, what's going on?"

"I mean, come on man, you like floral shit that much that now you're making me wear it?"

"You...don't like floral scents? Did you want tulips instead, baby?"

Your eyebrows are furrowed in annoyance by his confusion.

"It doesn't matter if I wanted tulips, John, it's the fact that YOU like roses. In fact you've like Roses this entire time! Don't act like you like tulips 'cos you don't- to be honest I don't think you ever have!" You rant, handing running through your hair.

"I mean I like both honey, roses are just, um, prettier?" He sounds like he's asking you rather than telling you.

"Of course roses are prettier to you- that's all that you're fucking used to you. It's always roses, roses, roses. You're so obsessed with fucking roses, you never gave tulips a bloody chance!"

"Are we still talking about flowers-"

"And when you do give tulips a chance, you're still thinking about roses- how red they are, how pretty they are, how they need to be watered every 5 fucking minutes, even then there's already someone to water those damn. Red. Roses."

"I- I mean I like tulips too, baby-"

"No. You don't. No, you don't. Tulips are just the safest options for you, cos someone already plucked out those fucking roses. Cos roses don't want you."

You're standing up now, and John's attempts to speak are futile with every sentence you shout.

"No. In fact, roses has never wanted you, roses look better with someone else, and ol' poor John has no more roses, so he goes and waters some unwanted tulips instead!"

John stands up, towering over your shaking frame, his hands come up to stroke your biceps, but he's pushed away.

"I mean, did John ever even like tulips? Or was he faking it cos he never got roses? Was tulips just the safe option? Does John still want roses after all the years tulips have been there for him?"

You left out a pained cry, you didn't even notice the tears leaking out of your eyes.

"Does John even like tulips? Does John even love tulips?"

His hands wipe your tears away, and he brings you into his chest, and you don't attempt to push him away this time.

"Does you even love me, John?" You break down into his arms, letting him carrying you into the bedroom, where he places you gently on the bed, while you hiccup through your uneven sobs. He smells the stench of wine through your shaking breath, whilst stroking your hair, and you slowly fall into a deep slumber with your head pressed against his still uniform-clad chest.

The clock hits midnight and John gets up, trying not to wake you up, grabbing his sweats from the drawer and walking to the bathroom across the hall, in order to not wake you up, from what looked like a well-needed rest.

As he trudges out of the bedroom and through the corridor, the reflection of the broken glass catches his eyes and he squints in the darkness, squatting down to pick a small shard. As he lifts the remains of the nameplate, hooking it back to the door, he steps over the mess into the study to retrieve a dust pan and brush.

Flicking the lights on, he's met with what looks like a scene from the reality TV show - Hoarders. So starts cleaning quickly, picking up the duster and bunching up the paperwork from the floor, the pot of pens that had seemed to be knocked down, the diary he'd used to write in...hold on-

Picking up the diary, John flicks through the entries, the book naturally opening to the last open slide.

He begins reading the last entry.

19th December 2020

Thought me and Rose would go back to the pub for another drink for the holidays, but she's going back to his place. Seems they're taking the next steps with meeting the families.

Soap's annoyed at how I'm 'ghosting' the girl I met at the pub....

"Oh...my tulip, I've never loved roses as much as I loved you." He mumbles to himself, whilst simultaneously cringing at his previously written words, immediately throwing the book back on the floor.

It's past breakfast when you wake up, throat and eyes painfully dry from last night's crying session, forcing yourself to drag yourself to the bathroom. You've forgotten that John had come home last night, as your met with a familiar empty bed.

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you walk downstairs, being face to face with the naked back of Captain John Price.

The smell of chocolate pancakes waft towards your nose, as you look around the kitchen, the room garnished with a variety of different flowered bouquets, with so many variations of plants.

Bundles of dahlias and lotuses, orchids and lilies, carnations and irises, roses and tulips.

John turns to your footsteps, smiling at his perfect woman.

"Baby, good mornin'" He greets you, placing a single rose into your hair, and pecking your forehead warmly.

"John, listen about last night-"

"It was the old diary, wasn't it?" he asks.

You nod, ashamed for your abrupt behaviour yesterday. John lifts your chin up, resting his forehead against yours.

"Rose never taught me how to love like you did."

"John, you don-" His pointer finger is pressed against your lips.

"Reading those words from the past, I can see how it may have painted a different picture of my feelings. But let me assure you, my love, that you are the one I adore with all my heart."

Your stroke his face, heart warming to his words.

"Every rose I brought home was a symbol of my love for you, not because it was her favorite, but because it reminded me of the beauty and grace that you bring into my life. And those tulips, they represent the new beginnings and the fresh start that we share together.

My love for you is unwavering and unconditional. You are my tulip, my true love, and I vow to cherish and adore you for all eternity. Please forgive me for any pain or doubt my past words may have caused."

"John..."

He hands you his notepad from from his back pocket, beckoning you to open it.

You look at the first entry.

19th February 2021

I mentioned how I journal sometimes to her, and she bought me a new notepad, it's cute how she calls it a diary. Things are looking good. Bowling's our thing, I let her win because seeing her smile means I've won too. I'm asking her out tonight, Soap cried real tears when I told him.

You turn the page.

20th July 2021

Our 6 month anniversary. Took her to a field of roses and tulips, though nothing compares to her beauty.

The next one.

17th September 2021

I seldom think of Rose, I have my tulip on my mind now. Rose retired, and the team celebrated last night. She hugged me and thanked me for being a good captain. She also acknowledged my previous feelings for her. Man that was uncomfortable, but I reassured her I'm with my tulip now. I love my tulip.

I've always preferred tulips anyway.

And the next.

5th July 2022

Our 500 day anniversary. I want to propose.

17th September 2022

She said yes!! She may be my fiance, but I've already started calling her my wife, not legally yet at least...illegally?

28rd December 2023

We married 30th November. The day we met. Xmas was amazing, I can't see myself with anyone but her. I'm getting deployed tomorrow though.

You look at the most recent entry, dated last night.

16th February 2024

Missed the valentines day with my missus. Hope these roses are enough, though I wanted to get something better. Tulips for my tulip. They ran out haha. Missed my girl, missed her like I've never missed someone before. Soap's right, deployment suck.

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from pain or doubt this time, but from overwhelming joy and love for the man standing before you.

"I'm sorry, John," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion. "I didn't mean to doubt your love."

He smiled, a genuine and heartfelt smile that reached his eyes, pulling you into a warm embrace. "No need for apologies, my tulip. Thank you for teaching me how to love."

And in that moment, amidst the scent of chocolate pancakes and fresh flowers, it felt like you love story was just beginning, filled with trust, forgiveness, and a deep, unwavering love for each other.

That should not have taken me 2 days to complete what in the world. Also if i was tulip, that old diary is going straight into a fire! Barbecue anyone? <3 Quick Notes: I head-cannoned Rose to look like Sergeant Calhoun from Fix-it-Felix lolololol woman crush fr i get u john boy I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

TOO GOOD

You always joked about how you'd find out what's beneath his mask someday. Literally and figuratively.

He'd scoff at your attempts, or suggestions to lift up his sniper mask. Some of them caught him off guard, to the point he almost did it if not for his logical mind. But some of them were downright ridiculous, that he couldn't help but snort.

Maybe you already accepted it from the start, that he would never give in, but it had become a harmless jest at this point, so you might as well keep it going.

Until he gives you permission.

The thing is, it doesn't make you happy—it scares you to death instead. He once bit off someone's finger when they poked it in the place they shouldn't have touched. So what's behind the mask couldn't be worth the pain.

At first, you thought of it as a warning. Yet he wasn't showing any signs of threat. He even pulled you closer, so you'd get a better view of him.

His mask stays on, but he lets you touch his face. Your hands hover an inch away from his veiled visage, before you test the water with a touch.

He doesn't flinch away, or charge at you like a venomous snake. He stays still, letting your hands cup his cheeks.

"Didn't you say you wanna feel my face?" He said as he brought you closer, causing a shiver down on your spine.

"I did," Your lips trembled slightly, "I'm doing it."

"You're not doing it right." He tugged your paralyzed hands onto his chest.

You're confused when he firmly grips both of your hands, before slowly sliding them under the hem of his hood.

"Inside, maus." He commanded you, "Tell me what you feel."

And so, you complied.

You reach into his mask, and touch his neck tentatively. For a brief moment, his muscles tense under your fingertips, before they come down relaxed.

"Oh." You murmured as you pressed your palm onto his nape, "You can certainly survive the fighter jet ride."

He doesn't give you any response, so you take it as a cue to continue.

Your hands creep up higher, until your fingers reach the soft bones of his ears. They seem small in your grasp, smaller than they should, for a man of his height. A quiet smile spreads in your lips, as you imagine the tiny shells that frame both sides of his face.

"I'm surprised you have clear skin." You commented when you caressed his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin, "I thought you'd have a problem with it since you always wore a mask."

"Not always." He replied, nudging you to roam further, "I took it off whenever I'm alone."

"Did you take care of it?"

"No."

"How unfair." You chuckled, "I want to have your skin."

He keeps his eyes on you, and you feel the need to clear your throat, before you trace the lines on his face.

"You have a big nose." You mused as you ran your finger down from the bridge of his nose, "It's crooked."

He hums, while his eyes follow your uncertain gaze.

"Why you stopped?" He called you out, and you jumped upon hearing them, "There's one place you haven't touched."

You bit your lips, trembling, as you lowered your hand, until you felt the soft lumps on your fingertips.

They form a thin line, before they split open, inviting your finger inside. Your breathing becomes labored, as he takes a hold on your hand, guiding your thumb into his mouth.

He doesn't break eye contact the whole time, and you're too paralyzed to look away. You feel the sharpness of his teeth as his lips are closing around your digit. You have anticipated the guillotine falling on the head of your thumb, yet what comes after is a soft brush of his tongue.

It was rough, and drenched with his saliva, that it formed a string at the time your thumb left his mouth.

"König—" You gasped when he dragged his lips down to your palm, before stopping on your wrist. Pressing his tongue on your pulse point, where the skin barrier is so thin, that it feels as if he's tasting your flesh.

"Scared, maus?" He muttered, his teeth scraped against your skin, "Are you scared of me?"

You stare at him, as your instinct screams at you to nod. But you shake your head, despite the tremble in your hands.

"Then you'll do as I say." He wraps his arm around your waist, leaving no room for you to run, "Take off my mask."

Your eyes widened, not believing what you just heard from his mouth. Alas, his glare is enough to confirm the truth.

He guides your hands to his mask, pushing it up in a manner that's close to unveiling a white cover. And once the mask is lifted, you have no time to admire him as he slams his lips against yours.

Your cry of surprise is swallowed by his mouth, as he pushes his tongue between your lips. You can't do anything but cling to him, as he presses your body down with his, until your back is flush against the cushion.

When you open your eyes, what greets you is a pair of eclipses. Gone was the cruel Colonel, as he's replaced by a voracious brute.

The moment he opens his mouth, you know you'll be devoured by him.

[Part 2] Unimpressive yet Impressed.

König and gn!Reader

Part 2 to Impressive yet unimpressed! In which König attempts to reconcile with you after his attack. TOOK 4EVER but part 2 is here teehee fuck midterms Word count: 4.3k; translations in purple, shout out google translate.

König sat on the cold plastic chair beside your hospital bed in the infirmary, for what felt like months. 2 to be exact.

The room was empty at 2 A.M on a grey Sunday. Of course it was, it was 6 hours past visiting hours ended, but König couldn't help but enter through the infirmary's window, tiptoe past all the injured, asleep soldiers, and rest on the chair, watching your chest painfully heave up and down, with ragged breathes.

His first sane thought was to break into the respected infirmary, where he remembers laying after broken bones, with you besides him. It makes sense for him to return the favour.

I mean...he's the reason you're in a coma in the first place...

After attempting to check up on you, he'd overheard the doctors' order: You see a poorly dressed mammoth of a man, you tell security immediately. The poor girl's distressed enough, mentioned the Colonel's name and her heart rates quicken to an alarming rate.

That broke his heart. He loved having such an affect on you, yes! But in a 'cutesy-butterflies-in-my-stomach' way, not a 'panic-attack-about-to-die-omfg-scary-man-alert' way!

So he sits here, patiently waiting for the sun to rise, so he can exit the infirmary as quietly as possible, and sneak into, yet again, another room. Yours. Where he lays in your bed. Using your expensive floral soaps. Ate your food. Anything to feel like you were with him again.

He swears he sees your fingers shift, closed eyes twitching ever so gently, but according to your files (which he stole), stated that you 'were in a worse state that before, slowly recovering although there's limited hope,' and ah 'one of the worst non-mission on-base injuries seen'.

His actions caused great harm, I mean look at you. But one would say his plan worked.

News spread like wildfire, with almost everyone talking about the combat room incident. Soldiers murmured everywhere he walked.

König means King you know, bro lives up to the name.

He's a fucking beast, beating her up like that, mans got no emotion i swear.

Heard he's getting promoted for that stunt he pulled...

And indeed he was getting more recognised. His once slow forgotten image was roaring in popularity, with his higher-ups signing him up for more missions than one should be given.

"It's a great opportunity Colonel. I mean you've improved this month! Like you're on steroids or sum'" König finds himself being cornered in the hallway of the barracks by his superior, cheeks wet and reddening under this mask, after sneaking out of your room one morning.

His superior's eyes glisten cunningly, "And uh...those moves, yeah. Impressive." His head nods, gesturing towards your room.

König squints his eyes, glaring so hard in pure shame, he swear he feels his eyeballs vibrate. But instead he walks off, vowing to abstain himself from anymore violence. He's learnt his lesson.

'Unimpressive...' he mumbles, physically shivering as his mind is forced to recall that fateful day again.

Minutes feel like days and days feel like months, and all those hospital visits from your teammates gradually decrease, some unable to see you resting corpse-like with jagged scars painting your skin, some purposely avoiding the whole situation, with paperwork as their main excuse.

But König finds solace staring at your almost dead but resting state. Yes, he cringes at the slightly bent nose, the busted lip, and the countless stitches on your scalp, but overall he notes you seem peaceful on the bed.

Not like that fearful expression you pulled before he...you remember.

Though he'd rejected the numerous proposals to lead missions, he finds himself persuaded into changing into his musky, unwashed uniform, adjusting his mask whilst attempting to silence his growing headache. One more König, one more mission. Think about who you're doing this for. Think about your future. Think about that cottage. Think about that Austrian countryside.

So he gears up, attempting to push you away from his thoughts, though he can't. He curses himself for using your floral scented soaps, his senses being heightened and hyper-focusing on it the entire ride in that aircraft. It smells like you. Not like that dreaded dull stench of the hospital.

His train of thoughts halt as his superior yells strings of commands towards his team, and his priority shifts to stays alive for you.

After exiting the aircraft he takes a good look of his surrounding, as his team gather round in group, and his face drops. It looks like just Alpbach, the countryside he wanted to settle down in with you.

His eyes catch the small row of houses and buildings kilometres away.

That was meant to be the cottage you two grow old in...

"König! Where's your mind at?"

His eyes clench.

No time for mistakes.

2000 kilometres away, lay you. Eyes indeed twitching rapidly. You were most definitely not conscious yesterday, but the memory of a German bedtime story being read to you early morning comes to you frequently, must be deja vu.

Today though, you open your eyes, lazily making eye-contact with the medical intern who'd been studying you for research purposes.

"Hey, hope you don't mind m- OH MY GOD. UM- OH. MY GOD. ¿QUÉ DEMONIOS ESTÁ PASANDO? EH, ¿POR QUÉ ESTÁ DESPIERTA? VUELVE A DORMIR." What the fuck is happening. Um, why is she awake, go back to sleep!

And a week passes by, and your movements are restricted to sitting up and switching the TV channel. But you're better. Your closest 2 teammates visit you daily now, adorning you with gifts, like your luxurious chocolates.

But no one dares mention his name. Not even you. You don't care about the lack of flowers or medals by your bed like your last hospital visit.

"But you should have seen her face-" One of your teammates chokes on his laugh, caught up on a story you'd missed, "bitch tried to tackle me-" he stifles a laugh, "ever seen a mouse try to fight a lion-"

"How are you still on that, it was 2 weeks ago!"

You turn to your other friend, stationed at the other side of your bed.

"Wow, sounds like I'm stronger than you, and I'm in hospital." You tease her, cheeks aching from smiling too hard, a painful feeling you've missed.

"Dude, I tried to tackle him, König styl- I mean. I- um. Sorry-"

Oh.

Your face flashes a pained look, before your eyebrows furrow in anger, fixating on your clenched fingers.

"She, um, she didn't mean that. It's just-" your friend tries to defend her.

"So what's that fucker up to, huh?" You ask, though it comes out more like a command than a question.

"Um...he's on a mission, like in Austria or something, I don't know.-"

You scoff, "Good, hope that asshole dies there."

Another month and another successful mission from König's team go by, and your higher ups have talked you into being stuck at an office desk, buried in paperwork. It's long and monotonous, and although you want to be focus on improving your overall physical ability, your grateful you don't see as many soldiers on the base as usual, given the amount of pitied looks you've gotten after being discharged.

But hey! The good news in that you're not doing it all on your own. You occupy a small office with a lower ranked soldier, and though you both work under different positions, you both share a similarity. Both victims of König. The soldier you'd seen on the floor, who'd looked like he'd left bleeding to death, also recovered moderately well, and he sits across your desk, cheeks always looking flushed. As if he's still sick.

"You have another pen? Um, this one's ran out."

He's got a gentle voice, like König, but his don't make you pause in fear. He's definitely not as bulky as König rather, he's on the other end of the spectrum. Shorter, leaner, less muscular. But his differences to König make you appreciate him more.

"Huh- yeah, here." You toss a pen towards him and he clumsily misses it, apologising before crouching to pick it up, and you don't fail to catch his bruised knuckles and wrists.

"Thanks..." he mumbles shyly, pulling his sleeves down after realising what your gaze on.

You both haven't discussed it, but have mentally agreed not to talk about that night in the combat room.

"Team's coming back from an assignment today. Or so I heard." He strikes up a conversation, blushing and still avoiding eye contact.

You smile at him, humming as your fingers type away at the keyboard, "Hmm, when do they get back?"

"Couple of hours from now...it's been a month I think."

You nod in response, "They wish they were doing paperwork right now."

He snorts, before coughing it away from embarrassment, but you smirk at his reaction.

"Adorable." You mumble.

"What?" His eyebrows raise.

"Huh?" You mock teasingly.

The evening of paperwork and back and forth banter goes by, and you find yourself with him - who you've now nicknamed 'Paperwork' - at the canteen, sitting and eating alone, isolating yourselves from the obvious glances and murmurs from the other soldiers, yet neither of you want to mention the obvious unspoken tension.

"All my soap's gone, Paperwork!" You look at the obvious peaking black eye that he failed to cover fully with the wrong shade of foundation.

He looks at you curiously, amused at the new found nickname.

"Like, it's gone, and my bed's all messy." There's a cut on his plump lips.

He nods awkwardly.

"Food's nice." You state, receiving a hum from him, but you focus on his swollen wrists, gently reaching to touch them.

He flinches, dropping the steel cutlery on the floor, earning more stares than before, if that was possible, squeaking an apology and continuing to eat like nothing happened.

He's cute. You smile. He's nothing like him.

You continue munching on your food, unaware of the stares you receive. Of the stare you receive.

The 6'10 colonel stands metres away from you at the entrance of the canteen, your back turned to him, as his fists clench and squeeze at the first bouquet of hand-picked Austrian flowers out of envy, as he studies your new found friendship. Considering it's the evening, he's happy he's standing in the dimly lit corridor by the mess hall doors, so he's aware that you cannot see him.

But König can see you.

Most importantly, König can see you, with him.

Was zum Teufel macht er mit ihr? He curses. What the fuck is he doing with her?

"The food's shit mate-" He's interrupted by lower ranked soldiers, and he skillfully moves out of the way to hide behind the door, as they enter the mess hall, and he swears you turn back to look at him.

He wants to walk up to you. He wants to look at you straight in the face and apologise, but he deep down knows that no matter what he says to you, what he gifts you, what he promises you- you will never forgive you for his abuse. For the way he neglected you and your feelings, for putting his greed before you.

And he knows deep down, you'd be happier with...with him. That puny guy. Aren't soldiers meant to be strong and muscular? This guys looks the same weight as König's left calf, no wonder he beat him up to a pulp.

He scoffs, ignoring the sinking feeling in his heart, hearing your laugh at whatever this guy says to you. Deep down he knows he lost you. Deep down he knows he's no longer yours.

"Hey, I'm gonna get my phone, I think I left it in my room, see you in a bit?" You ask the soldier, and after he nods, you find yourself walking towards the entrance of the mess hall.

König watches as you walk towards the door and he swears his mind pauses.

You're walking towards him? Right now? What is he meant to say to you? Are the flowers okay? Would you like them? Would you even talk to him?

He finds his anxiety catching up to him all of a sudden, head feeling light and palms beginning to sweat. Though he feels a rise of panic, he doesn't find the strength to move, not even a muscle. He wishes you were by his side, stroking his biceps.

But you're not by his side. Yet, that is.

You open the semi-transparent door, yawning inaudibly, closing your eyes in the process.

And you walk straight into a brick wall-

"Holy shit, you scared me..." You look up at him, halting immediately after you realise who you bumped into.

König looks down at you, and like his brain, his heart stops and skips a beat.

"Liebling- what- who- why are you talking to him? Are you over me that quickly?" darling-

You glare up and him angrily. Over 2 months without König and no apology? And instead he dares question your relationships with other soldiers.

"Listen mein baby, I'm tired, can we just go back to our room-" my baby

"Our room?" The first words you've uttered to König before the incident.

"Our. Room?"

König looks away in embarrassment. "Liebling, can we talk in our-your room, I don't feel comfortable being here-"

"You don't feel comfortable? You don't feel comfortable? Oh what, now I'm supposed to care about YOUR feelings like you care about MINE? Are you fucking kidding me right now?" You point your finger at his chest as you feel your emotions pouring out.

"I-"

"You don't get the fucking right to tell me what I fucking do, you insolent freak. Yeah no wonder you were abused as kid, maybe domestic violence runs in your fucking blood." König widens his eyes at that last dig, knowing you said it only to hurt him, which it did.

He watches you walk away angrily, stomping down the dark corridor, slowing fading out of his vision and into the dark.

He knows he lost you.

He knows, but he'll try again.

The next 2 weeks you receive letter upon letter, all written in various languages, some in English, some in German, some in your mother-tongue, which were definitely google translated.

And every single one, you burnt. You wake up with them under the door of your room, and every single time you take your lighter and burn the bottom right corner without even bothering to read the entire letter. König could write a fucking novel for you, but nothing would fix the evident hatred you felt for the Colonel.

"And he just sends so many damn letter, like enough Shakespeare." You groan to your paperwork partner.

Over the weeks you've definitely bonded with him more, eating together more often, roaming the grounds more often, hell, one night he even slept on the couch in your room! You're grateful to have him by your side, if he weren't there, you would be spiraling down a hole of indefinite depression. Though, you question whether you could say the same to him, and you swear he ever so silently shifts away from you.

"You shouldn't get back with him." He warns you.

You smirk, "Paperwork, you jealous?" and he coughs aggressively in response.

Your smile thins, "But for real, I would never. What he did to me, what he did to you- it's unforgivable. I promise."

He nods wincing at the thought of seeing you with König, a smile ever so gently etching on his flushed face.

"You wanna go take a walk around?"

So you both tour around the base, past the barracks, past the canteen, past that damn combat room, through the gardens, until you find yourselves sitting on the benches by the empty concrete grounds, a comfortable silence filling the air.

The sunny yet cold weather breezes past you, your pony-tailed hair gently swaying towards the direction of the wind as you stare at both your shadows in front of you.

"Weather's nic- are you fucking for real?!" You grip the bench, gritting your teeth as you see a taller third shadow rising beside the original two shadows. Paperwork, looking behind him, jumps out of the bench after realising it was his superior.

"Colonel, sir", he salutes towards König, "sir- I-."

You interrupt him instantly, "Paperwork, I love you, but shut the fuck up."

"2 weeks and we're confessing our feelings already huh?" König stares down at the two of you.

"The only person that should be confessing their feelings should be you, Colonel. To a fucking therapist." You scoff.

"Schatz, listen-"

"Nothing you say will change my mind König. I don't want to see you anymore. Can't you get that through your thick skull or is that shitty cloth on your big head getting in the way?"

König feels his eyes shut involuntarily, being bombarded with all these insults, "Can I not apologise? Did you not read my letters?"

You laugh sarcastically, "König, you're a better clown than a Colonel, cos you're a fucking joke. Now leave me the hell alone." You brisk-walk away, yanking Paperwork behind you, who shoots an apologetic look towards König.

"Scheisse...." König mumbles. Shit....

König's relentless attempts of begging for your forgiveness were all fruitless. He attempting breaking into your room to leave flowers on your bed, but he didn't realise that he'd see you and Paperwork hanging out in the living room.

"Didn't realise there was a fucking rat infestation in this fucking building." You groaned, before slamming the window shut on König's fingers, as he jumped at the pain before falling 2 stories down onto the hard ground.

And there was a time he even had the audacity to sit next to Paperwork, across from you on the dinner table in the canteen.

"Hallo-" But he was rudely ignored by you throwing your scorching hot coffee straight onto his uncovered forearms.

"NEIN, MEINE ARME, ICH WERDE STERBEN, MAMA, HILFE!" NOOOO MY ARMS I'M GONNA DIE MAMA HELP

His useless attempts to woo you remained ... well, useless. You'd never spare a second for him, unless you inflicted pain onto him, like when you knocked down the weights at the gym on top of his feet, or when you 'accidentally' kicked his crotch as he snuck up from behind you. Although you found it funny, going back to your dorm to tell Paperwork about the new event, you just couldn't scratch the burning feeling in your chest. Like you only hit him, burnt him, kicked him out of spite, out of anger, out of revenge from that pain he caused onto you. You may be angry at him for his actions, but you knew hurting him just wasn't what you wanted. You wanted to be the bigger person, and cut him out of your life once and for all.

If only he got the hint.

When you found yourself forcing yourself to knock on his door, cringing at the awkward silence, you had learned from Paperwork that König had be assigned for another mission, which was listed for 2 months.

Ahhhh, 2 months without König. What a dream.

But oh how quickly those months have gone by. One month in, and you and Paperwork were back on the field. The doctor gave you both the signal that physical activity was okay, if done carefully, so now your evenings before dinner, you two would be found dead lifting at the gym.

And damn, did Paperwork look good in a black compression shirt.

"3, come on, 2 let's go Paperboy, 1 more 1 more come on, okaayyy and you're done, well done!" You patted him on his back.

"You're getting better, boy!" You toss him your water bottle, which he takes graciously.

Out of breath but smiling, he nods contently, sitting down on the mat, gesturing you to sit beside him.

"I need to tell you something." He starts, and you look at him narrowing your eyes.

"Don't tell me you have a wife and 3 kids and home..." You snort at him, quickly silencing yourself after he doesn't return a laugh.

"Listen, I was thinking..." He looks away from you.

"This isn't for me anymore-"

You furrow your eyebrows, "This friendship, did I make you uncomfortable, did König tell you I like you?" You ramble on.

"You like me?" He tilts his head, ignoring everything else you've said.

"Huh?"

"hUh? No! No. No, I've been thinking about my career in the army, and I've done it for like 2 years now, which you know, isn't a lot, but the paperwork we did together...it changed me."

You're the confused one now.

"Maybe I'm destined for an office job, maybe this, this just isn't me..." He trails off, finally meeting your eyes, looking for an answer.

You nod, and this time you look away, "No, that makes sense."

There's a pause in the conversation, and for a while, the both of you just stare at the other gym-goers in the vicinity.

You sigh, "I've been doing some of my own thinking you know..."

"You have?"

"Yeah, I talked to the boss and I asked for a tr-"

Suddenly the door, bursts open, and your friends run towards you, huffing, "König-" huff, "He's-" huff, "oh my days, I am so out of breath, I've come to the right place, the gym!"

"Get to the damn point, woman! König in the hospital, he's been shot-"

That was enough to get you up and running.

A 4 hour surgery later, and you and Paperwork sat outside of the hospital door, the same one where you were admitted to, and the same one König lay behind. Paperwork swears he felt his eyes strain, watching you walk up and down the corridor, and he questions whether there was still some unspoken, remaining feelings you had for his superior.

The doctors, leave the room, with a solemn look to their faces, greeted with you running up to you immediately.

"So? Is he finally dead?"

"Ma'am, what- no. He's good, he's recovering rapidly. He's also asking for you." A doctor states, pointing towards, leading both you and Paperwork towards the room.

The hospital rooms still sends shivers down your back, memories of the previous few months rushing back to you all of a sudden, but you're calmed down by the soft rub on the small of your back by Paperwork, who's already looking at you with a soft smile.

You walk towards the bed, with Paperwork standing behind you.

"König. And you're still here."

You look down at you and you wince.

There König lie, bloodied and bruised worse than ever. If your state when you were admitted was described as the worse, you wondered what the doctors were to say when they saw him.

"Schnucki...bist du das?" Sweetie-pie...is that you?

"König honey, what happened?" You gently rub the tears of his swollen face.

"Feind…habe es nicht gesehen…es tut mir alles leid..." Enemy…didn't see…i'm sorry for everything

You hum stroking his bare face, and you look back to Paperwork, knowing it's probably his first time seeing the Colonel maskless.

"Papierkram, es tut mir alles leid...Ich bin ein beschissener Mann mit noch beschisseneren Taten, aber du kannst es in dir finden, mir zu vergeben...." Paperwork, i'm sorry for everything. I'm a shitty man with shittier actions, but you can find it in yourself to forgive me.

Paperwork smiles, nodding as he understood what the fuck the Colonel just said to him in the foreign language, "Sì, non preoccuparti, amico." yeah dont you worry mate (italian)

"Glaubt dieser Idiot, dass ich Italiener bin?" Does this idiot think I'm italian, König warily asks looking at you.

Stroking your cheek, you giggle.

"König, listen. What you did, was...unforgivable."

König sits up slowly with your help, listening intently.

"But as much as I want to strangle you and throw you as you did to me...it's not going to solve any issues."

König tears up.

"I'll never forgive the memories we made together König. I really did love you. But-"

"But?" he squeaks.

"But we're done. I want to be someone's priority always. And König, let's be real, you need to talk to someone about all these pent up emotions."

König nods, tears now streaming down his face.

You wipe his tears, "Hey, hey, don't cry okay, listen. I know it's hard, but it's for the best. We both need to heal and grow separately. Maybe someday we can be friends again, but we need space."

König nods again, sniffling as he tries to compose himself. "I understand. I'll seek help, I promise."

You smile softly, feeling a mix of relief and sadness. "That's all I ask. Take care of yourself, König."

He nods once more, and you lean in to give him a gentle hug before standing up. As you start to stand up, you hear him whisper, "Danke für alles." Thank you, for everything.

Paperwork walks towards you, his arm wrapped your waist.

"Pass auf sie auf, ja?" Look after her, will you?

Paperwork nods, "Sì, signore, lo farò." Yes sir i will. (italian)

"Boy if you don't- listen. I wanted to tell you both something.

The two men look at you intensely.

"What I wanted to say at the gym...and to you König...I've been thinking, for a few months now."

The two men look at each other.

"I've talked to the superiors about this, but I requested a transfer. To England. And...it was approved this morning." You mutter.

König and Paperwork widen their eyes.

"Liebling, that's amazing! I mean I'm sad to see you go as a friend and a team mate, offensichtlich, but I'm happy. Truly impressed soldier." Darling, offensichtlich - obviously.

Paperwork smiles by your side, squeezing your arm gently, "England here I come," and you chuckle to the thought with him by your side.

"Where are you being transferred to you?" König asks.

"Oh, um, Task Force One-Four-One."

Why choose between Paperwork and König when you can have both, YALL GET ME?! Also this should've have taken me so long, my God, but i'm glad it's done fr, sorry for the wait :D also not proofread, so if you see any mistakes, treat it like a middle child and ignore it &lt;3 I have a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

Really likes your angst works! Hoping to see more <3

thank you thank you!!! angst is the best :D

I'm just going thru midterms at uni rn so I'm currently struggling to write at the same time, but more's to come ;)