Latest Posts by pinkslaystation - Page 2

Read inpressive yet unimpressed and if I was reader I’d tear him a new one and be saying stuff like

“you care more about reputation than me. You beat me up because you went fucking crazy and acted all high and mighty! You can forget a wedding or an Austrian cottage or children. The only purpose you’ll serve in life is being a soldier and then letting your rotting body be fertilizer for the forest!”

Probs would get into more detail about it. I’m petty🥰💅🏻

REEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAALLLL

thanks for the inspo 😹😹😹

impressive yet unimpressed left me SHOCKED i am re-reading it and it leaves me jaw dropped every time

what if tho🌚

like what if once reader recovers from the injury könig finally goes back to wanting a family and a house with them on the austrian countryside and reader is just pissed like FUMING like they don't even want to be in the same team as könig anymore and idk i just wanna see könig suffer now🧍🏾‍♀️

your writing is amazing tho like 😻

Thank you so much AHHHH ‼️‼️‼️

No but you're right, if I was reader I'd defo be fuming too - but I'm thinking should I let them continue to be together, or should I break them apart HEHEHEH

AND YES HE WILL BE SUFFERING (lol should i make him homeless in the austrian countryside) 😜

Omg in love with Impressive yet Unimpressed! Any chance for a continuation where König deals with the aftermath?

For sure! I do not want to leave it just like that!

Although, I can't lie, it might take me a while, cos idk how to continue it 😭 but feel free to give me ideas !!

𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙮𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣'𝙨 (ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵒ ᵖⁱⁿᵏ) 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣

Find all my fics below!

𝙎𝙄𝙈𝙊𝙉 𝙍𝙄𝙇𝙀𝙔

Ghost Of A Connection

-> [ANGST] In which you work at the nearest store at base, Ghost being your least favourite and unfortunately, most frequent, customer. Is there a connection there, or is it in his head?

If I meant something to you.

[Part 2]

[Part 3]

-> [ANGST] You want him, but does he want you?

Just a memory

[Part 2]

-> You viewed Simon as your friend, but clearly he didn't feel the same

His name is Ghost

->

𝙆Ö𝙉𝙄𝙂

Impressive yet unimpressed

[Part 2] Unimpressive yet Impressed

-> [ANGST] In which König overhears gossip about him, and the change in his actions affect you, physically and mentally. Part 2 -> He attempts to reconcile with you after his attack.

König und Prinz: Meine Entführer

-> Your attempts to run away with your son fails, and your husband confronts you. Seems like he's really influencing your little one.

König und Prinz: My Escape

-> You've successfully escaped! Or have you...

𝙅𝙊𝙃𝙉 𝙋𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙀

Silent Smoker

-> [FLUFF] Price can't seem to find his missing cigars...and you're the only culprit.

Tulips or Roses?

-> blurb - rose meets tulips

-> [ANGST to FLUFF] In which you find John's old diary detailing his love for you his teammate and you begin to question his love for you.

𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙍𝙏 𝘽𝙇𝙐𝙍𝘽𝙎

-> Gaming with König

Impressive yet Unimpressed.

König and gn!Reader

In which König overhears gossip about him, and the change in his actions affect you, physically and mentally. yALLLLL i'm back >_< here's some unedited shit for the könig girlies (me) - also why do i get this writing motivation late at night :/

Part 2 ;> Word Count: 2.3k

Everyone knew König was infatuated by his partner. By you.

His closest closest friends, included Horangi, were aware of your slightly secret relationship - considering you were all in the same team.

The way he his eyes found you during training, the way he gently held you in his arms when it came to practicing shooting, the way-

You get the point.

Sometimes when your team went out for missions, König found himself committing slight mistakes, such as being distracted by you leading to a close call of a bomb detonation.

"König are you fucking insane? Where's your mind at, man? You're fucking up the team!" One scolded at him in the aircraft post-mission, flying your team to safety.

But König attention remained at you, his eyes focusing on how you managed to still look good regardless of the numerous scars and fresh bruises littering your face. His hand held a (squished) flower that he found, hoping to decorate your hair once landed.

And his feelings were most definitely reciprocated. Your eyes would roam his large frame, muscles tensing as he gripped a fellow teammate in a headlock (me when König? me when.), and you often found yourself unconsciously leaning back into his chest as he held you protectively during practice.

Walking around the base, recruits recognised you, your hair always sporting a different single flower sitting by your right ear.

But not only as his partner, but you also appreciated him as a friend, training you when you first joined, helping you revise for tests, filing paperwork with you.

And although you both found comfort and love from each other during the long weeks of being at base, König often found wanting more from you. He wanted everyone to know he's yours and that you're his. He wanted to take the relationship to the next step, he wanted marriage, he wanted kids, he dreamed of retiring from the military and moving to cute little cottage in the Austrian countryside with you, content that you would both be no longer affiliated with a workplace that screamed violence and limited possibility of survival.

And although the military was all he knew, given he enlisted into the military freshly 17, he knew it wasn't his future, no.

His future was with you.

König found himself walking towards his senior's office, smiling under his mask as his mind frequently hovered over you. Teams for the next missions had been released during the previous meeting, and König wanted to switch to be in the same group as you - so he'd be at peace that your safety in within his arms.

But as his hand gripped at the door handle, his focus switched to the muffled voices from within the office, his ears perking up at his name being thrown into the conversation.

"...he's got soft, sir!"

"We could've died in the last mission, sir, I mean he's an insertion specialist, but the only thing I see him inserting himself into, is his girl, sir!"

König froze. Soft? He's gone soft? He's been described as a fucking battering ram, the fuck do you mean he's gone soft?!

"Like the last training session, this guy spars everyone, and lord does he beat everyone, but the moment he's paired with them, he's fucking rolling on the mat or he surrenders?! How is this fai..."

"...he lives and breathes them sir, it's putting the other soldiers at risk. Does he have to come with us for this mission?"

König zones out. His entire life is the military. In his bare room in the barracks. Not a little cute little cottage in the Austrian countryside?! His home is at the Kortac base, his mind is with his team, and he definitely doesn't live and breathe you.

The muffled voices pause, as if coming to an agreement, and König hears footsteps, quickly hiding behind the door, which opens to reveal the voices.

His teammates.

The teammates he's grown up with.

They thought he was going soft...becoming weak...

König furrowed his eyebrows in humiliation.

A mission without him? That's like asking for death. He'll show you death.

König naturally found himself coming to you, having overheard this mood upsetting gossip about him.

But little ol' you didn't know any better, when he dashed into the common room only to grab a cold beer from the fridge, without a regular smooch to your head, not even a look in your direction, it didn't register how much deeper the crack in your relationship had become...

The day of the mission had come, and although König had told you that went to talk to the higher ups, you couldn't help but be a bit upset considering they hadn't switched you to his group, finding yourself still in your own.

But you didn't mind. You just wanted this mission to be over, so you could find yourself resting in his arms rather than on this random soldier's shoulder.

The aircrafts that held your group and his, raced over the landscape, planting itself by the safe house in the darkness of the Saudi Arabian night.

As the multiple groups landed, soldiers scattering the group as they exit the aircraft, you find yourself making eye contact for the 6'10 colonel.

You send a slight smile his direction, only to be met with a hidden frown behind his mask. You're confused. Usually, his eyes would crinkle with his smile, but your thoughts are interrupted - you're on a mission.

You're huffing, your vision blurry and you find yourself back onto the aircraft? But this isn't your team, as your look around your surrounding, realising you're lying in the middle of the aisle bordered by soldiers. It's König's team.

To your right, you see König...and he's not even looking your way? And to the left is Horangi, his hand rising for a slight wave.

Why aren't you with your team? Where is your team? Where is the air craft going? Why is König not looking at you???

Your eyes shut in pain, and you wince at the slight pain by your abdomen; it's the last thing you feel as you find yourself losing consciousness, failing to see König falling to his knees to aid you as you pass out.

"...bullet grazed abdome..."

Huh?

"...ight concussi..."

Bright light shines in your face.

"...few days..."

This could be the medics, but the way the lights blind your vision, you question whether your well-being is at safe hands or not.

You open your mouth to speak. You can't.

The dryness of your throat restricts you from speaking, but thankfully, one of two medics catches the movement of your lips.

"Soldier, you're okay! Jus' a concussion and stitches on your stomach, cleaned up, not to fret. 6 to 7 days 'til you're free to go, give or take-"

You raise your hand to point towards the freshly scented bouquet of flowers.

"Oh, yeah. Someone brought them...didn't catch the name, solider. Now rest. You need it."

A week of your teammates visiting you goes by, a week of fresh sets of flowers sat by your bed everyday, and although you're happy to be back with them in training, you're dishearten that König didn't find his way to your hospital bed.

Everytime you asked, you received the same response.

"Not sure dude, haven't seen him in a while, stuck in the gym by the looks of it."

You raise your eyebrow. "So...he never visited me?" Voice quivering.

Your teammates shrug.

"Your guy's gone mad in training. Struck his elbow into my neck, and now I want to be on the bed beside you." One said.

"Missed me so badly, you guys have been sending me so many flowers, 'n this place has become a forest!" You laugh, followed by a painful cough, and your friends rush to your side.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, just wanna be back with the team. Just wanna be back with König..."

The medic ends the visitation, walking your friends out the room, leaving you to close your eyes once again as sleep evades you. Outside the room, a confused group discuss.

"We never got her flowers?"

"Forget the flowers - why is there a medal there?"

Whilst you were resting away in your bed, König was awarded for his bravery, putting himself forward to rescue his soldier, you. He felt selfish for enjoying this familiar attention, being praised by someone other than you.

He was impressive on the field..

He walked into the hospital room, when he knew you were resting, after begging and almost on the verge of bribing the medic to let him in after visitation hours.

He decorated your room with the freshest flowers, arrays of bouquets of roses and tulips, dahlias and peonies, as if it were a room full of boyfriends waiting for their girlfriends on valentines day.

There you rest, your chest heaving as you snore. König leaves a flower in your hair, by your right ear, before leaving your room.

It's been 10 days since you've been admitted into the medical room, and 0 days of being with König. Awake that is...

Your teammates are right, he's busy in the gym. Men's only gym...what a calculated move, you think.

Though you're still questioning your actions. What did you do for him to be ignoring you?

So here you are, walking into the combat room, numerous pairs sparring, including König. You aimed to talk to him, ask him why he didn't visit you during your admission to the medical room, and why a shiny gold medal rested, engraving his name, rested underneath your sweatshirt.

The medic warned you, "No physical combat yet - a few more days 'til the cut on your abdomen closes."

And you weren't here to spar, God no.

You were here for König - who's currently...on top of a recruit, fists beating against the poor opponents bloody face.

You push pass the crowd, surrounding this brutal fight - you call it a fight although, from a third party, it looks just like a murder.

"König! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?" You shout at him, trying to get his attention. But your voice is overpowered by the hollering and whistling of the surrounding crowd.

"König! Enough!" Still nothing.

"Köni-"

His eyes meet yours. But not a look of adoration, no. A murderous look. A look that could kill. His eyes, a gentle blue, now a bloodshot red. Like a madman. Like a man-hunting lion.

A shiver runs down your spine.

Another voice breaks out into a shout.

"Who's next" He looks to his left.

"- to fight -", He looks to his right.

"the big the almighty, the Austrian King, Kööööniiiiig!" He announces, elongating syllables, as if a commentator for an illegal underground boxing ring.

"Any contestaaants?" His voice annoys you, why isn't anyone helping the poor soldier? And why is König behaving this way? All macho?

Normally, a quick spar with König would consist of a few skilled moved thrown around, before continuing to the next opponent according to the rotation. Not like you would know, he usually just rolls on the mat or he surrenders, too afraid to hurt his precious lover.

You begin to scream, "Stop this figh-"

König eyes rest on yours, and this signals the commentator-wannabe to point directly at you.

"The neeeeext opponent-"

Oh no.

"isssss-"

Why is everyone looking at you?

"Youuuuu!"

Me?

In a matter of seconds, the crowd formed around König and the now unconscious soldier moves to border you and König.

König stands up, his 6' 10 self towering over you, even though he stands 7 metres from you.

He steps towards you slowly, and your eyes fall down to his boots.

His left foot moves, then his right foot.

Left.

Right.

And now he's right in front of you, red eyes cutting into you. He scoffs, looking down at you condescendingly.

"Wait-" Your mouth runs dry again.

He steps forwards once again.

"Wait, König, I can't, I was disch-"

But this doesn't stop him.

He grabs your sweatshirt at the chest, unknowingly clutching onto the tucked away medal, and with a swift move, he places his second hand onto your back, and throws you straight onto your back.

He throws you directly onto your back.

Your thankful that you didn't land onto your front, your stitches would have broken immediately, but at this point, you're not too sure, and you're clutching onto your stomach again, curling into fetal position onto the floor.

Something is definitely broken. You can tell, because when you open your eyes, you see people staring from above you, while you lay on the mat, laying in a blood of a deep red liquid.

Your ears are ringing once again, and you lay motionless on the floor, cursing internally for being so weak.

König smirks at you on the floor.

Weak? Him?

Soft?? HIM??

He chuckles as people begin to pat his back, fist bumping and side hugging the soldiers around him.

He turns to you once again.

"Shows over, liebing, get up now." He breathes heavily.

You don't move.

"Schatz...enough acting..."

Nothing.

He steps towards you, kneeling to reach your level, his eyes catching sight of the pool of blood.

"Meine Liebli-"

His fingers touch your skin and his blood runs cold, whilst yours run down the mat from your broken nose.

"Schatz?"

The crowd dissipates and the medic runs into the middle of the scene.

"I told her no physical exercise! König, why didn't you stop her!" He scolded at König.

"Now help me carry her to the medical room - again!"

König, who didn't dare to speak, looks up, eyes wide open.

"König!"

The medic looks down at him.

An unimpressed look rests on his face.

YALLLLLLLL the angst, call me mcdonalds cos i'm loving it :D Quick notes: The move König pulls at the end is written a little confusingly (MY APOLOGIES LMAO), but it's inspired by the wrestling move -> The Arm Throw. I hope this helps you visualise it better. I've decided to start a tag list! -> lemme know you're interested to be tagged in my future posts! tags -> @lilliumrorum

i could totally carry them

Silent Smoker

John Price x You

nay's missing john price, so here's some fluff (?) anyone here comforted by smoking/someone else smoking? i'm not :/ - icl the smell is so repulsive to me, but i'm on my hands and knees for anything price does-

John knew you didn't like when he smoked. So, he avoided smoking.

Around you, that is.

He still frequently pulled out his cigars, lit them, and smoked them at the base, but when he came home he made sure to kiss your lips with his strawberry flavoured gum in his mouth, aware of your dislike it.

You hug him tightly, heart full of content now that your man's home, but you can't help but notice the slight scent of nicotine and whiskey coating his frame when you press up against him.

But you ignore it, you're both so tired, you from your regular 9-5 job, and Price, as a well-respected captain.

Price was aware you didn't like smoking. It reminded you of your neglectful parents, who you'd find preferred smoking over cuddling with their child. Or you're ex partners who'd just be smoking the day away as you struggled your way through university life.

So it came to his surprise when he found his half-used cigars lying around, on the bathroom sink, the ash tray, the balcony.

He knew the culprit would be you, I mean unless someone decided to break into your home, steal absolutely nothing, smoke his cigars, then leave, but he was confused on why and when you started.

Were you stressed? Were you bored? Were you curious?

Questions circulated John's head as he entered your bedroom after one busy day, 11 p.m. rolling by quickly.

"Love," he pressed his chaste kiss against your forehead before climbing into your bed, smile pressed against your head as your cuddle against his chest.

"John..." you mumble.

Yeah, you're the culprit. He can recognise that post-cigar smell from anywhere once your breath wafted towards his direction.

He pauses for a second, and sits up, causing you to look up at him, too tired to move. You tilt your head at him in confusion, and he swears his heart melts a bit.

"Sweetheart, you know you can talk to me about anything right?"

Your face bares a confused expression.

"The cigars-" he starts.

"Are you mad?" His heart breaks a little at your question.

"No! Of course not! I'm- I'm just a little confused. You always mentioned how you hated when I smoked, but you're doing it too- and that's okay!" he rambles, "But are you okay, I know we haven't talked much, we're both busy and stressed, and if there's anything I can do, I'd appreciate you telling me, I wan' to supp-"

You muffle his words with a kiss, smiling against his lips.

Oh John.

He sighs against you, sleep evading his eyes.

"Just a big stressed, no biggie, not a consistent thing." You mutter, pulling him back to laying next to you.

He wraps his arms against you, gently stroking your head, "You know you can always talk to me..." he mumbled against your forehead.

You smile at his kind words. Even when he's going through the most, he never fails to be by your side.

"I know, love, I know."

You both drift into a well deserved sleep, wrapped with the warmth of John's arms, and the faint scent of his cigars lingering around, knowing that this was a conversation for tomorrow.

JOHN COME HOME THE KIDS MISS YOU.

Ghost of A Connection

Ghost and Staff!Reader

In which you work at the nearest store at base, Ghost being your least favourite and unfortunately, most frequent, customer. Is there a connection there, or is it in his head? yALL - all these COD stories on tumblr got me hyped! So here I am tryna catch some clout ;) Be warned, this is possibly a very inaccurate version of military life, but then again, it's just a story. Word Count: 2.5k

Man, post-graduate life is hard.

Graduating top of your cohort of nearly 300 students in your masters degree within Psychology was impressive. Saving enough money from shadowing your senior Psychology professor and moving out to your apartment was impressive. Owing your own car was impressive.

What wasn't impressive though, was nearly hitting the 6 month mark of unemployment.

So here you are, stuck calling all your classmates for any open roles. You're so desperate at this point, you'd go for anything!

"Hey, Mahir! I know we didn't quite end of good terms...um-you know...when you asked for the mid-terms answers last year, and I- um...left you on delivered, and you had to retake the exams...but um, I hear you started working at the University as a Researcher and you're looking for a assistant? Well gee, don't forget how smart I a-"

Disconnected.

"Yooo, Josephine, it's me! From the Psychopathology group project! Yeah, I'm sorry I shouted at you for not doing your part on the project, and filing a complaint against you, haha...although, like, come on, it's your fault - you're 25, not a 5 year old bab-"

Blocked.

Wow. You were not liked.

So one evening, when you were on the phone to your childhood friend, Jordan Biggs, and had managed to slip out how desperately broke you were, he kindly offered a potential role at his workplace.

"Shop keeper? What, like a convenience store?" Remind me where you work again? Aren't you in the navy? What stores are you talking about?" You rambled, I mean a possible job - finally?!

On the line, Jordan chuckles, "Slow your roll, man. I've been been with the army for around 3 years now, I'm currently on a mission but we'll be home soon. Our base has a shop, that sells, you know, tactical gear-"

"GUNS?!" You interrupted.

Jordan laughs, then in shushed by, what you assume to be his teammate, "No, not any weapons. Just, tactical gear, MREs, bits and pieces of uniform. Sometimes you might be asked to clean the base, set up rooms for meetings. And ooh my favourite - work at the canteen. We serve the country, you serve us food." Jordan explains.

So you complied.

I mean, yeah, your degree isn't being utilised, but we're in a cost of living crisis, for Christ's sake.

And here you are, clad in a plain dark grey fleece, and straight black trousers, trying to look as professional as possible.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your first day was silent. You found that you lived only 30 minutes away from the base, so you didn't struggle with the early shifts, working almost full days at the base, with a surprising decent salary.

You learnt you had replaced the previous worker, Katherine, a grumpy senior who quit, being fed up with the stench of these sweaty unkempt soldiers, and their rowdy behaviour after missions.

You also met your staff at the base, being the youngest one there gave you no surprise, with most your colleagues being double your age. You liked it. It was quiet, having met a few of the soldiers.

Your role was relatively simple. Consisting of various tasks such as ordering enough food to satisfy the recruits, more training equipment, when a recruit seemed to damage one. All in all, you were satisfied, especially when the first pay day rolled in.

You also noted that your colleagues, without fail, always seem to talk about a specific group of soldiers, such as Friday evening, when you all found yourself eating an early dinner.

"Soap is so sweet! He's always so generous when we talks to me, although I can't lie, I don't know what the fuck he says half the time." Your colleague rambles, shoving a spoon full of Friday's roast dinner into his mouth.

Another agreed, "Nothing beats the dilf of a man - Captain John Price. I may be chewing steak but that ain't the meat I want in my mouth, if you get what I mean-"

You choked, "Margaret, you're married with grand-kids, lord."

After a quiet but much needed conversation, you learnt about the most well-known team within the base, Task Force One-Four-One, lead by Captain John Price, forming of Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish, Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, and the one you were most curious about - Simon 'Ghost' Riley.

"But like, why Ghost? If he's close to this Soap dude, why not call yourself Shampoo or something?"

Your colleagues laughed at your naivety glancing at each other.

"My dear, I don't dare to call him anything other than Lieutenant. He's entered a 10 metre radius of mine, and I've already pissed myself." One stated.

"I've heard he threatened to attack Katherine, just because she overcharged him, long story short, she quit." Another replied.

It seemed you didn't understand how feared Ghost really was...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the time you all had finished dinner, the staff split up, some going back to the canteen to prepare dinners for the soldiers finishing training, some going to clean up the barracks, and you found yourself going back to your designated shop.

Aah, this is peaceful. You mumbled, drinking your hot chocolate, whilst sorting out all the army boots on display.

As the clock strikes 10 p.m. though, the silence is broken and you hear a stampede of soldiers, once you assume had come back from a month long mission. The majority of them, from what you'd heard, sprinted to the canteen to rid themselves of their strictly MRE diet, and finally eat some home cooked food, whilst others ran off to their freshly cleaned barracks to get some well-deserved sleep.

Your little shop also seemed to be quite busy, a long queue waiting to buy water bottles, bandages, blankets, you name it. From nearby chatter from the tired soldiers, it seems most of the teams had arrived back from Afghanistan, a successful mission with no death and a few minor injuries.

An hour goes by and the queue dies down to around 6 people, with one at the till: Jordan.

"So a water bottle, that would be £1.50, payin- my God, Jordan?" You smiled, getting in front of the counter and pulling into a hug. He smelt like dusty and you joked that 1 bottle of water wouldn't suffice to rinse him of the smell.

"I haven't seen you in forever, it's been like 6 months? How's the job been treating you?" He enquiries, placing a kiss against your forehead. By now, the nearly empty shop turns to face the both of you, many assuming the situation to be a couple reuniting.

You and Jordan continue to catch up on everything - his mission, your job...Margaret's obsession with which positions she can take Captain Price in...

"Bro, she was going so in depth into the many ways she can contort her waist for, what she calls, the Price penis?!" You pull your most fake-disgusted face, as Jordan cackles loudly.

But his laugh falls short as a deep scruffy voice interrupts him-

"The only thing being wasted right now, is my time. Hurry the fuck up and pay for your shit. You act like we have all the time in the fucking world."

You jump slightly at the harsh words, although this is a military base, you should be used to this foul language.

"My guy, she said waist, not waste-" Jordan begins, before straightening his back and realising who he was talking to.

He turns around to face the man's voice, his back now turned to you, obstructing your view of the unknown soldier.

"Lie-Lieutenant. My apologies! Lemme grab this water and get out of your way," Jordan nervously chuckles, you can't see who he's talking to, but you can tell this was a man of higher authority, given how Jordan stutters. "Ooh, I see what you wanted to buy! Gloves, nice, socks, cool, Coc-Coco pops?!"

"My fucking God Biggs, the only thing big about you is your stupidity and your pussy attitude, grab your shit and go. Stop holding the fucking line, mate." The male's British accent is so prominent with every word enunciated, and you wish to never run into this stranger again.

"Sir!" Jordan turns to you, handing you a fiver and awkwardly side hugging you, "Have fun with this jerk wad." He whispers into your hair, before running out the shop, his water bottle still on the counter.

"Jordan your bottle-"

Holy shit.

After Jordan moves, your eyes feast before you, revealing a godly 225 lb man, standing at an impressive 1.89 metres, dressed in his dark and intimidating casual attire, his face hidden behind a skeleton mask, his piercing eyes squinted and penetrating into your shorter frame, his biceps bulging out of his sweatshirt, his shoulders broad, his trousers failing to hold his impressive bulg-

"Are you going to continue gawking at me like a fuckin' donkey or should I not pay for this shit?" He huffs out in disappointment.

Rude. Plain rude. Sexy...but rude.

Now you know why Jordan couldn't move a muscle when faced with this guy. Putting 2 to 2 together, you clocked. The way other soldiers left the shop as he entered. The way one look from him gets them to shut up so quickly. The skeleton mask-

This is Ghost.

"We- I- Um-" What the hell? Why can't you form a damn sentence?

"I- I- I don't give a damn. My shit, here." He mocks you, slamming his items on the counter. By now, the other customers have scurried off in fear. It's now you and Ghost in the shop.

You nod, humming a yes, eyebrows furrowing at his unkind words.

The next few moments are followed by near silence, the only sounds being the scanning of the items and your quickening breath. His foot begins tapping rapidly, as sign that you're taking to long.

It's uncomfortabl-

"The old hag before you's gone then."

Yes, Ghost, she is. And if you keep acting like this, I will be too. You grunt a response, unable to find the right words.

"£28.50" You say curtly, after a while. He hums in response, pulling his wallet to pay.

You watch him nervously, you did not expect to see one of the most respected soldiers in front of you so soon. Someone so handsome, someone so fucking sexy, but someone so fucking bitchy...

Oh. You said that last bit out loud.

Ghost pauses his actions, his head slowly craning upwards, his gaze drinking you in.

Your eyes meet his, quickly looking back at the counter, unable to meet his furrowed but amused glare.

"'m so bitchy, but you seem to love it, sweetheart. So red, like you're fucking in love with me or something." He scowls, slapping a £20 note on the counter.

"Maybe next time stopping droolin' over other men when you have your own cunt of a boyfriend." He mutters, before taking his shit and leaving. You don't fail to catch the smirk in his voice, as he exits your shop, loud footsteps booming behind him.

Oh my god.

You were at a loss of words. You were also at a loss of £8.50.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Jordy, you don't fuckin' get it! Dickhead left the place, without paying the full fucking price, mind you." Frustration was evident in your voice.

"Bitchy and broke," Jordan snickers.

"And the audacity to call you my boyfriend? Bye." You huff in annoyance, whilst Jordan chokes on his spit. If anything, he was a like a brother to you!

A week has gone by since that first encounter and your conversations with Jordan at the shop, when he passes by, always seem to end up at the topic of Ghost. The way he glares at you as you walk past him in the corridors. The way he sees you struggling when you carry boxes upon boxes- oh he won't help you, by the way. When you ask, he simply scoffs, "You're getting paid and you don't even want to do your job?"

Since that day, you've met all of the Task Force members. Price was as Margaret mentioned, sexy. Soap, comical, Gaz, kind-hearted, Ghost...yeah, he's there.

"But you don't get it man, he's so big- like over 6 foot! And those eyes- man those eyes. So condescending...but so hot..." you continue.

"Damn Margaret wannabe, we get it." Jordan jokes, drinking his can coke - which he didn't pay for. You'll tell him later.

As you both converse, loud footsteps enter the store.

Ghost. Again.

Did I mention he's been in here every day since the first time?

8 a.m. sharp, the moment you clock in for your shift, and 10 p.m. on the dot. Fucker's so annoying, he'll stay around the shopfloor, lazily looking at the various protein bars, even after you state the shop is already 10 minutes past closing.

But you don't mind. His silently stares at you, as if trying to remember the exact location of every beauty spot on your face, the consequent reddening of your cheeks, the slight touches of his rough callous fingers brushing against your own. All this unspoken tension, leads to your every thought being consumed by Simon Riley.

And when he enters the shop, wow. Buys the most random unnecessary shit ever. You notice how he walks in and purchases his singular Coco Pops cereal bar, day after day. This man isn't sick of them?

I mean, come o-

"Your obsession with me is flattering." He states.

Oh, forgot to mention, he's still an asshole. But at least after rehearsing to yourself in the mirror, you can actually speak up for yourself.

"Guh- buh- we- u-" Fuck's sake.

But he actually laughs this time. A loud imploding chuckle exits his mouth, and you actually smile a little at this unfamiliar emotion.

You can't tell what his face is doing under the mask, but his voice suggests a small smile rests on his face, but it soon disappears before he coughs awkwardly.

"Your boyfriend's in the infirmary by the way." He looks away, emphasising boyfriend a little too roughly.

You stare in confusion. Boyfriend? He picks up on this.

"Biggs. Rolled his ankle or some shit. Dunno why he can't just man it up. I've had worse injuries." He mumbles, smiling under his mark slightly, assuming Jordan isn't in fact your boyfriend.

Your eyes widen, "Jordy? Wha-who-how?"

"He-" But before he can answer your question, you're running out the shop to the infirmary, stealing a snack from the shelf for Jordan.

You fail to notice that you'd left a dejected Ghost at the counter, who'd picked up 2 coco pops instead of 1 this time, his smile faltering, as he planned to give you the 2nd, as a token of apology for his impolite behaviour.

In the end, he realised he'd been holding onto a ghost of a connection, overshadowed by the presence of another man.

He winces, being left alone at the till, hoping to actually strike up a conversation with you, as he gathers his (unpaid) belongings and walks out the door, off to shout at any rando that dares get in his way.

yALL its 2.30 a.m. and i'm craving coco pops-