snow covers the trees as far as the eye can see, until the trees blend in with the surrounding mountains. there are no roads visible in the distance, no streetlights, no smoke billowing from neighbouring cabins. the only sign of life comes from the steady stream of light pouring from the porch lamp behind you.
your toes curl in your rubber boots, the bones crack from the cold. its hard to say how long you have been here, but you know you weren’t here long before you lost your winter boots. you tried to run — you got antsy in the cabin, pacing a hole into the floor, keeping the old man up — but you didn’t make it far before he was dragging you back inside by the scruff of your neck. he took your boots then, laughed about how you wouldn’t make it to the fence line without a proper pair of shoes. fuck, you can barely make it to the shed for some more firewood.
you’re heaving by the time you’ve gathered the last few logs of wood. the snow keeps pouring down; you’d overheard the weatherman on the radio say the storm showed no signs of stopping. the trail you made to the shed is almost gone by the time you turn back. you could run now, drop the wood and head south. but you can’t feel your toes, and the tears that have spilled over due to the cold are frozen to your cheeks.
the steps groan underneath your weight as you make your way back to the door. john looks up from the kitchen window and his face softens. you kick your boots off at the door, feet tingling. he offered his name the first night here. you didn’t offer yours. he knew it anyways. he knows a lot about you, yet you’re still learning about him.
you’ve gathered that he is military, or he was. he’s old fashioned, the newest piece of technology in this place is the radio from the 90’s. he reads mostly non-fiction or mystery books. he starts his day with a crossword and ends it with sudoku. takes his tea black, drinks only decaffeinated past 2pm to help him sleep. the whiskey doesn’t hurt either.
he’s got trust issues; let’s you bring the wood in by yourself but doesn’t let you near the cutting knives. he’s got control issues too; he laid out a short set of rules for you to follow, but you discover new infractions everyday.
you glide past him when you come inside, unceremoniously dropping the wood in front of the fireplace and dropping to the ground in an effort to warm up. you think he likes to keep you cold, hoping it will bring you closer to him. that’s why he only keeps one blanket on the back of the couch, why your socks are thin and your cable knit sweater is threadbare. he hums as he approaches, carrying a bowl of what you can only assume is another stew. old fashioned.
“up on the couch, love. got to warm you up.” he brings a hand to your shoulder, fingertips dancing to the curve of your neck before stopping above your pulse. you hate yourself for leaning into it. “got your favourite for dessert. stopped at a bakery i think you’ll love.”
you tilt your head back, watching as he settles into the couch behind you. you don’t recall him leaving. he groans as he leans back, shifting to make space beside him.
“you’d take me?” you ask, voice hoarse from the cold.
he smirks and pats the space beside him, his other hand tightening on the steaming bowl. “one day. if you’re good.”
its a lie, you both know it. the thought leaves you just as quickly as it comes, erased by the fleeting idea of one day. you shuffle onto the couch beside him and tuck your feet underneath yourself. the snow shows no signs of stopping, the flakes fall heavier with each passing moment. you watch it settle on the window frame as you settle into john — it fogs up the window, it feels like erasure. the stew sits heavy in your stomach, its hard to say why you want to leave.
It's not about what Lt. "Ghost" Riley did to you, at least not about that physical act of brutal rape.
It's not even about your literally scattered brain.
No, these two occurences are in fact something you can cope with, in the greater context.
Because, surprisingly, any recreation of brain structure is the easiest part within your process of renewal. There are far worse deaths than a headshot, you can tell.
And when you decided to pick up a military career, you knew about risks and dangers. It was always clear to you that there might be things you'd dislike but would find necessary to be dealt with, anyways. [Best theoretical, general example: a huge meteor that would be about to destroy the earth — of course the public could not be informed.]
No, in hindsight, you really do not blame Ghost for forcing himself upon you ferociously under the influence of that virus or pollen or whatsoever. After all, he didn't choose to get infected, did he?
No.
It's about everything that happened after he'd pulled out of you with a grunt. After he'd fucked his system clean again.
It's about the betrayal.
You're shaking off earth and dirt and death while you're getting up to your feet, stretching your aching muscles and getting familiar with the feeling of your newly formed skull bones and wrath.
There had been a fleeting moment, right before Ghost started to address the captain, that you really thought you'd get some minimum explanation from Price, something to work with, some sort of reassurance, so that you could heal and handle meeting the team again, even coming upon face to face with Ghost once more later, but now you fully understand that treating you on something comparable to eye level had never been an option — or letting you live at all.
To them, there was no fighting on the same side together with you; you were nothing but a security risk. A witness to a government secret above your clearance. A very cheap life – no matter what had been before this fateful encounter… No matter that you'd have been willing to risk death for them all – even if you could have given yourself up only once…
You thought too highly of them, by far…
That's what hurts so much. The fact that neither the captain nor your lieutenant knew or cared that you wouldn't tell. That you, of all people, would have known how to keep an obvious military secret for them.
It was a moment of genuine surprise for you, having you recoil in shock against your better knowledge, when the captain had actually readied his gun. Though, perhaps you should have known better.
Gotta keep that in mind.
A considerable price for a painful lesson in more than one way.
The incident cost your trust in the men you looked up to.
Pity.
Someone would have to pay. And for now, there are two names on your list to start with.
Simon Riley. And John Price.
◾️ Cold seed [1]
[This fic is what inspired me regarding You's supernatural existence]
Summary: An extension of this. John is back home to take care of you, his sweet bird. He let you sow your wild oats. Let you let your hair down. But it was time for him to come home.
Content warning(s): exhusband!price is his own warning, toxic relationship, manipulation, abusive relationship, physical abuse, misogyny, power imbalance, only physical description of reader is they have hair price can pull, this is DARK and this is NOT a healthy relationship at all, you have been warned, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!1!1
A/N: Thinking about Price and his stupid little smile he does, you know the one. How condescending it is. Ugh I could fix him (he would hate me if he was real). Please pleASE PLEASE tell me your thoughts, I am literally dying to get feedback. Story under cut, ENJOY!!!
Your back and neck are tense as you shoulder the front door open. Grocery bags digging into your wrists, you’d be damned if you took more than one trip from the car. Toeing off your heels, toes cramping from the stiff material. Taking a deep breath and pausing in the foyer. Eyebrows knitting together as you exhale. Something is…different. The air. It feels imposing. Stifling. Checking your wrist, you sigh at the time. It was late, and your brain was more than likely just exhausted.
Padding into the kitchen and placing your grocery bags on the kitchen counter, you roll your neck around, groaning from the built-up tension. Once anything perishable is put away, you heave a deep sigh and shuffle into the living room.
Falling onto the plush couch, you let your head fall back and run your hands down your face. It had been a long week, work was overwhelming, accidentally becoming important at your corporate job was not in the cards originally, your mother was harassing you to sell your house, your car needed work, and the mechanic was trying to overcharge you. It would all be okay, though. You could do this. You could–
Something was off. Your eyebrows knitted together as you sat up on the couch. The house suddenly felt staggeringly large. And empty. Swallowing thickly, you reach for the lamp sitting on the small table by the couch. Gently tugging down the bronze chain. The wail that escapes you is guttural as the soft light finally illuminates the figure sitting on the loveseat in the corner. Before you have the chance to consider flight or fight, the figure leans forward, resting their elbows on their knees. The gun in their hands immediately became visible.
“John!?”, you yell. Anger trampled over any fear you felt. Though that wouldn’t last long. “What– What the fuck are you doing here?”, you snap at him. Venom seeping from the corners of your mouth. Tainting the air.
Those little wrinkles by the corner of his eyes you used to adore so much begin to show as he smirks at you. Tilting his head slightly, he scrutinizes you. Not saying anything. Your heart hammers in your ribcage as you stare at him. He hadn’t changed much. Much to your chagrin, he was just as handsome as ever.
“John. You… you can’t be here.” Your divorce was amicable. He had given you the house and subsequently forfeited any rights he had to said house. So he had no right to just show up on a whim. “John-”, your eyes dropped the gun he held in his right hand. Its unsettling presence abruptly dawns on you. A smile rises on his face when he takes in your expression.
“I missed you, dove.”, he grumbles. His voice dripped with honey and control.
“John. I– I don’t know what this is, but you cannot be here.”, you state with finality. Eyes trained on the gun he held. Goosebumps raised on your skin despite the summer heat outside.
“Since when is a man not allowed in his own home? Hm?” he questions, brows knitting together in mock confusion. Opening your mouth to retort and immediately snapping it shut when he abruptly stands up. Nostrils flaring as your breath becomes heavy. “John–”, you pause, swallowing thickly when he steps toward you. Crouching down directly in front of you, knees popping from the years of wear and tear. His left hand resting on your knee, the pistol in his right hand resting on your thigh. Your breaths stagger from you as you stare down at it.
“Easy, dove.”, he hums, faux concern weaving through his tone. His left hand raises and cups your face, thumb caressing your cheek, before his hand drifts to the base of your neck, fingers softly threading into your hair. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart. It’s time for me to come home now, yeah? I’ve given you more than enough time, don’t you think? You’re gonna be a good–”, your tone is fierce as you spit your words out.
“Excuse me!? Im– you–”, you sputter out incredulously. “You–you really haven’t changed, have you, John? I won’t let you do this! This behavior is disgusting.”, you spit. This was the exact fucking reason you left him. He was imposing. Arrogant. Demanding. Borderline misogynistic at times.
You continue telling him off, not noticing how he tucked his pistol into the back of his jeans. Tutting softly as he shakes his head, his hand lowering from the nap of your neck as he slowly stood to his full height. He turned slightly, sighing and shaking his head. Which, in hindsight, should have been your final warning.
“ –and you have the audacity to act like I’m inconveniencing you!? Like I’m the one in the wrong here!? God, you are so–”, the back of his hand connects with your cheek with a bone-shattering strength. The tension that settled in the room made it hard to breathe. Or maybe it was the blood dripping from your nose as you lay curled over on the couch. Your hands trembled as you cupped your face, and your entire body trembled as you stared down at the couch. Eyes blown wide with shock.
Still reeling from the strike, you wailed when John threaded his large hand through your hair, viciously yanking you up to your feet, his frame leaning down the rest of the way. He shushed you when you flinched away from the hand raised to cup your cheek. His thumb gently rests beneath your nose, softly wiping your blood away, though more begins to trickle down slowly. Much to your dismay he raised his thumb to hip lips, sucking your blood off his thumb. His hooded eyes never leave your blown-out, tear-filled ones.
“There she is. Nice and quiet.”, he mused, eyes twinkling in some sort of sick admiration. “Let’s try this again, pet. It’s time for your husband to come home. Right?” he asked, his head tilting slightly, waiting for an answer.
Your bottom lip wobbled, and you shook your head to the best of your ability, whining when he began to nod your head for you, your hands desperately clawing at the one that grasped your roots. “Look at you, dove. You need me. You need me here. To help you. I’m here now, dove.”.
God! I love dark price, please write a part of dark price and reader with his son (I want a mini price 😔) I think it would be a boy 😅 but I'll leave it up to you <3 have a good day, best writer on Tumblr <3
Cage
Cw: forced pregnancy, forced relationship, MENTION OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARKFIC, tell me if I missed any.
“Mama! Mama!” Two, childlike voices called out to you, their tones light and jovial with a child’s innocence, untainted by the horrors of the world.
Rapid pads followed after their screams, running steps heading your way as you turned to look at the source, putting down the knife you used to cut the ripe and fresh carrot for supper. Two pairs of hands grabbed at your pants, wide, blue eyes staring up at you with joy and wonder in their pretty eyes, they begged for attention.
You loved them. You truly did. From the lingering fat on their three-year old cheeks, their round, doe eyes in a stormy, blue shade, their chubby limbs and fingers holding onto you to the soft locks in the shade of your hair. From the adorable behaviour, pliant and obedient, always eager to listen to you if it meant receiving praises and kisses from you, to the innocence in their being, untouched by the cruelty you’ve seen when you were still working. But everything about them reminded you of him, of their father, of your husband. Your boy and daughter were spitting images of their father, only with your shade of hair.
“What wrong?” You crouched to their height, thumb rubbing the blue ink off the fat of your daughter’s cheek with your clean hand, you’d left the both of them in the living room with a box of coloured pens and paper to draw with.
“Hungry, Mama,” Olivia moaned, clutching her shirt with an adorable pout, reaching for her brother for help to convey her hunger.
You cooed at her, picking the both of them up, bobbing them until they sat comfortably on each side of you, arms wrapped around your shoulder as they cried and moaned about being hungry, about their tumtums making sound. You put them on separate chairs, handing them a small cracker to eat while your finished making your soup. Olivia and Arthur - you precious twins - liked the bland crackers, wanting something to bite into while their teeth grew, to stop the itch and discomfort of growing teeth.
“Mama’s almost finished, it’ll be done once Dada’s home, okay?” Your kids were smart, they understood words that most wouldn’t at this age. You chalked it up to them having your husband’s genes, his smart and quick decisions made it nearly impossible to beat him in a battle of wits, you learned that the hard way.
As if summoned by your voice, you heard the lock click, announcing your husband’s return from work. Hearing their father open the door, Arthur and Olivia jumped off their seats and rushed to the door, smiling and giggling, overjoyed to see their father home after leaving early in the morning. He bent down to kiss them, bringing them into his chest and blowing kisses, a few dozen on their forehead, another dozen on each cheek and a few on their pink nose, small and adorable.
“Go on, give Ma and Pa a moment, yeah?” He smiled softly, petting them on the head before coaxing them away, wanting a moment to hold you on his own.
He pulled you towards him, hands grasping onto your hips, strong and unyielding in his hold. He pressed his lips to your cheek, slowly trailing down to your lips with a searing and possessive kiss, demanding your attention and whole being. He nipped at your lip, teeth biting on your lower lip until you let out a small whimper, audible to him and you alone, protecting your children from Price’s darker side.
“John,” you mumbled, panting when he pulled away, your lips swollen from his rough kiss.
When you tried to move back, you were stopped by his grip on your nap, unaware that his hand snaked up to hold you still, keeping your face near his. His stormy eyes brewed with a cyclone, a violent and powerful torrent of emotions that had you shudder in fear and apprehension. He was strung high, pulled tight on the edges, his nerves burned to its core without any relief for him to come back down. You knew you would have to help him relax, to surrender your body to his whims.
“Let’s… let’s just eat dinner and get the kids to bed first, all right?”
Part 1/2 of Oneshot: researchers!141 are attempting to attach a camera on you to observe the life of seals, but you're a selkie
CW: MDNI, read the tags
a/n: I was watching 'Animals With Cameras', I think by BBC, and there was a segment where the researchers attach a camera to a fur seal. I love love LOVE selkies and was like- oh em gee!; I made the border myself :3
Part 2
2.7k words ദ്ദി •⩊• )
You resided with the thousands of fur seals on Kanowna Island (it's a real place), in peace. As a selkie, you originated from the rocky, unforgiving shores of the Scottish isles, but Australia was nice. You tried to figure out if there were other selkies among the community, but it seems you were yet alone again. It didn't really matter though. The hardest part for you was sleeping without shedding your coat.
You got into the habit of becoming too comfortable, too off guard once you've entered your slumber, sometimes waking up with feet and not fins. The other seals couldn't really tell from the way your coat engulfed your frame, appearing as a rather rugged seal.
You were also used to the occasional researchers that came to temporarily stay on this uninhabited island. Nature was the reigning monarch. You missed when the helicopter landed, too busy hunting underwater, but you heard the rustles of their tents upon the lush green land. You figured they were just checking up on the population, making sure there wasn't another case of rabies going around.
They took their time coming closer to the seals. You could hear them tinkering. You assumed their scientific equipment broke; maybe the experienced was teaching the fresh-out-of-school researchers.
It was a warm, sunny day against the cold, harsh winds. You were full from last week's catch and would rather sunbathe away. The researchers in the past never proven themselves to be a threat. They were always cautious, keeping their distance.
Some of the younger seals wanted to go up to the fields, play around in the sun. You decided to tag along, hoping to find a secluded area where you could stretch your legs. Your body starts to feel cramped once in a while if you took on your civil form for too long.
The grass was lush and soft, absorbing all the sun's rays. You and your herd rolled around, relaxing from the strain of hunting in the waters.
You didn't notice the researchers stealthily stalking up to your herd. The leader had prepared a rather large net, opting for a sneak attack approach. The other three followed, carrying an anesthesia tank, a camera, and their contingency plan.
It was sudden the way a large, bear-like man came running towards the younger seal. You were protective of your kind. You had rejected humanity long ago, and they proved your reasoning.
You rushed in front of the seal, snarling your teeth at the man as he trapped the net around you without hesitation or fear. You'd get out, is what you tell yourself. It was the only choice you had.
A man in a cap quickly put a breathing mask over your snout, and you tried to play sleep, but they weren't playing around. You could hear the other seals retreating back to the shores and rocks where the rest laid, and hoped they didn't come back to try and get you.
You were slipping under the anesthesia. A man with a weird haircut was stroking your head, obviously trying to soothe you. For some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to look them in the eyes. It was comforting to be treated so softly as you fell asleep.
The men got to work as your heart rate slowed and steadied. They removed the net and strapped you to a metal stretcher, five equipment straps securing you down. They started attaching the camera to your long back, which they had altered many times to ensure it wouldn't fall off. But their efforts were simply a waste.
As they were making sure the camera was secured, they noticed your fur becoming more limp, more flimsy. That's when they noticed your feet sticking out under from the fins of your coat, and human hair fluttering against the wind under the hood.
"Well fuck me, we got us a selkie." Soap muttered, lifting your hood to see your human face.
Gaz retreated the anesthesia, worried that the concentration for seals would be too much for a human. But did it matter? You were technically both.
"I thought they were just a myth." Ghost eyed Soap.
"I know just as much as you do." Soap shrugged.
But the three of them faced their leader.
Price stared down at your body, obviously very much covered by your large coat. Selkies were a myth for a reason. He noticed how your seal self threw itself to protect the others. He'd keep you a secret unless pushed otherwise.
"We'll bring her back to camp, make sure she's alright."
They undid your straps, and Soap was the first to try and carry you. But your coat wasn't on all the way, slipping and flashing him, which he slightly freaked out. He quickly pulled the coat back over, begging Gaz to help him. Gaz simply wrapped the strap like a belt around your waist to secure your coat. Ghost gingerly carried you, your head tucked to his chest as your legs hung over his thick arms.
Price observed the seals below the hill, but it seemed that they made no effort into coming back for you. Maybe they trusted researchers.
The men shared a single large tent, four sleeping bags laid about and only their rucksack for clothes and toiletries. Gaz put the sleeping bags together, attempting to create a cushioned surface for you to lay on. He also removed the strap around your waist, not wanting it to startle you once you woke up. No one brought a blanket, so Soap laid his hoodie over you.
It was awkward. They were just trying to provide research for a TV network, to let them know that their documentary in theory would be successful. They didn't expect to uncover a folklore.
"So what's the plan when she wakes up?" Gaz asked.
"Apologise." Soap quickly answered.
"I wasn't asking you." Gaz poked the side of his head for emphasis.
"We'll take it slow. Even in our tent, she'll feel trapped. We keep her freak out to a minimal. Try to ease the stress. She's human so that should be an advantage." Price ruled out, not leaving space for arguments.
"What if she turns back into a seal?" Ghost asked.
"Is she still human as a seal?" Gaz asked Soap.
"Fuck if I know."
"She still had conscience as a seal. She thought like a human. Stay alert and expect anything." Price ordered.
Soap and Ghost made a campfire outside the tent after the sun had set. Gaz stayed by your side to monitor your breathing, checking your eyes to make sure you were still responsive. Price went over his research, the plan, and all selkie tales.
There was a drop in the atmosphere when you turned, your face scrunching as Soap's hoodie dropped to your side, making a soft rustle.
Gaz held his breath, anticipating for you to wake up. Based off your reaction, you were in light sleep. He could wake you up. His eyes met Price, silently asking for permission. The final word was no. Price had to consider the possibility that you might be cranky if forced to wake up. He needed you as cooperative as possible.
But it didn't matter when Soap exclaimed about something and his booming voice carried over into the tent.
Your eyes darted open and Gaz noted how quickly your body became tense. Your eyes met with the side of the tent, and you knew you were human based on your vision. You jumped to your feet, facing the two men. But it wasn't like your coat had buttons and entirely concealed your body.
Your bare front side was facing them, and Gaz couldn't help but take a gander to see if your body had any semblance to a seal's, or if your body could switch entirely to human and to seal. Price locked his eyes onto your face, searching for ques of your next action.
"What've you done." you demanded, unaware but also not caring about the state of your display.
"We tranquilised you as part of our research. We didn't know you were a... selkie." it felt childish for Price to say the term out loud.
"So why'd you keep me here."
Price looked at Gaz for him to answer. You noticed the way his eyes were observing you, nearly dissecting every inch of you. You quickly hid yourself under your coat.
"We uh, wanted to make sure you were okay." Gaz nodded.
"Did you put any trackers in me?"
Price kinda wished he did do that. He was naturally curious.
"No, that'd be inhumane." Gaz slightly mused.
"You people track animals without second-thought."
"Well you aren't exactly an animal- right now." Gaz's brows raised.
You gave a dissatisfied look, nearly disgusted. You started heading towards the zipped flap of the tent, but Price caught your arm. You faced him, instinctively snarling at him. Your canines were sharp, teeth made for ripping.
"You're not going anywhere." he stated, sternly looking you down.
"I'm not some animal in captivity." you snapped, lips twitching to try and bite his hand.
"You're not. We need to check your vitals and we'll send you off." he lied. He didn't want to let his own superiors know of his catch. You were such a gem, such an oddity- and he was a selfish man at heart.
You understood his words and his reasoning, but you couldn't be fucked.
"I'm fine."
"It's not up for debate, love."
Your human movements were sluggish, muscles not even stretched in the last week. Price caught on with your action, and his large hand smacked your jaw away. He tackled your body to the ground, keeping your face upwards so you couldn't try to bite anywhere else.
You let out a high-pitched shriek which made Price go dizzy for a bit with how close your mouth was to his ears. You kicked and wrestled under him, but his body weight alone kept you in place.
"I'm gonna need you to behave and act civilised." he grit through his teeth.
"Let me go!" you screamed, teeth chomping the air.
Soap and Ghost unzipped the flap, seeing your out lash. Gaz was simply observing from his corner, taking notes. He knew Price got you handled.
"Shut 'er mouth." he told his boys, not caring who would do the job.
Ghost immediately came down, trying to get his hands on your jaw, but the way your teeth barred and tried to bite him, it became difficult.
"Should we tranquilise her?" Soap asked, eyes on the darts and gun.
"No." Gaz and Price answered at the same time.
"You need to start acting grateful that we haven't taken your coat yet." Price lowly said in your ear.
Your struggling lessened, your blood freezing in realisation of his words. You've heard the tales, knew a selkie who knew a selkie that was forced into marriage, forced to be a man's eye candy, to be their beauty.
Ghost managed to shut your mouth with his hand as your body came to a still.
"That wasn't so hard, was it?"
You glared up at Ghost with such hatred even though he hadn't said that. How dare they all take part in such a horrendous act?
"We're just g'nna monitor your vitals, make sure you're alright, then let you go." Price stated, slowly taking his weight off of you.
Price nodded to Ghost to release your mouth, and you continued to lay on your stomach, still prepared to fight for your coat at all costs.
"You should sit." Gaz came over with his pouch, taking out a stethoscope.
You sat hugging your knees to your chest after he listened to your heart beat and breathing. It felt dehumanising to be in such a situation, and to be forced to be docile from a single threat.
"Wouldn't you want to monitor me as a seal?" you asked. It was your main form.
"Well you transformed into a human in the middle of anesthesia so... I dunno, you don't learn about Selkie biology in zoology." Gaz muttered, looking at Soap and Price for help.
"Think it'd be easier for us all to be human." Price answered.
"You men have a habit of keeping selkies as human out of selfishness." you snapped.
"Really? I've never really heard anything like that, just tales from long ago that are like folklore." Gaz responded, completely missing your tone.
"Maybe long ago, love, but not now." Price assured you, his words full of air.
"My granny would flip- like do a licheral back flip had she'd seen you." Soap said in awe, hand reaching to pet the back of your coat.
"Don't touch me." you snarled, feeling his hand but unable to see him.
"Sorry" he meekly apologised.
Ghost came up to Price, head nodding to the opening. Ghost's hand was on the zipper. A quiet transaction of sorts. You needed to know everything.
"Where are you going."
"Just having a conversation." Ghost replied.
"Have it here."
A long silence filled as you stared Ghost down yet again, neither of you prepared to back off.
"Well I want to know too." Soap chimed in.
Price looked at Ghost, but Ghost couldn't think of a way to lie his way out. He turned to talk to him.
"I was just wonderin about sleeping arrangements. She basically slept through the day while we stayed up."
Price listened, not even bothering to look at you.
"We'll take turns watching her."
"I'm right here. And I don't need to be watched because I'm not in captivity according to you." you shot at Price.
"Well you've proven you can't be trusted-"
"Because men can't be trusted!" you burst, your hands deathly gripping onto your coat. Gaz slightly distanced himself from you. He couldn't fight for shit. Price was the only person with any sort of military training. Ghost used to work at a zoo handling the dangerous creatures. Soap was an engineering major they picked up right after Gaz's graduation from receiving his masters in zoology.
"We've given you every reason to be trusted. This whole situation is just a misunderstanding. Have we hurt you?" Price's voice thundered with authority.
But authority was as intimidating as the weather to you, "No, but you refuse to let me go!"
He shook his head, practically laughing. Ghost side eyed him, unsure where this was going.
"A fucking animal that doesn't listen."
You know it'd take more than a second for you to take on your seal form, so you lunged for him in your human form. You bit into his neck, canines digging deep, growling as you do. Price yelped, basically holding you in the air as your teeth cleanly chomped through his skin.
Ghost tried to pry you off, but you were stubborn. Price was hollering all sorts of profanities while Soap watched the scene unfold. He had to memorise every detail to tell his great-grandchildren one day. But Gaz went straight for the darts. He pushed Ghost away and let the needle pierce a vein in your very own neck.
You let out a whimper, wincing, your bite diminishing with force. Price tossed you to the ground, but he didn't bother to hold his own neck to stop the bleeding first. Furiously, he grabbed your coat, shaking it vigorously to get you out, the motion further pushed the needle of the dart in. You were slow and uncoordinated, grabbing at the air trying to grab your coat. You tried to speak but your tongue was too soft, too fuzzy, too foreign.
Then he left the tent with your coat.
You dragged yourself to the tent's opening. Gaz prepared another dart but he figured one was enough. Ghost didn't bother to restrain you with how bad you were moving. He'd seen alligators move like that while still trying to go after him. You'd be out soon.
Your blurry eyes followed Price to something bright, something flickering.
Then he tossed your coat into the light.
An awful stench was carried by the winds, and you grimaced, trying to remember what that smelt meant.
Your mind was too far away.
And you gave up.
I honestly had no direction with this blurb but while I was watching the documentary, I couldn't get the idea out of my head :/ I now have an idea for the second part of this oneshot thanks to the five minute brain constipation I had in order to fart out a title. I hope it was okay; I know this is a bit rougher and mean :( But I can feel my future self cringing when rereading this in the far (most likely near) future lol
To my sweet, darling, sunshine readers, I love you ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡ take care of yourself ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
》Thank you for being such an inspiration @553580 and @/daydreamerwoah !🖤《
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|About 420 words| [Previous] [Next] [⬇️gilduii]
Next afternoon, in Price's office
"Never seen the photos, you know?"
Ghost leans back, slid down a bit in his chair, legs outstretched, his hands clasped behind his neck now. Like this, he miraculously manages to appear even bigger in his extent – commanding a presence, dominating the space. He doesn't sit, usually.
"You never seemed interested", Price states, leaning back as well, mentally preparing for a duell. Something essential has happened – and it must have fled his attention. He hates this feeling.
His lieutenant cocks a brow. There’s a dark smile hidden behind the black mask, Price can tell. It makes him open one of his desk drawers to take out a file; the file on a murder investigation. A closed case. And it bears your name. Well, her name…
In a large envelope, there are several photos he spreads out on the desk for Ghost to see.
For a while, his lieutenant studies them from afar, keeping his position, unmoving. Only Ghost's eyes run along everything that's frozen in time before him, a systematical check of what was supposed to be a last chapter before the concluding epilogue.
There definitely shouldn't be any loose ends...
Two pictures have captured his interest. Now, finally, he leans forward to pick them up.
"What a mess."
Ghost has swiftly taken in the whole scene preserved in the photo, overall shot. Most of the details are already known to him and exactly the way he remembers – your room, the condition of your body from beneath your eyes downwards – but now he is fully focalised on a close-up of the headshot.
"She looks pretty dead indeed."
"What else would she be?" Price scoffs and isn't prepared for Ghost's reply.
"For a moment, I thought that maybe the gunshot to the head hadn't really happened. That she was still alive and thrivin'."
"How's that? I saw her corpse, didn't I?"
"Sure", Ghost grants, " 's what you said, isn't it? Should be true then."
The two men keep their eye contact unblinkingly, gauging each other, two predators, equally strong in completely different ways.
The lieutenant places the photos on top of the others for his captain to gather up and put away.
And for once John Price is unsure whether this is Ghost smirking behind the mask or what's left of Simon…
"Go on", Price encourages, but his lieutenant just shrugs, the crinkles of his smug smile even deepening further as he replies,
Sorry but running through the woods barefoot and covered in blood (some yours, some theirs) while they run after you, boots hitting the ground so hard the sound thunders in your ears, your chest heaving so hard that blood speckles your tongue and bile rises in your throat while they scream after you how they’ll fucking kill you and gut you like bitch you are is so romantic :)
