Cod men with an so that has a kink for their gear/uniform …thats all
Anon you are SPEAKING MY LANGUAGE at this rate my obsession for people in uniform is unhealthy but it IS WHAT IT IS ✌️(only price and gaz for this one tho, my brain just ain’t braining for ghost and soap 😩😩)
In Uniform
Characters: Captain John Price, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick
GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions
Word Count: 1.4 (~700 each)
Genre: Fluff, Smut 18+/MDNI, established relationship
Warning: Smut, 18+/MDNI, No overly dom/sub themes I don’t think? riding + worship (Price), thigh riding (Gaz), if I miss anything, let me know
A/N: This is the spiciest I've ever written (it pales in comparison to the filth I read but reading vs writing is a whole different story WRITING THIS WAS SO HARD ARGH-)
Captain John Price
Price is not blind. For the sake of professionalism, he doesn’t comment on it, but he can’t help but feel smug when he notices how your eyes trace his chest rig. How it looks almost too small with how it hugs to his chest, the straps that wrap over his shoulders emphasising his thick arms and broad torso. How the extra gear he has to equip gives his already large chest more volume
He will never sacrifice practicality and comfort over visuals on a mission… but if he knows he should just be wandering around base he may just tighten the straps of his gear a little more than usual just so it hugs his form better when he meets you. Just because he’s in a stable relationship with you and a high ranking soldier doesn’t mean the captain can’t have some fun and a little ego boost!
Still, Price is reluctant to test the extents of your uniform kink. His uniforms are often filthy and he can’t imagine anything more repulsive than some crusty blood of the enemy staining the pure haven that is your shared bed. Even after they’re cleaned, there’s a lingering concern that they’re not clean enough
But if there’s anything that John is weak to, it’s you with your hopeful eyes and sweet smile. He’ll triple clean his uniform and he’s ready to for it to join the confines of your bedroom
Even under you, Price prides himself on his restraint. He hasn’t lost the image of a commanding captain, still fully dressed save for the fly of his cargos pulled down just enough to free his cock that is now buried in you. The rough fabric of his cargos leave a pleasant burn against your bare thighs, but it’s nothing compared to the pleasant burn of John stretching you out. You want to move your hips faster, to have him hit the parts you know he can hit perfectly. But no, this night will be slow, cherishing the delicious sight below you.
You shift slightly and you whine at the impossible fullness from within. Distracting yourself from the intoxicating pain you drag your hands along his chest rig. Prying and slipping your fingers into every crevice and bend of straps and pockets, they twitch as an odd aftershock washes through your body. Under your palms John’s chest lifts with every heavy breath. Pressing them flat against his stomach as it deflates, you exhale with him as your relaxing body adjusts to him filling up your every crevice.
John’s hand creeps up to curl around one of your wrists. The plastic coating of his gloves offers a foreign coolness that has your body jolting and you whine as goosebumps coat your burning body.
“Didn’t know you had such a thing for men in uniform,” he simpered, his other hand down to rest on your hip. He idly massages at the plush skin, fingers digging deep down into the layer of muscle. Tilting into his touch, you try and contort yourself to get his hand a little closer to where you’re most sensitive, just that little bit more but he doesn’t relent, his moustache and beard now slightly curved as he watches you with amusement.
“Only you,” you whisper and his next breath is hefty and rugged, accompanied with a satisfied hum that reverberates through his entire being.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Only me.”
You pull your hands back up to his chest rig, you slip your fingers under the securing straps and take a firm grip. Hands dangerously close to his throat, John’s Adam apple instinctively bobs in anticipation.
“Getting handsy, are we?”
“Just need a bit more,” you mutter absentmindedly. You stare at him with blown out eyes. “Can I?”
“Do as you wish.”
Using your grip on his rig, you pull your hips further, feeling him deeper, harder. His hands immediately find purchase on your hips to steady you as you tremor at the new sensation. He only moves with you, his hips offering the faintest of encouragement as he slightly drives them up into you. Once you manage to set a rhythm above him the captain sounds near unrecognisable as he stifles a groan with every tug against his gear.
“Fuck. Just like that, darling.”
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle is attentive to you, so he is aware of how your eyes scan his body when he walks past. He never thought that his uniform was particularly attractive or attention-grabbing since literally everyone else wears it, but he’s glowing upon noticing that he can entrance you over what’s merely his day-to-day gear
In low stakes situations, this man is teasing you to hell and back. Not directly though, he’ll never explicitly say he knows you have a thing for his uniform, but just before a mission he’ll have you double checking if his chest rig and gear are firmly secured to his body. Of course, they won’t be, and he’ll ask you to tighten the straps, discreetly flexing the respective body parts all the while
Now you can tell when Kyle’s horny. Instead of immediately shedding his gear to wash up and relax with you, he’ll only get rid of weaponry and any contents in his various pockets but the gear and uniform stays on in a (not so) discreet attempt of getting you just as riled up as he is
“Shit, you look so good.”
You let out a halfhearted laugh that morphs into a sigh as you grind your hips against his thigh. Through the flimsy fabric of your underwear, you swear you can feel everything against you. Each individual fibre of his cargo pants, the ridges of the seams. Even through the fabric you can feel the soft swells of his muscular thigh that you’re seated on.
“You should take a look at yourself,” you praise breathlessly.
Even with clothes on, Kyle looked hot as hell. Still in his gear, it made the slivers of his skin that revealed themselves all the more tantalising. His half-unbuttoned shirt revealing skin covered in a sheen of sweat. Sleeves haphazardly shoved up the arm to reveal his lean forearms, veins pulsating with lust as they hold onto your hips like a lifeline.
“Caught you staring earlier,” he mutters. With those godly arms he wraps them around your back, forcing you to lean into him, sweaty forehead against his.
“Thought you were worried about me, but it was really you I should have been worried about.”
His words are lost on you and he only smirks as your hips move forward and back and forward again with reckless abandon. Each drag of your hips getting more exaggerated, more forceful as you strain against Kyle’s arms that selfishly pull you taut to him.
“Let me… move, dammit,” you huff as you struggle to move in his hold.
“What? Is it bad that I want to be close with the love of my life?” he offers an innocent laugh but his eyes are still trained down to where your hips rhythmically meet his thigh with sinful movements.
Grinding your hips, you grunt unexpectedly as a pointed intrusion brushes against your clothed sex, nipping at where it was most sensitive. Christ, Kyle must’ve forgotten to take out a spare magazine in his cargo pockets. The edge of its hard metal giving a delicious contrast against his thick, clothed muscle, you experiment, trying a new angle to brush your most sensitive areas with his leftover weaponry.
It sends a wave of electricity through your body that has you jerking a knee up, one that brushes against Kyle’s hard on and he whines. His embrace only tightens as he tries to silence himself with his face buried in your chest.
“Shit- do that again,” his words are muffled against your skin, echoing through your rib cage.
With the next roll of your hips you pull your knee up once again. The stimulation against his dick has him instinctively flexing his thighs, and you tremble at the extra firmness in between your legs, the sensation evoking a sound of pure sin from you.
Kyle rolls his head to the side to rest on your shoulder, his ragged breaths burning against the crook of your neck.
“Please- fuck - do it again, love.”
You didn’t have to be told twice.
Call of Duty Masterlist
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Price giving out stickers to the 141. Colourful little circles saying "well done!", "good job!" or with a smiley face, and the team gets REALLY competitive for them.
The sticker pack was bought months ago when Price was on leave. He saw it in a small crafts shop and remembered an ex of his - a primary school teacher - had said it worked wonders for their class. With a grin, he paid, packing the stickers safely in his bag to take back to base and thinking himself the funniest man alive.
It took a while for him to reveal the stickers to his team. To be honest, by the time he'd dealt with all the inevitable chaos that happened whilst he was away, he was too tired to care about the stickers when he finally got round to unpacking his bag again. It wasn't until several weeks later that he brought them, smuggled under his jacket, into a briefing room, ready to congratulate the boys on another successful mission and showcase his little joke.
"Fuck me, Cap." Ghost had, of course, been the first to notice when Price placed the sticker pack on the briefing room table. The latter had chosen a moment when everyone was nattering with each other about the mission - or about something, anyway; he drowned out Soap and Gaz's playful arguments most of the time.
Ghost's lighthearted exasperation caught the others' attention, and to say the three sergeants' eyes lit up would be an understatement. Roach was the first to lunge towards Price - eyes fixed on the stickers as if they were prey - quickly followed by Soap and Gaz. The Captain had to snatch the little booklet off the table and hold it above his head at lightning speed to avoid a catfight over it.
"It's only if you're good!" He scolded, attempting to push off a very fixated Gaz from practically climbing up his gear to get to the stickers.
The boys start doing counterproductive shit to try and get stickers. Soap blows up considerably more stuff than before in attempts to impress Price; Ghost brings him more tea than he is physically capable of drinking; and he swears Gaz and Roach have mentally transformed into two needy cats that are constantly under his feet.
From day two of the Curse of the Stickers (TM), Price is instantly regretting his actions. His team's pestering is only making him give out less stickers, which in turn makes the pestering worse. It got to the point where he awarded Roach a sticker for falling asleep just because it meant that he wasn't bothering him.
(This all continued for years btw. Every time the novelty of the stickers started to fade, someone would get one for doing particularly well on a mission and suddenly the competition would pipe back up again. Price never forgot about the stickers because their faces when he gave them one was so innocently happy. He loved seeing his men be boys again even just for a moment)
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