#captain price/reader

[arthurlovesarthurmorgan]

My little (he’s everything BUT little) princess <333

#barry sloane #captain john price #john price #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod fandom #cod captain john price #cod captain price #cod john price #cod mw3 #john price/reader #john price x reader #captain johnathan price #captain price/reader #captain price #i need him so bad #please please please #ONE CHANCE PLEASEEEEEE

[thatgoblin]

141 Men Losing Their Partner

Summary: Dead Dove Don't Eat.

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT PERTAINING TO PREGNANCY, DROWNING, CAR ACCIDENT, MURDER, NO HAPPY ENDINGS.

Price

It had been a normal day for John, texting you at lunch to see what you wanted for dinner. It was Friday, which meant that it would be a lazy weekend after a grueling month of missions followed by an equally grueling week of training with cadets. Nothing seemed out of place as he pulled up to the house he shared with you, a small townhouse that was perfect for the time being, but with talk of a baby, you would need more room soon. 

“Love, I’m home,” John called, holding plastic bags full of Chinese cartons holding low mein and sweet and sour pork. “Love?” There was no answer. The inside was eerily quiet and John knew that quiet meant bad things. In the field, it meant that people were on the move and hiding it, but at home it meant you were either gone or hurt. After being told you would be home and waiting, he was on high alert. 

Guns weren’t a common item, but with his position he had one stashed. Stalking through the house, handgun held out as he cleared rooms, he was moving on instinct. Years of training from doing this through blown up buildings and searching for the bad guys was the only thing keeping him from running through the place and screaming your name. 

When he got to the kitchen, he spun around the corner with the gun raised, slipping on something slick and wet. Catching himself on the counter, his breath left him. 

There was so much blood. More than he had ever seen before, not even when he interrogated or was locked up in a Russian prison or even the fucking battlefield. Nothing compared the scene before him. 

John shook as he set his gun down, starting to hyperventilate as he locked eyes with your lifeless body. You were on the floor, your throat slit and body stabbed to the point that it looked like someone put ground beef on you. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t. You were the safe place he had from the world. Everything about you had been his soft landing place. He had worked so hard to keep you separated from his job and it was all for nothing. 

Going to his knees, he crawled to you. John’s hands trembled as they touched your face in disbelief. He was unable to take a proper breath, the smell of your blood stinging his senses as he pulled you to him, pressing his face to yours. There was no conscious movement as he began to rock and weep softly. Holding you tight, he stayed there till Laswell showed up. She had been invited over with her wife for a double date. Kate tried to pull him away as her wife called the police, but it triggered him to start screaming. Even when the police showed up, it took an ambo arriving to sedate him for him to let go of you. 

“Be careful with her,” he sobbed as the medics put you on a gurney. “She’s allergic to penicillin. She gets hives. Please, she needs-she needs-”

Kate held him as he broke, going silent. “We were going to have a baby,” he whispered, tears soaking his beard. “We wanted to get a new house and have a baby. We wanted. . . What am I going to do?”

Gaz

You had been on a date with Kyle, a fun outing that was desperately needed after being separated for months. You went to dinner at this greasy burger place then went to an arcade that had a giant purple dragon he swore he would get you. After five tries and lots of swearing, he finally did it. “My hero,” you cooed, holding your prize as you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Ready to head home? I don’t think this guy is meant to be carried around for long.”

“I am if you are,” Kyle said with a grin, giving you a wink. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he pulled you along to get to the street. He held his hand up to hail a cab, holding you close as you pressed against his body. It had been too long since you had last held him and with having him home for a few weeks, you were refusing to let him go any time soon. 

“Can’t get a bloody cab for shit,” he huffed. You were about to tell him you could call for one when you heard tire screeching. There was no time to react to the car hitting the curb then the pair of you. It was milliseconds and even if either of you had been looking at it, there was no escaping it. 

The car had been speeding when it barrelled over you two. Kyle flew over the hood and slammed into the windshield as you were dragged under the tires. Screams from everyone filled the air as the car stopped for just a moment before swerving off to leave you.

“Ky-Kyle,” you wheezed, laying on the ground. Your middle had been crushed and you couldn’t feel anything below your chest. It hurt to breathe, making you choke and gasp as Kyle forced himself to drag himself to you.

“Doll,” he groaned, his leg at a bad angle and his head bleeding profusely. “Don’t move. Stay with me.”

“Kyle,” you choked out. “Cold.”

“No, please,” he whimpered, collapsing next to you as people gathered to try and help keep you still as others called the ambulance. “Darling, don’t. Please.”

“Love,” you whispered as he took your limp hand. “You.”

“Help is coming, please, just hold on,” he begged as you stayed still and quiet. “Darlin’? Baby? No, no, no, no.” The ambulance didn’t arrive for nearly an hour. Price showed up well before them. He made Kyle stay still as he kept calling for you, holding your hand. Someone had draped their jacket over your top and another person laid their’s over your middle, hoping to give you some decency as Kyle demanded that Price help you. Even when he was in danger of snapping his spine, paralyzing himself for life, he still made you the priority. 

“Gaz,” Price said softly. “She’s gone. I’m sorry, lad.” 

“No, please. She’s just-just quiet,” Kyle sobbed, his physical pain not even compared to what he was feeling when he was made to let go of you for good.

Soap

It had started out as a weekend trip to blow off some steam. You and Johnny had gone to a resort in a warm climate with crystal clear water and amazing food. There was plenty of mixed, frozen drink and tanning lotion for the pair of you to get some nice warm color back into their almost sickly complexions. 

Johnny made sure to get plenty of pictures of you in your bathing suit, specifically your ass. You  gave him shit, but he just laughed and took more. Included in your stay was a boat tour of a cave. It wasn’t the rainy season so it was safe. No sudden surges or unexpected storms. Johnny said he’d been in more dangerous pools in the UK, making you relax and trust that things would be fine. 

You weren’t the strongest swimmer, but you were good enough to get by. Add in a life jacket and Johnny next to you, you felt safe. Untouchable really. What took you by surprise was the rumble of thunder as you got halfway into the tour. 

“Don’t worry, it will miss us,” the guide said, easing any worries that would pop up. Holding Johnny’s hand, you were about to make a comment about the glowing algae when you heard a clicking pop. Turning to him, you were left speechless. 

“You know I’m not good with words, but I think this speaks for itself,” he said, holding up a rose gold ring with a set of yellow diamond leaves. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” you said softly. “Yes! I would hug you aggressively, but I don’t want to lose the ring and tip the boat!” You cried with a shrieking laugh. Sliding the ring onto your finger, he pulled you close for a kiss as flashes from the phone the tour guide held reminded you that you weren’t alone. 

“I got everything recorded, Mr. Johnny,” he said with a grin, handing Johnny’s phone back to him. 

“Thanks, Mate,” Johnny said with a grin, keeping you close. As the guide turned the boat around, thunder rumbled again, much louder that time. “We’re still good, right?” He asked.

“Yeah, we’re heading back now, no worries,” the guide said as he navigated the slowly raising waters. You held onto Johnny as the thunder got louder and you could see the lightening was able to be seen from the front of the cave. 

Another rumble lasted longer, making you look around at the water. The rumbled quickly turned into a rushing sound, getting louder in seconds as a monstrous wave slammed into the cave, sending all the water rushing back. The rush slammed into the boat, making the bow lift high. With the guid on the back of the boat and you and Johnny in the middle, the weight distribution didn’t save you from being tossed into the water as the boat capsized. 

You screamed, grabbing for Johnny as you were pulled under. There was no preparation to stay under too long, your lungs burning as you blindly clawed at the bottom of the cave to find the side or top. Bursting through the surface with a choking gasp, you didn’t have time to get another breath before you were pulled back under by the rip that had been made by the current. Not even with the life jacket were you able to break through the water. 

Johnny was able to grab the guide and get him to higher ground in the cave. Dragging him onto rocks, he began to scream your name. Where had you gone!? You were right there! “Where are you!” He screamed, ready to jump back in.

“No, you will drown! It’s not safe until after the storm!” The guide cried as he grabbed Johnny’s arm. 

“My partner is in there!” Johnny snarled, but the guide fought with him, keeping him where it was safe while you were left on your own. As the flash storm rolled on, just a few minutes after it showed up, your life jacket floated out from the back of the cave. It didn’t mean anything, you could still be alive. Despite the water calming, the guide made them stay on the rocks till a rescue boat came in, shining a light on them. “There’s someone still in here!” He yelled as the men climbed into the boat. 

“We know, we have her outside,” the rescue worker said, helping them sit before turning the boat around.

“She’s okay?” Johnny asked, surprised as he never saw you since you fell from the boat. The man was quiet, not looking at him. “Is she okay?” He pushed. “Can you fuckin’ tell me if she’s alive or not!?” He snarled. All he received was silence. When the boat came out and he saw a white sheet laid over a body on the beach, he jumped from the rescue boat before it could stop. Running over, he was screaming your name as the police were taping off the beach. One of the officers tried to stop him, but he easily shoved them aside as he kept screaming. 

You were still and silent as he picked you up, refusing to let anyone near you as he wailed in grief. Holding you, he rocked the two of you as the police tried to control the growing crowd. There was nothing they could do to help him, as news crews began to swarm the beach to get pictures of the grief stricken man holding his fiancee’s body as her hand with the engagement ring dangled free for them to take pictures of and plaster on the front pages.

Ghost

 You were just a month and a half shy of being full term. When Simon had been called to do a mission, you were pissed and ready to fight Price, but Simon calmed you down before you could come at the bearded man with a cricket bat. It wouldn’t be that long and he’d be back with plenty of time for the baby to be born. 

It had only been two days when you felt contractions start. At first you thought it was Braxton Hicks contractions, but then you felt your water break. When you went to the bathroom to check, you found that it wasn’t your water. It was blood and it was soaking your underwear and pants. Calling an ambulance, you unlocked the front door so they could get in. Once you were sure they were on their way, you called Simon’s emergency line. It wouldn’t go to him directly, but he would know what was happening right away at least. Leaving your message, the ambulance arrived soon after.

Crying, you held your stomach as you were strapped to a gurney and rushed to the hospital. You weren’t being told anything, just to keep breathing as the pain grew. With your phone in your hand, you kept checking it to see if Simon was able to call, but there was nothing. At the hospital, you were rushed into surgery as you begged one of the nurses to call the emergency line again to see when Simon could call. She promised she would keep trying as you handed off your phone. Once in surgery, you were put under and the last thing you thought was a plea to any deity listening to save your baby. 

Simon got the message and was gone. He didn’t ask permission or explain. His whole team was with him, though, getting him back home as quickly as possible. It was nearly five hours later in a plane to a helicopter that took him to the hospital with some of his gear and mask still on. Jumping out of the helo before it could land fully, he ripped his mask and vest off to throw to the side as he sprinted to where you were. 

His head was empty aside from the drive to get to you. You had to be okay. You had to be. There was a nurse waiting for him at the stairs, stopping him from running blindly through the hospital. 

“Mr. Riley,” she said, not flinching under his gaze that was fire and rage. 

“Where is my wife?” He growled, towering over her. 

“You’re wife. . . I am so sorry, but she didn’t make it,” the nurse said. Simon could only hear the ringing in his ears that he would hear when he was near a concussion grenade going off. “Her uterine lining ripped and she had lost too much blood by the time she arrived at the hospital.” None of her words seemed to register to her as his team came up behind him. 

Every word was lost on him as he stood there, not responding to anything she said. Not even Price shaking him could bring him to. 

“What about the baby?” He finally asked, coming out of it enough to think of that. “Is she okay?”

“She’s stable and in the NICU. Despite being born rather early, she is healthy and will stay there till she’s considered to term to make sure she has the best chance of surviving,” the nurse said. Simon nodded, going quiet again. 

“I want to see her. I want to see my wife,” he said. The nurse nodded, knowing he would do it anyway he could. His face said it all. Taking him to the OR, she waved others on when they stopped to question why four men were being let into the room. The team held back while Simon moved forward to the white sheet covered table. With steady hands, he pulled the cover back to see your face. You looked like you were sleeping. He would watch you before you awoke for the day and this was the same face. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, stroking your hair. His gloves were long gone, leaving him bare to the world he struggled to hide from. “I’m so sorry. I should have never left.” Leaning forward, he pressed your faces together as he quietly cried. He had lost his family, then found you and it was a breath of life to him. Now you were gone and left him with a small piece of you. He didn’t know if he could do it without you, if he could be someone his daughter needed or wanted. Simon didn’t know how to be a good partner till you came along, so how could he know how to be a good dad without you?

Masterlist

Taglist: @birdstoprey @sebbytheraccoon @pricescigar @alwaysshallow @sae1kie @sleepydang @lexi-zsy09 @ghostlywhiskey @ghosts-cyphera @poohkie90 @neothewitch @shadofireshinobi @sadslasher13 @0alk0msan @xaestheticalien

#captain john price #captain price #cod mwii #cod mw2 #captain price/reader #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #gaz/reader #kyle gaz x reader #soap/reader #ghost/reader #johnny MacTavish/reader #simon riley x reader

[bigguyenthusiast]

COD P★ LINKS

Yawll……dis is horny… so like fair warning

John price

Price tying you up after he catches you disobeying him by touching yourself :(

Overstimulation with John <3

Price eating you out after a loooooong mission

More price eating pussy (the guy LITERALLY looks like him or am I tripping)

Since you like using them so much, this shouldn’t be a punishment for you, correct ?

John getting you to ride his thigh

Theres a reason why they’re his favourite

Kyle Garrick

Gaz after ruthlessly fucking you for three hours ;3

What you get for flaunting yourself in front of his mates :(

Lazy night in with gaz

Shhh don’t want anyone to hear you

Late night humping with your clingy boyfriend

Roommate! Gaz getting tired of your horny whining

Simon Riley

Just a quick reminder of where you belong

Quick polishing’

A goodbye gift

A welcome home gift

Roommate! Ghost pounding you till you wake up :(

Owner! Ghost with his lil pup

Little film for later

Gettin’ crafty

John McTavish

Riding him until he’s dumb <3

Mornin sex with Johnny boy

Self restrain

Virgin! Johnny

Just his doll

Convincing your friend, Johnny to join your live 🫣

König

Hes just too big you needed a photo for confirmation

Need your colonel to reach you a lesson?

Just a quickie before he leaves for work

Quickie part 2

Good girls beg

#okay yall lemme go to bed #call of duty #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #captain price #ghost #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #konig x reader #konig #konig cod #captain john price #john price x reader #john price

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Y/N: Hi I'm your medic and I'll be drawing your blood today, as soon as I finish this capri sun Y/N: *misses the hole four times then finally punches the straw through the side* Ghost, sweating: PRICE

#incorrect cod quotes #incorrect quotes #cod incorrect quotes #incorrect call of duty quotes #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost #ghost cod #captain price #john price #captain john price #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty

[makoodles]

ミmy daddy didn't love me so i guess i've moved onto you

🍓 pairing: captain john price x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, undefined age gap, oral sex, unprotected vaginal sex, rough(?) sex, both reader and price have a daddy kink that they indulge in with very little discussion, allusions to reader having a bad relationship with her father (but nothing concrete), price uses a lot of pet names for reader and also calls himself daddy several times

title is inspired by the song peter bogdanovich by my queen CMAT

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

If there’s one thing you know, it’s that you’re damn good at your job.

You have to be in order to survive in this ridiculous goddamn base. There are protocols to be followed, risk assessments to carry out, weapons and equipment requisition requests to send off, and you have to handle almost all of it for Task Force 141. That’s one thing about working with the military – they’re all about action, and rarely have the patience to fill in their paperwork, and then when they do it’s never done properly.

You’re patient when you need to be, willing to push when you have to, and you make sure shit gets done. It’s not an easy job; you work your ass off, and it’s often thankless. Most of your job is done behind the scenes, whether that’s requisitioning on-the-fly tactical or strategic airlifts, liaising with other units, or trying desperately to smooth over any little problems that might crop up with the higher-ups. 

It’s challenging and exhausting, and you love it, but damn, it can be fucking infuriating. Working in a male-dominated environment is a little bit soul-destroying, with every condescending comment and lascivious gaze that lingers over your body. But none of that matters, because you don’t need male approval to excel at your job. You don’t need male approval for anything.

You repeat it to yourself on the daily, which is something that you’ve never had to do before. But before, you weren’t working with Captain John Price.

He’s not… rude, per se. If anything, he’s always coolly polite. But it’s obvious, so obvious, that he just barely tolerates you. He’s gruff, short, to-the-point, and never speaks to you outside of brusque orders. It takes weeks for him to start trusting you with even the most basic of files, and even then chunks of information are often redacted. And it shouldn’t matter; you’ve worked for men like him before, you know how it goes, and if anything he’s one of the better ones.

In the beginning, when you had first been assigned to the task force, Price had not been happy about it. It had been a tough transition; your assignment had been approved by Laswell in order to take some of the strain of liaising off both her and Price, but the Captain hadn’t been too pleased about it. He had seen you as a sort of interloper, a silly little pencil-pusher sent in by the brass to do the grunt work of administration that no one else wants to do.

But you work hard, you always have done. And maybe… maybe, part of the reason that you end up busting your balls so hard is because you want– no. Maybe you need his approval. You’d prefer not to think about it; it’s easier to throw yourself into your work, and pretend that you’re doing it for you.

You’re not even sure how it started, but at some point, Price starts looking at you differently. Maybe he realises that you’re competent at your job, or maybe he just needs to get used to you. Maybe, you hope, he’s finally starting to realise that you’re good at what you do; that you can be an asset to the team, so long as they actually work with you. 

Whatever it is, he eases off. Stops being such a hard-ass, starts giving you space to do your thing. Eventually, he starts delegating too — stops hoarding the work like a miser, and finally starts treating you like you’re capable of something more than just photocopying.

He’s not a bad boss, not by a long shot. He’s kind, determined, patient when it matters, with a wry sense of humour. He’s also fiercely protective over his team, and that includes you now. 

But he’s also older, by at least fifteen years, and he’s not always the most diligent with paperwork. Typical man of action, you’ve seen it a hundred times before. There’s always something more important to do, and while he’s always so cognisant of your workload and careful not to add to it, he is also all too happy to let you take the reins when it comes to bureaucracy. You like to think that you’ve proved yourself to him, but maybe he just respects competency.

That should be it.

But you’re so ashamed to admit that even when Price stops treating you like you’re a hostile target, you can’t stop hoping for his attention. Your mental chants of I don’t need male approval for anything, I don’t need male approval for anything become a daily thing, and sometimes a several-times-a-day thing.

Because the thing is, Price can be a difficult man to please. He’s always so busy that he doesn’t have time to give you the approval that you’re straining for, but when he does it gives you the most shameful warm glow in your belly. 

A brief nod or a low grunted ‘Thanks, sweetheart’ is enough to fuel you for days now. Even better is when you’re walking along beside him, briefing him on the latest update from the higher-ups, and he leans his head in towards you as he listens intensely, sometimes even laying his large palm against the small of your back. Ostensibly, it’s to lead the way and guide you out of the path of the running cadets, but it just toes the line of professionalism and you flounder under the touch.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. He’s just a coworker, and you need to keep your issues to yourself.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

You’re perfectly self-aware enough to admit when you’re in a bad mood.

You start the day tired, and when you check your reflection in the mirror first thing that morning you’re greeted with the sight of a big, fuck-off pimple on your chin. It’s big, it’s throbbing, it practically has its own fucking heartbeat. You barely restrain the urge to pick at it, though you can feel it even when you’re not looking at it.

Your mood doesn’t improve when you get to the small kitchenette by your office and find that someone has used the last of the fancy French Vanilla flavoured coffee that you’ve stocked for yourself. As if that’s not bad enough, your little stash of chocolate digestives you keep for yourself for emergency bad days have disappeared too.

You clench your jaw and continue about your business. Whatever. You can survive without your coffee and chocolate.

Your resolve falters when you see the pile of paperwork on your desk, but whatever. It’s all part of the job. A little chocolate biscuit to nibble on would definitely make your job easier, but you’re a big girl and you’re just going to have to go without.

Then you get the phone call. One that makes you want to bang your head against your desk hard enough to knock yourself unconscious so that you don’t have to deal with this.

It’s time to update the TF141 personnel files. Orders from above, since there’s been significant changes to medical and surgical history in the last couple of months from injuries on missions.

 Normally, that’s not such a big deal. It just involves updating their medical and technical files, making sure that nothing major has changed with regards their addresses or other personal information, even though a big portion of it ends up redacted anyway. 

And, naturally, updating their photographs for their files.

You start easy. 

Gaz is happy to come to your office when you text him, and he stands obediently for you as you take his picture. He’s gotten a metal plate fitted in his kneecap from the last time his file has been updated, and he sits and chats easily with you as you go through his information. He’s a sweet guy, and so easy to talk to, and you sigh with the knowledge that no one is going to make your job as simple and leisurely as Gaz just has.

After he leaves, you target Soap. He comes to your office as easily as Gaz, but he’s significantly more difficult to photograph.

He just keeps smiling, no matter how many times you tell him to quit it. 

“It’s a personnel file photograph, not a photo for your Instagram.” You sigh, irritated. “I need you to have a blank, neutral expression. It’s like a passport photo, Sergeant. It’s for a government document.”

“Can’t help it, lass.” Soap says easily, that stupid grin not even dimming. “I see a camera, I smile. It’s muscle memory.”

You think that your irritation is only encouraging him, which only worsens your mood. In the end, you don’t get a single usable photograph of him for his file. You have to give up on him, swearing that you’ll come get him to try again later. He leaves your office still chuckling, like he thinks your frustration is cute.

You have tougher targets to tackle.

The difficult part isn’t even taking Ghost’s photo — the difficult part is catching him in the first place.

You spend almost three hours trying to track him down (because he won’t read your texts and your phone calls go unanswered), wobbling all over base in your stupid high heels and somehow missing him by mere moments every time. You arrive in the gym, the mess, the firing range, even the barracks, only to see the man’s enormous broad back disappearing out of the other door as soon as you get there.

You can only assume that Soap had given Ghost the heads up that you were on the prowl with a mission and a camera, because the lieutenant is avoiding you like the goddamn plague.

So yeah. You’re in a real bad fucking mood. But you can’t help it — some days your job is entirely thankless, and your mood drops so low that you feel like going home and crying. But you can’t, and you don’t want to show weakness in front of these military idiots, so all you can do is lock your jaw and go about your business the best you can.

You go back to your office, jaw and fists clenched tight, and collapse at your desk with your head in your hands. You have to take a few deep, slow breaths to try and calm yourself, but then you make the mistake of checking your reflection and your mood sinks lower again when you see that the stupid pimple on your chin has worsened.

God, this is just not your day. You have to get these stupid files updated, or it’ll fall on your head. 

Eventually, you reluctantly stand up. There’s no point moping; you have a job to do, whether you like it or not, and your next victim is Captain Price.

You walk to Price’s office swiftly, your feet aching in your stupid heels. You wish you had worn something more sensible, but… well. Even subconsciously, you want to impress.

When you reach his office, you throw the door open and march inside without even bothering to knock. 

Price is sitting behind his desk, and his head snaps up as soon as you walk in. His expression is set in a hard scowl, though it softens when he sees who it is. You guess you don’t exactly pose much of a threat, so he sees no use in posturing.

“I need you for a moment.” You bite out, allowing the door to slam shut behind you.

You hear Price sigh, before he leans back and settles into his chair, making himself comfortable. He’s wearing the same dark compression shirt that he usually wears for training exercises or to the gym, and he’s recently groomed his beard down too. He looks good, though it takes a colossal amount of effort for you to not notice, because you have other things you need to focus on right now.

“Hello to you too, love.” He grunts, wiping a hand over his eyes. “What’s the problem?”

You struggle not to react to that, his low voice both soothing and igniting something in your blood. You take a breath, try to calm down. You’re a professional, and you’re not here to embarrass yourself in front of the captain.

“I’m updating personnel files,” You say, and this time it comes out calm and steady, “I need to take a picture of you.”

Price’s gaze lingers on you, his stern brow softening a little. For a moment, you think that maybe this is actually going to be easy. That he’ll just stand up and take the fucking picture, so that the two of you can go back to your jobs and relax for the rest of the day.

But then–

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, already shaking his head. “I’m up to my eyes right now. Leave it ‘till tomorrow.”

For a moment, you don’t react at all. You just stare at him, letting those dismissive words settle over you. He’s already looking back at his paperwork, mission briefings and maps littering the desk, and you feel so effectively dismissed. You feel small, so silly and stupid standing in front of him in a way that you haven’t felt since you first started working with the task force. You had thought that you were past this, that you had earned some meagre sort of respect from him.

“I need it done today.” You say, and your voice comes out a little hollow to your own ears.

You don’t need male validation. You don’t. But damn, you’ve had a rough day and the fact that your captain isn’t even bothering to look at you makes you want to cry.

Price sighs, and rubs at the crease between his eyes. He looks just as tired as you feel.

“Yeah, well. I don’t have time. Tomorrow.”

You swallow, pursing your lips. He’s so effortlessly dominant, which means that his careless dismissal stings all the more.

“I have to get the whole team done,” You say, struggling to keep your voice firm. “Soap wouldn’t stop smiling for the camera, I couldn’t find Farah anywhere, and Ghost–”

Price gives a sharp, derisive snort. “Forget Ghost.”

You scowl. “I need to do the whole squad.”

“Not Ghost.” Price repeats, this time slower and with more emphasis. “Simon doesn’t do photos.”

You take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. You’ve been working alongside the task force for a while now, and you’re familiar with Lieutenant Riley’s penchant for covering his face. It’s not something you have a problem with – usually.

“There’s no reason for him to be the exception to personnel photos, Captain.” You say through gritted teeth. “Everyone else is being photographed. The task force might be covert, but Lieutenant Riley is no more–”

“Christ, enough.” Price snaps, his voice a deep boom that has your mouth closing with a click. “The One Four One is my squad, in case you’ve forgotten. I know these lads, and I’m telling you to leave it out.”

You stare, a little taken aback by the harshness in his voice. He hasn’t been this sharp with you in months, not since you had started to prove yourself competent, useful. Now, you can see the warning signs of his bad mood; the circles under his eyes are pronounced, his skin dull in the ugly fluorescent lights of his office. He looks exhausted, his skin lined and dry like he hasn’t been drinking enough water.

You realise, a little too late, that you might have been pushing your luck by insisting on something as silly as personnel file photos. TF 141 had only returned from deployment at the beginning of the week, and Price has no doubt been drowning in reports since.

“This is why I told Laswell you weren’t necessary,” His snarl is entirely unlike him, and he rubs his face furiously, his palms rasping through his beard. “I don’t need someone coming in here and making demands of my squad for– for fucking photographs.”

You inhale shakily through your nose; to your utter horror, you can feel your eyes burn with hot wet tears. It’s stupid – you’ve dealt with far crueller words from far harsher men. The nature of your job often puts you in the firing line for frustration, and when it bubbles over it’s frequently directed at you. 

But this… this feels different, for some reason. You’ve been working your ass off to try and earn some recognition from Price, to show him that you’re a valuable asset to the team, and so his sharp, frustrated dismissal of you cuts deeper than it should.

You hate that your eyes are burning like this. You don’t want Price to think of you as useless, or as the silly little girl who was put on the team by the brass who can’t even do her job right. He was just starting to think of you as competent, and it hurts your ego to have to go to him for help with something that you should be more than capable of handling yourself in the first place.

“Right,” You say, and even you’re startled by the sharpness in your tone. “Fine. Forget the file updates, then.”

You step forward, jaw clenched hard, and toss the files you’ve been carrying around all day onto his desk. They hit the surface with a smack that feels uncomfortably loud in the tense silence that’s fallen over the room.

“I’ll tell the higher-ups that you’re handling it.” You continue, your voice coming out brattier than you’d like. “Since obviously I have no idea what I’m doing–”

“Oh, don’t do that.” Price sighs, as though you’re the one being unreasonable. “What I’m saying is, if you’re going to work with the team, you have to understand the team–”

That, you think, might just push you over the edge.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You snap out, and Price’s mouth closes. “D’you think I’m– that I’m some kind of idiot?”

Price blinks. It seems like you’ve managed to take him by surprise, as though your bad mood rivals his just enough to pull him out of his own grumpy form entirely. He opens his mouth again, but you’re not ready to hear him speak again just yet.

“I’m here because Laswell put in a request for me to work with you and your squad, Captain. I’m considered an asset to the teams that I work with,” You’re scowling thunderously, all the tension and frustration that’s been mounting all day spilling over. “And I don’t have to put up with being dismissed and unappreciated when I know that I would be respected in other squads for the work that I do.”

Price raises his hands, a frown creasing his brow. “Kid, that’s not–”

Usually, being called ‘kid’ by Price has a warm glow settling in your stomach that you’re absolutely not interested in examining, but this time it only lights an infuriated fire in your belly. 

“Don’t!” You snap, your breath juddering unsteadily. “God, you think I enjoy being treated like an idiot? You think I haven’t had to deal with this from men my whole career? My whole life? Even my father–”

To your abject horror, a lump forms in your throat and you can’t finish that sentence. Your eyes are hot with unshed tears, and you’re pretty sure your lip is trembling. 

Price stands, his stern expression slackening into something like uncomfortable surprise as he moves to step around the desk.

“Hey,” He soothes, lifting his hands. “I’m not your father.”

“I know that!” You snap, irate. You’re frustrated with yourself, embarrassed at what you’ve unintentionally given away. “I wouldn’t want you to be!”

Price’s expression flickers, as though he can’t decide quite how to react to you. You’re more than aware that you’re being childish, but you find yourself unable to temper your overreactions. In the face of your tears and your frustrated anger, Price looks like he’s at a loss.

“All I’ve done is work hard, and tried to take the burden off you to make your job a little easier.” You continue before he can interrupt again. “And all I get in return is stress, and my chocolate biscuits eaten, and breakouts, and– and–”

“Kid–”

“The only person who wasn’t an absolute dickhead to me today was Garrick,” You rage, on a roll now. “Everyone else has just been so– and look how bad my skin has gotten from the stress of having to deal with men who want to act like children–”

Price watches you with an expression that is plainly bewildered as you gesture at the stupid pimple that’s been throbbing on your chin all day. You don’t even think you’re making sense, too lost in your frustration and humiliation to be properly aware of what you’re saying. 

“Your… skin.” He repeats, a little disbelieving. 

You whirl away, agitated. You’re not getting your point across well, and Price must think you’re simply demented. 

“Hey,” He says slowly, approaching from around the side of his desk. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you weren’t doing a decent job–”

“Whatever.” You mutter, running your hands over your skirt in an attempt to straighten out the creases. “Whatever.”

It’s too little, too late. He’s always been a bit of a hardass, and you’ve always tried so hard to please him, to impress him. But you can’t bear to make a fool of yourself like this any longer.

“I’ll leave the paperwork to you. Update it, or don’t. It doesn’t matter.” You say shortly, turning on your heel and marching towards the door.

“Wait,” Price calls out. His voice is firm, echoing with the grim certainty of a man who is used to being obeyed.

But you’re not one of his soldiers, and his command falls on deaf ears. Your skin is still prickling with humiliation; you don’t think you’ve ever been so desperate to get away from the Captain before.

“Sweetheart, just wait a minute,” Price says, and this time you can hear the exasperation in his voice. “I understand that you’re stressed, that’s normal. Everyone gets stressed in this line of work. But you can’t just go and get your knickers in a twist because some of the lads are bein’ difficult–”

“My knickers are none of your business!” You yell. Truthfully, it’s more of a shriek, high-pitched and unsteady enough to have Price’s eyes widening and darting towards the door as though worried about someone overhearing from the corridor.

“Whoa, okay,” Price says with the air of trying to soothe a spooked horse. “You're right. Your... knickers... ain't my concern. But helping keep this squad running smoothly is, and that can't happen if my admin is on edge."

“Oh, give me a break!” You’re beyond on-edge now, sailing right into fury. “You ignore me most of the time when you're not on deployment, you dismiss me when I’m just trying to do my job, but now you’re telling me you need me to not be on edge?”

You’ve reached the door now, your hand clenched tight around the doorhandle as you take one last moment to turn and look at him. He’s stepping towards you, no doubt with the intent to stop you before you can leave, but you don’t plan on giving him the chance.

“Kid, just hang on a damn minute–”

“Sort the files yourself, or do whatever you want.” You bite out, yanking the door open but pausing in the doorway. “I don’t even care anymore. It’s your squad, you do it.”

Price takes a breath, visibly fighting for patience. Truthfully, you don’t know how he hasn’t lost his head with you already. He was already exhausted and in an obviously bad mood when you had stormed in here, and it couldn’t be more obvious that you’ve just made it worse with all of your frenzied anger and borderline hysteria. 

The fact that Price is staying calm and level even in the face of your stress-induced meltdown only makes you feel all the more ridiculous. You wish he would get angry, that he would snap at you like he had when you had first walked in – at least that way you could pretend that you don’t notice the way his stressed scowl had melted into a look of concern as soon as he had seen the tears welling up in your stinging eyes.

“And you don’t have to wear that stupid hat, we’re indoors!” You yell, your voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

You just have enough time to see his hand reach up to touch the brim of his boonie hat before you hurriedly bolt out of the room, escaping into the corridor before he can stop you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

“— just thinking that maybe I’d be better suited with another team, that’s all. I heard Kortac’s liaison is approaching maternity leave—”

“That position is going to be filled internally,” Laswell’s voice is calm over the secure phoneline, a stark contrast to the shaky undertone of stress in your own. “Besides, organising a transfer like that is more trouble than it’s worth.” There’s a pause, then a sigh crackles over the phone. “You still haven’t explained what happened. As far as I can see, you were doing good work there.”

Yeah, you think sourly, because all you see is the paperwork end of it.

“... Internal conflict.” You mutter, playing with the fraying edge of your sweater sleeve. 

There’s a long pause, protracted enough that it makes you squirm. You know what she’s thinking – in your line of work, it’s impossible to avoid clashing with some of the big dominant personalities who are used to getting away with whatever they want. But you’ve always been able to handle it, well-versed enough in diplomacy to know when to stand your ground and when to bow out to avoid unnecessary strife. 

“Internal conflict.” Laswell repeats, her voice as bland as you’ve ever heard it. “Meaning?”

God, it feels like you’re disappointing your mom or something. You scrub a hand over your face, pacing in the living room of your small apartment.

“I know how it sounds,” You say, “But– they don’t want to work with me. There’s only so much I can do if I’m being met with resistance at every corner–”

“You’ve worked with resistant squads before,” Laswell interrupts. “It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, but…” You start, before trailing off. 

She has a point, of course. It is part of the job. There’s no way to professionally explain to your superior that the reason this assignment is so difficult is because you have a mortifying crush on the Captain of the Task Force. It’s making you stupid, making all the stupid bullshit that you’re usually able to look past feel so much worse, especially because all you’ve ever wanted was Price’s approval.

Another sigh. This one, at least, sounds a little more sympathetic.

“Look,” Laswell says, and this time her voice is a little gentler. “I’ve never given you an assignment that I didn’t think you could handle. Whatever is going on, you need to sort it. You’re a capable girl, and the One Four One is far from the most difficult team you’ve had to deal with. There might be some big personalities there, but nothing that you shouldn’t be able to tackle.”

“Mhm.” You grunt noncommittally.

“Sort out whatever’s going on with you.” Laswell’s tone leaves no room for argument, her suggestion falling just short of a command. “If whatever issues you’re experiencing continue, I’ll talk to John–”

“No!” You blurt.

God, you can’t think of anything worse. You’ve already made a show of yourself in front of him, the last thing you need is for him to learn that you’ve gone crying to Laswell about the whole thing. You don’t want him to think of you as any more of a useless little girl than he doubtlessly already does.

“No,” You repeat, calmer this time as you clear your throat. “I’ll… sort it. Sorry to bother you with this, ma’am.”

Laswell hums, and you can imagine her eyes narrowing. Judging by the wind whistling in the background of the call, she’s not anywhere near her cushy office. You’ve interrupted her on whatever assignment she’s on, and she’s been kind enough to listen to your silly little complaints for at least fifteen minutes of her valuable time. You feel more ridiculous than ever, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“... Right.” She says. “Fine. Keep me updated on the situation. I want a sitrep by the end of the week, understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

You understand what’s not being said. Laswell expects you to work your own shit out, but you can hear the concern in her voice when she demands an update. All you can do is agree. Laswell has been by your side throughout your whole career, always having a hand in your assignments and your progression, and she’s always been an advocate for you and what you’re capable of. Now, after this conversation, you feel silly for getting so overwhelmed in the face of what is a relatively minor obstacle.

“Good. I’ll speak to you then.”

You hum, wish her goodbye and good luck, and hang up the phone.

For a long moment afterwards, you sit in silence in your living room. God, how did all of this spiral into such a mess?

For the last few days, you’ve been avoiding the base entirely. You have a few PTO days built up, and you’ve taken the opportunity to just chill out. It’s the first chance you’ve had to relax properly in months, since you had started working with the task force. The space is good, and it’s needed.

You get out of the headspace of work, and reports, and files and requisitions and debriefs, and instead treat yourself with full body self-care. You exfoliate, you moisturise, you use a hair mask, you take bubble baths. You even catch up on the trashy Netflix romance series that you had put on hold for ages, just waiting for some free time to indulge.

And you almost, almost, forget about why you’re hiding away in your little flat in the first place.

But your third day off creeps around, and you can’t help but feel as though your little bubble of isolation is about to pop. There’s only so much time away from the office that you’re able to swing, and the longer away the more you feel that your position on the team is untenable. No matter how you currently feel about the task force and your place with them, you’re not willing to let your hard work go down the drain just because you’re too cowardly to face them again after your little meltdown.

So, you go back to work after your little break away.

You manage to slink into your office mostly unseen, other than polite hello’s from other admin staff as you slip through the halls. Your office is far from prime real estate when it comes to office space on base – it’s well out of the way, down several corridors that no one ever goes down, and once you get past the main thoroughfares you don’t come across anyone. Even still, it feels a little like you’re doing a walk of shame, but you walk with your head held high before you finally get your office door closed behind you. 

To your surprise, your desk is clear. Typically, any slight break away from your desk results in work piling up on it, just waiting for your attention once you get back. You don’t know what to make of the absence of work; you can’t help but wonder, somewhat uncomfortably, if Price had taken your words to heart and dealt with all of the paperwork himself.

You check the drawers of your desk too, just in case, and come up empty yet again. 

Well. Okay, then. 

You sign into your desktop, waiting for the encryption program to load before accessing your emails. There’s a lot to catch up on, so you spend the next hour or so organising your to-do list in order of urgency.

You get lost in making your little lists, allowing yourself to relax into finding order in your schedule. You barely even look up until there’s a soft knock on your office door, and by the time you’ve raised your head the door has opened and Farah has slipped inside.

“Oh,” You straighten up in surprise. “Commander. What can I do for you?”

It’s a surprise to see her, especially since you hadn’t received any email correspondence. Your office is tucked away down a remote corridor, and soldier’s usually prefer to just email you their requests rather than make the trek down.

Farah offers a polite smile, approaching your desk. “I hear you are taking photographs.”

Your smile slips a little. “Oh. No, actually, I wasn’t–”

“Captain Price said I was to be photographed,” She says, pulling the chair out opposite you and watching you expectantly. “I tried to find you yesterday, and the day before, but I believe you weren't on base.”

You shift, feeling abruptly rather awkward. “Right. I was– Price said that to you?”

“Mhm.” Farah leans back in the chair, her dark eyes alert as they track over your face. “He said that you have been stressed.”

You feel your face heat, mortified. Oh, god. How embarrassing. Has Price given the team a goddamn debrief on your little meltdown? Farah tilts her head as though she knows what you’re thinking, and a tiny smile quirks at the corner of her lips.

“That’s all he said,” She says. “That, and that we should try to make your job a little easier.”

“Oh.” You shift, embarrassed and awkward. “I– Listen, I had a… rough day at work a few days ago, that’s all. I’m not– things are fine.”

Farah just nods as though that’s perfectly convincing, and you find yourself wildly appreciative of her for a moment.

“So, then,” She says, and raises her eyebrows. “The picture?”

You can’t find a way to explain that you had thrown that particular responsibility right back at Price in a fit of pique, but it turns out you don’t have to. Farah produces a slim folder that you hadn’t noticed her holding, and you realise with another flush of embarrassment that it’s her personnel file.

“There wasn’t much to update, just a recent blood work test.” She says as she lays it on your desk. 

“That’s… thanks.” You say weakly, taking the file in hand. You flick through it briefly, feeling something in your stomach squirm at the sight of Farah’s details all filled in – Price’s handwriting is unmistakable, the small neat blocky letters standing out amongst the messy scrawl of Farah’s medical report.

You dig out your camera, still a little flustered, and direct Farah to stand against your plain white-painted wall. She’s an easy subject to photograph; she stands perfectly still, unsmiling, and you get the perfect picture after only a couple of attempts.

“Lovely,” You murmur, flicking through the pictures. “Thank you.”

Farah hums. You’re expecting her to dismiss herself, and it takes a moment for you to realise that she’s still lingering. You glance up, blinking, only to find that she’s standing with her lips pursed, obviously considering something.

“The Captain is worried about you.” She says, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Is everything alright?”

You gape at her like a moron, camera still hanging loosely from your hands. You feel uncomfortably seen; there’s no way that Farah could know what happened, but she’s looking at you with an awful lot of sympathy right now.

“What?” You squeak.

“You fought?” Farah speaks slowly, obviously conscious of overstepping her boundaries. “I don’t mean to pry, it’s just…”

“No, that’s okay.” You say hastily. “We didn’t– there was no fighting, exactly.”

She just nods, as if you’re making perfect sense, then smiles politely. She gathers herself up and steps towards the door, and you feel your head spinning as she turns to go. 

“You look tired,” Farah murmurs, low enough that you almost miss it. “When Price wants to fix things, let him.”

“Mhm.” You nod quickly without really hearing her. You’re pretty sure you’d agree to anything right now just to escape the knowing intensity of Farah’s gaze. “Yeah, of course.”

After Farah leaves, you feel like you need another day off. It’s all you can do to just sit in your comfortably padded office chair and groan like a moron, because Jesus Christ you’ve made such a mess of things. 

It was bad enough when you were pining like an idiot from afar; you’ve had crushes before, and you know that you would have outgrown it eventually. But then you had your stupid little meltdown in front of Price, and revealed more than you intended, and all of a sudden you’ve made yourself into a fool in front of the squad you’ve tried so hard to impress these last few months.

You have to try hard not to spiral. In fact, it’s a challenge not to cave and grab your phone to call Laswell all over again to demand a reassignment right this second. You have a pretty good idea of what she’d say to you in response, but still, the impulse remains.

All you can do is put it from your mind. You potter about, printing Farah’s photograph so you can tuck it neatly into her file with a paperclip, and then decide to start replying to the many emails that have built up in your absence.

The emails vary in tone, from polite enquiries to not-so-polite demands for you to solve some administrative issues, and you sigh quietly as you respond to some of the more snotty messages from upper management. And if you’re a little bit passive aggressive, then you don’t think anyone can blame you.

Your mind has finally quietened, focusing on your work as the buzz of your thoughts settle down, when another knock sounds out from your door. This one is firmer than Farah’s soft knock from earlier, and a little louder, though this time you don’t look up from your screen.

“Come in.” You call, chewing at your lip as you struggle to keep the wording of your email civil.

You’re half-expecting it to be Soap this time around, or maybe one of the recruits hoping to get you to sign off on their leave. So when you finally glance up only to catch sight of the broad, thick-shouldered figure of Captain Price stepping into your office, you think you might go into cardiac arrest.

Email abandoned, you half jolt to your feet before changing your mind mid-movement and attempting to sit back down. It ends up being a humiliating sort of jerky motion, and you pray that he somehow missed it entirely.

“Captain.” You wheeze, your voice coming out a little weak.

Price’s cool blue eyes dart over your face and then down the length of your body, and you become suddenly, mortifyingly aware of the state you’re in. You might not want to admit it, but your wardrobe definitely changes when the Captain isn’t on deployment. Instead of professional trousers, you wear your tight knee-length pencil skirts and fitted shirts, and totter around in your heels. And it’s silly, but… well, you can’t help but notice the way Price’s eyes follow you when you dress like that, and you like his attention on you.

Except today, you hadn’t been planning on running into Price. You hadn’t planned on seeing anyone, so you had dressed for comfort — you’re wearing a pair of frumpy grey wool trousers and a super over-sized soft purple sweater that practically swallows you whole. You haven’t even done your hair nicely, and you curse yourself. This has to be the least sexy you’ve looked in months.

“D’you’ve a moment, love?” 

His voice seems loud in the quiet of your office, even though realistically you know he’s only speaking in a murmur. In the quiet days you’ve spent alone in your apartment, you’d almost forgotten how lovely and low and gruff his voice is, and you feel your toes curl in your shoes at the sound of it.

It’s not as though you can refuse him, though you’re already embarrassingly aware of the way in which you had stormed off the last time you had seen him.

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly in an attempt to strengthen your voice, but it still comes out high and thready. “Sure.”

As if he had just been waiting for permission, Price steps into the room properly and closes the door behind him. All of a sudden, the room feels a little claustrophobic. Price is a big man, broad-shouldered and thickly built with a soft layer of fat cushioning those hard muscles, and you can’t help but feel as though his presence is sucking all of the air out of the room.

But still, he approaches slowly, like you’re some kind of feral cat. Those sharp eyes of his are still tracking over you; he never misses a beat, and you know that he’s taking stock of you in the same way he would for an enemy out on the field. You feel raw, uncomfortably vulnerable. You find yourself wishing wildly and ridiculously that you had worn your usual fitted shirt and pencil skirt, or at least put on a bit of makeup.

“You look rested.” He notes, coming to a slow stop just in front of your desk.

You suddenly curse your last minute choice to stay seated, because now Price’s big body is towering over you in a way that’s honestly making your head swim a little.

“Yeah.” Your voice is a little hoarse. “I guess.”

Price nods, inhales through his nose. A moment passes before he clears his throat and reaches out to place a handful of files on your desk. Despite the plain manila envelopes, you recognise them for what they are almost immediately; the personnel files for 141.

“Finished ‘em off for you while you were gone.” He says gruffly, as though it were no big deal. “Nearly had to nail Soap down to a chair for that damn photo.”

You stare at the files for a long moment, making no move to open them. You find yourself totally, utterly lost for words. 

“This is–” You start to say, and truthfully you’re not sure where you’re going with that. You think you’re about to thank him, but he doesn’t really give you the chance to.

“Why don’t we talk?” He says, and motions to the dinky little couch in the corner of the room as if he owns it.

You hesitate a moment, a little peeved about the effortless way he takes command in your own office, but relent and push yourself up from the desk. You don’t make eye contact with Price as you step around him, walking to the corner, but you can feel his eyes on you all the same.

 The couch had come with the office, and you don’t even really want to think about how old it is, but you sink down awkwardly onto it anyway. The cushions are worn and threadbare and the springs creak gratingly when you settle your weight onto it, but it’s fine. It does the job.

You’re half-expecting Price to drag the spare chair at your desk over so he can sit opposite you – you’re not expecting him to step right up next to you before he drops down next to you, sighing as his thick thighs spread wide.

You barely bite back a squeak, a little bewildered. You’re not surprised that he’s asked to talk to you. Your behaviour had been wildly inappropriate, and you couldn’t exactly protest if he’s decided to caution you or something.

But you had expected it to be a more formal affair; sitting together on the pathetic, dingy little couch in your office feels entirely too casual for the dressing down you’re sure you’re about to receive.

“Think we’re due a discussion about the other day.” He says, gentler than you had been expecting.

You avoid his eyes, though you can feel his stare boring into the side of your face. Ugh. Time to eat humble pie, you think miserably. 

“I’m sorry, sir.” You keep your voice as dispassionate and prim as possible. “My behaviour was unprofessional and entirely unacceptable, and I have no excuse. It won’t happen again, I assure you.”

It’s as professional an apology as you can manage, and you chance a quick side glance at him to see his reaction. Your stomach sinks when you see that his brow is creased in a frown, and you panic a little at the realisation that your apology hasn’t helped matters at all.

“Well,” His voice is gruff enough to elicit a little shiver from you. “I wasn’t–” He clears his throat. “I wasn’t looking for an apology.”

That finally makes you turn properly, your eyes darting nervously over his face. He’s already watching you, his blue eyes searing under the brim of his stupid hat. He’s trimmed his beard since the last time you saw him; the salt and pepper bristles of his moustache and chops are neat and shortened. He looks good, though you try not to notice. He doesn’t look as dehydrated or drained as he did a few days ago either, though he still leans into the couch with an air of quiet exhaustion.

“Paperwork has never been my favourite thing in the world,” He confesses with an air of chagrin that’s painfully endearing to you. “Always found it a pain, to be honest. Puts me right out of sorts. I was… short with you, the other day.”

You frown, making yourself small on the couch. “You said I wasn’t necessary.”

Price winces, then reaches up and pulls his boonie hat off his head so that he can drag a hand over his short-cropped hair. Though you had insulted it only the other day, it strikes you as odd to see him with a bare head.

“Shouldn’t have said that.” He mumbles, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hat hang from his hands. “You’ve been great these last few months. Don’t know what I’d have done without you, sometimes.”

You’re stupid. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way blood rushes to your head and turns your face hot, your whole body going hot and prickly in response to his low praise. You fidget, glance away, and pray he doesn’t notice. 

“You know I’m no good at deskwork,” He says, and leans in a little closer like he thinks you’re not listening properly. “Don’t have the head for it. I think you’re the reason the team runs so smoothly in the first place, love.”

The flattery is being laid on a little too thick, but it works. You fall for it entirely, a warm glow settling over you like a blanket, wrapping around you tight and soothing the jagged edges of your anger and anxiety. You hate that you’re so easy to appease, a couple of sweet compliments and assurances falling from your Captain’s lips assuaging all that upset that you’ve been carrying around with you for days now.

But still, part of you isn’t quite willing to let go of the sting, the hurt that his words and his harsh tone had caused. 

“Is this you apologising, then?” You ask, watching him from the corner of your eye.

He smiles, close-mouthed. “Yeah. It is. Not doin’ too good, am I?”

“You’re doing okay.” You murmur, before deciding to try to be a bit cheeky. “But you can keep going, if you’d like.”

Price laughs, rich and warm and low. You don’t think you’ve ever actually heard him laugh in all the months you’ve been working with the task force, and the sound of it rumbles right into your bones, settling something inside of you and finally allowing you to relax. No longer tense with stress, you melt a little into the corner of the couch.

“Shouldn’t have snapped at you,” He says slowly. “You do good work. Great work. You shouldn’t feel like you’re not a valued member of the team.”

You swallow thickly. You feel too warm, your head swimming a little. His attention feels too heavy, heating your blood and going straight to your head.

“I overreacted,” You mumble reluctantly. “I shouldn’t… your hat isn’t stupid.”

That gets another bark of laughter out of Price, and he slaps a hand down onto your knee. The contact makes you jolt, eyes widening, but Price’s hand doesn’t shift. His palm is so large, spread across your thigh as his fingers curl over your knee. The touch feels almost scorching even through the thick fabric of your trousers.

All of a sudden, your tongue feels very thick in your mouth. The hand on your knee is not in any way suggestive; it’s chaste, innocent, just resting there like a reminder that he wants your attention on him (as if it could be anywhere else). But your nerves are jangling all of a sudden, every one of your senses straining towards him as you hold your breath.

“The hat isn’t the problem,” Price mutters, though you barely hear him. “I wanted to ask you about something else you said, love. Something you said about your father.”

That has some of the heat in your veins cooling, your eyes blowing wide. “I– what?”

To your bewilderment, Price’s cheeks have reddened beneath the whiskers of his beard and moustache. Despite his clear chagrin, he doesn’t break eye contact with you, his thick fingers squeezing cautiously around your knee. 

“Don’t mean to overstep,” He assures you quietly. “And– and don’t mind me if I’m talkin’ nonsense. But I know that you’ve been working so hard, and you’ve got a tough job. Can’t be easy. And I just wanted to say that if you'd like some… guidance – someone to steer you on the right path, that is– well, that I’m here if you ever want to talk."

Oh god. You feel your mouth go dry. 

It’s funny, because even though Price isn’t even yet forty, he’s always seemed so much older. Maybe it’s the weight of the responsibility that he carries on his shoulders, or the battle-hardened icy blue eyes, or the paternal sense of protectiveness that he shows over his team. He’s always been like an almost father figure for the squad, regardless of age; you’ve seen the way he’s so protective over Ghost, the way he claps Soap on the back or shoulders in praise to boost him up, the way he beams with pride when Farah excels, the way he always makes time to guide or give advice to Gaz.

It’s sweet. He’s always been sweet, so aware of the personalities on his team, even when he’s acting like that typical military authority figure. 

"Sounds like you want to be my daddy." You mean to say it in a derogatory fashion, laughing as though it's ridiculous, though when it comes out you can hear that it’s missing some of the sarcasm you had intended.

Price reacts instantly. He reels back, eyes widening, the pink in his cheeks flares into a deep red flush, and you see his chest heave as his breath catches. You hadn’t been expecting a reaction like this; Price looks as though the words have hit him like a physical slap.

“Jesus. That’s not–” He says, and the gravelly hoarseness in his voice is a shock. “That’s not what I meant.”

There’s a moment of charged silence. Fuck, what have you done? Why would you say that? Why would you say that, to the captain of your task force? Hadn’t you embarrassed yourself enough in front of him the day you had had your silly little meltdown? It’s like you just can’t keep your damn mouth shut around him, like your brain turns to mush the second he looks at you and you just lose the run of yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You blurt. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what– I didn’t mean it.”

The next silence is even worse than the last, tension humming between you like a live wire. He’s so close to you that his scent fills your nose – a blend of sweet cigar smoke, sharp gunpowder, and a heady masculine musk. You feel so fucking stupid, and more than a little panicked. You don’t think you could survive the humiliation of having to call Laswell and beg for a reassignment twice in one day just because you’ve completely humiliated yourself in front of the Captain again.

Price swallows, the sound painfully loud in the silence.

“Right.” He says slowly, before coughing roughly to clear his throat. “Mm. ‘Course. I didn’t mean to– perhaps I overstepped. Since you mentioned your father–”

“I don’t want to talk about my father.” You say swiftly.

God, you feel like your issues are out on display with a big damn spotlight. You feel so pathetic, so damn pitiful, as though your desperate need for approval and affection from an older male authority figure is written across your forehead.

But if your issues are on display, then so are Price’s, because you can’t help but notice that the vibrant red flush on his cheeks hasn’t faded. If anything, that deep flush has spread down his throat and over his chest; you can see how the skin that’s stretched over his pectoral muscles is glowing crimson beneath his shirt.

A niggling boldness begins to creep in, and you find yourself straightening on the couch. You turn, bring one of your legs up on the couch so that you can turn your whole body towards him, one of your elbows resting on the back cushion of the couch. 

Price’s eyes sharpen when your body turns towards him, and his body draws tense. Those cool blue eyes dart over you, and you’re surprised to see heat in them despite your oversized purple jumper and unflattering wool trousers. The whisper of his fatigues brushing against the fabric of your own trousers is both a distraction and an invitation, your thighs sliding surreptitiously against each other.

“What if I did mean it?” You blurt out before your courage can flee you.

Price goes so still it looks preternatural, even the breaths in his chest slowing. 

“Kid.” He says, and it sounds like a warning.

You don’t heed it, adjusting yourself so that you’re shuffling closer yet again. You don’t think you’ve ever been so close to him, his scent and his body and his heated gaze filling up your consciousness until he’s all that you’re aware of.

“What if I meant it?” You ask again, the whisper coming out low but charged. 

Price takes a breath that sounds like a groan, and it surprises you. You hadn’t expected that reaction; it sends a trickle of heated desire running down your spine, and you’re startled by how much you want him in this moment.

“D’you know what you’re asking for?” He asks, the gravel in his voice flooding wet heat between your legs. 

His carefully laced words linger in the space between you, daring you to accept, to shred the formal boundary that looms between the two of you. You get the sense that you’re walking a fine line here, that you’re getting close to the point of no return. 

“Yes.” You breathe, although you’re not entirely sure that you do know what you’re asking for. All you know is that he’s so close, and he’s staring at you with an expression of such hunger that it’s making you feel weak.

Price moves fast for such a big man, and all you can do is let out a soft sound of surprise when one of his big hands wraps around the back of your neck to pull you in. A deep, guttural sound escapes him when his lips crash into yours, his mouth demanding and greedy.

It feels like you go both lax and rigid simultaneously, before you positively light up. The hand that Price has wrapped around the back of your neck keeps you grounded, and before you can stop yourself you’re burrowing closer. It feels like the tension, your childish argument, the sexual friction – everything has culminated to this electrifying moment, where Price’s full lips are consuming yours, the hair of his beard rubbing over your cheeks and chin and keeping your nerves straining towards him.

The kiss doesn’t start out slow; it skips straight to hungry, fast and dirty, with Price’s big hands on your hip and the back of your neck, holding and guiding you. Overwhelming. 

Price’s big fucking body is leaning in, caging you against the couch. The wide shoulders and barrel-chested mass of him pressing you into the cushions is just short of breath-taking, but it’s not enough. You want to be right up against him, under his skin.

You swing your leg over Price’s, and climb up into his lap. His thighs are thick beneath you, wide and muscled, but you’re still hesitant to fully settle your weight against him. You just want to be closer, to feel the heat of him pressed against you, but the second you start moving Price grabs at your hips and pulls you down properly, uncaring of your weight.

“I’ve been–” You manage to say in between kisses, your words muffled and a little wet. “I’ve been working my ass off, for the squad, for you, and you never say or do anything–”

Price grunts, grappling with his sudden lapful of you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, you think you might see the spark of admiration, for your brave stupidity if nothing else. 

“Sh, I know,” He says as he grips at your hips under your oversized jumper, encouraging you to settle down your full weight on his thighs. “I know, love, you’ve been working so hard. What would I do without you, huh?”

And the thing is, you’re a very capable woman. You’ve had to be, in order to survive in your line of work. You know that you’re capable, you know that you do good work, you know that you help keep the wheels greased and everything moving behind the scenes for the 141, but even still, Price’s praise sinks into you like warm honey.

“Watching you walk around in those tight little skirts, Christ.” He hums, and his big palms land on your ass and squeeze there suggestively. “And those heels– completely impractical for a military base like this.”

You wheeze a laugh, clutching at his shoulders. It feels completely surreal that you’re currently perched in your Captain’s lap, with his big shovel-like hands groping your bum as he nips at your lips and confesses that he’s been watching you. It goes straight to your head, makes you dizzy, makes you wish wildly that you had worn one of those skirts for him today.

Oh, you could get used to this. Realistically you know the size difference between you two isn’t that immense, but Price is built like a man whose reality is all war, and when he shifts beneath you his muscles roll, unwittingly showing off his physique. You think you could stay here forever, feeling safe in a big man’s lap, cushioned by his body as he tells you that you’re valuable, and important.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Price groans, nipping at your lower lip before capturing your mouth wholly again. “You’re a handful.”

You’d love to argue that – you like to think that you’re perfectly measured and sensible, after all – but you’re already squirming in his lap, your legs spread wide over his thighs. Arousal pools in your stomach, makes you slick your knickers, and you can’t stop the slow grind your hips trace against his thigh.

Price’s breath shudders out of his chest, and his hands clench tight around your hips. “Hang on a sec,” He breathes, “Hold on. I’m still– I’m still your Captain–”

You think that it’s meant to be a warning, or at least a word of caution about the precarious situation you’re in regarding professionalism and inappropriate workplace relationships. What you’re doing right now is ridiculous, after all. You’re still on base, you’re in your office, and if the two of you get caught you don’t even want to think about the consequences. The fraternisation rule shouldn’t apply here, since you’re only considered part of the team by a mere technicality, but even in your lust-hazed mind you can still recognise that sitting on his lap and kissing like this at your workplace is wildly inappropriate.

But if it is a warning, it doesn’t work. The reminder of his authority only inflames you further, and a quiet whimper is torn from your throat when you rock against his lap.

He swears, and beneath you his cock stirs in his fatigues. You can feel the way it fills out where it’s pressed against the seam of your trousers, right between your legs. You reflexively squish your thighs together, tightening them around his hips.

“Christ,” He grits out like a curse. “Alright, then.”

He moves quickly, his hands secure on your back as he lunges forward, flipping you over so that you’re laying on your back on the shoddy, worn-down couch. You go so easily – 

you’re soft now, pliable and eager to please, and he could direct you anywhere he wanted.

He’s too large to be climbing on top of you on a couch like this, but somehow it doesn’t even matter. Now that he’s above you, holding himself up with those strong arms on either side of your head, he looks down on you with an expression that you don’t know what to make of. His eyes are still intense, but the lines around them are softened as he stares down, his gaze tracing your face. 

“You think I haven’t been looking?” He asks, and his voice isn’t as harsh or gritty as you’d been expecting. It’s softer now, fond, almost. “How could I fuckin’ miss you? Always so pretty, always workin’ so hard. ‘Course I noticed.”

When his fingers creep beneath your big purple jumper, you launch into helping him remove it, eagerly stripping it off so you’re laying in your bra. It’s one of your simple utilitarian ones, and you curse yourself for not wearing a sexier one.

But Price groans at the sight of your simple white cotton as though it’s premium lace. His palms are rough as they trace up your sides, the callouses on his fingers coarse against the soft squishy flesh of your belly. He leans forward and nuzzles at your ear, kissing behind your lobe before scraping his teeth along your jaw until he’s kissing messily at your mouth all over again.

“So gorgeous.” He says, his voice a low rumble that has your nerves buzzing. “I was too mean to you before, wasn’t I? Too harsh, when all you were trying to do was help.”

“Yes.” You whisper, though you feel a little bit petulant for it.

“Let me make up for it, darling,” He whispers back, and it sounds like a plea. “Hm? I’ll show you how good you’ve been.”

You’re nodding before he even finishes, desperate. God, yes. You’re not even sure what it is that he’s offering, but you know that you’ll take anything that he has to give you.

He’s looming over you, so large, as his hands fall to the closure on your work trousers. His fingers are so thick that he fumbles with the delicate button and little zip, and it takes him a couple of tries to pull it open and down. When he’s got it, he shucks your trousers off easily and tosses them aside, then stares down at you in your ugly shapeless underwear as though you’re wearing something else entirely.

Even though you’re laying unclothed and vulnerable, squirming and wanting, Price is so slow to get moving. He doesn’t grab at you, or grope greedily, or take impatiently. He acts as though he’s got all the time in the world, leisurely looking you over as though he’s committing you to memory.

“Need you to say it,” He says, strained like he’s trying to hold himself back. “Need you to say it out loud.”

“Want you to show me how good I’ve been.” You say immediately, your desire leaving no room for shame. “Want you to look after me.”

The request comes out a little bit plaintive, and Price sighs out before ducking his head and kissing you again. He’s so much more affectionate than you had ever imagined, and you feel as though you’re drowning in it. His attention is like a warm blanket, settling every craving you’ve ever had.

“I will,” He breathes like it’s a promise. “Oh, I will.”

His palms are rough and hot as they drag over your skin, deceptively gentle as he reaches your tits and pushes your bra up so that he can knead at the soft flesh there. He doesn’t even bother to unclasp it, impatient enough that shoving the cups up so to free your breasts is enough for him. 

He bends his head down, and licks a stripe over your nipple. His tongue feels scorching against you, like you’re hypersensitive to his touch, and he groans against your skin as though he’s tasting something incredible.

You writhe, hips arching up in search of some kind of friction, but Price doesn’t give it to you. He’s too distracted, peppering dozens of kisses over your tits as though they’re something precious even as his hands coast down your back to grope at your ass again where your plain cotton underwear is riding up.

“So pretty, ain’tcha?” He groans against your chest. “Fuck, even when you were walkin’ around with a face on you like a slapped arse, I thought you were the sweetest fuckin’ thing I’d ever seen.”

“Charming.” You snap, but there’s no anger in your tone anymore. In fact, you don’t think there’s a lick of anger anywhere in your whole body anymore, like Price’s hands and mouth on you have washed it all away.

All the brattiness, and the prickliness of your bad mood, is entirely forgotten now that you’re laid out and squirming beneath him. You can hardly even remember what you had been so stressed and angry with him for.

He finally reaches around to unclasp your bra, then tosses it to the side to let it slump sadly to the floor. His next target is your underwear, pulled from you roughly enough that you think the fabric might tear even as his hands cradle the plush flesh of your ass like it’s a treasure.

“Mm, so gorgeous, princess,” It seems like the name just slips out of his mouth, and you feel your whole body draw tense and hot. “So lovely, and I bet you taste even better than you look… like sugar, my sweet girl.”

Jesus Christ. You think your whole fucking body throbs, blood pounding and nerves straining as you wish so desperately for him to touch you. You can’t handle him talking to you like that, so fondly, as if you haven’t just acted like the biggest brat in the world for several days straight.

You can hardly even reconcile this man with the usual stern, gruff man that acts as your Captain, and you let out a choked whine of bewilderment as he slides down your body.

Your thighs are clamped together, shy under his gaze despite how desperately eager you are. You want this, you want him, but you can’t help but feel so mortified by the vulnerability of being nude beneath him on the couch while his big formidable body is still entirely clothed.

Price’s fingers stroke against your hip, his tone low and rich as his lips find your throat again. You can feel his tongue darting out against your skin, his hunger so palpable now that it’s infectious.

“Let daddy see you,” He croaks against the hollow of your throat. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”

It’s not like you could ever say no to that. The request sends liquid heat shooting straight to your cunt, making you hot and sticky. You spread your thighs, and feel embarrassment flare when there’s a squelch as your cunt unsticks. And– Jesus, Price’s eyes fucking light up, and you realise that he’s clocked your reaction to his honeyed words, the way he calls himself daddy.

The kiss he gives you is claiming and hungry, consuming your lips with a fervour that leaves no room for doubt about his intentions. It’s a taste of both command and reverence — in equal measure. When he pulls away from your mouth you’re breathless, still gasping softly even as he pushes himself down the length of your body.

In the blink of an eye, he’s there — between your welcoming thighs, his hands resting securely on your soft hips, as much a lifeline as a promise of what’s to come. Your pussy is already sloppy, slick and wet in anticipation of him. He shoves his head between your thighs, using his thumbs to spread apart your folds and just look at you.

Your back arches at even the suggestion of his touch, feeling his breath ghost over the heated slick flesh of your cunt. Despite your obvious willingness, and his apparent eagerness, he doesn’t immediately touch you.

You crane your neck to see that he’s staring at your pussy as though the sight of it is earth-shattering. His gaze drinks you in, heated blue eyes taking in the sight of your swollen sticky folds, no doubt throbbing invitingly under his attention. You’ve never seen a man look so hungry, like he’s about to risk anything for it. A dark, groaned "fuck" escapes him as he kneels between your spread legs, head bowed as if in reverence.

"Daddy needs a taste, sweet girl," His deep voice a heavy rumble, vibrating against your soft inner thighs. 

It takes a beat for you to realise that he’s holding himself back, that he’s essentially asking for permission to lay his mouth on you, but then you gasp, “Yes, fuck, yes, please–”

Price takes it as the enthusiastic invitation that it is and bursts into movement immediately, reaching out and guiding your legs wider so that he can muscle in between them properly, before leaning in and finally getting his mouth on you.

You choke, hips aching as you try to spread your legs even further. Price drags the flat of his tongue along the seam of your cunt, groaning as though he’s savouring the taste of you, before wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you all spread open for him as his tongue rasps over your sensitive flesh.

You want to call out for him, but his name stalls on your tongue. What would you call him – Price? John? Captain? Daddy? You think you would die if you said it out loud.

Then his tongue finds your clit, and your thoughts scatter. He flicks the tip of his tongue over you, back and forth, then flattens it to grind eagerly. You had thought, given the way he had taken that moment just to look at you before he’d pressed his mouth to you, that he would start slow. But instead, he gives you everything he has.

You cry out as he devours your cunt, his bushy eyebrows pulling up in delight as you give him your first moan. While your legs had spread wide in the beginning, eager to let him in, you now close them tight around his head to keep him in place. You have a brief, hazy thought that maybe this is an asshole move of you, a little like if a man were to hold your head down while you were sucking cock, but Price doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, judging by the snarl he lets out when your thighs close around his ears, he likes it.

You toss your head back against the worn couch cushions as jolts of white-hot heat spread from where his mouth is working at you, playing with you, tongue painting long, broad strokes up and down your pussy. 

Your cunt is syrupy hot, throbbing as his tongue rubs relentlessly at your clit. You’re so fucking wet, and you can’t help yourself from rolling your hips more assertively into his mouth. You’re leaking on his mouth, his tongue, your slick drenching his cheeks and his beard.

Seized by a sudden urge to watch, you clumsily raise your head so you can look down. It feels entirely illicit, watching Price’s head between your legs as he buries his face so enthusiastically into your folds. His eyes flash as he glances up, the bottom half of his face hidden entirely in your pussy as his jaw works, the soft hair of his beard tickling your sensitive inner thighs.

With a jolt, you realise that one of his hands has fallen to his lap, his trousers hastily pushed open. He’s fisting at his dripping cock, red and angry and still begging for release against the thick dark hair of his stomach. Sticky pre-cum leaks from his flushed head, pooling into his skin and clothes as his cock bobs and twitches at the sounds of your moans.

The sudden realisation that Price is getting off on this, on the taste of you and the smell of you and the way you’re whining, sets you aflame. He grunts, one of his big hand’s wrapping around his throbbing skin to pump his length to the rhythm of his tongue inside of you.

“Oh, oh fuck,” You press your lips together, stomach pulling tight as his tongue thrusts up inside of you, “Fuck, fuck, fuck that’s so good, oh god, Captain–”

“Yeah,” Price grunts, his words all wetly muffled, his arms wrapped tight around your thighs to keep you in place as he feasts on you, sucking on your clit like it’s a sweet. “I know, baby, I know.”

He’s so accommodating, so nice to you. You tilt your hips up and grind your cunt into his mouth, sighing in satisfaction as his tongue drags along your clit before dipping to lick inside of you. He barely even shifts when you hump your pussy into his face; he only opens his mouth wider, licks at you more enthusiastically as though your desperation is contagious. 

Your belly goes hot and tight, and a high-pitched whimper is torn from your throat. It feels as though you’ve been strung high and taut for months now, and your breath catches at your imminent orgasm. You’ve just been so stressed, and having Price hunched over you on the couch like this with your legs thrown up around his shoulders as he licks and sucks at you so eagerly that it has your eyes rolling in your head feels like it’s curing you.

You think, somewhat madly, that an orgasm like this, with Price’s mouth sealed over your cunt, will solve every damn problem you have right now.

“Wanna come, wanna come, Jesus fucking Christ, please please–” Your chest heaves as you scramble, one of your hands reaching down to cup Price’s head to keep him in place, face buried in your cunt. “Oh god, please make me come–”

Maybe it’s not fair to be so demanding of him, but to his credit Price responds with restless enthusiasm. You double over in pleasure as he heeds your broken little pleas, your nails scraping into the couch as you cling on for dear life. His tongue swirls over your clit quickly and with fervour, tight circles to make your vision go blurry.

You’re lost in the sensation of his hot, wet mouth in your cunt, the way he licks into you like a starving man tasting his first meal. It feels like a sensation overload, as though you’re just completely lost to your own desire, but you just want more of what he is offering. 

You grab his hair again and pull him closer, greedy with need, and he hums in affirmation as he allows you to guide his mouth to exactly where you need it. Arching your hips up, you grind into his mouth, chasing your orgasm. You groan, eyelids fluttering as you wrap your other leg around Price’s shoulders, up around his neck, and his hand snakes around your thigh to anchor you there.

Price’s fingers are gripping at your hips, surely hard enough to leave bruises there. You smile, almost deliriously; you could live with some souvenirs from tonight.

Your feeble gasps start to spiral into whimpers as that hot coil begins to tighten in your belly, and your toes start to curl. When your climax finally hits, it does so with a sense of relief that almost knocks you flat. Your body winds tight then releases, and you convulse in a wave of shudders that has you sobbing out loud.

Your chest heaves as you sob, squirming as Price licks at your clit insistently. It feels like your breath has caught in your chest, your toes curling so hard that your feet cramp. You’re panting like a damn dog as your orgasm rocks through you, until the waves of it subside and you can finally get a full breath again.

From one second to the next your nerves turn red-hot and oversensitive, and you clamp your thighs shut around Price’s ears and whimper-whine pathetically. Mercifully, he gets your unspoken message easily, and finally pulls back, chuckling breathlessly to himself as he pushes your legs apart in order to retreat.

“Fuck,” He says, and his voice comes out as harsh and gravelly as you’ve ever heard it. “Jesus Christ. Knew you’d taste sweet, knew that you’d come so pretty.”

The praise practically slams into you, ripping through you like a forest fire. It feels like you’ve lost your breath all over again, and ridiculously you suddenly feel shy. 

“I–That–” You start to say, but you still feel a little fuzzy-headed from your orgasm and your thoughts fizz away like TV static. 

“Mhm, I know, sweet girl.” He murmurs hoarsely as though you had said something coherent. 

When Price finally sits up, you blink hazily. He had been all hunched over you, crammed into the corner of the couch in order to squeeze himself between your thighs like that, but now that he’s straightening back up again you’re reminded with a tired jolt just how big and broad and strong he is.

A small, self-conscious part of your brain screams at you to close your legs. Your thighs are still spread wide, your cunt on display; you’re still all sloppy and wet, spit-slick and dripping, all puffy from the attention Price had lavished on you with his mouth.

But instead of closing your legs, you let your thighs fall open a little wider and shift restlessly under his intense gaze. Your desire makes you stupid – how could you ever experience anything as mundane as self-consciousness when he’s staring at you like that? He’s looking at you like he wants to fall atop you all over again, and you feel yourself throb – you feel so empty, your body craving something to fill you.

And Price notices the way you keep yourself all spread for him, the way you don’t make any move to cover yourself. Beneath his beard, his face splits into a wide smile, the apples of his cheeks practically glowing with pride.

“Oh, my girl, you're so pretty. Just the loveliest girl in the world with your beautiful face and your hair all wild like that.” He leans in then, and presses a hungry  kiss to your mouth. He tastes salty-sweet, the iron tang of yourself lingering on his lips. His beard is wet too, practically soaked through.

You gasp when he pulls back, overwhelmed by the kiss and the praise and the electric aftershocks of your orgasm. “Your beard is wet.” You observe dumbly.

He chuckles, as though you’ve said something terribly endearing. “Of course it is, sweetheart. That’s all you.”

You mumble a little incoherently, mostly because you’ve just spotted the way his trousers are still unbuttoned and his hard, swollen cock is jutting out from the band of his boxers. It’s angry looking, the head of it so red it looks a little painful, and you feel a sudden urge to return the favour seize you.

But when you reach out, Price is quick to grab your wrist. He transfers his grip to your hand swiftly so you don’t feel as though you’re being held down, his wide palm and thick fingers winding around yours.

“Don’t have to do that, love.” He grunts, shifting. He’s looming over you, hips tilted towards you and his wide shoulders blocking out your view of the office. “D’you think you could take me?”

It takes you a moment for your slow, stupid brain to catch up and process what he’s asking you. Then you nod swiftly, eyes widening. You're wet and sticky and so so empty, and you have no doubt your body is so ready to take him inside. 

You’re still a little limp and drained from the satisfaction of your orgasm, but you keep your thighs spread and wait eagerly for him to touch you again. He doesn’t keep you waiting long; he coos softly at you as he adjusts himself, kissing your tummy then up your sternum and back to your throat. The soft, sweet kisses distract you as he presses his hips between your thighs.

You gasp softly, your clit sensitive enough that when his cock rubs against it, you jolt. Despite the overload of sensation, you find yourself grinding back against him, so desperate for something. As if he can sense what you need, he presses a kiss to your jaw and dips a hand between your thighs. Two thick, calloused fingers circle your clit for a moment and make you whimper, only to dip lower and press inside you.

His fingers are larger than yours, but they still slip into you so damn easily that it’s embarrassing. You barely even feel a stretch, your body so eager for him that your cunt practically sucks his fingers up.

The worst part is the way Price laughs, all soft and breathy as he rubs his callous-roughened fingers into the spongey walls of your cunt. 

“Oh, fuck,” He murmurs, his lips dragging over your overheated skin. “Yeah, you’ll take me just fine.”

You burn with embarrassment, but you still don’t close your legs. It’s silly, but there’s still an element of pride as his fingers rub against the soft inside of your pussy; you want him to see how much you want him, how well you’ll take him. It’s obvious how wet you are, and you hope he’s imagining how good you’ll feel on the inside.

“Need you to turn over for me, love.” He murmurs, gripping at your hips and easing you over so that you’re on your belly beneath him. “That’s it, arse up. My knees aren’t what they used to be. Make it easy for me.”

You usually would make a joke about that, some sort of jab about being old before his time, but you simply don’t have the mental capacity for it. You’re too busy dropping to rest your weight on your elbows as you stick your ass up towards him, arching your back and hoping you look pretty.

He doesn’t waste any more time, much to your relief. Your mouth drops open with a sigh as you feel the blunt head of his cock glide between your slick folds, tapping once against your clit just to watch the way your legs jerk, then finally lining up with your entrance and pressing lightly in. His cock notches, catches, then slides in so slowly that it makes you want to scream.

“Gotta let me in, petal.” He says, using his grip on your hips to pull you back onto his cock in increments. “Relax, relax.”

You had wanted this, you’re more eager than you think you’ve ever been for anyone in your life, and yet Price is a big man and the stretch makes your breath stall in your lungs. Your cunt is sucking his cock in further with a hunger that’s almost embarrassing, even as you wince a little at the feeling of being stretched out to your limits. Though you’re wet and eager and ready, two of Price’s fingers briefly testing inside weren’t quite enough to prepare you for how fat his cock is. 

Your head is spinning. You’ve never taken a cock this big with so little stretching, but neither you nor Price are patient enough to wait. But the stretch feels good, and you find yourself wheezing like a moron as he presses inside inch by inch.

“Fuck… you alright, love?” Price breathes, adjusting his knees on the couch behind you and wrapping his hands around your hips. The motion only succeeds in shifting him far enough away to make you aware of the feeling of him sliding into you again. You both groan, and you feel Price twitch, deep inside you.

“Fuck,” You moan, breath gasping out of you. “You’re fucking huge.”

It feels like you’re learning for the very first time what it really means to be full. For a few seconds, it feels like you can’t even breathe. It feels like his cock is lodged somewhere in your belly, forcing the breath from your lungs as he nestles his way deeper into the eager clutch of your body.

“Am I– s’it too much, honey?” He asks, his voice rough and low as his hands squeeze at the flesh at your hips. “Need me to take it out?”

“No!” You blurt, and your body clenches up hard as though you’re trying to lock him in and keep him from escaping. “Don’t you dare!”

His cock still feels so big, and when you tighten up as hard as you do it almost feels as though he’s fucking impaling you. Price groans as though he’s been shot, and his head lowers so that he’s burying his face into the space between your shoulderblades. His body lowers too until his chest is pressed to your back, joined at the hips as he rocks inside of you. 

“Okay,” He grunts, and you can feel his chest expand as he takes a breath. “Okay, love, but you need to relax. You’re going to squeeze my cock right off.”

“Sorry.” You try to do as he asks, taking a deep breath and allowing your body to go limp and pliant. He grunts in appreciation, and you feel his whiskery beard rasp against your throat as he presses a kiss to your neck as if to reward you.

Your spine is still taut from the pressure of being all stretched out around his cock, and you reach back clumsily to grasp at his belly, the soft fabric of his shirt rucking up between your fingers. Price reaches back and grabs at the neck of his own shirt, tearing it over his head then tossing it aside. Your eyes are all hazy and a little blurred from your overwhelmed tears, but you look back over your shoulder and blink frantically in an attempt to get a proper look at him. 

God, he’s so big and strong, his chest furred with a layer of brown hair curling in whorls over his nipples and down over his belly. You feel yourself pulse in response, your mouth dropping open in a thoughtless gasp of desire. He’s exactly the kind of man you think of when you think of masculinity, and your belly tightens in anticipation when he presses all up against you, heavy and hot.

When he begins to pull out and press back in, the noise you make is utterly pathetic. It feels like he cleaving you in two, carving out a space for his cock every time he fucks back into you. He’s cautious at first, conscious of hurting you, but when your thighs close around his hips he grunts and begins to pick his pace up.

“Christ, you’re tight,” Price says, his voice all rough and muffled against your shoulder. “And you're all mine, love, my own sweet girl, ain’t that right? And daddy's gonna love you so good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” You gasp stupidly, pressing your face into the couch cushions.

Typically, you find that doggy style can be a position that’s a little detached – usually, you like seeing the face of the person you’re fucking. But right now, with Price plastering his whole hairy body against your back as he ruts into you and the sweet filthy words he’s murmuring to you, this position feels so far from detached that it has your head spinning. It feels like he’s blanketing you, the heat from his skin igniting what feels like an inferno between the two of you. Sweat beads at your forehead, and you moan softly as Price begins to fuck you properly.

You’re bouncing against the couch, clutching at the cushions as your body moves under the weight of Price’s powerful thrusts. The sound of it is sloppy and wet, your bodies smacking together quick and hard. And fuck, it feels good. His cock is hitting that perfect spot deep inside of you, and your entire body jolts with pleasure every time he pounds back in. 

It’s enough to make you squeal, your nails scrabbling desperately for purchase on the threadbare couch cushions in an attempt to stabilise yourself. Your nipples are sensitive from Price’s licking at sucking at them, and your toes curl as your tits are pressed into the rough-textured cushions, electrifying your nerves to the point of almost too-much. 

The noises you make are entirely undignified, and you struggle to muffle them into the couch. Little burbling ah ah ah’s are being torn from your throat every time Price fucks into you, the sensation of his furred balls slapping against you with every thrust has your eyes rolling.

Your body is all loose and pliant from your earlier orgasm, and you whimper as though you’re being fucked absolutely stupid. It’s not that he’s fucking you all that hard, but he’s filling you up so deliciously and knowing that it’s him, your Captain, the man that you’ve worked so damn hard to impress and to please, makes you feel like you’re going to explode. Even through the haze of desire and pleasure, a little part of you is still so aware of making him happy. You keep your back arched, practically waving your ass up in the air as he fucks into you.

“Tell me how you like it, sweetheart. Tell me how it feels.” Price says in a low, rough purr. His chest is still pressed to your back even as the two of you pant and sweat as you rock together. “Tell daddy how good he's making you feel.”

Jesus Christ, Price feels like a fucking furnace against you. It feels almost as though you’ve been glued together, your skin sweat slick as he ruts into you like an animal. Your lungs are burning, and your mind is completely scattered. Getting fucked like this feels feels primal, an exchange of power through pleasure; you’re aware that he’s asked you a question, but you can hardly string two thoughts together. All you can do is squirm and whimper in below him as his weight pins you in place.

“Good,” You groan, vaguely aware that tears are leaking from your eyes and soaking the couch beneath you. Your vision is blurred, and you can’t even see straight. “I just– it’s so much–”

“I know,” He rumbles. “But you can take it, can’t you? You’ve been so good, sweetheart.”

The praise does exactly what he’s hoping for; you practically melt into a puddle beneath him. Your thoughts are slow and sluggish, and your jaw hangs open as you fucking drool. Even still, you manage to nod your head clumsily. You can take him – it feels like a point of pride to prove it now, to show off how good you can be.

Price’s rhythm is practically machine-like, and you make a quiet sound of pure appreciation when his cock slams into that gummy spot inside of you that makes you lose your breath. It’s as though he takes note of it, because from that point on he stays absolutely jackhammering into that little spot, making you see stars and have to bite your lip to stifle your moans. His balls would slam against your clit in a repeated motion that made your underbelly tighten like a coil so close to snapping.

He groans every time he sinks into you, his growls rumbling into your back and ratcheting up the intensity another notch. You feel lost in a sea of sensation, moored only by the places of contact between you and Price. Your hips are humping back against Price’s cock unconsciously, unable to help yourself and unable to get enough of him.

“I wanna come again,” You say, and it comes out in a demanding sort of whine. It’s a little humbling to hear yourself and realise that you sound so honest to god bratty, but you can’t bring yourself to care when Price is apparently in such a giving mood today. 

“You’re gonna come, love.” He promises. His voice has that tone to it, the one you’ve always tried to ignore during work because it makes you so horny. The authoritative one, when it drops just a bit in pitch, when it sounds just a little like a threat.

But despite his promise, he doesn’t change his steady pace. You’re just this side of overwhelmed, but you still need more to push you over the edge into the second orgasm that’s simmering in your lower stomach. 

“Please, daddy,” You let the name pass your lips on a whimper, finally giving in and calling him by the title he’s so clearly craving. He’s fucked all the shame out of your body at this point, leaving you with nothing but white hot desperation. “Please, please make me come again–”

“Fuckin’ Christ–”

Price’s arm reaches around your front, and you’re startled when his big palm wraps around your throat. You think for a moment that you’re about to get choked, but no pressure follows. He just grips you there, gentle and secure, before using his hold on you to pull you back against him so that he’s rutting up into you at a speed that’s overwhelming in the best way. His other arm reaches around your belly so that he can rub at your clit as he rails you into the couch. His soft grip on your throat ensures that no matter how much you try to squirm your way back into meeting his thrusts, you’re forced into stillness. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, and it has you wheezing and hiccuping out moans on every stroke. It’s better than you ever could have hoped for, and you’re nearly sobbing from the sheer sensation of it all. You feel your abdomen drawing tight, heat beginning to build rapidly in the bottom of your belly as he strokes at your clit hard and fast at a pace that matches his fucking.

You know that you’re already starting to shake, trembling from head to toe. You can’t even keep your back arched anymore, though you don’t think Price gives a shit because he just nuzzles at the base of your shoulder as he fucks into you. Between his cock and his fingers, everything just feels too much but your body is strung taut as you proverbially climb higher and higher.

“Oh god, I’m– yes, yes, yes–” You chant, your voice high and reedy and so damn needy.

Then the world falls out from under you. With one last whimpering moan, your body convulses beneath the heavy weight of your captain’s big body. Your vision practically wipes out, and you squeeze down around Price’s dick and pulse. Your whole body rocks with the flood of pleasure, the warm fuzzy feeling that makes you feel as though you’re losing your mind. You know that your hips are twitching madly, simultaneously trying to get more and less as you get overwhelmed by the feeling of him fucking you through it all.

You’re still coming down from the sweet release of your orgasm when Price practically tears himself away from you, leaving you cruelly empty and clenching around nothing. You let out a sharp sound of loss, startled that he’s pulled away so suddenly, and you find yourself slumping bonelessly against the couch now that his hands are no longer supporting you.

The wet shlurping sounds from behind you prompt you to glance lazily over your shoulder from where your face is smushed against the cushions, and you’re blessed with the sight of Price tugging his cock furiously behind you. His cheeks are bright red as he stares at the mess he’s made of you, his jaw soft and his mouth open as he pants.

He sees you looking, and whatever expression is on your face seems to be his undoing. He takes in your tear-clumped eyelashes and your dazed expression, and you can practically see the moment he hurtles over the edge. He practically snarls, his nose scrunching in a way that’s unexpectedly adorable right as his cock gives one fat pump of thick white come, then several smaller sputterings that collect in a creamy puddle right at the base of your spine, just over the swell of your ass.

You sigh, your eyelids fluttering lazily shut as you relish the feeling of his hot come hitting your skin. You still can’t manage to pull yourself together, feeling loose and floaty like you’re on another fucking planet entirely. You’re only distantly aware of his big palm rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back; you think for a second that he’s just trying to soothe you, until your fucked out brain catches up and you realise that he’s rubbing his come into you like it’s goddamn lotion. Your cunt gives a tired throb at the realisation, fluttering as though it’s sad that he didn’t come inside.

“Fuck…” You hear him rumble from behind you, then a hot heavy weight settling over you yet again. This time, he pulls you back into his arms to hold you tight against his chest. 

You go perfectly limp, curling into him and nuzzling into his sweaty hairy chest. Despite yourself, you’re reminded of cuddling with a massive teddy bear. All you can do is hum, basking in the affection and hardly able to think at this point after he’s turned your brain into a slurry of feelings without thoughts.

“You okay, love?” Price asks. You can feel his nose nuzzling against your temple, though you can’t quite summon the energy to open your eyes again. “Did I go too hard on you?”

Your legs are still shaky, your hamstrings aching and your back throbbing a little from the pounding you’ve just taken. But Price is being so lovely and soft, so gentle with you right now. His hands coast over your hips, your back, your waist, squeezing a little bit just because he seems to like the way you feel in his hands.

“Shhh,” You drawl shakily. “Don’t make me think right now.”

A low chuckle, and you feel his broad chest rumble with it where your head is laying atop him. His fingers run up the length of your spine, the touch making you shiver. He touches you like you’re delicate, a stark contrast to the way he’d just fucked you into your sad little office couch. It makes something in your belly squirm.

“Alright. My girl just needed to switch off for a while, hm?” He murmurs, and you can hear the clear undertone of amusement in his voice. “How are you going to finish out work today if you’re all sleepy like this, huh?”

That wakes you up a little, and you finally blink your eyes open again in order to look up at him. An edge of panic is beginning to creep in as awareness comes back to you, and you take a deep breath as your hands curl against his chest.

“Oh my god.” You blurt, eyes growing wide. “I– we’re at work!”

“Sharp as ever, darling.”

Not even Price’s lazy wryness can distract you now. You try to wiggle off the couch, already craning your head around in search of your clothes, but Price’s thick arm locks tight around your middle and keeps you pressed to him.

“We have to– oh my god, we have to get dressed, what if someone walks in–”

“Shh, shhh, I locked the door when I came in,” Price grumbles. He doesn’t appear too impressed with the way you’re attempting to wiggle away, but it doesn’t matter so much; even with one arm he’s perfectly capable of keeping you pinned in place against his chest. “Lie back down, love.”

Slowly, you let yourself relax back into him. It’s hard to hold onto your panic when he’s so obviously unbothered, so you end up hesitantly snuggling back up against his chest as his arms come up to close around you. Despite his encouragement, you’re unsure whether or not you’re allowed to be touching him like this. But his hands don’t stray from you, not even once, and gradually you return to your previous state of being a puddle of limbs and pliant muscle.

“That’s it, relax.” He coaxes, clearly pleased now that you’re melting back into him. 

“I have so much work to catch up on.” You grumble, though you have no intention of actually going anywhere now that he’s given you the greenlight to stay like this.

His chest vibrates beneath your cheek, and you realise he’s chuckling again. It feels good, and you sigh softly as your fingers stroke lightly over the defined shape of his soft pecs.

“You think I wasn’t capable of keeping the ship afloat for the couple of days you were gone?” He asks, one hand stroking over your flank then dipping lower to flatten his palm over your left asscheek. “I finished out those little files you were stressin’ over. No picture of Ghost for his, but like I said, that’s standard.”

You had known that he had finished updating the files for you when you had seen Farah’s, but hearing it straight from his mouth is something else entirely. You purse your lips and lower your eyes, still embarrassed about your little freak out despite his apologies. 

“Thank you.” You mumble. 

You try to hide your face in his chest again, but a large hand on your jaw stops you by tilting your head back and forcing you to look at him. A thumb strokes over your cheek, and then he’s leaning in and pressing a sweet kiss to your mouth. You respond tiredly but eagerly, still hardly able to believe that your boss that you’ve been mooning after for months is being so affectionate and intimate with you.

Price pulls back slightly so that your lips are just barely touching, breathing each other’s air for a moment.

“Ask for help when you need it, sweetheart.” He murmurs, his lips dragging over yours. “That’s what I’m here for. We help each other with the workload, alright?”

“Yeah,” You breathe, leaning in eagerly in the hopes of getting another kiss. “Alright.”

Price smiles, his cheeks going all full and round as his eyes crinkle, and you feel your heart throb so violently it feels as though it jumps right up into your throat. He leans in and kisses you again, soft and sweet as his beard rasps against your chin.

You want to stay like this forever, wrapped up so warm and cosy and safe in his arms. He makes you feel so safe, like you’re valued and appreciated, and you can’t even feel bad about being lazy because he so clearly doesn’t want to move either.

“Let me come home with you tonight,” He says suddenly, and you feel his bicep contract as he squeezes you closer. “You have an apartment off base, don’t you? I’ll… why don’t I cook you dinner, hm? Want to show you how much I appreciate all the work you do.”

There’s a pause, then he adds cautiously, “If I’m not being presumptuous, that is.”

You can’t stop the shy smile from overtaking your face. He’s so sweet, and being on the receiving end of this kind of attention from him is more than you ever could have expected. Ridiculously, he seems a little nervous as well, and you come to the slow realisation that he had been vulnerable with you as well when it came to his interests when he had fucked you.

“I thought this was you appreciating the work I do.” You say coyly, glancing pointedly at all of your bare skin pressed up against his.

“Mm. You do a lot of work, and I’m very appreciative.” Price murmurs, squeezing teasingly at your ass.

You giggle despite yourself, relishing the light-hearted air between the two of you. At the sound of your laugh, Price’s expression brightens further; it’s strange, seeing your usually stern, stressed captain being so sweet with you. You’re so used to seeing him with that flinty determined look in his eyes, or barking orders, or with his eyes sagging with exhaustion after a long deployment only to return to a pile of mission reports. Seeing him like this, with those soft eyes and a fond smile, makes your heart feel as though it’s beating out of rhythm.

“I said I’d look after you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and this time his voice is missing that teasing undertone from before. He sounds so earnest now, almost painfully so. “You just need to let me.”

Yeah, you think to yourself as you let yourself succumb to the drowsy haze that’s been tugging at you, allowing your eyes to slide shut as you nuzzle into Price’s bare chest. You think letting John Price look after you might just be the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

#PLEASE don't look at me right now i will be taking NO questions on my state of mind #captain john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #john price smut #cod smut #cod fic #141 x reader #daddy issues price

[whateveriwant]

Task force 141 reacting to their very pregnant wife still trying to clean, cook etc

This turned more into ‘Task force 141 preventing their very pregnant wife from trying to clean, cook, etc’ lmaooooo I hope that's alright

Price

HA! Good one!

No seriously, it's actually hilarious that you think you'd do anything for yourself when your hubby's around

That man has been waiting on you hand and foot since you first got together. So now that you're pregnant and you think he'd let you so much as lift a finger? You must have a serious case of pregnancy brain, sweetheart

Price is doing all the cooking, the cleaning, the running errands, etc. throughout the entirety of your pregnancy (and at least the first several months postpartum)

He's kept you practically bed bound these last few months to the point where you think there's a perfect indent of your body molded into the mattress

Seven months in, he's suddenly called away to a quick mission halfway across the globe, and you think finally you'll get some of your autonomy back...

Well, think again because who should show up at your door the next morning than your mother-in-law herself, ready to pick up where her son left off

She came at the behest of your husband, of course, and was armed with a detailed set of care instructions

What does your husband think you are? Some sort of one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact that needs special handling? (Actually that's exactly what you are. Price-less… I'll see myself out 🚶🏻‍♀️)

Ghost

When it comes to having some semblance of independence during your pregnancy, Ghost will give you a bit of a longer leash than Price, but only just so

You’re going for a walk around the neighborhood? Hold on, let him grab his coat to join you. Or you're going into the backyard to tend the garden? He'll pull the weeds while you water the plants

But when it comes to letting you do certain things, there are some hard nos that he will absolutely not budge on

You try to use a stepladder to reach the top of the cupboard? Stop! You'll break your neck! You try to pick up anything heavier than 10 pounds? Stop! Give it here! You try to drive?... Don't even fuckin' think about it, precious.

The farther along your pregnancy progresses, the better he gets at predicting (and intercepting) your next move

You were gonna do laundry today? Well, wouldn't you know, he's already got a load going in the washer. You were about to make dinner? Well shucks, he just ordered takeaway from that Greek place you love

His ability to read your mind is honestly impressive once you get past how damn annoying you find it. Just because you're pregnant doesn't mean you're incapable of fending for yourself, and you're tired of him acting as if otherwise

But really, you can never get mad at anything he does for you. After all, what kind of a husband would he be if he didn't take care of his missus and your little one?

Soap

If you take Ghost’s cautiousness, mix it with Price’s thoroughness, and crank it up to an 11, you get Soap

From the moment he found out you were pregnant, he put your house into full lockdown mode, stopping just short of booby trapping the front door in case you got any funny ideas

You want some fresh air? Just open a window. You want to go for a walk and stretch your legs? Just take a few turns about the living room like you're some Austenian heroine

Don't let him catch you doing any kind of physical labor, because so help him Jesus he will grab a spray bottle and use it like you're a feral alleycat he's trying to house-train (he wouldn't really... but don't test him)

You try to unload the dishwasher? Ehrr! Wrong move. You try to remake the bed? Ehrr! Nice try. You try to mop up your own mess. Ehrr! Enough already. You try to– OCH, WOULD YE BLOODY SIT DOWN, WOMAN?!

For nine long months during his requested leave from work, your husband is attached to you like some kind of loving, smothering barnacle

But doesn't he miss his job, or the lads for that matter? What if the world needs saving? What will they do without him?

Well, (in his exact words) fuck the rest of the world! You're his world, bonnie, and he'll give you everything you could ever wish for and then some

Gaz

By far, you have the most independence with Gaz than you would with any of the other three men… at least, at the beginning of your pregnancy, that is

Once you get to around five or six months he becomes just as helicopter-y as all the others; he's just ever so slightly more bearable, perhaps

There's lots of peeking his head around the corner to check on you throughout the day or appearing seemingly out of thin air whenever you're doing something he'd rather you wouldn't

You've lost count of the number of times you've been in the middle of cooking or hanging up the laundry or whatever and his hand has suddenly appeared out of nowhere, gently taking the object from you before directing you to sit and rest

And like, look. He knows you can handle yourself. He knows you could conquer the whole world if you wanted to. That's one of the things he loves about you the most

But seeing you like this – so fragile, so vulnerable, so beautiful and soft and pregnant with his child; his child – it just… It makes him…

He just needs to do these things for you, alright, love? Just let him take care of you, please? Would you let him do that?

You already have so much you have to carry. Let him ease some of the burden off your shoulders. Let him do these small things for you because they don't even compare to all that you're doing for him 🥲

#wiw asks #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john price #simon riley #john mactavish #kyle garrick #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #cod x reader #cod mw3 #call of duty #modern warfare 3 #female reader

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

#cod x reader #cod fluff #john price x reader #john price fluff #captain john price fluff #captain price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fluff #ghost x reader #ghost fluff #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick fluff #gaz x reader #gaz x fluff #soap x reader #soap fluff #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish fluff #soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish fluff #cod mw2 x reader #task force 141 x reader #task force 141 fluff #cod mw2 fluff

[floralpascal]

NSFW, 18+

John Price always convinces himself that he means it. He’s not the kind of man who breaks his promises.

“Just the tip, love,” he groans, positioning himself at your entrance. Your desperate nod and pleas for him only spur him on.

He swears that he’ll restrain himself, that he’ll keep his promise. He just wants to feel you bare, if only a little. He’s a man of iron resolve — he should be able to control himself without a problem…

But he never was good at keeping this promise when it came to you.

Instead, he finds himself balls deep in your heat, fucking you furiously. The way you’re screaming his name in ecstasy would make him break any promise if only to give you more pleasure. When his cum has painted your walls and you’re both coming down from your highs, he can’t even find the decency to feel sorry for it.

“Fuck…” you groan, pulling him down to kiss you before begging, “Just… just do it again. Please.”

John smiles. With a low, seductive voice, he teases, “Just the tip, yeah?”

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #call of duty #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod #price x reader #john price headcanons #my need for this man is unmatched

[frogchiro]

Maybe an unpopular opinion but a domesticity kink + dry humping is one of the best combos out there EVER

Like imagine this big, strong, burly man like Price or Simon or Graves being absolutely wild and soft for you, the pretty housewife that drives a man crazy♡ All soft curves, nice ample breasts and soft, broad hips with a pretty floral apron tied around your waist as you cook a nice hearty mean for your tired man and greet him with that beautiful smile of yours :((

It honestly would make them soft, desperate, hating the idea of being even a second longer away from you, all pent up and horny so they just cling with their big, rough hands to your hips and they can't helo themselves but thrust their quiclly hardening cocks against you, effectively humping you like an animal in heat but even your soft whines that you need to finish their dinner doesn't stop the man; he needs to fuck, needs to be close to his girl♡

#kin speaks #hhhrrrnng #just men being desperate enough that even dry humping would be enough for them💔 #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #philip graves x reader #graves x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #philip graves #cod graves #captain john price #john price

[chamomiletealeaf]

Thought of this at work today lmao

#cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mwii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john soap mactavish #captain john price #modern warfare x reader #modern warfare 2 #call of duty #real #john price #soapghost #soap mw2 #soap x reader #task force 141 #call of duty mw3 #call of duty mwiii #captain price #kyle gaz garrick #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #kortac #specgru #cod mw3 spoilers #mwiii spoilers #mw3 campaign #mw3 spoilers

[arthurlovesarthurmorgan]

Captain Price comes home from deployment👀

F!reader

(smut, blowjob, thats it actually lol)

—————————————————————

You were patiently waiting for John to come back from deployment. He had told you that he’d be home at 7pm and time went on slower than anything. So you occupied yourself with doing work around the whole house. Putting all your dirty clothes from the hamper in the washing machine and then sorting them by color, going outside to the garden and watering all the plants, then going back inside and rearranging the bedroom and living room, scrolling on your phone to find new stuff to buy for your home, and so on.

As evening came around, you started cooking John's favorite food to welcome him with a warm meal and to finally give him something different than his usual MREs. You’re wearing a simple blouse that slightly shows off your cleavage and some jeans, and underneath all that, you’re wearing John's favorite lingerie that he bought you a few months ago. As you're cooking you don’t notice that it’s getting late and that John is going to be home in any minute.

You were startled as you heard the familiar sound of keys jingling in the lock and quickly ran to the front door to greet your husband.

“John!”, you were quick to give him a big hug and bury your head in his warm and solid chest, not minding the big duffle bag in his hands and his dirty clothes. He hugged you back and placed his hands on your waist to pick you up and give you passionate kiss on the lips, showing you how much he missed you. John kept slowly swaying you back and forth in his embrace and placing small kisses around your neck and breathing in your comforting scent.

“I missed you so much, love”, he murmured in between kisses. His head moved back up and he put his forehead against yours to look into your eyes. “What has my girl been doin’ while I was away, hm?”

“Nothing much. Just waiting for you, my bear”, you were staring at him, like it was the first time you have seen him in forever and went in for another kiss. You intertwined your fingers with his and lead him to the kitchen after closing the door and checked on the food, turning the stove down a bit. You turned back to John and gently pushed him, so he was leaning on the counter so you could put your hands on his chest and kiss his neck. “Missed me huh?” he asked in a teasing tone and placed both of his hands on your hips and slowly pushed the hem of your blouse up to touch your bare skin. “Needy little thing you are…”, he whispered into your ear and removed one of his hands from your hip to place it on your throat. Not choking you, but lightly cutting off your air flow, putting you in that hazy space and making your eyes flutter closed.

“Look at you baby, so needy for me, right?”, you nod eagerly and go down onto your knees and look up to see him smirking “There you go baby, such a good girl.”

You slowly unzip his pants, the sound echoing loudly in the kitchen. While pulling down his jeans and boxers and letting them pool at the floor, you notice his already rock hard cock leaking precum at the tip and you decide to lick it off just to hear John letting out a small groan. “I missed your mouth around me so much, baby. I thought of you everyday…”, he gripped your hair in his hands and lead your mouth to his throbbing cock. You look up to him while sucking him off and go as deep as you can, tears building in your eyes from holding back your gag reflex. The tears that managed to escape and running down your cheeks getting wiped away from Johns thumbs that are resting on your face. “That’s my good wife… go on, you can do even better than that, can’t you? I know you can sweetheart…”, you moan around his cock, the vibrations of it making him moan loudly. You’re forcing your throat to relax around him and then you finally have his whole warm length in your throat, your nose touching that small patch of curly hair at the base of his cock. “Fuuuuuckkk… good job honey, that’s it”

As you slowly bob your head on his cock and lightly graze your teeth on it, you feel his thighs start to tighten around your hands and small grunts and moans slipping out of his slightly parted lips. His balls start tightening and twitching and you use on of your hands to roll them around in your palm, “D-don’t stop baby-! ’m gonna c-cum!"

You take his whole length in your mouth for the last time and feel the telltale twitching of his cock in your throat and not even a second after that, he’s shooting his warm, salty and thick cum into your throat. John is a whimpering and moaning mess, relaxing against the counter as you swallow his cum and remove his softening dick from your mouth and stand up to give him a messy kiss, your knees wobbly from the hard floor.

“Welcome back John”, you whisper teasingly against his lips and smile, giving him one last peck on the lips before pulling up his pants and zipping them up.

“Thank you, love…”, he says tiredly. “No need to thank me, Captain Price”, you teasingly reply and giggle quietly and go back to the stove to finish cooking. He comes up behind you and places his head on your shoulder, turning his head to whisper into your ear,

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, John.”

—————————————————————

A/n: this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written so have some mercy please I know it’s shit😭😭 and english isn’t my first language btw so PLEASE ignore grammar mistakes and my horrible writing😁

#captain john price #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod john price #john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price/reader #captain price/reader #barry sloane #fanfic #cod mwii #cod #cod x reader #cod mw3 #cod captain price #cod captain john price

[thatgoblin]

Summary: You thought you were taking a vacation to a ranch that would teach you how to ride horses and have a fun family trip. Instead, you were duped by your parents into being basically sold to a pair of Alphas.

Warnings: It's not as nefarious as it seems. Mostly. No sex or graphic anything. YET. Some abandonment by parents of arranged marriage without consent style shenanigans.

~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~::~

My parents and I had been planning a family vacation for nearly a month with them asking me for help in picking a place to stay. Searching through a few brochures they gave me, I saw this horse ranch and thought it would be fun learning how to ride with my parents. I had just turned 26 and while my parents were getting older, I was taking more and more charge of our own ranch full of cattle. I was hoping that we could talk about maybe getting horses to help with the cattle and enjoy ourselves with down time we had never had before. Usually we’d just walk around or take an ATV, but with horses it would be so much easier in getting around. The whole drive I was excited and talked about what was going to happen on the trip, all the while my parents nodded and encouraged my interest, but they were oddly quiet on the nearly five hour trip.

Once there, we were welcome with a small note asking us to pick one of the spare rooms and make ourselves comfortable. My dad helped me with my bags first, taking my bigger bag to the room, while my mom went to look around the outside of the house. As I began to unpack, at my dad’s suggestion, I gave them a bit of time to bring their items in and pick a room before I heard a car pull away. Confused, I walked outside to see their trail of dirt from the car as they left, already hidden by the clouds of dust. I was frozen in panic, trying to rationalize what had just happened. Maybe Dad was going to go park somewhere or that they had forgotten something or really anything other than my parents leaving me behind.

They wouldn’t desert me. There was no reason to. We were on a family vacation and were just talking and enjoying ourselves. As my chest tightened, my head became fuzzy as my eyes refused to leave the trail of dust that was slowly settling to leave behind faint tire tracks. This had to be an accident. It had to be. Pulling out my phone, my hands shook as I pressed the call button.

They didn’t answer, letting it go straight to voicemail. I tried again and again and again till the phone said the mailbox was full. Swallowing hard, I went back to the porch to sit and wait to see if they would call back or come back. On a table on the front porch there was an envelope addressed to me. Picking it up, I hurriedly ripped it open in hopes to have clarification that this was all a joke or they were surprising me.

As I read over my Mom’s careful handwriting, I sat while resisting the urge to cry and scream and curse.

‘I know this is going to be hard, but we want what’s best for you. We love you so much and want you to be happy and thriving in your life. You can’t do that from home, living with us.

You’re an adult and should be finding your pack and mates. Again, we love you and have loved having you stay with us to help on the farm for so long, but it’s time you moved on. The last thing we want is for you to be a lone Omega on a farm when we pass.

Since you couldn’t or wouldn’t find suitable Alphas, people started to talk and make it hard on us to do business and have our lives, even going as far as offering to play matchmaker. It wouldn’t end well that way, we all know that, so your father and I found two for you. We’ve talked to them for the past few months now and they have proved themselves to be good people. They can provide for you and take care of you easily.

The Alphas are nice men, we made sure they understood that you were the stubborn type and may take some time to warm up to them, that helped with this decision. If we hadn’t done things this way you wouldn’t have given them a chance. It’s time to make a new life. No one back home could interest you and we thought you’d grow out of it.

These two Alphas will make you happy, we just know it. It’s not the ideal way to do things, but we had to do this for you. We’ll send the rest of your things in the next few weeks. You may be angry with us right now, but please understand that we want what’s best for you. We love you.

Mom and Dad’

Not having a mate at my age was odd, but it wasn’t so unheard of that I was an anomaly. Usually an Omega found a mate or mates at about 18 or so that were in their age range between 3-4 years on average, they’d move out, and then start their own family. I was 26 and even though there had been a few interested Betas and Alphas, I hadn’t wanted to be with them. I wasn’t really interested in finding a mate, considering I was from a small town and most of the available partners were not someone I wanted to be with. My life plan was to just live with my parents to take over the cattle farm we had after they retired, MAYBE find a mate, and they knew this. They just didn’t tell me they didn’t like it. Mom had left all the paperwork from the website that she found the Alphas on as well, showing me who they were and what they were listing.

The two strangers that I had just moved in with unwittingly were two Alphas that had contacted my parents over a website made for courting Omegas. It was usually done with the Omega’s permission though. When my parents reached out looking for Alphas willing to court an ‘extremely stubborn Omega,’ the two men saw the profile then began to message my parents.

Their profile from the website was also printed out. I recognized it as part of the brochure they had me look at to pick the ‘vacation.’ They had me pick my new pack without me realizing it, all based on the damn house. The information had their price for the dowry, their names, their ages, occupation, basically everything that prospective Omega parents would want to know.

Seeing the price made it sink in more. My parents had sold me to two strangers because they couldn’t bear the thought of the town knowing they had an Omega child who refused to be mated. After years of dealing with backwoods bullshit growing up, the two people I thought were on my side had lied to me.

What drove the knife in my back deeper was when they left, the two Alphas weren’t even there. I was dumped in a strange place, alone, and with no reliable phone connection. I wanted to go back inside to scream and cry, throw things and wreck the entire house to show them they fucked up in saying yes to my parents.

I didn’t though. The sudden energy brought on by my anxiety and grief was squashed when despite trying to call at least 20 times and sendings twice as many text messages, my parents didn’t pick up and didn’t turn around, let alone even try to call back or text me. Instead, I sat on the front steps to try to get some semblance of control over myself. I wasn’t going to cry, even as tears made my vision hazy and stung my eyes, I refused to. Taking a few deep breaths, I stood up to wander to the stables to see if there were indeed horses or if that had been a lie as well.

The barn where the stables were wasn’t that big, one side having equipment and hay while the other had a few empty stalls between the two horses there, a buckskin and a palomino. Both were eager for the pets that I was ready and willing to give. Since there was no one else to console me in my time of need, they would have to do. Neither seemed to mind though, enjoying the company and the soft touches as I stroked their face and finger combed their manes to give small braids.

“I hope the guys here aren’t bags of dicks,” I sighed, as I pressed my face to the buckskin’s neck. “This isn’t the ideal situation for me and I’m sure you two don’t really care so long as you get attention, but at least you don’t mind the attention coming from me.” The palomino huffed before shaking his head at me, moving away to eat hay in his stall while the buckskin just grunted and pressed against the door to expose his neck to me. “Such a good boy,” I cooed, stroking his neck.

I had a dog back home named Shelby, an Australian Setter, that I adored and loved more than anything. My parents adored her just as much, which meant she probably wouldn’t be joining me. I didn’t even get to say goodbye to her properly, just some tummy rubs and kisses while promising to be home soon before heading out that morning. Swallowing a sob at the thought of my dog not understanding why I was just gone, I didn’t hear anyone come into the barn behind me.

“You know, Ollie doesn't like new people usually.”

Startled, I jumped at the voice, spinning around to see a tall, bearded Alpha with bright blue eyes. He looked at me with a bemused smile as I moved behind Ollie’s head to create a barrier of sorts. This was a stranger and I had been deceived already by my parents. There was no way I was trusting the Alphas there. I stood there tense as he walked over, hands in his front pockets of his jeans with an easy stride.

“You must be our Omega,” he said in a deep, gruff voice that had a British accent, stepping forward to hold out a hand. It wasn’t the stereotypical accent from movies or the ‘cockney’ of Dick Van Dyke either. Which left where he was from originally in the dark. “I’m John Price. Apologies that we weren’t here to meet you and your parents. My mate and I were on our way back from town with supplies for the cattle.” I flicked my eyes between his hand and his face, narrowing them, but not taking the hand. “Okay, seems we are getting off to a bit of a rough start.”

“A bit,” I said, my tone sour.

“I know that you’re probably not used to the idea of two Alphas, as well, we’re a bit older and it’s an odd pairing, but your parents think it’s a good match and so do we,” he said, moving to stand on the other side of Ollie. “We were told you were happy about the arrangement, excited even.”

“That’s what they told you?” I asked with a scoff. Shaking my head, I sighed to keep my voice from catching and betraying how truly devastated I was. “My parents didn’t tell me a thing about you or the other Alpha. I was told we were going on vacation. So, color me surprised when I’m putting my baggage in a room and suddenly my parents are driving off like the devil himself is chasing them,” I said.

“Fuckin’ hell,” John said with a sigh. “I’m so sorry about that. Every time we spoke with your parents over the phone or email, your parents said you were happy and that you were the one that picked us out of other offers.” I rolled my eyes at him, anxiously petting the horse, keeping my hands busy. “This isn’t ideal, I understand that, but-”

“Just save it. You’re not going to convince me this is for the best or that it’ll turn out like some romance movie or novel. It won’t. I’m here against my will and even if I got back home, my parents would bring me right back because you paid for me. I know that it’s perfectly legal and that I have no choice but to be here. So, let me make this perfectly clear,” I hissed. “I want nothing to do with you or your mate, so let’s just keep to ourselves, okay?”

“You live here now, so it’s going to be hard to do that,” he said, leaning against

Ollie’s stall.

“It’s actually really easy. Don’t talk to me unless you have to, don’t look at me unless you have to, don’t even acknowledge me being here unless you absolutely have to,” I said, the immediate area starting to stink from my distress. The Alphas would want to come closer and comfort me when they got a whiff. That was the last thing I wanted. But in the enclosed area a sour, tangy scent was quickly filling the area.

“Love,” John said with a sigh. “As much as I know that’s what you want, we can’t do that. You can’t go home, you have nowhere else to go, and as much as you hate it, you were a part of a deal made by your pack and we took you in. Legally and biologically we can’t ignore you and pretend you’re not here. You’re in our care now, whether or not you like it, especially for when your next heat hits.”

I couldn’t help the choked laugh that bubbled out of me that spooked Ollie a bit.

“What?” He asked, frowning.

“Oh shit, they really didn’t tell you?” I said. “I’m not surprised. After this whole date, I’m wondering if they told you anything that was true. I don’t get heats. I never have. As far as the doctors can tell, I’m sterile. So no heat driven Omega or suppressants to worry about.”

“Shite,” he huffed under his breath. It was the one thing I could do to put a twist in their obvious plans of knocking up an Omega and having pups. No one wanted a sterile Omega, especially Alphas who had arranged mates and paid for them. “It doesn’t matter,” he said after a few moments, breaking my one wish that they’d return me. “You’re still here, whether or not you like it.”

“Oh fuck off,” I growled, moving to walk past him.

“Hold on,” John said, reaching out and grabbing my arm to stop me. On instinct I turned on him with a growl, snapping my teeth at him. He was a stranger that had obvious intentions that I had no plans to allow to happen.

“No!” I shouted, spooking the horses as I pulled from John’s grasp before he could close his hand completely. “Do not touch me,” I growled, the angry animal in me that was cornered came out. Danger was everywhere and I was not about to be snuck up on or taken without a fight.

“Easy there,” John said, holding his hands up to pacify me. Not that I wouldn’t expect him to try and grab me again. I’d spent my entire life dealing with Alphas who didn’t think Omegas would fight back, so I knew to not let my guard down. “I won’t touch you. All I ask is that you don’t run off suddenly. We’re miles from the nearest neighbor and you don’t want to get lost out here.”

He was right. I had no clue where I was or how to get home. We were damn near in another state compared to my home and I was not about to shoot myself in the foot to spite the Alphas.

“Let’s head back inside and you can meet Simon. We’ll give you your space, promise,” John said. A moment of hesitation passed before I let him take the lead back to the house.

The house itself was a two story cabin style with a green tin roof. Perfect for a pack starting out. It was close to the horse barn with a thick mix of pine and oak trees to one side and the other a wide open range of tall grass and rocks and rolling hills. We were truly in the middle of nowhere.

Stepping inside, John let me go in as he shut the door behind us. “Have a seat,” he said as he pointed to a kitchen table worn with years of use before going to the bottom of the stairs. “Simon! I brought our new friend inside!” He called up the stairs.

Getting a better look at him, John was rough looking. Short, sandy brown hair with mutton chops and mustache that was trimmed neatly and close to his jaw while there were soft wrinkles around his bright, sky blue eyes. His hands were large and calloused from work as his body as a whole looked like he knew how to use it as a tool more than others. He would fit right in with most farmers and ranchers that I knew at least.

When Simon came down, I quickly realized how odd the arrangement was getting. While John had a decent tan with hints of rosiness in his cheeks from working in the sun, Simon looked like the adult version of the emo kid in high school. He was wearing all black, shirt, jeans, boots, as well as skeleton decorated work gloves and a skull balaclava with black eyeliner smeared around his eyes. His eyes were dark and looked darker with the black around them. These men had to be in their late thirties to early forties, over a decade older than me. They should have had a pack by then, their own Betas and Omegas with pups. Why were they looking so late in their lives? I found myself curious, but I pushed it away. I wasn’t there because I was sympathetic, I was there by force.

“This is Simon Riley,” John said, motioning to the man standing next to him.

“Pleasure,” Simon said, his voice similar to John’s with gruffness and accent as he held out his gloved hand like John had. “Your parents told us a lot about you.”

“So I heard,” I said evenly, ignoring the hand as I sat back in my chair with my arms crossed over my chest.

“Simon. . . They’re not happy about being here,” John said with a small sigh, as Simon dropped his hand.

“What?” Simon asked, confusion in his voice as he looked from me to John.

“Their parents didn’t tell them anything about us or moving here. They didn’t even tell us the whole story,” John said as he took a seat, scratching at his jaw before looking at me. “They said that you were coming here willingly and that you just had not had a heat in a while,” John said, looking at me. “That you had fallen ill a few months ago and that delayed your cycle for a bit, but should be fine in a month or two.”

“So it seems we all are disappointed about this,” I said, earning a stern look from John. “Where’s my room or do I not get one because you two planned out a whole deal of me staying in your bed?”

“It’s upstairs and to the right. We wanted you to have your own space,” Simon said gently. At least they weren’t too pushy, demanding I be obedient and fulfill my Omega ‘duties’ right then.

“I’d like to go lay down if that’s okay with you,” I said, standing up without waiting for their answer. “It’s already been a long, shitty day.” It had taken my parents and I over 8 hours to drive to this ranch, having left at 4 AM. I was tired, pissed, hungry, and just needed to be alone.

“When’s the last time you ate?” John asked before I got too far.

“I don’t know, probably this morning,” I said, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Had it been that morning? I wasn’t sure. The whole drive to the middle of nowhere and abandonment was messing with my brain a bit. It was getting late in the afternoon, almost 5PM. While I should have had something to eat with my stomach getting upset at the need to have something in nearly 9 hours, I didn’t want to on principle alone. I could be in control of at least one thing and that was food. “I’m not hungry and I’d rather just lay down.”

“You should eat something before laying down,” Simon added.

“I’m not hungry,” I said, doubling down on my stance.

“Alright,” John said as he stood. “Go ahead. If you get hungry, help yourself to whatever you’d like in the kitchen. We’re going to finish up chores then start dinner in a couple of hours.”

I nodded, taking the stairs back to the room I had originally picked as mine. While it wasn’t too big, I had originally assumed that my parents would take the big bedroom, it suddenly felt much, much smaller. The room I had demanded was not as big as I had thought it was, after all spending time in a room during a vacation is usually just to sleep and rest, not to live in.

Flopping onto the bed, I stared at the ceiling as I listened for the two Alphas to leave the house. It was only then that I let my walls down. Why had my parents felt they had to abandon me to two strangers to make sure I was taken care of? I could look after myself. I wanted to look after myself.

Hell, most of the time on the farm I was doing the work, whether it was with the cattle or the bills or taking care of the house. My parents were older than my peers’ parents were when I was in school, so to be taking care of things that most others my age had no clue about wasn’t odd. Was a headstrong Omega that odd and embarrassing that they thought I would be better off nearly a state away in a place I’d never been before? Was I a disappointment? I’d worked my ass off, earning respect for doing the same work that Alphas and Betas were doing with a pack.

But I’d always be ‘Just an Omega’ to everyone. No matter what I could do, no matter how hard I tried to prove myself, I’d just be a thing to trade for in a pack.

Tears pricked my eyes as I curled up into a ball as tight as I could, quietly crying myself to sleep.

For the next few days, I did my best to avoid the men, keeping to the house while they worked outside. The time inside wasn’t spent being lazy either. I cleaned and cooked and pitched in, but I made myself scarce around them when they came in. They would spend evenings in the livingroom after a shower and dinner watching TV, but always offered their company to me. Whether it was just them sitting there or eating, they offered.

I felt like I had to refuse on principle alone, to take out my anger and frustration on them. It wasn’t entirely their fault, but they were still a part of it. My parents still refused to answer my calls and texts, making my attitude worse than the first day I had arrived. I still did my chores, but stopped speaking to them before refusing to be in the room with them all together. They had given me space, but after a week of this, things came to a head.

John and Simon had come in for lunch as they usually did. I was hurrying to put the cooking dishes in the sink so I could leave, but Simon stood in my way of the stairs. His arms were crossed over his chest as he gave me a stern look.

“Sit,” he said firmly, pointing to the kitchen table. I tried to challenge him, growling as he kept his position in front of me, but when he growled back, something much deeper and stronger than mine, my body folded after a few moments. I sat back down with a huff, glaring hard. He followed, taking a seat next to John across the table from me, taking the lead in this ‘intervention.’ “I know that this isn’t an ideal situation, but we should make the best of it. We’ve given you some space and haven’t pushed for you to do more than the chores, but you can’t keep ignoring us. It’s not healthy and I doubt you’re ha-”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to be here. I can’t go home, I can’t leave, so this is what you get,” I said, holding back a growl.

“You will wait until I am done talking,” Simon snapped. It was shocking to hear one of them raise their voice, but then again I was being a bitchy asshole. I wanted to argue, to yell and scream, throw things, but his stare held me in place in silence. “Now, we are going to make the best of this situation. You have your room and we have ours. We are not going to make you do anything that you don’t want to do, but you have to be around us more. That means you are to come outside into the fields or at least out onto the porch while we’re in the garden, not inside by yourself. Understand?”

I gave a curt nod, not willing to say anything because I knew I would argue. They seemed to understand that as well, not pushing for a verbal answer.

“We are a pack now,” John said. “That means spending time together, helping one another, trusting each other. I know that you probably hate us, but we’re not going to leave you. You’re our Omega and we’re your Alphas. Bonded or not. Got it?”

Again, I nodded. My brain wanted to keep pushing back against them, yell, scream, making them miserable till they finally had enough and kick me out. At least then I could be free. As free as a jobless, homeless, packless Omega could be. Yet, I didn’t. It was stupid to do that and the Alphas weren’t being horrible. They were talking to me, accepting my need for space, and not forcing me to ‘perform’ for them. It wasn’t as bad as it could be and I was losing steam in continually pushing them away.

“Good,” John said. “Now, we have chores to do, so we’re going to show you around the rest of the homestead. You were on a cattle ranch before this?”

“Yeah,” I said, my tone drastically different than before. No longer was it biting or snide, now it was more even and calm.

“Well, we have a couple hundred head of cattle out in the pasture grazing that we need to check on. Have you ever ridden a horse?” He asked. Oh shit.

“Uh, no. I usually went out in a truck to check on ‘em cause that’s all we had,” I said, looking at him a bit worried.

“Alright, you’ll ride with Simon then,” John said before both men stood up. It took me a moment to realize I was supposed to follow and while I didn’t want to listen to anything they told me to do, one look from them had me swallowing my words. I walked behind Simon and John out to the stable where I watched as they got their horses ready to ride. Horses were not something I was familiar with aside from petting here and there, so I stood back to see how things were done. It was part of the reason why I wanted to go to this ‘vacation ranch.’ I wanted to learn how to handle horses, but I had almost no experience with them.

Both men were already dressed for going out on horseback in jeans, tall boots, and long sleeved shirts. With Montana fall settling in, they had grabbed wool lined jackets to slip on as well before heading to the barn. I just had on a pair of hiking boots, jeans, and a thin, long sleeved shirt. The trip was supposed to be short in the warmer weather so packing anything heavy didn’t seem necessary, let alone need anything jacket or coat wise.

“Did you bring a coat or jacket with you?” Simon asked, looking me over.

“No, I didn't think to bring it,” I said, standing to the side with my hands in my jeans’ pockets. He nodded as he handed the reins to the palomino, Charlie, over to me. Wide eyed, I held onto the leather straps as Simon went back into the barn. “I. . . Uh, what do I do?” I asked, looking at John who was just grinning.

“Hold onto ‘em,” he said with a chuckle as he led his horse back over to us.

“Okay,” I nodded, still unsure. While I was used to being around large animals that could hurt me if they really wanted, I was never in control of them like this and inside a pick up or outside a fence or head shute most of the time.

“Charlie’s a pretty relaxed guy, he doesn’t startle that easy,” John said, patting the horse’s forehead. “You’ve never been around horses much, have you?” I shook my head.

“Most time I’ve spent around them is when I go to the state fair and look at the livestock show,” I said, keeping a keen eye on Charlie.

“Here,” Simon said, coming back out. “It’s old, but it’ll be better than what you have on.” He handed me a similar denim jacket with wool lining, taking back the reins.

“Thanks,” I said, sliding it on. It was big, but with the wind picking up and no trees to break the wind when we were out in the pasture, it’d be better than nothing. “So. . . How do I get on?”

“I’ll get on first, then John’ll help you get up,” Simon said. He stepped into the stirrups to easily swing his body up and over into the saddle. Intimidation didn’t seem the right word to use for the image before me, seeing this large man on a large animal. Terror felt more apt. Having never been on a horse ever, I was hesitant, unsure where I’d go or how I would get up there. While both Alphas were tall and could easily pull themselves up into the saddle, I was barely tall enough to look over the back of Charlie without a saddle on.

“Here,” John said, wrapping his reins around a pole before moving over to me. “Hands here and here, then put your foot in the stirrup.” He placed my hands on either end of the saddle before helping my foot into the stirrup. “On count of three, jump and pull,” he said. “One, two, three!” John’s hands went to my hips and helped hoist me up as I pulled and jumped as I was told. There was no time to feel awkward about having the man hold my hips or how close we were because if I didn’t do as I was told, I was going to go flying over the other side. I swung my leg over and found myself pressed flat against Simon’s back, his arm reaching behind him to keep me from going past the saddle and onto the otherside.

“Where do I hold on?” I asked, suddenly very nervous when I saw how far up we were, not to mention that I was pressed right up against the Alpha when I’d never been closer than a quick hug from anything on two legs.

“Here,” Simon said as his gloved hands took my arms to pull them around his middle to latch together in front of his belly. “You’ll have to hold on tight because it can get bouncy.”

“Wait, what?” I asked as John moved away to quickly get in his saddle. Simon clicked his tongue, squeezing with his thighs to spur Charlie on. I yelped as we moved forward, tightening my grip on the Alpha.

“Alright, let’s move out,” John said with a chuckle. As much as I wanted to look and see where we were going, I was too scared to look. I buried my face in Simon’s back as we picked up speed, and indeed it did get quite bouncy.

“Ease up, Pet,” Simon said with a grunt. “I won’t be able to breathe if you keep squeezing me like a tube of toothpaste.”

“Sorry,” I squeaked. Chancing a look, we hadn’t even gone that far. Just a handful of yards to the gate where John was letting us into the pasture.

“You’re good, just don’t let go,” Simon said, reaching down to pat my leg. As quickly as I was to hate the two Alphas, try to challenge them and fight them, they were turning me around on the whole situation. Not completely, but enough to be civil. Once we were in the pasture, we didn’t stay trotting for long. Instead we began a gallop that had me burying my face into Simon’s back again while we flew across the fields towards their cattle.

Honestly, it was probably the most scared I’d been in a long time. The fear began to fade though as I opened my eyes and watched as the world whipped past us. I began to hear Simon laughing and realized John was too. This was exciting for them, thrilling really. It was second nature for them to go that fast as if they were flying low over the ground. I could feel that joy catching on with me, but the fear of falling was still in the forefront of my mind. With that speed, we reached the cattle in no time.

Calving season was over and most of the calves were big enough that they were weaned. Which meant less worry about predators and that come spring they’ll be big enough to sell. With the horses at a walk, I eased up my grip on Simon to actually look around. I was more familiar with this part of the job; counting cattle and checking for disease or lameness while they came up for treats or pets. The ranch back home only had about 50 head of cattle while John and Simon’s ranch had four times that almost. As we moved through the cattle, I relaxed more and didn’t even realize I was leaning against Simon with my cheek to his back and my arms loose around his middle in more of a hug than death grip.

This was something I could do without even having to think about it. Which actually made me feel, dare I say, more at home.

“Are you doing okay back there, Pet?” Simon asked as he began to slowly herd the cattle towards another part of the pasture. They had grazed enough in the section they were left in, so they were being moved to a new part to let that section regrow as well as move them closer to the house.

“Yeah,” I said with a hum, rubbing my cheek against him without thinking of it. The warmth of his body against mine was becoming more and more familiar as we worked with the cattle. It took a bit of time as we didn’t rush, but when we finished we didn’t run off at a gallop. Instead it was a slower, meandering walk that I didn’t mind one bit. Simon would reach back here and there to give my leg or thigh a reassuring pat while John would get close to lean over to kiss Simon or rub my back.

I was surprised given that most of the time Alphas didn’t mate together. They were in packs together, but that was usually because there was a Beta and an Omega or several Betas. These two seemed to be odd ones out.

Like me.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be in a pack with them. It would take more than just one horse ride to mate with them though. I couldn’t have pups and didn’t plan on even being mated. Friends though, I could probably do that.

Back at the house, Simon dismounted first before helping me off the back of Charlie.

“Fuck, Pet, your hair is a bit wild,” he chuckled as John took the saddle off Ollie.

“Oh shush,” I said, trying to finger comb my hair. I should have put it back with something, but that was too little too late. I winced, feeling the knots already there from being whipped around and pulled during the gallop. With a huff, I pulled it back as much as I could to at least get it out of the way. “I’ll comb it out later with some conditioner,” I said as the two men took care of the horses. Staying out with them, I watched as they brushed and watered the large animals, taking time to give them extra treats and soft spoken words of love.

“Come on. There’s some wood that needs to be chopped before it gets too dark,” John said, shrugging off his coat. “We’re trying to get enough done before winter so when the snow falls we won’t have to rely on the electric heater as much. That thing sucks up power and is a pain to pay for.” I nodded, taking the coat I had off as well, letting Simon have it to hang up again, before following them to the side of the house. There was already a large wood pile started and logs set up for splitting, so John took the lead with the ax as Simon and I helped with picking up the slit wood or putting the logs in place for the other to strike before the men switched places.

I wasn’t naive. I knew what men looked like, even Alpha men. The internet was a wonderful place to find things to broaden your horizon, but it was very different when the real thing was in front of you. At first I was shocked at how easy John split the logs in just one stroke each time, but then he took off his shirt. This handsome, strong, built like a goddamn brick house of an Alpha was just going to town like it was no one’s business as his skin started to shine with sweat. He was better than the internet too. I had always seen clean shaven Alphas as well, no hair except for on their head. John had HAIR. Up his arms, across his chest, down his belly and a sprinkle across his back. No one could have prepared me for how it would affect me to see this Alpha with a belly and hair.

It was getting to the point that Simon had to nudge me a few times to get me to pay attention, always having a husky, soft chuckle each time.

When Simon switched places, I wasn’t any better off. How the hell had these two Alphas stayed together and alone for so long? If they were in my hometown, they would have trails of Betas and Omegas after them. While John was built and a little shorter, Simon was tall and covered in tattoos. His biceps were the size of my head, I’m pretty sure at least. He did have hair as well, but it was a light smattering and shimmered in the light. John noticed my staring at the other Alpha as well, giving me a wink when he asked me a question about ‘the scenery.’ I choked out something that I thought was sarcastic as the men chuckled. Had I been missing out on this the whole time I stayed cooped up inside? Damn it.

After the chores were completed, we all went back inside for dinner and to clean up for the night. I made quick work of leftovers to serve while the other two took turns in the bathroom washing up.

The only downfall for the house was that there was one bathroom with a shower and a bathtub. There were two with toilets,one upstairs and one downstairs, but we had to take turns with showers. Letting John go before me, I went about with my usual habits of cleaning up the kitchen and washing dishes. It was a habit now, one I didn’t mind. Long days of work weren’t that unusual for me either, but these two were almost completely self-sufficient with their own garden, cattle, horses, and solar panels. Their work was twice as much as mine had been.

However, I could appreciate the effort put in to take care of everything and welcomed it. That meant no more sitting around and sulking. I would be too busy working to have time to continue my pity party.

When night had fallen completely, Simon and John were on the sofa freshly showered and watching TV while I cleaned myself up. Funnily, Simon kept covered all day, but at night he would relax in a tee and sweatpants. It was the first time I had seen him without a sweatshirt on or gloves, aside from splitting wood earlier that day. I guess it wasn’t just me that was getting more comfortable with a new living situation.

My hair had only gotten even more tangled as the day had gone on after I forced it into a bird's nest, refusing to come out even with a glob of conditioner on it. Giving up on it in the running water, I finished washing myself before stepping out. Dried and dressed, I carried a comb and leave-in conditioner with me to the living room to sit on the floor next to the loveseat they were on to work on my hair slowly and carefully.

Neither of them said anything at first, as it was our first real evening spent together. Maybe they were worried that I’d turn feral and bite them or we’d argue again. The TV filled the silence, making it less awkward than if it was just me grumbling softly under my breath as I painstakingly took my time with my hair.

“Are you still trying to get those knots out?” John said with a snort. I nodded with a huff as I kept working at the ends to slowly move the comb through it. Very slowly. “Come here,” he said, waving me over. I looked up, but listened to him. He spread his legs to let me sit on the floor in front of him with my back to the couch. Handing over the comb and conditioner, he took over while I watched TV.

Packs regularly groomed one another, so it wasn’t out of the norm to do it. I just wasn’t used to it. I had always been the one to take care of myself and my parents that it was second nature to fight against offered help. Then again my parents were Betas. They didn’t really know how to handle a willful Omega who was determined to do things themself. They would get frustrated with me or give up halfway through whatever we were doing.

Sitting there and letting John detangle my hair felt so simple and yet it meant so much more. No one had taken the time with me to help. Teachers, friends, even my parents never took the time to make sure I was okay or to see if I needed help. If they did happen to make an effort to ask, they didn’t mean it. There was no action behind their words. But these two Alphas. . .

John was gentle, never pulling or yanking my hair. He cared about not hurting me, showing me through his actions with simple gestures like combing my hair. As the night went on, Simon shifted to lay on the sofa next to John. My hair had already halfway dried with no more tangles, but I had stayed put between John’s legs in my place on the floor. I noticed Simon’s foot was next to me, hanging off the couch with the other in John’s lap.

Without thinking, I took it in my hands to begin to massage it. He hadn’t asked or indicated that he wanted me to do that, but I took the initiative. No one said anything, but I could feel their eyes on me as my hands worked deftly over the pads of his toes and foot. I kept watching the TV, not saying a word. It was a way for me to say ‘I’m okay with you,’ without having to actually say it. Because words are hard sometimes.

As the credits rolled for the crime drama we had been watching, I yawned and popped my neck. It was nearly 10 PM and I was usually in bed by 9 PM. Simon’s foot had moved to my lap, after the massage I had idly rubbed his leg while watching TV.

“Alright, I think it’s time to hit the hay,” John said. I patted Simon’s leg one last time before letting him move so I could. All of us stretched and felt joints pop before Simon checked the doors as John got the lights. I was already up the stairs and in my room when they walked by. I was ready to sleep alone again, to pass out from all the work we had done that day, but I paused. It wasn’t necessary for me to sleep alone anymore.

The Alphas had made it clear they weren’t going to hurt me, they weren’t going to force anything on me, and had helped me feel comfortable with them by respecting my boundaries. The small blow up at lunch wasn’t them forcing me to be with them, it was concern and worry for me, wanting me to actually be happy even if nothing came of us. Toying with my long sleeves of my oversized sleep shirt, I sat on my bed as I tried to decide what to do. I had been alone all week, but really, I’d been alone for most of my life.

It hadn’t occurred to me till I was forced to see it. But, I realized I didn’t want to be alone. To have a farm and work it by myself with just a dog for company wasn’t what I wanted after all. Maybe things would be better if I had met these two naturally and not through a scheme by my parents, but the maybes and what ifs didn’t matter anymore. What did matter was right then and there, where the Alphas were.

Reaching over, I turned my own light off as I pulled my shirt collar over my mouth, something I had done as a child when scared or nervous to ask for something. Stepping out into the hall, the bathroom was in front of me and the Alphas’ room directly to my right. The lights were all off in the house except for in their bedroom where a single side lamp was on, showing a king sized bed that John and Simon shared. With a small hesitation, my feet took me to their door where I shyly knocked on the door frame, getting their attention.

“Everything alright, Love?” John asked, sitting on his side of the bed as he plugged in his phone to charge. Love. . . It sounded nice, something people called each other when they were familiar with each other. A nickname of affection. In that second of him calling me that, I felt relief rush through me. It didn’t make sense, why was I relieved when they hadn’t said yes or no yet? Still, it solidified me asking for them.

“Can. . . Can I sleep with you guys?” I asked, shirt still over half my face as I pulled at the collar nervously. I felt so small and far away, like a child checking to see if their parents were awake as they were scared from a nightmare.

“Of course,” Simon said, his face uncovered to show his blond hair and scars. Seeing him like that, open and accepting, allowing me to be let in as I did the same to him and John, was perfect. He pulled back the covers and moved to let me have a space to get into bed, but I still hesitated. It was new and different and I was scared enough that I wanted to cry. But I wanted to run to them to hide. They didn’t move though, letting me take my time as I damn near tip-toed over to Simon’s side to crawl into the middle of the bed. Once I was settled, they both pulled the covers back for themselves before John turned off the lamp.

In the dark, I could feel them being careful to give me space as I was curled in on myself. I took a moment to calm myself before I turned on my side to face John. Reaching behind me, I grabbed Simon’s arm to tug on him to get him closer, wanting less space between us before reaching forward to do the same to John. Sandwiched between them my heart was racing, but the longer we laid there, the more their calming scents washed over me. I pulled my shirt from my face, nuzzling into the back of John’s neck as Simon did the same to me.

It was peaceful and fulfilling. Something I had not felt before with someone else, let alone two Alphas that were practically strangers.

I was still angry with my parents, so very angry, but not with John and Simon. No, I wasn’t angry with them or bitter. I was, dare I say, happy?

Masterlist

Taglist: @birdstoprey @sebbytheraccoon @pricescigar @alwaysshallow @sae1kie @sleepydang @lexi-zsy09 @ghostlywhiskey @ghosts-cyphera @poohkie90 @neothewitch @shadofireshinobi @shadowlali

Series Masterlist

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#captain price #captain john price #cod mwii #cod mw2 #captain price/reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost/reader #john price #simon riley/reader

[loveindefinitely]

task force 141 with a controversially young civilian girlfriend.

-> mentions of large age-gaps, referenced sexual content, alcohol use. afab!fem!reader. minor dubcon (everyone's drunk.)

thinking that you're studying in uni. working on the side to try and afford rent and, if you're lucky, some noodles every other night. you don't really get seen compared to your friends, who go out clubbing and spend their spare time on dating apps.

one time, your friend drags you to a bar. not usually your scene, considering its clientele is more for tradies, and military-type men. not like the stuck-up blue collar boys at your uni.

cue you getting drunk off your ass, barely even standing, when you bump into one johhny mactavish.

he holds your elbows, your chest crashing into his. gentle with it, too -- kind and sweet and grounding.

"y'alright, lass?" he asks, a small smirk on his face, eyes darting across your frame greedily. he, in all fairness, looks nearly as drunk as you. he stumbles a little with your weight.

you giggle, tilting your head to look at him. say something stupid like, "you don't look like a student."

his brows raise, his dimples deepen. "aye, very smart, hen."

you preen with the compliment, a cheesy grin stuck to your face. you make no move to stand up and leave. you think your friend just left with a guy anyways.

johnny moves you, muscled arm around your waist as he takes you to a booth.

three other men sit in it, only one looking somewhere in a ten-year age bracket to you. they're all impossibly large, filling out the space with ease. your stomach swoops, but you easily blame the alcohol.

manoeuvring you so you sit in his lap, johnny's hand is a comforting weight on your waist. he huffs a laugh.

"didn't realise we were goin' for jailbait, soap," the youngest one chimes, dark features shining in the pub's dim light. his eyes trail your frame silkily.

you can't stop the roll of your eyes -- your inhibitions have made you senseless. "'m not, 'm completely," you drag out the syllables, "legal."

a hand on your thigh makes you jolt, and when you look over, a blonde man with a black medical mask raises an unimpressed brow. "got a problem, kid?"

you shoot him a weak glare. "not a kid. weirdo."

the arm around your waist tightens, as does the weirdo's hand encompassing your thigh.

"not scared of anythin', are you darl'?" the final man in the booth asks, hands folded together where they rest at the table. he looks at least double your age, and that simple fact along with his drawling words has your core tightening.

"what's there to be scared of?" you ask, stupidly. your head tilts to the side, unknowingly moving to rest on johnny's shoulder. he doesn't comment.

"miss bein' young and drunk," gaz sighs, hand softly gripping the gin sat on the table in front of him.

"you look young," your brows furrow, not understanding. how old could he really be, to act so nostalgic of your current predicament? "how old are you guys?"

it's an embarrassing question -- makes you feel like a child all over again. but your interest is quickly peaking, and your need for answers overpowers your need for decorum.

johnny's the one to answer, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers.

"gaz, the pretty one over there, he's twenty-eight," he murmurs, heat stirring low in your gut as you nod mindlessly, meeting gaz's eyes.

johnny stokes his thumb over the skin of your hip, and you curl into him further -- stranger be damned.

"i'm thirty," he hums, and god, he sounds so fucking sensual you're about to melt into his arms. if you aren't already.

"the guy in the mask?" said man's hand tightens impossibly against your skin, fingers just shy of grazing your aching pussy, "he's thirty-seven. got a lot of experience, aye?"

you shudder.

"what about you?" you end up voicing, shyly meeting the last man's gaze. he takes a slow sip of his whiskey.

he leans back into the cushion, eyeing you carefully.

"forty-three."

your thighs squeeze together, and fuck, if that's not a turn-on. no matter how unsafe you should feel, surrounded by four military-grade, older men, it only manages to have you wet beyond belief.

all you can manage is one question.

"take me home?"

#⌨️ : love's writing #will defs continue this later #just #ughhhhhh #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost cod #mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap cod #polyamory #poly cod #poly tf141 #tf141 x reader #tf 141 #captain price #johnny soap mactavish #john price #captain john price #cod x you #call of duty x reader #soap x reader #price x reader #gaz x reader #gaz x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you

[wordstome]

“How did Price end up with three girls who aren’t triplets or twins?” This is how.

I think we’re done here.

#John price #captain john price #cod price #price cod #captain price #john price x reader #John price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #dream daddy au #cod #call of duty #bucca speaks

[ghouljams]

I think Price is a tummy man. Loves to kiss your stomach, grab it to pull you back into his thrusts, loves to see your shirt lift up a little when you reach for something on the top shelf. He's a provider, he likes knowing you're well fed, healthy, that he's providing for you. He likes his baby soft. Maybe he's a little old fashioned like that.

And Ghost likes thighs, he will not budge on this. Nothing you can say will change his mind that there's no better spot to lay his head, nothing softer he'd rather be between, and certainly nowhere better to mark up. Again it's the softness! He's got enough hard shit to deal with(wink) that he wants to have some softness with you. Let him be soft and needy and lay his head on your lap, he won't fall asleep this time he promises.

#ghoul speaks #cod x reader #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #john price mw2 #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price cod #captain price mw2 #just thinking about them #my boys

[whateveriwant]

The 141 getting you to stay in bed

It gets a little spicy towards the end so 18+ please

Soap

Waking up to the feeling of a numb arm is extremely unpleasant, but you suppose it comes with the territory when trying to cuddle 200+ pounds of rugged Scotsman

You manage to free your trapped limb and roll to the other side of the bed, but that space behind you remains empty for only about three seconds before Johnny's pressing himself flat to your back 

Now with his arms around your waist, he holds you tight to him, mumbling unintelligibly against the back of your head

He drifts back to sleep quickly enough, his grip on you starting to loosen, only for it to tighten again when he feels you try to wriggle out of his hold

The incoherent grumbles from his throat grow increasingly displeased the more you try to shift away from him, until finally he huffs a grumpy, “Quit it,” into your scalp, hooking his leg over yours 

If you still don't listen, he'll have no choice but to take drastic measures to keep you still. Fed up with your squirming, he simply rolls on top of you, pinning you to the mattress below him

You can try beating on his back, telling him that you can't breathe, but he just shrugs and says, “Use my breath.”

Don't even bother trying to explain how oxygen doesn't work like that, because he doesn't care. “Tough,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “‘Cause I'm no' movin’.” And by extension, neither are you

Gaz

Kyle is also a stage 5 clinger, but he's less boa constrictor and more baby koala

So when your alarm goes off at 8am precisely, it's no surprise that the man behind you grumbles in protest

“It's Saturday,” he bemoans. “Why you getting up so bloody early?” When you tell him you like to keep your routine even on the weekends, he just groans and mutters, “Five more minutes.”

You can try to squirm and wrestle out of his hold, but he'll just tighten his arm around your midsection, keeping his front firmly glued to your back

But you need to get up! You have to pee for goodness’ sake! 

“Use the empty bottle on your nightstand,” he mumbles into your hair, peeking an eye open as you crane to look back at him. The look you give him at such a horrid suggestion has him sighing. “Alright, fine,” he relents and releases you. “But be quick. Bed gets cold without you.”

Once you've answered the call of nature, don't be surprised to find Kyle waiting for you directly outside the bathroom. He's wrapped up in your comforter like an oversized burrito, only his face and feet visible as they peek out from under the plush cover

With a sleepy pout, he holds his hand out for you, tugging you back to bed with him. Oh, he’ll make sure you get those five more minutes alright. Even if he has to drag you kicking and screaming

Ghost

First of all, don't even kid yourself into thinking you'll stand a chance of waking up before him or sneaking out of bed without him knowing. This man is the epitome of a light sleeper, whenever he does sleep, that is

So when you do finally wake up, it comes as no surprise to see Simon already up too. But just because you're both awake now doesn't mean you have to immediately be productive; quite the opposite, in fact

With how busy and stressed he is all the time, Simon loves nothing more than to just lie in bed with you and do nothing for hours

If you try to get up, he's stopping you with a gentle hand on your wrist, his voice quiet but firm as he commands, “Stay.”

You'll lay back down for a bit to appease him, but it won't be long before you feel guilty since you have so many things you should be doing instead

But actually, no, you don't have  anything to worry about. He's already taken care of everything before you woke up, he humbly informs you

The cat's been fed, the bin’s been taken out to the curb, he's even gotten your breakfast typed up on his phone – just give him the word and he'll place the order

So now when he opens his arms for you, having you bury your face in his chest, you've got nothing to worry about except savoring this moment with him 

Price

John is also a very light sleeper, so it only takes .02 seconds of you trying to stand from the bed for his bear-like snores to cease and his eyes to flit wide open

He'll grab you by the shirt hem, mumbling, “Where’re y’ goin’?” But it doesn't really matter what your answer is because his response is always the same: “No y’r not.” And pulls you back down. “Y’r stayin’ right here.”

He'll lie on his stomach, face smushed in the pillow, a big, warm hand tucked under your shirt resting against your belly

With nothing better to do, you scroll through your phone, catching up on your socials, the news, etc., but it's not long before you hear him grumble, “Put that away, will ya? ‘S too early to be meltin’ your brain with that thing.”

Well, what does he expect you to do? Lie there and stare at the ceiling for an hour? “Expect you to be good,” he tells you. “Don't make me get the handcuffs out again.”

Now that you have to laugh at. If he thinks it's too early to be on your phone, it's definitely too early for that

He smirks, opening his eye just a sliver, and the hand on your stomach begins to rub soft circles. “Is that so?” he taunts, his touch sneakily edging downwards. And when he slips beneath the band of your shorts, well…

Let's just say you're not leaving that bed anytime soon

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