#lieutenant john price

[captainfern]

oh my Lordy lord, ain’t no way you left us alone with that lieutenant!john price fic. Oh hell naw, that has awakened something I didn’t know I had. Please write more young price 😭🙏 I’m going feral and I’m begging (love your work btw)

he’s just so cocky :(

@bbbby-blu started this obsession. so thanks for that bby x

18+, fem!reader — first part here

lieutenant john price, all freshly-shaven and oozing confidence, is the type of man to talk you through it in a condescending tone because he knows how good he is. he knows he treats you well, and he knows how good he can make you feel on his cock

it doesn’t matter how much control you think you have when the two of you have sex, he will always know exactly what to say to get you all flustered and whiney

you ride him, the wet heat of your cunt gliding up and down his cock, your legs either side of him, his hands running across the thick of your thighs. you move yourself, grinding over him, the fat head of his cock rubbing against the base of your cervix

but even though you’re controlling the pace, you’re controlling your own body, price still has this cocky, confident personality that seems to keep you tethered to him. your entire body glows hot when he speaks to you

“that’s it, baby, just look at you bouncin’ this pretty body on my cock, hm?” he squeezed at you when he spoke, kneading handfuls of your thighs, your hips, your arse. “you feelin’ good, baby? you feel good stuffin’ this pretty pussy with my cock?”

he moved a hand between your legs and pressed a finger to your swollen clit, circling it gently. you moaned, breathless and whiney, as he released a deep grumble from his chest. “yeah, ‘course you do. ‘course you feel good. y’just always feel good gettin’ fucked, don’t you? always feel so good with my cock in this tight fuckin’ cunt.”

he took his finger away from your clit, making you whimper at the loss. his hands tightened on your hips now, and he basically stole the control from you. he was now guiding you up and down on his cock, snapping his hips up at the same time. he grunted, watching the way your body bounced against him, the ripples of your flesh as he pulled you down onto his cock

“can feel you squeezin’ me, pretty girl. can fuckin’ feel how bad you wanna come,” he uttered, cocky and real fucking proud of himself. “you wanna come? you wanna wet my cock, baby?”

you mewled desperately, nodding as he ground you against him. he was so deep inside you— the head of his cock pressing up against the plug of your womb, your clit brushing through his coarse pubic hair. you moaned quietly, price’s hands groping the flesh of your hips

“yeah, just look at you. so pretty, my pretty girl. so desperate for her lieutenant’s big fuckin’ cock— so needy for it, so fuckin’ needy for me,” he grumbled out, hips jolting quicker now. you panted over him, hands skimming through the hair on his chest and abdomen as you tried to stabilise yourself. he groaned out. “yeah, that’s a good girl, baby. come ‘round my cock. go on. wet my cock real good, pretty girl.”

you came, moaning his name loudly into the room as he continued to thrust up into you, knocking the heady tip of his cock against the spongey spot inside you. he groaned at the feeling of you tightening around him, and then groaned again when you moaned his name

“that’s right, baby, that’s right, good girl. say my name, that’s it, nice and loud,” he grunted, before the muscles in his lower stomach were tightening, his balls pulling tight, and he came deep inside you with your name on his lips. his cum was thick and warm inside you, plugging it in with his cock. he rubbed your tummy. “nice and full… that’s my girl.”

#captainfern #captainfernsalutes #lieutenant john price #captain john price #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #price smut #cod smut #captain price x female reader

[syoddeye]

useless

Part one of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. Part one uses two:

42. The story spans over a period of 10 or more years

14. Opposites attract

~2k words, Price x f!Reader. Some liberties were taken with canon, obvs. Please enjoy!

You meet John Price when you're fifteen years old. 

Being the new kid is never easy, but you have some practice. This is the fifth time your family has moved since you were born. Such is life when your mother's an ambassador. However, it is your first time attending an actual school, and it's miserable. It doesn't matter who your mother is when your peers are the children of millionaires, celebrities, and executives. Compared to them, you're a nobody, just easy pickings.

But compared to John, you might as well be a princess. 

The son of your mother's assistant, you see John almost every day. You do not attend the same school, of course. Despite the awfulness of its students, your school has standards, after all, but every day after the last bell, you and your security detail fetch John to rendezvous at your family's sprawling home. Since both sets of your parents work long and odd hours, you spend a great deal of time together. Usually, you study, eat dinner, maybe read or watch television, but you do not necessarily talk. He's as surly as an old man, unpleasant on good days and unbearable on bad ones.

You don't look at John when he slides into the car anymore. You're enthralled in Sabriel, too busy to acknowledge him, that is until you feel his eyes on you. 

"What?"

"Didn't say anything."

"You're staring," You huff, lowering the book, only to almost drop it. "What happened to your face?!"

A purpling, inky black bruise covers John's swollen left eye. It's nasty, but he looks bored by the question.

"Scrapped. Some idiot ran his mouth."

"So you hit him? Then he hit you?"

"That's generally how it works," He says dismissively, crossing his arms and leaning into the seat to stare out the window.

You roll your eyes and return to the Abhorsen. "Your mom's gonna kill you."

He doesn't have a comeback for that. 

Predictably, his mom loses it when she arrives to pick him up. Throws a fit, her anger evenly split between John and his school. You watch from the top of the stairs as your mother consoles her friend and offers advice before they leave. John scowls, the expression deepening when he catches you listening in. You give a shit-eating grin before retreating to your room. Serves him right for fighting. Boys.

Of course, though, in a rotten turn of events, his mother leverages her position, and John enrolls in your school. Due to your relationship, you're naturally coupled together both in and outside of the classroom. It isn't for lack of trying on your peers' parts. You can grudgingly admit John's a good-looking boy. He has all the makings of a popular kid. Athletic, intelligent, and withdrawn, just enough to make people wonder in a good way. He's regularly asked out, the invitations often extended in your company. You don't miss how other girls look at him or glare at you.

Jokes on them, he's easily the most unpleasant person you've ever had the displeasure to know.

"What are you putting down on the careers interest form?" You ask one afternoon, sprawled on the couch while John sits with his back to it, reading.

"SAS. Enlisting next year."

"Military? How noble." You muse. "Your dad's not–"

"No," His head turns a fraction. "But my grandfather served. North Africa."

It's the first you've heard of it. John doesn't talk much about his family, nor do you make a habit of asking. You don't pay close attention to the adults' conversations either. "Well, you're pretty strong and clever, I guess," you temper the compliments, uneasy about doling them out to him. So you'll fair well, I bet."

He doesn't respond for a minute before a quiet "Thank you," ekes out. 

For whatever reason, your face heats. How embarrassing. You tap your pen against your blank form, grateful he faces away. Yet as a silence follows and stretches, irritation sidles alongside discomfiture. Honestly, this is what you'd like to show the girls at school. Prove that John's actually quite annoying. 

"Now's about the time another person would ask what I'm putting down."

John doesn't look up from his book. "I know what you're going to write."

You bristle. "Oh, do you? Enlighten me."

"Artist. Writer. Actress. Something useless."

In one fluid movement, you sit up and strike him across the crown with your notebook. "You're such an asshole!" You quickly create distance between his stupid, stunned face and yourself, stomping all the way to the stairs. Halfway up the steps, you crouch, pressing your face between the balusters. "You're not going to amount to anything!"

You don't speak to him after that—not entirely, of course. Your families are too intertwined to avoid him completely, but the incident strains your already tenuous relationship. It's awkward and tense, though neither of your families notices the shift. You sit in silence at joint dinners. You leave him alone in the den after school. You latch on to other singletons in class, avoiding him in the halls.

Months pass, and as John declared, he enlists the moment the school term ends. Freshly sixteen, and scheduled to ship out to basic. 

The morning he leaves, your mother drags you to his house. You stand speechless on the walk outside when he marches out with his rucksack. His head's shaved. He grew an inch and filled out some in the last few weeks when you weren't paying attention. Still a boy, but clearly on his way to becoming a man.

His mother all but shoves him at you to say goodbye. He stares down at you now, the twit. 

"Good luck." It's the nicest thing you can manage.

"Break a leg," He responds, hauling his bag over his shoulder. "Don't be useless."

You're too busy noticing how his eyes are the same color as the sky to feel even a twinge of irritation.

When he files into the waiting taxi, his mother bursts out into sobs. You watch the car until it disappears down the next street, trying to understand why your chest is so tight.

It’s a decade before you see him again.

~~

"I told the Prices you'd pop by."

You nearly fumble your card, phone cradled between your shoulder and ear, and clumsily tap it against the scanner. Mouthing an apology to the disinterested cashier, you take your bag and find your words.

"Why would you do that?" You ask, unable to completely mask your disdain. "I told you I have plans for New Years." 

Your mother tsks. "Surely you can pencil in some of our oldest friends for an hour tomorrow."

The automatic doors open, and the wintry air envelops you instantly. The plastic bag taut in the crook of your arm, you flip the collar of your coat and start the return trek to your flatshare. "I haven't seen them since graduation, since we moved back to Virginia."

"And you moved back to London, what, eight months ago?" Her end muffles a moment while she says something to her aide. Her voice is sterner when she speaks again. "They've been asking about your job, how acting's going…" Her voice trails, leaving the works or not going unspoken.

You swallow, tucking your chin into your scarf to consider the remainder of the conversation. "Fine. I'll stop by tomorrow afternoon. But I'm not staying late. I have plans." You don't. You did have an invite to a party a week ago, but that was before Jeff decided Jane from work was 'more his speed'. More 'conventional'. Though you'd seen the breakup coming for weeks and the relationship only a measly six months old, it still stung. Since coming back to London, you've had more than enough rejection.

Dozens of auditions. Dozens more interviews. Zip, zilch, zero. No callbacks, no non-speaking roles. And while you are the favorite stage manager for several small local theaters and Yes Woman, you weren't any closer to the stage. Something your mother loves to remind you of. Between her rapid ascent up the career ladder and your decision to study theater, an uncrossable gulf cropped up between you. It grew with each passing day. Moreso, when you reject every offer of financial support or connection. Her support means control. Ownership. You won't have it.

The conversation drifts to other topics—Dad, mostly. He's still putting around after her, content in his retirement. They'll spend New Year's at the White House, of course. You're pushing through the door to your place when she drops the bomb.

"John'll be there, too."

This time, you drop your keys.

~~

There is no excuse you can make to back out now. You wait on the top step of the Price's home. It's smaller than you remember. You hear people inside, music, and laughter. You hesitate. Given what you told your mother, they probably expected you far earlier than nine, but you barely mustered the courage to leave your room. You practically blacked out on the tube, leaving the station in a daze with your cheap bubbles. Taking a deep breath, you reach for the door. No time for stage fright.

The foyer is a time capsule, aside from the dozens of coats hanging on hooks and a coat rack. Framed photos of the Prices throughout the years line the short corridor leading further into the home. John's center stage for most of them. You hang your coat and slowly edge down memory lane, pausing when you see your own face looking back at you. Aged fifteen, the first day of school. You and John in different uniforms, sulking for different reasons. It was the last time you were the same height.

There are a lot of photographs of you in the hallway gallery. Ones you didn't know existed. You get stuck on a still of you and John from behind. It's from the London Zoo, from some ridiculous event your mother's work mandated you attend. The photo is simple, accidentally composed almost professionally. You and John lean against the rail overlooking the lion exhibit. You excitedly point at the pair lazing about in the shade, and John…John's focus is on you.

The sound of your name rips you away from the moment, and Mrs. Price beckons from the doorway to the living area.

The reunion between yourself and Prices is sweeter than you thought it would be. It's odd to see them older. As jarring as it is when you see your own parents, as sparingly as those visits are. Wrinkles, spots, graying hairs…But unlike your parents, none of the familiar warmth is missing from the Prices. They fuss, complimenting your secondhand dress and gushing over the bottom shelf champagne. They awkwardly introduce you to the closest guests, some claiming to have met you as a teenager. But you feel Mrs. Price's hand on your back, gently ushering and ushering, until you arrive at the threshold of the kitchen.

He's taller, tanner, and a hell of a lot broader than you remember him.

"John? Look who's here!"

You step into the kitchen with a gentle nudge from Mrs. Price, and the figure from many memories and more than a handful of confusing and mortifying dreams turns to face you.

Your name slips from his mouth in an arrogant purr, and the little tug of his lip into a smirk instantly pokes at your patience. He's literally only said your name, and already he's resurrected the same shade of vexation you felt ten years ago.

You're going to need something stronger than champagne.

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #smug lieutenant john price is so important to me #i'm also obviously not british and i'll admit i did maybe 10% of the research i usually do.....apologies #lightly edited i was too excited

[mactavishenjoyer]

LT. Price:"One day I'm going to be a captain with only the best people on my team."

(10 years later)

Price:"NO! SARGENT GET DOWN FROM THAT FUCKING TREE! NO I DON'T WANNA SEE A "COOL TRICK"!!!"

#call of duty #cod mw2 #john price #cod john price #john price cod #john price call of duty #incorrect quotes #incorrect cod quotes #LT. price #lieutenant john price

[flowermiist]

The evolution of Captain John Price.

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2019

#john price x reader #john price #captain price #call of duty #cod #captain john price #lieutenant john price #modern warfare #captain price x reader

[gomzdrawfr]

WHO'S THAT POKEMON????

IT'S LIEUTENANT PRICE!!

#lil cunty man #gummmyart #doodle #lieutenant john price #lt john price #john price #call of duty

[emmylous-world]

When We Were Young

Chapter 1

Captain John Price x Female oc!Reader (Emma)

Summary: John meets his captains niece and can't seem to get her out of his head.

Warnings: MDNI, Probably will be smut at some part. Violence and Mature themes. Slow burnnnnn.

2,6k words

A/N: I'm baccckkk, I hope you guys enjoy. I proofed read this myself so forgive any mistakes.

Pls leave some likes, comments and reblogs <3

British Columbia, Canada 

John dropped his bags down on the bedroom floor, letting the tension on his shoulders go, the day had been too long for him, been up since the crack of dawn and haven't stopped moving the walls were white, the floors were a tan carpet, a desk was against the wall and the bed sat across from it, the bedding was sky blue, it reminded him of summer in England, spending the days down at the river. He undid the buttons on his military jacket and threw it on the back of the desk chair. John sat down at the end of the bed and pulled his rucksack onto the bed to pull out his files and paperwork, going through the paper, trying to find that damn report to fill out. 

John was staying at his Captain Oscar Powell’s sister; Sheila's place, while in between operations, giving him a warm bed and home-cooked meals, that's all he could ask for and he was very grateful. He got up from the bed and sat down at the desk flicking on the lamp, and spreading the paper in front of him, he knew he should go out and talk with the family, get to know them, but John was too tired even to think straight, socializing made him wanna crawl up in a ball and sleep, and the bed right behind him wasn't helping him with that desire. An hour or so goes by when John finishes the report and puts it with the rest of the finished work. He checks his watch, 16:05, he gets up and changes into sweats and a sweater, which his mother made for him before she passed, it still smelt like her house; cimminon (I literally don't know how to spell it, but I hope yall understand ToT) and fresh laundry. He missed the warmth of his mother's hugs and his little sister’s pestering. He kept their memories close to his heart and cherished them as hard as he could. A soft knock sounded on the door. 

"Hey, dinner would be ready in an hour or so." Shelia says, "You’re welcome to join, I can also bring it up if you like?" He opened the door to talk face-to-face with her. Her face had delicate features, and wrinkles around her mouth and eyes, showing her age, she looked much like her brother, and the familiarity of her face was comforting. To John, the Captain was like a second father, he trusted that man with his life, he knew his Cap had his back and he makes sure he had his.   

“Yeah, of course, I’ll come down.” His voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat and knew his captain wouldn’t be too fond of him not joining him and his family for dinner. She smiled, her eyes crinkling and lit up. He gave her a lop-sided smile back, it did not reach his eyes, he was too tired to care. “Ok, great,” she said and went back downstairs to the kitchen. John’s muscles were screaming as he went to go lay down on the bed, he tucked himself under the blankets and soon enough he fell into a slumber 

John woke to his name being called and shot straight up, panicking. “Hey, dinner’s ready chap,” he heard his captain through the door. “Ok gimme a minute,” he took off his sweats and put on a pair of jeans, the most decent he could get, with it only a few pairs of jeans and a couple of black jumpers. Downstairs the Captain gestured to John to take the seat at the right-side seat at the end, John gratefully took the seat and fell into the conversation. He was asked questions and he happily replied. The food was something John was most excited about, it was hot, and it melted in his mouth, he sighed at the savory taste. He couldn’t compliment Shelia enough. 

“This is so good,” John said after swallowing a mouthful and stuffing his mouth with more. 

“Geez, slow down son, we’re not going back to base anytime soon,” Powell chuckled  

“Sorry Sir, just trying to get as much in as possible, can’t stand those IMPs.”  

Shelia smiled with pride and Powell shook his head. 

“Oh, Emma is coming home next week,” Shelia says with excitement, her smile growing. John was curious who that was, guess he will find out next week. Dinner was done, helping wash up the dishes.  

“Tell me more about yourself” Shelia turns to him with a smile. “I heard you’re good on the field, well the football field.”  

John gave her a warm smile. “Yah, I grew up playing on my school’s team” he put a cup on the rack “Won a couple of trophies in middle school.” 

That’s amazing,”   

“Mhm”      

He let out a breath, thinking back about his best friend from elementary. John finished putting the dishes in the rack, wiping down the countertops, and bid Shelia a good night. When he entered his room, he immediately took off all his clothing except his boxers and crawled into bed, and soon sleep consumed him. 

*** 

The following day John woke a wee bit panicked, still thinking he was at the base and had early mornings. He checked his watch; 09:23 am, that was the latest he had slept in a while, since his last leave, which was 8 ½ months ago. John crawled out of the covers and sat at the edge of the bed, contemplating if he wanted to go back to sleep or go on a run. He chose the latter, he figured that he should at least keep a basic schedule. He got up and put on his shorts and black compression shirt. After putting on a pair of runners, he ran off the road, pushing to see how far he could go.   30 mins had passed, 2 klicks in, he knows that he can go for another few, like a switch John picked his pace up. Around 5 Ish klicks, he turned around and headed back.      

When he arrived, John was drenched in sweat, his shirt sticking to his chest and back. He quickly made his way upstairs, grabbing his shower supplies, he bought a new set of shampoo and conditioner, knowing his little sister would troll and harass him for using a 2-in-1. John turned on the water, gave it a min, and then stepped in, the cool water felt amazing on his sweaty back. Soaking his hair and running his hands in it. He followed the shampooing and conditioning steps, his sister instructed him to do. The shower was done 5 mins later, he had wrapped a towel around his hips, his v-line visible, John looked at himself in the mirror, and his auburn chest hair ran down into a trail past the towel. He flexed his pecs and shoulder muscles, his shoulders were broad, and his pecs were large, he could fit into one of his sister's bras, not that he was bragging. His thighs also were massive making it hard for him to sit in tight spaces. After checking himself out, he looked at his beard, its way past the 5 o’clock shadow and not quite a beard. He was upset that he had grey hairs in some places, screw his father's genes. John let a huff out and grabbed his razor and shaving cream, getting rid of the annoying grey specks. After finishing up, he cleaned up and went back to his room. Putting on a fresh pair of clothes and deodorant, John was ready.  

Downstairs, Shelia was in the garden and Captain was out back doing yard work. Today was the day John learned about the house and yard. He put on a pair of Blundstones, and a navy blue pullover rain jacket. The weather outside was dull, and the smell of rain was strong in the air, it was April, the spring rain came during this month. He walked over to Shelia, he asked her if she needed help, eager to get his hands dirty. 

“Oh Please, the bags of dirt from the lean-on by the shed, could you bring some bags,” she points to the west side of the gigantic house “It would save both Emma and I some trouble.” and John sets off, looking for the shed in the direction she had pointed. The property was huge, he remembers the captain saying around it being 26 acres or so. It was a heritage house, that had been in his family since the 1880s, the house was a massive Tudor house, with vines growing all over the east side of the building. The whole property was surrounded by forest, the whole place made John’s heart swell, the place somewhat reminded him of home or maybe he was homesick, but he missed the country of England, the smell of cow manure, and watching the sunrise on the porch with a cup of tea. After wandering around like a lost puppy, he found a shed with a lean-on, there was a wheel borrow tipped over on its side, and by the shed, he flipped it straight and started filling it up with the bags of garden soil. Once it was full, he started pushing it back over to the gardens, the trip back over was longer than expected, and he reached the garden Shelia was puttering at, emptying the wheel burrow. He stopped and let out a wheeze, the military training did not prepare him for that. 

“Hope that wasn’t too hard,” Shelia remarks, seeing his out-of-breath state 

“Oh no, didn’t even break a sweat.” He broke a sweat,  

Shelia knew that was bullshit, but she also knew that the 23-year-old had that boyish ego that all boys seemed to have, no matter how old they are, John reminded her of her brother; Oscar, but younger, both pretty stubborn and had similar mindset.  

The rest of the week, John spent his days helping in the garden, he also found out that They also had a stable on the other far side of the property, there were 4 horses and a draft, once he found that out, he spent hours in the stable, cleaning, brushing, feeding and what not in there. There was also a barn with multiple farm animals, chickens outnumbering them all. When he asked out them over dinner, He was told that they were Emma’s pride and joy, jokingly saying that they’re pretty much Shelia’s nieces and nephews. John couldn’t stop his curiosity about this Emma growing, he would never admit to his excitement.  

When the following Monday rolled around, John got out of bed a little too eagerly. He put on his best shirt and the cologne his sister insisted on getting him, apparently “it makes the girls weak in the knees” He trusted her, he didn’t know diddly squat about this shit, or about girls for that matter. He hoped to make the best impression on her.  

The flight home was long but worth it. Emma had been waiting to come home since the beginning of the school year in august last year. As soon as she got off the plane, she bee-lined for the luggage terminal, grabbed her stuff, and headed to the arrivals, looking for her aunt, it took some time to spot her, but once she did, she quickened her pace, desperate to get out of the place. She reached her aunt and pulled her into a big hug. 

“It's so good to have you home finally,” Shelia squeezed her. 

“I know, it's nice to finally get out of the city.” 

“Well, we still gotta leave the city and get back to town,” Shelia says as she grabs one of the luggage. “Not quite a free bird yet.” Emma rolled her eyes, rushing to find the exit.  

The car ride home was long, filling her aunt in about everything that happened at UofT (University of Toronto). Diving right into her Anthropology and Archeology classes, and what she did, she was beaming at the topic of going to an anthropology excavation site. 

“We have a guest staying with us for a bit,” Shelia mentions “He’s one of your uncles men, a lieutenant I think?” 

“Oh?”  

“His name is John, I think you’ll like him.” 

All Emma could think about was a man in his late 30s and balding. She just nods, not caring much. Her uncle had some of his men stay over before, this isn’t surprising to her.  

When they finally arrived at the house, Emma couldn’t help but sigh in relief, she knew she was immediately going to go soak in a hot bubble bath. Pulling her bags out from the trunk of the SUV, she walks to the front door, she walks back to the car to grab the rest of the luggage, when she reaches for the duffle bag, a hand already beat her to it, it was not her aunts, it was too big and there were too many scars. She looked up to see who the hand belonged to, and she was taken aback, his face was young and handsome, his eyes reflected the sky, a bright blue, and his hair was short and sticking up and awry as if he was wearing a hat. He put his big hand out for her to shake it. 

“Names John.” His voice was deep, husky, and British. When he shook her hand, the biceps under his black shirt flexed. This was not the man Emma was expecting, so young and so attractive. She told herself to get it together, no need to simp over a man you had just met. 

“Emma” 

He flashed a smile at her, it wrinkled his eyes, making them bright. She couldn’t help but return the smile “Your aunt said you needed help with the luggage?” he spoke in that voice again, she shook her head yes, “Please” was all she managed to squeak out. He grabbed the heavy stuff, Emma had to look away with a bashful look, knowing if she looked any longer, she’d start drooling.  

Once everything was inside and, in her room, she figured she’d unpack tomorrow. Drawing a hot bath in her ensuite, she got out when the water got cold. She got out, dried off, and dressed, she went downstairs and into the kitchen, not realizing that she hadn’t eaten since before the plane ride. Scrounging around the fridge and pantry, looking for anything. After looking for 10 mins, she decided on KD (Mac and Cheese for u Yankee's out there) putting on a pot of water on the stove, and she went back upstairs to grab her book. She sat at the island and read while waiting for the water to boil. 

As soon as her KD was done and plated, she pushed the doors to the den, and groaned at the sight of John passed out on the couch, mouth opened, snoring obnoxiously and with a book laid open on his chest. She turned to go back to the kitchen to eat, but no, this is her house, she just got home from a long 5-hour flight and it’s late, wanted to watch her reality shows, she sat down at the armchair, flicked on the TV and happily ate at her noodles.  

John woke to a clatter, jolting up and knocking off the book that was lying on his lap. He looked up at Emma, she had her mouth full, and the TV was on, playing a trashy reality show. He rubbed his face with his palm, drowsy from sleep. 

“Sorry did I wake you?” She looks at him with her round eyes, her hair wet from a shower. He stopped his mind from wandering to far from the subject, of this beautiful woman in the shower.  

“No, no s’alright.” He yawns, gets up from the couch and picks up his book. He stood there awkwardly for a second, he checked his watch, 21:14, bedtime. He bid her a goodnight and went upstairs.  

Chapter 2 here

#captain john price #john price #captain john price x you #captain john price angst #captain price x reader #captain price #slow burn #cod price #cod mw22 #cod x reader #lieutenant john price #task force 141 #captain john price imagine

[plexflexico]

Look, all I'm saying is that when your doorman gave John a look he panicked and asked what was wrong and that's the moment Félix confirmed for himself that John was nervous because he liked you and Félix recognized a good man when he saw one: in the service, clean cut, worried enough that he'd asked immediately what was wrong... and he'd shined his shoes perfectly.

Wine was a good start, but it was not sufficient for suggesting everything John seemed so desperate to get across.

So he tut-tutted and suggested perhaps it might be better if he brought flowers for the young lady, and if he hurried he could catch the florist one block down.

As soon as John is out the door, the wine stashed carefully in the parcel cubby of Félix' large desk he's on the phone to his brother, the florist.

"...les crème anciennes. Oui, aux centres rose pâle. Pour la mademoiselle au troisième étage."

He listens for a moment, and smiles when he hears the bell in the background.

"On se parle plus tard!"

...and that's how a gossipy, nosy, meddling doorman gave Kate's impromptu plan the finishing touch it needed.

#My Girl My Girl Don't Lie To Me #john price x reader #captain john price #young john price #lieutenant john price

[syoddeye]

useless, part two

Part Two of my submission to @glitterypirateduck's O, Captain! Challenge. As a reminder, I rolled a d100 to select three prompts. Unfortunately I got carried away with this part, so I haven't used my third prompt yet. But that just means a Part Three is coming.

You could argue this fits 95. Attending an event together...

Read Part One. Tag list: @v1x3n @kiranezra

~2k words, Price x f!Reader. Enjoy!

The ice bites through the steel shaker, your fingers sting, and the noise is a tick too loud, but both are decent distractions while you figure out what to say. In the corner of your eye, John watches with an amused look, tempting your elbow to somehow find his chin. When you finally stop, popping the cap to strain the vodka and vermouth, of course, he's already prepared with a snarky comment.

"Did it owe you money?"

"Yeah," you say, pulling an olive from a jar and dunking it into the glass. "Be glad you don't." 

John leans on the counter beside you. "I'd hate to cross you."

"That's new," you retort, savoring both his mildly confused look and the drink. "They feed you growth hormones in the army?"

He laughs. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner."

You suppress a smile behind your glass and cross an arm over your front. "Are you back for long?"

His laughter peters out, and he shakes his head. "Nah, I leave tomorrow night."

"Mm," The noncommittal masks your wilting. You study John's face in the half-second pause. Since stepping foot in the house, no, since hearing about this soiree yesterday, he's plagued your thoughts. All those hours spent in each other's company for the better part of a year. That dumb fight resurfaces. You're not going to amount to anything! Classic John to prove you wrong. The jerk. 

"My mom told me you're doing well for yourself. You graduated something early? That you got into the SAS or whatever?"

"'Whatever'?" John scoffs, turning to face you better, enunciating each word as if you can't recite As You Like It by memory. "Yes. I'm doing well. You're looking at Lieutenant John Price, I'll have you know."

You arch an eyebrow. You know, in your gut, it is impressive. How or why is a mystery; it just is. Zero chance you'll let him know that. "And that's a big deal?"

"To some people."

"Well, I'm not 'some people'." You say with a tilt of your head.

"No, you're not," He answers a mite quieter before taking another swig and straightening. "Rumor mill says I'm looking at another promotion, maybe next year."

"What'll your title, er, rank be then?"

He smirks. "Captain."

You nod as if this again means something to you, a foreign civilian, and make a show of it. "Right," Your eyes hold each other in place in his parent's kitchen. A balloon of silence begs to be popped, for a decade's worth of fleeting memories and games of telephone through your mothers, to burst and ease the tension. And it's so typical, so John, that he hasn't even asked about y–

"And how're you faring?"

Stunning. Fucking karmic.

You can't stop yourself. "Oh, look at you, John Price. Did the army also finally teach you how to hold conversations?"

His eyes narrow a fraction, and that quizzical pinching of his brow returns. His lips part to speak, but a commotion at the entrance to the kitchen draws your attention. A pair of older men meander in, pink-faced and glassy-eyed, slurring the words to Auld Lang Syne two and a half hours too early. You take it for what it surely is, an out, and slip away. 

John's parents are eager enough to receive you in the crowded living room and return to their fawning. You'd rather wade through another stint of stilted conversation with their questions about your credits stateside or reminisce about embassy days than suffer John pretending to give a shit regarding your useless career.

You dance around speaking to him again, politely finding ways to dip in and out of conversations he thrusts himself into. The practice leverages all parts of your acting career and what you remember of the education your mother gave you. Smile, nod, ask leading questions, and watch for the interloper. It pays off, as John seems to eventually get the hint and fades into the background of the party.

When the clock strikes half past eleven and some ex-policy advisor nearly spills his ale on you, you decide it's time to sneak out. You've overstayed your allotted time. John's nowhere in sight, most guests are deep within their cups, and the giddiness of the impending countdown is palpable. It's easy enough to step into the front hall unseen without an ounce of guilt in your veins. You came, you saw, you drank expensive vodka, and made nice with your mother's friends.

Buttoning your coat, you step out into the night's chill and start down the steps. You're two paces from the garden gate when a man's voice pushes into your ear.

"Goin' somewhere?"

The two courses of stage combat you've completed guide your hand in a flat chop to the offending jugular. The owner of said jugular, however, catches the blow with an arm, then laughs, a rich and deep sound, to drive the humiliation home.

"John, Jesus Christ, you complete asshole!" You hiss, turning to shove the man standing in the shadows behind you. 

"There she is," He cracks, still chuckling. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Yeah right, you absolute-"

"Arse?" His hands rise in defense when you glare, the glow of a cigar catching your eye before he lowers it to his mouth for a puff. It's a moment before his mouth opens, the tobacco scent permeating the short distance between you. "Just out for a smoke."

Wrinkling your nose, you sigh. "That is awful for your health."

"So's my line of work," He counters.

"Fair point."

"Glad you think so."

You stare at him again. Admittedly, it's hard not to. Even in the dark, the glint of his steady gaze tethers. Maybe it's the military thing—like he's learned to restrain people without touching them. It must be because it couldn't be anything else. A shiver compels you to speak. "I have to get going."

"So close to the bell?"

"I need to prepare for an audition," You lie. There is no audition. The only thing waiting for you at home is an inherited prompt book for Kiss Me Kate to work on.

"I'll walk you to the station."

"You don't need to do that."

John corrals you toward the gate, his accompaniment apparently a foregone conclusion, and holds it open as you pass. "C'mon. It's been ten years. You used to escort me all the time."

You huff. "That was security, not me."

"You were always in the car, weren't you?"

John sticks to your side despite your protests, which last for all of one street. You slip once, and his arm offers itself immediately, which you take only for stability. Beneath the layers, his muscle is firm and a sure thing, unchallenged by your leaning on it. He's always been strong. 

"Is there a reason you avoided me all night?" he asks suddenly, showing you the small mercy of keeping his eyes trained forward.

The walk is slick, and you realize that a minute too late, his arm is both a gentlemanly safeguard and a leash.

"I didn't avoid you."

"No, you just ran off again before I could talk to you."

Ran off again. The lout remembers. Has to.

"Fine. I wasn't in the mood to be reminded of my failures."

He scoffs, arm flexing to squeeze your hand. "You weren't a failure. Furthest thing from it."

"I'm not talking about school, John," you snap, exasperated. You regret ever wishing he'd inquire after you. "I don't—I don't want to talk about that." You see him glance in your periphery and then search the air for a way forward. You provide it.

"So, Captain. That's a big deal." As much as it kills you, it's easier to speak of his successes. "Bet your parents are over the moon."

John sighs. "They're thrilled."

"You do anything particularly insane to earn it?"

"Can't tell you," he answers automatically, a notch more serious, his cigar adding a touch of drama.

You pat his arm. "You'd have to kill me?"

"Something like that."

A few minutes pass in silence. Muffled music and cheers trickle through open windows on either side of the streets. Midnight rapidly approaches, as does the station.

"You seeing anyone?"

Oof. Maybe you should've spoken about your failing acting career. At least that had some color and excitement.

"No. My boyfriend, uh, ex-boyfriend ended things a week ago."

John stops, gently tugging when you nearly stumble. His expression is difficult to read between lampposts, but his tone suggests contempt. "At Christmas?" 

You want to laugh at his incredulity, the pure scandal in his voice. But you don't. He's gone all serious again. "Two days before, actually. It's alright though," you nudge him to walk again. "It wasn't anything serious."

It's the truth. Jeff was a middling boyfriend. He was never going to go the distance. He'd been a half-decent romp and someone to drink with. 

"Well he seems like a serious idiot."

"I won't fight you on that," you shrug. "And you, Captain? I bet you must beat them off with a stick in uniform."

He chuckles, releasing smoke. "I'm not a Captain yet. And I'm too busy."

"You'll make Captain," you say a little too quickly, too confidently, snapping your focus back to the stairs to the station ahead. "I can make it from here."

John seems to consider it. He's quiet before he snuffs out his cigar on a bin. "I'll walk down with you."

You descend the steps arm in arm, passing a giggling, buzzed couple on their way up.

"It's a shame you're leaving before midnight, Cinderella," John teases as you stroll slowly into the virtually empty tunnel. His head is on a swivel. Ever the soldier, apparently.

The ground is dry and even below street level. There's no need to keep his arm.

"Yeah, well, I'd rather not stick around to see everything turn back into pumpkins," you check the time. The train is due at 12:02 AM.

John seems almost on edge as he looks around. You feel a slight, frenetic energy reverberating where your arms touch, mismatching the absolute rigidity of his bearing. His eyes are wilder when they meet yours, and his head dips slightly.

You frown. "What's wrong?"

"It's good luck to kiss somebody at midnight." He all but blurts out.

Your hold on his arm loosens, but he grips back firmer. "That's what's got you in a tizzy?"

"I don't know about you, but I'm going to need all the luck I can get this next year."

What is he going on about? His promotion? You're unsure if you like how he's looking at you. "John—"

A trio on the platform starts counting down some distance away, but the sound carries.

"Please." It's earnest. It's certain.

You bite your cheek, searching for any hint of this being a joke. "Just a friendly peck." you clarify.

"'Course." He reels you in, eyes half-lidded, closing in suddenly with a barely held-back urgency.

A hand cupping the back of your head knocks a gasp out of you. "It doesn't change anything." You quickly add.

"Not a thing."

Cheers erupt down the platform, but you barely hear them over the roar of blood in your ears. John's mouth is a force. It's earnest. It's certain. It was never going to be a friendly peck. You've kissed many people on stage and off, but never quite like this.

The train's rumbling knocks you back into reality. You're both breathing heavier. John's eyes darken with a hungry look, and everything in his posture suggests he's after more. Your name slips from his mouth like a command.

"Stay," he orders.

But you're not a soldier. You've never even played one. You're not equipped to face whatever this is—what that was. The doors to the car open behind you, and his eyes flicker toward them as if to will them shut. You shake your head imperceptibly.

"Happy New Years, John."

You step into the train, a coward. You don't look back to see if he watches the train depart, but you know he does.

It's another fourteen years before you see John Price again.

#ocaptainchallenge #john price #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x f!reader #lieutenant john price #smug lieutenant john price is so important to me #cw alcohol

[bluegiragi]

holding back (part 2)

early access + nsfw on patreon

#just captain/lieutenant things #ghost and price are an on-and-off-again thing #they take care of each other when it comes up #and sometimes to just relieve stress #they have shared trauma from the loss of price's wing #and simon's whole...wraith business #they've known each other for a long time #and were getting closer before simon's incident but afterwards sort of hurtled into each other #it was really intense and co-dependent for a while but it's levelled out now #one day i will do an explanation post on all the dynamics of poly 141 in this au #in the meantime just enjoy price taking care of his hoard #monster 141 au #ghostprice #captain john price #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #giragi art

[honestlyhiswife]

nobody talks about how adorable john price is as a lieutenant. he’s got this undeniable determination with him that has only grown stronger since he’s crawled up the ranks.

his voice isn’t gruff yet, not used to shouting orders in a hostile zone. his mutton chops haven’t grown in either, likely experimenting with his signature style. he still covers his head, though this time it’s with a sage coloured beanie and not a boonie.

#i wanna write about this man so bad #honey has the mic #lieutenant price #lt price #captain john price #captain price #john price

[grimm-cod]

Simon is DEFFFF a GIRL DAD.

Simon and you had identical twin girls, and THEY ARE THE LIGHT OF HIS LIFE.

Simon would do anything for his girls.

tea party with stuffed animals? done.

painting his nails? done.

when Soap asks him why his nails are bright pink when he takes his gloves off, Simon just gives him a glare in response, and Soap decides not to press further.

When he gets home after a mission, and his girls are already tucked into bed, Simon goes into their bedroom to press soft kisses against their foreheads.

If one of the twins had a rough day at school, he would always be the first one to comfort them, which is odd because he's a big, broody, war machine, but he has a heart goddamnit.

He would name his twins: Sage and Saffron.

"They keep calling me the 'other Sage', dad." Saffron would tell him one day after a rough day at school.

"You're my Saffy, sweets. dont let 'em mess with ya." Simon would reply.

if one of the twins got sick, you and him would nurse her back to health, but soon enough, the other twin had the same damn thing, so now, you both are stuck dealing with moody, sick, identical twins.

"Dont wanna take my medicine, dad." Sage would argue.

"Dont care, love. gotta take it." Simon would reply after an hour of arguing with her, getting her to try and take her medicine. Saffron on the other hand, she had taken it instantly, no matter how bad it tasted.

AND OHHH GODDD. if Soap were to ever find out that Simon had twin girls at home, and he was really a big softy behind closed doors, THE TEASING WOULD NEVER END.

Soap would tell anyone he came in contact with.

"Y'know, the Lt. has little twin girls? he treats them like princesses. he's a softy under all that mess." Soap would tell everyone.

And dont even get me started when he meets you and the twins for the first time.

Immediately takes on the role of "Uncle Johnny". Price would be "Papa Price", and Gaz would be "Uncle G", cause the twins couldnt stop calling him Gas instead of Gaz.

"They'll get the accent soon enough." Soap tried convincing Simon that the twins would get his scottish accent if he spent enough time with them, but Simon immediately shut that down.

Simon didnt want his precious girls around anything military related.

Simon had to pick the girls up from school one day, and the other parents couldnt stop staring at him because he was in full uniform, having left from base.

Simon's uniform would definently make the younger kids cry. I would cry too if i saw a 6'4", muscular, british guy in a skull mask and military uniform and tactical gear.

Simon did feel bad though.

#ghost cod #call of duty #cod headcanons #simon riley #simon riley headcanons #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #ghost call of duty #simon riley smut #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley x y/n #simon riley imagine #captain john price #lieutenant simon riley #sargent johnny mactavish #sargent kyle garrick #soap cod #johnny mactavish #price cod #gaz cod #gaz garrick #john price #kyle garrick #ghost fanart #ghost headcanons

[gomzdrawfr]

log entry

#oh hey i finally did an official look of Raven's mask #anyways #there will be more of this kind of observation duty art coming #where Raven is just observing Price from afar #and also!! early PriceRaven days! hence beardless Price #i coudlnt dECIDE A BACKGROUND GDI so gradient it is #gummmyart #doodle #my oc #my oc art #cod oc #cod oc art #[oc]Raven #Raven[oc] #PriceRaven #john price #lieutenant john price #lt john price #captain john price x oc #john price x oc #captain price x oc

[emmster]

Poem is by an unknown author. (Trust me I tried looking it up and couldn’t find them)

Heard this as an audio on Tiktok and I couldn’t stop thinking about how it fit Ghost/Simon so well. So a few days of hyperfocus later and I have a comic.

Enjoy 😊

#Simon Ghost Riley #simon ghost riley mw2 #simon riley #simon riley cod #johnny mctavish #johnny soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #soap ghost #soap and ghost #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #lieutenant simon riley #Sergeant Soap MacTavish #sergeant kyle gaz garrick #task force 141 #Call of duty spoilers #call of duty mw3 #call of duty mw2 #call of duty 2022 #mw2 2022 #soap ghost gaz #soap ghost Gaz price #john price #cod fanart #soap call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty fanart #my art #digital art #art of tumblr