#Captain John Price x Reader
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priceghost x reader. dubcon themes.
thinking about being john’s newly-wed, barefoot and warm as an oven, stumbling to the door when you hear his iron foot fall. it’s been months, but you recognize the cadence on the porch. sounds like morning tea and his favorite cigars.
unlocking the door and throwing yourself into his arms, smelling the space above his shoulder, inhaling…petrichor. wet dirt. blood.
that isn’t your husband.
you slowly peel yourself away, stunned when your eyes meet brown instead of blue.
“where’s…”
“right ‘ere, dove.”
you looking over the stranger’s shoulder (who is still holding you up) and find your husband, looking a little too amused that his wife is in another man’s arms.
once you reach him, he kisses the top of your head, before rubbing your shoulder to coo the loud creature of embarrassment before it reaches your mouth in the form of an apology.
“you’ve met simon. he’ll be staying with us for a little while.”
you glance between the two before meeting your husbands eye. “I-“
“im sure you don’t mind the extra stomach, right darlin?”
you swallow.
“of course not,” you glance at simon, who’s face remains neutral, “the more the merrier.”
you meant for meals. they seemed to understand it differently.
now you sleep between the two of them, quilt unnecessary while their meaty limbs keep you sweltering.
the bed is heavy, and you haven’t complained because you’re a hostess, and simon is john’s friend. even when you feel him palming your clothed cunt ‘in his sleep’, you don’t fuss.
instead, you silently turn on your side, trying your best to subtly grab your husbands attention.
but he’s already there, watching. smiling gently, like he does when he says he loves you.
“there there dove. you can learn to share, right?”
#call of duty#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#john price x reader#john price x you#simon ghost riley x you#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#priceghost#ghostprice#priceghost x reader#ghostprice x reader
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Price grunts when you first slide in.
No prep. Just enough lube. Needs to feel it all, needs his mind to go blank.
The Cap’n has his moments, hates it when his brain goes into overdrive. He ruminates, keeps doing it so much to his detriment, and he hates it sometimes. It keeps him from focusing on the more important decisions.
And that’s where you come in, sweetheart.
When you first brought this up, fucking him, Price was a little hesitant. To hell with it, he was very hesitant. Wasn’t used to the vulnerability that came with it but he trusted you. Implicitly. You hadn’t steered him wrong and his gut said you never would, and when you two first did it, well… let’s just say that the boys’ antics didn’t affect him. At all. For a while.
It’s been a staple of your sex life ever since.
And here he is now, brows furrowed, trying not to cum as you fuck him, trying to shift his thoughts to you moving inside him and—
“Stop.” Fuck.
You did without a moment’s hesitation. Price grunted. He was trying his damndest, trying not to cum, wanting the moment to last as long as possible but dammit, you weren’t helping any. He noticed you shivering and took inventory of the self restraint. Price knew you liked it when he took command; you always fell apart at the timbre of his voice.
You took him by surprise, however.
You knew he could only hold on but so much and orders be damned, you wanted your Cap’n to fall apart. And so you made him. You disobeyed him. Your thrusts were firmer, more… primal. Hitting that one spot, making his grunts and groans more apparent, having Price curse under his breath, teetering between maintaining and losing his composure. His eyes, hazy, hard, infatuated, obsessed—just like you like him—they never left yours. Like hell they would. He’d get his back and you couldn’t wait but fuck, darling.
He couldn’t—wouldn’t—touch his cock. Even if Price could, you wouldn’t let him. That need for control, fighting for power, made this all the more delicious for you both.
But two could play at this game.
”Shit—‘m fuckin’ close,” your Cap’n grunts out. There we go. You kept going, bring out every single damn thing in him, having his husky frame quaking, driving him crazy, and—
Price comes. He comes and stares you down. Comes so damn hard, mind blank, every single cell in his body thrumming. He’s sated, so fuckin’ full of you, so damn satisfied, breathless, tired, wanting more, wanting you. Atta boy, Cap’n.
But he’d get his back. All’s fair in love and war, beautiful. He presses your damp foreheads together.
“…Who told you to stop?”
And you smirk.
#cutie 𝓠.#nsfw.#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern whorefare.#captain john price#captain john price x you#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#john price x you#cod x reader#cod x you#call of duty x reader#x gn!reader#call of duty x you#x black reader#x plus size reader#task force 141
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I don’t know what came over me but there is something about retired John Price and his big hands and him getting softer around the edges after all the battles that makes me feral
Continuation of this I wrote a little while back.
John’s hands are scarred calloused things — hardened from years of battle and manual labour, spent in more ways then one, joints aching every time the rain clouds are coming to hover over the village.
John feels the upcoming storms better than any sailor does, knows how soon the waves would roar and clash with each other by the way his left wrist throbs with dull uncomfortable ache, sharp pain lacing towards his fingers when he moves it.
You watch him carefully, always in the corner of his own vision — pretty little thing, eyes too big and teeth too sharp.
You with your rows upon rows of glistening pearls, shining in the morning sun like you just got out of the water, toothy smile as a greeting to John smoking a pipe on his porch.
The sea breeze is always salty and that the only explanation he has for why his mouth starts salivating at the sight of the wet fabric of your shirt clinging to your skin. John sits on the steps of his cabin and rasps out “morning, luv”.
Voice too low to be appropriate, eyes glued to you without the hint of shyness in them. John is an old man, love, he’s seen too much, he’s lived a life.
He’s not going to be ashamed that he appreciates the view of a gorgeous thing like yourself in wet shirt.
You just smile at him, a little wider than maybe necessary but god, does he look delicious. Long legs and strong hips, arms big from a lifetime worth of battles, chest broad with curls of hair peeking through the unlaced cut of his shirt.
He looks good enough to eat.
Your tongue traces the sharp edges of your teeth, eyes roaming him with the same shameless interest.
Well, maybe you should?
John watches you go about your day, meets you at the small shop you hold at the edge of the village — selling freshest fish, small jars of roe and crates filled with water and shellfish.
John watches you, dexterous fingers uncannily good at deboning the fish, your smile widening when you catch John watching — blood and scales clinging to your skin.
John visits you few times a week, chats you up, eyes heavy with satisfaction when you silently laugh at one of his jokes — shoulders shaking, face flushed with laughter.
You bring him your best fish and scallops, show how to properly salt and store the thing. You get him ready for winter, touches lingering here and there, feeding him with seafood.
John is not one to ever say no to someone this beautiful taking liking to him, but still it feels a little new to be on the other end of care. To have someone hop onto his doorstep with herbs and seafood, with ointments for his joints and salted fish.
With smiles and sea salt in small jars.
Smoked and blended with herbs, colourful and coarse.
John takes everything, eyes softening when he sees it’s you, hands carefully accepting your gifts, stealing away small touches of your cool fingers.
You smile wider when he does, clicking your tongue in satisfaction.
A well-fed mate is a happy mate, after all. And you are determined to keep him very very happy.
After all, better he gets some size on him before you sink your teeth in.
#call of duty#cod mw2#girl.snippets#john price x y/n#captain john price x you#john price x you#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#captain john price#price x reader#john price#captain price#price cod
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Not matter what people say, I can't get out of my mind Retired!Price being kinky, then he mets a a nurse that also used to work on military and she's even kinkier than him.
Darling, you might be on to something 😏. Because Price fucks so much when he is finally retired. He's got all this energy that needs to be let out. He's finally got the time to date and settle down for real and he wants a few kids. This man isn't beating the allegations for being kinky, but there are a few things he hasn't really thought to try. Good thing he has an open mind.
Pairing: John Price x reader afab
Title: His future wife is a freak (drabble)
rating: 18+mdni
one shot master list
John was going to marry you, propose before his cum was even dripping out of your pussy. You had to be doing witch craft on him because he was seeing stars and begging god to not let him cum too soon. The wet sounds and soft gurggles if you sucking and teasing his dick was enough to make him blush. Your full lips were softer than they looked, and the amount of spit and precum was obscene. Your pretty manicured hand, with gorgeous french tips pressed against his stomach to keep his from bucking his hips.
"Fuck you suck Daddy's cock so well." He let out a breathy moan and tipped his head back. His eyes closed for just a moment before they snapped open. He gasped as your unaccounted hand slipped a finger into his ass. "Fuck!"
There was pressure at first, but then it felt good. Sure enough, this was going to awaken something in him. The suction of your lips on him only grew more fevered as you choked him down all the way to the base of him. His eyes were wide as his struggles to not grab your hair, opting to gently hold your face. "Shit, sweetheart, fu- oh christ." He managed to grit out before cumming down your throat. It was too much. Your finger only kept pressing in and out of him faster, and the movement rocked him against your face. He's trying to pull away, but you only keep following him.
The desperate sounds and heavy breaths are not becoming of the former captain, and he's a bit embarrassed. Still, though, this is his future wife who is working him over. He may as well enjoy this and get used to being vulnerable and trying new things. He wonders if you'd peg him?
Slowly, you pull away from him. The mess of sticky spit and cum, connects in strings to your mouth. You keep direct eye contact with him as you slurp and clean up all the extra cum and your spit from him. A small and evil smile graces your lips.
"Now, Daddy," you say in such a teasing manner. Your hand working him into another hard on, "I haven't even ridden you yet." You push him down onto the couch and crawl into his lap. "Let's see if you can get me pregnant in one shot, hm?" And you slowly slide down onto his overly sensitive dick.
He gasps and grips at your hips. The feel of your hand against his neck, nails slightly biting into his flesh, makes him tense up. You're gonna be the death of him.
#ask vanta#black!reader#call of duty fanfic#john price#captain john price x reader#john price smut#john price x reader smut#john price x reader#captain john price#john price x you#call of duty smut
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Alright, okay... you're cooking. Keep going. We (the masses) love this, I'm sure.
Lighthouse keeper Price struggling not to let the loneliness and isolation seep into his mind and bones, running on autopilot for several years after his wife got swept away to sea leaving no trace.
Price encountering novelist!reader who's just here for an inspirational vacation to the strange little seaside town with its even stranger inhabitants. So why does she bear a striking resemblance to his late wife? Is this a test? A reward for all his hard work and resilience, perhaps? He knows the sea takes and takes, but sometimes she gives back, right?
#John Price#Captain John Price#Call of Duty#john price x reader#john price x you#captain john price x you#captain john price x reader#price x reader#price x you#CoD
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breedingkink!price being obsessed with your lower belly, stroking the soft, warm skin that separates him from your precious womb. His hands often find rest there as he stands behind you, arms wrapped around like a warm cocoon. His fingers flutter lightly as he imagines the skin become taught and stretched as you swell with his child, the beautiful glow that would surround you. His eyes often wander to that spot when he fucks you on your back. It nearly knocked him out the first time he saw the bulge of his cock in your tummy, seeing how close he was to your center. He can practically feel your aching need beg for his seed, begging him to fill it and make it whole and fulfill its purpose. God forbid you’re on birth control, he’s going to be unbearable about how cute every child he sees is, how loving of a mother you would be - he’ll break down your resolve until you finally agree to stop taking those silly little pills.
#john price#cod x reader#john price x you#price x you#captain john price x you#can you tell I am terrified of pregnancy and never want to have kids#but breeder price haunts me#John price x reader#cod x you#captain john price#cod mwii#captain john price x reader#captain price#captain price x reader#tw pregnancy
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Imagine pretending you don't know how to do things when it's convenient for you. Car broken down? You can't use jump leads. Something heavy needs moved? Oh God, someone big and strong will have to help you!
In actual fact you're completely competent - you just doesn't see the point in showing off when men are so eager to do things for you.
John Price slowly figuring it out and it winds him up because he will find a way to take care of you, goddamit.
#call of duty#cod men#cod#my drabbles#john price x reader#captain john price x you#john price x you#captain john price x reader#captain john price#john price
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Little Bird: Prologue
Note: Here is the prologue to a new series that has creeped its way into my brain. Please note that while reader has literally just turned 18....nothing actually happens between her and John...yet. This part is just to give some background and a kind of....get to know them.
Warnings: none really
Summary: Meet Y/N Laswell, Kate's niece who at the age of 18, gains her soul mark, which just happens to match the mark Lieutenant John Price recieved that morning.
Soul marks, everyone had them, but not everyone found their soul mate, often just missing out on a love of a lifetime. The marks typically appeared when a person turned 18, it could be anything but would match, looking like a tattoo. Sometimes though, that mark did not present until later…sometimes not at all. A delayed mark was usually caused by the other person not being 18 themselves, a mark that never appeared, meant that the one that you were meant for…had died before you turned 18. At 24 years old, Lieutenant John Price did not have a mark, and he wasn’t particularly worried about it.
John’s main concern was doing his job and keeping the world safe. If he happened to gain a mark, then so be it, he would still have to find the person and then hope that they’d understand why his job was so important, because he would not be leaving it. John simply went on with his life, doing what he needed to do, and periodically, he would check to see if he had gained a mark somewhere, a small part of him disappointed when he’d find nothing but bare skin.
---
At the age of 17, Y/N Laswell stood next to her aunt, beyond excited about working as her assistant, despite the nature of the job. Technically Y/N shouldn’t have been anywhere near the job, but she had graduated high school early and had wanted to explore her options, her Aunt Kate had an opening and Y/N was more than happy to be away from her parents and travelling the world for the summer before deciding what she wanted to do…What she hadn’t realized was that the job of assistant to a CIA agent, was just as dangerous as being one.
Less than a week into the job Y/N had managed to find herself in a rather sticky situation. It really wasn’t her fault, or at least that was what she told people. She’d seen the files, saw that they needed someone to deliver the intel…and as a good assistant, did just that. The problem was that it had been a trap and members of the British Special Forces had come to her rescue, the squad rescuing her being led by her Aunt Kate’s friend John. Y/N expected a lecture from the man, to be told to leave things to the ‘adults’, but he didn’t.
Instead, he’d looked her over and once satisfied she was in one piece, ushered her out of the building and out to safety with a simple “C’mon little bird, let’s get you back to your aunt.” Aunt Kate however did lecture her.
---
Several months later, Y/N continued to see John and his squad around here and there. His squad was always on the move, but they always stepped in to help Aunt Kate when called, no questions asked. The lieutenant was always nice to be around, and Y/N felt drawn to him, seeking him out when he was around. She finally admitted to herself that she had a crush on the older man, if he noticed, he didn’t seem to care, he was friendly and he and his team, when they had the time, helped teach her how to defend herself if needed and made sure she knew what to do in a pinch.
The morning of Y/N’s 18th birthday was a morning like any other. She got up, got dressed for the day and headed out to get breakfast, on this week, she and her aunt were stationed in London at an army base, Kate was looking for a terrorist and the SAS were happy to be of service. Arriving at the mess hall, Y/N was started by a tingling sensation on her chest and took off to the bathroom to see what was going on. When she got there, she unbuttoned her blouse, just enough to look at the spot just above her heart, once bare, now there was a soul mark. It was simple, a white dove in flight, with what could only be a Union Jack in the background.
Y/N traced it lightly, smiling and excited to know that she did in fact have a soul mate…somewhere. The real challenge was going to be finding this person. However, the Union Jack may have made it much easier. She took out her phone, snapped a photo of the mark and ran off back to the mess hall, hungry and excited to tell her aunt that she had got her mark. By the time that she had grabbed food and sat down, Kate had almost finished eating.
“Where did you run off to in a hurry, don’t think I didn’t see that,” Kate mused as she read a report, sipping her coffee. Y/N simply smiled at her and passed her the phone, the photo open and ready to be seen.
“I got my mark” Y/N said, almost giddy. “The good news is, I at least get a hint, I either meet him in England, or he’s British…and oh look, where are we? Jolly old England.” I grinned at my aunt, watching as she analyzed the mark.
Aunt Kate hummed in response. “That one is nice, I’ve seen some awful ones…we’ll keep an eye out kid, it’s a big country but whoever they are, they’re meant for you. In the meantime, we have a terrorist to catch.
---
Kate was meeting with the SAS teams when one of the Lieutenant’s squad pointed out his mark. “Oi! Price, when did you go and get a tattoo? I woulda went!” Kate wouldn’t have even thought to care had John not sounded so shocked about it.
“What tattoo? I don’t have a…bloody hell, when did that get there?” John had rolled had pulled the sleeve of his T-shirt up just enough to see the new mark on his upper arm, a dove in flight in front of a Union Jack. “Well, I’ll be damned, never thought I’d get one of these.”
There were a lot of thoughts going through John’s head now, the main one being that he had no idea where to start looking, nor did he have the time. No matter, if he was meant to find the person, he would.
Kate barely turned her head to look before she did a double take. It matched perfectly to Y/N’s new mark. Y/N who was currently grabbing copies of several reports. Kate decided she was going to have to pull him off to the side. “Lieutenant, a word please?”
John excused himself from his squad mates before approaching. “Kate, what can I do for you?” he asked, one eyebrow up, and subconsciously rubbing his arm.
Kate nodded towards where his mark was. “New soul mark?”
John looked startled for about half a second. “Yeah, this mornin’, why?” Kate only smiled at him before patting him on the shoulder.
“You’d better be good to my niece John, or I’ll kill you myself. Welcome to the family.” With that, Kate walked off, headed in the direction of the General. John simply stood there flabbergasted with the mark still exposed.
When he finally turned around, Y/N stood there, mouth open and staring at his mark. His eyes looking over her, he could just see the outline of her own mark as it peaked its way through her white blouse. Head tilted, he sauntered over to her, blue eyes gazing into hers.
“Hello little bird.”
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HOW TO DISAPPEAR | Sour - 2
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mlist . series mlist . ao3
"How’ve you been?"
His words hang in the air, heavy and uncertain. You don’t respond—your gaze locked on your glass, the drink familiar in its color and weight. You take a sip, the sweet burn sharper than you remember, filling a bitter void you hadn’t noticed until now.
His hand covers yours at the center of the table, breaking your trance. The warmth is painfully familiar, a sting that cuts deeper than you’d like to admit. When your gaze lifts, John’s eyes are already on you, steady and unflinching, as though he hasn’t looked away since he sat down.
Your breath catches, and for a moment, time seems to slow. You glance at his hand—the same one that used to hold you, steadying you through the chaos of your lives, moments that were long behind you.
His face is more weathered now, something in his eyes harder, colder. You can see the years in him just as clearly as you feel them in yourself. Time hasn't been kind to either of you, but it’s the space it’s created between you that cuts the deepest.
You pull your hand away, instinctively trying to reclaim some distance. You steel yourself, but your voice comes out hoarse. "What are you doing here, John?"
He doesn’t flinch. Never does. It's almost unnerving how little he's changed. He leans back in his seat, his eyes never leaving you. "Came to check in," he says casually, downing his whiskey like it’s nothing, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
You can’t suppress the laugh that bubbles up, bitter and sharp. "You're four years too late for a 'check-in,' John."
His jaw tightens, something flickering behind his eyes, but he doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a drag from his cigar, the smoke curling lazily in the dim bar light, and exhales slowly. "Things got... complicated," he mutters, his voice rough, like he’s still unsure how to say it.
You want to argue, to throw everything you’ve been holding back for years right at him, but something keeps you quiet. You take a generous gulp of your drink before setting it down with a soft clink. The tension between you thickens, oppressive.
"You left me, John," you say, voice low but sharp, "You walked away. And now you think you can just walk back in?"
His gaze softens, memories of that day flooding back unbidden. The moment he stepped into your hospital room, met your warm eyes and soft smile—only to be the one to shatter it all. He forced himself to watch as the light in your eyes dimmed, the warmth replaced with pain. He owed you that much, at least. For a fleeting moment, regret flickers across his face before vanishing beneath the stoic resolve he’s mastered for so long.
"I didn’t know how to stay and protect you," he admits, the words rougher than you expected, like they’ve been sitting in his chest for a while. His fingers twitch around his glass, betraying his calm façade, but it’s the slight tightening of his jaw that betrays his true emotions. You catch his moment of vulnerability, and you realize how much you’ve missed studying those little, subtle signs. "And I sure as hell don't know how to fix this."
The weight of his words lingers in the air. You didn’t expect him to say that, but it doesn’t change anything. Not really, after all this time.
Your hand brushes his as you reach for your drink. It's quick, almost accidental, but it sends a ripple through you. The faintest shiver runs down your spine—a brief flash of something familiar, something you thought you’d left behind. You hold your breath, fighting the pull to reach for him again, to find some kind of solace in the warmth of a touch you know all too well, yet fear all the same.
His gaze drifts to the booth you once claimed as your own, where laughter still seems to echo like a ghost. For a moment, he’s lost in it, he's sure a part of you both still haunts the seats. His focus snaps back to you, but not before you catch him looking, and feel the weight of why you’ve been avoiding that booth, too.
"Yeah," you mutter, shifting your gaze to avoid his eyes. The ice in your glass rattles with a quiet shake as you try to steady your hands. "Maybe it's your fault for thinking I needed you to protect me."
John’s expression tightens at your words. He takes another drag from his cigar, the ember glowing faintly in the low light. The smoke hangs between you.
His eyes search yours, measuring how far he can push, how much you’ll let him in. You shift in your seat, the weight of the pain dragging you down like a leaking hull.
"Maybe you’re right," he finally says, his gaze falters from your own. "Thought I needed to protect you... I was wrong." His words are slow as if he's testing the waters, trying to see if there's any chance that you’ll let him in again.
A part of you wants to believe him, to believe that he didn’t leave because he wanted to, but the years of silence weigh too heavy. You wonder if it’s too late for any of this.
You aren't sure how to respond. The anger still simmers beneath your skin, but there's something else you can't shake. He’s not the same man who left you all those years ago. Or maybe he is, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes now that wasn’t there before. You see it. You sense it. He's changed, and so have you.
Swallowing hard, you try to keep your emotions in check.. The years of being alone, of picking up the pieces... You won’t let him see that. Not yet, at least.
Tears well up, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall.
"I don’t think I can ever forgive you for what you did," you manage, the words scraping like gravel in your throat.
John looks down at his glass, his shoulders heavy as he swirls the whiskey, staring into it like it holds answers he’ll never find. When he finally takes a sip, the light in his eyes has dimmed, replaced with something harder, something resigned. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t offer excuses.
The silence stretches between you, broken only by the soft hum of the bar. You glance at the booth again, the ghost of a memory flickering there—a quiet laugh, his hand brushing yours, the fleeting hope you’d felt back then.
"But," you say, voice trembling despite your best efforts. You inhale deeply, steadying yourself, clenching your fists as if the words themselves weigh more than you can bear. "I... I’d like to try."
For the first time tonight, you meet his gaze fully, no longer avoiding his eyes, no longer pretending that none of this matters.
You see it then—the faintest flicker of something in his eyes. Not hope, exactly, but something close to it. Nostalgia. A question he doesn’t yet dare to ask.
The tension lingers, heavier now, while the soft blues and whines of an electric guitar drift back into focus. Neither of you moves, neither of you speaks. It feels as though the past itself is watching, waiting to see if its grip on you both can finally loosen.
John leans forward slightly, pressing the stub of his cigar into the ashtray with deliberate care before setting it aside. His shoulders sag just enough to betray the weight he’s been carrying. He lingers there, the silence palpable, before letting out a breath he’s been holding for years.
"I’d like that," he says, his voice almost a whisper.
tags | @fruitymoonbeams-blog
#♱ angel’s writing#im sorry this chap was so short :(#stay tuned!#john price#john price smut#captain john price x reader#captain john price#john price x reader#captain price#price call of duty#price x reader#price cod#captain johnathan price#simon ghost riley#simon riley#cod#cod men
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captain john price x reader
content warnings ⚠️
•implied drinking
•implied 'doing.. the do' 😦
The bar was a beacon in a world of chaos, carved out of some forgotten decade, where the amber glow of Edison bulbs met cracked leather stools, and the faint crackle of a vintage jukebox warbled through the air. It wasn’t just old—it was timeless, a sanctum of polished mahogany and the lingering scent of whiskey, tobacco, and nostalgia. The kind of place where the walls whispered secrets to those who lingered long enough to hear them.
John Price didn’t belong there, but then again, he didn’t belong anywhere, not really. His place was out there, in the fields of fire and ruin, where men bled and fought and prayed to gods who never listened. Yet, somehow, he found himself here more often than he intended. Not because of the bourbon you poured; though you always had it waiting—neat, with the ice cubes glinting like glassy fragments of a frozen sea. No, it was you. Always you.
You moved behind the counter with a grace that bordered on divine, an effortless choreography of small smiles and fluid movements that left him transfixed. The way you spoke to the other patrons, light and unguarded, made his chest tighten with something he refused to name. His eyes followed you as you laughed at some tired joke from the man two stools down, though his jaw clenched when the stranger’s eyes lingered too long on the curve of your neck.
“Another?” Your voice pulled him from the gnawing grip of his thoughts. You were leaning slightly against the counter now, elbows resting on the worn wood, your gaze like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
He nodded, silent, though his fingers tightened around the empty glass he handed back. Your touch brushed his as you took it, and though fleeting, it felt like a spark leaping into the kindling of his soul.
“Quiet tonight,” you said, breaking the stillness with the kind of ease that only you could. “You’d think a storm was rolling in, the way everyone cleared out early.”
“Could be,” he murmured, his voice low and rough like gravel underfoot. “Or maybe they just know when to leave a good thing alone.”
Your laugh was soft, barely more than a breath, but it lingered, filling the space between you. You started pouring his drink, not even needing to ask how he liked it. Of course, you wouldn’t. You knew him, or at least the parts he allowed you to see. But it wasn’t enough. Not for him.
He watched as the liquid swirled into the crystal glass, his gaze flicking back to your face, the faint glow of the bar lights catching the curve of your cheek. You didn’t belong here either, not really. You belonged in marble halls with laurels in your hair, or in paintings that hung in museums, where the world could marvel at the beauty they could never truly touch.
'Pandora', he thought, the name tasting bitter and sweet in the recesses of his mind. You were his own cursed box, filled with hope and ruin all at once. A thing of beauty he could look at, but never claim. It would have been sacrilege to even try. He wanted to worship you, to press his lips to the altar of your skin, but he knew better. Angels fell for less.
“You alright?” you asked, tilting your head in that way that made you look so utterly human and yet something more.
“Fine, sweetheart.” he lied, his voice softer now. “Just... long day.”
“Another mission?” you guessed, not pushing but gently prying, as if you cared enough to know.
He nodded again, the lines of his face deepening. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
But it was. It always was. He wanted to tell you about the things he’d seen, the horrors that kept him up at night, the way his hands shook sometimes when he thought of the lives he couldn’t save. He wanted to tell you everything, to lay his sins bare before you and ask if there was still some shred of humanity left in him worth saving.
Instead, he said nothing, only watching as you slid the glass across the counter, your fingers lingering for a moment longer than usual.
“You don’t have to stay so late, you know,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with something softer.
“And miss our nightly walk to my car? Never.” You grinned, and the sight of it almost undid him.
He chuckled, low and quiet, shaking his head. “One of these days, you’re gonna figure out I’m not the saint you think I am.”
“Good thing I don’t believe in saints,” you teased, your eyes glinting with mischief.
He didn’t respond, couldn’t, because the weight of your words hit him harder than any bullet ever could. If you didn’t believe in saints, what did that make him? A man of war and ruin, standing in the presence of something too pure for the likes of him.
The night went on, the bar emptying save for the two of you. The low hum of the jukebox filled the silence, spinning some crackling tune that neither of you were paying much attention to. You were wiping down the counter, the rhythm of your hands steady, purposeful, when you stopped suddenly and glanced at him.
“Would you mind if I had a drink?” you asked, voice soft but curious, as though you were half-afraid to disrupt the stillness.
His brow lifted just slightly, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. “Don’t you have to drive?”
“It’s just lemonade,” you replied with a grin. “You know I’m too much of a goody two-shoes for anything stronger when I’ve got my keys in my bag.”
His lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through the rough lines of his face. “Figures.”
You poured yourself a glass, the pale yellow liquid catching the light as you slid onto the stool across from him. For a moment, you sat in comfortable silence, the bar seeming even smaller now, more intimate, as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist.
“So,” you began, swirling your straw idly. “How’s Simon? Haven’t seen him around in a while.”
Price’s fingers tightened slightly around his glass, though the motion was barely perceptible. “He’s alright. Busy, same as always.”
“Is he coming to pick you up tonight?” you asked, tilting your head, eyes sharp but kind.
He hesitated, his silence betraying the answer before he spoke. “Not tonight.”
Your brow furrowed, and he could see the concern blooming in your expression. “John…”
“I’ll call a cab,” he said, cutting you off gently but firmly. “Don’t worry about me, Darlin'.”
But of course, you did. You always did.
“You know I can’t just leave you here alone,” you said, setting your glass down with a quiet clink. “What if it takes forever for a cab to show up? Or worse, what if you decide to walk home?”
“I can handle myself,” he replied, his voice gruff but not unkind.
“I know you can,” you said quickly, leaning forward just enough for your sincerity to shine through. “But you don’t have to. Not tonight.”
He sighed, the sound low and deep, as though carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “And what do you propose, love? That I crash here for the night?”
“No,” you said simply, standing now, your lemonade forgotten. “You’ll come with me.”
His brows shot up, the surprise clear in his eyes. “To your place?”
“Yes,” you said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve got a couch. It’s not the Ritz, but it’s better than staying here all night or waiting for some overpriced cab.”
Price hesitated, his gaze dropping to the counter, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. “I can't do that, Darlin'. Don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not, John. And you will” you said firmly, your tone brooking no argument. “You’ve walked me to my car more times than I can count. Let me return the favor, in a way.”
He looked up at you then, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find the catch. But there was none. Just you, standing there with that determined look on your face, as though you’d made up your mind and there was no use in trying to change it.
“Alright,” he said finally, the word gruff but tinged with something softer. Gratitude, maybe. “But only if you’re sure.”
———
And you were sure. Quite, infact. So much so, that the weathered man from your bar, had ended up on your living room couch.
The room was small but warm, filled with the soft hum of a space heater and the faint scent of lavender from a candle you’d lit earlier. The couch creaked slightly under his weight as he sat down, his broad shoulders slumping in a way that made him look impossibly tired. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely as he took in his surroundings.
It was modest but unmistakably yours—eclectic furniture, shelves lined with books and trinkets, a throw blanket draped over the arm of the couch that smelled faintly of vanilla. It was cozy, lived-in, a stark contrast to the harsh sterility of his world.
“You’ve got a nice place,” he said, his voice low, almost gravelly in the quiet.
“Thank you'" you replied, setting a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him. “It’s nothing.. fancy. But it works for me.”
“It suits you,” he added, glancing up at you. The words hung in the air, weighing more than he probably intended, but you only smiled.
“Well, make yourself at home,” you said, stepping back slightly and tucking your arms across your chest- wrapped around the comfortable house-coat you'd changed into almost as soon as he was in the door. “I mean, as much as a six-foot-something military man can on a loveseat.”
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, and it softened his features in a way that made your heart ache just a little. “I’ve slept in worse places. Don’t worry about me.”
Still, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt as you watched him lean back, the couch protesting under his solid frame. His head tilted slightly, and for a moment, he just closed his eyes, as if trying to let the quiet seep into his bones.
“Do you want anything?” you asked after a beat, your voice quieter now. “Tea, coffee? Something stronger?”
He shook his head, eyes still closed. “No, love. This is more than enough.”
You lingered in the doorway of the kitchen for a moment, watching him. There was something about seeing him here, in your space, that felt almost surreal. Like he didn’t quite belong, and yet... he did.
“John?”
His eyes opened slowly, piercing blue cutting through the dim light as they met yours. “Yeah?”
“You don’t have to sit out here, you know,” you said hesitantly, biting the inside of your cheek. “The couch isn’t exactly the most comfortable. You can take the bed if you want.”
He shook his head again, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, sweetheart.”
“You wouldn’t be kicking me out,” you argued lightly, stepping closer now. “I’d just—”
“Stop,” he said softly, but firmly, his gaze holding yours. “Darlin'. I’ll be fine. Really.”
There was a weight in his words, an unspoken boundary you could sense but didn’t dare cross. You nodded, though a part of you still itched to argue.
“..Alright,” you relented, stepping back. “But if you change your mind.. you know where it is.”
He nodded once, his eyes following you as you moved to turn off the lights. The room fell into a soft darkness, the only illumination now coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside the window, casting over his hunched over frame, making him seem much larger than he truly was. Highlighting his burdens.
“Goodnight, John,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.” he replied, his tone equally quiet, as if he were afraid to disturb the fragile calm that had settled between you.
As you retreated to your room, the sound of his steady breathing lingered in your ears, grounding you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. For the first time in a long time, you felt safe— and for the first time in a long time, John slept.
John slept, not on the ground— not laid against some wall, somewhere. Not on your couch. As he got up, breaching the inevitable, his footsteps were near-silent against the floor, hesitation weighing heavy in his chest. Stupid, he thought—stupid not to take the invitation, stupid to keep himself at arm’s length when everything he wanted was just beyond that door.
That night, as he slipped into bed beside you, his presence careful but undeniable, he opened Pandora's box— sweeter than anything he's ever tasted on his tongue.
#call of duty#modern warefare ii#call of duty fandom#captain john price#john price#captain price#call of duty fanfic#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#captain john price x female reader#fanfic#fanfiction#my writing#writers on tumblr#cod modern warfare#cod john price#cod captain price#cod x reader#cod mw2#cod#cod fanfic#cod fic
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oh my god m thinking about headlocks midfuck
#toji maybe#ougghh price#john price#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk headcanons#toji fushiguro#captain john price x reader
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This is so adorable!
PINK RIBBONS!
Summary: Sneakily taking pictures of them without noticing and putting it to your pfp in all social media account you have lol
Tf141 x fem!Reader (Platonic)
A/n: 4/10 cod fics posted. Fuck.
Finally, for once, there was no mission to overthink your heads, just a rare, cherished day of freetime. You leaned back on the couch, phone in hand, the screen illuminating your face as you tried to stifle a grin.
“Oi, what’s got you giggling like a schoolgirl?” Soap questioned, his arms crossed as he stood in the doorway. His curiosity was clear in the way his brow quirked, though he hadn’t quite pieced together what you were up to just yet.
“Oh, nothing,” you replied innocently, tucking your phone out of view. But the smirk on your face wasn’t fooling anyone.
Ghost glanced up briefly, “That’s the kind of ‘nothing’ that usually gets someone into rouble,” he said.
“Whatever it is, she’s probably up to no good,” Price said as he entered the room. He set his tea down on the table. Glancing at you like he could see you were acting suspicious.
“Right,” Gaz chimed in with a laugh, leaning back in his chair. “What are you planing this time?”
You shrugged, trying to play it cool. But they weren’t wrong. You were up to something. The truth was, over the past weeks, you’d been sneakily snapping pictures of them when they don’t notice, Soap grinning like a maniac while making coffee, Price’s concentrated expression while reading a newspaper, Gaz laughing at a joke, and even Ghost peacefully cleaning his gun. You’d taken the liberty of adding vute, pink ribbon sticker to their faces and turning it into profile pictures for every single one of your social media apps.
It wasn’t malicious, of course. You adored them all, and this was your way of showing it .
The first person to catch on was Soap. He quinted at you, tilting his head .”Wait a minute- Did you change your profile picture on that chat app we use? Thought I saw my ugly mug on there.”
“It’s not ugly, Johnny,” you teased. “I made you look adorable.”
“Adorable?” Soap sputtered, “What the hell did you do to my face, lass?”
Price raised an eyebrow. “Johnny’s face? What’s this about?”
“Oh, don’t worry captain,” you said sweetly. “You’ve got one too. With a pink bow~”
Gaz laughs on his chair, “you’re joking.
”Ghost finally spoke. “...Tell me you didn’t.”
You met his gaze, smiling. “You look great with it”
Price pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stifle a laugh. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Maybe,” you admitted, “but come on. Don’t act like it’s not funny.”
Soap lunged for your phone, but you were too quick, hiding it behind your back. “Gimme that, you wee menace!” he shouted,
“Nope!” you laughed, darting behind the couch. “You’ll have to catch me first!”
Ghost sighed, “I’m surrounded by children.”
“Alright, enough. Let her have her fun. Beside, it’s not like anyone else is going to see those pictures.” Price said,
You then coughed awkwardly, your guilty expression giving away. (actually not guilty)
“Wait-” Gaz said, narrowing his eyes. “...You didn’t.”
“Oh, she did,” Soap said, realization drawing. “You bloody did, didn’t you?”
“Well,” you said, inching toward the door, “I might’ve set them as my profile pictures…everywhere-”
There was a collective groan, follow by Soap dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. “You’re gonne be the death of me.”
Reblogs w/comments are appreciated! You can support me through buying me a coffee!
#x reader#cod x reader#cod#captain john price x reader#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#tf 141 x reader#johnny mctavish x reader#kayle garrick x reader#soap x reader
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Part 1 - The Beginning of the Chase
FT: John Price x Reader (Detective AU)
Warnings: Mentions of murder, detailed crime scene descriptions, psychological stress, and mild language.
Word Count: 1,370
SUM: On your first day at the precinct, you’re paired with the seasoned and no-nonsense Detective John Price. What begins as an overwhelming whirlwind of learning quickly turns into a high-stakes murder investigation. As you navigate the cryptic clues and mounting pressure, you uncover a chilling pattern and form an unlikely bond with Price. Can you keep up, or will the weight of the case break you before the killer does?
A/N: First-day jitters and a dash of murder—what could go wrong? 😅🔍 Buckle up for some tension, crime-solving, and a sprinkle of emotional bonding. Enjoy!
Love Kills Masterlist
The precinct loomed ahead, a monolithic building of steel and glass reflecting the dull gray of a morning sky heavy with rain. You paused at the entrance, heart pounding with the weight of ambition and anxiety. This was it. Your first day. The culmination of years of both study and sacrifice. But the reality was heavier than you’d expected, pressing against your chest like a stone.
Squaring your shoulders, you stepped through the glass doors. They whispered shut behind you, sealing out the quiet hum of the city and enveloping you in a world alive with sound and motion. Phones rang incessantly. Voices rose and fell in sharp, clipped bursts. The rhythmic tapping of fingers on keyboards echoed like raindrops against pavement. A faint scent of stale coffee and worn leather lingered, grounding the chaos.
You tightened your grip on your bag’s strap, forcing your pulse to steady as you navigated the maze of desks. Then came the voice—sharp, gravelly, and commanding enough to slice through the cacophony.
“You the rookie?”
The man behind the voice barely looked up from his desk, a chaotic landscape of papers, coffee cups, and files. His voice sliced through the hum of the office, but something in the way his eyes flicked over you—quick, calculating—made your heart race. He’s watching me, you thought, but pushed the feeling away. Detective John Price. You recognized him from the briefing file: a seasoned investigator with a reputation for results and a gruff, no-nonsense demeanor.
“Yes, sir,” you managed, your voice steadier than you felt.
He huffs softly, nodding for you to follow. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”
The rest of the morning was a whirlwind. Price moved like a man on borrowed time, his brusque efficiency matched only by the weight of his presence. You trailed him like a shadow, absorbing every name, every face, every corner of the precinct he pointed out. You notice it in the way he navigates conversations, diffusing tension with a quick retort or a sharp glance. His observations were precise, his corrections quick but never cruel.
“Pay attention to details,” he muttered at one point, his voice softer than expected. “It’s the small things that make or break a case.”
By mid-afternoon, the day shifted abruptly. A folder landed on your desk with a sharp slap, the sound startling in its intensity.
“Get your coat,” Price said, already halfway to the door. “We’ve got a scene.”
The crime scene was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that seemed to press against your skin. Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze, marking the boundary between normalcy and the macabre. The air was cold, biting through your jacket as you followed Price into the apartment.
“What do we know?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
Price stands near the doorway, scanning the room with a hunter’s gaze. “Female. Late twenties. No forced entry, no noise complaints from the neighbors. Just her—dead—and that.” He pointed to a single wilted flower lying on the floor beside the victim.
The apartment was unnaturally tidy, every object meticulously arranged as if cataloged by an unseen hand. The victim lay crumpled on the living room carpet, her lifeless eyes frozen in an expression of terror. The flower—a delicate thing with curling, decayed petals—seemed an insult against the sterile order of the scene.
“Why a flower?” you murmured, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.
Price shot you a glance, his expression unreadable. “Could be a signature. Could be a message.”
He crouched beside the victim, his gloved fingers skimming the edge of the carpet. “Name’s Clara Jensen. Teacher. No signs of struggle. Whoever did this knew her—or at least knew how to avoid suspicion.”
“Neighbors?” you asked.
“Start gathering evidence,” he said, standing abruptly. “I’ll handle the neighbors.”
The hours blurred into a relentless rhythm of photographs, measurements, and observations. The scent of bleach mingled with the faint iron tang of blood, embedding itself in your nose. As the details piled up, so did the questions. There was something chillingly methodical about the scene, a deliberate order that felt more like a statement than an accident.
Over the next few days, the picture sharpened—and darkened. Clara wasn’t the first victim. She was part of a pattern, a series of killings tied together by meticulous precision and the same haunting calling cards: a flower, a note, a harmless trinket left behind. The killer was taunting you, leaving breadcrumbs that felt both maddeningly obvious and insurmountably cryptic.
Price’s desk became a war zone. Photos, maps, statements, and timelines collided in a chaotic symphony that mirrored the growing urgency of the case. He pushed you hard, his relentless questions forcing you to think critically, to challenge your assumptions.
Price’s eyes lingered on the victim’s photo for a second longer than necessary before he flipped it over. There was something in the way his jaw tightened that spoke louder than words. He’s not just doing his job, you realized. This is personal.
“Why this victim?” he pressed one evening, slapping a photo onto the table. “What’s the connection?”
You stared at the image, frustration bubbling under your skin. “There isn’t one—at least not on the surface. But the flowers… they mean something.”
He nodded, his expression hardening. “Then find out what.”
Late nights bled into early mornings. You spent countless hours poring over files, every lead a thin thread that unraveled before you could grasp it. The victims haunted your thoughts, their faces etched into your mind like ghosts. Price, despite his gruff exterior, became a steady presence, his dry humor and sharp wit a lifeline in the storm.
One night, as the precinct emptied around you, he leaned against your desk, a rare softness in his eyes.
“You holding up?” he asked.
You hesitated, the truth weighing heavy. “I can’t stop seeing their faces.”
“It doesn’t go away,” he said quietly. “But you can’t carry it alone. Let it fuel you, not drown you.”
The days pressed on, each new victim tightening the knot of urgency in your chest. The killer was always a step ahead, slipping through your grasp like smoke. But amidst the chaos, a bond began to form—a partnership forged in the crucible of late nights and shared burdens. Price’s unyielding determination became your anchor, and your growing instincts earned his respect.
“We’re getting close,” he said one evening, his voice edged with conviction.
“You really believe that?” you asked, your exhaustion making the words sharper than you intended.
He met your gaze, unflinching. “I have to. So do you.”
The case consumed you, every detail a puzzle piece you couldn’t afford to misplace. The killer’s game was escalating, their taunts growing bolder, their moves more calculated. And with each step, the weight of failure loomed heavier.
But you didn’t falter. You couldn’t. Every sleepless night, every frayed nerve, every dead end was a reminder of what was at stake. Lives depended on you—on your ability to see what others couldn’t, to find the thread that would unravel the killer’s plan.
And as Price’s words echoed in your mind, you clung to them like a lifeline: “Trust your instincts. They’ll save your life in this job.”
For better or worse, you were in the game now. And you weren’t backing down.
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#detective romance#crime thriller#partners to lovers#detective au#captain john price x reader#captain price x reader#captain john price#captain price#cod#call of duty#bt extra#fanfic#cod fic#gn reader#john price#price#price x reader#price x you#love kills#detective john price#detective price#detective reader
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Sigh 😕 (changes font to orange)
I feel like being messy so here we go. Like there are so many John fucks the Nanny fics and I love them...but what about John who enters an entanglement (iykyk lol) with a reader and he's just so damn manipulative. IDK 🤷🏾♀️
Pairing: Married!John Price x reader
Title: Missed Call
It's a well-known fact that military men keep a woman at home and a woman on the field. You didn't know he was married until three months into this relationship, and his wife called. He left his phone on the bedside table while he went and showered. Her picture was on the screen, a smiling woman with bright eyes. A pit formed in your stomach, and you watched as the call stopped and the screen went black.
Part of you wanted to crash out immediately, but this was a highly trained military man. He could hurt you, do some serious damage. So, instead, you sat there quietly and waited. When John came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped low on his waist, and he approached you at your vanity. The two of you were supposed to be getting ready to have a nice dinner before he had to leave.
His lips brushed against your cheek, "You're usually halfway ready by now, love." He isn't wrong. By now, you would be setting your edges and patting on powder under your eyes.
You give him a sneer and side eye, "Mrs. Price called."
That effectively sucks the air out of him, and he gives you a pinched look. His normally bright eyes are a bit dark like this, and unfortunately, you find that attractive. It doesn't detract from the fact that you are three months into this relationship, and he has been lying each time.
"You didn't think to tell me that you were fucking married John?" You stand up and step away from him. Tightening your silk robe around you as you go. "Just who do you think you are!?"
He doesn't say anything at first, like he's letting you get your anger out of your system. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs slowly. "We're separated...Love I wouldn't do something like that to you."
He seems so apologetic, brows furrowed in that adorable way when he's disappointed or sad. Closing the gap between you two, he brushes the back of his hand against your cheek. Instead of leaning into his touch like you normally did, you stepped away from him again.
"This is over, get out." You hiss lowly at him. You and him both know you can't actually make him do anything. "Take all your stuff with you, and don't come back!"
"Love be rational, you know I absolutely love you, would do anything for you." He doesn't really let you get far from him. His hand is already on your wrist and pulls you into him. "Love, my darling Love, listen to me." He grips your chin softly to angle your gaze towards him. He frowns at the tears that are collecting at the corner of your eyes. "I would never do anything to hurt you."
He leans in slowly and presses his lips against yours. It's the same as all kisses are between you two... only this time there's a guilt ridden pit in your stomach. You close your eyes, acting on muscle memory, and lean into him when he wraps his other arm around your waist.
"You promise you're separated and divorcing her?" You whisper to him between kisses. Your lidded eyes stare at him and he just smiles at you.
"Yes, love." He says back to you, "Now go ahead and finish getting ready." He lets go of you and gently nudges you back to your vanity. "I don't want us to miss our reservation."
You go back to getting ready, calmer now. The little peach pit of guilt overwritten by his sweetness. If you paid attention even a bit, you'd have seen him messaging back his wife.
👀 part 2?
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bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.
wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)
fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!
falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.
they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.
#call of duty x reader#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern whorefare#task force 141#poly!141#poly 141#john price#captain john price x you#captain john price x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#john mactavish#john soap mactavish x you#john soap mactavish x reader#john mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish#captain johnathan price#kyle gaz garrick#kyle gaz garrick x you#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle garrick x reader#kyle garrick x fem!reader#kyle garrick#shifter!au#shifter au
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Absolutely cannot have fresh shaved/waxed pussy around the 141 boys.
Soap will cry over it, mourning the loss of your bush and "talking his girl(your pussy) through the loss" ie fingering you until you're soaked and sore as punishment.
Price will make it his mission to give you beard burn, shaking his head like a damn dog while he's eating you out, scratching the hell out of your pussy and thighs with his beard. He's trying to bleach the damn thing you just know it.
Ghost is the worst. Taking the opportunity to leave his dental imprint in the soft flesh surrounding your clit. He's going to bite until you're sobbing just to see the dimpled marks he's left.
At least Gaz is sweet. Pressing little kisses over the newly shaved/waxed skin, giving your clit soft little licks and pulling back to rub his fingers against your clit with gentle praises. Until you realize he's been doing that for the last hour, giving you just enough to keep you making those nice breathy noises but never giving you more. Maybe you should try Soap again...
#cod x reader#x reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#john soap mactavish#john mactavish x reader#soap x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#captain john price x reader#captain john price#price x reader#f!reader#this may or may not be based on real events#but ill let yiy try to figure out which it is
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