#Captain Price x OFC

[kanellebullar]

Cpt. John Price and his medic, Birdie Hall

[msilwrites]

Papa and Mama Bear's Dinner (Short, not so short, but funny maybe I'll make a part 2, where they pack leftovers?!!!) - (Captain Price Fic)

(A/N): Hi guys! For those enjoying Papa Bear content, here's a fun peek into the future! This short story is set after Captain Price has already won you (Y/N!) over, and the two of you are now engaged after a few years of dating. This idea popped into my head during lunch, and I just had to share it. Hope you enjoy this playful little story of domestic chaos with Price and the team! 😄

@darkangel4121 @teenagellamaangel @madzzz0797 @callsignferal (To the other's who want to me tagged when there's an update, just tell me at the comments) (I think you folks might like this one, so I also tagged you, lol!)

Warning: Don't read when you're hungry.

���😄😄😄😄

Summary: In this story set after Captain Price’s retirement, the team initially plans to watch the Rugby Finals at an overcrowded pub. The drinks would be great, but the food? Not so much—the pub’s kitchen struggles with the game-day crowd. Seeing an opportunity, you (Y/N) offer to host everyone at your flat instead, promising good company, warm food, and a much more relaxed atmosphere -- the idea quickly wins everyone over.

As the evening unfolds, Price notices something that sets his teeth on edge: Gaz seems far too familiar with your kitchen. From finding spices in seconds to recommending a snack from your pantry to Simon and Roach, Gaz navigates the space like he owns it. Gaz’s familiarity with your pantry brings a weight to his chest. It’s not just the casual remarks or the ease with which Gaz knows where everything is—it’s the memories behind them, ones Price wasn’t part of. Whilst Price raises an eyebrow, his jaw tightening and Simon, who’s been quietly observing, nervously whispers to Gaz when they were out of the Captains earshot.

Simon mutters, “You’re brave, Gaz. You sure the Captain won’t throw you out for knowing more about her pantry than he does?”

Oblivious to the drama, you continue cooking while the tension builds. Eventually, Price intervenes, banishing Gaz, Simon and Roach from your kitchen with a quiet but firm command. The lads settle in to watch the game, but Price’s protective streak stays strong—he may be retired from active duty, but when it comes to you, he’s still the Captain.

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Price pushed the door open, holding it wide for the rest of the team as the rich aroma of cooking food wafted through the air. The comforting scent of spices and baked dishes immediately drew approving murmurs from Simon and Roach.

“Smells like a proper feast,” Simon remarked, glancing around the space.

The flat itself was as inviting as the meal promised to be—warm lighting, carefully arranged decor, and an undeniable sense of personality in every detail. It was unmistakably your space, filled with charm and practicality.

“Nice place,” Roach commented, running a hand over the back of a sleek armchair.

Gaz, however, wasted no time pointing down the hall toward your studio. “Kitchen’s this way, lads,” he said, already moving. “Trust me, I’ve been here plenty. Back when our circle used to do dinner rotations.”

Price, following closely behind, narrowed his eyes at Gaz’s casual familiarity. “I’m not so possessive, Gaz, that I’d stop your lot from having dinner here,” he said, his voice laced with amusement but edged with something sharper.

Gaz only smirked but said nothing, though Simon and Roach exchanged knowing glances behind him. They knew better than to comment, and all knew the truth—Price was more than a little protective when it came to you.

The group reached the kitchen, where the sight of you bustling between pots and trays greeted them. You had a towel slung over your shoulder, your movements efficient but relaxed as you checked the oven and stirred something on the stove.

“Simon! Roach!” you called out with a bright grin, pausing long enough to give them a wave before turning your attention to Gaz. “And you,” you teased, smacking Gaz on the chest with your dish towel as he laughed.

“Good to see you too,” Gaz laughed, leaning in for a quick hug. “Anything I can help with?”

You gestured toward the stove. “You know the drill. Two pots, two trays—one set of hands isn’t enough.”

Without hesitation, Gaz rolled up his sleeves, already grabbing the spatula by the stove. Price stood at the doorway, watching as you and Gaz fell into an easy rhythm. His jaw tightened slightly as Gaz pointed out where to find something in the pantry, like it was second nature to him.

Simon leaned closer to Roach, murmuring under his breath. “Think the Captain’s regretting that open-door policy now?”

Roach stifled a laugh. “He’ll be fine… probably.”

But the flicker of irritation in Price’s eyes suggested otherwise. He leaned against the doorframe, watching closely as Gaz moved with a little too much familiarity for his liking.

“You’re out of the hosting rotation now,” Gaz mentioned casually to Simon and Roach as he stirred the pot, a relaxed grin on his face. “But back in the day, this place was the spot. She’s got the best pantry setup—you wouldn’t believe the preserves she’s got stashed. There’s a jar of spiced pears over there, and those chili flakes? She dries and crushes them herself.”

As he pointed toward various items in the kitchen, Simon leaned toward Roach, keeping his voice low. “Think the Captain’s gonna be thrilled hearing all that?”

Roach glanced at Price, whose jaw was set a little tighter than before. The Captain’s eyes tracked every move Gaz made as he spoke, as if weighing the words against some unspoken tally.

“Not a chance,” Roach muttered, sharing a knowing glance with Simon.

“Pickle jars, jams, chutneys,” Gaz continued, completely oblivious to the quiet tension building in the kitchen. “Remember that pear and ginger one, Simon? The one the Captain brought? That was amazing. Oh, and the—”

“Gaz,” Price interrupted, his voice calm but carrying a subtle edge. “Why don’t you let her tell ‘em herself instead of narrating her entire pantry?”

“Oh, hehehe…” Gaz laughed awkwardly, a little embarrassed, but clearly unbothered. He then turned to you, grinning. “Right, sorry, forgot where I was for a second.”

“Ah yes, speaking of which, can I offer you lot an appetizer while the main food is cooking?” you asked, setting down your knife and wiping your hands on a towel. The boys nodded eagerly. They’d heard from Gaz about how good your cooking was, and they weren’t about to pass up a taste.

“Gaz, you know where my fruit candy preserves and chips are, right?” you asked, turning toward him as you began chopping ingredients for the sauce. “Help me get the jar and share with the lot.”

Without missing a beat, Gaz led Simon and Roach to the pantry, where the shelves were meticulously arranged, filled with jars of all sizes, some labeled neatly, others just waiting for the right moment to be cracked open. Spices, jams, chutneys, preserves—everything was neatly organized, just as he had described.

“Mate, this place is amazing,” Simon remarked, taking in the neatly organized shelves and rows of different jars filled with a variety of preserved food. “Gaz wasn’t hyping it up, was he? This is a setup!!”

“You weren’t exaggerating, huh?” Roach added, his eyes wide as he scanned the stocked shelves. “I thought you were just being dramatic, but this is something else.”

Gaz grinned, puffing out his chest in mock pride. “I told you so!!” he said, before turning back to the shelf containing an array of different chips, clearly delighted to see everyone impressed by your pantry, and now they know that he wasn't hyping it up.

“Simon, can you reach the higher shelf?” Gaz asked, looking at his friend with a smirk. “I need that candied fruit, the one in the glass jar at the back.”

Simon obligingly reached up and grabbed the jar, while Gaz pulled down another one from a lower shelf—this one containing your homemade lentil spiced chips. He handed one jar to Roach, took the other for himself, knowing full well that it would probably be gone in 15 minutes or less with how good it was.

As they made their way back to the kitchen, Simon gave Gaz a sideways glance, still holding the jar of candied fruit. “You’re brave, Gaz,” he said with a chuckle, knowing exactly how the Captain was likely reacting. “You sure the Captain won’t throw you out for knowing more about her pantry than he does?”

Gaz’s grin faltered for a second as he looked over at Price, who had his arms crossed and was watching the entire exchange with narrowed eyes.

The Captain's expression was somewhere between a smile and something more dangerous, a look that had all three of them feeling like they might’ve overstepped.

Suddenly, a voice rang out from the kitchen, breaking the tension.

“Gaz, Simon? Roach?!! Did you guys find it?!!”

It was Y/N’s voice, calling them back. Without missing a beat, the three of them hurried toward the kitchen, eager to escape Price’s now-not-so-friendly glare. They all knew that look too well—the one that could only mean trouble. As they filed into the kitchen, they couldn’t help but chuckle under their breath, but the Captain’s gaze followed them like a hawk, and the smile on his face only seemed to sharpen.

Y/N moved quickly, pulling out a jar of preserved tomatoes from one of her neatly organized shelves. She took the flat side of the knife and crushed the boiled softened tomatoes in a bowl. “You guys fine with salsa for the chips?” she called out, as she set the jar back and grabbed a jar of chilli.

“Oh yes! Of course, salsa is perfect!” Roach said with enthusiasm.

“I know, right? Those lentil chips go perfectly with it,” Gaz added, eyeing the jar of chips he’d just pulled out.

Y/N then reached for an onion and said, “Gaz, help me crush the tomatoes, and add some paste. Also, dice the onion for the salsa.” She set a jar candle on the counter and lit it, the flickering flame casting a soft light on the kitchen.

Simon and Roach both stopped in their tracks and looked at each other with puzzled expressions. “What’s with the candle?” Simon asked.

Gaz, who had seen this trick many times before, grinned and quickly explained, “Oh! She lights the candle so we won’t cry when chopping the onions.”

Roach raised an eyebrow. “Really? Is that actually a thing?”

Gaz nodded. “Yep, it’s all about the science of it. The flame absorbs the sulfuric compounds that get released when you cut onions. They’re what make you tear up. The candle helps trap those gases before they can reach your eyes.”

Y/N gave a small smile as she turned her attention back to the oven, where the mac and cheese was now giving off an irresistible aroma. “It works every time,” she said.

“Oh my gosh, that smells amazing!!” Simon exclaimed, his attention now completely on the food.

Gaz and Roach, following the plan, got busy chopping the lime to add zest to the salsa, just as Gaz had recommended earlier. Simon was busy crushing the tomatoes, and together, they finished making the salsa.

Gaz quickly cleaned up, putting the chopping board and knife into the dishwasher while Y/N took the tray of mac and cheese from the oven. The golden-brown crust bubbled slightly, and the whole room was filled with the savory, mouth-watering aroma of the dish. Everyone paused for a moment, letting the scent wash over them before Y/N placed the tray on the counter.

"Okay, Gaz and you lot, help me slice this," Y/N said, eyeing the mac and cheese tray. She mentally calculated how many squares it could have. "I say eight even slices?!"

"Oh, of course!" Simon eagerly agreed, reaching for the tray and passing it to Gaz, who was already holding the knife.

"The garlic bread and the pumpkin tomato soup should be ready soon, yeah?!" Y/N added, checking the pot of soup and giving it a quick stir to taste, wondering if it needed any more spices.

"You lot like beer?!" she asked, her attention split between stirring the soup and deciding on the seasoning.

"Oh, hell yeah!!" Roach replied, giving a quick grin.

"Don't mind if I do!" Simon chimed in playfully, his deep voice carrying the usual hint of humor.

"Oooooh!!! She has the best beer selection!" Gaz grinned, eyeing the fridge. "But what do you have in stock now, Y/N?!"

"I’ve got Erdinger, Paulaner, Kirin, some craft beer, Hitachino, Brewlander, Young Master, a bunch of IPAs... Oh! I have Hazy IPA!!!" Y/N listed off, knowing the group loved that particular brew.

"OOOOHHH!! Quick, Roach, that’s her liquor fridge!" Gaz pointed dramatically across the room. "Take the bottles that say HAZY!!"

Roach eagerly made his way to the fridge, his eyes widening at the selection of drinks. Meanwhile, Simon got to work, setting out plates and utensils, readying them for the group.

"Which one? There are too many Hazys!!" Roach exclaimed, his mouth hanging agape as he scanned the liquor closet and fridge attached to it, which was stocked with everything from wine and rare whiskey to rare bourbon and a wide variety of beers.

"Read to me what’s there!" Y/N called out from the stove as she dropped broccoli into the fryer for an additional snack, the noise of oil crackling was too loud. The chips were now all gone, just as Gaz had predicted, and Simon had been snacking steadily while helping in the kitchen.

"Beezer," Roach began reading aloud from the fridge. "'Hazy Little Thing,' 'Black Hops,' 'Behemoth'..."

"Beezer!!" Gaz and Y/N said in unison, both recognizing it as a top-tier choice. They exchanged a quick, eager look.

"But there’s only three left," Roach added, glancing at the remaining bottles.

"That’s fine, you lot can have the Beezer," Y/N said with a wave of her hand. "Pass me a Hitachino, the one with the blue label, Roach, thank you!" She then pulled the deep-fried broccoli from the fryer, placing them on a tissue-lined bowl to drain the excess oil.

Roach grabbed the bottles, turning to Simon for help opening them. Gaz, meanwhile, kept his focus on the mac and cheese, carefully slicing the tray into even pieces.

Simon popped the cap off the Hitachino and handed it to Y/N with a grin. "For the lady boss first," he said, offering the chilled bottle.

"Thanks, Simon," Y/N replied with a smile. As she took the bottle, he caught a glimpse of Price. His sharp gaze was enough to make Simon feel like he'd just made a grave mistake, and he quickly retreated back to the group, taking a sip of his beer to avoid further confrontation.

Roach had finished setting the chips in a bowl and placed the freshly made salsa beside it, ready for everyone to dive in.

“Garlic bread is ready!! And the fried chicken has cooled down!” Y/N announced, the kitchen now filled with the mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked garlic bread. The men’s mouths watered, eyes widening as she placed the golden-brown bread on the table, followed by a bowl of crispy fried chicken, still steaming.

"There’s potato salad in the fridge, Roach. Can you grab the container?" she asked, her hands busy finishing the last touches.

Roach eagerly went to the fridge.

“Okay, Gaz, help me slice the garlic bread into… hmmm, eight slices, I think eight should be good!” she said, eyeing the loaf.

“Of course!!” Gaz responded, his eyes already on the food.

“And Simon, can you help me take this to the living room so you lot can eat while you watch the game? Who else is coming? I know some are running late.”

Before anyone could answer, Roach chimed in from the fridge, “Which one is the potato salad?”

Y/N smiled. “The one with the blue ceramic container, the large one! You guys don’t mind taking some home later, right? I made a lot.”

“Definitely!! Oh my gosh, I missed having that!” Gaz sighed, already excited.

The others nodded, knowing how much they loved her cooking.

“Alright, it’s settled then!” Y/N said, before she and Simon began hauling the dishes to the living room. Meanwhile, Kyle and Roach were trying to figure out how to slice the garlic bread.

Simon returned to the kitchen and looked at the bread. “Eh? You’re not done with that yet?”

“The surface is soft, so it won’t really slice evenly,” Roach explained, watching Kyle trying to figure out the best way to slice it.

“We need a bread knife!” Gaz said seriously, seeing the problem at hand.

“Do you know where the bread knife is, Gaz? I’ll grab it,” Simon offered.

Before Simon could move, the unmistakable presence of Captain Price filled the doorway. His trademark “evil ominous smile,” the one that always appeared during interrogations, was firmly in place.

Simon and Roach winced, stepping back as Price slowly advanced towards them. Gaz was still holding the knife, looking just a little too comfortable with it.

“Simon, the bread knife is—” Gaz started, but was immediately interrupted as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up, meeting Price’s intense gaze, and instantly knew: this wasn’t going to end well.

Price’s smile tightened, eyes narrowing dangerously. The air grew thick with tension.

“Take a seat, mate… You’re my guests. You lot shouldn’t be doing the work,” Price said, his voice calm, but there was a steel edge to it that made everyone stiffen.

Simon and Roach exchanged a nervous glance, their faces pale. They both swallowed, unsure of what Price would do next.

“Alright, go on, get yourselves to the living room,” Price added, his tone now firm with unmistakable finality. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Relieved to avoid further confrontation, Gaz, Simon, and Roach quickly retreated to the living room, muttering about needing a break from chopping and slicing. They stumbled over their words as they fled, grateful to be out of the line of fire—for now.

Y/N stepped into the living room, freshly returned from the washroom, where she’d rid herself of the lingering onion smell that had clung to her arms. Her eyes furrowed as she saw the three men sitting together in an unusually stiff and quiet manner. They looked like toddlers who had just been scolded. Her lips pursed with concern as she walked to the side of the couch. “You lot okay? Why are you not eating and drinking?” she asked, her voice laced with worry. They were all holding their beer bottles, sitting like soldiers on duty, clearly hungry but too stiff to touch the food on the coffee table. What was more, the TV was still off—this was not normal.

"Come on, lads! Relax!! Have your meal," she said with a playful but confused smile, giving them an obvious permission to dig in. It wasn’t like they needed it, but when she said it, they immediately jumped at the chance. Plates were filled with hearty portions: a slice of mac and cheese here, a handful of crispy fried chicken drumsticks there, fried broccoli, the last jar of lentil chips, and a bowl of pumpkin tomato soup for dipping their garlic bread, just as Gaz had recommended. They ate like hungry children, devouring everything in sight.

Y/N chuckled at the scene, but then her eyes narrowed slightly, noticing something wasn’t quite right. She fiddled with the remote and turned the volume of the game up. “I’m getting more beer. Is Paulaner okay? I’ve got more bottles of that.”

“Yes, boss! Thank you, boss!!” Simon said, the others echoing him in unison, their voices a little too eager.

Y/N tilted her head as she got a faint suspicion of what was going on. She noticed they had been unusually stiff earlier, like cadets waiting for their Commanding Officer to eat first. And now they were hungrily devouring everything in sight. Something wasn’t adding up, and she was getting a little suspicious. They had been so relaxed earlier, helping her in the kitchen—what happened?

Her eyes then landed on Price, who was now standing by the counter, wearing an apron that fit him just right. The dark brown apron, simple yet dashing, made him look like the kind of man who cooked for his partner with care. He was slicing the garlic bread, but one piece stood out—larger than the others, clearly reserved for himself. Y/N knew exactly what was going on in his head.

“John!! Darling!” Y/N called, walking over to him with a grin. Before she could say anything, he pulled her into a big, warm embrace. He leaned down to kiss her, peppering her face with quick, affectionate pecks, making her giggle uncontrollably.She bit her lip to stop herself from pointing out how uneven the slices were, but she knew it was pointless. Captain Price had that knack of getting away with things, always managing to charm his way out of any little slip-up. She knew she wouldn’t be able to say anything much or make an effective argument about it—he had already won Y/N over with that smile of his.

Y/N’s eyes fell on the large slice of garlic bread John had cut, clearly far bigger than the rest. She raised an eyebrow, smirking and couldn't help but finally remark, “Blimey, John, that slice’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

John’s grin widened as he gently took her hand. “Ah, love, that’s for both of us, don’t you worry,” he said, his voice smooth with affection. “The lads are big eaters, and I know you don’t want to go hungry. I’m just making sure my queen gets served first.”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a playful chuckle. “Mm, is that really true, or are you just trying to hogging portions for yourself?” she teased, nudging him lightly. “I know you’re a big eater, Captain.”

John’s grin didn’t falter. “I’m just looking out for you, love!!”

Y/N’s heart melted at his words, though she couldn’t resist teasing him a bit more. “Lucky you’re cute,” she said, “but next time, I’ll be the one cutting the bread.”

The three men in the background, now happily digging into their meal, glanced over at the scene. They couldn't help but be relieved, knowing the tension had shifted. They were back to eating in peace, no longer under the Captain's intense scrutiny.

Y/N grabbed John's hand and pulled him gently toward his favorite spot on the couch, making sure he was settled comfortably before adjusting the cushions with a satisfied pat. She couldn’t help but notice how the lads were acting a bit jumpy, exchanging uneasy glances and passing the plate of food to John with an odd sort of reverence, like they were handing over a sacred relic.

She raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. “What’s with you lot?” she asked, eyeing them suspiciously. “You look like you’re about to confess something. It’s just mac and cheese, lads. Nothing to be nervous about.”

The three of them froze, like deer caught in headlights. Roach cleared his throat nervously and tried to act casual. “Uh, just making sure everything’s perfect, you know, boss?”

Y/N narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, as she leaned against the doorframe. "Right… perfect, sure," she said dryly, watching as the lads passed John his plate. Their movements were stiff and overly careful, as though they were handling explosives rather than dinner. Her gaze lingered on the hefty portion they'd given him, one eyebrow arching slightly in suspicion.

John settled into the couch with a satisfied expression, immediately digging into his food. His lips quirked into a subtle, knowing smile as he glanced at her, but he said nothing. Y/N caught the look and narrowed her eyes further, her suspicions mounting. Something was definitely up.

She sighed, deciding to let it go for now. "Alright, alright," she said, her voice tinged with playful exasperation as she turned back toward the kitchen. "I'll grab the beers."

Her footsteps retreated, but her eyes lingered on the group, especially on John, for a moment longer. She filed away their behavior for later—she’d get the truth out of them eventually. For now, she grabbed the bottles of beer from the fridge, ready to join the group and keep an eye on the unfolding chaos.

The lads, visibly relieved as Y/N disappeared into the kitchen, finally let out the breaths they’d been holding. Plates were quickly reloaded with mac and cheese, fried chicken, and a handful of other treats as they dug in like starving recruits.

Their eyes, now safe from scrutiny, turned to the game on the telly. The opening minutes were underway, and a roar from the crowd on screen added to the room’s energy.

Kyle leaned forward, chewing on a piece of garlic bread as he muttered something about the team’s lineup. Roach nodded, pointing his fork at the screen in agreement, while Simon, still holding a drumstick, nodded approvingly at a tackle that got the commentators raving.

Not one of them dared glance back toward the kitchen door. The unspoken rule was clear: eat, and watch. Drawing the Captain’s attention or risking a summons back into Y/N’s kitchen wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

A/N: So… do you guys want a Part 2? Because I’ve been thinking: will the lads make it through the rest of the evening intact? Especially with John being all possessive about Y/N and her food. Let me know what you think—I’m excited to see where this chaotic, food-filled continuation goes! 😏

[sky-is-the-limit]

Gurl, I've got you.

If you are comfortable with it, I can imagine Gaz getting jealous, tying his partner to the bed (with their consent, obviously 😒) and fucking them like there's no tomorrow. (Sending this as an ask in case you wanna use it)

'Wicked Games'

P: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader

CW: Dom/Brat Tamer!Gaz, jealousy, possessiveness, handcuffs, face-fucking as punishment, rough oral sex

WC: 3.505 words (oops)

You were in the midst of getting ready, your reflection adorned in a sleek, tight black dress that hugged your curves in all the right places. With each movement, the fabric whispered against your skin, accentuating your figure with an air of confidence.

His eyes followed the graceful arc of your hand as you brushed a hint of blush onto your cheeks, the subtle flush of color only enhancing your natural beauty.

Despite his efforts to appear nonchalant, the tension simmered just beneath the surface. His gaze widened slightly at the sight of your attire,lingering on you with a hint of admiration and pride.

''He's just a colleague, Kyle.'' It was the third time you had to echo that sentence in a row, each word carefully enunciated with an exhausted sigh in between as the night drag on.

''Who's desperately trying to sleep with you, Y/N.'' Kyle's jaw tightened, his gaze hardening as he leaned himself against the doorframe to get a better look at you. 

The veil of calm that blanked his form wasn't enough to disguise the tension around you that could be cut with a knife.

''Okay, now you're overreacting.'' A quick glance away from your reflection in the mirror was enough to catch him rolling his eyes to your remark as you applied the finishing touches to your makeup.

Your arrival to your corporate's event was bound to be late from the moment you were about to settle on the outfit.

The sound of the bathroom door creaked open, and your boyfriend that resembled a Greek God emerged, his hair damp and tousled from the shower. In nothing but a towel wrapped low around his waist, droplets of water glistened on his bronzed skin, accentuating the defined lines of his muscular physique.

''Yeah, right- Wait, no bra?'' Kyle's voice was tinged with a hint of reproach, his brows furrowing as he fought to keep his jealousy in check.

''I can't wear one with this dress.'' With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you turned to face him.

"And you know what else?" You continued, your voice teasing as you pulled back to meet Kyle's gaze. "It's kinda cold tonight.''

''Fucking hell.'' Kyle let out a frustrated growl, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his emotions.. That did not bode well for his self-control.

With a playful smirk, he pushed himself away from the door frame and took a step closer, the air thick with a sudden change of emotions.

''What do I have to do to get you to stay?'' The droll of his voice belied a casual tease, but his tone was dangerous.

''Tie me down, probably.''

The words hung in the air for a moment, accompanied by your light chuckle, as you anticipated Kyle's typical witty response. However, as the seconds ticked by, you noticed the atmosphere slowly changing.

The laughter faded from your lips instantly as you glimpsed the genuine consideration in Kyle's eyes, a flicker of something more primal stirring beneath the surface.

The suggestion lingered in the air like a provocative dare, igniting a spark of desire within him as he contemplated the possibilities.

''Are you seriously considering tying me down, Sergeant?'' The sudden shift from playful banter to something more charged, left you breathless, your pulse quickening with a rush of excitement.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Kyle reached out to gently brush a lock of hair from your face, his touch tender yet intense.

''What if I am?'' His tone was casual, but the way it vibrated in his chest sent a rush of heat down your spine.

''You'd have to catch me, first'' You exclaimed with a giggle and quickened your pace towards the living room, forgetting for a moment that with that man standing behind you, it was pointless.

Kyle, agile and determined, moved swiftly to intercept you. He closed the distance between you in a few quick strides. In a heartbeat, his strong hands firmly gripped on your hips, halting you in your tracks.

Before you could protest or react, Kyle pulled you even closer, his body pressing against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against the shell of your ear as he whispered huskily, "That was a bad move, sweetheart."

''Kyle, you're gonna ruin my outfit-'' A look of bland innocence spread across your face, trying hard to convince yourself above all that you wanted to walk out that door and out of his embrace. 

"Oh, sweetheart," He murmured, his breath warm against your skin, "You know I'm not just gonna ruin your outfit."

A shiver of excitement ran down your spine as his fingers trailed slowly along your sides, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned hot and bright.

As Kyle's hands moved with intent, your breath caught in your throat, skin tingling with anticipation at the tantalizing promise of what was to come.

It was when Kyle's hands reached your breasts that you realized that he was not going to let you walk out that door intact, your eyes widening in shock at the suddenness of his touch.

''I'm gonna do much more than that.'' In terms of words that made your knees give in, he’s definitely said more explicit things, but apparently, that was all you needed that night. 

"Kyle," You murmured, your tone betraying the internal struggle, "I have to go."

''Mhm, do you now?'' Kyle buried his nose in your neck, feeling your pulse with his lips. His skin was so hot, his steaming breath stretching over your delicate skin.

You didn’t mean to whimper, but it slipped out and Kyle's hips bucked. Eager to cage you. Eager to pin you under him and devour you.

With a teasing lilt to your voice, you uttered the name that always seemed to set him on edge, "What will James think if I don't go?"

You knew all too well the effect those words would have, how they would stir the green-eyed monster within him, yet you couldn't resist the thrill of fueling his jealousy and pushing him over the edge.

/ / /

And that was how you ended up lying on the bed, your wrists bound by soft leather handcuffs secured to the headboard.

It had started innocently enough, a playful suggestion that quickly escalated into something far more intense. With each gentle tug of the restraints, you felt a surge of excitement building within you.

And as you laid there, completely at his mercy, you couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability unlike anything you had ever experienced before.

The soft whisper of fabric against skin, the faint creak of the bed beneath you, every sensation seemed magnified, heightened by the knowledge that you were completely under his control.

In that moment, with the world reduced to nothing but the two of you, you knew that you were exactly where you wanted to be, no alcohol, no annoying colleagues, no meaningless conversations. Just you, bare naked, bound to the bed and utterly captivated by the man kneeling with you between his thighs

"Satisfied now, Sergeant Garrick?" A devious smile played on your lips as you attempted to feign innocence, but your efforts were feeble at best.

Your boyfriend's keen observation didn't miss a beat. The slight twitch on his brow betrayed his reaction to you using his military rank. It was clear that your words had struck a chord within him, awakening something hidden beneath the surface that was begging to come forward.

As his gaze met yours, you noticed them darkening to the shade closest to the nightsky. There was a spark of arousal mixed with something almost unexplainable, something almost frightening. Intoxicating.

"Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?" Your tone dripped with sass as you pushed the boundaries, testing his patience.

Short distorted laughs came from him, almost mocking your pathetic attempt to provoke him. He raised one hand, the warmth of his touch grazing against your cheek before trailing down to the back of your head, where his fingers began to weave through your hair with a gentle grip.

Despite the tender gesture, you couldn't ignore the underlying tension that radiated from him, it was clear that what was to follow was going to be far from sweet.

Abruptly, his fingers clenched tightly in your hair, a searing pain radiating through your scalp, eliciting a groan to escape your lips.

"Yeah? Is that how you wanna play, love?" His voice was low and husky as he leaned down, bringing his mouth close to your ear.

Kyle's lips brushed against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, while his other hand, calloused and strong, gently cupped the flesh of your ass before giving it a firm squeeze.

You felt his touch trailing down, skimming over the nakedness of your upper body until they reached the edge of your panties. Your breath caught in your throat as his fingers danced along the elastic, teasingly tugging them down. The sensation was electrifying, anticipation coursing through your body.

His warm breath tickled your neck as he exhaled, "You're practically dripping, and I've barely even touched you." He remarked with a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in your ear and sending a thrill through your body.

"Shut up-" You quipped, knowing full well the bratty tone of your words.

As if to amplify your wicked plan, you aimed a playful kick at his thigh, intending to push him away though you knew that it was part of his job to take down men twice his size with ease.

Kyle reared back, and in an instant, his lips crashed onto yours with an intensity that bordered on punishing.

Initially, you resisted, a split-second defiance before surrendering to the fervor of his kiss. As you yielded, his kiss softened, his lips tenderly caressing yours, his tongue teasing the corner of your mouth with slow strokes.

As he began pressing his knee against your throbbing core, your back arched instinctively, seeking further contact and stimulation.

In response to your reaction, he let out a deep, guttural moan of his own into your mouth, his desire echoing yours as he intensified the pressure of his kiss. With one hand still cupping the back of your neck possessively, he leaned over you, his weight asserting dominance in the space between you.

His honeyed eyes fixated on your breasts, staring with a hunger that made your skin tingle. His plush lips were slightly parted as he placed his palms on your stomach, earning a desperate whisper from you.

''Kyle-'' Unintentionally, a soft mewl escaped your lips, a sound of desire that surprised even you. You couldn't help but crave his hands on your breasts, yearning for the sensation of his fingers squeezing, massaging, mirroring the fervent desire on his face.

And then, he withdrew, his lips parting from yours, leaving behind a warmth as he leaned back to take another look at your exposed skin.

''You wanna act like a brat?'' Kyle seethed as if he was welcoming a challenge, a sly smirk playing on his lips, his eyes gleaming with determination.

With deliberate intent, he wrapped his fingers around the base of your neck, his grip tightening gradually, compelling you to meet his eyes. ''Fine, I'll treat you like one.''

His hand disappeared from your sight, gliding down his torso until it reached the towel that hung low around his waist, teasingly revealing the contours of his body.

In one swift motion, he discarded the towel, allowing it to fall to the floor with a soft rustle, revealing his form in all its glory. You couldn't help but stare, mesmerized. It slapped against his stomach with a satisfying thud, beautiful and big, just like him.

Slowly, he caressed himself before you, his cock poised directly in front of your face, temptingly close.

"Spit." Kyle commanded, his hand extended in front of your face, positioned just beneath your waiting mouth.

Without hesitation, you complied with his request, gathering saliva in your mouth before lolling out your tongue, allowing it to messily fall into his hand.

"That's my obedient girl." He praised, whilst using the same hand that collected your saliva to stroke himself once again. With each firm stroke, his member glistened, now coated in the slickness that you provided.

''Open your mouth, sweetheart. Unless you'd like for me to force it open?'' He questioned as as he began to leisurely drag the tip of his throbbing cock along your wet lips before gently prodding them.

You savored the bittersweet tang of the precum that glistened on the head, the taste a delicious blend of saltiness and sweetness that made you want more. And so you complied without hesitation, parting your lips and extending your tongue, its wet, pink surface waiting for his touch.

''Suck.''

His voice took on a rough, commanding tone, without any hint of playfulness as his hips bucked towards your lips, seeking the warmth of your mouth.

Without hesitation, your mouth opened eagerly, welcoming his head as it entered, filling your senses with the taste and texture of him.

You hollowed your cheeks, creating suction as you enveloped him, relishing in the sensation of his hardness against your tongue. Taking your time, you swirled your tongue around the tip, exploring every ridge and contour, teasing him with the flickering motion.

You weren't going to give it to him easily. Or so you believed in that moment. Perhaps deep down, there lurked a streak of masochism within you.

And so, without warning, you executed a bold move, deftly slipping his length off your lips with a resounding pop, punctuating the act with a falsely innocent look.

"Oops." You smirked, meeting his half-shocked, half-annoyed expression with unwavering confidence despite your restricted position.

''Bold move, love.'' What he did next caught you off guard.

With a swift motion, he retrieved his hand from the back of your head and placed it under your jaw, the once gentle touch now transformed into a merciless grip as his fingers closed around your cheeks, applying pressure until you winced from the pain and forced your mouth to open.

Kyle wasted no time in reclaiming the wetness of your mouth, thrusting his length back inside with an assertiveness that seemed almost brutal. Not to you, though. That was how you liked it and he knew. Gentle and sweet as a partner, rough and dominant as a lover.

You hummed around him, the vibration serving as an affirmative response, granting him permission to take control. His other hand rose to join the first, folding over your head, firmly holding you in place as he lifted his hips and thrusted forward.

He closed his eyes, the long lashes brushing against his flushed cheeks as he breathed out a low, gravelly moan.

"Oh, fuck, yes- that's it. You're- you're taking me so fucking well." In contrast to his words growing increasingly visceral and obscene, Kyle looked strikingly beautiful and almost mad with his open jaw hung slightly agape as he struggled to catch his breath, each inhalation ragged and uneven.

Sensing his movement, you relaxed your jaw, allowing your tongue to flatten and just before he pushed deeper, you managed to draw in one last breath, bracing yourself for what was to come.

Then, his head bumped against the back of your throat, causing your eyes to sting with tears pooling at the corners as you coughed wetly around him. Foam and saliva spurted from the tight seal of your lips, a result of the sudden intrusion.

His relentless pace caused your throat to bulge, stretching to accommodate his girth, while your face contorted with the strain of his forceful thrusts.

The squelching of his cock drilling in and out of your mouth got louder and louder as your saliva wet his length, only making him fuck your mouth like it was nothing but a hole, with more intent as it got easier for him.

His fingers held onto both sides of your skull tightly, burying your nose into his pubic hair with every pulsation. Your jaw grew slack, your jowl hanging low as his girth forced your mouth open for his use. 

''Now what would that asshole think, hm?'' His breathing was erratic, his words garbled and he dislodged himself from you entirely this time.

His hand gripped around the base of his cock, coated heavily with pre-cum and your saliva. The force-grip on your face relaxed and you pulled your lips back together in relief.

And then he stuffed back himself into you, taking in the feeling of your reflexive bobs on his cock, of you gagging and salivating around his member. He drug your head off after a short time, then back in, finding his rhythm.

The fingers in your hair roughly pulled you against him as he held you firmly back in place, leaving you no choice but to breathe through your nose and try to relax your muscles further. ''Seeing you tied up like that, choking on my cock, fuck-''

It only took a few more hard, erratic thrusts before he reached the breaking point, his body tensing above you as he neared climax.

With each hard movement, his cock plunged deeper into your throat, driving past the point of resistance until it reached the depths of your being. In a surge of desperate release, he unleashed his hot thick cum so deep inside you, you didn't even get taste it.

Though your jaw felt like it was burning in flames, you immediately welcomed the relief as you could finally draw in a deep, satisfying breath. With a sigh, you leaned your head back against the headboard, allowing the coolness of the surface to soothe your overheated skin.

''You did so well baby, so fucking good for me.'' He cooed, the sweetness returning to his tone before he swiftly slid his knees from your upper body down to your waist, his movements unhurried as he took in the way you looked in that moment. A beautiful mess.

Whilst he positioned himself, he leaned forward, his forehead gently meeting yours for a brief moment and then closed the gap completely, his lips meeting yours in a soft, tender kiss.

''Now..'' Kyle whispered against your parted lips, a soft breath of warmth that set your skin on fire.

As his tongue delicately brushed against your bottom lip, his hands trailed upwards to caress your restrained arms as though he was taking away the ache just by touching them.

''Be a good girl and..'' As his lips made their way towards the upper half of your face, his voice was sinful against the delicate curve of your ear shell. With each caress, the tension in your muscles began to ease.

Finally, his hands came to rest against each of your wrists, the warmth of his touch a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handcuffs.

With a gentle yet purposeful movement, his fingers traced the outline of the restraints, teasing you by applying pressure for a second before stopping and repeating the same movement.

You watched in anticipation, biting hard on your bottom lip not to wince out loud as the tension in the air became heavy once more and then you finally heard the faint click of the restraints releasing.

The pain in your wrists began to fade away, relief washing over you as Kyle deftly removed the handcuffs. With each click of the lock releasing, a weight seemed to lift from your shoulders. You eagerly anticipated the opportunity to finally touch him, to feel his warmth against your skin and bring him close to you.

But before you could even extend your hands, Kyle's touch found its way to your waist and with a suddenness that pushed all air out your lungs, he maneuvered you around, positioning you so that your face was now directed towards the headboard. The abrupt shift in position left you disoriented, your gaze now fixated on the wooden surface before you.

''Kyle, what are you-''

Without warning, he once again secured the handcuffs around your wrists, immobilizing you completely. The metallic clink echoed in the room and his striking face disappeared from your sight, replaced by the blank expanse of the wall.

Though you couldn't see him, the subtle shifts in the mattress beneath you betrayed his movements as he lowered himself onto the bed. He positioned himself underneath you, his shoulders pressed firmly between your thighs, urging them to open wider.

Finally, you looked down, his face came into view, illuminated by the soft glow of the dimly lit room.

''Sit on my fucking face.''

(to be continued..:)

[bunnyreaper]

you and john debate your baby's team allegience. (18+/mdni, suggestive themes, liverpool fan john price. written for/inspired by @a-very-bored-blogger)

your face lights up with excitement as soon as the webpage on your phone loads, yet immediately, you hear a groan from behind you--john's grip on your waist tightening. 

"absolutely not, love." 

"c'mon, it's adorable." you coo, zooming in on the football team's baby kit and practically shoving it in your husband's face over your shoulder.

you don't even need to turn to see the way his nose wrinkles in disgust, his brows furrow with disdain. despite his clear objections, he presses a quick kiss to your cheek and then your neck, as if trying to dissuade you. "if she's getting any kit it's a liverpool one, end of story." 

his hands begin to roam, up to your shoulders, massaging at the stress that's accumulated there after all the time spent looking after your 6-month-old. 

you hum, trying to imagine your little girl in john's teams colours. "i'm not sure if red would suit her as much as black and white." you tease, knowing full well such insistence is going to wind john up. little gets him worked up as much as his football and his loyalty to his team.

"darling." he says sincerely, before spinning your stool around to face him. he presses himself in between the space of your legs, a serious, solemn look in his eyes. "been thinking about this since i was a boy myself. i had a liverpool shirt, she's having a liverpool shirt." 

you hold his gaze, deciding on whether to push or let him have this one. you knew deep down that if you wanted to, you could pull the "I just carried your child for 9 months, and have been sleepless for the last 6 while you spent 3 of them on the other side of the world" card, but you also knew that this was something important to john, more important than it was to you.

"fine." you smile sweetly, locking the phone and reaching behind you to set it on the counter, before you reach up to thread your fingers round the back of john's neck. "ill make you a deal."

"what's that?" his eyebrow quirks, a smirk tugging at his lips--he loved his ingenious wife and her deals.

"she gets the liverpool shirt, and this weekend when she's at your mums, we get started on our little newcastle fan." 

john is on you in an instant, dick pressed against your core as hungry lips attack your neck. "no reason we have to wait til the weekend, love. might as well get started now." 

[priceseyes]

sgt. athena 'birdie' kallis and capt. john price - commission done by @felrija

enjoy the silence, cod-verse: a masterlist.

-

AHHH!!!! I've been excited about this for a while now, OMG!!!! LOOK AT THEM, MY BADASS BABIES!!! OHHH, they look so wonderful and in loveeeeee!!!! I love the way @felrija, they did an absolutely lovely job at portraying both my COD!OC, athena, as well as the relationship she has with price. GAH! they look so lovely together, I can't thank @felrija enough, seriously.

them, my babies.

[gomzdrawfr]

content warning: blood, gun, violence, ommetaphobia (eyes), death

The Last Confrontation

"You think revenge will set you free, my child?" "You never changed, what a shame" "In the end, you still ended up like me"

lore below if you're interested:

warning ahead: graphic depiction of violence, mentioned of suicide, abuse and manipulation

This animation is about the last major chapter of Raven's story, in which she faced her adoptive father and kills him off once and for all.

Backstory time!

Raven grew up in an orphanage that was eventually burned down. She survived by hiding under a hatch, emerging later to find everything reduced to ashes. As she stepped out, she came face to face with a masked man, Viktor. He was dressed in black and wore silver owl and green jewel rings, which stood out against his dark attire

Viktor, the dangerous owner of the Cobra PMC, had grown bored with life. On a whim, he adopted Raven—choosing her because she resembled him with her black hair and feral glint, the girl was pale and malnourished, yet not lifeless

He was captivated by the sight. His plan wasn’t out of love or care; rather, it was a curious experiment. He wanted to see what it would be like to raise a child. Raven, who had only known suffering from growing up (abandoned + abused in the orphanage) didn’t question it. Being with Viktor seemed like an improvement overall plus Archie (Viktor’s assistant, who frankly does like 90% of the upbringing) wasn’t terrible

A bird doesn’t know it is trapped in a cage if they have been born behind those walls.

a snippet of their first meeting:

Under Viktor's orders, Raven trained relentlessly, believing that he wanted her to become his heir, a daughter worthy of his legacy. She worked hard to prove she was worth the adoption, the money, the care–to prove she deserved to live. However, Viktor had no such intentions. Like previously mentioned, to him? Raven was merely an experiment. He raised her only to test her—and test her he did

He orchestrated the assassination attempt on her, using the Cobra PMC. Raven barely survived, watching in horror as she recognized Viktor among the mercenaries who tried to kill her. It was the ultimate betrayal

"How would you react to such a betrayal, sweet child?" 

Raven’s world was shattered. The long scar on her back became a constant reminder of how naïve and blind she had been. Every throb, every pain and every ache only fuelled the need for revenge simmered in her mind. Price was painfully aware of this, but could do nothing to stop her. Once Raven set her mind on something, there was no turning back

Timeline is a mess but just know that Raven confronted Vik before cod mw3

Viktor, of course, anticipated this. In fact, he wanted Raven to finish him. Why? Perhaps out of sheer curiosity, or perhaps due to something even more twisted. No one truly knows, not even his most trusted man, Archie, who soon followed in Viktor’s step and off himself as well

Archie asked once more, "come again, sir?" “I want her to kill me” Vik repeated once more, a wicked smile slowly stretching across his face as his gaze fixated into the nothingness. A smile etched and carried a twisted sense of satisfaction, or proud, no one can tell for sure.  “Want to see those brown eyes of hers go black” “Want to see it fully blown out…” He breathes, before placing the wine down, arms slowly raised up, gestures wildly.  “And god do I want to see those colours fade out again” Just like the day he first found her at the burned down orphanage, his first encounter with Raven. The memory of their first encounter played in his mind, like a film reel of a past he couldn't forget.  A small creature, messy black hair covered in ashes and soot, and big brown eyes that are devoid of any life, dare enough to look him in the eyes.  Her gaze was something he replays everytime he could.  Big and brown, held no desperation, no pleas – just an empty, captivating hazel brown.  “I’ll let her” “I want my blood covering her hands” “I want her face contorts as I laugh in her face” He let out a maniacal laughter, erupted from his throat, punctuating the silent room, shoulders heaving as he threw his head back.  He paused, voice dripping with sinister delight as he murmured.  “And may the last thing she sees is my smile as life slowly slips away from my eyes” 

Viktor's last few words were something she cannot forget no matter what

"In the end, you still ended up like me."

A killer who only knew violence was the answer, that death was the solution

And she hated how he was right, she pulled the trigger after all. What's worse? It didn't felt rewarding or satisfying to end it all (note hence's the way her fingers turned red during the animation, matching Vik's hand)

No it felt, empty, and it was unnerving

This revenge was something she planned for a very long time, tears, blood and sweat went into this only...for it have this outcome?

What now, Raven? more blood, more death?

She never got the closure she had hoped for

Well, no matter how uncertain she was about the future, at least she will not be threading this path alone

"Eira! Bloody hell you finally picked up your cell, stay here I'm coming over with the boys" "...you know where I am?" "Course I do, are you badly injured?" "...no not really, I have a lot of blood though, but they're not mine" "Alright birdie, just stay put—" "...hey, John?" "yeah?" "can we...get fries after this?" "*sigh* anything you want, luv" "thank you..."

[buttdumplin]

Thinking self-indulgent thoughts regarding the 141 boys and their little quirks with a spanish speaking reader. Some stumbling through their accents, some begging for more, some keeping their own knowledge of the language secret. I might come back to this later...

[noctxj]

down, down into the mountain | part i

“and what is it that this curious little fae hopes to find hm?” 

the last dragon laena had crossed paths with had asked. his question had stumped laena, no one had asked her that before.

“… i’m not hoping to find anything.”

“the word travelling suggests you have a destination no?” he’d cocked his big head to the side whilst peering down at her from his great form.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

in which the curious little fae laena exploring a long abandoned mountain kingdom (accidentally?) stumbles across a hungry dragon.

pairing: dragon!john price x fae!ofc

mdni. future adult content.

it was a devastatingly beautiful sight, the once ornate archways of a forgotten ancient kingdom now lay silent and still. carved into the side of a rocky mountainside, stories spoke of the impossible depths its original inhabitants had dug; always searching for more minerals, crystals, and gold to fuel their appetite for new knowledge and innovation. an appetite that would eventually lead to their doom; attracting the impertinent eyes of a dragon— or at least that is what is believed to have happened. almost a millennia has passed since then, the echoes of time notorious for warping stories of calamity into exaggerated fables and poignant legends.

however, laena wasn’t interested in times long gone. the concept of time and immortality was nothing to flitter about as one of the long-lived fae, only second to dragons themselves.

although as long as laena had been alive, she had only ever come across a handful of them. a secretive race who dedicated themselves to their own kin. 

wise. intelligent. and especially kind to her whenever she crossed paths with them. often mistaking her for being lost, having strayed too far from her clan. had offered laena refuge with them and their kin until such time they were able to track down her own, as it was rare for the fae to leave the comfort and protection of their own clans. instead each dragon-kind chortled in surprise and confusion when laena explained she was a lone travelling fae.

“and what is it that this curious little fae hopes to find hm?” 

the last dragon laena had crossed paths with had asked. introduced himself as nikolai, and was far more boisterous and reckless than any other dragon she had come across. his question had stumped laena, no one had asked her that before.

“… i’m not hoping to find anything.”

“the word travelling suggests you have a destination no?” he’d cocked his big head to the side whilst peering down at her from his great form.

another question that had stumped her.

“… then i am exploring the realm.”

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

nikolai had ended up accompanying laena for several decades, stated that she needed his “realm rich knowledge!”, even if she had been travel—exploring for a few centuries at that point. it was an odd pairing, but laena enjoyed the company, forgot how drawn into herself she had become, as if she was just a soulless spirit moving across the many plains of the realm. had forgotten the fulfilling feeling of connecting with someone.

until finally, fate decided that their travels as a “dynamic duo” (nikolai's words, not hers) had inevitably come to an end. nikto finally confessing his long-drawn yearning to return to his kin. laena had berated him for not returning to them sooner.

“you tryin’ to get rid of me, eh?” nikolai had drawled in half-hearted (fake) hurt. wiping away an imaginary tear from below his bright reptilian blue eyes for good measure while lounging back against a rock in his human— albeit intimidatingly very large, form. laena now use to his antics, just directed a flat look of annoyance at him.

“that is not the issue you big oaf, they are your kin. your family. they must miss you as much as you miss them. you should have returned to them sooner.” laena had snipped back. nikolai just waved his hand in response, an exasperated sigh spilling from laenas lips. sometimes she found it hard to believe he was several centuries older than her.

“i’ve always known i would return to them, child,” nikolai had huffed, interrupting her thoughts. the humour now absent from his glowing eyes— instead, sadness? regret? stained them, “i’d just hoped that whatever you are searching—i mean “exploring” for, would be found; that i would be there for you.”

laena hadn’t ever heard nikolai speak in such a serious tone. the sincerity of his words had caused a tiny pinch of sadness to throb within her chest, his words also resonating with laena. she already would miss him. she had secretly hoped he would be around for longer. 

“… so that I may rub it in your face that you’ve been playing treasure hunter, minus the map, of course”

never mind. 

this cracked out dragon could crawl back to his kin like a worm after laena wrapped his wings in some sticky vines—

“wait laena i was just kidding! hey— wait, no—!!”

laena considered nikto a good friend, perhaps even as an (overbearing) older brother. it had only been a few months since they bade each other farewell, errant tears had escaped laenas eyes as nikolai enveloped her in one of his crushing bearhugs. his cocooning scent of comfort and safety now just a fond memory.

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

standing in the middle of the vast hall with her back to the outside world, laena could feel nothing but the cool still air; the light of the moon and stars only illuminating a limited capacity before her. despite the ruin that surrounded her, she couldn’t deny the surviving details of grandeur reflecting a time long gone— forcibly removed from existence.

which begged the question of what this now desolate kingdom did to garner the ferocity of a dragon.

a curious thing… what did you do to deserve their wrath?

a hmph and then a gentle whisper of a simple command flittered into the otherwise quiet air. a beat, a low hum, and then an almost appreciative sigh could be felt all around as the old fluorescent minerals embedded into the walls lazily flickered brighter and brighter, until warms hues of light coursed throughout the space; down corridors and up stairways. the once desolate halls 

now able to clearly see, laena felt a delighted giddiness spread throughout her form, her wings fluttering in excitement at the prospect of exploring this untouched place. discovering what she may learn, what she may find—

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

what in the gods was that sound?

another great crack vibrated throughout as laena quickly swept under a slight alcove as dust and slight debris fell deeper within the mountain.

laena wasn’t sure how long or how far deep she’d travelled into the cavernous mountain kingdom, wasn’t sure how long it would take her to get back out.

this is definitely not ideal.

laena thought as she gritted her teeth, settling her feet onto the shallow shelf of the wall to properly ruffle off the errant dust that managed to land on her wings. 

perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to get out now before she got smothered by rocks—

all of a sudden, a fleeting glint of bronze and gold refracted upon the corner of laenas eye, her attention now snapping down below to pinpoint the origins of the object

… but not before she figured out what that was, of course…

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

a poor lapse in judgement, laena later decides as her body is now seemingly frozen in place. a colossal figure—

larger than nikolai if possible—

was just a short distance away, encapsulated in shadow, a pair of bottomless azure eyes crackling with electric bolts of crystalline blue, regarded laena with an unchecked ferocity she wasn’t sure what to make of.

… those eyes—

the stranger pulled in a deep inhale, eyes fluttering and the expanse of his broad, bare chest expanding, holding, and then releasing— along with a trail of smoke, and the shifting of enormous bronze and gold wings behind hus figure.

a dragon, in their half-shifted state—

“curious little fae~” the unknown dragon purred, his now half lidded eyes trailing across laena’s form with a starved glint, “‘ave been waiting so long for you,” the deep timber of his rough voice akin to the rumbling of thunder.

… what?

for the first time in her long life, laena felt the foreign feeling of confusion and fear trickle down her spine. she was always sure of herself, knew herself to be capable in every situation. one doesn’t stay alive, alone, for this long without some level of preservation instinct and self assuredness in your own knowledge and skills after all, immortal or not. but this was different— 

felt dangerous—

felt as if she was the target, as if she was being hunted. but the question was: why?

“come now, no need to be shy,” the dragons rumbling voice interrupted her disoriented thoughts.

one side of his mouth quirked up in amusement, a sharp canine peeking from beneath his upper lip and surprisingly kempt facial hair. especially given his state of- or lack there of, of his dress; a poor excuse of navy blue trousers which had definitely been through the rigours sat lazily along the dragons' hips. the powerfully corded muscles which make up the dragons' thick thighs 

this condescending brute—

her initial disoriented state of the unknown now replaced with a strike of indignation as she narrowed her eyes at the stranger before her. 

“my introductions with most dragons don’t often begin with them claiming i’ve 'kept them waiting’” she snipped in a cool tone, as if what he had been spouting out of his dumb mouth up until now had been a waste of her time—

why in the hells was he smiling?!

an amused huff and then a hearty chuckle, the apples of his cheeks lifted upwards— fully showcasing the extent of his deadly canines, but also highlighting that while he was a senseless dragon, laena couldn’t deny he was also a devastatingly handsome one at that. feeling her own cheeks growing warm; from embarrassment or realisation, she wasn’t completely sure—

wait, what kind of thoughts—

laena, not right now—!

all of a sudden the dragon took a step forward— laena automatically taking one backwards, still wary of his intentions. a steadily growing rabid hunger prevalent in the dragons cerulean eyes as his breathing seemed to pick up, his eyes refusing to break away from laena’s own, as if the thought of losing sight of her would cause him pain. 

“afraid little one?” heaved the dragon, his form seemingly expanding in mass due to his heavy intakes of breath; as if trying to breathe in laena’s very essence.

not good.

as laena took stock of her surroundings; almost at the very edge of this walkway. she couldn’t hope to escape this stranger dragon’s grasp if she tried to take flight out of the mountain— impossible. she had to try and outsmart him in the tunnels below, even if she didn’t know what he wanted, she sure wasn’t in the mood to find out so quickly.

“never,” laena haughtily claimed, taking another step back; the edge of the rocky walkway now immedaitely behind her feet— a fact that made the dragon just a few metres away from her growl in discontent.

the volatile (handsome) dragon taking another heavy step forward, nostrils flaring.

laena wasn’t going to wait to find out his next move (despite his addictive disposition).

she took one final step backwards and let herself fall, the wind breezing through the delicate nature of her wings. the feral roar of the dragon following as she pivoted mid air and folded her wings tight to her back, the goal of escaping the seemingly dangerous dragons’ attention paramount, the cool air rushing against her body.

down

down

deeper into the mountain

the curious fairy and the hungry dragon went.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

posting this while drunk bc might as well HEHEHEHE

this was suppose to be purely smutty, but i am a hoe for The Lore™ (• ε •) of anything and everything - including whatever this is hehe. also, not sure if its obvious but said lore is heavily inspired by the hobbit and skyrim? kind of. unedited as always.

thank you for reading!!! mwah ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

crossposted on ao3 (same username!) 

[michelasnook]

NOBODY'S SOLDIER

Sergeant Francesca Herrald doesn't like being in the military. She is one of the best snipers and the most meticulous medic. But at nineteen she desires to just live her teenage years. Inside the Fourth Squadron she just has to work. And she hates it.

Lieutenant Johnathan Price sees in the sister of his Captain a sad teen that wishes to escape that reality of blood and death. Even if she works with extraordinary focus and energy. He tries to make her life a bit more cheerful, but just when he thinks he is doing some progress, she turns and leaves. However, he just can let her go.

Now, something is wrong with her, more than usual. And he will do his best to understand her.

Words (for the chapter): 2503;

Warnings and tags (for the whole story): Lieutenant John Price, angst, depictions of violence, age gap, eventual smut, fluff, brother-sister relationship, panick attacks, minor character death, eventually more warnings.

A/N: So I started writing this story and I am now ready to start publish it all around. I fell in love with Francesca since the first chapters, and I hope I can manage to bring this story to conclusion (I've never finished a story in my life, but I feel confident). English is not my first language, but I hope there aren't any errors.

I. The Emptiness Machine

LONDON , 23rd of October, 2009. 

   I can imagine them all screaming my name, in unison, and then headbanging at the rhythm of my music. Even if my eyes are closed, I can see them all, while I move my head and strung the chords of my imaginary guitar. The riff is hard, but I know I'm nailing every note, making them all scream in awe. 

   I reach the most difficult part, my left hand going up and down the air and pressing on the right chords, with the right pressure, and when I almost nail it completely- one of my earbuds falls.

   No, it doesn't fall: Elia has yanked it out. He is looking at me, slightly disappointed.

   The pub all around me takes form again as the other people at the table chat. I sigh and pause the music on my iPod.

   "Care to grace us with your presence, Franny?" Elia asks me with a smile. I respond with a playful face, sticking my tongue out. He chuckles, turning back to his beer as the others laugh and talk.

   I swirl my shirley temple and then take a sip from the straw. I hate when my brother forces me to go out with our squad. He wants for me to socialize outside our job, but it's hard if you can't even drink alchool and all you want to do is just read and listen to music. It's even harder to try and make friend at base if everyone sees you Captain Herrald's little sister, or as the child of Major Herrald and Colonel Pearson-Herrald. Yet here I am, Sergeant Medic of the 4th British Squadron.

   I pluck the cherry from my drink and pop it into my mouth, just as Lieutenant Price sits down beside me with a dark beer in hand. I glance at it, wishing I could take a sip.

   "It's a Guinnes, right?" I ask, clear longing and sadness in my voice. John turns with shy smile and nods to me, then turns towards my brother and checks him. Slowly, without drawing attention, he slides the pint over to me. Grinning, I take a quick, satisfying sip before handing it back.

   "Thanks" I mutter, still savouring the dark tones of that good and cool Guinnes on my tongue.

   "Didn't peg you for a beer person" he says taking a drink from the same spot I pressed my lips on.

   "I enjoy a fresh Guinnes," I admit, "It's harsh to just drink it every now and then only when you pass me illegal sips." I pocket my iPod and earbuds in the big and old hoodie.

   He chuckles deep and smiles, shifting on his stool. "So, are you in on this mission?"

   Lieutenant Jonathan Price is the only one in the squad that actually tries to empatise and understand me. All the men and women at the table have enrolled because they wanted to, because they needed to give all their life to our country. But me? I don't want to risk my life only to save people I don't even know.

   I enrolled in the military academy at sixteen, but already at twelve I was trained by my father and deep in medical books under the scrutinous eyes of my mother. They wanted for me to be a military medic, a trauma field surgeon. And they got that, even if every night, at least until at seventeen I accepted my fate, I cried until I fell asleep. Under the command of my brother they now have total control of my being. Them and the United Kingdom, even if I just want to disappear in my old room in Bournemouth reading stories of dragons and fairies.

   John doesn't know the full story, but he listens when I talk. He's my sounding board when I need to vent, and I ignore his growing nicotine addiction as a form of silent gratitude. Sometimes, we share a cigarette when my brother isn't around.

   "I have no way out, so Afghanistan here I come!" I say mocking a tost and then take another slow sip. "Again, I suppose".

   John doesn't laugh, but just tries to smile to encourage me. "You can still leave, you can't stay out of coercion" he whispers, trying to not be heard by my brother that is just in front of him on the other side of the table. Elia is laughing at some joke Private MacGavin has said.

   "Except I can't if I want to stay in touch with all my family and not be disinherited" I suck even the last drop of my drink and then push it with the other glasses that have gathered from the others. "You know, I still would like some kind of family. So... I am stuck".

   I have two families: my actual blood and all family, and my gunpowder and injuries family. If I walk away, I would lose them both.

   "You wouldn't lose me, Sonne" he says, cues another one of his cute smiles. But I cringe at him for using my code name. 

   "Oh, don't worry. My brother would make sure of that" Elia thinks exactly as my father, even if he is more pleasant to be around and he cares about me more. 

   Elia and John are best friends, my brother has took the young Lieutenant under his wing, almost making him de facto his second in command. There isn't one single thing John wouldn't do under Elia's command. 

   "I have a mind of my own. Elia can make sure of whatever, but I think I'll never stop sneaking you sips of Guinnes" he chuckles at the end of the phrase and then pats me on my head, a few strands of ash blond hair falling on my forehead. I look at him, admiring him a few seconds. 

   If just he looked at me the same lovingly way I am looking at him now.

   "Thanks, Price" I say with a half sigh, then I turn to the little stage where three young teens are performing a Radiohead's song. I don't dare look at the Lieutenant for the rest of the night, not if I can avoid it.

-----------------------------------------------------

HELMAND PROVINCE, AFHGANISTAN, 25th of october, 2009.

   The base is rumbling with action: trucks rolling in and out, squadrons full of privateers marching around, weapons firing off in the distance. And the dust, there is too much dust, that is around our boots, that deposit on our faces and threatens to get in our eyes. It's not a place I like, it's not where I can find myself, opposite of my brother. 

   I look at him while he talks off in the distance with a Corporal that has orders to pass to him. His hands are on his hips, nodding and moving his hands if he needs to explain something. In his uniform and combact gear he looks the part; hell, he is the part. Elia thrives in this life. Meanwhile, I am here, just surviving it. 

   Captain Herrald returns with a piece of paper that the Corporal has given him, and looks at us with a sigh. He looks displeased.

   "The Chinook's been delayed. We're stuck here until tomorrow afternoon. They need us to work in the meantime. Franny, report to Role 3. John, head to JOC..." His voice is commanding, as always, but I barely hear the rest. I gather my gear and head to the Combat Support Hospital without waiting for further instructions.

   Role 3 is where I find a sense of purpose, if not belonging. After stowing my things in a small office, I report to Major Sheffield, the hospital's commanding officer. She's tall, redheaded, and carries herself with quiet authority. 

   "Seargent Herrald, I heard many great things about your operations. Care to walk with me?" Major Sheffield asks me, and I nod when she starts walking like she owns the place. Because she does, she owns the place. This is her hospital. 

   "So young and already putting your hands inside men's stomach to make them return home to their families, you must be proud" she says while we walk up the stairs and enter the surgical floor, where the many wounded soliders are awaiting their surgeries or to be discharged, ready to go home or back to action. 

   I mentally sigh when she saysthose words, because I don't know how to answer. But I smile, put myself practically on attention with my hands together behind my back and give her a cordial smile. "Yes, I am" I simply say, lowering my military medical surgeon mask. 

   "We have one surgery where we could really use another set of capable hands. Can I count you in?" she asks, while another doctor gives her a chart. 

   "If we finish before dinner, sure" I say with a smile, she returns it and leaves the chart for me to study. 

   Here I am, back to work. And the only thing I hope is that this base has good hiding spots. Even in this place, which should feel like my sanctuary, I still feel trapped.

------------------------------------------------------

   The desert wind feels fresh on my skin, like the vanilla ice cream I'm eating while sitting on the rooftop of our barrack. I can look at the stars clearly, like they've been painted just for me. One thing that I can surely be happy about this job is that it makes me travel around the world. Sure, it doesn't let me be a proper tourist, but at least I get to watch the sky from different parts of this planet. And this ice cream is actually really good. 

   I moan quietly with closed eyes when I savour in my mouth the last spoon of this wednesday's base dessert, then sigh at the sight of the empty cup. Even the small pleasure of life are short-lived here, and I am now left with the spectacle that is the base ahead of me. 

   It's dinner time, even if in half an hour everyone has to go to sleep, the base is still alive with activity. Everyone is busy with something, and me... I am just hiding. 

   Rooftops are my speciality, just like operation rooms. It's the duality of being a sniper and a doctor. I have two hiding places, but with time even these places feel so wrong to me. I don't belong. 

   I lean back on my elbows, listening to the rhythm of the soldiers marching below. I close my eyes and I take a big breath. Trying to convince myself that I belong here, that I am doing something actually right for me and for the people. But which people?

   Behind me, I can sense someone is climbing up the pipe to reach the roof, and then I hear the unmistakable sound of my brother's footsteps. Elia sits besides me with an non-alcoholic beer in hand. I didn't realise they would give beers out at base. 

   "Ugh, are you here to remind me that I'm still to young to drink?" I ask with a sigh. In response he hands me the green bottle. I smile and take a swig, but immediatly girmace at the taste and give it back in disgust. "Why do you drink this blonde shit?" I ask, wiping the drops around my mouth. 

   "I am blonde, we are blonde. Of course I am going to like a blonde beer" he says with a chuckle in his voice, looking out the base, but his expression is different from mine. 

   I can see it in his face, in his eyes. He is surveying his domain, his land, like a King. His dream is taking our father's position, rise to his rank. So yeah, he wants to be the King of this land. 

   "Everything good at the hospital?" he asks, still not looking at me, his diamond-like eyes reflecting the moonlight as his golden beard gleams.

   "I did four GSWs, a fasciotomy, and cleaned so many burns and immobilized so many fractures that I lost count" I say, groaning as my shoulders scream for rest. I give in, lying down with a tired sigh. "I was in the OR for nine hours, then spent the rest of the time in the trauma wing." My muscles ease as my back hits the ground.

   I open my eyes and see Elia's usual proud smile when it comes to my work. When it comes to be happy about what I accomplish, Elia does it for me. He covers joy and proudness for all my family, decanting my successes in the field, from the lives I save to the enemies I take down. 

   "You've been awfully quiet, Fran" he says, setting his beer aside and turning towards me for the first time this evening. 

   "I always am" I say, avoiding his gaze. 

   I look at his forehead, his cheeks, even his lips- anywhere but his eyes. If I look at him in his eyes he'll see that I am scared to be here, that I don't want to be here. Just like how when we were kids and he could always tell how much I hated our father's training. And he would take the beatings for me. 

   Elia doesn't know still don't want to be here. He thinks I found some deep sense of patriotism at sixteen when I enrolled. He doesn't know what convinced me to stay.

   I can't let him see how scared and angry I am. It would be misinterpreted as a lack of confidence in my ability, and even though I hate it, I'm damn good at my job. This whole setup is insane, but I can handle it.

   "If you are bothered in some way, you can talk to me. I'm here as your brother, not as your Captain" he says, trying to meet my eyes. My eyes fall on his collar, where his insignias are, then his chest, decorated with medals. 

   Here, he's just my Captain. He doesn't get it. He never will. This is his land, not mine. 

   "I am fine, Elia. Just need to get through this mission" I say with a deep breath, moving my eyes back up, to the sky, to the indifferent dying stars. 

   He nods, staying by my side for a few more minutes. Then he finishes his beer, pats me on my shoulder and climbs back down. I sit back up, look down and can see my brother meeting with his Lieutenant. 

   John looks relaxed, though a bit tired from the work day. However, he looks like he could do it all over again. He's twenty-three and already a lieutenant; at this pace, he'll have Elia's job in a few deployments.

   I see Elia telling him something, and then John looks up in my direction. I stay where I am and wave. He returns the gesture, touching the visor of his cap and flashing me a small, kind smile. 

   Oh, I really liked that smile. Damn as hell I need to get to Lucy after all this shit. 

[lisenberry]

A few head canons to go with the little Price/OFC I wrote before Christmas. Giving these a little bump.

"Jesus, fuck, kid. Put some clothes on."

"Sorry, Captain. I didn't think anyone was in here."

"Don't get your knickers in a pinch, kid."

"I'm not wearing knickers, Captain."

[teacupcollector]

This is Misdi after Nikolai teaches her how to fly literally anything Misdi AKA Bad Bitch Behind The Wheel: *Saying all of this on Comms* It's evasive maneuvers guys!

Nikolai AKA Bad Body Buick Smelling Bertha: *Laughing his ass off*

Everyone in the back: *Passing away from terror*

Price: NO THE FUCK IT'S NOT!

@i-reblog-fics-i-like a member from my discord sent this and I whole heartedly believe and agree that this would be Misdi!

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material Ch 5 - (Captain Price Fic) Background Check

Chapter 1  Chapter 1 (Shorter Version)   Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Summary: Y/N is a reserved former constable and master sniper in the London police force, now working full-time as an artisan. She reconnects with old colleagues at a grill house for a catch-up, where her former junior, Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick, tries to play matchmaker. Gaz’s attempt to set her up with the retired SAS and Papa Bear material, Captain John Price, is met with resistance as Y/N is caught off guard by the unexpected attention. @darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal(To the other’s who want me to tag you when there’s an update, just tell me at the comments)

Warning: Mention of abuse

A quick A/N:

Before jumping to the conclusion that Y/N’s victory was unrealistic or labeling her a "Mary Sue," it’s important to note that her win is grounded in practical, researched tactics. Y/N is an SCO19 sniper with urban warfare expertise—an environment where methodical planning and familiarity with tight, complex spaces trump brute force or traditional military tactics. Her role emphasizes precision, adaptability, and outthinking her opponents, which made her success plausible in this exercise.

On the other hand, Captain Price is a seasoned veteran with broad expertise, but his experience as a generalist operator wasn’t perfectly suited to the specialized demands of urban combat in this scenario. He underestimated how critical environmental mastery and sniper strategy were to the outcome, which reflects real-life situations where even the most skilled operators can be outmaneuvered in domains outside their specialty.

P.S.: I looked into this a lot (and spent time watching actual combat exercises) so I could make it as realistic as possible. 😊

Background Check

The faint buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Price sat at his desk, staring at the screen of his computer, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. The glow from the monitor cast a pale light on his furrowed brow as he replayed the events of the exercise in his head. He had lost, and not just in the way a typical soldier loses a battle. No, this loss gnawed at him in a way he wasn’t used to. It wasn’t just about tactics. It was about the person on the other side—Y/N.

He hadn’t seen it coming. The way she maneuvered her team, the way she used the urban environment like it was a living, breathing thing. Price, a seasoned veteran with more combat experience than most men could dream of, had been outwitted by a sniper whose reputation, he now realized, was far more than just a title. She was a specialist in a way that went beyond his initial expectations.

Underestimated, huh? He thought with a grimace, his gaze falling to the glass in front of him. He’d poured himself a drink earlier, though it felt more like a reflection of his frustration than anything else. He downed the whiskey in one smooth motion, the burn of it doing little to ease the tension in his chest.

His mind wandered to the way Y/N had handled herself—stoic, calculated, always thinking three steps ahead. She had been quiet during the entire exercise, a stark contrast to the boisterous, competitive atmosphere around her. That quiet precision, though… that was what set her apart. A trained sniper who knew how to stay hidden, blend into her environment, and take her shots at the perfect moment. She was more than just a "tortoise," she was a master at urban combat, a niche so many seasoned veterans struggled to adapt to.

But what irked him even more than losing was the mystery around her. No one in the unit seemed to know much about her personal background. On the surface, Y/N was just like any other operator—quiet, focused, and deadly in her own right. But it was the little things that made her stand out. She was incredibly dedicated to her team, always putting others first, making sure everyone was covered and watching each other’s backs. In a way, she was more dependable than anyone he’d ever worked with.

Her work ethic was impeccable—Y/N had a way of getting the job done without fuss or fanfare. She didn’t need to prove anything to anyone, yet she constantly exceeded expectations, even when the odds were stacked against her. Her teammates respected her for that, and though she wasn’t one for idle conversation or personal revelations, they could always count on her to show up when it mattered.

Still, despite the respect she commanded, there was something distant about her. She kept to herself, didn’t share much about her past, and preferred to stay out of the spotlight. She had no need for recognition, no desire to be celebrated. Her actions spoke louder than any words ever could, and that was the way she liked it.

But for someone like Price, who was used to reading people, that lack of transparency only made her more intriguing. He’d been around long enough to know when there was more to someone than met the eye. And Y/N? She was a puzzle—one he was determined to solve.

----------

Subject: Background Inquiry - Y/N (SCO19)

To: [Recipient Name] CC: [Relevant Personnel]

Body:

I need you to dig into the file for Inspector Y/N, codename "Tortoise." I know the clearance restrictions on her record—believe me, I'm well aware—but I have my ways of bypassing that. The thing is, she’s been in this game a lot longer than anyone's let on. I’ve seen her in action, and if I’m honest with myself, I’ve underestimated her. Urban warfare is her domain, and from what I’ve seen, she’s more than just a sniper. She’s tactical, calculated... and frankly, she’s left me rethinking everything I thought I knew about this line of work.

I need everything—her previous deployments, training, any contracts or associations with PMC units, and anything that might explain what makes her tick. I’ve got a feeling there’s more to her than meets the eye, and I don’t intend to keep looking the other way. She’s got a certain... presence, and it’s time I understood what drives her.

Be discreet about this—no issues with clearance or security. You know the drill.

Regards, Price

----------

As soon as Price hit send, he leaned back in his chair, the weight of his thoughts pressing on him more than the usual operational headaches. He had a habit of never letting anything—especially people—slip under his radar, but this was different. Y/N was different. It wasn’t just her tactical expertise that had caught his attention; it was something intangible, the way she operated with quiet precision, and how her mind seemed to anticipate every move before it happened.

He shook his head, trying to focus. But that damn patch she wore—the snapping turtle patch—kept coming back to his thoughts. The way her team rallied behind her, despite her quiet demeanor, spoke volumes. They clearly respected her, even if she didn’t show it. And then there were the glimmers of a deeper edge beneath her calm exterior—a sniper who didn’t just take the shot, but took the time to understand her environment and her enemy. " That’s something I can respect."

But then there was the matter of what had happened during the training exercise. He thought he was winning—had been winning, until it all came crumbling down with one last sweep. Her team had used the environment to their advantage—exactly how she’d been trained. And she? She’d been silent, invisible in the chaos, only to hit him square in the head when he’d least expected it.

He poured himself a glass of whisky, staring at the amber liquid. "No one had ever gotten the drop on me like that," he thought, taking a slow sip. He’d been fighting in these kinds of environments for years, but here she was, operating with a kind of patience and intuition he couldn’t shake. There was something compelling about that, something that made him want to know more. "Maybe I need to rethink my own game. "

As the glass clinked gently back on the desk, Price exhaled slowly. He’d sent the email—he’d find out what he could about her background. The more he knew, the better.

The sharp buzz of his phone interrupted his thoughts. He picked it up quickly, eyes scanning the message.

[Recipient Name]: I’ll look into it, sir. I’ll be discreet. Should have something for you within the next 24 hours or less. Don’t worry about the clearance, I’ll handle it.

Price stared at the screen for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the reply button. He considered typing something back, but decided against it. No need to overcomplicate things just yet.

---------- As Captain Price sits back, nursing a glass of whisky in his office, the chime of a new email cuts through the quiet of the night. He straightens, his gaze narrowing as he clicks open the message.

----------

Subject: Preliminary Information – Y/N (Codename: "Tortoise")

From: [Recipient Name] To: Commander John Price Date: [Insert Date, 00:10 AM] CC: [Relevant Personnel] Priority: High

Body:

Commander,

Here is the preliminary information on Inspector Y/N, as requested. This is a brief summary, but the full records are still being processed. I will ensure everything is pulled through, but here’s what we have so far:

Family Background: Y/N was born in Portsmouth, raised by a former Royal Navy officer who became an MI5 operative. Her father’s career gave him certain leverage, both in the Navy and with intelligence services. While there is some indication of her mother being complicit in the abuse, details are scarce.

Domestic Abuse Incident: There’s a documented case regarding domestic violence within the household. Social services were involved in the past, though much of the intervention was limited due to the father’s influence.

Missing Persons Report (Age 14): A police record from when she was a teenager indicates a missing persons report filed after a violent argument with her father.

- Missing Persons Reports (Age 14–19)

Frequency: Three documented incidents. Reason: Reports filed by concerned third parties (school staff, neighbors, or local authorities) after witnessing escalating domestic disturbances or after Y/N was seen leaving home for extended periods following physical or verbal altercations. Outcome: Each report ended with Y/N either being found staying with friends or local shelters. Upon investigation, she was repeatedly returned to her family home despite indications of domestic abuse, citing lack of concrete legal evidence or parental assurances. (Reports and Records as per attached)

I’ll send a follow-up once the full profile has been compiled.

----------

Price leaned back in his chair, the glow of the computer screen reflecting off his face as he read the email. His brow furrowed, the lines on his forehead deepening with every word. The contents were brief but revealing—a glimpse into a past that no one had spoken of, not even in passing.

The mention of multiple Missing Persons reports spanning Y/N’s teenage years hit harder than he expected. It wasn’t just the reports themselves, but what they implied: a life lived on the edge of survival, marred by conflict long before she picked up a rifle. The term "domestic disturbances" felt sterile, almost dismissive, compared to the reality it hinted at—physical and emotional wounds that couldn’t be bandaged over.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, his usual composure slipping as he stared at the screen. Her father, a Royal Navy officer. A man who should have been a protector, but instead was the source of her suffering. And her mother, passive at best, complicit at worst. It painted a grim picture, one Price wished he could unsee.

It was personal. Too personal.

The idea of Y/N—a woman who carried herself with such quiet strength—having endured that kind of upbringing stirred something in him. Anger, yes, but also a deep sense of admiration. She hadn’t just survived; she had risen above it, carving out a place for herself in one of the most grueling professions in the world.

He glanced at the timestamp on the email. Midnight. This wasn’t the kind of thing you could read and forget about, especially not at this hour.

Price sighed, his hand drifting to the glass of whiskey on his desk. He picked it up but didn’t drink, instead letting the weight of the glass anchor him. He knew he shouldn’t dig deeper—it wasn’t his place. Yet, the thought of leaving this half-finished made his stomach twist. There was more to her story, and now he couldn’t ignore the curiosity—or the quiet protectiveness—that had taken root.

"Y/N…" Price muttered to himself, setting the glass down as the memories stirred unbidden. This wasn’t new. If anything, he’d been aware of her long before she’d proven herself in the field.

It had all started with Gaz’s cheeky attempt at matchmaking, showing Price that picture with a grin and the bold claim: “She’s your type, Captain. Strong, smart, and she’s not the kind to immediately fall for your charm. Bet you’d have to work for it.”

He’d glanced at the picture, expecting nothing remarkable, but it had stopped him in his tracks. She was a beauty— petite, but a strong profile, and a kind of quiet confidence that spoke volumes even in a still photo. Gaz wasn’t wrong; she was his type.

"Drop by her stall," Gaz had urged a week later, nudging him during a casual chat. “She’s at the she's at stall 30, Just don’t make it weird.”

Price had rolled his eyes but eventually humored the idea. He’d wandered through the rows of vendors, trying to look casual as he approached her table. And when he’d seen her in person? Hell, the photo didn’t do her justice. She was a beauty in an understated way—focused as she sorted her wares, her movements deliberate and graceful. It wasn’t just her looks, though. There was something magnetic about her presence, something that had rooted him in place longer than he’d intended.

Of course, none of that mattered when he’d tried to strike up a conversation. She’d been polite but curt, clearly uninterested in his charm or his rank. She wasn’t rude—just distant, the kind of distance that said don’t even try.

And yet, here he was, unable to let it go.

What had started as light interest had deepened into a quiet admiration, especially now. Watching her in action during the exercise wasn’t just impressive; it had been humbling. She wasn’t just competent—she was exceptional. Calculated, efficient, but fiercely protective of her team. The Tortoise nickname wasn’t just a joke; it was the way she operated, outthinking and outlasting her opponents with sharp precision.

And then there was her past. The cold, hard facts from the report still lingered in his mind, their weight pressing heavy on his chest. She wasn’t just tough—she’d had to be.

Price exhaled, a short, bitter laugh escaping him. He wasn’t sure if he admired her more for what she’d endured or for the fact that she’d let none of it define her. Either way, it made him want to know her even more—a thought that unsettled him, because this wasn’t just professional. It hadn’t been for a long time.

"Damn it, Kyle…" he thought, shaking his head. The lad had been right, and he hated it.

The screen dimmed as the email timed out, but Price remained seated, lost in thought. Some questions could wait until morning, but he doubted his mind would let him rest until he knew the whole story.

Price reached for his whiskey, staring into the amber liquid. “Well, John, you’ve stepped into it now,” he said quietly, the weight of what he’d uncovered settling heavily.

[sky-is-the-limit]

𝙽𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗? 𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙶𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝:

𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚌𝚃𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞: 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝟷 (𝚂𝙵𝚆)

Summary: 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 who is part of TF141 and has a professional/friendly relationship with both. Part 2 will be explicit.

➳𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚂𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. 𝙰𝚗𝚢 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚝. 𝙾𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚐𝚞𝚗𝚜, 𝚙𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚕, 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜, 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛, 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐.

➳𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢, 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝. 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚢𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚐𝚞𝚢. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎, 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚘'𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚍, 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎.

➳𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎, 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘��𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍. 𝚁𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚘𝚊𝚙 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢, 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚐𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚜, "𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛, 𝙼𝚊𝚌𝚃𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚑?"

➳𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚢 𝙶𝚊𝚣 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎. "𝙰𝚑, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝, 𝙶𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚔. 𝚆𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚎, 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎?" 𝙲𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝟿𝟿 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚘 '𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢' 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚕.

➳𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜, 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚢? 𝙱𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚝𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚊 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝.

𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚛𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 "𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎?" 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚢.

➳𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚋𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝, 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚡𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚜.

𝙾𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 '𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚎' 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚗𝚘 𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎. 𝙰 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚝, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜. "𝚈𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝, 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎." 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎, 𝚖𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜.

➳𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖 𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚛. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖.

𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 "𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚎, 𝚈/𝙻/𝙽?" 𝙾𝚛 "𝙰𝚖 𝙸 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚛?" 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎 "𝚈𝚎𝚜, 𝚂𝚒𝚛." 𝚃𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚙𝚜 𝚜𝚕𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏.

➳𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚘𝚜𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍. 𝙵𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚔, 𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝, 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚘𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

"𝙰𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎." 𝚆𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚢𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚡𝚝. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚙𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍.

➳𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢, 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚕𝚢, 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍, 𝚒𝚝'𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎 ����𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜. "𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗, 𝚒𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞." 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚞𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠.

➳𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 (𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚜 𝙶𝚊𝚣) 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚝. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚍𝚘 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍? 𝙶𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚢𝚕𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑? 𝙸𝚝'𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚐 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚘𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚑𝚎'𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚋𝚝𝚕𝚎.

➳𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞.

➳𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚒𝚎𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚋 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑.

➳𝙺𝚢𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝, 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚘𝚛 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚞𝚜. 𝙰𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜, 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎, 𝚛𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚠𝚎.

➳𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚂𝚌𝚘𝚝𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍, 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚙, 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚢, 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚝. 𝙷𝚎'𝚍 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚓𝚘𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚙 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜, 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢.

[yoongiisstoned]

so real. we all love a good bush

"luv.... You didn't have to do this... I thought we were doing just alright...." John says defeatedly, looking at you with betrayal

"John it's-"

"Did.... Did I not love you enough?...."

"Listen Joh-"

"Did I not do enough..."

"John I-"

"Love-"

"OH FOR GODSAKES JOHN, ITS GONNA GROW BACK"

"BUT WHY WOULD YOU SHAVE LOVE. YOUR HONEYPOTS' BARE."

or just John Motherfucking Price feeling depressed after he found out you shaved your precious hair down there

[priceseyes]

john price and athena 'birdie' kallis beach aesthetic - enjoy the silence, cod.

enjoy the silence, cod masterlist.

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: mentions of violence and death (ofc), blood Next >>

John Price stood at a round table, leading the mission brief for the team’s upcoming operation. Ghost, Soap, and Gaz sat around the table in various positions. Soap with his boots kicked up onto the table, chair tilted back; Gaz leaned forward onto the table, his forearms on the surface; Ghost leaned back against his chair, arms crossed over his chest. Soap and Gaz wore their regulation tan t-shirts and camo pants, while Ghost was clad in a black long-sleeve and his standard skull balaclava.

“So if we’re stormin’ the building, we’re all accounted for,” Soap pointed out, clicking the pen between his fingers. “We need a sniper.”

“Called in a favor with a good friend, who should have been here–”

“Ten minutes ago,” a strong but mellow voice cut in as a figure turned through the doorway. “I know, sorry John. Got a bit caught up with my room assignment. Tried to put me on the other side of base.”

A woman came into view, offering her hand out to John. They firmly grasped each other’s forearms in a quick shake. Soap and Gaz both had only slightly surprised expressions. Not at the fact that their sniper was female; they’d worked with plenty of fierce women during their time in Task Force 141.

The fact that she did not look the part.

She wore a massively oversized black sweatshirt that brushed her thighs and dark blue skinny jeans, her hair loose down her back. Must’ve just got off a plane, Soap thought to himself, looking her up and down. Her stance showed her confidence, feet shoulder-width apart as she faced the team with a bright smile (one not often found in their field of work) and glowing skin. She wasn’t necessarily small, more average height, but her attire dwarfed her frame. 

“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” Price nodded at her. “This is Freyja. American Special Forces, sniper, undercover ops. She’s been briefed and will be joining us temporarily for the op. She comes highly recommended and outranks all of you, so I’d suggest you be on your best behavior.”

The woman jabbed Price with her elbow, rolling her eyes, much to Soap’s surprise. He barely suppressed the laugh that bubbled in his chest, unable to help the small choking laugh that escaped. Ghost glared at him and he quickly piped down.

“Thanks, John, but I think I’ll be fine. Glad to be of use.”

“Happy to have you. Let me know if you need anything while you’re here. I’ll leave you to it, get acquainted. We leave at 0400 hours. We’ll be infiltrating in daylight; prepare accordingly.”

“Aye, Captain,” Soap nodded once and saluted him, setting his chair back down as he rose. He watched John pat her shoulder on his way out, sharing what seemed like a knowing look, before finally departing to his quarters. Interesting.

Soap was the first to cross the room, taking her hand in a firm grip. “Pleasure to meet you, Captain. Sergeant John Mactavish,” he introduced, shaking her hand. He noted her equally firm grip and the cool metal of a wedding band pressing into his palm. Her skin was calloused yet soft, not as rough as his own. 

“Soap, right? Heard a lot about you.”

“Aye. Good things I hope?"

“Mostly.”

A boisterous laugh left him, so loud you’d think the room shook. Soap heard Gaz gag on his water before breaking into a choked wheeze. The other man approached, shaking her hand as well. “Kyle Garrick, call me Gaz.”

Her hands found their way into the pockets of her sweatshirt.

“So, Freyja… like the–?”

A gentle, airy giggle floated into his ears. What a lovely sound. “Yes, like the goddess. I know, my husband’s idea.”

Soap groaned, his head lolling back in faux agony as he pressed a hand to his chest. “You’re breakin’ my heart, lass. Was hopin’ ya didn’t have one’a those. He in the service?”

“He is, but you wouldn’t know him. Keeps a pretty low profile,” she shrugged, keeping her eyes on the two men in front of her.

”D’ya think I could take him?”

”Probably not.”

Neither Soap nor Gaz noticed the way Ghost’s mask twitched slightly, evidence of the smirk that pulled at his lips. But she knew his microexpressions like the back of her hand, even out of the corner of her eye. The Scot remembered Ghost’s presence suddenly and waved his hand in his direction. He hadn’t made any move to greet the newcomer and hadn’t spoken during the entire brief.

“Steamin’ Jesus, Ghost, you heard the man. Be nice to the lady!”

Ghost grunted, keeping his arms folded on his chest. “Captain.”

“Lieutenant.”

The two stared at each other, her brow quirked. As the seconds passed, the interaction became increasingly awkward for everyone else in the room. Even the thickest person on the planet could have sensed the tension. Unable to take the silence any longer, Gaz stepped in to attempt to relieve some tension. “You two worked together before?”

“You could say that,” Ghost stated as he rose from his chair. “A word, Freyja?”

Her tongue poked at the inside of her cheek and she squinted at him. It was almost comical, the height difference between the two. Typically, Soap would have made a snarky quip, if not for the vicious look in her eyes. He wouldn’t say it out loud to him, but the scowl rivaled his lieutenant‘s. Finally, she spoke, “Excuse us, gentlemen. I’ll see you in the morning. You know where to find me in the meantime.”

“G’night, Cap,” Soap nodded and moved to the side, allowing her to pass to the door. Ghost didn’t spare them another glance as he followed behind her. The two men stood silently until they heard a door slam shut up the hall. Soap snapped his gaze to Gaz and found him already looking with wide eyes.

“What was that about?”

Soap shrugged noncommittally. “Not a clue. Bad history? Ghost’s no’ exactly skilled in manners.” He went to head to his room when he noticed a military-issue duffel where Freyja had been standing, an American flag patch on the side. He bent down and slung it over his shoulder. “Left her stuff. I’m gonna drop it by ‘for hittin’ the hay. See ya in the mornin’.”

They went their separate ways, Gaz disappearing to the armory to stock up for the mission. Soap approached the only spare room in their wing and rapped his knuckles against the door. He waited for a few beats to no response and repeated the motion.

Nothing.

Soap’s brows furrowed when he heard what sounded like a muffled argument from the next door up, labeled “Lt. Riley”. Soap should have just left her duffel in front of her door and continued on his way to his bedroom, and gone to bed.

But no, he just had to snoop.

He crept toward the door, still holding the bag as he pressed his ear to the hollow wood. They clearly knew each other, but Ghost hadn’t seemed happy to see her. He felt a bit guilty spying on his lieutenant, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. He heard Ghost’s deep voice first.

“We had a deal. You’re supposed to be on leave, and Price knows that. I have half a mind to wring his fucking neck–”

“John didn’t ask me to be here, I volunteered–”

“Cut the shit, Y/N. I’m not daft. He has no place calling you in without asking me first.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Simon!”

Simon? Just how familiar were they with each other?

“Oh, I’m well aware. I just figured that when your husband asks you to stay home, you'd listen! How silly of me!”

So he knows her husband. Interesting. 

“That’s not fair, and you know it.”

“You want to talk about fair? You went around my back to my Captain. I’d say anything’s fair play at this point.” Heavy boots crossed the floor. “This isn’t just about you anymore. You’re not my superior, you’re–”

Soap shuffled his feet, he realized too late how loud the noise was in the empty hallway, and the voices suddenly stopped. He knocked in an attempt to recover, quickly stepping back from the door before it opened. The woman appeared, now in a too-big band tee, her dog tags resting on her chest. “Hi, Johnny,” she greeted, her tone significantly warmer than it had been a moment ago. 

He didn’t remember mentioning his preference for the name, but he couldn’t find a reason to comment on it then. “You, uh, left ya bag. Wanted to drop it off, figured you’d be here.”

“Oh, my bad. Thanks, I appreciate it.” He transferred her possessions to her. The bag that appeared standard when he carried it looked huge compared to her frame. The added weight did not phase her. “We have an early morning. I’m heading to bed.”

Ghost moved from his spot near the bed on the other side of the room. “Frey–”

She held a hand up, sending another chilling glare in his direction. Soap was impressed when Ghost didn’t even blink at the look. “Enough, Lieutenant. That’s an order.” He didn’t miss the eyes behind the skeleton glowering or how the fabric near his mouth shifted. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he growled through clenched teeth. 

She brushed by Soap, readjusting the bag on her shoulder as she stormed to her room, somehow gracefully maintaining her posture. Before he could turn back to question Ghost, the door swung shut in his face.

Real polite.

~*~

“Alpha-One, in position.”

“Copy that, one. Alpha-Two, in position.”

“Bravo?” Soap’s partner looked over his shoulder at the white light flashing at them in the distance. There was a muffled choking sound and a swallow, followed by a sniffle. “Freyja?”

“Sorry. Multiple armed guards. Two snipers at the east and west sides of the targets.” Her voice, while calm, sounded tired and a bit drained. As if she could sense the unspoken question, she came through their headsets again. “Little sick this morning. I’m fine.”

Ghost's jaw set and he rolled his shoulders, blinking a few times to focus. Soap noticed the motion and covered the mic on his headset. “You a’right, Lt.?” he asked, his voice concerned with his brows furrowed. 

Ghost ignored him. “Can you get a visual inside?”

“Negative. Windows are blocked in both buildings. You’re going blind.”

“What’s the call, ma’am?” Gaz’s voice.

“This is Price’s op. I’m just here for support.”

“Ghost?” Price this time. 

Ghost audibly sighed, his irritation at the situation clear. Soap wondered how bad their last encounter could have been for the usually collected man in front of him to be so disheveled. Soap looked over at the lieutenant, who had turned his attention back to the opening in the wall between them. “Bravo, hold your position. Understood?”

“Affirmative.”

“Alpha-One, move in on your target on my command.” Ghost clicked off his mic and slid the chamber back on his pistol, doing one final check.

Soap took the opportunity to follow up on his unanswered concern. “Ghost, you good? Seem tense. Something going on with the lass?”

“Shut up, Sergeant.” He reached up to click his headset back on. “Freyja cleared hot to engage.”

“Standby.” A beat passed, then another, until the suppressed shot of a sniper rifle rang through their headsets, followed by the bolt being pulled back and pushed forward. Another shot. “Clean hit. Snipers down.”

“Copy. Alpha-One, move in. Keep it quiet,” Ghost commanded, signaling Soap forward with a tilt of his head.

She watched Ghost and Soap move swiftly around structures and cars forward to their target. Her gaze periodically adjusted between them and Alpha-One, Gaz and Price. Soap’s accent was low in her ear. “Approaching target. Engaging two hostiles.”

The pair dispatched the guards with ease, the same as the other team up the road.

“Be advised, I have no eyes inside,” she reminded the group, surveying the surrounding area as both teams entered the building.

“Roger. Breaching.”

On their frequency, angry shouts and gunfire had her writing uncomfortably in her spot. She didn’t like not having a solid visual of her team; it made her feel helpless. The audio of the scene inside wasn’t helping her nerves (or nausea) much, either. The sniper was almost lost in her thoughts when she caught movement at the edge of her scope up the street.

Reinforcements.

“Ghost, engaging incoming hostiles. You might want to bug out,” she suggested, taking several shots at the armed men back-to-back. “Alpha-One, sound off.”

“Heard. Intel acquired,” Price acknowledged. “Clearing out.”

“Alpha-Two, how copy?”

The radio crackled once before Soap came through. “Copy, I’ve lost visual on Ghost. Got separated in the firefight,” he grunted, still firing shots inside the building. “‘M gonna have to squirt.”

Something wasn’t right. “Ghost, how copy?”

Silence.

“Lieutenant, what’s your status?”

Her skin crawled at the repeated silence. “Fuck.” She took a deep breath and pulled her knees underneath her body, her stomach suddenly stilling, nausea disappearing. “Abandoning post.” Her voice pierced through their radios with urgency. She abandoned her rifle and made her way down from her perch.

“Absolutely not. We’re converging at the meeting point now.” Price cursed under his breath as she brandished her sidearm and sprinted towards Ghost’s last location. “Stand down, Bravo, that’s an order!” The captain commanded, rough and authoritative.

“All due respect, Price, get bent.”

Price and Gaz watched helplessly as she disappeared into the structure, Soap approaching them from their flank. “The absolute balls on that one, aye?” he snickered, eyeballing Price. He didn’t even flinch, expression hard as steel as he rubbed his face. He hadn’t seen his captain that stressed in quite a while. Maybe not the time for jokes…

The blood-curdling screams Soap heard would scare any man straight. It sounded like a horror movie slaughterhouse over their comms, whether it was caused by Ghost or Freyja he didn’t know. He did know it was her voice that said Ghost’s name and assumed the distant, heated mumbling was Ghost. He must have lost his headset if they couldn’t hear him clearly, and what they were hearing was whatever her comms picked up. “Shut the fuck up and move. If you were fine, I wouldn’t be here, Lieutenant. You can thank me later,” she snapped, sounding eerily similar to a stereotypical angry wife. There’s no way she cleared out that entire convoy on her own…

Right?

Moments later, without any other gunfire, the pair emerged. Ghost was indeed missing his headset, while Freyja trudged in front of him, taking long steps to cross the street. Her helmet was gone, and her hair had come loose. Gun in one hand, a familiar black combat knife in the other, dripping blood. Strands of hair clung to her face, coated in dark red, along with her hands, bare arms, and vest. Soap’s eyes blew wide. “Steamin’ bloody Jesus, did she–?”

Price hummed and nodded beside him. In the same breath, she stumbled over to a car and gripped the door handle, dumping her stomach on the dusty road. Soap and Gaz moved to help, but Price stopped them with a single grunt. Ghost was immediately on her, expertly sweeping her hair into one hand as he pulled her earpiece out, cutting off their audio. One of her hands grabbed his vest for support while his other hand rested on her back.

“Well, that’s unusual,” Soap chimed, his head cocked to the side as he watched the display.

“Quit starin’ and load up. I doubt that’s the last of those reinforcements.” Price waved at them, catching Ghost’s attention and pointing to an approaching Heli, waving his hand in a “roll out” motion.

~*~

The ride back to base in the heli was one of the most awkward experiences of Soap’s life; not a word was spoken during the short trip. Ghost pulled a rag out of his vest and silently handed it to Freyja to wipe some blood from her face; she passed him the blade she had carried, and he finally placed its familiarity when Ghost tucked it into the empty holster at his hip. She looked utterly drained now that they were in close quarters. In another shocking moment, she rested her head on Ghost’s shoulder, and he didn’t move to shove her off.

What the fuck?

At the base, Ghost dropped her off at the medical bay before storming into the meeting room where the team had gathered to debrief. “You’re a dead man, Price,” he barked, finger jabbed at him as his skull plate skittered across the table when he threw it. “You fuckin’ knew–”

“Simon, I’m sorry–”

“Don’t “Simon” me. Sorry’s not gonna cut it, Captain! If she’s hurt–”

“I didn’t think she would compromise herself that easily.”

Ghost barked a dry, humorless laugh as he pointed in the general direction of the infirmary. “Of course, she’s bloody compromised! She’s my fuckin’ wife, you git!” he snarled, teeth viciously bared as he ripped off his mask.

“Hell’s fuckin’ bells…”

“Bloody hell…”

He was too angry (and, frankly, scared for his wife’s health) to acknowledge their audience. “This is exactly why I told you not to call her. I can’t focus if I’m worried about her safety right now. She’s supposed to be safe at home, resting, not running into a bloody warzone, for God’s sake!” 

“She was told not to leave her post–”

“When has she ever obeyed a direct order?”

Silence fell over the group, Price effectively losing the argument. Neither Sergeant wanted to find themselves on the other end of Ghost’s rage. They had no envy for Price and dared not get between them. No envy at all. On the other hand, Soap had so many questions. Since where was Ghost married? When did he have the time for a wife? And an American at that? How long had he been keeping her a secret?

“Simon.”

Four heads whipped to the soft voice across the room, finding the woman of the hour standing in the doorway. A superficial cut on her forehead had been taped up, her face clear of blood. Soap and Gaz stared at her in disbelief, jaws dropped as they looked from her to Ghost and back again. She chuckled at their expressions but didn’t move to approach them. “Captain Riley. Lovely to meet you both, officially,” she reintroduced herself, a slight smirk on her lips. She finally met her husband’s gaze, her expression softened at his bare face, save for the black paint.

He curled two fingers at her, one arm crossed over his chest. “C’mere. Now,” he ordered her, though his tone had little bite to it.

Even only knowing the sniper for such little time, Soap was outright shocked at the display. Flabbergasted by her obedience when she immediately strode to the spot next to him, barely leaving any space between their chests. It didn’t seem like her. He was obviously wrong, considering what he’d just witnessed. 

Ghost took a deep breath as he peered down at her, examining her visible skin for injuries. “I’m right pissed at you, love,” he muttered, allowing her to loop a finger in his belt loop.

She smiled up at him, her admiration clear now that the sergeants had been let in on the secret. “I know.”

“Don’t give me that look.” The man sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. He knew he couldn’t hold his ground with that smile of hers. He dropped a gloved hand to rest on her lower belly, rubbing the spot with his thumb. “You alright?”

She placed her hand on top of his and bobbed her head. Her familiar glow from the night before had returned.

“I’d like an apology.”

“And I’d like a parade in my honor. Oh, and a good ol’ fashioned fu–”

“Oi, better watch that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“You love my mouth.”

“Tha’ I do. Just not right now, sweetheart.”

Soap couldn’t take it anymore. “Steamin’ blood Jesus L.t., are you…flirting?”

“Shamelessly,” she giggled, never once tearing her eyes away from the man towering over her.

Ghost rolled his eyes again, his other hand slipping into its home on the side of her neck. “You’re done. I mean it. And if you call her again, I walk,” he threatened, turning his head to address Price directly. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Ghost, she held her own just fine,” Soap interjected from his chair. “Hen took out an entire squad practically single-handedly, plus the convoy before she went in after ya. I don’t see the problem.”

Realization dawned on Gaz suddenly, forcing him to his feet again. “You’re pregnant,” he exclaimed, both in shock and awe. “That’s why you were feeling sick. And the big clothes. You’re on maternity leave."

The lack of response from John and Freyja and how Ghost studied Gaz said everything they needed to know.

“No wonder you’ve been downright crabbit with her! Can’t say I blame ye, ‘s too dangerous out there to be mucking about with a little one in there.” Soap rose to his feet too, smiling like a cheeseball, ready to ruthlessly tease him. “How’d you manage that, Ghost? A bangin’ wife and a baby?”

“I know it’s been a while for you, Sarge–”

“Aw, away n’ bile yer heid!” the Scot barked, dismissing his lieutenant with a wave.

“English, MacTavish.”

“Sorry, sir, let me translate…Go fuck yourself.”

“Much better.”

He moved on from Ghost, addressing Freyja now. “I’ve so many questions! How long ‘ave you been together?” Soap leaned against the round table in front of them, his hands dragging across the shaved portion of his head.

“How old am I?” Ghost asked in a low, teasing timber.

Her upper lip tugged upwards as her hand wavered, indicating an estimate. “Five years, give or take.”

“Five years?! Son of the god-damn-devil, Lt! You’ve had a secret wife for five years–” He cut himself off with a gasp, his volume dropping to a brash whisper. “Does he take the mask off when you—”

“Tha’ll do, Johnny.”

Her bubbly laugh filled the room, and she swatted his tactical vest with her palm. “Si, don’t be an ass,” she warned, raising a brow at him. “Oh, John! I have pictures for you!” The woman let go of her husband and dug out folded ultrasound photos from her zipped pocket. She, Price, and Gaz moved to another corner of the room, gushing over the snapshots of her latest appointment before flying out, leaving Soap and Ghost alone by the meeting table.

A mischievous grin overtook Soap’s face. “An American, eh, Lt.? And she outranks you?”

“Not another word, Sergeant.”

A long pause stretched between them, although not long enough for Ghost’s liking.

“So… Goddess of love, beauty, and war,” he inquired, raising an eyebrow at the Brit, who threw him a questioning side-eye. Soap hummed. “Fitting.”

Soap almost gawked at the smirk (borderline smile) that Ghost bore as he watched his wife animatedly pour over her photos. “I’m well aware.” Another moment passed between them before Ghost fully turned to the other man. “Johnny?”

“Yeah, Ghost?"

“Flirt with my wife again, I’ll knock your teeth in."

"Noted, sir."

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