#Jonathan price x reader

[chamomiletealeaf]

Thinking ab Price fucking you after seeing you so upset from a really bad day to help cheer you up. You’re on your back as he’s fucking you so good that your eyes are unfocused, you’re panting, and have a big dumb smile plastered across your face, which was his final goal, other than making you cum so hard you forget your name.

“Yeah that’s right lovey dovey.” He coos. “Smile for me baby. Lemme see how happy this cock makes you hm?”

He’d smile himself, proud with the way he has you dumb on his dick, happy that his pretty girl is happy again.

“Aww see baby?” He coos at you again. “All you needed was a nice thick cock.”

[sapchat]

141 head cannon based off irl story

So my brother-in-law’s brother was telling us how he met his current wife, (he’d been married 10 years then she cheated and they divorced.) they’d been coworkers and had hung out outside of work with others and stuff. Well one day he was like “hey a group of us are going to ‘local pizza place’ after work, wanna come?” And she was like “yeah sure I’ll see y’all there!”

Guys she got there and it was just him. Was a complete set up and he was just chilling. But she was like “eh whatever let’s eat”

He moved in with her 2 weeks later and they’re married with 2 kids.

It’s 141 coded. You can’t tell me that Soap wouldn’t be like “hey lass me and the boys are going to the pub later, wanna join?” And showing up to Johnny just sat at a table like ‘😄’

Gaz is a little more subtle… he invites you out but when you show up and no one else is there he’s just like “☹️ they ended up not being able to make it…” ‘😏’.

Price is also a little more subtle, he’s all “hey we’re gonna try and go try this place! I’ll even drive you!” Just for people to slowly start dropping out/getting called back to base until it’s just you two.

Simon honestly probably doesn’t even give it 2 weeks until moving in. He’s probably putting his socks in your dresser that night. He isn’t subtle about the invite either, “going to the pub later, wanna come?” Not his fault you just assumed the others were coming too…

[miserycanary]

’CAUSE YOU ARE THE ONLY EXCEPTION ᡣ𐭩

pairing: Capt. John Price & fem!reader

synopsis: how Price is when he's with you

tags: fluff, mentions of pussy-eating, brief smut

Price would describe himself as a restrained, responsible man. Being a captain of the force, such traits are needed. He’s not the kind of guy to be easily swayed and sticks to the rule

But, oh, with you… he’s the opposite of everything he’s supposed to be

| On time

When he's with you, every training engraved on his brain and drilled into his spine that taught him to be tough goes out the window. Suddenly he’s incapable of showing up at the designated time; too busy burying his cock deep inside of you. How could he not? Did you really expect him to not devour you right there and then when you wore the prettiest and fittest sundress? The slit on the side was quickly found by his hands and you soon find yourself being held up by his arms like you weigh nothing. Doing a full-nelson in front of the living room mirror while he sings praises to your ears. Telling how pretty you are, the perfect wife, such a good girl. 

| Focused

His attention span? He likes showing off the fact he can maintain focus for a long time— even when it’s watching paint dry. With you though? He’s like a ticking time bomb. Always forgetting what he was saying just because he looked at you. This is why you guys could never finish a whole movie. It just ends with him trapped between your thighs, eating you out like there’s no tomorrow. If he’s extra, he’d make you sit on his face or guide your hands to grip his hair and tell you to move on your own. 

You’re just so pretty :( 

He can’t keep his hands off you.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: these are self-inserts (I'm feeling lonely)

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[lushrue]

thinking about helping your bear shifter husband prepare for winter hibernation (john price x reader)

“john, i’m home!” you call, toeing off your shoes in the doorway. your arms were full of paper bags from the grocery store. you never seemed to be prepared enough for your husband’s appetite before hibernation. somehow, it was always a shock to you when the cupboards came up empty more quickly than usual. it was your third trip to the grocery store in as many weeks, and you anticipated making a couple more before winter finally came.

you set the numerous bags down on the kitchen counter, unwinding the scarf around your neck once your hands were free. the chill of autumn had fully settled in the air, vibrant reds and yellows dotting the treeline of the neighborhood you lived in. it wasn’t cold enough for your winter jacket just yet, but a beanie and scarf kept you warm enough on your walk to the store and back. as you ran your fingers through your hair to set it right again, you stopped to listen. usually, you would have heard john typing away at the computer in his office or watching a football match on the television. instead, it was nearly silent, save for the sound of rustling fabric and frustrated snuffling coming from your bedroom.

you smiled knowingly. price was picky about how the bedroom had to be for his hibernation. he’d already hung the blackout curtains, which you thought made the room feel like a dungeon. he’d also started working on his stash of snacks and water for when he’d wake up enough to eat and drink. but the bed, that was what he spent the most time on. there were certain blankets he only pulled out during the winter, quilts and furs that had belonged to his family for generations. there had to be a certain amount of pillows, even though they would get knocked off when he inevitably tossed and turned. more than anything, though, he wanted your scent all over.

though you would occasionally go in and sleep with john during the winter, you couldn’t stay with him during his whole hibernation period. someone had to keep the lights on, make sure the house stayed clean, tend to the things that john normally did during the year. even when you couldn’t be there, he wanted to feel like you were. so it was little surprise when you walked into the bedroom to see your husband with his face shoved into a pillow.

you couldn’t hold back your laugh as you stood in the doorway. price’s ears twitched, head turning to catch sight of sweet little you watching him. his cheeks flushed and he chuckled with you, the sound deep and rolling like thunder. “caught red-handed, ‘m afraid,” he teased, tossing the pillow back on the bed. “didn’ hear you come in, lovie.” you smile, moving to his side and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “don’t know how you could’ve through all the pillow stuffing.” he swiped at you playfully as you giggled, a laugh of his own joining yours.

“jus’ tryin’ to find the right ones,” he said, fixing his rapt attention back on the bed. he’d already divided the pillows into two piles: ones that he wanted to keep, and the ones you’d be putting in the closet until spring. you reached up to pet his ears, watching the way he melted into your touch. your favorite part of fall was how clingy he got. always needed his hands on you, needed to have you within earshot. one of his large hands wound around your waist, rubbing over the plush curves of your body. he grumbled, pulling you in close to his chest and burying his head in the crook of your neck. “not gonna get much preparation done if ya keep touchin’ me like that, pet,” he said, the barest hint of a growl in his voice. it always sent a thrill through you when he let the bear come out.

“nonsense. i’m trying to help,” you quip back, pulling away from him and running your fingers down his chest. they continue south, over the soft layer of belly fat he always gained in the autumn, and down to his hip. he quirked an eyebrow, trying to anticipate your antics. “and how exactly is this helping?” he asked, unable to hide the way his breath was quickening with each stroke of your fingers. you smile and pull him towards the bed by his hip. “because,” you start, your voice raising into that breathy octave you know he loves. “we can make all these pillows smell like me.”

the growl that comes out of him as he throws you on the bed might just be your favorite sound in the world.

don't love how i ended this, will probably revisit it later

legit didn't mean to take a hiatus, grad school has been kicking my ass and i got married a few weeks ago so life has been a lot 😅

gonna start working on chapter 9 of frozen hearts and hopefully get that posted soon too!

[eccentricallygothic]

Mother nature has called but so has Daddy Captain John Price...

Warning(s): Protected period sex, it hurts (obv), whiny and kinda grumpy reader, praise kink, soft Dom Cap, kissing, reassurance, age gap, Daddy kink, body worship, idk I am on my period and going full self indulgence mode. MDNI. 

“Ow!” Although she meant to be all lispy and cute, when her Daddy Captain John Price's fat condom wrapped cock pushed past her sore and unwilling opening, she swore the contraceptive added to the girth. The older man could chuckle and tell her that it was her sensitive state and lack of experience with condoms all he wanted, she was convinced and when she was on her period, the Captain knew not to poke the scary puppy. 

“It's okay, baby” the baritone of Price's voice had increased because of how much warmer and tighter her pussy felt. Perhaps she was clenching a bit too hard too. And then he was trying his best to go slow on top of that; doing his best to hold back so as not to overwhelm the moody little girl. “You're doing so good for Daddy” no, this couldn't have waited. 

Her swollen tits, ultra sensitive nipples that had become thick and the bloated pouch that had become of her adorable tummy was all way too much to resist. 

“Ugh, Daddy you're splitting me open! Owie!” She pouted, body tense but aching hips welling up to life. “You're too big!” Her eyebrows furrowed and she huffed, mad but greedily hugging his neck tighter as he pressed kisses to her neck before grabbing one of her boobs and stroking her tender nipple with the pad of his thumb. “You're such a grizzly!” Price smiled as he pressed affectionate kisses to her parted mouth before kissing along her jaw. 

“I've got you, pretty girl—” he softly groaned when he went to move out only to find himself clamped between her walls. “Daddy's got you. Just relax…” His big hands rubbed her sides comfortingly as he bent down to press kisses all over her chest. “Just relax for Daddy and let him take care of you” and just as he had promised, tingles of pleasure began to bud from that one area below her navel. 

“D- Daddy!” She whined and her fingers tightly coiled around his muscular arms. Or at least, as much as they could given the size of the man's muscles. “Oof!” Her back arched from the protest and reproach that her cavern put up when he finally managed to free his cock. 

“Hey, it's okay, it's okay” Price spoke between sticky, elongated kisses; back to pressing his warm fuzzy body against hers while his mouth worshipped the beauty of her face. “Daddy's got you, Princess” he reached for her belly and gently caressed it with one hand. 

This was going to be slow, affectionate and beautiful.

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

I Know You Like Her Too [Series Masterlist]

Poly!141 x fem!Reader

Content:

On-Going Series, Military!Reader, Polyamorous Relationship

No use of Y/N, Reader's callsign is 'Rabbit', Very Minimal Physical Character Descriptions, Canon-Typical Violence, Mentions of Abuse, Semi-Graphic Torture Scene, Happy Ending :D

This story was written pre-MW3 and has been modified to fit the timeline and some parts of that campaign. With that said, the campaign is a nice suggestion, not a rule. Major canon-divergence here.

Pairings:

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (pre-established) Simon “Ghost” Riley Kyle “Gaz” Garrick Captain Jonathan Price

Bonus Chapter Pairings:

poly!141 x Alejandro Vargas + Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

and possibly more ;)

NSFW [18+]:

SoftDom!Ghost, SoftDom!Price, Switch!Gaz, Switch!Soap, Switch!Reader, Threesomes, Group Sex, Hair Pulling, Bondage (Ghost gets tied up heh), Lots of Praise, Body Worship, Oral (giving and receiving), Overstimulation, Aftercare

-

Pre-Story Headcanons and General Information:

Personnel Files

141 & Rabbit Headcanons

-

Main Story Chapters:

Chapter One | 3.5k Words

Chapter Two | 2.9k Words

Chapter Three | 5.3k Words

Chapter Four | 3.3k Words

Chapter Five | 2.4k Words

Chapter Six | 2.5k Words

Chapter Seven | 2k Words

4th of July Special | 2.9k Words

Chapter Eight | Coming Soon

-

TAGLIST:

Please interact with this post to be added to the taglist for this story!

-

<3

[mi-i-zori]

When Silence is No More

CoD - Astronauts!141 x Cosmic Horror!Reader

SYNOPSIS : A quick thought about the 141 being stationed on a space station and catching the eyes of a cosmic horror.

WARNING : None. But this is intended to be a subtle kind of horror, so it might be unsettling. The x Reader part is very subtle, but it’s here !

Author’s Note : I was daydreaming, like I always do, and started to mix Space and Sea in a same setting again. So here you go.

I do not allow anyone to translate, re-use or re-publish my works, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Contrary to what people might think, a space station isn’t really quiet.

First, there’s the constant humming of the machinery. They tend to forget it a lot, having gotten used to it echoing day and night in the back of their heads. There’s also their own voices - bantering, chatting, laughing, yelling, cursing. When they work on whatever machine needs maintenance at the time, the clinking and banging of tools also adds itself to the subtle cacophony that surrounds them on the daily.

Over the years, they’ve come to find it comforting. It’s the reason why, when repairs need to be made on the outside of the station, the cosmic silence sometimes makes them even more uneasy than it should ; especially when exhaustion weighs heavy on their bodies after months of floating away from the world, in a void where Mother Earth and the Moon both linger on the infinite horizon.

Those daily sounds bring them peace.

Until they don’t.

-

It comes slow, at first. It takes them a while to realise why they’ve all been feeling like something’s wrong. They couldn’t say how long, but after days of anxious fidgeting, awkward and confused silences, and constant checking of the machinery inside and outside of the station, Kyle abruptly interrupts himself in the middle of a sentence, a look of strange understanding on his face.

« Do you hear that ? » He says, and it’s when they finally all focus on their surroundings that they hear it.

There’s a peculiar melody floating in the air. A mesmerising song made of laughter, coos, and other sounds they’ve never heard before. For a moment, they think they left a CD player run somewhere in the station, close enough for them to hear - but they quickly realise that it’s not the case, and the confusion only gets stronger as they rattle their brains in order to find where that music could be coming from.

Simon mentions that it sounds like it’s coming from outside. A crazy thought. But the more time passes, the more it seems to be true.

The cosmos is no longer silent.

-

Then come the lights, adorned with colours they can’t bring themselves to describe. They light up the corridors of the station in the strangest of hues, creating new shadows in the corner of their eyes. Unfamiliar silhouettes giggle and dart in front of the windows, taking a second to cut the streams of light before immediately disappearing.

Are they inside the station ? Or are they outside ?

-

Johnny is the first to mention the dreams. But they all have them.

They all describe the same strange, almost fish-like creatures they see dancing in the blaze of supernovas. The same voices, high and low at the same time, calling them from the abyss of black holes. The same feeling of drowning among comets and asteroids, suffocating under the force of cold, invisible currents before suddenly being pulled away by scaly limbs.

They always wake up in the middle of the night, sweating bullets and cursing at the same, distant vision of round, slitted eyes and glowing fins. One that keeps haunting the back of their minds during the day.

-

Price doesn’t know if he should mention it to the team waiting for them at home. He could swear his daily check-ins with the base back on Earth keep getting interrupted by a strange rhythm of static, even though there seems to be no problem with the comms.

There’s a strange pressure in their stomachs now, that keeps growing with every new event. When they don’t instinctively hold their breaths as if they were underwater, they can hear the harmonious remnants of waves in their ears, feel an unfamiliar taste of salt on the back of their tongues. Sometimes, it becomes impossible to know whether they’re still dreaming or not, and they have to pinch each other’s cheeks to the point of bruising to realise they’re wide awake. It all looks, sounds, tastes, smells and feels so real. Every single one of their senses is constantly filled to the brim with waves and waves of strange sensations.

The more time passes, the more they feel like they’re being watched. As if they had suddenly become a prey in the eyes of a being they are unable to see.

The radars, however, never show anything.

Are they having a collective hallucination ?

Or is there really something lurking behind the stars, watching their every movement, and tasting their fear with hunger in its eyes ? No matter what they do, the song never seems to stop.

And it’s the same thing with the growls.

[ragingbookdragon]

It’s a quarter to three when the door to the bedroom opens and shuffling echoes in her ears. The covers are pulled back and a weight dips into the space behind her, a moment then strong arms pull her back to an equally strong chest. A low groan rumbles through her back and in her ear, a sleepy smile coming across her lips as she lazily rolls, more like flops in his arms, until she’s got her head tucked into his neck.

“Home late,” she mutters against his skin and his fingers trail underneath the gray t-shirt she’s got on—his t-shirt—a silent apology in the form of a caress.

“Work ran late,” he replies lowly, rubbing his cheek against her head. “Sorry, love.”

She ignores the apology. “Kick some bad guys’ asses?”

“From Mexico all the way to Chicago,” he answers with a smile.

“Good job,” she answers, running a hand up his chest, warm skin beneath her fingers, heartbeat fluttering at her fingertips. “Proud of you.”

His smile grows and he hunkers down with her in his arms, tangling their legs as he pulls the covers up to their noses. “I’m proud of you, love.”

“I said it first,” she retorts with a lazy huff, already feeling drowsiness starting to wash over her. “I’m proudest.”

“Yes, you are,” he snorts, letting his eyes fall shut. “I love you.”

Her hand pats his chest, nose brushing his skin as she tips her head up and presses her lips to his pulse. “Love you, more.”

He waits until she’s asleep and murmurs earnestly, “I love you most.”

[mrsmidnight15]

Cod MWii x (gn)Reader Sfw & Nsfw headcanons

Characters: Valeria Garza, Cap. Jonathan Price

this is a bit short cause im still getting back into writing, ill hopefully be writing longer stuff soon🎉( @sleepiexx @sheeluvsme you two are entirely to blame for this😭)

all nsfw will be at the very bottom together!

🩷valeria🩷

Because of her line of work it can be hard trying to find fun things to do together out and about without risking being seen unless you're out of the country or dressed up but Valeria has no problem coming up with things to do with you inside or in enclosed outdoor areas.

She's a smart woman and her gears don't stop turning off work. If you can play chess be prepared for total warfare, she will wipe your ass clean off the board regardless of your skill and can go for as many rounds as you're willing. However if that isn't your thing there's still plenty of other logic, mystery and puzzle games to play together.

Loves dancing, if her favorite song comes on she's immediately on you, pulling you to the floor and teaching you the steps if you don't know. If you're physically unable to then she will put on a show, completely mopping the floor. If she's feeling cheeky or you're especially shy she will start dirty dancing to try and fluster you.

💕john💕

Whenever John gets home on leave he always dedicates the first couple days to relaxing with you, he always feels horrible having to spend so much time away from you and it's his own sorta way for making up all the lost time.

turns into a total cuddlebug, and if you aren't cuddling he's still finding someway to stay close or in physical contact with you. Rests his head on your lap if you're preoccupied with an electronic or book, playful kicks and footsie under the table while you're both eating dinner.

LOVES taking baths with you, thinks it's the perfect time for you guys to just unwind and take care of each other. goes feral when you wash his hair and scratch his scalp, if you want to rile him up all you need to do is give a couple light pulls. Tries to make you laugh by building up shapes on his head with the bubbles. insists on drying you off himself when you both get out.

NSFW

Valeria

DOMMY MOMMY

although i don't think she has a mommy kink the dommy part still stands

she loves the feeling of being in control of your pleasure, taking and giving it as she pleases

Likes restraints, not only for the power it gives you but she also enjoys knowing that feel safe enough to be so vulnerable and exposed just for her

A bit possessive, loves having you repeat her name while you're seeing stars. Asking you who you belong to, making you swear no one else will ever see or feel you like this even though she already knows the answers

one of her top kinks is for sure overstimulation. Gets off on how far gone you get, solely reliant on her to keep you grounded and well. absolutely loses it in a good way when you first start squirming, simply using her weight to keep you pressed down and pliant

Will not stop until you're writhing and begging her, mocks your whines and pleas for mercy while cranking up the vibrator pressed to your sweet spots. she's really good at reading you though and always knows when to stop before it starts to become uncomfortable or needing of safeword

John

he tends to prefer domming most of the time, just enjoys having you let go for him and have fun and gets off on it too

Won't be opposed however if you ever feel like taking the reigns, he's pretty cool with most things and trying stuff out as long as your happy

manhandling kink for the win, goes both ways depending on if you or him is the bigger one

If he is, which he's quite used to being, he loves taking you up against a wall. likes having you a bit closed in, forces you to focus only on him. enjoys having your full attention to himself

If you are, he likes positions where you're on top or over him. likes being able to have a good view of you while still pressed together and the pressure of your weight is very calming to him as well

Sucker for dirty talk, likes when you do it too but if you're too shy or don't have the capacity for it he'll gladly talk the whole way through. About how good you look, how perfect you feel around/inside him. when he's close to cumming he voice gets growly and low, whispering sweet things in your ear as you both come undone

[lyeofhell]

you know John’s petty as hell. like no one that controlling and obsessed with caretaking is normal. if you unbuckle your own seatbelt and open your own door before he can jump outta the driver’s seat and do it, he’ll run around the car and shut the door back in your face just so he can open it for you djskdskd

[eccentricallygothic]

if you're ever doubting whether it's mistreatment or not, ask yourself if jonathan price would treat you that way and you'll have your answer

[sapchat]

The fact I can only like this once is a crime

On Merit

exhusband!price x f!reader

cw: house fire and the aftermath of it. reader and john have kids. reader is implied to be an atheist. unedited because i don't want to look it over again. idk what this is and it's not going anywhere i just needed some comfort.

"i just thank god that the kids are okay."

an in-law of some fashion. a pesky one, perhaps an aunt. usually, you can remember her name by some clever rhyme you'd made up the day you'd gotten married, but today both the name and the rhyme escape you. 

"yeah, me too," you mutter. it's not that you don't mean it, but you've repeated the line so many times today it feels hollow and you can't muster the energy necessary to sell it, especially when the mention of your kids has your head on a swivel, making sure they're still corralled off by the picnic table. they are, of course - haven't moved since you'd last sought them out in a panic all of thirty seconds ago. your mother hovers over them, her hands stroking their hair, just as insistent and scared as your own which hang uselessly at your sides. you want to go to them, but the team of volunteer construction workers who have manifested from the aether need guidance on which parts of the house may contain salvageable heirlooms or sentimental storage. they've been dipping in and out of the wreckage all morning, confused worker bees pulling honey from the hive. a small collection of brightly colored totes decorates your lawn, fluorescent greens and reds standing out amongst the charred grass where more community and family members pick them apart, show you waterlogged decorations from a new years party four years ago and pester you to see if you want to bother keeping them. if you say no, they toss the waste into a large construction bag. mildly, it bothers you that they don't just throw them back in the house. clean up has to start somewhere, you suppose.

they found the majority of your pictures, waterlogged but whole. a gaggle of elderly women sit at picnic tables which weren't on your lawn this morning, pressing each photo between layers of shop rags. you want to bake them a cake, wonder if they'll accept a delivery pizza. wonder if you're lucky enough that your wallet is still in your car.

"only home twenty minutes… when i think what could have happened…" you close your eyes against the visions it invokes, tears collecting in your lashes. auntie balks when she notices, as if surprised her words could affect you. she pats your arm awkwardly. "well, everything happens for a reason. it's lucky you got home when you did."

it's the same line you've heard all morning, the same one you yourself had spouted to your mother much earlier when you'd admitted your kids had been home alone most the night. there was nothing wrong with that, your oldest - fifteen - plenty capable of making sure her younger sister ate and got to bed on time. which she'd done, both girls sleeping like logs when you'd gotten home. you don't want to think about what could have happened if you'd been any later, if one more patient had taken a turn, and all the words of comfort have been the same - thank god that wasn't the case. they mean well but the truth is you don't really believe in that kind of stuff so it's hard to get past the what ifs. you let it wash over you, like the runoff still flowing down the backslope of the lawn. ash and glass clouds the brook back there, a fine waiting to happen, probably. add it to the list of growing expenses your mind is too clouded to tally up right now.

smoke still wafts from the house - what remains of it. thin tendrils of ink leaking from the empty windows, their frames warped from the sagging weight of the structure and wreathed in melted plastic. john had insisted on the most expensive brand he could find, adamant that they were the most secure. but fire doesn't care much about double locks or casement, and it had rained little crystals of tempered glass down on you anyway. it crunches like gravel under aunties shoes as she drifts away from you now, neither of you able to offer the other the kind of comfort you each need. most of these people, they've shown up to make themselves feel better, to tell everyone how they'd helped the poor single mother in her time of need. but you don't act the part of the distraught, needy damsel and it's left a lot of them off-kilter, approaching you like a ticking bomb, a presumed-buried fuel source hidden under the rubble, waiting to catch heat. perhaps you are.

>>On my way.

you don't need to check your phone to verify the text because it's been burned into your retinas by now but you do anyway, just to be sure. just to do the mental math of how long ago it had been received. seven hours. wherever he'd been when he pinged your phone at two in the morning, when the firefighters had still been lingering, it must have been far. john and you may have had your differences over the years, but he had never and would never be the type to let you face a crisis alone. even now you can't help but reflect on the depth of his devotion, the implication that he'd been on a mission which he'd dropped to be with you even after learning his daughters were okay not lost on you. it's another mental image you have to fight off, the father of your children battle worn and weary when he checks his burner to find an update from kate. he hadn't bothered to relay his reply through her, had texted you directly because he still had your number memorized after all these years. it has you shaking your head, waspish when the volunteers bring you a bin of old gaming consoles, filled with water because the stupid plastic guitar controller was too tall to properly fashion the cover. you've no idea why it makes you angry, but you latch onto it with claws and teeth anyway because being mad at john is much safer than lingering on -. 

well, lingering on.

the construction crew tells you the kitchen won't collapse on you if you want to go in through the window there. you don't, but it gives you something to do, and you only realize once you're already in that it was perhaps the worst room to have chosen. 

debris carpets the floor at least two inches thick. you have a fleeting, wild notion to go swap your sneakers for boots before you remember, thoughts immediately flickering to wonder how long it will take for that instinct to die off. what strikes you first is how small the room seems with the roof sagging slightly and floor raised by detritus. soot stained and dark, it swallows the ample sunlight which streams through the empty window within inches, the further corners of the kitchen too dark to make out properly. it doesn't feel like your home, casts a certain sense of voyeurism over the growing feeling of loss. your kitchen, the life center of your home, nothing but charred ribs now.

the crew offers you a worn baseball cap and a pair of gloves when they see you flinch under the steady drip of water. you don't bat an eye as you pull them on, too focused on where you want to begin and if you'll get sepsis for your troubles.

you can't open the fridge because it's melted too much but the cabinets are all mostly functional, if unrecognizable. you don't dare open the higher ones because the way they hang off-kilter makes you nervous but the lower ones housed the bake ware anyway, the morbid curiosity to see if your pyrex finally shattered too hard to resist. 

turns out those things really can take the heat.

it's hard to stop once you've started, almost cathartic - a checklist of all the items you've forgotten you owned being crossed out as you confirm you no longer have them. it's an odd sort of soothing, a finger in a bullet hole to stem the blood loss. it will be nice not to have to wonder if anything could have been salvageable when you remember them later. 

"is my pie still in the oven?"

you don't bother turning, your eldest's blithe sense of humor about the whole affair recognizable even without looking. "you shouldn't be here," you remind her, opening up a deep drawer to find a collection of snack sized crisp bags floating in dirty water. if you weren't so agitated, it would make you laugh, the way they bob like apples, inviting you to try your luck.

"neither should you," she counters. "is my pie still in the oven? i worked so hard on it."

"what pie?" you ask, carefully closing the drawer, as if spilling more water on the floor could actually matter.

"i made a pie last night! it turned out pretty good, i think. was excited to have you try it."

you blink, finally turning to face her. "you made a pie?"

she nods, still oddly cheerful. she has been all day, a solid rock you're refusing to lean on because you want her to know she can cry, that she doesn't need to do this. "yeah, pumpkin. our fav," she reminds you.

you hide the sudden surge of tears by turning away from her and carefully opening the oven. the glass has been blown, shards thumping to the soggy floor as the door tilts. you can't help but laugh at what you find inside, the double tins still fully functional, a deep dish pie standing tall and proud in their confines. it resembles a charred souffle more than a pie when you pull it out, the top puffed up and blackened but refusing to sink into the soaked crust. a perfect slice has been cut from it already, the pie likely having been put back just to keep it warm a little longer. waiting on you. out of instinct, you check to make sure the oven had been switched off though the investigator already said everything was caused by the line outside. 

thankfully your daughter doesn't catch your doubt, too busy fawning over how perversely good her pie still looks. "i'm so proud of it," she declares, taking the dish from you.

you can't help but laugh. "you should offer it to the ladies sorting the pictures out there, in thanks."

"oh my god, you're right!" she cheers, and then nearly throws her precious pie down the bank when she turns away. "dad!" she shrieks, deciding to unload it on the window sill instead. like a dark reimagining of vintage americana.

john's by her side in a heartbeat, pulling her to him with a strong arm. in his other he still holds your youngest because that's what he's used to doing, nevermind the fact that she's twelve now. you don't think you've ever seen him so visibly shaken, mustache twitching as he holds your daughters close. he never bothered to change out of his field gear - vest stripped, but empty holsters still hanging from his stained cargos because those require a bit more care, fine motor control he probably couldn't manage. his hands are heavy on the crowns of your daughters heads, whatever words he whispers to them buried there too. you watch them with your heart in your throat, your agitation returning at the sight of him, the urge to chew your nails completely off only cowed by the appearance of soot on your gloves and the sweet smell of chemically loaded water and smoke which hangs around you like perfume. you'll have to take a bite out of him instead, an instinct that only grows when he spots you in the kitchen, anger clouding the fear in his gaze.

"sweetheart, get out of there."

you ignore him. "where were you?"

john doesn't even blink, evidently having been expecting this reaction. he should have, you remember. the same fight as always. "i was on miss -."

"i don't care." you turn back toward the room, as if to storm away, but a sink hole lays before you and despite everything, you still have enough sense about you to stay put.

it's the only opportunity he needs, john's heavy boots thudding behind you as he pulls himself up through the window. "honey, come here," he says, but he doesn't give you the chance, coming up behind you to pull you around.

you're folded in his arms before you can even pitch a fit about it, the low stream of anger you're spewing swallowed up somewhere in the stiff folds of his button up. you don't realize your breaths are coming in heaving gasps until his arms are shaking with it, his bicep swelling in your periphery just to drop suddenly out of your field of view every time you gasp for breath. john doesn't say much - or maybe he says too much, voice a steady low hum you feel in his chest more than you register in your ear. there's no helping the way you cling to him, anger dissipating as quickly as it built. john's solid and warm against you, just as soft for you as he's always been. he smells like sweat and gunpowder, the subtle scent of the expensive cigars he never finishes. it's a smell you miss always, but especially today, when the cloying scent of smoke and pfas water have felt near to suffocating you all morning.

john waits until your anger has been guttered before guiding you outside, his palm heavy on your back. he's subtle about the way he pulls another man's cap off your head, distracting you with questions about what happened, and, why is his aunt here. you pretend not to notice, stuck between an odd sense of endearment you really don't have time for and an urge to encourage him you decide to reanalyze when you're not homeless and desperate for comfort in whatever form it comes.

"the wind - last night. inspector says the tree out front must've dropped a limb on the line to the house."

"told you to let me cut it down," john mutters and you roll your eyes at him, too tired to fight now that he's calmed you down once already.

"shut up, you can blame me for this later -."

"honey, that's not -."

"look at this. you won't believe this. that line - when it split - it fucking wrapped itself around the wood stove exhaust. like, five times! look!" he's guided you back to the front of the house by now and you drag him to the freak display, the cable indeed having somehow managed to fasten itself to the exhaust while it was hissing and spitting, dangling from your home. john frowns at it, stroking his mustache in thought. "freak fucking accident," you continue, "like, what are the odds of that?"

john doesn't have an answer. "you were home?"

"it's okay, sweetheart," john murmurs, pulling you close again. his next words are low, close to your ear. just for you "you did such a good job, mama. so proud of you."

your breath catches when you reply, voice a low croak. john's hand is on your back in a second, soothing broad circles across your tense shoulders. "only just. the girls were asleep. i called up to them to get out of the house but i tried to put the fire out first. grabbed the hose. thank god i realized it was electrical before i ..." you babble on, for the first time able to lay your anxieties at someone else's feet. "when i went back inside, the girls were still upstairs i -." you cut yourself off, sobbing as you remember storming into your eldest's just in time to see the window shatter across her bed. you'd gotten everyone out in time but it was so close and you were so scared and it was just you and -.

time distorts a little after that. exhaustion creeps up on you, sinks its hooks in when you let it. john takes over, directing the crews with practiced ease and shaking hands in gratitude everywhere he goes. he even manages to keep his aunt away from you, though you spot her circling like a vulture now that she sees your walls have weakened.

you sit with the girls, looking over the salvaged goods with a sort of detached irreverence. it's strange, the anxiety of knowing you have nothing left to your name combined with the way you simply don't want to keep any of the items they bring for your inspection. the photos survived, the rest is replaceable. 

but then john himself is bringing a soggy box over, only one corner of the white cardboard singed. you leap when to your feet when you recognize the careful script of the logo on the top, a local formal shop. 

"no way," you breathe as you rip the display box from his hands, turning until you can see for yourself that the plastic casing hasn't melted, that your wedding dress is still mostly white and soot-free.

"didn't know you kept this," john mutters but you're barely listening, ripping the box open like a kid at christmas. your mom is there suddenly, helping you to keep the dress off the ground as you unfold it to check for charring, and then the gaggle of biddies are there too, laying out construction bags on the lawn for you to drape it across to keep it clean. the strangest bridal party ever assembled.

you have high hopes until you get it turned over, the train discolored and sodden from where all the water had pooled in the box. tears come unbidden to your eyes as you mourn the loss of your beautiful dress - the one memento you hadn't been able to bear parting with after the divorce. someone's hands are on you, perhaps your moms, gentle and hesitant. whoever it is they shush your tears as you sob about it not being fair, how you just want it all back.

you're not sure which you mean. 

but the hands are heavier on you now, more confident. it's not your mother's voice in your ear, quiet shushing turning to gravelly words. oh, honey, you never lost it. it's okay, we'll get it all back. 

i'll get you a new one.

divider by @/rookthornesartistry

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

Chapter 7 [IKYLHT]

~2k Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter

-

Body involuntarily jostling, your eyes snap open as you lurch into your safety belt, the plane rattling loudly.

Heart thumping, you look at each of the men around you. Somehow, they remain completely unaffected. Not a single cease in snores.

Gaz rests partially on your shoulder, slumped down as far as he possibly can be in his seat. Price is nowhere to be found, but a careful lean forward displays Simon- arms crossed, feet stretched out into the aisle.

Shit, I can’t blame him. I’d probably do the same if I had those legs.

You can’t see much more than Johnny’s mohawk, but you can hear his snoring from the other side of the aisle.

Unbuckling, you gently slide yourself from under Gaz and shuffle into the aisle on your right.

Thank god for that empty seat. Might genuinely be the only woman on the entire damn flight.

For a bunch of trained soldiers, the plane was not stealthy or silent. A good percentage of these men must have broken their nose once or twice in combat because the amount of deviated septums on the aircraft was criminal.

Moving towards the front of the plane, you smile at the flight attendant before rummaging through their snack stash.

Fortunately, most CRAF flight attendants had either moved on from their original aviation company and joined the AFA as a freelancer (essentially), or were young, hardworking flight attendants that were convinced by the union to volunteer for their country one microwaved meal at a time.

Regardless, they didn’t mind when soldiers tried to cram in a few more calories during the flight, and that’s what mattered right now.

Opening the little cart-refill cubby, you scoop some ice into the tiny plastic cup and pour in a coke, sipping as you shuffle around the meal options.

Beef, chicken, vegetarian. Might have to try one of each. Yeah, that sounds good.

Pulling the plastic back on the corner of each meal, you stack them on top of each other and cram them into the microwave.

You watch as they turn, internally giggling with a childish sort of excitement.

Shoving another two cans of coke into your hoodie pocket, you grab a tray as the microwave beeps and balance the three meals carefully.

As you turn to walk down the aisle, your peripherals catch the flight attendant looking at you concerningly. You turn your head as she inhales to speak but you rush to talk before she does, smiling disarmingly.

“Don’t worry, I’m bringing them back to- HOLY SHIT!”

Hand clasped over your heart, you nearly jump out of your skin as Price stands not even a full foot ahead of you. His arms are crossed, head tilted with a stern but amused smirk.

“Go on, Rabbit.”

His eyes dip down to the tray of meals beginning to tilt and slide towards your hoodie.

“Oh uh. I was just telling her how I was bringing two of these back for you and Gaz. Didn’t realize you were coming to help, sir.”

You give a big smile and shimmy your shoulders playfully, wiggling the tray as you extend it out towards him.

He gives another little stern look before his eyes pass you, giving his infamous crinkly eye smile to the flight attendant and taking the tray from your hands.

He reaches the aisle first, gesturing towards your seat with a “Sit” before plopping himself into the empty seat on the right of you.

He pulls down the table tops, using the tray as a sort of bridge between the two, lining the three meals beside each other.

He pulls back the rest of the plastic film on each, handing you a wooden utensil set before trying a forkful of the vegetarian pasta meal and pointing towards your hoodie pocket.

“Hand it over.”

He nods as you open and place one of the cokes on his side of the tray bridge, taking a bite of the beef option and humming appreciatively.

“Mm, you’ll like that one. Eat.”

It’s a classic Shepherd's Pie, a meal you’ve made a million times in Johnny’s kitchen. It’s a comfort meal on those slow days, something hearty to soothe the soul.

Johnny had mentioned giving Price your ‘special’ recipe (consisting of a little extra butter and a heaping spoonful of love) but that’d been years ago, probably two and a half by now.

I can’t believe he’d remember that.

Gaz remains asleep on the left, and you crack your coke open as your gesture towards him.

“Should we save the chicken and rice for him?”

Price pauses his chewing, gazing at Gaz for a moment before the chewing resumes and he shakes his head.

“He’ll be alright.”

You hold back a surprised snort, giving a huff of a laugh and digging in.

He’s right. That’s a damn good Shepherd’s Pie.

He takes Gaz’s snoring as a cue to try the chicken meal, nodding in satisfaction once more.

The two of you share the three microwave meals, going back and forth between the plastic bowls.

You’re almost finished eating when Price speaks.

“So… Was Kyle right?”

Raising an eyebrow in confusion, you turn to glance at Gaz before settling back on Price.

“I’m sorry?”

“Garrick.”

“No I-” You huff a laugh that holds impatience more than anything else, “I know who Kyle is, sir. Was he right about what?”

His eyes pass yours, landing somewhere over your shoulder, and you realize.

“Oh.” Setting the fork down, you sit back. “We’re okay. Just figuring a couple things out.”

He nods, giving a small hum and leaning back in his seat, crossing his arms and talking lowly.

“Simon’s a good man. You can trust me on that.”

You lock your eyes onto his for a solid moment.

“I do, sir.”

He nods, starting to look away before your voice rings out once more.

“So what’d I do that gave it away? Or did Johnny tell you?”

“Neither.” His eyes dart over to Ghost.

“Simon isn’t that touchy with anyone. Noticed it with you first. Wrote it off. Saw him with Johnny. Not hard to put two and two together.”

“Price I-”

“-I don’t need an explanation, love.” It barely registers in your head that this is his first time calling you anything besides Rabbit, “Believe me. Just tellin’ you to be careful. Not let it compromise a mission. For everyone’s sake.”

Right… he read my file. Laswell’s version. The uncensored one. Right right right. That’s great.

“Yes, sir.”

He’s not wrong.

You nod somewhat bitterly, look away in shame.

He lets a moment of silence pass before turning with a semi-apologetic smile.

“You still got a few of those desserts you nicked?”

Your smile returning, you pull out the small dessert cups from your various cargo pants pockets.

Setting one in front of him, you prop your elbow on the armrest between the two of you, leaning towards him and nudging his shoulder.

“So, tell me about Urzikstan.”

-

“Soldiers, as we start our descent into beautiful London this afternoon, please make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright position. Make sure your seat belt is securely fastened and all carry-on luggage is stowed underneath the seat in front of you or in the overhead bins. On behalf of myself and the entire crew, I’d like to thank you for your service. We look forward to seeing you on board again as you continue to defend our great nation and its freedoms. May God bless and protect our troops.”

Chuckling lowly at his eye roll, you push a still-sleeping Kyle’s seat-back tray up as Price speaks lowly.

“Can’t tell you how many times he’s drooled on me. Left a damn snail trail on my shoulder coming back from Iraq.”

“Aw, give him a break. He’d earned it.”

“I’m lenient enough as is, I’ll tell you that much.” He chuckles with you, pushing his seat up and rebuckling.

You’d both gotten comfortable, the turbulence pretty tame considering the route.

Slipping your boots back on, you glance at your watch and feel your eyes widen.

Price and I have been talking the last- oh god- four and a half hours?

Makes sense, really. He’d been more than generous in his story sharing, supplying you with a healthily sized list of semi-embarrassing things he’d seen the guys do over the years- Kyle having to explain why he couldn’t wear his patrol cap after it slipped off and fell into the half-full piss ditch he was utilizing was your personal favorite.

Slipping past him, you settle into Price’s original seat between Kyle and the aisle, shaking the man awake gently.

“C’mon Sarge. Rise and shine.”

He mumbles something incoherent, shrugs your hand off as he leans towards Price. All the other man does is continue your efforts in waking him, so you consider your job done and move on to Simon.

Barely pressing your hand onto his chest, his eyes fly open, long lashes fluttering as he blinks away the sleep.

“It’s okay, Si. Just me.”

He rests his hand over yours, lifting to kiss it from behind the mask with a small smile.

You go to wake Johnny, but stop as you feel a light hand on your elbow. You fight the urge to slap it away, something deep in your gut recoiling, able through sheer will alone to brush off the feeling entirely.

Hadn’t anyone told these people not to go randomly touching soldiers?

“Ma’am, please return to your seat and buckle your seatbelt, we land very shortly.”

You flash her a smile, let the image of her civilian work attire push into the front of your head.

She didn’t mean to. No harm intended.

Doesn't change the way your stomach fell to the floor when she did it.

Simon nods as you turn back to him, wordless praise that you appreciate wholly.

“Go ahead, Tapeti. I’ll wake ‘im.”

You make your way to your seat, buckling into your seat beside a newly awakened Gaz.

You start your list, a mental chalkboard full of to-do’s, as usual.

You hadn’t been in the military for 9 years for nothing. If a job is to be done, it’ll be done right, and the front of your mind flashes to the team you’ll be returning to- training your subordinates, countless team building exercises, trading tactical advice with Gaz as promised.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the same man the second your brain glosses over him.

“You seem better.”

His tone is light and playful, but it doesn’t give you much indication of the meaning of his words.

“Yeah? What makes you say that?”

He gives a small shrug, a content smile on his face.

“I dunno. Just seem to be in better spirits.” He leans in, gives your shoulder a nudge with his. “Price tends to have that effect.”

You feel your cheeks warm before you could get a retort out, the small wink he gives while leaning back into his own seat only exacerbating the issue.

“Bold words, Sergeant.”

He doesn’t reply, only throws his head back with a hearty chuckle that leaves his eyes closed in delight at your sudden awkward jitteriness.

He’s cute, you’ll give him that, but that just won’t do. God forbid your cool, calm, collected persona be tarnished by Gaz and his teasing.

Smirk slipping into something more genuine, he taps your knee against his to grab your attention once more.

“You ready to be home?”

You let your eyes stay on him for a minute- his calm demeanor and warm smile, the way he’s so effortlessly comforting- before shifting your eyes to glance over at Price, then Simon, then Johnny.

There’s a lot to be done once you’re back, most of it leaving an ache in your back and a deep churning in your gut.

But looking at your little group, it doesn’t seem as daunting as it did a mere eight hours ago.

“Yeah.”

You look towards your boys once more, hands held tight together, barely visible to the untrained eye.

“Yeah, I am.”

-

<3

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[mi-i-zori]

From In-Between the Lines

CoD Fae!Au - Fae!Price x The Writer (Fem!Reader)

SYNOPSIS : When the writer runs out of inspiration, she decides to do what she has always been afraid to : take her writing away from the safety of her little apartment, in the outside world where ideas are often said to be flourishing. What she doesn’t realise is that she might find more than what she came for - hidden in the mesmerising smile of a peculiar stranger.

WARNINGS : Predator behavior (Fae VS Human), anxious thoughts…

I do not give permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Sneak Peek N°1

1 - When Inspiration Strikes

[ragingbookdragon]

It’s subtle things they notice in Price’s demeanor that tell them something’s going on in his personal life. A flash of joy in his eyes at a text here, a private phone conversation outside the building there. It’s only until Ghost makes a note of Price’s new aftershave that the man seemingly fumbles his reply with, “Oh, just wanted to try something new.” Something new, their asses. The man’s been using the same aftershave since he was sixteen. Why change now?

With no tact at all, it’s Soap that breaks the silence in the break room with, “So, who is she, Captain?”

Even Ghost rubs his temples at that, but Price looks shocked. “What?”

“The lass that’s got you tripping over yourself. Going home at five-thirty on the dot. Who is she?”

Price looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole, an uncharacteristic expression on him and he clears his throat, scratching at the table. “Just a woman I met at a shop the other day.”

“Just a woman?” Gaz retorts with a smile. “C’mon, Price, you changed your aftershave.”

He flushes. “I just wanted a change.”

“After thirty years of using the same wintergreen scent you got from your old man?” Ghost mutters, cocking a brow. “Try again.”

Price’s neck disappears into her shoulders. “She thought it smelled nice when we were shopping one day.”

Soap smirks. “Oh…he’s whipped.”

“I am not!” but his defense betrays him as crimson creeps over his skin.

“How old is she?”

At that, Price falls silent and he looks away. “She’s…a few years younger.”

Soap blinks. “Sugar baby younger or just younger?”

“Dude,” Gaz gripes. “Subtlety much?”

“What? No one else was ripping the Band-Aid.”

“She’s in her late twenties,” Price answers. “Twenty-nine.”

“Damn, she’s almost half your age.”

“I…I know,” Price says, practically deflating. “I keep trying to tell her that there’s someone younger and better for her, but she won’t have any of it.”

Before anyone can even break that silence, Price’s phone rings, Elvis’ Burning Love echoing between them, and he’s just a hair short of Soap’s fast grip to answer. Price is spitting as he jumps for his phone but Soap answers it on speaker.

“Hello! You’ve reached Captain Price’s phone.”

Uh…is Jonathan there?

“Oh, Price is busy at the moment, but I’m one of his guys. I’m Soap.”

Oh! Jonathan talks so much about you! You and Kyle, and Simon! He’s so proud of the three of you.

“See that’s surprising, because he hasn’t told any of us about you, Missus Price.” Soap smirks at Price as the man suddenly goes still.

Oh—I, we—he, oh, we’re not—we’re not married. We’re just...dating.

“I dunno, Missus Price, you got him to change his aftershave after thirty years. I think it’s a sealed deal.”

You think? I wouldn’t mind being married to Jonathan. He’s…everything I’ve ever wanted. He’s amazing. He takes care of me, even though he doesn’t have to. And he’s always telling me that whatever burden I can’t carry, to just give it to him, because he can. He…he’s the love of my life. I’m so proud of the man he is.

Soap’s smirk melts into something soft, much like the Captain in front of them. “Yeah…he’s good like that.”

He is. Look, I was just calling to ask what he wanted for dinner, but I’ll just make his favorite. I know he’ll be happy with it regardless. And, John, will you…will you tell him that I called and that I love him? And that I hope he has a wonderful day?

“Yeah, Missus Price, I’ll tell him the second I see him.”

Thank you, John. And tell the others that they’re welcome to come visit any time. I know I can’t wait to meet all of you in person.

“Neither can we. Have a good day, Missus Price.”

You too, dear.

Soap hands Price back his phone and smiles at him. “So, can we come over for dinner?”

The lot expects Price to rear back and punch him, but he’s still trying to pick himself up from the puddle he melted into. “Yeah…I think that will be okay.”

[mrsmidnight15]

Imagine getting up early and having coffee with Price. The sun still hasn't begun its ascent and everything is still quiet. Both you and John work in tandem, clearing out the old coffee grounds and filter while John gets a new one. There's a slight fumble when both fingers go to press the start button at once, coming to a compromise and pressing it together. Strong arms lift you up onto the counter, pressing soft kisses to your temple and bridges of your face as the coffee machine goes to work. Rough weary hands hesitant to leave your waist as the dripping coffee slowly comes to a stop, reluctantly pulling away to grab two mugs and fixing both to your preferred tastes.