#captain jonathan price x reader

[chamomiletealeaf]

Price fucking you over the table but he positions you so your clit rubs against the corner just right every time he thrusts into you.

The pressure and friction is so good you can't help but squirt all over him, yourself, and the table.

[joapmactavish]

i will be accepting asks / requests for writing when it comes to cod characters ! specifically 141 (price, soap, gaz, ghost) and los vaqueros (alejandro, rudy) !!

the ask button on my profile is available!

I WILL NOT WRITE

- p3dophilia

- “SLAVE PLAY” or anything revolving play with race

there is so negotiating these things as i simply find them to be disgusting behaviors! respect my opinions/morals please.

if anything else bothers me i will simply reply that i will not write it! but i am 100% fine with writing smut/nsfw alongside sfw/comfort/angst!

[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

[bunny-jpeg]

"if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up." was a common phrase that captain jonathan price would often say to you. inconsolable brat. he had just gotten home, can a man not relax in his own home. you stood there with your arms crossed. you looked almost cute when you were angry, you looked like you could take him. maybe you could take his cock, but never in a fight. no matter how much he smoked and how angry you got, price could easily keep you from doing too much damage. he eyed you up and down and said, "don't give me that look. you'll get lines." his words were bordered by poison.

a drag from his cigar before he grabbed you by the arm to pull you into his lap. you were whining against about him smoking in the house. you had no room to talk missy, you were the spouse of breadwinner. you hadn't work since you got 'fire' from your job right before your wedding. and, you had been looking into another job. but nowhere is hiring in the town you live. so keep that damn trap shut. let the man of the house do as he please. he'd even be petty and knock some ash from his smoke and onto the hardwood floor. "clean it up, love or i'll make ya lick it up." john was domineering, aggressive to a fault.

but yet you stay firm on your stance. you hated the lingering scent of smoke that forced you to open most of the windows the next morning. and john had just enough of it. those cheap sleeping shorts you wore were now on the floor, split down the seam. "stupid whores don't need these." he added as the panties became scrap fabric in john's grip. he was soon fucking you, that big fat cock of his. as he held you by the throat. you made sharp noises as the air got restricted. he wouldn't bruise you up, he wasn't a monster. but his monster-like cock was already bruising your poor little cervix. be hard to get your own job when you're all fat with john's kid. but all in due time. he continued to hold your throat and fuck you with the pace of a stallion. even at his age, price was far from feeling his age. he could keep up with a cock-hungry dog like you. he squeezed a little tighter and heard you choke a little. he groaned against your skin. it only made it hotter when you claws at him and whimpered.

"that's it. that'll shut ya up." before he gave you a messy kiss on the lips. <3

a/n: "and what do we say, bunny?" "sorry women."

[peachetteprice]

42-year-old John Price;

Who gets a cramp in his bottom when he's knee-deep inside you and can't keep his grunting at bay. You find it hilarious how he instantly seizes up and mutters that he needs a minute, panting heavier than he did when he was pounding away at your poor cunt, bless him.

Your sweet John, who lets out an anguished whine and a hushed 'Christ on Earth', as he pulls from inside of you, cock turgid, pulsing and slick with the scent of your mingled cum, who stays on all fours all throughout the duration of the cramp, huffing through flared nostrils, occasionally relinquishing one hand from the mattress to clutch his left buttock (it's always the left buttock, never the right), exclaiming 'I'm not the man I used to be, love,' which, in any other regard would have been downright upsetting, but is ultimately what sends you into a fit of laughter.

And, when the muscle finally relaxes, and you give it a massage to make sure it's loose, pliable and ready for action again - dare a smack - he crawls back over the top of you, gives his cock a light pump or two to ensure the peak of its stiffness before sinking it back into your cunt, with a little more vigour, this time, thanks to the mid-coitus breather (that he later suggests should be mandatory on these nights, for the sake of his old bones), praying that he won't seize up again just before he's about to spill himself inside of you.

| Masterlist |

[simonriley09]

Having rough sex with Price until his leg cramps 😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

He's just plowing your hole, making you whine and beg until he stops, making you confused. He hasn't cum yet, plus he's silent. "Price?" "One sec luv..." "what's wrong..?!" You thought he was having a heart attack. "Leg cramp." "Oh." You relaxed a bit, waiting for the leg cramp to pass so. Then he just started continuing like nothing happened-!?

[penguinbuttcheeks]

sugardaddy!price x gn!reader

(slight nsfw)

₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽ °˖˚𓏲࿐࿔ ₊˚.༄:፣₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽

sugardaddy!price can’t keep his eyes off of you when you’re all dolled up in the finest pieces he can afford.

extravagant pieces adorning your neck, ears, fingers and wrists, all thoughtfully planned out to suit your style and preferences. they gleam softly in the light, accentuating all your defining features.

he never holds back, showering you in anything and everything you could ask for, even when your desires never leave your lips.

he keeps a keen eye on you, watching the way your eyes linger on a specific item of clothing, perhaps a pair of shoes or a pretty necklace.

if you’re shy about his materialistic gestures, price takes pride the way your eyes widen when he hands you each gift, your brows furrowing in concern - his little pet always so worried about the amount he’s spending. he simply shakes his head, gently pulling you closer to clasp a new shiny bracelet around your wrist.

he fails to hide his pleased smirk each time he glances at you, finding any possible chance he can get to compliment you in your new accessories.

it’s no secret his favourite purchases are the plethora of jewellery pieces adorning your body. seeing you sprawled beneath him, clothes discarded carelessly on his bedroom floor, left in nothing but glittering diamonds and delicate, precious metals.

his own little doll to dress up and care for.

he prefers to buy his gifts in person, rather than online. it’s better that way though. seeing the quality in person, nodding in approval at the sales assistant who hastily wraps the expensive pieces in sleek designer brand bags.

he’s about to leave the store, keen to decorate you with his new purchases when a display of glittering diamonds catches his eye.

at this point, he’s bought you enough rings to decorate each of your perfectly manicured fingers. all except one.

he turns around, pulling out his wallet and flagging down the poor sales assistant once more, lips curling upwards as he nods in the direction of the glass case, not a crumb of doubt in his mind.

₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽ °˖˚𓏲࿐࿔ ₊˚.༄:፣₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽

[eccentricallygothic]

| Older |

Pairing: Boyfriend's Dad!John Price | Son's Girlfriend!You.

Description: Guys your age just aren’t the same.

Warning(s): Infidelity, age gap, Cap being a badass, teasing, thumb sucking, stuffie riding, Daddy kink, Cap smokes, allusions to biting, little boob play, lowkey intimidation kink bc it's me, power imbalance-ish. MDNI. 

Note: I, infact, am not sorry. I guess the son and Reader are in college/uni? Ps, Barry Sloane is becoming an obsession. HELP!  

MASTERLIST

. . . 

It wasn't supposed to happen and you didn't mean for it to.

Not at first, anyways. 

But your boyfriend's good natured, authoritative, brave and yet mysterious dad was always so calm and cool and laid-back with a cigarette dangling between his lips and his thick maney arms and tattoos that often hid under his shirts. He always knew what to say and what to do. Nothing was a big deal to him and he always had your boyfriend's back in the most warm and wholesome way. He was a man who understood how to take care of things and he knew everything and you were convinced there was not a problem he didn't know his way around.

At first it was curious glances on your part, then it was friendly and innocent grazes on his. It moved onto lasting looks and then longing touches. The two of you never said a word, though. No. There was no address, no discussion. Just a chilly day when you had been a little cold and your boyfriend hadn't been home. 

Class had been a little too upsetting and your boyish partner had been too caught up in his own worries. You had been in need of comfort and some big love and John had been your knight in shining armor. He had come around looking for his son in that truck of his, sensed your distress, sat beside you and reassured you like no one had ever before. His gentle voice and careful caressing was something you'd never forget. However, your other memories of that day were foggy, you were not sure whether it was out of how small your mind had become or due to the burning guilt of what it had started. But one thing had led to another and one moment you were nuzzling into his warm arms, then your soft cheek was rubbing against his beard, next your noses were touching and then your lips were on each other’s, his mustache tickling your skin as he had went about exploring you with his scarred manly hands. So on and so forth, it hadn't stopped from that day on.

Time was against the two of you and every minute was valuable. 

But that didn't stop the Captain from being an absolute tease who often brought tears to your eyes. 

Like he was doing right now. 

“Daddy, please…” You whined as you rocked yourself harder on the soft toy, your baby blue dress bunching on your thighs that were covered in his bite marks -thank God your boyfriend was out of town on a school errand- as your hair fell about your face. “Hnng…” Your hips ached a little from the strain you were putting on them but the heat scorching your loins was way too compulsive for you to even think about stopping. 

John's heavy form was relaxed against the headboard as he lazily took another drag of his cigarette, cool eyes watching you almost casually. “What is it, babygirl?” You whined at the name he used and how the baritone of his voice drilled into your soul as he did so, causing for more slick gush out of you as a result. “Hm?” Your pussy was so puffy and needy. 

“Need you, Daddy, please!” You cried out your plea, feeling yourself on the verge of tears. 

“You do?” You vigorously nodded to his raised eyebrow. John snorted before tilting his head to one side and shrugging. “I don't know, baby” you pouted at his words, gulping a thick bile down your parched throat. Your lips were so dry. “Mr. Octs looks quite cozy tucked in between your pretty little thighs” it didn't matter what you looked like, he had a way of always making you feel like the smallest most precious thing alive. 

“But Daddy!” Your protest transformed into a moan midway.

The soldier exhaled a white cloud of eye watering smoke, his eyes squinting as he did so. “Aw,” he chuckled, leaning forward to finger your hair away so he could look at you better. “But what, precious?” His eyes darkly flickered down to your flushed lips and he connected the poisonous stick to his lips again, its lit end glowing a bright amber as he did so. 

“W- Want you!” You were dangerously close but it wasn't enough. “Want you o- only!” You needed him most, always. 

“You do?” He feigned surprise as his voice strained due to how he pushed the cloudy venom into his lungs.

“Yes!” You couldn't believe it. You were doing a hell of a job at showing him what he appeared to be dubious about. He was too mean. But that was exactly what you loved so much about him; the perfect mix of strict and soft.

John shrugged. “I don't believe you.” 

Your eyes widened. “Please!” Your voice became a little too agitated and the man looked at you a bit dangerous now. 

One of his eyebrows raised. “Please… what?” 

Your pussy clenched. God. He was too much. Your chest that spilled over the neckline because of how he had pulled your dress down ached from how it was heaving. “Please, D- Daddy…” A satisfied half smile quirked one side of his mouth up. “Please, n- need you…”

“Yeah?” He cupped one side of your face and collected the half tear that threatened to trickle down your face. 

It was a sign. You must show him. Daddy needed to be earned.

So you obediently wrapped your lips around the thumb he pushed in your mouth after tracing its shape with his rough thumb pad, exhaling through his nose as his eyes squinted again and the sight made you moan. You felt your cheeks hollow as your lips made an embarrassingly loud squeaking sound but you were way too far gone. 

“Oh, baby” John chuckled as he looked down at how you were animalistically grinding against the plushie. Your knees were getting tired and you were desperate. You needed him to lay you down or bend you over or put you on your side and take you until you were full and sore from his girth. “You are drowning Mr. Octs down there” his dirty words both added to the heat in your cheeks and between your legs. You moaned out loud and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

“Pweeee—” you tried to plead but his thumb alone was too much for you. You were just a little girl after all. You gagged. 

“Is that how you'll suck me dry, baby? You will be good like that for me?” He watched your glittery lip gloss coat his digit as he took a small suck of his dying cigarette. You hoped with everything you had for him not to light a new one. You eagerly nodded. “Gonna be good for your Daddy?” You meweled out a yes, feeling a cold droplet of sweat trickle down the side of your face.

“Mmm” he snuffed out the cigarette in the glittery ashtray that you had bought for him in secret and hid in your boyfriend's presence -since he didn't smoke and neither did you- like your life depended on it. “And how would you like Daddy to be good to you?” The remainder of the smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke.

“Nnng” John pumped his thumb in and out of your lips now. You settled the plushie in a slightly different position so you could free one hand. “Dada~” you lisped out through his digit as you cupped your pussy before moving to your ass and squeezing it before giving yourself a light spank, the twinge of pain bringing you to your orgasm and you threw your head back, feeling your thighs violently shake as you rubbed your cunt hot on Mr. Octs' belly, feeling your insides boil over with the sweet turbulent pleasure.

“Good girl,” the Captain praised as he unplugged your mouth to shrug his flannel off. “You did such a good job for Daddy” your hands desperately darted to your boobs as you squeezed them and pinched the nipples to show him how you wanted them to be treated. Although you knew right then that John would do better and more. He always did. It was the reason why you betrayed your loving boyfriend the way you did. “Now lay back for Daddy and let him take care of you.”

You obeyed but your mouth began to run from the sensitivity and need. “I— Daddy— I—”

“Hey,” the old(er) man pushed you further down with one of your boobs and then crawled over you like a vulture. “Shut up” he softened the blow of his words with a soft kiss, making your upper lip tickled with his bushy mustache. “I got this” he knew you had nothing valuable to say. Your mind just ran too fast sometimes. Fortunately, you had your boyfriend's dad to take the weight off your shoulders. “I got you.” 

. . . 

I appreciate feedback, reblogs and thots. Let's cry about our Daddy together <3 

[spurbleu]

oldman!price x reader angsty (?) drabble

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

age leaves john price in tantrum.

he despises what it’s done to his body. the creak in his knees when he walks, the strain in his shoulder when he reaches across the table. steam engine, ironclad and coal hot, neglected the rust on the belly of its stirrups. adopted a sudden fragility he cannot stand.

takes a literal force of nature to get him to retire, and he grieves it like a father. it, in all honesty, was one. taught him how to shoot straight, how to hold his men, how to be without feeling like he’s an imposter in his own skin. forced him to grow up- which is ironically exactly what ended their alliance.

nursed whiskeys, fattened ice kissing the base. smoked like somehow- fossilized in ligero- he’d find his youth again. blistered under reluctant mortality, indulged in fatal vices because if anything is putting him in the grave it’s a gun or a cigar.

a pot never boils watched, yet you stay at your designated post by the doorway while he broods (he’s a dramatic at heart), storm clouds stamped on the collapse of his shoulders.

if you were one of his soldiers, you let him fester.

but you were his wife.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t aged yourself, silver linings sprouting from your scalp, sun spots and bleached knuckles. even so, you found time to pick up his medications, comb through amateur food blogs for gut health and bone pain, roll the aches out of his shoulder before bed. you were kind- and it was insulting.

spitfire catching on the burs of his muttonchops- unfamiliar with dependence. he was a captain for Christ’s sake- alloy lighthouse, built by cement and sheer fucking will. he didn’t need to be hand fed vitamin C and dragged to yoga class. he pitched barbed wire, dug his shallow trench and intended lay in it.

until, one evening, thunder strikes him out of dewy acrimony. he clambers up the stairs, musk of tobacco and spite plants a grimy boot in the oak. he glances over the railing, and stills.

bathroom door, cutting swaddled atmosphere with thin bisque, a pyramid down the center of the hall that created the illusion of darker corners. centered in the odd, domestic scaffolding was you- shower damp and concentrated.

it was like watching a bird preen feathers. tugging at the sags, yanking at the silvers, skin pitching at the nostril and eyes narrowing into thin keyways. and if he squinted, sniper accuracy rendered tears. sallow river bed on your flushed cheeks, clumped lashes, a frown that broke hearts.

“you’re never struggling alone, John,” you had said one evening, when he had been foolishly apathetic, “i’ll make sure of that.”

he hadn’t said anything.

guilt squirms at the base of his neck. the stranger named comfort that swelled within your embrace unnerved him so much he had forgotten to introduce himself. and now, milking moonlit lighting, with a wife who thought he was hiding from her, he called himself what he had never been as a soldier.

a coward.

you were making tea the next morning, windows surrendering a warmth when the day was still docile. it was while you were humming that your husband, sneaky bastard, folds you into the plush of his chest, drowsy lips dragging on the cusp of your shoulder.

“you always look so beautiful in the mornin, darlin.”

and it was true. you’ve never looked better to the old man.

[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.”

[duck-a-doodle]

COD IMAGINES

TACTICAL BUDDLE BUG 4/4

Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

TF141!reader x 141

WARNING: Angst, Death, Comfort

A/N: I could not think of any other way for Ghost to accept your hug. I apologise for the trauma in advance. :'-)

Masterlist

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

The most serious member of the 141 is secretly a very affectionate person.

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

The mission was rough, one that pulled you under and dragged your bloodied knees through dirt and gravel.

It was a ground search and rescue operation which lasted for weeks on end, and one which tested the limits of the human body, bending your sanity to the brink of a clean snap.

The streets were coloured in violence, and the grounds were a tangle of rubble, vehicle parts and severed bodies.

Wherever you stepped, there would lay a limb or a head, of which you could no longer tell if they belonged to an enemy or hostage. It no longer mattered, not when your boots must travel the roads of a thousand stripped souls.

You saved several hostages from the scene, but there was one that you know would haunt you til the end of your days.

It was a little girl. Small, young, with her favourite doll that was caked with remnants of dirt and coagulated blood, the latter of which should never have made its mark upon such a pure soul.

You had to coax her to climb down from the roof, to bring her to safety, and you had failed to realise that you were not the only one to notice the child.

A bullet tore through her chest, and another through her side, bringing her down from the roof, soft and limp into your arms.

Not every hostage can be saved. Not every enemy will be found. Ghost, who buried the young girl you in the aftermath, had watched you ruin every unfriendly sight with a fury unmatched.

He witnessed the angry flames that swallowed up every dead man as you pulled them straight down to hell with you.

Your body had moved blindly when you heard the roaring sound of your captain's orders to return to the plane.

Gaz was adjacent to you, resting quietly while Johnny sat on your other side, watching you carefully; you refused to look at him, knowing that his eyes would look right through you.

The captain said nothing, and Ghost, who propped himself opposite to where you were, was unreadable.

There was no banter, no questions, and only a silent prayer remained.

You cannot remember whose hands have rested on your arms or shoulders in an attempt to calm you; all you recall was the chill and bile that rised from within you. You could not remember the debriefing that felt like seconds but passed like hours.

You could not remember how you got back. Not how you got into your fresh clothes, not how your wounds — once bloody and inflamed — were now patched, and not how you found yourself standing at Ghost's door, waiting.

Why were you there? What were you waiting for? And as soon as the question arose, the answer made itself clear; because of all people, he would know.

As if sensing a presence, the room opened with a click, and Ghost appeared in the doorway, taking a moment to register your presence. He moved to one side. Stepping in silently, the door closed shut behind you, enclosing you in a box of white noise.

He stood before you, saying nothing. He did not need to say anything. In fact, he need not even ask. He simply knew.

"You did what you could."

The reality of his words were a dagger to your beating chest. You lived. You lived, and you were grateful. But you lived at a cost, with the price of blood on your hands.

You took one step. Then another. And Ghost, who did not anticipate what you were about to do, stilled as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

Fingers tangled tight into the fabric of his shirt, and you press your face deep into his body, seeking — begging — for a reprieve. The darkness was a comfort. He was a comfort.

For once, you want to feel a life that you can hold in your hands, that will not disappear under your touch, that is living and breathing. To hear the heartbeat of a soul, to get rid of the memory of cold, colourless skin that rest unmoving against your arms.

"Breathe, cub."

You could not move. You did not want to move. You cannot bear to move. Not an inch, not away from him who you knew understood better than anybody. His hands were placed on your back. Warm. Alive.

There were no use for words as both of you held each other in silence, resting in the comfort of a feeling near-forgotten.

That was your last memory of that night before you knocked out cold, and in your sleep you dreamt of a hand that wiped the warm corners of your eyes, rough yet gentle.

Unbeknownst to you, a storm in Ghost had calmed when you chose him of all people to seek comfort in, and silently grateful he was for the team to have a most sensitive heart on board.

You were the most affectionate person of the 141, and you cared and loved unconditionally. Those qualities made you the most lethal one of them all, for despite any rankings or titles, you commandeered them all with a piece of your heart — and the day your heart dies is the day they raise hell in your name.

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

FOOTNOTE(S):

Ghost likely has only hugged the captain once or twice and Johnny, several times but not of his own volition.

Your heart reminds him of his better days with his brother Tommy and it makes him want to punch you (cuteness aggression), but he will take that knowledge to his grave.

[lyeofhell]

╰┈ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ MDNI/18+ ONLY, f!curvy!reader x nikprice

oh to be the plump little treat devoured by nik and price. sandwiched between two bulky, beefy, bears of men. kept warm by their burly chests, both their bodies pressed into your sides. their whiskers tickle your cheeks and ears, murmuring accented praise through kisses and long drags of cigars. all while thick, corded arms wrap around you from all angles, eager hands searching, squeezing -- savoring how deliciously ripe your plush thighs are...and then your tummy, your tits, your ass...

it's so hard to focus :( smoke utterly hazes the room, that spicy, oaky smell so heady it slows your breath. and when he deems you relaxed enough, price gently grabs you by the chin and kisses you deep, tonguing you into subservience and exhaling into your mouth while nik sucks at the side of your throat. ugh their musk, their whiskeyed breaths that they pant and grunt against your skin as they use you at the same time...oh you're sure to reek of them by the end of this.

[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…

[peachetteprice]

John Price, who - on your eighth date together; yes, eighth - dons himself in lavender oil in an attempt to smell like something a woman would feel at peace to be around, for fear that, when he tells you of what he does, who he is, you might wish to run for the hills, but it's okay if you do; it's okay if you don't want to want him after that fact, and it's okay if you leave him now and don't look back - he won't hold it against you.

John, who - for the first time in a long time - permentantly turns red in the face from embarrassment as you crinkle your nose, laugh a little, lean across the table, and ask;

"Is - is that lavender I can smell, John?"

And whose worry dims as you take more notice in the fact that he smells like your grandmother's back garden than the fact that he's just told you that he kills people for his monthly wages.

And, when you probe about whether it's his shampoo or a bottle of perfume from the women's aisle in Sainsbury's - it's a beard oil, in case you wanted to kiss him that night, but you don't learn that until years down the line - he has the slightest inkling, but doesn't want to undo all of his effort and believe in it so much that he gets himself too indulged by the mere thought of you;

That you might just be the one.

| Masterlist |

[parkersbliss]

Snow Days with the COD Men

pairing: ghost, gaz, price, soap AND KEEGAN! x reader

synopsis: Some cute snow days with your favs!

warnings: sexual innuendo for soap, pregnancy with price

a/n: inspired by the actual snowstorm that's kept me inside for two days now lol

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for call of duty

—

Ghost:

“Hey,” You said softly, opening the door to your porch. 

Simon doesn’t bat an eye, continuing to sit on your couch and stare at the pine trees in front of you. “Hi, love.”

“What are you doing?” You ask, coming to take a seat next to him. The hot chocolate is warm in your hands, and you take a small sip. Your eyes remain trained on your husband, his cup in hand, as he watches the glittering snowflakes.

“Just watching,” He hums. 

You set your cup on the table, leaning your head on his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you. You’re not sure how long he’s been sitting outside, but it’s impossible to tell because he’s as warm as ever. You can feel the heat on him through your puffer jacket as you turn to watch the snowfall. Already, a few inches have covered the grass and your driveway. The snow comes down in big plumps, twirling in the wind as they make landfall.

His hand squeezes your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles as he sips at his drink. “Think we should get married in the winter.” 

 “Yeah?” You said, glancing at the ring on your finger. You hold up for both of you to admire against the snowy backdrop. 

Simon smiles at it, the diamond glinting in the snow. “Yeah. A couple of pine trees, string lights, and plush snow.” 

 “Sounds cold.” 

 Your fiancee wraps your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back. “Sounds bloody perfect,” he corrects. “A nice cabin trip for our honeymoon. Far off in the mountains, away from everyone.” 

You can’t deny the temptation of that. Your mind wanders to the idea of you in a white dress, in an even whiter background—bridesmaids in a dark green dress and pinecones as decor. 

“As long as there’s a hot tub,” You said. 

“I’d make one for you.” A piece of snow lands on your nose, and Simon’s hand comes up to brush it away. His touch was gentle as always like you were made of porcelain. He cups your cheek, pressing a tender kiss to your nose. “I love you.” 

The snow falls harder, the wind picking up and blowing it in your direction. But you feel warm inside at his words. “I love you too.” 

Gaz:

Your cheeks sting from the cold, little needles pressing their way into the fragile parts of your face. It doesn’t matter though, your determination keeps you hot. You cup your hands tightly, pressing the snow together as you scan your backyard for your opponent. 

A plight of snow hits you in the back, making you spin around. You chuck your snowball at your boyfriend, who laughs as he ducks. 

Kyle is already scooping up more snow as you huff and waddle through the snow towards him. You scoop up another ball on your way, hiking your feet in and out of the 2 feet of snow. 

“Get back here!” You shout at him, tossing the ball at his arm. It explodes in a flurry of white, and he chucks one back at you. 

You drop to the snow, already forming more artillery. Meanwhile, Kyle is scooping up huge amounts of snow with his hands and making a wall. You keep scooping up more snow, trudging towards him. You can see his blue puffer in the waves of white, slightly peeking over the fortress he’s built for himself. 

Another snowball is hurled at you, leaving flecks of snow in your eyelashes. “Kyle!”

He laughs, hearing the sharp pitching of your voice. “What, babe?” 

 You push yourself faster through the snow, gripping your snowball until you get the perfect angle and nail him in the back of his head. He gasps, rubbing the ice off of him and spinning to face you. 

You give him a friendly wave, holding another snowball in your hand. 

“We can talk about this,” He said, holding up both of his hands. 

“Really? Should’ve thought about that an hour ago.” 

 Kyle tilts his head. “Yeah, probably. But—” 

He rushes at you through the snow, tackling you into it with a soft “poof” as you sink into it. 

You shriek, snow falling into your face as Kyle wraps his hands around your waist. He smiles down at you, lips widening at the scowl on your face. Before you can scorn him again, his lips find yours. They’re ice against yours, but you can’t deny the way you melt into it anyway. 

“I’ll make it up to you, babe,” he said, standing up and offering you a hand. He pulls you into his chest, hands flying to your waist. “How does a warm bath sound?” 

You shake your head. “It sounds like a good start to an apology.” 

Soap: 

You watch your boyfriend dart around the yard, shoveling more snow into his ever-growing dome-shaped monstrosity. Johnny’s cheeks are tinted red from the cold, frost nipping at his nose, but he doesn’t care. He’s smoothing out the edges of his soon-to-be igloo, piling more snow on and pressing in. 

You’re carrying over the pre-made snow bricks like some animal crossing task as he stacks them on one another. As soon as you’d woken up, Johnny was shoving himself into a snowsuit and rushing for the door. You had gotten a good foot of snow, and he was determined to make a creation. 

You suggested a simple snowman, but he denied it. 

He pats them down, using nimble fingers to carve out the caking between each brick. 

“’s gonna be a real beauty,” He said, standing back to admire his work. “Gonna have tea parties in here, aye?”

You tilt your head. “I don’t know about that. Think it’ll freeze.” 

 Johnny’s nods. “You’re right. Well, then we can have… a snow cone party.” 

 You snort, handing him another brick. “What flavor?” 

 Your boyfriend gives you a devilish grin, once you’ve gotten used to that translates to no good. “Yellow, my favorite.”

“You’re gross,” You scoff, coming to stand next to him as he carves more patterns into your backyard igloo. 

Johnny tosses an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to let you rest on him. “That’s not what you said last night when I—” 

 “Okay!” You said loudly, glaring at him. “That’s different.”

“I suppose.” He reaches a hand forward to tweak one of the snow bricks. “Think we should live in the Arctic.” 

 “Think you’re fucking crazy,” You quip back. “You’re almost frozen solid, babe.” You place a hand on his cheek, rubbing it to try and warm him up. Despite the snow gloves, you could feel the biting sting of the cold on him. Johnny was invincible, as ever, and didn’t seem to notice. Or care. 

“This igloo won’t build itself.”

 You cup his face, making him face you. “It won’t be built period, if you die of hypothermia.” 

“May I remind you, lassie, I’ve been swimming in the Arctic before?” 

 You roll your eyes. “The igloo will still be here tomorrow. Besides.” You drop your hands to his arms, tracing them up and down. “Got a few ways we could warm up.” 

 Johnny’s eyes light up. Within seconds, he hauls you over his shoulder, trudging back to the house. “Forget the igloo. I like the sounds of that much more.” 

Price:

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” You ask as your husband clears another line of snow out of your driveway.

John grunts in response, stopping to rest on the handle of his shovel. “Honey, you shouldn’t even be out here in the first place.” 

 You pout. “But I feel horrible leaving out to shovel our whole driveway.”

 John sighs, picking up his shovel and scooping another line. “Don’t. It’s the least I can do after everything you do for me.” 

“But it’s cold,” You continue to protest. “And I can help. Then it would get done faster and—” 

 Your husband gives you a stern look. “No. Call me traditional, but I’d rather you stay warm inside cooking a nice meal than freezing your ass off and the little one.”

 Your hand comes to rest at the bulge of your stomach. “I already have cookies in the oven, and we’re fine.” 

 He gives you that smile with his lips pressed together. “Then I don’t need anything else.” 

The snow begins to pick up again, flurries dancing and twirling in the air in huge fluffs. You watch as they stick to the driveway, and make a home in your husband's beard. Your mind drifts to next winter when you’ll have a little girl wrapped in bundles of jackets, marching through the snow. 

Your heart clenches at the thought of your husband helping her make snow angels rather than shoveling the driveway. The snow begins to pick up, and you step further into the garage, feeling the familiar twinge of frost on your nose.

You frown as your husband continues to shovel. “My love?” You call out to him. 

He stops, turning to face you. Plumes of snowfall in front of your face as you look out to him, lip jutted outward and hand rubbing your growing belly. Well, fuck him. He grabs his shovel, dragging it back to the garage as you smile and press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Thank you.”

 “I’m going back out there in the morning.” John’s hand falls to your back, a warmth you’ve come to know carrying his kid as he leads you inside. 

“And leave me and the bugger all alone in bed?” 

 John huffs a laugh, closing the door behind the two of you. He wraps both his arms around you, resting them on your stomach and placing his chin on your shoulder. He receives a little kick in response and sighs. “The snow can wait, I suppose.”

Keegan:

Keegan tugs on his mask, tilting his head from side to side. He leaves his snow gloves attached to his hip. “Need any help, baby?”

You huff, fumbling to turn and face him. His eyes crinkle at the sight of you all bundled up in layers of warmth. “I can’t get the zipper.” 

He strides forward, tugging the zipper up to its proper place just below your chin. He leans forward to press a chaste kiss through his mask on your lips. He pulls back and grabs your hand, leading you out the door and fastening his gloves on. He yanks the string of your sled, dragging it behind him. A few kids run towards the hill at the edge of your neighborhood, sleds, toboggans, and snowboards with them. They shout excitedly to their friends, waving hands frantically. 

“What if we take out a kid?” You asked, feet crunching in the snow. 

Keegan shrugs. “They should’ve kept an eye out.” 

 You swat him on the arm, but neither of you feels a thing beneath all the layers. 

He just laughs as you approach the hill. “C’mon. You doubt my steering skills?”

 “I doubt your driving skills, in general,” You reply as he secures the sled in place, using a foot to keep it in place. 

“In you go.” He holds out a hand, letting you grab it as you sit down in the sled. You place both your feet outside it to let Keegan slide into the space in front of you. He grabs the string, making a slapping motion like he’s Santa with the reindeer, and you roll your eyes. You slip your arms around his middle, leaning your head on his back as you push off the hill.

He cheers like a little kid as you both go flying down the hill, snow caressing your cheeks and splaying everywhere. 

 “Hold on!” He shouts, suddenly pulling right. 

“What?” You shriek.

You jerk to the right suddenly, and the sled topples over, and you both land in the plush snow. The cold envelops you for a second, nudging part of your epidermis and deep into your veins before you push yourself into a sitting position. 

Keegan is sitting in front of you, brushing snow off his jacket, and you can see the faint outline of a cheeky grin under his mask. “Whoops. You okay?” 

 “I’m fine,” you assure him as he helps you up and grabs the sled. He turns to face you, raising his gloved thumb to brush some snow from your face. 

“Wanna go again?”

 You sigh, lips quirking upward, unable to deny your boyfriend. “Always.” 

– END –

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[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

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