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soapybutt17 · 1 year ago

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How It Began

Summary: Mission has gone south and Price was left with no other choice but to regroup in his home. There, the rest of the team were met with a wife that they didn't know the Captain had, but a Lieutenant they were all too familiar with. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish. Word Count: 3,059 Chapter Warnings: Mention of Blood and Injuries. Allusion to Smut. Pregnancy. Ghost and Gaz being mentally scarred(?).

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Soap knew it was bad when even their Captain was agitated. A mission gone wrong and they were once again on the run in the process. With just the weapons and supplies they carried, they had nothing that could truly help them hide for the time being. Kate was still unable to find them a safe house for the time being.

So the Captain had decided that it was best to bring everyone to his own home for the time being instead. But even with such information, the man was on edge. The hour drive to the forest had been quiet, the sound of the car and the nature around them being the only thing killing the silence of the confined space.

Eventually, Soap had caught sight of a home, at the outskirts of the city, away from the prying eyes of the world. A true representation of their Captain. A two stories home, with a vast yard.

From the closing distance, Soap could hear the sound of dogs barking at their arrival. His eyes peered towards the Captain, slowly the weight on his shoulders were lifted and a ghost of a smile had appeared on his face. There was just something so majestic about finally being home—even if the circumstance was not on anyone’s favor.

“Keep yourselves in check, don’t want to scare the missus.” Price had pointed out once the car was put in a stop.

“Missus?” Soap couldn’t hide his own surprise.

Since when has the Captain been married? The man had shown no indication of it, not even in the rare instances of conversation of their lives away from the field. Soap has never caught sight of even a wedding ring on the man’s finger. But then again, it was best in this time and age to keep it a secret, to avoid any unnecessary action taken against his loved ones.

“I’ve got a life away from the field, MacTavish.” Price chuckled before finally slipping out of the car with the rest of them following behind.

The sound of the dogs now grow louder, further agitating Soap in the moment. He hated dogs, but he was nothing more than an unofficial and much unneeded guest in his Captain’s own home. Walking closer to the door with Ghost and the injured Gaz, the door was opened and the last person he would have ever see be present.

“Lieutenant?”

It was the fifth member of the team that just months ago was put on leave for reasons still unknown to him—until now. He was all too certain why you were now put on leave. The visible bump was evident enough at it was.

“What happened?” You were quick to take hold of Gaz as he continued to stagger from the bullet wound on his leg. Your eyes peered towards the Captain in question.

“Mission gone south, Kate can’t find us a safe house here, so I thought it was best to bring everyone here to regroup.” Price explained, immediately wrapping his arms around you and the pieces finally fit together.

Everything makes sense now.

“Come in, I know the mission was a nightmare. I’ll make you three some tea and something to eat.”

Pulling away from Price, you had went inside and they were once again surrounded with the silence.

“So you and the Lieutenant?” Soap inquired.

“We prefer to keep our relationship a secret. But circumstance made it impossible to keep it a secret anymore.” He sighed, escorting everyone inside.

“Hold still for me, okay?” Your heart was breaking, having to see Gaz in so much pain but it was for his own benefit. The sooner the bullet is removed and the wound is cleaned up, the sooner it is he could begin recovering.

“Yes, Ma’am.” Gaz tried to keep on a strong face, but his deathly grip on Soap’s legs made it more evident the excruciating pain that he was in.

With bated breath, you finally tended to Gaz’s wound, pulling out the bullet and stitching him right up. All the while, you could hear Gaz’s heavy breathing and Soap’s attempt at distracting him the best way he knew how—through humor.

“Good as new, Sergeant.” You beamed at him, patting him on his uninjured leg before standing up, wincing at the sudden numbness on your legs for sitting for too long.

“Careful.”

You smiled towards your husband as he made his way towards you and helped you upon your feet. You looked at him, cupping his cheeks in appreciation before your head turned right back to Gaz and Soap that were both staring at you. It seems your husband has yet to truly explain about your relationship.

“Tea?” You offered.

“Got it covered, Ma’am.” It was Ghost that muttered, placing the tray of tea on top of the coffee table that still had the surgical equipment and bloodied gauze you’ve used.

Without even asking, Ghost was quick to discard most of the trash and you looked right back to your husband, a proud look on his face at the masked man’s actions.

“We’re in our home, I think we could drop the formalities.” You pointed out to which earned a blush from all three men. Each and every single one of them looking at your husband for his approval on this.

“Happy wife, happy life.” He chuckled, kissing you on the temple before finally letting you go to check on Gaz’s wound.

For the next few hours, you had tried—and failed to be a good host to the three visitors in your home, but if it wasn’t your husband, it was Ghost or Soap interrupting you and doing whatever you had planned for you. It was growing frustrating, but you knew they meant well given your state.

“Are you three really sure you’d be fine sleeping here?”

You frowned at the setup that laid before you in the guest room, Gaz was laying on the bed all on his own because of his injuries while Ghost stayed on the foldable mattress you had laying around and Soap had decided to take position on the coach.

“This is more than enough for us, Ma’am.” Soap reassured with a grin, before a pillow was thrown right onto his face from Ghost.

“Let’s get you to bed.” Turning your husband was hot on your tail, a frown resting on his lips as he knew perfectly well that you should be sleeping at this hour by now.

“Good night, you three. Just give us a knock if you need anything.” You reminded them.

“I hope not.” Your husband muttered before guiding you back into your shared bedroom for the night.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick had seen and heard so much atrocities in his life in the military. But in the chaos of it all, there were some silver lining he constantly looks into, one of which was the found family he had found in the task force. A father in the form of Captain John Price and a mother in the form of you, the warm and understanding Lieutenant, older brothers in the form of Ghost and Soap.

With said family, he should have expected the full experience out of it. One of which was hearing fornication between his parents in the other room. But it was still a scarring experience to hear it so close and so explicitly.

With the ache still lingering on his legs, he would rather see himself getting shot wherever it was possible instead of hearing the moans and grunts from the other room. Fucking bedroom had thin walls and he could fucking hear everything. From the Captain’s grunts, to your whimpers, and even more traumatizing was the sound of skin slapping. Vividly he was hearing his nightmare coming to life.

“Fucking hell.”

Gaz found himself jumping at the sound of Ghost’s voice, peering down on the floor, the masked Lieutenant was having the same predicament as him. The man shared him a look both of them turned towards the snoring Soap on the coach, unaware of the noise they were both hearing.

“We hear nothing and we will say nothing in the morning.” Ghost instructed.

“I hear nothing, I know nothing.” Gaz sighed laying back onto the bed, and tried his best to find sleep in the confinements of the room he was more than happy to rest in for the time being.

Slowly, the noise slowly died down and they were enveloped in the post-coitus silence of the other room. But the image somehow running through his head, what his father-figure and mother-figure were literally doing in the other room.

“Blood fucking hell.” Ghost muttered once again, sharing the same sentiment as him at the moment.

One of the things that John had enjoyed being home was waking up to you. The way the sunlight washed over your features, the glow and plumpness of your cheeks because of the pregnancy, and the way you held onto him like a koala. He missed it all and he would do anything and everything to be able to bottle this moment up with you.

As much as he loved watching you sleep, he loved it even more to see you awake, in his arms, loving him as much, if not, even more than he loved you.

He began with taking your scent in with his nose against the crook of your neck, before his hands found their way to the dips of your waist, the supple naked flesh that he loved to hold against him in the coldest of nights. His ears picked up your whimpers, last nights romp ended with your legs shaking and the satisfied smile on your lips as they peppered his bearded cheeks with your kiss.

“Five more minutes.” You whispered, voice raspy with sleep.

Before he could offer something more than just laying in bed, the sound of Soap’s boisterous laughter shattered the peace inside the bedroom before a sudden realization popped in both of your heads.

They heard. Both of you were certain. The shared horror in both of your faces was much evidence of your realization.

“Let’s get up, before they destroy the kitchen.” You muttered standing up in all your naked glory.

A smile rested on John’s face at the sight of you. The pregnancy did wonders into your body. The fullness of your body as you were growing another human being inside of you. The stretch marks that painted your skin that you were beginning to hate but John loved all the more because of what it had symbolized.

“Another time, Captain.” You teased him slipping into your undergarments, John’s sweatshirt and the only pair of shorts that could fit you in your growing body.

“It seems so.” He grunted finding himself standing up in all his naked glory, walking straight into you and pulling you in for a kiss, the first of many kisses he was certain he would give you for the day. “Good Morning, My Love.”

“Morning to you too, Morning Breathe.” You playfully teased pushing him away before making your way towards the bathroom to freshen up. “You handle the boys, I will commit a war crime if they mess the kitchen up after I cleaned it the other day.” You warned.

It was all the order John needed before he found himself putting on some clothes and making a beeline out of the bedroom to see the madness of the kitchen.

To Simon, he had always expected that something was going on between the Captain and the Lieutenant. Price had always been concerned for the team’s well being, but he could see past the avoidance that would occur between the both of you. The tension that was always palpable whenever you shared the same space. It was more than just two superiors interacting with each other, more than just a friendship that spanned longer than the creation of the Task Force. He knew sexual tension when he sees it.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise for him to know that you and the Captain had a relationship. It however, surprised him the progression of said relationship was more than he had expected—with a baby coming along the way. Now the resounding argument before your discharge was clear. You were forced back home for the sake of your baby and for Captain’s sanity.

“How’d you like your eggs, Lt?” Soap had inquired his attention solely on the egg he was frying.

“Scrambled.” He finds himself muttering.

He usually slept less than anyone else in the house right now, more than just his mental state, it was for the scarring that had occurred last night. Nothing fucks him up more than hearing his parent figure fucking in the middle of the night.

He could not admit that it scarred him more than all the atrocities he had seen and done in his lifetime.

“Steady on the mess,”

Simon finds himself tensing at the sound of the Captain’s arrival. Turning to look at the man, the all too evident signs of a fucked man was seen in the man. A look was shared between Simon and Gaz, and he was all the more grateful for the mask he still wore, how it was easy to hide the blush that he was certain painted his cheeks at the memories of last night.

“Morning, Captain.” Gaz had greeted with the tint still on his cheeks.

The Captain nodded with a grunt before he made his way towards the cupboard to get his own tea started. Simon could see the darkening bruises all over his Captain’s neck and it made all the sounds of last night a reality.

“Heard anything from Laswell, Ghost?” Price had inquired, with his back still face them at the table.

“Told us to head back to the base as soon as possible.” Simon found himself responding, finally looking away from the man, his eyes find themselves resting on the array of pictures that hanged on the wall.

“We prepare to leave after lunch then.”

“Yes Sir.”

At the sound of the chair being pulled, Simon’s gaze returned back to the Captain that now sat in front of him and Gaz.

“I know we have a lot of things we need to discuss—about my relationship and how we had agreed to keep things private until now.”

“It is no one’s business but your own, Sir.” Simon find himself reassuring the man, the evident stress lingered on the older man’s face. He looked older than what he really was but it was a given with the weight that he shoulders during mission.

“But it should have been addressed as my wife is also part of our team.”

At the mention of you, you had arrived, sweetly greeting everyone with a glow in your face since the last time that Simon saw you. Battered and bruises during your last mission, with tears streaking your cheeks before you had left and not even said a proper good bye.

“How’s the leg, Gaz?” You had inquired, patting the man on the shoulders before you strode towards the cupboard to get yourself a cup. The tea that Price has made already waiting for you.

“Doing good, Ma’am.” Gaz responded, cheeks once again returning to a bright shade before them.

“Scrambled eggs for you,” Soap had finally placed a plate of semi-scrambled eggs in front of Simon which he had grunted a thanks to. “And a couple of sunnies for everyone else just like you like ‘em.” He added placing the handful of eggs in front of everyone as well as practically a handful of bacon to go along with it.

Simon had watched you walk towards the Captain, placing a kiss on his cheeks before sitting beside him on the table. The smile that rested on the Captain’s face and the stress of the previous conversation gone temporarily.

“Did John finally tell you about our relationship?” You had inquired already knowing what the conversation had been about.

“I was getting to that.” Price quipped with a chuckle.

For the next hour or so, the conversation was about catching with what you had been doing, all the while the married couple explained how and when it all started between the both of you. How you both had decided it was in everyone including each other’s best interest to keep the relationship and marriage a secret to avoid unwarranted doubts of favoritism amongst everyone. But neither Simon nor Soap or Gaz truly cared if you two were in a relationship or married, it never hindered in missions together and it never will upon getting to know you both even more.

Before long, breakfast and a lavish lunch has ended and it was finally time for them to head back to the base to regroup. All the while, Simon had watched you cling to the Captain, any chance you could, you held onto him for dear life. The unshed tears in your eyes had the Captain slowly crumbling in his resolve.

“Stay safe you four, and I hope you three will visit on a much better circumstance.” You had remained by the front door, unable to truly glimpse close up how they would leave all over again.

“Yes Ma’am.” All three of them had agreed without hesitation.

Simon had watched the Captain pulled you in for a hug and a much needed kiss that had all three of them turning away to give you both a private moment. Snickers and hoots however were thrown in by Soap and it left Simon slapping him on the back of his head to stop.

“Alright, let’s move out.” At the Captain’s booming voice, everyone had now headed back to the car and drove off.

Heaviness filled the car, it was good they had a moment of peace in the Captain and the Lieutenant’s home, but they still had a mission to deal with.

“So, you and the Lieutenant ever plan on adding sound proof walls to your bedroom before we visit again?” Soap inquired and all Ghost and Gaz could do was groan at the new found awkwardness that now filled the car and the sheer embarrassment in the face of the Captain that chose to ignore Soap’s words.

Soap and his fucking mouth.

#John Price Smut #John Price One Shots #John Price Oneshot #John Price Oneshots #John Price fluff #john price headcanon #John Price x reader #john price x female reader

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lunarw0rks · 1 year ago

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hi!! just wanted to stop in and give an idea ig

141 with a reader who’s like a mother hen after a mission, making sure everyone’s not injured, and god forbid they are, she’s trying to stop the bleeding, and scolding soap for being so reckless!! even after they get back to base after a long day, she’s fussy.

IDK JUST A RANDOM BLURB??

A/N: Such a cute idea, not one I would've thought of on my own! Hope I did the request justice <3

Summary: It's in your nature, the motherly role you feel towards the other members of the Task Force. Patching up their injuries, and scolding the two most reckless ones, it's all become routine.

Warning(s): platonic!141, fem!reader, canon-typical violence, blood/minor injury mention, mild language, suggestive banter, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.1k

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ 141 MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Troublemakers // Drabble

Though you hadn’t said a word on the ride back, at least outside of ones pertaining to the operation, the look on your face said enough. For every mission, no matter the time and place, something goes wrong—someone gets hurt.

“Anybody broken?” Captain Price comes through the comms, the static crackling through the jeep.

“Everybody’s fine, Captain. For now.” Your voice hissed back into the radio, eyes scanning their faces for any signs of an injury. Right now, there weren’t any signs. But the second this jeep stopped, there was no way in hell they were getting past you without you at least checking. It had become your unofficial job; the mother of the team, the medic without an official title, even the ‘buzzkill’ at some points.

There was no time to fuss over them at first, during evac. Everyone had piled into the vehicles too quickly, and you were eager to get out of there just as much. You were a natural nurturer, but not blinded by your instincts—there was a chain of command, after all. When your Captain says to evac, you evac, no questions.

Once the titles and formalities fizzled out, once the comms went quiet, that side of you always came out.

The jeep was moving at high speeds, and the passing landscape was a blur. A secluded, abandoned field where the operation went wrong; the taperings of town turning into the city; fizzled out until it turned into the secluded dry field again—when you reached the base.

In usual fashion, everyone got out first, and you last.

It was second nature, ushering them out like a clown car, then examining the inside of the empty vehicle to make sure nobody forgot anything. It was comical to them, so comical they still shot amused looks as you cased the car. Any further into this role, and you would start saying “C’mon kids” every time you went somewhere with them.

Another challenge to their chivalry was the way you held the door open for each of them, eyes glued to them as pursed your lips in discontent. But, they knew the drill just as well as you did.

First, you peered at Simon, though he just walked by with his usual scowl, probably finding a dark corner to brood in. He was the only one you didn’t bother to fuss over, unless you wanted to get chewed out, naturally.

It was the other two you were the most concerned about—Gaz and Soap, the troublemakers. If you could call them that in the field, you would have a thousand times already, and most likely more than that, knowing them.

Heavy sighs filled the room, sweaty brows wiped as they relieved their bodies of the extra pounds their gear gave them. Vests and buckles undone, muscles stretched as the adrenaline coursing through each of you steadied itself.

For once, you were also overjoyed to see the bland walls of this base, and them too, as much as they gave you grief. Each mission was like watching a toddler climb up to the top of a playset, waiting for the inevitable injury that comes once they fall—and every time, your hammering heart nearly came through your chest.

Yes, they were grown men, trained soldiers, but that instinct still prevailed. You couldn’t trust them with your life if they didn’t have theirs, could you? The world kept turning, and the clocks kept ticking, all as long as you played your maternal part in this arrangement.

You squinted at the two troublemakers, that gut instinct showing itself. “You sure nothing went wrong, you two? No blood?” It was a series of accusations, not naive questions. You knew something was up, there was that bubbling in your chest.

Gaz’s lip tightened into a line like he was trying not to reveal the truth. “No blood.” What a liar, and a bad one at that. Knowing these two, Soap was probably pinching his skin where you couldn’t see, trying to contort it until you were left with no suspicions.

There was no way you could force the truth out, so if they didn’t want your help, they weren’t getting it from you.

With a slow nod, you began to take off your own gear, gathering your pack and all the extras. Perhaps, for once, it would be a happy ending. You would settle into your dorm, lay back on your cot, and catch up on some paperwork, maybe even some light reading—

Well, that fantasy came about as quickly as it went.

Soap’s palm was hovering over his side, letting out a grunt of pain when he put his backpack over his shoulders. He had turned so abruptly, nearly scampering down to reach his own dorm. But he wasn’t quick enough, and your iron grip on his wrist—it was as unyielding as your grit.

“C’mon, I’m fine, Lass.” Soap grunts, like a child embarrassed when his mother dabs his face with a napkin. “It’s just a—”

“—a scratch?” You scoff, lightly smacking your free hand against his tender side. No matter how tough he was, how well he thought he was going to hide it, he had keeled over and held the spot you barely made contact with.

Gaz was attempting to contain his laughter, which was only met with the kick of one of Soap’s legs to his shin.

You couldn’t believe it, from causing trouble and bickering to working as a team and failing miserably.

The grip on Soap’s wrist loosened, instead now on the strap of his bag, gently sliding it off his tender shoulder. “Let me look at it, please.” You pleaded, trying to keep your tone both firm but concerned all at once. It seems it wasn’t just a scratch; once again you were right.

“I got nothin’ but admiration for you, why do you do this to me?” Soap whines, still not budging and letting you examine the wounds.

You ran your tongue over the inside of your cheek, cocking a brow at him. “Sit down, Johnny. Now.”

Your finger was pointing at one of the spare dining chairs in the kitchenette, and it wasn’t a request either. He knew that by now. Soap could try and swoon you, butter you up until you left it alone, but it wouldn’t work.

“Yes, ma’am.” His tone was defeated, but he still had a smirk on his face, like he was enjoying the attention.

Gaz snickered from behind you, and you could hear him begin his trek out of the room. “Better to just listen to the lady, or she won’t stop.”

Before you could even lay eyes on Soap’s injury, your head snapped in Gaz’s direction. He was on just as thin of ice, he was only lucky you could tolerate his jokes. “You’re part of this too, Gaz. I suggest you don’t wander too far.”

It was ironic; men who had worked so hard, trained to kill, and yet, they were downright gutless when in your sights, especially when caught in a lie.

All apart from Simon, who maintained the same distance with you as everyone else—that you could accept, it was just the way he was. But from these two clowns? Not for a second.

It wasn’t coming from thin air, either, this was a two-sided deal. The first time you were injured in the field, you attempted to diminish it, to write it off and suffer by yourself. It went about as well for you as it was for Soap right now—forced into a chair and stitched up with an icy glare, one that says “don’t ever do that again” without any actual words surfacing.

That’s how you knew this wasn’t in vain, even if your work didn’t always come with a response of gratitude.

You were strong where they were weak—and in return, they would quite literally kill for you, in and out of the field. God knows you’ve had to hold them back more than a few times; order comes out wrong at the restaurant, you get ghosted after a date, or someone insults your abilities as a soldier? It’s a mess.

Your eyes stayed on Soap’s pout through the reflection of the window above the sink, scrubbing away the grime on your hands before you got to work on him. In mere minutes, you’d retrieved the very used first aid kit, laying out any supplies you might need. Knowing him, it could be as small as a papercut, or a gushing wound under the fabric of his shirt.

He had already removed his, cheeks rosy and lips crinkled like you hadn’t seen this a thousand times. Not to mention, you were patching him up, not asking for a striptease. He was the one making things awkward, for the record.

Aside from the dirt, the scars, and small scrapes, it was an injury that needed to be looked at, regardless of how stubborn the patient was. A nasty bruise was forming on his peck area and below it a gash with some tiny glass shards still embedded in it. The shoulder had no visible injury, but based on how tender the skin was, he had sprained it again.

“Christ. How do you manage this? It was a simple sweep mission, MacTavish.” You shook your head in disapproval, putting on a pair of disposable gloves with a loud snap of the blue latex.

He takes the hits like a dog that knows he’s in trouble, only it's a look of acceptance rather than apprehension. It was coming from a place of care, not anger, and by God did Soap’s reckless behavior make your heart drop often.

Your rambles continued, almost as if you were talking to yourself. Your fingers worked carefully, using the tweezers to get any debris out of there.

“Can you do anything about this, Captain?” Soap’s words made your work slow, not stop.

“No, I cannot, Sergeant.” Even Price was aware of this dynamic, and frankly, he was thankful for it, one less person to worry about getting in trouble. You scolded it, didn’t partake in it—and that left less paternal instincts of his own to run dry.

Price’s boots retreated without another word, probably to work tirelessly in his office for the rest of the night. Now, it was clear to Soap that there really was no way out of this, no way to shimmy away from your caring nature.

Might as well take advantage of it the only way he knew how. “You look like you need a drink, Lass. Always so tense.”

You stared up at him through your lashes, wrapping the gauze a little tighter than you usually would. What were you supposed to say to that? He was right, you could use a drink, but he wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of being right—being right was your job.

Before you could utter a witty response, Simon spoke up for the first time since the mission. “She has a scalpel at the ready, Johnny. I would tread lightly if I were you.” For once, his cynical humor had landed on your side, and it nearly made you spit out a laugh, if you weren’t so focused.

If you were as childish as Soap, you might’ve said I told you so, but your stern look said enough. After you finished disinfecting the wounds, you bandaged them up, patting the cotton with your fingers to make it stick.

“All better now, just don’t do it again.” A satisfied beam appeared on your face, that worry in your gut dissipating when he was patched up. “Please?” Now, it was desperate and anxiety-filled.

He probably would do something like this again, but maybe next time he would at least think first, and you could live with that.

Soaps fingers find his shirt, slipping it over his head slowly with a pained groan. “I can’t promise that.” Then, they find the nearest bottle of whiskey, in true fashion for him. “But I’ll find you first next time, ask permission to get hurt.”

You scoffed and let out a sarcastic ha-ha, but stepped back enough to give him space, discarding the gloves into the waste basket. Once he had collected his things, keeping them in his uninjured arm this time, a cheek smirk appeared again.

He waited until you had turned your back to wash your hands again, and to be safe, a few feet further from you. “Thanks, Mom.” Soap turned on his heels and whipped around the corner, down the hall before you could show him your face of shock.

On second thought, maybe next time he wouldn’t have to ask to get hurt, and it would be your own two hands making him pay for that comment.

#mw2 #mw2 fanfic #call of duty #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley #soap mctavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #141 x reader #task force 141 x y/n

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wxnheart · 2 years ago

Text

𝐅*𝐜𝐤 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐮𝐭, 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐮𝐭𝐲 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

note: Because today was a wonderful day to wake the fuck up and tease the ever-living shit out of your babygurl(s). Make love sex not war, babes. ❤️

Captain John Price - So, uh... that was unexpected. Not really. Not when you spent the better part of the day absolutely testing his bloody patience, so it should come as no surprise that he called (more like summoned) you in for a... personal meeting. Officially, it's about your recent code of conduct. Unofficially, however... let's just say that it involved some intense orgasm denial (that you're still pissed about), the sad parting of ways with your favorite pair of underwear, and some nice hickeys on your inner thighs. You feign ignorance when others comment on Price's shiny beard and mussy hair.

Gaz - Oh sweet baby. You thought Gaz wasn't one to really lose his cool but he proved you wrong. Man's nostrils were flared and if you didn't know him, you'd swear he'd kill you with his glare. He had you cornered, arms on either side of your head, and leaned in and gave you the most passionate kiss of your life. Oh fuck. It would've gone on further if not for the poor bastard who happened to stumble in (and out when you two silently stared him down). Oh well. Gaz promises to finish what he started later that night. He does that and some.

Soap and Ghost - Sure you're good after this? Turns out Ghost and Soap have little patience for teases, especially ones that like to keep their dicks harder than fucking diamonds. You might have gone a bit too far because the next thing you know, Ghost has slung you over his shoulders and Soap is not far behind, a smirk on his face. Oh... oh. They proceed to put your mouth, your hands, your everything to good use, and Ghost, guttural growler and all, talks shit the entire time. Fucker. But oh god did it turn you on.

König - He's so adorable. He was so concerned about giving in and possibly scaring you but you had to assure him that you most definitely wanted him to give him. And he does. And you're wondering how a man so controlled and hesitant and... and—goddamn, don't stop, König, don't you DARE fucking stop—!

Alejandro - Gotta finish what you started. You never thought the man's mask would crack but it fucking did. All you remember is him muttering curses in Spanish and next thing you know, you're bent over and he's giving you those long, deep strokes. You're so fucked out, you don't even know what time it is and you can't stop trembling. But you sure as fuck are ignoring the smirk he throws your way.

Rudy - Rudy is... oblivious. Oblivious to the fact that he has that good good, that demonic dick. But the bastard is good. You tried him and he got your ass ALL THE WAY back. Had you in fucking tears begging him to fuck you. But he wouldn't. Had you right where he wanted you... with only the tip. Just the tip. Just. The. Fucking. Tip. Fuck you, Rudy.

Valeria - Oh, you fucked around and found out alright. You thought you wrote a check your ass couldn't cash. But your mouth certainly made up for it. And she made it her fucking throne. God, you loved it when she fucked your mouth.

Horangi - The bastard didn't fuck you, no matter how much you begged him to. What he did do, however, was run those large hands over your body, alternating between whispering sweet nothings in your ear and telling you every. damn. thing he was gonna do to you. He so loved a good game, and if you wanted to play the tease, he could play it too. And in this case, he'd play it better.

Phillip Graves - Have you ever been fucked while at the same time being soothingly degraded and told what a thirsty and needy whore you were? And your partner didn't raise their voice not even once? Because that's what Phillip did. Yep. And he'd do it again, too, if you keep fucking around with him. Yes, Phillip. Yes...

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depthsasunder-if · 1 year ago

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Depths Asunder is an 18+ pirate interactive fiction infused with magic. It follows you, a young and fresh pirate captain, contracted to find a gem that is rumored to manipulate life and death to the wearer. It's a race against other crews who are just as determined to fulfill the contract and collect their riches.

[DEMO TBA] 𓊝 [CHARACTER POSTS]

Content warnings include violence, suggestive themes, substance use, gore, dark themes, emotional turmoil and more.

Your mother was a legend in the seas; a revered pirate captain, her legacy has followed you even after her death. All you want is to live up to the legacy she has given your family name, though all you've amounted to so far is the occasional thievery to survive.

When you're contracted by rich and powerful noble you're promised a swell of riches. In return, you must find and bring back a rare treasure that holds power beyond anything you know. Countless crews have attempted to find it, only to either end up dead or lost.

Now, it's your turn to collect your crew and bring your ship to the sea. You'll go up against not only dangerous mythological creatures of the sea but other ruthless pirates determined to find the treasure before you.

As you travel through the world of Sikara, you'll find that there's an even bigger mystery afoot. Will it all be worth it?

Customize your pirate captain from identity, your nickname, pronouns, gender which changes the story, appearance, personality.

Decide what kind of pirate captain you are: are you a bloodthirsty pirate hellbent on destruction? Or a merciful captain paving a new path? Do you treat your crew with kindness or hostility? Are you relaxed or a dictator?

Customize your ship: name your ship, choose the look, the features and enchantments. Will it help you during your sea battles?

Stop at different locations: will you raid like a typical pirate or help the locals? Will you steal treasure?

Customize your crew and decide who joins you on your journey. And who walks the plank.

Romance a slew of characters that include your ruthless rival, a merperson, a stowaway, the person who contracted you, and your best friend.

Play a character-driven narrative that is both on land and in sea. Discover what Sikara has to offer.

Captain Morgan 'Deadeye' Price [m or f]: Morgan is the bloodthirsty captain of the Lady Triton. They also happen to be your biggest rival, seeing as they're the child of the pirates that killed your mother. Morgan is bloodthirsty, unforgiving, cold and arrogant, and is determined to find the treasure. Part of you thinks they care less about the coin and more about beating you....and eventually killing you.

𓊝 enemies to lovers, rivals

Anton/Antonia St. Marteen [m or f]: The nobleman/woman who contracted you. They insisted on joining you on your travels, determined to see the treasure for themself. You don't know much about them other than the fact that they are stinking rich, which is all you need to know. Unfortunately, being on the sea with them means you're their unofficial bodyguard.

𓊝 bodyguard romance (MC is the bodyguard), forbidden, opposites attract (noble and pirate)

Castor Morgana [m or f]: the stowaway that hid in your ship alongside their sister, Ruth. Majority of your crew wants them thrown overboard, though a few think Castor can be helpful to the cause. It's up to you to make the final choice.

Gaelin 'Straightlace' Haval [m or f]: your best friend, second-in-command, and advisor. Gaelin is levelheaded, logical, serious, and deals little with emotion. They also seem to be the only one who cares little of pirate culture. They just want the mission done.

𓊝 best friends to lovers, opposites attract (possibly)

Sage/Soren of The Sea [m or f]: a mermaid/merman who, in a series of events, ends up on your ship. It's lucky that they grow legs off-sea, but no matter how human they look, they treat you as an enemy. Pirates and merpeople don't mix, and Sage/Soren is determined to keep a distance, even if the world of humans interests them so. They don't trust you, not with all the blood that's been spilled from both sides.

𓊝 romance with merperson, forbidden, doomed romance

Ruth Underwood [non-RO]: Castor's younger half- sister. She seems to have taken a liking to you, following you around like a puppy. How you deal with her is up to you.

+ and more!

Development of Depths Asunder will fluctuate based on my free time. I hope you like it and join me on this voyage :)

#interactive fiction #interactive game #interactive novel #choice of games #cog #dashing don #cog wip #interact-if #interactive story #dashingdon #if game #choicescript #if wip #upcoming if

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qwimblenorrisstan · 2 months ago

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Surprise Pt. 5 | Soap x Reader

Summary: The boys learn that they don’t know you as well as they thought they did, while you find some newfound ‘friends’ in an American and his unofficial boss in Urzikstan.

Word Count: ~ 4.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of death, knives, blood, guns, explosions, debris, gas, torture, kidnapping, shooting, choking, heavy topics, biting, it’s a lot yall

A/N: umm sorry ive been gone for a week here’s some food!! *runs away* this is a big switchup though from mainly 141 to Alex, Farah, and a few more pieces of reader’s backstory so lmk any thoughts or theories (yk I love them) hope you enjoy<3 (side quest: find how many characters you can recognize from cod!)

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

The first thing Captain John Price registered when he walked into the room, the rest of his Task Force following closely behind, was that they were in some deep shit. They’d just gotten back from a mission. The one they’d been called into during the volleyball game. It had been low stakes, but instead of going back to the apartment, they’d been told to get back to base as soon as possible.

Laswell was pacing back and forth, fidgeting, two things she never did unless everything was falling apart at the seams. The last time he’d seen her so worked up had been years ago. When she caught sight of him, there was no sigh of relief or relaxation, she breathed out four words.

”They got her, John.”

He tried not to let the tension in his body show, tried not to look just how internally panicked he was right now. Simon stiffened, hands balling into fists. Price knew it was a conscious effort to not lash out immediately.

”What.”

Ghosh ground out, eyes narrowed. Soap tried putting a hand on his shoulder, a hand that Simon only shoved off immediately. Laswell just shook her head, looking to be in shock as she only sat down at one of the chairs in the dimly lit room, pulling documents out from a drawer under the long table.

Price was the first to sit, followed by Gaz, then Soap, and finally, Simon who refused to relax, his leg bouncing impatiently under the table, hands on his knees.

Laswell opened one of the files, sliding it around to where they could see it. Lo and behold, it was a picture of you from a few years back, maybe when you’d been 14 or 15. You shouldn’t have been able to get in that early, it shouldn’t have even been possible. You wore a uniform, the file listing you by your first and last name, your callsign in the center. There was no official position or branch like there should’ve been.

“Wasp.”

Price stared at it for a few moments, reading whatever he could glean over in the file before glancing up at Laswell, who in turn pulled another file out. This one looked newer, the corners were not bent or warped yet. When she opened it, there was no picture on file. This time, it stated “Marines” as your branch. Your last name was listed as “Woods” instead of Riley.

To keep Simon from finding you on the database, most likely. Or someone else.

And the thing that caught his attention the most?

The “Captain” title right next to your first name.

”That’s nae possible.”

Soap said, jaw clenched as he glanced at Simon, the man refusing to meet his eye, glaring down at the files.

”It is,”

Laswell said, breathing out a shaky breath. Trying to calm herself, Price knew.

”They found her in a camp at 12, Frank Woods took her in, pulled some strings, and enrolled her early off record. He kept her mostly off base in a safe house until she turned 18.”

Gaz’s gaze was on Laswell now, narrowed, pinned on her. Interrogation was his specialty, after all.

”A camp?”

A nod.

”Essentially a POW camp, her relations to Ghost meant she was a valuable asset to bargain.”

Price didn’t need to glance over at Ghost to see the way he’d nearly stopped breathing, the shock being a common aspect among the group. Gaz let out a deep breath, hand going to hold the brim of his cap, his gloved finger running along the seam.

”Then how the bloody hell is she in high school?”

Simon asked, trying to reason with how this could’ve happened, how you could’ve lied to them, to him, for so long about everything and he’d never even caught on. It hadn’t been a volleyball camp keeping you from attending his mum’s funeral, it had been a POW camp, one you had been in because of him in the first place. And the new, somewhat stable foster home you’d been in? A safe house provided by your new foster parent, Frank Woods, an American Sergeant that Simon had heard whispers of.

He’d allegedly been a force to reckon with during the Korean and Vietnam wars, retired now and pushing 60 probably, but no less legendary by military standards.

”She’s 23, Lieutenant. It was a cover mission.”

Another surprise.

Another lie.

“Steamin’ Jesus…”

Soap muttered, the gleam in his eye dimming from what was most likely concern.

”It was an undercover mission, but with her gone, I don’t know how we’ll handle Nova…”

Laswell muttered to herself, catching herself just in time to shut her mouth then and there, probably realizing she’d already said too much, when Price stood up, staring her down.

”Nova? The hell is that?”

He asked sternly, and Laswell gathered the files in her hands, putting them neatly back into stacks, falling back into the controlled woman he usually saw her as.

”That’s classified, John.”

“Considering we’re closely involved with her, I don’t think it is, Kate.”

He saw the slight whiplash it gave her to call her by her first name, which made sense considering it was always Laswell. Her face grew stern, despite the worried frown lines already carving into her face.

”Don’t. We’ll get her back.”

The rest of the boys watched as she walked out of the room, Gaz muttering something sarcastic under his breath, Price pacing, Soap cursing not so quietly under his breath in his full unbridled accent, and Ghost sitting deathly still.

”I’ll talk to Briggs.”

Price said firmly, words stiff as he walked out of the room.

A moment of silence between the remaining three in the room.

Soap was the first to speak.

“Fuck!”

The sweet and irony smell of blood filled your nose as you shakily tried to move, limbs trembling for some reason.

Blinking to try and clear the blurriness in them, you opened your eyes, only to begin rapidly blinking as something small and grainy lifted from a sudden draft and blew into your eyes.

Sand.

You hated sand. The way it shifted under your feet, how it got under all your clothing and in your mouth, under your nails, and in your shoes. The grainy, grinding texture of it against your skin when you had a high-stakes mission and had to lie in it, waiting for the perfect shot.

But sand of this texture was in a handful of places, so at least you could narrow your location down a bit. Getting up and looking around would also help.

You were in a small room, from the looks of it, leaning against a wooden beam that dug at the clothing on your back with jagged edges. Textured, colorfully patterned quilts and blankets hung around, and shifting your head to turn right despite how it throbbed, you saw a corkboard filled with pins and images of people, locations, and notes. A few of the faces were recognizable, not in a good way though. Recognizable in the sense that you had seen those faces before you thought you’d killed them.

The sandy floor beneath you had wood underneath, by the feel of it. Your palms pushed against the floor, trying to get the leverage to stand up, only for you to slump against the wood again.

You needed to get up.

This time using your good leg to push against the floor, as well as your palms, you got almost halfway up the beam, nearly standing, when the sand made your foot slide back out and you fell onto the floor again.

A small, breathy chuckle from the other side of the room had you immediately turning your head, the quick movement making it spin slightly, even as you heard the sound of metal moving against the floor as well as only one footstep every few seconds.

“I don’t like the sand either. Hard on my leg, or what’s left of it, anyways.”

The American from earlier came in, maybe Alex? You’d been so disoriented when he’d told you that you could hardly remember. Fragments of foggy bits came to light, but nothing more than that.

His hair was a sandy color, dirty blonde almost, with a mustache and hair that was sticking almost straight up but short enough to not look ridiculous. His one leg was perfectly normal, but on the other, there was a curved piece of metal to replace the lower half of it where a nub was all that was left.

He offered you a hand, one you hesitated before taking. An American soldier wasn’t a threat, or at least shouldn’t be. He pulled you up as you stumbled to your feet.

“Where are we?”

Your raspy voice asked, throat dry. You tried to clear it to no avail. He grabbed a canteen from a table a few feet away, near the corkboard, and handed it to you with the lid already popped off.

“Zaravan City, Urzikstan. We’re not close to much anything, though, this is one of our safe houses.”

He spoke while you chugged the water, it flowing down your throat mercifully and filling your empty stomach, only serving to remind you that you were also starving. Food could wait, though. When you handed the nearly empty canteen back to him with a small sigh, you raised a brow.

“Our?”

A woman’s voice, thick with a familiar accent, spoke then.

“Yes, our.”

She was standing by the corkboard, glancing over the information with a sharp eye, before walking over to Alex. Her hair was dark and thick, tied tightly back into what seemed to be a ponytail beneath her dark garb. A gun hung from her hip, something semi-automatic. You weren’t sure if that was legal or not here, but couldn’t find it within you to care.

“Farah, in case you don’t remember, Riley.”

You were glad she’d told you because you most definitely did not remember her name. Her gaze met yours, and you held it for a long minute, recognizable facial features coming to your mind, like a dream, you could reach but not quite hold. And then—you remembered.

“Karim,”

You breathed, eyes narrowing. General Karim had proven to be more than capable more times than once during the scandals throughout Urzikstan, especially to the boys.

The boys.

You’d nearly forgotten until now, but you wondered just how much they knew. Whether someone had spilled, or Laswell had told them everything. They would probably be biting at the leash, but there was nothing that could be done now, not with the mission having failed.

They were on their own now.

Farah nodded.

“It is not every day we find an American in a Mexican facility,”

A pointed glance at Alex, whose lips curled slightly up at that.

You grumbled, legs still shaky, probably from the gas that had managed to slip in before you’d put the gas mask on doing rounds through your body, the last of it yet to leave. Managing to stumble over to a chair near a small round table in the corner of the room, you sat down, it groaning under your weight.

“Not every day I see a group from America and Urzikstan in a Mexican facility.”

You shot back and watched as Farah and Alex exchanged a glance, a silent conversation happening right in front of you. Rude, but you couldn’t say you hadn’t done the same thing before.

Alex sighed, grabbing the chair with one hand and easing himself down onto it with his leg, propping the prosthetic up on a nearby crate.

His blue eyes met yours as he set one elbow down on the table.

“We were going after Santiago Garza, a key member of their cartel, which we have reason to believe has…”

He exchanged a glance with Farah, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head.

“…access to things he shouldn’t.”

Alex finished. Farah spoke next, already sensing your oncoming interrogation despite not being in control of the situation.

“We answered yours, now answer our question. Why did he want you?”

Her tone was demanding, leaving no wiggle room for you to try and keep anything from her. If this whole arrangement was going to work out, you were going to have to be transparent with them, anyway. Or as transparent as you could be.

“I have a… personal history with the Garza family. Not a pretty one.”

Farah pressed her lips together but didn’t question further.

The American wasn’t as smart.

“What kind of history?”

He asked, brows raised in an almost innocent expression if it weren’t for the gleam of suspicion in his eyes. You shook your head. Not willing to talk about it. Not now. Woods was the only one you’d ever talked to about it, other than David when the bastard was even there.

Which hadn’t been often.

“What’s the date?”

You then asked. If you’d been captured in America, and then taken to a supposed Mexican facility, then to Urzikstan, it must’ve taken quite a while. Not to mention the travel from there to the safe house…

“The 24th.”

Farah answered, hands moving to idly wipe sand off of the barrel of her gun, back leaning against the wooden post. Her finger remained near the trigger. Untrusting.

It had been nearly four days.

By then, someone had to have noticed the body of Nalani in your room, and your obvious absence. A homicide and a missing person’s case as well, most likely. The boys had definitely heard of it then, despite what you assumed was a mission they were on, considering how early they left that volleyball game.

Had Woods been informed? Had anyone on your team been informed, or were they still too deep in their work in your absence?

Alex’s eyes snapped to the window as he heard something rustling outside, and within moments he was down on his haunches, you and Farah were quick to follow as he lifted one of the thin sheets lying over the windows from the bottom, glancing out for a second.

The pain in your limbs was barely even noticeable compared to the mini-adrenaline rush you were flooded with, mind and body sharp and alert. You’d performed while in much worse conditions, you could manage this one just fine, you were sure.

But without a weapon, you were defenseless.

Reaching for a gun that was laid out on the table, Alex’s hand grabbing your wrist stopped you and refused to let you grab it.

“We’ll handle this, stay inside.”

He said in a hushed tone, voice firm, even though Farah was the one with the most authority here over the both of you.

Farah slowly opened the door, peeking out, dark eyes scanning the dusty roads and markets, when several shots rang out, feminine screams following quickly as the sound of people running became all too obvious.

“Al-Qatala.”

Farah murmured, jerking her chin to Alex, before slipping her gun from her side and walking out of the door, the American man giving you one last glance that clearly said “Stay here.” before following.

Racking your brain, you tried to remember anything that might help you. Urzikstan. A small country in Western Asia. Violence wasn’t uncommon, by the sound of it. And Al-Qatala…try as you might, you couldn’t remember anything about whoever they were. Maybe some sort of gang? Probably, judging by the gunfire and angry Arabic being barked out in the streets.

But you weren’t going to be helpless, stuck in this tiny “safe house” that had two entrances and one large window a man could easily fit through. You stood up, careful to stay clear of the window to avoid catching any strays, only to find the gun that had been on the table gone.

Alex must’ve taken it.

They surely had more weapons somewhere, except for the fact that no matter where you searched, there was nothing to be found. Nothing except documents of blacked-out information, pictures on the board, and a small stash of food and water lying around. A lot of dates, too.

It wasn’t an ideal situation, but you could work with it.

A few strands of rope that you quickly picked up were lying around. Every lesson you’d overheard Woods giving to his team, drilling it into their heads, began repeating in your mind. Like a dream, almost.

“Can any of you boys tell me the five rules of guerrilla warfare?”

His voice, sharp and brusque but not hostile, asked the men in front of him.

You were crouched down, hiding in one of the small areas where the metal of the walls dented outwards slightly, giving you an area to lay down and peek through at him.

One of the men raised his hand in a salute, chapped lips opening to speak.

“Hit and run, sir!”

Woods nodded, hand shooting out to point at another man down the line of soldiers. Mostly young boys who stupidly enlisted, living for their country and dying for it. You didn’t see the point, even if Woods did. You’d never seen the point, not even when Simon had enlisted.

He could’ve been one of the dead.

He still might be. You hadn’t seen him in a while.

“Ambush, sir!”

You snapped back into focus at that, eyes watching keenly as the man nodded again. He had a habit of it; nodding very often. Even if you just inclined to take a bite of soup, he’d nod. The praise was sort of nice, you supposed. Even if you barely knew him, just having arrived here a few weeks ago.

They’d found you on one of the starving horses from the camps, near the front of the marching people, leading their way to freedom despite how sickly and beaten most were. You weren’t much better.

And when the bastard controlling that camp must’ve ordered his remaining men to circle like vultures and take out as many of the surviving prisoners as he could?

Everyone alive after the vicious attack had huddled together in a small cave, the people at the entrance usually being shot from overhead planes by the men too cowardly to approach.

They’d found you huddled up, a warm body on top of you, on one of the sides. Thrown you over their shoulder. Taken you away despite your hitting and biting, and brought you here to domesticate you again. They weren’t bad. They were just soldiers. And soldiers were all about duty and honor, two things you couldn’t find within yourself to care about much anymore. You wondered if Simon still cared about them, or if he’d been numb to it for much longer. After the death of his mother, and how pissed he’d been that you’d missed the funeral, you seriously doubted it.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you watched Woods nod again. You must’ve missed the others, but you knew them by heart by now. After watching and listening for so long.

Harassment.

Mobility.

And finally…

“Surprise.”

A hand grabbed you by the arm, yanking you forward and through the wall, through the hole you’d been watching from. Woods held you by the arm infuriatingly easily, which made sense considering how much of a runt you were. Or had been at the time.

The metal had scraped against your shoulder, cutting open a shallow scratch from collarbone to right arm. You glared at him, kicking at him even as his soldiers chuckled.

Laughing at you.

You despised how patronizing it felt, leaning forward and sinking your deceivingly sharp teeth into the wrist of his hand that held you. Blood drew, and he didn’t drop you, simply moving to hold you in his other arm, smiling warmly at you as his shoulders shook from silent laughter.

“Feisty, huh?”

He said in an amused tone, ruffling your hair while someone went to grab a medic.

The memory felt warm and fuzzy, a reminder of a long time ago, though it only felt like yesterday.

But you had more important things to do than have an existential crisis.

Spying a fan in the corner, you pried the metal caging off, wrapping both hands around one of the metal pieces on it, and yanking until a piece came off. Jagged and sharp. Just how you needed it.

Wrapping your little pieces of rope around the base to protect your hand, you crept towards the back exit, listening for the sounds of any footsteps nearby. It would be hard to overhear, especially with the sounds of yelling, screaming, and gunfire in the streets. You wondered if your little makeshift friends had joined the dead or not.

A near-silent step, a branch accidentally cracking under his step, and you were on him.

Hit and run.

The metal slid smoothly into his throat, a quiet wheeze being all he could get out before you leaned his body back, watching his eyes glaze over as the blood ebbed and flowed. You pulled the gun from his hands, searching and taking what was left of his weapons as well.

One flash bang.

One knife, the case of which you strapped onto your hip, the flash bang being tucked into it soon after.

Mobility.

You crouched down, glancing left and right on the street, and breaking into a low sprint to a building down the dusty road. A restaurant by the looks of it. You couldn’t read the Arabic on the front, it having been one of the languages you hadn’t learned, even in your training for Special Forces.

More if the men flooded the streets just as you ducked behind the counter. Letting them all know you were here with gunfire wasn’t beneficial yet, not when you were so badly outnumbered. You needed to find the central point they were getting in from.

You needed to move.

Waiting for the men to pass by, you eventually went out of the back exit of the restaurant, passing the cool chill of its freezer near the kitchen before jumping onto a ladder in the alleyway outside, climbing up, and falling prone onto the ground as soon as you were there.

Looking up over the ledge, you could see now how there were so many.

Trucks were spread about the city, men exiting them and taking cover for a few seconds until they got to where they wanted to be, and started opening fire. They communicated through their radios, but why they would be here didn’t make sense.

Why try to raid a city when you couldn’t gain much, if anything from it?

Unless they weren’t trying to gain but to take someone out.

Someone who had always been against what you assumed was their little group. And that someone was none other than Farah, judging by how quickly she recognized them, and the gleam of hatred in her eyes when she looked at them. She’d been a bit too eager to slaughter them.

And with how quickly the men were flooding the roads and streets, and their communication, it wouldn’t be long until they found her.

Unless…

Glancing at the rooftop a few buildings over, you saw none other than a large tower. Not just any tower, but an antenna tower.

You observed the crowd for a moment, scanning, watching everyone, until you saw it. Heard it, rather, the loud boom it made, the man yelling “RPG!”. It was the second story of the building across the street. You couldn’t get there in time, even if you got over there without being killed or without too many civilians dying.

You needed to buy time.

Gathering the fractures courage left in your body, you got onto the balls of your feet, and against everything you’d been told, to stay quiet and unnoticeable, you began a mad dash across the building, jumping, and not stopping to marvel when your feet hit the solid ground of the other rooftop, only running further.

You still hadn’t gotten his attention.

You were almost to the antenna tower. Now or never.

Harassment.

Slipping the flash bang out of your belt-ish thing, you pulled the pin out, throwing it up in the air. You heard it when it went off, your vision blurring white as you dove and hit the floor. He must’ve heard it too, considering that when you glanced over, the large weapon was aimed at you, and when he fired, you saw it sail through the air not only at you but at the tower as well.

Diving over the edge of the building, you heard the blast, and chunks of debris and wire began raining from the sky in your area. Your ankles burned when you stood, legs screaming against any movement. Ash floated into your nose and throat, as well as the smell of fire, and you took off into another run, diving into a building, only to run face-first into another man.

Ambush.

Your fist met his jaw before his bullet met your body, but barely. You both rolled to the floor, kicking and flailing around, landing hits on each other. He jabbed at you with his gun, his knife out of reach. You rolled him onto his back, your knife coming out, only to be knocked away by his calloused hands.

Your arm went around his neck, hand locking into place with your other elbow as your knee pressed on his neck. Your breathing was pants, more gasps than anything as he gave a final few kicks, before going limp.

You picked your knife back up, head jolting up when you heard a familiar female yell just a few streets down.

The members of the Al-Qatala seemed lost, some shouting to others in Arabic, others going on rampages against civilians just for the hell of it, seemingly. You didn’t doubt that Farah had a small army of her own, but they hadn’t been prepared.

Neither had you.

Sinking lower to not attract attention, you crept through the streets, watching carefully, or as carefully as you could through your blurry vision. Sand and dust blew into it, but you couldn’t find the strength to blink it away.

Your head was throbbing again.

You weren’t sure how you managed the journey there, brain taking a temporary lapse in recording memory maybe, but the next thing you knew, you were near an old warehouse.

Talking came from inside.

A raspy voice. Old, but not kind or warm, not like the voices of the old men you were used to. Harsh and sharp. Like a whip wailing as it flew through the air. Cut paths through it.

“Where is it?”

Silence. As you crept up to the entrance of the warehouse, where the door was just slightly ajar, you could see the outline of Farah tied into a chair. Multiple other men inside. Maybe three or four. Pulling your gun slowly out, you set the handle against your knee, putting your eye right on the scope.

“We know you have the gas, Farah, or should I call you Karim?”

Cruel.

Unnecessary.

But it gave you a kernel of information.

Information you would think about later if you had the time. If you didn’t die here.

A harsh hit to the face. Audible.

You could tell it stung, but she didn’t budge.

You lined the scope up with his head, finger closing in on the trigger, holding down, just not enough until.

Surprise.

The blast of the shot alone rang out through the warehouse. Except it wasn’t who you’d been expecting to fall to the ground who did.

It wasn’t who you’d thought it had been. Not Al-Qatala, not Cartel.

No, instead, Philip Graves, director of the Shadow Company, fell sideways in the dirt.

And the men surrounding Farah?

None other than your own team that had been handed off to Graves during your departure.

Tags:

@yearninglustfully

@kazuyatokue

@kurokitty6

@popcornlauncher

@karleequinn

@sharkluver

@100percentlazybonez

@kiwibao

@juneonhoth

@theyoungeagle

@kee-0-kee

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ihasafandom · 1 year ago

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is that soft is it good is it cool

Peak German entertainment.

#captain-price-unofficially

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devil-in-hiding · 2 months ago

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Heard you say ghostprice and oh boy do i have some thoughts for you

Ghostprice who are equal, they take turns with all the responsibilities and can read their partner like no other. Ghostprice, who immediately knows when something is wrong.

Ghostprice who aren't official and they have their respective sergeants, but they still go to each other more often than not. Sometimes Ghost needs to be softer with someone, and Price would rather be vulnerable.

Ghostprice who can immediately tell when the other gets hurt even if they aren't together. It's like some sort of sixth sense. Ghost, who shoulders through his own pain to get to Price, too scared to lose his captain, his partner. Price, who would burn armies down to go to Simon when he gets hurt, too possessive and protective to let his man go.

They may be unstable and war criminals, but they're so soft when they're on leave in their little forest cabin. To just ignore the problems of society for a few days and enjoy the small little village that is still a few miles away. They aren't Price and Ghost there, no no, they're John and Simon. And there's this little old grandma that unofficially adopts them to shower them in baked goods and home cooked meals when they come home from a rough mission.

-✨️

i’m straight up bawling

#✨ anon #ghostprice my beloved #they deserve the world )):

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inkwolvesandcoffee · 11 months ago

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Coffee & Salted Caramel (Dad Best Friend!John Price Dark Romantic Headcanons)

CoD ML

It takes a moment for John to realise it’s you standing in front of him. However, after carefully scrutinising your face under the guise of a polite smile, there’s a spark of recognition in his pretty blue eyes.

In his defence, the last time he saw you was about ten years ago when you were an awkward teen just entering puberty. So little could have prepared him for seeing you now, blossomed into a beautiful young woman.

He doesn’t go in for a hug or a handshake, though it looks like the latter. Nevertheless, as soon as you’ve placed your hand in his, John brings your knuckles to his lips and kisses them. “My lady.”

The dark satisfaction blossoming in his chest due to your flabbergasted expression is carefully concealed behind a cheeky smile. A smile which is easily mistaken as amused, kind.

Without any other implications than friendship.

Picks you up from work if you’re working late and during winter. If you’re working the morning shift and therefore have to be there early, he’ll escort you to make sure you’re alright. At first John tells himself he’s simply being a gentleman, a proper captain. Moreover, he’s doing his best friend a service by keeping his daughter safe.

From men like him.

To keep you for himself.

Your father may or may not have let slip you go to the gym. A comment in which John saw a golden opportunity to get closer to you and reconnect. Or, rather, truly connect.

So you now find yourself three times a week working out alongside your father’s best friend, who kindly picks you up and drops you off after each session.

Who you’ve noticed glaring and sometimes even downright scowling at the other men there. Especially when he’s acting as your personal trainer.

Ngl, he makes for a good workout partner. Of course he respects your boundaries, but gradually tries to push you beyond them. Henceforth, when one week you swear you won’t be able to do a deadlift with 10kg on either side, you find yourself more than capable the next.

Though he’d never admit it, John loves showing off his strength and size. He might be middle aged, but he sure is still as capable, if not more, than in his younger years.

Another thing he’d keep a secret is how you wearing a choker tempts him to submit fully to instinct, play dangerously with the thought of claiming or, rather, owning you.

Frequently takes you out for hikes, picnics (weather permitting), trips around the country, and coffee. Whereas your father regards the outings with his best friend as enrichment because you two don’t get to do that stuff and acts of kindness, John actually sees them as unofficial dates.

Small moments during which he can properly fancy himself your partner.

You sing as a side hustle and have landed a performance at John’s favourite pub. Now, being a good friend to your father and simply being kind, he offers for you to stay overnight at his place. After all, the venue is too far from home to make it there afterwards safely.

Despite being seated in the back amongst the shadows, you feel John’s eyes on you throughout the show. Little do you know he occasionally closes his eyes, shutting out the world to enjoy your voice. It’s a lullaby that temporarily puts the rage seething beneath his skin to rest.

Gets grumpy when a guy approaches you to strike up a conversation after you’re done.

John knows you’re your own person and yet here he is, sulking and brooding over a pint because of a nagging sense he knows is unjustified. For fuck’s sake, you’re his best friend’s daughter! What the hell would you do with a guy his age, damaged beyond repair and haunted by ghosts?

Yet, he stands before you in no time and roughly grabs your wrist, dragging you behind him towards the exit. “On your feet. We’re leaving.”

On the way to his house, his grip remains iron-like regardless of how you struggle, whimper, beg, and try to pry his hand loose. Nonetheless, he remains as quiet, as tight-lipped, as when you ask him about his years in the army. Only when you call out his name with an ugly sob does he let go.

You flinch and step back when he turns around and comes closer, mortified by his fuming expression. John takes a deep breath, wishing he could kick himself in the face now that he finally sees how he hurt you. Moreover, in spite of his own disregard of rules and protocol, this type of behaviour would put any good captain to shame. That is, when directed at a loved one rather than a teammate. “I… I’m sorry.”

“What’s this about?” His gaze remains steady on the ground, even when you come closer to bridge the distance between you. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I don’t know, poppet. Maybe it’s just the pints that get me a bit violent. Drank one too many.”

“John-“

“Let’s go home.” Hands tucked into his pockets, he turns on his heel and starts walking again. He’d hold your hand, but after that little incident he’s too terrified to touch you. More than that, he grows bleak at the thought this or similar incidents which perhaps have yet to occur will eventually lead to you resenting him.

With you, he doesn’t want to be Captain Price.

He wants to be a man rather than a soldier.

A man properly caring for his girl by making sure she doesn’t want for anything.

Trying to sweep the incident on the street under the rug once you’re at his place, John stands in the doorway to the guest room as he watches you rummage in your bag. “Something wrong, love? Forgot your post-concert snack stash?”

You share his smile, the idea of glaring at him evaporated the moment you lock eyes. “Very funny, John.”

“I can make us something, though, if you’re still hungry. I ain’t a good cook, but I think I can manage scrambled eggs on an English muffin. Sober enough for that, at least.”

“I’m alright. Still, thanks. Turns out, I forgot my pyjamas.”

“You can lend a shirt. Let me find one.”

A wee while later, after being occupied a little too long with picking something for you to wear and distracted by the strain in his pants, he returns with a hoodie. He’d rather you be too hot than cold.

“Arms up, doll face.” Without questioning the nickname, you do as he says. His breath hitches as you wriggle into his hoodie, staring up at him with doe eyes.

It takes every ounce of self-control not to pick you up, twirl you around, and tuck you into bed. Say what you will, but beneath the lust there’s the genuine want to take care of you.

Distrustful of his hands, he crosses his arms and nods to the bed. “Hit the hay. I’ll make sure there’s breakfast, so don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you. Goodnight, John.”

He almost breaks, almost reaches out to pat your head to satisfy himself as much as he allows himself. But he doesn’t. “Goodnight, love.”

Nothing could have prepared him for seeing you do Pilates in the morning.

He stops in the doorway, frozen in place by fascination and the feeling he hasn’t been able to shake off since seeing you again for the first time in forever. Honestly, seeing you stretch and bend this way and that doesn’t help him think any clearer either. In fact, it only throws him deeper down the rabbit hole created by the fantasy of you pinned beneath him, breathless and whimpering his name as he has his way with you.

And he just dealt with his morning wood before coming downstairs.

As silent as a ghost, John slips back upstairs to calm himself down yet again, only leaving the bedroom when he hears you in the shower.

We all know perfectly well why I had to include this particular gif. And no, I’m not sorry.😝😹

Using the towels he prepared for you last night before dragging his ossified arse to bed.

Breakfast is elaborate with croissants, freshly brewed coffee (and your favourite syrup to put in it, salted caramel), orange juice, bread, jams, yogurt, and fruit. The food extravaganza makes you stop in your tracks to take in the sight.

“Thought I’d surprise you and apologize for last night. I stepped out of line.” John settles down and gestures to the one across from him. “Please.”

You nod, still too flabbergasted by the feast.

After a few moments of eating and drinking in silence, you pose the question which has been weighing heavily on your mind. “Why did you really act like that?”

“Guys like that want nothing but sex with a pretty young thing.” Despite the casual tone, his gruff voice is strained as he pours you another cup of coffee. After adding enough syrup to make it to your liking, he slides the cup towards you. “Besides, I promised your dad I’d watch over you, keep you safe.”

You glance to the side. “Bullshit. Like I’m that pretty.”

“You are. I’m surprised you don’t see how easily you can wrap any man around your finger.”

“Right. Let’s say you’re correct. I still don’t know how to… you know… have… sex.”

“Suppose you haven’t found the right person yet. Someone with the patience to take you through the motions. Who wants to take the time to love you right, map every detail of your body and learn what makes you shiver.” His eyes darken. “Someone with experience.”

Prompted by the way he sees you squirm in your seat and the front you try to put up despite the blush on your cheeks, he stands up to walk over to your side. “Someone who’s loyal. Faithful. Committed,” his breath is hot on your ear as his fingers touch your cheek, finding you pliable, your senses full of his cologne and presence, “to you. Maybe also someone who’s a little older.”

Before you can respond, John’s lips are on yours. His beard feels ticklish, but surprisingly much smoother than you thought it would be. A pleased hum reverberates in his chest when you run your fingers through it.

A lovely sound that turns into a gasp when you push him away, horrified as the truth sinks in. For nothing is more terrifying than common sense.

“I…” you begin, grasping at straws to explain yourself. It doesn’t help your heart cracks at the sight of the sadness in his eyes, badly concealed beneath the mask of the composed and determined captain.

“Y/N-“

“I should go.”

Judging by your tone, John knows he won’t be able to explain himself. “I’ll pack up some food. Have it along the way. A soldier isn’t anything if they don’t have a full stomach.”

“Text me when you’re home.” He can see the fight between confusion and affection rage in your eyes. “So I’ll know you’re safe. It might be broad daylight, but that doesn’t mean nothing won’t happen. Please, Y/N,” the way he says your name with an uncharacteristic plea hidden beneath barely composed sternness makes you waiver. “Just a text. That’s all I ask.”

“Alright.” You pull out your phone, create a new contact, and keep your gaze down towards the screen. “Spill the secret info, captain.”

After a moment’s hesitation, John curls his finger beneath your chin to tip it upwards. There’s a tremble in his hand as he cups your cheek, afraid you’ll pull away.

Change your mind.

And leave him behind.

“Promise?”

You nod, slightly leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

Packed up, the shirt he gave you the first thing to find its way into your bag, and his number in your phone, you silently leave. You know that once you turn around you’ll run right back to him, to what he can offer you. Nonetheless, to avoid problems with your father, you keep walking.

John’s gaze hot on your back, drinking salted caramel coffee.

I might turn this into a proper fic. Ah dinnae ken when or how, but what’s for sure already is that I’ve got plenty thoughts and ideas.😉

#Captain Price #John Price #Captain John Price #John Price x You #John Price x Reader #CoD x Reader #CoD Modern Warfare

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 8 months ago

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Brass Balls. - OC Backstory.

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 1.7K~ cw: yelling, threats, roasting (not even that aggressive really)

At the meager age of 23, Kathleen Mary Moore had succeeded in doing something that no one before or after her could get ever away with: becoming an unofficial charge nurse at the military hospital in Tidworth Camp.

And all thanks to one skill of hers: Conflict Resolution.

Well… more like… Resolution through Conflict.

Didn’t matter if the person that needed their arse reamed out was a patient, a family member or a commanding officer. She had enough sass to last her a lifetime and metaphorical balls big enough to look a superior in the eye and call them a gobshite.

In her case, being a charge nurse means little else than being a glorified enforcer. She’d be called in by anyone, in any department of the hospital, whenever there was a Difficult™️ situation to be solved. And solve them she did.

Maybe it was the Leo in her, maybe it was the Older Daughter blood in her veins. Who knows.

Nonetheless, it earned her an unfortunate nickname: Brass.

Not just because, according to the other medical staff and even some low rank enlisted, she had “brass balls”... but also because she had the brass (the high-ranked officers) by the balls.

And that’s, unfortunately, the way she met John Price.

On March 28th, 2013, the Tidworth Hospital received an influx of 20 SAS soldiers that, although housed in the nearby Stirling Lines Garrison, didn’t have a proper hospital at the base, and so, were placed in Tidworth for emergency treatment.

By April 7th, 2013, only one soldier of the group of 20 stayed behind, a Sergeant Craig Wallcroft, the rest having returned to Credenhill. Wallcroft wasn’t under Kathleen’s care, being in a completely different department, but, eventually, she was forced to pick up his case.

Called to her nurse’s admin office by her Lieutenant-Colonel, Lieutenant Moore watched a small pile of paper being placed in front of her, 14 or so pages long.

“Sergeant Wallcroft’s superior, a ‘Captain Price’ has been very insistent in the release of his Sergeant…” Lieutenant-Colonel Margot Ward, a no-nonsense greying-brown-haired woman explained as she stood face-to-face with Kathleen.

“Insistent, you say?” Kathleen asked, dipping her head slightly at an angle, an eyebrow raising in a display of displeasure. “What’s he done?”

“Very.” Margot explained with a sigh. “He took to filing request after request for the release and clearance for combat… Then to filing transfer requests to the medical ward in Credenhill… To downright harrassing us with phone calls on the matter.” She revealed.

Kathleen’s eyebrows raised and her head pulled back at the chin in a look of utter surprise. To have someone abuse the online request system or maybe the email inbox of the department was one thing… But to downright shout down the phone line over this?

Oh, Kathleen was not happy, her hands already trembling with the anticipation of putting this man in his place.

“And, now, he’s sent one of his Lieutenants to… pressure us into releasing his teammate. The man’s shouted at Lieutenant Byers in the nurse’s station already.” Margot added.

That did it. Hearing that someone raised their voice at one of her closest friends? She didn’t even want to imagine the state her friend Felicity was left in… the poor girl, always prone to tears.

“Leave it to me.” Kathleen said as she walked out of the room, marching away quickly.

The trip to Credenhill was quick. It took no convincing at all for the helicopter pilot, who was meant to transpo Wallcroft back to Credenhill, to turn the chopper around to deliver her, and this Lieutenant he sent for him, Lieutenant Cameron, back to Credenhill.

Cameron then lead her across the garrison in the lightly pouring rain, to the training gym where ‘Captain Price’ was bound to be.

Her brown eyes flittered over the room very quickly, surveying it, to try and locate Captain Price. Most of the men there were on the young end, handsome-ish, muscular and strong, wearing tight clothing while they grappled and tossed each other around.

Before Cameron could lead her further into the room, she took two fingers to her mouth and let out a sharp, deafening whistle, that stopped all the sparring (and observing) soldiers, in their tracks.

“WHICH ONE OF YOU GOBSHITES IS CAPTAIN PRICE?!” She barked at the top of her lungs, the silence in the room so loud that her voice bounced off the walls.

One of the men straightened up from where he was sparring with another of the soldiers and he stood tall and imposing, even from across the room. “That’d be me.” John said. “Who are you?”

“I’m someone that’s sick and tired of your bullshit, Captain.” She told him directly. “Now, come over here, please.” She demanded as she beckoned him close with two fingers.

John approached with a certain swagger, confident steps and swaying hips, strong muscles wrapped by an army green t-shirt covered in sweat, beefy, burly and hairy forearms on display.

“Nurse Corps.” He acknowledged her uniform’s patches as he came to a stop before her, standing a bit below her, a few steps worth of a height difference, as she stood on a catwalk, and him on the gym floor. “You finally transferred my Sergeant?”

He was handsome. Bloody hell, he was handsome, stern blue eyes staring at her from below, stubble on his jaw that she knew would soon grow to be a thick shrub…

“No.” She replied as she set her hands on her hips. “Your Sergeant is still bed-bounded back in Tidworth, where he’ll stay for the foreseeable future because as you’ve been told many times by now, he’s not. fit. for. service.”

John looked at her blankly. “Is that what you came all this way for, little nurse?” He asked her with a cocked brow, his tone almost condescending. “This could’ve been a phone call.” He added and turned away. “Get back to work!” He shouted at his team.

Oh, how she hated being underestimated… And talked down to.

She lunged forward and grabbed John by the collar of his t-shirt like one would to a naughty child and tugged him back with an aggressive pull. “Get back here, you wanker.” She demanded.

John turned to look at her, eye-to-eye, faces mere inches apart, as she finally let go of him. “You’re gonna listen and listen good because I’m not bloody playing around and I have NO PROBLEM embarrassing you in front of your troops.” She gestured to the other soldiers in the room who had not heeded Price’s command to go back to work.

“You have no qualifications to decide what your soldiers need or do not need when it comes to their health. Hell, I wouldn’t trust you to tell your arse from your elbow considering the state of the First Aid that half of your soldiers came to Tidworth with.” She told him point blank, her hands now coming to rest on the railing of the catwalk that separated them.

Her voice grew louder with each word she spoke, venom slipping from her tongue as she continued her tirade. Her face had morphed into a wide-eyed, almost frantic look, her brows set low over her eyelids, and her jaw clenched tight.

“And even if you had qualifications, that gives you no right to talk down to me or my bloody staff. I’ve seen plenty of men like you in the last couple years and you all have one thing in common: hubris. You think that suddenly, what, cause you made Captain you can suddenly treat everyone as if they’re below you?” She confronted him as she leaned forward, getting right in his face.

“Just because your ego suddenly soared sky high thanks to your spiffy new title and shiny medals, it doesn’t mean that you can suddenly proceed as you fucking please. Your inability to fathom that your power over others is only in the scope of your immediate subordinates in the chain of command is not the Nurse and Medical Corps’ concern. We have better things to do than deal with little men with fragile little egos.” She shouted at him, pointing a finger right in his face, her teeth catching her lips as she spat pure vitriol at him.

“So you better hear me well and good-” She added and suddenly grabbed him by the front of the collar, tugging him close to her. “because I am not saying this again. If I hear so much as a PEEP about you, that you put in another request for Wallcroft’s clearance, or, God help you, that you called the nurse’s station and talked down on one of my sisters, again-” She warned him.

“I’ll print out the stack of over 30 requests you’ve already put in, come back here,” She pointed at the floor to mean Credenhill. “...roll ‘em up nice and tight and shove ‘em SO FAR UP YOUR ARSE that when I pull ‘em out your mouth, your teeth will work as a paper shredder. AM. I. CLEAR?!” Kathleen pointed her finger right in his face, almost poking him between the eyes with it.

John was dumbfounded. He had never been spoken to like this. Not since he became an adult. Even his mother wasn’t this intense as she reamed him out when he was younger, and there had been plenty of times where he had deserved it!

So, Price simply stared at her and blinked slowly, his breathing having hitched and his heart beating like a war drum in his chest. He swore he could hear his blood flowing inside his ears. His arms hung limply on either side of his body as he kept staring into the fiery woman’s brown eyes.

“AM. I. CLEAR?!” She repeated herself, eyes still wide, pupils blown, as she glared right into John’s blue eyes, his own pupils blown.

“Yes, ma’am.” John ended up saying and nodded imperceptibly.

Kathleen let go of his collar and leaned back. “That’s what I fucking thought.” She goaded in a vicious tone through her teeth.

Then, she turned around, facing Lieutenant Cameron and nodding at him before she marched off, forcing the lieutenant to rush after her to escort her back to the chopper, and leaving behind a stunned group of SAS soldiers… and her future husband.

#ikea writes 💚#cod oc #cod fanfic #oc backstory #cod modern warfare #oc: kathleen “brass” price #price x kathleen #price x oc

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gildui · 4 months ago

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cant stop thinking about gaz and his equestrian!reader partner. not the western trope, but an english rider.

with his sweet, saccharine smiles as he brings treats to the ladies at the barn. smooth talking them as you brush down your connemara. by the time you’re done and tracking him down, he’s got a group of ladies surrounding him, all enchanted by his stories and his cheeky, little smile. he’d just come to bring you your forgotten helmet, yet now, it was a requirement for him to stop by everytime you showed up for a hack.

suddenly everything is on the top shelf. polish? kyles got it. new set of stirrups? get kyle, heard he was helping muck a stall. saddle and blanket too heavy all of a sudden? huh, look there’s kyle carrying a water bucket. so convenient. your boyfriend is gone, no longer the lovable cuddle bug who’s awaiting you at home between deployments. now, he’s the new stable hand (unofficially, nevermind in the summer the ladies request his duties shirtless)

though the day comes that every rider fears. your little mare, tough as nails, but still spooked due to a branch a few inches off than normal on your route. out like a light. your mare gone. you’re crying, wiping your snot on your jumper when Kyle answers the phone, “babe?”

he’s greeted with more sobs—“she’s taken off, kyle” “i-i can’t bloody find ‘er!”—all he needs to hear is the small stutter in your voice before he’s signaling to his task force with a batman sigil.

cue the squad, he calls the scotsman first. who then calls the big brute with the mask, who then calls, Captain Price, the only one you know the name of. (it’s fucking gaz, we all know that boy gonna be YAPPING about his captain) and before you know it they are searching through the nearby trails with the grace of a special forces unit. who would’ve thought huh.

an hour of hunting and the five of them are walking through the brush. your mare’s reins in kyle’s hands, the bloke with the mohawk is seated on her back pretending to ride the mare like a knight and his mighty steed. leaving the two other men to trail behind in content silence.

even more hysterics ensue. you’re running to your mare—to kyle—unabashedly pressing kiss after kiss to his face in thanks. then, you plant a fat kiss to the mohawk fellow’s cheek and a smile and wave to the other boys. your horse, on the other hand, gets a stern look and she simply snorts at in you, ears lax. completely content despite the havoc she’s caused. fucking thing’s even snagged a branch to chew on as they strolled around.

it isn’t until months later—few deployments between—that kyle’s now riding next to you on your hacks. maneuvering your connemara with the grace and expertise of a rider who’d been at it for years.

just don’t tell him that, you’ll never live it down.

#NOBODY talk about the amount of quickies behind the barn #that yowling isn’t the cats again #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle garrick x you #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader

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soapybutt17 · 1 year ago

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Work Mom Masterlist

Summary: Task Force 141 was an unofficial official family with their Papa Captain and their Mama Lieutenant. The two being married was also something that made things a little more officials in their dynamic. Characters: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish. Kate Laswell. Warnings: AU. Mostly Crack! Fics. Smut. Canon Typical Violence. Mostly Fluff. Some Angst. Mention of Pregnancy and Children.

How I Met Your Mother

Too Sweet For Me

Day One

Night Showers

Then There Was Three

How It Began

Baby Mama

Lost in IKEA

Labour pt.1, pt.2

Big Soldier, Little Soldier

Do I Wanna Know?

Non-Canon Oneshots / Requests:

The Coldest Nights

#Work Mom Masterlist #John Price Smut #John Price One Shots #John Price Oneshot #John Price Oneshots #John Price fluff #John Price angst #john price headcanons #john price headcanon #John Price x reader #john price x female reader

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hearts4youz · 1 year ago

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The Captains Daughter- Chapter 8

A/N- This week was rough, I procrastinated this a lot. I'm so sorry, it's not the best quality :( I hope you guys like it anyway!! Thank you all so much for the support!!

Word count: 1.4k

Reader pov:

You sat down on your bed, replaying the day's events in your mind. You realized your spine was still rigid and your muscles still taut even hours after returning. You allowed yourself to relax just a little, slipping into bed and under the thin sheets. Exhaustion easing you out of the depressing grip of failure. Finally you closed your eyes.

Beep beep

But not for long enough.

You groaned as you climbed out of bed, feeling all of your joints pop, your fingers were raw from the metal of your gun. The failure of yesterday's mission still plagued you as you unwrapped your bandages to reveal where the knife had cut.

It didn't look too bad, it wasn't infected and had already started to scab over. You swiped an antiseptic wipe over it and slapped a fresh bandage on as you completed the rest of your morning routine.

Breakfast came and went, you took your unofficial assigned seat at the table, but the conversation was different. The group was solemn, it wasn't only you that was still dwelling on the mission. The six of you ate in silence before getting up from the table and heading towards the meeting room one by one.

When the last of you had arrived, Price wasted no time starting the debriefing. You willed yourself to stay awake, fighting the sleep deprived droop of your eyelids as your father explained the mishap.

"A lowly gang-" you yawned.

"Colonel bla bla bla, sent a group of yada yada," You began to tune him out.

"Survivors captured,"

"Should have been an easy in and-"

You felt a sharp pain in your shin, you looked across from you to the source of the kick. You were met with a blank stare from your lieutenant.

"What the fuck?" you mouthed at him.

"Shouldn't be falling asleep during a debriefing, valuable information to be picked up," he tsked.

You rolled your eyes but remained at attention, not wanting to feel the consequences at training later.

The meeting concluded and you left the room alongside Gaz, you were joined by Soap when he entered the hallway. Before you even had a chance to breathe or say a word to your friends, Ghost came up behind you.

"Training room 1400, every minute late is 10 pushups." He walks away before you can respond.

You sigh heavily.

"So how is training with Ghost anyway," Gaz inquires.

"Its- its work," you breathe.

Soap laughs, "He trains you half to death doesn't he?"

You let out a laugh of your own, "Sure feels like it."

"Hey, he just doesn't want to see you hurt, he wants to make you an even better soldier," Soap's demeanor turns suddenly.

You're reminded of the time in line for breakfast less than a week ago. Why is Ghost so weird about you? Why do you care?

"The guy's been through a lot, seen a lot, seen others go through some shit he doesn't want to happen to you," Gaz pipes up.

"But why does he care, why doesn't he show it?" Your getting more and more confused with each word out of their mouths.

"Alright, I know LT better than pretty much anyone, and I know that this man cares deeply about his comrades, but shiiiit- I ain't ever seen this guy act like this," Soap started.

"Act like what?" you said.

"Such a bumbling fool. Normally Ghostie is always down for a good shit talk sesh, mans has ALL the tea, lurking in the shadows has its perks I guess. But about you- well not that I was talking shit but I just wanted to know his opinion and uh- Anyways. He shut me down immediately. I couldn't even ask him his thoughts on you."

"So? he doesn't want to think about me, that's how much he despises me," You countered as you made your way through the corridors.

"Oh no, no, no," said Gaz, remembering something.

"You and Cap went out somewhere, on a run or something, and Soap, Ghost, and I were watching whatever garbage was on the evening channels, and we started talking about you- all good things of course. Butttt- I remember feeling his posture go absolutely rigid at the mention of your name, he went straight to attention, before tellin us to quit yappin," Gaz recalled.

Before you could get a word in, Soap continued, "And if there's one thing to know about Ghost, he keeps his things to himself. If he likes or cares about something, you best bet that it is staying locked down and guarded in his brain. If anyone so much as says anything about a person or thing near and dear to him, their getting shut down immediately."

"Okay, yeah sure, but I don't see how any of this pertains to me, considering how you say he cares about all of his teammates."

"Also, why am I being talked about so much behind my back?" You raise an eyebrow.

"All good things I swear," Gaz chuckles, raising his hands in surrender.

Soap interrupts as you two are laughing. "Because I've never seen him so.. protective"

"I dunno, just the way he reacted yesterday when that man had you on the ground. The way his eyes narrowed and he balled his fists. He completely lost his cool and that's highly unlike him."

You didn't take notice of that, well maybe because you were fighting for your life against a man with a knife to your throat.

"So he thinks I need protection?" You ask.

"I think he wants you to need his protection" Gaz smirked

"What are you implying," you said, fearing the worst.

"Oh you know what we mean," Soap teased.

"Oh cut it out"

"Your blushing," Gaz pointed out.

"Don't think the way you look at him goes unnoticed. Or, the way you stuck by him during the mission," Soap was having a blast teasing you.

"Shut it," you said hiding your smile.

"So you do like him"

"No, not like that. I think he's- interesting, I'd like to get to know him more." You settled for that explanation.

In reality, you'd been thinking of him more than you'd like to admit. Not in a romantic way just yet, but the thought has crossed your mind. It's more of an intrigue, you wondered about him. Wondered about where he called home, who he went home to, if anyone. Maybe once or twice you've entertained the thought of him coming home to you...

Ghost's Pov

I had one hour before I had to train Y/N, so I decided to get a quick lift in, today was a back and chest day. As I grabbed two dumbells to perform the pec-fly exercise I conjured up a plan for Y/N. Today would be a strength training day. She was defenseless against that man yesterday. If she wanted to stand a chance in the field, she would have to get stronger.

In order for her to survive, she would have to get stronger.

In order for her to survive, I would have to train her harder.

A few minutes before our scheduled time, she walks in. Perfect timing, I had just finished my workout.

"Lets start right away," I commanded.

I walked her over to a squat rack, I taught her correct form and put an adequate amount of weight on the bar. She went into the first set of squats, after about three she was already struggling. She finished the first set and stopped to stretch her quivering muscles.

"Too -gasp- heavy -gasp-" she said out of breath.

I rolled my eyes, "You did the first set, you can finish it out."

"Ghost-" she groaned

"Rest's over," was my only response.

She took her place at the rack again, slowly going down and back up. Her thighs trembled, her face scrunched in agony.

"Lower!" I yelled.

Her form went to shit on the next few reps.

"Fix your form."

She barely finished the set, "Ghost, I can't"

"Yes you can, 30 more seconds rest then right back on it!"

The next two hours were the same, Y/N got more exhausted with each exercise, I started to feel sympathetic as I watched her limp to the locker room.

But then the image of her being easily thrown about by that soldier flashed in my mind. I knew I would push her even harder tomorrow.

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