#john price is a dad

[snootlestheangel]

The Gaz/Soap Bromance

Y'all, I am 100% convinced that these two have like the best bromance in history.

Part of it is I believe Soap is super physically affectionate with the people he's closest to, and Gaz is one of them, as well as the one willing to put up with the most affection. Gaz just knows he's a target when he's laying on the couch. Price jokingly tells him to get a blanket with a target on it so Soap would know where to lay. Gaz is just chilling, talking to someone? Soap is there, leaning against him, sitting too close, etc. etc. I keep seeing a thing going around with Soap (platonically) kissing the 141 members and friends (if y'all know where/who started this please let me know), and I'm just thinking about Soap and Gaz being Like That. Just constantly "flirting" with each other, just lil smooches here and there, so many hugs that last a little longer than deemed appropriate.

Gaz knows how to comfort Soap when he's experiencing ~issues~ with the ADHD (I don't have it, but I am autistic and I've seen many things that ADHD people struggle with that I can relate to). Gaz just knows how to help him with boredom, how to help him with overstimulation, how to make sure he takes care of himself when he's having bad days, etc. They almost always do their workouts together, spotting for the other, and keeping each other company. They're almost never apart, even doing the most mundane tasks. Gaz can be cleaning his rifle and Soap is sitting on the table, rambling about something his mom told him the last time he called her.

It gets to the point that people think they're a couple, and Gaz panics when he hears that. Ghost and Soap are together, and it's not like they are trying to hide it, it's just Ghost is emotionally constipated and doesn't know how to show affection, especially in the presence of people he's not familiar with (aka the recruits). Soap, Gaz, and Price all know when he's being affectionate towards Soap because they know he doesn't show it the same way. Yeah, Soap is still physically affectionate towards him, but he also understands that Ghost has boundaries and doesn't like being touched that much (he does, just not in public if you catch my drift ;) teehee). He suddenly distances himself from Soap, who has a breakdown over it. I mean, that's his best friend! What did he do wrong? Ghost has to convince him it's not his fault, blah blah blah, and when Soap finally calms down enough to fall asleep, Ghost is hunting Gaz down.

Not because he suddenly became distant towards Soap. At least, not in the way you might think. He is going to berate Gaz for this, but not because "That's not how you should react to the rumors about you and Soap. You really hurt Soap, how could you do that?". NO, that's not AT ALL how Ghost reacts. Ghost is instead so distraught, not for Soap, but for Gaz. He knows how important Gaz's friendship is to Soap, and vice versa. He and Gaz have never really talked about Ghost and Soap being together, and Ghost is scared that Gaz has always been expecting Ghost to try and cut Gaz out of Soap's life.

But instead, Ghost apologizes. He apologizes on behalf of the dumb recruits that started the rumor. He apologizes on behalf of himself and Price for not putting a stop to it sooner. But most importantly, he apologizes as Soap's lover. He's sorry that Gaz felt Ghost would want him gone, but it can't be further from the truth.

"I need you in my life as much as Soap does. You have been there for him when I can't be, you match his energy when no one else can. You keep him grounded without making him feel like a burden. He needs you despite having me. I can't replace what the two of you have, that's not my relationship with him. I'm there as his lover, you're there as his brother. And I need you because I can walk away from base to go on mission without him and not be scared. Not be afraid that something's going to happen to my Johnny while I'm gone. I can feel safe leaving him behind because I know he's safe with you. I know he's got someone that loves him and will lay down their life for him. Johnny is not just for me to love, his heart's too big for just me." -Ghost when he finally catches Gaz.

Gaz and Ghost being fiercely protective of Soap after that. Gaz and Soap continue being themselves, safe and comfortable, while Ghost watches with a smile behind his mask. Gaz shuts down every accusation that he and Soap are together, fiercely defending the idea that men can be vulnerable with someone and not have to be sleeping with them. He defends their friendship by pointing out all the shit they've been through together, how they're a family Gaz has never had.

And maybe, yeah, Ghost gets a bit more possessive of his Johnny, and maybe it's encouraged by Gaz. And maybe, just maybe, Soap feels so incredibly safe to hug and love on the people in his life for the first time in a really long time.

And Soap is content. He's got the greatest friend a man could ask for, the most incredible lover anyone could desire, and a good family.

And Gaz is happy. He only wants the best for Soap at all costs, and seeing him being joyful because of Ghost gives him so much satisfaction, like he's finally done something right with his life.

And Ghost is at peace. He has someone to hold when it's dark out and the demons in his head are getting to be too much. He's got this radiant bolt of energy at his side. But he also can rest easy knowing that Johnny, his Johnny, is safe and happy. He's safe with or without Ghost on base because he's got Gaz. Ghost has another person he'd give his life for if that meant he could guarantee Soap's safety.

And Price? Price is just happy his boys are getting along. That is, until Soap and Gaz drag Ghost into their shenanigans and leave Price graying faster than he should.

[loudblonde]

Whumptober day 4: The sky isn't red

warning: This is about experiencing rather intrusive hallucinations and how ones reality can be distorted

AN: : these are in fact based on my own experience with stress-related psychosis. This story is not entirely accurate as to what everyone may experience or what life is like for someone with schizophrenia. This is more of a view of what my life was like at the worst point of my active psychosis and how having people around who are understanding and not fearful is a good thing. This is not a story villainising us folk who do have it. All of these experiences, besides the second last hallucination is in fact things I myself have experienced

word count: 2.1 K

(Y/N) looked outside the window and down at the treeline. The black-eyed children were being creepy again though they did just that, being creepy, nothing else. Not like what the younger him had experienced with the ‘Evil man outside’, a rather horrible hallucination that he hated having. He regretted getting into horror stories early on, though who could know that his abuse would lead to a psychic break where he developed psychosis? Not him. Nor his family.

He drummed on the window still before looking up into the sky. Not red. Good. He could manage as long as that did not happen.

With a slight hum he walked downstairs while ignoring the sense of dread kicking at the back of his head. “Keep logical.” He muttered to himself.

“Voices bad again?” John Price, (Y/N)’s father, asked.

(Y/N) shook his head. “The sky isn’t red.”

“Ooo, that is good. I made you breakfast, its in the red sealed container inside the microwave.” Price said.

(Y/N) smiled and picked up the box and sat down. He opened it and looked at eggs and lentils. Safe foods. “Thanks dad.” He said. He poked at the food, exanimating it over and over again. His fork gently pried apart the egg proteins so he could see whether it was really egg or something else.

Feeling satisfied with the initial look he took a test bite. He chewed a bit, then chewed some more and a bit more before swallowing. He smiled. “The eggs are good, dad.” He said.

Price chuckled. “Thanks, I am glad you like them.”

“I like them a lot.” (Y/N) said and kept eating, though every bite held a bit of hesitance as he tasted it all to ensure that it was eggs and not something else. He could only handle so much of his… hallucinations.

(Y/N) parked his bag and got dressed in school uniform. He looked into the mirror as he tied his tie. A sense of dread came from the corner. He just fully turned to the corner and starred. “Will you stop that?” He asked with a low sigh. “I am trying to get ready for school, don’t get me all paranoid already. There is plenty of time in the day.” The darkness seemed to curl just a bit more before seeping away.

He nodded in satisfaction yet again and finished getting ready. He walked downstairs and looked to his dad. “I will text you when I get to school and when I am about to get home and when I get home.” He promised.

Price kissed the top of his son’s head. “Text your aunt as well. She will drop dinner off for you.”

He nodded. “Alright. Mission again?” He asked.

Price nodded. “Unfortunately… but remember, I love you.” He said.

(Y/N) smiled widely.  “Love you too, dad.” He said. He gave his dad one last hug and headed out for the day.

He walked down the road, towards school, humming and ignoring the world around him, that just became a habit, especially when the sky was red. He hated when the sky was red. He shivered just thinking about it, luckily his meds were starving off the worst of the worst. He had taken his meds today, right? Yeah, probably.

He got about halfway to school when he heard something from the forest, he turned and looked, something moved between the trees. His eyes widened slightly. “Nope!” He began walking faster, though not yet running, his mind was running at a thousand miles per hour.

He felt the looming sense of dread behind him, the whispers at the edge of his mind and everything going badly. His nails dug into his palm. He hadn’t recalled them getting to that point. When did his nails grow long? He shook his head and continued to hurry along. He entered the school’s property and looked behind him, into the treeline, the presence loomed there, walking side to side, agitated it hadn’t caught him. He took a deep breath and shook his head before hurrying inside. He texted his dad from the safety of his classroom.

Once the school day was over, which had consisted of very boring lessons with way too many distractions from his various less horrible hallucinations, he stood at the property line of the school, mentally preparing himself to go home. His hands drummed on the gate as his eyes glanced about, taking everything in.

Still no red sky or what followed a red sky.

He took a deep breath and texted both his dad and his aunt that he was leaving school.

It is now or never.

He stepped out of the safety of the school property and felt the presence of the man again, the paranoia inducing evil man outside. The very creature tormenting him and making him question his very own resolve to ignore. His mind was running even faster than earlier as his tiredness from being in school for 8 hours only made everything worse.

He looked around, taking in everything and everyone walking past, half the people, who he wasn’t even sure were actually real, had stuff missing from their faces that made them look anywhere from plain weird to downright horrifying. He shook his head and refocused. Why weren’t his meds working? He was sure he had been taking them.

He headed further and further. He was almost home now, but the man was following him, calling to him and whispering lies in his ear.

He shook his head and kept his eyes forward. None of this was real. Logically he knew that. Logically he was being effected by something not there. Yet it all felt real, far far too real. So real that he was questioning whether this even was false. No! He couldn’t think like that. It would only fuel his mind to make things more believable.

Before he knew it, he was at home, in the safety of his home. He took a deep breath and texted his dad and aunt again. He looked around. He was all alone. Surely there would be some food…. But he wasn’t allowed to have knives. So he couldn’t even make anything unless they had some bread.

He sighed as he resolved to just be hungry until his aunt dropped off food. He sat down and looked at the tv screen, debating whether or not to watch something when he just shrugged and started watching his favourite tv show anyway.

A few hours later his aunt walked in through the front door, he looked over at the food and smiled. “Auntie, auntie!” he stood up and hugged her, she hugged back. “What did you make?”

She chuckled. “I made shepherd’s pie, I know you like it, it should be enough to last you a few days.” She said.

“I can use the microwave to reheat it?” He asked as he took the ovenproof dish from her.

She nodded. “Yes, reheat a portion for 5 to 8 minutes.” She said.

“Thank you, auntie.” He said and gave her a big smile.

She smiled and ruffled his hair. “Alright, alright, I will get out of your hair, just… promise me you will call if things get bad or if you are unsure if something is real or not?”

He nodded. “I promise, auntie.” He said.

She regarded him a moment and then put on a smile for him, she ruffled his hair and left with a feeling of unease.

He put a square of the shepherd’s pie on a plate and picked it part, examining it. Once satisfied he popped it into the microwave.

He glanced about the empty home, despite his father not being home it was still loud as fuck. He tapped his fingers against the kitchen counter, waiting. It would be dark soon. He hated when it got dark.

He sighed and took a deep breath. “Dad, forgive me.” He said before turning on all the lights in the house. The light calmed his nerves just a bit before he grabbed his plate of food. He sat his add down, ate while watching shitty TV and went about his night as usual.

(Y/N) glanced at the clock and shook his head. 1AM. Way too late. He turned the TV off and debated letting all lights stay turned on…. His dad would kill him. Another sigh escaped his lips again as he stood up. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen, one of the big chefs’ knives.

He started turning off all lights, ignoring his own paranoia as much as possible. He ended up in the hallway and had his hand on the switch. The moment the light was turned off he had to dash. His eyes glanced into the unsafe darkness; his mind was already whirling with fear as the hallucinations of monsters from his childhood was getting ready to go after him. He turned the knife in his hand, so that it was pointed down Micheal Myers style.

He turned his body towards the stairs, turned the lights off and bolted upstairs. He could practically feel the claws and beaks snap at his ankles. He fell onto the floor of the upper floor and chuckled to himself. He looked down at the knife and paused. Why was there red on it? He looked down his body and saw his leg had a gash in it. “… dad is going to kill me if that is real…” He stood up slowly, testing his leg. He could feel the burning pain from the cut. “Shit… dad is absolutely going to kill me.” He said as he headed for the bathroom. He washed his leg, applied some medical tape. Now, he knew, from experience, that this was not proper wound care. However, had he taken the bandages needed his father would notice and ask him why.

(Y/N) really didn’t want his father asking why.

He slathered some Vaseline over the wound, cleaned the edges off and applied the medical tape to keep it closed together. Wrapped an old forgotten sports wrap around his thigh and limped to his room. This would be hell to heal.

He sighed as he sat down. He found himself sighing a lot lately. He didn’t even need to look up to know she was there.

“Did you get hurt?” A woman’s voice asked.

He looked up at her, oh how he looked like her, it was painful. Seeing his dead mother, with her throat slit open was always painful. Though he cracked a smile, far far too used to seeing horrors from his psychosis. “We match now.” He said, motioning for his leg.

Her eyes widened as she floated over, her dress was white and her hair floated above her head, he hated the stereotypical ghost his mind made him see. She touched his leg sending a shiver of ice cold dread up through his body, pins and needles gathered where she touched. A wince came through him.

“You know I don’t like your dark humour.” She said.

He sighed. “Mum…”

She shook her head. “Don’t start,”

His mind drifted to when he was younger. The reason he was even fucked in the head, his own words, not spoken around his father or psychologist. His father had been off in the military, someone his unit was after didn’t take too kindly to it, so they targeted every soldier’s family. (Y/N) had seen his own mothers throat being slit open and left for dead while he was tied to a chair unable to do anything but stare at her rotting corpse for 2 days before the school called the police to do a check up on his home.

He hadn’t spoken for a year after that day.

He still hadn’t forgiven his father. No matter how hard he tried.

“… I’m sorry.” He said.

She touched his cheek, numbing his face. “I love you, darling, don’t forget that and don’t listen to the man outside.” She said.

He glanced outside at the shadow figure standing right by his window. He walked over, fueled only by his mother’s presence, he put the curtains for the window and shook his head before sitting down.

“Are you going to tell your dad?” She asked.

He shook his head. “No, why would I?”

She gave him a look. He hated how the hallucination of his mother had the mum look down. It was just as effective as when he was younger. “Muuuum.” He whined and looked away.

She smiled a bit, not that he could see it. “Just tell your dad, he wont be mad.”

“He is going to kill me.” (Y/N) said.

She shook her head, amused. “No, he won’t.” she said and wagged her finger in his face. She pretended to look at a watch on her wrist. “Young man, it is 2 AM!”

He looked back up at the clock and winced. “If you leave, I will sleep.”

She gave him another look. “Better sleep.” She said before fading away.

He laid down, ignoring the scratching under his bed and fell asleep.

[gothghostiie]

something something babysitter!reader, price calling you to pick you up earlier because his shitty ex wife made sure he has the wrong time for the court hearing, you rush over to his house. hes incredibly thankful while horribly stressed, quickly tying his tie around his neck while on the way to the door. you, being the sweet thing you are, follow him around to help, baby on your hip, keys in the other. he takes them while you're standing in the doorframe and without thinking; call it force of habit; he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth before speeding off.

[ave661]

dad!Price

[gloomwitchwrites]

There was this tiktok trend where kids and their mums would pull a prank on their dads by telling their mums to shut up...141 with a teenage son who tries it?

Anon, I am very aware of this prank. If mom is in on it, I consider it all in good fun, but omg, these guys would be absolutely stressed if they heard their teenage son tell mom to "shut up." Heads would absolutely roll over that!

Price is certainly old enough to have a teenage son on the older side. I would even say the same for Ghost. Gaz is old enough for a younger teenage son. With Soap's age...that's stretching it. BUT SUSPEND DISBELIEF Y'ALL. I'm aging Gaz and Soap up a bit for this one.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Presented in two double drabbles and two triple drabbles.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader (w/ children)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, pranks, domestic, dad!141, brief suggestive themes, marriage

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Ugh. Shut up, Mum.”

There is a brief pause between mum and when the television remote hurtles across the room. Your son doesn’t duck in time, the hard plastic hitting his shoulder before bouncing onto the kitchen island with a loud clack.

Before your son turns, Kyle’s baseball cap with the Union Jack, soars through the air like a frisbee. This one your son manages to avoid, but it’s quickly followed by a slipper. It flies past his head, and you catch it out of the air before it makes contact with the front of the microwave.

You and your eldest son turn in Kyle’s direction as he manifests in the kitchen entryway, the other slipper in hand, poised to launch it at the first sign of any movement.

“Wanna repeat yourself, mate?” Kyle appears calm and poised, but you notice the subtle tension in his jaw.

“It was a joke, Dad! Promise!”

Kyle’s arm holding the slipper starts to rise.

“Kyle,” you say. His gaze flicks to you. “Just a joke. No harm. I was in on it.”

His shoulders immediately sag. Kyle shakes his head. Rolls his eyes. Heading for the fridge, he opens it up, grabbing a can of his favorite beer.

Kyle sets the beer down on the island, pointing the slipper at you and then his son. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words come out, just an exasperated huff.

Kyle snatches up the television remote and sticks it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Keeping hold of the shoe in one hand, and his beer in the other, he gives the two of you his back, heading into the living room.

“No one bother me until the game is over,” he says over his shoulder. “And someone bring me my bloody slipper!”

John Price

"Fucking hell, Mum. Shut it."

John is up and out of his seat so fast you hardly see him move. He strides over to his son, yanking him off the stool by the scruff of his shirt.

"John! It's a prank!" you say quickly, reaching for his arm.

The boy is dangling in the air, toes just shy of touching the ground. "A prank?" asks John skeptically.

"Mum is in on it. Promise."

John sighs heavily and slowly lowers his son to the ground. The moment his feet touch ground, he tries to step away, but John holds firm, keeping his eldest child immobile. He leans forward a bit. Lowers his voice.

"Prank or no, you never talk to your mother, your sisters, or any woman in that manner again. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy." John releases his son. "The lawn needs trimmed."

"Yes, sir."

Your son scurries away. It isn't until the door to the garage opens and shuts that John moves toward you. His arm drapes over your waist, hand landing firmly on your ass, squeezing hard.

"You're coming with me."

"To do what?"

He presses his lips to your ear. "For a different sort of punishment."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"You’re off your head, lad.”

With Johnny’s cold tone comes a tension to your son’s shoulders. He becomes rigid, sliding down into his chair like he can escape from his father by cowering underneath the table. Johnny comes around the corner, a bit of sweat on his brow. He's been building furniture all day for the nursery.

"Want to repeat that for me?" asks Johnny.

Your son’s voice cracks. "It was just a prank, Dad."

"It was what?" Johnny strides forward.

"It's a prank. I'm in on it. Promise," you say, attempting to soothe Johnny’s anger.

Johnny crosses his arms over your chest. "Is it?" He glances between the two of you and sighs, muttering, “Am pure done in.”

He disappears down the hall, returning with a stack of instructional manuals, dropping them into his son’s lap. "You're building furniture."

"But I—"

“You right scunner. C’mon.” Johnny yanks his son out of the chair, the stack of instructional manuals goes flying. Your son reaches for them all, desperately clasping them against his chest.

“Johnny," you call out, walking around the counter to intervene.

He glances over his shoulder, frown gown, sly smirk on his face. “Deal with you later."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Oi, Mum. Shut it.”

Your son is a wonderful actor. You’ll give him that. Even you almost believe him. Not that he would—he’d never—but his delivery reminds you of a completely pissed football fan ready to throw a punch at a member of the rival team.

He should consider theater.

Simon, your husband, is watching a rugby match in the living room. The television is on but at a low volume.

Within seconds of the words leaving your son’s mouth, Simon appears like a phantom guardian in the entryway. In one he holds the remote like a weapon. The other arm cradles his infant daughter. She looks like a small bean. Slightly curved as she snuggles closer against Simon’s chest as she sleeps.

He's not looking at you. He's staring at his son, gaze intense and full of fire.

You’ve seen that look before.

Mission abort.

"He's joking, Simon. It's just a prank,” you soothe, knowing you need to get ahead of this.

Not that Simon would hurt you or his son, but he rarely takes any shit. This prank was a gamble, and you’re completely regretting it.

"Don't mean it, Dad."

Simon just stares for a long minute. His daughter squirms and that is when he glances down, severing the connection. Observing her must change something in him, because his gaze returns to the two of you, and there is a calmness now.

Sighing heavily, Simon shakes his head, completely exasperated. The eye roll is so apparent it’s like a shout.

In the moment he was pissed—livid. But now he’s over it, more annoyed and unamused than actually mad.

Turning on his heel, daughter still cradled in one arm, Simon returns to his recliner, settling back into the soft cushions to finish watching his rugby match.

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[bruhhxiao]

KISSES

You finished night chores in the kitchen after dinner and Simon was laying in bed “enjoying” Manchester match alone, since you were too loud 🙄

Once you get in bed too you toke a look at the screen.

“Unlucky one?” You say softly sitting next to him, he was grumpy, so you kissed him.

He signed not kissing you back, so you give him two more but he leans his head on the side ignoring you.

“C’mon the match is over.”

“No, it’s not. 3 minutes left.” He says pushing your head out of the way.

You kissed him again and again and then again, leaving sweet pecks on his lips. The match was over and he was listening to the after match conference.

“So you’re into this old man more than me? Give me one kiss!” He sighed and bought his lazy hand behind your head pulling you down for a short stamp.

“One more…” You say leaning closer and he kisses you back.

“A bit more…” as you said that he pulls you in a passionate kiss, a slow one.

After you broke the kiss and try to sit back like before, he grabs your arm pulling you down next to him kissing you a few times as he slowly positions himself on top of you.

“Simon it’s already 11:00 pm- Mhh~” he cuts you off.

“Now you got me in the mood, so shut up” he said with his nose against yours looking into your loving eyes before kissing you passionately.

[yeyinde]

John deciding to blow off steam by subscribing to a cute camgirl's onlyfans account and quickly becoming the top contributor. a harmless way to relax, and spoil a pretty girl with gifts and money, the sort of thing he doesn't have time for in his personal life but craves. hungers for. pays for lingerie and toys, private shows and videos. eagerly devours any time she has to spare on him, but the more he gets to know her, the more obsessed he becomes. the more possessive. wanting. monopolizing all of her time so that she never has a minute to spare on others.

and then she sends him a birthday video. congrats on your fortieth, she whispers into the camera, wearing the ensemble he bought for her. a mould of his cock in her hands, a whim he decided to go for after she pouted at him for a few minutes about how she wanted to feel him inside of her. or a (not so) cheap imitation, anyway. it's good. so good. she's perfect. and all his for tonight.

but she makes a mistake. his kitten is so good at hiding her face, her features. keeping herself a mystery. but as she gives him the sexiest performance he's ever seen, she slips up. shows more of herself than she wants to.

wish i could say happy birthday in person, she winks at him through the cheap plastic of her mask. a fox. isn't she coy? but it's an invitation he won't turn down.

after all, it'd be rude not to give the cute little secretary that greets him every morning exactly what she asked for, wouldn't it?

[mactavishenjoyer]

(wedding planning)

Soap:"your dad? Duh."

Ghost:"He's dead."

Soap:"Oh my fucking god he Is literally right there. I don't care if Price and you got in a fight he's still your dad and I want him in our wedding."

Price:"I- I'm not his dad?"

Soap:

Gaz:"Bullshit."

Roach:"Biggest damn lie I've heard all month."

Soap:"Womp Womp, you're not getting out of the wedding."

[dumbbitchgalore]

Dad! Price 🥺

Nursing placements in NICU and seeing all these cute little babies made me think about how John’ll react to you giving birth to a preemie baby.

He’d absolutely be terrified, screaming on the inside when he sees this tiny little thing in a warm insulted crib to help the baby stay warm.

Probs go into the toilet and starts heaving and crying while he tries to muffles his sobs with his hand. He's a captain and doesn't want to be seen as weak but he couldn't his heart from hurting at the sight of the tiny babe too weak to even suckle some milk.

John goes into protective mode seeing you all upset and miserable while you stare into the crib. He has to swallow all of his pain to comfort you. Sweet praises spilling from his lips, wiping away any self-depricating thoughts you have of yourself.

He'll rent a motel nearby so that it's easier for you to see the baby whenever you want. Holds your hand when your nervously caress the baby. He'll stop all nursery decorations until he knows that the babe will be coming home safe and sound.

John never leaves your said, he's there when you feed the baby for the first time, bathe the baby and every other mile stone.

Until this point in time in his life, he's been so career orientated that he'd unintentionally ignore you. Now, everything is on hold, his career, deployments, training. Everything. His priority is to make sure that the baby gets home safe and that he's able to keep you as far away as possible from postpartum depression.

Even though there are still some bump along the way, he tries his best. He really does.

[snootlestheangel]

Price is a girl dad

If Price were to have a family outside of his adopted family (141), I believe he's 100% a girl dad. Like, he's got three little girls or something that are his girls, and by god he's like the best girl dad.

He comes back from leave in a good mood each time, but also somehow more depressed (he misses his little princesses, he's now stuck with full grown men with weapons that act like children when bored).

One time, a few days after he returns, they're out on mission and he steps into a hidden puddle and twists his ankle. They're doing an emergency wrap on his ankle when they all stop and stare at his pink sparkly toenails. He doesn't say anything, and everyone is too afraid to ask.

Takes his daughters out on Daddy-Daughter dates every time he's home so he can teach them how to expect to be treated by their future partner(s). Always takes the birthday girl out for dinner and desert somewhere fancy (if they choose) and they get all dressed up and everything.

Absolutely spoils these girls like his life depends on it. Every time he sees a little trinket while abroad due to assignments, he makes sure to get them when he has the chance. If not, he makes a subordinate do it. He made Ghost do it one time and had to endure a minute long staring contest as Ghost debated asking him questions or just doing as told.

Thousand percent rocks the plastic tiaras during tea party.

Does princess play with them, but like uses it as an opportunity to teach them good life lessons while also letting them be little girls.

He's the nap spot when he's home. Just Price in his favorite armchair with his girls all curled up with him, just snoozing away.

Just Price as a girl dad.

You cannot change my mind.

[gomzdrawfr]

Price: You watch your backs.

Price: Alright?

[gothghostiie]

something babysitter!reader waiting for price to drive them home while he's on video call with one of his friends, the little one in his lap, tapping around on the screen; until it somehow does something to make the screen go weird. he chuckles and shows you, inevitably holding the camera right onto you for a moment and showing you before turning it back on him. all you hear from the phone now is a curious hum. "who's the lil' tulip on the couch?"

[cod-dump]

*the Price family at the park*

Price: What a lovely day… too lovely. Simon!

Teen!Ghost: *standing by the pond, slowly turning to look at Price*

Price: What are you doing?

Teen!Ghost: Enjoying nature like a good, respectable child?

Price: Put the ducklings back

Teen!Ghost, pulling out two ducklings from his hoodie pocket: THEIR MOTHER DOESN’T CARE ABOUT THEM-

Price: PUT THEM BACK

Teen!Gaz: *quickly walks to the car with a cat stuffed in his jacket*

Price: KYLE-

[angel5ofp0rn]

that’s it that’s the whole post

[ghouljams]

Ok, not my kink, don't write this sort of thing ever, but!

I had a dream and the only way to get it out of my head is to write it down so this idea is free to whatever nasty pervert(loving) wants it because I know some of y'all are into this.

(massive tw for faux-cest)

Going to a bar and having some guy hit on you, he's not taking a hint and it's getting a little scary. You lock eyes with the oldest guy in the bar and in a panic you tell the guy that your dad is here, before rushing over to him. Which is a mistake because the closer you get the more you think, God this guy can't be 50, but there's just enough salt in his dark beard that you think maybe, maybe, he'll be sympathetic enough to understand you just needed an out.

You stop in front of him in a rush, all the air leaving your body as he eyes you, up and down, with all the appreciation that shouldn't come from a man playing your father. And it all comes out in a rush:

"I'm so sorry, this is so weird, that guy over there won't leave me alone and I said you were my dad, because I panicked and I just-" You squeeze your eyes shut to get your mouth to stop running, and he's just staring at you when you open them again, "-can you please pretend to be my dad?"

AND GOD if that doesn't turn Price on. Some sick twisted switch in the back of his head turning over as he smiles and tells you "of course" before looping his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side. His nose nudging your hair to scent your shampoo and his big hand spreading its fingers wide over your stomach, dipping under the waistband of your skirt. He turns you so you're hugging him when the guy comes over to shoot his shot again, wedges his thick thigh between yours and forces your hips forward.

He doesn't want any boys "sniffing around his little girl" you learn when he shoos the guy off.

He doesn't let you go even after driving your annoyance away. He all but drags you towards a dark table in the back, insistent that you let him "keep you safe" the rest of the night. You feel like you've jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. Going from some college dick to a man who's calling you "sweetheart" and "darling" and introducing you as his "daughter" to his leering friends even as his hand is creeping under your skirt.

[gloomwitchwrites]

I'm in a roll....

The 141 in grey sweatpants. 🥵

You're in a roll? Me too. A brioche roll. Or maybe a Hawaiian roll. Or rolled inside one of Price's many cigars. Kidding (not really). I knew what you meant.

And grey sweatpants...yes please! I am salivating over here. Literally drooling. And it's only grey sweatpants. No shirts. No shoes. Just sweatpants and muscle. (my god I need to go touch grass).

These are...spicy. How could they not be? It's our favorite men in nothing but grey sweatpants.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, suggestive themes, swearing, invitations for sex, dirty thoughts, sexual situations, married life, fade to black

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“It’s bedtime. Bath. Pajamas. Teeth.”

“But Dad! Lucy and I—”

“Bed.” You grin into your glass as John ushers the children out of the living room. “Come on you two. I want to kiss your mother.”

“Ew. Gross!” the kids screech in unison.

The trio disappears down the hallway. You hear water running and the laughter of your children. John eventually emerges thirty minutes later. He runs his hand over the top of his head, sighing heavily.

When he enters the living room and notices you, he grins mischievously. His body is on full display. Broad chest with a lovely dusting of dark hair that trails downward to disappear beneath the band of his grey sweatpants. John is all thick muscle. A wall of strength. You’ve always loved that about him. How he seems to take up so much space or the way he crushes you with his body when he goes in for a snuggle.

John plops down on the sofa beside you. The moment his ass hits the cushion, John grabs for you. You giggle, playfully pushing at your husband as his weight tips you back, pinning you to the sofa.

“The kids,” you protest with a whisper.

“They’re sleeping,” he replies just as softly, keeping you pressed beneath him.

John goes in for a kiss. It is sweet. Slow. Deep. Completely indulgent. There is so much of him. And his scent is everywhere. It fills your lungs. Makes you weak.

Your lips part and John slips his tongue inside. You start to soften, to lean into his kisses. Each is salt-laced passion. A tease for later. He might have you pinned against the couch, and his tongue down your throat, but John will move this behind a locked door.

As John goes in for another kiss, the sound of a door unlatching comes from the hall. John freezes and you go still beneath him.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters.

Pushing up to a more seated position, John addresses the offender with a raised voice. “You best be in bed.”

There’s a gentle squeak, and then a door closing.

John sinks back down, resting his forehead against yours. He sighs heavily, and you give him a quick kiss. He returns it, and then snakes an arm under your back. He hauls you up and into his lap. You straddle him, hands pressed against his firm chest.

Through the sweatpants, you can feel his hardness pressing against your thigh. John’s hands roam downward to cup your buttocks, squeezing.

“Ready to take this elsewhere?” he asks, grinding his hips upward.

You have to stifle a moan.

“Please, John.”

With a light slap to your ass, he lifts you off his lap and onto your feet. The ground is solid. Steady. But then John’s hands return, and then you’re away, being guided down the hall to your bedroom.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You snuggle into the couch and crack open your paperback book.

Everything is in order. You have a glass of wine, a bowl of snacks, the tableside lamp on, and a cozy blanket. It’s late, but it’s officially the weekend. There will be plenty of time to relax.

“Reading out here?”

You glance up, and find Kyle in the entrance of the hallway, leaning against the wall. He’s shirtless. Without shoes. Just him, his freshly showered skin, and a pair of grey sweatpants. Kyle absently scratches at his chiseled stomach, head slightly tilted as he waits for your answer.

You can’t help but focus in on every line of muscle.

“Babe,” he prompts, laughing.

“Sorry?” you reply, blinking.

Kyle laughs again, the sound sweet. He strides forward, coming to a stop beside the sofa. He taps the side of his mouth. “Got some drool.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you giggle, checking with a quick wipe with the back of your hand.

Kyle’s smile is infectious. You can’t help but match it.

“Can I join you?” he asks, already lifting the blanket.

“You’re not going out with the boys?”

Kyle shakes his head. With one hand he lifts the blanket, and with the other he grabs your legs and lifts. He slides in, and drapes your legs over his lap before returning the blanket to drape over your body. Keeping one hand under the blanket, Kyle rests his hand on your inner thigh. It stirs heat in your core.

“Tomorrow,” he yawns. “Simon has a sick kid.”

“Bummer.”

Kyle shrugs, draping his over arm over the back of the couch. His hand on your thigh is a brand, and it’s only made worse when he starts massaging.

“Is it a spicy one?” asks Kyle, nodding toward your book.

Yes.

“Maybe,” you say slowly.

Kyle smirks, and then the book is out of your hand.

“Kyle!” You reach for it, but he twists, blocking your forward momentum.

He examines the pages in front of him. Heat rushes into your cheeks. As he reads, his eyes widen.

Kyle’s mouth drops open.

“What?” you prompt. You try to snag the book but he blocks you.

He glances at you. “Are you aware of where he’s putting that gun?”

“It’s fictional.”

“When you ask me to recreate things—”

“Kyle—”

“—is this what you’re talking about?” His gaze goes from you to the book and then to you again. “I’m down for a lot of things, love, but I’m not sure I’m down for that.”

Pushing off from the couch, you snatch the book out of Kyle’s hands. He surrenders it easily, a smile on his perfect face. The blanket is a crumbled mess beside him, but that’s not what you’re focused on.

The grey sweatpants have shifted, exposing more of the deep v of his pelvis. But it’s not just that. Kyle is hard. That is very clear.

He leans against the back of the couch, throwing both arms out to rest over the top. Flexing his hips, Kyle puts himself on display.

“I’ve got something else I can put inside you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

A delighted shriek comes from the kitchen.

Johnny emerges, completely unbothered even with the two children in his arms. He has the oldest child, who just turned five, sideways and tucked under one arm. The boy has a wicked smile of his face even as he wiggles, trying to free himself from his father’s grasp. It’s fruitless.

The other child, a boy of three, keeps shrieking with delight even as Johnny lifts him into the air by his ankle. He is upside down, arms flailing, his brown hair hanging below him.

Johnny doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t even break a sweat. He carries the two of them like it’s nothing.

He’s almost completely naked except for a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. They show off the deep v of his pelvis, and the dusting of dark hair that spreads over his chest and descends downward. You’ve touched that chest so many times. You know it as well as you know yourself.

Johnny’s gaze is on the television, watching the football match. The kids still shriek and playfully claw at him. But he remains unbothered.

Sitting there on the sofa, you consider that a third kid might not be so bad. You’d give him a small army if he asked.

Johnny glances away from the television, and when his gaze lands on you, it is entirely knowing. Heat curls in your belly, and his smile widens.

“Found these gremlins digging in the pantry,” he says, indicating the kids by hoisting the three-year old higher into the air and squeezing the other tighter against him.

Both kids giggle manically.

“After brushing their teeth.” Johnny tuts. “What’s to be done?”

Both children continue to giggle, not answering their father.

“Sounds like it’s time for bed,” you muse.

The children groan.

“But I’m not tired,” moans the five-year old.

“Too bad,” laughs Johnny. “Come on.”

He doesn’t put them down. He carries them like that all the way to their bedroom. Even from your spot on the sofa, you can hear their manic giggling. After a while, it quiets down, and Johnny emerges from the hall.

Instead of sitting down on the couch next to you, he grabs the remote and shuts off the television.

“Not interested in the game?” you ask.

“Nope. Want something else.”

His sultry smile tells you enough.

Slowly, he approaches, coming to a stop in front of you. He offers his hand, and you take it. With little effort, Johnny brings you to your feet, and hauls you close. Your free hand immediately rises, pressing against his chiseled stomach.

“What is it that you want?” you murmur, already knowing the answer.

His hardness presses against your belly, his voice going low and gravelly as he speaks. “I’d like to spend some time between those gorgeous thighs.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever I very well please.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This is agony. A terrible joke.

Simon is right there. Sweaty. Shirtless. In nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants.

He’s completely in the zone. Heavy metal blares through the stereo’s speakers, drowning out the sound of his gloved fists striking the punching bag. Morning light pours in from the open window, giving Simon an ethereal glow.

You watch from the doorway, chewing on your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to pounce on him. Simon is all muscle, and not in a gym rat way. He is thick everywhere. You want to lick the sweat from his skin, to drop to your knees before him, and tug those grey sweatpants down.

You know what you’d find. And it sounds delicious.

But he is in the zone. And you won’t disturb him.

Pushing down the naughty thoughts, you start to turn away, to return to the kitchen and find something to eat for breakfast.

The music abruptly cuts off.

“See something you like, love?”

Simon’s raspy voice draws you back to the room. With one hand on the doorframe, you meet his gaze, and promptly melt into the floor. He has a cocky grin on his face, and his shoulders heave slightly from exhaustion.

You lick your lips. “Always,” you reply, fingers digging into the wood.

Simon’s gaze scans you. You feel exposed, like he can see through your clothes. It’s knowing. Amused.

“What is it?” you prompt, staring just as hard as he is.

Simon removes one glove and then the other. He tosses them to the side, never taking his eyes off you.

“Come here,” he says.

You don’t move.

Simon arches a single eyebrow. Instead of repeating himself, he gestures with one finger, indicating that he wants you to come to him.

Heat rushes from your cheeks down to your toes. Slowly, you peel yourself away from the door, heading for him. Simon’s natural swagger is alluring, and those sweatpants sit so low.

Just one tug. That’s all it would take. And you’d be able to take him in your mouth.

As you approach, Simon reaches out, grabbing your waist, tugging you close to him. You instinctually hook your finger in the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

Simon smirks.

You inhale deeply, savoring the manly musk of him.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Not for breakfast,” you sigh.

“For something else then?”

You nod.

Simon leans in but doesn’t kiss you. He holds back slightly, lips curved into a hint of a smile. “Want to hear what I have in mind?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

Simon presses his thumb on your bottom lip. “I can fill that mouth.” His thumb drops away from your lips, and trails over your chin before brushing over your stomach. “And belly.”

His gaze stays on you. “What do you think of that, love?”

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