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ifonlyyuweremine · 1 month ago

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Captain’s Girl. [Part I]

John Price x Reader (Call of Duty)

Synopsis: After Laswell pitches you a favor to join 141, you're left with no choice but to accept. The only problem arises when you and the Captain start to butt heads, but if the two of you hate each other as much as you say, then why is the rest of the team calling you his girl?

Tags: Enemies to lovers, tension, military romance, forbidden love, smut, fighting, secret feelings, slow burn.

Word count? You know the drill, it’s long.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

‘Captain John Price.’ You skimmed the document again, his name catching your eye for the third or fourth time. The black ink seemed to bleed together against the crisp paper of your enrollment documents into Special Forces Task Force 141. It was a promotion, and an honor at that, special forces to begin with were selective.

But 141 was almost unheard of, a combination of British special forces and American special forces. They were one of the best, and you were about to become a part of it. You read the documents again.

‘All personnel will be working under John Price and answering to Kate Laswell, respectively-’ Your eyes trailed further along the mess of columned words, making sense of the legality aspects of transferring to a new team. You hadn't expected to be transferred over, not until Kate had contacted you with an offer. You could tell she was put under pressure by the way her voice strained against the receiver…

“Look, I need you here. Ever since Shepard went rogue, we've been a bit tight over here. John has stepped in as commanding officer; technically, we already have a sharpshooter on 141. But we could use a hand, just until we sort out our bearings. Then, if you'd like, I can transfer you back to your current team…”

You'd raised an eyebrow, “Laswell, you're acting like I'm the only one who can fill these shoes. Why don't you hire a private contractor from KorTac? I'm sure they have more experience anyway.” You heard her blow out air from her nose, amused. “[Name], I don't think I have to tell you how much these guys hate private contractors. We need someone who can work as a collective team, you know… integrate themselves for the time being.”

You pursed your lips together, weighing out the pros and cons. However, Laswell was one of the best people you had ever met, a long-time friend since the baby days of your recruitment. She was a woman of her word, and she had your back. And if she said this team needed someone, she was being serious. You sighed, leaning back, “Okay, send me the details, Laswell. I'll think about it.”

…You read the contract one last time; it was simple enough. You would be transferred to 141 at the end of the month; it was a year-long contract. Which, in a way, made you a private contractor, too. The rest of 141 was under the impression that you were there to stay, everyone except the Captain and, of course, Laswell, not that she was on 141. If they decided they didn't need you before the contract ended, you could pick to stay for the remainder of the year or transfer back to your original task force.

A sigh left your mouth; you picked up your pen and flipped to the last page. Etching your signature into the blank line. You had till the end of the month; as of that moment, you were officially a member of 141.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Well, you had to give Laswell credit where credit was due. It had been a few weeks since your arrival and you fit in quite smoothly into 141; you believe she called it “integrating.” To nobody's surprise, the team was almost entirely men, aside from Ferrah, who was stationed elsewhere. It hadn't been long since your arrival until you were bound to run into someone; Jhonny was the first…

It was later in the day and you were wandering about; transferring to a new location was something you never got used to, so you tried to get a head start on mapping out the place. Everything was similar to your last base, but you still felt a bit alien. A small room tucked off to the side caught your eye, and you followed in that direction. It was a small break room, a kitchen, and a fridge tucked away in the side; there were a few cupboards and a single run-down couch.

You mosied over to the kitchen, opening cupboards and looking inside drawers. You found the usual silverware, mugs, napkins, junk, and tea bags. You stopped; tea actually sounded pretty good. Sitting on the counter was one of those electric tea kettles; you reached for it.

Waiting until the water was boiling, you grabbed the first mug you saw in the cupboard. As you dipped one of the tea bags into the scalding liquid, the door handle jostled across the room. You heard him before you saw him; his voice was deep, a bit raspy, with a thick Scottish accent. Walking through the door came a man dressed in sweatpants and a military-issued shirt. His head was shaved aside from a cropped mohawk of brown hair. His face was pulled into a subtle frown with his eyebrows furrowed. A phone pressed against his head by his shoulder.

You locked eyes with him, the pale spheres of his eyes boring into yours. You could tell he was studying you, maybe trying to deduce if he had seen you before or if you were a stranger. Suddenly, you heard muffled talking coming from the receiver of his phone. You looked down at your tea, not wanting to be considered rude for staring.

The man's voice came again, but it was almost unreadable. It was like a different language, probably Scottish, and then it stopped. When you looked back up, he was standing a few feet away from you, reaching into one of the cupboards.

“Sisters.”

You blinked; it took you a moment to understand he was talking to you. “I-What?” You asked, caught off guard by his comment. He looked back at you, holding up his phone. “S’who I was talking to.” Your eyebrows furrowed, and you nodded slowly; it was an odd way of making conversation. “Oh, okay…You uh- don't look too happy about it, family troubles?” You asked, his lips cracked into a soft smile, and he shook his head. “Nah, she's just a bit dafty. She's auld, so she feels the need to boss me around from time to time.”

You nodded along, trying to use context clues to understand some of his choice words. You watched him fill his mug with some water you had just boiled. “Ah, I see. I'm not sure I can relate; I'm the oldest sibling, so maybe I do all the bossing around.” He nodded, one of his thick eyebrows rasing, “How many siblings?”

You smiled, “Just two, a brother and sister.” The man hummed, looking down at his tea. “Gotcha…” A silence enveloped the room, and after another agonizing moment, he spoke up again. “You a new hire around here? Can't say I would forget a face like yours, lass.” You nodded, glad that the silence had been put to rest, a smile growing on your face at his comment. “Yeah, new transfer to 141.” Suddenly, his eyes grew more comprehensive, “You're the newbie?” He said, astonished.

You chuckled softly, “I wouldn't say newbie; I'm just a transfer from another unit.” His face cracked into a grin, “No kidding, apologies, didn't mean to come off as rude.” He held his hand out to you, “Johnny McTavish, team calls me Soap.”

Your eyebrows raised, “You're a part of 141?” His smile didn't fade as he nodded, “Aye, sharpshooter and sniper.” You felt a grin creeping up on your face; this Soap guy was friendly. Way friendlier than you thought the people on 141 would be. “I’m [Name]. I'm also a sharpshooter, but I also work with mechanics and firearms. Soap is…uh pretty interesting call sign, any meaning behind it?” You saw something in his eye; maybe it was pride, or perhaps something more sinister, “Well, when you clean out a room as fast as I do, people notice. You ain't got a callsign, Bonnie?”

You shook your head, “No, I guess my name has always just done the job.” Soap pat you on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, we’ll get you one.” You and Soap just talked for the next few minutes; it was nice. The conversation ebbed and flowed without problem; he nodded to the door after your tea was nearly empty. “Aye, Bonnie, why don’t I take you to meet the rest of the team? Give you a head start on the meet and greet.”

You smiled, “Yeah, why not?”

…The more time you spent with the team, the easier it got; it helped that they made good conversation. Jhonny was…well, Johnny, good sense of humor but never knew when to quit. Ghost was quieter; he didn't trust you immediately, but you'd managed to pull a few chuckles from him and the occasional polite conversation.

Kyle Garrick, or ‘Gaz,’ was an all-around good guy, funny, polite, and incredibly talented. You could never get over the time that you had gotten drunk off your ass, and Ghost told you a story of when Gaz fell out from a helicopter and was shooting at people while he was swinging from the airborne vehicle.

And then there was Price. Captain John Price, you'd met Price a day after Soap introduced you to the rest of the boys. To say the atmosphere was tense between you would be an understatement. From the minute he laid his eyes on you, they went stiff. His whole demeanor around you reminded you of a rock; it was like he didn't even want you on the team. His voice went curt, and whenever you spoke, his eyes bore holes into your head like he wanted to shoot lasers into your brain by just staring.

You'd talk about it to the rest of the team, but they shrugged it off. “Maybe he ain't used to you yet; it takes a while for the lad to trust anyone. He usually puts on the tough guy act for new recruits.” Ghost had said; Jhonny snorted at that. “Tough guy act? Dinnae, nothing bout that; when I first joined, the man made me want to pull out my hair. Think that's more than a tough guy act L.T.”

Usually, this wouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. But for some odd reason, he got under your skin like nobody else could. And believe, you were no stranger to difficult co-workers and bosses. Even worse, your first interaction with him was incredibly awkward, and you couldn't have left a good impression even if you had tried. It was almost etched into your mind like a stone tablet…

It was your last day to set up, get used to the team and your surroundings before you started working. The three days you had to relax were mostly spent either in the base gym, or eating in the cafeteria. What could you say, you were a creature of habit.

Until this point, you had met almost the entire team besides the captain. Technically, you weren’t required to meet him until you started working, but you'd already met everyone else. So, you figured it wouldn't hurt to get acquainted. You pried the information about Price’s whereabouts from Gaz: “I haven't seen him up and about today; usually, he's around. It probably means he's hauled up in his piss-poor office. The guy hates it there but usually locks himself up there when he's in a bad mood or has paperwork.”

Despite his warning, you went ahead and searched for Price’s office. That was mistake number one. After a minute or two of searching, you came across a door with the engraving “Price” carved into the wood in neat lettering. You reached for the door and tried to turn the handle, but nothing. It was locked; you frowned and tried again. But to nobody's surprise, the door remained shut.

So, you resorted to the next best thing. You knocked a few times but were met with radio silence. Maybe he wasn't in there, you chewed on your lip, thinking. There was a small window in the door, but it was covered by blinds. You squinted, pressing your hands to the wood and moving your face inches from the glass; you tried to peer inside despite the closed blinds. That was mistake number two.

“Can I help you?”

You jumped. The voice came from behind you. It was deep with a smooth British accent; you whirled around to face the person. Your eyes met what was possibly, in your opinion, sex on two legs. The man was tall and built like a tank, judging from how his biceps and chest filled out his cotton shirt. His face was stern, with short-cropped brown hair and a muttonchop beard. His eyes a deep shade of blue, you swallowed.

Damn.

You didn't believe you had a type, but this guy probably would've checked off all the boxes if you did. You stood there like a gaping fish for a moment; when he raised his eyebrow, you snapped out of your trance-like state. “I’m-uh looking for Captain Price. I thought I'd check his office, but I don't think he's there.” You cringed; your voice was rushed, a pitch higher, too.

The man crossed his arms; god, he could probably pop your head like a balloon with those things alone. “Well, you found him.” He said plainly. You stared at him briefly; of course, he was the captain. Why else would he be here? You wanted to punch yourself in the gut. “Oh,” you breathed, “great then. I wanted to introduce myself; I'm the new transfer.” You tried to muster up a confident smile, which most likely had the opposite effect, given he was looking at you like you'd grown a second head.

“[Name], I know. I read your file.” He deadpanned. His voice caught you a little off guard; he wasn't irritated per se, but he didn't seem happy about this introduction. You cleared your throat, “Great then, I'm sure Laswell told you I was coming?” You were grasping at strings here, trying to prolong the conversation.

“Yes. I'm well aware you are here. Laswell has a way of inserting help into my team.” You paused; well, that wasn't meant to be a compliment. Your smile faltered, and you looked around the room like this was some prank. “She said you guys needed someone…?”

Price nodded, his demeanor unsettlingly calm, “That’s her opinion. Now, I respect Laswell; she knows what she's doing. That doesn't mean I always agree with her; 141 was just fine, this is just a precaution on her part.”

You felt your eye twitch a little; you transferred from your other unit, the unit you were extremely close to, mind you… for this? You joined out of the kindness of your heart, only for this jackass to say you were ‘just a precaution.’ “Well, I hope you won't hold a grudge.” You said a bit curtly. Price pursed his lips together in a tight line.

“Wouldn't dream of it; a year is an awful long time to hold a grudge.” He said, the malice and ego coming off his tongue so strong you could almost taste it. What was this guy's problem with you? You did the nice thing and took time out of your day to introduce yourself to him. And he was treating you like you'd personally wronged him. “Good, then I won't either.” You breathed, frustrated. Price looked down at you, his eyes devoid of any emotion. “Well, that's good to hear; now, are you going to let me into my own office or keep standing there like a human blockade?”

This guy.

Your palms squeezed into fists, shooting him a nasty glare. You forgot you were standing right in front of the door, the embarrassment making the tips of your ears heat up. You pushed yourself to walk away, “It was nice meeting you, Captain.” You spit, venom in your tone, walking away like a wounded animal.

Suddenly, you somehow forgot about how hot he was; at that moment, you wanted to smash his gorgeous face into a wall. You liked your new Captain a lot more when he didn't speak. But the reality set in: John Price hated you for some unknown reason, and you were starting to hate him back.

…You had calmed down since that first encounter. Maybe it was a one-off thing; after all, you did go when Gaz warned you that he may already be in a bad mood. Maybe you had jumped the gun? and Price didn't hate you.

News flash: He hated you, and it was not a one-off encounter.

You were now a month into your new job, and if it weren't for Price, you would've actually been enjoying your time with 141. Everyone else was great; they were warming up to the idea of having you as a teammate. The training was hard on you, but you expected that, you were improving day to day. But no matter how well you did, you always had Price’s voice in your ear telling you that you could've done better. The man was running circles around you.

Slowly, you started to lose patience with him; when he laid out the bait, you bit. It was getting easier to react instead of keeping calm and passive-aggressively telling him you were grateful for the friendly criticism.

Even the team started to watch every interaction you had with the Captain keenly. They would tease you ruthlessly, saying his name while your back was turned just to laugh at the way your whole body seemed to go as stiff as a board.

“I swear the two of ya seem to bicker like an auld married couple. It's like watching my parents fight.” Soap had said to you once after an agitated conversation you'd had with Price moments before.

Was it your fault for causing some of the arguments between you two? Possibly. But he instigated just as much as you did; it was like a competition of who could get under the other's skin the most. And you couldn't even avoid him; Gaz wasn't kidding when he said he was out and about when Price wasn't in his office. He was like your shadow.

You were in the cafeteria? Oh, so was Price. You were in the gym? That's funny; Price was just about to do his workout. Training? He was practically glued to you and nitpicking everything you did. You were trying to go for a fucking walk around base past lights out? Price couldn't sleep, and as your captain, it was his obligation to make sure you didn't do anything stupid.

Intrusively, you wondered if he had implanted a tracker into you while you were sleeping. That had to be it; there was no way you just happened to experience so many ‘coincidences’ back to back.

Eleven more months, you had eleven more months stuck with him. Maybe in that time, you could come up with a detailed plan on how you would murder, hide, and successfully get away with killing your Captain.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

It was one of those off days where you didn’t have much to do. Like the calm before the storm, 141 had an incoming operation; plans were laid out, and everyone knew what to do. All that was left was playing the waiting game before you loaded into the helicopter and landed in a checkpoint base in Urzikstan.

With nothing to do, you figured it wouldn't hurt to hide away in the break room with some tea and scroll on your phone. You rarely had time to yourself, so you might as well make the best of it. You peeked into the break room and smiled when you found it was empty. You made a beeline to the small kitchen counter; you'd managed to snag some different types of tea for yourself over the few weeks you had been at base. It was the floral and sweet kind that nobody touched, despite Ghost's comment that: “It's not real tea.” You found it incredibly enjoyable.

As you turned on the electric kettle, the doorknob jostled. You looked up, and your eyes met Price. Well, shit. He made eye contact with you. Obviously, the feeling between you two was mutual based on how his lips dropped into a frown when he saw you. You stared at each other for a beat before you turned your head away.

You weren't doing this today; you were too tired to bicker with your captain over something useless. You stared at the counter, waiting for him to leave or speak. But he did neither. Instead, he walked over to the counter and grabbed a mug. The silence between you was so loud that the room might've been quieter if you were arguing.

He was close, not enough that you were touching, but enough that his presence almost tickled your skin.

You just continued to watch the counter and your mug. Glancing at the kettle, you almost grimaced; it was barely bubbling. When did boiling water take so long? The tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife. But, Price was the first to crack.

“Interesting mug,” he commented, his voice as it always was when he spoke to you. Dry. You debated not responding, but the silence was killing you just as much. “It's my favorite.” You said back, matching his tone. However, your eyes were soft as you looked at the mug before you. It was ceramic, with hand-painted fish drawn onto it. Cod, salmon, tuna, and swordfish, too, their colors vibrant compared to the barren beige of the rest of the cup.

He made a low hum sound, almost like he didn't believe you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you finally turned to look at him. You stopped briefly; his eyes had heavier bags than the last time you'd seen him. He didn't look as stern or unshakeable as usual; rather, he looked more weary, human. You forgot you were going to say something to him, “What?” You said, suspicious.

His eyes broke away from yours, looking down at his hands as they tore away the top of an instant coffee packet. Price emptied its contents into his plain white mug and cleared his throat. “Nothing, s’just that's my mug.” He said; his voice wasn't mad or accusatory. Instead, it was just like he was stating a fact.

You frowned, your eyebrows sinking further down your face. What was he talking about? You'd been using this mug for weeks; in fact, this was the first mug you'd used here, back when you first met Jhonny and the rest of the team. “That's not true; all the mugs in the cupboard are communal.” You pointed out, looking at him like you'd caught him in a bad lie.

He looked back at you, an almost smugness to his gaze. “Look at the bottom of the cup.” He said plainly. Your frown deepened, but you grabbed the mug and turned it over in your hands out of curiosity.

JP. It was painted in small lettering in the middle of the circular bottom. Your face dropped. Oh. JP, standing for John Price. It was his mug. Your face reddened as you realized you had been drinking out of his cup for the past month. Why hadn’t he said anything about it to you before now? He obviously knew, considering he'd seen you drink from it before.

You opened your mouth, trying to come up with a good defense. “But- Jhonny told me all the mugs in the break room were for everyone. Including this one.” You said, pointing at the mug in your hands.

Price raised one eyebrow, “And you believed him?” He said. The gears in your head started to turn; the guy had a point. Why had you trusted him of all people? You pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers, “fucking christ Soap.” You muttered, primarily to yourself.

The steaming whistle of the kettle broke your train of thought, and your head snapped in its direction. You looked from the boiling kettle to the mug in your hand, a sigh exiting your chest. You held out the mug to him, “Here. It's yours, I'll get another one.”

Price looked surprised for a beat before his face went neutral again. He shook his head, pushing the mug back towards you. “No need; I've already got this one.” He grunted, nodding to the plain white mug sitting on his side of the counter. Before you could protest, he grabbed the kettle, pouring the hot water into his mug. Your nose scrunched as the aroma of instant coffee hit you.

He raised an eyebrow at your visceral reaction, “Not a fan of coffee now, are we?”

You cleared your throat, looking away from the blackening devil concoction. “I like coffee-” You clarified, “-just not that instant crap; it tastes like sewer water.” The curve of his lip twitched into a half-amused smile. Bringing the mug to his lips and taking a hearty sip, “noted.” Price hummed. You reached out to grab the kettle, but he handed it over to you before you could.

You raised your eyebrow; this was the closest thing you'd ever had to a friendly conversation with your Captain. You skeptically took it, breathing a ‘thanks’ to him. A comfortable silence fell on the both of you; Price could drink his coffee while you waited for your tea to brew.

Your eyes seemed to pull towards his direction as you waited, observing the curve of his lips, his nose that was just a bit crooked, and the coarse hair of his beard that thinned into stubble the further down his neck it went. You watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed his drink and how his large hand seemed to make the mug seem small. He somehow pulled off looking like he hadn't slept in weeks, which ticked you off somewhat.

He shot you a sideways glance, “You're staring.” Price said flatly; you looked like a deer caught in headlights. “I was…zoning out. And for the record, I was looking at the-uh wall behind you.” You cringed at yourself; the long pauses and uhs weren't adding to your credibility.

Price gave you a funny look, turning to look at the refrigerator behind him, which was most definitely not a wall. He turned back to you, “The wall you said?”

Well, shit, thanks, captain obvious. You frowned, giving up, “It doesn't matter-” you huffed, “Point is, I was zoned out.”

That answer seemed to satisfy him or at least force him to drop the subject; Price shrugged and took another sip from his mug. “Let's hope you don't make a habit out of it. Wouldn't want to add that to the other list of…qualities you have.” Here we go again. You raised an eyebrow, the edge in his tone all too familiar. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, “Which are?”

Price cleared his throat, gesturing his mug to you and your tea. “Theavory, for one.” Well, he got you there. You blew out air from your nose, the closest thing to a laugh you'd let him pull from you.

“Funny.” You said sarcastically.

A small smile tugged at his lips, “Yeah, well, just trying to lighten the mood between us.”

There was a pause.

The way he said ‘between us’ didn't sit right with you; what he said had undertones of bitterness, almost similar to the layers of an onion. Now, was it possible that you were reading too much into this? Yes. Was it also a tone-deaf thing to say, considering he was the primary reason you two didn't like each other in the first place? Also yes.

Don't bite the bait; don't bite the bait, “The mood you created?” You bit the bait.

He glanced at you, one of his eyebrows arching. For a second, it was silent, like he was mulling over whether it was worth it to engage. Price sighed, setting his drink down. “Look… [Name], if this is about that time when we first met, I was in a bad mood. I wasn't trying to be harsh; I'd just had a shit day. Nothing personal on you.” He craned his neck to the side, sliding a hand over his nape.

You crossed your arms. “You could've apologized,” you pointed out. Price paused, staring at you quizzically, “Why would I need to apologize?”

You almost gaped at him; his ego seemed to know no bounds. If it wasn't so irritating, it might have been comical, “You called my job a ‘precaution,’ and me, a ‘human blockade-’” You deadpanned, “-I don't like when someone downplays my whole career.” Price just stared at you blankly, his face morphing into more confusion.

“But you are a precaution.” He said, “That's the whole reason why Laswell put you here.” It was like he was explaining something to a child.

You huffed, “Captain. With all due respect, I'm a part of this team whether we like it or not. I don't want to be treated like an outsider- everyone else here seems to treat me like I belong here so why don't you? What's not to trust?” You questioned, your eyebrows pinched together and your lips pressed into a not-so-subtle frown.

“You don't belong here, though,” Price said frostily. “You're here for a year [Name], no more, no less. You belong to a different task force, so excuse me if I treat you as such.”

You stood there, stunned for a moment. A familiar feeling of resentment bubbling up inside you like the electric tea kettle. Your hands squeezed the ceramic of your mug, “Just because I'm not here to stay doesn't mean I'm any less committed to my job. I work my ass off every day to show you that I belong here. I just don’t understand why you’re too stubborn to even see that.” You huffed.

Price pursed his lips into a tight line, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer. “I don't have time to micro-manage everything you do. That's not stubborn; it's having other responsibilities besides making you feel included.”

Well, if he hadn't made you feel like a toddler before, he definitely was now. “Well, that's funny because you seem to do a perfectly good job at micromanaging everything I do despite your ‘lack of free time.’ And- I’m not asking you to make me feel included; I’m not an infant. I’m asking you to treat me with the same respect you treat everyone else with.” You hissed.

It didn’t surprise you how quickly the polite interaction with him turned into another bitter argument. When it came to Price, emotions ran high. Higher than you would like to admit.

“Maybe if you stopped acting like a child, I would respect you more.” He bit back, and you groaned, throwing your hands up in the air.

“I’m not though- I’m clearly telling you the problem between us. But since you have this…this grudge against me you won’t even listen to me.” You huffed.

Price shot you a look that said, ' I'm winning this argument, and there is nothing you can say to stop that.’

Internally, you wondered if getting dishonorably discharged was worth throwing hot tea into your captain's stupid face. Instead, you decided to look away, setting your mug on the counter with a sharp ‘clank.’ “Fine then, don't listen to me. That works, too.” You breathed through your teeth.

Price downed the rest of his coffee, throwing his head back and then setting his mug upside down in the small sink. He turned his whole body to you, crossing his arms. His blue eyes narrowed, and his eyebrows pinched together in scrutiny. “You want me to listen? Go ahead. Say what you want; I'm all ears.”

Your voice died in your throat. As much as you wanted to give him a piece of your mind, you didn't put up much of a fight against him, especially not with his ‘I'm the Captain, and you are one word away from cleaning toilets’ voice.

You pressed your lips together in a tight line, and the silence between you hung dangerously quiet for another moment. “Nothing, Captain.” You said through your teeth.

Price nodded, his eyes drilling holes into you, “That's what I thought. Now, it better stay that way for the duration of the next week or so help me; I will take away every privilege you have.” With that, he promptly turned on his heel and stormed out. Leaving you, a seething statue.

You looked down at his mug, still held tightly in your hand. You glared at the painted fish, “Fuck you.” You whispered to the watercolor salmon. Your frown deepened, substantially disappointed that whispering ‘fuck you’ to your Captain's mug didn't carry the same satisfaction you'd feel if you said it straight to his face.

Arguing with him was like arguing with a brick wall. Scratch that. Arguing with Price was worse than arguing a brick wall, a brick wall wouldn't intimidate you and then storm off.

You didn't feel like finishing your tea anymore. You grit your teeth together, dumping the liquid into the sink and watching as it slides down the drain. You had a few days before the mission, and you were going to make sure that you didn't fuck anything up. Lest you suffer the wrath of Price and your own self-doubt.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Shit!”

Your head snapped toward the voice, even with the night vision gear you had everything was difficult to identify. It was safe to say you weren't a fan.

It had been 72 hours since you landed in Urzikstan, and 4 hours since you left the checkpoint base. If you had to guess, it was most likely around 0300 standard military time. Which meant you and the rest of 141 only had another two hours before you had to evacuate and hop on the trucks back to the checkpoint.

Your orders were simple enough, break into the compound and locate the underground terror group that was allegedly creating a bio-warfare laboratory. While it wasn't concreated information British and American SAS couldn't risk not sending a team to see if the tip was accurate. Being the genuine pigs of the situation didn't sit right with you but you weren't employed for your opinion on what the government chose to do and not do.

Still, being sent on a wild goose chase or worse into a trap made you more on edge. Everyone had paired up in case this was a setup and because the universe could never let you win you were grouped with Price. Which brought you back to the present moment.

“Price whats going on? talk to me.” You said in response to his curse. Trying to keep your voice as low as you could while still being audible. You weren't an expert but typically someone hissing ‘shit!’ wasn't a good sign.

In the split second before he could respond you heard the click. Along with the sound of Price’s footsteps trying to get out of the way, then came the sharp boom of a gun being fired. Only after the sound had left the barrel of the gun did you see it. The building wasn't finished, half of the construction was halted, leaving rooms unfinished, walk-offs, and random piles of rubble. Hidden behind a cement pillar a floor above, looking down at you was a person. More importantly a person behind a giant ass gun.

Shit!

You immediately threw yourself out of the way, ducking yourself behind a large amount of rubble. Your eyes scanned for Price in the darkness, frantically making sense of the objects around you. Another fire. Followed by another one. You didn't have time to look for Price. You turned your body, shielded by the debris, and pointed your gun up. It didn't take long before you locked onto the figure, you drew your breath in and pulled the trigger. The firing stopped.

You peered up over the rubble just in time to see the limp body flop over the drop-off and slam into the concrete. You were met with a deafening silence, “Price you copy?”

After a moment you heard someone move, “Yeah-” Your shoulders dropped, a breath you didn't realize you were holding escaped. You never thought hearing that deep British voice would ever make you this relieved. “Yeah, I copy.” He breathed. You stood, carefully making your way over to the corpse of your attacker. Looking down at the body, their face hidden by a cloth and glazed-over eyes looking up at the ceiling.

You grimaced, it was like looking at a dead fish. You looked up, nobody else was above. The only thing remaining was the unaccompanied sniper.

“This guy was alone.” You said, eyebrows furrowing. “And his aim was shit.” You deadpanned. Your head turned, expecting to meet Price. But were only greeted by an empty space, “Price?” You asked looking around.

“Over here.” He gruffed, you turned around. Price was standing next to a wall, his palm flat against its surface. It was like he was leaning against it, your eyes narrowed. His left leg was slightly raised off the ground, something wasn't right.

You jogged over to him, “What's the matter?” you asked, because of the night vision goggles coupled with the amount of gear he was wearing you couldn't see his face well. However, you didn't miss the way his jaw flexed. Before he could respond you pinpointed the issue. The leg that was raised had a small bullet-sized hole in his boot.

“Shit.” You breathed.

This really wasn't what you needed. You and Price had to be out of the compound in the next hour and a half, being shot in the foot was a major problem. At least it wasn't an organ, you thought. “Can you still walk?” You asked.

Price put his foot on the ground, putting his weight on it. You cringed as he let out a quiet hiss, “Yeah just fuckin’ hurts like hell.” He took a step, he was limping but he could walk. Which was a small win for both of you. Just as you opened your mouth someone spoke in your ear piece.

“[Name], Price, you copy? We heard shots.” The voice was grave, deep, with a thick British accent. Ghost.

Price answered, “We’re fine. Bastard with a sniper nicked my foot. Did any of you find the lab yet?” He said through clenched teeth, despite your dislike of your captain you felt a little guilty. If you'd seen the shooter before Price would probably be fine.

“We just found it, nobody’s here. S’a fuckin’ ghost town… no pun intended.” Ghost’s staticky voice rang in your ear, if you were in a better situation you might have laughed. Your eyebrows furrowed and you frowned.

“That makes no sense.” You chimed in, “If this guy was here there should be more people. It doesn't make sense for only one person to be set up here.” You looked at Price. His head was already turned to look at you. It was a beat before anyone spoke again.

“Price.” A raspy Scottish accent this time. Soap. “The labs empty, no inventory at all. Everything is sterile.” You felt your throat run dry, the silence on the radio spoke louder than anything you or anyone else could say. Either they evacuated before the team had gotten there or the whole building was a ruse.

You looked back at the corpse lying a few feet away from you and Price. “They knew we were coming.” You breathed. The weight of your words seemed to carry for miles, but the implications might have been worse. You looked at Price, the same thoughts you had probably already running through his head. “We need to fucking leave, right now.”

Price gave a small nod, “Everyone get out. Gaz, call for emergency evac now. Leave the same way we came do not under any circumstances go further into this building.” Price demanded. Which was followed by a series of ‘copies.’ You started for the way you entered, just as you reached the empty doorframe you heard a grunt behind you. You looked back, fuck. You forgot Price was hurt, fuck, fuck, fuck. He could walk but there was no way he could run with his foot.

You doubled back, and as you ran to him Price raised his hands. Almost in protest, “I can keep up, I'm not immobile.” He exhaled, and you shot him an unimpressed look. The situation was bad enough, you weren't going to deal with this. You couldn't waste time and walking on a bad foot would only worsen it for Price in the long run.

You grabbed his arm and slung it over your shoulder, one arm grabbed the back of his vest, holding his side up so his injured foot didn't hit the floor. It wasn't the most comfortable but it worked.

Price opened his mouth but you spoke before he could get a word in. “You can't keep up and you know it. Whatever problems we have don't matter right now, we've got to get out of here. God knows what the people who were here before us did to this place. But we don't have time to think about that-” Your eyes met his, the red hue of the night vision goggles making his navy eyes seem black. “-I’d much rather keep you alive but I would gladly die with you than have it be my fault that you die. So shut the fuck up and move.”

That seemed to do the trick because Price did in fact, shut the fuck up. You quickly exited with Price. It wasn't as fast as you would've liked to leave but it was the best you could do with a six-foot tank of a man leaning against you.

A few minutes later you and Price successfully made it out. The rest of the team was already waiting a ways away from the building, you let out a relieved sigh. Just being out of the compound seemed to lift a weight off your chest and calm your racing heart. Price seemed to feel the same way judging by his taunt muscles relaxing slightly.

You made your way over to the team, Ghost was the first to notice you. He did a slight double-take as he saw Price, “Thought you said the bloke nicked you?” He commented, you gently released Price letting him lean against the outside wall of an abandoned house.

Price grunted, “Yeah well he nicked me good.” He said back, Ghost nodded. Soap and Gaz peered at the bloody hole in his boot, “That’s gonna be a pain to heal I’ll tell you that.” Soap commented, and Gaz nodded along. “No kidding.”

Price’s frown deepened, and he let out a breath. “Gaz how long till evac trucks pick us up?” Gaz looked out at the open area then looked back, “I’d say twenty minutes give or take.” That answer seemed to give Price a little peace.

A few minutes had gone by, and Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were all talking with you while Price leaned against the wall silently. You glanced at your Captain, gingerly making your way over you leaned against the wall a few inches away from him. You didn't know what to say if you should say anything for that matter. Making conversation with Price wasn't your strong suit, but you felt bad.

“So…you okay?” You asked dumbly, Price gave you a look that made you want to go right back to the others. He was silent for a beat before speaking. “I got shot in the foot [Name], you tell me.” He deadpanned.

You swallowed, nodding. Asshole. No matter, you decided to take it in stride, “Right.” You breathed, “I just… wanted to check.” On second thought maybe you really should leave, it was like you were communicating with an alien. And after your last argument with Price, you walked on eggshells whenever you were around him.

The stretch of silence between the two of you lasted longer than you would've liked. But after a moment Price cleared his throat and nodded, “Thank you.” He said.

You did a bit of a double-take, thank you? Price never thanked you. It was like he was allergic to congratulating or acknowledging you in any form that wasn't to reprimand you. You must've looked as confused as you felt by the way he glanced at you and then went on. “For helping me out of there, you were prepared for the worst back there and you still had my back. I appreciate that-”

“-you uh, you did good.” He clarified.

Your mouth was probably hanging open at this point, ‘you did good.’ The words hung in the air around you, filling your ears with cotton. Price your captain, Price your mortal enemy had praised you. He gave you a sideways glance, “Don't look so shocked [Name], you're still on thin ice.”

Ah, there it was, your shoulders slumped. It was better than nothing though, “Right, uhm thank you.” You said a bit awkwardly, Price gave you a small nod in return. It wasn't much, but it was acknowledgment.

After some time passed by you and the rest of 141 loaded into the trucks, starting the long drive to the checkpoint base. You tried to lean your head back and get just a little bit of rest, but after thirty minutes of failing to do so, you gave up. There was just too much in your head, too many unanswered questions. You thought about the man you'd killed, why was he there? What was the use of evacuating a building if you just left a single sniper with terrible aim lying in wait for someone to come looking around?

Did that mean they didn't know 141 specifically was coming? The question that worried you the most was the fact that if they did plan for you to raid the lab, who on the inside was feeding these people your team's operations? You shuddered. It was bad enough that commanding officer Shepard went rogue a few months prior. The SAS really didn't need another mole. Especially considering the amount of enemies the American and British military had made.

Your shoulders slumped, it didn’t really matter, what mattered was that everyone made it out. You didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if the previous occupants had left explosives inside the building. It was better to just be thankful that nothing happened.

Your first operation with 141 had been a bust, but considering the circumstances you thought it went as well as it could’ve. Not counting Price’s foot.

Subconsciously your eyes drifted over to Price, his boot had been taken off and his foot was wrapped in white garb. Just until someone could look at it properly, everyone had taken their night visions and helmets off to get some shut-eye. Your gaze drifted up until they met his face, navy eyes met yours. You froze, you hadn't realized Price was awake. The two of you didn't break eye contact for a minute, almost like a challenge of who would be the first to look away.

“You make a habit of staring at people or is it just me?” He deadpanned. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, he could never let you catch a break, could he?

“I wasn't staring, and you were looking at me too.” You defended, it didn't matter if you were staring, he wouldn't get the satisfaction of hearing you confess that. One of his thick eyebrows raised, “I glanced at you. There's a difference, you just happened to look up at the same time.” He said back, calm as ever.

You half rolled your eyes, he could word it however he wanted to, but in the end, it was pretty much the same thing. “Okay, keep telling yourself that.” You hummed, matching his nonchalance. Your gaze dropped back down to his bandaged foot, “How’s the foot?” You asked, hoping he wouldn't catch you changing the subject.

Price grunted, his head lulling back onto the seat. You shot a glance at his adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down before averting your eyes. “Feels like I got shot in the foot, so…not great. It's better than an organ so I won't complain that much.” He breathed.

You nodded, “You ever been shot before?” you asked, what could you say? You were curious. He nodded, clearing his throat he cast his head down to look at his chest. One of his hands pulled up his bullet vest and shirt revealing the beginnings of his abdomen, right above his hip bone there was a small scar. “Two years ago, caught me while I was down. Took forever to heal, fuckin’ hurt like hell too.”

You zeroed in on the exposed skin, it was all muscle, no surprises there. The man was built like a 4x6 brick, his skin was shiny with sweat, and from what you could see his bullet scar wasn't the only one that littered his skin. Just below the dipped fabric of his shirt was the start of a happy trail. You swallowed.

What the fuck was wrong with you? A few days ago you were plotting how you could murder him and now you're ogling a sliver of his stomach like a horny teen girl.

You absolutely did not find a single part of your boss attractive. Forget your first interaction with him when you were practically gaping over him like a fish. That didn't count. This was Price you were talking about. Sure, he was conventionally attractive with just the right amount of ruggish charm to make him mysterious. And yeah, he was built like a tank, so what? And you couldn't forget about his stupid fucking British accent, who the hell was into British accents anyways? (You were. Embarrassingly so.)

Price looked up at you, the silence making you raise an eyebrow. “See something you like aye?” He said, amusement dripping from his voice. Your eyes immediately snapped back to his face, embarrassment churning away at your insides.

“You wish,” You said back. So maybe you found some parts of your Captain hot, that didn't matter. In the end, it was still Price. And the flames of hatred don't die out just because one's enemy is a little (a lot) attractive.

Price breathed out what sounded like a laugh, he dropped the shirt. “Keep telling yourself that [Name].” Your fists squeezed together as he threw your words back at you.

You glared at him, “You're so full of it you know that?” You breathed, which only seemed to pique his interest further. You were glad the rest of the team was either sleeping or so used to your fighting that at this point they tuned you out. Jumping off a cliff seemed nice in comparison to the ruthless teasing that Soap and Ghost would enact if they found out you'd been caught ogling Price.

“Didn't realize this would strike a nerve, any particular reason why?” He said, you grimaced. You could almost taste the smugness from his tongue like syrup, “It didn't.” You said through your teeth, “Then again, egotistical men are a pain to be around. Especially ones that think everyone around them wants them.” You grumbled.

Your words seemed to have the opposite effect, Price straightened. A small tug at his lip made you want to slap that smirk right off. “I never said you wanted me, but liars always do have a way of telling on themselves don't they?” He grinned.

Something flashed in his eyes, you didn't have time to see what it was. But right now, all your willpower was devoted to not picking up your gun and giving him a matching hole in his right foot. “I think I'd rather shoot myself than be anything but professional with you.” You said frostily.

Price hummed, the smirk never leaving his face and he leaned back. “Glad the feeling is mutual.” He spoke calmly.

Your eye twitched, he was pulling that card now. Reverse physiology or whatever it was, the ‘I don't have to want you but you have to want me.’ Well too bad you didn't care, you couldn't care less. If Price didn't want you that was great-better even.

“Yeah,” You huffed, “Super glad.” You turned your head away so you didn't have to look in his direction. Maybe you should've left him in that building, it was a tempting thought. The rest of the drive back to the checkpoint was spent in silence.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The base felt dreary, everyone was still in a funk from the previous night. Everything felt just a bit more surreal, nobody was talking about what happened either. Not that there really was anything to discuss.

The checkpoint base wasn't as nice as your previous base. It wasn't even a full building, there were a few small ones but those were mostly used to store weapons. Everything else was industrial-sized tents, making privacy a luxury. It didn't even have a proper barracks, just a large tent with several stretcher-like beds placed in rows. To be completely honest the entire thing was a pile of shit. But it was a roof over your head so there was that.

You sat at a bench in the ‘commons,’ a poor excuse for food sitting in front of you. Gaz sat next to you while Ghost and Jhonny sat across from you. They all had similar grimaces plastered on their faces as they ate their protein paste.

“If I have to eat this shite for another day I'm going to go into that food storage room and light the thing up. They got us eating like dogs.” Ghost said after draining the last of his rations. You half-heartedly agreed, humming a sound of approval that was accompanied by Gaz’s small chuckle.

Soap grinned, “Don't get yer panties in a twist just yet L.T, heard they're serving dessert paste too. Courtesy of Price’s injury.”

You shivered, it sounded just as bad if not worse. Then a thought popped up, you looked around the common space. “Hey, you guys seen Price? Isn't he eating?” You hadn't seen him for almost the entire day, which was a blessing for you but it did strike you as odd when normally you couldn't get rid of him.

Gaz shrugged, “He was in the medical tent last time I saw him. The guy was getting his foot looked at, he’ll probably show up soon.”

Ghost turned his head to face you, while it was a little hard to tell with his balaclava, one of his eyebrows raised. “Awful concerned about Price aren't you? Thought you hated the man.” Your lips curled into an exasperated frown.

“I'm not. And I do hate him. I was just curious.” You brushed him off, trying to avoid his stony gaze. Soap and Gaz exchanged looks that made your eyebrows furrow.

Gaz looked at you, “What about the other day when you helped him out of the building?” Soap was next to chime in, “Or that you use his mug all the time and he lets you?”

You shot Gaz a glare, “First, he's still my Captain I'm not going to leave him in a building where I think he's going to die.” Then you directed a similar glare at Soap, “Second, I didn't know it was his mug because you tricked me into thinking the mugs were communal.” You said through your teeth.

Ghost smirked, “Sounds like you care.”

Your hands gripped the table with unnecessary force. “I do not.” You defended, the looks exchanged between them made you want to crawl into a hole. Suddenly you weren't as inclined to finish your meal. You stood, grabbing your tray of half-eaten food and trash. “I'm not hungry anymore.” You said dryly.

Soap laughed, faking a disappointed frown. “Come on lass we were just getting started with ya. Where's the fun in leaving before the real jokes start?” You rolled your eyes, stepping out of the bench and walking towards the trash.

“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” you replied as you dumped the remanence of your ‘lunch’ in the trash. Just as you were exiting the tent Soap's voice called out to you.

“Oh, if you see the old fart, tell him his dessert paste is waiting for him!” That earned an amused tug at the corner of your lips, shaking your head in exasperation as you pushed past the floppy tent entrance.

You didn't even make it a foot outside before your momentum was halted by a larger mass. Your face met something hard, but also somehow soft at the same time. You stumbled back, gaining back your balance from the force of running into something. Or more specifically, someone. You looked up in dismay to see what kind of idiot ran into you.

It was Price, because of fucking course it was.

But it was Price with the addition of a single crutch and a newly wrapped foot. Your eyes slowly crept up to his face, the mortifying reality that you slammed right into his chest setting in. What’s worse was that the previous conversation with the guys was still very fresh in your mind.

‘Sounds like you do care,’ Ghost’s words echoed in your mind, haunting you like a…well a ghost. Ironic.

“Do you mind?” Price's words snapped you out of your trance. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. It was silent for a moment before your vocal cords decided to actually comply and let you speak.

“You ran into me.” You said lamely, the tips of your ears felt hot. Like lava was slowly being poured onto your head. Price’s eyebrows furrowed, his navy eyes studying you. Even on one crutch, he seemed to tower over you in a way that made you antsy.

“Why are you red?” He asked, the question caught you off guard. Making you falter for a second time, “I-What?”

Price’s eyes narrowed a bit, a finger pointed directly at you. “Your face. It's red,” It wasn't a jab, more like he was observing a simple fact. Suddenly you became hyper-aware of the heat spreading across your face. You touched your cheek, and the pads of your fingers burned at the touch.

Oh my god.

Your face was hot, it was flushed. You were blushing. Blushing. In front of Price.

You swallowed, feeling a bob in your throat. It was like you were in one of those dreams where you showed up to school naked. “I'm allergic-” You blurted out.

A beat of silence ensued, and Price raised a single brow. “Allergic?” He said, to which you responded with a hard nod. Think, think- what was a believable lie? “Yes… to the dessert paste.”

Price didn't look skeptical now, he just looked downright confused. “What the hell is dessert paste?” He questioned, while a good question, you didn't want to stand around to explain it to him while your face looked like the cover of a period ad. You shook your head, steering around him like a robot.

“Ask soap.” You said as you made your escape, “I'm going to the med tent so I don't go into anaphylactic shock.”

That was a lie, you were going to the bathroom to rethink your career and splash cold water on your face. Leaving Price a standing statue, a perplexed look on his face.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

A pack of 8 beers was slammed down onto the small table in front of where you were sitting. The bottles lightly clanked together, you looked up. “What’s this?” You asked, Soap stood in front of you with a confident grin.

“This is how we’re going to make it through our last 10 hours in this shit hole.” He proclaimed, his hands on his hips.

It was late, everyone but Price was in the sleeping tent. True to Soap’s words, in 10 hours you and the rest of 141 were finally going to load up into the heli and return to the original base. Thank goodness too, you didn't think you could stomach another meal here. Ghost looked over from his cott, “The hell did you get that from?”

Soap waved him off, smoothing over his poor example of a mohawk. “A magician never reveals his secrets.” He fished into his pant pocket and pulled out a pocket knife, grabbing one of the bottles he flicked the cap off with a soft pop’ “Since it is our last night, why not celebrate?” He went on.

You eyed the pack suspiciously, if it came from here it was probably shit beer. But it was still something, you shrugged. You reached for one, “I'll take what I can get.” You sighed.

Grabbing a bottle you snatched Soap’s knife to knock off the cap. Throwing your head back as you took a generous swig, it burned down your throat. The pungent flavor making your nose scrunch and your mouth curl. Soap did the same, smacking his lips as he swallowed. “Well…It could be worse.” He muttered.

Ghost and Gaz followed suit, walking over to your space and grabbing two bottles. After some time had passed the four of you had settled into a sort of circle, you were two beers in and things were already getting fuzzy. You didn't normally drink, mostly because you were a lightweight. But when you did drink, you got drunk. You were tipping your head back with laughter at every story, the warmth in your stomach making the tent somehow feel cozy.

Soap reached for his third bottle but Gaz swatted his hand away, “Leave some for Price Jhonny.” He scolded, Soap simply rolled his eyes and groaned. “The old man won't care, he only drinks at those shitty pubs. He's a stickler bout not drinkin’ on base, something about ‘not mixing business with pleasure’” He mocked, doing in your opinion, a decent Price impression. You chucked.

“I don't think Price takes ‘pleasure’ in anything, he's such a stick up the ass he wouldn't know fun if it hit him in the face.” You breathed, and while not the most articulate thing to say, your tongue and thoughts were loose enough that you didn't care.

Ghost’s mouth curled into a knowing smirk, “For someone who hates Price, you sure do love to talk about him any chance someone brings him up.” He said smugly, earning snickers from both Soap and Gaz.

“Oh fuck off will you?” You grumbled to Ghost, this whole teasing you about Price thing was getting old fast. “I say one thing and you guys act like I have some schoolgirl crush on him.”

Soap grinned, “You said it lass, not us.” He coughed abruptly when you smacked him in the stomach, making him lean forward to catch his breath. You glanced at Ghost who’s hands were now raised in surrender.

“Come off it [Name], we’re just teasing, you're not doing yourself any favors by acting with him the way you do.” He commented, which only confused you. All you did was argue with him, where was there room for speculation? The look on your face must've told them everything they needed to know.

“What do I do that gives off that impression even remotely?” You said defensively, they all exchanged looks.

Soap spoke up, “It's not just you bonnie, Price acts differently around you too. It just gives off a certain impression. Some people just take it the wrong way.” There was an underlying uncomfortableness to his words that you didn't miss. And who were ‘some people??’

Ghost smacked him upside the head, earning a startled grunt. “Fuckin’ twat, Soap doesn't know what he's saying.” Ghost said facing you. “He's already tipsy, don't take what he's saying to heart.” Soap was holding his head, shooting a glare at the lieutenant.

You shook your head, not ready to let it go. “No, who's some people? And what did you mean when you said ‘taking it the wrong way?’” Your eyes narrowed in on all three of them, waiting for someone to speak first. Gaz looked away, immediately giving him away as the weakest link. “Gaz what's he talking about?” You asked firmly.

He tensed up, glancing at Ghost and then back to you. “It's really nothing, it's just a silly rumor.” Ghost shot him a firm look, “Kyle-” He warned.

A rumor? What the hell was there to talk about? The last time you'd heard of a rumor going around about yourself was in high school, it wasn't a pleasant experience, to say the least. Your lips pursed into a tight line, something about how secretive they were being set you off. “What rumor?” You said, after a minute of silence, you slowly got more frustrated. “If it's about me I deserve to know.”

Ghost didn't speak, neither did Gaz, but Soap did. He blew out a sigh, glancing back at Ghost who was maintaining strict eye contact with you. “There is a bit of a widespread rumor back at base that you've been shaggin’ the boss. People started calling you Captain’s Girl.”

The pit of your stomach dropped.

You felt dizzy, looking between the three of them. Waiting for one of them to break, to smile and say ‘got you!’ but it never came. “You're joking right?” You said, laughing nervously, the longer the silence the more nauseous you became.

Ghost shook his head, his eyes hard but his demeanor a bit solemn. “We didn't want you to know for obvious reasons. Thought it would make things worse between the two of ya’ and it was just too far.” You swallowed, this was a joke. This was a joke and they were just teasing. When nobody spoke after the reality set in.

Of course, this would happen to you, you worked your ass off just to be respected in a field dominated by men. You were asked to be a part of 141. But all people saw was a slut who worked her way up the ladder by playing Miss ‘Hard to Get.’

“We tried to stop it as best we could trust us, it's just a little hard to keep quiet when word spreads fast,” Gaz interjected, his eyebrows scrunched in…guilt? Second-hand embarrassment? Sadness? You couldn't tell.

You sat there in silence, processing everything. “But- but I'm not. I'm not sleeping with him.” You sputtered.

Soap placed a hand on your shoulder, “We know you ain't. You don't need to listen to those people anyways, it's just barrack talk, people needing a story to make their lives more interesting.” A well of emotions started to flood your senses, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the gravity of the situation hitting you.

Captain’s girl.

What. The. Fuck.

This was Price’s fault. It had to have been, Soap said he was acting weird. Maybe this was all his elaborate plan to destroy your career and kick you off 141 for fraternization. It had to have been him, right? You weren't thinking as clearly as you would have liked considering you were borderline drunk, but that didn't matter. You shot up from where you were sitting, making Soap jump.

Stumbling you started to make a beeline for the entrance, Gaz also got up and followed you, much to your chagrin. “[Name]? Where are you going??” He called after you.

“To find Price!” (And kill him.) You shouted back angrily, storming outside before Gaz had the chance to stop you. Obviously, you didn't think this through enough because it was pitch dark outside. And Price was nowhere in sight, fuck.

Whatever, you could search this place for hours if you had to. He was bound to pop up somewhere, like how the tide is drawn to the moon you and Price always had a way of being pulled into each other. You stormed through the dark, almost tripping on your own feet once or twice in the process.

You'd been there long enough that you could tell what area was what. Even in the pitch-black cloak of the dark, you could feel your heartbeat in your head. It was like your body was pulsing with the rhythm of your anger. Just as you were about to start shouting his name a light caught your eye. You swiveled your neck so fast it burned the muscles in your nape. Low and behold it was Price walking out of the medical tent with his single crutch.

He stopped when he noticed you, his face a mix of confusion. “What are you doing? I thought I told you guys not to go outside after lights out?”

You felt every emotion rush back to you at the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, the fucking absurdity of the whole situation. Your hands clenched into fists, “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I thought you sucked before but I underestimated how much of a jackass you could be!”

Price stood there like a deer caught in headlights, so baffled he couldn't even speak. “Excuse me?”

You marched straight up to him, “You heard me. Apparently making my life a living hell wasn't enough for you was it? You sadistic fuck. Do you get off on torturing me? Is that it?” You spat. The heat in your face rising with each word.

He didn't say anything, his navy eyes looking at you like you belonged in an insane asylum. After a minute of silence, he breathed, “[Name]. Realistically I should be laying into you right now and giving you every single punishment there is for the rest of your stay here for cursing me out after lights out with no provocation on my end. But, I'm going to give you one chance to explain why you're acting like a screaming banshee before I send your ass straight to the bins.”

His words only ticked you off further, well two could play dumb. “You know exactly why I'm angry! No provocation is such bullshit. You- You just think I'm so stupid don't you?!” You were stumbling, your mouth felt heavy. It was like your mind was moving faster than your body could keep up with.

“Are you drunk?” He asked incredulously. You shook your head, “No! I mean yes I had a few drinks but I'm not drunk. Stop deflecting-” You rambled on.

His eyes turned to narrow slits, “I don't even know what I'm deflecting- you can't just start making a scene and expect me to know why you're angry. I'm not a mind reader.” He groaned.

“The name! The rumor- whatever you call it. You spread a rumor about me to the entire base that I'm sleeping with you! People are calling me your girl! The guys told me, everyone thinks I'm some slut because of you!” Everything in your body was burning, it felt good to finally yell at him but the words hit you hard.

You were labeled as the slut. No matter what you did there was always going to be a man overshadowing you just because of a preemptive notion that you were weaker. Something you'd spent your life fighting was now your reality.

Price’s eyes went wide, he almost resembled a wooden board. For a moment his eyes softened, like he was taking pity on you. “That's what this is about.” He breathed, “Look, I’m just as upset about that rumor and the name as you are. I don't know who started it but I can give you my word it wasn't me. You can ask any one of the guys and they will tell you the same thing.”

You started to speak but he raised a hand to stop you, “-I know it's not fair. But the damage has already been done, the thing about rumors is that they pass. And nobody thinks you're a slut. You're just as capable as anyone else on this team.” He said calmly.

It was silent for a moment. You didn't really know what to do or what to believe. All you had to go on was his word, which wouldn't normally hold much weight but something about him seemed so genuine. “I- how do I know you're not lying to my face? You hate me. And I’m just supposed to believe a random person made this rumor up when you've been trying to kick me off the team from the start.”

Price halted for a moment, his face reflecting a series of conflicting emotions. “I don't hate you, and I am not trying to kick you off.”

“Well, it sure as hell doesn't seem that way, even Soap said you act differently around me. I don't understand why you fucking hate me so much when almost all I ever do is try and suck up to you!” You shouted, your voice slightly slurring with how fast the words escaped your lips.

A vein bulged in Price’s temple, his jaw working with his growing temperament. “I don't know how often we have to go through this same conversation before you get it through your thick head. I don't hate you, I'm hard on you. There's a difference.”

“Well, that's not what it looks like to me. Especially not to the mystery person who just conjured a rumor that we’re sleeping together out of thin air.” You seethed, until now you'd been standing a few feet away from him. But somehow, amid the argument, you found yourself now uncomfortably close.

Price scowled down at you, “What do you want me to say to you?! That I'm sorry I also got caught up in some dumb rumor. That I'm sorry you got your feelings hurt because I was a little harsh.”

Your mind was telling you to communicate your feelings like a normal person. The alcohol and your heart told you your fist connecting with his face was the better option. And right now, your heart (plus the alcohol) was winning.

“I want you to fucking show me you don't hate me! You can say all you want that I'm just being dramatic but there's obviously a reason why I think you hate me.” You fired back.

The two of you stood there for a moment, his eyes drilling into yours. A scowl on Price’s lips and his eyebrows pinched together, there was something about the heat of the moment that made you more on edge. You were hyperaware of everything around you, most importantly you were hyperaware of your proximity to him. The night air was cold but you were on fire.

“You want me to show you? Fine.” He grit out, and before you had time to react he was on you.

His hand was on your neck, thick and warm. Pulling you close so that his lips captured yours in what you could only describe as ‘a hungry kiss.’ The coarse hair of his beard tickled your skin and before you even knew what you were doing, you started kissing him back.

Fuck. He tasted like smoke and whiskey, a woody smell clung to him like sap. Greedily your hands pulled at him, your fingers bunching the cotton of his shirt like he'd disappear. You'd kissed men before but never in your life had anyone kissed you like this. The kiss was hot, desperate, almost angry. His tongue slid along yours, you felt the drag of his teeth nip at your bottom lip and his throaty groan when you only pulled him closer.

You couldn't remember why he was kissing you, or why you started kissing him back. You didn't know why you were so angry, nor did you pay mind to the chance that anyone could walk outside and see the two of you.

You heard his crutch absentmindedly fall to the ground, clattering against the hard dirt. Price's other hand snaked to the back of your head, curling his thick digits into the locks of your hair. His nose brushed against yours, he felt so warm. Asshole or not this man knew how to kiss.

“[Name]!”

Gaz’s voice broke you out of the trance you seemed to have been under. Immediately you and Price tore apart, your heart jackhammered in your ribcage. You looked at Price, he looked at you.

His blue eyes were blown wide, his lips parted and shiny with the reminisce of your spit. A reddish tinge colored his ears and cheeks. He looked horrified.

You didn't fair much better. You probably looked like a gaping fish. You'd just kissed Price. Price had kissed you. You two had been kissing. Holy shit.

Footsteps snapped your attention away from him, Gaz ran to meet you. His breath heavy like he’d been running around for a good amount of time. “[Name] Price didn’t start the rumor- you left before I could tell you. I-” He stopped, his eyes darting between both you and Price. You probably looked as guilty as you felt. “I…uhm I guess you two worked it out?”

There was an awkward silence before anyone spoke, Price cleared his throat, quickly wiping his lips. “She’s aware… You two go back to the tent, it’s late. We leave early tomorrow so get a good sleep.”

You were still in shock, could you even move your limbs? Another silence hovered over the three of you like a looming dust cloud. Gaz awkwardly shuffled to you, patting your shoulder as if to say ‘party's over, let’s go.’ He nodded at Price, “Right, see you in the morning Cap.”

Before you knew it, your legs were moving as Gaz led you back to the tent. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, “You alright?” He said hesitantly. You didn't know what to say to him, you didn't even know what you were feeling. And you doubted saying, ‘Honestly I don't know because two seconds ago Price's tongue was down my throat and I can't tell if I'm turned on or horrified,’ was appropriate.

So, you settled for a simple: “I’m fine.” Gaz gave you a skeptical look, but he chose not to comment on it. Once you got back to the tent Soap and Ghost had already started to get into their respective cots. Soap gave you a funny look over his shoulder, “What happened to you? You look shell-shocked.” He laughed.

You didn't even have the energy to respond, giving him a disgruntled grimace in return. You fell into your cot, burying your face into the thick sleeping bag. Your cheeks burned, and the taste of Price still lingered on your lips.

Apart of you wished that you were blackout drunk, then maybe it would be easier knowing whatever happened would disappear by the morning. But his groans, his hands in your hair, his lips, they were carved into your brain. And they weren't leaving.

You had to grapple with the reality that Price had kissed you. And you had kissed him back.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

Hey, wait! Don't go!

Well… hello there. It's me again! To those of you who aren't familiar, you can call me Baebae. And to those who are welcome back! I've written fanfiction a bit before (check out my other stuff on my home page) but nothing like this. So that makes this special, and I'm happy you can join me while I embark on this new journey.

There is no spice in this chapter but it is coming in the next part. There are only two parts to this so you won’t have to wait that long. Trust me I am trying my best to crank out the next one so I’ll try my best to be quick!!

I would be so, so, so, soooo grateful if you would like, follow, or repost. Don't feel any pressure but I love hearing any feedback you can provide as I am relatively new to this and it spurs me on to know people enjoy what I put out. If you so choose you can message me or comment if you'd like me to @ you in the next part so you're notified. <3

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this and I'll see you in the next part. Toodles! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

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lovifie · 7 months ago

Note

Price had a young girlfriend and did not tell anybody until he decided to get married...

He probably didn't tell them until the night before the wedding…He asked them to come over for a little celebration and everyone expected a middle-aged woman. But when they saw a girl in her mid-20s opening the door with Price they were shocked

Soap probably even asked if she's his stepdaughter LOL

Hey, love!! 💗💗

I wrote you a little something...

I hope you like it 💗

❤️Mr. & Mrs. Price❤️

Fluff | Sugestive | 1547 words | Back to Masterlist

They were having a pint at a pub close to base when he told them.

“I'm getting married next Saturday, you have the weekend free, so drop by so I can introduce you to the missus.”

Now, Ghost wasn't surprised he didn't know about his captain having a girlfriend, let alone a relationship serious enough to talk about marriage. What surprised Ghost was that neither Soap nor Gaz knew about it.

“Married?!” Gaz asked, loud enough to make some people turn their heads.

Price furrows his eyebrow, surprised by the reaction as if he had just told them about what he's having from breakfast.

“I didnae ken ye had a pretty bird waiting for ye at home, Captain!” Soap says, just as loud.

“Yeah, I have for a couple of years now.” Price simply answers, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a sip.

“A couple of years?!” The three men ask in unison like a bad comedic joke.

A chain of questions starts to unravel, curiosity for the mysterious woman pouring out; but Price waves his hand shutting them up. “No point in that, you are meeting her this weekend, easier that way”

They begrudgingly agree, keeping to themselves the mental image of the possible woman. She must be around Price's age, so between 40 and 50 years old; knowing how little the man likes to go out they probably met at work so she must be military too. Stern woman.

Price tells them that is something minor, the close family and a bunch of friends; that they can join at the reception at his house and to dress nicely.

“No ghost mask.” He chastises the man pointing at him. “I don't want work involved, alright?”

During the week until the wedding, they keep thinking about her, about how she must look like, her personality, her age, her eye colour.

“What do you think she'll look like?”

“In my mind, she's like Laswell… but being into men.”

And out of every possibility and different mental image, the last thing they expected was the pretty thing that opened the door for them on Saturday.

Pretty little thing, around 25 years old, with the kindest smile on her face even when looking at the three giants on her doorframe, flowy white dress, little hair strands framing her cute face with the rest of it gathered up in an intricate updo in the back hold together with shiny pins and a silky bow.

“Oh, you must be John's friends.” You say, voice sweet as an angel. “Please, come in, don't just stand there. I'm gonna go get him, be back in a second”

You step back, holding the door open for them, inviting them in and once inside you close the door, walking past them to reach their captain who is looking in the opposite direction, talking to somebody else.

“That must be the stepdaughter… right?” Soap asks what all of them are thinking.

They stare as you walk up to Price, placing your hand on his lower back making him turn to look at you; a wide smile appearing immediately. He leans forward, his arm moving behind your shoulder and his hand keeping your jaw in place as he kisses you.

Lips crashing against yours, closing his eyes and letting his tongue into your mouth tasting the champagne you were drinking just a moment ago. A passionate, sloppy kiss that would make a maiden blush at the impropriety of it even for the newlyweds.

“Mate, I sure fucking hope she's not.” Gaz answers after a moment.

The two of you finally pull back, telling Price about his friends arriving and he looks behind you to see them. He smiles, not as wide as when he looked at you, and gives you a quick peck before walking to the door.

“Welcome, lads. Thank you for coming.” He says simply, crossing his arms and looking proud. You appear from behind him, hand resting on his arm slightly leaning to his side.

“Do you want anything to drink? To eat?” You ask softly, love pouring out of Price's eyes as he looks down on you.

“I'll help you.” Ghost says, a curl of his lips you could identify as a smile if you wanted to. And once the captain is left with the sergeants, the attack starts.

“How does an old churl like you manages to get a pretty thing like her?”

“Where do you even meet a doll like her?”

“How many years have you exactly been dating for?”

Ghost clears his throat when he turns around the corner on his way back, with you chirping on his side about how happy you are to finally meet them. He has a more natural smile on his face now, clearly infected with your enthusiasm.

Price finally introduces you to them, exchanging everyone's name. You hug both the sergeants and shake Ghost's hand, the man glad that you made the observation of his lack of appreciation towards body contact.

After a little chat, you excuse yourself; promising to get back in a while wanting to talk to your own friends still waiting around the room. It leaves Price on his own and that's when he tells the nosy men how he met you.

You were his neighbour, sharing half the walls of the old flat he house to live in before moving in together. How he introduced himself to you one day when he saw you leaving your house, how he told you he was military so you wouldn't freak out if you saw him in the middle of the night or suddenly disappeared for months, how after a specially long deployment he got back and you dropped by hours later with a bunch of tupperwares with homemade food “I assumed you would be tired, it's nothing special but I'll save you the hustle of cooking”, about how he had wanted to marry you ever since, how he gave you the tupperwares back one by one so he had more reasons to talk to you, how he finally asked you out with the last one and how after that it all was easy between you two.

The four of them swiftly move to sit down on the kitchen table, Price still telling them everything about you and the relationship. Ghost is just as invested as the other two, trying to play it off as polite interest. Slowly and smoothly people leave the house as the day goes by, the sun having set a couple of hours ago; and you walk into the kitchen, sitting on Price's lap with a sigh.

“I know it isn't proper of a good host, but these shoes are killing me.” You announce looking at the three men as you bend down and take them off, a sigh of comfort leaving your mouth as you lean back on Price. “I'm also sure you have endurance worse than some stinky feet.” You joke with a tiny chuckle making them smile.

“Everyone gone, darling?” Price asks, his hands resting on your lap as you nod smiling. He looks up to the boys as he says. “Better to tidy up then”

“Jonathan Price, don't be rude!” You exclaim looking at him. “They are your friends and there are more than enough rooms for them if they want to spend the night. They have been drinking too!”

“Mrs. Price.” John says with a teasing tone, standing up and helping you stand. “Talk to me for a second, love.”

Price bends down to pick your shoes up, holding your hand to walk you to the living room. They hear the two of you whispering back and forth, then silence and lastly the unmistakable sound of kisses. They peak behind the door, managing to see you sitting in the backrest of the sofa with Price standing between your legs, grinding his hips against yours. You moan softly against his lips, before pulling back and whispering something they can't make out; Price pulls back as well and they sit back on their chairs.

Price walks in just a second later. “Lads… thank you for coming, I'll see you when I'm back from the honeymoon, now… OUT!” He barks the last word making Soap chuckle as they all finish their drink in a gulp and start to walk out of the house, congratulating Price on the marriage and walking out one by one; meanwhile, you remain completely out of sight for them.

“They gone?” You ask for the top of the stairs, looking at Price with a smile.

“Yep.” Price says locking the door.

“You didn't have to kick them out like that, though.” You say cocking your head with a smile.

“Oh, yes, I did.” He says, turning around to start to walk up the stairs.

“Why? Afraid they might join?” You say winking at him, making him laugh before he throws you over his shoulder making you shriek.

“Wouldn't you like that, you little minx!” He jokes, landing a smack on your asscheek.

You gasp dramatically holding onto his clothes. “It's Mrs. Price to you, young man.”

He chuckles, making your body shake, before he throws you down on the bed; him instantly crawling on top of you.

“Who's your husband, darling?”

“You, Mr. Price.”

A bit more of this

#Lovi writes 🩷#young price my beloved #call of duty #cod #captain john price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #price x reader #cod x reader #price #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #call of duty x reader

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clockwayswrites · 3 months ago

Text

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. + 1

“What is going on?” Batman asked the group as he swept into the room.

John stayed focused on the circle, not wanting to mess up now. It would be a lot of faff for nothing if he did.

“Constantine believes he has a contact to help us with our current issue,” Superman explained. “He is working on the summoning circle now.”

“Is that safe to do on the Watchtower?” Batman asked, as cautious as ever.

“Yeah, mate,” John answered for himself. “This one is a good one. Haven’t met them myself, but real helpful sort of fellow from everything I’ve heard. Or at least real helpful for the things that they can help with.”

Careful not to smudge any lines, John moved backwards out of the circle and gave it a good look over. The rest of the lot were talking about something, but if Batman hadn’t stopped him yet, John figured he was good and intended to keep working. A little slice to his finger, a few drops of blood, the right words, and it was done.

The white markings of the circle seemed to shudder and warp, like the lines on a desert street. Then they snapped a bright green and the inner lines seemed to fall away into an endless void. The void rippled and suddenly a hand reached out of it. The claws made the worst sound as they gripped into the metal floor.

Another hand joined it.

And then the being pulled themselves out of the summoning circle.

John knew better than to try and comprehend what he was seeing. It was all shadow and green flames and fear anyways.

“Who dares to call upon the Ghost King?” the being asked. The voice echoed through the room, through John’s head, through his soul. It sounded like a thousand screaming voices of the dead speaking all at once.

Toxic green eyes in the black mass swept over the group. It was like they were being seen; their souls, their very beings, every aspect of them flayed open and on display for this other worldly entity. John swallowed reflexively when the eyes paused on him for a moment. He wasn’t scared, but there was still a primal part of his brain that said he should run.

Then the gaze landed on Batman and stayed there. Superman stepped forward, slightly, as if to shield Batman from the being’s view.

The being didn’t seem to care and leaned forward up to the edge of the circle. “B?”

Batman inclined his head slightly, “Phantom.”

“Shit. This Justice League approved, huh? Sorry about the dramatics. Usually I only get summoned by cultists who want Pariah Dark, the old king, to give them power or cleanse the world of life or blah blah blah. Best to show up and put the fear of me into them,” the being said, motioning to themselves and all their horror. The reverb of their voice had settled some, now only like a few voices overlapping.

“Understandable,” Batman agreed, seemingly unaffected by it all.

John could only shrug incredulously at Superman’s questioning gaze. Fuck if he knew. Sure, Bats was unflappable, but everyone knew he avoided the supernatural stuff if he could.

The being pulled the last of itself out of the portal which sealed with a sickening squelch. “You could have just called though. Like, I get summoning is a quick way to travel, but it's a little painful."

“Painful?” Batman asked, turning to stare at John, who swallowed nervously at the cold tone.

“Yeah. This was a pretty clean circle though, props to the maker—”

“Thanks, I think?” John mumbled at he watched the being start to shift. It was like watching a black hole collapse in on itself.

“—so it's not that bad, but still it feels like ripping some duct tape off my skin or something,” the being continued. They were much more human shaped now, though they still smiled with an alarming number of very white teeth.

“We'll keep that in mind in the future. I was unaware of who, exactly, they were summoning.”

The rest of the roiling darkness settled on their shoulders like a half cape— one that seemed to hold the infinity of the night sky inside it. The vortex of flames settled into a crown of fire that floated above a head of stark white hair. They flexed their claws and the limbs settled into normal hands that they tucked into pockets of their three piece black suit with its sharp white accents. Then they stepped over the live of what was supposed to be an unbreakable summoning circle.

Like it was just waking through a door.

Like it was nothing.

John took a reflexive step back. This kind of rule breaking shit was exactly why he liked to avoid the Infinite Realms when he could; they were too chaotic to easily manage.

“All good,” they said with a shrug and a fanged smile. “So, what did you need the Ghost King for?”

Bruce watched Phantom scan the meeting room as they entered. Their eyes caught, just for a moment, and a million thoughts ran through Bruce’s head. Did he want to do this? Was it time? He trusted the Justice League. They had issues and conflicts, like any group, but they were heroes through and through.

Revealing this also did not mean revealing either of their civilian identities.

The nod was barely any movement at all, but Bruce knew that Phantom had caught it and understood. After so many years together, they hardly needed words, which Bruce often appreciated. Words had never been easy for Bruce. He worked on it for his family. He had to after…

Bruce forced himself not to think about that. Danny had saved Jason, even if the resulting years without Danny there were some of the hardest for the family. They were together again and better for it. Bruce let out a careful breath and took his normal seat.

“Thank you for your assistance, King Phantom,” Wonder Woman started. Phantom held up a hand.

“I didn’t say I could assist. I’ll listen and help if I can and see fit, but there are a great many things that are not mine to aid in,” Phantom said sternly, though his voice was carefully kind. “My influence is only over those closely tied to death and of the Infinite Realms. The living are outside of my jurisdiction.”

“Of course,” Superman said quickly as he could without rushing the words. “Listening is a great start. If you’ll take a seat.”

Phantom nodded and strode right past the indicated seat. With a casual ease that Bruce had always envied, Phantom sat on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

“Um, King Phantom, your majesty?” Flash started nervously. “Batman doesn’t really like to be touched?”

“Really?” Phantom asked innocently. Bruce couldn’t see it, but knew exactly the smirk Phantom had as he leaned back to lounge against Bruce’s shoulder. (Bruce loved that smile.)

Bruce schooled his expression as he watched Flash and Hal exchange looks and frantic hand signs to each other.

J’onn tilted his head curiously as he took his own seat. Bruce could see J’onn come to an understanding as his eyes flickered down the the black metal brand around Phantom’s ring finger in the shape of a flying bat.

“Ah,” J’onn said softly.

“Ah? Ah what?” Flash asked, his words almost a whine. “What do you know?”

Bruce rested his hand lightly on Phantom’s hip, well aware that the motion was in sight of both Superman and Wonder Woman.

“Ah,” Wonder Woman said with a little smile. “J’onn knows something we all know, though not in this context. It is good to meet you, Phantom.”

“Good to meet you also, Wonder Woman. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Phantom said as she sat down next to them.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said with a teasing smile directed Bruce’s way.

“Hn.”

Phantom just laughed, the sound echoing like a ringing bell. “It’s okay, I know what B is like. Trust me, that you know anything at all is a big deal. He’s just bad at doing things the normal way.”

Bruce held back a sigh and just pinched Phantom’s side again, making the other squeak and backhand Bruce in the chest.

“Holy shit!” Hal jutted a finger at Phantom. “You’re Batman’s husband!”

“Guilty as charged,” Phantom said.

“Wait, no, you’re what?” Flash asked and zipped closer to the table. “Huh. You are so not what I expected. I mean, I guess ghost plus Spooky works but you’re so… lively! Wait— is that like, offensive to call the dead lively?”

Phantom laughed again and shook his head. “No, but not everyone in the realms will take it as a compliment. I don’t mind and besides, I’m only half-dead.”

“Half-dead?” Superman asked with his brow furrowed worriedly.

Phantom just waved the concern away. “It’s complicated. Mostly it just means that I still get to live out my human life as simply a human. Ghosts move slower, having eternity and all, so there’s not too much for me to do as the king other than attend to summons and make slow changes.”

“So,” Hal started, ignoring Bruce’s glare and sliding into a seat finally. “You’re married to Batman in your civilian form as well?”

“Of course, it would be silly otherwise,” Phantom said and then added, “and no, I won’t tell you who B is. That’s for him to choose.”

“Okay, but like, we can talk to you, right?” Flash asked, eager as ever.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? But work first. What do you think I can help you all with?”

Bruce moved his hand to rest on the small of Phantom’s back and watched his husband command the room like the king he was.

--- AN: and here's the last part! The JL finally meet Batman's husband, or at least once side of him!

#dp x dc #spirit halloween ship #bruce/danny

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dawneternal · 1 month ago

Text

now my head's splitting at the seams

✴︎ in the labyrinth of my pain, would you find me?

✴︎ Azriel x Valkyrie reader, platonic Cassian x reader

✴︎ Summary: you miss a few days of training, down with a bad migraine. It turns out Cassian has a few misconceptions about your condition and, possibly, about pain itself.

✴︎ Warnings: mentions of nausea and vomiting (no descriptions), pain, toxic positivity and ableism, internalized ableism, Cassian's a jerk in the first half. Also I'm so sorry for the tense changing back and forth 💀 I would definitely not call this one a masterpiece

✴︎ Word Count: 3.4k

AO3 Link / Writing Masterlist

✴︎ Notes: somehow writing out my feelings about having a migraine turned into something pretentious about pain and ableism. I think a lot about John Green's "pain is the opposite of language" and how much that's changed my perception of pain

Also listen I love Cassian and I have no problems with him but I had to pick someone to take my feelings out on I'm sorry 💛 also just want to acknowledge that everyone experiences migraines differently and it's not a topic I'm an expert on so I'm sorry if you don't feel well represented by this.

Tbh I could write several essays about the way pain and disability are handled in the acotar books but that's for another time.

Letting out a frustrated groan, you squeeze your eyes shut tighter and twist your knuckle into the pressure point at the base of your palm, chasing the momentary relief it'll give you from your nausea. It works for a minute, and you're considering making your way to the bathroom before another wave hits you when your bedroom door flies open.

"You're late," Cassian's voice bellows through the room and he doesn't see you wince. He strides into the room, footsteps booming across the floorboards, and he's left the door open behind him, letting a traitorous amount of light into your dark room. What good were black out curtains if your darkness was going to be invaded like this anyways?

"Oh my gods you've got to talk quieter," You curl tighter around yourself, head clutched in your hands.

"So you're hungover?" He stops near your bed, arms crossed as he towers over you.

"No, I have a migraine."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

You squint up at him, scowling, swallowing every bad word threatening to spill off your tongue. Though maybe he deserves it for coming into your room without asking.

"Please leave," You say quietly, all the venom you could usually imbue into your voice completely swallowed by your current condition.

"You've missed three days of training." He says by way of answering, definitely not following your request to lower his volume. "You can't coddle yourself like this."

His words punch the air from your lungs. Coddle? Something terrible is rising in your gut, along with the desperate thought that you can't deal with this right now.

"I'm not - this isn't - I don't think you understand how much it hurts." You scramble for words, cheeks heated from pain and anger.

"You've gotta push through it," He says, no hint of sympathy.

"Cassian please."

"I'm not leaving until you agree to come with me."

You don't have time to respond before you're running to the bathroom and throwing up whatever you'd managed to keep down last night, head throbbing with every movement.

Breathing hard, you lean back from the toilet and clutch your head in your hands. The silence rings in your ears and you aren't sure if Cassian is still there or if he finally took mercy on you and left, until his voice makes it's way to you, with just a hint of remorse in it -

"I'd better see you up there."

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Cassian did not see you at training that morning, and you're assuming you've bruised his ego because the next day he doubles down.

The thing is, Rhysand knew of your condition. The other priestesses knew. It's only Cassian being out of the loop and if he understood what a migraine felt like, you're certain he wouldn't be dragging you up there. You were used to dealing with people who didn't understand, had worked hard to learn how to give yourself kindness no matter what other people said. But it's like he knew exactly what things to say, what buttons to press to undo all of that progress.

It was like he'd pulled off your armor, piece by piece, leaving you cold and exposed. Going back to that world where weakness was your given name and it hurt worse than stepping into the ring and fighting the pain. If you could prove him wrong, just make it through a couple of hours, you could return to your sanctuary of darkness. And at least then, you wouldn't hate yourself on top of everything else.

So you followed him up to the training ring, struggling to open your eyes all the way in the morning light, hunched over to make the pain down your shoulders and neck just a bit more bearable. You sway on your feet, but Cassian either doesn't notice or doesn't care.

When he moves aside, revealing your small, huddled frame trailing beside him, Gwyn gasps.

"Cassian!" She cries, her tone scathing, and the hint of smug triumph slips from his face. It disappears completely as Gwyn rushes to your side, folding you into her arms to block your eyes from the light. You groan into her shoulder and go limp in her arms, grateful for the support.

Azriel stands to the side, watching with narrowed eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest like Cassian's, but there is no determination or judgment in his posture or expression. There's angry, crackling flames as he watches the redheaded Valkyrie thread her fingers through your hair and murmur soft comfort.

"She missed training all this week," Cassian says, but he's not barking any more. He's feeling a little bit small underneath the glares that pin him where he stands.

"Yeah, we know," Gwyn says, and it's the closest she's gotten to snapping at him in the whole time they've known each other. She turns to you and her eyes soften. "Let's get you back to bed, love."

"No," You murmur, guilt and shame bringing your resolve to the surface once more. You gently push her away to stand on your own, raising your squinted eyes to meet Cassian's. "I can do it. I'll be fine."

She watches you take shaky steps to the nearest mat and begin stretching, body obviously stiff from a few days in bed. You're conscious of all the eyes on you, far too sympathetic for your liking. This is exactly what you hated.

"Are we starting or not?" You let out a stiff laugh, too aware that your words are lightly slurred. That is absolutely not helping the hangover accusations.

The other priestesses shuffle to get into place, bumping into each other as they move to find their positions. There was still a horrible silence, crackling with fierce anger, all rippling in Cassian's direction. He halfheartedly called a few orders, visibly uncomfortable with the energy in the ring.

And you tried. You tried hard. To move your body through the stretches like normal. But your muscles protested every move, threatening to lock back up, sending stabs of pain through your skull. It didn't take long for the nausea to take over, forcing you to the edge of the ring, doubled over and dry heaving.

"This is ridiculous," Gwyn scoffs before she's at your side again. "You're going to back to bed."

"I will not be weak," You growl at her, panting as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, "I am not lazy."

Gwyn's head snaps around to find Cassian, mouth dropped open in fury as she silently dares him to confirm that he may have suggested weakness to you.

"You're not and you know it," She says softly, hauling you up and leading you away from the training ring. “Don't do that to yourself.”

Cassian is feeling like he's surrounded by wolves, all the glares that are being sent his way. He understands by now that he's messed up, and in front of a group that may not be easily inclined to forgive him. He's sure every single one of them has experienced the disbelief that he foolishly shoved your way. For their pain, or for anything else.

He thought you would snap back to your normal self after a bit of warming up, shake off your symptoms with a bit of movement and sunshine. You were strong enough to, if you wanted to. He'd seen it before. He thought you just didn't want to.

A small, firm hand lands on his arm and he finds himself looking down at Nesta. There's sympathy in her expression, but her eyes twinkle with the threat of a nasty bite if he dares to say anything stupid.

"She gets them after particularly bad flashbacks," Nesta says, "Or sometimes they're just random. Madja says there's no fix for the pain but darkness and sleep."

Cassian's stomach twists so terribly he thinks he might puke, too. In the midst of attempting to instill resilience, he's understanding that he knows nothing of this kind of pain. This is something different, something that cannot be conquered in the same way as emotional pain, as every day aches and injuries. You are a soldier in a battle he has no strategy for.

He may understand the concept of emotional resilience, of getting back up and into the training ring when you don't want to. But this is different.

The final blow, the thing that makes him want to cower and hide, is meeting his brother's eyes. Seeing the fire there transports him back in time, sending flashes of a smaller Azriel pushing himself too hard, determined to show the world that he'd never be less because of the damage to his hands. Fighting against words far too similar to the ones his own brother had spouted to you this morning, desperate to become strong enough that no one would ever doubt his pain and live.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

It was not a surprise that Cassian found himself in Rhysand's office later, confessing how thoroughly he'd fucked up, desperate for a little direction in how to fix this mess.

"It has to be their choice," Rhysand is saying, eyes meeting Cassian's over his glass.

Cassian's mouth opens and closes as he tries to conjure a response. He knows that. Of course he knows that. But apparently, his brain had not wrapped around how far that concept might go.

Cassian let out a grunt as he sat back in his chair, arms crossed. Rhysand knew he didn't have to push any further, he recognized the conflict in his brother's eyes. So he sat with him, quiet, while he processed.

"Do you want to know what it feels like?" He broke the since after a while, as the idea came to him.

"What?" Cassian blinked, startled from his thoughts.

"A migraine," Rhys explained, "Do you want to know what it feels like?"

Cassian frowned, studying his brother's expression for anything resembling amusement, but there was none. So he nods.

Not even a full second later, his skull is attacked with throbbing pain, deep in the base of his neck. He hadn't even noticed the fae lights before, but now they overwhelm him, causing a dull pain to surface behind his eyes. Nausea curled up his throat, threatening ruthlessly.

"Oh gods," He leaned forward and clutched his head in his hands, finding that his limbs trembled under his own weight.

"Do you push yourself when you feel like this?" Rhysand asked softly, not taunting. Prompting.

"I don't really ever feel like this," Cassian grumbled out.

"Hm," Rhysand mused, his brows drawing together. He'd experienced episodes like these often, under the mountain. He knew that Azriel struggled with them through his teenage years, like his brain still struggled to process his senses outside of a dark cell.

Deep in thought, he only remembered to ease up on Cassian's mind when his brother whimpered.

"Some say pain cannot truly be described with language," Rhys says, gaze somewhere else as Cassian gulps down air. "And that your pain is one of the few things that is truly yours, that you can never share. Even if you manage to describe it, it will never be felt by anyone else."

"I thought she was just hungover," Cassian says, but he's not defending himself. Rhysand knows.

"What if she was, though?" He tilts his head to the side, watching his brother carefully.

And that is the thing that had begun to unfurl within Cassian as he stood surrounded by the priestesses he'd wronged. He understood that having true control of your body meant that dictating how pain is handled had to be yours, too. He understood that pushing someone to deal with pain in his own way was a violation in and of itself. He had stepped into the world that you had carefully balanced and re-built around your condition and dared to tell you that you may have done it wrong.

"Will she get better?" He asks, thinking of the agony he'd just experienced for a few short minutes. The same one that you'd been experiencing for three days, now.

"It's hard to say," Rhysand shrugs, "Madja says she will likely experience these off and on for the rest of her life, but she may have some periods of remission."

He tilts his head at his brother again, "You know that a majority of the priestesses have an invisible disability of similar kinds, right? They won't get better. They will be in pain every day until they die."

Rhysand sighs, thinking of the hundreds - possibly thousands - of tins of salve that Azriel has gone through, numbing the pain of his nerve damage. Trembling hands hidden in black gloves, tucked into his body and away from the world. And that is the reason he's bothering telling Cassian of any of this. Otherwise, he might let him figure it out on his own.

"But the healers-" Cassian begins.

"Are there to help them cope with their emotional pain and trauma," Rhysand nods, "But some of them, a lot of them, were disabled as a result of what they went through and will never get better. Like Clotho.”

Oh.

It clicks in Cassian's mind, then. Who else Rhys meant. Who else Cassian had insulted. He had never barged into Azriel's room, insisting that he still train even when he could not flex his fingers without wincing, without trembling too hard to hold a glass of water. But he'd done it to you, in front of him. And that pinned his disbelief on Azriel all the same.

Azriel's pain, your pain, were enemies that neither of you could defeat. And here he was, shoving a sword into your hands, and insisting that you try.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

A soft knock sounds against your door, so quiet you almost don't hear it. You stare at it, wondering if you should pretend that you didn't. But then the knob turns slowly and it opens just a crack, and a soft voice is saying into the darkness,

"Hey, it's Azriel. Can I come in?"

Your breath catches in your throat, and you watch his shadows dancing back and forth through the thin wedge of light he's letting in.

"Sure," You say, moving quickly to smooth your rumpled clothes and tangled hair before he steps in. You're not exactly sure what he thinks of you after this morning.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him. His eyes seem to glow in the darkness, an amber-honey color, and somehow you can still see his shadows, like they're even darker than your room with no light.

"I just wanted to check on you," He says, crouching down beside your bed so you don't have to sit up.

"I'm okay," You say, still getting over the surprise of the Shadowsinger in your space. It's true, though, you suppose. You're used to all of your other symptoms by now, and your heart hurts worse than your head.

"He's an idiot sometimes," Azriel says, basically spits. A smile begins to spread on your face so he continues, “Like, sometimes he's just an asshole, straight up. But this time, believe it or not, I think he actually meant well and was just an idiot.”

“I know,” You give him a sad smile and all of the anger melts from his face.

“I think he went to buy flowers if that makes you feel any better,” He sighs. You know he's just as mad at Cassian as you are, maybe even more mad. But he still can't help vouching for him. It's definitely going to take more than flowers to forgive him, but it's a good start. You also appreciate that Azriel has bothered to warn you ahead of time, in case you wanted to avoid Cassian's apology.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, so quietly. And you wonder who else has earned this tenderness from him.

“It's not too bad right now,” you say truthfully, though you know that sitting up or going outside might be pushing your luck.

“Still hurts?”

“Yeah. Still hurts.”

He nods. “I can try something that helps me, sometimes.”

You search his eyes for a moment, then nod.

“Can I touch your face?” He asks, almost a whisper.

Your heart leaps into your throat and you fight to keep your face neutral as you nod again, no idea what he's planning to do with you.

Slowly, leaving enough time for you to stop him, he reaches out. He's not wearing gloves, like usual, and in the dark you can just barely make out the uneven silhouette of his dimpled, scarred hands.

His fingers land gently on your forehead, and he presses his thumb between your brows. Gently at first, and then harder, circling a tender point under your skin. It makes the pain in your head sharper, and you let out a hiss.

“I know,” He says, “Bear with me a minute.”

You close your eyes, biting back a whimper, but after a moment the pain begins to ease. He keeps going for a few minutes and you feel your whole body relax, pain free for the first time in days.

You don't realize how much you've leaned into his touch until he gently pulls away and you find your head falling forward with him.

“What is that?” You open your eyes and blink at him.

“A pressure point,” He grins, and it almost looks like he's blushing.

“That's magical,” you say. You hesitate for a moment, and then, “you can sit on the bed if you want.”

Azriel smiles and straightens, and you move your pillow to the side to make space for him. He slides off his boots and sits on the bed next to you, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. You place your pillow next to his lap and settle back into it.

“Thank you,” You say, your body feeling lighter than it has in days.

“Of course,” he says.

A silence settles, but it's not uncomfortable. There's something in it that you understand. He's just keeping you company. Here to sit with you in your pain.

It's easy to relax in his presence, between his calm aura and the pain relief he's offered you. And you find yourself spilling the question that's been circling though your mind since this morning.

“What if I can't fight, someday? What if I can't be a Valkyrie anymore?”

Azriel stills beside you. It's a long moment before he says anything. You're tense beside him, and it makes you flinch when he brings his hand so gently to rest on your head. Not moving, just resting.

“First,” He says, in the same soft voice, “You'll always be a Valkyrie. Because you cut the ribbon. Because you sisters will never let you go. And because I know for a fact that the Valkyries did not strip their warriors of their title if they became disabled by an illness or an injury.”

“Really?” You breathe.

“Mhm,” He hums in affirmation. You forget sometimes that he knows the Valkyries from more than history books.

“And second,” His voice drops lower, like he's sharing a secret with you. His hand moves, fingers slipping gingerly through your hair. And it makes you realize that he came here with his hands uncovered as an offer of solidarity. Combing his scarred fingers through your hair, he is offering you vulnerability, like recompense for what you bared this morning. A trade. A truce.

“If you cannot fight,” He continues, “Then you will show the world that a formidable woman can be made from more than fighting skills. You will still be - will always be - something incredible.”

Tears prickle at your eyes, form a lump in your throat. You reach up to grasp his hand, the only thank you that you can manage in the moment, and he lets you.

There's another silence, as he holds your hand in the dark.

“Who helps you?” You ask, turning to look up at him. He watches your eyebrows knit together, so serious, and he swallows a smile.

“What do you mean?” He says.

You bring one finger up to tap the space between his own eyebrows.

“With your pain? Who helps you like you helped me?”

“Um,” He shrugs, “Sometimes Rhys if he has time. Otherwise, no one.”

That's what you thought, but it still makes your heart twist in your chest. It takes a deep breath before you have the courage to say the next words out loud.

“You should tell me next time you're in pain. And I'll help.”

Azriel stares back at you, something bewildered in his eyes. Because he sees your suggestion for what it is. The same thing he offered you. A trade. A truce.

A beginning.

“Yes,” He whispers into the dark, and his hand closes around yours. “I will.”

#relieving someone else's pain is strangely intimate???#idk what this is honestly #acotar #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #azriel x reader #cassian x reader #platonic cassian x reader #Rhysand #Azriel #cassian #madja acotar #Gwyneth berdara #nesta archeron #disabled reader #chronic pain #hurt/comfort

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moralesispunk · 4 months ago

Text

best friend! Simon who loves to spoil single mum pregnant! reader

"What's all this, Si?"

Before you can turn around to look up into his face, you feel his broad chest pressing against your shoulders, his rough palms holding your upper arms and steering you further into the room.

He doesn't answer you directly, even as that mix of nerves and excitement and contentment that you feel around Simon grows deeper in your belly. It's not always been there, not in the fifteen years of friendship since he first walked into the pub you worked at out of school when he was on leave from the army, but recently, it's started to burn deep inside you.

"It's one 'a those Moses baskets. Obviously the blanket an' teddy wont be there when the baby's there," he says, still standing behind you, still keeping you from looking into his eyes. "Been readin' up on safe sleep for weans and they can't have anything in there with them. Did ye know that?"

You press your fingers against your lips, trying to push back the smile. "I think I read that somewhere," you muse.

"There's also one 'a these sock things. You put it on them when they're sleepin' and it'll tell you if they stop breathin' or anything." His hands squeeze your upper arms. "A'no you said you were nervous about the sleepin'."

"Simon," you gasp. "That's- that's too much. They're expensive! You're already letting us stay with you."

"No, Dove. You deserve more than this."

He turns you and sits you at the edge of the bed, sitting by your side, and you use the back of your hands to wipe at the tears that have started to spill over.

"Hormones," you mutter and he huffs a laugh.

With your hands on your lap you take a look around the room. You've only ever seen the spare room at Simon's with a glance in as you walk to the bathroom, but it looks different even to your eyes.

"Did you paint?"

"It was due a freshen up."

"Is this a new bed?"

"John was getting rid of his when he was moving. Barely used."

"The wardrobe?"

"... 'hat's new."

Your laugh is watery, wrists still wiping under your eyes. Turning to look over your shoulder and finding a pregnancy pillow on top of the pile of normal pillows. Reaching for it, you tuck it round you and lean into it, forearms resting on the plush softness and hands resting on your bump.

"Simon..."

"Hush," he mutters, turning and folding the already folded blanket on the bed just for something to do.

"No, Simon." You turn, taking his hand in his and forcing him to look into your eyes. "Thank you."

His eyes hold yours for a second before they flick to where they hold your hands, a blush raging high on his cheeks. You look down at the hands on yours, big and scarred, his thumbs brushing of your knuckles once before pausing, pulling back like he didn't mean to do that.

"You know I would always be here for you," he says.

And you do, in every way that counts.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x y/n

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livbedum · 1 month ago

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maybe next time?

black cat!reader x jj maybank

summary four times jj maybank asked you out , and the one time you finally said yes

warnings pining , rejection , simp!jj , ex!rafe , profanity.

18+ minors dni

one it was the night after you’d run into each other for the first time. rafe was throwing another party , and so obviously , you were there despite breaking up the night before. it was coming towards the end of the party , and a lot of people were leaving , but just as many were lingering in the house.

you were sitting on the kitchen counter by yourself , sipping on your last drink of the night. your eyes followed the line out the door , waiting to see if any of your friends were going to stop and grab you. the answer was no , so you slid off the countertop and dumped your drink out. you knew it was dumb , but you might as well take advantage and crash in rafe’s room. get something out of the night.

you turned the corner , about to ditch the closing hour when you run into someone. thankful you dumped your drink out , you still cursed. “can you watch where the fuck you’re going? jesus!” you huffed , straightening your all too short dress for the millionth time that night before looking up at who was in your way. “oh! sorry!”

jj was smiling at you , waiting for you to be done accosting him. “that’s my bad , but there is a bright side,” he replied , leaning against the wall , somehow blocking your path more.

your eyes looked for rafe anywhere shortly before tilting your head to the side. “what’s the bright side? this is a pretty shit party , jj”

that took him by surprise. he truly didn’t expect you to know his name. he cleared his throat , getting back to business. he had planned this for twenty-four hours at this point. can’t back out now. “bright side is you could leave with me,” he suggested , keeping his cool, “y’know , ditch the cameron’s mansion and kick it poguie style for the rest of the night.”

he noticed your eyes flickering else where. rafe appeared behind him , at the top of the stairs— right where you were headed. his blue eyes were easily recognizable as beyond pissed off. “i’m sorry. i gotta go,” you rushed out , watching rafe head to his bedroom, “maybe next time?” you didn’t mean it. you just didn’t want to be mean to jj.

jj turned , eyes following your frame as you skipped steps to make it upstairs faster. how could he forget that you were rafe’s girlfriend? he knew you guys were on and off , the whole island heard your arguments sometimes , but how did he forget? fucking idiot.

two it was about a month later. a month of catching your eye in public , a month of ranting to pope and john b. that’s where jj was at the moment. he called an emergency meeting with the boys at the chateau.

“dude , your little girlfriend is single now. just text her!” pope groaned , wishing the couch he laid on would swallow him whole. granted , he liked you ; you were always nice to him whenever he dropped groceries off at your house , but he was tired of hearing about you. in the nicest way.

jj rolled his eyes. “okay , first of all , she’s not my little girlfriend. second of all , your little girlfriend doesn’t exist. and third of all , i don’t have her number , nimrod!” they had exhausted all ideas to not get him rejected this time.

“i have her number,” john b piped up , swinging his phone in front of jj’s face.

“i’d kill someone for that number , bird shit. give it,” jj threatened , holding his hand out.

hey

who is this?

jj maybank

you can call me your next boyfriend if you want though

i’m okay! thx tho! maybe next time <3

three a week later , you ran into jj at the wreck. you were getting dinner with your parents before they left town for a week. something to do with work. “y/n?”

you closed your eyes and took a deep breath whenever whenever you put the voice to who it was. “y/n , do you know that boy?” your mother asked , nodding to jj who was walking towards your table. you nodded and put a smile on your face.

this was not happening.

“hey , y/n! i thought that was you,” jj smiled , grabbing a seat and sitting down. at the table. with your parents. “do you mind?” he asked , referring to him sitting.

your dad waved him off , standing to go get the bill , and your mother followed behind. what the hell? “hi , jj,” you state , trying your hardest to keep the blush from surfacing on your cheeks, “what can i do for you today?”

“a date. just one,” he answered prepared , like he was certain this was the time you were going to say yes.

you grimace , taking a deep breath before shaking your head. “me and rafe , like , just got back together,” you explained , feeling bad for jj at this point.

jj let his head drop to the table , being dramatic as always. “when are you gonna give me a chance? you’ve given cameron like fifty!” it was a joke. you knew that , and you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing a little bit.

“well , maybe next time?” you suggested , catching the eyes of your parents who looked ready to leave, “gotta go. parents waiting on me. see ya around , j!” you bid him goodbye , standing up and squeezing his shoulder before you left.

four you and sarah had plans to go to the beach and watch the baby sea turtles hatch. lo and behold , jj was on the beach with his friends , surfing. “oooh , your boyfriend is here!” sarah laughed at you , using her little singy song voice she always did when she teased you about jj.

she was the only one that you admitted to about liking jj a little bit. “shut up! he’ll hear you and come over—“

“john b!” she was already calling her secret lover over and waving the other boys over too.

“you’re dead. you’re so dead,” you whispered , plastering a smile on your face as they all arrived, “hey , guys!” they all stood above you and sarah as you were both lounging in the sand.

“y/n , you wanna go on a date?” jj asked , scratching his head like the idea just came to him.

everyone laughed , looking to you , waiting for you to finally say yes. sarah had been talking to john b about the whole situation , giving him intel on ways jj could convince you , and he was bitching about how jj wouldn’t shut the hell up about you.

“no , jj,” you sighed , standing up and brushing yourself off before picking your bag off the ground and walking away. you heard sarah whine your name , but you didn’t bother looking back.

you can hear the shuffling of sand coming closer to you and assumed it was her. “is he stupid?” you groaned , continuing to walk, “i mean , like , why can’t he ask me nicely? like , it’s not hard to fucking do some big gesture or , like , make it romantic! fuck!” you slowed and turned back to look at sarah , needing some confirmation you weren’t crazy for wanting a little more than asking you out at a party or in front of your friends. that’s when you actually stop and see jj walking behind you — not sarah. your could feel your heart sink to your stomach. “are you kidding me?” you just shook your head and turned back around , cheeks hot and tears starting to trickle down your face. how embarrassing?

five sarah had advised john b to tell jj to leave you alone. for awhile , if not indefinitely. you had called her crying later that evening , wailing on about how embarrassing that was for you. you understood that it was you that had said all of that to jj , but it was equally embarrassing that he had asked you out in front of your friends so casually. did he think he didn’t have to try? and again the next morning , still just as distraught over the situation as you were the night before.

“it’s just that after rafe everyone just thinks i don’t have standards , sare. like , i know me and rafe weren’t good all of the time , but at least he tried to be romantic. that’s more —“ as you were ranting you could hear people downstairs in your house , which shouldn’t have been happening considering your parents were at work. “i think there’s someone in my house.”

“what?” sarah asked , standing up from her own bed and going to look out her window to check your house herself, “oh , no.”

“what?” it was your turn to ask.

sarah couldn’t believe jj right now. a smile made its way onto her face ; she knew this was good. “i would go downstairs if i was you,” she suggested , hanging up the phone.

you knew you were somewhat safe is sarah gave you the go ahead , but you still crept around to the staircase slowly. you could hear the chattering off people more clearly and them moving around your house like it was their own. “i have a gun!” you lied, “so you better leave!” your voice was loud from the beginning , trying your best to scare whoever or whatever it was downstairs before continuing your trek.

and that’s when you saw it. there were a handful of people moving flowers into your house that was already practically full of them , and jj was there conducting everything. “okay people , her dad said that she usually goes for a walk on sunday mornings , so i think we’re losing daylight here! we gotta get this place full before she gets home!”

you kept walking down the stairs , eyeing your favorite flowers moving in in bundles and filling the floor. “jj?” you called out , not bothered by the fact that you were still in your pajamas , your hair not ready , and no makeup on your face. was this actually happening? “what is this?” you asked , walking to him when he turned at your voice.

“oh , fuck!” jj whined , throwing his hands up in the air, “you weren’t supposed to be here!”

“this is my house!” you laughed, “what are you doing?”

jj turned to the side a little , calling at the people moving throughout your house to take a break. “this was supposed to be all romantic and shit or whatever , and you were supposed to come home and it was all done. fuck—“ he was rambling at this point , hands running through his blonde locks. “i was gonna be all swooney and swift of your feet-y and shit!” he added , pointing at you like you should know what he’s talking about.

“what are you doing , jj?” you asked again , stepping another shy step closer.

“i’m asking you out on a date. a proper one and all,” he finally answered , ocean eyes boring into your glossy ones. this was too good ; you didn’t deserve this. not after what happened on the beach. “so , whaddya say? gonna let me take you out for real?” he asked with a soft shrug.

your jaw dropped to start speaking , but no words came out. you blinked hard a couple of times , trying to wake yourself up from this dream. that’s what it had to have been. “i — this is the cutest thing anyone has ever done for me , jj. yes , i’ll go on a date with you.”

“oh , thank god,” he breathed out , hand clutching at his chest, “i swear i thought about just moving away if you rejected me another time , sweetheart.”

taglist @hotvampdragon @vivian-555 @eivyyy-mstr @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

ahhh here it is! show me that it’s not terrible please<3 it’s not proofread yet , but once i put out the next black cat!reader work it will be:)

#black cat!reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank smut #outerbanks jj #bsf!sarah

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rafeysbafey · 1 year ago

Text

✮ burnt pancakes — jj maybank

summary: jj being pussy whipped for his girl

warnings: allusions to sex, inappropriate jj (cmon tho)

word count: 0.5k

inspired by this tiktok

you had woken up early from jj’s snoring, having to wiggle out of his grasp in order to get away.

you decided to make pancakes for the pogues, grabbing all the ingredients john b had, which was a surprise, and cooking up a batch.

the door behind you creaked, causing you to whip your head around to see sarah and jb, the two groggily saying good morning before sitting at the counter.

“is mom making pancakes?” john b asked, causing you to snicker as sarah hit his arm.

“what he meant to say was thank you,” she mumbled, ending the sentence with a yawn as john b tsked.

the three of you made light conversation as they watched you cook, pope joining a few minutes later announcing that kie would be swinging by.

you were all talking about who knows what when jj came stalking out, his eye’s immediately falling on your figure.

you were wearing one of his T-shirts that practically drowned your body in fabric, with a pair of his boxers.

smirking to himself at the thought of last nights activities, he made his way over to where you stood.

“oh! morning babe,” you chirped when his arm snaked around your waist, the boy leaning over to peck your lips before leaning against the counter to watch.

“speak of the devil,” john b mumbled, sending jj a teasing smile as the blonde flipped him off.

“how’d you two lovebirds sleep?” sarah asked, catching you off guard as you flipped three pancakes over.

“uh—good?” you answered but it sounded more of a question. you heard the couple snicker along with pope who sat on the couch, causing you to look at jj.

jj gave you a shrug in response, confused as well.

“do any…cardio?”

cardio? what does that mean-

your face dropped as you realized what she was referring to, your face heating up as you dropped it in embarrassment.

“ohhh,” jj sighed, coming back over to you as he hugged you from behind, squeezing your waist momentarily before saying—“you guys heard?”

“jj!”

“what?! im just asking the lady!”

sarah burst out laughing as john b pretended to throw up in disgust, your face turning many shades of red as you hid it in your hands.

“jj is pussy whipped,” john b said, a teasing tone laced in his words as you groaned in annoyance.

“hell yeah i am,” he responded, abruptly bending you over the counter before taking hold of your waist and pretending to thrust into you.

“jj!” you gasped, hitting him in the chest before pointing your finger at him.

“gross guys!” pope called from where he sat.

“guys?! i didn’t do anything!” you tried defending.

“y/n-”

“no jj, you lost the privilege to talk,” you scolded, watching john b and sarah’s eyes widen as you furrowed your brows.

“y/n the pancakes are burning.”

before you could respond, the fire alarm went off and you turned around to face a heap ton of smoke.

“shit!”

#jj maybank imagines #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x you #jj mayback x reader

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yoongis-black-grilfriend · 7 months ago

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Mothers Night Out

Warnings: SMUT, oral, lactation, toxic! rafe, car sex, penetrative sex, and breeding.

Ring Ring Ring

The sound comes blaring as you're face down in your pillow, head pounding a mile a minute. The ringtone continues to jingle you answer and put the phone to your ear.

“Hell-” You try to answer before the voice on the other line starts, “Why the hell am I over here watching our children while you're running around as if you don’t have any responsibilities in life?” The voice quickly cut in as you rolled your eyes.

“Rafe, it was one night out, what are you on about-” You were cut off again, the man on the other line not wanting to hear that. “NO, you told me that you were going to hang out with friends; NOT those fucking pogues and you know that”.

“Those pogues are my friends.” You start to say before he cuts you off, in his frustration.

“I don’t care. Get ready” he snapped. Before you could say anything else, the dial tone reached your ears as you sat up in the bed you were lying in, which happened to be John B's.

Ever since you became a mother you were dedicated to taking care of your children trying to be the best mother you could be for your little girls. You sacrificed everything for them, including your well-being. Your friends thought it would be a good idea to hang out last night since you have yet to have the time to genuinely hang out just as a group. Last night was fun. You all piled in John B’s living room playing drinking games and catching up on everything social that you might have missed.

“How are you doing in here sleepy head?” JJ leaned up against the door with a smile. “My head is killing me” You respond, messaging your head. “Well sorry to break it to you but your baby daddy is outside, so your hell awaits you”

“Ha ha, you are so funny.”

Gathering your things you throw a pillow at his head which he dodges with a smirk. “Kiss the girls for me!” He yells behind you as you make your way towards John B's door. “Will do!”

Wanting to say goodbye to everyone else you were met with disappointment as they were all still asleep. Walking out the door you are met with the father of your children leaning against a black truck with your door already opened.

Climbing into the truck, you close the door with Rafe following behind you. Looking behind you, you expect to see your baby girls in the back but you just met with their car seats. Looking to Rafe you ask. “Where are Whisper and Clover?” Looking at you he shakes his head.

“They're with Rose since you want to act like they don't exist.” “Rafe please don’t do this for the past six months I have been held up in the house” you breathe in, tears threatening to fall. “Taking care of our girls day in and day out so please don't act like me hanging out with my friends for one night makes me a terrible mother”

Regret flickers across his face as he reaches across the armrest and he takes your face in his hands, expression softening. “I didn't know you felt this lovely, I’m sorry I treated you that way. I was just upset because I thought you didn't want to spend any time with me.”

Moving his hands under your skirt to your thighs you gasp as his fingers barely graze your skin. His touch sends shivers down your spine and Rafe notices this with a smirk on his face. “Have I been neglecting you, baby?” He teases.

Pulling your legs apart, his tongue runs along your inner thighs while your breath starts to get shallow, sending a jolt of electricity through you. “Please Rafe” You gasp as he continues sticking his tongue out it quickly dips into your folds, your head hitting the car window. His tongue moves at a regular pace while you feel your skin getting inflamed with the pleasure that you are receiving from your core.

Moving his head from side to side he groans as he pulls your hips impossibly closer to his face. “C'mon baby give it all to me.” “Ohhh fuck.” you groan, your body trembling with desire, as he pulls his head closer in between your legs your stomach starts to form a knot.

“Please- please don't stop” you begged, Rafe moaning into your pussy as you started to shake with your heels digging into his back. “I’m cumming, fuck!’ Crying out your back is arched as your white spot starts to blur your vision. Waves of pleasure begin to wash over you through your climax.

“Get in my lap lovely” Rafe murmurs. Blinded by the orgasm you just had you let him guide you into his lap, with his pants unzipped and his length hard as you feel it nudge your walls as you place your hand on your shoulders.

Bending his head he latches his mouth to your nipple gripping your hips as the sweet taste of your nectar fills his mouth greedily taking it in as he moves his cock inside of you as you slowly move back and forth on his lap.

Detaching his lips he attaches his mouth to yours and as you inhale the slight sweet taste of your milk you take his tongue in your mouth. His hips match your rhythm with the car moving side to side due to the impact of Rafe's thrust, each one bringing us closer to the edge.

“You are perfectly lovely please make me cum, inside of you let me give you another baby please!” he begs, tightening his hold on your hips. “Give me another daddy cum deep inside of me!” Gasping for breath, you wrap your arms around his neck burying your head in his shoulder. your orgasm splashing between the two of you, as Rafe’s cum fills you up.

With your mind in its dizzy state, Rafe guides you back to your seat buckling your seatbelt and finally pulling out of the chateau.

*Ding* The notification sound draws you to your phone and your face turns red with the message you read as Rafe busts out with laughter after reading the message on your phone.

JJ🦾:”I hope you know WE all saw that…“

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

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It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 9 ] || [ Chapter 11 ]

Pairing: Ghost x gn!Reader || 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.7K~ Tags: NO SMUT, simon is a flirt, first kiss, simon has a PIERCING, simon needed to be held okay? Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: ghost HAS MADE THE MOVE.

Chapter 10: SIMON?!

You had entered the pub looking for someone who you didn’t know. Unlike with John, you didn’t even have a picture of Simon’s face to go off of.

Not that you had needed one. Going inside and scanning the room, you immediately spotted a tall, blond man with a black mask holding a tumbler of whiskey. He was leaning against a back wall by the dartboard, one foot propped up on the wall behind him.

Tall, blond, and a fan of Bourbon. Check, check and check.

You had made your way over almost immediately, being greeted with a squinting of his eyes and a dipping of his head off to the side.

“You look good.” He had said before raising a finger in the air and spinning it, beckoning you to give a little spin. Which you did.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” You had retorted as he pulled away from the wall and guided you to the bar, one hand on your shoulder, so he could pay you for the drink, as you had so salaciously demanded on Tinder.

After that, he took you outside, to a table in the corner of the outdoor area of the pub. He parked himself on a lone armchair, legs spread and his position relaxed, spine curled ever so slightly, to make him take up less space. As if that’s somehow possible.

Then, Simon tapped his palm on his lap, beckoning you to sit, which you did without question. His hand circled around your waist, pulling your back to press against his chest.

He felt you press your ass back against his bulge, which earned you a dark rumble of a chuckle right into your ear. “Not as shy as I expected you’d be.” He had whispered.

“You’re the one who made me sit on your lap.” You had retorted as you looked back at him, only to get your head swiveled forward once more by his firm hand on your jaw.

“Eyes forward.” He had demanded. “I wanna drink in peace.” He had told you. He was bossy, but not exactly in a bad way.

“I guess that answers my question.” You had told him as you sipped from your own glass. Behind you, Simon did the same. You could hear the ice clinking against the glass as he dipped the tumbler back to sip from.

“Which one?” He had asked after a wet swallow of his drink and smacking his lips lightly.

“If you were going to wear the mask.” You had answered.

“It’s for your own benefit.” He had retorted.

“How’s that?” You had asked, daring to turn back to look at him, only to be stopped by his firm hand on your jaw, correcting your gaze away again, wordlessly.

“I’m not exactly a pretty sight under this.” He had told you. “Would rather not scare you off.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.” You had retorted. “And I doubt you could scare me off.” You added. “Though…” You had trailed off, thinking for a moment. “I won’t deny that if you’re like… super disfigured I might have a bit of a reaction to it at first.” You had told him sincerely.

That had earned you another rumble of a laugh behind you as he leaned in, pressing his chest a bit more against your back.

“Tell you what.” He had said softly in your ear. “I’ll let you have a glimpse soon enough, if the night ends up going the way I wish for it to.”

After a few hours getting to know each other, in which Simon kept up his promise of being honest within reason, you ended up at a McDonald’s parking lot, eating greasy food in the front seat and talking some more about all sorts of things.

You told him about your ex, about your family, about work, about your current obsessions in a certain TV show, a certain videogame, a certain actor… And he returned with his own. Who would’ve thought that this mysterious, sort of strange, guy would like Pedro Pascal?

He made you laugh, his sense of humour extremely morbid and sarcastic and his deliveries deadpan, but just smart enough to draw laughter out of you… And whenever you retorted with a smartass comment of your own, you swore you saw him smiling… Even if the mask was in the way, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

And you made sure to dutifully look away when he loosened his neck gaiter at the bottom, in order to stick fries and nuggets and his drink straw under it…

At midnight, you found yourself being dropped off at home… And just like it happened with John, you found yourself not quite wanting the night to end…

So you invited him upstairs.

It’s 5 A.M. when you find yourself waking up in his arms, stirring awake ever so slightly by his movement.

The sun is starting to rise, lighting the room ever so slightly, and making it so you can kind of see a few shadows of your furniture around the room.

Bleary-eyed and groggy, you rub your eyelids, finding Simon’s silhouette still next to you and looking at you.

“You alright?” You ask him softly, receiving a soft ‘Mhm’ in return. You pull yourself away from his arms, leaning up on one of your elbows to look at him.

“Had fun last night.” He tells you as he stretches a bit. “Should probably be heading back to base in a minute, though.”

Your bare leg rubbed lightly against his thigh which was still clad in denim, a consequence of the two of you having had some sort of… sleepover. That’s the best way of putting it.

“I’m glad. I had fun too… Weirdly enough.” You reply as you start to sit up in bed as well. “Never did think I’d end up getting… laid but… not. ‘Laid together in bed’, I guess?” You joke a bit, still too groggy to really make a joke.

“Can just call it cuddling.” He replies as he pulls the covers back a bit in order to sit up and turns on your bedside table lamp, lighting the room in a warm-toned orange-y light and casting shadows further toward the door and the hall.

He still has that neck gaiter of his on over his features, or… maybe he took it off and put it back on? You can’t be sure, you were asleep.

After coming home, you talked some more, played Mario Kart on your switch, watched a horror movie, during which he complained way too much about the realism of the blood splatter and the injuries… And then you kind of… cuddled to sleep.

“I think we both needed this.” You tell him as he nods his head. “Haven’t gotten a good cuddle in… well, ages… And you’re surprisingly comfortable.” You add.

“Definitely.” He tells you, his eyes squinting a bit again. “I… like you.” He admits.

“I… Thank you?” You reply as you sit up in bed next to him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“That felt wrong to say aloud. Felt a little bit like a little boy in the playground.” He admits and chuckles at himself.

“Yeah… Well… I like you too.” You reply and chuckle as well at how silly it feels to say it so openly.

“Of course you do.” Simon retorts, his tone still flat and deadpan even as he spoke himself up and acted cocky.

“Oh piss off, Simon… It’s too early to deal with your shit right now.” You grumble and nudge at him with your elbow.

“Oh, c’mon… You dealt with it all night last night.” He tells you as he leans over, getting his face close to yours, the neck gaiter just softly grazing against your shoulder.

“Shut up.” You reply, a smirk on your lips. His eyes crinkle into a smile as well, which makes your smirk soften into a little smile.

You gently grab his face with his hand which makes his eyes widen and, as a reflex, he grabs your wrist and stops you from pulling down/up his untucked neck gaiter and show you his face.

This had happened a couple times last night. One of which was you trying to tuck a corner of his mask into his neck had earned you a grab from him, that only relaxed when you explained your intentions.

He’s a deeply mistrusting person, you’ve noticed… And you are strangely intrigued by it.

“Relax.” You tell him. “I’m not going to pull it off.” You assure him once more, which makes him relax.

Instead, you lean forward and press a kiss to his cheek, right on the edge where the mask meets his cheek, your lips softly brushing the stitching of the top of the gaiter.

His breath hitches and his eyes close for a moment, seemingly basking in the warmth of your little kiss.

As you pull back, his eyes snap open again and he rushes forward, grabbing your whole jaw with his large, rough hand before pulling your whole face toward him once more.

His other hand moves the gaiter up just enough to capture your mouth in his, but not enough to earn you a glimpse of his features.

His mouth is warm, his lips chapped and dry to shit, and his tongue is… Is that a piercing? Your eyes double in size when your tongue rubs against the cold metal nubs of his barbell piecing.

Simon’s eyes are open too, the corners crinkled in amusement at your shocked reaction. He keeps his grip on your jaw as your eyes slowly fall closed, giving into the kiss.

It’s completely different compared to John’s kisses, or Ethan’s back when you were together. Simon kisses like he wants to take your breath away.

After a moment, he pulls back, the neck gaiter quickly falls back down to cover his face and when your eyes open, it’s as if nothing happened. Simon is up on his feet, putting on his boots and leather jacket.

“We should do this again.” Simon tells you. “I’ll text you.” He adds and winks at you before turning and walking out of your room.

After a moment, you hear the front door of your apartment close and there you are, left sitting in bed, blinking away the shock.

taglist: @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak , @wittleespur

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#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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ornateorchid · 9 months ago

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poly!141 x reader but when they come home from a mission, you're unable to take off work the following day :(

a/n: yes, this is a repost. i accidentally deleted it instead of making it private so i could fix something.

cw: domestic fluff, gn!reader, gaz and soap are clingy but in a cute way

they often get home at night, so it's not unusual for you to take off the following day. but this time was different.

whether it be a work party or an upcoming project, you were unable to take the day off. you knew your boys would be upset, but you were sure they would understand. they were excited to spend time with their lover after they came home from the grueling mission, so they were understandably dissapointed when they found out. but you weren't going to risk losing your job or an upcoming promotion, and they knew that.

so that is how you found yourself in the bathroom at 7 in the morning, brushing your teeth while your four companions are sleeping in the alaskan king-sized bed. they have no problem staying asleep despite the sound of running water as you get ready for the day. you were lucky that your alarm didn't wake any of them, or so you thought. moments after you finish rinsing your mouth out, kyle shuffles his way into the bathroom and stands in front of the toilet, where he shucks his pants down to relieve himself.

"kyle," you groan, "there's another bathroom, y'know?"

" 'm aware," he grumbles. "this one was just closer. and you're in here," he says as he finishes up his business and makes his way over to where you're standing in front of the sink. he rests his chin on your shoulder and snakes his arms around your side to wash his hands. he takes his time scrubbing his palms together, making sure the soap is all over his hands and between his fingers, before turning the water off. he reaches over to grab the hand towel, but he doesn't leave after he hangs it back up. instead, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses soft and light kisses against your neck.

"don't want you to go," he mutters. "stay in bed and cuddle."

"kyle, i have to," you tell him as you turn around in his arms and lean against the countertop. he leans forward, pressing his body against yours, and rests his head in the crook of your neck. "now go back to bed, or you're going to be grouchy," you insist.

he inhales your scent and gives you one last squeeze before reluctantly following your orders and making his way back towards the bedroom. you finish up in the bathroom before heading to the bedroom to change out of your pajamas. you notice that john and simon are no longer in bed, and kyle and johnny are cuddled up against each other. you grab your phone to take a quick picture of your boys before changing. once you're dressed and ready to go, you place a kiss against each of their cheeks.

the scent of eggs, coffee, and tea fills your nose as you exit the bedroom. you hear quiet chatter coming from the kitchen, which is where you are headed. you walk in to find john at the stove with simon behind him, his arms wrapped around the other man's waist, much like kyle's when you were in the bathroom. you smile at the two before moving towards the island, where there's a plate of bacon, eggs, and a mug filled with tea. simon is the first one to notice your presence.

"good morning, love," he greets. john turns around in his arms and flashes you a tired smile.

"morning," he mumbles.

"morning guys, what are you both doing up?" you ask as you take a sip from the mug sitting on the island.

"simon woke up when kyle left the bed and asked if i wanted some breakfast," john answers. "i was already awake so there was no point in saying no. plus, you and the boys deserve some breakfast as well."

"well, thank you," you say. the three of you continue to make small talk until john and simon finish cooking. johnny and kyle make their way into the kitchen not long after.

"thought i told you to go back to bed," you tell kyle, to which he rolls his eyes.

"johnny was the one who wanted to get up, and that bed is lonely when there's nobody else in it," he replies. you hum and nod before being crushed by johnny in a bear hug.

"missed you this morning, didn't even get a proper kiss!" he whines. you giggle and give him a quick peck on the lips before rubbing his back.

"didn't want to wake you," you justify, and he tsks.

"that's the whole point of a good morning kiss," he states. the five of you chat while finishing your breakfast and washing dishes, and the next thing you know, it's time for you to head out.

"have a good day at work, love," simon says as he places a kiss against your forehead. you give him a sweet smile and nod.

"yeah, we'll miss you," johnny says with a pout.

"it's only 8 hours, don't worry," you assure him, and he huffs.

"you're gonna have to make it up to us later," he replies, and you chuckle.

"and you're going to have to make it up to me for being gone for almost a month," you say before giving him a peck on the lips. you make your way around the room and kiss everyone before grabbing your bag and keys and heading out. they all watch out the window like sad puppies as you get in your car and wave goodbye.

they totally didn't mope around all day until you got home.

banner creds: @cafekitsune

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bitterrfruit · 10 months ago

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you re-enlist

And Captain John Price absolutely doesn't want you to. He begrudgingly takes you to his office to sign the paperwork - and shows you what your decision has brought you.

18+ MDNI - 5k words

tags: John Price x f!Reader, power play, oral and vaginal sex

a/n: To get some content on here I've pulled this from my longfic Licking Wounds on Ao3. Trimmed/tweaked it a little to make them tumblr friendly :)

“Just... let me sign what I need to.” You breathed, exasperated.

Captain Price sat behind his desk, leaning back insouciantly in his chair, bouncing his knee in irritation. His cautious and tired eyes flitted between yours, considering his words before he spoke.

“This is your last chance to change your mind.” He grunted.

You sucked your teeth frustration. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“You should.”

“Why? Will my presence really be that fucking draining for you?”

He quickly absorbed your sudden anger, mirroring it as he stood from his chair, leaning against the surface of his desk on white knuckles.

“You know that’s not what this is about.”

His tone was by turn seething and pleading, glowering at you with gruelling severity.

You scoffed. “Oh, so it would be.”

“For fuck’s sake, don’t be childish.”

“Childish?”

Evidently fed up with your petulant bickering, his head dropped from his shoulders as he grunted in frustration. “I just... I can’t understand why you’d come back to this.”

“You can’t?”

“You had the chance to get away from it. You got out.”

“Got out. You think I got out, do you? That once I got shipped back to London I was done with it all?” You groaned, impatient. “Just let me sign the goddamn paper."

There was visible dispute burgeoning behind his lips, but he stayed silent – leaning forward to tug open one of the drawers of his desk. He pulled out a pad of blank paper forms, hesitantly but methodically tearing one sheet free along the perforated line. He flipped it, placing it down on the wooden surface and twisting it so it faced you, pushing it towards the edge in your direction with his fingertips.

He plucked a ballpoint pen from the steel mesh cup on the edge of the desk, before dropping it on top of the paper form with a quiet clack.

Crossing his arms, he stood upright with a huff and watched you scrutinisingly; glare challenging yet reluctant.

You quietly swallowed, stepping abashedly towards the desk and leaning over it, holding the pen between your fingers and pensively clicking the end of it with your thumb.

Jaded eyes scanned each word, the tip of the pen trailing each line as you read. You checked box after box, writing down the answers to probing questions as though you were completing an exam under the shrewdly watchful eye of your professor. Existing health conditions, current medication, family lineage, previous rank, promotable status. It would almost be nostalgic, answering questions such as these again, for the first time since you were promoted to sergeant four years ago – if it didn’t carry such painful weight, and weren’t so rife with sordid history.

The nib of your pen met that dotted line, finally, at the bottom of the form. Your eyes looked at the conditions and implications of your signature, that thick paragraph above the box, though not a single word was absorbed by your busy mind. It didn’t matter – you knew the consequences of that pen meeting the paper. Even if the Captain wished it, signing your life back into the hands of the SAS was not something that could be easily revoked.

He seemed to relish hopefully in your hesitation, his breath slowing as he watched you consider, pen hovering cautiously over the paper.

You briefly glanced up at him, from under your challenging eyebrows, meeting his eye. His stiff gaze wordlessly pleaded with you, his mouth in an austere line.

Steadfast, you ignored his silent dispute.

You signed the dotted line.

There.

Done.

No backing out now.

A soldier again.

You were astonished at the adrenaline a mere signature could pump from your heart, quivering with it, as you dropped the pen to the desk and stood upright.

His steely eyes did not leave you, face replete with a medley of discernible emotions; ire, anxiety, remorse, solemnity. Arms still crossed firmly over his chest, you listened as his heaving lungs drew in a deep, exasperated breath.

He licked his teeth before he spoke.

“That’ll be all then, Sergeant.”

He dismissed you bluntly, coarse voice dripping with derision. A crease formed in your forehead, taken aback by his sudden dismissal, breath hitching at his use of your rank instead of your name; sergeant, a title he hadn’t referred to you by in two years.

It was as though he was satisfied, doing his best to show you what your decision had brought you, to make you regret it. You were his subordinate again. Just his sergeant.

“I knew you’d enjoy it in the end, Captain.” You seethed, tone draped in sardonicism, an immediate retaliation.

His brow furrowed as he looked down his nose at you. “Enjoy what, eh?”

“You finally get to order me around again, don’t you?”

“You-”

“Am I dismissed? Or are you going to command me to drop and give you fifty?” You growled pettishly, scowling up at him. “It must’ve been hard, not being able to command me to do your bidding while I was a civilian. But that didn’t stop you from trying, did it?”

He grunted, an increasingly enraged sigh escaping his chest. “I didn’t want to be giving you orders again.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, I didn’t. Just because you don’t know what to do with yourself when you’re not being commanded to do it, doesn’t mean I’ve been waiting for the chance to.”

A kick to the stomach, you worried you’d lose your balance with the blow.

Grimacing at him, you stepped your weight onto your back foot in reaction to his venomous accusation.

“Fuck you.”

You hissed it through your teeth, unable to conjure up any intelligent rebuttal, only lashing out with the reprisal that your frenetic emotions scrambled together.

He sniffed irately, adjusting his arms over his chest.

“Can’t talk to your captain that way, Sergeant.”

Your jaw hung loose in disbelief, overcome with a cold rage that made your body quake as it flooded your arteries.

“Fuck you,” you repeated wryly, daring. “Are you going to order me not to talk back to you, sir? You prick?”

He glared at you with challenging contempt.

“You want me to give you an order, do you?”

“I want you to get off your fucking high horse.”

“Yeah? Am I too honourable?”

“Honourable? You’re a sanctimonious p–”

He put his hands on his hips, brashly sucking his teeth before he interrupted you.

“Take off your shirt.”

His hoarse command pierced the thick air like a bullet.

The wind was viciously sucked from your lungs, then, your racing heart jolted under your ribs with such voltage it felt as though you had been shocked by a defibrillator. You could only stare at him, stupid, waiting for him to relent, to take it back, to say that he was kidding.

His expression, now, was unreadable. You weren’t certain whether he was purposefully keeping his countenance devoid of emotion – or, if, you had abruptly lost any and all ability to understand him or his intentions.

He was a stranger, but a familiar one. A captivating one.

Before you could stammer out a semblance of a response, he continued.

“That’s the sort of order you’ve been wanting from me, isn’t it?” He goaded darkly, seemingly smug at his ability to render you flustered and wordless with one short sentence.

Dumbstruck, still, you could only swallow a pointed breath as you desperately tried to read any clear objective in his shrouded blue eyes.

“Go on.”

He’s not kidding.

“You wanted an order, I gave you one.”

Fuck.

You were completely staggered by the whiplash. Your distended heart thumped so vigorously in your chest you thought it might crack a rib.

There was a conviction within you, somewhere, to question him. To question if he was being serious, to ask him if this was some kind of sick joke to make you regret your decision.

And while you believed that was the case, that it was a derisive retribution, a game to get back at you – there was a stronger urge to play along. To meet his challenge, to execute his dare.

Meeting his indignant gaze with yours, you tucked your fingers under the hem that sat between your waist and hips, peeling it up your torso and stretching it over your shoulders, then past your head. Sweeping your loosened hair out of your face, you held the thin black fabric in the other hand before dropping it to the linoleum floor. You shivered a little in the cool air of the room, your stiffening nipples concealed by the cups of your rarely-worn grey marl brassiere – practical and unsexy.

But the look on his face was telling; he hadn’t truly expected you to comply.

That surprise waned quickly. His dark eyes tried their best to hold your stare, but they failed him – raking over your torso, jaw clenching as his gaze stuck brazenly to your exposed cleavage.

Trembling with adrenaline, you waited for him to say something. Anything.

You expected dispute; you anticipated he’d say, I wasn’t serious. And that would be a satisfying reaction – your effort to make him uncomfortable would prove a success, a victory, you’d have the last figurative word.

He wiped down his face with an open hand, rubbing his beard anxiously as he wrestled with what to say, how to react – maybe some attempt to restrain himself. He leaned against the surface of the desk, resting his weight on his knuckles.

Through gritted teeth, he uttered his next command.

“Bra.”

You swallowed timorously.

It was surreal, really, you worried you were hallucinating – you imagined that in reality he was shouting at you to stop, but you were unable to hear him over your carnal psychosis.

But it was too late now, to stop yourself. You were driven to finish what you started. Changing your mind now, pulling your shirt back over your head and running out the door – would leave you questioning whether any of it was real. You wouldn’t survive in that oblivion, between reality and dream, fact and fantasy.

You needed proof.

You reached behind your back, contorting your shoulders to allow your fingers to grip the clasp against your spine. Your breasts pillowed out of the top of the soft cups as you stretched the band to unhook it, before slipping the straps down your shoulders. It slid from your chest, down your arms, gently – it, too, fell to the floor; you dropped it on top of your abandoned t-shirt.

You drew in a quivering breath, the skin of your breasts tingling as the goosebumps elicited by their exposure trickled across their soft flesh.

He sucked in a heavy breath, deep and slow, rugged and rasping. He took a step, and you retracted slightly; but you watched like cautious prey, as he walked around from the far side of his desk, to the front of it. He leaned on the very edge of the surface, not quite sitting on it, as he insouciantly crossed one boot over the other. His lascivious eyes did not leave you, absorbing every feature, every curve, like he was admiring an artwork.

Despite the metre and a bit of distance from him, you felt the dense heat that hung in the air between the two of you, radiating from him like he was a fucking oven.

“Trousers.”

A brief conflict almost escaped you, but he quickly smothered it.

“Off.”

Whatever reluctance that lingered melted away, then, dripping off of you like a layer of sticky ice cream – by virtue of the unwavering sternness of his command. And that, you realised, was where your comfort lay; where there was no ambiguity, no remorse for a poorly made decision, no culpability for your actions. If you were following an order, the onus was on him.

So you followed it.

Your kittenish fingers went to the button of your grey cargo trousers, popping it undone, slyly pulling down the zip of your fly. You flayed back the open waistband, pushing them down your hips, struggling briefly to pull them past your ass; its recent plumpness made your pants a touch too small. The polyester fabric loudly shuffled in the distended silence as the trousers fell down your legs, into a puddle at your feet; you stepped out of them as though out of a pond.

By the time you looked up to meet his gaze once again, though, he had already charged at you; quickly taking the base of your head with large hands and pulling you towards him. He forced his eager lips against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, such an aggression that your first primal instinct was to resist him with claws against his chest.

But you were quick to surrender to him, relishing in the taste of him, his tongue, his breath hot in your mouth, you sucked it deep into your chest. Your starving hands coiled up and around his neck, scratching at the tense muscles in his heaving back through the fabric of his uniform jersey; hooking into him in some feline effort to make sure he was real, to prevent his escape, to keep him from being stolen away.

His mouth wasn’t on yours for long, though, dragging wetly across your jaw to your neck, the crook of your shoulder; he chewed at your soft, fervid skin, teeth skimming and barely digging into the tendonous flesh. His vicious hands gave you no reprieve, clutching at any part of you that could force you closer, tighter against him – ensnaring the meat of your hips, your waist, kneading at your sensitive breast with the other.

He separated from you only briefly, though his possessive hands didn’t leave you. Crouching slightly, he hooked his arms behind your thighs, under your ass – deftly hoisting you upwards with no visible effort. You clutched the back of his neck, wrapping your legs around his hips to maintain your balance as he lifted you, turning on his heel and carting you towards the desk. He quickly used a free hand to sweep aside the papers, flinging them to the floor in a confetti; he put you down hastily, keeping you close, the cold surface of the varnished wood biting at your bare skin.

He gave you a transitory respite, carefully checking your face before he went any further; likely ensuring you weren’t crying this time, that he hadn’t crossed an unspoken boundary. Whatever look you gave him in return was outside of your control or perception – but it was an invitation, evidently.

He dove down to kiss you again, but fleetingly – his savage lips trailed down from yours, biting their way along your jaw, down your neck, across your collarbone. You leaned back slightly on the desk to allow his avid venture, his ravenous mouth biting and suckling wherever it landed; drowning momentarily in the softness of your breast, cupping it with his wide hand to push the pillowy flesh against his face.

That wasn’t his final destination, though. His mouth only brushed over your nipple, sloppily kissing down your tensing stomach as he lowered himself to one knee, clutching your waist with both hands on his journey downward to hold you still. You felt your heart in your throat, in utter disbelief; you could only suck down jagged breaths as his lips grazed against your lower belly, just above your hip, teasing the elastic hem of your underwear. He gingerly kissed your mound through the thin cotton, controlling hands holding your hips by the bone.

Too rapacious to taunt you for long, he tugged sharply at the hips of your panties, leaning back so he could pull them down your thighs, over your knees, off your ankles. Your foot rested gently on his collarbone as he paused in apparent admiration, your exposed, spread pussy mere inches from his face; his breath despite its heat was cold against your wet, feverish skin. You felt embarrassed at his close inspection, his unashamed reverence – but his murky gaze broke away from your intimacy, instead meeting your eye. He wore an expression of unassailable pride, though cloaked in an avaricious hunger; he stared at you cruelly from under his brow, daring you to deny him.

Hitching your legs over his arms so that they rested on his shoulders, he clutched the side of your thigh with his mammoth hand while he pushed his lips into the inside of your leg, high enough, close enough, to make you quiver in desperate anticipation.

Piercing eyes still locked on yours, peering up from your eager flesh, his husky voice murmured deeply into your skin.

“Is this what you wanted?”

He jibed, almost a growl, as though teasing you for your recent behaviour – scolding you for acting out instead of asking for it, causing a scene instead of using your words like a grown-up.

Another kiss, higher, closer, teeth grazing the supple meat of your inner thigh, coarse beard prickling against the burning skin of the edge of your cunt.

You couldn’t think of the right answer, if there were such a thing, to his question – your head was by turn empty and running a million miles a minute. Really, you didn’t even know the answer.

Was it what you wanted? This entire time? Has it been what you wanted since the last time, in his barrack in Urzikstan? Since the gala? Or, even, since you met him?

Your answer left your wet throat before you had the sense to question it, or rationalise it.

“Yes.”

You breathed, a whisper, barely, almost a squeak. You weren’t certain that it was the truth, either – but it was what you wanted now, so it was honest in some sense.

With firm hands he adeptly tugged your hips so you perched precariously on the very edge of the desk, allowing him ease of access to you.

He cruelly denied you still, placing maliciously soft kisses against the slit of your pussy, torturing you with only a light pressure while you willed him to dive deeper. An ardent whimper fled your chest, quiet and pleading.

Whatever carnivore he was doing his level best to restrain escaped its prison at your sheepish sound; his monstrous hands dug deep into the flesh of your hips, maw lunging forward and pointed tongue parting your slick folds like he was searching for water. It dipped into you only briefly, a momentary taste of the dripping syrup he seemed to take pride in inducing from you – before he used it to glide up to your clit where it was nestled. With ravenous lips he suctioned it into his mouth, devouring you; dextrously chafing your sensitive bud with a flat tongue, maintaining a vacuum that made a dangerously loud and needy moan escape your throat.

He only hastened his torment in response, drinking you like he might die of thirst, breathing heavily through his nose so as not to allow you even a second of relief from the unbearable suction. Feverish claws clasped at the top of his head, running through his short hair and scratching at his scalp, holding his head where you wanted it. Your head hung back off your shoulders, briefly staring at the panelled ceiling before your eyes unwittingly fluttered shut, doing your best to swallow the choked cries that threatened to make the whole army base aware of your depravity.

Your constricting legs inadvertently tried to push him away, your body overwhelmed and desperate for a break from his ruthless consumption, almost too oversensitive to be pleasurable – but not quite. He restrained you tightly, though, not allowing you to flee from him for even a second; his firm hands controlled your hips with an alarming strength, head moving with you as though predicting the direction of your attempts at escape, mouth not separating from you once.

One hand retreated from your side, but to quickly prevent your bucking his constraining arm slithered over your lower stomach, clutching the far hip and using his elbow to hold you down to the desk. His free thumb, then, crept to your cunt under his chin. Despite how slick your skin was, drenched in both your clear sap and his saliva; the clenching muscles of your vagina were squeezed so tightly he had to push his thumb into you with effort, almost popping as it broke past your resistant entrance.

That seemed to weaken his resolve, the tightness of your muscles clamping around him rhythmically, in tune with the burgeoning, forcible orgasm that threatened to crash over you like a tidal wave; he released a ragged, resigned exhalation into your skin. You felt yourself beginning to drown in it, that swirling ocean. The floor, the desk, the room sunk in it, slipping away from you as your eyes rolled into the back of your head, only him keeping you afloat.

But he stopped, then, thumb begrudgingly slipping out from inside you, suddenly releasing his merciless suction and separating his wet mouth from your yearning pussy. You groaned in dispute, cut short, a sharp rush of air escaping your overwrought lungs.

“Not yet.” He grunted hoarsely, barely audible.

Brows twisted in pleading frustration, you looked down at him, meeting his frightening glare as he pushed himself to stand; beard glistening with the wetness of you, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” You whined breathily, panting as you watched him tower upright, looming over you in licentious authority.

“I’m not having you come yet.”

His injunction was authoritarian, uttered darkly, his rumbling voice so hoarse it sounded animalistic; a growl, a threat. He stood between your legs, still, you watched in quiet, anticipating obedience as his livid hands tore at his belt. Ferociously unbuckling it, as though it would fight against him – he tugged open the button of his trousers, ripping down the fly and unsheathing his rigid cock from his straining boxers; menacing, it dropped heavy out of the elastic waistband, the solid shaft landing against your ravening cunt with a hard, wet slap.

You winced slightly at the sore impact, and his humanity seemed to return to him momentarily; softening face inches from yours, his attentive blue eyes scanned your features for reluctance.

“Tell me no.” He urged throatily, “tell me no, and I’ll stop.”

A shaky breath seeped through your lips, your delirious gaze flitting between his eyes, lashes fluttering as you processed his promise.

“I don’t want you to stop, Captain.” You uttered weakly, entreating.

His careful eyes darkened quickly at your bashful plea, watching your lips form the syllables of his rank like you were stroking him with it. His dominant hands returned to your hips, then, clutching at the bone and lifting your pelvis so it was angled right, just where he wanted it.

His clouded glare didn’t leave yours, his fingers dipping into your saturated pussy as though scooping the viscous fluid that dribbled from you; you watched, beguiled, as he rubbed your juices up the thick shaft of his cock, coating the head in it, briefly unable to stop himself from fucking his fist, huffing carnally, while he was lubricated by your watery come.

With a tug of your legs that were coiled around his hips, you grounded him, impatient; his sinister gaze met yours again, watching your wanton expression as he obliged you and dragged the soft head of his cock down your slit, the cruel pressure against your agitated clit making your body twitch. He restrained your spasm with his free hand your waist, keeping your pelvis still, as the tip of his length nestled between your lips, pressing against your clenching entrance.

Gripping himself by the stiff base, he pushed past your tight opening with his full weight; stretching it tautly around the girth of his cock as he stuffed you with it. You let out a pained squeak as it abruptly filled you, ramming against your cervix with a pressure that made you flinch.

The sharp soreness briefly frightened you – you had been deprived of the sensation of that angry thickness inside of you, ever since…

You didn’t let your mind go back there, not for a second; your eyelids shot open, desperate gaze sticking hurriedly to your Captain, his riled and yet gentle expression bringing you back to him, rugged but soft hands holding your hips as he impaled you on the length of him. You clutched the fabric of his jersey tight over his chest, gripping his arms, his shoulders; keeping him real, corporeal, there with you. He let out a strained grunt as he pulled you down onto him, as deep as your insides would allow him to go, to the hilt; he held you there, forcing you to squirm.

Your delicate hands held his warm neck, leaning forward as you pulled his head down to kiss him; mouth open and tongue desperate to taste him again, to feel his hot breath against your face, the soft scratch of his beard on your chin. He returned your kiss, tender, compassionate – a stark juxtaposition to his ruthless incursion; rutting into you powerfully but methodically, slow but hard, deep enough to be painful.

But the hurt was translated by your aroused nerves into a bestial pleasure, using your goading legs to pull him further into you, you felt his cock push against your aching organs. It raked against your sodden walls on its way out, a slight sting as it dragged along your taut opening – before filled you again, abrupt, sharp; it forced a sweet cry from your fevered chest into his mouth. He grinned arrogantly against your lips, a ragged, breathy chuckle taunted you in response.

You separated from him, then, lying back over the surface of the desk; you arched your back, angling your hips so that his length beat your walls more viciously, wrapping your legs around his waist and clutching at the edge of the desk above your head with straining claws. Exposed to him now, on display, his thrusting only increased in vehemence, speed, depth; carnivorous hands digging into the meat of your hips as if you might slip away from him, forcing you down on him with each rut.

Eager for release, your fingers glided down your stomach, navigating diffidently to your clit; you drew wet circles over it, letting out a soft whine as you pleasured yourself with the rhythm of his accelerating thrusts.

“Shit.”

He groaned huskily at the sight of you fucking yourself on his cock, his face twisted into an exasperated rapture, forcing himself to slow down slightly so as not to push himself over the edge too quickly.

He stopped you, hastily; a stern hand tightly ensnaring your wrist and tearing your fingers from you. He pulled your arm upward, pinning it firmly to the wooden surface underneath you, holding your hand by your head. He leaned over you, then, making you watch as he held his free hand to his lips, spitting lecherously into his fingertips; they found your clit without needing to look, stroking the oversensitive spot inexorably, the pressure cruel and unrelenting. His head hung from his shoulders, mouth landing against the hot skin of your shoulder, placing gentle kisses along your collarbone as he ruined you.

The union of the two sensations – his cock, hard as stone, fucking into your stomach, and merciless fingertips tormenting your swollen clit; it surged within you, frayed nerves electrocuting you as your inevitable orgasm loomed, its delay rendering it incensed and sorely overpowering.

He must have felt the muscles of your walls clamping down on the length of him as it dawned on you, the change in the music of your sounds; aching whines growing louder, crawling from your labouring throat.

“You gonna come on me, are ya? Beautiful thing?”

He growled into your skin, only increasing the severity of his torture, relentless in his goal to finish you.

Your delirious tongue was unable to form a word in response, only releasing a high-pitched and arduous cry as your unforgiving orgasm collided with you, waves of carnal heat pulsing from the base of you, the muscles of your bullied pussy clenching tightly around his avid cock.

“That’s it.”

He grinned against your neck as he kissed you there, moving with you, allowing no escape.

“Good girl.”

With no apparent intention of slowing down to offer you a reprieve, he instead began speeding up, forcing you to squirm and shriek in dispute at the overstimulation. Your desperate, animal fingers clawed at his wrist, struggling to tear his stiff hand away from your cunt – but he relented, eventually, falling victim to his own pleasure as he shifted his focus to fucking you harder, deeper.

He scooped an arm under your back, lifting you just slightly from the surface of the desk as he hovered over you; the other hand holding the bone of your hip tightly, keeping it steady while he rammed you. You listened in rapture to his grunts of ecstasy, gentle hands clutching the back of his neck, nails grazing his hot skin as you coaxed him to chase his own release.

You pressed soft lips into his bearded cheek, comforting, reassuring him; and that seemed to do the trick, bringing him too close.

“Fuck.”

He groaned hoarsely in begrudging pleasure as he paused, for just a hesitant second, before reluctantly tugging his cock out of you and slamming the wet shaft of it it against your mound.

You panted heavily, holding your forehead against his, relishing in the sensation of his hot come shooting over your stomach, painting you; it dribbled down your sides, down the creases of your hips, dangerously close to your cunt. He winced against you, twitching involuntarily as he pushed the last of his semen out of the head, drooling onto your febrile skin.

You kissed him, again; he tenderly pressed his lips against yours in return as he took the moment to catch his breath. His mouth left yours after a moment and landed in the crook of your neck, his heaving body hung over you, propped up by his elbows on the desk under you. You felt him kiss under your ear, his warm breath and prickling beard sending a shiver down the nape of your neck.

You wanted to say something, anything – but there were no words you could think of to offer him. Gratitude? An apology? Your brain was fried, fucked into pliable mush.

Instead you lay in silence, embracing him for as long as it would last, doing your best not to consider the consequences that lay ahead of you as a result of such an unbelievably foolish lapse in judgement.

He’d been your captain for only a few minutes, and you had fucked him already.

And yet you wished the moment could last infinitely; savouring his gentle lips as they planted drowsy kisses on your neck, tired hands caressing your waist in what felt like wordless praise, a silent gratitude.

Despite the reservations, the guilt, the doubts that stormed around you, deafening; your thoughts encircled only one thing, one source of comfort.

He was your Captain again.

#john price #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain john price #cod fanfic #john price x you #captain price #captain price x reader #captain john price smut #john price eats pussy like he'd die of thirst fight me on that

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your-nanas-house · 11 months ago

Note

I have an idea for a smutty dark/Dom Tommy fic if you're open to writing it! I'm not sure on a plot but involing him wearing and keeping on his leather gloves, thank you in advance!!!

Yessssss, love it. Thank you so much! ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Not a virgin anymore

(credits to the owner of the gif)

◇ Pairing: Dark!Tommy Shelby X Finn's girlfriend!Reader

◇ Warnings: smut, age gap (both off age), fingering, dry humping, mean Tommy

◇ Summary: Tommy checks if Finn's girl is as pure as he claims.

◇ Note: Sorry if it took me so long. A huge thank you to @mrkdvidal1989 that helped me so much, you helped me so much with my mood and the writing of this. Thank you 😭 Also It's pretty much a collab.

“I think I wanna marry her” Finn informed his brothers without being able to hold back a bright grin, his eyes scanning them as he waited for a reply, any advice or.. a comment of any kind at least.

He knew that he was quite young to think about marriage, since he hit adulthood just two years before, but the emotions he felt for this young woman were true.

As no one opened their mouths to say something, just continuing to glance at each other, Finn spoke up again ”I fookin’ love her” his mood still so eager and happy.. like a puppy in love.

Still nothing, everyone was mostly waiting for Thomas to say something, but the older man kept staring blankly at his younger brother, seated on his armchair.. legs open and arms resting there, supporting his head and cigarette as if he was lost in thoughts.

“Nothing to say?” Finn asked, getting impatient, his eyes glancing between the older ones, Tommy and Arthur.

As the youngest brother got clearly frustrated, Arthur cleared his throat.

“Hmm… you fookin’ know her for how long, eh? Nearly six months?” he reminded his brother, mocking him before being interrupted quickly

“SO? When John married he didn’t even know Esme’s damn name!” Finn quickly pointed out, already getting riled up by the situation.

Fin always did that. Hating how his brothers treated him because of the age difference, completely oblivious to the fact that he… was acting very childish too often for Tommy to see him as an equal to John or Arthur.

His poorly thought-out decisions and lack of discipline when it came to listening to orders of his older brothers were playing a huge part in how Thomas viewed him.

”Have you thought about the responsibilities that come with becoming a Shelby, Fin? Have you already introduced them to your chosen one? Risk Our ways and how we deal with things?.. Have you thought about that? Huh?” He pressed, leaning forward as his patience ran short with how snappy Fin was. Lack of respect was just another thing he despised in his younger brother.

”I-I…” The young man stammered out, looking for any line to defend himself.. unsuccessfully, making Thomas scoff while putting out his cigarette into an ashtray.

”What’s her name again?...” He rasped out, his now free hand tapping impatiently against the fabric of the armchair, his cold gaze piercing his brother's face without a hint of any positive emotions.

“Y/n..Y/n Y/l/n” Finn replied in a murmur, his older brother’s comments affecting him more than he wished they would.

The name kept repeating in Thomas’ head, before a cocky amused smirk cracked his serious expression.

“Now I get why yer want to marry her” he chuckled bitterly leaning forward, face to face with Finn.

“She’s as good as her mother, eh?” he asked mockingly, pouring himself a glass of whiskey “You don’t marry whores, you just tame them, Finn. Am I right?” he asked his other two brothers with amusement in his voice, not really expecting an answer.

His mischievous mood changed quickly as Finn suddenly got up from his seat.

“She’s not!.. She’s not like her mother.. She's a good girl, goes to church, helps around and works in the local bakery." The youngest Peaky Blinder informed them, narrowing his eyes at Tommy’s reaction. Watching with a clenched jaw as the older man hummed mockingly, gulping fast down the strong drink before he spoke again, not changing his attitude.

“A good girl, huh… I bet”, making the other laugh at Finn as well.

“It’s true! You… I’ll make you fookin’ meet her”

It took him just a couple of days to organise a meeting between them, inviting them all to her house. It was a pretty cosy, little, modest house settled in Small Heath. Nothing fancy but it was visible that the people living there were doing their very best to keep it nice.

The male part of the family of Shelby's stood on the porch on the agreed day and time.

Their expensive suits looking odd contrasting with the domestic and homey look of the building and little wooden decorations standing in the garden.

Finn was smiling, standing at the forefront of the group while Arthur and John kept joking back and forth, in front of Tommy, whose face remained serious and uninterested as he waited.

After knocking on the door, they didn't have to wait long before an old woman, probably in her 60s, appeared in the doorway. A friendly smile lingering on her wrinkled face that looked great accompanied by the dark pink dress she wore.

”Good morning, Mister” She spoke up seeing Finn, earning a polite smile from him. They clearly had met each other previously, so she wasn't very alarmed by the sight of four men in suits standing at the door. “Good morning, nana” Finn greeted, removing his hat for respect, cleaning his shoes before entering the familiar house, heading directly towards the living room.

John was the next to enter the house, along with Arthur, a smirk still on his face due to the jokes they were sharing previously

“Good morning, na— Mrs. Y/l/n” he corrected himself quickly as Arthur slapped the back of his head “Be fookin’ polite” he murmured under his breath, smiling at the older woman before kissing her hand as he bowed his head slightly “Good morning, ma’am, thank you for inviting us into your house” he stated, winking before following the direction Finn took, not noticing the weird side eye Tommy gave him as he cleaned his soles before walking in as well with the same unbothered expression.

”Mornin’” Thomas nodded, keeping his cap on. After all he didn't come here for a tea, he had his own purpose.

Purpose of proving Finn how wrong he was when it comes to little Y/n.

The older woman’s eyes widened as she felt the weird, intimidating aura surrounding the middle brother. Mumbling her greeting, she quickly disappeared into the kitchen, chatting with Arthur and John as she put the kettle on the stove.

As Finn tried to head towards the same direction, Tommy's calloused hand grabbed his shoulder roughly. Turning him to face him, he leaned to his level. The serious and business expression on his face.

”I’m going to have a chat with your little fiancé, eh? You stay there and entertain the old woman and your brothers while I check if she is who you say she is.” he stated harshly in a fierce voice, his eyes glancing at the older woman and back at him before messing up his hair as if he was still a child.

Ignoring completely the worried expression on his face, because Thomas was aware that Finn knew better than to ask questions.

The younger brother stood still for a moment before nodding with a resigned expression, turning around and slowly walking away towards the kitchen. Practically leaving his girlfriend in the lion's mouth.

It was Tommy’s first time in that house so he didn’t really know where to go, luckily for him Y/n’s soft voice led him to what it looked like a small studio. A pretty dark room, with only one window which was close, it was decorated with lots of books and a wooden desk where the young woman was standing behind, holding an old phone, busy talking with someone.

”Yes, aunty. I'll let her know” she replied with a smile, despite the fact that the person on the other side of the phone couldn't see it, her hand busy playing with the tiny golden chain with a cross. Her eyes moving from the spot she was staring at to move closer to the desk “I have to leave you now, we were supposed to have guests today.. I think they are here already” she informed her, glancing towards the door, getting startled by Tommy’s figure standing there as if he owned the place.

He didn’t say anything to interrupt her call, his gloved hands just woven together in front of him, his head tilted to the side as he watched the girl.

“I love you too, auntie. Bye” she murmured, hanging up the call to give Tommy’s her complete attention

“Mr Shelby— Welcome, I didn’t hear you come in…” she started, eyeing him suspiciously, her innocent girl facade. staring back at him.

“Nana doesn’t like when people wear caps inside of her house… it’s a way to show respect” she pointed out, already a bit annoyed by his attitude. Thomas chuckled hearing her words, as he adjusted the peaky cap on his head.

”Nana didn't offer me a cup of tea, which isn't really polite either, eh?” He spoke up with a hint of mockery before entering her room and closing the door behind, making sure to lock it.

“She’s probably still preparing it, we have fresh baked cookies, though.” Y/n pointed out as her expression softened. Her demeanour changed as she tried to keep her temper down. It should have been a calm day but a lot of things that set her off happened, so she wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with Tommy fucking Shelby.

Be proper, Y/n thought just like she was always told. Plastering a small smile on her face, her eyes moving from Thomas’ face to the door and back. “They are in the living room, sir,”

Tommy chuckled at her words, walking slowly further into her room, looking around with a grin as he hummed.

“That's one way to decorate a girl's room, eh?” He scoffed, eyeing her suggestively, touching the colourful figurines standing on shelves. ”Definitely furnished to be a whore's own.” he casually pointed out, checking the books casually. “Guess they paid your mom good enough, huh? Family business it is, sweetheart?” the older man moved his gaze towards her standing form, smirking amused at her blank stare.

“Pardon?” she stuttered out through her utter shock, her head tilting to the side.“You here to disrespect a dead woman, Mr Shelby? If so.. You can fucking leave!” she spat out angrily, staring blankly at him for a couple of minutes before sighing and looking away, playing nervously with her cross while she headed to the door.

“My condolences… I’m here because of the sick idea you put in my little brother’s head” Tommy spoke in an emotionless tone, reaching for a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.. Lighting one without even asking for approval.

“Finn talked about you quite a lot lately, speaking about how pure, innocent, religious… and a good girl you are. You got him quite smitten, eh?” Thomas pointed out after inhaling deeply, his hand rubbing his chin “Well… what I was wondering about was how much of this is actually true.” He murmured, meeting her gaze with a smirk as he moved closer, hand reaching for her chin. “How much of a little saint you actually are, eh? Sweetheart.” he added, blowing out the smoke in her face, his fingers digging painfully into her skin as she looked into his empty, blue eyes.

Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed at his harsh tone, her eyes narrowing as her mouth remained shut. Struggling in his grip, she tried to free herself, unsuccessfully.

She was losing her patience quite quickly and it wasn't something that happened frequently… but there she was, angrily standing in front of what was the most feared man of Birmingham.

“I am.. I'm.. intact, if that's your concern, Mr. Shelby” She informed him in a sarcastically pleasant tone, a hint of harsh arrogance clear as day, caused by how annoyed she was by the conversation they were having.

Her small hands curling into fists, squeezing tightly when Tommy just nodded almost mockingly, his icy stare moving across her body slowly, carefully measuring each part of her body. Not worried about gentlemanly manners, Thomas stared, as if he was checking her out.

“Sure” he simply said, the tone of his voice intact, but the look in his blue eyes wasn't trying to hide how little he believed her. Putting out his cigarette, he threw it on the floor while keeping eye contact, showing disrespect to her words and the place she lived. Simply because he could.

Y/n gasped at his behaviour, quickly moving towards his silhouette as she pushed her finger against his chest, threatening.

“I fucking am, fucking check if you don’t believe me.” she whispered yelled, staring in his eyes boldly as he looked down at her, not a single emotion visible on his face. Almost like he was a statue carved from stone.

Tommy’s eyebrows raised slightly, his cold stare piercing her own, before lowering down to her chest which kept heaving with her deep breaths, caused purely by the anger she felt.

His hand moved to the edge of her dress, grabbing onto the fabric as he tried to raise it up, making Y/n realise his intention quickly and act impulsively… her hand made an impact with his cheek suddenly, throwing his face to the side slightly. Only after a second she realised what she's done, eyes widening in fear at the sight of his skin turning red.

The loud noise echoing in the room, as Tommy’s, now, dark gaze met her fearful eyes. Not a word was exchanged as his hands grabbed her roughly when she tried to escape from him, manhandling her smaller body harshly against the wooden surface of the desk. One hand kept her body flat against it, pressing painfully on the centre of her back, while his other gloved hand pulled up her dress.. revealing her white panties to him.

A hum of approval escaped his lips as he kneaded her flesh, ignoring her whimpers and pleads to stop. The view in front of him, so strangely innocent and pure, made his cock hardening in his pants, in a quite painful way.

Lowering his icy eyes with his hand he moved her thighs apart, rubbing slowly two thick fingers against her clothed folds.

”Look at that, already wet” he cooed mockingly as he moved his fingers, spreading her wetness by using the fabric of her panties.

His left hand digging in the flesh of her covered back, to hold her down and to keep his urges under control. It took much more self-control than he thought it would, not expecting that a girl that pretty would take interest in his inexperienced little brother.

Her eyes were tightly shut, forcing her mouth to stay closed, to make sure she wasn't making any noises. Her mind was a mess as his hands travelled down her heat, touching the places that nobody else ever saw.

As soon as his thumb pressed on her clit, her hips involuntarily jerked forward as she bit her bottom lip, trying to muffle the sigh that so desperately tried to escape her lips.

”So needy, eh? What would your grandma think?” Thomas chuckled, feeling how her body tensed, her hands trying to reach him, and push him off, unsuccessfully.

The young woman was so focused on trying to make him stop that she didn’t notice the moment when he pulled her panties to the side, allowing the cold breeze of the room to hit her wet bare pussy.

“No, please– sir!” she yelled in a moment of panic, Tommy’s free hand quickly covering her mouth as he toyed with her folds, opening her so that he could take a look that sent shivers down his spine. That sure was a pretty pussy, he thought while daring to move his index finger to her entrance.

Her sweet nectar wetting his gloved hand, making it even more noticeable “Look at you, sweetheart” he cooed mockingly again, as his finger pushed slightly deeper, in need to find out the truth.

Angling it slightly to the side, with a tip of his digit he could feel the thin barrier that was in the way of her tight tunnel.

Shaking his head, he leaned towards her, his wet lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

”So innocent, aren't you? Such a small, untouched cunt.” He breathed out, the urge to fuck her becoming increasingly stronger.

Letting out a breath, he pressed his index finger inside without even warning her… just grunting quietly into her ear, as she bit down his hand because of the pain.

So tight and warm, he thought. Tommy could feel how wet she was as he moved his gloved finger against her walls, biting on his bottom lip as he kept going further.

By the way she was moving it looked like it hurt her, as if she was feeling the burning sensation. One felt by a pure woman when her cherry was about to be popped.

“I guess you were right, honey” Tommy hummed, now circling her clit with her gloved hand, his middle finger helping his index one to feel her hymen before pressing against it harshly. Leather covering his hands caused his fingers to appear even thicker, stretching her pussy out so much that they both had to fight the urge to groan at the feeling.

Tommy's cock was fully hard at this point, leaking with precum into his underwear as his fingers explored the depths of her virgin pussy.

His eyes daring to close, so that his mind could wander in places it shouldn’t. The mere thought of his thick cock wrapped and squeezed for dear life by her pussy was driving him wild, making his finger start to thrust faster as he moved his hips against nothing, just unable to fight the fantasy that he was inside of her precious cunt.

“Fuck, that’s it, honey” he praised, moving his wrist in a quick motion, leaning closer again. His hot breath hitting her neck with each exhale. ”I knew you were a little slut.” He rasped out in a shaky voice, struggling to keep his composure while feeling her pussy clench down on his fingers like a vice.

“Can feel your filthy cunt squeezing my fingers. Yer fookin’ close, aren’t ye?” he growled in a low tone, parroting back mockingly her noises of pleasure.

Y/n cried out at the humiliation and the overwhelming feeling in her lower belly. Despite her desperate attempts to not give into it, she couldn't fight it as he kept fucking her with his thick, gloved fingers.

”Give it to me. Stop fighting it.” He commanded through his teeth, as he felt his cock throbbing impatiently in his pants, demanding attention.

”N-no!” She pleaded quietly, trying her best to suppress the tension that pushed her on the edge of her first orgasm. Breathing deeply, she caught his wrist, trying to stop him, but Tommy just laughed quietly.

”There you go” He whispered, leaving a small kiss on her temple before shoving his fingers knuckle deep, fucking her with hard and quick strokes, curling his fingers up to hit her g spot with each thrust.

His other hand was clamped over her mouth, which she ended up biting as he made her cum so hard, that just a couple seconds into the orgasm, her body shook and vision went blurry as her juices shot out on his hand, wetting his glove when she squirted for the very first time in her life.

Y/n’s eyes rolled in the back of her head as she trembled, muscles relaxing as the feeling got… way too much. She was too long gone in her pleasure to notice at first the sound of his belt clicking open, the zip of his pants being pulled down with the fabric, so that his cock was finally free.

After licking his gloves from her wetness, he grabbed a hold of her hips, pressing his rock hard cock against her flesh, hsi eyes fluttering shut when he started to move his hips. Grinding at an animalistic pace, his main goal his own pleasure.

He needed to rub his cock, keeping it squeezed tightly between their bodies, for a couple of minutes to finally shoot his load on her lower back.

As they both breathed heavily, he moved carefully away from her, gathering his cum with his hand to shove it in her mouth before fixing his suit and walking out of the room without a word.

He walked followed with the same powerful aura, at a fast pace towards the front door

“Let’s go” Thomas ordered his brothers while walking to the front door, patting Finn’s shoulder with a serious expression

“She’s not a virgin… anymore” he informed him as he stole a cookie and walked out, nodding at the old lady with a crooked grin.

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