polyfandom-blogs

[polyfandom-blogs]

it’s over the minute you start playing hide and seek.

johnny has a big family. his siblings have kids, his parents siblings have kids who also have kids, which means a holiday leave offers limited privacy and abundant chaos.

he’s learned to embrace it. adores it, even. kids stroke his ego like no other, and the more he can see his parents the less he pays attention to the new wrinkles and the reality he only has so much time to hold their hand. to be someone’s son.

but you? the sweet, unassuming bird who he met by happenstance, who’s the first person he’s brought home for an approaching decade? he winces as he grabs your bags from the trunk- already expecting the fawning- the embarrassing prattles they’ll throw your way.

he was not expecting you to navigate it though.

the adults love you. turns out all the same charms that had him whipped works fairly well with his relatives. three glasses of wine in and he can still hear his aunt laughing. genuinely. that’s a miracle.

and don’t even get him started with the nieces and nephews.

stole all his thunder and he isn’t even mad about it. watches as they chase you in the backyard, cartwheeling around you as you catch your breath.

his sister nudges him in the side and he starts.

“how’d ye catch a bonnie like tat?”

you send him a lopesided smile from across bronzing grass. you’re glowing.

yeah, he’s a goner. “couldnae tell ye.”

[polyfandom-blogs]

Someone's probably already said this but—

Soap would be the type to make you lay on the floor and cage you in while he does pushups so he can steal a kiss each time he lowers himself. Bare chest glistening with a thin layer of sweat and his dog tags tapping against your chest. You giggling with every other kiss. Him shutting it up with the occasional (every three or so pushups max) tongue down your throat before pushing himself back up. Then he fucks you nasty and calls it his cardio.

[polyfandom-blogs]

Real

Yes, I want to be his neighbor. Of course I want to be the stripper at the club he owns. I want to be his fated omega. I want to be his co-worker. I want to be his doctor, his arranged wife, his enemy, his childhood friend, his kid’s babysitter, his girlfriend, his wife, his ex-wife, his barista, his soulmate, his strange cryptid, his favorite blood bag, his divorce attorney, his pr relationship, his boss, his secretary, his sugar baby, his... I think you get the point.

In all universes, physical forms, and realities, I want that man.

[polyfandom-blogs]

I think I blacked out when I wrote this - CW; infidelity, miscarriage, squirting, oral sex... John Price being the biggest fucking DILF of a married man.

Everybody says John Price Dad's Best Friend, John Price Dad's Best Friend; SHUT THE FUCK UP.

John Price Husband's Best Friend?

-

It was a really a stroke of misfortune that you met Peter before John.

He was a nice enough man; he wore a tie to your first date, for God's sake, but he was, what some might call, rough around the edges. He laughed too loudly and finished it off with a piggish snort. He dribbled Kopparberg onto his torso when drunk. He was sloppy in bed. He never remembered your wedding anniversary, even though it was the same day as his own parents'. He always forgot to clean his beard hairs from the bathroom sink.

The town you forged your career in, and indeed the town you settled down in, was small, the lot of you cramped into townhouses up and down the street like mill workers, always seeing the same faces and saying 'lovely day, isn't it?' to the same few people.

Peter went wherever John did; it had been that way since they were 11 years old. You figured that out when you finally met the man, two months into your relationship, pregnant with Pete's son, when Pete followed him to the bathroom to talk motorbikes, whilst John had tried to ask how you were feeling all evening - you hadn't touched your pasta once. John came to your wedding - he was the photographer, in fact. He was right alongside you for the welcoming of your first child, your second, your third that never quite made it to birth, and you were there whilst his wife Linda had her first, her second, her miracle third. Lovely woman, Linda. A tad abrasive to the ears whenever she spoke, but lovely nonetheless - she held your hand as you delivered your stillborn when Paul was away in London and told you it simply wasn't meant to be.

Of course, that was the cruelty of the village life - everyone knew everyone, for better and for worse.

John accompanied Linda to every parents' evening and listened attentively when you explained that their third child, their son Owen, may possibly qualify for autism, and John held her as she sobbed and spit vitriol about it all being one big joke that the universe was pulling on her - the joke that she had three gorgeous, darling children with a man who bought her flowers and chocolates every time they had sex, whilst yours put a towel on the bedsheets for 'splatter' and a hand over your mouth when you were being 'annoyingly loud'.

Something changed when Peter crashed his 1987 Ducati and was hospitalised for three days. It was all a bit touch-and-go, really. He required a skin graft on his knee and a rod through his hip and a dozen injections that sent him right to sleep whenever he woke up and wanted to talk. John sat right beside you throughout the whole debacle. Each day. Every night. He rested his hand on your knee. He wiped the tears from your eyes. He hugged your shoulders.

Something certainly changed. Three weeks after his hospitalisation, Peter wished for a celebratory dinner. Everyone was invited. John, Linda, their three children, including little Owen, who sat in the corner with his tablet and played colour-matching games whilst the others scarpered around the house; Peter, you, your two children, Linda's friend Holly and her husband Ben, Rachel and Samuel. Everyone was invited, and they all wanted to play Scrabble at the end of a long evening, but you were never one for finding the right words.

"How are you?" John asked as he sat down on the sofa. It was just the two of you at that point.

No kids - they were cavorting about upstairs - no television, no phone conversation, no distractions, just the lamp on the little table emitting a warm glow against the hollow of his face, and four glass-fulls of red wine in both of your stomachs.

He had his arm around the rear of the sofa, elongated. His fingers could touch your hair, but he made sure not to let them.

"Fine, thanks." You smiled, and that was about it for the the sorts of conversations you found you had nowadays - Peter and Linda tended to have a lot more things to talk about between the four of you than you and John combined. Life had sucked the whimsy out of the both of you - you realised it when Linda was five months gone with her first.

Eleven years ago, that was.

There was a hoot in the background from Samuel - he just won Scrabble. Yahtzee, he posed for them to play, and they all readily agreed.

"How are you really, I mean?" John asked. He was closer, now, idling with his watered-down Scotch in hand.

On Tuesdays, there was the PTA at the school. The headmaster raved at there being a new curriculum scheme added to the roster, and you hardly had the time to get your head around it. There was swimming on a Wednesday from four until five, football on Thursday for your son from six until seven, Netball on Friday for your daughter from five until six. The kids needed their lunches packed daily but they didn't want ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches or tuna sandwiches because they apparently didn't like ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches or tuna sandwiches even though for the past 5-8 years all they'd eaten was ham sandwiches, cheese sandwiches and tuna sandwiches, so your son had chicken and lettuce and your daughter had egg mayo. Of course, the dog needed walking after work every evening and before work every morning, and Peter had decided he didn't want to walk the dog every evening and every morning so it was up to you to walk the dog every evening and every morning. You'd recently been tolerating a burning pain in your abdomen that the GP told you was probably not likely to be cancerous, but nonetheless had advised you not to rule it out as a possibility, and above all of that, you hadn't gotten over your third child in your third bedroom that stayed a nursery since the day he never came home.

Your voice wavered as you spoke. "Just busy, I suppose."

John smoothed a hand over your knee, and there it was again - that feeling of having lost something you never had in the first place. "Well, you look good for 'just busy'."

You surprised yourself when you laughed.

"How's Owen?" You probed - as his teacher, John couldn't keep quiet.

"Yeah, well, he'll get over his mum not loving him," he joked, but the sincerity wrought his usually jovial features to a stand-still. "God."

Silence was wonderful with John.

"Where did it all go wrong, hey?" He scoffed. It would have been a throwaway comment had it come from anyone else's mouth. "Three kids, a wife, and a thriving career. I should be bloody over the moon."

In truth, John had only found Linda because he was lonely at the sight of you and Peter. You knew that the moment he brought her out and paraded her around the bar, how awkwardly they kissed, and how he glanced at you as if to say 'look, I have one, too, now, now we're all happy'. She was a bright thing back then. Not so much, now. Sometimes, you wondered if he'd pay to have someone else - someone who'd love him the way he was meant to be loved.

John swirled his drink and drank a bit of it. Just a sip. And, right as you thought he was going to stand, he swept a hand round the back of your neck and kissed you tight. Then, he left without another word.

Since then, all John had done was steal.

When Peter went to the garage to show him the headlight of the Ducati he totalled, John took you on the sofa, sunk his hand into your panties, and got you off in a matter of minutes. He was all hot cum, sweat and fur, nothing half a man like Peter. Snogged you until you came undone and set you straight before Peter could ever know. At dinner parties, whenever he said he didn't have time for board games, you found him in the bathroom and he fucked you against the wall. You bit the flesh of his palm to stop yourself from screaming.

You palmed his cock beneath the dinner table when nobody was looking.

John bent you over in secret, forwards, backwards, twisted you sideways, claimed you from behind, let you ride him as you vented about your day, made you feel him in places you barely knew you had the nerves available there for feeling. He pumped you placidly until you squirted mid-weekend and warmed his face with your cunt in the evening, pulled you taught against his abdomen when you took his cock down your throat, and at the end, instead of chucking the towel into the wash and smothering you so you were quiet, he asked if you were alright, bought you flowers and chocolates, said he was sorry about the baby and promised to have you properly in the next life.

| Masterlist |

[polyfandom-blogs]

[polyfandom-blogs]

Nightly Adventures

Pairing: John Price X Pregnant Reeder

Warning(s): minor explicit descriptions, but no actual sex happening

Being pregnant wasn’t easy, especially not with John’s baby. It felt as though the baby inherited his father’s military skills and decided to try to take out all your organs - deeming them as a threat. Sometimes you wish the baby would come out of you already.

The pressing against your bladder made you wake up in the middle of the night needing to pee. Groaning in annoyance, you cracked an eye open to look at the clock, the green numbers gleaming in the darkness.

2:30AM

“Always at the worst times,” you muttered. Lifting yourself up from your bed with a bit of struggle, you waddled to the other side of the room to turn the light on in a dim setting. You were partially glad your husband wasn’t home - you would’ve felt bad if you had woken him up, but on the other hand, you were worried about his well-being since he was sent on a mission for the past week.

Looking at the emptiness of his side of the bed, you felt your heartache. "Hopefully they come back soon," You prayed. A kick to your bladder made you wince in pain, making you need to pee even more now. Rolling your eyes at your stubborn child, you placed a hand on the swell of your stomach and waddled to the bathroom connected to your room.

Thankfully you weren't due for another month, so these pains and kicks coming from your pregnancy didn't make you as alarmed.

Finishing your business, you flushed the toilet and washed your hands. Using the hand towel next to the sink, you stared at yourself as you dried your hands. Heavy bags under your eyes, a few red pimples here and there, hair losing its volume since you haven't washed it for the past two days - you don't know how John thought you had a 'Pregnancy Glow.'

Shrugging your shoulders and placing the towel down next to the sink, you were about to head back to bed when your stomach growled.

"Really? Again? We just ate like 3 hours ago!" You scolded your unborn child. You received a kick in return, making you wince in pain as the child landed a kick square on your ribs.

"Holy fuck! Okay, okay, I'll go get something," You grumbled, waddling to the kitchen. The child never takes no for an answer. You started turning on almost every light so you wouldn't trip.

Walking into the kitchen, your eyes scanned the island, a bowl of fruit, and some chocolate chips with muffins on a glass platter with a glass lip was placed there. You walk to the fridge and eyed the contents inside. Yogurt, grapes, chocolate pudding, some leftover chicken from yesterday - nothing seemed appetizing enough. You opted for the chocolate chip cookies.

Closing the fridge, you made your way to the kitchen island and leaned against it, grabbing a cookie and munching happily. It seemed like it worked since your baby was no longer bothering you. You were wrong when you felt another kick.

Suddenly, you hear keys unlocking your front door, making you panic. You could see the door from where you stood, but you didn't know what to do. You were pregnant for crying out loud - what could you even do to defend yourself? You tried to think rationally though. The only other people who had keys to your place were your husband and his friends, in case of emergencies.

Your panic quickly went away when a familiar bearded man walked through the door. "Love?" Price called out in a gruff voice, placing his bag beside him as he closed the door behind him and locked it. "What are you doing up at this hour?" You didn't respond to him as you ran to him - as best as a pregnant lady could - and threw your arms around him. Careful of the baby, he gently wrapped his arms around you, kissing the crown of your head.

Lifting your head up to smile brightly at him, you pulled him down by his collar and kissed him with desperation, showing him how much you missed your bear of a husband. Price grunted into the kiss, not expecting such a welcome at this time, but he didn't complain.

His large hand placed itself on the back of your head, deepening the kiss and shoving his tongue in your mouth. You both moaned into each other's mouths. You wish you could keep kissing your husband more, unfortunately, you're only human and need air. Pulling back with a small gasp, you giggled at your husband who smiled lovingly at you.

"I thought you weren't coming home again for another few days."

"We finished the mission sooner than we expected," he pecked your lips. "Was that chocolate chip that I tasted earlier?" He asked, smacking his lips a bit as he tried recalling the flavor. You laughed at him and nodded your head.

"Yeah, woke up to pee and your stubborn kid wanted something to eat at this ungodly hour," you groaned.

"Oh, so now it's only my kid? Not ours? That we-" he grabbed a handful of your ass and squeezed "-made in the very same bed we sleep?" he teased. You yelped in surprise at his aggressive grip and hit him on his chest lightly.

"I swear to god, Johnathan Price. If you bruise the one thing that hasn't been bruised or swollen yet that I can comfortably sit or lay on, I'll make you sleep on the couch," you playfully threatened with a half-assed glare.

"We definitely can't have that happening," he hummed, kneading at your ass again, but this time moving his hand lower - rubbing his fingers across the lips of your cunt from behind.

"Priiiice, not now," you sighed out in pleasure.

"Hmmmm-" he buried his face into the crook of your neck, placing a gentle kiss on your pulse, "-fine," he agreed, but not before he aggressively sucked in a piece of your skin, making you yelp in surprise at the sudden hickey.

He pulled back and gave you a mischievous grin.

"Baby..."

"Yes, Love?"

"Can we go get some food? The baby is still hungry."

Price is definitely not getting any sleep tonight, but he agreed nonetheless. Anything for his beloved wife who was carrying his child. Who was making him a father.

[polyfandom-blogs]

Y'all self conches about titty veins? Lol

[polyfandom-blogs]

Who I think the TF 141 would be if they were Greek Gods

Kind of debating making this into a series with a reader insert. Not too sure yet - would have to make an outline to see how it would play out and how long I should make it. Let me know what you guys think! Enjoy! <3

Price is a wild card when it comes to comparing him to a Greek God. He can debatably be seen as Zeus since he is the Captain of the 141, but Zeus is far too hot-headed and ill-tempered to represent Price. So, I think Hephaestus fits him more. Both are hardworking men and are admired for what they do. Hephaestus' symbols represent Price's line of work - the fire being his ambition and the blacksmithing being his guns in war.

Ghost is the most obvious one here. He's 100% Ares - no questions asked. Both men are the embodiment of war and violence - aggressive by nature and unforgiving. Both are quick to act and quick to anger - immediately coming for your head. Not to mention they both have similar physical features and lines of work.

Gaz would definitely be Apollo. Apollo represents music, the sun, poetry, archery, etc. The music depicts Gaz's soft-hearted and joking nature when he's with Soap. Gaz is definitely the light that the team needs when they're all in a dire situation. They're both also known to be the most handsome and pretty out of everyone around them.

Soap is Hermes. 1000%. Soap is a trickster just like Hermes. His witty behavior never ceasing to amuse people around him. Though if you need him to drop the act, he 100% will and can be the most essential and vital piece to the mission. He's someone you can rely on all the time.

[polyfandom-blogs]

Can't Always Help You Fight Your Battles

I'm not sure why my brain wants to write angst and not anything cute or sweet, but here you guys are! I see PTSD get romanticized a lot, especially with these men, so I wanted to write something more realistic. I hope you all enjoy! <3 Pairing: Simon Riley x AFAB Reader

Warning(s): Angst, PTSD, Violence, DV (accidental), mention of death, cursing, verbal abuse.

Nothing could have prepared you when all five, well, four of you, returned from deployment. It was a living hell. Your team had lost Soap, Ghost returned with a broken arm, and you with a severely injured leg.

Price was forced to discharge the two of you and send you two back home to a gated community run by the military. It felt humiliating. It felt wrong having to go home when you lost one of your best friends and the other two had to stay back on base. Yet, you couldn't help but feel relieved when you and Simon had a chance to lay low and process what happened on your last mission.

It wasn't a secret that the two of you were together, but neither was that fact common knowledge. It came as a surprise when soldiers in neighboring homes noticed the two of you living together but judging by the pained look on your face and Simon helping you walk, no one dared to ask.

Walking into the shared home, you cringed when you saw the dust and cobwebs accumulating on every cabinet and corner of the walls. "Simon, can you take me to the room so I can change?" Simon chose to remain silent, but still lead you to the shared room.

Mumbling a thank you, you squeezed his arm in gratitude. Whenever you two came back from deployment you avoided being too touchy. You know how startled Simon got when it came to physical contact near his neck, face, and torso.

No matter how stoic he looked on the outside, you knew about the chaos that ran through his mind after every mission, especially now that one of his closest friends. Soap was gone. He wasn't around to cheer Simon up like how he normally would.

--

Two days went by.

Simon never went to bed with you, choosing to stay on the couch and undoubtedly staying awake the entire night.

It pained you to see him like this, but it also irritated you. He didn't utter a single word. Never asked you about your leg. Never thanked you for cooking. Never thanked you for cleaning up the house. Nothing.

Hell, you even asked him about his arm to see if he needed any meds for the pain and never said anything in response. The man didn't even eat the food you made - making nearly all of it go down the trash.

It felt wrong to be mad at him, but you were hurting too. You lost a best friend the same night. You did chores to distract yourself from the gunfire that still rang in your ears throughout the day. You had nightmares about Soap dying. The way you all yelled for him. The way you crawled to his dead body when your leg was crushed by an enemy soldier's foot.

--

Another day passed.

"Simon?" You called out for him from your shared room. "Babe, can you hand me my crutches?" You called out again.

No response.

"Simon!"

You hear heavy footsteps make their way to your door.

"For fucks sake, I heard you the first time," Simon responded annoyed. "You can't get the crutches yourself? It's been three days." He was frustrated. You could tell, but you couldn’t help but let anger simmer in your bones.

You furrowed your brows in confusion and anger. You looked at him as if he grew a second head - like he lost his mind.

"Excuse me? Says the one that can't fucking change out of his own clothes because of his arm. 'It's been three days,' why can't you do that shit by yourself, either?"

You two stared each other down.

Being the first one to break eye contact after a few seconds, you let out a sigh and maneuvered yourself as best as you could to the edge of the bed to get your crutches. Reaching as far as your arms could allow you, you nearly grabbed them only to fall forward and on the floor. You screamed in pain, your ribs and injured leg taking most of the impact. You weren't able to see the look of terror on Simons's face when you fell. He quickly rushed to you.

"Don't you dare fucking touch me!" You screamed at him when you heard his footsteps, back facing him. You pushed yourself up with your arms.

"GET OUT!" You yelled when you felt a hand try to go under your arm. You refused to look at him. It took a few seconds before Simon moved his hand away and left the room without another word.

Tears immediately escaped your eyes and ran down your face. A painful sob wracked your body.

You were miserable.

For the rest of the day you stayed in the room. You knew Simon wouldn't dare make amends so soon, being the avoidant person he is. You were glad you at least had a bathroom inside the room.

--

It was nighttime, almost midnight, by the time you woke up from your nap. Being in bed all day made you extremely lazy, so you took multiple naps, but you couldn't ignore the rumbling from your stomach any longer.

Eyeing the crutches, you were nervous to try and prop yourself up on them again. You did it earlier when you had to shower, but you nearly fell again.

Your stomach growled louder this time.

With a sign, you reached for them. With every ounce of upper body strength you could muster, you successfully propped yourself on them.

Quietly maneuvering yourself out of your room you used the moonlight that shined through your windows to guide you to the kitchen. You heard loud snoring from your living room, so you didn't want to bother Simon with the lights.

Peeking your head into the living room you saw that the TV was on with the volume muted. Being the caring girlfriend you were, disregarding what happened earlier, you quietly made your way to the opened end of the couch and grabbed the remote from the coffee table to turn off the TV.

You turned to look at your boyfriend, a tiny ray of moonlight shining on his body allowing you to barely see that he had his mask off and no shirt.

'Probably used the spare bathroom'

You noticed his cast and arm straps were wet though. What you failed to notice was the pained look on his face as he slept.

Rolling your eyes at his carelessness, you grabbed the spare blanket on the recliner chair nearby and softly draped it on his body.

What a dumb thing you didn't think through.

Simon's hand shot up abruptly and grabbed your forearm, his other arm ripping the straps on his cast to grab a hold of your throat.

"Simon!" You managed to scream out, crutches falling to the floor when he quickly pinned you underneath him, squeezing your throat with both of his hands now.

He ignored the pain flaring through his injured arm and zeroed in on his mission. Nails clawing at his forearm, he failed to recognize your face in a state of an episode.

You were gasping for air, eyes practically bulging out of your sockets. Your face was becoming red. Your blood pumping in your veins was the only thing you could hear over your struggling.

'Am I really going to die like this?'

"S-SI!... Ple..." You reached up to claw at his face. He looked down at you, anger in his face.

"You killed Johnny! You bastard!" He screamed, grip tightening even more.

You were nearly about to pass out when you remembered the TV. You had to turn it on. Your life depended on it. Your body went on overdrive, your right arm flailing to attack Simon while your other arm reached for the remote. You fumbled with the remote trying to get to the power button. He needed to see it was you. Not the person who killed Johnny.

"I'll fucking kill you!"

Your eyes were beginning to roll to the back of your head, but with the last ounce of strength you had left, you managed to turn on the TV to light up the room and your face.

Simon's heart dropped to his stomach when the TV was turned on. The realization of what he was doing came crashing down on him as he returned from his episode, You were underneath him. He was attacking you. He choked you. He nearly killed you.

"Fuck!" He got off of you and called out your name. You gasped loudly for air, abruptly sitting up and coughing violently. Your lungs desperately needed air.

"I'm so sorry," Simon panicked, kneeling down beside you. He started patting your back softly with his uninjured arm to try and help you get air.

A few moments passed as you started calming down from your coughing fit. Simon whispered your name, his voice cracking a bit. You stayed frozen on the couch, not believing what had just transpired. Simon kept calling out for you, pulling you into his arms and sobbing softly into your neck.

You stared off into nothing. Your mind was like TV static. You didn't know what to think.

[polyfandom-blogs]

[polyfandom-blogs]

my honest reaction:

[polyfandom-blogs]

a man so big that if he doesn’t hold you in place while he fucks you you won’t be able to stay in place at all because of how much power he puts into each thrust 🤕

[polyfandom-blogs]

an orgasm a day keeps the hysteria at bay

[polyfandom-blogs]

Mother of Dragons

[polyfandom-blogs]

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“How did you know mum was in love with you?”

John contemplated his son’s words, mulling over his question for a few moments.

His son was old enough, 21 years old with a girlfriend. Studying at university on a military scholarship following in the footsteps of both of his parents.

The birds and bees talk was already given. Hell, John knew that his kid wasn’t a virgin. He was an idiot in school trying to bag as many girls as he could which would earn him an earful from his father about respecting women’s bodies and what not.

But for some reason, answering this question seemed impossible. Putting the response into words seemed unattainable.

John mind wonders back to when you and him were younger. When his bones weren’t creaky and he could pick you up without groaning in pain from his military injuries catching up to him in his middle age.

Your relationship with John did not have a conventional start. You were broken looking to mend yourself through and good distraction and John was simply bored.

Hook ups between the two of you began your situationship. Whenever John was in town back from deployment, he’d send you a text and you’d two would spend the night together. No strings attached but both your and John’s hearts ached for more than you both could utter.

Nights after sex didn’t end in aftercare. It was neglected most nights, as you hastily put in your clothes to go back home.

That speediness and need to get out of John’s flat dissipates after a few months. Idle caresses, offers for refreshments and thoughtless conversations rooted its presence after a mindless fuck.

The rush to go home was unfounded as you find homely comfort in one another. You and John never voice it, but the change was welcomed.

Foreplay lengthens. John on longer has the gnawing need to stuff you full and cum instantly. Now, his motives are to see you wither in blissful pleasure. His tongue a fingers taking its time to open you up, making you come more times that your fucked-out brain could count.

John, John, John

A holy chant that never leaves the tip of your tongue.

Mindless fucking turns into lovemaking with the end result of you laying your head on his chest,eyes dazed glistening with unsaid words of adoration and longing. Your eyes mimicking the mirror to John’s future. White picket fence and a nuclear family with 2.5 kids and a dog named Max.

John is brought back from his reminiscing by his son’s impatient huffing, waiting for his father to stop daydreaming.

“Look at her eyes. It’ll tell you all you need to know.”.

[polyfandom-blogs]

What about the whole 141 ships it or tries to play wingman, but the couple are idiots in love and denial? Lol

The way I SMILED while writing this prompt. I had so much fun with this. Thank you so much for sending it in! This whole thing is just humor, hijinks, and shenanigans. And lots and lots of denial. Enjoy!

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

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, brief alcohol, denial of feelings, shenanigans, humor, fluff, suggestive themes

Word Count: 1k

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

John Price

“That,” emphasizes Kyle by pointing in Price’s direction, “is a man in love.”

“It’s like watching your old man attempt to flirt,” mutters Simon.

“You’d know all about that wouldn’t you, Lt?” smiles Johnny.

“Fuck off, Soap.”

Kyle frowns. “Think we should do something?”

Simon side-eyes him. “Like what?”

“Step in?” shrugs Kyle.

“Look at him. I think the captain can handle himself,” replies Johnny, leaning against the doorframe as Price talks with you across the room.

As Price talks, he reaches for his mug. He shoots wide, knocking it over, and spilling the contents everywhere.

“Well…I take that back,” sighs Johnny.

Kyle shakes his head. “I can’t watch this.”

“We should help,” Johnny says over his shoulder. “These two lovebirds need a push.”

Simon snorts. “They’ll figure it out.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then they don’t.”

Johnny guffaws. “Hate to be dating you, Lt.”

Simon leans toward Johnny, voice low. “Want to have a go?”

Kyle reaches between the two men, snapping his fingers to get their attention. “Pay attention.” He shakes his head. “Fucking weirdos,” he mutters.

“Fine,” says Simon. “I’ll step in.”

“And do what?” counters Johnny.

“Tell them to kiss already.”

“No,” says Kyle. “No!”

“Too late,” whispers Simon as he walks into the room, heading for you and Price.

John "Soap" MacTavish

“Look at those idiots,” sighs Kyle, leaning an elbow on the high-top table behind him.

Price and Simon stand on either side of him, watching as you and Johnny attempt to play pool. Johnny uses the cue stick as a support, both hands clasped over the top of it, chin resting on his hands. There’s a massive smile on his face, eyelids a bit soft as he gazes at you. You are not serene. With hands waving in the air, you appear slightly irritated but also amused.

“He won’t go for it,” replies Simon, crossing his arms over his chest.

“See how close they’re standing?” observes Kyle.

You and Johnny are almost on top of each other. Only one of you needs to lean in to erase all separation.

“Leave them be,” mumbles Price. “They’ll figure it out.”

Kyle addresses Price. “They’re both in love. Look at them. Their seconds away from having it off on the pool table.”

“If they start making out, I’m leaving,” grumbles Simon.

Price cracks a smile. “It’s denial,” he sighs, reaching for the ash tray to move it closer. “Lovebirds don’t want to admit it.”

Kyle shakes his head, turning back to you and Johnny. Johnny is teasing you now, cracking jokes, making you all flustered.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Simon. “Just fuck already. Give us all some bloody peace.”

Soap tilts his head slightly, whispering something to you that as you smacking his arm and laughing hysterically.

Price knocks back his whiskey. “We need a plan.”

“Agree, Captain,” replies Kyle. He turns to Simon. “You in?”

“You know it.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“You look upset, Lt.”

“I’m fine,” growls Simon.

Johnny and Kyle both glance at Simon’s whiskey glass at the exact same time. Simon’s hand is clutching it tightly, knuckles white from the effort.

“Sure about that?” asks Johnny.

“Yes,” snarls Simon.

Johnny’s lips purse, his gaze shifting to a place across the bar. “Wouldn’t be that a certain someone—”

“I told you,” says Simon slowly. “I’m not angry.”

Kyle leans in, lowering his voice. “Johnny and I could chase them off. Give you an opening.”

Simon’s grip on his glass relaxes a bit. The intensity between his brow softens.

Johnny chimes in. “What do you say, Lt?”

Simon rolls his shoulders, straightening his back, the grip on his whiskey class easing completely. “Looks like they need saving.”

Johnny is nodding enthusiastically, already standing, pushing back his chair. He clasps Simon’s shoulder and nods at Kyle.

“I’ll go shepherd them off,” says Kyle, winking at Johnny as he heads in your direction.

“There’s nothing going on between us, Soap,” says Simon.

“Course, Lt,” nods Johnny as Simon gets up from his chair, aiming for you. When you notice Simon, the corners of your mouth upturn into a huge smile. “Nothing at all.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“What?” asks Kyle around his toothbrush.

Johnny and Simon have him cornered in the communal locker room. It’s late, the three of them just in from a quick mission. Simon looms, his stare intense as Johnny crosses his arms over his chest, leaning forward slightly like he knows a secret Kyle doesn’t.

The two men remain silent.

“This is fucking weird,” continues Kyle, his gaze darting between the two of them.

Johnny’s knowing grin widens. “You’ve got a thing for one of the team.”

Kyle blinks. “Price?” he splutters, little droplets of toothpaste shooting in various directions.

Simon chuckles. “The other one, smartass.”

Kyle spits into the sink and rinses the toothbrush under the faucet. “Don’t know what you’re on about,” he mutters.

Johnny steps around to Kyle’s right side, he and Simon boxing him in. “Do you think we didn’t hear the two of you over comms?”

Kyle takes a step back, hands raised. “Just a bit of banter.”

“Banter?” counters Simon. “That was banter?”

Kyle shrugs. “What else would you call it?”

“Flirting,” deadpans Simon

“Verbal fucking,” replies Johnny, just as monotone.

Kyle shakes his head, hands still raised like he’s about to ward off evil. “You have it all wrong.”

“Do we?” asks Simon. “Then explain what happened after we got off the plane.”

Kyle swallows. “Nothing.” Johnny’s knowing grin returns. He scoots closer and Kyle groans, running his hand over his face with annoyance. “Don’t go there, Soap.”

“Are tongues down each other’s throats nothing?”

Kyle places his hand over Johnny’s face and gives him a light shove. “Nothing happened.”

Johnny swats at Kyle’s hand. “Admit it!”

“Should go for it, mate,” says Simon.

“Nothing is going on!” Kyle tosses his towel onto the bench and slides on a pair of joggers. “Leave it.”

Johnny and Simon exchange a look.

“What?” prompts Kyle, shirt in hand.

Johnny leans in, lowering his voice. “Want us to have a chat with them?”

“Fuck off. The both of you.”

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@keiva1000 @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez @waves-against-a-cliff

@ash-tarte @marispunk @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[polyfandom-blogs]

This is some shit Johnny would say, it just is I'm sorry.

Johnny hates your new boyfriend. It burns in his loins every time you come over and complain about something stupid the git said. So often that now when you take a particularly large sigh, he's immediately asking "fuckin' 'ell, what he do this time eh?"

It hurts even more when you gush about something "good" your boyfriend did, even when it's just the bare minimum. Yeah he open the door for you on a date? Did you know that Johnny would have lifted up the globe had you asked him? Do you have any idea the things he would do if you so much as asked? No you didn't, because he was fairly certain you only saw him as your good friend, as you had been for years.

And Jesus did it infuriate him when you "laughed" your boyfriend's pitiful excuses for a joke. It wasn't your real laughter, it was a kind of controlled giggle. Johnny knew a couple words from him could have you full on belly laughing, gripping onto the nearest surface (usually his arm) to steady yourself. The worst part of it was, the sorry excuse of a man that had wormed his way into your life looked so proud of himself when you gave that fake laugh. Johnny wanted to wipe that grin off his face so bad. But he behaved himself, for you...most of the time, but this is Johnny we're talking about, he's nothing if not petty.

He pretends to like your sorry excuse of a boyfriend in front of you so that you invite him on your dates because you hope they can be friends. Johnny just wants to ruin things

When you make food, Johnny is there. Reminding your boyfriend he would never be the first person to try your recipes.

"Added some pepper since las' time aye lass?"

He then proceeds to taste test form the same spoon as you, side eyeing your "man".

And when you do serve the food, he eats 10x more than he usually does which is saying a lot for him. Just has to mention how many calories he's been burning at the gym lately. Does your boyfriend work out? Oh he doesn't? Hm, interesting.

Also the king of flirty jokes but turns it to 100 when he's around your new boyfriend.

"Jesus, you eat like a horse"

"Aye 's not the only thing about me thas' like a horse"

All said with that shit eating grin he knows pisses your boyfriend off.

Johnny knows this "relationship" (he refuses to believe you actually like the tadger) isn't going to last long anyway. He's the only person who could ever make you truly happy. The only person you'd wait for at the airport every time he got back from deployment. The only person you'd text out of no where at 3am to tell him you were hungry. He just had to help you see it was all and scare off your pathetic partner. If he couldn't manage it, he knew a couple big scary guys that could follow him home at night.