#asset john soap mactavish

[charliemwrites]

Government Asset Soap! This is half of the last part (the smut got too long and I wanted to post this dammit).

So consider this part 4.5? idk it's late.

Usual CW for this series with dubcon, mean Soap, post-trauma coping.

It’s probably a fire hazard, the candles. They’re sprinkled across your little cabin like fireflies, feeble but steady heartbeats of a home you’re failing to build. Too many of them, likely. Two, sometimes three, per room. Tiny tealights, smokeless soy, scented pine. It would be easier, safer, to just turn on the lamps you foolishly invested in.

You can’t bear anything brighter than golden halogen anymore, though. The glare drags you back to a tiny cell bisected by cruel metal, holding back an even crueler fate. No, you’d much rather wade through pools of shadow and firelight, fire code be damned.

It’s a small cabin, but you’ve already cluttered it up with furniture and rugs, a theme for each room. Yellow and blue for the kitchen. Purple and cream for the den. Green and brown for your bedroom. Nooks to hide in, spaces to squeeze into, big shapes to huddle behind. You’ll never be caught out in a cold, barren room ever again.

Your days are long regardless of the time of year. Get groceries in town every day, making a point to be friendly and seen so that someone might notice if you suddenly stop coming. Clean incessantly, so many surfaces to dust. Pick hobbies like daisies. Knitting and crocheting, different paint styles, felting. You’re contemplating carpentry, would like to build shelves for all the books stacked up in the den. Keep a dream journal by your bed that you neglect for weeks at a time.

You draw out the nights until you can count the hours until dawn on one hand. Stay up baking, making homemade ink, learning new ways to style your hair, anything, anything, anything—

It’s not the sleeping – or at least that’s not the worst of it. It’s the waking.

Laswell suggested a cat.

You told her to stop suggesting pussy to unstable people.

But it’s still not a bad idea. Another living thing to keep you accountable; the plants are pretty and time-consuming, but not good company.

You talk yourself out of it every time, knowing the worst-case scenario. It’s not catastrophizing if it actually happens, and you can feel an invisible time weighing on your shoulders like another gravity. Tick, tick, tick. Heavier, heavier, heavier. It’s hard to breathe beneath the wait.

The military doesn’t do apologies. It does platitudes at best. Well wishes and good intentions are painted in brushstrokes of blood. Victory flags are planted on bodies, living or otherwise. Laswell apologized. She swore that if there had been another way – any other way…

She didn’t promise to leave you alone. Didn’t assure you that you’d never see her or her goons again.

If you thought it would do any good, you’d tip one of the candles over and set it all aflame. Rebirth through fire. But you never did figure yourself for a phoenix. And besides, a phoenix is still itself, even when the ash falls away.

So, you spool out your time like picking at tapestry threads, one thin string at time.

Tonight, it’s bread. Cinnamon chocolate babka, to be specific. You were craving something sweet. Are debating the merits of some sort of cream cheese icing while you shower off the long, ever-busy day.

Have decided on an optimistic why not as you slip out to begin your overly complicated self-care routine. Moisturizers, hair oils, lotion. An unexpected benefit of overloading yourself, you suppose. Even when you first got out of the military, you didn’t take such good care of yourself. You have a jogging route now. You’re handling your trauma every possible way except therapy. (And sleeping.) Better than nothing, you figure.

The candles have gone out in your bedroom. You click your tongue in annoyance, trying to remember where you left the matches this time. Bedside table?

You pad across the soft carpet, using the edge of the bed as a guide in the pitch black. The only other problem with candles is that their humble light doesn’t reach very far. But you know this house and keep the floors tidy enough that you’re confident you won’t trip.

Make it to the nightstand without incident and pat around. Knock the side of your hand into the little carton and only just catch it before it hits the deck. Let out a little huff and start to fumble it open.

“Nice catch, bonnie.”

You gasp, but your voice doesn’t get any farther than the back of your tongue. The box slips from your numb fingers, matchsticks scattering across the floor. He tsks.

“Shame that. We’ll get ‘em later.”

You can’t move. Can barely breathe. You’re just frozen, heart thundering with a sudden storm of fear and confusion. Hands still aloft in front of you, spine rigid, knees locked.

You feel more than hear movement behind you, and then the warmth of his body seeping into your naked skin. Not quite touching. Not yet.

“Missed you, little bird,” he rasps in your ear.

You always thought that in a moment like this you would scream. Kick and elbow and fight, damn your certain loss. But when it comes down to it, survival drowns out all those stupid, haughty ideas about pride and dignity. So you don’t curse and shout like you always fancied you would.

You whisper, “Soap.”

He hums but it sounds like a growl in your panicked state. “Missed me too, aye? You’re already naked fer me.”

His hands are searing when they settle on your waist like they belong there. He pulls you back against him; in the dark he’s bigger, broader than you remember. At least, you think, he’s fully clothed for now.

“What are you… how are you here?” you ask.

He barks a laugh, mean and rough. “Was only a matter of time after that shite they pulled.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and see it recreated in the phosphenes behind your lids.

Soap buried balls deep inside of you, murmuring a constant stream of filth as he got harder and harder inside you. Filling you up as you twitched around him, oversensitive and teary, afraid of what would come next.

Then the lights flashed, flicked red. An alarm sounded, Laswell’s voice ordering Soap away from you. But he just snarled and hunched over you, hips snapping to bury himself right back inside while you cried out.

The locked door swung in, armed guards swarming in. Yanked Soap off you while you scrambled to cover yourself. Someone grabbing your arm none too gently to pull you from the room. Soap wild-eyed and snarling like something possessed, until he was overtaken by struggling guards and you were trembling naked in that damned hallway.

“Was mad at you, at first, cannae lie,” he says, almost conversational. Your eyes snap open, though you know it’ll do you no good. “But I’ve had time to think on it. Wasnae yer fault, was it? Saw them drag you out.”

An awful relief floods you. Fuck dignity, fuck honesty. This is Soap right behind you, completely unrestrained and unsupervised.

“Yeah,” you answer, voice small. “I didn’t know they would do that. What… um. What happened to you?”

He presses his face into your damp hair, pressing closer, snaking his arms to squeeze you against him.

“Sent me off on some shite mission,” he explains, “probably hoped I’d die out there. You smell so good, lass.”

You shiver as his breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your neck. Hot, humid.

“And… and then what?” you insist, trying to stall.

You’re not sure what you’re stalling for. There will be no miraculous saves here – not that you really got any last time. It’s not like there’s any real plan to be made here, either. None that you’d be confident enough to risk his wrath on.

“Disappeared. Took care of business. Came to get my pretty little bird.”

A rough hand trails over the curve of your hip, brush the neat curls of your mound. You suck in a breath, hands twitching with the urge to stop him but not sure of putting up resistance when you’re still unsure of his mental state.

“And what about you, hm?” he rumbles. “Been a good girl while I’ve been away?”

His fingers dart down towards your entrance, not nearly prepared for anything. Least of all his thick digits.

“Y-yes!” you yelp, grabbing at his wrist. Relief makes you dizzy when you manage to stop him. “I-I’ve been good. Which means I’m not… I can’t just take you. I need… I need prep.”

He huffs, nips at the tender spot beneath your ear. The thrill that shoots through your stomach is terrifying.

“That’s what these are for, bonnie.”

And to your horror, he starts to push past your resistance like your staying hands aren’t there at all.

“John!”

He freezes. You shudder air into your burning lungs, feeling dizzy on panic.

You can get through this without pain, just think.

“I haven’t even got to see you,” you stutter, voice shaky. Can’t quite inject the disappointment you’re trying for, but hopefully it’ll work. “And I bet you’re all dirty from travel.”

He grumbles. “So what?”

You scramble to think of a satisfactory response. “S-so let’s get reacquainted in the shower, yeah? That way I can see your handsome face, at least.”

He chuckles, grazes his teeth “playfully” across your cheek. “Bossy thing.”

“You like it.”

And to your shock, he agrees with an amused huff. Hauls you up in his arms and walks you back to the still muggy bathroom. You’re set on your feet and spun around, chin jerked up to receive a savage kiss. All tongue and teeth, no finesse. He’s just licking into your mouth, hungry and animalistic, spit dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulls away, you blink spots from your vision. Finally focus on his smug features and make a soft, horrified noise when you register the splatter of crimson across them.

“Och, that? My little bird had watchers.”

Of course you did. The horror ebbs a bit. Resentment has made you indiscriminately bitter.

“Oh,” you say, “th-thank you. Definitely glad we’re showering first, then.”

“Squeamish?”

You’d like to know when the world turned upside down and John fucking “Soap” MacTavish began teasing you about the blood on his face.

“A bit,” you admit.

“Poor dear,” he coos. “Hard to believe we were made for each other sometimes, aye? Complementary, we are.”

Is that what he thinks? Christ.

You turn to start the shower again, spine prickling with the weight of his eyes on your back. The water rushes down and then he’s crowding you against the cold wall beneath the (thankfully) warm spray.

“Y-you’re still dressed!” you protest between sharp nips to your collarbone.

“Fix it, then,” he snarls.

You claw his shirt up his back, get momentarily distracted by the impressive display of muscle hidden beneath. Draw your palms over his chest and feel him shudder.

“Fuckin’ heavenly, love,” he purrs. “Missed this.”

A vague memory comes back to you, him gripping you close because he felt you naked against him for the first time. Him admitting he hasn’t had affectionate touch in a while.

This… this you could work with.

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

🧼🖌️ Soap's Tattoo Asset 🧼🖌️

After the Ghost and Alex Tattoo asset, now we go to the easier one: Soap's!

Once again thank you @shadeops21 for the asset! (This was initially his request but I'm gonna post this here too)

And here's the tattoo asset! It's really easy to apply, just slap em on his right forearm (not left ‼️)

Available with Black version and Brown version (use Multiply layer mode) :

That's it and have fun drawing the handsome Soap! 🧼 (/≧▽≦)/

Tip Jar 🏺✨

[aphelion11]

Hello I’m back and I need help finding ANOTHER fic I’m trying to find.

So basic details are, it’s about Johnny (soap) mactavish, he’s being held in a prison cell for going rogue or something. You are brought in basically as a price, so essentially y/n (or reader) is a member of the military and works in tech, was friendly with soap before he apparently went crazy. Laswell is trying to get information out of him and he says he’s not gonna give it up unless you are brought in for him to have 😏.

There were four parts as far as I remember, maybe three idk, the first ones are all when you are sent in and basically locked in this prison with him, he’s behind bars tho, and I think it’s the second part where he touches you through the bars. Third and fourth part he gives up the information and he takes you, but you are pulled out of the prison before he gets to finish. Last chapter is when you are supposedly getting back to your normal life, your traumatized, only light your house with candles cuz you don’t like big lights and he finds you and breaks in. Last it left off was the two of you in the shower or something and he’s super touch starved.

I cannot, for the life of me, remember the name of this fic. I know it’s a genre, like military asset or something? Idk. Please help me find it.

[appleciderp]

Guess what I learned to do today :) Is it importing models into clip studio paint and learning how to make the pre-existing bone structure work with CSP? Highly probable!

If you prefer to imagine I dug these out of the in-game files, I won't ruin your fun! Share this with your favorite CoD dudebro to make him cry.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

Do you think the 141 team + Konig are more boobs or ass guys?

I feel like most of them are boobs for some reason 🫠

Hehe, I had a bit of fun with this one, sorry it's a little short haha

141+ König- Boobs Vs. Ass Guys HC's

Warnings: smut, swearing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Simon Ghost Riley-

BOOBS 100%

Literally loves your tits

Please, sleep without your shirt on at night, he loves to hold them while the two of you sleep

Nearly cums instantly anytime you're on top, and they're bouncing in his face. Drives him WILD

Will definitely wash your tits in the shower. The sight of your soapy breats make him go feral

This man is a MASTER at taking your bra off with one hand. He's very proud of it.

Skilled. With. His. Mouth. He can spend hours with his lips attached to your tits

He's always touching your tits one way or another during sex. Whether it be with his mouth or his hands, they never are left untouched

No matter what size your breasts are, this man's hand can completely encompass one or both your breasts. The size kink is strong with him on this one

König-

Honestly? Doesn't have a preference really, he loves them both, but if he had to pick it'd be boobs

Big or small, he'd treat your breasts like GOLD

Loves when you buy lingerie, especially when it accentuates your assets

Hates when you wear a bra around the house. Will sneakily approach you, and reach under your shirt to unhook it

Breast massage? He's there. Ass massage? Don't need to ask him twice

Loves to go hiking with you, especially when you're wearing tight clothes? Man nearly creams himself when your boobs slightly jiggle, or your butt is accentuated in your shorts/leggings

Even if your breasts are bigger, he LOVES when you wear push-up bras. Let's just say it's a task putting a shirt on in the morning

Begs you to sleep without a shirt on, and will fondle your breasts late into the night. Even in his sleep.

John Price-

ASS. ASS. ASS. ASS. THIS MAN IS AN ASS MAN

This fucker loves to smack your ass any chance he can get

Getting dressed in the morning? Ass slap. In the shower? Ass slap. Cooking dinner? Double ass slap.

Secret kink of his is leaving handprints on your bare cheeks

He's a sucker for leaving bite marks on your ass. Loves to eat you out from behind, and place love bites all over your cheeks

Nearly drools when he's taking you from behind, and your ass jiggles with each of his thrusts

His cock will harden almost instantly if you wear booty shorts around him.

Sit on his lap. Do it. He fucking loves it.

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

BOOOOOBS this man fucking loves them

Loves looking at them, kissing them, playing with them. Give him your boobs

Firm believer this man motor boats them when he gets the chance

Will beg you to "titty drop" (where you pull up your shirt slowly so your boobs bounce out)

Willingly goes with you to go bra shopping, loves to pick out various bras for you

100% will playfully slap your boobs when he walks past you

Loves hold your boobs while you're doing various tasks, especially if you don't have a bra on. He'll say he's your "makeshift bra"

Loves when you're under him in bed, because he can see your tits bouncing as he pounds into you

Will cum in minutes if you tit fuck him, he is unable to control himself when you do, he loves it so much

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

Another ass man through and through

Loves to buy you yoga pants, specifically tight fitting ones so he can admire your assets

Totally buys you those tik tok leggings that make your ass look 10x bigger

Please work out with him. He loves to watch you do squats.

He once asked you to lay below him while he did push-ups, with your ass facing his face, so each time he bent down, he pressed a kiss to your cheeks

This man is a big spoon, and LOVES when you rest your ass against his cock when you cuddle

Like Price, he will find any excuse to slap your ass. Anytime. Anywhere. Loves to watch it jiggle when he does

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Again, kind of short, sorry! Been working through some brain block and feel like my works decreased in quality a bit😅

[sprout-fics]

have you ever dabbled in Omegaverse CoD?? If you’re comfortable I’d love some spicy headcanons about Alpha 141 with their Omega reader 🤭

Oh don't even get me STARTED-

Omegaverse TF141 Headcanons

(Part One: How it Begins)

Tags: Omegaverse, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Hidden designations, Alpha! John Price, Alpha! Simon 'Ghost' Riley, Beta! Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick, Omega! John 'Soap' MacTavish, Omega F! Reader, Emergency heat, Illegal suppressants

Masterlist

So first of all, I have a hard time imagining all four men are alphas

Primarily because I believe in the gospel that is Omega Soap

The idea of being underestimated because of his designation, of being rebellious of authority due to it and rising the ranks to prove his commanding officers wrong, of possibly even concealing himself because of the stereotypes involved is GOLD

Soap is also an attention whore, is very tactile and affectionate and outgoing, and I just feel like Omega suits him better than Alpha or Beta

We don't need to argue about Price. This man is an Alpha. No debate. Assured. Commanding. Feral. Protective. Yet gentle and indulgent when he can be.

Gaz I think can be pretty versatile, but for the sake of team dynamics and figuring out how they all blend together, Beta suits him best. He's calmer, keeps his cool under fire, and is in many ways more emotionally attuned than Soap. He's a steadying presence that's needed within the volatility of the other three, and they adore him endlessly for it

Ghost, for the sake of these headcanons, is an Alpha. However I think there's a whole realm of exploration in regards to him being a hidden omega. Details on that at a later time.

You, however, are an Omega

You, like Soap, concealed your designation in the military to avoid questions. You take a rigorous amount of suppressants, allow yourself to be perceived as a beta. Under the radar. Quiet. Reserved. Trying to not draw attention.

That changes when you're in the field with the 141 and things go very very badly.

It's an extended mission. You'd packed a month's worth of heat suppressants, can live off the lower quality ones given in supply drops along the way. You're there as an asset, a specialist, and there's a distance between you and the team that you don't mind. As long as you don't attract their attention and reveal yourself things will be fine

Except they aren't fine. In fact, they go to shit

Your camp is ambushed. You lose your kit in the scuffle, try to scramble for it under the hail of gunfire but Ghost grabs you by the scruff and snarls to leave it

You have no choice. You're hauled away, watching your kit vanish into the darkness, your heat suppressants alongside it

It takes a few days for the effects to settle in, and when they do it's hard

You haven't had a heat in years, and the withdrawal of the supplements you've been swallowing gives you a withdrawal whiplash that sends you into a delirious, feverish haze

You try and push them away, try and say you're fine, but you've been made

Soap is the first to figure it out. He knows that scent like he knows himself. He plays arbitrator alongside Gaz, tries to keep you hydrated and fed, keeps Ghost and Price well at bay. They're respectful, of course, sympathetic no doubt, but they're glad for Gaz and Soap running interference

Unfortunately it becomes clear pretty fast that things are quite dire

You've been taking illegal suppressants for far too long in an attempt to conceal your designation. They're illegal for a reason, because once your supply runs out, the heat you go through could be fatal

Price intervenes first

He's gentle, reassuring, firm in your feverish, wrecked state. You look at him with watery eyes, drink in his scent and beg him please-

He gives you what you need. Slow, firm thrusts, dragging wanting little cries from you as he ruts you with precise, rolling presses of his hips into yours

He has Gaz on standby, makes sure that his captain doesn't hurt you, doesn't lose himself. Your head is braced on his lap, your tears of pleasure wiped away by his thumbs as he hushes you "I know. I know doll. You're okay. Gonna take care of you."

It's not enough. You're consumed by sickening heat, and eventually Ghost is forced to step in too

He fills the ache in way Price is reluctant to, refuses to do as your superior officer. Ghost involves himself in the role, tells himself it's to save you, to keep you alive

But when you moan and whine under him so pretty like that, he has a hard time holding back

After, Soap holds you, shushes into your hair as you whimper and whine, as Ghost and Price debate about abandoning the mission so they can call for med-evac. It's Soap's hands on you that help quell the ache, provide a brief respite from the all consuming blaze inside you

It takes days for your heat to settle, and in those days you're lost in a buttery haze of flesh and wetness and moans as the men try and see to you, try and tell themselves it's only clinical, try to refuse the fact that they're falling for you

You wake up back at base, and in the days that follow you barely leave your room, waiting for you to be called down to someone's office and dismissed from your role, turned out of the military for hiding your designation

Instead you're summoned by Price, and in his office are the others

"No one will ever know." He promises you, low and sincere. "You have our protection as long as you want it."

You know years later that this was the moment you accepted your fate, took a single step towards them that would lead to the claims against your skin, each of them bearing your own mark in turn. Claimed.

In this moment you look up at them, again echo that singular desperate plea for them to stay.

"Please."

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

11 — COME BACK TO REMIND ME OF WHO I WAS

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. read on wattpad. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I forgot how ugly he was.”

Price, beside you, raises a slightly bemused brow. Taking the binoculars from your easy grip, he too, examines the target standing on the mansion’s balcony. A cigar sits between Price’s lips, mirroring the less sophisticated Marlboro between the Lieutenant General’s.

The man, one of the few higher-ups you were somewhat close with, is a decorated Shadow Company leader. Known for his strategy and persuasion, he was always a good asset.

Shame he was always this side of too touchy, and a general ass to anyone who had a vagina. Or an inclination for the same sex.

Real pity that he’s the one with the information you need, and the one you can’t kill.

“You’re not wrong, darlin’,” Price murmurs under his breath, exhaling a puff of smoke as he slips the cigar from his mouth, the cherry burning in the dark of night.

Ghost, like usual, is found a few buildings down, sniper at the ready. Soap and Gaz were ordered to stay behind for this mission, much to their chagrin. It was the closest you’d seen Gaz fight with his Captain, and Soap was just being generally pouty.

Both you, and Price, had managed to reason that expertise in explosions and protection wasn’t exactly wanted for a quick get-and-grab.

And, maybe, a small part of you needs a break from the two Sergeants. Your night with Gaz has infected your mind, even now, the day after. And seeing him, with his bright smile and dimples and eyes made your heart skip a beat. Especially with how no one could know of your rendezvous, lest you be kicked out of the deal.

Or worse.

You swallow, once, accepting the binoculars once more when Price hands them back to you with another puff of his cigar. He’s surprisingly courteous about it, not blowing the smoke into your face.

“Lt, we have eyes on the target. Over,” you speak into your radio, eyes like a hawk as you watch the Lieutenant General shake off flakes from his cigarette over the pristine white railing. He’s shorter than most, especially considering his rank, and you can’t help a small, private smile growing on your face at that small fact.

“Been around bloody Johnny too much,” Ghost mutters, and you roll your eyes. “No hostiles spotted, you’re good to go.”

Rising into a crouch, Price gives you a curt nod, before gesturing for you to follow him. You do so with quiet movements, the only sound the barely there crunch of dirt underneath your boots.

Your previous Lieutenant General was always an uncomfortably wealthy man, and you see now what he’s chosen to do with such an abundance of money. He lives in an off-the-grid mansion, deep in the middle of nowhere, only hills and trees around him.

Those families in Las Almas, displaced and killed and ruined – they were entirely more deserving of just a fraction of this wealth. Your tongue feels coated with something sour.

Price smells like cinnamon and spice, even in his gear, and it’s a scent that settles in your belly like a warm stew. 

It’s rare, these days, to see daylight. All this recon work done well past midnight, hiding in the shadows and staying low. Not your favourite, but at the same time, it’s kind of… nice, doing this, just you and Price and the moon. No having to tiptoe around what to say around Gaz, or avoiding Soap’s innuendos.

If only it wasn’t for Ghost, too, watching over the two of you.

God, how you hated that man. His snarky comments, the roll of his eyes, his mask he refused to take off. And the way he almost looked down at you, questioned your authority, not unlike all the men you’d known. Worked alongside. Hated, too, in much the same vein.

You wonder, distantly, if he’ll ever come around. If there was at all a possibility of a civil interaction between you both, one that didn’t end in death threats or glares or passing out.

“Somethin’s on your mind.”

Head snapping up, you meet Price’s knowing blue eyes. Calculating, always aware, always ready for the worst case scenario.

“Not really, Cap,” you easily shake off in a whisper, continuing to follow him, until your backs are pressed against the beige, concrete wall. Your assault rifle is pulled to your chest, safety off.

The bandage on your cheek had been replaced just this afternoon, a soothing balm and fresh wrappings alleviating the growing itch that had been forming on your face. What was another scar, even? This one, at least, had somewhat of a neutral memory attached.

Ghost’s chest, his arms, a single threat turned into a promise.

You blink.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed if you underestimate our smarts,” Price says, low, under his breath. His words have you halting.

“Sir –”

“I know you’re used to bein’ the smartest kid in the regiment,” he continues, not unkindly, “But you’d do yourself well to remember that my boys are here for a reason, too. We know more than you give us credit for.”

His voice is deep, gruff, even in the low whisper he’s reduced to. 

A shiver erupts down your spine as you feel out where to start climbing the wall, trying not to look at the man next to you. His words – they hit a part of you that you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Never said you guys weren’t smart, Captain.”

“Actions speak louder than words, Colonel.”

You have nothing to say to that – an irony, all things considered. Instead, you jerk your head towards the bricks that’ll allow you both to scale the side of the mansion. With your gloves on, the two of you make it to the third floor, shuffling through an open window.

It’s pitch black, except for a lone light turned on in your target’s study, just down the hall.

The air is stale, stifling, potent with old filing and decade-old cologne. It has your throat feeling clogged, your eyes slightly glassy as you move towards the light, gun at the ready.

This is, you realise, the first time you’re working beside the Captain.

You’d worked in tandem, obviously, but never so closely knit like this. With him at your six, his body like a furnace when beside your own, it’s an entirely new dynamic. So different to that of his subordinates – more steady, controlled.

Ghost is silent over the radio, a small mercy, as you two find your way into the study, backs to the wall as you quickly clear the room. You never knew when a surprise could be awaiting you.

“Check the drawers, I’ll look through the shelves,” Price whispers, a direct command delivered in a raspy breath.

You nod, immediately transferring your gun to your back as you rush through the desk’s contents.

The room is dusty, obviously having seen little use in recent years, and the drawers are filled to the brim with knick knacks. Old paper clips, photos, receipts – everything, except for what you need.

“Got anything?” You find yourself asking, a harsh whisper in the still quiet of the room.

Price shakes his head, a stern movement, still searching through the shelves with a stealthy yet quickened pace. You focus back on the drawers, going through each one with efficient and expert ease. Some old gum packets, paper clips. Fuck.

Your heart pounds in your chest, your throat feels thick with dread.

The contract you were looking for – it could be the beginning of the end. You needed this like you needed air, right now, and if you didn’t find it –

“Darlin’,” Price calls, smooth but demanding. You instantly look up, drawn to the man like a moth to a flame. “We’re goin’ to find it. Stop thinkin’.”

It’s, obviously, easier said than done.

You appreciate his sentiment – the way he’s trying to guide you – but that sinking feeling of despair has you gripped in its tenuous claws; unrelenting and powerful and cruel. It feels as though everything is riding on this; like your very existence will disappear as soon as you find out the document has.

A hand on your shoulder startles you out of your thoughts.

It’s Price.

“You need to get your head in, Colonel,” he orders, his voice no longer patient or kind. This is the voice of a Captain. “I am not about to waste my time here if you can’t do your job.”

It’s exactly what you need, right now, and he knows it. You know it.

You take a breath.

And you nod.

He claps your shoulder, a firm glint in his eyes as he jerks his head towards the rest of the room. You’re running on a timer – your mini spiral an unnecessary hurdle. All you have to do is block off that side of your brain, and get the bloody job done.

Although Ghost is still silent as ever, you can feel his looming presence even without being at all in his line of sight.

It’s debilitating.

With more meticulous movements and keener eyes, you look through the drawers. Less desperate, more knowing, because if there’s any doubt that you won’t find it –

“Target is leaving the balcony – I’m ‘bout to lose sight on ‘im,” Ghost’s quick voice starts through your radio. The slight tone of worry has every inch of you on edge. Your wide eyes flicker to Price’s – whose jaw sets.

“Copy, Lieutenant,” Price murmurs, voice low.

The gun strapped to your back feels heavier than before, now, and your hand drifts to the pistol attached to your thigh. The same one that’s come in handy time and time again.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Footsteps – down the hall. Heading towards –

A hand on the scuff of your neck. A door being pulled open – pitch black.

Your heart thunders in your chest, Price’s hand pressed against your sternum, his chest against yours. The air is tight, and you’re cornered in a…

Closet.

Price pulled you into a closet – and now, you’re stuck with his thigh between yours and his arm outstretched above your head. You feel entirely weak before him, the Captain of the 141.

If it was at all in question, anymore, you would’ve considered that this would be the perfect time to kill you. To be rid of Grave’s right-hand woman, and to cut off any loose ends.

Instead, all you can feel is his warm breath against your forehead.

The footsteps pause, but the creak of the study’s door has your spine rigid all over again. Price presses in closer to you – and you don’t make a single movement. Don’t speak a single word, in case its very syllables are your undoing.

You can’t see, not in this speckled darkness, but price’s very existence feels so strong against your own that you can’t help but shudder a breath.

“Sir – You can’t possibly be serious. Use your damn brain.”

Your ex-Lieutenant General hisses into what you assume is his phone. And by his grating voice dripping with stress? There’s only one man on this Earth that he could be talking to.

Phillip Graves.

You can’t make out what your Commander says in response – not through the small, tinny voice of the phone, but you can pretty much guess his sentiment.

“Most of our men are gone! We can’t take down that bloody Task Force –” He hisses, his voice palpably furious. Without realising it, you find yourself curling in further to Price – his own head ducking down to shield you subconsciously.

The creak of the study’s floorboards, echoing under the weight of the man’s boots, makes your heart pound.

You feel not unlike a small child, hiding from their parents while the sound of yelling and smashing glasses echoes around the room. The long since buried memory of your father – before he left, before he broke your mother’s heart – of dark hair and angry, pulsing veins. The same veins you inherited.

The ones of which you wish you could carve out of your skin, just to watch the fury bleed out.

“Why the fuck is she so important? Good pussy or not –” Your heart, a thud, thud, thud, “ – She’s just a girl. She’s not worth it.”

Price’s hand tightens his hand, unconsciously clasping your throat like it’s a new necklace of yours. It’s oddly comforting, even if it threatens to block your airflow. His chin nearly rests atop your head, so close, but all you get is the waft of cigars and ink.

Graves must respond with something – something that the man just a few feet away from you does not appreciate.

“At this rate, the worst case scenario is that she finds out,” the man starts to pace, the rhythm of his footfalls matching the heaving rises of your chest, “And then what? Get your fucking head in, Commander.”

Your mind’s flooded with possibilities, what could possibly constitute the worst case scenario, when the next sentence shatters you entirely.

“She’s smart, Commander, and she’s gonna want to figure out the truth of dear old mum’s death soon. Don’t be idiotic.”

Silence.

Your ears ring – your throat closes, and your common sense crumbles at your feet. 

The next few moments happen in easy, recognisable steps.

One. You shove Price off of you – not in a way that’d cause him pain, but forceful enough that he can’t push back in time to stop you.

Two. You swing the closet door open, the light flooding your view, along with the large frame of the Lieutenant General.

Three. You slide your trusty pistol from your hollister, flick off the safety, and aim with a shaky grip.

And you shoot.

The bullet slices clean and true through the man’s forehead, blood instantly dripping between his eyes as he falls forward, body slumping, until the phone clatters to the carpet alongside him.

Price yells something. You can’t hear it past the ringing in your ears, the muffled sound that drifts between reality and thought.

Dropping to your knees, you clasp the phone in your grip, blood staining the face of it. You bring it to your ear, hand no longer shaking. Steady as a surgeon.

Graves says something, sounding desperate.

“When I kill you, Commander,” you rasp, and you think you can hear Ghost’s irritating voice through your radio, “I’ll do it the same way I plan to finish Shepherd.”

“You’re gonna regret –” Graves hisses, but all you do is pull the phone from your ear, and press the circular red button.

The line cuts.

A hand falls to your shoulder, shaking you, and it’s only then that the ringing stops, and all of your other senses fall back into place.

The hand moves to the hair at the base of your skull, Price fisting it and pulling your head back to face him. He looks… angry, but it’s softened, somehow, by the understanding in his blue eyes.

“You had one order, Darlin’,” he borderline growls, and your skin prickles, “Tell me what that was.”

A petulant child is what you are. How he’s treating you.

You answer anyway.

“Not to,” you swallow, throat dry, “Not to kill him. Captain, you have to –” His grip on your hair tightens, and your words stop short.

He shakes his head, eyes narrowing. “If you’re gonna let your feelings get in the way of our mission…”

Even though he doesn’t finish his sentence, you understand the meaning of it. You’re acting reckless, growing impatient – risking yourself and others over petty disputes.

Everything feels so difficult, right now, impossible to comprehend. Like your mind’s on auto-pilot, your body, too.

Price releases his grip from your hair, and you find your gaze moving to the body laid in front of you.

And…

A piece of paper – folded – has fallen just beside his jacket’s pocket. You lean forward, clasping it between your hands without a second thought, and open it up with careful movements.

With every word you read, your mouth falls open wider – until you find yourself standing on unsteady feet, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes.

It’s.

“It’s not the contract,” you breathe, realising Price is just watching, waiting, looking out for you. You finally look up from the sheet. 

“It’s something better.”

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Navigation || AU Masterlist || All images & fictional characters go to their respective owners. All bios barring Keegan and Hesh are taken directly from in-game. They are not mine.

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE MASTERLIST || Total Works : 22

╰┈➤❝ [Captain in the 22nd SAS and commander of Task Force 141. Peerless combat tracker. Elite seek-and-strike expert. Specializing in unconventional warfare, Price is a target-focused war fighter who deploys a cut to the chase lethality.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

LIEUTENANT SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY MASTERLIST || Total Works : 12

╰┈➤❝ [An expert in clandestine tradecraft, sabotage and infiltration. He lives with a redacted past and an undercover present, marked by a concealed appearance to hide his identity and maintain anonymity in the field.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK MASTERLIST || Total Works : 4

╰┈➤❝ [Sergeant in the SAS. Recruited by Captain Price to Task Force 141 after operations in Urzikstan and Borjomi. Expertise in prime target elimination, demolitions, weapons tactics, covert surveillance, and VIP protection.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT JOHN 'SOAP' MACTAVISH MASTERLIST || Total Works : 5

╰┈➤❝ [The youngest recruit to pass SAS selection, Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish is known as a perpetual FNG, a label he wears as a badge of honor. A confident, instinctive CQB expert, Soap was handpicked by Price for TF-141.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

ALEX KELLER MASTERLIST || (COD: MW 2019) || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Former CIA SAD turned Warcom ground branch asset. Specialized training to infiltrate enemy lines and survive in inhospitable conditions. Charged with desertion after joining Farah to topple Barkov's regime in Urzikstan.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

SERGEANT KEEGAN P. RUSS MASTERLIST || (COD: GHOSTS) || Total Works : 5

╰┈➤❝ [Former member of the USMC and one of the original fifteen to survive Operation Sand Viper in 2005. Currently a Scout Sniper for Task Force: STALKER, also known as Ghosts.] ❞

LIEUTENANT DAVID 'HESH' WALKER MASTERLIST || (COD: GHOSTS) || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Son of Elias 'Scarecrow' Walker and brother to Logan Walker. Joined the U.S. Special Forces after the ODIN strikes in 2017. Fought in the Federation War. Handler to his MWD, Riley.] ❞

KÖNIG MASTERLIST || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [König suffered from severe social anxiety throughout his life, often being bullied during his childhood. At the age of 17, he volunteered for the military.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

NIKTO MASTERLIST || Total Works : 3

╰┈➤❝ [Nikto is a former undercover agent of the FSB. At one point he was captured and tortured by Victor Zakhaev, leading to his face becoming disfigured. He constantly wears a mask to hide his injuries.] ❞

— In-Game Biography

[thewulf]

The Price of Protection || Captain John Price

Summary: Request -Recently I was SA. Now I wasn't R@ped. But I was peer pressured/manipulated and intoxicated to verbally consenting to things I didn't want to do. I'm not asking for it to be relived but rather comfort. Everyone always talks about feeling disgusted but I want comfort for the guilt and second thoughts... Read Rest Here

A/N: THIS ONE IS HEAVY. Please read the trigger warnings below. Thank you anon for trusting me with this. I hope you like it.

Pairing: Captain John Price x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 4.8k +

TW: MENTIONS OF SA (Not outright but hints), Heavy Angst, general COD warnings.

You had always admired your Captain for as long as you’ve known him. It wasn’t but almost three years ago now that you were assigned to Task Force 141. They were skeptical at first, as you would be too. Who was this little American girl infiltrating their ranks? This was a Task Force with the most brilliant minds and somehow you were there. Yet, you had proven yourself one of the most valuable assets to the team time and time again. You were good, great even, at your job. You could hack into anything, take over any camera you wanted, reroute rockets if you had the time allotted. You were the genius behind some of the missions that could’ve gone south fast. You were Captain Price’s secret weapon that he kept well hidden.

It took you a while to open up to the guys. But leave it to Soap to get you talking. After a year of trying your best to maintain the Ghost persona, Soap had successfully broken you down. They learned of your past, how you came to be so freakishly good with computers and hacking, where you went to school and where you grew up. You were an enigma to the team. And they grew to love you. It was slow until it wasn’t. You were an outcast until you weren’t. You found yourself laughing and bantering with John, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost time and time again. Suddenly, you were a part of the team, a true member of TF141.

Most times you would head out with the team to help them out. But sometimes you could do the job right from your home base. And this mission turned out to be one of those times. You didn’t hate that you didn’t get to go; you just felt a little left out when you stayed back. But Price always assured you it was for your safety above all else. Sometimes these missions were a little too dangerous for even you. Which of course led you to be more nervous than ever. If it was too dangerous for you, then what was it for them? Surely no walk in the park.

You walked with Price out to the chopper trying one last time. “Captain, are you sure? I can help with logistics once you get there.”

He gave you that signature soft Price smile before shaking his head softly. “I’m sure. It’s a quick in and out. No need to put you in the line of fire for it.”

“But…”

He cut you off. “I know you want to go. I really do. But it’s not worth the risk. You’re too valuable to this team.”

You let out a sigh before nodding. “I understand. Please be safe. Make sure everybody comes back in one piece.”

He gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Like we always do. We land at 0800 local time. Soap will be giving you a call then. We’ll see you soon.”

Pressing your lips together you forced a smile to him. “You better.” With a quick nod, you watched as he hopped in the chopper with the rest of the team. Soap flipped you off before the pilot ascended, leaving you in a fit of laughter, always the shit he was.

You had forgotten how much you disliked being away from the team. You felt so far, so disengaged. Even with MacTavish swearing like a sailor in your ear. You felt totally helpless but tried your best to do whatever you could for the team. The mission was successful but not without hiccup. Gaz had been shot, fortunately, it was just a small graze to the shoulder but nevertheless it reminded you of how fragile their lives were. How one misstep could take a best friend away from you. How crucial you really were to their livelihood.

The stress was getting to you tonight though. The thought of mortality was becoming too much. So, you found yourself at the bar just outside of base. What better way to bury your stresses away than to drink your worries away right with it? You weren’t usually so careless. But the worry and the helplessness got the better of you. One beer turned to two. Turned to a few shots bought by a man across the bar who was giving you the eyes. You’d seen him around base. Maybe even chatted for a brief time. But you chose to never give these men the time of day, until tonight. You knew the type and usually stayed far away. But it was a moment of weakness that got to you.

As the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, the edges of your worries dulled. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. It was a temporary reprieve, a fleeting sense of freedom from the constant pressure of your responsibilities. In the chatter and clinking of glasses you felt an unwanted hand on your shoulder, and you turned to see the man who had been buying you drinks. His smile was charming, but there was a hint of something predatory in his gaze. Instinctively you tensed as your senses were on high alert in your inebriated state.

You forced a polite smile, but you felt uneasy. The alcohol had clouded your judgment, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You knew you should’ve left right then and there. Find your way back to the safety of base, but a part of you hesitated. Maybe it was the loneliness or the desire to forget, but you entertained the idea of staying just a little longer.

As the minutes ticked on, you found yourself ensnared in a web of conversation with the soldier. His words were like honeyed poison, dripping with false charm and manipulation. He seemed to know just what to say. But beneath the surface there was a darkness lurking. A predatory intent masked by the guise of friendly banter. The alcohol eventually dulled your senses, clouding your judgment as you struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of the conversation. His words became a blur as each syllable merged into the next until they lost all meaning. But still you listened captivated by the illusion of connection he wove around you.

His touch was insistent. His hands lingering where they shouldn't have been sending shivers of discomfort down your spine. You tried to pull away, to put some distance between you and this stranger who seemed to know too much about you. But he only tightened his grip, his fingers leaving marks in their wake.

As the night wore on, the line between consent and coercion blurred. Your protests drowned out by the relentless onslaught of alcohol and manipulation. You knew deep down that you didn't want this, that every fiber of your being screamed for you to escape. But you felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of his expectations. And so, with a soul weighed down by guilt and shame, you surrendered to his advances. Your body moving on autopilot as you sought refuge in the temporary oblivion of physical pleasure. But even as you gave in a part of you screamed in silent agony you mourned the loss of you usual control.

In the aftermath as the harsh light of reality pierced through the haze of alcohol and regret, you were left grappling with the devastating truth of what had transpired. You had been used, manipulated, reduced to nothing more than a pawn in someone else's twisted game. The guilt threatened to consume you, gnawing at your insides as you struggled to come to terms with what had happened. You blamed yourself, berating your own weakness and naivety. Wishing you had been stronger, smarter, better able to protect yourself. But deep down you knew the truth. You were not to blame. You were a victim of his manipulation, preyed upon by someone who saw you as nothing more than a means to an end.

The next day dawned with a heavy burden that seemed to press down upon your shoulders, weighing you down with the crushing weight of guilt and shame. As the TF141 team returned from their mission, the atmosphere in the base shifted. You left the air thick with an unspoken tension that hung over the corridors.

Alone in your room, you felt as though you were drowning in a sea of despair, the walls closing in around you with every passing moment. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, leaving salty trails in their wake as you grappled with the overwhelming flood of emotions. Each sob that wracked your body felt like a physical manifestation of the agony that churned within you. A relentless reminder of the betrayal of your own body and the violation of your trust. Every breath was a struggle, a battle against the suffocating weight of shame that threatened to crush you beneath its relentless onslaught.

Outside your door, the sounds of laughter from Soap and Gaz only served to deepen your anguish. You could hear Price and the others talking, their footsteps echoing through the corridors as they made their way back to their quarters. But despite the familiarity of their presence, you couldn't bring yourself to face them. You couldn't bear the thought of meeting their eyes and seeing the disappointment and judgment reflected back at you. Instead, you remained sequestered in your room. You isolated yourself from the world outside as you struggled to come to terms with what had actually happened.

As the hours passed and the weight of your guilt continued to bear down on you, your phone buzzed incessantly with messages from Soap, Gaz and even Ghost. Each notification felt like a sharp jab to your already fragile psyche, a painful reminder of the concern and judgment you knew awaited you on the other end of the line. Soap's messages were filled with words of worry and encouragement, his concern evident in the way he repeatedly asked if you were okay. Gaz's messages were more subdued, but no less concerned, his terse inquiries betraying the depth of his worry for your well-being.

You ignored their messages, unable to fake it to them. Instead, you buried yourself deeper in the cocoon of your own despair, the silence of your room offering little solace in the midst of your turmoil. But as the day wore on and hunger gnawed at your stomach, you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed and made your way to the cafeteria. It was late, far later than anyone else would-be getting dinner, or so you thought.

As you entered the desolate cafeteria, your heart sank at the sight of Ghost sitting alone at a table in the corner. Despite the emptiness of the room his presence felt suffocating, casting a harsh spotlight on the turmoil brewing within you. With a sigh you ignored him and walked up to serve yourself the usual dull military food. You felt Ghost's gaze boring into you. His eyes a mixture of concern and confusion as they lingered on your tear-stained face.

You filled your plate with food, your hands shaking as you struggled to maintain your composure. The weight of Ghost's scrutiny felt like a physical burden. But as you made your way past Ghost's table, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on the floor. Your cheeks burned with shame as you tried to hide the evidence of your recent breakdown.

With a quick nod of acknowledgment, you hurried away from Ghost's table. Your steps quickening as you sought refuge in the farthest corner of the room. You found an empty table and sat down keeping your head bowed as you focused on your food, desperate to avoid any further scrutiny. But despite your best efforts, you could still feel Ghost's gaze burning into you. His concern was a palpable presence in the empty room. You felt exposed, vulnerable, as if every inch of your skin was laid bare for him to see. And as you picked at your food, your appetite all but forgotten in the wake of your turbulent emotions. You couldn't help but wonder how long you could keep up the charade. How long before the facade you had constructed came crashing down around you?

As Ghost approached your table, his presence a calming anchor in the midst of your turbulent emotions, he gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. "Hey, kid," he greeted you in his trademark gruff tone, his voice carrying a note of concern beneath its rough exterior. "You alright?"

You tried to mask the evidence of your tears with a feeble attempt at a smile, but Ghost saw right through that. His keen eyes bore into yours, his gaze unwavering as he waited for your response.

"Yeah, just allergies acting up," you replied, your voice betraying the strain of your attempts to deflect his concern.

But Ghost wasn't fooled. He knew you better than that, could see the pain etched into every line of your face. With a grunt of acknowledgment, he accepted your explanation, though you could tell he wasn't entirely convinced.

"I won't push ya," he said with his gravelly voice, his tone softened by a rare display of empathy. "But if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm here." With a grateful nod, you thanked him and watched as he walked out of the room leaving you to your thoughts.

As the morning sun filtered through the curtains you found yourself ensnared in a labyrinth of restless thoughts. Each beam of sunlight seemed to illuminate the tangled mess of emotions that swirled within you, highlighting the heavy shroud of guilt that enveloped your very being. You had spent the night tossing and turning, your pillow dampened by tears that ebbed and flowed.

Just as you had managed to drift into a fitful slumber the persistent knocking at your door shattered the fragile semblance of peace you had managed to find. Each rap on the door felt like a blow to your already fragile composure jolting you awake from the fleeting respite of sleep. Groggy and disoriented you stumbled across the room, every step a struggle against the weight of exhaustion that hung heavy upon your shoulders.

With a heavy heart Captain John Price stood on the other side of the door, his hand hovering tentatively over the handle as he took in the sight before him. His breath caught in his throat, a pang of concern twisting in his chest at the sight of you. The vibrant energy that usually radiated from you had been replaced by a sadness he rarely saw from you. A shadow of your former self. His heart clenched with a mixture of empathy and apprehension as he took in your fragile state. Every instinct urged him to gather you into his arms, to shield you from the pain that etched lines of sorrow upon your face. But he held back, knowing that you needed space to unravel the tangled threads of your emotions in your own time. With a silent prayer on his lips, Price waited for you to acknowledge him.

"Captain, what are you doing here?" you greeted him with a ghost of a smile, though it failed to reach your eyes, which still held traces of the turbulent night you had endured.

Price's gaze softened at the sight of you, his concern etched into every line of his expression. "Hey love," he greeted softly, his voice carrying a gentle warmth that offered solace in the midst of your turmoil. "Missed you this morning at PT. Everything alright?"

You forced a tight-lipped smile, the effort of masking your inner turmoil nearly unbearable. Every word you spoke felt like a weight upon your chest, each syllable a struggle against the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to engulf you. "Yeah, just feeling a bit under the weather," you replied, your voice strained with the weight of the unspoken troubles that gnawed at your conscience. Price's brow furrowed deeper in concern as he studied your haggard appearance. His gaze lingered on you, searching for answers in the depths of your tired eyes, his intuition telling him that there was more to your distress than a simple case of illness.

"You sure that's all it is?" he pressed gently, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and skepticism. He had known you long enough to recognize when something weighed heavily on your mind, and the mask you wore now couldn't conceal the truth from him.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to respond. The weight of your secrets threatened to suffocate you, but you clung to the fragile facade you had constructed, unwilling to burden him with the weight of your troubles. "Yeah, just... a rough night," you murmured, the words tasting bitter on your tongue as you forced them past the lump that lodged there.

Price had always treated you differently, with a softness he never seemed to reserve for the others. From the moment you joined Task Force 141, he recognized the weight of the horrors that came with the job.  He made it his mission to be there for you in a way that went beyond mere professional obligation. He became your confidant, your sounding board, the one person you could turn to when the darkness threatened to overwhelm you. His gentle demeanor and unwavering kindness provided a safe haven in the chaos of missions and the toll they took on your spirit.

Price's gaze softened with understanding as he reached out to gently squeeze your arm. His touch was a far cry from the man a few nights ago. He was that comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

"You don't have to face it alone, you know," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me. You can always talk to me, love."

Indeed, Price's tenderness towards you was unmistakable. While you were every bit a soldier like the rest, he recognized that you were different. The things you witnessed and the actions you took on these missions slowly started eating away at you long ago. But Price was there offering solace and understanding. His affection for you growing deeper with each shared moment of vulnerability.

Over the three years of working together Price found himself drawn to more than just your skills and abilities. It was your spirit, your unwavering determination, and your unique personality that captivated him. At first it was subtle, just a flicker of admiration for the way you handled yourself under pressure, the way you never backed down from a challenge. But as time went on and he got to know you better, that admiration blossomed into something deeper. He found himself enchanted by the fire in your eyes when you spoke passionately about something you believed in. He admired the way you never lost your humanity, even in the midst of the darkest missions. Your compassion and empathy for others in the face of danger touched something within him that he hadn't realized was missing.

Price began to notice the small things about you, the adorable quirks that made you uniquely yourself. He found himself smiling at your jokes, laughing at your antics, and feeling a sense of peace whenever you were around. He cherished the moments when you let your guard down and allowed him to see the vulnerable side of you. He felt honored that you trusted him with your fears and insecurities.

As the years went by, Price realized that his feelings for you had evolved beyond mere admiration. He was in love with you. He loved the way you made him feel alive, the way you challenged him to be a better man, and the way you brought light into his dark world. But even as his feelings grew, Price knew that he could never act on them. Not while he was your Captain and the stakes of their missions remained so high. So, he buried his feelings deep inside. He was content to love you from afar and grateful for the opportunity to know you. Even if it meant keeping his emotions hidden.

Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were like a finely tuned unit, attuned not only to the dynamics of the battlefield but also to the subtleties of their comrades' interactions. They noticed the way Price's demeanor would shift whenever you entered the room. The slight softening of his usually stern expression, the warmth that crept into his eyes as they lingered on you, and the way his voice would adopt a gentler tone when he spoke to you. It was unmistakable to them though they never openly acknowledged it.

In their downtime when the mission chatter had quieted, and they found themselves lounging around the base, the guys would exchange knowing glances whenever Price's attention seemed to linger on you a little longer than necessary. Soap might chuckle and nudge Ghost, raising an eyebrow in silent communication that spoke volumes about Price's apparent fondness for you. Ghost, ever the silent observer, would offer a small smirk in return, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched Price navigate the delicate balance between professionalism and the undeniable affection he held for you.

Gaz, always one for a bit of banter, wouldn't hesitate to make playful remarks whenever the opportunity presented itself. He'd tease Price about being extra protective of you during missions, jokingly suggesting that Price had a soft spot for you that he couldn't quite hide. Price would roll his eyes in response, brushing off Gaz's comments with a gruff retort. But the slight flush that colored his cheeks betrayed the truth behind Gaz's jests.

Despite their teasing, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz respected the unspoken boundaries that surrounded Price's feelings for you. They knew that his affection for you was genuine and deep-rooted, and they never pushed him to confront it unless he was ready. As for you, you might have been the only one oblivious to the undercurrent of emotions swirling around Price. To you he remained the steadfast leader, unwavering in his commitment to the mission and the safety of his team. His true feelings were well hidden behind a mask of professionalism and duty.

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to find the courage to vocalize the turmoil that had been devouring you from within. The weight of your confession hung heavy upon your shoulders. Each word feeling like a jagged stone forced from your chest. "I... I had a little too much to drink while everyone was gone," you confessed, your voice barely rising above a whisper, as if you were afraid the words themselves would shatter the fragile sanctuary you had built around yourself. "And... I did things... things I didn't want to do."

As you spoke, the air in the room seemed to thicken with a suffocating sense of shame. You couldn't bring yourself to meet Price's gaze. You feared the judgment you were sure would reflect in his eyes. But when you finally summoned the courage to glance up, the expression etched on Price's face was not one of condemnation but of utmost concern. His features tightened with an intensity that mirrored the turmoil raging within him. His heart twisted with a potent blend of anger and sorrow at the thought of someone exploiting your vulnerability in such a despicable manner. But despite the roiling emotions churning beneath the surface, he remained stoically composed. He understood that now was not the time for upsetting you even further.

"Coerced..." you added, your voice trembling with shame as you unveiled the truth that had festered within you like a poison, eating away at your sense of self-worth with every passing moment. "I tried to resist, but... he wouldn't listen. He wouldn’t take no for an answer."

As the weight of your confession hung heavy in the air between you, you couldn't help but feel a surge of relief wash over you. As if the simple act of vocalizing your pain had lifted a burden that had threatened to crush you. Despite the shame that threatened to consume you there was a profound sense of solace in knowing that you were no longer bearing this burden alone. That you had finally allowed yourself to be vulnerable in front of the one person you trusted implicitly.

In that moment of raw honesty, you couldn't help but wonder if Price understood the depth of your feelings for him. If he could see beyond the facade you presented to the world and glimpse the tangled mess of emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface. As you spoke you couldn't deny the palpable sense of comfort that enveloped you. It was as if in allowing yourself to be vulnerable with Price you had discovered a sanctuary where judgment held no power, where acceptance reigned supreme. Captain John Price was the best of men.

And as Price listened his gaze never wavering from yours, you couldn't shake the feeling that he knew on some level the depth of your affection for him. Perhaps it was the gentleness in his touch, the understanding in his eyes, or the unwavering support he offered without hesitation. Whatever the reason, you found yourself daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way. As the weight of your confession hung heavy in the air between you, you realized with startling clarity that Price was more than just a trusted confidant. He was your rock, your pillar of strength in a world filled with uncertainty and doubt. And as the realization settled deep within your heart, you couldn't help but acknowledge the truth that had been staring you in the face all along: you loved him, in a way that transcended mere friendship.

With each passing moment, the bond between you and Price grew stronger, forged in the chaos of shared experiences and unwavering support. And as you looked into his eyes seeing the reflection of your own emotions mirrored back at you, you knew without a doubt that you could tell him anything, and he would be right there for you, no matter what.

Price's grip on your arm tightened ever so slightly as you made your confession. His touch both grounding and reassuring in its strength. His resolve hardened as he fought back the surge of protectiveness that threatened to consume him. "I'm here for you," he reassured you, his voice unwavering in its conviction. "Whatever you need, I'll do everything in my power to help you through this."

As Price listened to your trembling words a whirlwind of emotions roiled within him. Anger burned hot in his chest at the thought of someone taking advantage of you. His fists clenched with the urge to seek retribution. But beneath the rage a deeper sense of sorrow welled up aching with empathy for the pain you had endured alone. "I will always be here for you," he murmured again. As the weight of your confession settled upon you both Price felt a swell of tenderness wash over him, mingling with the fierce determination that burned within him. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms, to shield you from the pain that gnawed at your soul.

With a gentle hand he lifted your chin, meeting your tear-filled gaze with unwavering reassurance. His heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability, and he couldn't help but brush away the tears that traced delicate paths down your cheeks. "You're not alone. I promise you that," he whispered, his voice infused with a quiet strength that resonated deep within you. "I'll be right here, every step of the way." And as he spoke those words you felt a sense of solace wash over you. You knew that you could lean on him, trust in him.

Against his better judgment, Price drew you into his embrace. His arms encircling you with a tenderness that concealed the strength of his resolve. He held you close as you surrendered to the flood of tears that just kept coming. "It's okay," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle reassurance in the midst of your turmoil. "I've got you. You're safe now."

His heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability. He couldn't help but brush his hand through your hair. His touch a comforting caress that made you shiver. With each stroke he hoped to ease the burden that weighed so heavily upon your shoulders.

"You're not alone love," he whispered in reassurance. His voice a quiet promise against the chaos of your emotions. "I'm here for you, always." He said once more letting you know that he wasn’t going anywhere. He continued to hold you as the tears slowly subsided. His silent grasp on you a vow to stand by your side through every trial and tribulation that may lay ahead.

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[soapybutt17]

Day One

Summary: Initial Scenes with Rookie and the rest of 141 during the earlier days of the new Taskforce. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish. Kate Laswell. Word Count: 3,115 Chapter Warnings: Mention of Blood and Injuries. Mentions of Nightmares. Canon Divergence AU.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

In the broad daylight, Captain John Price was tucked away in a nondescript corner of a small café, the smell of coffee and pastries enveloping him as he made his way inside. Kate Laswell already waiting for him. A cup of tea already in his hold for what was to come out of their conversation.

“Tea?” Kate inquired, surprised by his choice of beverage.

“Yeah, well I’m a long way from a proper pint.” He grunted, giving her a passive aggressing smile, he was genuinely craving one after the events with Barkov.

“Russia disowned Barkov.” Kate immediately spoke, going straight to the point of their meeting.

“Well they didn’t have much choice did they? He’s dead.” John quipped right back.

“You took a big bite out of that problem, John.”

“For now, but left unchecked.” He knew there were still loose ends that needed to be dealt with.

“They won’t be.” Kate assured him, pulling out a dossiers of several candidates, potential members for his new Taskforce. “General Shepherd pulled the files you asked for. What is this about?” Kate slid the it towards him, but her own curiosity for his plan was shown in broad daylight.

“A Taskforce.” He answered simply.

“We already have loose ends.” Kate shook her head, doubt more than evident in her features for his plan.

“And I will tie them.” He reassured right back.

“I can fund assets, not outlaws.”

It took him a moment, but if she was not able to meet his demands, there was no point in pushing further with the mission.

“Enjoy the tea then.” He slowly slid his cup away from him before Kate slid the dossier further towards him on the table.

“Zakhaev wants Barkov’s throne.”

“I almost buried him in Pripyat, with Macmillan.” He remembered the man dead, confirmed. There would have been no way in hell the man was still alive.

“That was the father. This is the son, ‘Victor’.”

“Lovely family.” He deadpanned.

“They’re big fans of Hadir’s.”

“Well, that would explain why he’s still alive.”

“They’re going to get him out.” It was the problem that needed a solution, but John knew that he couldn’t give them solution if they were not willing to compromise with his own needs.

“Then give me what I need.”

Kate finally relents, letting go of the dossier and allowing John to finally take a hold of. In one measure movement, he had pulled the array of folders inside, skimming through the number of folders looking for four that would be a part of his Taskforce.

“Who’s your crew?”

First on the list was Sergeant Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, a younger member of the force with an impressive track record. John admired his loyalty and fierce determination he was a soldier, still a young blood, who would follow orders without question, a quality that was crucial for the success of the Taskforce. A man that Price knew would be crushed and broken if not trained by the rightful people.

“Sergeant Garrick,” John responds.

“Kyle?”

“They call him “Gaz”. He never said anything.” It was not his secret to share, but he knew the story behind.

He handed the folder to Kate, knowing she would do her own precautionary check on her own end to reassure herself and to reassure the General that his choices were the best that could be made as he created the team.

 The second candidate was Sergeant John "Soap" MacTavish, a skilled operator with a reputation for getting things done. Price knew Soap well, having fought alongside him in some of the most dangerous missions. He saw potential in Soap to be the backbone of the team, a reliable and skilled asset.

“John MacTavish, SAS. Sniper-demolitions. Goes by ‘Soap’.” John handed the folder to Kate.

“Why?”

“That’s classified.” He was quick to respond, it was not his question to answer.

Skimming further to the pile the chuckle escaped from his lips as he saw the familiar name.

“There he is…”

The third was that of the masked Lieutenant Simon “Ghost” Riley. John had known Ghost for years, and his mysterious nature and exceptional stealth abilities made him an invaluable asset in covert operations. Ghost's skills in reconnaissance and intelligence gathering were unparalleled.

“Simon Riley.”

He was amongst the only one out of the three that did not have a photo that came along with his file.

“There’s no picture.” Kate pointed out.

“Never.” John’s only response and it was the only answer he needed to give for the topic.

As he skimmed through the files, he couldn't help but think about his wife, Lieutenant Rookie. She was a highly capable officer, and unbeknownst to the rest of the team, she had already been part of some successful covert missions. Price knew that she was more than just a decorated Lieutenant. She possessed a profound understanding of strategy and possessed a level of intuition that couldn't be taught.

Price hesitated for a moment, his mind wrestling with conflicting thoughts. He wanted his wife closer to him, to protect her and have her by his side. It was a selfish desire, and he knew it, but he also recognized the immense value she would bring to the Taskforce.

“Lieutenant Y/N “Rookie” Y/L/N.” He showed your folder to Kate. In the years of knowing you, of being in a relationship, and eventually tying the knot, the both of you had decided it was best for both of your interest to keep your relationship a secret. But for this moment, for the loose ends that would possibly end in death for any of them, all he would want is to have you by his side should the time ever come to him, to you, or to the rest of the team.

“SAS. Sniper, the best marksman you can ever find and a trained medic.” He began, taking a little longer to look at your photo attached to the folder before finally handing it to Kate. “She’s not just here because of her abilities, she will be the heart of this Taskforce. Her insight, her instincts—they are invaluable. Trust me on this.”

With a nod of approval from Kate, John had sealed the team he has created to help him in ensure that all the loose ends that were in the present and those that would come in the future would be dealt with in the best way possible.

“Now the rest…” He trailed off, knowing that he had shown the best of the best that would be in his roster, but it was enough to give them the much needed confidence in his choice. “That’s need to know. Unless we got a deal.”

“What are you calling this Taskforce?”

“1-4-1.”

And so, Taskforce 141 was born, a group of highly skilled and dedicated operatives handpicked by Captain Price, each bringing their unique talents to the table. Little did the world know that behind this elite team was also a personal motive, a desire to protect and be closer to the ones he cared about. It was a risky move, but Price knew that with these individuals, including his wife, they had the potential to change the tide of any battle they faced.

~

Sergeant Gaz Garrick's heart pounded in his chest as he approached the entrance of the new base, now a member of the highly acclaimed Taskforce. He couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and anxiety about being handpicked by the Captain himself to join this elite group of soldiers. However, the thought of standing alongside the prestigious individuals he had only heard legendary stories about filled him with hesitation and doubt. "Do I really belong here?" he wondered silently to himself.

Stepping inside the base, Gaz was immediately greeted by the brisk air-conditioned atmosphere, a stark contrast to the sweltering heat outside. The clacking of boots echoed through the corridors as soldiers went about their duties. With a slight gulp, Gaz navigated the unfamiliar layout until he found the office of one of his superiors. An infamous woman by the moniker Rookie.

As he approached the door, he took a deep breath, trying to quell the nervousness building up inside him. He knows gently and waited for the invitation to enter.

“Come in,” a warm and inviting voice called out from within the room.

Gaz entered the office to find Lieutenant Rookie, a seasoned officer with a kind face and a commanding but welcoming aura, sitting at your desk, engrossed in some paperwork. You looked up and smiled warmly when you saw Gaz standing there, a bundle of nerves and uncertainty.

“Sergeant Gaz, welcome to the team!” You greeted, rising from your seat and extending a hand in greeting.

Gaz shook your hand, feeling slightly relieved by your welcoming demeanor. “Thank you, Ma’am.” He replied with a hint of gratitude in his voice.

You studied him for a moment, as if trying to gauge his feelings. “I know it can be overwhelming to join a new team, especially one as new but slowly becoming prestigious as this,” you said, voice softening. “But rest assured, Sergeant, you’ve earned your place here. The Captain doesn’t choose just anyone. He saw something in you. We see something in you.”

Gaz managed a half-smile, appreciated your attempt to ease his doubts. “I’ll do my best, ma’am,” He replied earnestly.

“I have no doubt about that,” you beamed, her eyes glinting with confidence. “Now, let’s get you settled in. You’ll find your quarters just down the hall. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

As they days went by, Lieutenant Rookie proved to be more than just a commanding officer to Gaz. You took time to get to know him, understanding that he was far from home and his family was hundreds of miles away. You easily became a motherly figure to him, offering advice and support when needed. Your guidance and caring nature had helped Gaz feel more at ease in his new surroundings, and he began to open up to you, sharing his worries and aspirations.

During training exercise and missions, Gaz found himself admiring and appreciating your leadership skills and expertise—it also didn’t hurt that you had become the ear that would always listen to his worries without thinking he was weak. Your experience was evident, and you never hesitate to impart your knowledge to him and to the rest of the team. Slowly, Gaz started to find his place among the other members, gaining their respect through his own hard work and dedication.

As time passed, Gaz's doubts began to fade away, replaced by a sense of belonging and pride in being part of the Taskforce. He realized that he had been chosen for a reason and that his skills were valuable to the team.

And it was all thanks to you.

~

The night was cold and dark at the military base where Simon Riley had been station. He had been asleep in his bed, but his rare peaceful slumber was soon interrupted by the harrowing and haunting memories that had plagued him for years. In his nightmare, he found himself back in the midst of a tragic event that had forever scarred him.

As the nightmare unfolded, Simon was back home, witnessing the devastating attack to get back at him that had taken the lives of his beloved family. He saw himself frantically trying to save them, but was overwhelmed by a sense of powerlessness. The confinements of a coffin was the next of his memories that was relived.

The guilt of feeling responsible for their deaths consumed him, the claustrophobia of being in such a confined space for days, and he thrashed wildly in his sleep.

His desperate cries and movement did not go unnoticed. In the adjacent room, Lieutenant Rookie, a growing mother-figure to Simon, heard the commotion and rushed to his side. You had always been there for him, providing support and guidance, and this time was no different—you had always been his exception for moments like this.

You sat down besides Simon’s thrashing form and gently shook him, calling out his name, “Simon! Wake up, it’s just a dream, you’re safe.” It was your comforting words that slowly eased him away from the nightmare.

Simon’s eyes flew open, his breath heavy and labored as he looked around, trying to comprehend where he was. Slowly, the images from his nightmare began to fade, but the pain his heart remained, more painful than ever.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close in a comforting embrace—one of the few people he would even allow to touch him. You whispered soothingly in his ears, rubbing his shaking back in the process.

“It’s okay, I’m here. You’re not alone, Simon. You’re with me, you’re with us.”

Unable to hold back the overwhelming emotions any longer, Simon broke down in tears. The weight of the past, the loss of his mother, brother, nephew, and sister-in-law, and the burden of feeling responsible for their deaths came crashing down on him.

You held him tightly, allowing him to grieve as he needed to. His sobs echoed through the empty military base, a poignant reminder of the pain he had carried silently for so long, all on his own.

“Let it out, Simon.” It’s alright to feel the pain.” You said, your voice gentle and caring. “You don’t have to carry this weight alone. We’re here for you. You’re not alone anymore.”

As Simon clung to you, he felt a sense of relief in the moment of despair. A sense of relief he hadn’t experience in years. The walls he had built around his heart began to crumble, and he allowed himself to lean onto you for strength and the love he never thought he would ever deserve again, just as he had lost all those years ago when his mother passed away.

In that quiet moment, Simon Riley found solace in your arms, the mother-figure he had lost but had now regained in the most unexpected of places. As the night turned into a new day, Simon knew he had finally found a way to heal from the wounds of the past.

And it was all thanks to you.

~

As the sun set over the war-torn landscape of Los Vaqueros' Base of Operation, Sergeant Soap MacTavish and Lieutenant Rookie found themselves fleeing for their lives from the treacherous clutches of Shadow Company. The once trusted Private Military group had turned on them, leaving Soap with a painful wound on his shoulder and a relentless determination to survive.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Soap leaned on you for support as you made your way through the abandoned streets. The buildings around them were mere husks, remnants of a once-thriving town now reduced to a battleground. Gunfire echoed in the distance, a chilling reminder that danger was never far away.

“Keep moving, Soap. We’re gonna get out of here alive, you here me.” You urged, your voice filled with both fear and determination. You held your weapon close, scanning the shadows for any sign of your pursuers.

Ghost's voice crackled over their comms, trying to keep the mood light in the face of danger. "Hey, Soap, how do you make a tissue dance? You put a little boogie in it!" he joked, but his concern for his comrades was evident.

Soap managed a faint smile, grateful for the distraction. "Thanks, Ghost. I owe you one for that."

You shot a quick glance at Soap, admiration and concern in your eyes. You had always trusted and believed in him even when everyone doubted the man and his antics.

As you neared the edge of the town, the sound of gunfire grew louder, and the stench of burning buildings and bloodshed filled the air. Las Almas, once a bustling community, now lay in ruins, a ghost town in more ways than one.

Finally, you spotted the church steeple in the distance, its silhouette a beacon of lost hope. Ghost’s car was parked nearby, ready to whisk them both away to safety. But getting there would be no easy task with the Shadows still looking for you both.

“Soap, take point. We need to make sure the area is clear before we make a run for it.” You instructed, voice steady despite the pain of the bullet that had now also grazed your arm while on the run.

Soap nodded, his resolve was firm as he led the way, carefully navigating through the debris-strewn streets. The sound of bullets whizzing in the background only fueled your determination. Both of you relying on each other’s skills and instincts to stay one step ahead.

Finally, you reached the church, your escape vehicle in sight. Ghost was behind the wheel, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. "Hurry up, lovebirds! We've got a date with safety, and it's getting late!" he quipped, though the tension in his voice betrayed his worry.

You helped Soap into the backseat, taking a moment to catch her breath before climbing in beside him. Ghost revved the engine, and the car sped away from the desolate town, leaving the chaos of Las Almas behind.

As they drove towards the safe house, the adrenaline began to subside, and exhaustion set in. Soap leaned back, his injured shoulder throbbing, but relief washed over him knowing they had escaped the clutches of Shadow Company.

Soap, for the first time in a long while sighed in relief, his head somehow falling onto your shoulders, getting a momentary sense of peace even with the battle that would still come your way after this. It would be a long night, but they will get their retribution and they will make sure Alejandro’s base would be return back or they would all die trying.

“As much as I love Soap, he’s too young for me.” You had pointed out in the silence of the car ride, it had taken notice by both men.

“Aren’t we the same age?” Soap inquired, not really knowing much about you besides your accomplishment in the field.

“Barely.” You snort patting him on the head. “I’m about a half a decade older than you, you’re not my type, and I’m actually taken.”

Soap couldn’t help but blink at the tidbit of news about you.

“Who’s the fuckin’ bastard we need to beat up then?” Soap inquired.

“No one you need to know about,” You smirked pulling his head right back to your shoulder. “Now get some sleep, it’s gonna be a while before you get one once we start the plan of attack on Graves and his Shadows.”

[loadedberetta]

I fucking love the sudden puppfication of the government asset that is John "Soap" MacTavish. multimillion-pound killing machine and certified demolition expert. like it was Tumblr's JOB to shove ballgag into his mouth and think of the different flavour chew toys he'd enjoy while Ghost is resting his legs on his back while getting blown by Reader

[thisfanisgonesorry]

Can you do a giggly drunk make out session with soap x fem reader and Ghost (being the observant guy he is) could tell his best friend was head I’ve rebels for the female sergeant and he catches the 2 out of the corner of his eyes making out, smiling into each others mouths?!?!

i hope this is okay!! im sorry it took me a little bit, got super AUGHH with it and lowkey not my proudest but <3

tags: fluff, love confessions sort of, making out mwahmwahmwah, depictions of drinking + smoking, simon is not an asshole for once, light use of scottish gaelic / scottish slang

☠️

Lieutenant Riley was across the room, his arms furrowed across his chest as he kept a close eye on things. His eyes squinted and focused on the duo and he sighed, shaking his head; “Idiots.”

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish, standing in all his glory, was hunched over the pool-table, a beer bottle creating ring stains in the plush green carpet. He pulled his arm back and click, the last little ball sunk into the netted hole.

“Fucker.” The other man cursed, and John accepted his humble victory, which meant chugging the rest of his beer and sending the loser to get him another while he set the table up for the next game.

During his victory, he glanced over, a grin plastering his face as he noticed my staring. “You see that?” He cheered, walking over and slumping next to me on the couch. His lackey handed him his fresh beer, and he clinked our drinks.

“Mostly saw the back of you.”

“Sure you enjoyed the view anyway, yeah?” He joked, taking my beer from my hands and giving me his fresh cold one in its place. He blinked, realising he needed to explain, but also wanting to change the topic away from his assets. “It’s gone warm.” He hummed, sipping the warm beer casually.

“I could’ve just got a new one.”

“Ain’t no point wasting beer, hen, don’t worry about it.”

“Hen?” I asked back with a short laugh, and he simply ignored it, instead his attention being dragged to the other Sergeants that were pulling him out of the couch and towards another table.

He returned back a lot more drinks later, being the ‘victor’ of beer pong. He lost, but he says that was intentional so he could drink more.

“It’s a self-proclaimed victory.” He claimed with a slurred laugh, rotating his wrist in circles, motioning blanky, moving his hands for the sake of moving them. “They think they won, builds morale, makes ‘em not sooky that I win everythin’, and I get to get drunk.” He winked.

“That’s what you call it?”

“Yeah, it’s like, uh, when you let your little bruther win a game, y’know? You let him win because it makes him ‘appy, not ‘cause he’s actually better than you, but you’re a good bruther for letting him win, right?”

“You’re an asshole.” I laughed while sipping my drink. 

A lot more drinks later, and he was staring from across the room, fiddling with the lighter in his hands. He noticed Simon staring at him, and he simply scoffed, shoving his metal lighter into his pocket and sauntering over.

“Hey, y’got a light?” He lied through his teeth despite his inebriated state. “‘M gonna go for a smoke.”

“Yeah, I’ll, uh- I’ll come with you.” I smiled, grabbing my drink and following behind him quickly as he made his exit to the fresh air outside. Hovering by the doorway, I handed him my lighter, and he placed the cigarette between his lips.

“Thanks.” He spoke quietly, trying to hide the slight slur to his voice, his eyes glued to the struggling lighter. His thumb brushed the gears, yet it would spark and sputter without a flame. 

I took the lighter from his hands, shaking it and flicking it briefly to life. “You gotta shake it.” I held the flame up, lighting his cigarette for him and he kept eye contact with his deep inhale. The cigarette barely lit before the flame died out, he got one good inhale, blowing the smoke to the side before the cigarette was burnt out.

“I think it’s about time y’get a new one.” He commented, a short grimace of dissatisfaction crossing his face before replacing it with a grateful smile, not wanting to look sour.

“Mhmhm, and what happened to your lighter?” I deflected the issue.

“Ah, Si’s got it.” He responded quickly. I leant against the wall and took a sip of my drink, and he slumped against it with me, a loud ‘thump’ as his body weight collided with the concrete. “You really should know better than to light me up.” He joked, putting the cigarette away in the pack for later.

“You’re the idiot who couldn’t do it himself.” I laughed, finding his slight frustration somewhat amusing.

“You’re the one with a dead lighter, why do I have to shake it?”

“Don’t bum yours out to people who don’t give it back.”

“He will.” He spoke, his composure faltered and he started laughing at the lighthearted argument. He looked at me and just giggled to himself. “Fuck, y’so..”

“So?” I tilted my head, stifling a few more drunken laughs.

“Pretty.” He admitted with a soft exhale between laughs. “God, you’re so pretty.” He said, leaning in closer towards me, his breath smelling of smoke and beer as it filled the short space between us, the cold air being replaced quickly.

“Yeah? You think?” I felt the heat of my cheeks rise, definitely not helped by the drunken haze. He hummed with a nod. “Well.. I think.. there’s nothing wrong with my lighter.”

“Oh my god.” He laughed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, nothin’ wrong wit’ it for the 3 seconds I had to use it. Just get a new one.”

“If I need a light, I’ll use yours. How about that?”

“What if ’m not around?”

“You’re always around.”

“Y/n. You’re ruining the moment.”

“We’re having a moment?” I joked and he grabbed my face, pressing his lips into mine without any further hesitation.

He held his lips there. “That’s f’the light, smokin’ rules and all’a that.” He mumbled, pulling away for a second to glance over my face, before kissing me again.

“And that’s for?”

“Shut up, was meant t’kiss you when I called you pretty but y’ruined it.”

“So that’s for being pretty?”

“I said shut up.” He laughed against my lips, his arms wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me into him. I laughed with him, my legs feeling like jelly from the mixture of alcohol and butterflies. “Been trying to kiss you all night but just couldn’t figure out how to.” He admitted with a light laugh as his lips chased mine before he kissed me again.

He held my body up and close to him, turning our position so his large figure covered me from view, low chuckles leaving his throat and filling the tight space between us. “Didn’t even think you’d snog me back.” He teased, his hands practically glued to my face and waist, holding me as close to him as possible. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” I panted, the tone was light but it was still a heavy question.

“I mean, knew y’liked me but didn’t think it was this much.” He joked. “Thought you’d be distracted by my shite patter.”

“It was pretty shit.”

“Cheers.” He huffed in amusement, he leant in closer once again, making it clear he wanted to cut the banter, he kissed the corner of my mouth lightly. “Gonna kiss or gonna talk all through it?” He joked lightly before continuing his actions.

“Can’t do both?” I smiled, and it was met with a dramatic sigh.

“We can talk for the rest o’the night, hen, ain’t got all night for this.” He responded. “Someone’ll wonder where we’ve gone, but they’re probably glad I’m not kickin’ their arses.” He couldn’t stop laughing at his own words, evidently prideful over his accomplishment of being best at insert-any-party-game-here in the entire barracks. “Your lips are softer than I could’ve imagined, jus’, c’mon, hen, kiss me.” He pleaded.

“Johnny, you’re giggling too much.” It was admittedly infectious, the warm feeling spreading to my chest. “Someone could hear us.”

“Who cares? ’M sure no one’s listening, and it's not like we’re bein’ secretive.”

“We’re just ... Two friends havin’ a smoke.”

“Mhm, just friends.” His voice dipped, almost a whisper, his tone changed quickly. His demeanour stayed calm, and indifferent, though his words were almost sour. “Don’t know where anyone would get any other idea about us from.”

“Oh, c’mon, Johnny.” I dismissed, leaning closer to him. “You know I didn’t mean it like that.” His body still covered mine like a shield, his strong arms holding me in place as his eyes flicked.

“So what did you mean?”

I shook my head, my lips ghosting over his. “Don’t overthink it.” I whispered, and his hand gently cupped my face.

“Hard not to.” He moved closer, closing the short distance, his tongue swiping across my bottom lip. My hands wrapped around his neck, tugging slightly on the mohawk and earning a short whimper.

He pulled away for a moment, licking his lips. “I could go for ‘nother drink.” I joked, and he gave a light scoff.

His ears perked up at the clicking sound of the door opening, though he simply kept looking into my eyes, biting back any comments he could have. His reaction seemed to just be to hunch himself over me fully.

“Subtle.” The Ghost commented dryly; “Real subtle.” He’d evidently only checked on us to prove something to himself, and his sarcastic attitude matched that he found exactly what he expected. The pinnacle of crude.

“What do you want, Lt?” He grinned, not pulling away from me. He tried to keep the movements going into sync, though the fogginess of the liquor and the laughter between us made it hard for him to keep his focus.

He hissed inwardly. “What’s-his-face wants a rematch.” He said matter-of-factly before continuing; “They want you inside but I can see you’re busy. I’ll, uh, let you continue this.” He thought his comment was funny, before turning quickly on his heel.

Johnny’s soft chuckles filled the air and he pulled away for a moment. “I lied about the lighter, by the way.”

“Course you did.”

[appleciderp]

You cannot tell me this dumbass wouldn't buy a helmet mohawk.

[justpearlysworld]

Good evening! I love your thoughts and mind, so beautiful!! I want to kiss your brain MUAH!

Have you considered Daddy Price x smol and sweet reader?

I know everyone says it, but Price is 100% daffiest daddy. This man would take care of his woman and kill anyone without hesitation is they so much as lay a finger on her! <3

absolutely:333 and thank you !!!!!!!!!! i would give you a hug and maybe some flowers if i could :3🐻‍❄️ note: i’ll probably do a part two to this one as well—🐻‍❄️🐻‍❄️

captain price w/hyperfem!reader

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° .

★. at first, he was really nervous to approach you! he thought that he may have been a little too rough and gruff and he didn’t want to scare you off

★. laswell had assigned you to 141 as another sniper. you were small and soft spoken. you were also very quick and quiet, which made you a perfect candidate.

★. asides from being a great asset to the team, you were also very sweet! during the times that you did talk, you were just a ball of sunshine. you helped out with anything around the base, you were very polite, and well-mannered. price too this into account when wanted to make a move on you.

★. during one encounter, soap had pushed ghost a little too hard and ghost had hit you while you were walking back to your seat in the mess hall. you dropped your food and spilled some of it on yourself as well.

★. john saw this and rushed to your aid!!

“are you alright private? here, let me pick that up for you”

★. “oh dear, i’m sorry lieutenant! i should have watched where i was going, i’m so sorry.”

★ ghost glared at soap who had a flustered look on his face.

- “it’s alright private. mactavish should have watched where he was going.”

★. price sent flares up at the two of them and they walked away.

★. he helped you clean up and escorted you to the barracks so you could change your undershirt.

★. something that he always fell back in was this fierce protection over you. whether it be keeping a hand on your hip when you walk through crowded space, or putting your safety first during a mission.

★. asides from being protective of you, price is practically glued to your hip.

★. he’s constantly checking in on your wellbeing! you were smaller than the rest of them, he always made sure to ask if you were ok

★. after a few weeks of this continuous princess-knight dynamic, price has finally asked you out on a date

★. you accepted! you had always felt connected to him in a way that you couldn’t really put your finger on. he treated you like a princess and it made you so giggly and flustered

★. on your first date, he had taken you out to eat at a some-what fancy restaurant! you two talked and connected even deeper the whole night.

- “your dress is awfully cute; fit for a princess might I add?”

★. you laughed at his comments and shook your head.

- “thank you captain!”

-“john.”

-“hm?”

-“john, you can call me john from now on.”

★ you let your hands fall in the table and he gripped them, giving you a kiss.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° .

★. from that point on, he had become irresistible to you! you couldn’t not be around him

★. on base, you would always have your arms wrapped around his bicep and your side squished to his

★. during the debriefings, you always chose the seat closest to him! (if you had to option to sit in his lap you would)

★. whenever he would sign off in documents or just work on paperwork, you would sit in his office and babble cutely about your day

★. his favorite part about your guys relationship was how vulnerable you got with him. you could finally let loose and be soft and gentle (not that you weren’t already, but, you definitely had to ramp it up when you were on a mission)

★. you could allow yourself to lay in his lap pressed to his chest and gently coo in his ear

★. you loved him so much, how couldn’t you?!! you thought he was just the perfect man! you two fit together like puzzle pieces!

★. at the end of every night, before you two split off to sleep in your separate bunks, you lay with him. you let him pet your hair while you stayed snuggled up to his chest.

★. he would let his strong arms wrap around you protectively and he would whisper sweet nothings in your ears.

★. you two were truly a match made in heaven.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° .

Requests Are Open!

[bingoboingobongo]

Hiiii I was wondering if you can write something about 141 and a chubby s/o. If you don’t want to that’s alright. I just can’t find any fics with representation 😭😭💕 have a wonderful day or night

task force 141 + chubby!s/o

Characters: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, John Price, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra

Warnings: body descriptions for reader, explicit language

A/N: glarbonbargain sorry these are short i just feel like there's not much to elaborate on w/o it getting repetitive. if there's anything i missed that you want me to focus on tho send in another ask and i'll do it

simon "ghost" riley:

okay let's be serious ghost does not care how you look

like don't get me wrong he loves you, he loves your body, he loves the way you look

but he doesn't need you to look a certain way in order for him to have those feelings

honestly he just doesn't see the point in fussing over how your body looks, especially compared to others

in his opinion, the purpose of your body is to allow you to complete tasks to the best of your abilities and as long as your body can do that he doesn't care how you look

one thing he does want for you is a healthy lifestyle though

and of course he understands that weight does not equal health

as long as you're getting all your nutrients and maintaining strong heart/muscle health he's happy no matter how you look

(off topic but ghost is a strong believer in good heart health, as he should)

he just wants you to be able to live your best life with him

and he doesn't see the point in spending time fussing over your body

john "soap" mactavish:

okay so unlike ghost soap is more opinionated about your body

and his opinion is that he fucking loves it

he's always taking any chance he gets to let you know that too

he tends to do it verbally through words of encouragement/affirmation

he says it's because it's the easiest way to make sure you get the message but with the sheer volume of compliments he gives you sometimes you wonder if he just likes the sound of his own voice

that being said he'll also show his love for you through physical touch too

whenever he gets the chance he's quick to have his hands all over you

he just likes the way you feel what can i say

it's a welcome alternative to all the heavy and hard equipment he has to deal with on a daily basis

plus you're a sight for sore eyes and you provide a welcome reprieve from all the sweaty buff men he has to stare at all day

especially when he'd rather be staring at you

kyle "gaz" garrick:

alright so like soap gaz is definitely more appreciative about your body than ghost's total neutrality

honestly it was one of the things about you that caught his eye when he first saw you

he really likes your body and he won't let you try and berate yourself about it

sometimes if you're really having a bad day or something and you're complaining to him about how you dislike your body or whatever he'll have to stop himself from getting too frustrated

because for gaz it's so clear to him how your body is an asset and not a burden

and so it really pains him when you don't see yourself the same way

he does his best to be your hype man during these times

because he wants you to see yourself the way he sees you

john price:

alright with age comes maturity and with maturity comes not giving a fuck about trivial things like body types or standards

like ghost price has a sort of practical view when it comes to body image

as long as you're healthy and happy, he's happy

he's definitely more of a body neutrality over body positivity kinda guy

he understands that sometimes you'll have good days and sometimes you'll have bad days

and while he's never shy to give you a compliment he wants you to go on that journey of self acceptance by yourself

he's old enough to know that not everything is permanent and he doesn't want your confidence to be reliant on his words or compliments, especially because there's no guarantee he'll be alive the next day to give you those words or compliments

he's just happy if you're happy at the end of the day

alejandro vargas:

alright so alejandro absolutely loves your body

it's one of his favorite things about you besides your face

and he'll make sure it's drilled into your head just how much he loves you

he's never too busy to drop a compliment

sometimes they're about your body and sometimes they're not

but either way they always get your confidence going

another thing about alejandro is that he is a firm believer in that you look your best when you're confident

so he'll do whatever he can to hype you up and see you like that on a daily basis

honestly as long as you're by his side though he doesn't give two shits about how you look

he's just happy to be along for the ride what can i say

rodolfo "rudy" parra:

alright so rudy just wants to make you feel loved and happy

so if you express any kind of dissatisfaction over your body he will literally sprint to your side so he can make you feel better about it

off topic super quick though but he's honestly not the kind of guy to mention it unprompted

like even though rudy is babygirl he's mature enough to not care about that stuff

and if left unprovoked he'll just assume that you're as in love with your body as he is

but of course if he finds out otherwise then it's a different story

and rudy has some really great compliments to make you feel better

in another hc im like 90% sure i pitched the idea that rudy majored in art/art history so he's definitely gonna bring up the fact that body types like yours literally fueled the renaissance

he'll tell you that you look like you hand sculpted by whatever deity you choose

and that it's like you were made just for him

i mean he's like the rest of these boys he wants you to be as happy as possible

[multi-fandomlovers-world]

141+ Colonel Konig With An S/O That Works IT In Marine Corps

TW: Fluff, Sfw

Not my gifs--------All supported by Tumblr

Requested By: Anon

N/A: I had no idea how to write this but I really tried my best. I hope it doesn't suck lol

Reblogs And Comments Are Highly Appreciated!! :)

Simon "Ghost" Riley:

Ghost knew from your file and when you told him, he wasn't surprised but could see how dedicated you were to your job

He'll just listen to you on what you do

Lowkey, he loves listening to your voice. It's comforting to him

You had an opportunity to show him what you do and he thought he was pretty cool what you do

"You're amazing at this, love"

He'll say as he thinks about going to Price to have you join the team. He believes you'll be great to the team (also because he wants you there and wants to see you 🤭

He might end up just staring at you the whole time

He won't ever ask questions. He just listens to you the whole time, with small "mhm" or "mm" so that you know he's listening (he's honestly more focused on you)

John "Soap" Mactavish:

John didn't know until you told him about your job. He thought it was actually pretty cool what you do

He'll end up asking questions and you tell him without him getting confused

He admires how much you love your job and how well you do

Like Ghost, he also thought about bringing you onto the team. He thought you'd make a great asset to the team (also because he wants to spend time with you)

John ends up getting lost while staring at you (to him, you are gorgeous)

While you're explaining something to him, he cuts you off by kissing you softly. Making you smile into the kiss

"I'm very impressed, Bonnie. You truly are amazing"

Most of the time, he's listening to you but Lowkey, getting distracted looking at you the whole time

John "Captain" Price:

He already knew from reading through your file. He was impressed by your work and how well you managed to get things done quickly

You explained to him a bit more on how everything is handled and how much I

He listens to you the whole time while walking with you

He ended up calling Laswell, telling her that he wanted you on the team because your stats were good and he couldn't pass it up (also he loves you so he wants you around more often)

"You are wonderful at this stuff, love. You don't suppose I could have a talk with your captain or Colonel?"

He does and you end up joining his task force

He kisses you softly and is glad you are on his side

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Gaz knew already (He overheard Price talking about you in his office), he thought it was cool and interesting

He came and asked you questions, like what you do, how things operate, etc

He invested and listened carefully as you explained everything that you do

After explaining, he comes up and kisses you softly as you hold the sides of his cheeks

"You truly are something, aren't you? Thank you for showing me and telling me"

He thinks you'd be great on the team but he understands if you want to stay where you are working.

(let's be honest, he just wants you on base so he has someone to spend time with and love on)

"Colonel" Konig:

Like Price, he already knew your stats and read your file. He thought you'd make an excellent recruit to the team

When he met you, he was a bit stunned but he thought you were so beautiful

He's impressed by your work but he stutters over his words trying to talk to you (he gets nervous but it's ok we understand)

"Maus, I'd take you on my squad any day"

As you were explaining things, he ends up being more distracted by looking at you

He wanted you on his squad so he can spend time with you (also crushing on you hardcore)

He kissed your hand before leaving your work. He's already made up his mind that he wants you by his side and on his team.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

A/N: Thanks for Reading!!! Feel free to drop any requests