#captain john price x gn!reader

[mockerycrow]

Today's price thought

He would gaslight you into a relationship. Not even out of anything malicious. He just makes your head spin with petnames and touches and everthing else that he is all surprised when you ask him what you are. What do you mean? We are basically married for the last year?

okay at first i was like 🤨 but now i find this miscommunication cute.

there’s not a lot of serious talking between you two, but there are sure as hell a lot of touching. Pet names, his hand brushing against your lower back to guide you through a crowd, he even kisses your temple, you sometimes as well. John treats you very well, but you’re so conflicted because you haven’t had a discussion about whatever…. this is.

Is this temporary? Does he.. love you? John doesn’t seem to do this with anyone else, so is this an exclusive thing?? So when it’s about around the new years time, you’re nervous as you ask him to talk. John himself doesn’t seem nervous—in fact, he seems concerned, worried about.. well, you. You’re sitting across from each other and he watches the way your leg bounces, the way your fingers pick at the beds of your fingernails.

John’s face eases when you begin to ramble, unable to meet his eyes. He’s patient; he doesn’t interrupt you, letting you ramble all of your thoughts out before you slowly fall silent, your anxiety going through the roof. “I didn’t make it obvious enough?” He murmurs, causing you to look at him in disbelief. Your eyes search his rapidly and you laugh a bit, albeit nervously. “I-I mean, we never.. we never really officially put a label—“

[lethalchiralium]

Take My Breath Away | John Price x GN!Reader

a/n: hiiii. i love this man so much, happy v day!

warnings: allusions to sex

summary: It’s been a long day, you knew you were going to be alone on Valentine’s Day when your husband sent a bouquet of roses to your office. All you wanted to do was go home and watch a movie.

Work at the office was rough and long. Finally shutting off your light of your office on the flowers your husband sent for Valentine’s Day, you let out a sigh of relief. It was 7 in the evening, you didn’t even think of dinner on your way home, knowing that you would most likely be alone for the holiday again this year. Your husband was a busy man, but never too busy to send you flowers every chance he got - but always three dozen red and white roses on Valentine’s Day.

The drive home was quiet, work still on your mind as you drove through traffic in Liverpool. Your home was near the outskirts of town, which was perfect for you to unwind and your husband felt it safe enough. Classical music played in your little car, a folder of notes to look at over the weekend was in your passenger seat. You desperately wanted a weekend to take a breath, to leave work at its threshold and finally catch up on that series your friends keep bugging you about. Maybe even get to call John at a decent hour for him, albeit probably one in the morning for you.

You yawned, grabbing your phone from the center console before tapping John’s number. You put it on speaker, holding it up as you heard the beep. “Hi baby, I just got done at the office. Just wanted to call you and tell you Happy Valentine’s Day, thank you for the roses. They’re beautiful.” You stopped at a red light before continuing, “Maybe next year you’ll get to spend Valentine’s with me, but I’m just gonna stay in and order some takeout. I love you. Stay safe. Bye.”

The light turned green when you put your phone back into your console, lightly tapping your fingers on the steering wheel as you began to leave the city. You recognized the bus and tram stops, you were only a few minutes away from home, from your TV, from your bed. You could feel the relaxation flowing through your veins as you drove down your street, only to have your heart stop as you pulled up to your house.

The lights were on, you could see through your living room window, you would’ve thought you had forgot to turn them off but your husband was an important man - a dangerous, important man. You felt fear grip your chest, you parked your car in front of your lawn and turned it off. You got out, shutting door as quietly as you could before you stalked forwards. It wasn’t uncommon for him to not tell you that he’s home, but there would always be a sign-

Your front porch light was on, you had just noticed. The sign that he was home, you heart swelled. You walked briskly up your walkway and to your front door, unlocking it with your keys. You pushed open the door quietly, and almost gasped.

There were rose petals on the floor.

You stepped inside before you silently closed the front door. You could hear jazz playing from somewhere in the house and you smelled something cooking, it smelled exactly like your favorite food John makes for you when he comes home. Toeing your shoes off, you placed your keys into your coat before taking it off. Swiftly hanging it on the metal coat rack before moving towards the living room, ready to move across it to get to the kitchen. Yet, you found yourself stopping in the doorway, jaw dropping at the beautiful sight.

Every inch of your living room was covered with vases of red and white roses, the overwhelming scent of them almost made you step back. You knew this had to be an expensive bill of flowers, seeing that there were vases on your coffee table, breakfast bar, floor, and only one on your dining room table with candles next to it. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched your husband fix a couple vases so the best flowers showed towards the hallway from the front door. He was dressed in a white button down, black slacks, his boonie hat nowhere to be seen.

“Shit.” He chuckled, going to place his thumb in his mouth - presumably to wipe away blood that had drawn from pricking a thorn. He turned towards you, keeping his head down as he kept turning vases to face your doorway, thumb moved away from his mouth as he gently shifted a couple roses in one of the floor vases before standing up straight, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He sighed, placing his hands on his hips before he looked up, making eye contact with you and eyes widened in surprise. “Shit.”

Your smile was so wide as you walked towards him, cautiously dodging the glass vases full of beautiful flowers before you reached him, one hand settling on your cheek while the other sat on your hip.

“Your thumb okay?”

He chuckled, “All this and you’re worried about me pricking myself?”

A laugh escaped your lips, your hands settling on his face, gently brushing your thumbs over his mustache. “You’re such a lover.”

He smiled at you, moving forwards to press his forehead to yours. “I couldn’t miss another Valentine’s, it would break my heart.” He whispered, closing his eyes as he gently spoke, “I just hope you like it, I made your favorite.”

“John Price, you’re worried that I don’t like it?” You almost laughed, his eyebrows furrowed as his eyes opened. “Baby, you could give me one rose and I would be over the moon. Not that this isn’t gorgeous,” Your hands moved to his jaw. “But all I need is you.”

He smiled brightly, “I’ll love you forever, my love.”

You leaned forwards and kissed him sweetly, his mustache tickling the top of your lip before you pulled away, gazing up to his eyes before saying, “We could eat or…”

“Or?” His eyes narrowed, a smirk on his lips.

“We could go upstairs.”

It didn’t take the Captain more than a second to pull you up into his arms, his hands holding the bottom of your thighs as you squealed, arms around his neck as his lips pressed into your neck.

———

OH MY GOD IT DIDNT EVEN POST THE LAST PARAGRAPH WHEN IT WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED WTF

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Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

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Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[sstormyskyess]

Your Biggest Fan

author's note: pretty self-indulgent, but hey, what's fanfiction for if not to self-indulge? this is a shoutout to all my artists and writers!!

cw: nothing, just pure fluff

word count: 870+

John Price / GN Artist!Reader

♡ When Price first saw you making your art, he was absolutely stunned. He was so surprised that you hadn’t already shown him your beautiful work. How could you hide such a wonderful talent from him?

♡ If you make fanart/fanfic, he’s ready to learn everything about the show, movie, game, or whatever else that inspires you. It’s just an excuse to sit and cuddle with you on the couch and watch something that makes you happy.

“You’re gonna love this show, honey. It’s right up your alley!” Your smile while you move to sit next to John on the couch warms his heart. You hand him the bowl of popcorn and he holds an arm up for you to settle yourself under. He tosses the blanket over your lap and holds you by the hip, fingers tracing circles over your shirt. “Is that so?” He kisses the top of your head, watching the screen while you pull up Netflix to find the show that’s been consuming your mind for the past few weeks. “For sure!” You laugh, leaning your head on his shoulder.

His eyes shift between you talking about the context behind the show and what’s happening on the screen as each episode plays. He can’t really make out half of what they’re saying on the screen over your giddy voice speaking over it and sharing your thoughts with him, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Somehow, he manages to hold back his middle-age urge to fall asleep, his head fallen back against the back of the couch. In fact, you fall asleep before he does; when he notices that you haven’t said anything for the past episode or two, he looks down and sees you completely passed out on his shoulder, your eyes shut and your face peaceful. He smiles and carefully picks you up, wrapped in the blanket and takes you both to bed.

He frowns a bit when you stir as soon as he’s laid next to you, but his frown quickly turns to a soft smile when he realizes you were murmuring about the show in your sleep, quietly chuckling and pulling you into his warm embrace.

♡ If you make your own stories, he’ll have you sit down with him and tell him all about it, no matter how winding and tangential your ideas may be. He may not understand everything you’re talking about but he’ll listen to you chatter on and on about it just to listen to your sweet voice.

♡ Sometimes when you both have the free time, he’ll take you out to the nearest park or beach to have a picnic and watch you sketch or write whatever’s on your mind. Seeing you put your pencil to paper completely mesmerizes him every time.

♡ Price is so damn proud of you all the time and will 100% ask you to make something for him just to bring it to his office on-base. He loves to show off your work and will take every chance to brag about how talented you are.

It was rare for John to bring you with him to base, but the holidays were coming up soon and he thought it would be nice for you to see the rest of his team. It had been about a year or so since you got to see them all, after all. He held your hand as he walked you to his office to stash away your things there, occasionally greeting a familiar face when you passed by.

Once you made it there, he opened the door for you politely and let you set your things down. When you finished putting your bag away in one of his drawers, you came back to follow John back out to the common room to relax, notebook in hand. Before you get to the door, you notice the framed picture on the wall: it was the piece that he’d asked for a month ago. You always wondered what he did with it.

Your cheeks flush and you peek out the door at him with your brows furrowed. “You didn’t tell me you were going to hang that sketch up in your room, John! How many people come in and out of there?” John raises a brow and tilts his head. “Why?”

You groan and run your hands over and hide your face. “I could’ve made it so much better! It was just a sketch!” You squeak. John gives you his signature smile and walks over to pull your hands away, holding them in his. “Darling, your art is gorgeous. Sketch or not.” He kisses your knuckles and chuckles quietly. “To answer your question, though, at least three or four people pass through daily.” He laughs aloud when you groan his name and playfully slap his face away.

♡ But, as much as he adores how dedicated you are to your creations, have no doubts that he will drag you to bed if you end up overworking yourself. If it’s 2 a.m. and you still haven’t put your hands to rest, he won’t stop pestering you until you do and come to bed and let him hold you to his chest and sleep.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

[bossalphadotdocx]

[would you save me a spark? we'll light up the dark]

Pairing: Captain John Price x GN!Reader (3rd pov)

A/N: baby's first fic on this blog! Fierce is the callsign for reader. My sister may be a doctor but I'm not one and it's too late to ask her abt medical conditions by the time I'm writing this

Cw: major character death (you, as the reader), grief, medical inaccuracies

Part 2

He held their body close to his chest. Damn his vest for blocking to feel the last warmth left in their body. He could feel their blood seeping into his sleeves, his gloves. Then he saw it. The necklace he gave them fell out of their neckline alongside their dog tags.

It made a soft cling amongst the loud battlefield. And that's when his heart truly stopped.

He regretted everything. He regretted for not telling them of his feelings earlier than he should. He regretted of the missed chances. He regretted for dismissing the hints.

"Wherever you go, captain, I shall follow." Those were the last words they told him through the comms.

"Goddammit, and here you are...going to a place where I can't follow."

He sobbed. "I'm so sorry...sweetheart."

The spark of his life...now only a fleeting embers in the air.

-

They hummed a tune. One that Price often heard them humming before missions. He got curious and asked them, "I always hear you humming that, what's the title?" The sergeant looked at him with a smile and they grinned.

"The title of the song is Save Me a Spark, sir. It's by Sleeping With Sirens. If you're curious, you might want to check their entire discography."

It turned out, Price didn't like most of their songs except for select few. And Save Me a Spark was one of them. In the privacy of his office, the song often on replay.

One day, Gaz walked in without knocking and he grinned ear to ear when he heard that his captain listening to a certain sergeant's favorite song. When Gaz pointed it out, Price couldn't help blushing and yelled at him to get out. He knew he wouldn't get a good night's sleep that night because obviously Gaz going to tell Soap about their captain's crush toward one of their members. He wouldn't worry much about Ghost.

One day before another mission, the team was preparing themselves. Pulling on their gears and clipping their ammo's to their vests. Price looked at one of his sergeants, his hands still busy with his vest, shuffled on his feet nervously. "I listened to their discography, sergeant but...their music way too loud for me."

The sergeant chuckled instead. "I know, cap. Rock isn't for everyone. It's nothing to be ashamed of." They said as they clicked the last things they needed to their vest.

Price felt his ears reddened. Praying no one noticed, he asked them, "What's your favorite genre then, sergeant?" He felt like it's a silly thing to ask. As if he's going back to high school years trying to make a move on a girl who looked at him weird with that question.

The sergeant put their finger on their chin and hummed. He could hear shuffling behind him and some whispers that he knew coming from Gaz and Soap. The little shits.

"Beside the obvious rock genre, I listen to pretty much anything, sir. A bit of pop, K-pop, hip-hop, anything really. It's a hit or miss too." They said. "If you want, I can give you a playlist of my favorites?" At this, he heard some hissing behind him, "Say yes! Say yes!"

To which he nodded, a bit enthusiastically. "Yes, I would love to."

The sergeant smiled and bumped their fist onto Price's vest. "After this mission then. Hope you will enjoy some of my faves too!"

He grinned. Hard not to, afterall.

"It's a promise, then."

They smiled at Price, made a salute gesture and nodded. "See you later, cap!"

After a short while, he could hear whistles behind him. The other two sergeants of 141 and the lieutenant, most especially the former two were giving him a face of both amusement and shit eating grins. Even he could see the squint on Ghost's eyes. The three of them going to be the death of him.

--

The mission, apparently, went awry. What he thought would be a quick "get in, get out" mission went south real quick. It's a short miracle the five of them made it out alive with only minor scratches and bruises on them. He tended to his brave soldiers, all thanks to Gaz for pulling Soap and Fierce out.

Once they're in the base clinic, it turned out that Fierce got a light concussion and they needed rest. They grumbled under their breath and Price offered to bring them to their room to which Fierce nodded, head still down. Price knew they were gritting their teeth, holding in the headache that came from the concussion.

After checking the other three for the last time, Price lead the way and put his hand on their back for a second, to Fierce to move forward, signalling them it's time for them to rest in their room. They nodded and walked beside Price.

"You must rest right away, soldier. We did some damage to them before things went shit." He tried to assure them. Fierce huffed and just kept walking beside him. Price could see them trying to keep up with his pace and he slowed down for their sake. They just got a concussion after all.

For the entirety of their walk to Fierce's room, they kept silent. One which Price would raise an eyebrow at, as he knew Fierce was quiet talkative even with him. He knew they got concussion but this...is very quiet of them.

As they arrived at their destination, Price said "Is something bothering you, Fierce?". Fierce halted their movement to open the door to their room and looked up at their captain's face, only for them to look into his eyes for a second and then lowered it to the ground.

They wriggled with their fingers then shook their hands away on their sides--Price noticed the tick. "It's nothing, sir."

Price crossed his arms, his stance was a sign of patience, silently urging them to tell him what's on their mind and he would wait for them. It was obvious the captain wasn't going anywhere until he got his answers, they sighed. "I'm upset that I couldn't tell you about my favorite songs right away after the mission, sir."

Price's eyebrows went deep into his beanie. Surprised at the answer as that's not one he was expecting.

He was expecting...some self blaming and ready to give them a piece of his mind if they did. But this one made him flabbergasted.

They both stood in silence, in the hall which thankfully no one was there to witness his moment of weakness. He scratched his mustache, a poor attempt in trying to calm down the sudden thumping of his heart. He uncrossed his arms and put them on his hips instead.

He smiled and patted Fierce's shoulder.

"It's fine, Fierce. There's always tomorrow. How about this, you can come into my office tomorrow morning and we can listen to your favorites together?" He offered.

Please say yes. Please say yes. Goodness, this feeling is worse than being shot in the shoulder.

They beamed. And it was one of the most beautiful sight Price ever laid his eyes on and he subconsciously smiled too. Fierce nodded so fast, their eyes squinted from how big their smile was it made Price worry because the last thing they all need was another trip back to the base clinic.

Then Fierce clutched their head and Price quickly grabbed their arms to help them balance themself. They quickly reassured him, sheepishly, they said "It's okay, cap. I got too excited, nothing a short rest won't help." They quickly opened their door and walked into their room.

But before they had the chance to close the door, Price held it open with his hand, leaning a bit inside and quickly he told them, "John."

Fierce looked up, confusion evident on their face.

"You can call me John...when we're in private."

The sergeant grinned, white teeth on display, and nodded. "I will see you tomorrow...John."

---

Final A/N: TBH I DIDN'T EXPECT TO MAKE IT THIS LONG and make it a series to boot? Oh god forbid. This fic alone took me almost a week what with work and masters degree I'm currently having. Don't ask when the next update is, but I'm surely hooked w this fic to continue it!

[pendragon-writes]

𝒞𝒶𝓅𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒥𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝒫𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒

❤️=Romantic 🧸=Child/Teen Reader 💙=Platonic

💊=Hurt/Comfort 💛=Fluff 🌎=Au 📖=Series

How they would comfort you from a breakup💛💊💙 Gn!Reader (141 Taskforce)

Mute!Male!Reader Headcanons💛

Flirty Male!Reader Headcanons 141 Taskforce

Stabbed (Skit) (M!Reader)

Help Is Required (Skit) Male!Reader (Multi)

Smile (Skit) Male!Reader (Multi)

Mw2 Guys and DND HC's

Mornings (Skit) (Male!Reader)

Boat (Skit) (Male!Reader)

Trans Masc/Male!Reader Headcanons

Kidnappers (Skit) Male!Reader (Multi)

[criminalamnesia]

Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

[youronlydarlin]

warning: Sex pollen :), noncon/dubcon, some of them are mean on this one, horny desperate men going insane for your hole, not proofread 😭

Jus' over here havin thoughts about sex pollen infecting your favorite boy man

Finding yourself in the middle of a botched mission, you desperately try to open the door that separates you from your lover. You can hear him hacking, n coughing on the other side. N'd your sweet soul's nearly crying at the thought of what's happening to him. Is he dying !? Pink gas escapes from under the door and you don't even have the time to react before it suddenly opens.

Captain John Price who tries keep some of his composure. You must commend him for it, really. But you turn around to see if the coast's still clear and that's all it takes for his composure to break. Before you knew it you're being lifted into the air. Back pressed tightly against your Captain's chest while he holds you up with the back if your knees. He's got you in a full nelson :( And all of a sudden there's a knife in his hands. You cry out at the thought of what he could do to you but you're silenced the moment he uses it to rip an opening through your trousers, all the while he's rutting against your ass, cause he's just so pent up. Oh, you have to understand!

His dick is inside of you the moment it's freed. Tries to be considerate about it, gives you a few seconds to adjust before he's drilling into you with wild abandon. Fucks you so deep, there's a bulge in your tummy and spots in your vision. Sinks to the floor with you the moment he cums, holding you close to his chest and trying to come up with a decent enough explanation.

Simon "Ghost" Riley who let's out a loud grunt before falling on top of you. The impact makes your head spin, and it momentarily knocks the wind out of your lungs. His body crushes yours beneath the concrete floor and you don't have time to recover before the feeling of phantom hands start to roam your body. And you can no longer blame it on your fall, because your trousers are being ripped away by rough gloved hands.

Poor, little, you can't even object when he wrestles you into a mating press :( Shoving two of his thick digits inside of you with no warning. He's moving them in a scissoring motion, and you cant help but cry at the dry, and painful insertion. He's so mean!

"Shhh, puppy... 'I need this..." Doesn't even say please! Doesn't even give you a warning before the mushroom tip of his cock is breaching past your entrance. It's definitely way thicker than his fingers, and a lot more harder to get used to. He uses your bunched up knees as leverage to fuck you deeper, n deeper till your pretty eyes roll to the back of your skull.

He sounds like an animal when he cums. Growling pure filth to your ear while he grinds his dick inside you. Ready for a round 2?

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish who doesn't even wait. He was already hard as a fucking rock, hearing your cute voice cry out for him on the other side of the door. But now that it's opened, the only thing in his mind is dicking you down till your addicted to his cock.

Very impatient. You're literally like a ragdoll to him and he jus' manhandles you so you're face down, ass up :(

Shoves his fingers in your mouth while pulling your trousers down. He eats you out like a man starved. Like this was going to be his first, and last meal. Not a moment later and he's bullying your hole with his fat cock. Babbling nonsense about how fucking tight you are and how he's "waited to do this for so long". But he cums, and he cums deep.

The definition of painting your insides white.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick who looks like he's in so much pain. Unlike the other boys he tells you not to get close. He's not right in the head, can't you see that?? But you're sweet. Too sweet, and he wonders if you taste just the same. He's wetting his lips before knows it. He feels terrible. Eye fucking you while you're just trying to get him to talk about what's happening. Is he ok? He's not dying, is he? Tell me where it hurts, please.

You fret over him, and he's never felt such embarrassment in his life before. He feels bad, looking down at the massive tent in his pants. But he feels worse when he's pushing you against the wall. He's tried to hold back. Really, he did. But there's just so much a man like him can take in a situation like this. And he's trying to whisper apologies to you while he hasn't fully lost himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, just please....Fffuck–let me fuck you. Please..."

He's so desperate n'd whiney. As if he's not making your thighs shake and your brain into goo. He's fucking your mouth with his tongue, sturdy hands grabbing hold of your legs and wrapping them around his firm waist.

It's all too much. You're brain moving slower than your mouth can say "slow down". In a second he's got your trousers to the side, and his pants bunched up on his knees. He's shaking so much you're worried he might topple over. But he doesn't. Instead he slams his hips directly into yours. Your mouth opening in a silent scream.

He cums the moment he gets his dick in you. He's just so sensitive, ok :( And he doesn't stop at just one round, not even two. Three and his cum's leaking out of you, staining the floor and both of your thighs. Still moving his hips like a man possessed. Four, you're nearly passed out. And there's a slight bump in your stomach from where you're sure his cock, and cum is.

Head lying limp on your shoulder, you wonder how many times you've cummed already, or if this was even going to end. He smiles at you, so brightly he looks like your Kyle again. But he's kissing the side of your mouth before biting at your lips.

"Jus one more. Jus' one more, I promise..."

a/n: I literally don't know what bought this on. Are the parts where I lost motivation obvious? Yes? Ok. Fuck Some characters parts are longer than others I'm so sorry 😭 This has been rotting in my drafts for about 2 days. Hope you enjoy this more than I do 😞. Eat up, my loves!

Yours, truly,

–dolly

[syoddeye]

Lightly edited. 600 words. CW: alcohol, possessive behavior, implied stalking

You stopped sharing location with John Price.

He's a busy man. Too busy for you lately, it seems. The usual tricks, the old reliables, no longer seem to capture his attention anymore. You wonder if there's someone else.

You do it after he texts you yet another short, unapologetic message. He's working late tonight. Don't wait up.

You won't.

It's been ages since you indulged in a favorite pastime: reading at the bar. A habit of yours since school. You dress up for your own enjoyment, pluck the book that's sat on top of your to-read pile for months, and find a spot at the bar of your old haunt. Cocktail in hand, you lose yourself in the story.

Three drinks later, a hand settles on the counter beside your glass, connected to a thick arm testing the thickness of a denim jacket. A voice made rough with smoke curls in your ear and sends a shiver down your spine.

Should've checked here first. You were just sayin' you missed this place.

Heat you want to believe that's only from the liquor creeps up your chest and claws at your throat.

Woulda been easier to find you if you hadn't, you know.

You're embarrassed when you think back to when John first convinced you to enable the feature. You didn't share that information with anyone, and the idea of someone watching you felt gross. It took quite a bit of cajoling for him to persuade you, going on and on about how he only wants what is best for you, to keep you safe. Knowing where you are at all times is part and parcel of a relationship with him.

He's smiling. There's warmth in his features, the upturned corner of his mouth, and the slight scrunch of his nose, but his eyes are matte. Dull even in the dim light of the bar. He's fuming.

John sits beside you and drapes an arm over the back of your seat. He waves down the barkeep with the other. You finally find your words, humiliated that the first thing you think to say is an apology, and that you two can go back to yours. He shushes you. 

No, love, go ahead. Finish your chapter. Mind if I borrow your phone? Used up the battery on mine, you see.

You've never seen his phone below 60%, but you fork it over anyway, and he gestures for you to return to your book. You re-read the same paragraph a dozen times before giving up. He sips his drink, unhurried, catching your eye and giving a wink before he slides the device back to you.

There. All better.

There's a new icon on your home screen. It's unfamiliar, and when you reflexively tap it, it asks for a passcode. Your mouth dries.

Can't have you making more impulsive decisions like that, eh? 

The arm slung over the stool migrates to your shoulders, and his hand gently clamps over the nape of your neck, thumb swiping over the skin.

I haven't been giving you the attention you deserve lately, have I. S'pose that's why you pulled a little stunt like this. Wanted me to come hunt you down, find you sitting pretty at a bar, hm?

He laughs when you stutter and try to defend your decision but glowers when you quietly comment you were worried someone else was keeping his attention.

If you're finished reading, think we'll spend the night at mine, sweetheart. Show you you're the only one for me.

[waves-against-a-cliff]

The thing you did that made the 141 men think 'Im gonna marry them'

Content Warnings - Fluff. Sexual themes but no smut.

Gaz - It's cliche really. But he loves it when his partner can eat. Maybe not all the time, not all types of food. Maybe it's literally one specific thing you can eat pounds of. Whatever it is, he had taken you to a buffet and watched with hearts in his eyes as you devoured it. Not in a feederist kind of way but in a... Breeding sort of way. Doesn't matter if you lack the actual parts, can't get pregnant due to birth control or other outside forces. He thinks to himself, "I'm gonna marry them." Doesn't even realize hes thought it until he hears it in his head.

Price - He saw you rush across a busy street (he nearly had a heart attack) and stop traffic because you saw a pair of turtles trying to cross the street. Carefully you picked them up and placed them to where they were heading to. You even waved and said goodbye to them. Your kindness made him smile and chuckle. He realized then he wanted to marry you.

Soap - You were playing with his nieces and nephews at a family party. Chasing them around and playing their games. Laughing and sneaking some more dessert. He loves seeing you with kids, his eyes are on you all night and he thinks, "I'm gonna marry them."

Ghost - He took you axe throwing. He didn't expect you to be this good at it. The way it seemed so natural to you and how the axe embedded itself into the wall. You smiled up at him, a feral gleam in your eyes. He hands you another axe just to watch the way your arm muscles tense and to see the same look on your face when it hits its target. Spare strands of your hair stick to your slightly sweaty face and you comment about how much you like this. As he watches you wrench the axe from its spot, he can only think of how badly he wants to marry you.

[faith369]

Just imagine calling Price daddy as a joke but it kinda backfires

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!reader

Warnings: p in v, mdni, nsfw, condescending (slight), daddy kink

Price, who glared your way the second he heard you calling him daddy, shaking his head slightly but writing it off as a one time joke, while trying to ignore the twitching inside his pants. He is however quick to realize that it is not a one time event and has to take a deep breath as you walk around with a grin plastered on your face every time you use his now least favorite nickname. He isnt even that old.

Price, who walks around with a raging boner in his pants while on base, thinking about you moaning the word he dismays so much, while stuffing your pussy.

Price, who gets fed up and bends you over the counter after you use the nickname again. Grinding his clothed bulge against your dripping cunt after he pulled down your pants. His voice sounds gruff behind you.

"Not as confident now, huh? My poor baby can't even talk anymore. Hmm, don't worry, daddy's going to take care of you"

You whine, wanting more friction, and John eagerly gives in, freeing his leaking cock from his jeans ramming it into your tight heat while his hands slip under your shirt, groping your breasts.

"Come on, be good say it again; then I'll help you."

The second he hears the word out of your mouth, he starts pounding into you, drawing moans from you. He ignores any pleas to slow down out of overstimulation and instead lets one of his hands move to your clit, making you clench around him.

Price, who pulls out, not letting you reach your orgasm, leaves your aching cunt empty except for his cum.

"Stop whining, that's what happens when you're a naughty girl"

A/N: Im bacccckkk big sorry for nor writing I was kinda in a slump anyways requests are open and happy to be answered <333

[mockerycrow]

Soft Moments: Price Edition (GN!Reader)

john price masterlist

Summary: Random soft moments I thought of with the 141 (separately) <3 — mostly you taking care of them! This is PRICE’S SOFT MOMENT.

[WARNINGS: tooth-rotting fluff!]

John had stayed up all night to complete reports that were due in the morning; his eyes burned from the lack of sleep, his eyelids felt heavy, and his mouth was dry—which could have been from the cigars he smokes, but he also kept up on his water intake. He steps inside of his home, dropping his duffel bag to the side right next to the mud mat at the front door. John closes the door and locks it, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

The exhaustion nips at his body bit by bit and he reads the time— 4:32 AM. He cringes, his lips pulling back as he stares into the darkness of his living room, contemplating why he hasn’t left the service yet because he will have to up in about an hour and a half. John unties his shoes and leaves them by the door, although he doesn’t bother to undress too much. He removes his coat and his hat, tossing it somewhere on the couch before he makes his way down the hall to your shared bedroom. John can’t see you, but once his fingers find you, he’s wrapping his arms around you and he falls into a deep slumber near immediately.

He wakes up—not from his alarm, but from you shaking him awake. He groans and fights to peel his eyelids open, and he’s so tired. His limbs feel like they’re being weighed down by anchors, but he manages to sit up and look at you. You look back at him and cup his cheek, pressing a kiss against his forehead. “Good morning, John,” You mumble. “You got home late, huh?” His eyes fall back to being closed and he lets out a quiet “mhm”, feeling your thumb brush against his cheekbone. He opens his eyes when he feels you get off of your shared mattress, and you grab his hand. “Come on, I’ll help you shave today.”

John’s eyebrows raise for a split second in response, and you pull him out of bed. You stifle a laugh at how sluggish he seems—you feel bad because you know why he’s so tired, but your boyfriend who is usually so alert, so loving, is so exhausted—but he’s still loving. You lead him into the bathroom and you have sit on the closed toilet lid, and you rummage around for his shaving cream and razor. John fights every tired bone in his body to stay upright and awake, and he’s successful when he narrows his eyes at you. “Can I have a cuppa?” He utters, his tone lifting to indicate it’s a question. You put the razor and shaving cream on the sink counter and you glance at him, humor lacing your words. “Will you stay awake long enough for me to get it?”

John snorts and nods, which prompts you to swiftly leave the room. You return only a minute or two later with a steaming mug, and nudge a slumped over John with your foot. “Hmm?” He groans, sitting up as quickly as he can. “Liar.” You tease, holding out the mug to him. John hums noncommittally and he takes the mug from you and takes a gracious sip, and then he sets it on the sink counter as you lather your hands with his shaving cream. He lets out a long and slow sigh as you rub the shaving cream in the spots where he needs it, sparing his beloved mutton chops as silently requested. His stubble feels rough under your fingertips, but you ignore the feeling as you massage the cream into his skin.

John lets his eyes fall closed, enjoying the sensation of your fingers on his face, on his jaw, how careful you try to be with him, no matter what. You always try your best to help him out with anything because you know he has a demanding career, and you try to make it a bit easier for him—especially for when he gets home late on days like these. He has the urge to lick his dry lips, but he’s so tired to the point where even moving his tongue feels like the most intense chore he could do. Instead, he melts into your touches, focusing on the way your fingertips brushing against his face gives him goosebumps, how loving your touch is—

“John.” He clears his throat gently and makes a little “hm?” noise like before, and he hears your quiet laugh. “You were falling asleep on me.” You whisper, slowly dragging the razor in a downwards motion, cutting his stubble. “I’m quite tired, love.” John responds, voice groggy and slurry. He hasn’t even bothered to open his eyes and you roll your eyes with a smile on your face, and you press a soft, loving kiss to his temple which he leans into. “I know, John,” You murmur. “I know.”

[antiquecowdoy]

♡; obsessed with older man!boyfriend being so mean n making you work for your orgasm :(

♡; you were bratty nd said you didnt need him to cum, it was the heat of the moment, he wasn't meant to take it literally!!

♡; nd now he's being so mean! youre not allowed to touch whats his, so hands off that pretty hole! but he's left you for weeks and you're getting so desperate...

♡; youre like a bitch in season, everything is getting you going and its so unfair, but no matter how much you beg and plead, 'you don't need him to cum'

♡; youve been so good as you stumble into his office, all bleary eyed, your insides throbbing desperate for release.

♡; how can he say no to you? especially looking like that, all worked up and pent up because of him? poor baby... he's been so cruel to you, hm?

♡; but he's here now. he's here to save you now. he's so busy too, providing for you and here he is, letting you be all needy and pathetic for him.

♡; how generous of him, patting his thighs and letting you all but crawl on your hands and knees up to him, begging for his dick to split you in half.

♡; how silly of you... thinking he would waste his time fucking you while he's working? you can't be that stupid, really.

♡; three. two. one.

♡; the realisation dawns on you as you realise what he wants. you need to ride his thigh. like a dog.

♡; you don't even have the time to process how gross that is as he bounces his leg, bumping up between your thighs. he's so mean, making you to start rocking back and forth, forcing you to hump his thigh.

♡; look at you? dribbling and leaking all over him, panting and whining, moaning like a whore into his neck, the shoots of pleasure up your spine wracking your body. and he's ignoring you! he hasn't looked at or touched you once!

♡; the rough fabric of his pants, catching on you with every roll of your hips, nipping on you all engorged and sensitive.

♡; look at you? humping his leg? getting off on rutting against his thigh like a pathetic mutt.

♡; you can't help yourself, shoots of burning pleasure up your spine, your toes curling as your core tightens before you begin to spurt all over yourself and his thighs, seeping into his clothes :(

♡; he doesn't even react! just a deep chuckle at how pathetic and needy you are, his rough hands patting your arse, letting your post orgasm haze cloud that silly little head of yours.

[thegnomelord]

Thinking of flying as a dragon with dragon Price

Price knows that after the loss of his wing he's never flying again, not on his own. But the sky still calls for him like a mother for her lost child, for a grounded dragon is a dead dragon, regardless of if he still breathes or not.

His body still craves the freedom of flight despite what he says of being over it, every flight in the helicopter or plane feeling twice as wrong as it did before, deadened nerves gnawing on his brain until they force the atrophied remnants of wing muscles to twitch every time he jumps out of the plane. He resigns himself to just watch the other fliers from the ground, you often finding him on the roof of the base watching the birds whenever the phantom ache of his lost wing returns.

And an idea comes to you.

Price just grunts when you wrap your arms around his pudgy belly, forcing his remaining wing to spread out so you can press your chest against his back.

"Need somethin'?" He grumbles, stuck between wanting to lean in to feel your warmth and pull away, what dragon would even want a flightless wyrm like him?, never noticing your arms lock in place.

"Yeah," Your breath fans his ear, lips kissing the skin. "Want you to fly." He can feel you grin.

"What nonsense are you-" Your wings spread out before he can finish and with a strong gust of wind and a beat of your wings you're shooting up into the sky with him in your arms. "- oh you bloody wanker!" He screams, the cigar slipping from his claws as he scrambled to hold onto you, wind blowing in his face.

You laugh as you soar through the air, "Relax!" You yell over the screeching wind, holding him tight.

And Price doesn't know when it happens, but his body calms down, adrenaline settling to sleep like a worn out beast. The wind fluttering his wing membrane feels nice, the sensation of the sky yielding beneath his flapping wing forcing a shiver down his spine, doesn't even notice when he starts purring.

You grin when you feel his chest rumble beneath your hands, dipping and diving through the sky and Price recognizes your movements — he spent decades practicing the same arial moves to woo future mates. And he can't help but smile, eyes closing and allowing his body to remember what it's like to fly.

----

Idl this came to me suddenly and I word vomited all over the page :/,

[just-a-sewer-goblin]

Imagine Price coming home to you after a long mission. He's tired down to the marrow of his bones. Eyes haunted and dark and you're greeting him with pure love and softness. He needs that, needs your gentleness to wash over the harshness he experienced. You know you won't ever wash it away, but you can soothe it, like cool water over an angry burn.

Imagine him damn near collapsing in your arms putting as much of his weight on you as you can take. When he pulls back you cup his face, his beard is long and dirty. Your eyes smile at him and a long sigh escapes him. You don't even need to speak, you let your actions do the talking, gently easing his jacket off of him, taking his bag and setting it aside. That's for tomorrow you to put away. Right now you need to bring John back home.

Imagine Price following you like a lost puppy into the bathroom, where you have him sit before the sink. You want him to be as comfortable as possible.

Then you begin the routine of taking care of him, washing his face and cleaning his beard. And you end up sitting in his lap to trim his beard.

Imagine Price putting his hands on your hips to hold on to you and keep you close. His fingers flexing every now and then as if he wants to grip you even tighter, while you carefully make him look civilized again. And when you're done you put down what you've been holding and cup his face in your hands, kissing his nose. "Welcome home John." It's the first thing either of you has said and he closes his eyes and nuzzles into your hands, finally gripping you tighter and crushing you against his body.

Imagine John kissing your shoulder and leaning his head against it while saying "I'm home, darling." And you know that by home he doesn't mean the shared apartment. No, John's home is right here, in your arms.

[apollodarling-writes]

thinking about task force 141 + könig with a gen z! reader.

tws : some suggestive themes but nothing explicit, cursing, ghost has no problem with the reader slapping his ass pls don’t mistake it as being nonconsensual

edit : it’s come to my attention that some of you are confused as to why i made a post like this. this post was made to be satirical and cringey and embarrassing. i am part of gen z and using the terminology that was all the rage in recent years to make something like this. it’s not a serious post. it’s made to appear the way it appears.

reader, walking past soap : youre looking very submissive and breedable today, johnny.

soap, shaking his head and tutting : i am not!

reader : big talk for someone within breeding distance.

ghost, trying to make a cup of coffee :

reader who takes notice of ghost’s ass and slaps it : god damn! i knew you had jiggle physics

ghost, slowly setting down his cup and turning his head : i’m giving you a five second headstart.

reader realizing they fucked up : oh shit.

reader knocking on price’s office door : knock knock! can i enter, captain price?

price, trying to finish his stack of paperwork and knows reader is up to something : …sure

reader : this is a vibe check! what do you think of this?

price, glancing between the picture and reader : … its nice.

reader whose eyes light up : you, my good sir, have officially passed the vibe check and that is why you’re my favorite captain.

price, exasperated : im your only captain.

ghost talking to soap : johnny, you ever feel… lost?

reader suddenly appearing with stress balls and plushies : here, these help me! this weighted stuffed animal hits different, so i recommend it personally.

ghost :

soap : where the hell did you even come from??

reader posing for a picture with the team before a mission : and everybody say “in our special ops era”!

the team, sullenly : in our special ops era…

reader : damn guys, this lighting is doing wonders for our dark circles.

könig trying to carve something for reader: hmm.. this side looks a little bit off…

reader bounding over to könig : heyy babygirl!

könig scrambling to hide it : scheiße, i thought they were busy!

[criminalamnesia]

the 141 x reader fic that you did was so yummy!!! pls make them suffer the wrath of reader and make 141 realise how much they need them when they leave,

your work is so amazing btw and your way with words is simply ✨chef’s kiss✨ (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

thank you!! here’s part 3 :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

angry didn’t even begin to describe how you felt as you slammed the door to price’s office behind you.

you were tense, muscles taut and poised to fight. your fists clenched at your sides, blunt nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt. your jaw was clenched, teeth grinding together as you resisted the urge to march back in there and unleash your fury.

no. not like this. not when you weren’t a hundred percent. not when they would still look at you like you were a wounded doe, stumbling around on broken legs.

in the back of your mind, you can hear that psychologist saying ‘this anger will eat you alive if you let it. you need to let it out somehow.’

you inhaled, unclenched your fists, and made up your mind. you pulled the iv from your arm, wincing at the pinch of the needle.

you left the iv pole standing there as you made your way to the gym.

the gym was empty when you arrived, which made sense for this time of day. many would be occupied by drills or in the mess hall. others would be sleeping off long nights. you had the place to yourself, and you were grateful for the absence of watchful eyes and sweetened tongues.

you were tired of those who knew nothing acting like they knew something. of those who apologized or asked if you were okay. word spread like wildfire around base, and the subject of your ‘betrayal’ had been front-page news since the start of the witch hunt.

the gym door clicked shut behind you, and you surveyed the room. you knew your doctor would have a fit once you returned to the infirmary, and that she probably wouldn’t let you out alone again, but you didn’t really care.

you needed to let off some steam, and the best way you knew how was with your fists. either you start swinging at a bag or at a certain someone’s face. the bag won’t be condescending, and that makes your choice easy.

you approach one of the bright red punching bags in the corner. it’s scratched and taped from where someone had busted it open. scars that didn’t go away, that wouldn’t— just like yours.

you huffed. it didn’t do any good to start feeling sorry for yourself. you hadn’t done anything wrong. your team had.

you stretch your arms out in front of you, fingers interlocking to pop your knuckles. you catch sight of your severed finger, still healing. they’d recovered what had been chopped off, but hadn’t been able to save it.

just another permanent reminder, something to make sure you didn’t dare forget. you didn’t think you ever would regardless.

you shook out your hands and rolled your shoulders back. fists raised, you angled yourself towards the bag. feet spread, shoulders squared, thumb tucked under your fingers instead of inside. a stance that was second nature after years of sparring and hand-to-hand drills.

the bag was firm when your fist connected with it. you would have been lying if you said it didn’t hurt. you punched with the other hand— same results. the time you’d spent confined to an infirmary bed had done a number on you. muscles had atrophied, bones had weakened. the leg you’d suffered a bone-deep cut to shook under your weight.

you didn’t care. you kept punching, your breathing picking up as your emotions guided you. sweat dripped into your eyes and rolled down your back. you felt weak, physically and mentally. you hated feeling this way, and so you punched harder.

“slow down,” a voice grumbled from behind you.

you ignored him, continuing to punch the bag. you hadn’t heard the door open, nor heard the sound of him approaching, but you would have been surprised if you did.

simon always had a penchant for sneaking up on people, intentionally or not.

“gonna pass out if y’don’t stop,” he said after a minute. you could feel his eyes on you. you ignored him again.

you didn’t need to turn around to know he was standing there with his arms crossed, eyes full of something unreadable.

“stop,” he says firmly, and you sense his movement as he surges forward. his hand lands heavily on your shoulder, pulling you back from the punching bag. you heave in a breath before spinning around and punching him in the nose.

simon stumbles back a step, eyes widened slightly. for someone who prided himself on being so observant, he clearly didn’t see that coming. it made you feel the tiniest bit smug that you’d caught him off guard for once.

you dropped your hands to your knees then, squeezing your eyes shut as a wave of nausea washed over you. damn the bastard, he had been right. you shouldn’t have even been in here in the first place, let alone exerted yourself as much as you had.

your hands were shaking as you tried to pull yourself together. you opened your eyes to see drops of blood on the gym floor, by your feet. you had split your knuckles open.

there were also drops of blood at simon’s feet. you looked up then, slowly straightening your posture. he’d removed his mask, his face bare as he stared at you. blood dripped from his nose.

“gonna have to hit harder than that if y’want to break it,” he says, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“did you follow me in here?”

“no.” he says, and you’re giving a mirthless laugh.

“oh, please. im sure price sent you, yeah? you’ve always been his little lap dog. he says ‘jump’ and you say ‘how high,’ isn’t that right, lieutenant?”

your tone is tense, angry. you throw his title in his face, seeing as he’d been so quick to remind you of yours back in price’s office.

simon watches you, and you want to tackle him. he had always been quiet, always stoic. you’d been with him for years, but you still didn’t think you’d broken down all of his walls.

he was so good at masking his thoughts, his feelings. you weren’t. soap had always called you an open book. whenever you were mad or upset, everyone knew it.

no one knew anything about simon unless he wanted them to. it drove you mad then, and it was sure as hell driving you mad now.

“you need to get back to the infirmary,” he tells you. he wipes the back of his hand under his nose, smearing red across his skin. for a moment, you want to chastise him, reach up and wipe the remnants from his face.

you quickly shake that thought from your head. what is it they say— old habits die hard?

these habits would die if you had to strangle each one with your bare hands. anything you harbored for the four men on your team, for the one you’d called yours, was dead and gone.

“fuck off,” you tell him.

“why are you so damn stubborn?” he says then, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him start to crack since everything had happened. emotions are beginning to leak through his stony exterior, whether he means them to or not.

“you don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. none of you do,” you say, and you take a step forward then, eyes blazing as you stare up at him. “not after what you did.”

he doesn’t speak for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. his eyes never leave yours.

“it shouldn’t have happened like that.” he tells you. you scoff.

“like that? you mean the four of you torturing me? tying me up and mutilating me like I was just another fucking target?” your voice was rising as you took another step forward, shoving a finger into his chest.

“if I’d treated you like another target,” he said, tone even. “you would’ve been dead.”

“so you showed me mercy, is that it?” you bared your teeth, a hollow laugh escaping your throat. “oh, thank you simon. I really felt that fucking mercy when you cut off my finger, and when you cut through layers of skin to get to bone.”

you inhaled before continuing. “I should be grateful then, right? is that what you want from me? for me to recognize your fucking ‘mercy’ and take you back? take you all back?”

he just stands there. you can see his jaw clench, but he makes no move to speak. you find it funny that he hasn’t even tried to apologize. john, your ever prideful captain, had swallowed his failure and pleaded for your forgiveness.

johnny and kyle would surely have done the same if they’d had the chance to speak to you, even if they only had a minute.

but simon? simon doesn’t. he doesn’t outwardly admit his wrongs. he doesn’t apologize. doesn’t seem sorry, even. you don’t know what’s going on inside his head, but you find yourself not really caring to know.

the fact that he can’t bring himself to admit, in blunt words, that he had astronomically fucked up and that he felt even the slightest bit of remorse, told you everything you needed to know.

cold, stoic ghost. you hadn’t been afraid of him when you’d first joined the squad, and you weren’t afraid of him now.

but back then, you’d wanted to break down those stone walls of his. you’d wanted to be someone he felt safe around, someone who knew him inside and out.

now, you’re packing your time with him into a box in your mind and dumping it into the trash. simon riley means nothing to you now.

“take your mercy and shove it up your ass,” you tell him. you step back and drop your hand, your eyes still locked on his.

“and by the way,” you say as you start towards the door. he doesn’t turn around, doesn’t move an inch. it’s as if he’s rooted to the spot.

“you should’ve just killed me.”

author’s note:

not really sure how I feel about this one tbh. I have plans for a part four, but I’m not quite sure how long I’ll be making this series.

and as for simon— I want to write an extra part about his thoughts/feelings about everything. let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in!

anyways, let me know your thoughts please :) (I honestly may end up deleting this and rewriting it when I’m not tired lol)

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