#captain price oneshot

[ghostandsoap]

The Best of the Best

John Price x Fem! Reader

Tags: Explosion. Fire. Building burning down. Typical Soap behavior. Protective Ghost. Price is a simp.

A/N: A huge thank you to @venomous-ragno​ who contributed to assisting me in working out the details of this fic! I appreciate you!

Word Count: 4.0k

“As long as it’s from you, then I’d definitely say so.”

The best of the best. 

That’s how Captain Price described you since the moment that he could really see what you were made of. He found you beyond impressive, one of the best soldiers to ever cross his path. Everyone had their strengths and weaknesses – their areas that they excelled in and their areas that they could always improve. 

When it came to you, Price had never seen you not completely dominate a skill. He knew you were quick on your feet and even quicker in your head. No one could hack, track, shoot, and kill quite like you.

You were, in Price’s opinion, the absolute best of the best.

Everybody knew your reputation. Not many people teased you or challenged your abilities. The ones who had were embarrassingly proven wrong, and it was never a mistake that was made twice. It was a well known fact how much Price admired you. And maybe, just maybe, he favorited you just a bit. Where there was Price, you were there too.

That was common knowledge.

But his assessment of you didn’t come just from your tactical skill. He found you to be unmatched in a lot of ways that weren’t related to your job at all. You knew you were one of his better soldiers, yet you never let it get to your head. You were kind to others and always willing to lend a helping hand. You looked out for your friends and colleagues, and underneath a hard exterior – you were all heart.  

He trusted you to be obedient. He never doubted that you wouldn’t give your all each and every time you had a job to do. You were a natural leader, but also a trustworthy follower. Not many people could be both.

Price was drawn to you, he would admit. He liked just about everything about you, except maybe your smart mouth – that was the only thing that ever got you into trouble. He enjoyed having conversations with you – ones that were work related or not. He had shared a drink with you a time or two, and he found you to be pleasant company. He had this fuzzy feeling in his chest whenever the two of you would take watch together, a feeling that wasn’t the most familiar to him. The time he spent with you outside of a mission or job was the time he valued the most. 

Before he knew it, he realized that he liked you just a little more than he probably should’ve.

He had offered to buy you dinner here and there – all of his attempts being shot down by your humble modesty and fear of breaking one of his most important rules. 

Avoid romance within Force 141.

It seemed that his rantings about “avoiding romantic interpersonal relationships within the force” had gotten to you. He shouldn’t have been surprised. You looked up to him, and you were his most loyal soldier. Of course you weren’t going to break one of his rules…even if he was the one who was asking you to break it. 

It took him some time to realize that he was asking a lot of you. He understood that it probably wasn’t the most comfortable situation that he had put you in. 

Price wasn’t too discouraged though. He knew there was something between the two of you. A hot ember that was just begging for some fuel to really roar into a ball of flames. Over time, there had been small moments that had been causing that spark to grow at a painfully slow pace. 

He was buttering you up in the most sincere way for the right moment. The lingering stares, the way his hand “accidentally” brushed yours when he passed you by, the compliments he made that brought a blushing heat to your face. These were all mini victories that gradually softened you up to him. 

Then, of course, there was that…one incident.

Price had felt terrible after it happened. The look on your face had immediately let him know that he had totally pushed you too far, too quickly. It had been a simple kiss. Not one that was heated or lustful. It was passionate, sure – but it was the most tender, romantic kiss that John Price had ever had the pleasure of receiving. 

In his defense, he hadn’t forced you to kiss him. It had been a mutual thing, so there couldn’t be any claims of “he kissed first” or “she kissed first.” It was genuinely one of those “the moment was right” kind of situations. It had been after a long mission, one that had lasted a few days – and those few days had been stressful torture. It was touch-and-go the whole time, and the team had been very nervous that it wouldn’t get done.  

You and Price had been attached at the hip for the duration of that particular mission, working together to get the job completed. The tension had been building up and stewing for days. There was so much emotion and so much riding on this job that it was unavoidable. When the mission did turn out in the team’s favor, and the two of you had your first moment alone – both of you gave into your desires.  

The kiss had lasted only a few seconds, much shorter than Price would’ve liked. But when he pulled away and saw the expression on your face, he knew that it had been way too soon.  

He didn’t see you for about a week after that. The days that passed consisted of you dodging him and avoiding him. It wasn’t until the next morning briefing that he took his chance to corner you, and the two of you worked it out enough to where you could go back to the way you were before.

Price had been relieved. He didn’t want to lose you as a friend or as a colleague. He needed you around – for multiple reasons. 

He made a solemn swear to himself that he wouldn’t push it anymore. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you off to the point where you really didn’t want anything to do with him. After all, Price was a patient man.

And he had no problem waiting for what he wanted.

***

The mission had been doomed from the start. 

There were too many outside factors that were a part of it that were playing against you. This mission was going to be more work and effort than it was worth (most of them were), despite its seemingly easy end goal.  

Clear the building. Find and make your way into the server room. Obtain and transfer the files to your drive to deliver back to the general. It seemed straightforward, and it seemed like something that could be done with no issues. 

However, there were two very crucial catches to this. 

This job was a little bit different from past missions. Hacking and data transfers were one of your specialties. Speed and accuracy were your strong suits, and it made the most sense to put you at the head of this task. In some ways, the success of this mission fell on you. 

The other kicker was that this specific group of terrorists was much more prepared than you originally gave them credit for. It shouldn’t have been a shock that the whole building was bugged. They knew that the force had been on their tails for a while, so it really only made sense that they made the proper measures in place to wipe their trace clean when the time was right. 

The terrorist group knew that you were there the moment the Force’s boots hit the back doorway. The goal of the mission was suddenly stricken by the enemy of time. A countdown to the demise of the server room had begun the moment that you thought you were in the homestretch. 

The building had been eerily silent. There wasn’t another person (outside of 141) in sight. That was your main indicator that something wasn’t right. If this place was guarding the top secret information, then it should’ve been littered with folks to protect it. As far as you could see, this place was abandoned and left for dead. 

Soap had been the first to make a comment on how this all seemed too convenient. His suspicions weren’t unreasonable, considering the pit of nausea that had opened in your stomach the moment that you realized the team was truly alone. 

Ghost was rigid, scanning every single door, out of place floor tile, and desolate corner. He had gone stoically silent, prepared for the bottom to fall out at any moment. Price and Gaz didn’t stray far. They were far too uneasy to let the group get separated. 

You weren’t rushed as you navigated the halls of the building, carefully working your way to the upper floors where the server room was located. The stairwells were echo chambers of every single sound, another reminder that no one was around. Five pairs of heavy footsteps trudged up each flight of stairs, your nerves growing more and more worn with each step.

You reached the correct floor, entering the hallway from the stairwell with goosebumps erupting all over your skin. Something in your gut didn’t feel right. Just as you were about to suggest to Price that 141 take a different approach, there was a loud, unmistakable noise.

The sound of the explosion and the roar of fire had caused an annoying ringing noise in everyone’s ears, and had sent everybody into overdrive. The entire building shook and rattled from the initial impact, a rush of black smoke billowing from the doorway of the room. The room had self-destructed, which was a no doubt sign that the enemy group had known you’d be coming. 

Flames engulfed the room immediately and wasted no time spreading down the hall with the final goal of destroying every square inch of the place. The heat that spread from the room was indescribable. A temperature so intense that no one in their right mind would even attempt to go through it.

The mission was simultaneously aborted, considering that there wasn’t even a mission to complete now. The only objective now was for Task Force 141 to get out alive without being trapped, burned, or crushed to death. It was a mad scramble to escape the fiery death trap, the heavy gear that all of you were carrying felt weightless from the adrenaline. 

The stairs that you had taken your time to climb were cleared in seconds, all of you using every ounce of energy and speed to get to safety. If one room was tricked, then there was no telling what the other parts of the building had been bugged with. 

It was all a blur in your mind. In reality, it had only taken about 60 seconds for the five of you to get out of the structure, but it had felt like an hour long endeavor. There was a point when 141 was safe enough to come to halt, located far off in the distance from the building that had never blown you all to smithereens. There wasn’t much that you could do other than report back to the General to explain the situation and watch the building go up in flames. 

The dread in your chest had morphed into something else. The sensation of knowing that not only had the data been destroyed, but the target enemies had likely been intelligent enough to make a backup to take it with them. The information was out there again, lost in the world to the point where it could literally be anywhere. 

This mission was back to square one. And you couldn’t help but feel responsible.

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz were kneeling in a halfway huddle, heaving with each breath in an attempt to regain control of their breathing. Price kept his eyes locked on you, watching the way that you were standing still – eyes fixed on the deteriorating building just in your view.

The sun was setting on the horizon, the sky’s hues of orange and purple nearly matching the embers and flames that were currently (and had already) destroyed the golden ticket of your mission. Months of work and weeks of preparation had been wasted on the fact that (admittedly) you had been outsmarted. 

The best of the best. 

That’s what Price had always said about you – that you were the best of the best. Your first mission as the leader, the person responsible for the success of the job and the wellbeing of your colleagues, had gone south faster than you could’ve ever imagined. 

For the first time in a very, VERY long time…

You had failed at something.

He knew you were in for a long night of overthinking this whole thing. A long night of questioning your skills and abilities. He knew you all too well. And he knew you would blame yourself for the rest of your life for this.  

Price took a few steps closer to you, resting his hand gently on your shoulder to announce his presence.

“Come on,” Price said in his most neutral yet sympathetic voice. “Let’s get out of here.” 

***

No one had seen you since returning to the safe house. 

Everyone had dispersed upon returning, taking the time to decompress and regain their composure.

Gaz and Soap had crashed nearly the moment that their bodies collapsed on opposite sides of the living space of the house. Soap didn’t even bother taking off his pack or boots, but Gaz at least made the time to get his gear off.

Ghost immediately went on watch, sitting at the window near the front door to keep an eye out for unwanted guests and intruders. Ghost never slept much. 

Price unpacked all of his belongings in his pack, noting the inventory of each item and what needed to be rearranged. It was busy work really, because he was preoccupied with thinking about you. In some ways, he felt responsible for this whole thing. 

He thought that he had done you a favor by letting you take the reins on this one. He knew it would be a good experience for you, and it was just another thing that Price would brag on you about. But he hadn’t expected it to go the way that it had. If he had known that it was going to blow up (literally) in your face then he never would’ve appointed this to you 

He supposed that really he felt responsible for how you were feeling about it.

Price was trying to give you space. He didn’t want to crowd you when he knew you were feeling lousy and down. But on the other hand, he wasn’t sure if it was such a good idea to let you stew in your own unnecessary guilt. 

He gave it some time, allowing at least the initial emotions to simmer down. He rearranged and organized his backpack about three or four times before he made the steps to find you. He had assumed that you were in the single bedroom to be alone, but when he checked only to find an empty, untouched bed, he began to panic.  

While he trusted you completely, there was the quick thought of you potentially going back by yourself to rummage through the remains of burned rubble for any kind of salvation to failure did cross his mind. That would’ve been stupid and reckless, but Price knew what sort of desperate things people would do just to prove that they hadn’t failed.

He stepped over Soap and Gaz in the living room, who were both sound asleep and snoring loud enough to wake the dead. Price knew that Ghost, who was the most aware of the five of you, would likely know where you were.

He approached the colossal man that was scanning the area outside, but was appreciative when Simon Riley’s mysterious eyes gave attention to him.

“Captain.” Ghost said both as a greeting and a question to his sudden approach. 

“Where is she?” Price posed to Ghost, who was always on the same page as him.

“Been keeping my eye on her. She’s outside,” Ghost motioned towards the pickup truck that was parked towards the side of the house. “Hasn’t said a word.” 

From where he stood, Price could just barely make out the image of your frame that was sitting on the lowered tailgate of the vehicle. Price let out a long sigh, unsure of what to do. Sometimes addressing the situation made it worse. It made the embarrassment and the disappointment feel unbearable. But other times, not addressing it set a foundation of discouragement that would build on itself. It could ruin your confidence inside and out.

“In my opinion…I think you should have a chat with her, Captain.” Ghost spoke again, as if he knew that Price were weighing his options.

“Think that would be more helpful than leaving her alone?” Price asked.

Beneath the infamous balaclava there was a silhouette of a smirk. It was a knowing expression that said it all.

“As long as it’s from you, then I’d definitely say so.” Ghost replied.

Price nodded with understanding. No sense in beating around the bush if it was that plainly clear. Without another word to Ghost, Price opened the front door and walked outside into the world. Darkness had painted the sky long ago, the night time hours were well upon the 141.

The air outside had a breeze to it. The weather was clear and the temperature was at least comfortable. He loved nights like this, but they meant nothing if you couldn’t enjoy them too. He stopped at the side of the tailgate, his eyes never leaving you. 

He noted your lowered head and slumped shoulders, the anxious swings of your feet and the blank stare at the ground beneath you. He had never seen you so defeated. 

“It’s awfully quiet out here,” Price remarked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “A beautiful night as well.” 

“Yeah.” You mumbled, staring at your feet that were barely swinging beneath you. 

Price knew you were hiding out. The embarrassment of facing your teammates and friends after failing to get the job done was tough on anybody. What was worse was trying to work through the disappointment in yourself.  

“These things happen.” Price said, wasting no time getting to the point. 

A rush of air whispered all around you. It felt like it was mocking you, taunting you for the day’s failure. It was all around you, consuming you in a way that was inescapable.

“Not to me they don’t.” 

Price sighed, watching you gaze off into the sky as if there was something worth watching floating around up there. He knew that you were discouraged, and he understood what that felt like. 

“Time wasn’t on our side. That’s the only reason that we failed today.” Price went on, taking it upon himself to take the open spot next to you.

He groaned as he hoisted himself up, sitting on the hard metal of the lowered tailgate.

“I blew it. I completely and utterly blew it.” You rambled, your voice thick with disappointment only in yourself. 

“What is all of this ‘I’ and ‘me’ shit?” He scoffed. “We all failed to get the job done. This doesn’t fall on you.”

“I was the one who was supposed to get the data transferred,” You argued. “I was the one who wasn’t quick enough.”

Price knew where your head was at. He had been there before, it wasn’t comfortable nor pleasant – but it was something that you just had to work through.

“The room was corrupted. No matter how quick you were, we would’ve lost the information. You’re lucky that we lost the data before any of us made it into the room.” Price pointed out, which truly was something that you hadn’t thought about. 

You didn’t have a response. You felt no need to try to argue. Price wouldn’t be able to change your mind.

“If you think you’re going to be perfect all the time and go your entire career without fucking up, then I’m here to tell you right now that you couldn’t be more wrong,” Price rumbled. “You did your best.”

“My best wasn’t good enough, Captain.” 

The emphasis on his title stung him. It was that subtle reminder that your relationship was still rather strictly professional.

Fuck. Just call me John!

“Sometimes that’s how it goes,” He returned. “You know that.”

It hadn’t been your fault. Deep down, underneath all the damaged pride, you knew that there wasn’t a thing differently that you could’ve done to avoid this outcome. None of you knew that the place was wired and that it was going to vanish right in front of you. 

But this was much harder than it should’ve been. Captain Price, the man that you admired and adored so much, had allowed himself to step aside to let you take the lead on this mission. In turn, he witnessed you fail firsthand as a leader.  

That hurt more than anything. 

The best of the best. 

Suddenly, your “best” wasn’t so great after all.

“If you don’t hear anything else I say tonight, at least hear this…” Price sighed, realizing that his words weren’t having any effect on you. “I’m proud of you.” 

This time a rush of heat surrounded and flooded you, but it wasn’t from the wind.

“You’re just saying that.” You grumbled. 

“I’m not. I’d never say something like that to you if I didn’t mean it.” Price “readjusted” the way that he was sitting. 

He was closer to you now, the outside of his thigh was touching yours in a way that sent electrical static through every vein in your body. His eyes were piercing yours the way that they always did when he was thinking about you. 

“I am proud of you. You’ve never let me down, and I’ve never seen you as anything less than perfect,” He said, and you were suddenly aware of how close his face was to yours. “I care about you.”

You didn’t panic. Breathless and speechless, yes – but in no way were you off put or stunned. This felt…right this time. The other times that the two of you had shared a moment like this (yes, including that one kiss), you had shied away from it. But this time it felt perfect, like right now was the moment that was really supposed to happen.

“John…” You whispered in a way that was more of a plea than anything.

He nearly fainted. His name from your mouth drove him wild, the sound practically touching his own lips. He had waited so long to hear it that it almost didn’t sound like anything. If you didn’t kiss him right now, he was sure he might actually just keel over and die. 

There was a moment of unwanted hesitation. This was the very last chance for you to back out. If you had any discomfort with this happening or if you had any question about how you felt about John Price, then this was your only window of opportunity to escape.  

“Don’t do this if you’re going to get spooked.” Price’s lips were millimeters from yours, almost close enough to where you could feel the smirk on his face.

But you didn’t take that opportunity.

“I won’t.” 

And you kissed him. It was just as tender as the first time and even more passionate. Price chuckled, his laugh muffled by the two of you nearly suffocating each other. The wait had been well worth it, and he felt like everything was falling into place. 

Price knew that this was the first of many. The first of many kisses, heartfelt chats, and special moments that he got to share with the most special woman in the world.

Just this once, you could go against a rule. It wouldn’t hurt you, and it surely would benefit you. If going against one of your standards meant that you could have John Price all to yourself? Then it was worth it. 

Besides, every rule is meant to be broken.

[mlmxreader]

Line of Duty | John Price x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Could you do one with prompts 5 and 11, with Price and a male reader?? ❞

: ̗̀➛ So much can happen when on the frontlines, but certain things are more unbearable to cope with than others.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, major character death, angst, death/injury, depiction of dead bodies, smoking

↳ @mockerycrow @seigwaidau

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Nothing was alive anymore. When the flood rushed through, it took most of the dead trees with it, and killed off the smaller saplings; their bodies littered the battlefield, bits of broken limbs scattered amongst the mud and the clay.

Bushes, once adorned with berries and bright green leaves, were left pulled and ripped apart across the mess; their small thorns charred and crumbled to ash upon the most delicate of touches.

No snakes slithered amongst the dead leaves, and no birds sang from the trees; not even the bravest of larks would have dared to sing as he flew past.

Not even the sun dared to shine anymore, hidden behind clouds that wept so terribly upon looking at the state of the land; in the shadow of the war, Price’s skin did not look the same.

Grey and pale, his blue eyes were dull and dark. He didn’t look the same. His lips were carved into a frown as he sat on a wet rock, the water up to his ankles as he lit a cigarette and hung his head.

He seemed to age a decade in that moment; no longer the forty year old Captain you had fallen in love with, still hopeful and who still had dreams - no.

His dreams had been set alight and burned in front of him, his hope had been strapped down and bludgeoned with a hammer. He seemed heavy, like there was something on his shoulders.

A burden not meant to be carried by anyone else but himself; he hunched over so that his neck wouldn’t hurt so much, staring at the murky olive water as he swallowed thickly and sighed.

You were cautious and slow as you sat beside him, resting your head on his shoulder as your hand sought his; his skin was cold, sending a shiver down your spine and making you frown as you looked at his knuckles.

They were raw, but he didn’t seem to care. He didn’t even move to run his thumb across your knuckles like he usually did; just sitting there, his gaze a thousand yards away as he kept it trained on the water he was hardly paying attention to.

You tore your gaze from him, looking up at the slanted and knocked over tree nearby; Gaz’s boot hung from one of the shattered limbs, the bottom half of his leg slowly slipping out of it.

The rest of him was nowhere to be seen.

You shuddered, quickly averting your gaze. Clearing your throat as you did your best not to think about it; to think about how, at least, Gaz’s death had been quick… you couldn’t say the same for Ghost, though.

You could still hear yourself screaming at Price to save him, to get him the fuck out of there the second that the canal started to be unlocked; you could still hear Ghost’s choking as the blood filled his mouth and turned to a thick foam.

You squeezed your eyes tightly shut, trying not to think about how desperate Price had sounded when he had tried to save Ghost.

“Let him go! You fucking cunts! Let him go!”

But they didn’t. They let him choke on a mix of his own vomit and blood. Left him there as his eyes burned from their sockets and his limbs cracked and contorted close to his body; his arms pulled up almost like a dead cockroach.

It took him so long to die, you hated it. You hated how you couldn’t save him, a pit in your stomach as you felt it churn and knot itself; you didn’t even notice you were crying, until you felt Price gently wipe away the tears before pulling you flush into his side as he shook his head. 

“Control yourself, buddy boy,” he whispered, kissing your temple as he loudly sniffled. “They wouldn’t… wouldn’t want us to be upset.”

You leaned into him, clinging onto the back of his jacket as you wept against his shoulder. “It’s all my fault, John… I thought… I wanted…”

“I know,” Price murmured, shaking his head. “But it ain’t your fault… it’s not your fault, and it ain’t mine.”

But you could hear the dishonesty in his voice; he didn’t mean a fucking word of it.

q`1Price didn’t blame you for Ghost and Gaz dying, you knew that, but he almost certainly blamed himself; he was their Captain, he should have known better.

He should never have sent them in, knowing that the risk was too high… knowing that he would always feel their blood on his hands. Thick and sticky, gloopy and gooey as it dripped between his fingers and ran down his forearms.

Price huffed, pulling you closer as he thanked everyone he could that one of his men had survived - that at the very least the man going to be his husband had survived.

Even though he knew that neither of you would ever be the same; you had lost your best friend. You had lost a man that was like a brother to you; someone you adored and loved, even if you did take the piss out of him constantly.

You still loved him, you had spent your entire life by his side; from the cradle… to his grave. You had never left his side. Price knew better than to assume that you would be alright when you were extracted by Laswell in the morning.

When he looked at what was left of the body after the flood, he swallowed thickly, and did his best not to weep; his men meant enough to him as it was - Ghost and Gaz were family to him - but he knew that it was his own fault.

He knew that he had killed them, he had taken your best friend from you and he could never look at you without thinking about it again; he had killed your best friend.

He had murdered them.

“If you want to take a break from active duty,” he said quietly. “I’ll sign it off for you.”

[sgtgarricks]

reader x john price ♡

you've been having a rough week.

anything that could have gone wrong has happened and you were left feeling exhausted and drained. barely having the energy to even get upset. all you wanted to do was sink into your boyfriend's arms and cry your heart out.

but john had been gone for a few weeks now, and it felt like hell. 'course it's not like you blame him for being away, but you really wished he was here instead of wherever he was.

as you open the door to your apartment after your shift, you were already dreading the amount of kitchenware left in the sink. the pile had been steadily growing little by little and you could only heave a sigh.

the sight that greets you instead, is john price gently wiping the wet mug he had recently scrubbed with a dry towel. your breath was stuck in your throat, you could barely remember turning around and locking the door before running straight into his arms.

"hi, sweetheart." his big arms immediately engulf you in warmth, hearing his soft voice cooing internally melting you into a puddle. before he could say anything more, you break into tears.

not the sniffles kind, the wet, sobbing kind. you grip his shirt tightly as you sob into his shirt, all the sadness and exhaustion rolling from you in waves.

john said nothing, opting to hug you tighter and kissing the top of your head.

"i'm here love, i'm here." his words make you cry even more, having missed him tremendously. you don't even know how you eventually ended up on the bed, head tucked towards his chest as he continues to caress you soothingly.

you had one of the best sleeps of your life that night. and an even better morning when you wake up to the smell of breakfast and his kisses peppering your face.

[fictionismyreality3]

Finally Home

Price x Reader

Tags: possessive!price if you squint

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: I didn’t mean for this to get so emotional but I’m pms-ing 😭

After packing up his boots, still coated in the dust of a foreign country, Price slung his well-travelled gear bag over his shoulders. Giving a quick goodbye to Laswell and the rest of those he knew on base, he clambered in his truck, the engine roaring to life as he began the drive back to his little piece of sanctuary.

To you.

The small townhouse was the most you’d allowed Price to buy. Despite his insistence on wanting to get you a massive farm house, you had to remind him that you didn’t know the first thing about horses, let alone sheep.

He remembered that day well. The giggles you gave him while you teased him endlessly, how you eventually signed the papers to the townhouse while sitting on his lap.

His baby.

None of the team knew you personally except Laswell, who you’d met a few times when you were wading through the endless paperwork of trying to marry a man who didn’t exist. The rest of the 141 knew Price had a girl, but to his content possessiveness, none of them knew you were his wife.

Soap had jeered him about you till he landed him self on cleaning duty, Gaz had tried to sweet talk him into divulging the depth of your relationship, and Ghost had even noticed the ring on the chain he wore before he had the chance to tuck it under his shirt.

There was nothing he wanted more than to make sure your life stayed as far removed as possible from his work. Price had lost many nights of sleep when you first started dating, heavy hearted as he weighed the outcomes of you getting involved with him.

So he kept you tucked away, safe from all the dangers he could possibly prevent.

It wasn’t the best situation, especially for a marriage, but somehow after everything he’d done, all the days he’d missed, you were always there, waiting with open arms to welcome him home.

His last deployment had been the toughest in a while. Nothing he couldn’t handle in terms of the mission, but it had been 3 months since he saw you, and 1 since he had to cut contact for the missions sake.

You always understood somehow. The little clues he’d leave you in his messages let you know when he had to go dark for a while.

Love you more than the stars.

A phrase you’d both decided on. Inconspicuous enough that no one with cruel intentions would think much of it, but special for you. It was just something he did to settle your mind on long deployments, let you know he was safe even when he couldn’t talk.

Even though he was back stateside, Price didn’t want to risk sending you a message to let you know he was home, not at least until he could switch out his phone.

Pulling up to your house, he cut the engine to his truck with a little grin, knowing you’d be surprised when he walked in.

The key was still under the pot on the porch, and the house smelled just like it always did, the scent of cinnamon candles you kept constantly burning, even though he told you you needed fresh air, hit his nose instantly. You must have went to those pottery classes he got you, because he could see two new vases on the entryway table. A little lopsided but full of heart.

Just like you.

Price could pick up the faint sound of the tv, knowing you were no doubt on the couch, watching one of your favourite shows. Putting down his bags, he crept his way through the house, avoiding the creaks in the floor, a route he’d memorized a long time ago.

His heart swelled in his chest as he stood in the living room archway, his eyes falling on you instantly. You had a shocked expression on your face and were saying something, probably his name, but he could only hear his blood rushing through his head, could only focus on your pretty face and your pretty everything. How you’d look as you ran towards him, flinging yourself into his arms, your body shaking with your happy cries.

“John..” Your voice broke home out of his reverie.

His arms wrapped around you, tucking you against his chest liked you’d always belonged there. “I’m here now, luvie.” He hushed you, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m home.”

[emeraldborealis]

For the Record

Pairing: Ex-husband John Price x GN!reader

TW//CW: Mention of manipulation, John trying to change, slight suggestiveness, nothing serious though.

A/N: I do plan on making this a mini-series but I'm getting surgery so I'm not sure when I'll be able to make a part two and put out.

Words: 3,185

You are currently reading Chapter one

The Do-Over Series Masterlist - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five

This was possibly the worst idea in your entire life. You've known fools who have made better decisions.

But it's John. And it's you. Who are we really kidding here? Five years of being divorced and you haven't even been on a single date with someone else.

So when you conveniently ran into each other and he suggested it, you couldn't say no.

What are you even doing with your life? You groaned, pulling at your face in stress. "For the record this is self destructive." You wandered your house, making sure everything was clean and in place, no dust or cobwebs lingering in corners. He didn't need to know how long it'd been since someone last came over. He'd call you a hermit again.

"For the record I am aware of that. Come on, don't go crying to your mom like a child when this inevitably breaks your heart. Again. She doesn't want to hear about it." It's always been a bad habit of yours to talk to yourself, John always found it amusing.

Adjusting the pillows on your couch for the fifth time your eyes caught a glimpse of an old stain, bringing back one too many memories for your liking. Skin, all skin, laying like a French girl waiting to be painted, or Princess Leia in her stupid bikini. But there was no bikini, just John and his stupid hat.

"Enough of that." You nearly had to slap the thought out of yourself. "I'm screwed."

No, no. You weren't screwed. All you need to do is keep your composure. Remember why this didn't work out last time. Keep yourself together. Don't ever let him know you miss him. There would be no recovery from that.

What was the reason you agreed to this again?

He lied last time. He manipulated you. You were too young to know better. Now you do. All you  have to do is use each of his answers to these 'questions' he wanted to ask you as a reminder of what he'd done. Keep your head out of his hands.

He did seem remorseful for what he did. He actually apologized. Promised things would be different now. He said he missed you. "Stupid sympathetic creature." You cursed at yourself.

You couldn't even lie and say you didn't miss him too. His warmth, his bear hugs, how he'd listen to you and ask about your day. How he'd take an interest in you. No one else asked about your day. Or gave such damn good hugs. Not to mention kisses...

The questions will make one thing clear. How you've grown and changed. How you've grown apart. The person you are now probably isn't even compatible with him anymore. Too different. Not a good fit for who he was when you were together. You had boundaries now. Right?

The knock on your door had you nearly jumping out of your skin with nerves. He was here. Like, actually here. And he knocked. He knocked on the door that used to be the door to his house. That must have felt weird.

Opening the door to your ex husband standing there felt both like a dream and a nightmare.

"Hey." His voice was a little rougher than it used to be, probably from more yelling and smoking those damn cigars of his. You did have to admit it was almost hotter now.

This man was going to take you to an early grave. The worst part was that you were going willingly, letting him take your hand and gently help you down into the six foot deep hole you'd spent the last five years trying to dig yourself out of.

"Hey.." You forced your eyes to stay on his face, staring at his nose so you wouldn't have to make eye contact. You'd probably strangle yourself if you let your eyes wander over his broad shoulders and strong but soft torso and got caught. Keep your eyes on his face. Look at the cute mole on his nose. Look. At. It.

"What do you think?" He asked as he stepped into your house. Stepping past the threshold of what had been protecting you from all outside intrusion. Allowing the man who hurt you to walk right back into your life.

As he stepped past you, you couldn't stop your eyes from wandering over his back, drinking all of him in again. You hadn't gotten to the last time you saw him when he suggested this whole thing. He seemed more grown now, despite being the same height and roughly the same size, he just seemed different, more mature.

This whole thing was just to remind yourself you didn't want him back in your life. The last goodbye. This was how you were going to let the last fragments of yourself that still cared about him go. They were the only thing that was going to be left in that grave.

"Uh... About what?" You weren't even paying attention, not sure if you'd missed something he'd said. Stupid move to zone out like that really.

John chuckled, the sound filling your stomach with butterflies, a heat uncharacteristically rising to your face. You hated butterflies. Moths were superior, eating clothes was cooler than eating carcasses, and tasting with your feet was weird. "My flannel. You gave it to me, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Anyways." You lead him to the kitchen, dishes set out haphazardly on the table that you'd gotten distracted from fully and properly plating. "I was going to set the table, placemats and all. But that seems a bit too fancy for what this is. I don't know what I was thinking. That's weird for the setting."

You went to grab the 'fancy' plates from the table, along with the placemats, but John stopped you, leaning his chest against your back he gently put his hands on yours, pulling them away from changing the tableware. "Leave it, love. Reminds me of a first date."

The feeling of his chest pressed against your back had you fully straightening your posture very quickly, almost as if he'd electrocuted you with his unexpected touch, accidently headbutting him in the process. 

He groaned, taking a step back and clutching his nose. "I'm so sorry." You fret in a panic, raising your hands to try and remove his to check on his poor nose, but you stopped yourself from touching him.

"It's fine, dear. I should have remembered your reactions to suddenness from when we were together." Sniffing, he pulled his hands away from his face. "Not bleeding. Just a good bonk, no harm done." He reassured, ruffling your hair, making you glare softly at him. He knew you hated that. Revenge, you suspected.

"Even still, I'm sorry." You apologized again, shuffling on your feet awkwardly. This wasn't going well. Definitely for the best.

"You have anything to drink? Maybe that would help." You weren't sure if he meant it'd help the pain or to help smooth out some rough edges between the two of you. Probably the ladder. You were tense, it didn't take a perceptive individual to take notice of that. However, you didn't drink anymore, so that would be pointless. He didn't know that though.

"Um." You had to think for a moment. "I don't drink anymore, but I might have something. Scotch? I think a friend left it here one time."

"Yeah, scotch works." He smiled softly at you, his crows feet becoming more visible. Damn he was cute. Was it derogatory to call a man of his caliber cute? Who cares.

"Okay, I'll go see if I can find it." You walked away from him a little too quickly for it to be casual, walking out into the garage to check for the scotch hiding in the fridge. Probably. You weren't actually sure this scotch existed.

By some miracle the scotch did exist, tucked safely in the back of the mostly empty garage fridge. You didn't even recognize the brand of scotch that was on the bottle, hopefully it wasn't terrible. Even if it was, that could be well deserved.

Walking back into the house you held the bottle of scotch a bit triumphantly. "There's a good chance this scotch is terrible." You placed it down on the counter, moving to grab him a glass.

"I'd settle for drinkable, love." He really needed to stop with the pet names. Your poor heart and constitution couldn't handle them. Not when his voice was so damn hot. It was criminal. Really.

"I make no promises, this friend of mine doesn't have a reputation for good taste." You poured him half a glass, was that too much?No. He could hold his alcohol well.

Not drinking for so long has completely skewed your ability to measure how much was too much.

Turning around you brought his glass over to the table, noticing something you had definitely not put there. "You lit candles?" You set his glass down by his plate, it was at the same spot of the table he used to eat. You hated that you'd retained that knowledge this whole time. And that you were still accommodating to that preference of his.

"I thought it'd help set the mood." He sat down at the table, taking a sip from the scotch. You took his lack of spontaneous vomiting as a good sign.

"What's 'the mood'?" You walked away from him, pulling dinner out of the oven. You really cooked a homemade dinner for your ex husband. Maybe you had lost your mind. Not to mention it was one of his favorite dishes. It was also really easy to make. Shepherd's pie. Not a personal favorite.

"Hopeful?" He chuckled, smiling at you again. The shepherd's pie did not go unnoticed by him. He noticed anything and everything. Damn his job. Damn him.

You didn't say anything, sitting down at the table before you served him, putting food on his plate for him, the proper amount for him. Old habits never dying and all that shit.

His smile softened towards you, watching your brow furrow in self frustration. He thought you were being really cute, all nervous and trying to keep walls up despite all your actions being to try to make him comfortable.

"Your hair is different. It suits you. I like it. Do you like it?" He refrained himself from touching your hair. It had changed in style over the five years of being out of contact. He felt this style suited you better, it was more you than anything you had while you were married to him. He'd never meant to control you the way he did.

"Oh, yeah. I do. I've had it like this for a while. You really like it?" You absentmindedly moved to touch your hair, fiddling with it. You didn't even think about what he might think of it. Moving past doing things because you thought it would please him. You were working on doing things for yourself. Something a self help book said to do.

"I wouldn't bring it up if I was just going to lie to you. It's cute." He seemed sincere enough. Maybe he did actually like it.

You watched a bit anxiously as he took the first bite of his food, hoping beyond hope you remembered how to make it how he liked. Closing his eyes he let out a soft hum of approval. It was good. He liked it. He wasn't gagging at least. Though he'd never gagged on your cooking, even when you burned soup. He still ate it and asked for seconds. He was always one to spare your feelings.

"It's good?" You couldn't stop yourself from asking, cursing the part of yourself that still required his approval and praise. Praise sounded really good right now. His voice praising you.

You needed to get out more, reconnect with nature. Maybe that would fix you. If not you could always simply choose to become a weird witch lady in the forest and never return to society.

"Of course. Always is." Something in his eyes told you he knew what you wanted from your question. "Best shepherd's pie I've ever had." He indulged you, taking another bite. If you weren't careful you'd find yourself married to him again without a single question asked. He couldn't have you again. Not after last time.

"Doubtful." He traveled a lot, ate a lot of different places. You were sure he'd found one better somewhere.

John took a deep breath, deciding not to argue on this. If you didn't want to believe him you didn't have to. He'd only done this to himself. Trust needed to be earned, not given. "So, how's work?" He changed the subject.

"Work? It's um... well it's work." You'd served yourself a much smaller portion, and it still felt like too much. You'd barely had three bites.

"That good huh?" He chuckled, trying to keep things light between you. He of all people knew how much work could suck sometimes. 

He did what he did because he was one of the few people who could. Got his hands dirty to keep people like yours clean. To try to make sure the people he cared about wouldn't be the next dead and bombed people on the news. He wasn't perfect. He knew that. His work had some fatal flaws. He knew that.

Better him doing it than someone who would follow orders blindly. Someone who was willing to go too far. Do too much. Make wrong decisions easily. Hurt the wrong people. John knew who was and wasn't his enemy.

"It's really not so bad. Keeps me busy. Helps me get out of the house. I like my coworkers. Pay is decent too, keeps me afloat well enough. Sometimes things get a little tight." Why did you admit that? He's going to get in, he's going to use that against you. Get you hooked on his leash again.

He looked at you for a moment, thinking before he began. "You struggle with money? If I would have known-"

"I can handle it. I don't need charity. Not your responsibility." You put an end to his offer before he could give it. You did not need something chaining you to him. Didn't need that reliance.

"Alright. I'll let you handle it." He backed down, trying not to put you on edge. He wasn't the same man he once was. His views on things had changed. Realized you only worked as a person when you didn't feel trapped or controlled. He wouldn't try to control you again.

Aside from getting back into your life that is.

"Thank you. Because I can handle it. Promise." You missed when your thoughts were wandering, that was more fun than this tension.

"If you came to me I'd always help you. Give you an easier life. I tried to give you an easier life, took care of everything for you. Made it so you didn't even need a job." He knew he shouldn't have said it as soon as the words left his mouth.

"It's depressing not having a job, I wanted a job. Staying at home and not working was only fun and enjoyable when you were home. Otherwise it was terrible for my mental health. I need to be doing something." He should have understood that aspect about you better, since he was the same way.

"All I wanted was to give you more time for your hobbies, you always complained you were too tired after work. All I wanted was to feel like I was providing for you. Like I was doing something nice for you. That I was working hard to provide for you so you could just relax." His intentions weren't rooted in your purposeful destruction, even still, it hadn't been a good situation for you.

"I'm not a self motivated person. I need something to do, a routine. It was fine when you were home because you would keep me accountable, but when you were away all I'd do was rot and wait and hope you'd come home alright. It wasn't healthy for me." In the middle of being at a standstill it's easy to feel guilt for not progressing. Especially when you were raised to work.

"I'm sorry." Apologies came from him so easily now. He really had matured. He would have never taken accountability for his part in things before. 

It wasn't all his fault. 

Still, between the two of you he was the one who should have known better.

"It's alright." Forgiveness was something you'd found to be quite freeing in recent years. Easier to move on from things. Not dwell on them so severely. This was different from being a pushover. You weren't just lying down and taking it. No, you held the control this way.

Looking down at his plate then your own you took a deep breath, sighing softly. You really weren't hungry enough to finish your food but you hated to waste. "Need help with that?" He took notice, because of course he did.

"Sure." You switched your plate with his, giving him his fork and taking your own. Standing up you took his plate to rinse it off and put it in the dishwasher. Starting to clean up dinner while he minimized waste for you. A human garbage disposal is what you used to call him teasingly.

Once he was done he brought your plate and put it in the dishwasher, getting to work on washing dishes while you put the food away. All too quickly slipping into old routines. This was not good. Keep your guard up.

When everything was clean and put away you refilled his scotch before you both migrated to the living room. The couch felt too intimate so you opted for the floor, resting your back against the couch.

This felt too much like your first date. But you knew that was the point, a do-over of sorts.

But this was different. It had to be different. That whole life was a lie.

You stared at him for a long time, he was sitting on the couch, his drink in his hand resting on his knee. He stared back, keeping eye contact. Damn this was not going to go well. His big soft eyes could not lure you into caring for him again.

That was a lie. They definitely could.

"So, we're asking thirty six questions? Is that what you said? Are we coming up with the questions or are they predetermined?" Finally you looked away from him, crawling over to push the button on the electric fireplace to turn it on, then immediately regretted it. Too romantic.

"Predetermined, love. I have a list for us to go through." If he kept up with the sappy pet names you were sure you were going to be rolling on the floor like a dog for him, begging to be loved and given attention again by the end of the night.

This can still work out for you. Keep your head on straight. Don't fall for his cheap tricks. This is still the man who manipulated you, even if he's apologized and asked for penance. If he wanted to, he could do it again. Don't let him.

"So then, should we begin?"

[patrollingboston]

Hiya! Could you write a fic where we have to share a bed with Price?

Much love ❤️

An awkward conversation // Price x reader fluff

guilty pleasure one bed trope, this is not meant to be realistic!

After completing gruelling week on a mission, You, Gaz, Soap and Price were headed back to the pickup location to take you all back to base. The conversations being shared were short and snappy due to everyone’s exhaustion. Gaz was fast asleep snoring like bear and it was driving you insane. Soap had earphones in as Captain Price drove along the long stretch of road ahead whilst you were directing him from the passenger seat.

A loud crackle buzzed through everyone’s radio; Gaz snapped awake as everyone focussed on the voice on the other end of the radio.

“Bravo 0-6?”

“Price, you there?”

“What is it Laswell?”

Price held down the button on his radio whilst his eyes remained focused on the road ahead. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel occasionally looking over at you. Everyone’s curiosity was peaked as the mission was over, why would Laswell need to contact them now?

“Nikolai has a problem with exfil, his helicopter has needed some uh, um emergency maintenance. We can’t fly you back to base until tomorrow morning, can you all find a motel nearby just to rest up for a night?”

“Oh, fucking hell- “

Gaz groaned, Soap joining him. You flopped your head back against the headrest in protest. Everyone just wanted to go home, sleep in their own beds, eat normal warm food and be alone.

“Is there no other option? I think we all just want to be back ASAP Laswell.”

“Fraid’ not, earliest we can get to you is 8am tomorrow.”

“Alright, we will sort something out.”

Price said taking his hand off the steering wheel for a second to rub his temples, you glanced over noticing how tired his eyes looked. Everyone’s did.

With that statement the radio cut off. Everyone’s eyes were on Price as he was magically going be able to solve the issue.

“Well, what’s the plan?”

Soap chimed in, peeking his head round from the back of the car.

“There’s a cheap motel not too far, look we aren’t going to be there long. It’s already late, it’s just to clean up and get some rest. I know it’s not ideal.”

“I’m sure we can survive one more night, at least it will be warm?”

You spoke, trying to lift the mood of your fellow soldiers only to be met by awkward silence.

Price tapped on his phone to get directions to the motel. He was right about needing to clean up. Everyone was in their gear, dirt and mud were splashed over everyone’s clothes and face.

“I miss real food.”

Gaz said, Soap nodded in agreement as he began bumbling on about a restaurant near his house.

10 minutes later the car pulled up into the carpark for the motel. There wasn’t much to say about it, it didn’t look too bad from the outside but in your current state of tiredness you would sleep in a bed made of cardboard.

“Gaz, Soap go get us rooms, we will unload the car.”

Price ordered, Gaz and Soap split off entering the reception as you and him began lugging in everyone’s duffel bags. It was quite sparse, a few potted plants and a strikingly red carpet that frankly was hurting your weary eyes.

“Cap? They only have 2 rooms.”

You placed the bag down you were carrying and peered over to soap who was stood speaking to the receptionist.

Price sighed so loudly you could hear it from across the room.

“Well, we can go two and two, or we can take a chance on the other motel, think it was about 20 minutes away.”

You stepped over the pile of bags to join the conversation.

“I don’t mind sharing, please I just want to shower and lie down.”

You said rubbing your eyes, smearing the warpaint from earlier.

“Who goes with who?”

You suddenly felt everyone’s gaze on you.

“You pick F/N you’re the only woman here.”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?”

You teased as you watched Gaz’s face drop.

“No that’s not what I meant, c’mon.”

You weighed the pros and cons of each person in your head, quickly ruling out soap for how often he liked to flirt with people, that could never end well. Gaz was an option? But you recently discovered he snores and you needed sleep. That only left Price, your captain. You didn’t mind him, in fact over time you had grown quite fond of him despite his grumpy attitude and hat collection.

“I’ll go with Price.”

Price’s eyes widened ever so subtly; it seemed like he was taken back you chose him. His face quickly returned back to normal but you still managed to see the change in it.

A few moments later you stood outside in the hallway shoulder to shoulder with price as he wrestled with the dodgy room key.

“Sonofa- got it.”

He said before cracking a little smile and barging the door open.

You stepped inside looking at the (one again bright red) carpet laden with cigarette burns, you shrugged the bags onto the floor before going into the rest of the room and standing beside price who looked to be in deep in thought. You followed his gaze to find it.

One bed.

One bed that looks like it was made of concrete, with white ruffled sheets and 2 sad pillows.

Your stomach sunk, you had read about this in books and seen it in films and now it was happening to you.

You gulped loudly, praying Price didn’t sense your hesitation.

“I’ll sleep on the floor- “

He said sharply, it caught you off guard. What do you do now? Do you object? Do you share the bed? Do you let him stay on the floor?

“No, I know you’re just as tired as me, I don’t care, please.”

You said gesturing to the bed. He turned around and gave you a kind smile before he sat on the end and started removing his boots.

“I’m going to hop in the shower.”

He nodded as you stepped into the backroom locking the door behind you. That shower might have been the most heavenly experience of your life. Washing away weeks build-up of dirt on yourself. The warm water flowed down your back; you could have stayed in there forever. You stepped out wrapping the white towel around yourself as you reached for your bag. You searched through it trying to find something you could comfortably sleep in. Most stuff in there needed a wash as it was covered in dirt or sweat. You cursed under your breathe as you unlocked the bathroom door and peeked your head out.

“Hey Price?”

He was sat on the bed with his arms folded across his chest, intently watching the little crappy tv.

“Mhm?”

He said his gaze finding you, you could have sworn his eyes faltered and fell up and down you. Pushing back down the blush creeping up your cheeks you responded.

“Do you have anything I could sleep in? My stuff is all uh in need of a wash.”

“Oh, um let me look.”

He hopped off the bed and bent over to rummage around in his backpack before throwing you a khaki green shirt.

“That work?”

“Cheers.”

You closed the bathroom door again before changing into the shirt. It hung below your knees like a nightgown. It was so comfy compared to the mountains of gear you had been wearing for the previous week. It smelt like him too, it was comforting.

You walked into the room; Price had changed now. He was wearing a tight-fitting grey shirt and some baggy shorts. You had never seen him this casual, it was weird but you also liked it however you couldn’t deny how good he looked in his gear too but you would never let anyone know you thought this.

You peered over at the clock.

1:23

Price was just beginning to pull back the duvet on the left side of the bed. Would it be awkward if you did the same? God, it felt like watching an awkwardly married couple get into bed. You both climbed into the bed, the space between you was almost amusing, it was clear you were both trying to avoid one another.

“Night F/N.”

He grumbled, shuffling around to get comfy.

“Night!”

You chirped back, your voice slightly breaking in doing so.

The both of you were so tired you fell straight asleep.

 You woke up to some movement beside you in the early hours of the morning. Your eyes fluttered trying to gather your surroundings only to find yourself wrapped in someone’s arms. Realizing whose arms, it was you were torn on what to do. You decided to stay still, letting yourself take in the warmth. You lay there comfortably, his breathe tickling the top of your head as you fell asleep trying not to think about the awkward conversation this would lead to next morning.

[soapybutt17]

Night Showers

Summary: A shower, a missing condom, and Soap doing his best to get on his Captain's nerves (the 20 laps around the entire base was worth it). Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Simon "Ghost" Riley. Kyle "Gaz" Garrick. John "Soap" MacTavish. Word Count: 2,168 Chapter Warnings: Smut. Unprotected Penetration. Creampies. P in V. Oral Sex (F receiving). Alternate Universe. Soap just being a little shit for the giggles and all. Unedited as usual. A/N: To the anon that sent me the request, this is for you. I just can't get this idea out of my head and it shows.

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open

One of the few perks of being part of the upper ranks were the privilege of having your own time to bathe. But unlike other assholes that prefer being in first, you preferred to be the last one to step foot in the communal showers. You prefer taking your time, lathering yourself up to the perfect suds and savoring every single minute of the cold water against your skin.

You preferred your privacy as much as the next person and practically living in the base, you don’t get that privilege as often as you want unless you were here. It was ironic seeing it was a communal space and there was an off chance another female member of the base would slip back in but it was rare especially at this time of the night where you were certain almost everyone aside from the people on watch duty were fast asleep.

The frigid cold water would have woken you up but the longer you stood in the water, the more did you feel the weight of the day get to you and you were close to falling asleep from where you stood. You were close to ready to finally get to bed and sleep before the following day of drills.

You felt a hand before you realize it and instincts had equipped you to act fast and hit whoever was ballsy enough to touch you. But it seems your husband was faster than you as he held onto your fisted hand. A smirk playing on his lips for catching you off guard.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whispered screamed at him at this point. The panic of someone possibly entering immediately crossed your mind and the possibility of either of you (mostly him) getting in trouble for being in the same shower together.

“Locked the door on my way in if that’s what you’re worried about, Love.” He smirked and only now did you come to realize that he was butt naked just as much as you.

You felt the heat on your cheeks at the realization. It’s been far too long since you’ve had even a semblance of intimacy with your husband. With mission and reports constantly pulling the both of you apart, having him so close to you now only brought the much deprived need in you to come back full force for him to see.

“Fucking hell, cold as ice.” He muttered as the water has finally hit his skin.

Your eyes gazed at the bear of a man you had the privilege of calling your husband. The way the water slither against his hairy chest and down to his happy trail all the pent up desire has come and you did not know if you had the mental fortitude to resist him at this point.

“Seein’ something you like, Love?” He teased, his watercolor eyes gazing down at you as he caught you staring.

“Very.” You quipped turning back to the waters to wash away the last of the suds that was still covering your skin. “But I think you already know that by now.” You muttered looking over your shoulder to look down at his manhood alive and awake you to see.

“Most definitely.” He chuckled, his arms found their way around your waist, pulling you further into his torso, his manhood pressing against your back in the process. “And you could feel it right now.”

“John…” You warned. You’ve had far too many close calls with the man in the past, had it not been for everyone’s lack of idea about what was going on between the both of you, you both would have been caught in one too many compromising situation.

“I’m doing nothing, Love.” He chuckled, his hand slowly creeping from your stomach up towards the swells of your breast giving a gentle squeeze before one hand rested against the columns of your neck and the other holding onto your jaws to keep you in place. “Nothing at all.” He purred, lips finding their place against where your neck and shoulders met.

“John not here.” You warned him again, the fact that the doors to the showers were locked did not reassure you at all. You still fear the possibility that someone had seen you then seen your husband walk inside in the middle of the night.

“Where then? Name a time and place.” He propositioned.

“Your room, after you shower.” You finally relent knowing that when your husband was in the mood just as much as you were, nothing would stop him from having you.

“Deal.” He turned your head until your lips met his own in a searing kiss that drowned you more than the water that showered above you both.

Your hand found their way against his wet beard, trying and failing to control his kiss, savoring the first of many kisses he was more than willing to give you for the rest of the night.

Fuck Protocol. Fuck Reputation. You will be fucked and you will make the most out of it.

“I’ll meet you naked on your bed.” He practically commanded you now as he pulled away. Any other time you would have made the protest of him giving him orders the way that he did but you truly didn’t care at this point.

Nodding, you pulled away from his hold. The coldness of his absent touch did more damage than the water ever could. Without even looking back, you had toweled dried yourself and put on your clothes—ignoring the fact that it was your dirtied ones. You’re going to be naked once you’re back in bed anyways and made your way out of the showers and making sure to lock the door behind you in the process.

~

“God fucking damnit.”

With shaking legs, you peered down at your husband post-orgasm from between your legs as he began searching through his discarded pants. A few choice words escaped his lips as he continued on with his search. It was so unlike the Captain to be this antsy but it was given in the situation at hand.

“What?” You asked, dazed still from your release with just his mouth. You felt the ache on your lips from biting too hard and trying and somewhat failing to keep your moans and whimpers to a minimum.

“Condom.” He practically growled as he began to look around his room.

You blinked as his frustration was now in full force as he began to look around his room for another spare but no luck whatsoever.

“Just fuck me, John.” You whimpered, hand somehow finding their way towards your still too sensitive bud. Keeping yourself sated while you waited.

“But…”

“I’m on my pills, just fuck me already.” You were now practically demanding him at this point. “Please.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice as he dove right on top of you. Slotting himself in between your legs. He pulled you in for another searing kiss. Your arms and legs had immediately wrapped around him, urging him to finally fuck you but he was taking his sweet time—a time neither of you truly had with the night slowly fading into daylight.

“A fucking little menace you are, aren’t you?” He teased, grinding his pelvic bone against your nub. “Just so desperate for me are you?” He questioned, voice growling louder and instincts kicked in as you slapped your hand towards his mouth to quiet him down.

He did not like it one bit as he held both of your hands above your head.

“Did I fucking tell you to touch me, Pet?” He growled against your ears.

“John—you need to be quiet.” You whispered struggling to free from his hold.

“You don’t get to make orders here, Lieutenant.” He whispered against your ears, nipping at your lobe before his lips lingered against your cheeks and finding their way towards your lips but not truly kissing you. “Is that clear?”

“Yes.” You whimpered as his hips dug further into your core.

“Yes what, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, Captain.” You squealed as he finally slipped right into you.

The aching sting even with him preparing you lingered through your entire body. It was always a task in on itself as he held onto you. One hand held onto your own up above your head and the other held onto your leg and pulling it up as high as you physically could.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He groaned. “Fucking tight.” He muttered.

Without another word, his moved his hips, a gruelingly slow but deep pace that had you gasping at each piston. Your legs held onto his waist for dear life and your teeth bit against your lips stopping from any noise from escaping.

You watched all the control leave from your husband’s body as his thrust had gotten sloppy.

“Please…” You pleaded, even when you truly didn’t know what you were even begging for right now. “Please. Please. Please.”

You felt it before you realize what was going on, the spurts painted your insides and the mind numbing shiver that wrecked from your toes up to your head. You moaned, louder than you would have wanted it to be but your husband was quick to silence you with his lips. Pulling you into him, swallowing every moans and every whimper as he continued on with thrusting inside of you.

Finally, your husband had let go of your hands, you winced as blood began flowing right back and the familiar tingling sensation seeped through. He pulled away, looking down at you in the all too familiar adoration that you felt the same for him. You were sated, blissed and thoroughly satisfied from the longing you felt for your husband.

“Are you broken?” John inquired.

A playful smile rested on your face, the context that it was a question he often asked after any of his team were put in a bad spot. It was his own little way of asking anyone and everyone if they were alright.

“Split open, but I’ll survive.” You respond,

He smiled, chuckling at your antics. Before a flip has switch and his hand held onto you pulling you up and turning you until you were on your hands and knees. Without even missing a beat or even allowing you to say anything, he plunged himself right back into you.

“Good.” He chuckled leaning close to your ears. “There’s still more where that came from.”

~

Breakfast in the mess hall was boring and you preferred it that way. Enjoying your tea and toast and jam in the peace of the table you shared with John, Gaz, and Simon was all you could ask for after the grueling night you had with your husband.

Even from the frequent sips of his coffee, you know he was just trying his best to hide the smirk playing on his face. Last night had been a blur after the third round for you. When your husband was on a mission, nothing could truly stop him from taking what he wants and what he needed from you, you were all the more willing to give it to him if he needed it.

But with that being said, you also knew the consequences of your actions. The ache between your legs and the sore throat you were nursing with your ginger tea. There was also the array of hickeys and bruises that painted your entire body and you did your best to hide as much as possible even in the sweltering heat.

The next time you would even think about sleeping with your husband is when you’re both done with your deployment. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Aye Price!”

You winced, the peace of your own filthy thoughts of last night was ruined by Soap’s booming voice taking most of everyone’s attention (some already used to his morning antics, decided to just ignore him). You looked up towards the Scot and paled at the all too familiar foil packet in his grasp.

“Saw this in front of your room last night. Hope the lucky lady you had in your room was fine being raw dogged for the night.”

You could feel the fury boil from where you sat. You had noticed both Simon and Gaz strategically move a little farther away from where the Captain sat but they had an all good view of the man as he stood and ordered Soap to run the entire base twenty times.

It pissed John even more was the fact that Soap wasn’t all that afraid with his punishment, cackling as he skipped out of the mess hall, the condom still in his hand for everyone to see. Soap would truly not let him live this down.

His eyes slowly turned to you and this time it was you who was trying your best to hide the smile as you took another generous sip of your tea.

The consequence of his own actions it seems.

[sprout-fics]

Breaking and Entering

(John Price x F! Reader)

(Call of Duty Masterlist)

Rating: M Wordcount: 4.2k Tags: Girl Dad Price, Wife Reader, Angst, Fluff, Feral John Price, Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, TF141, (Unrealistic interpretations of UK gun laws) Warnings: Home invasions, Deadly use of firearms A/N: AKA the home invasion fic nobody asked for

When your number lights up his phone, Price knows it by heart. 

There’s just one problem.

You aren’t supposed to call this one.

He’s in the middle of a briefing when it happens, discussing relevant intel ahead of a mission happening in the imminent future. Arms folded, beside the projector screen, voice taking on his gruff, clipped tone used only to convey orders, information, commands. It’s a late workday, but the intelligence that has just come in is valuable, extremely relevant to the team’s next hunt. As much as Price would like to be home, he can’t be. Duty comes first, and you’ve learned to accept that in him.

His phone rings in his pocket, and he catches Gaz’s face just in time to see the expression of ‘Really, Cap?’ Before he excuses himself, looks at the screen.

It’s you.

Normally he’d have his phone on silent for briefings, but now he’s glad he’s forgotten. He’s told you explicitly that this number is for emergencies, and emergencies only. Short of life or death scenarios, this number is exclusively off limits.

Which means when he sees the number, his heart sinks below his stomach.

He’s answering and moving before your voice even comes through, wordlessly striding from the briefing room and ignoring the questioning calls from his team after him. There’s no preamble to your conversation, and he tries to remove the anger, the fear from his voice when he speaks.

“Where are you?”

“In the bedroom.” You whisper back urgently, and he can hear the tremble in your voice, can practically feel you shaking through the phone. There’s a pause on the other end of the line as he shoves open the doors to the command center towards the direction of the parking lot.

“John.” You whisper again, voice very small, hushed and quiet. “John, there’s someone in the house.”

Price doesn’t freeze despite the cold wash of dread in his veins. There’s only motion under his feet, heart pumping full of adrenaline in his chest, where something fearful, furious, brutal coils in a low growl. 

Before he can respond, however, there’s the sudden crash of something on the other line and you whimper.

“Where are the girls?” He demands as he waves off an officer who salutes him as he walks by, swinging his hand so hard the other man flinches.

“In the bathroom. I locked them in, they’re being quiet like their mummy told them.” You reply, and he can hear the growing sob in your throat. You’re terrified, beside yourself, but you don’t say it, don’t tell him how worried you are, how you want him to come home. You know he’s already on his way, you know to be brave, and for a moment Price’s heart swells with the tender affection of pride before it quells when there’s another clatter in the background.

“Hang up and call the police.” He tells you on no uncertain terms, pulling his keys from his jacket and all but racing towards his car.

“I already did. Told them where we are but-”

You pause then, release a low, shuddering exhale that crackles through the phone. 

“John, I just wanted to say I love you.”

“Don’t.” He snaps before he can stop himself, gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip. “You are going to be fine, you understand me? You and the girls. I’m on my way, the police will get there before I do.”

And if they don’t, there will be hell to pay. He adds silently.

He can hear you suck in a breath to say something next, only to pause. 

The stairs creak in the background.

Price floors the gas.

“Get the gun.” Price tells you gravely, flashing his credentials at the gate operator without looking at him. “Can you get to the safe?”

It had become necessary due to the nature of his work to ensure you had a certain level of self-defense for your safety when he wasn’t home. Price had more enemies than he could count, and while he had made every precaution to ensure nobody, not even his team, knew of your existence, he had placed a certain level of insurance with you just in case. The paperwork had been a nightmare to get through, but with the mention of his specific job description, the powers that be had allowed an exception to the laws on weapons, leaving you with a short revolver hidden in a safe in the bedroom. 

You don’t answer his query, but Price can hear a rustle, the sound of you moving across the room to the top of the dresser. 

Moments tick by, and Price doesn’t speak in the silence, not wanting to offer a single sound that may alert the intruder to where you are. You remain just as quiet, but Price can hear the low, slow click of the safe’s lock as you twist the code into place. 

April 22nd. Your eldest’s birthday.

“I’ve got it.” You whisper, barely audible through the phone. 

Price sighs in relief, the smoky breath of him curling across the dashboard as he weaves through traffic, speeding tickets be damned. 

“Good girl.” He rumbles, trying to keep his voice low, even, reassuring. “Is the door locked?”

“...Yes. Yes.” You reply back, and he swears he can hear the sound of the gun shaking in your hand as you hold it.

“Loaded?” He asks again. There’s a click that is too loud when you open the chamber to check. 

“Six bullets.” You murmur, voice a little more even, more level now in a way that makes his heart ease, makes the commanding, logical instinct of his military training activate. 

“I want you by the door.” He orders you as if you’re one of his own. “Both hands on the gun, just as I showed you. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” You answer, and that alone, the wry humor you give him nearly has him smile, chuff with affectionate laughter. Yet whatever humor he possesses is terrifyingly absent in this scenario, the one that could very well end with both you and his daughters dead by the time he gets home. 

Bloody fucking hell. Where are the bloody cops?

“John…” You whisper then, just a touch louder so he hears you better over the thrum of the engine. “I can’t hear him. I think he’s gone.”

Price allows his eyes to flutter shut for all of a moment, clamping down on the premature relief that rises in his chest. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, softer, trying to ease your frayed, tender nerves. 

He can hear you swallow over the line, trying to wet your dry throat. “I…I think so.” You tell him at last. “I don’t-”

BANG-!

The sound of the bedroom door being kicked in.

He can hear you scream from the other end of the line, voice rising sharply in panic and terror as another, deeper voice echoes in the background, rising even louder with words he can’t hear. The sound is garbled, unintelligible as your phone drops to the floor. Price can barely hear the sound of his own voice when he shouts for you, words cracking in his throat. The road around him blurs, and he looks to the display on the dashboard to gauge the time until his arrival. 

Two minutes.

Two minutes for you to die, for his two beautiful daughters to be killed as they scream for you, two minutes for the undeserved happiness of his life to be stolen from him. 

Price yells again, voice desperate, calling your name. There’s the sound of struggle in the background, and you curse at your attacker- feral, untamed, terrified. Like a wild, injured mother animal defending her young from a predator.

Yet before Price can call out for you again, there’s a crunch, another, and the line goes dead. 

The world drops out from under him. 

The tires of Price’s car screech as he takes the turn into the neighborhood far too quickly, leaning with the inertia of the vehicle as he races down the street towards the house where his whole life is falling apart.

The car lurches to a stop in the middle of the street, Price not bothering to park properly as he tumbles out of the driver’s side door and towards the front step of the townhouse.

BANG-!!

A gunshot.

Price sees the image of your smiling face in a beautiful white dress flash behind his eyes.

The house goes silent.

Price used to be a religious man. His father would drag him to church on Sundays, would insist on his boys dressing proper and maintaining the appearance of good, devout, obedient children. He tried very hard to make himself believe through his adulthood, but in the years spent toiling in the dusty, blood-soaked underbelly of the world, Price has long since convinced himself there is no God left for ruined men like him.

Even so, in this moment, he prays.

The front door is locked, latched tight. The burglar must have come through the back door into the garden. Price calls for you, and it’s a stupid move on his part, alerting the enemy to his position, perhaps startling them enough to give them an opportunity to escape. Yet the silence that greets him has his blood thrumming, deafening in his ears and he kicks, once, twice at the center of the door before the latch buckles and the thing swings open on its hinges. 

There’s crying from the bedroom.

There’s no gun on him, too frantic to grab a side-arm before he sped off base. So instead Price reaches for a knife hidden in his pocket, holding it ready in front of him as he slowly ascends the stairs. The crying is louder now, and he can tell it’s younger voices. Whimpers, tearful whispers from his two beautiful girls still locked in the bathroom. Yet the bedroom where you are remains silent, and as Price reaches the top of the stairs he tries to remember whatever saint offers the blessing of protection, safety. 

He rounds the corner, and instantly his toes bump against a limp, dead body sprawled on the floor of the bedroom. Price doesn’t look down immediately, trying to steady himself, preparing himself for the sight of his beautiful wife dead at his feet.

A dark hoodie. A surgical mask. A pool of red soaking into the carpet. 

It isn’t you. 

“John.”

Price looks up, and in the darkness of the bedroom he finds you with your back against the dresser, several drawers half open and spilling their contents onto the floor. You sit, holding the revolver, legs askew on the floor, hands trembling fiercely, shoulders shaking-

Alive.

Price collapses to his knees in front of you, and you whimper into him as he hauls you into his arms. You nearly push at him, still caught the shock of being ambushed, attacked, touched by a man that wasn’t him. When you squirm, Price merely holds you fast against his chest, murmuring low, raspy reassurances until you still. 

“Shh, it’s me. It’s me, love. You’re safe. It’s over.”

With one hand, he tucks his blade into his jacket, with the other he slowly removes the weapon from your grip, clicks the safety on, and tucks it to the side, well out of the way. No doubt the presence of the weapon will be a nightmare to deal with when the police arrive, but that’s not his concern right now. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks, turning you face up to him in his palms, and he can feel the wetness on your cheeks, can see the liquid stare of you in the darkness of the bedroom. You shake your head, lip trembling but trying not to cry, and it aches at him like nothing else. The hurt is only soothed by the taste of your lips, a desperate kiss, wet with the taste of your tears as you instinctively part for him, allowing a shuddering little gasp to break through. You whimper again, something that sounds like ‘John’, grasp at him a little harder until he tucks you back into his chest. 

“T-the girls-” You try, voice cracking, and Price hushes you, rocking just a touch as you try to calm down. 

“They’re in the bathroom.” He tells you quietly. “They’re safe.”

You hiccup at that, finally allowing a sob to break free as you cling to him, bury your face into his chest so his shirt stains with tears. 

“I-I was so afraid.” You confess, and Price merely tucks you closer to him, hauls you into his arms with the promise of safety. 

“I know, love. I know.” He tells you. “You’re safe. You’re alright. You did well, my brave girl.”

You cry a little harder at that, and at last Price hears the sound of sirens at the edge of the neighborhood, racing far too late to where the two of you sit in the darkened bedroom. 

He hauls you up into his arms when they arrive, helps you down the stairs and presses you into the arms of a kindly police woman before returning into the house. An officer in a yellow jacket urges him to stay put, but Price snarls in his face, startles him so badly the man takes a step back and pales. 

It’s easy to climb the stairs now, to come to the locked bathroom door that shelters his children from the horror they did not witness. As soon as he opens the door they spill into his arms, his two beautiful daughters, weeping against him in wordless blubbers of terror and relief. Yet the first question they ask isn’t about where he was, what has happened, why the police are there. Instead his eldest, at the age of six, her gorgeous eyes the same color as her mother's, stares tearfully up at him and asks: “Where’s mummy?”

“Outside.” He tells her with a gentleness he had forgotten he possessed, hauling her younger sister up into his embrace as she sniffles into his shoulder. “Let’s go see her.”

Yet before he steps back into the bedroom, he kneels down and stares at his brave, eldest girl and tells her: “We’re going downstairs. Don’t open your eyes until you’re outside, understand?”

She does, of course she does. He’s never given her a reason to doubt him, so the both of them squeeze their eyes shut, don’t open them even as Price lifts them over the dead man still laying oozing on the floor. 

When they get outside they rush towards you, fresh bouts of tears in their eyes, asking about the blood splattered on your nightgown, staining it crimson. He can see you panic, nearly explaining the truth, before you shakily smile, hold them both in your arms and tell them: “It’s strawberry jam, my loves. Mummy is very silly and spilled jam all over herself.”

It takes the better part of an hour to explain to the police what has happened, to have you checked over by a paramedic, one who offers peppermints to your two girls as they balance at the back of the ambulance. Price entrusts you to them, discussing the situation in low, grave tones with the officers over why they were not as quick to respond as he had hoped. The officer from earlier is defensive at first, tries to puff his chest and explain to Price the logistics of the response, and Price levels him with a mere look of stony, violent anger that instead has the man fumbling for an apology. 

It’s that alone that has the man dismiss any possible charges for you, takes one glance at the weapons permit and tips his hat at the captain with a small ‘Sir.’

At long last, after the crime scene tape has been rolled out and the house cordoned off, does Price return to you and the girls, who have calmed down considerably and now doze drowsily on either side of you, still dressed in their pajamas. You lean up into the tender kiss he bestows upon your forehead, murmurs another reassurance there before tilting you into his palms.

“We can’t stay here tonight.” He tells you gently, and you sag in relief. 

“A hotel?” You ask, and Price only shakes his head at you, watching your brow wrinkle in confusion.

“I’m taking you to base.” He replies softly, firmly. “No place safer in the world than with me.”

You know it’s true, he can see it in your smile as you gaze up at him, adoring, with a trust he still struggles to tell himself he’s earned.

So you’re bundled into his car alongside your two young girls, the three of you in the backseat as he retraces his path back in the direction of the base. It’s only once you also begin to doze off in the back seat that he hazards a glance at his phone. 

Five missed calls, three from Gaz alone, one from Soap, and one from Laswell that’s followed with a text saying “Call me. ASAP.”

He has a lot of explaining to do.

Somehow he manages to talk his way past the gate guard, who looks puzzled at the woman and two girls sleeping in his backseat. Yet he waves Price through, and eventually the four of you arrive at the officer’s quarters. Price manages to hold both of his daughters, one in each arm, with you clinging to his side, hiding your face in his sleeve as you pass the soldiers who pause with long, drawn out stares at the sight before them. It’s an unusual circumstance to say at best, and Price knows he’ll have to corner more than one man tomorrow to ensure their silence on the whole affair. All that matters right now is getting you and the girls to safety, to somewhere the three of you can bunk down and sleep this dreaded evening off. 

What Price doesn’t expect to find, however, is three younger SAS agents awaiting him in front of his bunk, leaning against the wall and talking quietly amongst themselves. Gaz, Soap, and Ghost startle at the sight of their captain holding two young girls in their nighties, and a woman at his side with blood not entirely scrubbed from her nightgown. 

“...Sir?” Gaz manages tightly after Price silently brushes him aside with little regard, unlocking his door. Yet when Gaz tries to assist the captain shoots him a look. The expression that flits across his sergeant’s face has him regretting it almost instantly, but apologies will have to wait as he ushers you inside. It takes a moment for Price to carefully deposit his sleeping daughters into the neatly made military cot, and when he does he catches your eyes just as you nod to the three men still hovering in the doorway. 

It’s with a sigh that Price rubs the back of his neck and turns towards his concerned and puzzled team, clicking the door shut behind him so the conversation does not disturb his family. 

“Introductions will have to wait until the morning.” He announces quietly, hearing the fatigue in his own voice. “They’ve had quite the night.”

“You never said you were married.” Soaps blurts out before he can stop himself, and at the look Price gives him in regards to his volume he mildly tacks on a little “...Sir.”

Price allows himself a moment to knead the bridge of his nose, huffing a suffering sigh as he decides what to say next. 

“There’s a reason I haven’t told you boys.” He explains at last, looking up. “You know our work. You know the enemies we’ve made, myself more than the rest of you. You know they will exploit every opportunity of ours that they can.”

He levels his team with a severe, grim stare. “I will never allow my family to become one of those opportunities. Understood?”

The silent, unspoken words there ring loudly in the silence that follows. 

This is a secret. For the four of us. Do not ever speak of it to anyone else.

He can see them trade glances, still confused, apprehensive, but at least agreeable to Price’s explanation. 

“Copy.” Gaz offers quietly at last, and both Ghost and Soap nod as well. Price manages to catch his lieutenant’s stare for a moment, and Simon darts his gaze to the door behind his captain, and then to Price meaningfully, nodding. 

Of course Simon would understand the gravity of secrecy that comes with this, Price thinks, and for a moment he regrets not telling his second in command sooner. 

“Good.” Price announces summarily after a beat, and the clipped tone of him has the team straighten on instinct. “We can talk more in the morning. Dismissed.”

Ghost nods, about to stride away when he catches Soap about to make further comments, grabbing him by the back of the shirt and tugging him away. Price can hear the Scot grumble in irritation, but obediently follows behind his LT. Gaz stays a little longer, shifting uneasily on his feet. 

“Sargeant?” Price asks, and the tone isn’t unkind, still regretting the venom he shot the man earlier. 

“Sir.” Gaz begins, eyes cast down to his feet. “...Are they alright?”

It’s that question, the soft, uncertain concern of his sergeant that makes Price’s shoulder go lax, has his breath exit him in a soft, steady sigh. His broad, calloused palm settles on Gaz’s shoulder, making the man look up with a worried, grimaced expression.

“They’ll be fine.” Price tells him, voice dipping low as it does for his own daughters. “They’ve had a bit of a shock, lad. They need to sleep it off, know that they’re safe now. You can help me with that come morning. Understand?”

Gaz brightens at that, always wanting to be useful, to prove himself to the man who has taken him under his wing. 

“Of course, Sir.” He offers, reassured, and Price nods. 

“Good. Get some sleep. The girls will be a handful tomorrow, I have a feeling I’ll be needing assistance.”

Gaz nods, makes finally to leave, when Price calls him once more. 

“Gaz?” He asks, making the man pause. “Call Laswell. Tell her I’ve got three VIPs I’m dealing with. She’ll understand.”

Gaz’s gaze brightens, and Price inwardly cringes, recognizing the error he’s committed. No doubt Gaz and Laswell will be having an extended conversation in his absence about the things he’s failed to mention. Yet Gaz chirps an affirmative and vanishes down the hall before Price can stop him. 

When Price returns to his room, the door clicking behind him softly, he admires the sight before him. His two daughters splay across the bed, clinging to your form tucked between them as you hush a lullaby to ease their dreams. Thankfully, they both have managed to fall asleep quickly, likely exhausted by earlier events. The sight of his girls soft, sleepy, blessedly safe in his quarters is nearly enough to bring him to his knees. 

You look up at him as he leans on the door, beckoning him into bed. It takes a moment to divest himself of all but his shirt and pants, but eventually Price manages to scoot his way into the narrow cot, hauling his youngest atop his chest to make room. She curls there with a whining, sleepy murmur before falling still once more. A hand settles in her hair, idly stroking as Price coaxes her further into dreams. 

Against his side, you scoot so your head lays against his bicep, your eldest daughter now tucked safely between you. It’s a bit awkward, the four of you trying to scrunch together on such a narrow cot, and Price doesn’t doubt that by morning he’ll be sleeping in his desk chair. Yet now, in the soft lull of evening, in the absence of gunshots and dead phone lines, he allows himself to be at peace. 

“I nearly lost you.” He finds himself rasping quietly, as if he can still barely understand the thought. You make a sound of dissatisfaction at that, nudging him in disapproval. 

“None of that.” You scold quietly, and Price holds his tongue about the fears he wants to say, the pleas for forgiveness he wants to ask of you for not being there when you needed him the most. 

“I love you.” He says instead, and despite not being an emotional man, he finds the hollow of his heart aching, empty with regret. 

You’re silent for a moment, and there’s a part of him that wonders if you’ll return it, if you’ll suddenly realize how selfish he’s been in allowing himself to love you despite his duty. 

Instead you turn, grasp at his hand, bring it to your lips in a firm, tender kiss. 

“I love you too, Captain Johnathan Price.” You whisper, and Price’s eyes close, chest aching, the world quiet around him, and yet full. When he breathes, it releases as a sighed prayer to the heavens, a plea for mercy for your safety, for his own forgiveness, for the promise of another day, another hour with his family in his arms. 

Taglist:

@guyfieriii @zwiiicnziiix @writeforfandoms

[estesphantom]

could you maybe please do a oneshot when price gets home from a long, torturous deployment and all he wants when he gets home is to see his girl? thank you este <3

Home Sweet Home | John Price x Reader

Summary: John gets home from a tiring mission and all he wants is to see your beautiful face and a warm shower with you.

Warnings: mentions of depression, warfare, extremely fluffy, reader has feminine pronouns, not entirely proofread (I got too excited), lots of descriptions

A/N: Thanks for the request. I loved this idea. I love taking suggestions!! They’re open if you’d like to request one. :)

———————

You hadn’t heard from your fiancé in days. He was a busy man, of course, being a Captain of a task force he had willed to be and his job required him to be out on deployments for months at a time. Not being involved in the military, you weren’t too sure of what he did during deployments and he wasn’t one for talking when it came to discussing his missions. You’d never pry — you saw his drained face whenever he’d step into the door after a mission, the color would always be drained unlike the days before he had left.

He never let you read the mission reports or hear much about the gruesome things that had been done. You knew he meant well. Some people needed to get their hands dirty so the rest of the world’s can stay clean. Never once had you had a doubt of John being a good man with good intentions. You weren’t naive; you knew he had killed people and went to gruesome lengths to get missions done, but deep down, you knew he was saving the world.

So, for that, you’d show your appreciation by keeping the home tidy and his face full with lipstick marks and lipgloss. He adored you more than you could ever know and spoiled you like you could never run out of things to buy. You were the perfect couple. Distance only makes the heart grow fonder, which probably was the reason as to why you two love each other so much.

Communication wasn’t something that you and John could achieve so easily when he was on deployments. He was always busy or at a place that had no connection at all, so you were often left to your own devices while he was out there changing the world. But, you knew what you were getting in to the moment you got engaged. You couldn’t blame this on him.

So, you could only imagine the agony you dealt with while awaiting you fiancé’s arrival. The moment he’d open the door and swoop you into his large arms, spinning you around and peppering your face in kisses. You could only knit blankets and read many pages of a long and unfulfilling book before you found yourself staring at John’s cold side of the bed.

It was four weeks into John’s deployment and you weren’t taking it the best. What could you say? He was your soulmate. You couldn’t help but worry sick for your lover and only hope he could return as soon as possible. Midnights were always hell for you because of the loneliness it ensured. Your body would toss and turn in bed before it found itself cuddling a pillow in place of him. This time around, you were fed up with tossing and turning and decided to get a break from your bed and stumble downstairs for a cold glass of milk and a rice krispie.

Your eyes were heavy as metal while the cold milk poured into the glass cup. The night was silent and all that could be heard in your house was the ice dispenser working in your refrigerator. You shoved the milk carton into your fridge and lumbered over towards your couch to enjoy your milk and rice krispie while you stare off into the distance with not a thought behind your eyes, thanks to the drowsiness.

Mid crunch in and you had already settled into a serene calm while you wondered what John was up to. Your loud chewing came to a halt while you heard an engine outside of your house. You swallowed hard. Immediately you had bolted up from your couch to look outside of your window to see John’s car in the driveway. You were sent into a frenzy.

Your body immediately stepped over to the door and unlocked it to find John lumbering his duffle bags tiredly. Your heart skipped a beat as you contemplated yelling out to him. He might have been sensitive to yelling at the moment considering he just came back from unpleasant warfare.

As he stepped closer, he looked up to see your face. For a split moment before he realized it was you, his face looked tortured, tired, and rugged. He’d been through a lot. His face when he saw you was the complete opposite. Though it had twinges of pain in it, there was nothing but relief in his eyes as he approached the door and you squealed out, running up and jumping after he dropped his duffles down.

“Careful, doll,” he chuckles deeply as his large hands cup your bottom. He smelled musky, a hint of gunpowder and metal.

You could feel his deep exhale of relief as he wouldn’t let go of you as if it were the last time he could hug you like that. Not a complaint was uttered out of your lips as you let him hold you for as long as he wanted.

“I missed you way too much,” you smile as he gently lets you down and his hand cups your face to feel if you were real. To him, you were an angel from above coming to save him and bring him to eternal heaven where you could be together forever.

“I’m dirty, baby,” he chuckles, moving pulling away a hand that you tried to kiss. “‘need a shower. You free?” he teased, playing with the hemline of your pajama tee. You giggled at his cheekiness and took his hand to lead him to your shared bathroom.

The shower wasn’t what it usually would be; excitement, lust, steamy. John wanted to engulf himself in your presence and hold onto it like it would slip away if he let go ever so slightly. The way he looked at you while the water trickled down the both of your faces made you want to discover a way to get rid of every ounce of pain he held.

His eyes looked at you as if you were the sun after a rainy day. Longing, happy, safe. He felt safe with you. He didn’t have to remind himself to look out for bullets, to watch his six, to keep track of his men. He was just safe. His soon to be wife was here with him after he had seen nothing but cruelty and blood for four weeks straight and he was ready to do nothing but relax with you.

“You don’t know a fraction of how much I missed you,” he tells you as you rub his face with a facial wash soap. His eyes were almost sunken in as he tells you this. You kiss his nose.

“You can tell me all about it when you’re well rested, okay? We can have breakfast in bed and everything,” you comfort him lovingly as he is slowly breaking out of his flight-or-fight shell he forces himself into to survive.

He nods and kisses the top of your head, “I love you more than you’ll ever know.” His thumb rubs the washed off mascara from your eyelids.

To some people, he might’ve sounded like a sad, broken record. Or maybe even a love-sick puppy. And he might have been. But, to you, this was all you wanted. You stayed up until dawn some nights thinking about John and how poor his life may be whenever he’s out in the field all alone with no one to genuinely talk to about his feelings and sorrows.

Then, he comes home to you, and is able to be comfortable.

[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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[v4voracity]

TOO CLOSE - SELF AWARE COD CHARACTERS X READER

⥇❥"Reader" is described as "feminine leaning" or "feminine sounding"; however, they/them and it/its pronouns are used and no bodily adjectives are used in this part because reader is only described as "that person" or "the voice". Let me know if I should make an alternate post(s) slightly adjusted for masculine or androgynous description, and if I missed any content warning tags. I plan on making a masculine version for this one due to someone's request, currently deciding if I should just slightly re-write to change descriptions or fully-rewrite it :)

  ⥇❥Word Count: 3940, excluding warnings and text above the cut.

⥇❥CONTENT WARNING FOR:

↪ body horror(?) ↪ usual “Darkfic” stuff,  ↪ yandere tendencies ↪ Angst™ ↪ possible OOC characters ↪ american author writing (mostly) british people

I totally plan on continuing this drabble with another part so some of the warnings aren't quite apparent yet teehee <3

Link to main masterlist - Link to TOO CLOSE sub-list

You have been warned, scroll at your own risk.

There was always that nagging feeling that Ghost was being watched, paranoia which he had long since grown accustomed to. But, there were always times he felt it… heighten, where this…  this strange sense of dejá vu seemed to take root in his mind. Sometimes, he felt like his movements weren't his own despite it being his will that moved those joints.

It occurred often after he joined the military, and occasionally, when in the quiet of his thoughts, he could hear something. At first, he thought it was a teammate coming through his comms, yet “the voice” wasn't familiar. 

He remembered when he first heard it. 

A quiet voice saying something he didn’t quite catch. He sighed, heavy and annoyed at himself, focusing a bit more on the radio firmly strapped to his chest as he pressed a button with a familiar practiced ease. Despite the fact he laid prone on the ground, hidden amongst foliage he had no trouble reaching it and speaking up. It was… slightly embarrassing that he lost focus and needed to repeat instructions, but he’d rather face slight embarrassment over fumbling an important mission because he didn’t want to ask for them to repeat what was said. Not that Simon “Ghost” Riley was afraid of dying. As a soldier he honestly felt more fearful that he’d fuck up a mission and get yelled at by a superior. That he’d hurt people he was trying to protect. That he’d prove that nagging voice in the back of his head right, the annoying doubtful little shit always lingering despite his confidence that had grown with experience. 

Regardless, he didn’t care to debate with himself about yet another experience that would keep him up at night, wallowing in his bed thinking about everything he could’ve done differently. “Say again?” He asked, cautious to remain quiet and hidden, yet gravely tone firm and clear enough for the other side of his line to hear. Yet no one on the other side of the line said anything previously, voicing their confusion when he asked them to repeat something never said.

Yet no other soul was around the precarious position he perched himself, his scope aimed at distant enemies. He even briefly glanced around, surveying his surroundings for possible danger, anyone, anything. Then “the voice” came through again, energetic and excited— far too unprofessional for how serious that mission was. ‘A recruit,’ he would’ve thought if not for the fact nobody else acknowledged it.

However, once the mission ended, that strange feeling faded, and “the voice” didn't appear again… 

…Until a few months later, on another mission.

The uncomfortable feeling of being watched, the almost foreign feeling of his own body, and “the voice” returned. His skin crawled.

 As if something had forcefully crept beneath it, lifting the skin and making itself comfortable in his body. Claiming it for itself as it burrowed deep into the muscular fiber, into his organs, and flowed in his veins in place of blood. It felt… parasitic and invasive. It disturbed him greatly how the feeling came and went suddenly without cause. Leaving him as it wished and then showing up without warning, without his permission. How it happened to him regardless of how steeled his nerves were. Of how experienced he became.

And, as he would soon find, no matter how intensely he looked around, nobody else was present. Yet “the voice”, which he had to strain to even remotely understand, seemed to respond as if they could see him based on the few words he could catch. 

“HOLY SHIT! He looks so cool, dude! Look at his fuckin’ rifle, his gear! This was so worth the wait. He’s got a new mask too! I’m so glad they brought him back, ugh, literally my favorite poster boy of the whole franchise.”

And if Ghost focused a little bit more, he'd notice it didn't quite sound right, as if it wasn't speaking aloud. “The voice” didn't echo around the room when he was inside, didn't echo through the air when he was outside, nor did it have the crackle of the radio. It was simply muffled, like if someone talked from a room over.

“...Uh, yeah, it was totally worth the fifty-freakin-bucks. Rent can wait, my war criminal pookies can’t! …Yes I know they’re probably not actual war criminals. Yeah, I KNOW they’re… man, you’re no fun. Let me simp in peace.”

Ghost knew he hadn't exactly been the… most sound of mind, but he truly began to worry he might have been hallucinating. “The voice” had been following him for an increasingly long amount of time at this point, and he mostly tuned it out. He recently found himself in a new group though, which led to a disturbing realization that he wasn’t fully insane. His worries about that were swiped away when Soap (his new sergeant who was a little too talkative for his own good, in Ghost’s opinion) ever-so-casually asked about “the voice” he overheard during the mission, which he couldn't quite recognize. Everyone in the helicopter was surprised on the ride back, anxiously discussing that faint voice they'd all heard— had been hearing on and off during missions. It gave Ghost a whole new fear.

It was no secret that a majority of the people in base and on missions with them were men, so that distinctly feminine voice being hard to pinpoint caused a new worry among the team. The potential breach of their communication network. The topic came up as an innocent question from Soap about who “the voice” was before everyone realized they all heard that voice, contradictory in how it sounded so near yet so far, so clear yet it hurt their heads to try and process what was said, clouding their minds in a haze if they tried focusing on it for too long.

It was a clear cause for concern. 

Their task force, Task Force 141, a highly-qualified team, who frequently had taken on missions even some of the most seasoned veterans would find difficult.

Their task force, carefully hand-picked from all corners and crevices of the globe, skills compared, packed like a puzzle to cover all fronts. Their identities and information taken apart and put back together, their secrets in the open to the prying eyes of Captain Price as he was given the authority to form a team. Personalities scrutinized against one another to ensure the utmost efficiency and dynamic interactions between teammates.

Their taskforce, the best of the best, highly efficient, a well oiled machine crafted with the utmost caution for the most risky, dirty, and sometimes immoral missions that most wouldn't be able to stomach. All for the betterment of the world and for the protection of their homes and countries.

And yet they couldn't find a single trail, not a single damn clue, about this… voice. "That voice" that came and went almost exclusively on missions, too. There were very, very few cases where it breached outside of missions. Truthfully, Ghost didn't know what he found worse. That the team heard it outside of missions where they didn't have radio communication, simply just out and about, or that it had breached past the sanctity of the missions, crossing into the supposed safe zone of their respective bases, homes, and private lives. Passing the line that they usually hide behind for comfort after rough missions, the place they went to lick their wounds, to reload their guns, and to confide in each other. And this thing, brash and bold came through, kicking that metaphorical line in the sand and bouncing past their defenses without repercussions.

It started in instances where they could ignore it. 

Where it could've been just their mind playing tricks or someone who sounded similar.

At first it was Soap, running around the track and hearing it faintly. He could've mistaken it for the music blaring through his ears if it wasn't for the fact he knew the lyrics by heart, and the singer sounded nothing like "that voice".

“Whoa, Soap cutscene. We’re being fed today. Get your bowls 'n spoons.”

He could’ve sworn he even heard a ‘clank’ of glass or something. It was worse when he realized his earbuds didn't block out “the voice” anymore than usual. It was always somewhat muffled and incoherent unless he focused, even in the quiet. Yet the earbuds in his ears didn't alter it at all. He took a longer shower than usual that day, trying to let the cold water shock him enough to forget what he heard while thoughts ran wild in his head… It ended with him being slightly late to an important team meeting and getting assigned some training as punishment. He chose to keep why he was late a secret, not wanting to startle anyone about “the voice” or sound crazy.

Then it was Gaz. Friendly, slightly more inexperienced than the rest, Gaz. Gaz was on temporary time off, having accidentally pulled a muscle in his arm. He was simply walking through the streets of a nearby town where he had rented a flat. He rarely actually used the thing, since he spent most of his time at base and it was more convenient to use the barracks. Nevertheless, he still found himself in the quaint little town, going for groceries to stock his apartment's fridge. He was weaving through the streets when he heard that odd and unrestrained laugh, snorting and uncaring if it's an embarrassing laugh. 

“Gaz… my pookie-wookie, my cutie-patootie, my absolute ray of sunshine… WHOMST THE FUCK IS DRESSING YOU LIKE THAT?!”

He probably looked like a madman with how frantically he looked around, suddenly stiffened and still as some people complained behind him from how abruptly he stopped, causing them to bump into him. Yet nothing conclusive, he couldn’t even figure out the direction it came from, much less find out who it came from. He didn’t bother talking about it, only loosely mentioning it later when it came up in a discussion.

After that it was Price and Laswell. The two of them standing in a surprisingly mundane office in the base, not expecting much when that bold-fucking-voice echoed through both of their ears. Something about being a homewrecker? They… didn’t know. 

“Laswell!!! Man I wish they had her appear more often, she’s so cool… I’d totally marry her if she didn’t have a wife… What do you mean you’d become a homewrecker in seconds? Have some fuckin’ respect for the woman. Besides I thought you liked Price? He’s… single? I think?”

But it forced both of them to lose their casual mood from before, because they both heard it and neither of them knew what to think about the fact that they were hearing it outside of missions now. That… that was very bad.

The last straw was when Ghost was handing spare masks to the team when there's a faint comment about it. He can't quite hear it, can't quite wrap his mind around what's being said. No one ever seems to make out the words; at least not fully. As if there's a barricade between them and “the voice”. A veil yet to be ripped away to reveal the person underneath. A blockade made to infuriate them and taunt their attempts.

“How many do you think he has?”

A small silence follows the initial voice, as if waiting for a response, then followed with a giggle. A response unheard to his ears, to anyone’s ears. The others tense, hearing "the voice", but no one comments on it at the moment. They had a mission to get to. But they all knew they needed to do something when they got back.

“They probably do smell. They’re out there hiding in grass, getting bloody and sweaty, sometimes deployed for a month, so they definitely stink.”

And yet nothing came of that either. The only thing that changed is that they were all aware of this voice that seemed to follow them. That only their taskforce ever seemed to hear or acknowledge it. That "the voice" came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, sounding as if it was being broadcasted directly to their brains. No trace of this thing only they could perceive, and they started coming to conclusions that were less than rational; because rational thought hadn’t gotten them anywhere thus far. Gaz suggested it might’ve been a ghost, to which Price corrected that it must be a demon rather than a ghost, Soap suggested it was some weird matrix shit, then Laswell tried to convince everyone it was some weird shared delusion. They couldn’t settle on any theories. Ghost didn’t need an explanation. Or at least, he tried convincing himself that, tried telling himself he just needed this thing gone.

These abrupt drop-ins by “the voice” went on for a long while. Something they regrettably got used to. Something they let fester and become a part of them, even if they didn't know it. “That voice” ingrained into their brains, the elated giggles, the annoyed groans, the triumphant cheers, the frequent queries, answers to questions they never heard, stupid comments, everything in-between... 

Ghost didn't notice at first. Time went on, the Task Force's missions increasing after they bombed General Ghorbrani during an arms deal Ghost intercepted. Things were escalating into a silent war the general populace wouldn’t notice, and likely never know about, kept quiet and under wraps to keep the waters calm. The voice lingering on every damn mission, somehow with all of them at once even if they were in different corners of the globe. 

Then he had a wave of realization wash over him.

It was an easy mission compared to the previous few. An easy in-and-out. Just him and Soap, watching a building from afar. Biding their time. He felt anxious, a long gone twitch in his fingers resurfacing as he felt his fingers become clammy beneath his gloves. 

He had to stay calm, stay cool. He was ‘Ghost’ right now, a walking dead-man without weakness. He was strong. This mission was easy. 

This was no time to be antsy. Patience, he reminded himself. It was just him coming down from the high of adrenaline of the previous missions, all fast paced and requiring frequent combat. That's what he tried to tell himself, when that bloody Scotsman casually began chattering over the radio.

Jokes, bad ones, yet jokes he shared an enthusiasm for with Soap nonetheless. Ghost could tell there was a slight edge to his voice as he spoke though, equally antsy. He may have been somewhat distant but he was perceptive. Picked up on behaviors in others. Read them and their emotions. It was necessary in his job, and he was sure Soap probably picked up on his nervousness as well, as he was smart, even if he sometimes seemed a little air-headed and brash at times.

"No laughs from 'that person' today?" Soap feigned offense. Then they both realized. They were anxious from the lack of that person. “The voice”. They obviously didn't know who it was or their name, but everyone on the force knew who was being referred to when someone said 'that person' or “the voice”.

 It felt laughable that they were startled by some incorporeal voice not being there. If anything, they should be grateful they were spared its presence. Yet they weren’t. Ghost laid in his bed that night, sleepless, a common occurrence for him. But tonight instead of the nightmares that played when he closed his eyes, he just… contemplated. Brooding.

It was a few nights later when he came to terms with it. He knew some things were wrong with him, hell, most soldiers had something wrong with them if they worked as long as he did. But, he found himself.. weirdly fine with it. It seemed some of his teammates felt the same way as he did, and others did not. Soap made jokes out of it, unafraid around other Task Force members to refer to “the voice”, sometimes speaking directly at it, most of the time not getting much in terms of responses. There was only really one time he could make out something from “the voice” in response to one of Soap’s direct words towards it.

“That line… didn't play last time I played this one.”

It was probably one of the only things he could make the full sentence out of, and it seems everyone else on the team heard it fairly clearly as well. “...‘That line?’” Price repeated, quizzical. Referring to it like a game. 

“Must… Must be an easter egg.” A nervous laugh followed. 

The next time he found himself on a mission with that strange feeling, as if he weren’t himself, as if something else willed his way… There was almost complete silence. Unusual, a first for that sinking feeling to be there without any noise. He noticed after the missions were over that only when he had that uncomfortable feeling was "the voice" responsive. 

“Not talkative today?” He asked, not really to anything in particular and not expecting any sort of response. He could almost intuitively tell whatever “the voice” was, was there. He was again alone for this mission and that probably was what gave him the confidence to actually speak to it. He wasn’t worried about anyone hearing him and sounding crazy. And the response? Well, it was hard to hear, almost inaudible to him, but he heard a small gasp, and a shaky breath afterwards. 

…That was probably the first time the weird feeling left his body mid-mission. As if it was the one unsettled when every time it appeared, he and his teammates felt out of control, a passenger in their own body, hazed and moving as if puppets. Hearing a voice that lacked a body, floating around and seemingly coming from nowhere. It had no echo, no substance or matter, as if the sound didn't vibrate through the air.

And it was a while before he, or anyone, heard that lovely— 

…“The voice” again. He was careful not to directly reference it. Them.

Ghost thought about it some more, and found himself talking to Gaz one night at the pub, Soap hammered, currently in the bathroom while Price tried to help him to get stable enough to get to the rented car so the four of them could return to base. “Maybe Soap wasn’t too far off with the Matrix idea.” Gaz idly swirled his cup, almost devoid of liquid and only really clinking the ice in it around. He wasn’t really talking to Ghost in particular, more-so rambling to the air and himself due to him being tipsy.

Ghost leaned back in the booth, his mask barely lifted enough to allow him to drink a bourbon he’d been nursing half the night. Didn’t want a hangover the next day, he’d already be in a bad mood since he had recruits to train and they were often stupid and infuriating. “Yeah? How so?” 

Gaz, who seemed to not really mean anything when he initially spoke, sat up straighter, more zoned in on the conversation upon seeing his Lieutenant had taken an interest in what he was saying. “I was thinking about some of the things I’ve heard, that the others have heard, and just… the reactions in general. And that feeling… I don’t know if you get it but—”

“Like you’re possessed.” He interjected, knowing what he meant. Gaz’s eyes widened slightly. While they all knew about “the voice”, it seems none of them knew that weird feeling was shared. The feeling of being possessed, watched, almost like they were prey, not highly experienced military men capable of defending themselves and others. He nodded and drank the rest of his bourbon, setting it down on the table and looking back to Gaz, tucking his mask back down over his face.

“It’s just like… Like they’re playing a game. Controlling us. The reactions… It's like when you complete an objective or something. And it’d explain the feeling, like we’re controlled. Plus with how they reacted to Soap that one time, I could see it.”

“See it? The hell you seein’?” He didn't want to believe his life was a game. But Gaz made some good points. Ghost… No, Simon didn't play many games. He’d played a few party games with his team during off-time, Price convincing them that Mario-Kart was in fact a good team-bonding activity and absolutely necessary. But his off time wasn’t usually spent playing games, it just wasn’t something he could relax enough to do, never able to get calm enough to focus solely on said game.

“Imagine you’re playing a game—”

“Hard to imagine.” He barks, slightly sorry at the tone, though he wouldn’t correct himself.

Gaz sighs and continues. “Okay, imagine that it's team bonding night, and we’re playing Mario Party. Imagine everyone having a good time, laughing, chatting, playing the game, when Mario turns directly to the screen and acknowledges you. Like, unprompted, never happened before when you’ve played the game hundreds of times before? You’d probably be a little freaked out if you knew it wasn't the type of game to do something like that.”

Price interrupts, Soap slung over his shoulder and motions for them to head out to the car after he pays for the tab. Once everyone is in the car, Gaz continues.

“It’s just, the shit they said made me think about it. ‘That line’, ‘last time I played this one’, hell, them directly talking about us talking to them as an ‘easter egg’ makes it seem pretty clear to me.” Price glanced over, raising a brow at Gaz, who was sitting in the front passenger as He drove. Ghost was unfortunately stuck with a very clingy Soap in the back seat. “It’s clear whatever they were referencing is similar to a game, one they’ve played before. “

“You talking about ‘that person’? ‘The voice’?” Price sighs, slightly exasperated at the topic. He wasn’t quite convinced about "the voice" being real. He was still slightly in denial, but his slight intoxication must’ve allowed him to continue listening to the topic, not shutting down Gaz’s line of thought quite yet.

“You see what I mean though? If you were playing a game and the character you were playing just randomly acknowledges you out of nowhere, suddenly fucking sentient, you’d probably be scared shitless, especially if they’re a normal civilian.” Price hums, and Ghost blinks slowly, taking the information in and moving away from partaking in the conversation. The reaction was pretty akin to the one from when he was alone and spoke to “the voice”.

“Who’d wanna play a game involving the shite we do? We’re a bunch of soldiers doing unsavory work, I doubt that’s entertaining.” Price shakes his head, gripping the wheel a little tighter, his knuckles slightly turning white before he relaxes his hand with a sigh.

“Maybe not to us since it’s real-life. But think about it like this, a ton of people watch horror movies or slasher films. It’s not that they enjoy watching people die or get scared, but it’s like… an adrenaline thing. And you know when ‘that person’ appears most? On missions.”

This time, nobody responded. Gaz didn’t bother continuing either, already having made his point clear. An uncomfortable air settled in the car, not even forgotten the next day, even Soap somehow was capable of remembering the conversation despite the fact his head was reeling and his stomach turning in the backseat of the car.

This time they had settled on a theory.

[ghostandsoap]

John Price

☾ - smut (MDI !!!!)

☆ - my personal favorites

My ao3: @allixiler​

⋆˙⟡⋆˙⟡​​

Blurbs 

Fem! Reader​

“Sitting” on John’s Lap ☾

One-Shots

Fem! Reader​ 

The Best of the Best ☆ - After a failed mission, you begin to question your abilities.

The Risk of Love - John gets heated when you risk your life to save his.

Choices and Consequences - John consoles you after a difficult, impossible decision.

Sitting Pretty ☆ ☾ - A little stress relief for John is in order, but at what cost?

Fem! “Peach” Reader (“Peach” is the call sign of the reader...reader’s real name is up to you!)

Someone Unexpected ☆ - John meets his new team member...and she’s quite unexpected.

Suckers and Sweets ☆ - John likes to take some of Peach’s sweetest treats.

Double-Sided - John sees the challenge with being her captain and her boyfriend.

The Sound of Silence ☆ - Peach and Price know the risks that come with their job...but when it comes down to it, neither of them are prepared.

The Battle of Coming Home ☆ - For John, adjusting to civilian life isn’t as easy as it sounds.

[mlmxreader]

A Needed Break | John Price x m!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ not 100% sure how you like requests to be formatted so this is my best shot, apologies if it's not right

"Kill, fight, die - that's what a soldier should do" with Price? sad captain tied to his duties ❞

: ̗̀➛ Even when he's gone to Hell and back, Price still can't fully pull himself away from his work, from his duty.

: ̗̀➛ graphic depictions of torture/death, graphic depictions of violence, heavy gore, trauma, swearing, smoking, eyeball torture

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Price glared at the half empty pint glass sitting in front of him, amber coloured liquid blurred by heavy condensation that dripped and formed a ring at the base; he could still see it all happening, he could still hear the screams and the ringing in his ears, he could still feel the harsh drop of his stomach when he saw what was happening.

It had all been his own fault, he should have guessed that it was a trap in the end, an ambush; he should have known better, he should have protected them.

Their names still ringing in his ears like Kate was sitting in front of him reading them aloud; David Hesh Walker, Logan Walker, Keegan P. Russ, Thomas A. Merrick, John MacTavish, Simon Riley, Gary Sanderson.

Elias Walker, the man in charge of the Ghosts team, told him not to burden the guilt too much; but how could he not?

Elias’ entire family was gone, and the only person to blame was Price.

He could still see it before him.

David crying as he called for his father loudly, his stomach split open and slowly leaking something thick and squishy; in his final moments, he wasn’t a man in his twenties anymore, he was just a scared little boy who wanted his father.

He died before Elias could get to him; alone and scared.

Logan turning to look for David, hoping to see his big brother’s eyes, only to have all the air pushed from his lungs as a bullet cut through his back; with his final gasps for life, he had gone over to his brother’s corpse, and held a dead hand so tightly. 

Keegan, pushing Ajax out of the way of falling rubble, only to be caught beneath it himself; Ajax managed to get away, managed to get to the evacuation point with Gaz and Riley.

Keegan wasn’t so lucky, a loud squelch coming from his broken bones as the rubble dropped down heavily onto him.

Thomas screaming loudly as one soldier held him on his knees and popped his eyes out of his skull; they dangled by fine bits of red tissue, swinging slightly before the soldier shot him between them.

John… poor John… locked all alone in that control room as the yellowish gas hissed and overtook it.

Scratching at his throat until it was covered in raw and bloody marks, gagging and choking on his own vomit as he sought relief; heaving in agony as he dropped to his knees. Froth sitting upon his lips, a metallic taste upon his tongue, drowning on dry land.

His skin a greenish yellow, black spots upon his brow and ears, his eyes glassy and still.

The smell of pineapple and pepper was hard to ignore.

Simon… oh, Simon… doused in gasoline and set on fire… his eyeballs melting from his skull and leaking down his face in a thick goo, flailing as he screamed, his skin splitting open to expose the squishy and tender flesh underneath that burned so easily.

Black soot in his throat, he could feel his muscles tense and shrivel as he dropped to the ground, harsh cracking sounds staining his screams as his arms retracted, making him look like a boxer.

He stopped screaming after that.

Gary… his achilles tendon split open by a knife, all the way so that when he stood up and tried to run, his foot nearly tore away from the rest of his leg; blood spilling from the mangled flesh as the string within the back of his ankle audibly snapped.

With a cry, Gary fell, and couldn't even force himself to flip himself onto his back; roughly, he was grabbed by the back of his head, and yowled so loud he nearly collapsed as a blowtorch was put to his eye.

His flesh became mangled, a solid yet moist mass overtaking part of his face in a long stripe; blood squelching down the marks and leaving an orange and red trail behind it.

Skin bubbled and rippled, blisters popping and causing a slim stream of yellow pus to chase after the blood. From a pink rope, the eyeball fell limply, only to be severed and snap the more the blowtorch ripped through his flesh.

With his mouth agape, Gary’s dying breath was cut off as he was forced to swallow and choke on his own pus; thick and sticky on his tongue. A yellow blob stuck to his top lip, wobbling until it slipped past and spluttered into his mouth; if he had any breath, he would have gagged and retched.

Price lost his left leg that same day.

Desperate to get Elias, Riley, Gaz and Ajax to the helicopter for pickup, Price had failed to realise that he was being chased after; he was caught, and although he tried to fight back, he was quickly pinned down.

With a sickly grin, the captor grabbed Price’s knee, and cut off his trouser leg before shoving the razor beneath his skin; they peeled it off, letting it fall to the floor with a wet slap before they were given a saw.

Price screamed and yowled, desperate to fight back, but he only broke away once they allowed it; squirming, he tried to get up, but the bone shuddered and splintered, breaking clean apart.

He growled, convinced it was just a break until he felt his own muscle and tissue pulling away; he was desperate, wide eyed and knowing that his time might be up… but the others missed the first evacuation to grab him, dragging him somewhere safe, far from the other soldiers.

“Oi,” Price looked up, meeting your gaze as he dared to smile a little. “You alright there, John?”

Price shrugged, clearing his throat as he licked his lips and sighed heavily. “Keep thinkin’ about it.”

“You’ll get used to it,” you told him with a firm shake of your head. “I did.”

Price looked at you, taking note of your rough hands and coarse manner. He should have guessed you had been in similar positions; a navalman, in charge of one of the best Trafalgar Class submarines. He should have guessed.

“I dunno,” Price whispered. “I lost a lot of good men back there, Commander and it… it was all my fault.”

“You keep thinking like that, Captain,” you hummed. “And you’re only ever gonna get yourself into a load of fucking shit. You’re no fucking good to no cunt.”

He laughed softly. He could always trust you to tell him the truth, to never walk on eggshells around him. “Kill, fight, die - that’s what a soldier should do… that’s what I was always told.”

“Yeah, and you was told a bunch of fucking bullshit,” you huffed, grabbing his pint glass and taking a long swig. “The fuck do they teach you cunts on land?”

He grinned, nodding slowly. “A load of fucking bollocks, apparently.”

“Look, give me your phone,” you held your hand, and when he handed it over, you quickly used your fingerprint to unlock it. “I’m giving you the name of my fucking… y’know, the cunt that sorts my head out?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m giving you his fucking number,” you tod him, typing it in before handing the phone back. “You should have a natter with the cunt.”

Price nodded slowly, taking his pint glass back and stealing a swig. “And what about my work?”

“Oh, sod your work!” You scoffed. “Don’t be so fucking gammy about it - it’s about time you got a break, anyway.”

“Why?” Price scoffed with a raised brow. “So you have someone to drink with?”

You shrugged, taking back the pint glass and winking at him. “You always were my favourite drinking partner, y’know.”

He wanted to roll his eyes. All the years you had been together, you had never changed; you had been through a lot of shit, just like he did, but you always came back the same. You left everything on the submarine the second it docked.

A calloused and coarse man, Price was sure that you held the world record for bad language. Calloused and coarse, yet you always snuggled into him at night when he was home, and you never wasted any time in telling him you loved him every morning and before you fell asleep every night.

Always remembered his birthday, the holidays, always remembered his favourite coffee brands and his preferred rolling tobacco. Calloused and coarse, yet generous and gentle.

You were never as tied down to your job and your duties as he was, and he envied it more than anything; he envied your lack of instinctual duty, your lack of being tied down. Maybe he should have joined the Navy.

“I’m fucking texting that cunt Elias,” you hummed, pulling out your phone and opening his contact. 

Price furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“You need some fucking time off,” you pointed out. “We’re gonna fuck off to Liverpool while I’m on leave, go see your fucking family, you ain’t seen your gran in fucking donkey’s years.”

He didn’t see any point in arguing, just finishing off the drink to go and get another two while you sat there and texted Elias; he replied within seconds, admitting that he had contacted Kate Laswell, and that she was seconds away from authorising it.

She asked not to be contacted for the next few weeks, wanting a break with her wife while she was on leave, so Elias left it at that. You texted Kate, thanking her briefly before you stuffed your phone back into your pocket and grinning at Price as he brought over two pints; he set one down in front of you and took a swig from his own.

“Don’t think I’ll get used to this,” he admitted, tapping his prosthetic.

“That’s why you see the fucking… the what’s-his-fucking-name,” you gestured with your hand, trying to think. “The cunt that helps you with moving and shit.”

“Physio,” Price laughed softly. “And I know, but I don’t think I’ll get used to it.”

“It’ll take some fucking time,” you told him, trying not to laugh. “You’ve only had it… what? A few weeks?”

“Were you serious?” He asked softly. “About Liverpool?”

You nodded, staring at him as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Why wouldn’t I be? I need to fucking chat to Mahdi anyway - he’s… helping me with something.”

Price didn’t want to admit it, but he already knew, he had seen the texts when he was using your phone to watch a Liverpool football match; you and his brother, Mahdi, were conspiring to buy a ring so that you could propose.

He didn’t want to crush your hopes that it would be a surprise, so he leaned back in his chair, and he hummed. 

“Anything important?”

“A little bit,” you mused. “It’s fine, though, it’s only… small.”

Price wanted to laugh so badly, he could feel it in the pit of his stomach as he clenched his jaw slightly. “Anything I can help with?”

“No, you can fuck right off,” you grinned, shit-eating and sly. If only you knew. “Me and Mahdi got it covered with Alice.”

A hum escaped the back of his throat, and he checked his phone quickly, daring to let out a harsh sigh. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

You looked at his phone when he showed it to you; a message from his commanding officer, demanding he take time off. You shrugged, raising a brow.

“The fuck was I meant to do, John? You need some fucking time off, you need to stop being so fucking tied to duty and all that bullshit all the time. You’ve been through shit, you need to chill the fuck out.”

Defeated, Price put his phone back into his pocket, and glared at you. “You can’t keep doing this, y’know. I do have an actual job to do.”

“And you also have a submariner boyfriend to look after,” you pointed out with a laugh. “It’ll be fine, you’ll be alright… trust me, if there’s any fucking glory in war… it should fucking rest on men like you.”

“You win this round, you muppet,” he smiled, reaching into his coat and pulling out his tobacco, filters, papers and lighter. “You want one?”

“Yeah fuck it,” you leaned over, grabbing an ashtray from the table behind you. “Go on then.”

Quickly, Price rolled two cigarettes, and upon lighting them, handed one to you. “Never say no to free shit, right?”

[sgtgarricks]

afab!reader

i think john price would be sooo incredibly oblivious to your advances to the point it pisses you off.

imagine you've had a crush on your captain for a few months now, you've dug around information and find out that yes, he is single.

so you get to work.

you smile at him whenever you see him (the only other person you usually smile at is soap). you try to stay later than usual to catch him leaving just so you can have a few minutes of extra conversation with him.

you're kind of touchy (but not too much), brushing your fingers with him whenever you get the chance. whenever you get called into his office, you make sure to crack a joke or two, just to see his eyes crinkle.

you were down bad for him. like, really bad. whenever he even slightly smiles or praises you, you preen like you just won a gold medal and your face feels hot.

so, you genuinely don't understand how he seems so unfazed?? at the very least he should've felt something was up and rejected you if he wasn't into it. but nope, he's still smiling at you, ruffling your hair.

okay, you think maybe you're being too subtle. it's been three months and there isn't any response.

you begin to bring him little gifts. nothing expensive or big, trinkets that would fit in your pocket. a little keychain of a cigar, a pin of his favorite football club, packets of his favorite coffee flavor.

"oh, what's this for then?" he'd asked, glancing at the little keychain.

"nothin'. just saw it and reminded me of you!" you grin happily. he still seems confused, but accepts your gift anyway.

"thank you, that's very kind of you :)" he gifted you one or two items, even going as far to let you ride shotgun on missions. you were feeling fairly optimistic.

this goes on for another three months, you bringing him something once every two weeks. it's gotten to the point where even soap and gaz have realized what's up (simon doesn't give a fuck).

"you got favorites now? don't think we've ever received a gift from 'em gaz." soap loves to make fun of your infatuation with price. gaz doesn't start anything, but he'd gladly chime in.

after half a year, you're pissed off. because how has he not said anything yet?? you thought he was starting to catch your drift but apparently not. he was either leading you on or genuinely thinks you were just being friendly.

you're over the top now, even simon's cringing slightly at you blatantly gushing over the captain.

you were linking your arm with his if you two walked somewhere together (his forehead did the little scrunch from confusion but didn't say anything).

anytime he wanted to show you something, you'd come around and stand as close to him as possible. one time you even put your head on his shoulder to read the document.

even your jokes had gotten more flirtatious without being overtly sexual. yet still... nothing.

you were pissed. you've been throwing yourself at him every chance you got, any more you'd get written up for fraternization. the next time all of you go out for drinks at the pub, you decide it's do or die.

you put on your best dress, one that hugs your figure nicely. you even do your hair and put a bit of make up on. tonight was the night you were either going to have your heart broken or have a good time.

when you open the door to the pub, you know gaz spots you first judging by the drink he just spat. soap turns and whistles, laughing loudly (simon didn't come). you see price is missing, but you find him at the bar ordering drinks. you slink next to him.

"another one for me?" he spins at the sound of your voice, eyes going wide for a fraction of a second. he coughs and brings up another finger to the bartender.

"you look..." he begins, you inch yourself forward to hear him better and shove something in his face. "different." the smile instantly drops from your face. you pull him away from the bar easily (he let you) and drag him outside.

"why are we out here?" he questions innocently. you huff, not believing the audacity of this man in front of you.

"captain. with all due respect, i don't know how many more signs i can give you before i lose my mind. i have my tits out," you gesture at them and his eyes falls downwards before going back to your face, "and you haven't even looked once."

"i like you, you can kiss me right now or tell me to fuck off and transfer me." you cross your arms, lips turning down into a frown. he was in shock, you can almost physically see a loading bar on top of his head.

to your surprise, he cups your face and leans down to kiss you. your heart was thumping and mouth slightly agape, but the only response you could think of was, "were you really that oblivious?"

"sorry, love. i thought you were just trying to ride shotgun." he grins.

what an idiot (affectionate).

notes: ahfudshf my stupid old man <3

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

The Gang's All Here

Biker!John Price X Wife!Reader

 It was adorable, you were the mom of the group when it came to everything, especially when they were on leave. You’d invite everyone over and feed them until they were all too full.

a/n:this fic was inspired by this GORGEOUS artwork by @yakowo and I could not get the idea out of my head, also for anyone who voted in favor for the tattoos? you're welcome (P.S. I'm so sorry for making you guys wait MONTHS for this!)

(These are the tattoos I picture John having!)

John wasn’t the type of person that you’d expect to come onto base riding a motorcycle, a Harley Davidson no less. So, when Soap and Gaz were outside cracking jokes together their jaws dropped as John parked the roaring beast. When the hell had he managed to find the time to ride? It felt like they’d been gone for the last year nonstop. Gaz had heard all about how much you missed John. It was adorable, you were the mom of the group when it came to everything, especially when they were on leave. You’d invite everyone over and feed them until they were all too full.

“Laswell approved the time off, we’re gonna get to spend Halloween with the missus this year.” Gaz was probably more excited than anyone.

It may have been due to the fact you were all planning on matching, Gaz had picked Simon’s name from the hat, while you and Johnny were going to be matching. John downright refused, saying he couldn’t trust the boys to pick his costume. He’d made you swear to secrecy, no one was allowed to know his costume until Halloween. You weren’t complaining though, not after he’d promised to let you help ‘grease him up’.

“Better not get too rowdy this year, lord knows Johnny nearly got arrested last time.” Of course that had been because someone had tried to roughly grab you when John was off getting you drinks.

The boys had always been quite protective of you, doing whatever they could to make sure you were safe and keep all the creeps away. You’d been married to their captain the entire time they’d all known one another, so you were the co-captain in their eyes. Johnny was definitely the most protective, he saw you as a little sister(even though you were older than him). Simon would simply glare at anyone who looked at you wrong, scaring them off before they could utter a single word. Gaz would throw down with anyone who dared utter a single bad thing about you, how dare you disrespect his co-captain!

“He said he’d be on his best behavior, something about not wanting to anger the missus this time.” You’d turned into a scolding mother when Johnny began to act out, it was hilarious to watch.

John had thrown you over his shoulder even while you were kicking and screaming to be put down so you could continue your scolding. Johnny learned that night not to piss you off lest he deal with your wrath for the rest of the night. It was a comical thing, knowing you could insight fear into a man who sees death for a living.

“Better not, she told me they’re doing matching costumes and I can’t risk her needin’ to get a costume last minute.” That wasn’t to say you wouldn’t be able to find something from your closet, but you’d planned this months prior.

“Simon and I are too, you’re gonna be the odd man out captain.” Gaz smirked over at the other man, noticing the way his brow raised slightly.

“You and Ghost are wearing matching costumes? How’d you convince him?” Simon wasn’t afraid to let loose and enjoy himself, but wearing a costume to match with Kyle? That was shocking.

“Said he wanted to wear something to help get some attention, can’t say much else.” Gaz was going to keep his lips sealed until halloween had arrived, it was going to be the surprise of the century.

John knew better than to try and pry, this was out of his hands and as long as you were happy, he was happy. His mind began to wander for a few seconds, what would the holidays be like when you had your own little tots running around. You’d probably dress them up into cute halloween costumes and take them trick or treating. It didn’t sound like such a horrible thing at the moment, seeing you take the little ones up to the doors to get candy you’d sneak for yourself. No, no thinking about things like that when you’re at work and have important things to do, like a mountain of paperwork.

“Keep an eye on things and make sure the new recruits aren’t acting like idiots, please.” John waited for Gaz to acknowledge his words before heading down to his office.

The picture from your wedding day was the only one he’d been willing to take to base with him, not wanting to risk the wrong person knowing about you. His wedding ring sat alongside his dog tags, resting against his chest every day. It was a reminder that no matter how stressful things could be, he would always go home to you at the end of the day. They weren’t due for another assignment until the end of November, mainly because Laswell needed more intel first. Maybe that was the only reason they were allowed the few weeks of leave that was granted. Oh well.

It was nearing seven at night by the time John realized he hadn’t so much as left his desk to get a drink or even a bite to eat. Shit, you were going to absolutely ream his ass when he got home and you found out. This wasn’t the first time, and absolutely wasn’t going to be the last that he’d completely forgotten about himself. Simon had given him hell from time to time, telling him he needed to eat before you showed up at the base yourself. It had only happened once, though that was more due to the fact he needed the paperwork he’d forgotten and not because he hadn’t left his desk for..ten hours.

Standing up and stretching his tired limbs he groaned at the exertion and cracking from his idle bones. Shit, he had definitely been sitting for too long if standing for a few seconds sent shivers down his spine almost instantly. Time to get something to eat and head home for the next few weeks. He’d barely made it out of his office before Johnny was running over with what could only be described as childlike glee.

“Captain! Was hopin’ I could catch you.” The plus side of working alongside Johnny was that he could get shit done when necessary, the downside is when he was excited the man could talk forever.

“Just grabbing a quick bite and heading out, have you got your leave papers yet?” John didn’t have much time to talk, not if he wanted to make it home before you were in bed already.

“Just this mornin’, I wanted to ask about the bike.” Johnny was nervous, given that the last time he’d seen one was nothing more than a quick glance on their last mission.

“What about it?” John turned into the cafeteria, grabbing a plastic wrapped sandwich that was most likely made that morning.

Johnny wrung his hands together nervously, if questioned he would vehemently deny that his palms had become sweaty when asking his higher-up about something as simple as a motorcycle. Maybe he could just ask you about it instead, surely John had told you some things here and there and you’d managed to pick up any information.

“I uhh, I was wondering where you got it, she’s a beaut.” There, he’d ripped off the bandaid and didn’t need to make this any harder than it needed to be.

“Found her through a seller, she was in pretty rough shape so I’ve been fixin’ her up on leaves.” The bike was John’s pride and joy, second of course to you, but he loved his harley in a different way.

“Oh! Okay, that’s cool.” Johnny nodded, keeping a slight distance between himself and his captain.

“Any reason you’re asking?” John grabbed a bottle of water before turning to sit down at one of the open tables.

Johnny felt his nerves skyrocket, how does one admit they’d always wanted to ride but were too afraid of nearly getting themselves killed? His mother had given him hell for it, saying he’d lose his life by being reckless. It had deterred the idea for years, but seeing so many bikes made him want to do it anyway. 

“No reason, see you later cap.” Johnny nodded once before heading out of the room.

John wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t confused, it wasn’t often that people even saw him on the rumbling biped vehicle, but given the opportunity he always took it. Nothing more invigorating than feeling the wind whip around you, the sound of the bike echoing behind. You would beg John to take you for a ride constantly, especially on date night.

The recruits were quiet as they sat amongst themselves, discussing what their next drills would possibly be. It suddenly hit John how old he was, he’d been so used to making sure that everyone else was taken care of that he hadn’t taken the time to really look at life. You’d both discussed having children when the both of you were truly ready. If it came down that neither of you would truly be ready for a child, then neither of you would become parents. He’d just be the fun uncle that could send the kiddos home hyped up on sugar.

After he’d finished his sandwich and water it was time to head out. Any paperwork was sent off for review, and if it wasn’t up to Laswell’s standards she could wait until he was back. Getting home and relaxing for the rest of the night was high on his priority list at the moment. Maybe the two of you could order take out instead of cooking, maybe even a glass of wine to go along with it. You’d be dealing with everyone in a few days anyway, god where had the year gone that it was already Halloween again.

The sun was nearly gone by the time John had made it out of his office, grabbing the keys to his bike and heading towards the garage. Ghost’ voice was booming, words sharp as a whip towards whomever he was angry with. John sighed deeply before turning towards the shooting range, if it was a new recruit this could get ugly fast. And much to his annoyance it was not one, but four new recruits, each of them looked terrified as Simon nearly towered over them.

“Do you think this is a joke? Something to laugh about?!” Ghost was enraged, hands clenched into fists by his side.

“No sir.” They spoke in unison, each with their heads down, gazes locked on the floor.

“The next time you come in here thinkin’ you’re gonna play with the weapons, I will have you removed, permanently.” Ghost took gun safety quite seriously, one wrong move could end the lives of multiple people.

“Yes sir.” They all nodded, waiting for further instructions.

“Get out of my sight.” Ghost crossed his arms over his chest, waiting until they all scrambled away before turning to face John.

There were no words shared between the two men, neither of them needed to say anything to get their points across anyway. However, John wanted to make sure that Simon would be alright before leaving for the night.

“Still coming over for Halloween?” John was still curious on what Gaz had picked for the costumes, couldn’t be too bad.

“I promised your missus I would anyway.” No one on the task force could tell you no, it was adorable.

“I’ll see you then, make sure the recruits stay out of trouble.” John nodded at him, heading down to the garage so he could get home to you.

The night air was cold, bike rumbling beneath him as he wound his way along the roads that lead to your shared home. He’d sent a quick text to you before he left, telling you to order dinner so the two of you could relax together. Good food, a glass of wine, and the most amazing wife that he could ever ask for sounded like a perfect night to him. Now if he could ignore the clawing thoughts that came with work that would be even better. Laswell knew better than to call him unless it was an absolute emergency that he needed to attend to.

The light was on outside as he pulled into the driveway, parking the bike and waiting until it was settled to step off. The sound of music echoed through the partially opened window, the sound of your voice following along with the lyrics. John snickered to himself, it was definitely a song from your younger years, it was definitely a 90’s boyband. If you were letting loose, what would he walk into? Shaking off his shoulders he headed into the house, locking the door behind him before slipping off his boots.

“Baby!” You ran over, throwing your arms around his neck in a tight embrace.

“Hello to you too, having a party without me?” John’s arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush to his body.

“Never, can’t have a party without the man of the hour.” You pressed a light kiss to his lips, giggling as he tried to pull you back for more.

The two of you laughed happily, dancing together until the doorbell rang loudly, letting you know your dinner had arrived. You had mentioned a movie you’d wanted to see earlier that week, talking about how scary it was from your friends. John could handle some little movie no problem at all, everything about it was fake anyway.

“Alright, got our food, drinks, time to turn on the movie.” You wiggled into your seat, pressing play on the remote before digging in to your food.

The movie, for lack of a better word, was absolutely terrible. It was sort of a tradition in your home that during October you would watch corny horror movies whenever John was home. It was something you’d been adamant on, refusing to let the tradition die out. Of course you’d watch the classic horror movies to help break up the monotony of the bad ones. John had insisted you watch The Thing recently, until you remembered the kennel scene. Watching poor animals, even fake ones, get hurt always makes you upset.

“What do we watch next? We’ve got a few days before the party, and you don’t need to go back until after.” You popped a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth, chewing slowly so you didn’t get any kernels stuck between your teeth.

John pondered for a brief moment, he’d loved watching the classics, but maybe something new could be better? No, something from the 90’s maybe.

“What about Candyman?” It was one of your favorites, having grown up as a horror fan you clung onto the infamous movie.

“A man after my own heart.” You giggled and grabbed your remote to turn the movie on. 

The only light in your living room, besides the TV of course, were the string lights you’d hung up in the middle of September. You’d claimed it would help give ambience to the movie watching experience, and John definitely had to admit that it had. It gave off an eerie vibe that he couldn’t quite place, but given that it was Halloween he wasn’t going to complain.

You could practically recite the movie, the way Tony Todd portrayed the character of Candyman so well never ceased to amaze you. You’d wanted to have a career in film making, but given that the industry was one of the hardest to get into, your dreams were crushed. 

You wouldn’t have met John had you followed your dreams.

You hummed softly, it was true, had you followed your heart you would have never met your husband. Sure you probably would’ve met someone in Hollywood, but it wouldn’t have been the same.

“Wait, what are you wearing for Halloween?” You glanced over at your husband.

“I’ve got a pair of overalls I’m gonna grease up. Go dressed as a mechanic.” John was nothing short of efficient. He’d found them one day after going through his clothes and tossing out anything that was either too old, or had holes to be thrown away.

“Hmm, that works.” You turned and put your attention back onto the movie on your screen.

You and Johnny would be matching, while Simon and Kyle would technically be matching. It had started as a joke but after discussing it, you had all agreed and the plans were set in stone. The costumes arrived a few weeks after you’d ordered them, the boys all paying you back right away. John of course had no idea what you were wearing, and you weren’t going to tell him until the very night of. It was going to be quite the surprise, you couldn’t wait for him to see.

Halloween

You were pulling on your undergarments, not wanting to spoil any surprises your husband might find later before quickly pulling on your dress. You’d been tempted to order a wig to truly match but you didn’t want to risk it. Instead you fixed up your hair, placing the headband before pulling on a pair of pantyhose. After a quick glance in the mirror you were happy with your look, pulling on the shoes and heading down to the living room. The boys had all crammed into your home, each of them taking their respective costumes to go and change. John had run to the store to get one final bag of candy, promising he’d be back in time to head to the party.

Kyle walked out in his amazing glory, the fluffy coat showing off his amazing physique.

“I have to admit, you make an amazing Ken.” You snickered and twirled your finger, telling him to give you a full view.

The costume was perfect, down to the headband and sunglasses he’d managed to find last minute. It was the only thing missing out of his entire get up.

“What can I say? I was born to be a total stud.” He smirked before bursting into laughter, both of you righting yourselves as Johnny walked out.

“I forgot how much I hated wearing boots sometimes.” Johnny muttered to himself.

The two of you had dressed as Velma and Daphne, Johnny had offered to be Velma since he was already a natural brunette. You weren’t going to argue with the man, the dress gave your husband even easier access.

“If you can tuck the bottom of the sweater under itself, it’ll look better.” You walked over and helped him adjust the dark orange sweater, brushing down the fabric of his skirt.

“Bettah?” Johnny glanced at you, hoping you could head out soon.

“Much.” You smiled and stepped back from him.

Before any of you could say anything else Simon walked out of the guest bathroom, the hot pink outfit causing all of your jaws to drop open. How Kyle had convinced him to dress up as cowboy Barbie you weren’t entirely sure, but god did he look fantastic.

“I have to admit, you look fucking hot right now.” Your eyes were wide, hands reaching up to mess with the green scarf wrapped around your neck.

“Thanks, this is all Kyle’s idea.” Simon tossed his bag down beside the couch.

“I’m not complaining, those pants are doing so much for your ass right now.” Your cheeks heated up before you caught the way Johnny was also eyeing him. At least you weren’t alone.

The sound of the front door opening suddenly caught your attention, your husband made it home with a few minutes to spare. Such a procrastinator that one was, now you’d be rushing out the door to get to the party.

“Sorry! Nearly got into a fight with someone who almost hit me on the way home. I just need to get dressed.” John dropped the candy into the large bowl, turning to face the rest of you.

His eyes landed on Simon first, a slight brow raised before he saw Kyle, followed by Johnny, and then lastly you. 

“Don’t tell me. Kyle and Simon are Barbie and Ken, and you two are Daphne and Velma?” John snickered as he slipped off his shoes quickly.

“Good job, now go get dressed so we can leave!” You all but pushed your husband towards your bedroom.

You could discuss the costumes later when you were actually where you needed to be for the night, right now was not the time. The plus side is that you were within walking distance of the party, the downside was that you were definitely going to be late. 

“Jeez, your arms look even bigger.” Kyle blurted out as Simon flexed his arms. Johnny was practically drooling at the sight.

“Alright, you guys head outside and I’ll see what’s taking John so long.” You waited until they’d all left, mainly to make sure poor Johnny didn’t pass out.

Shaking your head you made your way down to your bedroom, pushing the door open slowly so you didn’t startle him.

“Hey hun, are you…” You trailed off as you saw your husband, the white tank top he’d dirtied and greased up showed off the sleeves of tattoos as well as his back piece beautifully.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, let’s go hun.” John spritzed a couple sprays of cologne before heading over to you.

You watched the way his muscles ripped beneath the fabric, eyes glancing down to his legs beneath the coveralls. The arms over his coveralls were wrapped around his waist, giving him the look of being an actual mechanic. Jesus you weren’t going to be able to keep your hands off of him at this rate.

“I’ll have to remember to have someone take a photo of us when we get there.” You grabbed your wristlet and headed out of the house with John.

The other three, that were locked in a heated discussion, all fell silent as they saw their captain in a tank top. 

“Holy shit, you’re covered in tattoos?!” Kyle was floored, he’d recently found out his captain rode motorcycles, but seeing this? This was all new.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve had these for years.” John merely shrugged, wrapping an arm around your waist as you all made the short walk to Kate’s house.

The music was loud enough that you could hear it outside, but it was clear that everyone was still able to have conversations. Kyle, Simon, and Johnny all took off the moment you got inside with John, causing you to roll your eyes. You just wanted one photo to at least remember the night, the costumes looked so good too!

“I’ll make sure they take a photo before we head home tonight, promise.” John pressed a kiss to your hair, leading you further into the party.

“Thank you.” You smiled as you leaned against him, avoiding any of the grease that could ruin your dress.

The party was lively, everyone complimenting your costume as well as John’s even asking a few questions about his tattoos. John was proud of the work he’d had done, especially the back piece he’d sat through over five sessions for. You loved when John got the recognition he deserved. The man was downright gorgeous, and you were reveling in the fact that he’d chosen you out of everyone.

The hours flew by, the drinks flowing through your system before John cut you off. He wasn’t going to risk getting you drunk like last time. You’d taken photos with all of your friends, giggling at the couples costume that Farah and Alex had done. He’d dressed up as a dinosaur while she was dressed like a handler. Everyone took photos with John, claiming they wanted to show off the tattoos he had and see if they could get something half as good. You knew better, it was only because of how gorgeous your husband was. You weren’t blind, even in regular clothes John was the most attractive man you’d ever met.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home? It’s getting late anyway.” John could see the way your eyes were drooping closed, exhaustion seeping into your bones.

“We gotta round up the boys too.” You’d offered up the spare bedrooms so they didn’t have to worry about driving home so late at night.

“Already did, sweetheart, so let’s go.” John scooped you up into his arms, saying goodbyes to everyone before making your way out of the house.

Your eyes slowly slipped closed as you rested against his chest, your feet sore from standing in the kitten heels for the last five hours. John didn’t so much as complain as he carried you to your shared home, opening the door to let everyone inside. Johnny didn’t hesitate to rip off his boots, tossing them aside before ripping off the sweater. John raised a brow at the younger man, watching as he hurriedly picked up his discarded items.

“Sorry, sir.” Johnny wasn’t going to let them lie around, would never do so in someone else’s home, but getting to strip down was his only thought.

“Just clean up, that's all I ask.” John turned and headed up to your bedroom, laying you on the plush mattress before turning to change into his own pajamas.

Your soft snores filled the air, chest rising and falling slowly as you slept peacefully on your bed. John chuckled and finished getting changed, turning to help you out of your own clothes. His eyes widened as he realized you had gotten new lingerie, jaw dropping open. He’d talk to you about it tomorrow, right now you were exhausted and needed some sleep.

After grabbing one of his more oversized shirts he helped ease you into the fabric, pulling off your headband and setting everything onto the dresser. You hadn’t so much as flinched the entire time, assuring John that you were completely asleep. He headed down to the living room, making sure the other three were settled before turning off the lights. It was fun getting to see everyone dressed up, simply enjoying themselves with good company.

“Thank you, for being the best thing I could ever ask for.” John crawled into bed beside you, pulling you flush to his chest.

You murmured softly in your sleep, wrapping your arms around his waist. There were definitely some things that the two of you needed to talk about. 

Those could wait, for now he would simply hold you and enjoy himself.

tagging: @gaylemonshark @thesinsoflust @dante-mightdie @mh073099

[emeraldborealis]

Things Have To Change

Pairing: Ex-husband John Price x GN!reader

TW//CW: Angst? Kissing, communication, a mutual agreeance to try, forgiveness, apologies, fluff.

A/N: This is the last chapter! What a wild ride this has been to write. I'd like to thank everyone who has reblogged this and everyone who has commented, your kind words have definitely helped keep me motivated on writing this.

Words: 2,373

You are currently reading Chapter 5

The Do-Over Series Masterlist - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four

It took a week to work up the courage to actually text him, asking if he'd be willing to talk. That you would like to talk.

The knock on your door made you jump, you were rolling in nerves, uncertainty. Your ring was in your pocket, trying to give you strength. If he has decided he doesn't want to try this again after you yelled at him and freaked out, then you'd give him the ring and wish him well.

If he didn't want this you couldn't stand to have the ring anymore. You couldn't have it in your keepsake box anymore. You needed it gone. You needed it and him gone, for good.

Opening the door to him standing there caused a strange ache to start in your chest. He really came back after all the awful things you'd said. He came back, and he's standing here calmly, he isn't here to get even. He isn't here to yell his own nasty things at you. 

"I'm really sorry for the things I said to you. You aren't the one who deserved those words. I see now that the man I was saying those things to isn't you anymore." Your head hung low in shame, your apology more than genuine. 

You felt so awful for the cruelty you inflicted on him. The things you said, though honest in the spur of the moment, were some of the most horrendous, mean words you'd ever said to or about someone. 

You were biting and burning, injecting into him the venom and pain that was tearing you apart from the inside. A fever of built up frustration that needed to break lest you burn yourself out. He should not have been the victim of it all.

"It's alright, love. I more than earned the lashing you gave me." Gently, he tilted your chin up, making you look at him. "Thank you for wanting to talk to me again after what I did. After everything I did." 

"There's things that need to be said, things I need to say not through pain and hurting." Taking his hand you pulled him inside, pausing briefly so he could take off his shoes before leading him to the couch. 

"There's things I'd like to say too." He sat down with you on the couch, a safe distance between you two. 

An awkward silence fell in the room, words failing. There was too much you wanted to say, it was all crowding and trying to push through to your throat, but there was too much, it all got stuck, halting with a choking feeling. 

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I planned seeing you again, sorry I lied about it all again. But I need you to understand why." He broke the silence, starting first.

"Then tell me. Please tell me why, tell me what you see is so salvageable about me, and you, about us. Tell me why you feel we could ever actually work out." You needed to know he really saw you as worth it, saw this as worth it. Worth trying again, worth working things out.

"I was driving, a long drive. I was trying to keep myself awake, and I started thinking about you. I'm always thinking about you. I started thinking about us, everything. I realized that if I put half the energy I did fighting with you into trying to fix things, we probably could have made it." He let the words fall out, pouring from him like a fountain.

His regret was clear to you. You wondered just how long it's been eating him up, scavenging through his tissue, pulling, tearing, swallowing completely. 

Has he felt this way since you handed him those papers in the first place? Or was this remorse for what had transpired more recently? How long has this been stewing in him?

"Do you think we could make it now?" Feeling your pocket you felt the circular shape of your ring, preparing for him to say no. Preparing to hand it back to him right now.

"Yes. I think- No, I know we could make it now if we tried again. I'm not who I was, you're not who you were. We're perfect strangers, strangers who know so much about the other. How to love the other. I still know what you like for breakfast, I still know how you like to make the bed and what side you like to sleep on. I know you still, and I love you still." John took your hand in his, holding it tightly. Holding onto you, if he didn't he felt like you'd disappear. Cast him out again.

He wouldn't let this go again. He couldn't. When you feel the touch of an angel you'll spend the rest of your life trying to feel that grace again. You'll put yourself aside and kneel, kneel till you're worthy of it again. 

John didn't know what he had, not really. Not until he lost it. Not until he could no longer feel that peace of being with you, of having you to return to and fall down at your feet, you who would so happily wash away the feeling of blood on his hands, as long as he'd wash away the loneliness from yours. 

He'd always known you were good together, but he took it for granted. Used your love to feel higher in his position rather than to turn it around and make you feel whole. 

"I've realized you're not someone I can replace. We have a lot of history, good and bad. There's just too much love that still remains for me to ever let you go fully." You squeezed his hand, letting out a fraction of what you really wanted to say.

"I'm sorry, I never let you make decisions, not about where we lived, not about what we did. I'm sorry. I did so much wrong. I did so much wrong to you. I want to fix that. Please, let me try to fix that." John pleaded, he was too in love to let this go. If he couldn't try again he'd never know if he really had changed, if he really was a better person now. 

He was terrified, terrified of the man he used to be. Terrified of never being able to prove he was not him anymore, terrified you'd never get to meet the new him. The man that was made through losing you, made through the love and regret that still remained from what he had with you. 

"I think it would kill me if you didn't know that pieces of me are pieces I've only gotten because of you. I'm everything that I am now because of you. I am only a man now because losing you showed me I was only a fool trying to wear clothes too big for him, trying to fit in with the scum that I never wanted to be like in the first place." Tears welled in his eyes, showing a level of vulnerability to you that he used to feel ashamed about doing.

"It felt like my life started when I met you. But it didn't, it started five years ago when I sent you away. Through letting go of the one thing I loved the most I started to search for why, for what had happened. I started reading books, things that helped me make sense of things, helped me realize that you weren't the only problem." You wiped away his tears with the pad of your thumb, gently holding his face in your hands.

Taking a deep breath you prepared yourself to continue, absentmindedly you began to play with his facial hair, running your fingers through it, letting it help ground you. It brought a soft smile to John's face, leaning into your touch, leaning into something you used to do when you needed comfort. He was still that comfort for you.

"I started to heal, heal all the wrongs that had been done to me, heal all the wrongs I'd done to myself. I corrected behaviors, cut ties with people, I formed boundaries and I found people I enjoyed being around. But you weren't there, you weren't with me. And that felt wrong. I never searched for a replacement, because the truth is there is no replacement for you." Leaning in, you pressed your forehead to his, closing your eyes you took in his smell, it'd changed slightly over the years. But it was still John. It was still the man you vowed to love till death tried to tear you apart.

"You really never tried to go out with someone else?" His voice got deeper when he'd speak quietly, softly. You could feel the timber in it, the small gravel that made his voice rumble. 

"No, I didn't. I couldn't. My life started the day you left, but my heart still knew you. My soul knew it was still tied to you. I've worked hard to make my life into what it needs to be, but a better version of that would still be a life with you. My other half." You pulled your face away from him, looking into his gorgeous blue eyes.

"You mean that? You really want me in your life again?" It was hard for him to believe he really deserved forgiveness. That he deserved another chance at this, despite needing and begging for one so desperately.

"Not again. I want to meet you as you are now. We're not trying this again, we're trying this because we're new people. I don't want to miss out on meeting who you've become, I want you to get to know who I am now. I want us to start something new. I don't want to rekindle what we had. This is new. This is starting new, as we are now." Your hands slid down from his cheeks to his neck, feeling his pulse under your hands, feeling his heartbeat. Feeling that this was real, this was right. This was your John, the one you needed.

"What if we're not compatible as we are now?" He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it back up to his face to kiss your palm, trailing kisses down your wrist. He'd missed this. The feel of your skin against his lips. He never appreciated you the way he should have, he didn't love you right. He didn't worship you enough.

"What if we are? How can we know if we don't try? I don't want to kill the one thing I've been missing because of 'what if'." Pulling your hand away from his lips you fished out the ring from your pocket, presenting it to him. "I lied when I said I wasn't sure if I still had it, it was in my keepsake box. It's part of what I'd try to save from a burning house."

The burning house of your childhood and youth was becoming more of a distant memory everyday, you needed to pull John out, separate him from everything else that was on fire. He was worth pulling out. He was worth saving from burning too.

"I love you. I promise I've pulled my head out of my ass, I promise I can be what you need now. Whatever you need. I'll be good, and I'll show you my love like I should, for all of the times that I never could. I'll make up for all of it." He took your ring from you, dropping it to the floor before he leaned in, kissing your lips tenderly. 

"I know." You kissed him back, finally feeling whole. Finally feeling John complete you the way you both should have felt complete this whole time. 

You thought your relationship had burned and crumbled to ash like a forest fire, that there would be no changing or fixing things. That nothing could ever be okay again between you. That you'd both hurt each other in ways there was no recovery from. That your love would always be a black field that once held dreams and aspirations.

 You were wrong. Just like in nature after a fire the soil had been revitalized, ready to allow new growth to start. To allow new dreams and aspirations to flourish as charcoal turned to lush green.

"You know?" He didn't fully pull away from you, mumbling his question against your lips, sending the vibrations of his voice right through you.

"I have good faith." You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck, leaning your body into his, feeling the way your two bodies moved together, as if you were melding together.

"I suppose that's something." John pulled you impossibly closer, his hands splayed out on your lower back, letting out a deep sigh. This was what he'd been needing. You were all he'd been needing. "I'm never letting you go again. I'm never willingly walking away from you again."

"I don't think we could have ever worked out as we were, I think only through being apart we were able to grow into something that could be good together. I think we needed that growth apart so we can grow together now." You let the words out between kisses, no fears or doubts about this in your head. You now knew what you wanted, what was good for you. You wanted John. Your husband John.

"I watched a documentary of the process of growing trees and bushes into complex structures by weaving the branches together along with support systems as they grew. The process involved choosing structural branches and which branches needed to be cut and removed to better form what was desired, not everything that grew was able to go into the structure, so it was cut away. This is kind of like that." John recounted some details to you, kissing down your neck.

"Of course you did. You and your damn documentaries." Rolling your eyes you chuckled, shaking your head at him. "I'd like to grow with you into something structurally sound, with good supports, something beautiful and alive."

"I'd like that too." Moving up, John kissed your temple, holding your head gently in his hand, closing his eyes and taking you in completely. Taking you in as his, just as he was yours. Things were going to be different this time, things have changed.

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