#john price x female oc

[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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[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 4.7K

Warnings: brief mentions of past sexual activity, brief mentions of past violence, smoking, British slang, *English Premier League discussion as banter/flirting

Minors DNI

Summary: Rory and Price set off on their mission, meeting with Nikolai to get them into Russia. Once at the safe house, the air is cleared...

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis.

also available to read on AO3 (edit: link should work now)

October 14, 2017 08:00 - Verdansk, Kastovia

The helicopter made it’s descent into an empty lot, beating back dirt and fallen leaves as the blades began to slow. Surrounded by worn apartments built during the time of the communist bloc, it was a sprawling landscape of bleak grey on grey. Parked not too far away was another helicopter, smaller than the one they’d arrived in, and marked with Russian identification. Waiting beside it was a man with dark hair and dark clothes, sticking out amongst all that was drab and dreary like a bruise – Rory assumed that had to be Nikolai.  

The door heaved open, and Price hopped out, ducking as he ran under the blades. This was their stop; their ride would be headed back stateside as Laswell remained sitting. Exiting the helicopter, Rory was hit by the bitterly cold wind, the temperature having dropped several degrees from the maritime temperatures she was used to back home. Her cheeks started to burn, a shiver shaking through her as the material of her fatigues did little to combat the chill in the air, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to keep her core warm, her teeth began to chatter. She followed closely behind the captain, keeping her pace measured, noticing his stride – it was strong, resolute – the man had places to go, and she was along for the ride, but whatever the next steps in the plan were, she hoped it included a coat. 

Nikolai crossed his arms over his chest, giving the nearing guests a nod of his head. “Good to see you again,” he called out in a thick Russian accent. 

“Always a pleasure, Nik,” Price said, returning the greeting. 

The Russian reached into the open door of the helicopter and retrieved two large black duffel bags. “Everything you asked for, Captain. Should be place to change inside.” He tipped his head towards one of the buildings while passing the bags to the two soldiers. As Rory took the bag from his hands, Nikolai looked at her appraisingly, “She’s new.”

“She’s on loan.” 

She couldn’t help but give Price a sideways glance, wondering if he was second guessing Laswell’s decision to have her join the mission. It wasn't uncommon for people to assume at first glance she wasn’t made of the right stuff to be a soldier. That was exactly how she got her call name in Iraq.   

“Not SAS?” Nikolai asked.

“No,” Rory answered before the Captain could, shifting the heavy bag on her shoulder, the strap digging in. “SRR. Sgt. Rory Sinclair. It’s a pleasure,” she said with a nod.

Nikolai’s brow rose, a half grin spreading across his face. “So polite too, nice change of pace.” He looked over at Price with a sideways glance. “Good to meet you, Sergeant.” 

Price patted Nik on the shoulder and started to make his way towards the buildings in the distance and as Rory’s boots thumped against the pavement behind him, he looked over his shoulder at her, his hat tipped forward covering his face in shade. “You speak Russian, Sinclair?”

She’d learned several languages since joining the army, Russian hadn’t been one of them. “No, sir, but I’m a quick study.” 

“Good.” He walked a little further before speaking again. “Sergeant?”

His pace slowed, allowing her to move up to walk by his side and she could feel his eyes on her. Perhaps something had finally clicked for him as well. Fixing the strap on her shoulder, Rory held the bag a little tighter to her to stave off the cold before tucking her loose hair behind her ear and looking up at him. “Yes, sir?”

The huff of air that escaped his nostrils streamed out into the early morning air in a fog. A smirk crinkling the lines around his eyes. “You can drop the sir when you’re with me, just Price will do.”

She nodded, clearing her throat of the cold. “Sure.” She bit the tip of her tongue, trying hard not to let the ‘sir’ stumble out. It had been trained into her; most officers expected that sort of respect. It was refreshing to have him be the opposite. 

The building they entered was abandoned, practically derelict. Concrete walls crumbled around them to show exposed rebar, the stairs had nearly collapsed. It was a death trap waiting to happen. Her eyes roamed around the entrance, that little voice in her head telling her to check her corners despite not being in a combat situation. 

“We’ll get changed here.” His voice cut through her thoughts, and she watched him bend down and open the duffle, pulling out civilian clothes appropriate for the especially cold weather including a toque and coat. Following suit, she opened the bag she was carrying to find her own set of clothing and supplies. Blue eyes met her, gleaming in the dull morning light as he grinned, his moustache curling at the corners of his lips “Hope it all fits. Didn’t have the time to get your measurements before we set off.” 

“I’m sure it will be just fine, Captain.”

Rory was no stranger to sharing facilities with the opposite sex, but she’d be remiss to not appreciate the fact that in a situation like this she was glad to have taken part in the SAS interrogation training protocols. Having to show no fear in the face of different stages of undress amongst strangers or otherwise helped her remain calm while unbuttoning her jacket, even as her fingers locked up with the cold. Stripping the jacket off her arms, her eyes dragged sideways at the tear of velcro that filled the room, and she watched Price toss aside his tactical vest and pull off his top, his skin beneath marked with scars and the trail of hair that led down to his...Not right now, Rory. Her eyes fell and she steered her focus back to her own clothing. Pulling her pants down her thighs, untying her boots and kicking them off to remove her lower layer. She grabbed the pair of jeans from the bag and pulled them on, a bit snug in the hips, but she’d make do.  A chunky knit sweater was the next thing she slipped on, and immediately she could no longer feel the bite of the cold gnawing at her. The coat was the cherry on top. Slipping her feet back into her boots, she looked over at Price as he adjusted the beanie on his head.  

“How do I look?”

“Certainly not like a soldier.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Tossing his gear into the duffel, he threw it over his shoulder before turning back towards the door. “Come on.” 

Holding the door open for her, Rory tossed her fatigues into her bag and carried it with her, following him out the door. Even without the stuffy uniforms and gear it was still clear they were two people on a mission, crossing the lot towards Nikolai’s helicopter in a near sprint. 

Price’s words were clipped as he spoke to her, giving orders, “We’re about to fly over into Russia. Nik’ll drop us off at his airbase and then we’ll make our way into Moscow. We’re going to be sticking to civvies as much as possible, Laswell doesn’t want us starting a world war over this.”

“Understood.”

“Good girl.” 

Her brain short-circuited for a split-second hearing that phrase be used by him and his hoarse rumble of a voice, but she bit her tongue and carried through. It shouldn’t have had the effect on her it did. If it was anyone else, they’d have already received a bollocking for it, but in this case, she let it slide. 

October 14, 2017 09:30 - Russian airspace

“About to set down, Captain,” Nikolai called out over his headset as they neared the airbase. 

Rory had gone several hours without a cigarette by this point, only surviving by breathing in the secondhand smoke that Price filled the air with from his cigars. Starting out a mission irritable was hardly the preferred method of doing things, but she had few options until they were firmly on the ground and she could grab the pack in the pocket of her fatigues. Instead, she sat with her legs out the door, her feet floating over nothing but air, the land several thousand feet below as she took in the sights.

“How we doing back there, Sinclair?” Price asked, looking back at her as she held onto the slip of thick material provided as a handhold.

Watching as they lowered, her hair whipped around her face with the upstream winds that blew at her, turning her nose red. “In dire need of a fag,” she said with a soft chuckle looking back at the Captain, “but otherwise looking forward to my first visit to Russia.”

“Hopefully not your last,” Nikolai said. 

She smiled, there was something rather charming about the Russian, it wasn’t surprising to her that he and Price would be friends. 

The descent was quick as Nik sent the helo into a nosedive, and Rory held on for dear life, her heart racing in her chest. She hadn’t felt adrenaline coursing through her like that in some time. The safety of a desk had become far too comfortable but being out in the field felt like coming home. 

Upon landing, it was clear that the airbase they’d landed at was relatively remote, with whole hangars left empty. There wasn’t the same sort of military presence here as she had come to expect during her military career, an RAF base was usually teeming with personnel. It was quiet here, vehicles able to come and go as they pleased, a suitable operation for those who apparently weren’t so closely tied to the Kremlin and the powers that be. 

Reaching into her duffel, Rory dug through the pockets of her fatigues until she found her cigarette pack and lighter and rested against the outside of the hangar. Placing one of the cigarettes to her lips, she lit it and breathed the warming smoke down into her lungs. Fucking euphoric . Her eyes fluttered shut as the neurons in her brain were given their shot of nicotine, exhaling streams of smoke through her nostrils to burn away the cold that stung at it. 

“Careful, Sergeant, those things’ll kill you.”

She opened her eyes to find Price standing beside her, lighting up his own cigar. “I’m not too worried about that, I’m quite sure the job will get me first,” Rory said with a quiet snort. 

“You’ve lasted this long.” His black peacoat flapped in the breeze and he tucked the collar up around his neck to guard him from the cold. “Nik’s getting us a vehicle prepped, and then you and I are headed to Moscow. There’s a safehouse waiting for us there.” He took a drag from his cigar, and then blew out the smoke, continuing, “It’s going to be a long drive.”

Looking out at the distance, it was hard to believe she was quite so far from England, and especially to end up somewhere so completely vast in comparison. “Almost makes me homesick, a quick train ride and I can be back in London in a few hours from Stirling Lines.”

“You still call London home?” He asked, shifting his weight, stuffing his free hand into the warm, woolen pocket of his coat. 

Her brow furrowed slightly at his choice of word. Still , it was small, barely noticeable, but an odd choice to slip in. He had to remember her, he just wasn’t letting it on, or at least he wasn’t being obvious about it. “It’s where my father lives, right near Craven Cottage.”

The cigar glowed bright as he took another drag from it. “Fulham supporter?”

“Too right.”

“Well, I suppose I should just be glad he’s not with Everton,” he muttered, giving her a smirk.

Rory laughed, the countless hours she’d spent with her father watching football and listening to her fellow unit members keeping up with their teams despite being hundreds of miles away in a desert wasn’t lost on her. “Liverpool?” she asked, returning his smirk.

“The only reds worth a damn.”

“So, I shouldn’t tell you I’m a United supporter then?” Her grin grew wider as she brought the cigarette to her lips again.

“Are you taking the piss, Sergeant?”

She blew out the smoke with a stutter as she coughed out a laugh. “My father would disown me if I supported anyone but Fulham.”

“Well at least I won’t have to be worried about your black and whites ever taking the Premiership.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a mock scowl. “Low blow, Price.”

“I’m sure you’ll get over it, Sinclair.” Tipping his head in her direction, he looked up at her through his brow, his forehead creasing as he teased her. “We’ve got an entire mission to complete together after all, can’t let a little old-fashioned rivalry get in the way.” 

She flicked the ashes off of the end of her cigarette and brought it back to her lips. “Good competition’s never held me back, sir.” Rory looked at him with her large hazel eyes, a smokescreen billowing between them barely hiding the promise in her expression and her words. 

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Their eyes met and her heart thundered in her chest, her ears burning but not necessarily from the cold. She was supposed to be professional; it wasn’t like her to flirt with a superior officer, let alone the commanding one, and yet here she was. The mission seemed to already be anything but protocol, and the guilt that should have been there was absent, especially as it was blatantly obvious the Captain didn’t seem to have a problem with it either, joining her in the behavior. 

She cleared her throat and straightened up against the wall, dropping the butt of her cigarette onto the tarmac, stomping it out with her boot as Nikolai rounded the corner of the hangar, a pair of car keys in his hand. Now was neither the time nor the place for stoking a flame that had flickered a long time ago. Mind on the mission. Her mind always had to be on the mission. 

October 14, 2017 22:30 - Moscow, Russia

He hadn’t lied about it being a long ride, thirteen hours later, spent with their legs squished up in their seats, she was thankful for being able to stretch them and work out the charlie horse that was desperate to settle into her hamstring. A quiet ride with the Captain at the wheel, she spent much of her time looking out the window, watching as the wide-open vistas shrank into yet more grey of the concrete filled cities. Once they reached Moscow things were different, there were lights and sounds that reminded her more of being in the middle of London. The heartbeat of the city beating into her. 

Price had the address and the keys to a safe house but parked several blocks away from it. They couldn’t simply park out front without burning themselves and anyone else that might have been using the place. Out in the night they blended with the masses that flocked to the city center that Saturday. Eyes barely landed on them, and the ones that did were put into question. The eyes of the Kremlin weren’t so far away, and working in intelligence Rory knew that no matter how off the books an assignment was, there was always someone with their ear to the ground. They might have let them slip past for the time being, but the moment they became a threat the noose would come falling down. They walked through the streets, heads kept down to pass by sight unseen, their hands in their pockets as the blustering wind bit at any exposed flesh. Price trudged forward remaining quiet, always focused on scoping out any possible threats, he didn’t bother to make small talk, and she certainly wasn’t going to sidetrack him. 

Several blocks later, they stopped outside a building that was once a hotel, its facade run down, the bricks greying and chipped with age. Price and Rory stood holding their bags, looking up at it. She was used to safe houses being less than desirable places to stay, it seemed to be a constant no matter where a person was situated. As if for a place to be deemed forgettable and well-hidden it needed to be on the verge of crumbling if a strong wind blew past. She could only hope it was slightly more inviting inside, but she sincerely doubted that. 

Climbing the steps up to their assigned suite as noted on the address, Rory was quick to get a beat on her surroundings, scanning for points of entry and available exits. It may have been a safe house, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Ingrained in her to check her corners, to be wary of anything hidden in the shadows, to keep her head on a swivel, Rory’s hand landed on the grip of the handgun tucked into the back of her jeans. Ready for anything. 

Price reached the door and swung it open, revealing the room inside to contain only two beds and a bathroom. It was small, the carpets old and worn, and there was one small window with an old radiator below it. They’d be sharing the space for the length of their stay. He peered in, his jaw tightening. “I suppose Nik assumed –”

Rory drew closer to the door, letting her coat fall back over her weapon as she pulled her hand away and stood beside the Captain. She wasn’t surprised this was the situation they’d find themselves in, from a safety standpoint it made more sense for them to share a room, rather than be separated. “It’s fine. I’m not bothered. Hell, I shared a single tent with several people in the middle of the desert. This is nothing. At least this time there’s running water.”

“Right.” 

Entering the room, she took off her coat and tossed it onto the bed closest to the window along with her bag, and that same thick lump she had at twenty-three climbed right back up her throat as she turned her head over shoulder and noticed Price’s gaze roaming over her. Rory made a quick exit, moving to the bathroom and turning on the light. The fluorescents above the sink flickered as they slowly filled the room with cool white light. She stood at the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the water run before splashing her face and refreshing herself after being cramped inside a car. Taking a deep breath as the drops ran down her skin and plinked against the basin, the urge for a cigarette came over her once more and she rubbed at her brow, looking up into the mirror – it was time for the pep talk, the conversation she had to hold with herself to get a grip. She could handle this, she’d been in this situation before, minus the fact that there was a history there that neither of them was willing to mention. 

As she came back into the room, he had already lit a cigar and had it chomped between his lips, the embers at it’s tip burning bright orange and reflecting in his eyes. Taking a drag of his cigar, he blew out a stream of smoke with a clenched jaw. Chewing on his lip, the wrinkles around his eyes grew deeper. "Shall we deal with the elephant in the room?"

Her mind raced and a wave of tension hit her, flooding every nerve in her body with the need to run. Leaning her shoulder against the door frame she tried to appear casual, bringing a towel to her face to wipe off the water that fell from her chin. “What do you mean?”

He shifted his jaw back and forth and cocked his brow. "Rory Sinclair, you thought I wouldn't remember that name? It's not exactly common.”

The rumble of his voice made her legs shake, purring out her name like no one else could. She huffed out a sigh, a nervous smile pulling at her wind bitten lips. “Well, you certainly didn’t act like you did. Figured my point had been proven about you having a port in every storm back then.”

He took a deep breath, shaking his head as he grimaced, “I assure you, fucking in a bathroom stall was not my go to move.”

“Sure. I’m not going to hold it against you,” she said with a shrug. “We were in our twenties. Even if it was –”

“It wasn’t.” His eyes became steely as he looked at her, inhaling the smoke from his cigar. 

Her brows rose and a small grin threatened to break through as she bit down on her lower lip. “The Captain doth protest a little too much, I think.” Moving from the bathroom entrance, she sat down on the edge of her bed and ran her hands through the roots of her hair, pushing the hair to part in the opposite direction. She stared up at him, a sense of relief hitting knowing this was just as awkward for him as it was for her. “Is this going to be a problem? Because if you don’t want me here just send me back to the midlands, I’m sure you can find yourself another soldier.”

His brow furrowed and he pulled the cigar from his mouth, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re just gonna give up that easy?” Looking down at her through his brow with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

She scoffed, her hands falling to either side of her on the mattress as she leaned back. “I don’t give up on anything, but I refuse to be a distraction.”

“You won’t be.” He puffed out his chest as he stretched out his back. “I’m a professional, been at this a while.” His eyes narrowed at her as the smirk pulled at his lips. “I think I can handle having you around, Rory.” 

“We’re on a first name basis are we now, John ?”

He rolled his eyes and scratched at his beard. “These are extenuating circumstances,” Price clarified.

Huffing out a laugh as the awkward tension finally broke, she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Indeed they are.” 

He sat down on the side of his bed, sitting across from her as he took another deep inhale from his cigar and pulled off his beanie, placing it on the bed beside him. “ Fucking hell ,” he muttered while rubbing his hand through his hair, brushing out the hat head. Price’s eyes rose to meet hers once more, surrounded by deeper lines and tired bags than had been there before, but she could swear she still saw some of that same desire she witnessed back then. 

She shifted in her seat and straightened out her back, holding her head up high, putting on the posture of a soldier standing at attention. “I have no problem with having you as my commanding officer. I’ll still have your six, I can follow orders, you’ll have no reason to complain. This doesn’t have to be weird unless we make it that way.” That’s it Rory, confidence is key. This is nothing. “It’s been five years; we’ve moved on with our lives. Besides, it was one night. Surely, we’ve both had other partners since then, it can’t have been that memorable,” she lied to herself as much as she was lying to him. Rory’s career had been so much of her focus for so long that settling down, finding a partner, it had all taken a backseat. There were still times on a lonely night when she’d think back to the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, his voice in her ear, but she couldn’t let that get in her way. This was a chance to prove herself, to prove that she didn’t have to resign herself to a desk job already, that she could keep up with an SAS officer in the field. 

“Well,” he exhaled slowly. Deeply. As if a weight had been lifted. “With that out of the way, perhaps we should get back to work?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded, her face returning to its usual stoicism. 

“Good.” John slipped the cigar back between his lips and stood up, pulling a tablet from his bag. “Nik got us some intel on our friend, Igor. Apparently, he has a penthouse suite not too far from here. He’s also been spotted visiting several known businesses in the area with ties to organized crime,” he mumbled around the Villa Clara.

“Checking on his investments, I assume.” Rory asked with a lift of her brow, “Do we know the window of opportunity we have here? Does he have a schedule when it comes to these rounds? Or does he like to keep it random so that he can’t be tracked?”

“Mr. Zorokov has a set of brass bollocks, I doubt he’s too worried about being tracked.”

Rory dragged her palms up the thighs of her jeans, bringing her hands to her hips as her shoulders started to slump. “That makes our job a little simpler. Something can be said for men with egos that big, makes them fall that much harder.” The corners of her lips curled into a smirk. “At least that’s always been my experience.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her pack of cigarettes and the lighter. Slipping one from the pack, she brought it to her lips, cupping her hands around the lighter as the flame flickered and sparked smoke into life.

Price continued the briefing, “We’ve already hacked into his security systems at his penthouse, that way we can track when he comes and goes. And Laswell’s working on putting a trace on his phone. I want to stay a step ahead of him whenever and wherever possible.” 

Passing her the tablet, Rory scanned through the list of Zorokov’s businesses in the area. Her eyes narrowed as she held the cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply. “ Jesus .” Blowing smoke through her nostrils, the cigarette hung from her lip, bobbing up and down as she spoke, “This bastard’s into human trafficking, allegedly , right? One of these is a gentlemen's club.” Her gaze flicked up to look at Price as she pulled the burning cigarette from between her lips. “How much do you want to bet that’s not staffed entirely above board? Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen that sort of thing.” 

His face became stern, “You’ve seen that sort of thing before, what the hell kind of missions were you on?”

“Ones that involve people up at the top of the food chain aren’t usually very pretty, especially when you’re working off the books and with the CIA. There’s a reason why they’ve been deigned deserving of a sniper round in the first place and it’s not always because they’re a loose end or your usual sort of threat.” Her hazel eyes turned dark, hinting at the ghosts in her past, ones stricken from her file or so far out of reach they’d never see the light of day. Things she’d seen and done that would leave a mark, things that made her realize what she was really fighting for and just how far she’d be willing to go to make the world a safer place. “Permission to speak freely, Price?”

“Go on, Sergeant.”

“That’s the one we go to first to find our way to cut off Zorokov’s funds.”

“Is that experience talking, or something else?” John leaned forward, his shoulders hunched, and his forearms pressed to his thighs. He stared into her eyes, trying to get a read on her. 

Hazel eyes fell to the ashes of his cigar that dropped to the floor at his feet. Biting at the inside of her cheek, clenching her jaw, she knew why he asked the question, as her commanding officer it was his duty to make sure she wasn’t some sort of loose cannon who’d go off the rails or turn vigilante, he needed someone who’d follow his commands. She could do that, she knew she could, but she couldn’t deny that there were personal motivations there as well. “Bit of both, if I’m being honest.”

[ecoamerica]

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[the-californicationist]

Gravitational Shift

Captain John Price is having dreams. He can feel a powerful Force user somewhere out in the black emptiness of space, but it's not until he is confronted with her signature that he understands her true abilities as well as his own.

Price/FemOC Star Wars AU - Force Bond

And no, I don’t know what’s medically wrong with me for writing this, okay? 😂

MDNI/18+

Link to AO3

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

The captain’s mood had been foul over the last two months, and with each passing night, he became more and more withdrawn, spending most of his time alone in the galley, seated by himself in the corner table, staring out of the rear viewing pane. In front of him, millions and millions of miles of stars and planets stretched out like bright streaks as his ship hurtled through the empty blackness of space beyond the speed of light.

Somewhere, in this same galaxy yet far, far away, the Republic was losing its power to a fierce rebellion, and the Force had warped itself around that conflict. He could tell that it was struggling for balance. There weren’t many Force-sensitive people in this side of Canes Venatici, and the Empire didn’t much care to find itself or its stormtroopers out here in the badlands.

More than just sensing the disturbance in the fabric of the Force, Captain Price had started to dream. He never dreamed, and when he did, it was always because another Force user was near, their power corrupting his and sending false signals, emotions, and images into his mind. But, these dreams were different. They were so very vivid, and he could feel them on his skin. That was the problem. Whoever this Force user was, they were soft and supple, and he wanted to…

“Captain?”

His first officer stalked around the corner of the galley door, and stood at a semi-formal rest in front of him. The man was enormous, and his masked figure took up the majority of the room.

Price sighed,

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We are approaching Phath VI. Would you like us to initiate orbital sweeping?”

The captain nodded,

“Aye. I’ll be on the bridge shortly.”

The masked giant left him alone, and he stood to clear his empty bowl. He’d barely touched his Janari ramen, but he couldn’t think about eating lately. He wasn’t hungry for food. Price was hungry for…

The Force push that entered his mind nearly knocked him off of his feet. Price felt the warm, all-encompassing sensation of being plunged into hot water, sunk up to his neck, skin tingling and flushing from the heat. Suddenly, his clothes were clinging to him, making him suffocate in the heat of the pool, too constricting and too warm.

Then, before he could catch his bearings, his cock began to tingle. He began feeling lithe, eager fingers playing along his length, rubbing across his head over and over and over and over, and he was stumbling back into the dining chair, missing it and slamming into the ground.

His vision was doubly exposed, and he could see both the galley and the dark blue bathroom of the other Force user. She was seeing him, too.

Her eyes were black, like two gaping doorways to nothingness, and yet they held a comfort in them that made him want to dive deeply into her gaze. Her dark hair lay plastered against her sweating forehead and cheek, and a full, pouting mouth hung open and gasping. She needed him, wanted him badly, and she had crossed time and space to find him.

Her whisper in his mind was a sound and it wasn't,

There you are.

As he watched her strong, well-muscled arm twist and dip below the hot waterline, he felt her ministrations within himself. When her two, arching fingers found the tight fleshy bundle of nerves inside of her cunt, he felt her work happening inside of him at the same time.

His cock strained at the sensation, feeling warm and wet and stroked in all of the most unnatural ways, and Price was incapable of stopping it. Whoever she was, she was incredibly strong in her power, but she didn’t seem to understand how to wield it.

John sent out a touch to her, just as a test. A long, swirling tendril of his Force traveled far and wide to caress the skin of her breast, and he immediately regretted it.

She felt him, alright, and she used her own strength to grab him and yank him to her. His mind was towed across space to her bath, and his soul stretched through the inky blackness to land on top of her in the large, cerulean pool.

Back in his ship, his first officer, Ghost, had returned to find him on the floor of the dining hall along with his security officer, Soap, and his helmsman, Gaz. The three men were trying to help him up, thinking that his writhing was that of a man in pain, not realizing he was trapped in the overwhelming swell of her ecstasy.

“Let’s get him to the medbay, c’mon,” Ghost commanded.

“Cap? Are you alright? Talk to us, mate,” Gaz helped Ghost hoist him off of the floor and drug him down the hallway.

John Price couldn’t make a sound, not when his mouth was pressed to hers in a deep, sensual kiss. He was frozen in place, feeling her Force wind and tangle itself around and around his cock - from the inside and the outside - as if it were a long, constricting Yundari snake, with its smooth golden skin and thousands of tickling little legs.

Every little glittering, sparkling, explosive sensation she felt, he felt. She guided his aching dick to her hole and fit him in, pulling him into her with her magic, manipulating his huge body like it was nothing. Price gritted his teeth and wrenched his eyes shut, shouting,

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“Captain? Wait!” Soap almost had his hand caught in the door.

They had opened the port to the medbay, but just as they tried to put the captain inside the room, he had used his energy to shove his men out and crush the door’s latch behind him, effectively trapping them outside.

Finally alone, and knowing they would have to run all the way back to the armory for the laser saw to cut open the door, Price began to strip out of his uniform, wincing from her other-worldly affection. He kept having to stop undressing to catch his breath.

To his incredible joy, she was using her energy to overwhelm his fat cock, and it began leaking into his pants, slick with sweat and precome, throbbing against his clothing painfully.

It felt as if he were fucking her, guiding himself as well as being guided right to her most sensitive spot, every single kriffing time. As she increased her pleasure, she increased her hunger for him. Her mouth was on his neck, on his hairy chest, licking his skin and biting him every time another layer of the uniform came off.

For her, it looked as if his clothes were floating in the pool, strewn about like leaves on a pond, his boots bobbed in the water like fallen apples. Meanwhile, his cock was filling her in a way she had not imagined possible.

When she had dreamt first of this bearded captain, she had been terrified of him. She watched as he made his way, ruthlessly, across the badlands, killing swarms of Huttese pirates, casually taking out their death cruisers like it was a side-job of his. He was a merciless commander, and he spared the terrorists no quarter. Whole planets were saved because of John Price, and she began to feel herself admiring him - especially when he came back to his rooms covered in warm, green blood.

Now, she had finally been able to feel his energy signature. He must be close, she thought. She usually had no idea where he was or even when he was (time and space were funny that way), but he was always so lovely with her.

While he lay there, fast asleep, his subconscious would seek her out. He’d chase her through a mental glade, a prairie that existed only in his mind, hunting her down like a hound would a hare, and then he’d have her however he wanted. More often than not, he would eat her until she cried hot, passionate tears. His mouth and tongue would leave slick, wet drool along her folds, and he would use his Force to press into her walls in a rhythmic, thrusting motion, swirling it around her in a delicious pattern, lulling her into an orgasmic trance.

She had practiced on herself, trying to mimic his somnolent affections, but she always came up short. Hers was nothing compared to his immense power. The Force was almost physically visible around him like a golden aura. But, he didn’t seem to notice it, or if he did, he kept it under such tight control that he had forgotten just how strong he was.

He seemed to find it now, though. She felt him toss his men back like they were nothing, and his magic had melted the steel of his door together - which should have been impossible.

Naked and flushed red, he was ready for her now. She’d gotten the jump on him while he was vulnerable, thinking about her Force signature again in the kitchens, almost as if he was calling her to him.

Price gathered himself up and lay on the bed in the medbay, closing his eyes and entering into a deep meditation. He was hunting her.

Find me, John. Come find me.

I’ll find you, love. And when I do, you’re mine.

Meanwhile, she began to clench herself around him, pulling and tugging against his heavy rod like her body was her hand. John cried out in a dark shout, his back arching from the bed, arching above her in the bath, shoving more of himself deeper and deeper into her, his heavy girth stretching her cruelly.

He looked into her face with those bright blue irises, shining in the gleam of the pool. One by one, he pinned her limbs with his Force, spreading her open like a fresh specimen, trapping her beneath him. As part of his mind searched the galaxy for her, the other part wrapped itself around her like a vice, squeezing and pulling her body closer and closer to his, and yet she felt so far away, witnessing her cosmic pleasure as one witnesses an eclipse.

Price felt her come on him, her body vibrating beneath him as if she would explode, and the champagne burst of her fluids around his shaft were enough to make his vision hazy. He was dizzy from the pleasure, and his cock pulsed hard inside of her from the sensation.

He was ready to come with her, and he had no idea how mind-altering it would be. She had tightened her pussy and her power so fiercely around him, that he couldn’t move within her. He could only spread his Force inside of her belly, warm and thick, and use her like a sleeve. She sent him back the feeling he was providing to her, and they became trapped in a tortuous loop of white-hot bliss. Her walls ached from trying to contain all of his sticky come inside of her, and her womb swelled from its inclusion.

Then, in the middle of his languid kiss, he was gone. Something had severed their connection. She wailed at the loss, trying in vain to reach for him, splashing through the water like a shark chasing its prey.

Price jolted off of the bed, covered in come and searching for her. His Force reached farther than he had ever seen it go, hunting her down, still hungry for her.

Had she cut him out? No, something had though. He had to find her. He was close, that much he knew. She was somewhere in this solar system, but with seven habitable planets and two space stations, he was desperate to figure out how to narrow down his search. All he had were her eyes and the blue of her water.

It was enough. It had to be enough.

Sitting up, he rubbed a tired hand down his face and put his pants back on along with his boots and tunic. He burst open the lock with ease, something that should have surprised him but he knew his power now. She had shown him his own depth of Force, and he was shining with it.

Ghost and Gaz were still in the hall and they jumped back in shock.

“Captain! Did you just -” Gaz didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Land the ship in Cassadaga City. We’ve got a new target.”

“Aye, sir,” Ghost acknowledged his order, but he kept and eye on his captain.

Something was definitely not right, and Ghost vowed to himself that he was going to find out what was affecting his commander.

[squishycheekanon]

Another sweet sweet price thot💋

Okay but let’s talk about Mountain man Price. He retired a few years ago and decided he much prefers the solitude of the beautiful mountains, with the tips of them all covered in snow. He likes the quiet, knowing he won’t run into anyone here. No one from the little town at the bottom of the mountains would be brave enough to hike the mountain trail.

He remembers the day he built his nice log cabin with the help of his trusty lieutenant of course. Simon helped his Captain one last time, before parting ways. Price wanted to be alone, after everything he’d experienced in the military, he wanted it to be just himself and the weather to keep him company.

He’d have the survival skills no doubt about it, but the more time he spent up there the more his social skills began to fade away. He’d have to come down every six months or so to restock his food, he make his trip down the hike trail to the little town at the bottom of the mountains and through the woods.

But the shop workers weren’t his biggest fans. He’d practically clear them out of their stock, the poor little local shop. They didn’t like his attitude either, found him strange and unapproachable. Though that’s exactly what John was going for. The less people that spoke to him, the better.

Until he met you of course.

It was only your second week at your new job, you’d just moved to the little town around a month ago and this was the only job available after some woman called Darlene went of maternity leave.

My gosh the way you’d be so nice to him having no idea the stigma that surrounded him and how suprised he’d be at the kindness you showed him. He’d actually look forward to coming down to the town.

He’d come more often as well, saying he’d ran out of supplies and yet he’d only buy a bag of fruit or some meat. Then he’d start to tidy up his appearance too, trim his over grown beard and moustache back to its former glory. The blush that would spread across your cheeks the first time you see him like that.

Hair trimmed too, you’d be able to see his perfect lips and crooked smile. It provoked a feeling in you that you’d long forgotten. Slowly but surely he’d start trying to flirt. Trying. Though you found it endearing how bad he was at it. Finally though he’d succeeded asking you out on a date and fuck the moment he’d turn up in his dark blue jeans, black shirt and dark brown leather jacket and boots. You swooned.

He had the charm turned on, especially after his phone call with his ex team. They could all hear how nervous their former captain was for this date. It made them very intrigued to meet you one day.

John didn’t miss a beat, almost as if he’d laid this date out like a mission. Going step by step to win your heart. He made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, made you smile until your cheeks ached. Ordered the food and drinks impressively, no umming or stuttering.

He gave you butterflies when he reached over the table to grab your hand in his larger one. The skin was rough and calloused, but it felt amazing against your hand. He loved how soft your skin felt against his. He traced around the palm of your hand with his thick index finger, those gorgeous ocean eyes gazing into your soul.

After dinner, John took you to a local bar that you were pleasantly surprised with. A few drinks later you tipsily confessed how handsome you thought he was. The longer the evening went on, the more longing looks and teasing touches were shared.

The evening ended with the two of you slow dancing until last call. The way your bodies pressed together, the intimacy and warmth. The way he’d always make eye contact, almost as if he was trying to read you. The way he held you so tender yet tight, his large hands on your body. It all just felt so right.

John walked you home, looking so sad when it was time to part ways. “Please, let’s do this again sweetheart.” When your manager Billy had called you that, it made you feel sick. Had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, disgust shivering down your body. But when John said it, damn. Your body shivered in delight, the deep mumble entangled with that delicious accent of his made you gulp back a lump in your throat. You swear your underwear was a little wet too.

You nodded leaning forward to kiss his cheek goodnight, John was quick to take your cheeks into his hands and press his wanting lips against yours. He was hungry and almost vicious when he kissed you, it made you wonder what kind of lover he was like as he pressed you against your front door and kissed you like he’d never get the chance again.

[ghouljams]

Because of you I’m constantly thinking about cowboy!ghost and cowboy!konig’s thick waists. Hmmm I bet my papi price has one too. It makes me salivate. It haunts and follows me everywhere. Thank you for these divine depictions my deity 🙇🏻‍♀️🙇🏻‍♀️

(I’m such a slut for how plush these dirty men are) (Also sorry I keep letting these horny thoughts out in your asks..it’s a disease now I think)

God, yeah. You know Price is eating good, best fed man in Texas by his account, previously the best fed man in England and he had to WORK to keep from showing it, but now?? Oh he is enjoying the strong man physique, he's got that soft around the middle padding that just makes him looks stronger. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror and inspecting the layer of fat over his pecs, over what used to be abs, leaning closer to check the sprinkling of grey starting to make its way through his beard. Price thinks he looks pretty good. He doesn't miss the hard lines, feels like he's got more fuel in the tank to do the heavy lifting.

He especially likes settling you on his stomach, moving your hips back and forth, back and forth, grinding your pretty pussy against his happy trail, slicking the coarse dark hair with your wetness. He loves the way your fingers squeeze his pecs, the way you grip at his soft edges for purchase as he pleasures you. It feels an awfully masturbatory if he's being honest, making his pretty wife grind against his hairy stomach, watching your hips buck as your clit is teased by his curls, the rough hair dragging against your soft folds. Oh he can almost feel that sweet cunt clenching around nothing as he grinds your hips down against him. Price may say this is for you, but it's not, it's for him.

He just wants to watch you fall apart and know that he's the one who made that happen. He wants to hear your whimpers as you work up the courage to beg for his cock, or he wants to force you to come without it. Either way he gets a show, so why shouldn't he move you like a toy? That's what you are, isn't it? A toy? Brainless and shuddering with your eyes rolling back as he makes each little zap of pleasure roll through your clit and up your spine. He rocks you back, inches you grind by grind towards his cock until you're desperately trying to follow the motion of his hands, you pretty pussy drooling as it rubs against his fat cock. You try to lift your hips and he pulls them back down, shushing you. He knows baby, Daddy know you want him to fuck you, but he can't right now, you have to earn it. You can do that, right? Of course you can, smart girl.

You just have to let him keep doing what he was doing, bringing you to the edge of pleasure like a toy, building all that tight delicious heat in the pit of your stomach until you can't take it anymore and start to beg. And you will beg. Then he'll pull you back to his stomach, and make you come all over it. Come all over the body you helped build with all your wonderful cooking, and then he'll thank you properly. Just let him have his fun for now, and fall apart.

Good girl.

[yawnderu]

Sweet home — Captain John Price x Reader | Part I

Slowly writing more again until I feel better<3

"I missed you so much." John says, dropping his heavy bag on the floor before scooting you up in his arms, spinning you a few times playfully before setting you down.

"You have no idea." He whispers, arms wrapping around your waist as his face seeks shelter on the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet smell after over a month of being away on missions.

"Welcome home, John." You can't help the laugh that escapes your lips at the tickles his beard causes, gently pushing his head away before giving his lips a gentle peck.

"It's good to be back." He leaned forward, nipping at your lower lip playfully before giving you a full kiss, the pressure of the stressful missions slowly going away the more he was with you. He broke off to breathlessly whisper in your ear.

"I need an extra taste, sweetheart." You giggled and playfully hit his arm. Even after years of being married, certain things never change.

"Let's shower and then you can have a taste. You smell." You say teasingly, grabbing his hand and dragging him with you to the bathroom. As much as you love him, he smelt like a bizarre mix of sand, smoke, gunpowder and sweat. He rolled his eyes playfully, one of his hands on the small of your back as you guided him in, locking the door behind you.

"It's not that bad, is it?" He asks jokingly, already knowing the answer is yes. You simply sniff around him, pretending to gag and dragging a laugh out of him, the sound rich and deep that always made you fall even more in love with the man.

"It's awful, but... I did miss you a lot, so let's clean you up." You help him get out of his dirty uniform, taking a second to admire him hole. Price is a grizzled veteran, a muscular and fit body being living proof of just how much he moved around while on missions. You run your hands over his hairy chest, admiring the dark hair all over, scars faintly visible in some areas that only added more personality to the beast if a man your husband is.

"Someone's happy to see me." You comment playfully as you look down at his bulge, already starting to remove his pants and boxers, the 7-inch uncut cock or your husband pressing up against his stomach, tip glistening with precum, and veins that you have traced with your tongue along his shaft hundreds of times.

"Happy doesn't even cover half of it." He replies, eyes glued to you as you take your time to admire him, the way your eyes set on every detail of his body as if he was sculpted by God himself never fails to make his heart weak. His hands go to your dress, pulling it up slowly while he takes his time to admire you as well.

"Bloody hell." He whispers, eyes on your body as he begins to remove your underwear. No matter how many times he has seen your bare body, he always admires you like it's a work of art— and in his eyes, it is. There's nothing more perfect than you, nothing more rewarding than making it back home to his lovely wife.

His hands gently run up and down your hips, the warmth of them leaving a path of fire anywhere he touches as he brings you closer, planting soft, gentle kisses from your neck, going lower and lower until he finds your chest, both of his hands gently cupping your breasts before leaning down more, his lips finding one of your nipples. He begins to lick all around it slowly, only putting it in his mouth once he hears your needy moan. His tongue teases you, rolling the nub up and down, teeth gently biting on it enough for the bundle of nerves to make a path of warmth spread all the way to your cunt.

"John..." His name being moaned out by you sounds like music to his ears, one of his hands firmly holding your rear while the other one starts to play with your free nipple, rolling it around his fingers, gently pinching and pulling. He hesitantly lets go, offering you a sheepish grin as he guides you to the shower.

"Got a bit ahead of myself, love." You take a deep breath, laughing softly at his comment despite the warmth pooling up between your legs. The hot water washes over your bodies, embracing each other lovingly before you lean down to grab the fancy body gel, spreading it on your hands, shooting your husband a small smile while you start to spread the gel all over his body, shamelessly feeling the muscle that seems to cover his entire body over a thin layer of fat.

"I'm really proud of you." You say softly, hands massaging the tense muscles on his back as he groans softly, enjoying your fingers working on his sore muscles. He leans down to give you a kiss as a small "thank you", the exhaustion of the mission slowly catching up to him all of sudden. He leans his body closer to yours, arms wrapping around your waist before gently running a hand down the length of your wet hair.

"Mhm..." He mumbles softly, your words reaching his heart, as they always do. He may be a hardened soldier, but right now? He's pure putty under the seemingly magical hands of his wife.

[thewulf]

Hey love this might be a dark request. But one I've been needing however feel free to not write this or write it in a happier version for yourself. Who this fic is with I'm torn between John price, gaz, or aragon lmao. But let's get to it. 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. "maybe it was my fault" "maybe I'm being sensitive" "it's my fault". How I came to terms of it being sexual assault was due to my mother and best friend telling me it was after I came to them about it. I just need comfort you know? Despite my family knowing, like most my issues a lot of things are brushed aside and I feel invalidated, which causes me to seek validation getting me into such problems. So I just need a hug and confirmation that I have someone. Even if fictional.

Have a lovely month hun, you deserve good things❤️🤗

Aww love I'm so sorry that happened to you :( people can be so cruel... but I can certainly write something comforting/sweet for you.

This one is giving big John Price energy. Idk he always seems like such a big teddy bear for the right person. Here's what I'm thinking - feel free to message me if you don't like the direction!

Captain Price has always had a soft spot for you (I'm thinking reader is 25-30 while Price is 35-38). You'd joined TF 141 a few years prior as their tech specialist (kinda like Penny from criminal minds!). You went on missions with them but didn't always go into the field. There so happened to be a mission you weren't required to go on so the guys packed up and shipped out. When they got back Price noticed something off with you immediately. Shying away from him and his usual touches you loved so much. Kinda keeping your head down when he/the guys are speaking. Not speaking up or bantering them as usual.

After a week of your odd behavior he finally decides he needs to talk to you. He catches you after a training session and the comfort insues. Kinda feel like reader has to breakdown and he builds her back up kinda thing. Hella heavy but supppper comforting/sweet at the same time.

Thank you for trusting me with your request! <3

[hunterbunter3000]

141 Sweetheart, bursting through the door: OH MY G O S H YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED TODAY--

141 Sweetheart pacing back and forth, ignoring the fact that she walked in the men's locker room with tf 141 shirtless:

Ghost: ...Love.

141 Sweetheart still talking and pacing:

Price: Sweetheart.

141 Sweetheart: AND THEN HE-- huh

Soap, smirking: We're changin' 'ere, St.

141 Sweetheart:

141 Sweetheart, backing up: Oh.

141 Sweetheart, slowly closing the door: Sorry.

(Everyone knowing she's still there)

141 Sweetheart, opening the door again: Nice assets by the way-

Price: Sweetheart!

141 Sweetheart: SORRY

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: some military jargon, mild angst, brief mentions of sexual activity in the past, brief mentions of violence

Summary: Sgt. Rory Sinclair with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment of the British army has been called on to assist with a joint US/UK operation. Quickly discovering that her Commanding Officer for the mission is a man she's met before...

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis. Will also be available to read on AO3.

October 13, 2017 09:37 - Special Reconnaissance Regiment Headquarters, Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom 

Rory sat in her cubicle, grey plastic walls surrounding her, free of any personal items. Scouring hours of footage shot during a scouting mission in thermal vision, taking note of timestamps and important location details for her report, she couldn’t help but taste the acrid pang of jealousy. It was the duty of her and the other SRR operators in the office to painstakingly comb through reports and footage, collecting intel. The nerve center for army intelligence. Keyboards clacked and phones rang as information was filtered and passed along to where it was needed.

"Sgt. Sinclair."

A deep voice broke the monotony around her, it was one that few ever heard unless the powers that be deemed it so. She’d only heard it once before when her transfer to the SRR was approved. Spinning in her seat at her desk, she rose to stand, her hand raised in a salute as she stood at attention. "Colonel Rourke, Sir?"

Rourke, a man with decades of experience as part of the British army, stood at her desk. Brusque and stern, he was a bulldog of a man trapped in an office space. He would have been more comfortable leading a fleet of tanks rather than an infantry of analysts. "At ease, soldier." She relaxed, hands held behind her back as he continued, "I don't make a habit of personal visits, but I've just left an important meeting and I need your attention for a moment, Sergeant."

"Of course, sir."

“Follow me.” Leading her away from the bullpen she was sitting at and towards a quiet corner, a potted plant was the only company there. Free from prying eyes and ears, he turned his back to the rest of the room, and lowered his voice. "There's a joint operation happening between the Americans and the SAS, and they require our assistance. However, they're looking for boots on the ground experience, and a fair portion of the SRR operators currently available for missions of this sort of nature just don’t have that. But you –"

She nodded, her face falling somewhat. She'd only transferred six months ago and was still settling in. The SRR HQ provided a different type of work than she was used to, but she appreciated the change of pace it gave her, utilizing a different portion of her skill set. It also meant she was closer to her father rather than being half a world away in the middle of a war zone – but a soldier could only be at peace for so long. 

"I understand you were transferred here to clear the headspace, but I can’t think of anyone better suited. You have an impressive record, Sinclair. A real asset. You’ve a history with counter-terrorism, been in the thick of it, and I have a Station Chief with the CIA here who wishes to speak with you."

It wasn't a question or an offer. She had been selected. An honor bestowed upon her. There was no turning it down. Not that she would. Ambitious, career-oriented – she had no reason to say no. Walking past the cubicles of operators, it was a stark contrast to where she was less than a year ago. The ground no longer shook as bombs dropped overhead, bullets didn’t tear through the air or rip through kevlar, it was quiet here. Safe. She still played an important part in the war effort, but without the risk to life and limb. The blood no longer dripped from her hands, though that still didn’t make her clean. 

The colonel stopped outside a large meeting room and opened the door for Rory, directing her inside with his hand. The room was empty except for one woman with a coffee and a laptop sitting at a long table. Dressed in business casual clothing, she looked prepared for a day at the office compared to the soldiers around her wearing their uniforms. Looking up, her face serious, she tilted her head in Rory's direction but spoke with the Colonel, "Is this her?"

"Yes, this is Sgt. Sinclair."

Like a child being spoken about between a parent and a teacher, she was recognized as being there, but not as part of the conversation. Things had been set in motion, all of which she had yet to be made privy to. Rory was no stranger to working on a need to know basis, moving up the ranks meant for much of her career she often merely had to follow in the direction she was being pointed. This was certainly no different.

"Good to meet you," the American said with a nod of her head. "I'm Kate Laswell." Holding her hand out to the open seat beside her, she directed Rory to it. "Take a seat."

Appearing sure in her steps, even while the stress took hold, she stopped at the table and took a seat, exhaling her breath finally as she settled into the chair, still trying to hold the proper decorum expected of a soldier. 

"You can relax, Sinclair. It's just you and me." Laswell looked at the Colonel and the door quickly closed, leaving the two women to sit alone in the large, echoing, blank slate of a room. She sipped her coffee, her eyes shifting to the screen of her laptop before speaking again. "I assume the colonel didn't reveal much about what's going on here, did he?"

Shaking her head, the short choppy locks of her chestnut bob hovered around her neck. "No, not really. Just that you're looking for boots on the ground?"

"Not exactly. We have the boots, it's more so a certain expertise." Kate glanced over at the younger woman, her brow lifting. "Why's a soldier like you working behind the scenes?"

Rory stretched her neck from side to side, cracking her knuckles. A cigarette suddenly seemed like a very good idea to her. "It was suggested I take a transfer from the field after I completed my last tour.” Glancing over at Laswell, she noticed the woman had begun looking right at her, scrutinizing her. “I spent the last several years in Iraq during the civil war. Working with CIA, PMCs, whoever my unit was assigned with." Her eyes fell to her fingers as she started to pick at the hangnail on the edge of her thumb, the skin underneath as sore and raw as the memories.

"Off the books?"

She cleared her throat and returned Laswell’s eye contact. "Oftentimes, yeah."

Kate paused, her head tipping to the side. "Seen some things, huh?"

Rory tried to get a read on the woman, it was hard to get much from her face or her demeanor. There was empathy or at the very least some form of understanding. Was she a soldier in the past? Or just an overpowered cop like some of the other CIA agents she'd met? She scratched her brow, clenching her jaw. "Did some things too."

"Not afraid to get your hands dirty then." Laswell’s face never seemed to change, her mouth drawn in a straight line as she folded her hands on the table. 

"I did what was asked of me."

"Like?" The station chief seemed genuinely interested in her, trying to get a beat on her all the same. Both of them were in the process of figuring out who they were about to get into bed with. 

"Primarily I focused on targets of high importance to prevent further incursion from the insurgency. Assassinations, interrogations – been there, done that."

"Assassinations?" Kate's voice rose, her interest piqued.

"I”m SSC trained. Ran a fair few missions that left me in some nests in high towers."

"A sniper, huh?"

"Yeah. When needed."

Nodding, Laswell’s straight face seemed to break for just a brief moment into a nearly unnoticeable grin. "How many confirmed kills?"

"High importance targets? Thirty three. I lost count of the random sods," she said with a shrug.

Laswell sipped her coffee, unfazed, hearing news like that was just a walk in the park for this woman. "No stranger to deep recon then?"

"It's in the name,” Rory confirmed. “It's what the SRR does. It used to be part of the SAS, but broke off and focused on the intel part of things. It’s why I was specifically transferred here and not just put on leave. Command didn’t want to lose someone with my experience."

"You have some connections with intelligence?"

"I have friends at MI6."

"Good.” Laswell’s attention fell on her completely. “Well Sinclair, I have a friend who's running this op – he's SAS – and you sound like just what he's looking for. If you're up for it, of course." 

Rory contemplated the decision for a moment, she hadn’t thought she’d be back out in the field quite so soon, and considering the fact that none of the details of the mission were being revealed to her until she agreed to come, she assumed she was heading into some real shit. Her hands slipped from the tabletop and into her lap, a tremor shaking through them out of sight, before she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great." Laswell shut her laptop and scooped it under her arm as she stood, collecting her coffee cup in her other hand. "Come with me."

Her brow lifted. "Just like that?" She was well accustomed to the bureaucracy and strict measures the British army seemed to enforce, things didn’t just happen, not without cutting several layers of red tape and after being passed through multiple hands first.  

"Just like that."

She stood up and followed behind the Station Chief, keeping pace with her as they moved through the halls. Rory was in no position to argue, nor would she want to, it was nice not to be beholden to the rigidity of the chain of command. This was more cavalier. Very American. 

"So, you straddle the line between spy and soldier, huh?" Kate asked, her eyes kept forward.

"Sort of like you, I assume?" Rory asked with a sideways glance, her lips curving into a half grin.

"Sort of." Kate huffed out a laugh. "Yeah."

They turned the corner and headed down the stairs, the reverberations of their shoes on concrete bouncing off the walls. Once an RAF base, now the headquarters of the SRR and the 22 Special Air Service Regiment in the midlands, it was sprawling with large open fields. Out on the parade, a helo sat waiting, it’s rotor warmed up and the blades spinning. There was no time to grab her things, it was get up and go, the moment she said yes she was being tossed from the frying pan into the fire. The urgency was clear, she had likely already been transferred and meeting Laswell was simply a courtesy. 

Ducking under the blades, the shadow of each one cutting across the sun as it broke through the dense cloud cover above, Laswell pulled open the door of the helicopter. “Head inside,” she said with a tip of her head towards the waiting entrance into the vehicle, raising her voice to be heard over the engine. 

Rory climbed in and looked over at the row of seats, noticing another soldier sitting there, already strapped in. His face stern as he shifted, adjusting his hat, the overwhelming scent of cigar smoke drifting from him. Scratching at his cheek, his nails dragging through a thick fuzz of facial hair, he glanced over at her and then turned back to Laswell who took the seat across from him. "I assume this is the one, Kate."

"Yeah, John, this is her.” Laswell pulled on the front of her jacket as she sat back and got comfortable. “Sergeant Sinclair, meet Captain Price."

Rory's brow furrowed for a moment at the name. It was familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint how. Was it one she'd seen in a report? As she strapped into her seat, steely blue eyes measured her up before turning his attention to lighting the Villa Clara cigar he’d pulled from one of the pockets of his vest. 

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant."

His voice was deep, rumbling, and it stirred something in her. She was no stranger to appreciating someone’s timbre, but this was something different. He seemed so familiar, she couldn’t place how, but she knew it. Intimately. And then the memory hit her – the bathroom stall. Five years prior, one night in a bar. The sheer chance of them meeting like this damn near improbable. Her stomach dropped. Jesus. His face was nearly recognizable beneath the facial hair that hadn't been there the first time they met. His voice had become more gruff, lower than she remembered. The cigar he was currently smoking gave a clear indication as to why. Swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to burn at her cheeks as she looked at him, gauging his reaction to her name - if he recognized her the way she suddenly did him, he didn't show it.

"Good to meet you too, sir," she said. Her gaze fell to her hands, remembering how it felt when he had held them. Trying her damnedest not to look at him, she preferred to appear nervous over the mission and not the man who had suddenly become her commanding officer. 

Tugging at the tactical vest he wore, Price tilted his head back, puffing on his cigar and looking out the window as the helicopter began to move, the inside shaking as they lifted up off the ground. 

There was no backing out now.

Laswell passed her a tablet, and started giving her the brief. “That is Igor Zorokov, Russian oligarch and alleged trafficker. Weapons, drugs, information…people.” Rory’s eyes locked on the screen, scanning through images of the man. Older, blond, in relatively good shape. Not the type someone might assume as a master criminal upon first inspection. “He has ties around the globe, but his stronghold is in Eastern Europe. Supplying several military coups with funds and weapons, he’s a dangerous man with people at disposal in his back pocket, and we have reason to believe he’s funding terrorist activities.”

“And we’re investigating him? Or taking him out?” Rory needed to prepare for exactly the type of mission this was going to be. Recon was one thing, taking someone’s life was another. 

“Erring on the side of caution. The Russian government could easily sweep just how far his global reach is under the rug if he’s brought to light, especially since it’s been beneficial for them. We want to find out who he’s funding and put a stop to the pipeline he has through his many ventures.”

Rory hummed, muttering, “Putting a tourniquet on before cutting off the arm.” 

“Exactly." Price's voice cut through the roar of the engine. "First stop is Kastovia, have a friend who’ll meet us there and get us into Russia undercover.”

“Nikolai?” Laswell asked.

“Yeah.”

It was clear these two weren’t just casually paired together for the mission, there was a long-standing relationship. Trust. She certainly understood how being a soldier who just so happened to have a friend who could get into the places they normally couldn’t would be beneficial, having an American ally even more so. 

“I hate to be a bother, ma’am," Rory spoke up, "but I’m not exactly prepared.” She felt damn right naked. Her duffel was down in the red brick complex below that was steadily getting smaller and further away. Her gear, her weapons, all of it was disappearing out of view as she sat there in her fatigues.  

“No need to worry about that, Sergeant.” Price replied instead, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Nik’ll have us covered when we land.”

All she had to do now was sit back and relax (as best she could) and try not to let her mind stray too far afield as the memories flashed before her eyes of the man who sat six feet from her.

[bubuslutty]

imagine John Price saying "Bravo Six, going dark" as he goes down on you to eat pussy? I can't take this anymore. 😭

[squishycheekanon]

Just a little price thot🥰🌸

You meet Price in a supermarket. Bumping right into him, more like slamming into him. The pint of chocolate ice cream and box of extra soft tisses that were safety tucked in your arms going all over the floor. Moving rather swiftly for a beefy man of his size, he quickly darts to the ground to grab the dropped items.

He’s so careful about the way he gives them back to you, holding them out to you with a small smile. The comfort items look so much smaller in his hands than they did in yours, he doesn’t even have them all the way out to you. They’re practically against his stomach, unconsciously encouraging you to come to him for them.

Then you look into his eyes and you think you feel your knees going weak, he definitely feels his buckling. The way you blink up at him with your pretty eyes all teary with smudged mascara and your soft lips formed into a sad little pout.

The words who did this he instinctively wants to say die on his tongue when he realises you aren’t his to protect, you don’t even know each other. Strangers, and he already wants to fight your battles without even know what they are.

“M’sorry.” You sniffle.

“Not a problem little darlin.” It’s a deep rumble from within his chest when he speaks. Thin lips curving up slightly, his bushy moustache moving with them, those thick mutton chops and that full beard catching your attention too. His voice is gruff and accented. You reckon you could listen to it every second of the day and never want for silence.

John was there from then on. He was just there, had inserted himself into your life, almost like a stray cat you feed once and suddenly it comes back everyday. This gorgeous older man had simply become a part of your day to day life.

You’re heading to work? He’s giving you a lift in his black chevy truck. You’re on your lunch break? He’s luring you outside for a cute little picnic in the park. You’re finishing work? He’s taking you back to your place and staying. He’s cooking you dinner, massaging your tired body. Lingering touches and longing stares. He wasn’t even trying to hide how much he fancied you.

Especially when it came to you dating other guys. He’d hate when you’d come home after a date, he’s in your apartment obviously waiting for you to return, and you’re all sad it didn’t work out. Questioning yourself and your worth or beauty. It would have Price’s ruggedly handsome face contorting in anger.

He would tell you no man would ever be good enough for you. He would also say no one was deserving of you. John would express that although he very much believed that, he would love it if you gave him the chance to try.

You would be so confused what he meant. Only understanding when he would hover over you, caging you in with his tall, burly figure and repeating the words “be mine” over and over again like a mantra.

He caught a look in your eyes at his words, similar to the one he saw when he first met you. It was clouded with confusion and want but it was there. Price knew. It was so obvious he wondered how no one else had seen it. But he knew, one look into your pretty eyes and he knew you needed taking care of. And the retired vet was more than happy to fill that role in your life.