#parental John Price

[wispscribbles]

"No Rest for the Wicked" readers, I am sorry for taking forever. Writing's just taken a backseat, but it's not abandoned. I don't know when chapter 13 will be out, but I've got a good chunk written so far. It's Price's POV and he's going through things. Here's a lil preview under the 'keep reading'

cw for grief and major character death (that's NOT ACTUALLY mcd, but Price doesn't know that.)

---

He had never felt a hollowness like the one that was currently threatening to swallow him whole.

He had lost count so very long ago of how many soldiers had died in his time in the military. Friends, acquaintances. Fresh faces alongside long-time allies. He still remembered the first times it happened clearly, of course he did. No one forgot the first deaths in the field, be it those caused by your own hand, or the ones by the enemy’s. 

With time, a grim acceptance settled in his very bones. With every loss, every death, it all blurred into one. Terrible each time, but… expected. 

But his team was different. This was different. 

“Playing the self blame game, sir?” Soap had mumbled back in that cell, quick and cheeky as ever, despite fever-glazed eyes.

So maybe Price was a hypocrite. He had told Soap not to waste his energy on where he’d gone wrong, yet at this moment, all Price could think of was all the ways he had failed his men. Like father, like-

Grief twisted its blistering blade even deeper in his chest, the pain near physical. His mouth tasted like static.

Having favourites was frowned upon, but it was no secret that there was a special bond between the members of the 141. They were more than colleagues, brought together by facing impossible odds together and coming out on top. 

Gaz, Soap, Ghost… They were Price’s family. 

He had seen the fort go up. He had felt the earth shake beneath his feet with the force of the explosion. 

They weren’t supposed to be here. Yet, they were. For him. To save him, Soap had said.

Fiery and sweet John, always ready with a reassuring smile in even the most horrible times. Even when death clung to him and his eyes were red-rimmed and sporting dark bags, he had always been ready to keep up spirits. Loyal to a fault. Stubborn to it, too. So selflessly brave that it toed the line of reckless stupidity, despite being a smart lad in every other sense.

And strong, steady Simon. The man who was plagued by so many demons, that Price had marvelled at how he even kept standing. Yet, he did. Level-headed, despite all the things that should’ve broken him. Surprisingly soft in the rare glimpses he showed those he trusted. Protective of his team, of the few people he had allowed into his heart.

Something had just clicked with them. Simon steadied Soap just enough that his head left the clouds so that he could view the world below more clearly. John never stopped digging until he could drag Ghost from the earth, wiping the dirt gently from his eyes so that he could see the blue skies above once more.

What a dangerous profession for love like theirs. It went beyond all that fraternisation bullshit, even more so once the war truly ripped normalcy and structure from their grasp. Price’s fear of losing them had grown alongside their increasingly obvious affections. He’d realised that losing one meant losing both.

Then he’d heard Simon Riley laugh, really laugh again. He’d noticed a calm in the otherwise perpetually restless John MacTavish. Price would never have traded that for anything.

When they’d left the task force and the military behind, abandoning the edge on which their lives had so precariously balanced, their captain had felt none of the disappointment he’d expected at losing two of his best soldiers; instead he’d felt the deep rooted worry for them leave his body, knowing they were safe. 

Those two deserved gentle things, despite the way the world had moulded them for violence. Maybe even because of it.

They were gone.

He knew he played right into Solovyov’s plan, only stoking the doctor’s satisfaction, when he yelled and screamed and thrashed. This was all for Price, after all. His hell. 

But he couldn’t stop. Didn’t stop fighting until he ached, didn’t stop shouting until his throat was raw, his voice used up. The anger that had distorted the doctor’s face since he’d found out Ghost had ruined his carefully laid plan smoothed out slowly, replaced by sick glee at Price’s reaction. Straight, white teeth in a face still covered in drying blood, glinted back at the grieving captain. Taunting his predictable emotions.

Price couldn’t bring it in himself to care, as he watched flames lick the rubble of his friends’ grave.

When Solovyov and his men started moving him, Price hadn’t even noticed. Only when the smoke from the wreck disappeared from view, did reality wash over him like an icy shower.

Ghost and Soap were gone. 

The rest of the team were still searching for him. 

Gaz was leading a search party, a rescue for their captain. None seeing the string dangling him like mere bait. Yuri was being tracked, and they were unaware of the danger they were in. The parts they had yet to play in Solovyov’s twisted play for an audience of one.

He had to do anything in his power to prevent that from happening.

[meowpupp]

Hi , im here with a thought, i can just imagine puppy reader crying to price about what kyle did and how she was just curious and she didnt really wanna disobey and to please not get rid of her and stuff like that , so kyles punishment is eating the reader out just exactly as price wants , price i feel like is more aggressive and less forgiving towards kyle compared to reader , i feel like price has that "nothing is your fault ♡" attitude for his sweet pup

pt1

owner!price x chubby!puppgirl x pup!kyle

tw//: p in v, oral (fem reciving), hybrid receiving, collars, rough sex, slight mention of overstim, fem reader, collars, probably my most filthy smut yet

prices heart breaks as you cry into his chest, clinging onto him tightly. in all his time with you, hes never seen you so distraught. your body is almost shaking, tail low and ears pulled back as you sob and babble. he just holds you tight, rubbing a big hand firmly up and down your back. “Shhh, s’okay pup. Talk t’me when youre ready, okay?” 

It takes almost ten minutes, tears still spilling down your face as you pull back to look up to him. “please, m sorry captain. i didnt mean t’break the rules,” your words are interrupted by uncontrollable hiccups and stutters, hands gripping his shirt tightly, “please sir, please don get rid of me. i promise ill be good!! wont ever break the rules again, please!!!” you break down into a fit of sobs again, whimpering into his chest as he holds you tight.

He easily lifts you up, your body melting into his as he sits you ontop him. you now straddle his lap, burying your face into his neck. its almost sweet, how youre so desperate for his comfort despite your expectation of rejection. price just holds you tight, hands firm and secure on your body, breath steady and soothing. once you calm, he slowly pulls the story out of you. every little detail. 

he tries to hide the way his face darkens as you speak, his eyes narrowing as you explain what kyle had done. once youre done, he sighs, hands still rubbing circles on your back. he glances over your shoulder, eyes lingering on the garage door. 

“stay here, okay? Be a good girl f’me and strip. kyles gonna say sorry for bein so mean.” with a kiss on your forehead, he lays you down on the couch, leaving you to follow his instructions. 

within ten minutes he returns, not even glancing at you as he enters. his eyes are trained on kyle, watching him closely. a leash is clipped to his sprenger collar. a new addition. 

he forces the other pup to kneel at your feet, hands forceful and grip rough. kyle is huge, broad-shouldered and muscular, looming over you between your spread legs, his eyes trained on your pretty cunt. you can almost see him drool, licking his teeth as he looks over your exposed body as if wanting nothing more than to grip onto plush waist and bury himself 9 inches deep. 

youre snapped back into reality as price tugs harshly on kyles leash, making the collar dig into his neck. “Speak, mutt.” the tone of his voice almost makes you curl into yourself. he sounds vicious, angrier than youve ever seen him. 

kyle eyes meet yours for the first time, “im… sorry.” he mumbles half-assed. you can tell hes itching for your soft body. its almost torture having you spread out for him, yet denied the permission to touch. 

price almost growls as he tugs the leash harder, causing kyles eyes to widen for a moment. “fuck, im sorry, i swear.”

price lets out a huff, pushing kyles head down, making him come face to face with your pretty cunt. “Show her, mutt. Apologise properly.”

its almost instant the way kyle buries his head in you. his hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you flush to his face. his nose bumping your clit as drinks in your slick. its perverted, the wet noises that fill the room, the way he groans as ruts into the couch as he devours you. 

price doesnt allow him an inch of space, denying him reprieve from your drooling cunt. his voice cuts through the mix of moans, directing kyle exactly what to do. telling him how fast, how slow, whether to suck your clit or thrust his tongue. hes almost cruel, tugging kyles collar harshly each time he doesnt listen, leaving angry red marks around his neck. 

but to you? well, how could he ever be mean to his sweet girl? a calloused hand cups your cheek, his low, growly voice talking you through your nth orgasm. he kisses your forehead, letting you hold his free hand tightly as your legs shake and your hips buck, your voice filling the room as you cry out. 

its only once kyles face is completely covered in your slick that he lets the pup pull away. hes panting, cock straining against his pants as he aches for release. kyles eyes meet prices, desperate and needy. “Captain, please, fuck,” his hands twitch as they hold your thighs, resisting the urge to pull your twitching cunt closer, “let me fuck her, ill make her feel so fucking good, have her screaming for you-” 

hes cut off, eyes wide as price harshly grips his jaw. “When are you gonna learn?” price reaches down, palming kyles growing tent, making the pup whine, “shes not yours to fuck.” he lets go, pushing kyle to the ground, denied and throbbing. 

price makes him watch as he gently picks you up, pulling you once again into his lap. your back presses to his chest, legs hooked around his knees, forced to spread. Price is quick to unbutton his pants, sinking you down on his fat dick. you can feel his hot breath tickle your neck as he laughs, finding amusement in the way your back bows as he forces himself deep inside you. 

his hands trail up the curve of your waist, coming up to cup your tits. he squeezes the fat, grinning as it bulges between the gaps of his fingers. you can both hear kyles whines, eyes trained on you as price starts to toy with your nipples for a moment. “moan for me pretty girl, let him hear how good i stretch out your tight fuckin cunt, how your pretty body belongs t’me.” his beard tickles you as his lips brush your neck, “bounce f’me pup, show kyle what hes missing out on.”

the roll of your hips is hypnotising, kyles eyes wide as he drinks in the sight. your tits slightly jiggle each time you come down, your thighs spread wide as price shows off your swollen cunt. “see that kyle? how she takes me?” price reaches out, gripping kyles arm and pulling. he lands with his cheek pressed against the soft pudge of your tummy, able to feel as price fills you with each thrust, “feel that?” price fucks up harder into you, making your body jolt as you squeak, “thats only for good fuckin pups.” 

he pushes kyle away again, leaving him to fall onto the floor, cock throbbing and aching as he watches your pretty cunt get ruined by your rightful owner <3

[ghastlybirdie]

John Price is, of course, the husband that has a special whistle just for you

Did he lose you in a store or needs to get your attention? He whistles in the way meant for only you

Only needs to do it once till you’re bounding the corner seconds later and going straight to him, no detours, smiling at him just the way he likes

It’s worked on day one and knew from then that you were his

[impossibleheartflower]

[gaycragula]

Hello there

Please could i request a child male reader (around 9-12, maybe younger idk you can choose) x 141. Platonic obv. Reader is being held hostage for reasons and they have to go on a rescue mission. When reader is saved he’s scared of them all except ghost who he just clings onto LMAO

cheers mate 🙏

Lost and Found

Pairing: 141 x Child Male Reader (Platonic!!!!) Warning(s): Heavy implication of parent death, politician family, child reader, locked in a basement, he gets fed i promise, i have no idea how the military works, angst? Word Count: 2069 Masterlist

The walls were an ugly, cracks running along them, and you’re sure there was mold growing in one of the corners. The only light in the room was a small lightbulb in the center of the room that was rarely left on. The only door leading out of the room was locked from the outside. You’re not sure you exactly wanted to leave the room. Not with the heavy thumps of feet that stomped through the first floor of the home.

It was a nice summer day when it happened. You’d just finished a nice dinner with your parents when the sirens began to blare. The sound cut your ears and you covered your ears, trying to block out the noise. You were whisked out of your chair by your dad before  you could get up yourself.

Hushed words were shared between your parents as they rushed through the home to the basement. Your father’s grip was tight on you as he toted you down the stairs, your mother right on his heels. 

Dad set you down in a corner, trying to keep you out of direct sight of the stairs. He pressed a loving kiss to your forehead, your mother doing the same. 

“Be good and stay here,” your mom whispers, giving you a pained smile. Her lip quivered as she pressed another kiss to your forehead. “Mom and Dad love you. We always will.”

. Then, they left you, footsteps receding back up the stairs into the home. You heard the door shut and a silent darkness covered you. The silence only lasted for a moment. 

Something crashed upstairs and loud bangs made you cover your ears again. You curled further into the corner, trying to make yourself as small as possible. More crashing and something heavy hitting the ground sounded before it fell silent again. It was over… right?

The basement door slammed open and you gave a full body flinch. A flurry of steps rocketed down the stairs. Way too many to be just your parents. 

Five or six men came into your sightline. Each of them looked like they were armed to the teeth and it sent a jolt of fear through you. These men just ran through your house. Where your parents were. Where were your parents? 

They scoured the basement, flashlights leading their guns as they searched. For what? You weren’t quite sure but you hoped they would just look over you. The fear surging through your body was almost unbearable. It was hard to breathe, each breath fighting to force its way out silently. You tried to stay hidden for as long as possible but their flashlights soon exposed you.

They said something you couldn’t understand before moving on and returning upstairs when they finished. You heard the faint click of the lock to the basement and you were left in the basement by yourself again. You tried to fight the tears that began falling down your cheeks as you curled in on yourself. It wasn’t a very long fight and your face soon became wet with your tears. It hit you then that you’d probably never see your parents again.

It had been a week since it had happened. The men would leave food for you at the top of the stairs. You spent the majority of your days sitting under the light in the room, playing whatever you could find. Trying to distract your mind. You were suddenly happy your parents kept a chunk of toys down in the basement for storage.

Totes of toy cars that you pretended to race with, some toy dinosaurs you’d gotten years ago, left forgotten in the basement until now. There were planks of wood you’d dragged over that you drew on with some chalk your parents kept down there. The chalk worked well on the walls as well.

Drawings littered the small walls of the basement. Cars and dinosaurs littered the floor. Your house.. Your home, your family. Where did it all go?

You’ve tried to talk to the men on multiple occasions but they only either looked at you with disdain or spoke in a language you couldn’t understand. 

On the eighth day of the occupation, you heard those loud bangs and the shouts of men again. You started crying again, you didn’t even have a chance to try to stop it as you scrambled  back into a corner in the room again, hopefully out of sight. Out of mind.

It felt like ages before the house fell silent again. You heard the doorknob wiggle, muffled voices coming from the otherside. Light filtered into the basement as the door creaked open. “After you, Sergeant,” a gruff voice huffs, a hint of teasing to the tone.

A short laugh followed the words before steps were coming down the stairs again, flashlights dancing over the walls as they descended. “Ohhhh hell, look at this, LT,” a second voice whispers, a light lingering on the drawings on the wall. Silence fell again as the sound of more boots started down the stairs, flashlights whipping around the room before one fell on your form. 

—-----------------------

Clearing the home was easy. The bastards inside weren’t expecting an attack for a while. A home far outside any city line would surely work as a temporary base, right?

They thought so at least. So when the Scotsman barged through the door followed by six others, the occupants weren’t prepared. The firefight was short. The men inside scrambling to get to their weapons as fast as possible. 

It was Roach who’d noticed the door to the basement, calling over the rest of the team. “What d’ya thinks down there?” Soap chuckles as Ghost takes a hand at picking the lock. “More guys? Prisoners they been keepin’?”

“If I had to take a guess, probably prisoners. Family who lived here was big in the political field here. Probably kept them as hostages for ransom,” Price says, gesturing for two of the guys to stand guard at the front and back doors. 

The door clicked open and slowly swung open with a nasty creak. “After you, Sergeant,” Ghost huffs, nudging the Scotsman forward. Soap let out a short laugh before starting into the dimly lit basement. Ghost close behind him. Soap’s flashlight scanned the floors and walls. He noticed dinosaurs and cars littering the floor around the bottom of the stairs. He initially thought nothing of it. They knew a young kid lived here. 

He was almost to the bottom as his light scanned over a big drawing of a home and a family of three drawn in chalk. 

He felt his heart drop at the image. Soap was no master in chalk or anything, but the drawing looked pretty new. “Ohhh hell, look at this LT,” he says, nudging the other. Ghost went rigid for a second before gesturing back up the stairs for the other three to come down quickly. 

Flashlights scoured the basement, Soap wandering towards the darkest part of the basement. His light danced over the stone floor before the body of a little boy was illuminated.

“Over here,” Soap calls out, almost missing the way the kid jerked in response to his words. Soap handed Price his gun before crouching down next to the boy. Your eyes were locked onto him, tear stains evident on your cheeks and fear clouding your eyes. “We’re here to help ya,” Soap says, trying to offer his hand to you.

“Back off the kid, Soap,” Ghost mutters. “He’s scared shitless.”

Soap let out a quiet, barely audible sigh as he stood back up and stepped back to join the rest of his team. 

Your eyes shot from man to man. Your breath was heavy in your chest and you could hear yourself wheezing because of it. “Where are my parents?” You almost sobbed. Your voice was hoarse, throat tight as you waited for an answer.

The men felt their hearts drop at the pure pain in your voice. This kid, no older than 11 or 12 had his life turned upside down in a matter of fifteen minutes just a week ago. 

It was Ghost who made the first, well technically second, advance towards you, much to the surprise of the rest of the team. Just as surprising was the way you sat up to be face to face with him as he crouched down. 

He pulled a small picture out of pocket and handed it to you. It was a picture of your parents and yourself that you’d never seen before. “I don’t know where your parents are, but I do know that if you remain here, you’ll never find them,” Ghost spoke lowly. Just loud enough for you to hear. 

You nodded in understanding, shoving the picture in your pocket as Ghost stood up. He went to turn back to the team but paused when your hand grabbed his. You avoided his gaze when he looked back at you but didn’t pull his hand away. Instead, he picked you up and maneuvered you onto his back. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, laying your head down on his back.

Ghost turned towards his team who were all gawking at the scene before them. “Get goin’ and quit starin’ at me like that,” he huffs, nodding towards the stairs before turning to speak to Roach, Gaz, and Soap. “Get the kid some clothes and we’re gettin’ out of here.”

“Aye, L.T,” Soap almost stutters, pushing Roach and Gaz towards the stairs. Price chuckled to himself before heading up the stairs after the three, rounding up the other two that he’d stationed up there. 

“What’s your name?” Ghost hears you ask quietly.

“They call me Ghost,” the man answers as he heads up the stairs. He felt you nod against his back and you fell silent for a moment. “What’s your name?”

You tell him your name, which he already knew but he wasn’t going to tell you that. That started a short and quiet conversation between the two of you. You asked how long he’d been in the military, where he was from, what his family was like and Ghost answered you and asked you the same questions in return. 

It was a stark contrast to what the 141 was used to. Ghost was generally quiet on these kinds of missions. “It’s gotta be the kid,” Gaz whispers to Soap who nods in agreement. 

“Yeah but what about this kid is different from others we’ve found?” Soap whispers back, rubbing his jaw as he watched you and Ghost interact. Gaz shrugged in response before Roach chimed in.

“Maybe he reminds him of a family member? Younger brother or nephew?” Roach suggests and it was like a lightbulb went off in the other two’s heads.

“That’s gotta be it,” Soap nods. “Does anyone know anythin’ ‘bout his family?” 

Gaz and Roach shake their heads and Soap sighs. He opened his mouth to say something else, stopping when he saw Ghost shoot a look over his shoulder at him.

“Quit chattin’. Be on guard. We’re still in hostile territory,” Price mutters, ignoring the noise of complaint the three made before begrudgingly doing what they were told.

It was your first time on an aircraft. You were glued to Ghost’s side, eyes locked on the floor in front of you. Soap had tried to get your attention a couple times to no avail. If you did make eye contact with him, you were quick to look away as quick as possible. 

The others didn’t have much luck either. Roach had tried to speak to you while Ghost was carrying you and all you’d done was bury your face into the fabric of Ghost’s shirt. 

Price had been the most outward about it, asking to actually carry you so give Ghost a break. That was the only time you’d spoken to anyone besides Ghost. “No,” was all that came from your mouth as you shook your head. Ghost had chuckled and told Price he was good to carry you the whole way.

Ghost had given you his hand to basically ‘play’ with. You braided his fingers, bending them and whatever else you could do to keep your mind calm. The rest of the team couldn’t keep the smiles off their faces at the sight.

Who would’ve guessed. The big bad Ghost had actually a big softie.

[natelia-aldelliz]

Soap : Let's play two truths one lie, me first : I falsified my birth certificate, I beat up a superior officer before locking him in the trunk of his car, and I was arrested when I was 12 on account of suspicion of terrorist intent.

Gaz :

Soap : It was the last one, I wasn't actually arrested, they just paid a visit to my house to question me.

Ghost : My turn, I can't get married because I'm legally dead, my favourite colour is black, and I went to prison for murdering my family.

Gaz : I'm very scared because I know your favourite colour.

Ghost : Yep. I didn't stay long in prison though, don't worry, I had an alibi.

Price : I once caused a diplomatic incident that almost led to a war, I shot someone in the foot because he annoyed me, and I've been secretely married for ten years.

Gaz : I'm not sure I like this game, actually.

Ghost : I'm pretty sure I was to your wedding and it doesn't feel that long ago.

Soap : Wait, you're married??

Price : Yep! But it was only 6 years ago.

Gaz : Okay, my turn then : I don't think you're all fucked in the head, I'm scared for my own mental health and I want to go home, guess which one is the lie.

[clementine-thedestroyer]

Kinktober day 19/20: Housewife/domesticity kink + service - John Price x reader

Warnings/tags: Fem!reader, being married and a bit of being a house wife. Mentions of pregnancy at the end. Reader is also slightly a clean freak coded/gets hyper focused on cleaning- because who doesn’t, tbh. Fluff, then smut at the end.

Price’s favorite things about coming back from deployment.

Of course Price looked forward to coming home- seeing his wife after a deployment was what kept him going through the roughest parts of his job. But- in addition to the obvious reason of just missing his wife- Price had a particular fondness for those first nights back.

When he walked in, your eyes would light up- and he’d almost always find himself nearly tackled by your hug. He’d always laugh, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing you tight as he teased you for your enthusiasm.

During that first hug, he wouldn’t let go immediately. He’d press a kiss to the top of your head- keeping his lips against you for a moment longer- just to breathe in the comforting scent of you. He’d keep one of his hands wrapped around your shoulders, and the other one either nestled against the small of your back or dip of your waist. If you were wearing a shirt, he’d slip his hand under the fabric to run his rough, calloused hands over your soft, warm skin.

If it were up to Price, he would keep you wrapped tight in that bear hug the whole night- or at least till he decided it was time for him to scoop you up and take him to the bedroom. He’d only (reluctantly) let you go once you mentioned that dinner was going to burn.

On the nights when Price first got home, you’d always fuss over him. You’d insist that he sits down- bringing him a beer and making sure to take care of him as best you can.

You’d always try and press the TV remote into his hand, telling him to sit back and relax while you finished dinner. But he’d just smile and shake his head- content to watch you hurry around the kitchen and worry your sweet little head off over dinner. It was one of the few times he’d let himself give into your worrying and fussing- he might as well enjoy it.

He’d sit back and light a cigar, eyes following your ass and admiring the way the tie of your apron cinched around your waist. He’d smile at the way you bit your lip and frowned when you pulled dinner out of the oven- adoring how desperate to please you would get on nights like this.

He may even let you work yourself up about it, probably chuckling at the way your brow furrowed when you find a spot you’d missed while doing your regular before-price-gets-back-from-deployment cleaning spree: something he had, to no avail, tried to assure you multiple times was not necessary, and only discovered the existence of upon getting back a few hours early, planning to surprise you, and found you half way inside the oven. You were cleaning it, you said- although Price was a little concerned by the fact that you’d apparently been at it for nearly two hours.

At this point, he realized that there was nothing he could do to stop you, and just found it cute that you’d get yourself so worked up over getting everything perfect for him.

Of course, he wouldn’t let you stay worked up. Especially on nights like this, he was sure to kiss and praise you all he could. And at the end of the night, you’d always find yourself pressed firmly into the mattress underneath your husband. With Price’s fingers laced together with yours as he thrust slow and deep into you, murmuring against your skin about how perfect you were- how you didn’t need to try so hard to please him, not when just your smile brightens his entire day.

As his thrusts would stutter and he neared his release, his voice would go rougher and he’d suck a hickey beneath your ear and behind your jaw bone- making sure to tell you how much he loved you, how lucky he was to have such a sweet little wife. He’d tell you how he was going to fill you up with his cum and give you a couple of his kids, how he was gonna make you a momma so you’d hopefully stop worrying your pretty little head off over keeping the house spotless- “calm ya’ down a bit” as he put it.

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[cod-dump]

Graves: Why's everyone so desperate for them to mix? I think we should keep them separate.

Price, watching Soap and Gaz terrorize some Shadows: I think we should keep them in cages.

[alwaysshallow]

I've had a epiphany. (a self-indulgent one.)

Well not really- but I can't stop thinking about it and I wanna call it that so just ignore this

Parent Trap Captain! John! Price! X Reader

can be GN, I don't mind

Subtle changes like- they didn't meet on a cruise ship but actually dated some time during and after military school and then got married.

and they were just in a really rough patch when Reader! got pregnant so they decided to part ways

(and split the kids too! :D) lol.

Meet again 9 years later when Reader sends her kid off to camp at the same time as John.

Both the kids see them together (acting like ex-lovers and shi 🤭) but they don't see eachother until later that day and they're like "Woah! we look just like eachother! :oo"

Anyway you get the gist..

urs truly

💎 anon

i LOVE parent!trap au with john price oh my god anon. I JUST HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING

John never stopped loving you.

You hear this nine years after your divorce, when life decides to pull the greatest prank on you and both of you, you and your ex-husband, sent your kids to the same camp.

Twins, to be exact. They have no idea of the other one because it was supposed to be easier, to not see each other, at least until they're a bit older.

You talk to John out of simple human decency, with no intention to continue it whatsoever, especially not when your ex-husband has a smile wide like a Cheshire cat, and he's a devil in disguise. He just screams trouble, and he is one, when he shamelessly follows you to your car.

"It just seems like fate, binding us again" he leans against your car (his, he bought it himself, but insisted on leaving it to you). You want to tell him something about this, but you tie your mouth. If you're gonna go into bickering, he's gonna have a time of his life. He's just waiting for it.

"It seems like fate tells us that's the time for our daughters to meet–"

"–old Lucy is a little bit rusty." he hums, looking at your car. "There's a little dent here. I think I could fix it."

"You don't–"

"–probably needs a change of oil too. You've never been into cars, I need my kid to be safe and sound, you too, missus."

Missus. You want to fight him for that title, but he's just not listening. He's just asking questions and answering them himself, like you're not even a part of this conversation. The only times he pays attention is when he looks at you, his ocean blue eyes glistening, wrinkles in his eyes evident.

He's so different, yet, so familiar. Your daughter would love to meet his dad, probably.

You quickly brush that thought off your mind. You can't think like that. It's a trap, he wants you to think this way. You divorced with him for a reason.

[ghastlybirdie]

cw: dementia, short mentions of ultrasounds/children but gn!reader (no use of y/n or names, just 'you')

You always hated the color orange; ever since you were a child you hated it. It wasn't a gentle color like green and it never brought you happiness like yellow. It doesn't even suit your skin tone so you never could quite understand its purpose.

So why were you wearing an orange gown? It wasn't the worst looking shade of orange you've ever seen, but you didn't like the halter top or the bedazzled bodice of it all. Your hair is done so nice and the minimalistic amount of jewelry was tasteful. The strangest part, though, was the other person in the frame. You didn't recognize them. You hardly could of recognized yourself. But it was you, and beside you was a tall gentleman, your arm is slung over his and your head resting against his shoulder.

He's handsome, you think, but he's so clean, babied-faced and awkward in the picture. He's wearing a fancy sort of hat and a neatly pressed navy colored uniform, one with gold and green and red and blue badges a plenty. And his blue eyes shone in the flash of the camera light, his free hand resting on yours.

He's better off with a beard.

And you were right! The next photo you flip through you find yourself again, this time in a much more flattering red blouse, sitting across from the same man. You can tell cause he has the same smile, much more natural now, and the same blue eyes still sparkling through, and a beard grown in. The two of you are at a fancy table judging by the wine glasses and candles lit beside you, and he was holding your hand again, looking at you fondly. Despite the yellowing photo in your hand, it felt so real even just looking down at it. He's holding your hand so gently, even though the place and time eludes you, you could almost feel it in your fingers right now.

You could almost feel a calloused hands, rough in the pads of their fingers and palms, yet clammy all the same. You can't remember why. It was infuriating cause there was a taste in your mouth that made you salivate and belly grumble but you couldn't put your finger on why. If it wasn't for the half eaten plate of food in another photo, you wouldn't have remember that that was the food you ordered. You wondered if it was good. Was it? In the next photo it was you and the man again. Still holding your hand and presenting it to the camera, showed a ring on your finger. You looked so happy. So did he.

What a gorgeous wedding dress. It was ethereal. Serene. It was exactly everything someone could hope for. What you would of hoped for. Long train, full skirt but not heavy, sleeves that fell off your shoulders tastefully, and a bouquet that held all your favorite flowers.

Such a gorgeous photo, a beautiful alter and wedding venue... and such a gorgeous man. He's dressed simply. Tux, matching flowers, freshly cut hair. And mutton chops. You think it's strange... But still very attractive.

The photo is warm and bright, the people surrounding the two of you as you shared a kiss with the gentleman. You know he's the same one. You can feel it in the way your heart aches and pumps inside your chest.

What a lovely photo.

The rest make your heart ache more. Photos of others, more men with rugged and scarred faces, drinking and laughing while you stood over a grill. Photos of the man on the ground, in the grass, a dog laying on top of him. Photos of times of laughter and cheer, of family and friends, you think. Times of happiness. Pictures of ultrasounds and babies, toddlers running and school photos of plenty. Photos of memories. Frozen memories.

Photos that now rest wet in your hands, your vision blurry and hands shaking, a whimper leaving you even though just a moment ago you were just smiling. You were laughing when they were laughing. Smiling when these people smiled. None of them cried, so why did you?

You can't remember why. You couldn't remember why you started to cry. You wept, even, as you pulled the photos out of the protective sleeves, tossing the album book to your feet as you looked over each photo.

You knew that these were photos of you, photos you stood and posed in, photos that had sounds and scents already built into them without a reason in your mind why.

And this man. This man plagued almost every single one. You were so close to tearing one printed picture in two, one of you in that wedding dress you can't quite put your finger on why you were even in front of the camera in the first place; but you paused when you caught sight of writing on the back.

~Wedding Day - Spring of 2014~

So you checked another.

~141 Bar Crawl, Bachelor Party~

And another.

~John's Big Day - Ceremonial Banquet~

John. The man with the beard? The man in your photos, the one with the blue eyes and crinkly eyes?

"Love, what are you doing?" A coarse, gravel voice jolted you in your seat, the rage filled tears ceasing long enough for you to see from where the source of your fright came from.

The man stood over you with a frown in his brows, nose whistling through the mustache as he peered down at you. He gripped a cup in one hand, kneeling down with a deep groan to pick up the photos scattered at your feet.

Your eyes never left him. Never lifted from his features. His hands were rough, even from here you could tell, and his mutton chops were still the same: full and well maintained, though much much more grey. Even with the annoyance they held, his eyes were still the same, brilliant blue. They were much better in person than in the photos.

John.

"I told Maggie not to leave these things out. Oh- You even took my favorite one out." Despite how unkindly of a mess you've made, he never raised his voice. Bothered no doubt, but not angry. Not towards you, you think. Even now, as the photos were carefully plucked and placed back in the photo album, his voice remained calm. Soft.

John.

He sat on the arm chair next to yours, nothing in between you two other than the well loved upholstered chairs you both sat in, both facing towards the bay window and overlooking a tidy garden.

"Do you remember this day?" He asks gently.

Yes. You shake your head. He sighs, something sad in his exhale.

"This is the day I married you." He speaks as if raising his voice would unleash a well kept secret. "I think it's one of the best I've ever looked." He smiled at you, blue eyes so bright, crinkling the same way they've always had.

John.

"And this was when I came home with a broken collar bone. I never seen you so angry before- Oh, love."

You're crying again. You can't remember why, but you understand. His thumb wipes away your tears, thumb pad much softer now after all these years.

"Don't cry. Not for this. We can look at these another day." He's tired. You can hear it in his voice. You heard it whenever he came home. It was so familiar. "I made us stew in the slow cooker, okay? I'll get you a bowl and we can watch something on the telly, yeah?" He stood before you could answer, though you don't think you could. Your tongue was heavy with words, the tip weighed down with something that made your whole body shake. He didn't seem to noticed, focused on his thoughts that he spoke aloud. Just as he always did.

"John..?"

He stood stone still, a shiver visibly running down his spine. He couldn't move like he used to, the captain retired decades ago and stiffness settled into his old bones by now, but he turned so fast that the room spun with him.

You both stared at each other in silence, the air heavy with something unspoken in the past several years, the seconds passing by painfully long. You were the one who finally broke the silence.

"John... Oh- John..!" Was all you could say, your voice rasp and cracking from lack of use, tears once more falling from your eyes and onto your lap. "John, Jo-John... I missed you."

John's face mirrored yours, trembling hands and watery eyes as his mind settled back into his body, feet already moving towards you. He called your name, tender as it ever was, as you cried and reached for his hands. You held them tight as if they'd disappear right from your grasp. He didn't mind. He held you just as tight. Looked at you just as deeply. There were words exchanged in your touch and gaze, ones you both practices and done time and time again.

But you knew those words weren't the ones you wanted to say. You wanted to say more, they were held prisoner in your mouth for so long, yet those weren't what you wanted to say. You knew you meant more. You tried, you did. I love you. You're an angel. I'm sorry. You're my husband. You're my life. I see you, John. I'm here, too. I love you.

But you forgot.

Instead, all that you could say was: "I need to go home..."

John's smile didn't break, not enough for you to see, he kept it up just for you; the smile, the photos, the old music and all. He kept it in hopes to help your memory. It worked, once upon a time, but time waits for no one or thing. It was a crude lesson for many. For him, it was a lesson learned again and again. And for a moment, he nearly lost hope.

"I know, love, I know." He wiped away your tears once more, letting his own fall into his beard and mask the weight that crushed his heart day by day, little by little. "You're home. I'm here. Come, come help me tidy up, yeah? Dinner is ready, love."

Okay, John.

---

Inspired by this prompt~

[lunarw0rks]

so do you think price would tell the boys about the baby he found or would he wait until she at least knows how to walk before mentioning anything to anyone just yet — or would they find out by themselves? (ie accidentally bringing one of her belongings to work, one of her butterfly hair clips getting stuck on his uniform)

omg i just had the cutest idea about this

so,, you and john are good friends (and that's why he called you to co-parent in the first place). and that means the guys know about you, probably have seen or met you before !!

ANYWAYS,,

imagine it's been a few weeks; price is still on leave. coming into his office for paperwork isn't unusual, so they think nothing of it. it's like 2 a.m. and he needs something from his office; even on leave, he's working from home.

until they notice something. price, disheveled — wearing a shirt he didn't bother to tuck in, and he looks like hell... and then, the diaper bag slung over his shoulder, which he's failed to notice in his fatigue.

"um, Sir?" gaz would be the first to say something, putting the pieces together. how the hell had their captain had a baby?! was there a secret partner they didn't know about?!

the captain mumbles a dismissal and finally gets the file he needs, tucking it under his arm. then, his phone buzzes in his pocket. he shushes his giggling team (and he's failed to realize why they're giggling).

he answers the call, hearing your voice on the other line, reminding him to pick up more formula on his way back — and that the little one misses him. the entire 141, jaws practically on the floor when they hear price address you on the other line. his friend !! or had he lied this whole time, had some domestic double life, with a child?

come to think of it, it had been months since you showed up to any gatherings. perhaps you had been pregnant in that time... right?

john was too exhausted to notice that he'd grabbed the diaper bag instead of his work bag :( and now he revealed his wholesome secret!

no, the child isn't yours, as much as it isn't his. that's going to be a complicated predicament to explain — and you know you'll have to eventually.

wouldn't it be a shame if you had one together to shut them up?

[resident-idiot-simp]

MW characters and their godly parents

Price - Athena

Gaz - Aphrodite

Ghost - Hades

Soap- Ares

Laswell - Iris

Nik - Hermes ( @spottlessspectre )

That's all I have rn I'll come back with more but feel free to give suggestions

Originals

If you are confused by any of the choices feel free to ask and I can explain

[wdymidekn]

BEBE!!!!

LOOK AT HER!!!!

[questforgalas]

Price and Laswell put all of their parent energy into keeping their children (Soap and Ghost) from running off on a murder spree as soon as Graves comes on screen during Shepherd’s call

[iceman-soup]

masc!reader x price

The air is freezing on the hill that you and Price had decided to climb up an hour ago when there was still a tiny slither of light left in the sky. You're wrapped up not-very-warm in tactical gloves and your usual everyday clothes, maybe a little generously with one jacket shared between you. But hey, it makes for a perfect excuse to sit down on the damp grass once you reach the peak, huddled together like two cold penguins.

Stars litter the darkness above the hill, and you're high enough to see out for miles. You rest your cheek on the top of John's beanie, holding his head to your chest and his hands in your own. He cuddles into you closer, pressing his lips to your palms every so often.

"Can see the whole city from up here," you murmur, kissing his forehead and gazing out over Liverpool as he does the same. Your Captain hums, eyes flicking to you for a moment.

"Look out for my nana's house." You glance at him, then giving him a gentle squeeze, reply, voice a little quieter and understanding.

"'Course I will, sweetheart."

[lisenberry]

WIP Wednesday Thoughts        

Working title:  There’s smoke seeping out of your bloody teeth (but you’re home somehow)

(From 28 by Zach Bryan)

Recovering Price x Recovering Reader

A/N: I have way too many WIPs at the moment, but this one came out of nowhere and I’m wondering if there’s something more here.

It’s a little darker than my usual, but somehow rides the line of more fluff than angst if you can bear with me through the backstory.  I’m also seeing a trend where I love to paint Price as a complete mess and struggling with himself.  I just know he has some Big Repressed Feelings buried deep in that broad chest.  Like, the Captain takes care of everyone else on missions but needs more help than he lets on in the real world.

CW:  Accidental overdose, Addiction/Recovery, Alcoholics/Narcotics Anonymous, a whiff of PTSD, single parent/recovering addict Reader, written with afab/fem reader in mind, but it came out fairly neutral. Overall heavy subject matter, but with some hope/humor to follow.

John fucked up.  He knows it, Kyle knows it.  And now Kate does, too.

He’d promised his sergeant that he’d lay off the whiskey, but he didn’t tell him about the pills.  The oxys and the benzos.  And sometimes, when things got really bad and he got in a little too deep, the ketamine and fentanyl. 

It was pure luck that Kyle found him.  That he was worried enough to kick the door in, strong enough to pull him out of the bathtub, and quick enough to do CPR until the ambulance arrived with the Narcan. 

He hadn’t meant to end it.  His life, that is.  Just the never-ending pressure in his brain.  The headaches, the sensitivity to light, everything being so bloody fucking loud.  Two decades of explosions, gunshots, and crashes had racked up on him, each one a tithe to be repaid down the line.  And it seemed they’d all come due at once.

In the aftermath, Kate had paid him a visit when he’d been ready to check himself out of the hospital, and she’d given him a directive.  It wasn’t even an ultimatum.  There was no other choice. 

Get help.

She wasn’t kicking him off the team.  She wasn’t even putting a note in his file.  The military wouldn’t know, other than an extended personal leave signed off on by high enough names no one would question it.  A 30-day stay in a doctor-supervised substance abuse treatment facility, and another 60 days at home with weekly check-ins.

Who he told other than Garrick would be up to him.

He agreed, of course.  It was his last chance to get his shit together, maybe even more than he deserved.  The look on Kyle’s face when he regained consciousness would be ingrained on his brain for the rest of his life.

“I always thought it’d be Ghost.  Never you, Captain.”  It wasn’t disappointment that clouded the kid’s eyes with tears, but fear.  That it could happen to any of them if they weren’t careful.  That the danger didn’t end when they came home.

Price hadn’t asked for help, but he knew when to take it.

Which is how he met you...

He tried to attend four to five meetings a week.  They were usually at night, after dark, when the urge to settle into his chair with a bottle of scotch and a few extra Percocets was all he could think about.  When the distractions of the day faded and he was alone with himself. 

If he could hold the urge at bay long enough, in the company of others, even if he just sat and listened, then it would pass like a mad dog thrown a bone.  And then he could go home in peace, until the dog came back around again.

In the beginning, he jumped around to a new meeting each night.  There was St. Stephen’s, St. Giles in the Fields, St. George’s, the Salvation Army, and the Tenant’s Hall.  Some were for beginners, and others just for men.  He didn’t want to become familiar with any particular one, preferring instead to lean on the Anonymous side of the program.

He sipped his tea and ate his biscuits, all from the back row.  Quietly reflecting on the opening speaker, and the stories of hope and struggle that followed.  At first, he found it hard to relate.  Kids who got hooked on drugs in school to escape from abusive parents, or former gang members and dealers looking to buy their way out of poverty and the system that abandoned them.

He’d been born into money, went to good schools.  His demon didn’t come at him until later.  It had taken its time and made roots into an already established foundation.  Like a parasite, it didn’t take him young, or weak.  It took him when he was at his strongest and broke him down from the inside out.  He was already infected long before he saw the signs.

He had no one else to blame, and didn’t think he’d find much sympathy from telling his story.  He didn’t want it, anyway.  He just needed to get through his 60 days and be back on a mission again.

But then one Friday evening, he walked into your regular 7pm meeting in the basement of an old church and everything changed... 

It was the best around, because they had a small children’s area in the next room, with a library and a sweet old nun who would read books and watch the kids for free.  It had become a local favorite for parents without childcare, and the group had grown as close as a family. 

There were a few of you who took the snack duty very seriously.  There were no stale, day-old donuts or flavorless boxed biscuits.  Instead, the spread was enough to rival the set of the Great British Baking Show.  Cakes and puddings, shortbreads and tartes.  The coffee was freshly brewed, not the cheap instant granules.

It had made you very protective, still always a little wary of newcomers, as against the spirit of the program as that was.  It had become your safe space.  Where you brought your children, and shared your biggest regrets and darkest moments.  And mainly because, despite the progress you’d made in your recovery, you’d never fully be able to trust again.  To look at another person and not see a potential threat. 

Outside the church, you knew where the dealers stood waiting to find you on an off day.  Where the pimps lingered in the dark alleys ready to meet you when you were broke and desperate.  They were the obstacles you could see.  Like a video game level you’d failed so many times you could jump and duck and kick your way a little further with each respawn.  You already knew there was a bad guy waiting on the other side of that door and all the tricks to avoid him.

It was harder to tell with the quiet, six-and-a-half-foot tall, bearded man in the beanie hat and combat boots slumped in the back row.  He’d popped up about a week ago, and always arrived exactly five minutes early.  He'd wait patiently until the snack line died down and load his plate before sitting in the same seat, closest to the door.

He hadn’t shared with the group yet, but offered a few pleasant nods and greetings to anyone who’d initiated a conversation.  It seemed rude not to reach out, if for no other reason than to gauge his intentions for yourself.  Was he here because he was serious about his addiction, or was someone forcing him to come?  Some set number of days on his coin before he’d be free from his sentence and never be heard from again.

It didn’t matter, and it wasn’t any of your business.   

But that didn’t stop you from looking over at him a few times during your share, only to find him paying close attention.  His serious features unreadable. Enough to make you stumble on your words and lose your train of thought.  Everyone there knew your story already and could probably recite it for you.  It just helped to recount the good parts, along with the bad.

“Did you make these?” he asked afterward, a rumbling voice breaking through your thoughts as you sat in a folding chair sipping the last of your coffee. 

He held up a half-eaten salted caramel chocolate chip blondie.

“Yes, those are mine,” you answered with what you hoped was a polite smile.

“I thought I saw you bring them last time I was here.  Fucking delicious.”  He popped the rest of it into his mouth, catching the crumbs with his thick dark beard.  “But your hair’s different, isn’t it?” he added, once he’d swallowed his bite.

You reflexively raised a hand to your head, remembering with a laugh the events of your day.  You’d nearly forgotten the fiasco at work a few hours before.

“I work at a training salon.  I let the students experiment on it when there aren’t enough dolls.”  You didn’t have time to fix it before you had to pick up your kids from their afterschool program.

“It’s green.”

“Very green, yes.”  You found yourself smiling again.  Before that, it’d been black with purple tips.  “Who knows what color it will be next time.”  You stood and folded up your chair.

And tried not to read into it as he took it from you promptly and stacked it over with the others.

“Reason enough to come back and find out, then,” he called over his shoulder.

And you didn’t miss when he stopped to grab the last blondie on his way out.