#task force x reader

[tobeholyistobeempty]

Can you write something about Price noticing how you haven’t been treated right? Like maybe you had a few ex boyfriends who just broke you and made you feel like you weren’t ever enough. 🥺 (may or may not be a self insert.) Love your writing btw!!

first of all anon i’m so sorry you went through that baby. you’re so loved and worth more than any man could offer🤍

———-

john price can’t believe the way some men have treated you.

you tell him like it’s nothing. one night you’re just rambling on in casual conversation, vocalizing shrugged off scars you’ve had for so long you’d begun to forget they’re even there. in some ways he knows he can relate to that. but you’ve had three ex’s. only three — young, all of them. cocky, lazy with their love and even lazier with their kindness. type of boys who think women are built just to serve them, something to wear out rather than protect and hold onto.

and it’s the small things that seem to bother you most, which perplexes john even further. it’s like you’ve almost dismissed the nights they didn’t come home, the nights they left you on read and wondering. he doesn’t quite get how the things that make your eyes glassy are the goddamn easiest ones.

things like not bringing you soup when you were sick. not checking the locks when you were anxious. not saying thank you after you worked all day just to come home and cook for them all night.

never a compliment, never a praise. spineless.

and price just listens. he’s always listening. taking this all in with understanding behind his eyes, the kind that settles in men who’ve seen too much of the world. yet for all he’s witnessed, this shakes him. in a different way.

the easy cruelty of men too soft to goto war, but hard enough to grind a woman down just to make themselves feel bigger.

you’re younger then him by a good ten years. he notices it sometimes in your slang, the way you dress, how fast your fingers move over the keyboard on your phone. but it doesn’t translate in your eyes. your eyes carry the weight of all you’ve survived.

it’s astounding that someone your age, so young and free and beautiful, has been put through so much. you laugh easy but flinch faster. you don’t ask for help because you don’t expect any — that’s what gets him the most.

he’s not old-fashioned, not entirely. he’s no prince. no knight in shining armour. but he’s lived through gun fire and war zones and body bags and too many fucking funerals — and what war has taught him, more than any training camp or mission accomplished, is this:

you hold onto what you love. you fight for it.

so he starts small. notices when you’re tired before you say it. hands you tea without asking, because he’s noted you like atleast three a day. chamomile before bed. he listens when you speak. checks the locks at night. kisses your shoulder in the morning as the two of you make breakfast. this is an equal partnership. price won’t let you do anything alone if he can help it.

he builds you a garden. takes care of your car. he calls you love and means it. never stops saying thank you. he tells you you’re brilliant, fucking hell — you’re beautiful, and makes sure you stop saying sorry for things that were never your fault in the first place.

and he watches, with time, as you start to believe him. as that truth begins to take root. reblossoms in spring to be nurtured through winter.

he’ll never let a day pass without you knowing how much you’re worth. and not to the boys who took you for granted, but to a man who’d lay down his life to see you smile.

because you’re everything to him. you’re the catharsis he’s been fighting his whole life for. he’ll make sure you feel it.

[oaksgrove]

The Codebreaker

pairing: Platonic!Task Force 141 x Reader

synopsys: You had always kept your distance from the team—focused, distant, and hidden behind a mask. But when a mission goes wrong and you get gravely injured, the team is forced to confront what they’ve never seen: the person behind the mask.

warnings: Angst, injury, near-death experience, trust issues, emotional tension, some swearing, Ghost being protective, emotional revelations, Ghost and Reader’s situationship…

word count: 1798

No one in the 141 knew much about Phantom.

You were a ghost among ghosts, a shadow wrapped in tactical gear. A tech expert, the best they’d ever seen—able to slice through encrypted networks like butter, reroute enemy drones mid-air, and turn any battlefield into a controlled digital playground. If the mission required intel, misdirection, or cyber sabotage, Phantom had it covered before anyone even finished asking.

But off the field?

You blended into the background, as if you were part of the walls. Not unfriendly, just… distant. Spoke only when necessary, never rude but always concise. Answered when asked, nodded when acknowledged, but never lingered in conversations longer than needed.

You weren’t cold, just hard to grasp.

A constant presence but never the center of attention.

The others noticed, of course.

Soap had once muttered to Gaz, "He doesn't take up space."

And he was right.

You never interrupted, never inserted yourself into banter or stories. When you were in the room, you were invisible in a way that had nothing to do with their tactical skills. You occupied the corner of the rec room with a laptop, earbuds in, or sat with a sudoku book in your hands, solving puzzles in complete silence. Always listening but never there in the way the others were.

Even in base, You never exposed their face or body. Gear came off only in private, always ensuring no one caught so much as a glimpse of skin. High-collared undershirts, gloves, layers—never a stray detail out of place.

The team accepted it without question.

Phantom, how you were called, was an expert at keeping unknown.

And everyone just assumed you were a man.

Soap had tried, on multiple occasions, to break through that quiet shell, determined to make some kind of dent.

"Do you ever relax, Phantom?"

"I’m relaxed now."

"Christ, mate, that’s sad."

Phantom hadn’t reacted, just kept solving their sudoku puzzle.

Gaz had once thrown a pack of gum at you during a mission debrief, just to see if you’d catch it without looking. You had, effortlessly, then tossed it back without a word.

Price trusted you without hesitation. He never questioned the silence, never pushed for more than they were willing to give. If Phantom said something was secure, it was secure. If Phantom gave a time frame, Phantom met it.

And Ghost?

Ghost understood you in a way the others didn’t. He never pried, never asked. He knew what it was like to live behind a mask, to carry a name that wasn’t really a name.

Phantom wasn’t close to the team—not in the way they were with each other. But they were part of it. A constant presence, woven into the unit’s rhythm.

And that was enough.

Until the mission where everything fell apart.

"We’re in and out. Quick, clean, no unnecessary noise" Price said, voice steady as he laid out the plan.

A cartel base deep in hostile territory. High-value intel buried in their systems, locked behind multiple layers of encryption. The team needed Phantom to get in, extract the files, and be out before anyone knew they were there.

Easy.

For them, at least.

"I’ll crack their network before we breach," You said, tapping at your wrist console. "Should have access to their security feed before we even hit the ground."

Price nodded. "Ghost, Soap—you’ll be Phantom’s cover. Gaz and I will clear the outer perimeter. We move fast. Any questions?"

No one spoke.

"Good. Wheels up in ten."

Phantom did a final check of their gear, making sure their mask was secure, their gloves snug against their fingers. The mission was simple.

They’d done riskier ops before.

So why did something feel… off?

The op started smoothly.

You breached the cartel’s network before your boots even hit the ground, feeding the enemy false security reports and rerouting camera feeds. The team moved through the compound like shadows, taking down targets with ruthless efficiency.

They reached the objective with zero complications.

Too easy.

You worked fast, fingers flying across their portable console as they pulled the files. They barely glanced up when Ghost muttered, "Make it quick."

A few more keystrokes—then a small confirmation beep.

"Got it."

Price’s voice came through comms. "Extraction point secure. Move."

And that’s when everything went to hell.

The moment they stepped outside, the alarms blared.

"Shite," Soap cursed.

Your blood went cold. "That’s not me. I disabled their systems—"

Gunfire erupted before they could finish the sentence.

The cartel had known they were coming.

A goddamn trap.

"Move!" Price barked, his voice sharp through comms.

The team pushed forward, cutting through enemies as they raced toward the extraction point. You stayed low, recalibrating your wrist console to jam the cartel’s reinforcements.

Everyone was so focused on the fight that they didn’t see the sniper.

Not until it was too late.

A sharp, searing pain tore through your chest.

You staggered, breath catching, as your body folded under the impact. Their gloved hand pressed to their vest, but it was already warm, slick. Blood. Too much of it.

Distantly, you heard Soap’s frantic voice through comms.

"Sniper! Tech's hit—shit, they’re down!"

Boots pounded against the ground—Ghost, closing in fast.

"Stay with me, mate," he ordered, voice tight as he dropped beside them. "Keep your eyes open."

You tried, really tried, but breathing wasn’t working right.

Every inhale rattled, wet and sharp, drowning them from the inside. Panic clawed at their ribs.

Ghost’s hands were on their mask.

"Gotta get this off," he muttered.

A sharp pocket knife was pulled from his belt—a sleek line drawn across your mask—then cool air hit your face.

Ghost froze.

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

And then you blacked out.

When you woke up, you felt like drowning.

Pain swallowed you whole.

It was the first thing you felt, the first thing that told you—you were alive. It burned, sharp and relentless, twisting inside your ribs like a serrated knife. Every breath rattled, wet and broken, lungs struggling to work through the thick haze of agony.

Something beeped steadily nearby. The scent of antiseptic clung to the air, cold and sterile. The weight of blankets pressed down on you, too heavy, too confining.

Hospital.

Your fingers twitched weakly, brushing against the IV in your arm. The world blurred and steadied, the dull light above flickering as you forced your gaze to shift.

You turn your head sluggishly, and that’s when you saw them—you weren't alone.

Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap.

They stood around your bed, too still, too silent.

Their usual confidence, their sharp-edged ease—gone. In its place was something heavier. Something unfamiliar.

"How bad?" you rasped.

Soap let out a breath—sharp, unsteady. "You almost died, lass."

Lass.

The word lodged deep, piercing more than the bullet had.

Right, they knew now.

Something cold curled in your stomach.

Price’s voice broke through the heavy quiet. "Shot went through your lung. We barely got you out."

You swallowed, gaze fixed on the IV in your arm. "It doesn’t change anything."

A scoff. Bitter. Tired. Ghost.

"Yeah, it does."

The words weren’t sharp. They weren’t a reprimand, or an accusation.

They were quiet. Weighted.

Gaz ran a hand down his face, exhaling hard. "Bloody hell, Phantom. We didn’t know what to think."

They were still processing it. Still recalibrating everything they thought they knew. Phantom could see it in their faces—the way their eyes traced over her now, like they were seeing her for the first time. Like they were realizing how much they didn’t know.

"Should’ve told us," Price murmured, not unkindly.

Not a command. Not even a question. Just… something else. Something you didn’t know how to name.

You wet your cracked lips. "Would it have made a difference?"

Ghost’s jaw tightened, gaze darkening. "You wouldn’t have been bleeding out on the ground with a mask suffocating you."

Silence.

Cold. Heavy.

Soap let out a breath, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked… lost. Frustrated. "Do you even trust us?"

The question settled like a weight on your chest.

Did you?

You had spent years making sure no one got close enough to ask. It had always been easier that way—no questions, no attachments, no complications.

You opened your mouth.

Then closed it.

Price’s voice was quieter now, steady. "Look, we’re not mad. We just��" He exhaled, shaking his head. "We care, kid. That’s all."

Gaz nodded. "You’re family, Phantom."

Family.

The word dug into your ribs like shrapnel.

Your fingers curled into the stiff fabric of the blanket, lungs too tight, throat raw.

Soap sighed, rubbing his temples. "Christ, lass. We thought we lost you." His voice cracked. Barely noticeable. But it still struck like a bullet between your ribs.

Ghost was silent. Arms crossed, shoulders tense. His usual unreadable mask firmly in place—except for the way his fingers twitched against his sleeve.

Like he was holding something back.

Like he was holding himself together.

You weren’t used to this.

Weren’t used to people giving a damn about whether you came back or not.

"I’m here," you muttered, unsure if it was meant to reassure them or yourself.

Ghost’s eyes stayed on you, unreadable but piercing.

"Yeah," Ghost murmured. "Barely."

You wanted to joke, to brush it off, but there was no dodging this.

Not when you had seen the way they’d looked at you the moment you woke up.

Not when the usual mate had been replaced by lass and she.

Soap let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "Y’know, I should’ve guessed. You were always too fuckin’ quiet. The real mystery is how we didn’t clock it sooner."

You raised a brow. "Because I made sure you didn’t."

Soap huffed. "Aye, well, I’m starting to think we should’ve pried a little harder."

"You would’ve gotten nowhere," you muttered.

"Yeah, I’m getting that."

There was a long pause, thick with something unspoken.

Then, Ghost shifted closer, standing at the side of the bed. "You’re one of us, Phantom." The words were calm, certain. "Doesn’t matter what’s under the mask. Never did."

Your throat tightened.

Price sighed, stepping forward and placing a careful hand on your shoulder—solid, grounding. "We’ve got your six, Phantom. Always."

Gaz nudged your foot lightly, the closest thing to a brotherly shove he could manage with you stuck in a hospital bed. "Next time, don’t scare the shit out of us, yeah?"

You exhaled a soft, tired laugh. "No promises."

Soap groaned. "Jesus. We’re doomed."

Laughter rippled through the room, something lighter breaking through the tension.

You let your eyes drift over them—these men who had been her teammates, her squadmates, but were now something else entirely.

Family.

It still felt foreign. 

strange even.

But maybe, just maybe…

You could learn to live with it.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth

[rixsjwb]

can someone write a Imagine, headcanon, a fic (whatever choice) where the Reader is the head of a yakuza gang in Japan, laswell reaches out to reader saying she needs her for a mission and she'll be joining 141 as their translator while they track down their target located in Japan.

luckily the target so happend to have scheduled a meeting with yakuza leader reader, so while they were talking and having a meeting with reader and 141, the target says something rude and reader doesn't deal with that shit and in one smooth motion cuts the targets head off.

kind of like O'ren ishii from killbill?

[danyasblogsblog]

REACTIONS WHEN READER CALLS THEM ‘BRO’

includes simon riley, kyle garrick and johnny mactavish!!! i wanted to include price but didnt know how too sorry guys😭😭😭😭

simon is appalled. you, the sweet love of his life whom he’d let into his heart, calling him bro? he stares at you in disbelief until you speak up again. ‘okay bro…’ stares in shock ‘si, darling? everything okay?’ ‘mhm.’ will never bring it up unless you do. he’ll go to the task force and say ‘she called me bro. wot does this mean??’ bless him😭

soap is slightly taken aback. he raises an eyebrow like 🤨 until you chuckle when you realise why he was making that idiotic ahh face. you’ll say it to him CONSTANTLY now because you find it hilarious when he looks at you like you just said something horrifying weird. ‘sorry, bro’ 🤨🤨🤨 ‘bro, i hate work’ 🤨🤨🤨 ‘broooo’ 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

gaz will love it. he’ll find it cute that you guys can call eachother casual nicknames because it shows you think of him like a friend. first time you say it, he’s smiling quite giddily and will defo think about it when he’s drifting off to sleep. the next day, he’ll greet you saying ‘gmorning, bro’ until it becomes the norm for you guys to greet eachother like that.

[girl-lostconnection]

I just wanna say I love your fruit bat!reader and I just had to think about the boys further misunderstanding when reader maybe has a darker aesthetic, but reader doesn't get at all the connection cause like yeah black's just a neat colour, oh I guess vampires are cool. Wait me? *Mouthful of orange or something* me no fruits all the way? I don't know what you mean.

On one side it would be incredibly funny as misunderstanding but the devil is whispering in my ear so let’s walk the other way.

Imagine Reader freshly selected to join the team, nervous about meeting new people who they read EVERYTHING on, just to be ready.

And no one is hostile, right? They are friendly, almost too friendly, which grates on your nerves a little but you know, maybe you are thinking too much about it?

Works up until the first joke about the vampires, huge wolf operator (you find out later that his call sign is Ghost).

“Know why people don’t like workin’ with vampire bats?”, the question catches you off guard, your eyes snapping to the man’s eyes and you tilt your head to the side. You don’t know him yet, you aren’t sure how much of a reaction is allowed in this circumstance.

“‘Cause they are pain in the neck”, he announces, his brown eyes boring a hole into you, his tail wagging like he is waiting for you to start laughing.

You don’t. You stare right back at him, fingers flexing so the sharp points of your claws dig into your palm and you manage a smile that feels a little too forced.

Big wolf in front of you apparently sees it as well, because you can see the way his jaw flexes under the mask.

So for some reason he decides to give it another go. (Only months later you will find out that Simon was desperately scrambling for all the bat x vampire puns he remembered, thinking that the first one sounded a little too abrasive)

“What drink does bat order at the bar?”, he asks, his left ear giving in a small twitch that catches your eye. He sure is big for the wolf, most of their family you met in the past were tall and lean but this guy is built like a bloody tank.

“What?”, you ask, heart beating a little harder than you’d like it, anxiety coiling in your gut.

“A Bloody Mary”, wolf hums out, his ear giving in another twitch and corners of your mouth curl upwards. Cute.

Wolf’s tail starts to wag again, eyes satisfied as he walks off and you follow him to see your new space and unpack.

Isn’t so bad for the first meeting, right?

But in hindsight every interaction from then on felt…somehow forced. Recurring about blood and meat and fucking Halloween. Remarks about wearing too much black or the way Soap once chuckled at the silver chain with a beautiful red cross. Not a religious symbol but simply an accessory you liked.

It all was piling up so quickly you decided to just…stay on the outside. Maybe that would be better. Maybe they were trying to tell you that they didn’t want a bat and didn’t like bats.

That they didn’t like you.

It takes time to undo and the process is slow — you are a tough nut to crack, but they don’t try to crack you. Just…make amends, yeah?

Your relationship with Simon makes a cycle when he peels you oranges, eyes soft as you devour pieces of peaches.

“Do you know what’s a vegetarian vampire bat’s favourite fruit, luv?”, he hums out, placing a peeled orange in your bowl, something in his tone making you feel fuzzy.

“What is it?”, his tail is wagging and god the way he looks at you makes something tender in your chest ache, you mouth voluntarily falling open when he pushes a piece of peach in it, eyes crinkling.

“A neck-tarine”, Simon murmurs, his tail wagging harder when you laugh after a beat, juices from fruit dripping down your chin.

You shake your head at him in faux disbelief and he grins, popping a slice of orange in his mouth.

“Can do it all night”

You roll your eyes and instinctively smack his hand away when he tries to steal your bowl.

“That’s what I’m afraid of”

[stargirlstabber]

imagine the task force 141 falsely accusing you of being a traitor to the team. knowing your biggest fear, they use it against you. water. water, where your feet can't touch the ground. water you can't see through. at first it started with waterboarding. then slowly but surely they threatened to drop you into the pool. into the dark, deep pool. even john, who was like a father to you before, didn't help you. no. not at all. actually, he was the one who stepped into the water fully clothed, dragging your crying and squirming form with him into the bloodcurling liquid. your tears blended in with it while you we're screaming, practically begging that you were the wrong one. that you'd never do something like that. but they just stood at the edge of the pool, watching their captain almost drowning your terrified self. how would they react, when they get the information that you really weren't the one...?

[itsoutrageouss]

It’s the first time Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley sees you cry that something in him changes profoundly. You had always had your different skill sets out on the field, it was what made you such a powerful duo for the task force. You were sly, agile, a killer in the dark and he was a brute show of force and strength, able to kill with his bare hands. You argued a lot, though. Your differences that made you work so well also made you clash time and time again. He found you annoying. You found him arrogant.

But after a mission, Ghost finds you collapsed on the floor in an empty building— Crying. He’d never seen you do that before, but he knew you were a softer more sensitive soul, you were just good at hiding it.

He was moving before he realised it, crouching down in front of you, eyes narrowed as he tried to find your gaze that was lost in a heap of warm tears. His hands got clammy and his throat dry because how could he make it stop? It was like the sight had reached in and seized a part of him long gone, maybe one he’d never found before now.

“Stop crying.” He said foolishly, but his tone had lost its usual edge, and the very rare lilt of pleading had laced into his voice. Why did he suddenly grab your shoulders and press your trembling body into his? He had no clue but he wanted to shield you from whatever had made you look so vulnerable before him.

A part of him didn’t like seeing this, didn’t recognise the garbled sound of soft sobs, the way your body’s strength seemed to evaporate into a fragile, soft one that he wanted to pick up and put back together. Another part of him was sucking in this moment, afraid it would get lost and maybe feeling a bit guilty about it. But this feeling of… was it protection? Protection, yes. He’d never had it like this before. Usually, protecting means killing and hurting. Right now it meant nurturing as your small hands reached around his neck and you curled into him. He reacted immediately, sitting down and scooping you into his lap.

He closed his eyes, his chin resting on your head with a sigh. He had no idea what came next. This had to change your dynamic in some way because he couldn’t ever look at you the same. He saw your softness and maybe he fell in love with it right there, and wanted to be the one you showed it to. Only him.

“Im sorry” You whispered into his chest. His hands flexed around you, fighting the urge to smother you even more against him.

“Dont say that. Just keep holding onto me.” His voice was more hoarse than usual as his fingers unconsciously combed through your hair.

Whatever had happened, he was sure you felt it too, or you would’ve never let him this close. And he wished for everything you would let him again one day.

series masterlist

[hidingwhere]

John Prices wife coming to pick him up at the airport after he returns from a mission, but the car is now full of military men.

One look at the three boys, completely exhausted and pulling their phones out to book a taxi had your heart crying. Without thinking, you offered them all a lift to yours and Johns home for them to stay overnight.

So now there’s three men cramped onto your three backseats, John having the luxury of sitting in the front. Simon is on the end (still in his balaclava but luckily not the skull mask because you’d be a little creeped out seeing that every time in the rear view mirror), Johnny in the middle and then Kyle on the other end. Johnny complains for about 10 minutes that he’s squished in and has no room to move but after that he’s completely zonked out on Simons shoulder.

Your music plays quietly through the speakers and they’re happy to listen to anything that isn’t gun shots or explosions.

Once you arrive home, they all climb out the car, grabbing their bags from the boot and dumping them down in the living room.

“Place looks less lifeless than last time I was here,” comments Johnny.

“Finally got a woman’s touch to it,” adds Kyle.

You smile a little at the non-direct compliment. Price also looks around, noticing the little details that have changed or the things that have been added around his house, keeping a hand on your back. He leans down and kisses you gently, mumbling “I missed you” against your lips.

“I missed you too. But it looks like you’ve lost weight.” You glance down at his body. “I’ll fatten you up again,” you tease with a little giggle as he chuckles.

It’s around 9pm by the time you’ve cooked dinner for four people who have appetites of bears. They all look at you as if you’re an angel sent from heaven when they see the food, sitting down at the dining table silently and scoffing down the meal.

By 10pm, you go into the living room thinking they’re all watching TV but instead they’re all asleep. You grab some spare blankets from beside the sofa and cover them up except for John. You shake him awake and make him move upstairs into bed with you. There’s no way you’re letting him sleep on the sofa and not with you after weeks apart.

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost, unbuttoning shirt: God, it's hot in here Y/N: Yes but why are you unbuttoning my shirt?

[wizzdot]

The Patron Saints of One Way Trips

Chapter 31

description: More shit goes down. Laika wakes upand goes feral. Cops are cops. Simon is Simon. Laswell is a bit harsh to the boys. Johnny and Kyle are lovesick. Simon feels feelings. John feels guilty. Needs to make it up to you in the next chapter…

*Simon’s POV*

No. No. NO. NO. FUCK.

How could she have slipped away without me noticing?! Why did I let this happen?! She’s gone…

I sling the sniper rifle to the side, not bothering to pack it away. It’s not important right now. The elevator is right down on the bottom floor so I waste precious seconds waiting for it to return. Still quicker than using the stairs from the top of a fuckin’ sky rise.

I’d already alerted the pack Alpha, and I know that the two sergeants would have heard my voice over the comms as well. This has turned into a massive shit show.

Laswell’s voice comes over the radio then.

“No visuals on Laika. Simon, any idea how long she’s been missing from your post?” -

“No. She crept out. Could have been anytime. I was watching the scope the entire time”

“God, Simon..” John rumbles disapprovingly through comms. It makes my stomach lurch.

The last time John and I ‘spoke’ we were about to have a fist fight over the Omega we wanted to claim and make a member of our pack.. And now she’s gone. And I am to blame.

“Kate - I’ll find my weapon and then search for the omega.. I’ll need medical once we’ve got her. Broke a couple of ribs, I reckon..” John’s breathier-than-usual voice rasps through my earpiece.

“Solid copy. Let me know immediately of any sightings. We can’t let her disappear”.

*Laika’s POV*

I see black. My head thumps and my shoulder aches. It’s warm, but stiff. Something’s wrong.

I still can’t will my body to follow my consciousness, my eyes won’t open, my voice - silent. I can hear John rumbling from across the hall, and I hear him moving slowly from his position over the hall. He sounds winded and short of breath.

“Shit. My gun” he groans to himself “- and my fuckin’ hat”

He sounds close now. So close. I know that I can’t be too far from the blast site, as I tackled Hassan right in front of the doors. I hear his heavy boot hit flesh, as he rolls and moves the two dead guards and the dead marine in an attempt to try and locate his gun and his stupid bucket hat. I hope he rolls me over and realises that I’m right here.

No such luck. It’s at this moment, I really start to regret my decision to wear scent patches. He doesn’t know I’m here. He obviously finds his gun and hat, as he checks his remaining ammo and I hear fading, uneven footsteps. He must be leaving. I wish I could move. I wish I could call out to him. I try to force my brain to force a movement, but all it does is send more pain to my shoulder. I feel the tiniest whimper escape from my throat. Good. I must be coming round.

*Johnny’s POV - a couple of hours later*

Kyle and I manage to wrap up the objective, with a little help from Simon and a well timed head shot on Hassan. The missiles were redirected and detonated safely. But I felt no pride. No relief. She’d gone. She’d left us. Just upped and left while Simon had his back turned...

We’d all stayed at the facility for ages, searching for her. But she’d gone. At least we hadn’t found a body… I guess that’s one small positive from this situation.

John debriefs with Laswell and re-tells the mission and how he has a bit of a close shave when Hassan had him on his knees, about to shoot him point blank range from behind just after that explosion knocked us both out. Thankfully Kyle managed to drag us away but the poor marine that tackled Hassan just as he pulled the trigger on Price wasn’t so lucky, poor bastard.

Officials are saying a power surge is to blame for an explosion over downtown Chicago last night due to severe winds leaving thousands of residents in the dark. Electricity is expected to be restored by this evening.

We land at a shady bar in Chicago with Laswell.

She sits at the bar watching the news as Price brings two glasses of alcohol for him and Laswell.

“What’s the plan on locating Laika. We need to find her. She’s not just vanished. Surely someone saw something.”

“-John, I’m sorry to be negative, but she very obviously left on her own terms. Perhaps she will return once she has cooled off. I noticed the atmosphere was a little bit tense on the helicopter ride in. Look - I’m not in the best place to theorise what went down, but I’m assuming there was a disagreement? She may have left, John. She never liked conflict. You’ve all read her files. She’s a flight risk. One upset suspected-Omega, coming off suppressants for the first time, unbonded but glued to a pack of Alpha’s who are yet to claim her… I reckon she’s ran… she needs time…”

-“we don’t have time, Kate.. what if -”

“She’s smart”

“They’re after her. You know as well as anybody…”

-“and if she wants to go back, she will. John. It’s out of my hands. She has the ball in her court.”

My brows furrow and my stomach lurches. I can’t just listen to this absolute pile of piss. There’s no way…

“Naw. That’s Bullshit, Laswell -”

I’m shouting before I even realise I’ve stood up and interrupted their conversation.

“Sergeant…” she warns me with a raised eyebrow.

“Naw, she was with me and Kyle before we left for this. Perfectly fine. She was happy. She widnae’ just have left us. They’re no fuckin’ way. Kyle..? Tell her!”

I motion Kyle over to the bar.

“It’s true, Kate. She was acting normally this morning. It was just the Captain and Lieutenant who she was pissed off at. But she wanted to prove a point. Not run off. We went shopping. Had lunch.. nothing would have suggested she was planning to run off..”

“Sergeants, look. I don’t know what else to tell you. I don’t have any leads or suggestions. Of course, I’ll keep my ear to the ground. It’s in all of our best interests to find her and return her to the pack, but my best advice is to let her make her own decision. That’s the end of the matter. I’m sorry it’s not what you want to hear.”

“Now. About Iran…” Laswell turns back to Price, clearly suggesting that me and Kyle butt out of their private conversation.

I can smell the anger and frustration in Price’s scent, and I know that my own scent is sour and thick.

I grab Kyle and Simon and leave the bar.

“She cannae be serious” I shout once we are out on the street. I kick a rubbish bin and growl, angrily. I want to punch someone. Or something.

“Johnny-”

“Don’t even fuckin think about tellin’ me to calm down, LT” I growl back, before he has chance to finish his sentence.

“Kyle, have you got your phone on you? Mine got busted in the blast”

“Uhm-” Kyle pats his pockets and pulls out his phone, placing it in my palm.

“What.. you goin’ to just call her and ask her to come back.. think that’ll work do ya’?” Simon teases, sharply.

“I dinnae see you comin’ up with any better ideas. And it was you who fuckin’ lost her” I growl, ready to punch him.

“Guys.. this isn’t helping. Is it?” Kyle tries to calm us down.

I press her name on Kyle’s phone and the line just goes dead immediately.

“FUCK” -

*Laika’s POV*

I eventually woke up. Cold, and stiff. And stuck. Stuck under a body.

It takes me a few attempts to get the dead man off of me, especially with my shoulder being completely unusable. I’m covered in blood and dust, obviously from the dead guy I’d been unknowingly using as a flesh blanket.

I stagger to my feet, feeling dizzy, and weak.

I hear voices. They sound American. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, so I decide to keep myself hidden. I manage to eventually find the exit, without alerting any of the others in the huge high-rise building. I don’t know what time it is, and my phone is broken.

When I get to the ground floor, there is what looks like an ocean of body bags. That is what those people must be doing. The clean-up crew. It’ll probably look like nothing ever happened here by tomorrow morning. In and out. No one gets hurt. Hah. Yeah right.

I stumble my way into the dark night. Still feeling totally drowsy and nauseous. I must have taken a hard hit to the head. I feel warm and cold all over. I really need help. I check my phone again, as if it might miraculously un-smash itself. I long to see one of the Alpha’s name on the screen. But I’m alone. In Chicago. Just limping down a random street in Chicago. Covered in blood.

I jolt when I hear a shocked voice.

“Holy shit, lady. What the fuck?! I’m callin’ the cops” - wait what?

Oh no, a civilian has seen me.

“Oh. No no no that won’t be necessary, sir… I’m fine!” I try and smile, holding my hands forward in a placating manner.

“You crazy-ass bitch walking about like that. Stay back!!”

I shake my head.. “no.. no, please!”

“Yeah - 911? Uhm, there’s a woman walking about covered in blood. Looks like she’s been blown up, good lord.. she’s carrying a gun..”

I gulp, and tremble. I don’t know what to do. I can’t run. Not in my condition. I can’t argue with this civilian, he’s clearly distressed by my appearance. Surely I don’t look that bad, right..?”

“I-I’ll wait.. I won’t run..” I plead, hoping to calm the guy down. He can’t cause any more of a scene if he tried. I see curious passer-bys start to look.

I try to stay close to the walls, in the shadows.

That’s when I hear the distant sirens. A couple of minutes later I see the blue lights flashing off of the night sky, and nearby buildings. I kneel on the ground, praying that the police would be kind enough to just listen. And maybe they’d even let me borrow a phone..

Shit! SHIT.

Four cars screech to a halt in quick succession and I can hear a helicopter from above and then I see that I’ve been lit up in a huge search light, by said helicopter. What the fuck is going on?!?

“ARMED POLICE, LAY YOUR WEAPON DOWN AND PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD” a voice yells over the megaphone.

I whimper, terrified. I can feel my omega clawing to come out. No. NO. This can’t happen now. You can’t go fucking feral now you stupid mutt.

I slide my gun away from myself, and then reach into my tac-vest and throw a knife to the ground. It clatters sharply against the road.

I try to place my hands behind my head as instructed, but that damn shoulder of mine doesn’t play ball.

One arm is up. The other is - well - limp to my side.

“I SAID BOTH HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD”

I shake my head, trying my best. Tears flow freely down my face, my body racked with my harsh sobs. “I can’t” I whisper, pained. Weak.

“WHY AREN’T YOU COMPLYING. ALL UNITS, ARMED AND DANGEROUS - I REPEAT. ARMED AND DANGEROUS.”

All of a sudden I’m rushed by a team of about 8 Alpha officers and one of them grabs both my arms, wrenching them both behind my back as they hand cuff me, tightly.

I wail. My shoulder feels like it’s on fire. It feels as though it’s getting cut off. I’d never felt pain like it. I scream, and thrash. And my omega turns feral. I growl and scream, kicking officers away from me as I fight the pain. The Alpha’s causing me pain. I try to run away. Run away from my shoulder. The pain.

They tase me. I fall to the ground, face first, no arms to break my fall. Of course it’s my shoulder and face that takes the fall. My omega decides it’s time for her to take the drivers seat, now. Everything goes black. I’m like a passenger in my own body. I can hear everything. And some of the sounds are coming from me. Ok, maybe not some. Maybe the majority.

*Simon’s POV*

I am on a short fuse. One wrong move and I’ll kill someone. I blame myself for this. For the tension in my pack. Johnny would shoot me if he could. I am not helping myself either. It’s not easy when I get like this. I withdraw from the situation. Pretend to be cold and unattached.

In reality, I would kill every last person that stood between my pack and her. Every last one. If it meant she’d be safe, back where she belongs, hell the whole fuckin’ world could burn for all he cares.

I feel hopeless. Utterly hopeless. I consider walking to the Chicago bridge and throwing myself off. But that wouldn’t bring her back. So I don’t. I just throw snarky comments at Johnny instead.

I feel a pit of guilt in my stomach. He’s just trying to help find her. But it’s useless. She probably left because of me. Probably decided the Russian bastards were better than us. Probably decided that she didn’t want us anymo-

AGGHHHHHH

My blood runs cold. The Alphas walking beside me freeze. A fleeting moment of eye contact between us all, and our feet are carrying us toward the blood curdling, pained scream.

Kyle’s the fastest. Because of course he is. Johnny is slower, but still faster than me. I can’t stand that I’ll be last there. I push myself faster. Faster than I’ve ever moved.

*Kyle’s POV*

My legs are moving before my brain has time to catch up.

It’s her. She’s screaming. But she’s alive. And close.

As I get closer, I see sirens and cops. Loads of cops. My alpha growls. And then I feel Johnny’s presence behind me.

“Laika? LAIKA?” He shouts into the sea of officers and police cars.

“ALPHA” she screams. Terrified.

“HELP. HELP ME.”

Johnny and I shove through the cops and civilians who had gathered to watch. If any of them got punched or knocked out. Well that was their own problem.

Then I finally see her.

She’s covered in dust and blood. How? She wasn’t -

Her eyes meet mine. Feral Omega eyes. Her face is scraped, her shoulder’s been torn through - looks like a bullet wound. She’s a mess.

“ALPHA..”

*Laika’s POV*

Alpha. Alpha’s here. He came for you. Sweet Alpha. He’s here.

I try to crawl towards the safety. But I’m roughly stopped by another officer. I hear a growl.

My other Alpha.

“Get your filthy fuckin’ hands off her, ya fuckin’ brutes. Cannae you see she’s fuckin’ hurt?!” Johnny yell at them .

“Alpha..” it’s all my omega can whine. It’s the only word my omega knows, it seems.

I crawl again, towards Kyle. My hands are still cuffed behind my back, so I’m pushing with my legs, scraping my shoulder along the stone.

Ass up, face down, so to speak…

Kyle surges towards me. He gathers me in his arms, gently. He cradles my face, like I’d break in his hands, and seep through his fingers like sand.

“Alpha..” I whine happily.

“Shhh baby. Shhh, it’s ok. It’s ok.. calm down. Come back to me baby. Y/n..?” He coaxes into my ear, trying to let the omega know she can leave now. Her job was done: survive.

“Which one of you cunts has the key.. before I fuckin’ detonate this whole fucking city” a voice bellows from behind Kyle’s back.

Simon.

“STEP AWAY FROM THE SCENE. THIS IS A POLICE ARREST!”

That does it. That’s the straw that breaks the camels back.

“I’m a fucking Lieutenant for her majesty’s SAS. And I’m HER fuckin Alpha. So hand me the fuckin keys, so that I can uncuff her, or I’ll call a fuckin air strike on your family’s home. And your mother’s home. And all of your friends’ homes”

A shaking hand reaches forward, presenting a key to Simon.

“Good fuckin’ choice. Now piss off. All of you” he growls, dangerously, squaring his shoulders to the entire crowd.

Meanwhile, the omega watches on. I am slowly emerging from my feral state, but that only brings my attention back to my current situation what with my shoulder, and new scrapes to my face. And the fact I was tased. And my concussion. And so on..

I slump against Kyle slightly, feeling pure relief. He continues to coo at me, and stroke me gently.

“Bonnie? You broken..? Shit baby, look at yer Alpha.. need tae see yer pretty eyes..” Johnny’s rich accent floods through my brain.

“Johnny..” I smile, using what was left of my strength to look up at him from Kyle’s hold.

“Mate, she’s not good. We need to get her seen to now” Kyle plans aloud, for Johnny to hear.

“Aye.. need to find a hospital”.

“NO, med-evac landing in 2 minutes” Simon barks, finally making it over to unlock the handcuffs from my wrists.

My arms swing forward, having been released from their position behind my back, causing me to yelp in pain again.

Then I feel as if I’ve been torn from Kyle and I’m suddenly being held, bridal style, by Simon. I whimper, my shoulder jostling against his rough coat.

My nose finds his scent glands. I press my nose firmly into his neck and breathe him from the source. He grumbles and coos, his Alpha instinctively trying to comfort the omega in his arms.

He goes to press his nose into my scent glands, and a growl - an angry growl - comes from the gigantic Alpha.

“Johnny. Take those fuckin’ scent patches off her NOW”

Oh. Oh..

“M’sorry Alpha. Didn’t mean to leave. Please don’t give me into trouble. I’m sorry…” I cry against his throat.

I feel gentle hands slowly peeling the scent patches from my neck. Then I feel his nose pressing into my neck, then his lips, just brushing the shell of my ear.

“Don’t you ever do that again. Ever. Y’hear me?”

“I- I’m sorry. Please don’t -”

“Scared us. Scared me..” he finally admits.

*Captain John Price’s POV*

“Iran.. that’s your next step, John. I’ll make a plan, but do expect to be deployed within the next couple of weeks”.

“Cartels... Russians...?” I enquire.

“Shepherd... Shadows... They got past us”

Fuckin’ Shepherd. I glare into my whiskey glass, angry.

“Any sign of Shepherd?” I ask.

“He’s totally off the grid” - “Well, we'll find him.”

“No, we've got bigger fish... I've done some digging on the Russians”.

“Well, that's a dirty job, Kate” I grumble.

“Ultra-nationalists ambushed that convoy, John.”

“Kate, this conversation is over. You know, especially with Laika involved, that this isn’t a job for us”.

“They were working with someone new.”

That piques my interest. Slightly.

“Who?” I can’t help but ask.

Laswell takes out a photo from her vest and gives it to me to look at. I take a good look at the photo.

Makarov.

Laswell’s phone rings. She excuses herself to answer the call, and stands from the bar, leaving me sitting, staring at his picture.

My fist thumps the bar, glasses rattling and drinks falling. I scrunch his picture into a ball and squeeze.

He will die for what he did. Mark my fuckin’ words.

The door to the bar slams and I hear rushed steps coming toward me.

I turn to see a panicked Laswell. She’s not easily rustled up like this.

“John. You’ve got to go. Your pack - they’ve found her-”

My chair is pushed back and I’m barging from the bar before she’s even told me where I’m headed. I ignore her, calling Kyle instead. He answers on the first ring.

“Kyle. Where is she? Is she ok?”

- “she’s not great, Cap. She’s Uhm - she’s broken. But she’s alive. We got med-evac for her. All of us are here with her. Just come home, John. We’ll be there..”

Kyle ends the call.

Home. Go home to your omega..

[tobeholyistobeempty]

you’re drunk - simon ghost riley

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

based off a request i got - tispy simon riley x drunk reader. simon is a man of morals, even when you make it very very hard for him to exercise them. 18+. lots of detailed dirty talk.

————-

it’s honestly not even your fault.

you’ll blame it all on soap, if anyone asks - he’s the one who had a tab open, a devil on his shoulder, and kept pouring shots as if they were free. now you’re blackout-adjacent, stumbling through the hallway with simon’s arm wrapped around your waist in some makeshift tourniquet while everything spins like a goddamn carousel.

simon always gets stuck on clean-up crew. mostly because he’s the only one who can handle their fuckin liquor.

needless to say, he’s used to this by now. used to the way you’ve been rambling on about nothing for the better part of five minutes - doesn’t say much when you stop and get distracted by something stupid for the billionth time. doesn’t complain when you grab his arm and lean a little too hard into his side, as if he’s a lifeline in the sea that is the floor beneath your feet.

he’s tipsy, sure, but somehow still annoyingly steady. classic simon.

“jesussi—you’re big.” it’s slurred and breathless, broken by your own laughter as your head drops lazily onto his shoulder. “like, industrial grade. military-issued big.”

the corner of his mouth tilts. if you were sober you’d see the smirk he’s biting back.

“tha right?”

“mmm. like a fuckin tank,” you hum, fingers kneading the muscle under your palm. it’s involuntary - just like it’s involuntary when he twitches. “or an armoured vehicle. y’should come with airbags.”

simon bites his cheek. the devil in you is dancing in the waves of tension rolling off him.

maybe he’s not as used to this as he thought - because this isn’t just drunk-banter. this is you, murmuring compliments with all that heat behind them. personal. stupidly involuntarily honest.

hes not used to compliments. not ones that sound like that.

“you’re drunk,” he breathes.

you grin. “so’re you.”

“not even half as much as you.”

you let out a giddy little laugh that makes him glance down, at that. it’s quick and brief, the way his eyes flick over you, like he’s checking to make sure you haven’t stripped mid-hallway. it’s just the bickering that gets you. makes you warm inside.

“m’not that drunk,” you lie through your teeth with all the drunken confidence you possess. “i mean—i am, but not like…memory loss drunk. i’m still gonna remember how wide your shoulders are tomorrow.”

it’s only seconds after that and your fingers are moving again, crawling down his arm to where leather edge meets skin.

“..and how insanely big your hands are,” you sigh in continuation, unable to help yourself. “like—biblically destructive. ruin-her-life-in-a-single-night kind of hands. anyone ever tell y’that?”

and that might just be precisely when it starts - the feeling in his gut. brought to life through the filth you’re beginning to feed.

“don’t.” he says, and it’s torn. “not now.”

he’s all but begging you - and however miraculously, his pace doesn’t break. still steady as ever even as you switch from squeezing to tracing his tattoos with your finger. the only response he gives is a devastating clench of his jaw as he keeps you moving - steering past flickering lights and sterile walls.

“y’ever choke a girl out with them?” you press, unfettered. “not like, unconscious, but like. in bed?”

he exhales. slow. almost a growl.

“jesus. stop talkin’.”

“why?” you blink up at him, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks, far too innocent for someone who’s very much not being innocent. “am i makin’ you nervouuus?”

his head tilts just slightly, just enough to peer down at you again.

“no,” he says, and even drunk you hear the grit in it. “you’re makin’ me hard.”

he says it like he hates himself for it. like it slipped out - cut from the meat of some deep place the inebriation in his veins simply won’t let him keep inside.

and you?

you blink slow, lips parting in surprise.

“fuckin’ finally.” you exhale with a smile. slow and crooked and dangerous. “thought i’d have to be on my knees and naked for you to admit that—“

he doesn’t let you finish that thought.

“fuck’s sake, y’little minx.” he’s dragging you now, as if he’s realizing the dangers that are surfacing the more this conversation continues. by this point he’s half-carrying, half-hauling your giggling form down the hall like you weigh nothing. “y’need to stop talkin.”

“you like it,” you slur between unsteady steps. “y’like me like this cause you’re a freakkk—“

his grip tightens. morals in tatters. control evaporating.

“i’d like you more if y’were unconscious.” he huffs, hard. “or duct-taped.”

that makes you giggle more. worse, it eggs you on.

“was that supposed t’be a threat?” you ask, lips glistening. “cause if so, it’s workingggg.”

he grunts - some deep, violent sound in his throat like that one hit a nerve. “bloody hell.”

by the time you make it to your door, he’s breathing heavy. less from exertion and more from sheer fucking restraint. it takes two seconds before he throws the hinges wide, kicks it shut with his boot, and all but drags you onto your bed.

and you hardly even realize you’ve reached it until the cotton caresses the side of your cheek. but that feeling is quickly forgotten when simon, the gentleman that he is, leans over you - one knee braced on the mattress as his hands go to work on the laces of your boots.

your thighs tense. he notices.

“fuck, simon.” you can’t stop yourself. not even god himself could, at this point. “i’ve been into you for ages, y’know.”

he pauses. boot in hand.

“…what?”

he says it low. like a warning - like a don’t you fuckin start. but you’re too drunk to care - especially when all you smell is him and all you see are those shoulders, leaning over you while you’re flat on your back beneath him.

your lashes flutter.

“jus sayin- since, like. you’re in my room, on my bed above me like one of my codeine fever dreams.” you slur, brain sloshing. the room spins with it. “thought y’should know.”

he looks at you like you’ve hit him with a brick.

your head lolls. glassy eyes dragging up over the length of him. “used to think about it—you—when i couldn’t sleep.”

he swallows, and you watch his throat work with it. the grip he’s got on your ankle could shatter bone.

“….you tellin me y’think bout me when y’touch yourself?” he asks.

“god yes.” you don’t even realize you’ve said it. “you. your hands. bending me over the sinks. in the showers while muttering filth in my ear, tellin me to behave—“

“—fuck.” it punches out of him like it hurts.

the silence falls heavy. he doesn’t blink, breathe, or move for what feels like forty minutes, when in reality, it’s like forty seconds - just long enough for him clamp the leash back on whatever beast is tearing through him.

not fully, but enough.

you stretch like a cat, oblivious to it. arch your back. sigh. “d’you think about it?”

he doesn’t answer. not at first. then—

“only when i breathe.”

your stomach lurches. your thighs twitch. “you mean that?”

he looks at you, finally - eyes darker than the devils deal, filled with filth and heat from the fire you started without even trying.

he shakes his head, his jaw clenches with the effort of keeping the beast at bay. “i mean, if you don’t stop talkin, m’gonna fuckin’ fold.”

the alcohol in your blood just roars, at that. fuel to the flaming fire inside you.

“tell me.” you murmur. “you think about fucking me? what i’d sound like moaning your—“

before you can finish that thought, his hand is over your mouth. it swallows your face, makes you twitch in all the wrong places — and he sees it.

“enough.” it’s barely a whisper. “christ. fuck. you’re gonna make me do somethin’ stupid.”

you moan against his hand - it spills out of you, vibrates against his fingers. he curses.

“y’wanna know what stupid looks like?” he mutters, head dropping down until his lips near your jaw. “you, wakin up with my fuckin dog tags round your neck and nothin else.”

his palm silences everything but your pulse, which is roaring, at this point.

your fingers come up, shift a few of his digits until your voice finds room to leak out. “please.”

his eyes snap shut.

“y’dont know what you’re askin for, sweet’eart,” he mutters, grabbing the edge of the blanket with his free hand and yanking it over your hips. “ain’t gonna wake up with you hatin me.”

even drunk you realize he’s a man of morals.

“you think i’d regret it?” you whisper. stars in your eyes. he doesn’t respond. “simon. i just told you i’ve fantasized about fucking you. i wonder how big you are, if it’d hurt—“

his palm tightens over your lips again.

“one more fuckin’ word and i’ll forget every goddamn reason why i shouldn’t touch you right now.” he spits. “if y’even remember this tomorrow, y’come say it to me sober. promise on every grave i’ve ever stood over i’ll bend y’over on the spot and fuck the idea of regret right outta you.”

then he pulls back, moving slow like it hurts, and you smile.

“guess i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“mhm.” he hums, take a step or two toward the door. “fuckin hope you will.”

[kkusuka]

i want captain john price to fuck me so well that the entire med-bay can feel it. thinking about patching him up then getting my guts rearranged as a thank you.

you aren’t even a soldier- just a medic who happened to be around when 141 needed help. patching up their captain was more than nerve wrecking- his lieutenant and two sergeants looming over you asking about his status. but john could care less about his team at the moment— you looked like an angel. patching him up so sweetly, so mindful of how he was feeling.

and if anything, john price likes to keep his scores even- you help him out he helps you out.

“so good f’me, love. always so good” and you look just as good as he first saw you; lip between your teeth, unwilling to let too many people know how good his cock feels pounding into you. “patchn’ me up so well, takin’ my cock like you were made f’it”

and the captain would be damned if someone tried to take you from his team; you’re too good to them to go anywhere. he knows they know what happens after you patch him up, and he knows you’d do the same for any of them too- they just need a little push on the right direction!

[sab0dssey]

Being John’s little wife was the best thing that ever happened to you. John is ten years older than you. He’s big, broad-shouldered, every move he makes shaped by military discipline. But when it comes to you… everything softens. His voice, his touch everything about him turns gentle. You are his everything, and he never lets you forget it.

For example, he always wakes up before you, slipping out of bed quietly to make your coffee. He prepares it exactly the way you like, just the right amount of sugar, the perfect splash of milk. Then, he brings it to you while you’re still half-asleep, hair messy, eyes barely open. He just smiles, handing you the cup. “Morning, little lady,” he murmurs, his voice warm and drowsy.

If you’re busy during the day, he never disturbs you but he never really leaves, either. He lingers close, a quiet, steady presence. Sometimes, he brushes his fingers over your shoulder, presses a quick kiss to your temple. If you’re reading, he rests his head on your lap, just to be near you.

When you go out together, he’s always protective. His hand stays on your waist, guiding you through crowds, making sure no one bumps into you. If he spots a small chocolate he knows you love, he buys it without a word and slips it into your bag. “Saw this and thought of you,” he says simply, but the warmth in his eyes makes your heart melt.

When you get home, if you’re tired, he even kneels to take off your shoes for you. “My little wife’s had a long day,” he teases, then scoops you up in his arms and drops you onto the couch. He massages your feet with those big, calloused hands of his, smirking as he says, “These tiny feet walked too much today.”

At night, if you can’t sleep, he always notices. Without a word, he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’m here,” he whispers in the dark. “I’ll always be here.”

And in his strong, protective arms, you feel like the safest person in the world.

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Thank you for 200 followers, gonna cry ( ╥ ᴗ ╥). This is John by the way.

[skyrigel]

*Simon following up behind y/n*

Y/n: So...me and Simon are dating

*Simon nodding*

Price: ha! We already knew

Soap: like why were you even hiding it from us this long

Y/n and Simon: *confused*

Y/n:We only started dating today

Price:

Soap: Then what the fuck was happening for the last three years ?!

Simon: :)

Masterlist

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.

Continuation

[rosiereveries]

Part two of the secret Santa with CEO!JohnPrice drabble that I wrote Part one CW: smut, rough sex, unprotected sex, doggy style, little power imbalance, reader is a female

You carefully knock on his office door hoping that he has already left. The whole secret Santa was a stupid idea that your colleagues came up with, and everyone got mediocre gifts except you. Your boss John Price bought you some expensive perfume, you didn’t even know the brand, but you could tell that it cost a fortune, and a pearl necklace that was beautiful. You know that keeping these gifts is not right, he must have bought them for someone else and he had to accidentally change the presents. You were sure he had some socks and coffee mug prepared for you.

Even though you could see how satisfied he was when you open your gift. And the fact that he called you his good girl in front the whole office made your stomach turn. It’s been so long since someone made you blush that much. That is why you went to his office in the first place, to make sure you return the gift.

When you hear quiet “come in” you know that you must face him. You slowly open the door and find him sitting behind his table with a surprised face. He didn’t expect you to come. “Something wrong with your present doll?” he asks, and you start to explain that you can’t keep the gift, that you are sure it was not meant for you. He simply asks if you had a chance to try on the necklace. You shake your head no and he walks behind you taking the necklace from your shaking hands.

It’s been a while since someone touched you so gently and there is something so intimate about the way he gathers your hair and pushes them away, so he has unlimited access to your neck. You can feel his breath next to your ear and you realize he stands too close to you. He turns both of you, so you stand next to the mirror he has in his office, and you see the hunger in his eyes.

One second, he is looking at you and the next he is lightly kissing your neck. “Tell me to stop now or I won’t” he says, and you just nod for approval. “Words honey, I need you to tell me that you want this as much as I.”

“Please Mr. Price” you whimper. That is all he needs to hear. John’s hands are everywhere. He pulls the top of your dress lower so he can touch you breasts while he starts to rub his hard dick in your ass. He sucks at your neck, and you know that you will have hickeys, and you will have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow.

When he is done with your neck, he turns your head, and he kisses you. It is wild, his tongue is immediately in your mouth, and he doesn’t let you have breaks for breaths. John pulls your skirt up pushing his hand in your stockings and he touches you through your panties.

“You’re so wet for me darling, and I barely even touch you” You can hear the ripping of your stockings and suddenly he pushes you onto his desk pushing your legs apart so he can have access to your pussy. He pulls your panties to your knees, and you blush when you remember what pair you put on in the morning. A pink cotton panties with a little bow, you didn’t expect anyone to see them tonight.

“So pretty and just for me,” he says, and you can feel his breath at your clit, “but unfortunately I don’t have time to eat you out, but don’t worry we will make time the next time you see me.” By this point you are needy mess who just want him to fuck you.

You can hear him unzipping his pants and then you finally feel his dick at your opening. He starts to push in slowly, groaning and moaning into your ear. He is thick and long, and you feel so full. You didn’t have a partner for some time now and he fills you up so nicely.

“You’re doing great love, just keep taking me in” he says and when he finally pushes his whole dick inside you, you feel so full. It is so overwhelming and he’s not even moving yet. He sets up a harsh and rough tempo fucking into you with his hips and the whole desk starts to shake.

John is practically laying on you, he has you pinned on the desk, and you can feel his full weight on yourself. “Fuck I am going to cum, be a good girl and let me come inside” You don’t even know if you could tell him no, you are so close chasing your own release.

When his fingers lightly rub your clit, you break. It is one of the most powerful orgasms you have had. You can feel him cumming inside of your pussy and you’re grateful that you are on the pill.

After some time when he just lays on you, he gently pulls out of you and helps you to clean. “Such a good girl for me isn’t you” John makes sure that you look decent before he walks out of the office with you. He helps you to his car and drives your home. He walks you to your door and says, “Just don’t tell HR and we can keep up with the fun.”

The next morning when you walk to your desk you find a small package there. When you open it there are earrings, matching pair to the necklace you got yesterday. There is also a note that says: Be a good girl and come up to my office during my lunch break.

Part three Masterlist You can support my work here : ko-fi