Captain John Price - Blog Posts

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 5 -> WIP

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn.

a/n: hehehhehehe finally new update :3 got rid of the rude reader tw cuz reader is gonna be annoyed at the world at best angry at worst plus i dont think ive been writing them rudely so also forgive me if the writing pov changes weirdly idk i have a hard time staying focused and consistent ill try better

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv  @kaoyamamegami

What the hell was this place.

It seems all they did was stare at you and when you would clearly get sick of the mumbles and looks you'd splash them and they'd fucking laugh.

They were weird and the Gaz guy was weirder.

You found later his name was actually Kyle and he meant to clarify earlier.

But you found the silly nickname funny.

But this wasn't fun.

Being propped up on a large mat next to the side of the pool the leather felt uncomfortable under you, You also felt way too exposed as a few humans looked over your stitches and wrappings.

It felt weird there hands weren't rough but no one besides a few have touched you like this they were talking about something you'd care less to pay attention too.

As they examined you, Gaz kept trying to pull your attention away from the other humans.

Oh?

Was he jealous?.

Humans are so fickle it's funny.

-

Christ.

Even working with merfolk in the past Gaz still never got used to the bigger ones like you.

Scarface as you've been suitably nicknamed for the moment been alright and cooperative so far no biting or thrashing.

He'd likely guess the wounds were causing you to be so irritable they didn't look good when they first arrived problem had a couple of parasites on them along with other infections that are still being treated.

Price was observing the whole check up process.

You didn't speak much at least not to any of the other staff.

There were a few problems though.

Firstly they found you solo but there was still likely you belonged to a pod but which is the question.

Secondly, they couldn't keep you in the medical pool forever you were wild to some extent it would be cruel to keep you from you family.

Thirdly during your surgery, they'd found a piece of metal that didn't look important it was kept to be looked over in case it helped discover why you were in such a state, Price already guessed territorial fighting but you clearly (no offense) couldn't pick your battles.

Some of these scars and bites could have been lethal.

He was pulled out of his thoughts as you shifted clicking in annoyance he was quick to reach over for another fish from the bucket nearby by offering it up in an attempt to distract you.

"Are all humans this pokey?"

"No Scarface we just..need to make sure your healing okay..Then we can release you."

Kyle huffed as he gave you an honest smile ignoring the glare and grumble he received in return, You still took the fish though idly crunching on it.

They eventually finished the examination without much fuss except for you not so subtly tripping the newest volunteer who honestly should have been starting off with a much smaller mer than you.

But you start off somewhere.

Speaking of which it's about lunch time for them now and his break time, Kyle oversaw you getting back into the pool without much struggle before he left your area visiting by Price to mention he was going on his break before grabbing his lunch and heading to the docks.

He'd usually not have to wait long before they'd show but it'd seemed they were late.

It wasn't long till a familiar face popped up flashing teeth and all.

"Hey, Soap!" Kyle grinned as he looked to see the shark mer propping up his elbows onto the dock.

"Ghost comin'..?"

"Ah in a bit he's still getting his bearings.."

Now he was confused the last time he'd seen the pair and given them there updated shots and tags they'd been great.

The pair were unusual a Shark and Orca together seemed unheard of but yet just a few years ago now when Kyle had fallen overboard during an solo observation trip Ghost saved him from drowning.

Both of them were odd in a good way, Simon having been outcasted by his pod but he doesn't like to talk about it.

He had lots of scars all telling of countless battles of either for his territory or from just fights.

As for Soap, Sharks were solitary regardless but Soap had his own set of scars from fights some he shouldn't have tried starting.

"Bearings? What happended?.."

"Another fuckin' Orca smaller not as experienced grabbed me a few days back, Si really fucked em' up till the bastard clocked him on the head with there tail-"

Wait.

"Jesus , Where is he? I can get a team out and-"

"Ah ye know how he feels about humans..Plus he seemed to be swimming straight.."

"But Soap , He could have a concussion or maybe a facture-"

Soap sighed as he glanced back to the water before back at Kyle.

"Look..You can try convincing em'"

Soap frowned as Simon finally surfaced propping himself up onto the dock as well the wood creaking slightly under the weight of just Simons upper half.

"Ghost"

"Kyle."

Kyle huffed as he didnt even need to say anything as he went up to him giving him a look before he huffed grumbling quietly adjusting himself better so that Kyle could assess him.

Taking his time looking over the newer injuries they had healed well enough fishing out his little hand held flash light from his keychain in his pocket he checked Ghost's eyes.

After a bit of checking Kyle felt satisfied ignoring Ghost annoyed clicks.

"Mm..Now Soap you said it was another Orca right..? Did it come back?"

"Nah..Fucker swam off after bashing Ghost head..Pretty sure I could smell em' bleeding though for a bit till they got too far."

Right this was looking to be way too convenient and fitting to not match up with good ol' Scarface's condition.

"Mm..Alright..Anyway I brought some-"

"Treats?!" Before Kyle could even move his lunchbox away Soap had snatched it and Kyle let out a exasperated sigh not even fighting for it risk of being pulled into the water.

"Jesus Soap my lunch is still in there be careful- And dont eat the plastic!"

The Hunt

previous hunt <- part 2 -> (hunting)

x tws; violence , blood , injuries , gore , slight suggestiveness , sickness. <- more will be added possible depending on the part.

x pairings; soap x male!reader (😲)

x characters; soap , ghost , price , gaz + (others will maybe be added? idk ive never written a whole lot of characters cuz i get confused in my own head)

Soap ran his hands through your hair gently scratching your scalp as you purred lowly.

"God ah loue hearing ye purr git a real overgrown moggie as mah boyfriend dinnae ah?" Soap mumbled as he moved his hands to your face tilting your head up enough to look up at him from his lap.

"Such a nice view mm?" Soap grinned as he gently reached hand down brushing over the slight stubble around your chin and cheeks you preferred a clean shave and had quickly learned how to do it yourself.

Especially after all the cuts Johnny gave you trying to do one side of your face.

"Mm.." You hummed as you shifted in the water a near by lake you both have found yourselves at to clean up clothes set aside Soap always carried another pair for the both of you.

Your medallion hung heavy on your chest when clothed you always hid it so you didn't feel like it getting stolen and shifting into a giant dragon while out shopping would be ideal for you and Soap's little business venture.

"How much do we have now..?" You mumbled as you focused on washing instead of Soap's touch.

"Mm..We lost a guid bit we hud tae rush tae th' lea back then..we got 300 silver from you..We'll have to eat today so that'll be around 40 ish- We have about uhh mm.." Soap went quiet in thought as you huffed silently washing some more mud off yourself.

Money.

It had been a problem for you both you could never kept it.

You both had gotten greedy one village ago too many dragon attacks the dragon causing no damage and not even stealing livestock.

They figured you out.

You panicked.

And all remains is a burnt ashy waste.

You tried to repress the memory they were going to hang Soap what else were you supposed to do? You can't take on a whole town, You didn't have Soap's wit and agility especially not back when your human form was still so fresh.

For being such a strong creature you felt helpless in that moment, Soap still wore some scars from it all.

You shook your head as Soap's concerned look brought you back to the present.

"You okay love?"

"..Mm..Yeah.." You nodded as you gently nuzzled him slightly before going to get and dry off with the cloth you both brought.

"...Alright..I think we've got around 1,200"

"..Still not enough.."

"Yeah.."

For the rest of the evening you both ate and soon found an inn to stay in, You both planned to leave before dawn you didn't feel like getting up so early, especially with the cool chill of the twilight air.

You weren't cold-blooded per se but heat has always been a luxury to bask in getting in enough rays just to wake you up enough has always been a pleasure.

But being a literal fire-breathing creature meant your core ran warm perfect for Soap to cling onto too And an excuse to bury his face in your chest.

You didn't mind of course you always woke up to him running his fingers through your hair or sometimes he'd be sketching while one hand rested somewhere on you.

You feel you hit the jackpot with him he's always been physically affectionate yet he never overstepped a line you both hadn't crossed yet.

It was way past dawn when you both woke up again.

You were the clingy one this morning as you tried to keep Soap in place despite his groggy voice mumbling that you both had to get up.

You refused.

He stared at you as you admitting childishly locked your body around his limbs looking up at him.

"Oh noo whitevur shall ah dae a dragon haes me trapped in tis sleepy embrace..maybe a few kisses wull convince it tae let this poor warrior go?." Soap grinned as he looked at you cupping your face as he freed his arms.

"Possibly..I don't know the dragon has a very high kiss toll..I might have ta' turn you into a pile of ash if you don't abide by it.." You teased as he gently pecked your forehead.

"Ohh I'm sooo scared" He chuckled as he finally leaned down and embraced you into a kiss which you quickly melted into letting the rest of his body free as his hands slid down to your hips gently squeezing them as he deepened the kiss.

Soap chummed as he pulled away placing a quick on your forehead before he slipped away.

You both finally got dressed properly as you both packed up and got ready to leave.

Today is another day and another village was ripe for the pickings.

In your head it sounded sort of like thievery.

Maybe you both were scam artist thieves and not relieving people of there excess wealth.

Maybe you were both bad people scamming and scaring the richer folk.

Nah.

It took a week or so to reach the next town and you were both back to your routine.

Soap headed to the nearby guild or tavern if there wasnt a guild, He had a knack for charming the drunk passerby with his exaggerating his dragon slaying tales.

You just hoped he wouldn't get too drunk on the first day here.

You on the other hand were scouting out the town maybe getting a few treats for you and Soap.

You were so preoccupied in your thoughts and potential sweets you would buy you bumped into what could only be mistaken as a brick wall sending stumbling back.

"Ah fuck- What the-"

"Sorry."

You flinched at the voice as you looked up meeting not a magic talking wall which you would have preferred but a man tall and draped in dark clothes and a hooded cloak a skull mask fitted on his face and cloth covering the rest of it.

You got up quickly as he picked up your satchel and book holding them back to you as you stood there for a moment before finally composed yourself.

"Ah um- No its alright I wasnt paying attention."

He just hummed which you couldnt decivier if its good or bad.

"Wheres the guild house here?"

"Uh um I think back near the far markets and again I'm so-"

He just left following your honestly vague directions.

"Oh.. uh okay."

Weirdo.

a/n; sorry if it isnt that good just got back from vacation

MASTERLIST

Call of Duty

Kyle Gaz Garrick

unnatural bleeding — a mer!gn!reader x human!gaz | ongoing fic

werewolf bites — gaz trying to help you recover from a dog attack | ongoing fic

magical accidents — who were you to say no to your mage boyfriend innocent request for you to try a potion?

scar trails — you and your older brother try to survive the apocalypse and try and make a few friends..or enemies!

John Soap Mactavish

shapeshifter! child! reader & soap — a alt version of another random thing i wrote about a shapeshifter reader :3 tws in fic

the hunt — a medieval fantasy soap x male reader! | ongoing fic

solar and lunar marks — werecat reader and werewolf soap shenanigans w 141

Simon Ghost Riley

dog au! ghost & child reader — this one is so old!! + old dog au intro!

the devil comes in pairs — :3 fic i wrote based on a prompt! , cowboy au

animals grind there teeth at bars — fic idea :3 monster circus au?

mistaken sacrifice — turns out your loyal worshippers are batshit crazy but ghost seems alright maybe in need of saving.

John Price

dog au price & child reader — another oldie </3 + old dog intro

labs and speedsters — taking in a new stray cheetah shifter (you) riddled with anxiety and price sees to help you.

old man — random anxiety hole you've dug yourself into has you now overly worrying about growing. (me projecting)

Multi + Parings

adoption au dad! simon & soap + adopted reader (school fights)

shapeshifter reader + 141

avian/harpy ghost & soap + child naga reader - tws in fic

jungle book au - upcoming

Other

dog au art ! — ghost and soap , graves , price 1 , price 2 , graves 2 ,

König — dog au intro! (old)

i may give him this own section but for now im not rlly focused on him kinda...

a/n; will be making separate master list for when i write for my fandoms :3 this is my first masterlist so please excuse my inexperience...ALSO IM MY ASK R OPEN AND ANON ON PLS

The Hunt

Masterlist

part 1 -> next hunt

x tws; violence , blood , injuries , gore , slight suggestiveness , sickness. <- more will be added possible depending on the part.

x pairings; soap x male!reader (😲)

x characters; soap , ghost , price , gaz + (others will maybe be added? idk ive never written a whole lot of characters cuz i get confused in my own head)

a/n; i may make art for this series! and i will also possibly making art for my merfolk au.

Alarm bells rung threw out the small town the yells and panicked cries of the townsfolk as the huddle and ran into houses under carts under anything.

You let out a amused chuckle that came out as a growl to everyone else.

You were admittedly showing off a bit more than usual today pushing your self up with another flap of your wings as arrows shot past your head.

Christ John had to get better aim.

You dove letting out a bone shivering roar it was getting boring doing the same exaggerated display but it paid well.

John or Soap as the guild nicknamed him all those years back was your very lovable boyfriend.

To say what you both did was wrong would be true.

If it didnt bring so much coin.

Slaying dragons was a respected craft and admired by many and all, The demand for dragon slayers was high since such a feat was beyond dangerous and mostly ended in death.

Dragons were usually hunted by groups who set up traps of sling shot nets , big crossbow contraptions meant to pierce threw thick hide and scales.

But Soap didn't need of that,

Not when he had you.

Speaking on which you felt something dig into your side as you let out a fake cry of pain as your turned away from the village you couldn't hear anything they were saying from up here but you could imagine Soap's heroic rant as he chased after you away from the village a few more arrows stuck too you as you decided to close your act for today.

A final dramatic cry as you dived down intentionally losing control as you crashed into the ground.

"Hey?"

A few taps to your face.

"Heyy wake up bonny boy"

You grumbled huffing.

"C'monn- You need to get up so I can pull the arrows off ya daft-"

You peered a eye open to him shifting as you got up shaking off a few branches and leaves from your head.

"Ye wanna know what name they gave ye today?"

You grunted as you got up shaking off any remaining stray debris before laying back down as Soap went to work with tugging off the arrows from you they never pierced your flesh magical properly imbued inside of them made them stick painlessly to the target more like tracking tag than real damage arrow.

"White Death, Ah think that's cooler than yer lest name na? whit wis it again.." Soap pulled off another arrow storing it back into his quiver.

White Death certain was a better name than your pervious infamous nicknames.

"Ah I remember was it Snow Scales or Ice Lizard-" Soap grinned as your growled looking away embarrassed.

Soap chuckled.

"I got 300 coin from you today- We could head somewhere nice grab some pastries from that Village a bit west I know ye loved there cinnamon rolls."

The suggestion had you perked up at the mention of the sweet which Soap grinned at.

"We should get all washit up na? Ye juist haed tae land in the mud—"

You flicked your tail at him sending him off balance and falling back into the ground as well as yo letting a raspy soundalike laugh.

Pushing your claw against the amulet that sat tight around your neck it glowed for a moment before you started to shift and change shrinking as Johnny complained about getting his satchel and clothes dirty.

Once it stopped glowing you were human size albeit a bit taller than Soap, You still had some draconic features your eyes still dilated into slits under the sun, Scales around you arms and back that were easily hid with clothes and gloves, and horns that were luckily short enough to be hid with hair or hoods.

You walked over to him holding out a helping hand only to be yanked down onto the ground by him.

"Payback-" Soap flicked your forehead as you huffed.

"Whatever you're not the one that takes the daring crashes and falls in out little acts-"

Soap just rolled his eyes. "I never said 'Oh and at the very end make sure to get covered in mud!'."

You huffed flicking his shoulder as he grinned as he retold his fake little heroic story he told to each village rambling on about these couple of cats he saw as you just listened fondly.

You visited villages with him sure when you were in your human form but it just always made you feel antsy the odd stares you'd get were enough to make you visits to cities, towns, and villages very sparse.

Soap had noticed of course the observant caring bastard that he is and wouldn't stand for it of course not forcing you but you both went out for little walks, for supplies, and for getting you and him clothes and gear.

That's what you loved about him, He brought you out of your shell his voice and mannerism really just made a part of you melt.

To think when you both met when he was going to kill you.

a/n; not very confidence in this but i wanna commit to it </3 my nerves r all over the place makes it hard to write.

//body horror, monster! 141 + reader , death, gn!reader

other; c/n = callsign

a/n: idk how the military works neither do igaf much also this story was not planned this was just something i needed to get out of my system do nto expect it to be good

Shapeshifter!Reader whos always since they were a kid felt itch that there skin was ready to shed and peel like a snake, Who always felt like there body wasn't right had to be perfect flaws and all because that was human.

But they weren't human, weren't hybrid either.

The first time they had ever shifted they were eleven there Father in one of his moods again taking it out on there poor mother.

Something inside them itched at that moment hearing her cries there old dog bite injury felt like it was on fire now as they itched and scratched at it till the skin gave way giving the breathing room for transformation.

The next time they open there eyes they were being kicked there Mother sobbing as she screamed.

Father laid dead mauled beyond recognition.

Did you do that?

Why was she screaming at you?

You were kicked into the foster system the next day narrowly avoiding Juvenile detention your mother had given her last bit of gratitude by explaining to the police that you were defending her you thought she'd praise you after the police left.

You were packing your clothes that night.

You got a DNA test when you arrived due to your mothers alibi to the police.

Human.

They figured it too your mother being clearly traumatized and you sudden violent act of self defense could have made her see anything at moment.

Still didnt explain the injuries that only a dog could cause.

You were 15 when you had a good grasp on what you were.

By 18 you were barely you anymore picked pieces from other peoples faces and bodies till you felt like you looked normal.

By 19 your mother had passed the news reached you slow and the grief went slower.

By 21 you've already been in the military for a while now, If that means with a new face and body each time some higher up sticks there nose into your business then so be it.

Shifting from human to human was easy the more you practiced it.

More harder things like non-humans and animals were doable but animals were getting easier and easier.

You've tried been a K9 once didnt work out for long.

You've had a few nice call signs.

Few you quickly forgot.

[c/s]

Thats been nice to be called recently.

Oh.

Right.

You should focus your meeting your new task force.

Right.

We should focus.

Woof.

Heh.

Its been a few days and wow these guys were something.

Did you mention they were monsters?

Not in a negative way of course.

But getting to know them while they were around base was nice.

Gaz you felt was the easier to get to know the harpy felt open, Talked about how they've never had a human on the team before.

Nice.

Threw Gaz you got to know Soap, You felt like the man was holding back the calm energy around him felt forced at times as the days past both of them seemed to get to know you better and you got to know them better as well.

As for the Captain and Lieutenant you were honestly nervous,

Price had a welcoming aura to him his voice gruff and firm you warmed up to him soon enoug.

Ghost?

You tried.

And shuffled away every time he looked at you.

He noticed.

He noticed?.

You eventually did warm up to Ghost!

You realized he wasn't glaring at you for once and tried to talk to him it was..awkward to many silences but it was a conversation.

So you and him were okay.

Were you okay now weeks later slowly making your place into the team?

No.

You were itching beyond belief this wasn't a good sign—

Actually you didn't even know what kind of sign this was.

You had all just gotten back from a particular rough mission a few more injuries than you all would like you got a few stitches in your arm and every since you could just feel them moving.

Being shifted around stubbornly as if they were a dam in a river.

You couldn't do that here.

You were in the confines of your own room but what if one of them walked in?

Would they report you?

Get you kicked for the military?

Maybe if you could just shift slightly enough to easy the unease under your skin.

The sound of cracking bone was sure to grab attention.

But surely you could just pass it off as stretching?

You could not pass it off as stretching and you were currently hiding in the rafters near sobbing.

Gaz had came in to check on you and caught you half shifted you panicked and lunged at him or the door you couldn't remember you were pretty sure one of your bones were jutting out of your skin as it readjusted into place.

You didn't hurt him.

You were just hoping you could calm yourself enough to shift into something smaller and run away shift into a new person new age try again at childhood maybe?

Maybe you panicking too much?

There also monsters they'd understand?

You didn't mean to lie about what you were.

You just.

The fear of the unknown paralyzed you to afraid of what'll happen what people will think.

You know you could be a threat.

Someone able to take face and shape of anyone?

You could understand if you were saw that way.

But you didn't want to be seen that way.

Every since your mother stared you down in fear not admiration not even shock.

Fear.

You knew you could never let someone look at you that way again.

Not someone you cared about.

Maybe if you hid away long enough they'd forget.

Memories fade.

Faces fade from recognition.

But that's all what you wished what have happened.

Now you were in a awkward stare off with Gaz not to subtly watched your arm pop and snap back into place along with your head.

"I see I should have knocked.."

"Yeah you should have."

A voice of not your own replied.

You hated when your body was out of sync.

You were using the wrong voice again, rearranging your own brain and vocal cords was odd.

Odder when one of your new teammates watched.

"Are- Are you okay?-"

"No" Ghost's voice replied.

"Oh..I-..Er..Do you..need a medic I.."

"No" Your own voice replied finally.

"Can you please leave..My ribs are still not in place and I doubt you'd want to see how that works."

He left.

Probably to tell Price rather then not wanting to see you basically play with your own rib cage like tuning a piano.

a/n; idk where this was going i did not plan this out i just wrote it on a whim

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 4 -> next

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

a/n: THERE MEETING THERE MEETING :3

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv 

Waking up again you were once again heavily confused shivering as you took a breath inhaling that familiar chemical scent.

Chemicals.

Chemicals?

It wasn't as strong as you remembered it the more you woke and regained feeling in your body you saw a fucking pool.

You were just nearby laying on a plastic hangover on the edge of it your tail hanging off the edge into the water.

Oh god.

Oh no.

Fuck

You pushed yourself up and pushed yourself into the pool before resurfacing your breathing picking up as you looked around the all to familar blank walls the one way glass mirror that didn't hide the feeling of eyes on you.

What?

No

No

No

-

Gaz winced as he watched the Mer panic, It was common for mer's who came from the ocean were usually not at all receptive to human intervention and or help.

The natural built in generational fear of humans made sense due the unsavory practices of the past due to myths stirred up way back then that there flesh brought youth back into you, that there fins were important ingredients for medicinal cures or just for high life luxury, and that they were just used as luxury pets.

He tried to not let his mind wonder any father as he glanced down to his notes biting his lip as he sighed just jotting down the usual panicked behavior internally hoping they'd still be tired from the sedative which they very much were as there panicked had died down to swimming around the barren pool.

Gaz huffed as he left the observation room and onto the observation deck a decent height above the pool his presence didn't go unnoticed as the mer's eye flicked over to him a deathly glare being sent at him.

Avoiding a splash sent up at him Gaz was unphased mostly jotting down notes now as the Mer calmed eventually now just watching him which he didn't at all mind gave him a better view of all of there body and tail jotting down specific markers and scars along the skin.

Looking back at his other Orca mer notes they had no features genetically similar to any of the other Orca's they've rehabbed at least in this area of the country and since they found them all alone he was to assume they either left there close familial group or was very much lost which was likely due to there injuries.

There's just no way there pod would have left them in such a state but at the same time after reviewing there injuries Gaz was unsure to say the least.

There injuries were way to aggressive to be a simple fight or struggle between prey and predator, Not specific enough for them to be from blades of a boat motor, And were also not specific enough for them to be a survivor of a failed poaching attempt.

Gaz sighed as he shifted on his feet glancing up from his notes and to the Mer which still stared at him.

"God's what happen to you.." He mumbled as he leaned against the railing the Mer had retreated back underwater seemingly bored with him now.

-

This was weird—

No this was wrong.

This human had been just watching you?

And doing whatever it was doing.

Should you stare back?

Maybe you'll freak it out.

You did not in fact freak it out and it was still doing something with that board.

This place didn't seem all too bad.

You couldn't smell the remnants of blood from past creatures like you could back there they never cleaned your holding pool enough to make that scent fade away sometimes it was strong enough that you could have sworn the corpses were just floating right next to you.

There has been cases when they tried to even partner you up with a another Mer for a chance at calming you.

You only had one incident for them to know you should be left isolated.

You didn't want to be alone.

But a noise brought you out of your mind.

"Hey? I uh..brought you food."

It was that human again from the dock now that you got a better look at him.

Weirdo.

You surfaced as you looked over at him.

He was in grabbing range.

But you rather not get punished.

Does this place do punishments?

It's not the old place.

Hm.

You eventually decided not to drown him and instead waiting as he got closer cautious with a bucket of Fish that didn't smell like it was decaying for one still fresh possibly been frozen as he pushed over the bucket allowing you to get closer to the edge of the pool as he backed up out of reach.

To say you were hungry was a understatement as you ate till you were full enough pushing the bucket back towards him squinting at him as he chuckled.

"You must of been starving huh?..I know this must be confusing but were all here to help."

Lies.

"I'll be back to feed you later in a couple of hours.."

Don't come back.

"..Alright see you later Scarface."

What?

That name confused you greatly but you chose to ignore it you've been called worse.

Oh god what if they start calling you that?

"[Name]"

The human stopped dead in his tracks as he looked back at you.

"[Name]?"

You nodded as he hummed.

"Mines Gaz or..Well Kyle."

"Stupid names."

He was bewildered for a moment before chuckling once more.

"Alright Scarface"

"Kyle"

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 3 -> next

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

tags; @chickennn-soupp @cassiecasluciluce @sans-chara @lethargicluv 

a/n; hehehehemuahauahahahahaa (also realized the abuse tw doesnt rlly apply much its more like past abuse then current so ill fix that.) also i dont believe in proofreading (im lazy) also im not good at dialogue or sticking to povs....:(

The mer was in horrible condition by the time they had located them, Sightings from swimmers, surfers, and divers anyone that could have briefly seen them.

They had finally got a lead and the team was off, It didn't take but a couple of hours to find the injured Mer it didn't seem to disturbed at our presence yet till of course it seemed to notice us finally starting to swim away.

Susan one of our head researchers loading the tranquilizer gun as we prepared things around the boat, From what he could see the mer seemed to be in worse condition on the skinnier side and scarred beyond thought possible glimpse of sunburn scars also confused him.

"Where'd ya even find da' poor ol' sap like that Gaz?"

"Around the dock was on a break..nearly thought it was a corpse till it swam away."

"Creepy.."

He nodded sighing as they started up the boat again steering themself to be on line with the mer that must of noticed they were being followed they had started at a quicker pace of swimming which no doubt was hurting there injuries even worse pulling up beside them with the both allowing Susan to take proper aim.

A first hit there tail fin when they tried to quickly surface for air which sent them into a panic he felt anxious they would get away as they got another dart ready

They seemed to feeling the dart in full effect as they tried to shake the dart off there struggles gradually weakening when Susan had already reloaded getting a good shot on there back as the mer tried to dive deeper.

Recovering there now unconscious form had been relatively easy they were on the small size of Orca mer as they were laid on the boat heading course back to the facility as the medics on board got to work with patching up some of there injuries some would need surgery to be properly stitched up and fully sanitized.

He sighed as he looked over the mer sighing as he gave a gently pat to it's tail it hurt him to see them in such a state.

"As far as our examination goes we can't get a definite age but they are a full adult, There underweight so slipping in supplements and more high fat content in there food is a must.." A medic would explain as they both watched the Orcas surgery from behind glass.

"A lot of there wounds were infected but in the early stages so recovery from them might be a easy enough process.."

"You think there wounds are the cause of them being underweight?"

"We don't think so the wounds would be much more infected than they were now if it had been from a while back.."

Gaz sighed as he shifted.

"I'll go talk with Price-"

He turned heading out as he started down the hall.

He always thought this place needed some decorations besides the main lobby and a few other rooms the hallways were bare made the place feel more sterile and void always made him shiver or maybe it was the cool A/C that the old man was so stubborn about.

It didn't take him long to reach Price around the pool area.

"Garrick, How'd it go?"

"Better than expecting there gonna be leavin' to the rehab pools soon enough..You think they'll be big enough?"

"Pretty sure we've handle Mer's bigger than em' right?"

Gaz nodded, "There pretty small mer poor thing's underweight and got a infection'"

Price hummed as he picked up what he was working on before Gaz came in.

"You heard about Shadow's Shore getting a bunch of there 'attractions' stolen?"

Shadow's Shore, God those bastards they were notorious for kidnapping or even killing merfolk for sport.

The merfolk they kidnapped were usually children easiest to grab and place into there tanks treated no more than a mindless creature they usually didn't live there entire lifespans which was still unknown for most merfolk due to people like Shadow's Shore taking them while there young just for them to die barely even adults.

Video's from the place made his blood boil forced to do tricks, Getting treats as if they were a dogs, And god that annoying baby talk.

Merfolk were basically on the same intelligence level as human even rumored to have there own general language and species specific language yet laws in a lot of places refused to see them as such allowing Shadow Shore to stay open for the money it brought in.

The merfolk that were hunted were treated like trophy kills let out into small pools where they where shot and held up to pose with the person who paid to kill them.

Gaz shivered he still remember that video that was quickly covered up by the press, That poor mer crawling desperately out of the pool trying to get away so many arrows sticking out it.

Gaz quickly shook himself out of that thought focusing back in front of him.

"Really? fuckers would of deserved it..What'd made you bring this up?"

"They lost a few of there Orca Mer's"

a/n; cutting this short here cuz its literally 1 am as i finish this part off LMAO if this isnt as good as the other ones blame 1 am kron 🫠 also loreee ! loreee! some background info into this world :))))

unnatural bleeding

merfolk au!

previous <- part 2 -> part 3

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

a/n: sorry if it seems like im rushing i want to have most of the parts be the slow burn rather then the build up again not proof read we ride or die

tags; @chickennn-soupp <3 !

You slept nearly the entire day till you stirred awake at the near by noise of the wood creaking on the dock.

You groaned quietly as you shifted getting ready to pull yourself back into the water the tide had started to come back in and your wounds weren't bleeding much but you couldn't stay here for long anyways.

"What the hell?"

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a voice as you quickly turned towards it sort of flinching back slightly you weren't close to the dock at all but it still felt too close.

You've been around humans enough to know a a lot things.

You knew how to read and understand English well enough and speak it too it always amazed them for some reason even though you were always capable at mimicking or learning other languages they always saw you as just a slightly higher intelligent animal.

So you knew a phone when you saw one and you knew what it usually meant to so once they pulled it out without much hesitation you dived back under you were starting to dry out a bit.

"Wait wait!-"

You just ignored them as you swam a good distance away it was too risky for you to linger your injuries still fresh and you haven't the slightest clue to take care of them.

-

When he decided to take a break down at the docks for a quick smoke he did not at all expect to see a fucking Orca mer of all fuckin things the words just slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"What the hell?"

They looked like they'd been threw a blender poor thing, They flinched when he guess they heard his voice staring at him now it was hard to see much of what they looked like but he fished out his phone quickly as he flicked threw his contacts dialing a number only to realized the mer was starting to move.

"Wait wait!-"

He cursed internally as you already slipped into the water just as the phone had picked up.

"Price!"

"Fuckin' hell Garrick pipe down-"

"Ah I know- I know- But It's urgent-"

"I swear Gaz if it's about that dog."

"It's not this time I promise! I got another case on our hands."

-

You had found another set of rocks to rest on messing with a shell you had snagged from a coral bed a ways back but you had snagged some seaweed in a attempt to replicate the way humans would bandage you.

It was messy and barely actually helped but it covered the few wounds you could manage to wrap without pain flaring up.

The sudden urge of hunger came over you realizing you haven't eaten in a while your last meal was when you were fed this morning.

Surely hunting wouldn't be that hard?.

It was not that hard honestly,

If hunting was scaring off some poor saps from there kill was hunting you were lucky they mistook your grizzled appearance as experience and strength rather than weakness.

Because you were most definitely weak as you dug into the poor creatures flesh you couldn't identify what it was as you ate it but you didn't care there wasn't a bad taste and you hadn't keeled over from some toxin so you were alright.

You eventually finished off most of it before leaving the rest there you were full now swimming off to god knows where your wounds didn't stop hurting of course which slowed you down greatly.

You eventually found yourself another place to sleep for the night your wounds would hopefully start doing something other than stay open and risk infection or even tearing worse.

What you didn't expect to be waken up to was the sound of the familiar rumble of a boat that was way too close voices that sounded way to clear you were supposed to be too far out for any human to happen upon you.

You were not in the mood for squeal and the shutter and flash of cameras today as you slinked back under the water and swam off.

What you also failed to expect is for the boat to start following you, You initially thought they got bored and were going to turn there boat back around to shore but of course not they were following you.

You just kept swimming forcing yourself to go faster swimming a bit lower hoping they'd lose you but they didn't.

Familiar dread rose in you panic slightly rising as you kept swimming ignoring the burn and strain you were putting on you wounds.

You didn't want to go back brief flashes of memories obscuring your vision dug up from you subconscious The chase, The shots, And the blood there was so much you couldn't breath you were covered in it.

You blinked away the memories you couldn't lose yourself not now as you took a quick breath and that was your mistake as you felt a sudden sharp pain in your tail crying out as you thrashed turning yourself to try to rip out the dart that had been shot into you it was on the smaller side but sharp enough to pierce threw your thick skin of your tail fin.

Fatigue had already set in as you eventually ripped the thing out the boat had stopped muffle warped voices from above the water as the whirr of a machine came to life.

You couldn't fucking go back not like this they'd kill you or worse, Why would they want you bad you were ruined you weren't young and energetic and naive you didn't have the hope of escape you used too.

You didn't have much time to think of your demise much more as thee was another sharp pain in your back before you fell unconscious.

a/n: woooo new pov ee also how would you guys feel if i dropped the height chart of all characters ? (your much bigger than you think orcas r huge so u being half a orca would make you massive enough :3)

unnatural bleeding

Masterlist

merfolk au!

part 1 -> part 2

parings: gaz x reader

chars: gaz, price , soap , ghost

tws: blood, injuries, violence, past abuse, language, slow burn, rude reader.

a/n: i hope this was alright 😭 not proofread fuck it we ball

Where were you?

You couldn't move,

Were you in holding again?.

You didn't attack anyone, At least no one you could remember.

You still felt bad for that other merfolk they shouldn't have gotten so close.

Your mouth dry as you licked your even dryer lips despite the strange humidity in the air your body felt numb your limbs slack as you tried to look around only to realized you were in darkness shifting as your body regained it's senses.

You eventually woke up your body enough your tail thrashing in its confined space till you realized.

You weren't even in water you were moist yeah damp at the very least, You could feel the rubbery texture starting to agitated old and new wounds. Newer wounds plastered in this weird cold material that you found out was resistant to the water helping your wounds stay closed.

You learned quick back then not to try and scrape it off ending up in the sick bay was near hellish those babying voices, all those hands on you, and those needles the tiny things frightening you after finding out that such a small dose of whatever they gave you could send you helplessly lethargic and eventually unconscious as they shipped you over to a new tank.

But this?

This was weird as the sounds of voices and whirring finally reached your torn ears.

"There starting to wake up c'mon!-"

"You sure the crane is gonna be able to handle all of well that?"

"Yes just fuckin' dump em'"

And then you were suddenly weightless as your vision flooded with light blinding you and not helping your coordination as you fell into the water.

You couldn't breath the hard shock of the temperature of the water and the brightness stunning you enough that you didn't even realized you were free from confinement the brightness of the sun still clearing up the black spots in your vision.

"Is it dead? It's not moving-"

"Fuck we need to go- C'mon!"

"But-"

You finally came to your senses enough has you stole a quick breath of air before diving back under blinking rapidly as you looked around this felt different.

The water lacked its smell of strong chemicals, and nearly vivid teal blue look.

Where the fuck where you?

-

Okay there was a big issue you'd been swimming for a while now.

And you hadn't run into any walls yet.

You found yourself flinching sometimes when you approached what you thought was the end of the tank but it kept going, You didn't think you were in a pool anymore.

You kept swimming resisting the urge to pick at your wounds you were confused beyond belief as you went around there was fish everywhere most avoiding you you would too as you swam around.

You've never seen fish at least not when they weren't floating around dead to the pool bottom.

Vibrant coral still flourishing.

This wasn't right.

A grumble in your throat as you surfaced for a moment blinking as you looked around quickly realizing there was no pool edge in sight.

No person in sight.

No chairs.

No bright lights.

No sounds other than the water it's self and bird up ahead.

Oh fuck.

Wait.

Oh fuck yes.

You dove back down the pervious shock and horror changed into releif.

You were fucking free, You sighed your body slightly relaxing as you swam looking around.

You didn't remember much of the ocean, Barely much memories as a child but the open vastness was familiar you swam around till something or more like someone caught your eye a smaller merfolk collecting seaweed.

You tilted your head should you approach them? Maybe just to see where the hell in the ocean you were.

Or maybe you could scare the shit out of some poor guy who just slashed you with his makeshift knife.

Okay maybe slowly stalking up to him like a predator wasn't the smartest idea, You knew larger merfolk hunted and regularly ate smaller or merfolk who were more prey-like than usual if that made any sense.

But stabbing you?

That felt personal, Now you were desperately chasing after this guy trying to apologize and beg him to stop swimming it was starting to piss you off.

From behind you could see him better or at lease see what his mer half was better.

Shark.

Oh.

Are you fucking kidding me?

You eventually catch up to him grabbing him not at all gently flipping him around as you exhaled grumbling you'd need to take a breath soon and all the biting and scratching he was now doing.

"Fucking stop- Look I'm not going to eat you will you just!-"

"Get the fuck off me you fuckin' asshole!-"

"Look please I just need-"

"Si!-"

And then you feel like you got hit by a boulder as the mer you had previously been shaking and trying for him to stop yelling was yanked from you.

It took you a second to realized you were being dragged down your teeth meeting your attacker flesh as you struggled with whoever this was they were heavier and larger than you which didn't help your predicament that you needed air and quick.

Scratches and bites exchanged as they pushed to drag you deeper now you could say with full intent they wanted to drown you, You finally bit down as hard as you could as you slammed your tail against there body finally getting them off as you swam to the surface catching a quick breath before diving down and finally seeing what you where up against.

A orca mer much larger than yourself barreling towards you.

You barely had time to react as you flipped slamming your tail fin into him head first before darting off as fast as you could taking quick gasps of air till you felt you were no longer in his sights.

You surfaced panting heavily the reality of your wounds set in and your adrenaline wore off finally making you realize how tired you were you kept on swimming trying to ignore your own blood dyeing the surrounding waters red.

The reality of it all made you realize there's no injections to save you this time, No bandages and creams to help keep your wounds clean.

You were helpless.

You didn't know why you didn't realize it early, Was it the taste of freedom that blinded you? You had no idea how to hunt, No idea how to properly fight, And no idea how to treat your own wounds.

You eventually forced your self to swim till you saw some semblance of land the weird horrible chemical smells that came from human settlements was familiar too you but you avoided it.

You doubted you'd be recaptured you were too old, Too ugly, Too beaten up to be a nice new attraction having lost your baby face and charm years ago.

You could barely keep yourself awake as you swam yourself to the near perk of rocks it felt too close to the docks but you need something to rest on it was cloudy enough to not risk a sunburn which was something you did not need today.

You just hoped a human wouldn't come along and gawk at you like they usually did sometimes even throw bits of food clearly not made for consumption like you were a stray dog.

You just need a few minutes to rest.

Maybe a hour.

full design for the cpt!!!

Nothing special rn just a basic design :3 (I have. Designs for ale, rudy + others coming up ) plus more 141 dog stories!

dog!price doodle :3 (was just testing a design for him)

His Kid (Pup?)

dog!price + human! child reader (gender neutral pronouns)

tws; fluff , fluffy , fluff , minor injury :( , i would say language barriers but lets just say you both can understand each other. no use of y/n sumamry; prices rambles about you! eventually realizing that hes a sucker for you and your his kid now.

Gods if you didn't stop fucking running off when they took this..what'd they'd call themselves? Human a couple of weeks ago he didn't expect to have a basically oversized puppy keeping all of the unit on there toes.

We couldnt really tell if there were old for there species we guess not it took a look for them to learn boundaries especially when we first encountered them they said they were 12 years old it was clear then that 'human' years were different from ours they clearly weren't some old greying dog.

There so damn touchy, Honestly weren't they raised with any manners? Putting there hands in our faces , tugging tails , pulling off my damn hat. They learned there lesson with the random touching when they tried to..'pet' Simon, I know he didn't mean to bite them I could instantly see the flash of guilt in his eyes when he nipped them purely out of how much they had gotten him riled up they've been avoiding him now as of recent but I'm sure the human just needs time the humans skin was fragile the nip was enough to cause it to bleed a candy and bandage later they were fine. I've recently spotted them and Ghost together the human drawing mumbling and rambling on about something as Simon just watched I couldn't help but grin slightly at the sight, They had there calm moments the slow days around the base I could hear them making those weird noises that they do..'giggling?' it sounded more like a little piglet squealing when them and Soap would be running around base. Oh right them and Soap truly a pair together whether that's a good thing or not its still to be decided thought it was sure Soap was the perfect dog to help them tucker out enough for a nap, Honestly out of all of us I'm pretty sure Soap is reason for most of there scratches and bruises somethings in the earlier weeks forgetting that there not a adult dog despite being around the size of one they were easily knocked over plus easily scratched with Soaps claws accidentally grated against them.

Pretty sure I've been recently been hearing Soap filing down his nails(finally bloody fuckin' hell I was half convinced I'd have to force him to the groomers) to a manageable level which is a wine in my book no more hearing the damn bastard slip and slid on the smooth floor. The pup is great around Gaz a healthy medium between Soap and Ghost you could easily find them both laying around even with Pup laying on Gaz's stomach as he rambled on about something Gaz seemed to be alright with the petting we all eventually assumed that was how the human showed affection but of course there's still boundaries between us so they human learned to ask before petting us. I'm not to fond of petting but sometimes the human will come in my office and just sit there either watching him work or looking around the office just something about them is so..I don't even know the word they eventually one day laid against me I didn't know really what to do so I just stayed still eventually laying down letting them cuddle closer. There're pretty damn cute. Shit. I just sighed as I gently pulled them closer as I went back to finishing up the report..I hoped we'd keep em' for bit longer.

cod dog au - price

ok i kind of went off the rails with him he's kind of like what i described with graves instead he's a battered old dog fr he's not that old but he gonna grow a few grey hairs having to deal with his boys

a very non fluffy guy despite his appearance very sort of coarse-ish type fur bit rough and is always caring around that smell of his personal favorite brand of dog cigars

quick thought i had of like YOU yes YOU the reader were in a isle of dog situation being a human child he would be like chief to you but like he defiantly wouldn't bond that close if your shivering or something sure he might let you lean into his coat might let you hold onto his tail and follow him around he wouldn't at all hesitate to snap at you but rarely so

but for normal dog au things you can find him laying in his favorite sun spot in his office not at all going to hesitate to snap at anyone soaking it up (hes partial to gaz, ghost has his own spot and he'll snap at soap and you(you being a dog this time) )

he's pretty agile and fit despite all the fur looking like it'd be heavy he gets a shave ever now and then so he isn't insanely fluffy also despite me saying he's not REALLY fluffy he's warm af and like if your cold get prepared to lay feel like your laying on a cheap fur pillow, of course he goes and gets groomed but thats more rare taking a shower is enough for him.

Abandoned...

Price x reader... tw, death (I'm not good at writing angst so forgive me if it's bad)

*******************************************************

You were a clingy little thing really clingy... Price wasn't used to that not one bit, he was used to things being one and done enough time to satisfy his need then go back to it he was a busy man after all. he barely had time to care for himself how the hell was he going to take care of a relationship?

It was supposed to be a one and done thing just one night to relieve himself and then he'd be good. But you were so damn addicting, a nice little thing to keep his bed warm.

But price is a man of control he can't afford to get too attached, too emotionally envolved with you, you were a soldier you should already understand that you can't hold onto things forever you see it everyday with the comrades you lose, the people killed in the name of good, the sacrifices given to keep the peace.

You should already be used to keeping things at arms distance, that you need to keep your emotions at a certain level but you don't.

You kept your heart open to him even after he warned you against it. But you didn't listen, you didn't think he could do that you trusted him as a lover when he saw himself as just your captain.

So he made a decision... when it was just a mission with just the two of you a simple one really a supposed in and out grab intel and get out a child could do it.

As you were about to approach the building he lets you know "I'm going to scout around the area see of we have any trouble on our hands" his gruff voice meets your ears.

You weren't one to question orders you truly believed that he was watching out for the two of you. You couldn't help the smile that graced your face "copy captain meet you inside yeah?" You said a bite of playfulness in your tone.

He nods "see you on the inside..." and disappeared into the darkness of the night. You progress forward while he goes back to the heli. He was going to abandon you here but you were a capable soldier you knew how to get out of tough situations.

If anything he truly felt he was helping you out in the long run. He needed you to come to reality he needed you to realize that you were a soldier not some lovesick fool.

He was trying to get you off his back really but that's not what he tells himself. Though while it was nice to have a person to keep him company and warm his bed you just went above and beyond always with the hugging, kissing, leaving cute notes in his office, the gifts you were too damn attached to him.

As he makes his way to he heli you radio in "Price how's it looking over there? I don't know about you but somethings off." Price sighed feeling as if you were just trying to find a way to make conversation with him.

"Clear, everything's good over here focus on the mission" and with that he turns off his radio amd enters the heli.

You sneak further into the building it was dead quiet not a sound it had you on edge you held you gun as you made quiet steps to the supposed intel keeping a eye out.

Before you enter the room it was in you get shot at you run for cover cursing under your breath. "Price we git unexpected enemy contact here I got shot at need back up, how copy?" You wait to hear what he says as you get shot at. "Price I need help now" you grunt into your radio.

You try to shoot back but get hurt in the process there was more than one person a whole group a ambush.

"Fuck it's a ambush price I need your help now!" you plead into the radio confused and worried why the hell he wasn't answering "Price please I need you are you down how copy?" You get up to leave running down the halls trying desperately trying to get a answer at least a small acknowledgement that he's alive.

You feel a pain in you leg as you get shot panic fills you desperation claws at your core as you limp to safety you were scared, terrified where the hell was price you needed him, or at last know he was safe.

You try one last time "John! Where are you? Are yo-" a bullet silences you... forever.

It was a quick painless death filled with fear, panic and despair.

When you didn't come back after a few days price starts to worry he thought you would've been back by now where were you? After a couple more days he finally sends some people to go find you see of you were still at the site or if you had already advanced and were lost.

He feels guilt naw at him worry seeps into his bones but he tries to keep a brave face you had to be alive.

It's a temporary balm that soothes his soul for now that was until the body bag came back the sorrowful looks of the soldiers that found you told him everything he needed to know.

A guilt filled his heart when he finds out what happened and the thought that what if he had kept on his radio? What if he hadn't left would they still be alive? The fact he had to live with the guilt that he's the reason he sent you to a early grave the way you went out no one to soothe your worries to hold you as the light faded from your eyes.

Alone and scared left to bleeding for a selfish cause a way to push you away. You should've been alive but you weren't you should've been here talking off his ear but you weren't.

All because of him you were dead and you couldn't come back. And now he has to live with the pain the grief that came from knowing he had abandoned you willingly in enemy territory. He holds onto the anger that maybe if he had stayed for a minute longer you'd be alive.

The urge to make some reader x price angst where he abandons reader on a mission so they'd stop being so clingy and attached to him only for them to come home in a body bag...

Ghost would crash the most, but Johnnys crashes level his car every time. Miracle they’re alive at all. And in one piece. Ghost drives a challenger, Johnny drives a mustang.

Prices car is the closest one to a beater out of all of them. The rust, weird noises and odd quirks gives it personality love, he says. His car is also an absolute nightmare to detail because he insists that the first cup holder is his ash tray and the built up pile of ash has to stay. Car smells reaaaaaal funky. Never rolls his window up to smoke. Drives an older model Camaro

Gaz’s is the newest and nicest. He’s not very messy but he always hires you to detail it. The only thing with him is his car is also his gym locker and he has so much shit in the back seat and it smells like man sweat. Will never take it out before bringing his car to your shop. Feel like he’d drive a hellcat

Sometimes they just show up and hangout in your lot to drink beer, play music loud and talk shit about whatever car you’re trying to fix at that moment (you’re scaring the clientele guys pls)

THIS!! This is so accurate!!

I feel like yes they can be annoying and dirty at times and can scare away the clients sometimes there is also a lot of pros of them being around almost 24/7.

Such as when a client is being a bit to aggressive trying to haggle you out of your original price and then you got four big burly men who are like your security and the client backs off and doesn't come back until their car is ready.

I Also think that both Soap and Gaz are huge energy drink people so every now and then you'll see a few monsters or red bulls in Gaz's car BUT soap car... you're scared of even opening his door in fear of a shit ton of old red bulls, monsters and Rockstar energy drinks cans attacking you.

It's also pretty cool because you have these men at your disposal. You can use them to pick up heavy car parts that you don't want to, just let out a sharp whistle and you got one of them or all of their attention.

Going back to Price's rank smelling car I can imagine a scenario where reader is giving his car back to him and he sees one of the car air freshener and he's like "what's this love? I dont need one." And you respond with "yes you do I'm tired of working on a smelly ass car."

Not the first time won't be the last that Soap drives to your shop with a door missing a door, a headlight broken, tires near to being smooth and a dopey grin on his face as he calls you over to assess his fucked up mustang that's running on prayers by now.

I don't know why but I can see Ghost's always having cracks or being broken and you're always confused because how hard are you racing for your windshield to be broken all the time???

Doesn't matter how many time you scold them for intimidating other clients and making fun of their cars but they ain't gonna stop they are jealous that others are taking the cute mechanic's attention.

By the amount of times they have come to your shop so you can work on their cars you who's car is who's by the way they sound.

You are silently cursing out gaz while you detail his car moving his gym bag random shit he has in his trunk also I truly believe this man has the most random things lost in the seats like once you were cleaning it out and just found a TV remote like wtf??

Okay random thought but street racers 141 x mechanic reader???

Like imagine reader getting pissed of at soap because this is the third time this week that you had to replace his tires. These men will be the death of you. And don't even get started with how your garage is starting to smell like smoke with how many times price and ghost have been here smoking as you tell them the damage to their cars are and how much it's going to cost. Might start a no smoking inside rule. I can also see either Gaz or Soap using their pretty privilege to get discounts on certain things. I'm also a heavy believer that Gaz's speakers are busted with how loud he has his music. He's looking at you with his puppy dog eyes as he asks you to replace his speakers for the fourth time this month.

I LOVE PRICE SM!! I can imagine him being the type of man who may be a aggressive and intimidating guy, but is a very family-orientated guy, and will do anything to protect his little ones lmao. He'd be the type of dad to carry his son on his shoulders if he wants to lmao.

speaking of modern warfare 2019, does anyone else remember when price and gaz were interrogating the butcher and price casually told kyle to load the gun in that low tone without even breaking eye contact with the butcher… goodness gracious 😩 that man is so hot so effortlessly it’s crazy.

Hiii Crab so happy to see you write outside of our rants/idea chats and my fellow delulu cod enjoyer! Would love to request Platonic!141 + Reader (sorry if this is long and somewhat confusing lol). You can do headcanons, drabble or whatever you comfy for. An idea that popped in my head kinda semi personal: Civ or 141! Reader though has parents and family is the reader is quite something else. Reader despite having somewhat normal upbringing still feel empty; they shouldn't be feeling this numb and empty deep inside of them. The reader craves the love that they give but couldn't or lack of receiving it back, though they don’t expect it or selfishly want it. Just someone who understands them even in their deepest darkest secret or flaw then boom cue the task force 141 unexpected yet welcoming to their life and maybe the one that the Reader can lean and let them be vulnerable on (finally).  

Take your time on doing this Looking for to your other writing genuinely -Cee, your fellow Soap delulu

GN!Reader & 141 (Mostly Price)

Warnings: Slight angst Ships: None. A/N: This absolutely ran away from me and I do not at all regret it, hope you enjoy, Cee!!! Words: 3549

Almost your entire life had been a cycle of self doubt that also started to churn and twist into self-hatred. You blamed yourself for the feelings. Afterall, you had a relatively normal upbringing. Two parents who were both present in your life, both of whom worked so that you all had food on the table and a roof over your head. A luxury that very few had.

The least you could do for them is follow the path that they wanted to put you on, no matter how much you didn’t want to do it. Because you loved them. 

So you excelled in your education, studying hard to try and impress your parents– to make them love you just as much as you loved them for everything that they did for you for your entire life. They wanted you to do all three sciences despite the additional workload it would add to your already stretched thin time? Then you would do them, take any extra classes after school in order to keep up with the work and not lag behind any of your peers. 

There was no such thing as a social life, either, not when you had homework and projects due. Friends were few and far between. Generally, most people left when they realised how hyper focused you were on your grades instead of social interaction. 

Did a classmate get a higher grade than you on a test? Well obviously you didn’t study hard enough, you just needed to dedicate more time to school even though school was all you had.

Did you get the highest marks in the class? Good, that was what was expected of you. Why didn’t you get full marks? You were better than that. You would do better because you loved your family. They showed it in their own way, of course, by encouraging you to study harder and get better grades. That was their love language, and yours was doing as they asked without a second thought. Because, at the end of the day, you were lucky to have an upbringing like you had. You would ignore the hollow void clawing at your chest because you had no right to feel that way– not when you had a roof over your head and parents that loved you(?).

It was when you came top of the class with full marks in a recent test, you came home with a beaming smile on your face and proudly showed the test to your parents. They took the papers from your hands, flipping through your work with critical eyes, before handing the papers back to you. 

‘Well done, we’re so proud of you.’ That was all you wanted them to say to you. That was all you needed to hear. To know that they loved you. 

‘Your penmanship is terrible.’ Was what you got instead. When you tried to point at the big 100% in green pen, you were waved away. ‘How are you expected to get a job when you write like a child? I’m surprised the teacher could even read your answers’. 

After several years of balancing a work and educational life and paving a way for a line of work that you didn’t want for parents you should have been grateful to have, you decided that enough was enough. 

No matter how hard you worked, no matter how high your marks were, they would never be proud of you. They would never return the love that you had for them until you nearly killed yourself trying. 

Spending your entire childhood, teenagehood and all of your current adulthood trying to please your parents predictably would damage one’s psyche. You had no friends, family who had never been devoted to you as you were to them, and high grades serving as the foundations to a prison-like future.

You dropped out of University. The only option forward that you saw was joining the army in the vain hope that the empty feeling inside of you would dissipate when you actually did something that you believed was more worthwhile than any University course. 

So you threw yourself into the military, working harder than all of the other recruits and training at every chance you could.

Your skills and determination became widely recognised amongst your peers. It took several years, but you eventually caught the eye of none other than Captain John Price. 

Impressed by your willpower that not many soldiers possessed, he offered you a place on the 141. 

Naturally, you agreed. You believed that being part of such a well renowned and respected team would finally beat back the lingering self doubt and emptiness that had curled itself around your heart.

It didn’t. If anything, it made it worse.

You were invited to join the 141, sure, but they had already established their own relationships between each other, had already bonded into a close knit group, and you were simply an outsider. Yes, you had been hand picked by Price himself, but that didn’t mean you were part of the team. They had their own inside jokes that they told to one another, leaving you feeling left out on most days.

And you felt… lacking around them. Ghost was stronger, Gaz was faster, Soap was smarter (he was a demolitions expert for crying out loud!), and Price was almost all of those rolled into one. They all complimented each other as a team. Meanwhile you felt like a spare tyre, a master of nothing and barely a jack of any trade. 

Despite how you felt about it all, they all called you ‘kid’. Regardless of age gaps between yourself and the rest of them, the nickname stuck mostly because you were the newbie. It came as a surprise that it wasn’t spat with vitriol as your peers before had, but it was in fact said with… an affection you couldn’t quite place.

You couldn’t ignore the hole in your chest that had been chipped at over the years, forming a gaping maw that no reassurances could really mend. 

Doubt lingered in the back of your mind, chipping away at your sanity as you prepared for the worst. How long would it take before they realised you weren’t good enough? 

You were so deep in your doubts that you didn’t realise that you had been distancing yourself even more than before until you overheard a conversation in Price’s office a few months down the line.

“-- they don’t belong on the team.” Gaz said as you passed Price’s office and your heart dropped. It was only the tailend of what he had been saying but you had gotten the gist. You wanted to stay, to listen to the conversation more and listen to what your team had to say about you, but you didn’t. What you were going to hear were likely things you had already told yourself right from the start. You keep walking on, ignoring the sting of tears burning in the corners of your eyes. The blood rushing in your ears prevented you from heating the rest of the conversation. 

“-- not only are they acting like they don’t belong on the team, but they’re acting like they’re not good enough.” Gaz continued, sighing in frustration.

“Maybe they need more time.” Ghost rumbled in reply, “Let them come out of their shell a little bit. Best not rush these things.” He was talking from experience, after all.

“Aye… maybe I can invite them out for drinks or sommat? I wouldn’t want them getting transferred before we got to know them a little more.” Soap had been the one that had tried the hardest to get close to you but had also tried to give you space so as to not suffocate you with his personality. 

“They won’t be getting transferred.” Price said with conviction, tapping his desk, “I chose them to be part of this team and this is where they’re going to stay. Let me have a word with them first.”

“Aye, sir.”

— — — — — —

You found yourself in the smoker’s shelter outside the main building. It was late enough that most of the soldiers had gone to bed or off to do their own things elsewhere so you doubted that you would be bothered for a little while. Just enough time for you to get your thoughts together. Your tears had dried in your eyes a few minutes ago, making them sting in the cold air. You didn’t need to look in your reflection to know that you probably looked like a wreck– entirely unbecoming of a soldier of your apparent status. 

You didn’t want to get transferred. Despite your distance with the 141, you didn’t hate them. Far from, actually, you held a great deal of respect for each and every one of them. It was just that you felt like you didn’t have your place amongst them. Not good enough to be associated with them. 

“Bit late to be out here in the cold, chuck.” A voice startled you out of your thoughts– one that you would recognise anywhere from the low rasp of a smoker's lungs. 

“Captain.” You croaked, wincing at the patheticness in your voice. There was a scuff of boots as Price came closer, leaning into your line of vision with a furrowed brow which only furrowed more as he took in your dishevelled appearance.

“Something on your mind?” He asked kindly, perching on the arm of the bench to give you some personal space. He left his question open, allowing you any chance to steer the conversation how you wanted to. There was no judgement for catching you at your lowest, no disgust at your red rimmed eyes— just polite understanding and a non verbal offer of pleasant company. 

“Why did you pick me, Captain?”

The question made him tilt his head, a frown beginning to tug on his features. You were worried you had insulted him.

“What brought this on, huh? Someone say something to you? Need me to have a word with them?” He straightened his back, scowling. Whilst you felt like you didn’t have a place in the 141, you could never deny the shield of protectiveness that Price held over his team. You remember in the back of your mind the day that some General who thought he was hot shit had the audacity to undermine Soap as nothing more than a ‘yappy dog’ when offered the Scot’s demolitions expertise. Price had appeared almost out of thin air and almost ripped the General a new one and things would have escalated into a fist fight had Laswell not intervened. It wasn’t as though Price didn’t think his own soldiers were capable of defending themselves, but he couldn’t care less about punishments aimed his own way over that of his Sergeants and Lieutenant. It was just a surprise that the protective streak extended over you, too, despite your distance to your teammates.

“I’ll sound stupid.” You mumbled, looking down at the ground as if expecting him to chastise you like a child. He didn’t.

“I’ve had my fair share of stupid over the years. Try me.”

“... and ungrateful.”

“I once had a guy punch me in the face two seconds after I took a bullet that would have killed him.” Price countered with a cut off chuckle once he remembered what was probably a mission long finished and cleared his throat. “C’mon, tell Captain what’s on your mind.”

And he sounded so sincere when he said it. Sounded like he genuinely wanted to hear what was going on in your head– that he was willing to waste what was already his important and limited time on someone like you. 

“Sir—”

“John.” Price corrected gently, crows feet more noticeable at the corners of his eyes scrunched up when he smiled, “We’re off duty, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“... John.” You echoed, finding that you really didn’t like saying that. It felt like calling your teacher by their first name in primary school or a classmate’s parent other than their last name. 

“Now, c’mon, tell me what’s on your mind. Might not be a therapist, but I’m better than bottling it up.” You wondered in the back of your mind how often Price did this. Sat with his soldiers and talked with them, offered them a listening ear to hear their vents and fears. You couldn’t help but feel honoured to be one of the few he willingly offered said time to. Your silence stretched on as you thought of the words to say, how to phrase what you wanted to say without sounding unappreciative of the opportunity that Price had offered you when he requested you join his team. 

“I don’t feel like I belong here.” You blurted once the silence had stretched on for long enough to border on uncomfortable. John’s face fell and you quickly realised how bad that sounded and rushed to correct yourself.

“No, no, wait, let me explain–” the Captain closed his mouth to allow you to continue speaking, but you could tell that it was hard for him. “I just… you could have anyone better than me, you know? I’m not a demolition expert. I’m… I’m not the best Sniper. I’m the slowest on the team, pretty sure I’m the weakest–”

“Nope.” Price interrupted, finally breaking the bubble of your personal space as he took a proper seat next to you on the bench but still respecting the distance enough to keep a few inches between you. “Nope, not lettin’ you say another word.”

“But–” 

“Nope.”

“Cap–”

“No.”

“But you could have anyone better—“

“But they wouldn’t be you.” He deflected easily. Far too easily. He leant back on the bench, crossing one leg over the other as he folded his arms over his chest. His fingers twitched and you could tell he was itching for a cigar but didn’t light one out of respect. 

“Alright, sure, I can ask Laswell to give me one of the best soldiers in the SAS and have them brought here tomorrow. They could be the best of the best, top of their class, better than you and maybe even better than me. But that’s a bit of a stretch.” He winked and earned a weak chuckle from you. “But they won’t be you. I don’t pick just on skill alone, kid, I pick based on how I feel people would fit into the team. I chose you because I knew that you’d be perfect.”

“As for not being a demolitions expert, let  me let you in on a little secret. I’ve no fucking clue about demolitions, either. And you don’t have to be on the team to be the ‘best Sniper’. You’re better than most, and that’s what’s important. As for being the weakest– did you or did you not bodily lift Gaz in a fireman’s carry during training the other week while he was trying to act as an injured civilian? Quite dramatically, might I add. Swooned and everything.”

You remembered that practice mission. Quite fondly, actually. Gaz was a civilian and , after being struck by a foam bullet from Soap, had dramatically screamed in agony and crumpled to the floor. When you had lifted him up and over your shoulders, the bastard continued to wail something along the lines of telling his non-existent spouse that he loved them and that his money be given to his equally non-existent children. Soap got in another shot to the man’s head, knocking off his cap in the process. Distracted as you were trying to haul your teammate out of the danger zone, you couldn’t help but laugh thinking about it now. 

“Last time I checked, Gaz is somewhat heavier than a sack of flour. Don’t tell him I said that, I’ll hurt his feelings.” Price was right, you supposed. You were more than capable of carrying Gaz over your shoulders, maybe even Soap or Price himself if the time called for it. Ghost you weren’t so sure about, though. The man was a walking mountain. 

“What I’m trying to say is that you have to give yourself more credit. You’re more than good enough to be on my team. I chose you for a reason.”

You… did not expect that sort of reassurance from Price. You had hoped for something along those lines, yes, but perhaps with a thrown in criticism or three. You waited for a ‘but’ that never came. The man snorted beside you and when you gave him a quizzical look, he waved off your concern.

“Shit, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think the next thing out of your mouth would be that your parents never hugged you as a kid.”

Your silence made him slowly turn his head towards you. It would have almost been comical if the situation wasn’t. His face crumbled and a wounded sound emerged from his throat.

“Sometimes they did!” You rushed to defend the people that raised you. “And they gave me food and shelter, clothes when I needed them–”

“Fucking hell. No, that’s what they’re supposed to do because they’re your parents. What about telling you that they were proud of you? That they loved you? I saw your records. Top of your class in not just your training but in your education, too. Triple sciences, mathematics, all of it. They had to be proud of you for that? My parents would have killed for me to get even a passing grade in my GCSEs.” You looked down at the ground and it was Price’s turn to have his eyes fixed on you. 

“They were proud of you, weren’t they?” He asked again, leaning forwards so he could catch your eye, his own filled with concern. “Kid?”

“I don’t talk to them much anymore.” 

Price inhaled sharply and he leaned back again, looking around and clenching his jaw as if fighting back his anger. His fingers twitched again. You admired his self control as he was still yet to grab a cigar that you knew he kept on his person. Usually in his breast pocket while his lighter was in his right pocket.

“Listen to me.” The Captain said, a more stern edge to his voice now that he had gathered his thoughts together. “Whatever your family said to you— how they treated you? Forget it. They showed you obligation. Not love. They didn’t want what was ‘best’ for you, they wanted bragging rights. What you’ve achieved– here, in bootcamp, in university and in school, is something to take pride in– no, no, look at me.”

Your gaze had trailed to the side so you avoided looking at your Captain in the eyes. He noticed and clicked his fingers to gain your attention back on him.

“Don’t look away from me because I want you to listen to what I’m gonna say and I want you to look at my face as I say it.” Your eyes met his blue ones, “You should be proud of everything that you’ve achieved in your life. I’m sorry that your family never told you that and I’m sorry that I haven’t said that enough to you since you joined 141.”

You opened your mouth to say something– to argue or disagree but he shook his head.

“No. It’s my turn to speak now. I’m proud of you. I am so proud of you. Everything you’ve done and everything that you’re yet to do, I will always be proud of you. You’re an exemplary soldier and I knew the moment I saw you that you would be a perfect addition to the 141 and you have proved me right time and time again. You belong on this team just as much as the rest of the boys. Do you understand?”

So many words– proud, proud, proud. That’s all you had wanted to hear for so many years from someone whose opinion mattered to you. You wanted to be seen and Price, this godsend of a man, had seen you and more.

“Kid, do you understand me?”

You nodded once and then realised that Price wouldn’t have been able to tell through your shaking. Tears blurred in the corners of your eyes and you nodded again, not trusting your voice in case it shattered. 

“What do you need from me?” Price’s voice was oh so soft, like he was talking to a frightened fawn. He could see how much his words had affected you and it clearly broke his own heart.

“A hug.” Your bottom lip wobbled and his face softened as he opened his arms, twitching his fingers to urge you closer.

“I can do that.” 

You leaned into him and he quickly wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in close. You could smell the lingering scent of his last cigar. The smell of his office and cleaning oil. You felt his chin on the top of your head and felt how his chest rumbled as he spoke.

“You’re part of the 141 whether you like it or not, alright? Me and the boys want you here for as long as you want to be.”

At that moment, for the first time in your life. You felt wanted. You felt appreciated and you felt seen.

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141 + Nikolai Reactions to Soap Coming Back/Being Alive

Words: 2.8k Warnings: Mentions of depression, alcoholism/self destructive behaviour Ships: Ghost/Soap, (implied) Nik/Price A/N: i swear this was only supposed to be around 600 words but my brain wouldn't stop until i wrote all of this. up next: los vaqueros reaction.

- Price / words: 683

Soap’s death had been sudden. Unexpected. He was so young– the youngest, but he was one of the best. Only a Sergeant, but he could have gone as far as becoming something of a Captain in a few years time if he kept his head screwed on. All that promise and potential, taken away by one single bullet– no. Not the bullet– the man wielding the gun. Price doesn’t remember the last time he had slept more than 4 hours in the night since they spread Soap’s ashes. There was too much to do. There were other lives to save– other lives that were yet to be lost. Mourning for the man would have to come later. Later. Later. Later. There was only so many times that Price could push his needs to the back of his mind before it boiled over. So he took to cigars– cigarettes, if he was in desperate need. Alcohol became a common nightcap for him. Not enough to affect his performance as a Captain, but enough to garner worried looks from Ghost, Gaz, Nikolai and Kate. He couldn’t have them worrying about him– not now, not when they themselves were all reaching breaking points of their own. Ghost had withdrawn on himself to the point he was even worse off than when Price had first met him. He grunted and mumbled his words or avoided conversations entirely. He was still a beast on the battlefield and during missions, almost scarily so. His kills became more brutal, more messy. Dirty, Nikolai had called it once as he watched overhead as Ghost snuck up on a man and stabbed him 27 times. He had counted. 

And Gaz. Who had blamed himself. Price didn’t need to be a therapist to know that. What broke his heart the most was when he was escorting an exhausted Gaz back to his room when the sergeant muttered something under his breath. 

“Wazzat, Garrick?”

“... should’ve been me, sir.” Price didn’t have the words to respond to the statement. It shouldn’t have been Soap. Or Gaz. Or Ghost. It shouldn’t have been any of them. If anything, it should have been Price himself. If Soap hadn’t rushed in head first to save him, then Soap would still be here–

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Price would deny to his dying breath that he choked around his cigar when a familiar face entered his office. He had been run ragged and thin these past few weeks– chasing leads on Makarov and also juggling the emotions that hung in the air since Soap’s untimely demise. Or ‘apparent’ demise, considering said man had just walked into the room as if nothing had happened and Price hadn’t watched his head successfully catch a bullet while trying to save his life. 

“... surprise…?” Soap said awkwardly as he shut the door quietly behind him, scratching the side of his head as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been doing in the first place. Like still being alive. Price could have snorted at the absurdity of it. Instead, he rose to his feet and ignored the screeching of the chair behind him. He stared at Soap as he rounded his desk, striding towards the not-so-dead-Sergeant.

“Fuck my old boots, I’m going crazy.” he breathed. Jogging the last few steps, he envelops the scot in a hug. One arm wraps around Soap’s back, the other cradling the back of his head. The body beneath the palms of his hands is warm, thrumming with a steady and strong heartbeat. 

“John.” he whispered and arms wrapped around him in return, squeezing some of his jagged pieces back into place. The time to explain how or why would come later. For now, he was comforted by the fact that Soap was still living and breathing. He was still here. He had unknowingly given Price a second chance– one that the dear Captain would not squander.

“Preferred it when ye called me sunshine, sir.”

“Don’t push your fucking luck, Sergeant.” If Price’s grip on the other man tightened, neither said a word.

- Gaz / words: 565

Gaz has been running laps every single day since Soap died. He had been training, pushing himself as hard and as far as he could go. He wasn’t quick enough. He wasn’t quick enough to help when his team needed him most. He wasn’t quick enough to help Soap when he stared at Death in the face and watched as he pulled the trigger. He should have been faster– he convinced himself that he had to be faster. For Ghost. For Price. He wouldn’t fail them like he had failed Soap. He still thinks about the day they lost the scotsman. Remembers the blood pooling around his head like a sickening halo. He uses it as an incentive. As a reminder for what he lost that day– for what he still has left to lose.

Another lap came to an end in the form of him wheezing and almost stumbling to the finish line. He was bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to even out his breathing. He had pushed himself again today and he felt the telltale signs of nausea curl in the pit of his stomach. He hadn’t beaten last week’s record yet. He makes a move for one more lap, but a voice stops him. Usually it was Price who stopped him before he pushed himself too far and ended up in medical. The Captain would appear seemingly out of nowhere, cigar in one hand and Gaz’s shoulder in the other.

‘That’s enough for today, Sergeant.’ He would say, and silence any words of complaint or refusal from Gaz before they were even spoken, ‘That’s an order, Kyle.’

“Whoa there, not the best idea to push yerself so hard. You’ll make yerself sick ya daft tit.” 

Either Price had adopted a Scottish accent in some deranged form of honouring their lost Sergeant, or Gaz had begun hallucinating from overexerting himself. It was likely the latter. He didn’t want to think of Price hiding a mohawk underneath his hat. A hand meets his shoulder and his own slaps over the top of it on instinct. Looking up, he squints as his eyes adjust to the sunlight– begin to focus on familiar features in front of him. Grinning familiar features. 

“Oh, you’re a bloody bastard.” He said, still regaining his breath from his laps. He knows that he hasn’t gone crazy– not yet, anyhow. He knows that the hand on his shoulder is real– that the man in front of him isn’t a figment of his imagination. His other hand claps Soap’s shoulder, gripping hard as he struggles to keep himself together. “You’re a bloody bastard, you know that?”

If Soap heard the crack in his voice, he’s kind enough not to mention it.

“I’ve been told. I only came back ‘cause you owed me twenty quid.”

“Last time I checked it was only fifteen.” Gaz raised an eyebrow, tears in his eyes but a smile on his face as they both fell into a similar routine as if Soap had never left. 

“Interest fee.” Soap quipped back, clapping Gaz on the back and bringing him into a tight hug. 

“Welcome back, Soap.” They fell into silence, the embrace lasting a little longer than usual.

“... I’m not giving you your twenty quid, by the way. If anything, you owe me twenty quid for the emotional damage.”

“Awa’ an bile yer heid!”

- Ghost / words: 1215

Ghost had withdrawn in himself after Soap’s death– or, more specifically, after the funeral and spreading of his ashes. He hated it. Hated watching as the breeze carried Soap away, spreading him across the Scottish countryside. It… it had been too final, for him. An end. The end of Johnny. That’s what it had felt like. The end. And he couldn’t fucking take it. 

Price had given Johnny’s dog tags to Ghost a week or so after everything. It was likely an excuse to talk to the Mancunian– to try and coax him out of his room. It had worked, albeit slightly, as it was an effective reminder to Ghost of who he still had left. Cutting Price and Gaz off wasn’t the way to go– and most definitely what Soap wouldn’t have wanted for him. 

It had been around 2 months, 11 days, 13 hours, and 42 minutes since Soap had died. The days had somehow blurred together but dragged in such a way that Ghost was still aware of the time passing in the back of his mind in some tortuous slew. It was a rare day that he had not only left his room, but the base entirely. His therapy sessions had gone from monthly to weekly to even bi-weekly sometimes. Price had forced them on him after the funeral. Ghost only went to get the old man off of his back. The sessions were generally an hour long, maybe a little over if he accidentally overshared. Most of the time he only sat and listened to the psychiatrist talk about different ways to deal with thoughts of depression and other ways to deal with bereavement. It was all a load of shite. Don’t get him wrong, his psychiatrist was a wonderful person– very passionate about their job but Ghost had been so overwhelmed by his grief some days that going to his appointments was just a waste of time, resources and money. Today’s session ended like the rest, a curt and professional goodbye and the arrangement of another session at the same time the following week. Ghost wondered just how many more sessions he could attend before Price stopped forcing him to go. The last time he didn’t, Price had wrangled him into Nikolai’s helicopter and had the Russian personally escort him to and from his appointment. How Soap would have howled with laughter if he had ever bore witness to it.

Price and Gaz were talking. That was the first thing that Ghost noticed when he walked past the common room. Whilst that wasn’t uncommon in the slightest, what was suspicious was that there was a third voice amongst them– one that Ghost was yet to forget. Likely it was his mind playing tricks on him again, filling the void that Soap had left in an attempt to save himself from the pain but still managing to gouge more wounds into his heart. Despite the apprehension, he was already opening the door before his brain could even comprehend it. 

“Hey, Lt.” Soap said, turning around to face Ghost when he entered and smiling like he wasn’t supposed to be dead and his body spread across some cliff in some backend of scotland. From the way Price and Gaz were looking directly at the sergeant, it was clear that he was no figment of anyone’s imagination.

“Ghost? Ghost!” For the second time in the space of around 12.5 seconds, Ghost’s body was already walking before his brain caught up. He was walking back to his quarters, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. A few seconds later, desperate knocking filled the room. 

“Ghost, lemme explain!” How dare he? How dare Soap come back like this and treat it like none of the 141 had mourned his loss. 

“Simon… Si, please.” 

The mancunian leant against the closed door, struggling to even out his breathing. Silence fell, only broken by the occasional shaky exhale from Simon’s lips. It stretched on for several minutes, maybe even longer– 

“... Did’ja hear about the cheese factory that exploded in France?” What the fuck was Johnny talking abou– “Da-brie was everywhere.”

Simon almost snorted at the absurdity of the situation and the stupidity of the joke. Looks like the time Johnny had spent being dead gave him time to brush up on his jokes. 

“As I get older, I remember all the people I lost along the way. Maybe me budding career as a tour guide wasn’t the right choice.” Damn him. Damn Johnny for coming back like nothing happened and standing outside Simon’s door telling him goddamn puns. Simon still remained silent, not wanting to give Johnny the satisfaction of making him laugh. 

“Even people who are good for nothing have the capacity to bring a smile to your face, like when you push them down the stairs.” Alright, Ghost would admit that had wormed a soft snort of amusement. Johnny grew silent for a few seconds and it didn’t take too much brain power to imagine the shit eating grin forming on the sergeant’s face, undoubtedly hearing Simon’s mirth. 

“I was digging in our garden and found a chest full of gold coins. I wanted to run straight home to tell my wife about it. Then I remembered why I was digging in our garden…” Awful. Absolutely awful– Simon had taught him well.

“Do you know the phrase ‘One man’s trash is another man’s treasure’? Wonderful saying, horrible way to find out that you were adopted. I can do this all day, Lt.”

That’s what he was afraid of.

Simon sighed to himself as he stood up and opened the door that currently separated the two soldiers. There was a loud curse and a thump as Johnny fell backwards and into the now open doorway. He must have been leaning on the door and didn’t expect the sudden opening. Serves him right. 

“Hi, Simon.” the scot breathed, staring up at Ghost like he had hung the moon. 

“Where did Joe go after getting lost on a minefield?” Simon found himself saying as he stared down at the man who was supposed to be dead. “Everywhere.”

Johnny’s face scrunched up in disdain and he groaned, throwing an arm over his face and still making no move to get up from his place on the floor. 

“Terrible.”

“And yours were any better?” Simon knelt by the fallen sergeant, head tilted to the side as he regarded him, drinking in the visible parts of his face. The shorter man moved to sit up, hands hesitating just before they touched Simon as if afraid of his reaction.

“They got you t’open the door, didn’t they?” Damnit. Simon held out his hand, palm facing up. Johnny took it as it was and placed his own over the top, intertwining their fingers. 

“Gonna take a lot more than jokes to fix this, Johnny.” 

“I know, Lt. Got a lot to make up for but lemme make a start. Permission to kiss you, sir?” The fact he asked where before he would simply act was enough to melt Simon’s heart– just a little bit. 

“Permission granted, Sergeant.” Forgiveness would be a low thing– but feeling Johnny’s warm and soft lips on his own was definitely a step in the right direction.

- Nikolai / words: 332

The first thing Nikolai does when he finds out Soap is alive is punch him. Not hard enough to break anything or bruise too severely, but hard enough that Soap will be reminded of it for a few days afterwards. 

“That is for making everyone think that you were dead.” It’s still fresh in his mind. Watching as Price fell apart at the seams after they spread Soap’s ‘ashes’, as the guilt ate him up from the inside out. As the ‘what if’s plagued his mind, ruined what little sleep he already didn’t get in the night– and stole his happiness, for a time. Nikolai can remember the week where Price smoked so many cigars that the Captain woke up with a tight chest, wheezing like a man starved of oxygen and clutching onto Nikolai’s shoulder as he gasped and spluttered– only to repeat the process the following day. 

‘I can stop when I need to.’ Price had said to Nikolai, brushing off any concern that the russian had voiced about the almost permanent smoke cloud that formed in Price’s office. 

Nikolai was not stupid– soldiers were lost all of the time in war. But not all soldiers left lasting impressions like Soap had to his Captain and teammates. He had touched the hearts of many with his shining personality and enthusiasm, Nikolai himself included. He had been fond of the Scotsman, even a partner in crime once during a prank that involved several bags of glitter and the helicopter fan blades. 

The scowl on his face morphs into something softer as he watched Soap try and massage the pain away with his hands. He brings Soap into a hug, pressing his forehead against Soap’s newly scarred temple.

“And this is for coming back to us. We all missed you, солнышко (Sunshine).” Despite the gentle words, his grip tightens until it is almost bruising. “Don’t do that again or I will kill you myself.” Soap doesn’t doubt that even for a second. 

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𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

john price x fem reader.

18+ !!! possessive husband! john, penetrative sex, cum play, light choking, use of the word 'sir', king of dirty talk captain john price.

just something i had to get off my chest! reblogs and thoughts are appreciated!

You’re spread, face down, and ass up on the duvet.

John’s hands are warm on your hips, his calloused fingers are digging into your heated flesh, and grabbing fist fulls, as if he wants to take you apart. You squirm against the pressure. You’ve always liked it when John grabbed you like this.

Like it a lot more when you’re spread wide open for him, though.

He hums a smile from behind you.   “Gotta say it louder, sweetheart. I didn’t hear you.” You swallow down your drool. It’s pooling onto the sheets below your mouth, and you know that when this is all said and done, John will pull you against him and joke about the wet patches. Whisper heavily into your ear – look at the mess you’ve made, love, and you’ll blink at the sight, still sensitive from the daze he’d put you in. Melt against his chest. Say, it’s all your fault, and John would chuckle, kiss you sweetly, I’m such a bad guy, aren’t I?

Now, though, in the heat of the night, you couldn’t care less. You sink into your thighs, and the movement forces your pussy wider for him. John sighs at the sight. Grunting, as if he’s letting himself into temptation, he slides his thumb over your spread cheeks, and roughly drags it over your asshole.

You gasp, and buck forward, body throbbing. “Ah, John.” He lightly smacks your hip, “what did I say?” “You,” you loudly repeat, suddenly remembering what he asked earlier.

Who do you belong to? He’d grunted. You’d been far too dazed to respond clearly – coming twice from John’s thick fingers and tongue would do that.  

Your husband hums again, grabbing your ass cheek and spreading you wider. “Look at you,” he whispers to himself, gazing at the wet slick of your cunt.

You’re soaking. Slowly floating into the abyss. Drifting off into a world of non-verbal communication, dazed smiles, and incomprehensible words.

You’re familiar with it.

Familiar with John fucking you stupid. Familiar with John’s soothing hand on the back of your neck as he coaxes you out of your small space.

Your husband presses the head of his cock against your cunt, then gently slides it through your slick, rubbing against your clit and aching hole. You mouth at the duvet, eyes rolling back until all you see is the soothing black.

“This wet cunt. All for me?” Your belly tightens. Pussy clenches around the memory of his dick. “John,” you whine, begging for more, begging for him to stop. You’re not sure at this point.

There’s not a lot of clarity to moments like this, it’s only after, when John’s got you in his arms, that you realise how far gone you were. Reflect on the words you’d said – the dirty spiel you’d whimpered to get what you wanted.

Still, though, as John feeds his cock into your swollen pussy, and grunts, “I’ll come inside this pretty cunt, fill you with my babies, huh?” you still have enough clarity left to shake your head and whimper, “N-No.”

John laughs darkly. He sinks his cock as far as it’ll go, and you cream around him, slipping quickly. “You sure?” he grunts, voice strained. His hands are gripping your cheeks, spreading them wide so he can see just as far you can take him.

“You don’t want me to get you pregnant? Show everyone that I fuck you good and proper?”

His words make you dizzy. Mindlessly, you clench around his cock, coating him, and John laughs with a groan.

He knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself.

Knows you’re chewing on the duvet right now, stuffing it into your mouth to quiet your sobs. Knows that there’s a knot in your belly right now, and it’s tight enough that you’re throbbing all over.

He slides his slick cock out, and when he slowly stuffs you with it again, there’s a wet ring pushing to his base. He clenches his jaw, shakes his head in disbelief, then takes his cock from you again.

Your breath hitches, waiting for him to sink back in, but then he presses in quick and tight, bottoming deep, forcing you to cry out suddenly.

“John, John, John – fuck. Fuck!” He ignores you. Continues his previous dirty drawl.  

“Would look so good with my come leaking out of you, sweetheart,” he compliments. You beam. Jesus, you go blind with it. You would, fuck. You would look so good strung out, tangled in sheets with his come dribbling out of your swollen pussy.

You close your eyes to the thought of it.

Go to the sweet dark as John slides out, then buries in again. When he’s deep, and you think you’ve settled into the thick heat of it all, he hoists you against him – his chest to your back -- and presses his mouth to your ear, talking quickly, so you don’t have time to complain.

His voice is heavy. Haunting. Makes you cling to the hand he’s got tight around your belly.

“Pump you full of it, huh baby? then pull your underwear up.”

He begins to languidly fuck you. Rocks his hips up in deliberate strokes, setting a gentle, intoxicating rhythm that has your mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back. John breathes heavily in your ear, and you know it’s getting to him too.

“Make you sit in it all day. Go to work with your knickers smeared in my come. Your colleagues wouldn’t know that your pussy is all wet with me, but I would. I’d know.”

You sob his name. Lock your gummy walls to his thick cock, trying to milk him, and John near growls into your ear. “Fuck!” he snaps, and the sound echoes through you, and goes straight to your clit.

“You like that huh?” He drags his calloused hand between your trembling thighs and sloppily pushes his fingers over your clit. You double over in pleasure, but John keeps you pressed against him with the arm he’s got wrenched around you.

“Tightening around me. Shit. All this cause I threatened to punch a guy in the pub?”

You’re brought back to the memory: some guy grabbing your arm to try and dance with him, and John shoving him back, near pushing him into the slot machine.

He’d been shaking with rage. Went to get the guy's throat in his hands before you got involved.

“Like to pretend that it annoys you, but I know you love it when I’m possessive. When I keep you locked to my hip. We both know that it makes your cunt get all sticky when I fight someone for you.”  

He’s right and you know it. When John had shoved the guy, you’d gone hot all over. But you’d pulled your husband to the smoking area and told him to cool it.

He went to pay the tab, and you went to the toilet. Spent most of it with your forehead against the door, trying to steady your thumping heart.

John’s still rubbing your clit, trying to catch it in his wet fingers. It’s all sloppy. It’s John breathing shakily against your ear, his deep, hungry tempo forcing a pool of desire to settle at your lower back.

He continues his pace – fucks you the way he knows you like it, steady, but hard -- and all at once, that ache that had simmered threatens to burst, and you spasm around his cock, gasping with the desire to come.

You let out an unrestrained moan, whimpering mindlessly.

Through the blood rushing through your ears, you hear yourself plea with him – fuck me, please. John. John. Please. You take his hand from your belly and drag it to your throat, grinding down on his dick.

John curses. Pushes you to the duvet, takes your hips in one hand, and rubs your clit with the other.

The sensation of both his fingers and cock makes you mute against the sheets.

Your body is numb. It’s all electric heat, wrapped around you like a cloak. You try to talk, tell him to fuck you, but all that comes out is drool and his name. Please. Please. Um gonna come. Um gonna come so hard baby—he smacks your ass, and the sudden pressure goes straight to your cunt, sending you spinning, and you’re squeezing around him, tight as a vice, coming on his cock.

John all but growls as he fucks you through your orgasm. “Gooood girl!” he shouts, watching you struggle and spasm around his cock, fidgeting and whining as white heat seers through your pussy. “Come inside me,” you gasp, drunk, so fucked out that you’d let him do anything he wants, and John groans, your cunt tight and so so warm and wet. “Come,” you drawl, your orgasm tailing off, and you clutch the duvet, whining in your post-come state. John’s still fucking you and the feel of his hard cock sliding through your swollen and slick folds has you babbling.

“Come inside me I want you inside of me.” John huffs a laugh. “No, baby, that’s not what you want.” You shake your head, delirious. “It is, I promise.” “No, it’s not. I’ve just fucked all rational thought out of your head. Brain’s gone dumb on my cock, huh baby?”

He smooths his hand over your back, struggling to contain his strained grunts through his spiel. You can’t decide which you like more: when John’s so turned on that all he can do is bark filth at you, or when he’s so turned on that he can’t, just moan and grunt and fuck you silly.

“Good thing your husband thinks for you, though. Turn around.”

In your bleary state, you manage to fumble around onto your back, and John grabs hold of your leg and pulls you down the duvet, forcing you onto your knees in front of him.

You blink up at his looming body – at his heaving, hairy chest, and clenched neck. His face is red with sweat, and the heady, heavy gaze of his eyes has your belly swirling. Blinking down at his hand, you dreamily watch him tug at his wet, angrily hard cock, before muscle memory kicks in.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, and John groans deep in his throat, the sound twisting into a moan as he speeds up his tugging, and it's seconds before he’s pumping his come into your mouth.

Most of it lands on your tongue, or around your lips. But a smear of it shoots across your cheek. You don’t dare wipe it away; instead, once John’s finished, and he’s staring down at you with this wild, feverish look, you close your mouth and make a show of swallowing it down.

You’ve collected a lot of spit from having your mouth open for so long, and your mouth is too full to swallow it all in one go, so a trail of it slides down the corner of your mouth and throat.

John watches it drip.

Inhaling steadily, he reaches his thick hand out, and wipes the smear of it, along with the come on your cheek, away with his thumb.

“What was it you said?” he whispers. His eyes are black as he pushes his finger inside of your mouth. You close your eyes and mewl around his thumb, lazily sucking at it as if he’d pushed his cock between your lips.

Having something of his in your mouth makes your post-come delirium even worse.

The position makes you hazy, too – spread thighs and sensitive pussy brushing against the rug – and you’re just about to ask if you can blow him before he pulls his fingers away and clasps your jaw and throat in his huge hand.

Your eyes immediately roll back. Cunt clenches, desperate for him inside of you again, and when you blink up at him, your husband's face is a picture of love and possession.

“Mine,” he states, in his heavy, smoke-laden voice.

You lick your lips and taste the remnants of his come on your tongue. “Yes sir,” you whisper.

masterlist.

please reblog or comment i'll kiss u.

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Papa Price

The height difference between Farah and Price was not exaggerated at all….jesus christ

….guys she’s 5’8…and wearing heeled sneakers too…

heavy, dirty soul

【 AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist 】 ✦ John Price x Reader ✦ After a long mission, John is exhausted, bruised and distant. You take care of him. ✦ 3.7k words ✦ tags/cw: hurt, comfort, emotional intimacy, intimacy without sex, nsfw but no smut, nudity, injuries, showering together

He looks like hell.

Grimy, worn out, and the kind of tired that settles in a man’s bones and makes him older than he is. His shoulders hunch beneath the weight of his tac vest, stained from whatever hellhole he clawed his way back from. Dirt crusts the hem of his sleeves, and a dark smudge clings stubbornly to his jaw, half-hidden beneath the unkempt mess of his beard. His eyes – those deep, sharp blues – barely flicker when you step through the door.

You set the takeout down and say nothing.

The scent fills the office quickly: warm rice, spiced meat, a trace of soy and citrus curling up from the sauce. Something hearty. Something grounding. The kind of meal you knew he’d need after a mission like that. You’ve seen it before – how he gets afterward. How he forgets to eat, to breathe, to let go of the op and come back to himself.

The room is dimly lit, blinds half-shut to keep the afternoon sun from glaring off the tablet screens scattered across his desk. Papers are messily stacked, half of them likely reports left untouched. The takeout’s aroma gradually overtakes the faint smell of cigar smoke.

He sits across from you, staring at the food like it’s the first real thing he’s seen all day. 

But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t even shift in his seat.

You pull the container open for him, the heat unfolding slowly. Your fingers brush against the flimsy plastic cutlery as you fish out the fork, which bends slightly in your grip as you spear a piece of chicken, dripping with sauce.

His gaze follows the motion, but his body stays slack and unmoving.

So you lean forward, holding the fork right to his face.

“Seriously?”

His voice is low and dry, scraped raw from disuse – or maybe too much yelling. There’s a rasp to it, the kind you’re used to hearing when he comes home after long briefings or training days that stretch well past what anyone else would consider reasonable.

His brow twitches, eyes flicking up to meet yours with something close to disbelief, though it’s dulled at the edges.

“Eat, John.”

It’s not a request.

He stares at you for another second, then exhales hard through his nose. A faint smile tugs briefly at the corner of his mouth, but it dies quickly as he leans in and takes the bite.

You hold the fork steady as his lips close around it. He chews slowly, jaw tense, like he doesn’t trust that the first real food he’s tasted in days will stay down. He swallows. Licks the corner of his mouth, where some of the sauce clings.

“Good?” You ask, softer this time.

He nods but doesn’t look up. Instead, he pulls the takeout container closer and starts eating like a starving animal, like his body just remembered it needed food to survive.

Something in the way he moves tells you he hasn’t eaten properly in days. Like feeding himself was too far down the list.

You move around the desk without a word, crouching beside him, hands already going to the buckles of his vest. He doesn’t stop you, just tilts his head slightly to give you better access. 

You slide it off his shoulders, careful not to tug too hard where you know he’s probably sore. It slips free with a bit of resistance, then drops to the floor with a heavy thump.

Underneath, his shirt clings to him like a second skin: sweat-darkened, stretched too wide at the collar, the fabric worn thin in places. There’s a patch of blood on the sleeve – old, maybe his, maybe not. You don’t ask. You never do.

Your hands move to his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the muscle there, working over the tight knots hidden beneath the surface. His body responds slowly, with a slight shift and a barely-there sigh, but his eyes close, and he leans into your touch with the kind of trust that always takes you by surprise – that quiet, unspoken surrender.

And somehow, that’s what nearly breaks your heart.

Not the blood. Not the bruises. Just that – how rarely he lets go, and how much it means when he does.

“That tough?” You ask, even though you already know the answer.

And the silence answers for him.

So do the little things – how his head dips forward slightly under your hands, his fingers curl into fists, and he breathes a little deeper with every slow pass of your palms over his shoulders.

This is routine. Nothing new.

You’ve done this countless times. Brought him food when you heard they were back on base, sat beside him in silence until the weight of it all began to slip off his shoulders, piece by piece. You don’t mind. Not for a second. Because he lets you see him like this. Because he trusts you with the aftermath.

And that means more than anything ever could.

Then his hand comes up slowly and covers yours where it rests on his shoulder. His thumb begins to rub slow, lazy circles into the back of your hand, and the movement is so gentle, so unlike the man you imagine he has to be out there. There’s no pressure, no urgency. Just a quiet ‘thank you’ – a wordless gesture of gratitude.

“You’re filthy,” you murmur, your fingers trailing down the nape of his neck, massaging in slow, steady circles. The skin is warm, a little damp. His hair is ruffled from his hat, sticking up in odd places, flattened in others. You smooth it without thinking.

“Don’t remind me,” he murmurs back, and there’s no bite in it. Just exhaustion.

Your hands skim lower between his shoulder blades, thumbs pressing in, and you feel him unravel slowly, like a spring wound too tight, finally loosening. 

You pause, resting at the hem of his shirt, toying with the edge. “John,” you say softly. “I’m serious. You need to get out of this. All of it. It’s disgusting.”

He hums low in his throat. “You volunteering?”

You don’t answer. Instead, you strip the shirt over his head and drop it to the floor, revealing the full expanse of his back.

You suck in a breath.

His skin is a patchwork of bruises, old and new. Faint yellow blooms along his ribs, a fresh violet welt at his side, a jagged scrape near his shoulder. There’s dried blood near the collarbone, a rough streak of grime trailing down his spine, and the smell of smoke still clings to his hair. You’ve seen him like this before – battered, filthy, freshly returned from god-knows-where – but somehow, each time still cuts a little deeper like a bruise under your own skin that never quite fades.

“I hate seeing you like this.”

He exhales hard, and it almost sounds like a low and shaky laugh. “S’not as bad as it looks.”

“You always say that,” you murmur, your palm brushing lightly over the discolored skin, dusting off some dirt. “You need to get this shit off you.”

“I’ll shower later.”

“No,” you say, firm but not harsh. “You need to shower now . There’s blood on you. You reek. You’re not just gonna sit in it.”

He stares at the takeout box, jaw tight, like he’s weighing whether to push back or let you win this one. You ease closer, fingertips brushing his forearm, voice dropping with it.

“I’ll come with you.”

That makes him glance up. Something loosens, not in surrender, but in trust. That’s what this has always been with him. Not letting go because he’s weak, but letting you in because you’re the only person he lets see past the grit.

He nods, barely more than a breath of movement. But it’s enough.

You don’t say another word as you reach for his hand, and he takes it without hesitation. The trip down the hall is silent, his steps just slightly heavier than yours.

Inside the single-use washroom, he stops just inside the door while you lock it behind you. His shoulders slump in that particular way he only lets happen when no one else is watching, like the last thread holding him upright has finally snapped.

You step toward him, hands going to his belt. You make quick work of it – there’s no seduction here, not meant to be – just the firm, practiced touch of someone who’s done this before, who knows he’s hurting and wants to get him out of his own skin before it closes in on around him.

You open the belt, unfasten the button, and guide the zipper down. The fabric is stiff with dirt and sweat, heavy as it slides from his hips. You crouch to help him step out of the cargo pants and briefs, easing them over his bruised legs, and you try not to wince when you catch the red-scraped line along his thigh.

He says nothing. Just lets you do it.

You undress after, folding your clothes on the bench. His eyes are already on you when you straighten, not with hunger, but with that same wide-eyed exhaustion. Like you’re the only still point left in a spinning world.

You reach for his hand again and step beneath the warm stream of water.

The water flows down between your bodies, hot enough to sting, to chase the ache from your joints. It splashes off his shoulders in thick rivulets, soaking the floor at your feet and catching in the creases of old scars and bruised muscle.

You move slowly, your hands gentle as they glide over his skin.

You start at his collarbone, lathering some soap until it turns slick between your fingers, then work your way down, tracing over muscle, bone, scar. You now know each line of him – the ridge of his sternum, the subtle rise and fall of his ribs, the old scar that curves beneath his pec.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t need to. His eyes are closed, lips parted, breath steady but slow, so deliberate, like he’s trying not to miss a single second of it. Like if he keeps still enough, this moment might last longer.

You ease your hands to his waist and turn his body gently until his back is to you.

And there it is.

The map.

You know it by heart now. The constellation of healed-over bullet wounds, the pale ghosts of shrapnel near his lower ribs, the raised, silvery slash across his left scapula – the one you first traced with trembling fingers months ago, when he finally let you see it in the daylight.

But there are new stars on the map tonight.

A black-purple bruise like a boot print blooms over his lower back, raw around the edges. Two smaller, thumb-sized bruises sit along his left flank – grip marks, maybe. His right shoulder bears a scrape that looks half-healed, dirt still stubborn in the raw skin.

You press your palm lightly to his spine, just between the old scars, grounding him.

He doesn’t flinch.

Your fingers skim over every mark, cataloguing them silently. You don’t ask what happened. You already know. You’ve learned the language of his body, the different hues of pain, the quiet story written in scars and skin.

You dip the soap in your hands again, rich lather clinging to your fingertips, and move down the line of his back. He’s quiet, letting you tend to him like he’s something sacred. Like he knows he can’t hide anything from you here.

You drag the suds across the worst of the bruises, careful not to press too hard. Your hands work lower, over the curve of his hips, the muscle of his thighs. You handle him like someone would a broken thing. Not because he’s fragile, but because he’s been through too much to be treated with anything less than absolute care.

“Turn around for me.”

He does, slowly. Steam curls around the line of his shoulders as he faces you. His eyes open – heavy-lidded and damp – tracking every motion you make, gaze quiet and unreadable.

You take him in like this: bare, open, bruised and battered, and beautiful in the most brutal way. His chest rises and falls with slow, steady breaths. The water sheets off his skin, trailing down the ridges of his ribs, catching in the hollow beneath his throat, darkening the thatch of hair on his chest.

You lift the soap again and step closer.

Your hands move over his chest, gliding through coarse hair and the slick heat of his skin. You know this terrain just as well as his back – that faint scar under his right pec from a close-range shot, the shallow dent near his collarbone where bone once broke clean through. 

You drag the lather lower, across his abdomen, the ridged muscle beneath softening under your touch. 

He just watches you. Jaw slack. Eyes impossibly soft, like he’s still trying to understand how this moment is real.

You lather the soap again and reach between his legs.

Your touch is slow. Careful. Not teasing. Not meant to arouse. This is different – gentler than anything else, more intimate than sex. You wash him the same way you’ve washed every other part of him – thorough, tender, respectful. Like this is just another part of him you want to take care of. Another place where the world left its mark, and you’re here to make it clean again.

His cock rests heavy against your hand, softened by exhaustion and heat, twitching only faintly when your fingers glide down the shaft to his balls. You cup him delicately, run the soap through every crease, every fold. 

His breath catches once – barely a sound – but it’s not from pleasure. 

It’s from the way you hold him like he’s something worth cherishing.

When you rinse him, your fingers guide the water with the same reverence, making certain nothing is left behind. 

No blood, no sweat, no grime. 

Nothing of the outside world. 

Only the clean, worn-down man standing in front of you.

You glance up at him, and the look he gives you guts something inside you.

He’s looking at you like you’re the only person who’s ever touched him like this.

Who has seen him like this.

And loved what you saw.

You reach for the sprayer again, adjust the angle, and wash yourself. He doesn’t look away. His eyes follow every motion, how you drag the soap across your chest, over your hips, down your thighs. You scrub briskly, working through the fatigue now also settling deep in your limbs, but his gaze never strays.

He watches like he’s memorizing you all over again.

With nothing but awe.

Like the steam has made everything holy. Like he’s standing in a church, and you’re the only thing on the altar.

You rinse clean, slick and glistening under the dim light. 

When you step out, you grab the towel and wrap it around yourself, water still trailing down your legs. Another towel is pressed into his hands. He takes it without a word.

The silence between you now is different. It’s heavier. Thicker. 

Full of everything you haven’t said. Full of everything that doesn’t need to be said.

He dries off slowly, watching you the whole time. His hands move a little clumsily, like he’s not entirely sure how to be in his own body anymore – like he’s still trying to catch up to the tenderness he’s just been given.

When he’s done, you cross the small space between you and place your hands on either side of his face. Your thumbs sweep gently beneath his eyes, brushing away the dampness there. It’s not really tears.

But something fragile. Something honest.

You press your forehead to his. For a moment, neither of you move. The world narrows to this: damp skin, quiet breathing, the pulse beneath your fingertips.

Then you kiss him.

A slow, careful press of your lips to his. 

He doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t deepen it. He just lets it happen – like he understands exactly what it is. Like he knows it isn’t meant to spark anything but stillness. A stillness he can’t give himself, but craves all the same.

Without a word, he hands you one of his sweatshirts, and you pull it over your head. It swallows you, the sleeves brushing your fingertips, the scent of him baked into the fabric – clean laundry, cigars, and something warm beneath it all that’s just… him.

It’s comforting. Familiar.

Something that makes you feel closer to him, even when exhaustion has pulled him somewhere distant and quiet inside himself.

You followed him back to his office under the pretense that he forgot something – the tension already rebuilding in his shoulders. Each step is heavy, like he’s pulling against some invisible chain, drawn back into the familiar orbit of responsibility he can’t seem to escape, no matter how many bruises or wounds he carries.

You almost don’t believe what you’re seeing.

Like a machine, he walks back to his desk, as if the shower never happened. As if your hands hadn’t just touched every broken inch of him, hadn’t washed the blood and dirt from his skin with reverence. Like none of it reached him. It was as if the threshold to his office reset him, and all it took was one look at the desk for the weight of the world to settle back on his shoulders.

He sinks into his chair with a sigh, the leather creaking softly beneath his weight, and immediately reaches for the paperwork scattered haphazardly across the desk. 

“John,” you say quietly, gently, but not without an edge of warning.

He glances up, meeting your eyes briefly before he sighs, already anticipating your next words. “Don’t start,” he mutters, turning his gaze back toward the paper. “This won’t take long.”

“Right,” you scoff. “We both know you’re lying. You’ll be here all night. Again.”

He huffs, trying for irritation, but it barely carries any weight. “You’re relentless.”

“Only because you’re stubborn,” you counter. You tilt your head, watching him carefully, aware of every lingering bruise beneath his clothes. Your voice softens, concern seeping through. “Come on, please? Lie down. Get some rest, or I swear to God, I’ll drag you to bed myself.”

That finally makes him look at you properly, a flicker of amusement surfacing behind the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Bet your team would pay good money to see me try,” you add, a grin forming despite your seriousness.

He snorts, shakes his head, a smile tugging briefly at the corners of his mouth. But his shoulders remain stiff, and his voice drops again. “Can’t yet. There’s still work –”

“Bloody hell, John, that can wait,” you interrupt. “You’re barely awake as it is.”

His jaw tightens briefly, that familiar flicker of pride flashing in his eyes before giving way to weary resignation. 

“I’ll stay if you want,” you offer, meaning it. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Absolutely not.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes and reaching for his hand across the desk. “John –”

“You never sleep well here,” he says, voice rougher now, protective frustration bleeding through. “Those bunks are shite, and you always wake up sore. It’s not happening.”

You laugh softly, stepping closer. “I don’t care.”

“I do,” he says without hesitation. The fierceness in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“John,” you murmur again, just his name – but it’s enough. A soft plea, steady and warm, tugging him toward you even as he tries to hold his ground. “I’m staying with you tonight. And if you don’t move right now, I will drag your stubborn ass down the corridor.”

He opens his mouth to argue again, but the look in your eyes seems to drain the fight from him, replacing stubbornness with reluctant acceptance. He sighs deeply, head bowing slightly, and finally allows you to tug him gently from his chair. 

You lace your fingers tighter with his, feeling the calloused warmth of his palm pressed against yours, and lead him out of his office into the empty corridor outside.

It’s late enough that nearly everyone has left for the night, and the low buzz of lights overhead is the only sound accompanying you both as you slowly walk toward his quarters. Beside you, each step John takes feels heavier, slower – like the exhaustion is finally catching up to him, dragging at his limbs, weighing him down with every breath he takes.

When you finally reach his quarters, you push the door open and guide him inside, flipping on the single lamp beside the bed. The soft yellow glow spills gently over the sharp edges of his tired face, brightening the deep shadows beneath his eyes.

You lead him silently to the bed, nudging him down until he sits at the edge of the mattress, staring blankly at the floor like he’s not quite sure how he got there.

“Lie down,” you demand, your voice soft as your hand presses gently on his shoulder. He lets you guide him, shoulders easing back until they finally meet the pillow. The mattress dips beneath him, but his body remains rigid, like he’s waiting for something. A call. Another demand, another battle. An alarm that never stops ringing in the back of his mind.

You climb into the bed and shift toward him slowly. You barely fit onto the mattress beside him, so you let your arm slide carefully around his waist. Your chest is pressed against his side, and your head finds that familiar spot tucked perfectly against the curve of his neck. 

His muscles remain locked tight, like part of him doesn’t believe he’s allowed this. You. 

You sigh softly, pressing closer, and lift your chin to kiss the line of his jaw. A familiar gesture, one you’ve done countless times when words weren’t enough to reach him.

It’s a promise: I’m here. You’re safe. You’re with me.

And the moment your lips touch his skin, something in him finally breaks.

He exhales – long, deep, a breath dragged from somewhere buried. The sound carries the weight of the entire day, or maybe, of too many days. His arms come around you slowly, then fully, wrapping you in a firm, unspoken need. 

“Thank you,” he whispers, the words carrying more than simple gratitude – they’re heavy with trust, with love, with quiet awe at the simple gift of your presence.

You smile softly against his chest, pressing closer still, your fingers drawing slow, soothing circles along his side. 

And only then, with you wrapped safely in his arms, your heartbeat anchoring him, does he finally, quietly, drift into sleep.

Patpatpat

Tap

Thump

Gentle touch

what i wouldn’t give for a price pat

Thinking about reader who secretly pined for the rugged, bearded older man who frequented the gym.

You got more motivated to work out—just for the chance to see him. Every time you went, you made sure to claim the treadmill right in front of him, your heart pounding in sync with his rhythmic breaths.

The sound of his panting as he ran sent a thrill down your spine, igniting a delicious fantasy. You imagined him chasing after you, his gaze locked onto your form. Heat simmered in your core at the thought of glancing back, only to find him utterly focused. The thought got your feet moving quick.

Unbeknownst to you, he had a similar thought in mind as he started sprinting on the treadmill behind you.

how I picture price’s body😩

*taps microphone* Captain John Price. that’s all, thank you.