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141goblin · 12 days

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Soft: Chapter Four.

—> Chapter three

CW: Slightly suggestive. Hangover.

A/N: I posted the wrong chapter by accident🤦🏼‍♀️my bad. This chapter is a little short but I promise, it’ll get juicy soon :3

I wake up the next morning to find Amelia already gone and a little note laying on my bedside table, scrawled in her writing.

“Early shift at work, gotta go. Love you x”

The second I make any attempt to sit up out of bed, my head begins pounding, a cruel reminder of the sheer amount of alcohol I consumed last night. Yet another stupid decision that’ll make me waste another day lazing around and not doing anything productive. I somehow manage to stumble out of bed and into my bathroom. Because i’m an idiot, I slept in my makeup, breaking one of the most important rules I ever set for myself; never ever sleep in makeup. Crumbs of mascara descend down my dehydrated cheeks, lipstick clinging to the dry parts of my lips.

I wash away the remnants, praying that a bit of cold water and soap will help me to feel a bit more like a human being, rather than a zombie. It does, but not by much. The next thing on my list is to eat something, a proper meal, rather than just bits and pieces of random things laying around my cupboards. I usually opt for what known as ‘girl dinner’, a random assortment of little snacks. My go-to has been pickles with some tortilla chips, and apple slices with peanut butter. Instead of my usual ‘girl dinner’, I make myself a small bowl of pasta with some leftover sauce I have. Carbs will soak up the alcohol, I think.

Once I have something substantial in my stomach, the hangover is slowly starting to fade. It’s still there, but it’s gone from unbearable to just unpleasant. My head still hurts, but the spinning has subsided, luckily. I open my curtains and the windows, letting in some air to rid the smell of wine and takeaway food from my flat. It doesn’t take me long to clear up, putting the empty bottles and packages into the bin and the dirty clothes into the laundry. Now, my flat actually looks somewhat homely, rather than a biohazard. Look at me go, I think.

It’s well into the day, almost 3pm when I decide to reward myself with some well-earned phone time of scrolling on the same three apps for longer than i’d like to. I get into position on the couch, legs sprawled out and open tik-tok, scrolling endlessly on silly videos of cats that warm my heart and stupid memes. I make a mental note to look into getting a cat after I’ve learned to take care of myself. Id love a cat right now, but the poor thing wouldn’t last long. I can’t even look after myself most of the time, let alone another living thing.

The ‘ding’ of the washing machine interrupts my phone time and forces me to get my arse up and finish my chores. I drag the wet clothes out and carry them over to the dryer, turning it on and letting it run. After that, I scoop up the warm, dry clothes off the floor and carry them into my bedroom to fold and put away, like the responsible, functioning adult i’m pretending to be. I’m stopped in my tracks when I plop down on my bed and see a suit jacket hanging up on the drawer of my dresser.

Price’s jacket. Shit, his text.

The laundry gets completely forgotten and I pull up his message from last night.

Unknown: Lovely seeing you tonight, dove. Think you still have my jacket. -JP

My brain begins spinning again as I try to formulate some sort of answer that will make me seem like a normal human being. It takes me a good few minutes of typing and then deleting, but I get there in the end.

Me: I apologise for my rant, I was a bit of a mess. Let me know when you’re free and we can arrange getting your jacket back to you. P.s. the party wasn’t that bad.

I hit send on the message and eagerly await his response, like a teenager with a crush. Fucking stupid, I think. The first time a man has shown me attention in a few weeks and here I am, waiting with baited breath for him to-

Unknown: I told you, dove, no apologies. There’s fire in you, I like that. And as for the jacket, there’s no rush. Hope your head isn’t too sore today. -JP

I giggle like a schoolgirl as soon as I read his text. My brain is screaming because the handsome man with the broad shoulders is texting me, but I take a deep breath to calm the giddiness. He hasn’t exactly left it open-ended so I decide not to reply and wait for him to text next, not wanting to get too ahead of myself, only to be let down because I jumped to conclusions.

I finish the rest of my chores, his texts pinging in my brain. I start to imagine what it’d sound like in his voice as i’m doing the dishes from tonight’s dinner. I imagine his deep, rumbly voice, the voice that makes my fucking bones tingle and brain shake in my skull. I imagine pressing my face against his neck as he talks, feeling the vibrations against my lips. I imagine his voice calling me that stupid nickname, ‘Dove’. I’ve never been called that before, by anyone else, but it’s fast becoming my favourite nickname. It’s better than ‘hot tits’, anyway, the name my ex-boyfriend used to call me when he’d try to be smooth. When I think about it, my ex is nothing compared to Price. Sure, he’s tall and conventionally attractive, but he doesn’t have the same attitude he does. He doesn’t exude masculinity and confidence the way he does.

For fuck sake, I’ve only met the man once and here I am fantasising about him while I pretend to watch yet another rerun of gilmore girls, my attention on him rather than the screen.

I know i’m getting ahead of myself, getting too excited, but I can’t bring myself to care. For the first time in a long time, I let myself indulge in the thoughts and fantasies about the handsome man i’ve only met once. The thoughts continue well into the night, from when I curl up on the couch, to when I settle into bed, hand between my thighs and mind full of his voice. My sticky skin shines with sweat and my moans echo off the walls of my bedroom. I’d normally worry about being heard by the neighbours, but my mind is too full of Price to give a shit.

tags: @izziyuwh @a66-1 @jenniferpendragon @girl-of-multi-fandoms

#call of duty #john price #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #plus sized reader #fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod modern warfare #captain john price #captain price

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141goblin · 13 days

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Soft: Chapter three. John.

CW: Suggestive, John Price being a bit sneaky and manipulative. Slight possessiveness.

A/N: I had to write this one from John’s pov to fuel my silly little brain worms 🪱

—> Chapter two

I spend the early afternoon both getting ready and helping the boys set up in the mansion. Despite my protests, they were all adamant on throwing me this big, ridiculous party for my 40th birthday and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I put on a ridiculously expensive suit that i’ve hired for the evening and begin to greet my guests as they filter in, each of them giving me warm smiles, hugs, kisses on the cheek. None of it is of any interest to me, though. If i had my way, i’d be spending tonight in the local pub, eating good food and washing it down with one too many pints. Nevertheless, I do my best to look interested and actually make an effort to enjoy the night.

I’m doing my rounds of thanking everyone for coming, when I spot Johnny and his bird. Twiggy little thing, looks like she could be a supermodel. She’s pretty, sure, but hidden behind them like a lost puppy is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.

Big, soft woman, all wrapped in red silk, like my own personal birthday present. Pretty round face framed by a few loose curls, tits practically spilling out of her dress while the bottom half flows down her wide thighs and calves, accompanied by a pair of heels that look far too uncomfortable. Her big, blue eyes are looking around the room, taking in the sheer size of the place. Bless her, she looks like a child at Disneyland.

Johnny leads her over to the bar with his bird and I make a mental note of the drink in front of softie; blueberry martini. I’ll make sure the waiters keep them coming for her. Thing as sweet as her deserves as many sweet drinks as her little heart desires.

Johnny and his bird start making their way over to the rest of the lads and I see her hop up onto a barstool. Bloody fucking hell. Her perfect, round arse completely spills over the edge and her feet don’t quite reach the floor. I feel my cock twitch in my suit pants and I blink a few times to get rid of the image of the pretty, soft woman beneath me as I make her writhe and cry in pleasure, digging my fingertips into those plush hips of hers.

I make my way over to the group to get some information on her, a name, or something, anything. Either that or I keep calling her ‘sweet, soft thing’ forever. Fitting, I think. I greet the lads and give Johnny’s bird a curt nod. Got to be polite, but don’t wanna give her the impression I want her. I don’t. I want her sweeter, softer counterpart.

“Who’s your friend, Amelia?” I nod towards the bundle of sweetness wrapped in silk that’s got her pretty arse perched on a bar stool that’s far too small to accommodate her beauty.

“Oh.” Amelia chirps with a sympathetic smile in her direction.

“That’s my best friend. She didn’t really want to come here tonight, but we come as a package deal.”

I let my eyes linger for a second longer before giving Johnny a nod. He knows what to do and he immediately turns on his heels and makes his way over to the sweet thing. If there’s anyone that can convince a girl like her to join us, it’s Johnny. I see him flash his signature toothy grin and instantly know he’s working his magic. Good lad. Get her for me.

Within a few minutes of them chatting, she’s waking her pretty arse over to me. She stands there like a little girl, unsure of what to say or do. I want to scoop her into my arms and kiss her pretty round face silly, until there’s no doubt in her mind that she’s the most beautiful thing to ever grace this planet.

Not yet, John. You’ll scare the poor thing off. Got to get her first.

Just as i’m putting a collar around my desires to make the soft, round woman mine, she excuses herself, voice all soft and quiet. Shy little thing. I’ll work that out of you, Dove. I give her a minute to collect her thoughts before following her out, hands stuffed in his pockets. I have a plan, I need to stick to it and she’ll be mine before Christmas. Maybe even with a ring on her finger.

I see her sat on the bench outside the mansion. Poor thing looks defeated. Every single fibre of my being screams at me to touch her, comfort her, kiss her silly. Not yet, John…

“You alright, dove?” I ask, standing behind her. Even from behind and sitting down she looks beautiful. Messy curls cascading down her back, arse pressed against the stone bench. I spot the cigarette between her fingers. Didn’t peg you as a smoker, Dove. Bad habit, that. Gonna ruin your lovely lungs. Then again, i’m not one to speak. She wraps her lips around the stick of nicotine and sucks. In that moment, it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to rip it out from between her lips and replace it with my tongue. Or my cock. God, she’d look so pretty with a mouth full of me…

“Fine, thanks.” She replies. He response is short and clipped, probably a sign she doesn’t want to talk to me. I don’t care. I want to talk to her. I need to talk to her.

I ignore her silent signal to be left alone and sit down beside her on the bench, my thigh pressed against hers as I hold a cigar idly between my fingers.

“Not a fan of parties like this, I take it?”

I want to know what kind of girl she is, what she’s into, what makes her tick. What’s her idea of a good night out? Is she the type that loves getting dolled up and drinking fruity cocktails all night? Does she prefer a night in? The burn at the base of my skull tells me I need to know.

“You could say that.”

There it is, we’re starting to get to the bottom of why she’s sat outside, sporting a frown on that pretty, freckled face of hers. I want her to like me, so naturally, I leave out the fact that this is my birthday party. I don’t want her to think i’m such rich ponce that throws parties in mansions, just for shits and giggles. That’s not who I am. If i’m going to make her mine, she deserves to know i’m not that kind of guy. From what I can tell, she’s not into those men.

“Mm, I get it. Not for everyone.”

It’s not like i’m lying to her. I’m just conveniently leaving out the details.

Something must’ve snapped in her pretty little head because she starts to rant, saying that parties like this are for ‘rich arseholes’ or something along those lines. In all honesty, I wasn’t listening. All the blood rushed from my head to my cock the second I saw the fire in her eyes. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to fuck the attitude out of her or pepper gentle kisses all over her gorgeous neck while she rants.

When she finishes, I laugh, genuinely amused. The poor girl clearly isn’t having a good time and is taking comfort in me, blissfully unaware that it’s a party for me. I see her flushed face, anger mixed with embarrassment. I’d pay good money to see that face every day for the rest of my life. An idea pops up in my head and I store it away for later.

“Feel better, dove?” I ask, turning to look at her as she scowls out to the courtyard like she has a personal vendetta against grass itself. She gives me a little hum and I smile to myself.

I tell her i’ll be inside if she decides to stay, and leave her to her thoughts. Hopefully that little rant of hers helped her to cheer up. I can’t decide what I like better, her smile or her scowl. As I go back inside and see that people are now sitting down at their respective tables, I internally groan. It’s getting closer to my least favourite part of the night. The speech. I flag down the nearest waiter and shove a few ten-pound-notes into his hand.

“When the lady in the red silk dress comes back inside, the one sat at that table,” I point to where Johnny and Amelia are sitting.

“Bring her a blueberry martini, and keep them coming. Thanks, mate.”

The waiter gives a curt nod and scarpers off to retrieve the drink from the bartender once more. I come to a decision as I wait to make my speech. I need to see that face of hers again, all rosy and wide-eyed. This should be fun.

I get up on stage and gather everyone’s attention, thanking my room full of guests for coming to my party (even though I didn’t want the party in the first place, it doesn’t hurt to be polite). Then, when i’m certain I have the attention of my dove, the fun begins.

“Here’s to us rich arseholes, at least pretend to be on your best behaviour, eh? Here’s to a good night.”

I raise my glass of whiskey and the room erupts in laughter and amused cheers. My focus is on one person, and one person only. And, by the looks of it, my birthday wish just came true. Soft little things sat there, face bright red, practically melting in her seat from the sheer embarrassment. Might’ve been a bit cruel, but worth it to see the look on her face.

After another hour or so of mingling and small-talk with people I don’t care for, I see my soft girl make her way over to the bar. She orders another one of those blueberry martinis she loves so much. Silly girl, I paid a man to bring them to you. Then, a glass of water is placed in front of her, too. Good girl. Smart decision. Amelia seems to have some sort of girls sixth sense because she makes her way over looking like a concerned mother. I watch them for a few seconds and then Amelia makes her way back over to us.

“We’re gonna call it a night.”

All the lads give her a hug goodbye and I take this as my chance to catch my sweet soft girl before she goes home. I see her sitting on the same bench as before, looking equally as defeated.

“Leaving so soon, dove?”

She seems to jolt a little at the sound of my voice. Jumpy little thing. I wont hurt you, sweet girl.

“Afraid so… Past my bedtime.”

She’s funny, too? God, she’s perfect. I let out a laugh, and her round little face blushes and she shivers. Poor thing must be freezing. I take off my suit jacket and drape it around her shoulders, almost testing the waters, but I can play it off as being chivalrous. My jacket basically swallows her form, despite the fact that she’s a wide, beautifully plump thing.

“Hm. Shame. I quite enjoyed that little rant of yours.”

She pauses for a few seconds, and I can practically hear the cogs turning in her pretty head. She turns to face me, brows furrowed and her bottom lip stuck between her teeth.

“Listen, about that-“

She’s about to apologise, I can feel it. And I can’t let her. This beautiful, soft girl can do no wrong in my eyes.

“No need to apologise, dove. I liked the honesty. Not often I find a soft, beautiful thing like you with such fire in her.”

Ha, there it is. She freezes, her brain trying to compute if she just heard me right. It’s funny to watch the cogs turn as he comprehends being complimented. I’m going to compliment you until you can think straight, perfect girl. Before she can say anything, Amelia is grabbing her by the hand and pulling her into an uber, while my pretty girl keeps her eyes on me, even looking back as the car drives off.

Luckily, I managed to pull some strings and get Johnny to sneak onto Amelia’s phone to get me my pretty girls number. I make a mental note to text her later. Might even use my jacket as an excuse to see her pretty, round face again.

I wonder what she’ll be doing when she gets home, changing into some cute little pyjamas, or maybe even running a hot bath and lowering herself into it, her tits and perfect, soft belly sticking out over the water level.

Tags: @izziyuwh @a66-1

#call of duty #fanfic #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #dark fic #plus sized reader #john soap mactavish

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141goblin · 14 days

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🍓 a reminder for myself and fellow fat people: the 141 + your faves would love your body. they would love to squeeze and play with your fat like it’s a stress ball. they love your stretch marks and they love kissing them too when they get sensitive from your clothes rubbing on them. they would love to rub lotion on the parts of your body that you can’t reach, making sure to get in between your rolls too. speaking of, they love to run their fingers over your rolls cause they can be ticklish and they love the little giggle you let out.

i’m having a bad self image day and just needed to write this for myself <3 and anyone who also needs this <3

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141goblin · 14 days

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Soft: Chapter two.

CW: Mention of body image, reader feels inferior to her best friend. Slightly suggestive.

A/N: Thank you for all the love on part one, i’m so glad people like my writing. It’s heavily self indulgent so it makes me very happy to know it resonates with people other than me🥰

—>Part one

After a little encouragement from Johnny and the rest of my martini, I find myself stood in front of the group of men and Amelia as her and Johnny both introduce me to his friends. I got a wink and a “Nice to meet you, lovely” from Gaz, a firm handshake and a “Pleasure” from Simon…

“And this is Price, our Captain.”

The wide man smiles warmly and gives me a nod.

“Pleasure to meet you, dove.”

I give him a sweet smile and something between and a nod and an awkward bow/curtsy. Why the fuck am I curtsying? Jesus christ, I need another drink already. I feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment but luckily, no one mentions it. They either didn’t notice or decide not to mention it. Either way, I don’t care.

Everyone begins to engage in small talk, leaving me stood there in the awkward predicament of being part of the group, but not being part of the conversation. I feel so ridiculous and out of place, like a child that’s stood with a group of adults, unable to join in on their conversation. I pretend like I don’t care and politely excuse myself and walk towards the exit.

I walk outside and sit down on the stone bench, my feet already aching because of my stupid heels, the cold night air nipping at my skin that simultaneously feels too hot because of the amount of alcohol i’ve consumed.

I rummage around in my handbag and pull out my half-empty packet of cigs that I save for when I drink. I always insist that i’m not a smoker, yet the minute I get a few drinks in my system, i’m puffing away like a chimney, making my breath stink. I light up and inhale it deep, feeling the all too familiar burn in my lungs. The smoke curls up into the night air as I exhale, leaving a ribbon of grey in front of me.

I think back to Amelia and how effortlessly pretty she looks, how she’s able to command everyone’s attention just by walking into a room. She doesn’t have to worry about what she looks like 24/7, she doesn’t have to worry about meeting someone in person for the first time after talking on a dating app and feeling terrified of being rejected and being labelled a ‘catfish’ because they didn’t know I was fat from my pictures. I know it’s not her fault, I know that. But deep down, there’s a bitterness, right in the pit of my stomach. She’s gorgeous, she doesn’t have to even try. The bitterness festers and claws at my insides on nights like this, where i’m left alone to entertain myself while she’s off with Johnny or her other friends. I sound like a child, i’m fully aware of that, but still, I feel it. Deep down in my stomach, a dull ache for more, a longing, a yearning to be that girl. Just as i’m stewing in my own grumpiness and general bitterness, I hear the rumble of a deep voice behind me.

“You alright, dove?”

Normally, i’d make an effort to impress a man like him. He’s handsome, too fucking handsome for his own good. Normally, i’d stub out my cigarette and sit up straight to hide the rolls of my stomach that protrude when I sit comfortably. But right now, I don’t care.

“Fine, thanks.”

Clipped, short, blunt. A subtle hint for him to leave me alone. He either ignores it or is too stupid to pick up on it, because he sits down beside me. Thighs spread, one hand on his thigh, the other wrapped around a cigar.

“Not a fan of parties like this, I take it?”

I scoff and flick some ash off the end of my cigarette before taking another deep puff, letting it fill my lungs, the stench of tobacco creating a cloud around me.

“You could say that.”

He laughs, his broad shoulders shaking up and down, the sound rumbly and deep, settling into my bones. He raises his cigar to his lips and takes a drag, the brown cylinder hissing and glowing red at the tip as he sucks. His voice is thick with smoke when he speaks.

“Mm, I get it. Not for everyone.”

I’ve either had too much to drink, am at the end of my tether, or just feel way too comfortable with this man, because what comes next is an outburst, an angry rant.

“I mean, is it for anyone other than rich arseholes or people who have been dragged into it by those rich arseholes? Groups of people pretending to be something they’re not, just to impress each other. I don’t get it. Fucking ridiculous if you ask me. I’d much rather be curled up on my couch with a shit bottle of wine and a takeaway than be here but I couldn’t say no to Amelia. Pain in the arse…”

I expected him to defend the party, or make some excuse that it’s a chance for like-minded people to ‘network’ or some ridiculous bullshit. But, to my surprise, he just laughs again. A warm, rumbling sound that makes me want to press my ear to his chest. I huff and cross my arms over my chest, glaring out into the night, the grassy courtyard scattered with multiple bush-sculptures, or whatever they’re called.

“Feel better, dove?”

I huff and laugh and hum in response. He gives me a tap on the thigh and stands up.

“I’ll be inside, if you decide to stay. I hope your night gets better, dove.”

I give him my best attempt at a warm smile and then he disappears inside again. I take a deep breath and try to shake off the festering bitterness and grumpiness. I should be inside, with my best friend. I stand up, feeling the ache of my heels and walk back inside to the ballroom, putting on a happy face. I spot Amelia, Johnny, Gaz and Simon at a table towards the front so I make my way over. Amelia gives me a concerned look, a silent ask of ‘You okay?’ and I just nod, dismissing it. I’m not getting into it, not here, not now.

A waiter appears and places a blueberry martini in front of me, without me even having to ask and i’ve never been so grateful. I take a large, burning swig and turn to the group with feigned confidence.

“So, what’d I miss?”

Johnny turns to me without taking his eyes off the stage, where a few people are setting up a microphone and some speakers.

“The birthday boy is about to make his big speech. Should be a good one, better than last year.”

The lads share a few knowing laughs, like they’re all giggling over an inside joke, and i’m about to ask what’s funny when a familiar, gravelly voice talks through the microphone and out of the speakers.

“If I could just have your attention for a minute or two-“

Fuck. Sake.

“Just want to say a quick thank you to all of you for coming to celebrate my birthday with me tonight. It’s lovely to see see you all. I hope you all enjoy your night and make complete use of the bar. Behave yourselves”

If there was ever a time I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole, it’d be now. I went on a big, angry rant to the poor man minutes previously, completely ignorant to the fact that the entire reason this party is taking place is because it’s his fucking birthday. I’ve never felt more like a dickhead in all my life, and i’m certain my face is bright red. Price raises a glass and speaks again.

“To us rich arseholes, at least pretend to be on your best behaviour, eh? Here’s to a good night.”

He ends the speech echoing my previous words with a wink in my direction and I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life. I must’ve sounded like some entitled, bitchy woman who thinks she’s above rich, fancy parties. I knew i’d never have a chance with a man like him anyway, but now any flicker of hope there was has been completely stubbed out by my own angry words, fuelled by alcohol and bitterness towards being the ‘single, fat friend’.

I down the rest of my martini in an attempt to hide my beetroot-red face and embarrassment, despite the fact that my head is already a little fuzzy and clouded by the way i’ve been chugging blueberry martinis like my life depends on it. Luckily, no one notices my embarrassment and Price goes off to mingle with other people rather than coming back to our table, so I don’t have to confront him. I make a silent ‘thank-you’ to whoever is up there in the sky, whether it be god or some other deity.

The next few hours go by without any more embarrassments, thank god. I do my best to engage in small talk with the lads while simultaneously avoiding Price. I should apologise, I know that, but I doubt he wants to see me. Or hear my whining voice ever again. Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he cut me off and tell me it was his fucking birthday to save me the embarrassment of going off on some pathetic rant about ‘rich arseholes’? Why am I such a fucking idiot?

I excuse myself from the group and go back to the bar to order another drink. Except this time, I order a glass of water along with my martini. Arguably the only good decision i’ve made all night. No, the only good decision i’ve made in a long time. I plop myself down on the same tiny barstool as a few hours previous and take a few swigs of water to try and sober up a little and cool myself down. My hair has gone from being up in a bun and cute-messy, to being free and wild, cascading down my back. I don’t even remember undoing it, but i’m past the point of caring. My face is flushed, my eyes are glassy and my lipstick is faded and the tiniest bit smudged. A whole mess.

I force my thoughts away from considering the mess i’ve become over the course of the night and I look over to Amelia and the group of lads. Before I even have time to register that Price has joined the group, my stomach drops. He’s looking right at me with a fucking smirk on his face. If I wasn’t so embarrassed I’d probably think it was the sexiest thing i’ve ever seen. My face immediately blushes scarlet and I discard the glass of water for my martini. If i’m gonna get through this night with any semblance of dignity, I won’t be doing it sober. I debate getting up and sucking up my pride to apologise for being such a bitch. But then, what if he just laughs in my face and everyone else sees how much of a whiny child I was? Yeah, better not do that.

Amelia seems to notice him staring right at me because in a matter of seconds, she’s following his gaze and then walking over to me, that determined look on her face. She knows somethings going on, and she will demand to know.

“Okay, what the fuck. Did you and birthday boy get it on in the toilets or something without me knowing?”

I scoff and roll my eyes, not meeting her gaze and pouring some more blueberry flavoured courage down my throat.

“Obviously not, Amelia.”

She shakes her head and sits on the stool next to me, determined to get to the bottom of my awkward behaviour.

“Okay, listen. Me and you are gonna get out of here and go back to your apartment with a bottle of your favourite shit wine and we can talk all about it. I can tell you’re not enjoying yourself and I wanna know what’s going on. Gimme five minutes, i’ll be back and then we’re leaving.”

Before I can argue and tell her it’s okay, she’s going back to the group of lads and giving Johnny a kiss goodbye. It’s times like these where i’m reminded why she’s my best friend. She can read my feelings without me having to say a word, and she does truly care about me, even if my stupid little brain tries to convince me otherwise.

I leave the rest of my martini and make my way outside to have a cigarette while I wait for her. It’s well into the night now and considerably colder, and i’m mentally cursing myself for not wearing a jacket. I pull out another cigarette from my handbag and take a deep, long drag. The same burn, the same stench, the same short-lived relief. Just as i’m about to exhale-

“Leaving so soon, dove?”

For fuck sake. Why does this man have to show up at the worst times?

“Afraid so.. Past my bedtime.”

Again, the man laughs. Now, I know i’ve had too much to drink because I feel the warm, rumbly sound deep in my core, between my thighs. I don’t turn around to look at him, I can’t face him. I think i’ll die of embarrassment if I do.

I feel the warmth of something get draped around my shoulders, and the scent of spices and smoke mixed with expensive cologne. I’ve been nothing but a bitch to this man and here he is being chivalrous and giving me his jacket. I say nothing, but i’m grateful for the warmth.

“Hm. Shame. I quite enjoyed that little rant of yours.”

He’s doing in on purpose, i’m sure of it. He’s giving subtle digs to make me feel like even more of an idiot. It’s now when I spin on my heels to face him. I need to apologise. Now or never.

“Listen, about that.-“

“No need to apologise, dove. I liked the honesty. Not often I find a soft, beautiful thing like you with such fire in her.”

Just like that, i’m rendered speechless. I was expecting him to brush me off or belittle me or even scold me. But no. He’s giving me compliments like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I’m stuttering and fumbling over my words when Amelia walks about and grabs my hand, seemingly oblivious to the situation and pulling me into an uber. I get in, still speechless and head spinning. Is my head spinning because of the countless martinis I guzzled or because of him? I don’t know, and I can’t figure it out.

Amelia and I make it back to my apartment as we immediately kick off our shoes and crack open a bottle of shit wine and immediately I feel comfortable, i’m in my own space, drinking my favourite cheap wine with my best friend. Not surrounded by people I don’t know In some huge fucking mansion.

Amelia sits on the other end of the couch, legs intertwined with mine as she sips on the wine and gives me an expectant look, waiting for me to fill her in on tonight’s details.

“So… I went outside for a smoke and Captain Guy followed and sat down next to me. He asked if I was enjoying myself and I said no and went on a big rant, talking about how the only people that enjoy parties like that are rich arseholes and blah blah blah…”

I conveniently leave out the part at the end where he gave me his jacket and called me ‘soft and beautiful’. Which reminds me, I still have his jacket. I make a mental note to give it Johnny so he can give it back to him at some point.

Amelia’s eyes widen and she laughs.

“No way! Is that why he started talking about ‘rich arseholes’ in his speech?”

I nod, my face contorted into shame and embarrassment. Of course, Amelia thinks this is hilarious and nearly chokes on her wine.

“I felt like such a prat. It was the poor man’s birthday and here I am, basically calling him a rich arsehole…”

Amelia’s laughter dies down and she gives me a sympathetic look and a pat on the thigh.

“Girl, don’t even worry. He thought it was funny. Seemed interested in you. Even asked what your name was.”

My eyes instantly widen at the prospect of a man like Price being interested in a woman like me. I’m not exactly everyones cup of tea, i’m a big girl, rough around the edges, basically a hot mess on a good day.

“He what?!”

Amelia sports a shit-eating grin and nods, like she’s satisfied with herself.

“I swear. He came back inside and started asking about you.”

My face blushes like a fucking idiot and I have to bury my face in my hands. Since when did I become the type to get flustered and giddy over a man? Especially a man i’ve met once, and once only. But damn, what a man he is. That voice, broad shoulders, strong arms, thick thighs, strong hips…

The topic of conversation changes away from Price to Johnny and part of me feels grateful, though his words are still bouncing around my head like the DVD symbol on a TV.

“Not often I find a soft, beautiful thing like you with such fire in her.”

They bounce around in my head for the rest of the night, from when Amelia and I tuck into a greasy kebab, to when we settle into bed a good two hours later… The words are echoing around in my skull when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. I’m instantly ripped from my fantasies about the nice man with the wide shoulders when my brain reminds me the notification is probably from my shit-bag of an ex-boyfriend. I roll my eyes and breathe deeply before grabbing my phone, mentally preparing to read more false apologies when i’m completely stopped in my tracks.

Unknown: Nice seeing you tonight, dove. Think you still have my jacket. -JP

JP. The P is for Price, that much is obvious. But J? I begin to wonder about what his first name is… Jack? Jacob? James?

My thumbs hover over the keyboard as I rack my brain to come up with some sort of coherent response. I don’t even question how he got my number, i’m too busy focusing on the fact that he even texted me to begin with, and is calling me ‘Dove’. My stomach swirls. What do I say?

I put my phone down and decide i’ll reply in the morning when the alcohol is out of my system and i’ve had enough time to formulate a response that doesn’t make me sound like an absolute idiot. Until then, his words and text bounce against the corners of my skull, well into the hours of the morning.

#call of duty #john price x reader #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #fanfic #captain john price #captain price #plus sized reader

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141goblin · 15 days

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141goblin · 15 days

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Hi people. I’ve been toying with the idea of writing a fanfic and I thought i’d put a feeler out there to see if people are interested in reading my silly little brain worms and thoughts. Word of warning, it’s little rusty and definitely still a work in progress. I don’t yet have a title or anything like that, but i wanna share (ok ok leave me alone)

Part one: Soft.

Reader described as plus-sized. Fem reader. Implied past abusive relationship.

John Price X Reader.

“Amelia, I said no!” I huff into the phone, getting increasingly frustrated at my best friend’s insistence. She had been going on and on about some big military party that her boyfriend was going to, and of course, because we’re basically attached at the hip, she ‘needs me there’.

“Oh, come onnnn! It’ll be fun! And who knows, we might finally find you a man for you to spend time with instead of you sitting in your apartment and watching reruns of gilmore girls twenty-four-seven.”

I huff and roll my eyes, grateful that she isn’t able to see me. Honestly, the thought of having to drag myself off of my couch and go through the motions of getting ready and attempting to doll myself up makes me feel physically ill. Truth be told, I haven’t left my apartment for weeks. Not since i had that god-awful night with my arsehole of an ex boyfriend.

My mind drifts back to that night, the time I spent getting ready and psyching myself up, all for me to get there and be completely disregarded and used. Like a piece of meat. He’d been blowing up my phone with messages ever since, insisting he was sorry, and that it won’t happen again, and he just got carried away. I hadn’t had the mental capacity to message him back.. My best friends voice pulls me back to reality.

“You’re coming. I’ll be at your flat in twenty minutes with pre drinks. Shower and shave.”

Before I get any chance to worm my way out of this ridiculous ordeal, she kisses me good-bye through the phone and hangs up. I throw my phone to the opposite end of the couch and groan into a pillow. Just when I was settled, watching gilmore girls for the umpteenth time, with a glass of wine and a bowl of crisps… Shit, maybe I do need to get out…

I down the rest of my glass of wine and wince at the taste. I make a mental note to stop being cheap and buying shit wine just because it’s cheaper. After all, it’s not like I can’t afford to buy nicer tasting wine. But truthfully, I don’t go to tescos at 8pm in my pyjamas and buy nice wine to be all sophisticated. I do it to buy cheap wine and get drunk while i watch gilmore girls and cry, wishing i had the same relationship with my mother that Lorelai and Rory have. It’s pitiful, and pathetic.

I huff and drag myself off of my couch and make my way into my bathroom to shower. Once undressed, i notice just how hairy my legs have gotten. But, is it really worth the effort, the sweating and red face just to have smooth legs? I brush off the thought and step into the hot shower. I do my usual: wash and condition my hair, wash my face and body, and then actually decide to shave my goddamn legs. It takes me the better part of fifteen minutes, but beauty is pain, as they say.

Just as i’m stepping out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel that’s all too small to cover my stomach and wide thighs, my best friend makes herself known, clearly having used her spare key to let herself into my flat. Her face is all scrunched up in disgust at the state of the place and she’s begun to pick up my clothes that are strewn about the place, throwing them into the washing machine. I roll my eyes and make my way into my bedroom, and she follows. She has that shit-eating grin on her face that I know all too well. No doubt she’s going to make me squeeze into some tiny outfit in the hopes i’ll impress some random man and hopefully let him fuck my brains out. She’s highly mistaken.

Instead of a skimpy outfit, we compromise. I end up wearing a mid-length silk dress that has a risky slit up the leg, but not too high that it shows off my cellulite, one of my biggest insecurities. She does up my hair into a messy bun with a few curls framing my face and insists on me wearing her favourite red lipstick, telling me i’ll look ‘fuckable’, her words, not mine. After strapping some heels onto my feet I take one last look in the mirror, face slightly flushed from the two or three glasses of wine Amelia practically poured down my throat to loosen me up. I should feel beautiful, but I don’t. I can’t help but feel like a pig, wrapped in silk and smothered in ridiculous lipstick. Ready to be taken off to market and ridiculed by men that think it’s shameful to like a fat girl. My ex-boyfriend’s attitude and words from the duration of our relationship echoing around my head.

“They don’t see you like I do, babe. They don’t see your personality.”

“You’re wearing that?”

“Oh come on, babe. I was only looking at her. She’s a model, what do you expect?”

After a too long uber ride full of pep-talks by Amelia and discreetly drinking from the remnants of a bottle of wine, we’re standing outside of what can only be described as a fucking mansion. The type that has stairs leading up to its entrance that’s held up by beautifully structured pillars, the type of place i write about in my short stories. There are too many windows to count, most of them lit up by subtle golden glow, the soft buzz of music that’s able to be heart from outside, something soft and jazzy, like the type of music you’d hear in an old jazz bar in New York.

I’m too busy marvelling at the ‘fucking mansion’ in front of me when I hear the recognisable voice of Amelia’s boyfriend, Johnny. Johnny is the type of guy that can make any girl weak in the knees with his charming smile and sparkling blue eyes. He’s sweet and cheeky, but not my type.

“There you two are! Was beginning ‘ter think ‘yaes got lost.”

I give Johnny a polite smile and continue looking up at the grandeur of the building in-front of me while he gives Amelia a kiss and whispers something flirty in her ear. Johnny and Amelia are solid, and he’s good for her. Plus, he knows we come as a package deal, so he makes sure to make me feel included when I end up tagging along on their days out or evening drinks.

“Looking good, bonnie.” Johnny says to me, with a cheeky wink. Amelia laughs, her signature sweet giggle, and it’s clear why she turns heads everywhere we go.

I force a smile and hold back a self-deprecating remark.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

Amelia takes Johnny by the arm and leads her inside, making me follow like an awkward third wheel. I try my best not to feel like an idiot as i’m led into the main ballroom, where i assume the party is being held. Johnny leads us to the bar and buys the three of us a round of drinks. I try to insist that I can buy my own, but both he and Amelia dismiss it and i’m left with a blueberry Martini sitting in front of me at the bar.

After a few minutes of awkward small talk between the three of us, mixed in with too much PDA between Johnny and Amelia for my liking, Johnny leads Amelia off to meet some of his friends, leaving me alone at the bar. I hoist myself onto a barstool, arse spilling over the edge. Fuck sake, I think. People need to start inventing barstools that are fat-girl friendly. I ignore the buzz of chatter in the ballroom and down the rest of my blueberry martini, flagging down the bartender for another one.

I begin sipping on the fresh Martini and start looking back around the room. I can’t help but think this would be a perfect scene to write in one of my stories. A room packed full of rich people dressed in fancy suits and expensive dresses, where everyone pretends to be on their best behaviour.

After a few minutes of being alone at the bar, I make peace with the fact that I will likely be alone for most of the night while Amelia mingles with Johnny and his friends. It doesn’t bother me, per say, but something deep within my belly wishes that one, just once, I could be the one to turn heads, to capture the attention of a group of people with nothing but my appearance and laugh, to have people willing to talk to me and learn about me, without feeling like it’s out of pity.

I shrug to myself and take a few more sips of my martini and let my attention wander over to my best friend and her boyfriend, and his group of (presumably) military friends. Johnny must’ve noticed me sitting alone at the bar and felt pity for me because I see him making his way over, sporting his disarming smile. I smile back.

“What’s the matter, Lass? Not enjoying ‘yerself?”

He leans on the bar casually, and it’s clear he’s making an effort to make me feel included.

“I’m enjoying myself just fine, Johnny. You can go back to your mates and Amelia, don’t worry about me.”

He cocks a brow and flashes that cheeky grin.

“Not gonna join us?”

I shake my head and take another sip of my martini, waving a dismissive hand. I attempt to play it off with a joke.

“Doubt i’d fit in with your military mates.”

He scoffs and looks jokingly offended.

“Aye, come on, Bonnie. We don’t bite. I know Si looks like a scary fucker, but we’re a nice bunch. I swear.”

I laugh and take another sip. Johnny is a good guy, there’s no denying that, even if it does feel like he’s taking pity on his girlfriends fat, single friend that looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

Judging from the way he talks about ‘Si’, I make an assumption that he’s the one with the dirty-blonde hair, the one who’s built like a brick shit-house and looks like he could snap anyone in half with one hand.

Johnny points to one of the other lads, a typical pretty boy with striking brown eyes.

“That’s Gaz. He’s a good’un. Likes to flirt too much, but e’s harmless.”

I follow Johnny’s finger as he points to the third man. A man who’s wide, and fucking muscly, but looks like he has a soft layer of fat underneath that expensive suit of his.

“And that, that’s the Cap’n. The best of us all. Keeps us in check when we cause trouble. He won’t admit it, but he’s a softie at heart.”

My eyes stay on the wide man a little longer than the others. I see a smile under his well-groomed mutton chops and moustache that’s peppered with little greys here and there. His shoulders look like they’re about to burst out of his shirt at any given moment, and his hips are exactly the same. That’s all contrasted by his blue eyes, like a deep pool that women no doubt get lost in. The man’s a fucking contradiction. Too wide, Too soft.

Johnny’s voice snaps me back into the room, averting my eyes away from the man I know as ‘Captain’.

“Come on, Bonnie. Come say hello, mingle a little. We don’t bite.”

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #john price #john price x reader #self indulgent #modern warfare #fem reader #plus sized reader

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