#Price calls you out | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marblemoovt · 7 months

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Fever - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, Dad!Price

Summary:

John pounds on your door at an ungodly hour in the morning. You've never seen him so distraught.

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“John?! What’s wrong?” you ask, giving him a once over. His hair is a mess, most likely from running his fingers through it too many times. The hallway lights are dim, so it’s difficult to see much else, but you notice he’s carrying a bundle in his arms. Whatever it is, he’s holding it close to his chest, fingers tightly clenching the fabric.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

It feels like you’ve been drenched in ice water. Chills travel down your spine, and you can feel your fingertips prickle with numbness. Your eyes widen, and you look to John for an explanation. But the claws gripping your chest squeeze when you hear him sniffle.

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself.

Note:

Hello! It's been a while since my last Price fic. If I'm honest I'm sorely tempted to keep writing this universe as a series of oneshots (because I'm terrible at commitment). So expect to see more Rose and Price at some point. I've already come up with a series title lmao..

I have a few dividers I want to try out and see which one I like best. So far I like this one better than the previous one.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

Bam. Bam. Bam

You bolt upright in bed, squinting around your room until you locate the alarm clock on your bedside table. You glance out the window and notice the sky is still dark, and the sun is nowhere to be seen. Not even a sliver of pink or orange to creep over the horizon. Hm. Definitely not your alarm.

BamBamBam.

The noise grows louder, and the pause between hits becomes nonexistent. Your brain refuses to process the source as you sweep your eyes across your room. The early haze that fogs over your mind when you wake up clouds your ability to think.

Until you hear John shout your name.

Snatching a coat hanging off a chair, you fly out of the room. The floorboards squeak beneath your weight as you weave between your furniture. Sliding to a stop in front of the door, your fingers fumble with the lock before you wretch it open.

Wavy strands of brown hair peek out beneath the blanket, hair you were braiding just yesterday. Your stomach drops, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

She’s not?

“I don’t know what to do,” he whispers, voice hoarse. You step forward, but John flinches and caves in on himself.

A small groan comes from the blankets. “Daddy, you’re squishing me.”

Your shoulders sag as the tension leaves your body. The weight resting on your lungs eases. You glance up at the ceiling and say a silent prayer of thanks before beckoning the pair inside.

Heading to the kitchen, you prepare some tea to keep yourself busy. No caffeine, though. You were anxious enough as is; you didn’t need to worry faster. Fishing out the chamomile from your cupboards with three cups and saucers, you turn the kettle on to boil. While the tea steeps, you take out the honey and add a drizzle to each cup.

“Daddy, I’m cold.” Rose’s voice breaks the still silence. You run through a mental list of all the possible things that could be wrong. It can’t be life-threatening if John knocked on your door instead of taking her to the hospital. But you can’t help but think of the worst possible scenarios. The kettle whistles, pulling you out of your thoughts. You’ll ask after you bring the tea.

A quick glance reveals that John is still cradling her in his arms. The lighting unveils the redness of his eyes and the thin, tight line of his lips. “I know, my little flower. We’ll fix you up, and you’ll be as right as rain,” he says, stroking her head.

You walk over and set the drinks on the table. “Tea? It’s chamomile,” you say, sipping from your cup. The warm liquid soothes your nerves, pooling comforting heat in your stomach. John’s lips quirk up, but they fall just as quickly. He makes no move for the tea. Your cup rattles on the saucer as you place it down. “John, you look like shit,” you state. No response other than a slight flinch. You sit down beside him and hold out your arms. “Drink, you’ll feel better. I can hold Rose for you.”

John studies your face. His eyes are staring past you. It makes you wonder what he’s seeing to make that solemn expression. The movement of you tilting your head brings him back to the present. His gaze flickers between you and Rose. “Ok,” he whispers, carefully placing her in your waiting arms.

“Hi, Rosy,” you greet her, checking to see if John is drinking his tea. His shoulders aren’t as tense as he sips the drink, but his knee begins to bounce.

Rose cracks an eye open and smiles widely at you. “Hullo,” she rasps.

You observe her flushed complexion and the hair clinging to her face. “How are you doing, little one?” you ask.

She licks her chapped lips and says, “M’ sick.”

“That sounds like no fun,” you say, exaggerating the frown on your face.

Rose smiles wide and shakes her head slowly. “But Daddy says I don’t have to go to school.” Her eyes glitter at the prospect of staying home, a fantasy most children have at least once during their school years. You can imagine the chaos she could cause if she wasn’t so sick.

You mirror her grin and brush her damp hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “That’s true. You get to stay home and sleep in,” you say, and her smile nearly blinds you.

“And watch cartoons!” she adds. Ah, the quintessential stay-at-home activity for the sick. She starts squirming in your arms. “I get to watch all the shows I miss because of school.” Her lips curl into a feline-like smile, reminiscent of a cat that stole a big, juicy fish.

You laugh and nod. “That sounds amazing!”

Rose giggles, “That’s because it is!!” If she wasn’t sick, you would be squeezing her in a bear hug.

You press the back of your hand against her forehead. It’s warm. “Did your dad take your temperature?” you ask.

Rose shrugs and says, “He put a stick in my mouth and told me to hold it there.” She mimics the motion of placing a thermometer in between her lips and closing them. Your cheeks start to hurt; how can such a tiny being be so precious? She must get it from her father.

You eye the cabinet in the kitchen where you keep all your medical supplies. “Can I check again?” You trust John, but you just want to make sure.

“Why?” she asks.

“To see how warm you are,” you answer, booping her nose, which scrunches up in response.

Rose looks at you with her big blue eyes. “Why?” she asks again. You’re glad to see the fever hasn’t affected her curiosity.

You smooth down her hair, doing your best to flatten the stray cowlicks. “Because it’s dangerous if you’re too hot. You would need to go to the hospital,” you say.

Rose furrows her brows and utters an “Oh.”

You rise from your seat and head for the kitchen. “Are you comfortable?” you ask. To free up your hands, you shifted her upright, and she’s now clinging to you like a koala.

“Mm,” she mumbles a confirmation into the crook of your neck. You grab the thermometer and turn it on to see if the batteries are still working. On your way back, you fill up a mug of water to keep Rose hydrated. Once seated back on the couch, you bring the thermometer to her mouth, and she lets you take her temperature without a fuss.

You wait a few minutes until the device beeps to signal it’s finished. “38.8. Not a low fever, but you should be fine with some rest,” you say. Next, you take the mug and hand it to Rose. “Can you drink this water for me?” She drinks every last drop, smacking her dry lips together. “Wonderful! For being such a good patient, the doctor has decided to give you a little treat.” Fishing around your pocket, you pull out her reward.

Rose stares in awe at the shiny wrapper in your hand. She gently plucks it up and marvels at the strawberries dotting the colourful material. She glances at her dad, but you bring a finger to your lips when she looks back at you. Rose smiles and nods her head, clutching the candy in her fist.

“I’m sleepy,” Rose announces. You look at John and notice that he’s sunk back into the couch, staring into his empty cup.

“There’s a bed in the guest room. I can put on some cartoons for you to fall asleep to,” you suggest.

She nods her head. “Ok.”

On your way to the guest room, you fill another glass of water to leave on the bedside table. You lay down Rose on the bed, rummaging in the closet for a thin blanket. As you tuck her in, you feel her forehead with your hand. “Do you feel uncomfortable? Do you want to take any medication?” you ask, making a note to grab a damp cloth before you leave.

“You’re like Daddy. Especially when he looks like this.” Rose brings a finger up to each eyebrow and pushes them down, grimacing in a familiar fashion. She bursts into a fit of giggles, and you join in, unable to resist her charming antics. “Daddy already gave me some medicine. It tasted like bubblegum,” she remarks, sticking her tongue out as the rest of her face scrunches up.

Amusement twists your lips into a smile. “You don’t like bubblegum?” you ask.

Rose shakes her head. “Bubblegum should not be medicine,” she says with a grave tone; it’s the most serious you’ve seen her since she arrived. You head to the adjoining bathroom and run a clean cloth under room temperature water. Wringing the excess moisture, you return to her side and wipe her sweaty skin.

Rose’s eyelids droop; you take this as your cue to leave. “Alright. Your dad and I will be in the living room or in the room across if you need us.” She nods, and you go to turn on the TV, switching to a channel she likes and lowering the volume and brightness.

You tiptoe out of the room, closing the door slowly but leaving a small gap in case she calls out for anyone. When you return to the living room, John is still in the same position. Except now he’s wringing his hands as his cup sits abandoned on the table.

“John?” you call out his name softly, not wanting to startle him. He doesn’t look up at you, and you wonder if he even heard anything. You remain at a distance, observing every flex of his muscles as he fidgets.

“Is she asleep?” he asks in a whisper. His eyes dart to your figure before landing on his lap again. You walk up and gingerly take a seat beside him. John shifts some of his weight onto you, head resting against yours. You can feel the exhaustion emanating from him in waves. He looks like he could fall asleep any minute himself.

“Nearly. Rose could barely keep her eyes open when I laid her on the bed,” you say. Warmth envelopes your waist as John snakes an arm around you, pressing you closer to his side.

He kisses the side of your temple, murmuring into your hair, “I’m sorry for troubling you like this. I just… didn’t know what to do.” It’s not often you hear his words catch in his throat. You frown at the wobble in his tone and run your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp in the way you know always has him purring. He hums appreciatively and leans into your touch, eyes closed in momentary bliss.

“You’re not troubling me at all. Is this the first time she’s gotten this sick?” you ask.

John mulls over your question, his brows furrowed with thought. “First time while I wasn’t deployed,” he answers. John sighs and rubs a hand down his face. “I’m a terrible father,” and his chuckle leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

You pick up the untouched third tea and use it to warm your hands. “What makes you think that?” you ask, fingertips tapping against the ceramic sides of the cup.

His answer is almost immediate, like he’s been waiting for someone to ask. “Because I panicked.” As if that single sentence encompassed everything he did wrong tonight.

You frown and set the cup back down, not wanting to break it in a fit of emotions. There’s a strange disconnect between John’s confidence at work and at home. “So? Does being a good father mean knowing everything about parenting? Because in that case, there’s not a single good father in the world,” you say. But your attempts at comfort only cause him to sigh. “Panicking doesn’t always equal death.”

“You know what I mean,” he says.

You shake your head. “No. No, I don’t, John. I can’t read minds. What I can tell, though, is that you did your best to handle the situation.” If only you could extract your memories and play them for him to watch. Then maybe he would finally see what a good father he really is.

“It wasn’t enough,” he deflects.

You place a hand on his shoulder and say, “Yes, it was. Rose is sleeping peacefully down the hall. She’s fine.” You emphasize ‘fine,’ but John shakes his head. Doubt swims in his eyes, churning the blue depths into sheets of glistening glass.

“What about the next time something like this happens?” he counters. You can feel the damped vibrations through the sofa cushions, and you place a hand on John’s knee.

“Then you use what you learned from the previous times and do better,” you reply in an even tone. The two of you stare in silence. You refuse to look away. John wavers underneath your gaze. His lips remain in a thin line, stretched taut like a rubber band. And what eventually happens when you put too much strain on a rubber band?

It snaps.

“Can you hold me?” he whispers, and your heart clenches. You want nothing more than to pick up and carry him to your bed for some well-needed cuddles. But John’s a big man. You’re not sure you could do any of that without struggling.

You shuffle onto his lap and open your arms wide. “Come here.”

John buries himself in your embrace, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. “Thank you,” he mumbles. His beard grazes your skin, and a giggle bubbles from your throat. The sound causes John to tighten his arms around you. Is this what stress balls feel like when they’re about to explode?

“No problem. I’ll hold you for as long as you want me to,” you say, patting his back. It’s faint, but the scent of his cologne wafts in the air. Notes of bourbon and the smoke from his favourite cigar brand. You breathe it in, wishing you could bottle it up to use when he’s away.

He chuckles, and the resulting vibrations raise the goosebumps on your arms. “I’m afraid you’ll have to surgically remove me from yourself,” he says, burrowing into you.

“Well, that doesn’t seem like the worst thing in the world,” you wheeze, rubbing the burning tips of his ears between your forefinger and thumb.

His voice is small, but it reaches your ears in the serene evening. “You still want to stay?” he asks.

Your lips twist into an amused smile. “Did I ever say I wouldn’t?” You brush your fingers through his hair, fiddling with the grey streaks you find.

“I’m a mess,” he says.

You nod. “Yeah, a hot one.”

“Darling….” he drawls.

“Yes, John?” you say, batting your eyelashes, looking like the epitome of innocence. A sudden attack is launched on your vulnerable sides. “Hey!” you screech as John digs his fingers mercilessly into your waist. You attempt to squirm out of his grasp. If you don’t get away in time, your fight instincts might take over from your flight, and John will learn the hard way not to tickle you.

Although you doubt his reflexes will allow anything to happen. The cheeky bastard’s nearly impossible to catch by surprise since he reacts instantly to any objects hurtling towards him.

“I like hearing you laugh,” John admits, the lines on his face relaxing. The warmth in his eyes stirs that familiar fluttering in your chest. A shudder wracks your body when he absentmindedly rubs circles into your hips.

You peck his nose and lean your forehead on his. “Gets the happy chemicals flowing?” you ask.

John hums, “Mmm.” He teases you again with a quick skim of his fingertips, and you bite your lips to keep quiet. Rose is still sleeping, but a small laugh punches through your teeth. John relents his assault, satisfied for now.

He continues to cling to you like a koala. You think back to what you’ve learned about John since that fateful encounter at the grocery store. “John? Why do you get so insecure when the topic of parenting surfaces?” you ask.

“...Don’t wanna talk about it,” he mumbles. You mentally scold yourself for bringing up a sore subject.

“That’s fine. You don’t have to,” you say.

“What?” John looks at you with wide eyes.

You grin and gently close his jaw before it can reach the ground. “I won’t force you to talk about something you don’t want to,” you say with a shrug.

“Thanks.” The room falls silent, save for the faint ticking of a clock and the unintelligible murmurs of the TV.

“John, you’re really not that bad.” You trace the bags underneath his eyes, frowning at how puffy they are.

“Well, I can’t be a bad father if I’m never around,” he chuckles dryly.

You hesitate before asking, “...Is that what this is about?”

“....”

“I know your job takes you away from home often.” You pause and wrack your brain for the right words to convey what you want to say. “But I wish you could see how Rose smiles when I tell her you’ll return in a few days. Or how she hugs her teddy bear—that you gave her—close every night.” Rose’s enthusiasm for her father’s return never wavers, never changes. You’ve babysitted Rose on and off for months now, and every evening, without fail, you hear the recording in the bear play from her room. “Would we like to see more of you? Of course. But I understand, and I think Rose does to a certain degree, that you have responsibilities and duties to fulfill.”

The right side of John’s lips slant up. “Don’t you ever get tired of cheering me up?”

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ You stand up and hold a hand out to him. “Now let’s get you to bed, my sad little man.”

“Little?” John chuckles, placing his hand in yours.

“Yeah, 'cause you’re just a sad little guy,” you say.

John blinks slowly and raises his brows. But his expression is soon replaced with amusement. “Is this some kind of internet lingo I’m unaware of?”

“....”

John clicks his tongue. “Your silence speaks volumes.”

You huff and feel like a cat with its hackles raised. “Don’t judge me for how I spend my free time,” you say.

John nods. “Ah yes, reading literature. What were they called again? Fan books?”

“Fanfics,” you correct, tugging him from his seat. “To bed. Now.”

John's eyes crinkle at the corners, and his quiet laughter fills the room. “You don’t need to be ashamed, darling. It could be worse. You could be reading those raunchy romance novels they sell at the grocery store.” You don’t humour him with a response, too busy trying to mask your face with a neutral expression. God forbid John learns about the kinds of things you read in your sacred corner of the internet. “You read the equivalent online, don’t you?” The apples of your cheeks tingle, and your mouth dries.

You clear your throat and begin stacking the cups and saucers. “It’s still late. We need to get some more rest,” you say, setting off at a brisk pace to the kitchen sink. The thud of footsteps follows right behind you. You don’t have to turn around to see how his lips curl into a grin.

“You read those books when you have me?” he asks, mock hurt lacing his tone.

You roll your eyes and set the dishes in the sink; a problem for future you. Turning around, you cross your arms and steel your gaze. “In my defence, some of them actually have a good plot,” you say. John raises a brow, and he does a poor job covering his laugh up with a cough. “Don’t give me that look! Some of them do!” you insist. Literal masterpieces exist on the internet. And they’re free??? Clearly, John’s never binged a fanfic until three in the morning and had an epiphany, only to be left desolate and distraught now that there are no more chapters to be read.

During your internal debate to justify your reading habits, John hoists you over his shoulder and heads to your bedroom.

“Why don’t you recount your favourite one, and we can reenact it, hm?” he suggests, landing a playful smack on your bottom. You flail your limbs to no avail. The heat on your face could burn through the clothes on his back. John glances over at you with a smirk. “You can be quiet, can’t you, love? You did so well last time.” He caresses the back of your thighs, closing the door behind him with his foot.

At least you get a glorious view of his ass from this angle.

End Note:

Listen, don't ask me why I always end up writing some angst when it comes to Dad!Price. I can't help it, it's just ingrained in his DNA. I do have some ideas as to what happened with Rose's mom, and I do want to eventually write Price coming to terms with his grief. But as always, who knows when I'll get to that.

I did think about dragging this out longer. Originally, Price was also supposed to fall sick the next few days and Reader would be nursing him with the help of Rose. But that would have doubled the length and I just wanted this done so I could move on to the next fic 😅

Now it's on to the next fandom on my list! Alas, I am cursed with too many ideas and not enough willpower to write all of them at once.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Taglist: @mipitt141, @lovecats123451

#john price x reader #cod x reader #john price #captain john price x reader #captain john price #cod mwii #single dad price #gender neutral reader #no y/n #established relationship #fluff #angst #sick fic #Price calls you out #someone give him a hug #Rose is a gem as always

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swordsandholly · 22 days

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Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

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nenayaquisieras · 3 months

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Simon has always been confused on why you gift him toys. Sure, most of the gifts you gave him were some of the things he liked. Bourbon, masks, gloves, make up for him to smudge his eyes with, some daggers and knives. Things that we're useful for him, just him. But later, you gifted him a toy airplane. He makes a comment about it, saying he is not a child anymore and you were better off giving it to Johnny instead.

"No, this is specifically for you, take it."

When he gets to him room, he walks toward his trash can, opening it with the tip of his boot. He gives one more look at the toy, his mood souring before throwing it into the trash. He goes on about his day, training, signing paper work, drills. Doing anything to ignore the pain stinging memories that the toy brought back. Emotions that were buried thousands of feet deep it could reach hell itself. Later, he lies awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, avoiding looking at the cylinder shape that's calling for him in his peripheral.

Fuck.

He pulls the covers off vigorously and stomps over to the trash can. He is standing over it like he's trying to intimidate it, as if it was an enemy he's trying to get rid of in battle. To anyone else, the scene would look comical.

He sighs to himself and reaches down to take out the toy he so cruelly threw away. He sets it on his desk and quickly walks toward his bed, facing away from his desk.

The next day, he wakes up feeling different. He swears he sees his room more vibrant, more lively. That energy follows him through out the day, having his other teammates notice his rather bright mood.

You catch him in the hallway. Pulling him aside to ask him about the paper work you left at his desk this morning. Of course, he notices the way you smile brightly, more so than usual. But he notices that you're not looking at him. More like looking at something next to him.

"What's got you so cheery?"

You turn to look up at him, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"I just..." You take a quick glance at the spot next to him, before bringing your eyes back upon his.

"I just hope you liked your gift." The same bright smile appearing on your face.

He stares at you, examining your words. Your expression.

You think you see his eyes crinkle a bit.

"Yea,"

"I liked it."

#call of duty #cod #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #simon riley x reader #medium!reader #Joseph really liked his toy airplane #Honestly this was her way of giving his nephew toys without her bring up that she sees dead people #she can't be like “Ghost let me gift Joseph something”#he would be like “How the fawk you know who that is??”#sorry for errors its so late #but yea ill have more soon #I just cant figure out how to traumatize Gaz and Soap #Only Ghost and Price #love to see the old men suffer #ghost simon riley #ghost x reader

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temeyes · 2 months

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studies

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cod-dump · 2 months

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*Ghost and Alex having a conversation in the hall*

Farah while staring at Alex: I don’t know if he whimpers but I’ll make him either way

Soap & Gaz: *stare at her in shock*

Farah: … what?

Gaz: You did NOT just say that!

Farah: Please, Ghost says shit like that all the time

Soap: WE’RE USED TO HIM BEING THE WEIRDO

Price: Ignore them. You go bag that man

Farah: Yes, sir *marches off towards an oblivious Alex*

Gaz, quietly: Oh my god- This is a fever dream. It has to be. None of those words were just said-

#when two of the people you respect the most say something that uou never expected in a million years to come out of their mouth #modern warfare #call of duty #farah karim #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #john price #alex keller #simon ghost riley #incorrect quotes #faralex #late night posts

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floralpascal · 6 months

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John Price who makes excuses to come see you when everyone knows exactly why he always spends his time with you

John Price who is always taking you to get dinner or drinks “just to catch up, love”

John Price who is always a gentleman, but always stands a little too close when he’s talking to you

John Price who never takes his eyes off of you when you’re in a room with him

John Price who can’t help but trail his gaze up your body every time he sees you

John Price who always notices the way you lean into his touch and shiver when he whispers in your ear

John Price who can’t remember the last time he fell for someone like this

John Price who is determined to make you his

#john price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #call of duty #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod #price x reader #john price headcanons #what is this? I don’t even know #I just couldn’t get whipped price out of my head

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sky-is-the-limit · 7 months

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Oh my fucking god. The scream that left both my lips. Best fucking character, Elliot ate that shit up, I'm not okay. I need to be spayed. HIS VOICE?! THE SHRUG?! THE SMIRK?!

Nah, I can't even share my thoughts rn cause it will get me locked up.

Activision finally realised who their FINEST character is? MY MAN.

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lxvvie · 6 days

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Price's beard has become so integral to his image that the boys treat his trimming it as a non-canon event, especially when he officially becomes Peepaw due to their growing families.

Hell, Kyle and Johnny even reach out to you to inquire about the Cap'n's well-being. Did something happen to him? Is he still grumpy as ever in the morning? Does he still take his ciggie and cuppa break at 1 p.m. sharp? Is he having a mid-life crisis?!

Ultimately, it leads to the boys—Ghost maintains that he was dragged into this shit—confronting Price and demanding an explanation.

And no matter what Price says or the confused irritation evident on his face, the boys refuse to believe that it was simply time for him to trim it.

#don't mind my cracked-out fluffiness but this I can see this absolutely happening.#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern peepawfare.#captain john price #captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #x poc reader #x black reader #x plus size reader #task force 141

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sprout-fics · 10 months

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Reprieve

(John Price x F! Reader)

(Breaking and Entering Epilogue)

Rating: General Audiences Wordcount: 2.2k Tags: Dad Price, Wife Reader, Fluff, Disgustingly sweet tooth rotting fluff, Some very minor angst, Price's adorable family, Gaz and Soap to the rescue, the boys take care of their captain, Cuddling, Uncle Gaz and Soap Warnings: None A/N: *Drops this and fucks off back to the woods*

Early as Price tends to rise, it’s somehow the girls that wake before him.

He ends up in the desk chair after all, head tucked into his chest, snoozing into his beard, snoring in a way you’ll no doubt chide him for come morning. The soft light of dawn filters through the shades, and the illumination is enough to rouse his daughters, who awake and talk over your still sleeping form with giggling little whispers.

Eventually they tire of their conversation, and try to rouse you. Still fatigued as you are after a restless night’s sleep, you only encourage them to go back to bed. Unsatisfied, they instead move on to Price, with his feet propped up on the edge of the bed, arms crossed and head down.

Price has never been a heavy sleeper. The years in the field have trained it out of him. However, the wear of last night’s events press heavy on his shoulders even in slumber, the emotional drain of nearly losing the three of you sapping away the energy he had left after escorting you all to the safety of his quarters. Yet when his two girls giggle and hush each other, gently prod his socked feet still balancing on the bed, he cranes a single, bleary eye open at them, watching them hide smiles behind their hands.

“Good morning, daddy.” The eldest offers cheerily, still quiet enough to not disturb you.

Price drags in a long inhale, lifts his head to look at the gray softness of dawn that seeps through the window.

“Morning indeed.” He offers with a grumble, voice still hoarse with sleep. He allows himself a few more moments before nodding to himself, lowering his feet so he can stretch. There’s more than one joint in his stiff body that pops, and it’s followed by a roll of his neck where the taut muscles of his spine collect, protesting his poor sleeping arrangement. It’s only after he’s finished settling himself that the younger of the two girls clambers into his lap, arranging herself so her nightgown partially covers her frigid legs before offering a pleased sigh. Price settles his arms around her, offering a few rubbing strokes to her legs to warm her and pressing a kiss into her hair.

The girls seem cheery enough, excited by the change in environment- a welcome distraction from the terror of the night before. As his youngest cuddles on his lap, her older sister peruses his bedroom, pokes at the intelligence papers on his desk that he really should have tucked away the night before, but doubts she will be able to read. Price watches her out of the corner of his eye, more focused on the sprawled, sleeping form of you still tucked in his bed.

Despite all the years he’s spent with you, he never tires of the sight of you, soft and comfortable in his bed, splayed so your head falls against the pillow, eyes fluttered shut and lips parted in sleep. By all accounts you look like a fallen angel, strangely delicate and austere within the realm of your dreams. A warm, familiar fondness falls over Price, eyes softening as he regards you. The gratitude of seeing you safe, relaxed and comfortable after the traumatizing acts of last night is a soothing, needed balm to his frayed nerves as he recalls the sound of the gunshot that could have ended it all.

Yet before the thought can sink its tenterhooks into him any further he watches you stir, eyes shifting beneath your closed gaze before you tilt your head in his direction, instinctively seeking him out. The sudden wave of possession that washes over him at the sight is nearly startling, a fierce, almost untamable instinct that surprises even him. The fact that the first thing you look for in the morning is him sparks something sharp and almost primal- a need to protect, to defend, to shelter and provide.

It only grows when your eyes focus on him, on the sight of your daughter curled on his lap, a fond, endearing smile tugging at your lips.

God help him. He thinks, trying not to imagine the reality where he’s without you.

“Good morning, John.” You murmur, and the way Price’s chest clenches is nothing short of painful, a breathlessness stolen by the beautiful sight of you.

He shifts, carefully deposits the little one on his lap onto the bed so he can brace himself above you, lowering a whiskery kiss down onto your cheek.

“Good morning.” He replies, voice still dragging in his chest, and you hum, turn your head so you can press a chaste, lingering kiss onto his lips. There’s a distant part of him that wishes you two were alone, so he could allow himself to appreciate you in all the ways he desires. He makes a mental note that, when all of this is settled, to take you on a vacation somewhere for a few days. Just the two of you.

The thought has to wait, because the youngest rolls over onto you with a little giggle, pleased at your wakefulness, seeking attention. You huff a little and drag her into your arms, offer her a little tickle that has her laughter grow louder.

There’s a tug on Price’s shirt then, his oldest drawing his attention back to her pinched, pleading expression.

“Daddy, I’m hungry.” She tells him, and Price’s thoughts begin to activate in full, trying to summon logistics, schedules, supplies.

“Right.” He mutters under his breath, a little lost, trying to find a compass amidst the unusual circumstances. You three can’t go back to the house yet, and the option of taking you down to the base cafeteria is…less than satisfying. Besides, Price doesn’t want his family wandering around the compound in view of God knows who, much less in their night clothes. Plus the girls will be restless soon enough, unaccustomed to this change in routine…

Price pinches the bridge of his nose with a stifled little groan.

It’s at that moment that someone knocks on the door.

The four of you look up at the sound, and it takes only a moment for your eyes to flit over to him, a vague concern crossing your features. Price nods at you to stay put, gently pushes his eldest towards the bed as well. She gladly climbs into bed, instantly pestering you with questions about where they are, when they’ll get breakfast, who’s at the door.

Price focuses on his visitor, cracking the door open just a few inches to reveal the broadly smiling, sunny face of Soap on the other side.

“Moooornin’ cap.” He drawls, and that tone speaks of things that are too much to deal with as soon as he’s woken up.

“Can it wait, Soap?” He asks sluggishly, and before Soap can respond a second face pops up beside him. Gaz.

“Actually, cap, we figured you and the girls might need a few things, so we…uh…took the liberty of making a supply run?”

Price blinks, then blinks again, opening the door a little wider as he processes. It’s only then that he notices the shopping bags carried by the two men, as well as a brown paper bag with a familiar logo printed on the front.

“McDonalds!!” His eldest exclaims, leaping from bed and darting forward before tumbling to a stop at Price’s side, remembering her manners.

“...Hello.” She offers shyly to the two towering men above her, partially hiding behind Price’s leg.

Soap and Gaz look at each other.

Then Soap bends down on one knee so he’s almost eye level with the young girl, offering a kind smile that somehow suits his features perfectly.

“Hello, lass.” He offers quietly, so as not to startle her. “Glad tae meet ye. My name is Soap-” He pauses to gesture at the other sergeant standing above him a little awkwardly. “-and this is Gaz.”

“Soap?” His daughter giggles adorably, relaxing noticeably. “That’s a funny name.”

Soap grins.

Then she tugs on Price’s pant leg, looking up at him pleadingly.

“Daddy can I?” She asks, imploring, eyes darting from him to the McDonald’s bag meaningfully.

Price nods, still reeling a little from it all in his bleary state, and she squeals happily, snatches the happy meal from Soap’s hands and bounces back towards the bed. Price follows her with his gaze, where you’re now sat up against the headboard, looking just as bewildered as he feels. Your eyes dart from him to the men at the door, looking to Price for a cue on how to handle this strange circumstance.

“We also have some clothes and toys.” Gaz offers a bit timidly, the plastic bag rustling as he holds it aloft. He leans to peer past Price, looking at you. “Apologies, ma’am, had to guess your size.”

You shake your head, face falling open with gratitude. “Thank you…Gaz.” You try, and it makes Gaz straighten a little, pleased with himself.

Price finds himself opening the door for the two, allowing them a rare entrance into his quarters as they deposit their supplies. Soap busies himself with assisting you, ensuring the girls are satisfied with their food, carefully offering you a change of clothes. Price watches him take the liberty of draping a brand new shawl about your shoulders, and then startling at the stormy, warning look on the captain’s face at getting too close, his hands raising in defense. You only laugh, murmur a thank you to Soap, weary but more appreciative than you can profess.

Price is distracted by Gaz gently pushing a cup of coffee into his hands, a palm settling on his shoulder in a firm reassurance.

“Ghost’s gone to see about some arrangements.” He tells his captain softly so you can’t hear. “Seeing if he can convince the base commander to get some temporary housing for you all.”

Price’s chest swells with an immense gratitude, one that chokes his throat. He offers only a numb little nod to his sergeant, who’s eyes soften in understanding. Yet then a wry sort of humor passes over his gaze.

“He also didn’t want to spook the girls with his grim reaper get-up.” He adds, and Price nearly splutters on his coffee. Gaz laughs, claps him on the shoulder heartily.

Price sips his coffee, watching his two girls converse seriously over the toys included in their meals placed on your lap, with you carefully reminding them to thank the two sergeants once more.

Soap comes up on his other side, giving the three of you some space, crossing his arms and tilting his head over to his captain.

“What are their names?” He asks quietly, and Price glances at him out of the corner of his eyes at the mischievous little smirk pulling at the corner of Soap’s mouth.

Price clears his throat, and one by one nods to the three most important girls in his life.

“Mary.” He announces quietly, looking to his eldest. “Alice.” To her younger sister.

And you.

You, his beloved wife, his preciously kept secret, the thing that convinced him that maybe, in this world of evil and violence he lives in, that there’s still happiness left for him.

There’s a profound, blissful silence that washes over Price’s small quarters, beautiful and tender and far, far more than he deserves. There’s things he wants to say, wants to explain to the two men beside him, but the grace of their presence leaves him strangely wordless, faltering in his own attempts to speak.

“Thank you.” He declares at last, voice a little choked in a way he knows they’ll tease him about later.

“Always, cap.” Gaz declares beside him, equally soft, gracious and understanding.

The silence settles once more, and Price watches you as you listen to something your youngest has said, head tilting back in twinkling laughter. You look at him then, and the utter adoration, the thankfulness and love in your eyes nearly sends him to his knees.

“They’re beautiful.” Soap murmurs, only loud enough for Price to hear.

“They are.” Price agrees, swallowing down a thickness in his throat that rises with emotion.

There are days sometimes where he has to convince himself what he does in his work is right, stares into his blood streaked palms and tells himself it’s to create a world where his girls can grow up safe. He reminds himself as he snaps bones, fires shot after shot, walks away from scarred battlefields wrought by his hands.

By all means necessary, he thinks. Whatever it takes.

He’d burn the world to ashes to keep you all safe.

He doesn’t deserve you three, he knows that. It’s selfish of him to have this in the shadow of all the lives he’s taken, the things he’s destroyed. Yet despite the blood on his hands, the violence that’s long since weaved its way into his blood, you take him in your hands and lift him to your waiting lips, bestowing upon him endless grace and love that threatens to crack his heart open just so there’s another place to hold you.

Maybe he doesn’t deserve it. Maybe he hasn’t yet earned this thing before him, with your beautifully fond eyes looking down at the world the two of you have created. Despite it all, despite the things Price has done, the things he’s yet to do…

He wants it.

#John price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #my writing #cod mw2 #cod mw2022 #mw2 #call of duty mw2 #I'm not actually back from hiatus I'm just kinda tossing this out there while I deal with shit #Enjoy loves

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tanked-up · 7 months

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Soap to Price: I need help getting a guy

Price: Well, son… ask Rudy

——————————————

10 minutes later Soap barges inside his bunker

Soap: How did you get Alejandro?

Rudy who just got out of the shower: Uh… charm?

Soap: Good enough, thanks

——————————————

A day later

Ghost who’s half dead sitting in the chair starring at him: I feel like your going to ruin my day.

Soap: Do you think I have charm, ghostie?

Ghost: I think you’ve got problems, Soap. Problems

Soap: Uh… is that good enough for you?

Ghost sighs standing up to leave: I can’t believe it took you this long

#Can you tell I’m getting out of ideas #ghostsoap #call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #cod modern warfare #simon riley #john price #alejandro mw2 #rudy mw2 #alerudy #incorect cod quotes #incorect quote #cod memes

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crestapex · 9 days

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Date nights with the 141 be like:

Date night with Gaz: building a blanket fort under the stars with having deep conversations only mean’t for the two of you

Date night with Price: turning up some light background music, working on a puzzle and sharing one of his best cigars

Date night with Ghost: wrapped in one of his arms and having some drinks on the balcony of his apartment while watching the sun go down

Date night with Soap: a movie on in the background while trying to bake dessert together but failing miserably and deciding on cheap snacks in the back of the pantry instead

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moongreenlight · 4 months

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He- I- the cup- I- he- when you- you-

#fully cropped his wife out of this picture I’m so sorry Katy you don’t deserve this #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #barry sloane #price cod #price call of duty #cod price #captain john price

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ghouljams · 11 months

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Cowboy!Ghost tries to figure out how to act around the only woman he’s ever fallen in love with when she’s off limits to him. This is very early days in their relationship. I’m talking right after they get caught by Price.

Ghost is working very hard to scare you off, and it’s kind of working. When your Dad finally properly introduces you two he looks at you with eyes like ice. All the warmth of him gone and replaced with a dead man. He doesn’t say one word to you, simply stares you down until you drop your offered hand and go back to your chores.

He doesn’t say anything to you the rest of the day, he’s singularly focused on his work each time you see him. It’s like you don’t even exist to him. Maybe that’s for the best, but it makes your heart clench. He looks… lonely. The only thing he shows any kindness to is the animals. Stroking his horse’s neck as he waits for the cattle to file past him, gently nudging chickens out of the way with his foot, he even gives the pigs an affectionate pat on the back when he walks past their paddock. He has none of the same affections for you, even though 12 hours ago you would’ve said he was one of the most attentive men you’d ever met. Ghost brushes past you to put his tack away and you almost feel the chill of it.

“Your billet strap is too loose,” You tell him, because it’s been bothering you all day. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t look at you. “That’s why you’re slidin’ around in the saddle, Dolly’s a sweet horse but she’ll buck if you keep agitatin’ her.” He pauses, and nods once, quick, barely there. You nod back, satisfied that your horse is taken care of.

It’s the same thing the next day. The cold shoulder, the glare from under the shadow of his hat, the silence. You’d almost forget the way he’d held your face in the dark to kiss you. You press your hands against the kitchen counter, shoulders hunched and angry. Not with him. You get it, he’s a military man of course he’d obey his captain’s orders. This is exactly why you told yourself you’d never get involved with a military man. There was always going to be someone, something, more important than you to them. You love your Daddy, you really do, but…

But he hardly knows when to stop working. That’s why you’re making him something for lunch, because it’s what Momma would do if she was here. You swear at yourself and grab an extra couple slices of bread.

Your whistle reaches him all the way across the pasture. Dolly’s head jerks in your direction, her ears twitching as the dog goes zipping past her feet. Ghost checks his watch, it’s not quitting time yet. He looks around for Price and sees him doing the same thing before directing his horse back towards the pasture fence. He waits, half watching as Price chats with you, his eyes following the meandering cows as they enjoy the sun. It’s so quiet. It sets his nerves on edge.

“Ghost!” Price’s voice bellows over the grass. Ghost pulls his full attention to him, watches him wave an arm to signal him over. He clicks his tongue, knocks his heels against Dolly’s sides to get her moving.

You’re standing on the lowest rung of the fence, precariously balanced, one hand on the nearest post with a smile. You hold a paper wrapped bundle out to him, the added height of the fence letting you hold it directly to his hands. “Lunch,” You tell him plainly, “Momma’d be mad if I let y’all work through it.”

He takes the offering from your hand and watches you hop off the fence. You click your tongue and Dolly moves, letting her reach through the fence to tighten one of the straps on the saddle. Ghost’s heart clenches in his chest. Why would a drop of sunshine like you even spare him a thought? Why do you care? You meet his eyes with a smile and he looks away quickly, past Price towards the field.

“Thanks,” He tells you low and rough, like he doesn’t want to.

“Any time.”

You do your best to try and distance the dark and silent man that works on the farm from the man that you spent the night with. Ghost seems to have had no trouble with it, and you’ll be damned if a man is better than you at anything. You treat him like any other farm hand your dad’s hired, you’re friendly and chatty even when you’re met with a brick wall. You hate it.

Your thoughts are full of his hands, his voice, his eyes, a mouth you only felt. You are maddeningly haunted by this man, and he just… doesn’t care. Treats you like a fly on shit. The only kind word you get is the pained thanks when you hand him lunch. As if being nice to you is such a fucking challenge. And his fucking billet strap! He still can’t get it tight enough, it’s driving you crazy that you have to keep fixing it. It’s one fucking thing!

“You’re too friendly,” Ghost tells you. You glance over your shoulder at him.

“Am I supposed to be mean?” You don’t really want to do that, it’s not exactly your wheelhouse, “Daddy isn’t going to fire you just because I’m friendly.”

“You think that’s the issue?” He asks, eyes heavy on you. You make a face.

“What other issue would there be?”

“You’re-” He cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, “You’re making this harder than it needs to be. If you would just-”

You roll your eyes, “You’re such a drama queen, Si-”

Ghost’s hands grip your shoulders as he slams you against the side of the barn. “You don’t call me that,” He snarls, eyes so hot with anger it scares you, “Be a good little girl and leave me the hell alone.”

Your chest clenches tight, and you feel your hands starting to shake with anxiety. He hasn’t said more than two words to you in a week and this is what he’s been thinking? You take a breath and fix your face, giving his own anger back to him. That seems to loosen some of the tension in his shoulders at least. His eyes linger on your lips, you can hear him breathing, see the conflict in his eyes. There’s a long quiet moment, while you’re standing held against the wall where you think he might kiss you.

“Ghost,” You try, watching his breath catch, his eyes dart to yours and he lets you go, pulling away like you’ve burned him.

“Listen to your father when he tells you a man is dangerous.” He tells you, eyes cold once more. You nod, sliding against the wall of the barn. Your legs feel like they’re made of jelly. He doesn’t look back at you when he leaves.

#Goose immediately goes back to the house to stress bake #Price knows something's wrong but can't pry it out of her #She calls Soap to complain about Ghost being a jackass and he's like 'what did you expect? flowers?'#Soap: he's not that bad #Goose: he is that bad #Soap: did you do something to make him mad?#Goose: no comment #oc: goose #x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #reader x ghost #cod x reader

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