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the-californicationist · 3 months

Text

he opens the mail

Captain Price opens a package, thinking it’s intel, but it’s a sex pollen. The only cure? Your pussy, apparently.

Warning: sex pollen tropes, extremely dubious consent, attempt at satire?, angry john price

“We’re never going to make this deadline. Laswell’s gonna kill me,” you complained, burying your head in the pile of envelopes and packages strewn over your desk.

“Did this to yourself, lass. Shoulda been keepin’ up with intel duty. Wee bit at a time, ‘s what I say,” Soap patted you on the shoulder, feigning pity.

You spent hours combing through the documents, and by the time everyone had gone to bed, your fingers were covered in paper cuts, and your vision was blurry from squinting at the poorly scrawled Cyrillic words.

You thought you were alone, and as you stood up to stretch and refill your coffee mug, Captain Price opened up the office door, scaring you half to death.

“Oh, hey Corporal,” he smiled and then furrowed his brow, “What are you still doing here?”

You sighed, pointing to the piles of documents,

“Laswell’s intel backlog. I’m the only one with a Level 3 linguistics cert for Russian, so here I am. Gonna be an all-nighter.”

He closed the door and sat down across from your seat, digging into the pile,

“I’m Level 3. Let’s finish it.”

“Captain, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure you’ve got more important things…”

Price shook his head, taking off his hat and hanging it on the chair back,

“Nah, tha’s alright, love. I’ll help ya. Get us a tea, yeah?”

You knew how he took his tea, and you hated that you did. Secretly, you were obsessed with him. He was always around, smelling like balsam wood and tobacco, looking like a gladiator, huge and capable in the most masculine way. It was hard to concentrate when he was nearby. Now that he had offered to help, you had to grin and bear it.

You worked together for a while, chatting, even laughing. It was nice. You had so much in common, the conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself much more at ease. Finally, three packages remained. You opened the first one and found little more than phone records for a local library. Unhelpful to say the least. Price opened a water bill, and he recognized the address of a recent Konni base location. Any intel at this point felt like a celebration. Then, the final box.

“Go on then. Show us the ending,” he smiled, handing it to you.

“Couldn’t take the joy of ripping up the last letter, Captain. Be my guest,” you smiled.

He chuckled, tearing into the envelope. In a flash, bright pink powder sprayed him directly in the eyes, and he writhed in pain, pinching them shut, his whole body going stiff.

“Fuck me!” He shouted.

“Hang on,” you ran over to the sink in the kitchenette, “Here’s some water. Get that shit out of your eyes.”

“Don’t,” he moved away from you like you were on fire, “Don’t touch me. Might be contagious.”

Your chest was rising and falling with your labored breathing, and you were immediately worried. You reached for your phone and called Laswell.

“Laswell, Price got anthraxed by one of the intel letters. What do you want us to do?”

She gasped,

“What? Shit. I’m on my way.”

She hung up on you. You watched Price slowly try to open his eyes. They were stained hot pink from the powder.

“You alright?” You asked him.

“Yeah, love,” he sighed, “Doesn’t hurt anymore. Feeling strange though. Laswell said she’s coming?”

You nodded,

“Yeah, just in case.”

He nodded, running his hand along the inside of his collar. The captain was sweaty and a little pale.

“Captain, are you okay?”

“Mmm, no,” he shook his head, “Something’s not right, love.”

He stood and went to the sink, washing as much of the powder off as he could. You moved away from him and stationed yourself across the room, praying for Laswell to hurry.

Price was in a bad way. He took off his shirt, and he was still dripping with beads of sweat. You tried not to stare, but his temperature wasn’t the only thing heating up. His huge cock was making a prominent tent in his pants, but he was in too much pain to bother hiding it. You felt yourself blushing, and you willed yourself to pull it together.

“…fuckin’ hell,” his hand went to his crotch to squeeze his length, trying to find some relief, “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay,” you said politely, trying to breathe normally, but feeling the slick rush melt between your legs.

“It’s makin’ me…feel…bloody hell. I can’t hold it off. Can…can you…? No! No, what the fuck am I sayin’? No,” he shook his head, rubbing his hands down his face, hot and very bothered.

You inched closer to him,

“If I haven’t been affected yet, I’m sure it’s okay. How should I help you?”

“No! No, stay back. I’m not…I can’t think straight. My mind’s got one thing on it,” he shoved his hands beyond his zipper and began to jerk himself off, his dick making lurid noises with his hand.

You hated seeing him so helpless. You moved to his side,

“Cap, it’s okay. Let me help you.”

His hand was around your throat in milliseconds. Price shoved you against the wall and began to kiss your mouth, furiously laving his tongue against yours.

“No, no, no,” he whispered through his kisses, not bothering to pull away as he spoke his lamentations.

You made the mistake of putting your hands on his chest to steady yourself. He moaned, trembling beneath your touch,

“Ahh, careful.”

“Sorry,” you pulled your hands away, still trapped in his firm grip around your neck, “did I hurt you?”

“No, doesn’t hurt.”

He said it in a way that darkly implied your touch was igniting a different kind of fire. You put your hands back where they were, and his eyes shot open, piercing through yours with a lustful rage. Unexpectedly, he ripped off your shirt and lay you down on the black leather couch in the corner of the office. He crushed you with his weight, kissing you deeply.

Then, your phone rang. He didn’t allow you to pause, so it went to voicemail. It rang again. You were getting just as hot as he was, and you weren’t that interested in who was looking for you in the middle of the night. Until, however, the door to the office burst wide open and Laswell and Gaz burst through it.

Price snarled. You’d never heard a man make that noise before. Laswell put her hands on her hips while Gaz tried to shield his face in shock. Laswell rubbed her forehead, frustrated,

“Are his eyes pink, Corporal?”

You escaped his jaws for a moment,

“Yeah, why?”

“It’s a sex drug. Forces the user to fornicate as it is only passed through the body in seminal fluid, dissolving in the heat of another person’s body. Are you volunteering here? What happened?”

Her tone was so matter of fact, it was a little humorous, if Price’s length wasn’t rutting against you in earnest, you might've laughed. You tried to explain as much as he would allow,

“Got too close… just… happened. How…” you moaned as Price pulled down the strap of your bra and helped himself to your nipple, “How did you know?”

She sighed, typing something into her datapad,

“Checked the incident log from this afternoon. Four more cases of this have popped up in intel collections. Gonna have to screen for it next time.”

She turned to walk out of the office with Gaz, and you called after her,

“Hey, wait! How long does it - oh, fuck… how long does it last?”

Laswell had the audacity to smirk at you, raising her eyebrows and cutting her eyes at Price’s swollen cock, lolling out of his pants, scraping itself against you.

“Eight hours. Looks like you’re in for a rough night, Corporal. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.”

Part 2

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price smut #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #afab reader #Female reader #x female reader

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diejager · 4 months

Note

I know I already sent you an ask but could I get something for monster!141? Specifically Dragon!Price? Sorry for asking again but I love price and your writing!

Dragon Heart

Pairing: Dragon!John Price x fem!reader

Cw: knot, breeding kink, creampie, smut, fluff, morning sex, implied somnophilia, slow sex, romantic sex, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.7k

You knew dragons ran hot, their bodies powered by the kindled fire in their hearts, breathing smoke and fire with every breath they took. European dragons were creatures synonymous with fire, the powerful blaze that humans coveted for warmth, protection and destruction, but Price was all but the latter with his ragtag group. You once thought that Soap - sweet, rambunctious Johnny - ran the hottest, his body exhuming heat in plumes of vapours, his body exhausting itself from rapid muscle growth. Now you knew better, nothing burned more than a dragon itself, his heart pulsing in powerful waves, warm and soothing, his body warmed by the will of fire that thrived within him. You felt it all, his body calling to yours, naked under the sheets of his bed, cradling his face between your arms after your nightly activities that would follow in the morning —a promise he whispered on your lips.

You woke up to his soft kisses, severing his mark on your body just as his hands did on your wrists, and the rough scruff of his beard, tickling your cheek and throat as he moved down. He was hard between his thick thighs, the flushed head of his cock pushing inside you in a slow roll of his hips, your slick walls stretching around his girth. Price liked waking you up with slow and gentle sex, watching your eyes crack open while they rolled back and lips cracked open to let out a few sleepy mewls, feeling him fill you up. There was something in being woken up with Price inside of you on slow mornings, to feel the warmth of his body pressing you into the bed, soft sheets hugging you, and the heaviness of his cock, carving the shape of it inside you.

Mornings like these were full of love and affection, unhurried pleasure and gentle caresses. Price - John, you called him behind closed doors - was a devoted lover, giving you much more than he received, finding pleasure in giving rather than receiving. He was a firm, but kind hand, soft but guiding, he took the reins and watched you unravel beneath him —much like a flower blooming, petals unfurling into the prettiest blossom he knew. Price was a strong lover, caring for you through anything with strong conviction, grounding in anything he ventured into, a strong hand reminding Ghost that you were here for him, a gentle hand grounding Gaz from his slight fears, a firm hand keeping Soap in check, and a protective hand holding you close. He was everything and nothing at the same time. He gave and never asked for more, taking what was given to him with a smile and warming eyes.

While you liked the moments of shared animosity, clawing and biting at him, pressing him down on his desk and riding the life out of his cock, milking him for all his worth while he grasped and bucked into you, holding you captive under his burning gaze; you cherished these moments of domesticity, where he was neither captain nor were you his corporal. You weren’t restrained by duty or regulations, you simply held one another out of passion, one that had his heart soar and yours skip a beat. You loved him, you knew you did as much as he did, and he loved you so much that it hurt his old heart. He whispered your name, pressing his lips against yours, a soft and sensual act drawn out in lazy mornings and passionate gazes —he never failed to look you in the eyes when he expressed himself, telling you how much he cared and how much he would give for any one of you.

“Love you, John,” you gasped, hips bucked up, searching for his cock to hit a certain spot inside of you, the gummy part of you that made you cry and mewl. “I love you.”

His kiss tasted like cigar and smoke, a woody taste similar to Ghost’s earthy bourbon, but Price’s was more powerful, a distinct taste of him. It laid heavy with love, it clung to you with such boiling joy that you smiled, eyes closed. Your fingers found his spine, the curve that went up to his singular wing, a vestige of an accident that left him crippled in the air, you pressed down, hitting a knot while he fucked into you at a steady pace. He groaned, his pace stuttering, jerkily bottoming out, his balls flush against your ass and his wild pubic hair scratching your throbbing clit. He shuddered and you knew he liked it, the relief it gave him when you pressed a certain knot in his back, the one that released tension and gave him more leeway to move about freely and without restraint. It was your way to give back when he wouldn’t take.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped, brows furrowed and blinking away the daze you put him in, having his cock milked and his back popped felt amazing, the immediate relief painted on his face, “You’re a blessing.”

He felt like a blessing to you, his heart, his body, his mind, and everything about him was a blessing to you and his team. A gifting dragon to his hoard, keeping and protecting what belonged to him. Words wouldn’t be enough for you to show him how much you appreciate him, you used acts, favours and everything you had to show it to him. Whether it be a sudden kiss on his lips that brought a smile on his face, the skin under his eyes wrinkling from how happy he looked, or the massages you gave him, unwinding all the tension in his body after a hard mission, hearing his pleasured groan and his struggle to stay still, to stop himself from snatching you up and give you all the love he deemed you worthy of.

You murmured confessions, praises directed at his character rather than his duty, proclaiming little whispers of love. You raked your nails down his back, fleetingly touching the base of his tail, thick and robust, curled around your leg, holding it over his hip for deeper penetration, the rounded head of his cock kissing your cervix despite your prone position —a vanilla morning sex in missionary. Your hands slipped under his arm, roving over his hairy chest and pinching his perky nipples, rolling the rounded nubs between your thumb and index. You felt him twitch, a soft moan leaving his swollen lips, still kissing you with feverish need. His nipples were sensitive, especially in the mornings when his body reacted much more than at night, he’d succumb to your little tease, jerkily thrusting into you. Every drive of his cock thickened the ring of white around his cock, the ribbed girth of it catching the edge of your cunt when he pulled out, bringing you mind-numbing ecstasy.

You could feel the coil in your core tightening, the unwinding pleasure that followed the first spasm, walls clinging onto him. You let out a shuddered breath, feeling the ribs rubbing your sweet spot and his leaky cock throb against your cervix. Slick oozed out of your hole with each thrust, the motion pushing out yesterday’s load, cream jostled out of you, squeezed around his shaft.

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” he groaned, bowing his head over your shoulders, his breath hot and mouth nipping at your skin, threatening to sink his teeth and mark you for the others to see, for them to strew in jealousy that he had you all night long and the following morning. He spoiled and cared for you. “I want to hear you moan.”

Moan, you did, thighs tensing when your fingers circled your swollen clit, rolling the twitching nerve in rapid motions. You breathed laboriously, panting and gasping into his ear, mewling his name with teary and burning eyes, rolling back from pleasure and the thin veil of grey smoke that rose from his lips. It smelled like cedar, a smoky incense mixed with the natural scent of cedar and his strong cigars, a soothing and bitter smell. It drove you off the edge, his smell, his warmth, his body, and his voice sent you careening over the precipice of your pleasure, an explosive fire blinding you in white light, stars dancing around your sight as you clung to him. Your walls gripped in him a vice, clenching down on his cock and hand stuttering on your clit, the bundle of nerves sensitive and slick.

He was sloppy, growling out praises, telling you how good you were for coming for him, confessing how he lived to bring you over the brink of relief and much farther, and mumbling how he’d ruin himself for you. It was wet and messy, he came with a single buck, snapping into you, his green-tinted balls slapping your ass wetly, and bottoming out, his knot catching and inflating with a deep groan. Hot cum filled you, ropes of potent semen shooting out of his red tip, engorged and throbbing against your gummy cervix. You felt like you’d bloat from how much he was spewing, imagining the bump of cock and cum under your skin, poking out in an erotic sight.

His back slumped over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him, face pressed under his chin and his wing covering you. You listened to his purr, a low sound meant to comfort you after sex or any other straining activity —similarly to a cat showing its joy and pleasure. Price always cuddled you while waiting out his knot, pressing his burning body against yours and spoiling you with words and kisses. His knot comfortably seated inside of you, keeping his load from going to waste, preventing his fertility from leaking out of you like the faucet-like jet of his tip, he murmured into your hair, nosing the few strands that clung to your forehead and kissed you deeply. You kissed back, fingers carding through his beard and bushy hair, nails scratching his scalp, being careful of his sensitive horns.

“We have the day off, darling,” Price smiled conspiringly, blazing, amber eyes brimming with mirth, “Reckon we stay in bed a while longer?”

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celestialwhoree · 3 months

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John Price's secretary 💌

John was adamant that he was fine working alone - desperate to convince Laswell that he didn't need help with the mounting paperwork and mission reports piling up on his desk. The last thing he needed was some airhead flitting around base and getting in everyone's way with the sole purpose of lessening his workload. He was a captain, should've been able to file his own paperwork just like the rest of his men.

That's why on your first day, he was no less than brusque with you. You who strode into his office with a polite smile and a practised firm handshake, introducing yourself to him with the obvious statement of your name and position. He couldn't help but immediately think to himself how lovely you were, how out of place the radiance of your smile was in such a dark place as this. His introduction was as gruff as yours was gentle, listing off your duties to you like you didn't already know what they were, a tablet already in hand as you took note of any extra information provided to you with a stiff reluctance, nails tapping away at the screen before you, his calendar already jotted meticulously down to the hour.

"Anything you want me to prioritise?" You chirped warmly, ignoring the way his eyes had already returned somewhat dismissively back to the screen of his desktop. In a way, though, you were almost relieved he wasn't looking at your expression, wasn't looking to see the way your eyes went wide when he pointed at the box of unfilled paperwork stored messily in manila files, dumped on the floor beside his desk, piled so high they leaned. You were sure that even one more piece of A4 thrown on the pile would have the whole thing come tumbling down like depressing corporate Jenga.

The paperwork had you drowning until lunch, heel tapping rhythmically against the linoleum as you stamped off and filed, stamped off and filed, hours crawling by at a snails pace whilst your desk became increasingly cramped for space. The paper overrunning your desk also occupied your mind so much that you didn't notice the tall shadow of John Price looming over you until he cleared his throat, making you jump with a squeaked out "Oh!" and a hand clutching at your chest in surprise.

"Didn't mean to startle you." He rumbled lowly, his warm, apologetic tone making you blush, unintentionally fluttering your eyelashes up at him, an action which causes him to inadvertently ball his fist, trying to hide the appreciative glaze settling over his baby blues. "You haven't eaten." His voice came out softer, trying not to startle you again.

"No. I guess not." You muttered softly in response, torn halfway between staring back up at him and shying away from the intensity of his gaze. "S'pose I got too caught up in all of this." A hand indicating to the paperwork drowning your desk made him chuff out something which sounded pleasantly like a laugh.

"Would you like some lunch?" Had you nodding emphatically in response, not even realising how hungry you'd become in your intense focus.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

The next few months were much the same, paperwork lumped on your desk, working until John came and offered you to join him for lunch. With every meal shared you learned more about him, and with every guiding hand he placed on the small of your back when he walked you to the mess hall, you grew more - appreciative? Your guilty little work crush grew harder to suppress.

It was hard not to be into John Price, with his gruff demeanour and contradictorily soft eyes and gentle hands, you couldn't help it. He was a good, kind man, so different from the others who haunted your past - a fact which you struggled to forget when he'd walk you to your car after working late, occasionally even bringing you coffees on early mornings.

".. You with me?" His voice snaps you from your reverie, his fingers drumming on the wood of your desk, one eyebrow raised in intrigue.

"Sorry?" You murmur in confusion.

"Said I've got a work dinner tonight with some important people. Need you to come along, take some notes for me."

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #tf 141 #John price #captain John price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x y/n #john price x reader #john price x y/n #price x reader #price x y/n #john price cod #call of duty

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b1rds3ye · 10 months

Text

Radio Silence

The mission required you to separate from the rest of Task Force 141 but when the operation is compromised, all he can do is listen to the panic through the comms until everything goes silent.

Pairings: Captain John Price x GN!Reader, Simon “Ghost” Riley x GN!Reader Reader Aliases: Breeze (Callsign), Bravo 1-5 (Squad-Member Code) Genre: Angst (open-ended), Drama Warning: Descriptions of violence/crashes, blasphemy/religious references, (probably) inaccurate military terms Word Count: 3k (~1.5k each)

Captain John Price

The captain was not a superstitious man, but when you’re on the battlefield, you take all the good fortune you can get. With age he’s picked up a range of small habits and lucky paraphernalia to get him through the mission; an aged penny in his left breast pocket, a four leaf clover stored in another, he finds himself reciting the lord’s prayer even though he’s not particularly religious (and if there is a god he’d like to personally go up and sock them across the face).

When you noticed his little rituals, you added on a good luck charm of your own - his favourite by far. A quick peck on the cheek followed by a teasing little “good luck, captain” in his ear. Price swears there’s something divine in your affection, it does wonders for his morale and efficiency. He thought nothing of it the first few times, but when he realised that this little gift of yours was here to stay, he started to reciprocate in kind when the others weren’t looking. His soul has become tainted over the years - if anything a kiss from him should be a bad omen - but your beaming smile in response convinces him that maybe he’s given you some luck your way.

And perhaps that’s why, after your ritual good luck kiss, he feels a little more than bothered when Laswell calls you away before he can reciprocate. You notice the slight furrow of his eyebrows and laugh, telling him not to worry and that you’ll see him on the other side. The hold you had on his arm disappears as you pull away, bidding him and the rest of the Task Force good luck as you join your own squadron. Price then returns to commandeering his own men, but the thought lingers in the back of his mind. Perhaps you need that extra little bit of luck today.

Price hates how good his intuition can be.

“Bravo 0-6, do you copy?”

With his squadron grounded and on the perimeter of the site, he stiffens at the tone of your voice. That’s not how you usually sound like over comms, that hint of uncertainty didn’t suit you.

“Loud and clear, in position of Site A.”

“Copy, we’re at the compound but… we’ve got company.”

“Al-Qatala?”

“No, looks like Al-Qatala is buddy-buddy with some mercs and- shit.”

“Breeze, what are you seeing?”

“How’d they get us surrounded…?” You mutter more to yourself than to Price but his blood runs cold regardless.

“Bravo 1-5 you are to fall back and wait for backup-”

He’s cut off by various layers of static but he’s learnt to decipher them. The deeper base of the rustle of fabric as you manoeuvre, the sharp trill of gunshots all overlaying the white noise of distant shouting.

“Price, our exits are blocked, they knew we’d be here, how’d they- Corporal! Fuck, stay with me! We’re dropping like flies here. Bravo-1, we’ve got no choice, we have to push through, full offensive!”

He hears the screams of nearby soldiers. While he’s grateful none of them are yours, he knows that the ride back to base will be a rough one regardless. He feels the eyes of his subordinates burn holes into him and the walkie talkie. Gaz, who was beside him, was the only one moving, animatedly talking to Laswell and filling her in on the situation.

“Bravo 1-5-”

There’s an audible sigh on your end that shuts him up.

Through the time it has taken for Price to become captain, he’s learned a lot the hard way. One of the most important things he’s learned is that earning Lady Luck’s favour is more crucial than any skill for the battlefield. Some of the best he’s ever seen has fallen because they pissed her off somehow, but he still never expected her to shun you.

“Just my luck…” your voice starts off quiet as you curse to yourself. A gulp breaks up your panting as you stabilise your breathing. Your next words are far too calm.

“I’m sorry, Price.”

“Sergeant.” Price’s voice was low, cautious. A warning. He knows how you fight, he knows you don’t do anything extreme unless the situation he calls for it, and once again he’s praying to the unknown that it hasn’t come to that.

“I said next time we hit the pub with the 141 that the first round will be on me but I don’t think I can make that.”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Breeze.”

“The merc company goes by Order of Ashes.”

Your words are becoming harder to hear as the explosions seem to be getting closer and closer. Gaz is becoming louder, literally screaming into his comms as he near begs for an evac for your squadron. The rest of his team is becoming restless. Price’s grip tightens impossibly tight on the walkie talkie, any tighter and he could probably crush the metal.

“Rain hell on them for me, yeah?”

Price starts calling for your name, only to be interrupted by a deafening static that has him reeling from his own technology. Inexperienced privates that surrounded him flinched at the sound while Gaz fell silent. Soon Price’s walkie talkie falls silent too.

He brings his hand up to activate communications again, a tentative check in.

“Bravo 1-5, do you copy?”

He waits for a moment.

“Fuck. Breeze? Do you copy?”

The next time he calls out to you is the first time he’s hesitant, to the untrained ear he sounded as strong as ever but to him he recognises how his own voice wavers. A gentle call of your actual name, the last resort.

Silence.

Price gives you a few more seconds to answer, each moment more damning than the last. Gaz sends a concerned look his way but words fail him. He’s a good sergeant but his inexperience is showing. He hasn’t fully mastered the poker face, not like Price has.

Eventually he lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, counting each racing heartbeat it takes until it has marginally slowed.

Gaz instinctively straightened up, he didn’t need to see Price’s face to know his captain was transforming before his very eyes. Price adjusts his hat, looking at the rest of his team under the brim.

“Alright, we’ve got double the work and half the manpower. No time to lose, I want this site cleared within the hour, and then we're finding our other half."

With affirmatives all round, the soldiers get to work and so does Price. To the untrained eye, he’s calm, eerily so. As captain, Price can’t afford to lose his cool, it’ll bleed over and smother his team, blanket them in a tense atmosphere of panic and uncertainty. So he stays resolute, acting as the team’s anchor as he guides them towards the objective with precision.

The only emotion that breaks his facade is anger. Pure, unbridled rage that casts a frightening glaze over his eyes. His allies can see it as Price stomps towards the entrance of the site. Al-Qatala most certainly feel it as their lackeys are pummeled to the ground, bones cracking against stone and tiles. They’re not gifted the mercy of a quick bullet, but the pain of slowly bleeding out with broken bones, bruised bodies and limbs jutting out in all the ways they should not. Every bruising punch, every bullet delivered does little to quell the raging storm within him. It brings him closer to the mission objective but it doesn’t bring him closer to you, and that’s the only thing that matters right now. There’s no hostages, no chance of salvation for his enemies. Any form of good will in Price was taken away when you were taken away from him. He hopes whatever god that sees the carnage he’s inflicted knows that it is only a taste of what to come if he ever meets that poor sod.

When his side of the operation is done and the squadron is now leaving the site, Price returns to his comms. He needs to address the other half of the mission, you. Suddenly his tongue feels thick in his mouth as his throat tightens. His collar is suffocating.

“Bravo 0-6 to Watcher-1 do you copy?”

Laswell’s voice rings out.

“Affirmative. We’ve already dispatched birds to Bravo-1’s location, we’ll do what we can and sort out that compound.”

“Do me one more thing. Find me everything you can on the ‘Order of Ashes’. I want names, locations, families, the whole fucking mile.”

“Can do. … Is this for Breeze?”

“Breeze wanted me to rain hell on them…”

Price’s voice is low as he puts a cigar in his mouth. He lights it up, even when the cigar smokes he keeps the lighter on. His eyes narrow at the flickering flame, fixated on it for a moment longer. He’s never been a particularly superstitious man, but he’s asking for Lady Luck to be on his side once again. For the slim chance that you’re somewhere out there, breathing. He’s never been worthy of her favour, but you damn well are so surely she’ll put that into account. She’ll consider that you still have a lot to do, you still have a good luck kiss that Price needs to return. He puts his lighter away.

“... and I intend to deliver.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost preferred his quieter missions. Others feel safer when in a team but more people mean more variables, and more variables mean more fuck ups, and heavens know he’s had enough of those. For Ghost, the less, the better. And yet, when it came to 141, and in particular to you, he’d pick company over going solo in a heartbeat.

Reconnaissance missions were a personal favourite, they were quiet, less violent if done right and often required only a few people. Of course his first person of choice is you, even if you’d always call these missions an “impromptu date” and then chastise him for not planning something more extravagant just to rile him up.

Even now, when you two were starting on opposite sides of the target site a good few kilometres apart, you were connected through communications. He’d listen as you ramble about anything and everything on your mind when the mission gets quiet. It was endearing, it was soothing. Ghost never thought he’d find someone like you with the power to give him a respite even when on duty - or if he ever deserved such a thing. And yet here he was, sitting against a wall, waiting for further instructions from Laswell as you started the purely hypothetical debate on who in the 141 would best survive the zombie apocalypse.

“Honestly, with a mask like yours you could probably blend in with the horde. 10 out of 10 you’d last your entire life like that.”

“Surrounded by brain dead morons? Already have that.”

He heard your laugh that you tried to mask as an exaggerated scoff.

“How long do you think I’d last?”

“One hour at most.”

“Oh come on Ghost, have a bit more faith in me.”

“All Bravo to Watcher-1, we’re awaiting further action, copy.”

As Laswell replies, Simon can already imagine your offended expression as he changes the topic.

“Bravo-1 this is Watcher-1, you are all clear to close in on the perimeter. Do not engage, just tell us what you see.”

“Watcher-1 this is Bravo 1-5, I’m already seeing hostiles.”

Ghost stills, his hand reaching back up to the comms. You’ve always managed to keep it cool but he heard how your sentence ended with a slight waver. It was too early for speculation, but the alarm bells were already going off in his head. The enemy should be clustered within the site, nowhere near where you currently are.

“I’m counting a dozen men, a couple of trucks and- that’s looking like some impressive cargo.”

There’s some extra static as Ghost finds his pace increasing. He won’t be able to reach you soon, but it doesn’t stop his legs from moving towards the site.

“They’re moving quickly, they’ve got an agenda.”

“Stay frosty, Breeze.”

“Got it, Simon.”

Your voice is more of a whisper now, almost blending in with the static. Was the enemy that close to you already? Usually, he loved when you used his actual name. Everyone calls him ‘Ghost’ even off-duty, but you were proper enough to at least always call him by his callsign in battle. You were getting spooked and he was too far away to even try and comfort you.

It was a strain to unclench his balled fists. He wasn’t going to have a mission go wrong, at least not one that involved you. He’d be damned if something took you out before him, because he refused to return to a life where you weren’t yapping his ear off.

“Breeze, head back to exfil.”

“Fuck, they’re heading this way.”

If you found a good place to hide, Ghost could reach you before any enemy did. He had to.

“I’m heading towards your position. E.T.A 20 minutes.”

“Ghost, my spot is now crawling with hostiles. I know you’re a one man army but I think you’re pushing it this time.”

Your laugh was different this time. It wasn’t as hearty as the one he heard before, it was a weak wheeze. Half-hearted, the sound of a bitter and quiet defeat. He could hear your rugged breathing against the end of the mic. If he was actually with you, he’d stand beside you in moments like this, letting you put your body weight on him discreetly as he anchored you to the world. His gloved hand instinctively curls as he imagines himself holding onto your arm.

“Breeze, stay with me. Focus on the objective.”

“You owe me a proper date after this, Ghost.”

“Then make sure you get back in one piece-”

The comms are disrupted with a voice that Ghost can’t recognise, with you returning an indistinguishable shout and a curse. He can’t help calling your name into the comms, only to hear the static of indescribable commotion, bodies shuffling and the harrowing crack of broken bones and limbs. It escalates into a deafening crescendo spanning only a few seconds before the grand finale of a thump of a fallen body. The transmission ends with a damning click. He stops in his tracks before he returns to the comms.

“Breeze? How copy?”

The line has gone dead. Ghost slams his fist into the nearest wall, but it does little to quell the pain from within.

“Bravo this is Watcher-1, what’s your status?”

Ghost pauses at Laswell’s request, he wants you to be the one who replies on his behalf, you usually do. Never did a moment feel so heavy, outweighing his military gear and weapons, almost bringing the hulking man to his knees. His hand reluctantly comes up to activate his walkie talkie. He takes his sweet time, giving you the chance to interrupt. When he finally speaks, his voice is slow as he draws out every syllable, every pause a desperate invitation for you to speak up.

“Bravo 1-5 is M.I.A.”

Laswell is silent on the other side. Ghost lets his head tilt back until it rests on the wall beside him, the guilt made his skull too heavy. With that sentence alone he felt like your executioner, as if he just brought the possibility of you being gone into reality. The only thing he can hear now is the slight rustle of grass against the wind, a backdrop to the rhythmic bass of his pounding heartbeat. This was a typical ambience for solo missions, and Ghost was used to being alone.

But lonely? He had forgotten how it felt ever since you barged into his life. And now that the feeling has returned, he forgot just how utter shit it feels.

“We’re sending immediate backup to their position. We’ll meet you there.”

But by the time he and the squadron make it to your position, there are only the remnants of a battle left in your wake. A few unrecognised bodies are slumped against the walls, furniture is overturned, and dried blood paints the floor as a macabre dye. Most - if not all - of this must have been your handiwork, and if it was any other circumstance Ghost would feel proud, but you’re not beside him for him to praise you. That being said, there is no sign of you, and that leaves him optimistic, but the other soldiers seemed to think differently.

“You know, they say Al-Qatala never takes prisoners,” one jittery private said to another.

“What’re you trying to say? I've seen the Sergeant. Breeze is tough.”

“I’m just saying, even if we can’t find their body they’re probably d-”

“That’s enough,” Ghost snaps his head to them, eyes alight with a rage usually reserved only for his worst enemies. His voice is near unrecognisable, more akin to a growl than any human sound. He will not tolerate anyone speaking ill of you or doubting your capabilities as a soldier. He tells himself he does it for your honour, nothing more, nothing less. He disregards the selfish need for you to return to him as it wittles him down to the bone and contorts his face to a scowl concealed under his mask.

The soldiers hurriedly salute before exiting the room, leaving the lieutenant alone, shoulders and chest heaving before he moves to continue the search.

The team returns empty handed, but that means nothing to Ghost. Even as he’s issued new missions he does not falter. He fights with the same brutality, killing his enemy before they can kill him because he needs to return home. Return home so he can organise a covert mission of his own - retrieving you. No matter the rank or squadron that separates you, no matter if you’re shipped out to the other side of this godforsaken earth, you two are a team. Combat has hardened Ghost into a brutally honest man, many would call him a pessimist, but a stubborn voice in the back of his mind refuses to believe that you��re gone. You’ve always been a tough nut to crack, if you weren’t you wouldn’t be dating him. He’s seen you stare death in the eyes only for you to stand back up beside him. And so he faces forward and doesn’t look back. Because until he has to rip off the freezing metal of a dog tag from your neck, he swears on his stone cold heart that you’re still out there. Maybe a little tattered, perhaps even broken, but living.

Call of Duty Masterlist

#cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley #cod 141 #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare #/*avery actually writes*/

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dragonnarrative-writes · 1 month

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Forming the Pack - Part 1

Autumn Embers Master List

Pheromones aren’t everything, of course, but you’ll get more cohesive group dynamics if everyone has scents that go together. Scent blockers and diffusers are everywhere in common spaces, so it’s not like people who’s scents don’t mesh can’t be around each other. Lots of people with subtler or hard to pin down scents only go au naturel on special occasions with family and their special someone.

Of course, the military is a whole other beast.

Almost every person serving active duty is an alpha, which lends itself to clashes. And alphas, who already tend to have stronger scents, put out even more aggressive pheromones in close proximity with one another. Industrial strength scent diffusers can only do so much. It results in proximity packs forming, alphas who are scent compatible spending more time with each other.

The 141 doesn’t form because of scent compatibility. When Price finds Simon and forms the task force, he doesn’t much care about what they each smell like. Their scents being on wildly different parts of the spectrum is better than if they were too close, Price reasons. His gear smells a bit spicy, Simon’s always has an earthy undertone. It’s easy to avoid squabbling, and only made easier by the way Simon readily assumes his position as John’s second. No muss, no fuss.

The first year passes. It’s hard work, but Simon makes it undeniably simpler. The Ghost has a presence that demands deference from the temporary members of the task force. And because Ghost follows his captain, that deference extends to Price. The two times someone had tried to upset the balance, Simon had reacted with such swift ferocity that Price hadn’t known there was a problem before it was resolved with a neck under a boot.

“Stand down, Ghost,” Price says around his cigar, the third time.

“'S soon as he acknowledges his superiors, Skipper,” Ghost rumbles, staring down at the sergeant who’s face is going an interesting shade of purple with shame and a lack of oxygen. “Yield, corporal.” The sergeant frantically taps Ghost’s boot. Ghost gives him just enough room to heave a breath, and snarls down, “Yield to the Captain.”

“Captain, I yield,” the young man gasps.

“You ever flout orders again, I’ll kill you myself,” Ghost growls.

After that, the mission had gone smoothly.

Days later, it’s just the two of them again, walking home from the pub. It’s a nice enough night for it, and they’re both too jumpy to call a car. Simon follows without comment, just lights a cigarette and falls into John’s wake, like always.

Four blocks from the base, Simon says, “Gotta piss.”

John snorts. “What, you didn’t go before we left? Hold it.”

“Alright,” Simon drawls. Without breaking stride, he lights another cigarette.

Of course, within another block, John becomes too aware of his own bladder. If Simon hadn’t said anything, he could probably have made it. Annoyed, he steps into an alley and behind a dumpster. His nose does not appreciate the assault on his senses, but he’s a soldier, he’s smelled worse. Simon stands guard at mouth of the alley as he does his business.

When he emerges, he tips his head. “Goin’?”

Simon quirks an eyebrow and exhales a cloud of smoke. “Am I?”

Price hums, takes in Simon’s relaxed posture. Without the skull covered balaclava, he’s softer. Not civilian soft - he’s still almost 2 meters of alpha, hardened by military training and torture. But where most military As balk at taking orders when they’re not in the field, Simon looks for ways to let Price lead.

Simon will do what ever John tells him. It’s a realization that probably shouldn’t thrill him the way it does.

John waves him into the alley. “Be quick about it.”

Without comment, Simon hands his half-finished cigarette over and steps into the alley. John contemplates it as Simon does his business. He prefers cigars, but he takes a drag and tells himself it’s just to keep it lit.

But when Simon re-emerges, John doesn’t hand it back. And Simon doesn’t ask.

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #poly 141 #omegaverse #autumn embers verse #simon ghost riley #captain john price #manic pixie dream ghost #price is right #(in my heart) simon likes a hierarchy #but he never wants to be at the very top of it #(this was part of a larger document that has been sitting in my files for some time)#(posting to remind myself that I don't have to be perfect)#(i'm allowed to put my own stuff on my blog even if it's not finished)

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auspicioustidings · 2 months

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Military Operation

Summary: Soap finds out Ghost has never celebrated Valentine's Day before and it all goes a little tits up. This is part of @bunnyreaper's Valentine's Day exchange and is for @juvenillia <3 (I signed up for this before I went into an absolute depressive fugue state so I can only apologise that it is not my best writing)

Words: 3k

“I’m naw fucking around, this needs tae be efficient and ruthless. Get in, get out, dinnae take any chances.”

“Yes sir.”

You try to hold in a laugh, eyes watering as Gaz catches your eye and is finding it equally as hilarious to have the Captain refer to Soap as sir. It’s ridiculous and Price knows it, but with how worked up Soap is he’s clearly feeling indulgent. Only all mirth dies and leaves your throat tight when Soap sets his eyes on you, looking wounded.

You had not realised until right this moment how much this meant to him. It seemed silly to you that he was treating Valentine’s Day as a military operation after Ghost let slip that he had never celebrated it, but it definitely wasn’t silly to Soap. Ah shit. Now you felt dreadful.

“Ok Sergeant, what can we do?”

He softened a bit at your sincerity and as he went over all of his planning you couldn’t help but feel the dread bubble up. You had been on this team for long enough now to know when John MacTavish was spiralling, and right now he was spiralling. It had been a while since his last episode when Gaz had gotten shot on mission and he had spent the next month completely burning himself out in his desperation to look after him. It was how he was, once he cared about you, he would completely self-destruct if it meant he could be of some service to you. It had been Ghost who brought him back that time and honestly you had not a fucking clue how.

You were paired up with Price to get the pool ready as per Soap’s instructions while he handled the rec room decorations and Gaz was sent to deal with food. It was pretty overboard as far as a Valentine’s Day went. Soap’s plan was to give Ghost a card telling him to go to the rec room after a romantic breakfast where there would be a note to lead him to the next location. It would be sweet if poor Soap wasn’t liable to give himself a stress induced heart attack before the end of the day.

“Captain…”

“I know kid” Price sighed with a press of his lips to your cheek. “If we can just get through today then we'll see what can be done. If we try stop him it’ll make him worse.”

You knew he was right even if you didn’t like it. Honestly the relationship the 5 of you had was tenuous at best. You were a unit, you worked well together in the field. You couldn’t really pinpoint when you had become something more than that. It happened slowly. It wasn’t some big confession or conversation, it was affectionate touches turning to something more between all of you. You thought that was perfect, but you wondered sometimes if for someone like Soap who was a romantic at heart and never could hide his feelings, the lack of definition as to what this all was stung.

“None of that corporal. If I have to be up sneaking around at 2am on Valentine’s Day putting bloody rose petals in a swimming pool then at the very least I’m going to take what enjoyment I can from it.”

“Is there any enjoyment you can get from this?”

“Hmm, battle plans are your specialisation.”

“That right?”

“Better come up with a plan for us to somehow take some enjoyment from being here all alone at this time.”

“That an order Captain?”

“Only because I know how much you like taking orders from me.”

You had to give it to Price, he had a way of taking your mind off things and then making you completely lose it. Slowly. Decadently. Several delicious times in a row.

–

You sleepily speared one of your pancakes and plopped it on Gaz’s plate who just as sleepily nuzzled a thank you into your hair before tucking in. Soap was sharp eyed given that none of you had bloody slept trying to make everything absolutely perfect for his plans. His leg was bouncing under the table as Price and Ghost joined you all at the table.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” he blurted out.

Ghost only responded with a slight nod of acknowledgment before Soap put the envelope on the table causing a tilt of Ghost’s head in question.

“Open it LT!”

You would really like to be invested in this, but as with Gaz beside you the two of you were more concerned about how Soap would cope with today. Honestly this could all go completely off without a hitch and he’d probably still be a mess at the end of the day thinking he had fucked everything up. Only it did not go off without a hitch as Ghost started to speak whilst opening the card that would kick off a day of in your face Valentine’s Day fun.

“S’not that I don’t appreciate it Johnny. February 14th is an anniversary.”

Oh no.

“Not really up for big celebrations the way you lot probably are. Seems wrong to on the day they were murdered.”

Oh no. It was too late. He was reading it. He was reading the card telling him to go to the rec room after he had eaten breakfast. The rec room that was smothered in fucking heart balloons and bunting and flowers. Gaz choked down his pancakes at breakneck speed.

“Totally understandable. Don’t worry about it, we really only had low key stuff planned but maybe it’d be nice to get off base instead” you said with what you hoped was a very believable smile.

“Oh! Aye! A wee off base trip would be good!”

“Hey” Ghost said, his big hand going to rest on top of Soap’s still bouncing leg to stop it. “Stop flapping Johnny. Low key is fine, just let me get breakfast and I’ll come to the rec room.”

Maybe God would be merciful and a nuclear war would start before he got the chance and save you all from being revealed as the most callous assholes in the world who were shoving love in Simon Riley’s face on the anniversary his family were fucking murdered. But since you couldn’t rely on that, you, Gaz and Soap were up and snatching your plates off the table in record time.

“Sounds good! You and Cap take your time, it’s really nothing big so no rush!” Gaz said with forced brightness and a mega watt smile to Price that in no uncertain terms said ‘please keep him here for as long as possible while we try to do damage control’.

“Aye, dinnae rush! Enjoy yer pancakes!” Soap added, choking on the last word as his eyes bulged out of his head.

Fuck. The pancakes. The fucking stupid heart pancakes that were sitting ready on the counter for Ghost to take. Only when he stood to go grab his plate, Gaz beat him to it and grabbed the full stack in his hand before shoving them into his mouth. Everyone froze in total shock as Soap sprung into action to help push the rest of the mess into Gaz’s face as he struggled to breathe while trying to swallow.

“Ah ha, totally forgot Gaz is carb loading! For that marathon thing. Yeah he’s totally carb loading right now, just eating all the carbs in sight.”

Gaz tried to back you up on that around a mouthful of stupid fucking pancakes only resulting in him nearly choking on powdered sugar and syrup while Soap started to frantically steer him out of the room. None of you noticed Price sneaking a photo of the whole scene.

“Aye, carb loading! Cannae help himself! Bonnie can make ye pancakes, they’re the best at them since they always take their time cooking. And then ye can all meet us.”

“Yes! I can do that. Totally. I can make pancakes. Slow cooked pancakes since Gaz ate your portion. Because he is carb loading.”

Soap pressed a frantic parting kiss to your forehead, leaving one on Ghost’s mask and the last on Price’s lips before carting Gaz out of there still coughing and sputtering and covered with syrup. Yeah, totally chill and normal behaviour. If you were anything but in a blind panic maybe it would have been suspicious that Ghost didn’t ask questions, only taking your hips to pull your back against his chest and scrape his teeth against your throat.

“Better get to making those pancakes before the Lieutenant skips right to dessert luv.”

–

“Jesus what are these made of fucking kevlar?” Gaz hissed, trying to pop one of the heart balloons with his teeth because his panicked fingers couldn’t get the bloody thing untied.

On an empty bloody base and neither of them had so much as a fucking pin for popping balloons after sprinting from the mess to try and get rid of the evidence of a very ill conceived attempt at romance. Eventually he took his teeth to the knot and got the stupid thing undone only to get a mouth full of helium while Soap frantically stuffed bunting behind the sofa.

“This is a pure shitemare.”

“I’m sorry, a shitemare?”

There was a pause before the two of them burst into wild laughter. Gaz from the word shitemare, Soap from Gaz saying the word shitemare with his voice high from the helium. Fuck it felt good. It felt like a release after the last 20 minutes of absolute blind fear driving them to try and sort this fuck up out.

Honestly Gaz hadn’t seen Soap laugh since Ghost had said about never having celebrated Valentine’s Day a week ago and he missed it. He missed the way his boy’s eyes crinkled and how he carded his hands through his hair and messed it up while trying to catch his breath. He missed how everything felt alright when John MacTavish smiled at him.

He really couldn’t help going and kissing him when he collapsed in an exhausted heap on the sofa after they had both laughed themselves silly and finished brutally murdering the rest of the balloons and squirrelling away the bunting. Soap had been his first kiss in the team and even now he liked kissing him most. You always teased him about it, knowing it didn’t take away from what you two had. After all, you would readily agree that Soap was the best kisser.

They still had to get rid of the flowers, but maybe staying here a little longer wouldn’t hurt.

–

“Leave them be sweetheart, they’re cute.”

You were at least relieved that the majority of the decorations seemed to have vanished even if there were still a few vases of flowers around the place, although the bigger relief was seeing your Sergeants tangled up snoozing on the sofa. When was the last time Soap had properly rested? It felt like he hadn’t at all this week. And Ghost was right, they certainly were cute like that. Price took a bunch of photos to prove it.

You felt thoroughly exhausted as well as you fell onto the other sofa, Ghost following and tucking you into his side.

“Did nobody sleep last night?”

You stuttered trying to come up with an excuse as to why you were all so tired.

“Could have at least invited me if there was an orgy happening.”

That turned you into a complete flustering mess which only made him and Price laugh.

“Come on sweetheart, get some rest in.”

Well since they had gotten rid of the note in this room about going to the pool next the whole crisis had been averted. And you always loved cuddling with Ghost. A nap couldn’t hurt.

–

“I like the flowers.”

Soap and Gaz shared a relieved look. They had meant to get rid of them but had passed out, only waking up a few hours later to find Ghost on the other sofa scrolling through his phone with you gently snoring tucked into his side. It was a really nice scene to wake up to actually. You weren’t tiny, but Ghost was huge enough to make you look that way. There was something that just made Soap’s chest warm seeing two people he knew went through hell out on the field both relaxed and gentle and happy. His quiet musing was interrupted by Gaz’s soft snort.

“You look broody as hell.”

“Want me to fuck a baby into you Gaz?”

“Not until you put a ring on it, no child of mine will be born in sin!”

Ghost’s laugh woke you but you were cosy right where you were and just listened to the three of them banter away.

“Having Johnny involved makes it a sin baby regardless of who he puts it in.”

“LT! I cannae believe ye’d say such a thing tae me! I’m a good Catholic boy!”

“Hmm, Catholicism does famously love a man sleeping with his entire unit” you quipped, earning a blown raspberry from Soap.

“Ye think my friend JC wasn’t balls deep in Judas and Mary at the very least?”

“Plus we bunk next to one another and they really make a whole big thing about loving thy neighbour so if anything we are simply following the good word.”

“See now Gaz gets it, that’s why he’s the one tae carry my child!”

“Congratulations on the pregnancy?” said Price in amusement as he came into the rec room, only catching the last line of the conversation.

“Thanks Cap” Gaz answered solemnly with a hand to his belly while you just rolled your eyes and smiled at how stupid these idiots were.

“Can’t wait for the baby shower. Thanks for the flowers, think I’m going to go a swim before lunch.”

It was a miracle Ghost did not feel how you tensed next to him (he did). The pool was still positively smothered in rose petals. Gaz and Soap must have realised at the same time you did, both of them leaping to their feet. Fuck.

“I’ll join you, but let’s swing by my office first.”

You wanted to kiss the Captain for his fast thinking. You just had to get to the pool and fish out the petals while Price kept Ghost busy and it would be absolutely fine.

–

“Where the fuck is it?!”

You could not believe this. The pool net was missing, the thing you needed to scoop out these stupid petals. The three of you had torn the place apart looking for it but it had yet to materialise. You felt like you were about to burst a blood vessel when Soap started laughing.

“I’m sorry, is something about this funny to you?” you hissed at him.

“Aye, ye look like a feisty wee cat when ye get all angry like that” he laughed.

God Soap loved seeing you angry. Not the angry you got on the battlefield, all blood and violence and vengeance. The angry you got just for them, when you were just normal people having a disaster of a Valentine’s Day and you went a shade darker with your eyes wild, arms crossed and foot tapping a grumpy little rhythm.

Gaz loved it too, but for different reasons. He knew when you got like this that either Soap or Ghost would start winding you up and it was always entertaining to watch the carnage that came of it. It had only been a week and he had already forgotten how much he liked seeing the two of you like this, having fun.

“Come on, Captain can’t distract him forever.”

Soap’s eye slid to Gaz, hearing the undercurrent of mischief just a beat too late as he was tackled into the pool with a yelp. You really had not seen that coming at all and as Soap broke the surface and shook out his hair you winched at how he switched from the brat you knew and loved to looking genuinely upset. You held a hand out to help him like an idiot only for him to drop his little facade and pull you in with a laugh.

“You fucking dick! I’m going to kill you!”

“At least start gathering petals while you do!” Gaz laughed as you went for Soap.

Only all that did was have you and Soap looking at one another and then to Gaz. He was the one who had started it. And he was going to fucking get it.

–

Price could not help but laugh at his team. Bunch of kids really.

“Pretty diabolical stealing the pool net old man.”

“Pretty sick lying about the date your family was brutally murdered.”

Ghost grinned under his mask with a shrug. Tommy would absolutely have done the same, and he could almost hear Beth’s outraged laugh about it. It’s not like he didn’t know what was going on, he had been happy to watch you getting your back blown out that morning at the pool by Price, but he could also see Johnny was going to that place that made him hurt himself. He needed to get out of his head, and nothing got him out of his head like you and Gaz.

“You going to join them?”

Ghost pushed off his mask and Price ruffled his hair, stealing a kiss.

“Well it is Valentine’s Day, so I suppose we’d better spend it with our better fifths no?” Simon replied, going to dive into the pool and join the chaos with his Captain close behind after getting a few more photos.

He’d show them to everyone later that evening since he had been taking them all day. Gaz sleepily nuzzling you in thanks at breakfast. Soap shoving pancakes into Gaz’s mouth. Ghost trying to distract you from making him pancakes. His napping Sergeants and his snoring Corporal. And his brilliant team all crashing through petal filled water laughing and having fun. As far as Valentine’s Day went, he didn’t think it could have been anymore perfect.

#mhairiwrites #cod #fanfic #tf 141 x reader #poly 141 x reader #poly 141

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gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot · 2 months

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From left to right

Nikolai

Captain John Price

Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley

Sgt. Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Corporal Edouard 'Grizzly' Petit (OC)

Sgt. John 'Soap' MacTavish

#cod nikolai #cod ghost #cod price #cod gaz #cod soap #simon ghost riley #captain john price #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #call of duty nikolai #nikolai cod #nikolai call of duty #call of duty #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod oc #cod original character #call of duty original character #call of duty modern warfare 2

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mh073099 · 3 months

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Can I please give some advice for these tags?

Recruits don’t get to just work with highly specialized tasks forces okay? Recruits are people who are new to the military as a whole, in boot camp, they aren’t even considered to be in the military by other personnel until AFTER they graduate boot camp. And then there are special schools and more training for their specific jobs. A recruit is a baby in the military they know nothing! These men wouldn’t ever look twice at anyone lower than an E4 rank, let alone a recruit and E0… recruits are rats. Trash. Nothing. I mean yes they are people but recruits are stripped down to nothing and built back up into self disciplineed highly motivated people. That’s the process a recruit goes into. Then it’s onto schools and more training and experience before EVER getting picked for something like this. So when I constantly read X reader where reader is a recruit trying to get into a HIGHLY COMPETITIVE HIGHLY SPECIALIZED TASK FORCE THAT IS BASICALLY THE EQUIVALENT OF A BRITISH SEAL TEAM 6 ….well let’s just say I cringe and chuckle.

A task force like this would only have NCOs, non commissioned officers and ranks higher, that’s a minimum E4 (ranks start at E1- and E0 is a recruit) and even E4s are unlikely. Gaz and Soap are E5, seargents. A minimum 6 years already dedicated to the military before jointing the task force. also lieutenant and officer ranks star with O, like O1 which is a second lieutenant O2 which is a 1st lieutenant, John price himself is an O3, a captain.

A task force is looking for experience and special skills learned in special training schools. When the Reader in this fic is training to be in these task forces, they should be already in the military, and have experience at least a corporal or a specialist, or a petty officer(im from the US though) In the British royal army, it goes private then lance corporal then corporal then sergeant. I read somewhere it takes 6 to 8 years to make sergeant in the British royal army, is to keep these fics factual, the reader training to be in the task force should already have years of training, working in a special training school to join the task force and should be a higher rank then a recruit.

I love all the writing here, I honestly do. But I also like writing that is factually correct. And it’s small thinks like this that can improve our writing skills, just trying to understand and research more about what you’re writing. Honestly, if anyone has more questions on how the military works I can answer them.

And before y’all come for me about being pro military, I’m a military brat. I grew up on bases my whole life, my personal opinions on it are my own, but I was definitely exposed to this environment and have a unique perspective to an enlisted life as a child of a service member. I’m just trying to help and let y’all know…

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atlas-likes-writing · 3 months

Text

RANKS OF CALL OF DUTY!!

To help my fellow COD fanfiction writers with ranks of the military, because (this may just be me being picky) but it incessantly annoys me when someone writes König as a lower rank as Ghost, or Price a higher rank than Alejandro. Hopefully this helps! Reblogs appreciated :)

Also, these characters are not from the same country, so their ranks may be different due to their affiliations. I combined the American and British ranks together for more accuracy. If I'm wrong, please let me know so I can correct myself!

Will be in the format of

Highest rank-

-Rank:

Name, name, name

Lowest rank

Reblogs appreciated!

General:

-Norris

-Herschell Shepherd (it depends but he's also a Lieutenant General in some games)

Lieutenant General:

-Herschell Shepherd

Brigadier:

❌️

Colonel:

-Alejandro Vargas

-König*

-Marshall (the dude who had his muppets on a string /ref)

Commander:

-Farah Karim*

-Phillip Graves*

Lieutenant Colonel:

❌️

Major:

❌️

Captain:

-John Price

-John "Soap" MacTavish (2009 games)

-Viktor Reznov

Lieutenant:

-Simon "Ghost" Riley

-Hadir Karim*

Second Lieutenant:

❌️

Sergeant Major:

-Rodolfo Parra

Warrant Officer:

❌️

Staff Sergeant:

-Nikolai (but the name of his rank is "Senior Sergeant" because he's Russian)*

-Griggs

Sergeant:

-John "Soap" MacTavish (2019 version)

-Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

-Keegan Russ

-Roach

Corporal:

-Krueger*

Lance Corporal:

❌️

Private:

❌️

So, in the span of things:

König > Price > Ghost

Rudy > Nikolai > Soap > Krueger

Farah = Graves

Ghost = Hadir

König = Alejandro

Edit: As some have stated in the comments, PMC ranks do not equate to "proper" military ranks. As such, take what I say with a pinch of salt. PMC characters/characters not in the military will now have an asterisk (*) next to their name. :)

If you'd like me to add to this let me know! Comments or reblogs work :). This'll update pretty steadily:)

Masterlist

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ivymarquis · 5 months

Text

Homecoming

Pairing| John Price x Wife!Reader Rating| M Word Count| 2.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Mentions of concerns of cheating (No actual infidelity with the main couple), sex toys, reader gives John a show, mild D/s dynamic (kinda), PiV sex, squirting

The lines in John Price's face testify to the worry that nags him every day.

He’s paid to worry. His men rely on it to stay safe- it’s the fear of failure -of one of them not coming home- that drives John to account for every possible course of action during an op, and come up with three additional back up plans for each initial potential course.

He accounts for everything. No detail goes unnoticed, no stone goes unturned. He doesn’t have the option of making a mistake. If a clerk files a paper wrong, worse case scenario John resubmits a report. If he does his job wrong? Someone very likely will die.

There’s many, many things in the day that worry John but his wife is not one of them.

Not usually, anyway. And the slight nagging sensation as he pulls down the street that the two of them live on is easily accounted for by him projecting and empathizing with the plight of a young soldier John came across while getting ready to leave base.

One of the corporals under Soap had flown out of the base like his hair had been lit on fire, eager to tell anyone who’d listen that he was thrilled to go home to his girlfriend.

That same corporal was back on base in the morning, his disposition substantially more subdued than it had been 12 hours prior.

John hadn’t commented on the corporal's red, puffy eyes. The man’s ego already suffered a terrible blow, and his crying being acknowledged by his captain would not have helped matters.

The poor sod had walked in on his girlfriend in the act with another man. Not so much as a Dear John letter or a “get fucked” text, rather finding out in the worst way possible.

And so John brushes off the nagging in the back of his brain. He’s a worrier, and apparently his brain feels like torturing him with thoughts of how absolutely wrecked he would be if he found himself in the same position as the corporal.

He leaves his bags in the car as he parks, too eager to see her to bother with them. He can unpack later.

The house is quiet when he first steps in. “Darling? I’m home.”

He expects to hear an excitable “John!” and her scrambling to him from whatever room she’s in. Her usual routine ending with her flinging herself into his arms.

He’s greeted with more silence. Maybe she’s in the shower? John sent a text to her on base that he was coming back. But the house isn’t all that far from base. Maybe she hasn’t seen the message.

He makes his way up the stairs, grinning slightly at the thought of catching her in the shower- practically skips up the steps in anticipation. He’ll need to be careful- that he doesn’t spook her thinking she’s alone in the house only to be found naked and wet. He would feel terrible if she slipped from fright.

No sooner does John reach the top of the stairs does his stomach drop clear to the floor.

He can hear the mattress squeaking.

There is a part of John trying desperately to convince himself that he’s just being paranoid. That it always takes time for him to adjust back into civilian life when on leave. That he’s spinning out in the most bizarre way possible and needs to get a grip.

But he knows what the bedsprings in his mattress sound like when his wife is bouncing up and down in his lap.

He would know that sound anywhere.

John has a decision to make.

There’s no strange car in the driveway. No strange shoes at the door. Everything is in order as it should be- no trail of clothing leading to the bedroom.

Everything John sees tells him that all is well.

Everything John hears tells him that his heart is about to shatter in a million pieces.

He must well and truly be a masochist. An unapologetic glutton for punishment.

He doesn’t even know what he’ll say if there’s another man in his bed. What does he do?

His heart is thrumming in his chest with each step he takes towards the bedroom that is mostly shut but slightly ajar. Somehow, despite the fact that he is assuredly physically safe, he is more stressed in this moment than he has been on certain high stakes ops.

John knows exactly where to put his feet so as not to make the floorboards creak. He feels like he can’t fucking breathe. There’s a boulder pressing on his chest.

Everything rushes out all at once as he pushes the door open.

Her back is to the door, oblivious to the audience behind her. His eyes roam her figure, naked save for a pair of socks- for whatever reason she never could finish with cold feet. He’s always found it an endearing quirk of hers.

And there is no one underneath her. The soft bounce of her ass as she raises and lowers herself is almost enough to distract him from the whiplash of emotions whirling around in his head.

Under normal circumstances, all it takes is a glance from his wife to get John at attention and ready to perform. Walking in on her pleasuring herself? On any other day John would simply grab a hold of her and pin her to the mattress until she squeals with little preamble.

His mind is presently too busy sorting reality from fiction to focus on the fact that his incredibly hot wife is using a toy and getting herself off.

The sheer relief that floods him is staggering. The weight crushing his ribcage dissipates immediately although is shortly followed by a deep seated shame.

Of course she’s riding her toy. She would never betray him like that and he’s embarrassed he even entertained the thought. He decides then and there that the prior 2 minutes will be another one of the secrets he takes to his grave. There is absolutely no possible good that can from ever verbalizing this to her.

Taking another breath to dissipate the last lingering tendrils he’s shaking off, John’s got himself sorted enough to enjoy the view in front of him for what it is.

He knows she has a few toys, but admittedly has always been a bit more on the traditional side of things. There’s a pride that swells in his chest every time he gets his pretty bride crying and gushing around him.

John is more than capable of achieving the goal at hand himself, and the toys were there for when he was on deployment. He’s never particularly felt the need to bring them in, content with the fact he can satisfy her when he’s here and the toys keep her situated while he’s gone.

He’s half hard and stiffening by the second, watching her pretty ass bounce on the bed as her moans pitch. She’s getting close- John knows all her tells. But she’s also frustrated, evident from the effort she’s putting in.

He also can’t help but notice she’s situated herself on his side of the bed, a surge of affection washing over him as strongly as the relief and lust he’s feeling.

In a rare lapse of control he lets out a groan at the sight, palming himself through his pants.

Her moans turn into a yelp of fright, jumping in the air and wheeling around in terror.

“It’s just me, darling. Was going to surprise you with an early homecoming.” Turns out they both get a surprise- Although he does feel badly for startling her.

Her ribcage is still raising and no doubt her heart is thrumming in her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“I’m sorry, love. I didn’t realize I was,” his voice is a low rumbling timber as he eyes her up and down “interrupting.” he eventually settles on.

Despite knowing that she uses her toys, John’s never quite put too much thought into it. And yet now that the situation has presented itself he finds he is very interested in watching how she keeps herself occupied while he’s deployed.

In the flurry of movement, the vibrator ends up lying next to her on the bed.

“By all means, don’t stop on my account,” his words scandalize her and he fights back the urge to bark out a laugh. The expression on her face is equal parts stunned and intrigued- he can practically hear the Oh? as her mind plays catch up.

“You want me to…?” The question trails off as she considers the idea.

“Continue.” He supplies helpfully for her, using softer language than a crass ‘keep fucking yourself with your rabbit’.

“Okay,” her tone remains soft and dreamy, like she’s not entirely convinced John is really here, with her in their bedroom.

She stays leaning back, one arm props underneath herself for support as her knees draw up and fall to either side of her, giving John an unobstructed view of a sight he’s missed dearly. Those pretty eyes train on him, never wavering even as her other arm extends towards the rabbit, fingers wrapping around it before pulling it closer to her so she can reposition it.

John can feel his throat dry at the sight of the toy penetrating her.

Were he a less disciplined man, she’d be face down and ass up with a fistful of her hair in his hand while he has his way with her.

John loves his wife and misses her terribly when he’s gone- and not just for the carnal pleasures he knows that her sinful body can provide. But now that the situation has presented itself, he feels like a dog being teased with the promise of its favorite treat.

Initially palming himself over the stiff material of his jeans, he wastes little time undoing his belt and freeing himself from his pants.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Show me how you play with yourself while I’m gone.”

His voice is low and measured, knowing full well how much it riles her up when he sweet talks her.

It’s cute the way she stares up at him with wide eyes as she moves the toy in and out of herself. While this is a new situation, he’s seen every part of her and worships every inch of her. The blushing bride look on her face makes him want to devour her.

And he will.

Eventually.

He’s already stiff and standing at attention, absolutely enraptured by the sight before him. It takes no time at all for his hand to wrap around his cock, timing his movements to match hers.

That seems to be enough to make his pretty wife reach the threshold of her tolerance for his teasing, wanting the real thing in favor of the silicone that she’d been struggling with earlier.

“Jo-John! Please? Baby, please- I- I can’t,” there’s something that curls low and pleased in his chest with her begging.

“You didn’t know I was heading back, love. You must have had some plan in that pretty little head of yours to get yourself off. I want to see it.” His words are gentle despite the overall figure it out intention.

“Come on, darling- show me,” he goads her as she falls flat on her back, knees still drawn up and whimpering as she continues to pleasure herself. The hand that was supporting her moves in favor of playing with one of her nipples, plucking the sensitive flesh to push herself closer to orgasm.

Those pretty thighs start twitching just in time as her moans take a certain pitch.

Despite the urge to tighten his grip and continue matching her pace until he finishes, Price forces himself to let go. Give him some time to calm down. He’s already got a plan forming in mind, ready to put it to work the second she-

“John, I can’t,” she starts again, voice pitching in desperation.

It’s sweet, how desperate his sweet wife is for the real thing- how she pleads for him to take over.

It’s not often that John drags any sort of authoritarian tone into the bedroom. He tries to leave work at work as much as he can, and has never held any interest in intimidating his partners in bed. Playfully throwing his weight around? Sure. Outright frightening? Not his thing.

But over the years he’s learned his wife and her preferences. He’s not oblivious to the way she’ll get wide eyed, rubbing her thighs together and shifting in her seat the few times she’s observed quietly as he’s put someone back in their place.

She’s not scared of him- nor would he ever want her to be- but he’s not oblivious to how her interest is always piqued when he controls a situation. She doesn’t sleep beside a CPA or a store manager at night and seems to enjoy the little reminders of that fact.

“You can,” he informs her as he slowly strides closer to the bed, “and you will,” his tone leaves no room for discussion. He leans forward, hovering over her without touching- depriving her of what she wants, in the interest of coaxing her to do what he wants. “Now be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

His goal with the command is to amp her up enough to help her reach her orgasm without directly intervening- knows that she’s so close to the edge and just can’t quite tip herself over it- and mission fucking accomplished.

She’s enthralling to watch as her orgasm washes over her but John is too impatient to even let her fully come down from her climax.

No sooner than she’s past the strongest part of it, John is dragging her to the edge of the bed and parting those pretty legs. The toy is turned off and withdrawn with a twitchy gasp before being forgotten about on another part of the bed.

John gives little preamble- she’s wet and ready, taking him easily despite the sheer girth of him.

She squirms and cries in pleasure- struggles to lay quiet and still like a good girl.

“That’s it, lovely. Just like that,” he praises while one hand smooths over her hip.

He buries himself in her, much like how his face buries in the crook of her neck.

Her pretty thighs are trembling in his grip while he pries them apart and back. There’s no room for shyness between them- not after everything they’ve been through together.

The room is filled with the wet clap of his hips knocking into her plush ass with each thrust as she babbles her pleasure.

John relishes in how her nails dig into his back for purchase, groaning low in his throat at the sensation. She’s desperate and clinging to him, eyes screwed shut in bliss as she reflexively strains in his hold and tries to lock her legs around his waist.

“John,” she pleads shamelessly as he works her closer. “Please- fuck! Oh my God, please don’t stop.”

Pleasure blooms warm and low in his gut at his pretty wife begging. “‘m not going to stop,” he assures her. Not until he sees those eyes roll as she finishes a second time.

Fuck he’s been missing her. So soft and willing and warm, waiting for him all alone to come back home.

“Lo-love you, Joh-Oh!” He releases her thighs in favor of one hand cupping behind her head to pull her to him as the other dips between their bodies and rubs at her clit.

He is a sucker for how noisy she is, whimpering in need even as he kisses her breathless as his other hand circles her clit in firm measured motions.

“Fuck I love you so much,” he grunts out when they part breifly for air.

Those plush thighs are clinging to him for dear life, trembling as he pushes her closer to her second orgasm.

“Gonna cum, darling? Show me.” He teases, relishing in the way her eyes have that dazed, far away look in them as she whimpers underneath him- “John, please!”

It only takes two more circles to have her clamping down on him- arms, legs, and that velvet soft cunt- her climax loud and wet, dripping between her spread thighs onto the sheets.

At that point it’s John’s turn to roll his eyes in pleasure, hips thrusting to chase his own end now that he’s satisfied she got hers.

For a moment it’s silent aside from their labored breathing as the couple recover and reorient.

He knows they’ll need to get up and clean up soon- hell, he’s still fully dressed aside from the fact that his cock is out- but for now as they shuffle so he can settle on the bed with her he just wants to enjoy her body tucked up next to his.

“Welcome home,” she giggles breathlessly in a delayed greeting. John certainly feels properly welcomed, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Happy to be back home.”

#john price x reader #cod x reader #captain john price #john price #x chubby reader #my writing

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the-californicationist · 3 months

Text

he swims with you

You and Price had a complicated relationship. You’d been sneaking around together, secretly, for months. None of the other soldiers knew about your hidden tryst, and Price wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t want them to lose respect for either of you, so you had helped him keep it under wraps.

Lately, Sergeant MacTavish had been cozying up to you a little too much. He’d give you compliments on your sparring techniques, and he’d even let you win one every now and then, especially if it meant that he got to pin you in a compromising position on the next round. You could tell that he liked you, that much was obvious, and it drove the captain absolutely to the edge of his sanity.

Your team had just captured the mansion of a Saudi drug dealer who had turned to selling military-grade weapons, and while you were waiting for exfil, you decided to enjoy this bastard’s million dollar pool.

When Johnny started flirting with you on the pool deck, fully within sight and earshot of Price, you decided to test the limits of that sanity a bit. You started to play along with the Scot, and you watched as Price’s face turned bright red with rage. His expression, though, remained amused and calm. Underneath, you could tell he was coming absolutely unmade.

“Woah, Johnny, have you been working out more? Your chest looks enormous. Maybe it’s just that I haven’t seen you shirtless in a while,” you flirted as the sergeant stepped into the pool to join you.

Ghost had his legs in the water, his pants rolled up, sitting on the edge and reading operation briefs on his datapad. Gaz was sitting on a ledge in the pool next to him, watching you and Soap swim around in the gigantic lagoon. Soap beamed at your compliment, swimming up next to you,

“Yeah, lass, I have been. Thanks for noticing. Hit three plates for five yesterday on my bench.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at his obvious preening, but you saw John’s expression and decided to double down,

“Can I feel?”

“Aye, sure,” Soap was practically buzzing from the attention and praise.

You reached out your hand, swimming around him so his back was facing the hot tub, and you could see Price over his shoulder. You locked eyes with the captain for a moment and then lay your hand softly on McTavish’s chest,

“Wow, Sergeant. I’m impressed. You might even be strong enough to throw me across the pool!”

“Definitely am, bonnie. See?” He took the bait, grabbing you around the waist and tossing you effortlessly out of the water.

You squealed in mid-air, trying to pretend to be helpless, and then, just as you crashed below the surface, you untied the neck of the bikini you’d found in the mansion’s bedroom, letting the fabric fall away from your breasts. As quickly as you could, you covered yourself with your arm and came back to the surface, gasping, eyes wide,

“Oh, shit! Soap, can you help me? I think I lost my top.”

Gaz and Ghost were deep in conversation, talking about something on the datapad, but Price was honed in to your charade. Soap looked over at him, a rakish grin on his face, sharing some sort of boy’s club look. He covered his mouth with his hand in mock shock and said,

“Uh oh, Corporal. Tha’s a true predicament, that is.”

He wasn’t planning on diving to the bottom to retrieve your suit, and just when you thought you’d been backed into a corner, Price’s huge, hulking body rose up out of the hot tub, steaming and pink, and he dove into the cool water of the pool in nothing but his black boxer-briefs, his heavy cock and balls hanging in the wet fabric. He swam to the bottom of the pool like a fish, fast and precise. As he came back, he swam right up next to you, stalking you like a shark, getting himself between you and Johnny. Price had the suit in his hand and held it up,

“Turn around, Corporal,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest. You turned toward the now-empty hot tub, held your hair out of his way with your hands, and felt him drape the triangles over your chest, waiting for you to place them in position. You did so, and felt his warm fingers knotting the string at the neck. However, the band of the suit tied in the front, so when he went to tie it, you spun back into him, your hands still in your hair. He had a smug look on his face, and as he tied a little bow in front, he dared to adjust the top, swiping a finger pad over your soft nipple, making you suck in a breath.

“There you are,” he purred, “No harm done.”

Based on the expression of his face, you got the sense that there would be quite a bit of harm done to you - specifically your tender backside - the moment you were back on base.

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #afab reader #Female reader #x female reader

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gloryofroses19 · 25 days

Text

More Than You Know

Nursing her glass of Coca-Cola, [y/n] watched Major John Egan from across the social club. Though she wasn’t privy to the conversation, which had interrupted their time together, she certainly didn’t mind the view. His broad back was on full display as he spoke with a fresh faced corporal. Their evening had been going swell. As per usual, he cleaned up nicely even with the fresh marks of a flight mission. His curls falling into their rightful place and allowing her the pleasure of fixing the few that didn’t.

Seemingly sharing the same thought as her, John ran a hand through his obsidian curls as he rejoined [y/n] at the bar. “Sorry about that. Now where were we ....” Sipping his drink, he narrowed his eyes. “Right, we were talking about me.”

[y/n] rolled her eyes at his expectant look and boyish smile. “You’re insufferable.”

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment” John started before moving closer to [y/n] and dropping his voice. “And I was promised a compliment after every mission.”

She had promised an admission after every mission and Bucky Egan would be damned if he missed a single opportunity to hear why she liked him.

Pulling him closer, she rests her hands on his chest and meets his awaiting gaze. “Compliment was not the word that I used. For all you know, maybe I like you because you’re bad at singing.” She has promised to bare her heart but she never said she would hand over that information easily.

With a deep chuckle, John placed his hands on the curve of her waist. With every word uttered, he begins to sway them to the beat. “Where you say bad, I hear, committed, passionate, soulful even.”

“Oh, you’re definitely committed. That bar in Greenland has the scars from it.” She responded dryly, following his lead. Drawing closer, she placed her head against his chest.

“Buck told you about that, did he?” His deep voice rumbled pleasantly in her ear.

“More like Crank.”

Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. “Good ole’ Crank, always looking for a reason to knock a man.”

[y/n] silently chuckled as her eyes scanned the social club. When her eyes fell on the corporeal from earlier, she noticed that he seemed more at ease than he had when he interrupted them. That was the magic of John Egan she supposed. Always willing to use his sturdy shoulders to help his fellow man. “Everything okay with the kid?”

“Don’t think you can get out of this by changing topics, Lieutenant.” He replied, intertwining their fingers.“And yes, just helped make sure his mom got a letter. His pops just died so he’s worried about her.”

“You’re like Atlas” [y/n] stated earnestly. She had promised him a reason, she just didn’t intend to have it slip out as she shocked herself with her realization of the depth of her feelings.

“Hm?” Titling his head in confusion, the pilot was met with a look of admiration in [y/n]’s eyes. She had promised him a reason for her affection, however, he failed to understand how a Greek myth related to him.

“My reason. Well, one of my reasons for liking you.” She amended before going on to explain further. “You’re always kind, always caring for those around you. Even amongst the carnage, you take care of your men. You make sure those around you are okay, happy even when you can and don’t ask for anything in return. It’s admirable John Egan.”

His face was wholly unguarded. He didn’t think it was a big deal to help the kid out. All it required of him was to ask a favor of one of the Captains in the mail transportation unit. And yet, his heart rate picked up at the mere mention of the favor that he did. He supposed it was because of her, she had a way of always seeing him for who he was.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He decides, choosing to end the back and forth they’ve been playing to protect their hearts. It was too late for that. Every flyboy needs a place to perch and nest and she was it for him.

“Please do.”

A shiver ran down his back as he closed the gap between their mouths, first with the utmost gentleness, as he wanted to savor this. This had been months in the making as a nest wasn’t built in a day. A warmth spread in John’s chest as [y/n] leaned in closer, her lips impossibly soft against his own. Then as her lips parted and she combed her fingers through those curls, the kiss became heated.

However, a crash of glasses on the bar pulled their attention and bodies from each other. “I drew the shit end of the stick,” Standing behind the bar, Curt gestured toward the corporal, “from the new kid”.

The couple stared at the pair of glasses full of whiskey placed before them.

“Why are you behind the bar, Curt?” John asked in a dissatisfied tone for the interruption. He had allowed the first interruption of their time with mild annoyance, but the second time certainly wasn't the charm.

“I am a man of many talents,” Placing a hand on his chest, Curt offered Bucky a deceptively humble look. “And one of those talents is keeping poor bartenders from being traumatized by you twos sucking face.”

“Get me a drink then bartender Biddick.” Plastering a fake smile on his face, John stared menacingly at Curt. .

“No can do Major, you already have a drink.” Curt replied unbothered, knowing how much he was getting under the Majors skin.

Placing a kiss on the top of his favorite lieutenant's head, John turned towards his current least favorite lieutenant “I’m not giving a tip for service like this.”

“Now Major, that isn’t right. After I slaved over picking up the drinks and placing them there, you gotta give me something.”

Curt truly was a youngest child, [y/n] thought as she leaned her weight against John. Deciding to join in on the fun, she put her hands on his lapels.

“I’ll give you a tip alright…” John muttered before his attention shifted to [y/n].

“Where’s my souvenir, Major?” She asked innocently, peering up at him from underneath her lashes. She smiled, enjoying watching him try to catch up.

“What? My presence isn’t enough?” Squeezing her waist, he watched an unimpressed look cross her face. “It’s in my billet!” Tracing her jaw with his finger tips, John hoped to distract [y/n] as he declared his innocence.

“Sure, John.” She laughed unconvinced, turning towards the bar.

“Sounds like you’re lying to me, Major.” Curt agreed sipping on John’s free whiskey.

“Give me that!” Grabbing the glass out of the New Yorker’s hand, John asks him. “Who’s side are you on anyway?”

“Not yours, I’ve seen her right hook.”

Sparing him a glance, [y/n] pushed a curl away from his forehead. Enjoying the gentle brush of her fingers against his forehead, he was sure he had convinced her. But his hope was dashed at the teasing smile across her lips. “Sure, John.”

“I swear, doll! You can ask Buck!”

A/N: The title is from an Ella Fitzgerald song. Feedback is always appreciated!

Unofficial official sequel to Fly Me To the Moon

#john egan x reader #major john egan x reader #mota fanfic #bucky egan x reader #john egan x female reader #john egan imagine #masters of the air imagine #masters of the air x reader #mota x reader

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appleciderp · 1 year

Text

I literally cannot stop thinking about how Price and Ghost are most likely only a few years apart.

Like the "Good to see you again, Simon." scene hurts me more because of it.

Imagine Private Simon and Price, they both don't really know what they're doing but they want to do what's right. They share the same barracks, and they encounter each other, but they don't really talk yet.

Then Price gets a promotion to Lance Corporal and has Simon in his lil section, they become friends at this point, cracking jokes and spending time together.

After a few promotions on either side, Price can say that Simon is definitely his closest friend in the Army.

And Price doesn't hear about Simon for a while. He gets a promotion to Officer Cadet and Simon isn't there for his promotion, which unsettles him. But Simon was always a bit introverted and quiet when it came to his private life, it's not like he expected anything.

Between his officer training, Price manages to corner Simon when he's back on base, and he tells him that he had to settle his family affairs. Don't worry, it's all solved.

Then Roba happens, and he mourns Simon. He meets Tommy, Beth, and Joseph at the 'funeral', offering them his condolences.

But a few months later he overhears the whispers from other officers about Simon not actually being dead, that he dug himself out of a grave with Vernon's jawbone. They're calling him Ghost now, they've given quite a few promotions for the whole ordeal, but he isn't on base yet, anger management issues they say. Price doesn't blame him.

Then he hears about his family.

He hears about his revenge.

He doesn't see Simon again. He does meet Ghost, and he thinks the nickname is apt. The man was a husk of who he once was. There's an occasional quip, he still talks as he does. But he's not happy, he doesn't have a smile that tore through his face anymore.

They get deployed for more missions together occasionally. Price does see his face once or twice, the same as before but marred with concerning scars. Price still considers the man one of his closest friends, but there's a wall he's trying to break down, but it's getting built up again as soon as he can take a brick out.

The harder he tries the higher the wall gets built. Ghost no longer takes missions with him, with anybody in fact.

Price's biggest concern is that he'll never know if anything happens to him, Simon is dead. He's going to die behind enemy lines and he'll never know.

So he throws himself into work too, helping with training new recruits. He meets John MacTavish; friendly, cocky, hot-tempered, quick-witted, with a deadly aim to boot. He doesn't want the military to crush yet another person as it did Simon, so he forces him to be better. Stronger.

Looking back he probably let his own emotions make him too strict on the kid, but he doesn't regret it.

He hears through the grapevine that his callsign is now Soap, dumb as shit, but then he hears the why. The boy's so quick and efficient at clearing house. Pride swells up in him.

He's a Captain now, he heard that Ghost got Promoted to Lieutenant not too long ago. He meets Kyle, another young hot-shot Sergeant, he reminds him of Soap, and he mentally reminds himself to check in on MacTavish.

The kid's good but lacks experience. Prefers to do what's good over what needs to be done. He didn't miss him heaving after tossing the hostage over the edge of the railing in Picadilly Circus or the color slip away from his face as they tortured information out of the Butcher.

There were things he could protect Kyle from, but as they were; Price always knew what he'd pick when looking at the trolley problem.

After the whole ordeal is done, he wants to make a task force, so he asks Laswell for files. He tacks on Simons, hoping that he wouldn't ignore a direct order. But if Simon worked for him, he'd know if something happened to him.

He's surprised when Simon accepts. He's not when both Soap and Gaz do.

He can't help the smile when he sees him for the first time in years. They chat, they joke, they go on a few missions, and Ghost reluctantly opens the door to Simon again.

When he and Ghost talk about the teamwork required to get Alejandro's base back, he can't help the pride that seeps through his pores. When he removes the mask and lets these people in as well, he knows that, for the first time in years, this is Simon. He's back.

It takes another few months to realize what had lit the fuze, so to speak.

Of course, it was the demolition expert.

#I'm too lazy to tag this #so I'm just yelling it into the abyss #cod headcanon

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thetravelingtyper · 20 days

Text

Our Shattered Heart Interlude (Part 2.75) JM (GN! 'Heart' Reader x Taskforce 141)

Loading Track 3 - Electric Feel by MGMT (Johnny Soap MacTavish One Shot) - After returning from base you and Soap decide to take the night to go out...

Warning: Possible OOC, Suggestive Content, fluff, Possessive Soap

Part 2.50, Part 3.00 Masterlist

Our Shattered Heart 2.75 Interlude John MacTavish (...Loading Track 3…)- Electric Feel by MGMT

The bar was bustling under the star-lit sky. You pulled a tipsy Johnny along with you as you basked in the chill. You pulled further into Simon’s jacket, catching the smell of his cologne. You were perfectly sober while Johnny had a few beers. You had returned later in the day from base with the Sergeants giving you smirks.

“You finally got the Captain.” Kyle smiles at you brightly. He’s radiant as you bring the bouquet in.

“These are from a Corporal-” The flowers are taken from you by a scoffing Johnny, you give him a look and he grumbles, setting the flowers down a little heavily. He then proceeds to wrap himself around you, pressing a kiss to your temple, then peppering kisses all over your face while you giggle and push against him. He doesn't budge.

“Let us get you flowers hen.”

You laugh lightly, running a hand up and down Soap’s firm arm as he spins you around,

“She’s married Johnny, Down boy,” he muttered something Scottish before kissing you firmly. You return the energy, parting when you're out of breath. Soap keeps you bundled in his arms.

“Let's go out hen.” He murmurs it in your ear. You return with a ‘sure’ and a smile. You look to Kyle in question but he just waves you guys off.

“You two go have fun, I’ll get my turn.”

And with that and preparation you both set off into the late afternoon.

All along the Western front

People line up to receive

She got the power in her hand

To shock you like you won't believe

Saw her in the Amazon

With the voltage running through her skin

Standing there with nothing on

She gonna teach me how to swim

You grab Johnny's hand and tug him into the bar, eyes searching and to your pleasure finding the singer. He notices you during a verse and shoots you a smile that widens when he sees Johnny’s hand in yours.

He continues singing while you pull Soap to the bar and sit down. He settles on a barstool and instead of letting you sit, he pulls you to his lap, chin settling on your shoulder. You sigh but the bartender just smiles and laughs.

“He’s like a puppy. I saw the other night.” You look to them, finding a younger red-headed woman in her mid to late 20s. You just nod to her and order a drink. You get something a little fruity and sweet and settle into Johnny’s lap as his arms wrap around you. You chat with the bartender in the meantime, before your name is called and the singer approaches.

I said, "ooh, girl

Shock me like an electric eel

Baby girl

Turn me on with your electric feel"

I said, "ooh girl

Shock me like an electric eel

Baby girl

Turn me on with your electric feel"

Your eyes light up at the man and you go to stand and greet him but Johnny’s arms tighten. You murmur to him but he just shakes his head stubbornly.

“Johnny.” You say it more sternly and he turns to you with stormy eyes, pupils dilated from the alcohol and feelings. The bartender turns to the singer then Johnny, then laughs.

“Don’t worry lad,” she says good-naturedly as the singer approaches and pecks her on the lips. Your eyes widen before you turn to her.

“Good for you two! Happy now, Johnny?”

The man grumbles again but lets you up. You give the singer a swift hug before you take the stool next to Soap and begin to chat. During conversations on the local area and their relationship Johnny’s hand seeks you in constant contact that makes your heart feel like putty. He was always an affectionate drunk but after the kiss, he practically glued himself to you and the others. If he wasn't next to Simon or bickering with Kyle, the Scot usually had a hand on your arm or shoulder and a smoldering look to anyone other than the 141 that approached you. The hour passed quickly, nearing 10 o'clock when the singer needed to return to the stage. There was a clamor at the entrance and a call of your name again as the girls entered. Your face lit up and you look at Johnny with an eager smile. His eyes are clear as he sips some of your drink, seeming to have sobered up some. He lets you go and you look at the girls with a few cheers.

They look at you and Soap and one whistles with a laugh and you blush while Soap gives them a cocky grin, pressing a kiss to your cheek and then lightly pushing you towards them. They accept you with open arms and you all go to dance.

All along the Eastern shore

Put your circuits in the sea

This is what the world is for

Making electricity

You can feel it in your mind

Oh, you can do it all the time

Plug it in, change the world

You are my electric girl

If anyone liked watching you dance the most it was Johnny. He was an energetic person, and unlike Price and Simon, he thrived in a club environment. Seeing your eyes light up and moving with the crowd was a treat. You swirled and bobbed, moving amongst the waves. A period passed as the bar got more busy when someone took the seat beside him. He doesn’t notice until there is a hand on his arm. He turns in his stool to find an attractive person, green eyes burn into his.

“Hey handsome.” their voice is smooth as they ask Johnny his name. He shuffles back out of their touch and replies with a simple John before he looks back to you. Green eyes follow this but they question your sergeant who replies politely to each. He wants to go and join you but you seem to be having fun. Time passes as he and the stranger make a sort of conversation as you dance, all the while Johnny sends you looks but he doesn’t want to leave your spot or your drink unattended.

About 20 minutes in his patience is tested when, while laughing the stranger sets their hand on his knee. He jerks away with sharp eyes.

“I am here with someone.” He says it politely but firmly. It's said during a break of songs and one of your girlfriends at the edge of the crowd catches it and Soap’s discomfort. She gets you as things suddenly escalate.

Driven either by alcohol or pure whim the stranger pulls Soap in for a kiss just as you break from the crowd. Seeing it you freeze, a chill running through you before a hot-headed anger and possessive feeling coils in your gut. Johnny immediately pushes against the stranger and stands. You practically materialize at his side. The stranger is not expecting this and hikes it out of the bar at the glowering look you shoot them. You turn to Johnny riled up. He wipes his lips and downs the rest of your drink in disgust. But seeing your darkened eyes he smirks.

“I'm all yours hen.” He cheekily adds,

“Though they were fine.”

You hiss at this and tug the man away from the bar, a smile growing on his face as you pull him out of the bar and into a side alley. Johnny smiles at you but his eyes are dark with arousal as you pull him in for a possessive kiss, chasing away the taste of the stranger. He does you one better spinning and pinning you against the wall as your lips dance together. His heart pounds in his chest, never thinking he’d see you crack but the role reversal was doing things to him. You pull away only for Johnny to latch his lips to your ear, nipping then stringing kisses down your neck like starbursts.

“That was so hot hen.” it was breaths as the scent of both you and Simon drove him insane. He pulls the neckline of your shirt down and neck to the chain of your dog tags he sucks and bites leaving a mark. You arch against him but he just rolls his hip against you. You try to move for some friction but his thigh comes between your legs. He coos as you whine,

“Sweet, I want te ravish ye.” His accent is thick as he pulls you back to him and about drags you along. When you reach the flat, he tears the door open and about flings you inside, closing and locking the door behind him. He then turns to you with maelstrom eyes igniting a fire in the pit of your stomach. Having heard the noise Simon and Kyle pop out of Kyle's room, having been finishing work. They both freeze seeing your heaving form littered with marks.

I said, "ooh, girl

Shock me like an electric eel

Baby girl

Turn me on with your electric feel"

I said, "ooh girl

Shock me like an electric eel

Baby girl

Turn me on with your electric feel"

Simon sees his jacket skewed on you and curses with a groan. You and Johnny are in a standoff, looking that if you even move he’ll pounce. You look between Simon and Kyle, both sets of dark eyes on you, watching, waiting. You're feeling hot as Johnny begins to slack forward, shoulders set and confident. His hair has grown out giving him a wild look and the few buttons of his shirt are open showing a smooth collarbone next to his dog tags. You almost want to run, to give into the chase but you stand your ground as he starts backing you towards the table. Kyle and Simon just watch as Johnny then corners you against the table.

He stares at you, hands reaching to touch your thigh and trace up your body. They soon fist into Simon's jacket and yank you forward to him in another kiss.

Plush lips mix with your own before you find his tongue delving into your mouth and you moan into the kiss. Johnny growls parting before hiking your legs up and setting you on the table.

“You are mine.” he hisses into your ear, something triggered in his mind, your hands shoot to his hair and you pull it in a way that has him hissing and breaking up the kiss.

“Fucking Hell you two, away where but there.” Simon finally steps in and Johnny quirks at the older man's eyes, pupils dilated and breathing coming out a little staggered. Johnny takes the chance and pulls you up, holding you against him easily as you yelp in surprise.

“Johnny!” Your voice is breathless before he nips your lips.

“That's my name sweetheart, don’ wear it out, Unless you're screaming it.” Your eyes shoot open and he gives you a sultry smile before chuckling into your neck. You narrow your eyes and then dipping your head bite a mark to match the one he gave you. He hisses, hands clenching you harder. Kyle laughs, something breathless as he approaches you.

“Good to know you bite back baby, showing Johnny what for. The filthy mouth of his.”

Johnny laughs then, the moment catching his heart racing and he lets you down but not before a final cheeky kiss. You part with half-lidded eyes and set your forehead against Johnny, you whisper to him.

“I love you.”

His heart stutters, warmth gripping his chest as he stares into your eyes,

“Aye, I love too, hen.”

Do what you feel now

Electric feel now

Do what you feel now

Electric feel now

Do what you feel now

Electric feel now

Do what you feel now

Electric feel now

Do what you feel now

Electric feel now

End Track - Taglist:

@ghostlythots, @00ops1e, @rafaelacallinybbay, @iloveslasher, @character---obsessed, @ashy-kit, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @my-amazing-nerdyness, @star-struck-universe, @br0ken-rec0rds, @buckysjuicyplums, @cod-z

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softspeirs · 1 month

Text

on leave

A/N: Obviously this goes without saying that there's almost no historical basis for this interaction to happen, except that there's a brief window of time in the late summer of 1943 where Easy and The 100th could have interacted... but that's why I love fanfiction. Thanks to @basilone for enabling me. Meet my BoB OC Kat Gray. You can learn more about her in Barren Soul. No pairing for this fic except a hint at something if you take a cue from Bucky Egan.

"You know, it's nice that the Airborne finally decided to show up." Bucky says, tilting his head and gesturing with his glass.

They've been back from Africa for two days, and the brass decided everyone could do with some leave. They've got a few days in London while the new replacements arrive, and it seems that half the units in the US Army had the same idea.

This pub in particular is packed with soldiers, airmen, and civilians alike.

Next to him, Cleven and DeMarco share an aggrieved look.

"What?"

"Can you just--" Gale straightens his jacket, leans in, "--try not to start a fight? For once?"

"Don't count on it." Bucky grins.

A roar from the corner of the room grabs their attention, and they shift on their barstools to watch how the game of darts is getting on. There's a new addition to the roster, Bucky notices.

"You're a cheat!" A man says, and the woman in question raises her eyebrows.

"When have you ever known me to be dishonest?"

"The last time you gave me stitches and told me it wouldn't hurt."

She rolls her eyes. "That was an accident, and you're too sensitive, Luz."

"Interesting." DeMarco says under his breath. "You ever heard of a woman in the paratroops?"

Buck smirks. "What, you haven't read the papers? Experimental unit."

"Any girl who can jump out of a plane is alright in my book." Bucky says, as he takes another gulp of his drink, "Probably a little crazy, but alright."

They interrupted by a First Lieutenant who looks like he's already had a few, but all the same, he squeezes in on the other side of Benny, signaling the bartender. "Majors, Captain." He says, two fingers at his temple in half-hearted salute.

"You with the Airborne?" Bucky asks, louder to be heard over the band.

"101st."

"100th Bomb Group." Buck says, holding out his hand to shake. "Gale Cleven. This is Major John Egan and Captain Benny DeMarco."

"Lewis Nixon." The man says, a few pints set down in front of him by the bartender. Nixon looks up in thanks and then turns back to the men in front of him. "100th Bomb Group... you're flying B-17s, right?" He whistles. "I wouldn't know what to do with a plane like that."

"Jump out of it, probably." Bucky says.

"Nix--" a female voice interrupts them, "Need a hand?"

The woman in front of them is brunette, her hair tightly pinned and tucked beneath a garrison cap. Bucky instantly straightens, grin firmly in place.

"I wouldn't." Nixon mutters, giving Bucky a look out of the corner of his eye. Turning to the woman, his face softens a fraction. "This is Corporal Kathryn Gray."

Introductions are made, and Bucky can't help himself. "What's a girl like you doing with an outfit like this?"

Her eyes narrow, and he gets the feeling he's put his foot in it, though he was just trying to be funny.

"A girl like me?" She asks, her tone neutral, but that steel look in her eyes. "What am I like?"

"Christ." Nixon mutters, running his free hand over his face.

"What?" Gray asks. "Just making conversation."

"Just starting trouble, more like."

"Funny," Buck says. "We just had a similar conversation. He elbows Bucky in the ribs.

"All good over here?" Another Lieutenant appears, this one shorter, eyes hard. His reddish hair and sharp jaw make him stand out among the rest of the group, but Bucky's not stupid enough not to notice the way they're all glancing over to the bar, prepared to close ranks if needed.

He holds his hands up. "Just fine, Lieutenant--"

"Welsh."

Benny interrupts, ever the peacemaker. "Gray, what line of work you in? We were reading about the women paratroops in the paper the other morning."

She turns to Benny with a smile, and Bucky frowns. He had asked the same question! Well, he asked it his way, and Benny has that unassuming way of talking. Even though they're both from the Midwest, somehow Bucky just doesn't come off as disarming as his friend from Chicago.

"Medic," she says proudly.

"Tough job." Buck says quietly, though his lips are quirked to show he means no harm. "What made you go that route?"

"Dad's a doctor. And I wanted to help." She says simply.

"Kat!" A loud voice bellows from across the room.

"Duty calls." She says dryly. "Majors. Captain." She looks back at her own Lieutenants. "Sirs." She says, but it sounds sarcastic. Bucky blinks in surprise at her tone.

Welsh and Nixon both grumble and roll their eyes, neither of them making any move to admonish her.

"She sure made that sound like an insult." DeMarco says.

"Word to the wise, in case you ever find yourself with a woman in your unit-- and you will, soon enough--" Nixon says, "She'll call you by your rank, but don't for a second think that means she takes you seriously or will listen to anything you say."

"And it's useless to try." Welsh says, and holds up his glass for Nixon to cheers.

"Sounds like my kind of girl," Bucky agrees under his breath, and gets another sideways glance from Nixon before he makes his excuses and heads off with Welsh, the both of them greeted with cheers, slaps on the back, and sounds of approval from their guys.

"He was right--" Buck says. "I wouldn't."

Bucky frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Over there." Buck tilts his head in the direction of the opposite corner of the room. At a table with one other man, there's another Airborne Lieutenant. Dark hair, darker eyes, and he's tracking Corporal Gray as she moves in the room.

"Huh." Bucky settles back into his seat, elbow on the bar behind him.

Buck turns around, chuckling when Bucky curses under his breath. "Better luck next time, Romeo."

Bucky watches as Kat Gray as she flits between her men, an easy smile on her face. They nudge her and crack jokes, and all bravado aside, he can see why she fits right in. These guys clearly care about her, and she about them.

She shows it with a quick touch to one mans arm as she leans behind him to talk to someone else, as she winks at another guy who rolls his eyes and nudges her in the arm as he claims the seat on her right.

A half hour later, they're getting ready to clear out when Bucky sees her approach, an armful of empty glasses in tow. She sets them on the bar on the other side of him, and nods her thanks when he takes the last few from her hands.

"How long left on your leave, Major?"

"Just one more day. Then it's wheels up." He says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Good luck." She says simply. "I can't imagine what it's like up there."

Bucky feels the smile slipping off his face, but he does his best to try to keep it up. He doesn't want to think about flying right now. He doesn't want to think about Curt, or Buck flying in on no engines, none of it.

"You take care on the ground and I'll do my best in the air, okay?"

"Yes, sir."

He can't help it, he laughs. At her confusion, he grins. "I have it on good authority that when you say sir, what you really mean is--"

"Don't finish that sentence," Buck says, amused. "Corporal. Have a nice night. Good luck."

"You two, Majors." She says, and then she's off, a Sergeant and Nixon waiting at the door for her.

He sees the Screaming Eagle on her arm as she goes, and he shakes his head. "Lady medic."

"You're gonna need a medic if you don't get to bed soon." Buck mutters. "Let's go."

#first of all this was not supposed to be this long #second of all i have no apologies #except that i am sorry that i'm forcing my blorbos including kat on all of you in yet another related AU #:)#softspeirs mota fanfiction #softspeirs band of brothers fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #band of brothers fanfiction #oc: kat gray

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