✯ Minors please do not interact! I'll likely be reblogging 18+ content and I also just don't feel comfortable interacting with minors online so I will block ageless blogs.
✯ Feel free to send asks/requests and all that cool stuff!
✯ This blog will likely be mostly little thoughts and drabbles. I'm terrible at committing to longer pieces but maybe one day. All my stuff is self-indulgent so it will mostly be female!reader.
Main Fandoms
✯ Call of Duty- specifically Task Force 141 and even more specifically, Captain John Price mwah mwah mwah. Interested in the hot men, not the military propaganda <3 I'll mostly be writing/reblogging about cod
✯ I'm also into Love and Deepspace, Acotar + fantasy books in general, period dramas, basic sad girl music, and probably stuff I'm missing. I'd love to chat and make fandom friends on here!!!
The super cute borders are by @cafekitsune <3 Thank you!!
Short little thing with John Price x f!Reader because I need him so bad rn
He finds you lying face down on your shared bed, curled up with his pillow and still donning your starched work uniform. Your shoes have been kicked haphazardly onto the floor, and if the tissues around you are enough to go off of – you’ve had a rough day.
It’s certainly nothing John can’t handle, but it always breaks his heart to see his beloved girl all teary-eyed and trembling.
“Hey, love,” He whispers carefully, like you’re a delicate piece of china that would shatter if he spoke any louder. You didn’t stir – just kept sniffling quietly as you tucked your face away from him. You had a nasty habit of trying to hide when you were upset, especially from him. But he was always patient with you as he tried to work you open.
“You want to talk about it?” He murmurs gently as he runs his hand over your back, but you just give him a shaky, noncommittal grunt in response. He tilts his head down to try to catch your eye, but you’re stubborn enough to press your face in the pillow. “No?”
“No.” Your reply is quiet, barely audible, but he can see the way you shake your head and let out a trembling sigh. “I just want to go to sleep…”
His heart clenches painfully in his chest at the sound of your muffled voice cracking under the weight of your tears, and he mumbles a small ‘oh love’ as he brings his hand away from your back to curl around your waist, maneuvering you up to face him.
You still try to tuck your face away from his gaze, but he brings his other hand up to hold your chin up in place. “Hey…hey, you’re alright, love.” He coos gently as he brushes a strand of hair away from your cheek. When your lower lip begins to tremble once more, he tuts softly, pulling you into his lap as he places a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Sweet girl…c’mon, lovie, talk to me. What’s botherin’ my girl, hm?”
You let out a soft whimper, unintentionally tugging at his heartstrings as you struggle to find your voice. “I-It’s just h-hard…everything is s-so hard…” You blubber awkwardly as you curl into his chest, hiding your face in his neck. “Why c-can’t things just be – just be easy?”
He hums softly in response as he rocks you back and forth, resting one hand on your back and the other on the nape of your neck as he presses gentle kisses to the crown of your head. He knows better than to interrupt you now. Cooing soft words will only stop the flow of words about to leave your mouth, so he settles for tracing small circles with his hands as he continues to listen.
“I hate working. M-My boss is so mean to me…all the time, a-and didn’t even do anything wrong! He’s just…stupid!” You whine pathetically into the crook of his neck, tears tracking down your cheeks and soaking into his t-shirt which you fiddle with distractedly. “And I n-need to clean…I haven’t cleaned properly in weeks. And my p-parents are mad at me because I haven’t called them in so long, but I’m just so…so overwhelmed-“
Your complaints are cut short by the choked sob that escapes from you, but John quickly shushes you as he rubs your back in circular motions.
“Shhh….shhh, darling. You’re alright, my love. You’re here now, aye? You’ve got me to take care of you.”
But your warbling persists even through his gentle words. “You shouldn’t h-have to t-take care of me…I-I know you have it harder than me. I mean, you go to work and g-get shot at.” You continue your lamenting even as he comforts you, but it seems like your own words have struck a chord inside of you, making you sob harder at the realization as you cling to him. “You go to work, and you get shot at!”
Your cries echo through the room as he lets out a little sigh while he tightens his arms around you and begins to lie you down with him.
“Alright, I think that nap is in order, love.” He murmurs gruffly as he readjusts you, tucking you closer into his body as he brushes your hair away from your face once more. Your chest is still heaving rapidly, and you continue to let out small whimpers as you sob into his chest, but you still settle into his arms like you know it’s where you’re meant to be. “We’ll figure it all out when we wake up, alright, my love? Until then, I just want you to rest, darling.”
You give another small noise of agreement in the form of a whine, and he can’t help but chuckle at the pathetic sound as he kisses you on the forehead once more. “Atta girl. We’ll even order from that Thai place you like, yeah?”
Another trembling sigh from you, but you eventually nod your head slowly as you curl your fist into his shirt.
After a long silence, when John is sure you’ve fallen asleep, your voice speaks up quietly, still hoarse from crying. “Can I get the Tom Yum and the green curry?”
That pulls another gruff chuckle from him, and he squeezes your waist gently as he strokes your hair, murmuring quietly back to you. “Whatever you want, sweet girl.”
Can't stop having Thoughts™️ about this so here's an underdeveloped sequel:
CW: exhibitionism, voyeurism, masturbation, threesome with consensual cuckolding. Nsfw MDNI
It's become a routine now. They leave the laptop on most days. Every time you're getting drilled, one of them beckons the others over. They'll never admit it out loud, but they jerk off to it. Not together, just sort of... in the presence of each other. It's more efficient.
They know all your little tells, the way you gasp and cry out when you're close, the way your legs shake when you're being pushed to your limit. It's disgusting how obsessed they are, but they can't stop.
But–
John knows. They know he knows. They see it in the way he's begun making eye contact with the camera. Not in a lazy, pleasure-addled, give-him-the-benefit-of-the-doubt way.
No, he's not just looking into the camera. He's smirking.
Like he knows. Like he's known this whole time.
And just to twist the knife, he reaches down, grips her chin, and tilts her head up. Forces her dazed, wrecked expression right into view, just to rub it in.
Like: This? This is mine. You can watch, but you’ll never have her.
And fuck, it's humiliating. They should turn it off. They should stop. But they don't.
The show doesn't just stop there, either. He plays it up. Makes a show of dragging his hands over your body, murmuring in your ear, knowing they can't hear it but wishing they could. Holding your jaw, making you look at the camera, making you smile as he ruins you.
They keep expecting him to show up to their doorstep. Threaten them, maybe throw a few punches. Break their nose for invading his privacy.
He does come over eventually. But it's for a dinner invitation.
They're hesitant to sit anywhere at first. And they have good reason to be–they've seen you bent over and folded in half in every square inch of this place.
You seem none the wiser. He spends the entire night entertaining them with casual conversation, arm draped over the back of the couch like he's the fucking king of the fucking jungle. Pulls you into his lap. When you squeal about how he's embarrassing you in front of their friends, he says, "if you think this is embarrassing, they should hear about what we were doing before they got here." Looks at them with a smirk, tenebrous fire blazing in his eyes.
Gaz almost drops his fork. Soap near chokes on air. Ghost's jaw might break from how tight he's clenching it.
The night ends with him getting a little generous. Give the boys a taste, let 'em see what they're missing. Not nice to keep pretty little things like you all to himself, is it?
One making out with you, one sucking on your tits, one eating you out. Rotates them in shifts, too, like he's working drills. Is not shy with orders, either. Pushes Soap's head in further against your cunt, smacks the back of Gaz's neck for biting your tits instead of sucking, and mocks Ghost for how bad he is at kissing.
Just when they think they've won—when their lips are on you, when their hands are mapping out every inch they've watched for months—John chuckles. Deep, low, knowing.
"Alright, sweetheart. Tell 'em."
You blink up at him, breathless, pupils blown wide. You almost look shy.
"Tell them what?"
His smirk deepens.
"Tell 'em who's cock you're thinkin' about right now."
You let out this soft, wrecked little laugh, eyes flitting between them, like you almost want to lie—almost want to give them something.
But you can't.
You know. They know.
And you smile. That dreamy, drunk-on-pleasure smile they've seen so many fucking times before.
"Yours, baby."
John hums, smug as ever, and slides a possessive hand up your throat, tipping your chin up for a filthy, filthy kiss. Like they aren't even there.
Like they never mattered.
Soap, Ghost, and Gaz just sit there. Silent. Ruined.
It's a normal thing, a totally normal, completely understandable thing. You spend all day doing things for the ass, running to grab coffee or expense reports, putting up with his most recent line of unwanted flirting. Which is probably why he's started haunting your after-work thoughts as well.
The dream does make it hard to meet Mr. Price's eye when he calls you into his office in the morning.
You think he might get off on the avoidance or at least get off on having you stand in front of his desk. Keeping you motionless except your occasional grimace of discomfort is likely his second favorite activity, save for helping you stuff HR's harassment folder.
What doesn't help, you think as your eyes flick over the desk he'd bent you over (the couch you'd spread your legs on, the floor you'd licked clean of his spend, the window he'd pressed your tits to and husked in your ear about letting the whole city know who your bratty cunt belonged to), is the way he spreads his legs in his high backed chair, like he wants you to get a good look at the way his fitted slacks crease over his cock. His thick thighs already strain the fabric it's a wonder he doesn't break a seam with how the poor things creak with each movement.
Which you suppose makes it inevitable that you'd glance at the soft line of his cock under his trousers in your frantic desire to keep from meeting his eye, just as you know he's seen you do it as soon as your eyes flick to his face in humiliated apprehension. You're almost hopeful he hadn't noticed, but it's too much to wish for anything around this man. There's a reason you've grown to loath him so much, the persistent sexual harassment you could deal with if he wasn't so damn perceptive. Hell, that might be the only reason he still has his job, the CEO has to answer to someone right?
Well, he answers to you right now, answers to your stare with an appreciative drag of his own eyes over you, leaning back in his chair to rest his chin against his knuckles, a smile cracking the soft lines of his face. It makes you shiver, that man never smiles for anyone's pleasure but his own.
"Don't tell me I've broken you already," He clicks his tongue, reprimanding, "you were just starting to be fun."
Imagining John Price as a sleazy pottery class instructor rn:
He would be so sly with it too, wrapping his bulky and hirsute arms around you to help you mold the wet clay into the shape you want.
John would take the opportunity to deeply inhale your perfume and maybe rub off his own cologne on your body with the way his chest is pressed flat against your back.
He bites the inside of his cheek when he notices you’re trembling, especially when you accidentally end up creating an almost phallic shaped sculpture because you were too busy focusing on the way his breath would brush against the shell of your ear.
Your heart nearly leapt out of your chest when you’d momentarily feel his hardness when he’d lean over to mold the clay better.
Maybe it was time to sign you up for some one-on-one lessons with him
John Price who would never tell his wife that her cooking tastes like shit 🤕
You had told him before he went on deployment that there’ll be a surprise waiting for him. In his mind, coming home to you is a delightful surprise in itself. Nonetheless, it still bugged him enough from the second he left til the moment he’s back.
The surprise was that you learned how to cook! Just for your beloved husband and oh how it warmed his heart and excited his stomach <3
Until he finds out you couldn’t cook at all. Absolutely terrible. Borderline inedible.
But when you looked up at him, eyes shining with hope? Asking what do you think?
Who is he to smash your dreams?
“Wonderful, my love. Thank you,” he smiled before kissing his hardworking wife on the forehead. If you were poisoning him, then what a way to go.
When this man vowed for better or for worse, he really did mean it. Stomached every single one of your meals until it was bearable. And anyway, he is a military man who had gone through much worse. Only this time, he is rewarded with an angelic smile and a soft hug <3
And when you invite the boys over for your birthday party? You bet they are gonna like your cooking! Definitely not because their captain is standing behind you and forcing them to say it!!!
i know this is a crazy thing to come back with after years of literal radio silence but i could not sleep without getting this out
when john price comes home he can only fall asleep once two conditions are met: consuming a home cooked meal and spend at least two hours with you at the dinner table talking (gossiping) about your ever changing neighborhood. then, once you finally make it to your shared bedroom, showered and ready to get some shut eye, he has to slot his hand between your thighs and gently cup your pussy.
“‘m just tryin’ to keep ‘er warm”
“john my vagina does not need to be held to stay warm-“
“shhh. time to sleep”
and how can you complain when you wake up the next morning to fingers circling your clit and a head between your thighs.
my favourite john price fics always have a reader that's a little like a feral cat. untrusting, biting, scratching at anyone that tries to help. but he's always just holding them by the scruff of their neck at arms length until the useless clawing ceases and he can curl them into his chest.
Thinking about dad!Price who got upset because his baby daughter was crying and screaming bloody murder while running away from him
The pitter-patter of her little feet on the carpet was eclipsed by her wailing as she dashed to you who were busy making dinner
Tiny hands clutching your legs while she hid behind them. You looked down before lifting her up to carry in your arms and trailed your gaze towards your husband
He shaved
The signature beard was gone, making him look like another person
Unrecognizable to your daughter
You bit your bottom lip to stifle your laughter as you comforted the little girl. Failing to do so and giggled when she started squirming as you walked over to your husband who sported a similar pout to his precious princess
Simon Riley with a big jacked up truck because he's so tall and not because he's compensating. He simply thinks it's akward to bend down and get into anything shorter 😋
Simon Riley, with a cute little partner who who struggles to get into the passenger seat and he likes to watch them before picking them up by the waist, big hands digging into their plush hips as he holds their weight for longer than necessary.
Simon Riley, who loves when his cute little partner wears tight pants because they wiggle their hips and bend over trying to get in on their own.
Simon Riley discovering that they absolutely do it on purpose because he looked out the window one day and caught them easily pulling themselves up into the drivers seat after saying something about forgetting their chapstick.
Viking! Simon who you never expected to be the one to court you. Bringing you massive bucks and wolf pelts from his hunts, jewelry made for you from woven iron and shining beads, racks of firewood brought to you through the wintertime to keep your home warm. Simon hadn't said more than a handful of words to you, but his intentions were clear.
Viking! Simon who was waiting near your front garden for you one early morning when you were leaving to wash clothes in the creek, his hand clinched tight around something in his fist. He greeted you softly, reaching out for your hand and placing the object in your palm. You smiled as you held the necklace up softly in your fingers, studying the woven iron anchoring a black wolf's tooth into a pendant, the chain made from delicate silver.
"I knew i would give this to my future bride" he murmured quietly as if to himself as he tied it around your neck, a giddy smile stretching your cheeks as you turned in his arms, pressing against him and hearing his heart pounding.
Viking! Simon who asked for you to do his war paint before he went off to a raid at the end of winter. Promising to come back to you in quiet murmurs over the crackling firelight in his main room, the softness of your fingers dragging the charcoal paint across his skin puling out all the words he had wanted to say to you before but was afraid of admitting his feelings.
Viking! Simon who returns from the raid the first hot morning of summer. The bag of loot falling from his shoulder and his strong arms encircling you against his chest the moment he sees you. He chuckled lightly at the concerned look on your face as your hands grazed the fresh scar on his chest.
"Did everything I could to get back to you lovie" He said, rough hand soft as he cupped your jaw and turned your face closer to him. Your heart felt it would skip out of your chest as his lips pressed against yours, a satisfied hum in his chest as his hands gripped your waist.
Viking! Simon who marries you the following day. Not wanting to wait anymore, that journey having made him wait long enough to make you his completely. He keeps you close that night as the festivities of your wedding go on far past moonrise, his hand or arm never leaving you. Feeding you juicy meat from his fingers and tilting his cups of mead and water up to your lips. Finally things died down a bit, and Simon lifted you up over his shoulder and carried you giggling back to his house. He had already moved your things in before the ceremony.
Viking! Simon ravaged you in his bed that night. His fingers were gentle as he squeezed and rolled your nipples while his lips and teeth sucked and nipped roughly at your bare flesh. His cock throbbed deep in your gut when he breached your virgin entrance, both of your voices raised in broken moans as you learn each other's bodies for the first time. Your mouths were locked in a messy tongue filled kiss when he filled you up, hot cum shooting in creamy spurts against your womb as you locked your legs around him. Limbs tangled and covered in sweat, he takes you until the morning birds begin singing.
Viking! Simon who is beaming with pride as he lays his rough hands against your swollen belly months later, his baby growing big and strong and kicking fiercely against their fathers touch.
"A warrior already" he chuckled when your stomach jumped a little, the impression of a little foot or hand pressing against your skin. Your husband holds you close, pulling you in tight to his warm chest and just breathing you in through the cold night.
"Strong like his father" you whispered with a soft smile, caressing your stomach lovingly.
Viking! Simon who has tears in eyes a month later when his baby is born. A strong, beautiful little girl that makes his heart swell. She's so tiny in his arms as he holds her while you rest, the safest place in the world with her father who would burn the world to ashes before he let anyone hurt either of you. He presses his lips to her forehead in a soft kiss as her tiny fingers wrapped around one of his and he realized that with you and her, he finally found something to live for.
He’s a grumpy veteran. Sleeps with a knife under his bed, flinches at fireworks. Get the dog, is Price’s order advice. So he drags his feet begrudgingly to the local shelter, fully expecting to walk out empty handed. Just for the sake of it, so Price’ll stop bothering him.
You’re working the shift that day. Immediately clock him as ex-military. Take him to the room of older, more scarred dogs–shared trauma helps the two animals bond. Tell him to take a look around, wait for that special connection, that special click moment to happen. He thinks it’s all bullshit, but he bites regardless.
His eyes roam the room. Pitbulls, dobermans, rottweilers. All tough and scary looking, but their eyes are kind and their tongues hang out in pants. They all look excited to see him. Except one.
One, looks more than pleased. Dutiful. The german shepherd stands, notched and torn ears perked up. She has small punctures on her snout. Her neck is riddled with raised, old bites, a ring of scar tissue that has scarce and patchy fur. One of her paws is slightly misshapen, toe sticking out. Her elbows are viscerally calloused.
He walks closer to her, slowly like he’s approaching a startled doe. She’s silent, body flinching slightly with him. He looks her straight in her eyes, brown boring into yellow. You and I are the same, he tries to say. And he knows she’s trying to listen.
“She’s a special one,” you say, the voices of the other dogs quieting at his obvious interest. “Think she escaped from a dogfighting ring.”
He inhales sharply, now crouching down to her level. She stares at him with an unwavering posture, but behind her eyes rages a flame of something uncertain. Shaky. He recognises it better than his own mirror.
“What’s her name?”
“Doesn’t have one. Abandoned, no chip or collar. Everyone here just calls her birdie.”
The corner of his mouth twitches ever so slightly. “She’ll do.”
He takes her home, carries her in his big arms. She’s heavy, well fed. He has you to thank for that. You talk him into buying this pink collar for her, a bunch of toys that make a noise when squeezed, and a bed that’s probably softer than his own. There’s this one dirty, tattered bunny plushie Riley insists on taking with her.
Convinces himself he’s not attached. But everytime someone so much as tries to pet her without permission, he glares. Bites out the words “show some respect” with bared teeth. Damn dog doesn’t even use her own bed. Sleeps at the foot of his, and only because he won’t let her come to the main bed. Something about being dirty and slobbering over him. All that goes out the window when he wakes to sounds of whining and whimpering, her body twitching in sleep. He recognises that better than anyone.
It’s her first nightmare with him, and thanks to her sleeping cuddled in his arms every night from then on, it’s her last. He sleeps better, too. Mutually beneficial arrangement, he justifies it as. Sneaks her scraps during dinner, all the while telling her how spoiled she is. How ill mannered she is. But the grin on his face says otherwise.
He keeps visiting you at the shelter. Dog’s good for something, at least. Asks you questions he knows the answer to. “What the hell does it mean when she whines like that?”
“She wants attention, Simon.”
“Bloody princess,” he mutters, proceeding to pet her for ten minutes. Scratches her behind the ear and below her chin, gives her belly rubs just to see her wiggle around. He used to be something scary and serious, you know. Now he’s just some guy who’d kill for his daughter.
He comes to see you even if he doesn’t have questions. Makes up some stupid excuse like, “came to see if she needed… supplies. Or something.” Won’t admit that he’s interested in you. Riley foils all his attempts at being nonchalant by wagging her tail whenever she sees you, or slobbering over your face in kisses.
Eventually, he stops pretending. Brings you coffee. Comes there just to hang out and talk. Stutters and leaves immediately when you ask him on a date, but Riley drags him back by sheer force. It’s ridiculous.
