british (sorry) | 20s | she/her
the modern warfare hyperfixation is very real and it sleeps like the monster under my bed (or is that just Ghost, I'm too scared to check)
gonna put it out there, not sure if this blog will be around for a long time but it will sure as hell be a good time cause the Modern Warfare hyperfixation is hitting me like a caffeine high and a slap to the face all at once
i am a short but stacked gremlin from britain with an absolutely feral obsession over captain john price and in need of an outlet to share or terrorise, pick your poison
i don't really have a schedule or a plan (both in life and in writing) and so what happens, happens. most of the Modern Warfare pieces i write will have been inspired by things i've read or artwork seen, that's how things have gone so far.
only writing for 141 and associated parties from the reboot, will not be including any characters/stories outside of that (mainly because i'm new to this and still getting used to sharing my work)
comments and reblogs are always welcome! please make my day. serotonin is an old and welcome friend but she visits so rarely - or find me on ao3
Soft Places To Land (Task Force 141 & Reader) The Weight of Staying (Simon 'Ghost' Riley & Reader) Friendly Fire (Paper Edition) (John Price x Reader) Banished (John Price x F!Reader) Birthday Blues (John Price x F!Reader)
coming soon, i promise!
Out Of His League (John Price x F!Reader) Fiver (Simon 'Ghost' Riley & Reader) Loose Lips (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader) Heaven in Heels (John Price x F!Reader)
Incorrect Quotes by Sergeant T-P
currently working on a john price x f!reader based off this one bed oneshot that lives rent free in my head
in a nutshell, captain price is given a mission, a target and forced to take a second along for the ride. unlucky you because when you rock up to the temporary accommodation there's only one bed.
shenanigans ensue, feelings caught and john price is one cocky son of a bitch.
rainfall masterlist
dividers by @cafekitsune - consider checking them out they're so good!
your first proper outing, scouting a warehouse used by the enemy, and captain price doesn't make things any easier for you.
part five // part seven
ao3 // rainfall masterlist // main masterlist
You only managed a few hours of tense sleep before you woke, body rising with the dawn, though it took your head—and Price's loud and incredibly annoying alarm—to catch up. Stretching out your back as you sat up, the sheets sliding away, and your eyes popped as it exposed the tip of your thigh.
"How the fuck did you pass basic rising so slow?" Price mocked from the other side of the room, fully dressed and looking as if he'd been up an hour already.
"Turn around." You snapped, yanking the sheets up.
At first, he frowned, confused, and then a smile smoothed over his bearded features. "Why's that, love?" He smirked over the lip of his coffee mug.
"Turn. The fuck. Around." You uttered, drawing out each syllable in a lengthy growl and Price snickered but complied, turning his back.
You slipped out, swiping out your entire duffel, not trusting him to keep his back turned as you disappeared into the bathroom, twisting the lock round tight to get changed. Dressing for the planned day ahead. Plain jeans, t-shirt and a thick jumper. Forced into yet another inappropriate set of underwear for the day and cursing Jenna's name for the hundredth time, hoping the burning of her ears set the bitch on fire.
"You never answered my question, by the way." Price called as you stepped out, kicking the duffel under the bed again.
"What question?" You yawned, fingers twisting through your hair to knot it in a tight braid, sliding some pins through to secure any wayward strands.
When Price didn't respond at first, letting the silence stretch as you pulled out your handgun and went through the necessary checks, leaning back against one of the counters to study your movements. His suggestive gaze dropping down when you twisted to prompt him, heat crawling up your neck.
Without the threads of exhaustion cloying at you, softening your thoughts, you reminded yourself exactly who you were dealing with. Your captain, your boss, the man who shouldn't be asking these questions in the first place. Were all Special Forces this direct?
Price merely crossed his arms over his chest, assessing your stiff stance, his gaze sliding up and down your body as if intent on making you uncomfortable. Humming an affirmative as an offhand, a distraction to the real conversation, the one you were blatantly ignoring.
"Could have you written up for that." Price warned but there was no real bite to it, only a gentle tease. "Inappropriate working condition."
You snorted before you could stop yourself, shoving the handgun into your waistband and draping your shirt, your jumper, over the top to conceal it. Talk about inappropriate.
"Do we know if the meeting is still happening?" You deflected, smoothing your hands down your jumper. Twice. Busying yourself over your boots.
Though you planned on checking out the storehouse, Gaz and Price picked up word of a meeting happening at a local cafe between a courier and one of Dukov's associates.
Price grinned, stepping around the table, your slip satisfying whatever need he had to rile you. "Far as we know." He nodded, "Laswell's been monitoring chatter for any change."
He slipped his phone into his back pocket and you noticed the bulge of his own weapon beneath his button down.
"Then what are we waiting for?" You tugged on the sleeves of your jumper, flicking a glance outside the windows at the puffy clouds, and glanced over at the captain when he didn't move.
Bad move. Bad move. Bad move. Price's grin grew, fixing you under his heated gaze, pinning you to the spot and as soon as the challenge left your lips regret pooled high in your chest.
He only had one word for you. "Lace?"
Taking a deep—half-steadying and clearly irritated—breath, you gripped his gaze as tight as you dared and placed your palms flat on your hips.
"If you think I'm ever going to answer that question, you've got another thought coming."
Price's icy eyes grew bolder. "I've been havin' a lotta thoughts about you, love, not sure you want me havin' any more."
"It's my bloody roommate playing a prank, alright?" You lifted a finger at him, cheeks threatening to combust. "Don't get any ideas."
Price chuckled, a full-bodied, bold smile gracing his cheeks as he swiped the keys from the counter and followed you through the open door. Your gaze fixed on the pavement below instead of the warmth of his smile, waiting for him to lock up and lead the way.
God, this man. The cheek of him. You were so unbelievably flustered already and you hadn't even had a coffee yet, for Christ's sake. "I'm surprised you've never been written up for harrassment before." You muttered as the two of you fell into step with each other.
"How'd you know someone hasn't tried?"
"Please." You shot him a flat look. "If someone like you ever got sent to personnel, the gossip would light the base on fire."
"Hmph." Price pulled a lighter from his pocket, sticking a cigarette between his teeth and the glow briefly ignited his icy eyes. He took a long drag, watching you over the top, and blew the smoke away from you on the gentle morning breeze. "You listen to shit like that?"
"Only when it concerns me." You replied honestly, tucking your already nipped fingers in your pockets. A steady stream of traffic passing you by on the road as you walked towards the centre of the town, glancing down at your shoes.
The incident in Afghanistan briefly flooding your head, wondering if word of your excursion with Price had made it's rounds yet. Though you trusted Jenna, she wasn't the only one there when the lieutenant requested you. Anyone could've overheard in the training centre, saw you enter Price's office. The administrative assistants the worst offenders.
"You talked about it?" Price prompted after another drag of his cigarette and of course you knew what he meant.
"What's there to talk about?"
Price narrowed his eyes. "I read the report, got the cliff notes version." He blew out a puff of pretty white smoke. "You didn't blame the prick responsible."
No, you didn't. Jeffrey had given the instructions, he'd pulled rank on you—being the senior sergeant and all—and though you voiced your objections you let him lead you into the bloody mess.
"We all shouldered the blame by following him." You shook your head unconsciously, "Our orders were to sweep the area, scout for any insurgents, and Jeffrey's instructions were within the bounds."
"Jeffrey took your squad outside the limits of your patrol, you weren't allocated the sector." Price pointed out and you glanced him over. He really had read the report.
"Technically, on a standard sweep like that, any squad is allowed to breach their sector if there's reasonable doubt."
Price flicked his cigarette, a crumb of ash spilling out, the corner of his lip briefly perking. "You're like a walking regulation manual, you know that?"
"Yet, I'm not wrong." Despite the backwards compliment, you smiled.
"Jeffrey didn't have doubts, he had pride, he wanted a score." Price continued anyway, tone brutally honest. "Prick dragged you into it, you should've kicked him to the dirt."
"Surely you of all people know what it's like when you're in the thick of it." You responded bluntly and Price gripped your gaze straight on, your step faltering on the pavement and you averted your eyes. "You put your trust in those around you, you can't second guess them or it might get someone killed."
A momentary pause, the single beat of a heart, before Price answered. "But you did." He remembered and you swallowed, your features falling. "Something in you must've doubted, or those civilians would be dead in the dust."
"Yeah." You tried to work some moisture into your suddenly dry mouth. "And what does that say about me?" You lifted your gaze back to his, finding a drop of sympathy bleeding through the ice. "Still think you picked the right man for the job?"
"Yes." Price didn't hesitate and you recoiled.
"Even if I am a walking regulation manual?" You quoted, hoping it distracted from the shock still pinching your features.
Price's lip quirked as he finished the last of his cigarette, flicking the stub to the pavement and grinding it into the slab with the tip of his boot.
"You don't follow the rules as closely as you think, sergeant." He replied cryptically, leading you round the corner onto a fresh block of buildings. "Else you wouldn't be here."
You narrowed your eyes at him, following his back as he took the lead ahead of you into the town centre. People buzzing about along the morning commute, a few shops lining the main road. Groceries and high street shops with banners in German you couldn't read and Price continued down, the two of you ducking between passersby towards the edge of the town centre. Over where a taller building with a triangular roof stood on the outskirts in clear view of a little cafe with blue awnings and thatch chairs lining the circular tables made of silver veined marble.
Recognising the name of the cafe from the intel in Laswell's file, the hostess smiling at you as she seated you at one of the outside tables. Offering menus though you merely ordered a coffee. The seat providing a full view of the storehouse opposite you and by the time the coffee arrived your target had disappeared inside the thick double doors.
You stirred a single cube of sugar into the curved white mug, smudging the milky artwork atop as the spoon clinked, settling it on the saucer once you were finished. Eyeing the double doors, studying the guard outside leaning against the brick wall. Looking casual, as if he'd just stopped for the puff of his cigarette.
"You're staring." You pointed out blankly as you lifted the mug with both hands, palm wrapped to the warmth as a chill swept down the cobbled street.
Price sniffed, twisting his own dainty cup—a single shot of espresso—whilst his eyes bore into you unashamedly. "I am."
You took a sip—the coffee hot, bitter, on your tongue—and regarded him coolly over the top. "Shouldn't you be watching the door?" You set the mug down with a soft clink, both hands pressed flat around it. Doing your job, like me.
"He's just gone inside." Price reminded you, knocking the fold of his jacket aside as he brought one leg to cross the other. Still staring. "Won't be out for a while."
He lifted the espresso, the tiny cup dwarfed in his big hands, and took a sip. Gaze locked tight on you as he sipped and you shuffled in your seat, rubbing your forefinger along the porcelain idly.
Your jumper doing little to keep out the chill and you ran your gaze down Price's burgundy suede jacket, lined with soft beige fleece and wishing you'd brought something warmer.
"Besides." Price set the mug down. "Found something prettier to look at."
Not this again. You cleared your throat, lifting the mug again and hoping it hid the sudden flush rushing through your cheeks. Taking a longer sip, ignoring the bite of the hot coffee as it hit your tongue, eyes narrowing as Price flashed the quickest smirk.
"Maybe you should focus on the task at hand, Captain." You suggested, settling the mug back in the saucer.
"Maybe." He agreed softly, unreadable eyes tracking your thumb as you brushed it along your mouth, scraping the foam off your lip.
You swallowed. Shifted in the seat again, stopped yourself short of licking your lips. "Dukov's associate, do they have a long history?" You asked, trying to forcibly shove him back on task if he wouldn't go willingly.
Price took a deep breath, leaning back in the chair, a professional edge hardening his rugged features and you released a silent breath of relief. "Few dealings scattered across the past two years that we can trace but nothing concrete." Price answered, connecting some dots in your head. "Our intel suggests they've been using this courier to make deals with business across town, keep the compound supplied."
You nodded, letting your gaze sweep wider across the street, the few market stalls attracting customers on the opposite side. Their awnings billowing in the gentle wind, the occasional brush of a car passing and the hum of other patrons about the cafe the only sound to be heard in the late morning. A gentleman rustling his newspaper to straighten it. Two of the waitresses giggling together as they passed. The hiss, the steam of the espresso machine echoing from inside.
"What do you see?" Price's deep voice slithered into your thoughts, drawing your gaze back to him, his rugged features.
"Life." You answered, taking another sip of coffee, watching the last swirls of foam on the top as you set it back down. "A quiet Wednesday morning."
"And?" Price tapped the espresso cup once, your gaze snapping to the motion, then to him.
"Civilians." You finished, leaning back in the chair, feeling the outline of the handgun wedged beneath your waistband and a familiar uncertainty took root in the pit of your stomach. "Potential casaulties."
"Obstructions." Price summarised and you nodded, a tally of them totalled in your head.
Your gaze flicking to him, penetrating gaze occasionally caught on something behind you, beside you, and returned the question. "What do you see?"
Drawing the icy blue back to you, his lip quirking beneath the beard and he tapped the cup again. Just once. "Something pretty." You fixed on a point across the street. The flutter of a mother's dress as she stood with her daughter, ignoring the flush returning to your cheeks. "Seriously, you got something against taking a compliment, love?"
You flashed him an irritable look and his quirk grew to a small smile, your grip on the mug tightening. "I do when they come from my commanding officer."
"I might be your captain, love, but the rules don't exactly count out here." He smirked and caught the tiniest frown pinching your brows, his head tilting. "Laswell didn't tell ya, did she?"
"Tell me what?"
"What happens on the mission, stays on the mission."
"I know how shadow ops work, thank you." You dismissed sarcastically, if a little petulantly, and Price's smile still grew.
"To protect an operative's record, they are not required to disclose individual actions taken to achieve the mission's target goal." He replied, literally spelling it out for you and you wanted to be insulted but were too distracted by the way he looked at you. Heated. Expectant. As if he wanted something. "Meaning—"
"What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." You interrupted with a sharp twist of your mug. "Walking regulation manual, remember?"
"In a nutshell, love." Price chuckled breathily, "Same rules don't apply out here, not right now, not to us."
"Even so," You shifted in the chair, fixing your gaze on the mug, Sleeves tugged as far down as they could go. "I take orders from you, it isn't right."
"And if I ordered you to take the bleeding compliment?"
You flicked your gaze up, peering through your lashes, finding his eyebrow quirked softly, a strange smile on his lips. "You're mocking me." You exasperated, though your own lip quirked briefly.
"Nah." He shook his head playfully, moving the espresso so he could lean forward across the table, bringing his gaze closer. "I wouldn't dare mock someone as lovely as you."
You began to smile despite yourself but the flick of Price's gaze over your shoulder, back to the entrance of the storehouse, cut you off. Your back straightening, hands releasing the mug.
"Slowly." Price remained relaxed, finished his espresso as if he had all the time in the world and you watched him curiously. Learning. "He's not going anywhere and neither are we." He set the cup down, his attention seemingly focused on you. "Just a man and a woman sharing a coffee together."
You nodded softly, watching Price's gaze tracking the contact over your shoulder, loosening some of the tension riding up your back to take another sip of coffee. Choking on it as rough fingers stroked along the back of your hand, trapping it tight to the table when you tried to snap it back. The mug clinking hard against the saucer, mouth open to chastise him when a clunky voice sounded behind you.
The associate. Your target. Asking to be seated, for a menu, and the host led them to a table opposite from yours. Close enough for you to hear the low mutter of his voice, his companions voice, and no doubt close enough for them to hear you. A shiver dancing down the stretch of your arms and this time it didn't come from the wind.
"Are you cold, love?" Price frowned, concerned, and scraped his chair back before you could respond.
Shrugging off his jacket and standing to tuck it over you, his hands hovering on your shoulders as he tilted his head down to press a kiss to your cheek. His beard tickling.
“Just follow my lead.” He whispered so quietly you almost missed it, returning to his seat as the waitress came over.
“I am happy to move you inside, if you would prefer?” She smiled, speaking in accented English.
“Tha’s kind of you.” Price returned the smile, his cheeks puffing—sitting in nothing but his own thick fleece now—and nodded back to you. “My girl’s just after the jacket, though.”
Your girl? You began to raise your eyebrows but a muscle in his jaw clenched. Follow my lead. God, he really wanted to sell this whole couple thing and you smiled up at the waitress, tugging the jacket tighter around you.
“It’s my favourite.” You lied, returning to Price, tilting your head. “Looks so much better on me, don’t you think?”
Amusement lit up his deep eyes—genuine, not framed for the waitress—and he took your hand up again after you'd slithered it down the sleeve. Fuck, this thing is warm.
“Ya look good in anything, love.” He complimented, lifting it to his lips to press a fleeting kiss to your knuckles as the waitress left you to it and mischief curled the edges of his smile. “M’sure you look good in nothing at all, too.”
You flashed him a look. Piercing. Warning. His amusement growing, brightening the icy blue. Refraining from snatching your hand back even as he returned it to the table, thumb idly brushing across your knuckles.
“Warm enough?” He teased, the jacket big and bulky on your shoulders and unbelievably warm.
The faintest smell of cigar smoke and pinewood echoing in your nose as you wrapped yourself up in it, smiling back in response. “Perfectly."
This time, you took his hand, entwining your fingers across the table. Leaning forward, head perched on your chin as if enraptured by Price’s attention, lost in just him as the morning swam about around you. Passing idle chit chat, making up the lie of your lives so the gentle hum of your conversation reached your target’s ears.
Passing an easy ten minutes before Price paid the bill and you stood, flinching when Price's hand met the small of your back to guide you away from the cafe, down the street. Masking it with a pretty smile, letting him wrap his arm around your waist and tug you closer.
"Shouldn't we be staying, listening?" You whispered as each step took you further from the meeting.
"It's not the meeting that's important, it's the contact." He answered, drawing you off to the side. Slipping out his phone.
Stopping you by a trough of brightly coloured flowers, positioning you in front and you caught on quickly, falling into a relaxed pose in front of the little statuette. Smiling for him, for the camera on his phone, knowing he had it focused far behind you. Still within eyeshot of the target and his companion and when Price lowered the phone to show, you latched onto his arm, peering across. Smiling prettily as if the photo you stared at was of you and not a zoomed in shot of the criminal's coffee date.
This time he wrapped his arm about your shoulders as you continued down the street, pocketing his phone, and you gingerly clung to his waist. Feeling firm muscle beneath his fleece, the hard plains of his back, and another flush blossomed at the base of your neck. Hidden beneath the collar of Price's jacket.
