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!
enemy territory, a locked door and a borrowed jacket make for a wonderful icebreaker.
part six // part eight
ao3 // rainfall masterlist // main masterlist
"You study the blueprints Laswell found?" Price asked, keeping his voice low as he tugged you down a shadowed side street.
"Backdoor should be down here somewhere." You nodded, trailing ahead of Price and down another street, into a tight alley behind the storehouse filled with wheely bins and a foul stench.
You caught the blink of a camera at the same time Price did, walking past the entrance to the alley, out of eyesight, and Price pulled a device from his pocket, tugging out an antenna and programming the scrambler. Waiting till the little red light blinked green before the two of you ventured carefully into the alley. Tucking the device out of sight behind the camera as you studied the door.
"Key code." You announced, pulling a pair of gloves from your jeans pocket and tugging them on before running your fingers along the panel
Price handed you his pocket knife and you flipped it out, using it to pry off the front panel and navigate the wires inside, short-circuiting the security measure and the door popped open.
"Nicely done." He congratulated, pocketing his knife again and a flush rippled through you at the praise.
"I have my uses." You joked as Price held the door for you.
"I'm sure you do." He replied, low, under his breath, thinking you didn't hear and you tutted as you stepped inside.
Entering into a tight corridor, linoleum floors scratched, unpolished. Another camera facing the door blinking sporadically, affected by the same scrambler as the outside feed and you breathed out, relieved. Accepting the mask Price handed you and pulled it over your features, threading your braid through the straps.
"Blueprints put the office on the second level." You murmured, the two of you falling into a silent step, single file, down the corridor. With you leading. "Staircase is this way."
"Try to avoid cameras, if you can." He whispered, glancing at his watch. "We've got thirty minutes max."
"Understood." You nodded and started down the corridor, recalling the blueprints you'd memorised on the flight over to navigate the twisting hallways.
Ducking your head at the camera despite the mask. The two of you ducking behind corners, into storage rooms filled with crates and boxes, metal shelves lined with god knows what, to avoid thudding boots, chatting voices as they came closer. Keeping close to the walls, ears and eyes alert as you made your way through the maze.
You found your way easily enough, bypassing the security code to sneak into the office the same way you broke inside. Leaving Price's knife in your inside pocket instead of handing it back.
"We know what we're looking for?" You asked quietly, glancing over the room.
A single desk furnishing the room and Price made directly for it. "Nope." He clipped back and you nodded vacantly.
Licking your lips behind the mask and getting to work. Leaving Price to deal with the digital files, planting a listening device beneath the desk, and jimmying open the filing cabinets when you found them locked, opening any files that snagged your interest and using your phone to take pictures of what they contained—the intel they contained could be studied later.
"Psst." Price hissed through his teeth, drawing your attention, jerking his head towards a shelf lined with thick binders.
You stepped over and Price tugged one from the shelf, letting it fall open to a random page scrawled with names, initials, all of them equating to a number and a date.
"Bribes?" You guessed, recognising the name of an influential politician amongst them. Taking out your camera to snap a photo.
"Dukov's a good businessman but he doesn't have this kind of money." Price tapped the page, dragging his pointer finger down the column listing prices.
"Bechard." You confirmed and Price nodded. "It's a start."
"It's not enough." Price finished, setting the binder back on the shelf exactly where he found it. "We need an account number, something we can tie directly to him."
"Proof of transaction."
Price clicked his tongue, "Scum aren't good at keeping receipts."
"Careful, Captain." You mused, returning to the filing cabinet. "That was almost a joke."
"Oh yeah?" He tilted his head, "You like a man with a sense of humour?"
"Mmhmm." You nodded coyly, pretending to fixate on the cabinet, deciding to test him with your own little tease. "Especially when they're Scottish."
Price snorted, checking the progress bar on the decryption. "You better raise your standards, love."
"Or what?" Your gaze flicked up and Price met them over the top of the computer. Curious to see how he'd react but he kept his features frustratingly blank.
"Or I'll raise 'em for you."
The charged look you shared broke only by the voices drifting down along the corridor, growing closer by the second, and Price yanked the decryption from the console. Rushing over to grab you and shove you towards the only other door in the room. Stuffing you both inside a closet barely big enough for one of you. Let alone your straight frame and a man thicker than a tree trunk. Enveloping you in a thick darkness, the smell of cigar smoke fluttering in your nose. Your back pressed tight to his firm chest, thick arms braced around you as he tugged the door too hard and it closed with a distinct click that reverberated deep in your stomach.
Gut. Clenching.
"Tell me that didn't just lock." You swallowed, whispering, and Price's hand clamped over your mouth through the mask.
The office door clicked open the second he did and you heard heavy boots thud into the office with muffled voices, only barely making out Russian accents, your lips pursing beneath Price's hand. Shit.
"Delivery will occur as scheduled." The thick, accented voice spoke in English. Voice guttural, barely audible through the wooden door and you failed to catch the rest of his conversation.
Praying the device Price planted caught the rest. His grip on you holding you close, his jacket barely a buffer between you, feeling every slow rise and fall of his breath. Lashes fluttering every time it tickled the baby hair by your ear. Overwhelmed by every twitch of his body and you shifted your hips, tried to squeeze a modicum of decency between you even if meant flattening yourself to the door but the second you moved every inch of him tensed.
"Don't fucking move." He whispered, sharp and controlled, his free hand grasping your hip to drive the point home and you shuddered.
His head tucked over your shoulder, mask nudged down so his lips sat a shameful inch from the corner of your jaw, his gaze concentrating on the hushed tones stalling just outside the door whilst yours focused solely on him and not moving.
The task becoming more and more difficult in the cloying closet, a rush of heat flooding your body, his fingers at your hip a burning brand and suddenly your clothes rustled too loud, stuck to your skin uncomfortably. Feeling suffocated beneath the tight mask and his big hand. Every inch of you burning from the inside out. Trapped and surrounded by John fucking Price.
You drew a hand up, squeezing it between you and the door, to scratch at his wrist when your lungs strained and Price sucked in a breath through his teeth.
"Thought I told you—"
You tapped at his wrist frantically, releasing a strained, pleading sound, and Price's concentration momentarily flickered to you, concerned. Releasing his grip on your mouth, tugging down the mask and you sucked in a breath, air rushing to your lungs in silent gasps.
Overtly aware of the conversation flowing outside the door, right in front of the bloody thing, and caught your head bouncing off the wood at the last second. Price's hand grabbing your shoulder, holding you straight and your head dropped back to his shoulder instead. Squeezing your eyes tightly shut.
"Why aren't they moving?" You hissed out as loudly as you dared, your voice right next to his ear, close enough he heard the bare breath as if you were talking normally.
"Don't know." He responded quickly, his gaze still on you, staying on you until you started breathing normally again, lips pursed tight.
The icy blue of his eyes burning into you a startling sight as you opened your own, breath catching on your tongue suddenly and you swallowed. Absolved in the wintry colour even as the voices eventually grew quieter, boots thudding away, continuing down the corridor and away from you.
You straightened—as much as you could—lifting your head off Price's shoulder, some of the tension easing from your body but the heat still clung to you, it would so long as Price held you so stiffly.
"Not out of it yet." Price murmured, snapping your momentary relief like a twig and you wanted to glare at him. You would've if he wasn't completely right. "Think you can get this door open?"
You tilted your head, catching his gaze over your shoulder, the icy blue tantalisingly close in the penetrative space.
"Not without moving." You deadpanned and Price took a second to shoot you a flat look.
"Gettin' cheeky, now, are we?"
You grit your teeth, pressing a hand flat to the wood and sliding it down the flat plain until your hand caught on the silvery handle, groping around until your fingers smoothed over the hole.
"Pin." You instructed, holding your other hand up expectantly.
Price's own lifted from your shoulder, sliding a pin free of your tidy braid, a lock of hair falling with it and pressed the dainty clip to your waiting hand. His fingers tucking the strand behind your ear as his hand returned to your shoulder and you swallowed, ignoring the trace his touch left behind as you guided the pin down to the keyhole. Sticking it, wiggling it around a few times to test the mechanism, trying to bend your head, tilt it for some kind of view of what you were doing and failing miserably. Flailing around in the dark.
You shifted, searching for another angle, head tilted uncomfortably, and unconsciously pressed back against the man behind you, slotting the two of you together even tighter and Price's grip on your hip briefly tensed. Unable to see the way his jaw tightened, head fallen back against the shelf behind him, gaze fixed above you.
"I can't get it." You breathed frustratedly, the pin slipping more than once. "I need something longer, something stiff."
"Move around like that again you'll have long and stiff, alright." He grumbled to himself, the tips of his ears dusted a heavy pink.
You didn't pay him any mind, shrugging off the comment as you had a dozen others, and risked another inch, so focused on picking at the lock you didn't register the way your hips slid back into his pelvis.
"Fuck, love." He breathed out, a rush of air ruffling your hair, his hand falling flat to the door and the other gripped your hip tighter, trying to keep you from squirming against him. "You gotta stop moving so much."
"I need a wire, something, to get a better fix on the lock." You muttered and frustration bled from your tone, aggravation beginning to boil hot and heavy as the heat in your chest.
Stuffing your ears so you didn't hear Price's own plea, shuffling again, pressing your arse right against his crotch and it snapped a cord in him. Both hands flying to your hips in a vice-like grip making you yelp, fingers digging in harsh and controlled and knocked a vibrant realisation into you.
Cheeks burning, practically on fire, with how quickly the blush sparked in your blood. His breath rising and falling shakily.
"'Ave got an idea." He told you as you stilled beneath him, letting up on his grip.
"Y-Yeah?" You swallowed, didn't dare tilt your head to look at him or the rosy pink dusting his cheeks.
"You trust me?"
Your heart thudded, fingers frozen around the pin, and swallowed again. Twisting your head to the side, expecting maybe a smile, a smirk, anything but the intensity plaguing the ice. The silhouette of something deeper, something intimate shading the wintry blue of his eyes.
A part of you hesitated seeing that look, the press of his fingers into your hips, but you couldn't resist dropping your gaze to his lips. Half hidden by the scruff of beard, pulling them back up a heartbeat later with a sharp inhale, not realising how sinfully close you were to kissing him.
"Do you trust me?" He asked again, firmer, peering into your very soul.
You nodded. God save you, but you nodded. "I trust you."
His hand rose slowly from your hip to slip under the fold of his jacket around your shoulders, finding the inside pocket and sliding something free, his arm draped across your chest and the glint of metal drew your gaze down. A click sounded as Price flicked open a small pocket knife. The blade reflecting the sliver of light peeking through the gaps in the door.
"Relax for me." Price whispered, his voice dropping, and you did as asked.
Relaxing back against him, careful not to press yourself back like you did before, and Price brought his other hand up from your hip. Gasping as he drew up the hem of your shirt to slide his free hand underneath, using the soft skin of your stomach to guide his calloused palm up.
You arched back into him unconsciously, lips pursing tightly at the ghostly touch, pressing both hands to the wood and your knuckles turned white with how tightly you clutched the single pin. Clammy fingers slipping around the metal.
Free hand snapping back over your shirt, stilling his hand beneath as it snagged on your bra. "What are you doing?" You hissed between gritted teeth, finding his icy gaze again, staring him and the confident look down.
"Thought you trusted me?" He winked, the blue of his eyes softening, bathing you in the vast ocean and your hand gradually fell away, enraptured by the tender look.
Gripping you like a clamp and he continued walking his fingers along soft skin to find the outline of your bra, smoothing along the clothed underwire, accidentally brushing the underside of your breast through the cup and shoving the heat packing your chest firmly down.
"A bit to the left." You squeaked out, resisting the urge to snap away from him as you clocked his little idea.
Hanging your head back, flickering gaze glued to the ceiling, and overestimating the amount of space left between you. Your head dropping to his shoulder, breath quickening as his rough fingers chased the outline, groping around for the edge and he pinched it between thumb and forefinger.
"Wanna guide me up?" He waggled the knife in front of you, pulling your gaze.
You stuck the pin between your teeth, grabbing the back of his hand, easing it and the pointy knife up under your shirt to join the other. Teeth clenching tight as the metal glinted off soft skin, sending a shiver through your blood and Price hushed an apology. Icy blues scanning you intently for any sign, ready to pull his hands out at the slightest twitch.
"There." Your voice came out the barest whisper around the pin as you notched the knife to the edge of the polyester, right where Price's fingers tugged at it.
"Right there?" He confirmed and your teeth clenched around the pin, nodding frantically.
You heard the tear before you felt it, the knife easily snagging the material, ripping the quickest hole in the bottom of the cup and as soon as it was done Price removed the knife from under your shirt. Clicking it shut, tucking it safe back in his jacket, as you plucked the pin from your teeth.
Notching his head further over your shoulder, getting a better look of what he was doing—despite your shirt barring his view entirely—and started poking the wire free. His grumble vibrating along your back when the thing wouldn't budge.
"Fucking hell, Price." You startled as he slid his thumb beneath the cup—brushing along your breast unencumbered—to get a better grip.
Your body responding on it's own, twitching against him, and Price had to suck in a tight breath as you bumped up against him down there.
"Almost there, love." He reassured you and you felt the wire begin to slide free.
His hand emerging from under your shirt with the piece pinched between thumb and forefinger and you swiftly took it from him, returning the pins to the lock and refocusing your efforts. The lock finally—fucking finally— clicking open.
You tucked the pins, the wire, in your pocket and wrapped your fingers around the cool handle, taking a steadying breath to marshal your clustered thoughts. Pressing down slow, quiet, and the door sprang open an inch. Not a sign, not a sound, of another human so you inched the door wider.
A rush of cool air slamming into you as you stepped free of Price's grasp, spilling light from the office into what you discovered to be a paper storeroom behind you. Putting enough space between you and Price to pull the handgun from your waistband and flick the safety, holding it tight as the two of you cleared the corridor both ways.
A professional wall slamming down between you despite where he had his hands not five seconds ago, the chill of the corridor cooling some of the sludge running through your veins as you worked silently through the storehouse. Handgun secure at your side, stretched out as you turned every corridor, suppressor firmly locked over the barrel should you encounter a hostile.
Refocusing your head, breathing in through the nose, out through the mouth, unaware just how flustered you'd become until the chill met your clammy body. Price's jacket now unbearably warm.
"That delivery." Price uttered as you slowly retraced your steps through the storehouse. "Could be important."
"You catch the time, the location?" You peeked around a corner, stepping out, gun raised just in case.
Price followed, guarding your back, smirking over his shoulder. "You don't speak German, you don't speak Russian, there anything other than English you do speak?"
You grit your teeth, deciding not to admit you did speak Russian. "Pretty fluent in bullshit." You shot back, clearing down another corridor and arriving back at the staircase. "Which I'm guessing is your native tongue."
"You keep talkin' to me like that, sweetheart, we're gonna have a serious problem on our hands."
"Something long and stiff, you mean?" The jab flying from your tongue before you could stop it and the tips of your cheeks reddened, subtly inching the mask up again so Price couldn't see. "I'm not impressed."
"You haven't tried it." Price smirked, the two of you descending the stairs together and he flashed you a wink. "Yet."
"There isn't going to be a yet." You hissed, struggling to keep your concentration on the corridors ahead. "There isn't even a now." Your ears pricked at the sound of distant boots, tapping Price's arm and the two of you flattened to the wall and waited for them to pass. "You're full of shit, Captain."
"Oh, aye." He nodded, tugging you forward. "But you're still wearing my jacket, aren't ya?" You struggled to keep your feet moving steadily as a victorious smile crinkled his bearded features. "Look pretty good in wos mine."
"Shut up." You snapped, storming ahead of him towards the back door.
"Shut up, sir."
You threw the jacket back at him as soon as you were clear, preferring to freeze than play his little game. Clutching your hands close and being reminded of his touch skimming over your chest, the sag of your bra beneath your shirt a damning reminder of where his hands had been and although you tried to discard the memory, the warmth, giving your head a physical shake like a fucking etch-a-sketch you couldn't escape it.
Not a single day goes by without me thinking about big ol’ Ghost, as fearsome and respected a knight as he is, sliding down a wall on weak legs because the object of his unwanted affection has once again decided that personal space is completely optional. Exquisite torture, really.
