#dark captain price
Note
We need more Dark!Captain Price please!!
Behave, Love
Pairing: Dark! Captain John Price x fem!reader
Cw: implied smut, DARK, IMPLIED NON-CON, possessive behaviour, kidnapping, kinda Stockholm syndrome, captive reader, mean Price, punishment, basement wife?, tell me if I missed any.
Wc: 2.6k
“We have guests tonight, love,” he told you this morning before leaving.
That was a warning, the only one you needed to understand what you were told - ordered - to do. You spent the morning cleaning up, wiping off the nonexistent dust from the shelves, washing off the clean tables and surfaces around the house that you’d cleaned yesterday after he called to tell you that he was coming home. The following hours were spent vacuuming the wooden floor and mopping up any nano-spill of some kind. Only after the long hours you took to clean every speck of dust in your shared home, did you start cooking.
Price was a simple man in the things he liked, he might’ve been strategic in his plays and his decisions, down to the smallest aspects of each mission, or preferring his gun or knives maintained in a specific way that was his only, but anything at home, he liked simple. Perhaps it was a blessing for you, never spending time learning how to cook or bake, your training took up all your time and any free time you had was spent resting or on extra training. He liked well-rounded meals, having meat, vegetables and a bit of spice on his plate with rice or fries on the side.
You dread the moments he leaves as much as the giggle of the knob, leaving meant that he’d be watching you remotely, from the small screen of his phone with alarms and countermeasures against your escape - to which you’ve tried and failed many times, the severity of his punishment racking up from an hour in the dark basement to being tied up and tortured to overstimulation of a fake cock moulded to replicate Price’s cock - and his return would leave you at the mercy of his prying eyes and hungry mouth, letting his hands trace the scars that littered your skin. Any sign of disgust: shuddering, flinching or freezing would get you some time in the basement.
He pulled you from years of training, the result of your blood sweat and tears gone with the flick of Price’s wrist. He had you discharged and had you move in with him - how fortunate you’ve been living on base without an apartment outside of the compound, you saw no use for it if you’d rarely be home - even though you fought against him, tooth and nail. Yet that only landed you in time out - or so he called it.
“We’re going to get married, love,” he told you, a bright smile hidden under his beard, a wishful gleam in his eyes.
You weren’t only getting married, you were signing off your body and soul to your captor to become a glorified housewife. From a private to a housewife, how saddening, you couldn’t help that self-deprecating attitude rather than the confidence and strength that were beaten into you during training.
Any connection to the outside world was cut off, Price made sure that you wouldn’t have any way to contact your family without his supervision - he had you call them once a month to reassure them that you were safe and happy with your new life - or the authorities, not that they’d listen to you with The Captain John Price and his decorated background. Granted, you had a TV to entertain yourself in moments of boredom or the book-filled wall in the living room, even a few recreational activities he wanted you to practise: knitting, sewing, cooking and baking.
Naturally, you turned to cooking and baking as a way to pass the time, leaving the radio or the TV on as background noise to fill the depressing atmosphere. With time, you’d grown more comfortable in the kitchen and Price could trust you with more complicated dishes, even being excited to eat a homemade dinner when he came home. He liked meat, so you read about different meaty dishes - especially with the notion of the other coming over for the afternoon - with good portions of vegetables.
You moved around the island, setting the table with plates and cups, knives, spoons and forks on the sides with a bowl of fries in the middle. The steaks were almost done, sizzling besides the warm sauce you were boiling after cracking the can. The beans and mashed potato were already set on each plate, waiting for the juicy meat and sauce you worked on, hoping that you’d be finished on time for Price to get home. You hoped Price would be nicer to you while the men ate, nothing too rash or possessive from him during their stay.
The lock clicked as you placed the final piece, the rattle of keys and the familiar steps of Price’s heeled shoes were - unless you missed his soft “I’m home, love.” - the usual sounds you’d hear when he came home, the only indications that you were never truly able to relax.
“Welcome home, John,” you returned, greeting him with a small kiss on the corner of his lips, his bushy beard irritating your cheeks.
He leaned down, chasing you for a second, deeper kiss, his teeth catching your lower lip before he moved aside to let his coworkers enter.
“Ma’am,” Gaz jumped in, lowering his cap in a mock bow to you.
Being called ma’am made you feel old and married. While you were married, you were a year or two younger than him with him having an authority over you on base. You didn’t necessarily know him before your discharge, only catching a few glances when either of you were passing through the gym or shooting range, or when you crossed paths in the halls or mess hall. Perhaps in another universe, you would’ve been friends or teammates by chance. You swallowed down a sigh that threatened to slip from your pursed lips.
Soap followed closely behind Gaz with a boisterous greeting of his own, his smile infectious and giddy. How couldn’t you smile back at him when he seemed so happy to be here, you couldn’t bear to break his heart, his puppy-like joy. You shook his hands, they were as firm as the last time, his fingers more calloused and harder on the tips from the many deployments between their last visit. Ghost was a step behind everyone, giving you a quick but welcoming nod, his eyes softening at the dark bags under your eyes.
“Come in, I was just about finished.”
Without so much of a complaint, they sat down, watching you pour the brown sauce over their plate. Price - as always - sat at the head of the table, watching you and his team from his vantage point. Ghost sat to his left with Soap beside him and Gaz on the opposite from him, taking the seat to your right. The seat to Price’s right was always reserved to you whenever you were present, a rule he imposed himself. He could easily hold your hand while it rested on the table, he could sneakily place his firm hand on your thigh, or he could send you a quiet message through the corner of his eye, something so discreet that not even Ghost noticed.
Dinner with 141 was always animated, with Soap and Gaz throwing jabs at each other and Ghost jumping in with a few jokes of his own - though they were the usual dark and morbid humour that he thrived on - while Price watched over it all, a proud smile adorning his face as his thumb brushed your knuckles. You could see the fatherly joy in his eyes whenever everyone was at the table, this joy that almost made you happy that you were part of this small family - almost. You couldn’t forget the pain and harrowing sadness that clouded your mind every day, Price’s influence on your life becoming the looming shadow that kept you locked away from the freeing sun.
“It was tidy, bonnie!” Soap thanked you, collecting the plates while the rest helped around.
“Thank you, Johnny.”
While you washed the dishes, burly arms reached around your waist and locked fingers, pushing his chest to meet your back. He hummed a comforting tune, peppering your neck and shoulder with kisses, playing the loving and caring husband he was to the rest of the world. Laying his head on your shoulder, he was content with watching you work, ears listening to the chatter in the room and your beating heart, a calm and soft beat that soothed his nerves.
“A right delight,” Price breathed out, hips swaying side to side in a drawl dance, rocking you along with him.
He pressed his lips to your ear, mumbling praises for your behaviour and playing the husband he wanted to be - was. He was gentler with you, his strong arms holding you lovingly and expressing his devoted obsession with you with kisses and whispers. It was a side you saw often, Price being the ever-loving man he vowed to give you on the day of your marriage, the other one was the possessive and obsessive man who wanted your everything, your mind, body and soul. That side of him was given to you when you misbehaved, when you did something to displease him or when he deemed you worthy of punishment.
The other rarely saw their captain acting so soft and loving, even toward them, his little, ragtag of a team. Although it was something to be proud of, unendingly happy because at least one of them finally settled down, who were they if they couldn’t jab at Price, just a bit.
“Growing old, Cap’? You look like a romantic sap,” Gaz snickered, watching Price narrow his eyes in mocked anger through squinted eyes.
“Aye, I dinnae yer were a bodach,” Soap elbowed Gaz, failing to hold back his cackle, head tilted back and arms around his abdomen.
“English, Johnny.”
Price huffed, shoulders shaking with his own laughter.
“Oh, sod off,” he spat, lips stretched in a snarky smile. “Am I an old sap, love?”
He clung to you, hands slipping under the hem of your shirt
“ ‘Course not, John. Maybe romantic, but not old.”
Calling him old wouldn’t do him or you any good, especially since you were married to him, a man over a decade older than you; and calling him romantic would be a lie thrown to the face, at least to you. Price would call himself a romantic man and preen about his rugged, yet gentlemanly character, his hands calloused and loving, his mouth praising and biting, his eyes ravaging and devoted, his acts protective and possessive. How Price would proclaim himself as the perfect husband - he said he was the day he dropped you the discharge letter - and how lucky you were to wound yourself with him rather than any boy your age.
Price chuckled, his chest rumbling against your back as he tightened his hold around you. He liked your reply, that wide smile pressed to your throat with nipping kisses made you aware of his joy. You rocked back against him, dancing along the lazy sway of his hips, you were catering to his whims to stay safe and alive. His training wasn't for nothing, carved into the seams of your mind with every thrust of his cock or the silicone mimic of his cock. You learned quickly that if Jonathan Price was happy, you’d be safe and unharmed, so you aimed to please him and keep him happy.
If it meant playing the reciprocating and happily married wife to their captain, you’d do that. There wasn’t any loss of dignity and pride in wanting to feel safe, wanting to ignore how his hands gripped you too firmly or how your skin was littered with painful bruises after a rough night. To the Task Force, you were a willingly discharged soldier who became a housewife for their hardworking captain and your loving husband. The gold band carved with curved and intricate words added to the illusion of your perfect life.
It made you want to scream and pull your hair out at how trusting they were of Price. All and any man had his darkness, that ugly need buried under the mass of duty and morality that made them who they were, but if let loose, they could be like Price, another monster wearing the skin of a man.
You couldn’t help squinting your eyes in a silent plea to the men, watching them drink and laugh merrily without a fault. Being a witness to their bountiful smile and full-bellied laughter when you were glued to your captor by the hip, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you to him. Laying your head on his shoulder as the bottle of whiskey grew lighter and lighter over time, the golden liquid rolling down their throat with a comforting burn after a long week at work. The little glances Price sent your way were reminders for you to behave until the end, his fingers curling over a healing bruise from when he held you too tightly, pussydrunk with his head between your thighs.
You smiled and nodded, going along with whatever they were chatting about, from meaningless affairs to slightly classified subjects. Nothing was off the table with you, they trusted Price enough to trust you with sensitive subjects and they all liked you, someone who could relate to their cause and understand their pains. Perhaps that played a part in his obsession with you.
Even when they stood on your doorstep with slurred speech and hooded eyes, they were always aware of their situation and minds sharp, but they were blind to your plight. Gaz and Soap shook hands with Price, the darker Brit bowing to lift his cap in a familiar salute: “‘Night, ma’am.”
“Thanks fer the meal, bonnie.”
“It’s always a pleasure having you over, Johnny.”
Ghost waved at you from the driving seat, he drank less comparatively to the other men, being designated as the driver between them. You send him a tired grin with a wave of your own, still within Price’s grasp. You looked on beside him as Ghost drove off, returning to base with two drunken sergeants in his custody. With them gone and the door shut and locked - bolted down with keys and codes only he had access to - he pulled you to his chest, rumbling out praises with his deep, soothing voice.
“You were so good today, love,” he pressed his lips against yours, hand cupping your nape with a slow lave of his tongue to deepen the kiss. “I’m so proud of you.”
He dragged you away, feet hanging on your toes to follow his movement while letting him press for more kisses, growing passionate and stealing your breath. You clung to him, fingers clawing at his form-fitting shirt as you walked backwards, stepping into your shared room. He blindly kicked the door shut, throwing you to the bed with a rough push. He stared at you through lidded eyes, bouncing on the bed as you scrambled to get your footing before he straddled your hips between his thick thighs, rutting his covered hardness against your stomach.
His leaky head trapped under the tightness of his briefs and pants drenched his clothes, his chest rising with deep and laboured breaths. In the silence of your privacy, Price became handsy, wanting to grab and touch every part of you, cradling your face and wiping the drool on your lower lip with his thumb. He brought it to his mouth, sucking his thumb with lust-hazed eyes as he peered down at you. His brown hues were darker in the dim lighting, nearly black with lust and need as he grappled himself over you. He wore a crooked smile on his perfect lips.
“You deserve a reward for behaving so well, yeah?”
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs
#x reader#yandere x reader#cod mw2#yandere#dark fic#dark captain price#Dark john price#cod price#price mw2#captain john price#john price#captain price#john price smut#captain john price x reader#x female reader#female!reader#captain price x reader#tw: noncon#tw: r*pe#mw2 price#captain price x female reader
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P!LINK COD MWII MASTERLIST (🌽)
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. STRICTLY 18+. ALL MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED.
BEWARE: DARKER THEMES BELOW.
PHOTO CREDIT: GLUTT_R ON 🐦/X
KÖNIG
riding könig for the first time (inexperienced!reader)
somnophilia with pervert!könig
taking kidnapper!könig for the first time
size difference with petite!reader and könig
“just the tip, könig.” with loser!könig
loser!könig who loses control (breeding kink)
being groped by kidnapper!könig (hole inspection)
forced breeding with pervert!könig
hope inspection with older boyfriend!könig
virginity loss with könig (virgin!reader)
letting virgin!könig use your body (virginity loss)
raped and recorded by könig
entertainment for kidnapper!könig (non-con)
raped in public by rapist!könig
incel!könig making porn for his online girlfriend
SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY
punishments with brat!reader and simon riley (brat taming)
relaxing simon riley with your pussy
‘obedience’ with simon riley
stepbrother!simon riley and his best friends
humping your stepfather's bulge
car sex with stepbro!simon riley
rough dom!simon riley and his fuck doll
being manhandled by your stepbrother
raped by kidnapper!simon
being filled by simon riley (breeding kink)
hole inspection with simon riley
cock worship with older boyfriend!simon
rough dom!simon x brat!reader (brat taming)
punishments with stepfather!simon
having your attitude fixed by your lieutenant
semi-clothed sex with pervert!simon
raped for intel by lieutenant!simon
JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH
pervert!soap x milf!reader (morning sex)
“just the tip, i promise.” with stepbro!soap
your needy stepbro attempting to distract you
rough dom!stepbro!soap punishing you
playful!stepbro!soap and his virgin stepsister virginity loss
stepbro!soap eating you out
cuddling fucking with stepbro!soap
drunken sex with loser!soap
“fuck, don’t stop, bonnie...” handjobs with soap
being fingered by stepbro!soap
mutual masturbation with soap
stepson!soap with stepmom!reader
KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK
shower sex with pervert!gaz
the type of videos gym bro!gaz sends you
riding gaz in your new lingerie
the result of getting high with stepbro!gaz
having your insides rearranged by gaz
riding gaz for the first time
“don’t pull out!” with pervert!gaz
sucking off gaz for the first time (inexperienced!reader)
letting virgin!gaz play with your cunt while you're high
treating soft!gaz to a handjob after his deployment
virgin!reader fucking themselves back on gaz
CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE
being eaten out by john price (1)
being eaten out by john price (2)
morning sex with older boyfriend!price
spit play with older boyfriend!price
morning sex with sugar daddy!price
being eaten out by sugar daddy!price
manhandled by price
making out with price
stepdad!price and his slutty, daft stepdaughter
#john soap mactavish#soap mw2#call of duty soap#soap mactavish#cod soap#gaz mw2#gaz modern warfare#gaz call of duty#gaz cod#captain price#john price#captain john price#john price cod#captain john price smut#cod ghost#call of duty ghost#ghost simon riley#cod simon riley#simon ghost riley smut#simon ghost riley fanfiction#konig call of duty#konig#konig cod#könig call of duty#könig fanfiction#könig#könig cod#tw: dark content#orla speaks#cod x reader smut
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Hahahaha good morning I had the wildest dream last night so I’m going to inflict it on all of you:
(I’m not done with keeper/kept. Just had to get this out)
Warnings for obsessive/possessive behavior, unhealthy and semi-one sided relationship, not-quite-dark John price.
John Price who decides it time he has a wife. Not retiring, god no! He’s not done yet. But his home is lonely when he’s on leave; he’s getting sentimental as he gets “older”. So, he wants a wife.
In theory, it sounds like just what he wants. A pretty warm thing snoozing in his bed when he gets home at ass o’clock in the morning. Someone to fret over new scars and fresh bandages. Someone to fuss at him for “taste testing” meals and wrinkle their nose at his cigars.
In practice, it’s not so easy. If it was, he reckons he would have been married by now. Good thing he’s already got the perfect candidate picked out.
You own a small business in his town. Not fabulously wealthy, but comfortable and independent. Something to keep you busy while he’s away but you make your own hours so your schedule it flexible to see him when he has infrequent leave.
And he adores you, knows that you’ve got more than a little crush on him. You smile and blush and reciprocate his interest, have only refrained from perusing anything because you didn’t think he was serious. But oh, he is.
One day you say something particularly charming and he says, “marry me.”
He’s been dropping these little jokes for a while now and you always start laughing because it’s just the kind of dramatic humor you love. Today you say something different than your usual overdramatic “oh but it could never work, captain.”
Today you say, “if only.”
How pathetic is it that you’re holding a candle for a man you’ve never even gotten a coffee with? Your family laments that your can’t spend your whole life married to your job. That they want grandchildren and nieces/nephews, someone to tell embarrassing stories about you to on holidays. You used to roll your eyes, but the prospect doesn’t feel so obligatory anymore.
Anytime you imagine it, it’s John Price there. You’ve stopped trying to imagine it for your heart’s sake.
Except a week later he’s sweeping into your shop and dropping a kiss on your cheek. An unusual greeting, but maybe he’s in a good mood. His hand lingers on the small of your back while you show him the new product that just came in.
You live above your shop and one day he shows up at the door with a bottle of wine, telling you he could use some good company. You’re shocked and confused but he looks like an amalgamation of every heartthrob in a hallmark or romcom you’ve ever “ironically” enjoyed. You invite him in.
By mid morning, he’s had you in every room of your apartment. Ate you out slow and greedy on the counters. Bent you over the dining table. Bounced you on his cock on your couch. Fingered his cum out of you in the bathtub. And absolutely ruined you twice over in your own bed.
He even changes the sheets before the two of you pass out that final time. And when you finally do wake up, he’s taken the initiative to brew coffee and make breakfast. It’s like a dream.
He fucks you against the door before he leaves.
When he’s deployed again, he calls you every night. You don’t expect it the first time, but it’s a sweet gesture to show things aren’t ruined. You’re not expecting the second time either and have to call him back when you climb out of the shower. The third time you wait for it, but still startle a bit when his name pops up on the screen.
He calls you every night he can while he’s away. You don’t know what to make of it.
Then one day you come back from errands to see movers in the yard. You think it’s some kind of mistake until John meets you at your car.
“Fire in the next building over,” he explains. “Their insurance will cover all the damages but it’s not safe to stay in your place. Mine’s just up the road. Figured you could stay until it’s sorted out.”
You want to be annoyed, and you almost are. But the overwhelm of nearly losing everything - only to have all the stress already handled and the important, nerve wracking decisions smoothed over? You just take the good luck.
To thank John for his generosity (and to fill the void of not running the shop) you bustle around his too-big house. Cook meals, keep things tidy. Keep John company when he manages to snag you from your gratitude-induced work.
He spends hours fucking you nice and slow, whispering things you barely remember in your ear. That you’re perfect for him, so sweet like a little wife, that he’d come home to you for the rest of his life. You kiss him quiet and rock back against him when it starts sounding too tempting.
Eventually, the repairs on your shop/apartment are done. It feels like a rude awakening to a pleasant dream. Instead of moving your things back, John moves more things in. When you tell him that you appreciate his kindness, but you should probably get back to your own space, he gets an odd look. Asks what you mean when this is your space.
And the trap springs closed.
“John,” you half-laugh, shaking your head. “We’re not actually married you know?”
“Not last I checked.”
The marriage certificate gets framed in the bedroom you’ve been sharing for a month. You storm out and stay in a hotel. He lets you for three days before coming to retrieve you. When you try to be stubborn, he gives you an exasperated look (as if you’re the one being unreasonable) and politely asks that you not make a scene by forcing him to carry you of there.
For your own reputation, you comply, glowering out his car window the whole ride to his house. Try to give him the silent treatment which lasts about 30 minutes before he’s got you moaning and whining on his cock.
He drives you to the shop in the morning and picks you up at night. Anytime you try to put your little foot down, he just scoops you off them. The neighbors start cooing that he’s such a good man. You try not to scream.
When he’s finally deployed again, you try to move all your things back to your home. Except the movers apologetically tell you that they can’t trespass on John’s property.
Fine, you’ll do it yourself. Somehow.
You pack two suitcases and some of your cookware. Load it all up in a rental - because John sent your damn car into the shop - and trying to get comfortable in your own flat again.
Except it’s all wrong. The scent of smoke still lingers, it’s cold because the heating hasn’t been turned on yet this year. Half your things are gone and there’s no food in the fridge or pantries. You tough it out. Buy a ready-made meal and new bed linens and pillow. Sleep in a bed too cold even with the heat finally on.
When John calls, you don’t answer. He sends a text that simply reads “I love you.” You toss your phone across the room.
The next night, when he calls again and you don’t answer, he sends a “stay safe, love.” You spend twenty minutes with fingers poised over the keys. Chug a glass of wine and send back a neutral “you too, John”.
When he calls on the third night, you pick up, bark a sharp “knock it off” and hang up. Another text that he was so happy to hear your voice.
Another call, you pick up and demand “what are you doing?” He chuckles on the other end. “Calling my darling wife. I miss you.” You believe him. That’s the worst part.
When he gets back, you ride the long, long river of denial right up until he’s at your door, eyebrows arched. “Really, love,” he hums, “you didn’t have to come all the way over here just because you missed me.”
You want to hit him. You storm off to your bedroom instead. He wanders the house. You hear him clattering in the kitchen and wandering around the living room. When you hear the door close, you think he’s finally left and given all this up.
Twenty minutes later, he’s casually removing the door (sans hinges) and gathering you up. When you get back to his house, he carries you inside and fucks the tantrum right out of you in the shower, growling that you don’t smell like home anymore.
When you wake up from your three-orgasm induced nap, he’s washing the clothes you took to your old flat. On your left hand is a pretty diamond with “JP” carved into the band.
At the store, people start calling you “Mrs. Price”. The neighbors (John’s neighbors) invite you over as “the Prices”. You glare at him when he starts looking too smug about it.
When he’s set to deploy again, he sits you on the kitchen counter, caging you in with arms.
“Don’t make me come get you this time,” he warns, pressing kisses along your jaw. “This is gonna be a rough one. I just want to see you when I get home.”
It’s a warning that you know to heed. You don’t try to leave this time. When he calls, you answer, rattling off stupid details about your day. You’re shocked to hear him remember names and dates and tasks with everything else hes got going on. Promises he’ll deal with the creep at the post office when he gets home.
“And… you are coming home… right?” you ask.
“Nothing could keep me away, love.”
He doesn’t call for three days straight. You tell yourself the tightness in your chest is just anxiety over how the hell to handle his assets if he’s dead.
At 3am, the bed dips, a warm body pressing up against your back. You recognize John’s arms wrapping tight around your waist. You stir.
“Are you alright?” you ask.
“Perfect now, love.”
“Mm welcome home.”
“Good to be home, gorgeous.”
#thoughts™️#cod#my writing#fanfiction#dark fic#reader fic#john price x reader#john price#captain john price
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[tw: exhibitionism, humiliation kink, gangbang]
You’re a barrack bunny and you’re feeling extra horny today. So, you decide to wear a white t-shirt with “play with my clit for $5” scribbled on it and strut around the quarter. Best believe everyone will line up in no time.
Soap will be the first in line. He dives right in with his tongue, eagerly lapping and circling around your sensitive bud making you pant and squirm. You grabbed a fistful of his hair, shoving his face deeper into your cunt and he gladly obliged, licking and sucking it like his life depends on it.
Ghost’s rough, calloused fingers dig into your cunt as he mercilessly pinching and slapping your swollen clit, determined to see how quickly he could make you cum just by stimulating the bud alone. He doesn’t even bother to say anything as he only stares back right at you, watching you revel in agony. You’re begging him to stop but it only falls on deaf ears as your puffy cunt throbs under his touch.
Price and Gaz will be taking it slow, savoring every moment with you. They’ll soothe your swollen bud by rubbing it slowly and gently while telling how good you are for them. Delicately inserting their fingers inside your warm, welcoming pussy, eliciting moans from you as they shower you with praises.
Konig and Horangi, oof, they would be so fucking cruel. They would absolutely torture and abuse it like it’s a fucking stress toy. Konig would brutally stretch your swollen cunt to its limits with his hands while Horangi films it, zooming in on your pulsating and swollen sex. Horangi will use a vibrator right on your clit with maximum speed while Konig inserts three of his fingers deep inside you, earning a piercing scream from your throat. He thrusts his digits with relentless force, causing you to sob in pain. His fingers are so thick it feels like he shoved his entire fist. You screamed so loud that Horangi has to forcefully silence your cries by shoving his cock into your mouth while Konig continues to fingers you without mercy.
The men will parade you around the quarter like a prized possession. You’re only allowed to wear your scribbled t-shirt from earlier and nothing else. Ghost dragged you around by the hair, exposing you to the leering eyes of every military personnel who will use you as nothing more but a public glory hole for their pleasure. Price puffing on his cigar as he collects the payment while his subordinates ravage and violated your now numb cunt. And when you finally passed out, Konig will fuck you ruthlessly until you wake up and ready to be used again. :3
#my dumbass accidentally deleted this smh#shaf brainrots#task force 141 x reader#task force 141 smut#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#gaz x reader#captain price x reader#john price x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader#konig x reader#könig x reader#horangi x reader#cod mw2 x reader#call of duty#call of of duty modern warfare 2 smut#cod x reader#tw: dark content
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Under the Christmas tree [dark!141 x fem!Reader] (Secret Santa fic)
Secret Santa gift for @crash-and-live
141 had a wonderful time taking their combat medic to be their captive barracks bunny instead. Now, the Sergeants have decided you will make a wonderful gift for their COs.
CW and Tags: Dub-con, poly!141, inappropriate celebration of Christmas, power imbalance, bondage, slight BDSM.
Gaz was always an expert on knots.
Fancy little ribbons and bows – not so much. He prides himself on being suspiciously quick to adapt to the changing environment, yes, but learning how to tie bows when your little captive is acting just a tad bit dismissive towards the whole idea is…hard. Not as hard as hanging down the rope on a moving helicopter, but…
— Come, luv. Stop strugglin’
He smiles, all teeth and no lies, when you – his favorite medic, the best thing ever happening to this bloody team – started meowling something about the circulation and cutting off the bloodstream and how you don’t exactly like not only being held in the basement of the base but also being tied up…he looks at you and just knows he can’t resist booping you on the nose, kissing your perfect fuckin cheeks while Soap already has his hands in your hair, gently brushing it to put even more ribbons and bows. Red, just like on a Christmax gift.
You’re a bloody gift.
— I ken ye don’t like sittin’ like this, but Lt needs pick me up, aye?
Soap smiles when you struggle just a bit more, your tied hands brushing against his stomach as you slowly buck your hips back. Trying to get just a tiny bit of stimulation, sneaky little lass – this is why he loves you, so smart and so adorably dumb at the same time. The best thing that ever happened to them is that you still act like you don’t enjoy being their shared chewing toy. They can agree it’s just a bit of a stretch from your previous working environment but hell, at least you’re not being shot at.
Johnny’s hand gently moves from your head to your neck, adjusting the little red bow he made from the ribbons. They tried so hard to find the softest ever ribbons without a sharp edge and material that could cut off the circulation – even though Kyle was still doing his favorite knots that rendered you absolutely defenseless. You lick your lips and try to rock from side to side, making the ribbons a bit more loose – it doesn’t work, of course. Not like your team ever wanted you to have a say in their perverse desires, right?
You fell into the Stockholm syndrome quite easily, especially since they were so stuck on always respecting your wishes(except for letting you out, of course) and never forcing anything too harsh…up until now, apparently. Making sure you’re on your best behavior because it’s Christmas, they have a small table set up – beer, whiskey, some snacks that you naively put on because you’re still not allowed to cook, and they don’t really care for home-cooked meals – and your shaking form, twisted in a somewhat sexy pose all because they needed a little Christmas present for their CO’s.
Gaz brushes his hand on your tummy, gently pushing it down – you were prepared, of course, so much lube was out in your glossy folds, with Soap’s mouth buried deep between your legs, until you felt you’re going to pass out from the sheer amount of orgasm he was edging out of you. There is a reason why Johnny isn’t allowed to eat you out when Ghost isn’t around – his self-control is non-existent when push comes to your cunt and the tongue he can shove in.
You feel like you’re going to burst when you finally hear the door opening. When you finally hear Captain – his tired, gruff voice, the way Ghost’s jacket silently hits the ground as they start to undress. Usually, you’re made to greet them with kisses and your soft lips on their cocks if they feel particularly tired. Usually, you’re made to wait for them in the bedroom, with their sergeants gently playing with you because, of course, you’re the property of all four of them, no matter the power dynamic.
Nothing is usual now – you’re laying under a Christmas tree, naked and aroused, your pussy is all puffy and swollen from Soap’s tongue, your body is tied up with red ribbons Gaz was using. You want to be good for them, and so you lay here, hoping your obedience will be enough for a few more climaxes.
Ghost is the first to put his hands on you.
Kneading your breasts, gently forcing his rough fingers on your exposed nipples, you’re so sweet for him, so perfect, laid out like a beautiful gift – he can only groan in arousal as he slowly pushes the ribbons from your chest, taking in the view of your hardened buds and bite marks – evidence of Kyle taking his mark while he was tying you up. You might have been apprehensive about the whole idea, but you’re playing the role of a gift perfectly – just like you should.
— Bloody hell, love. So pretty for us.
— She was such a good girl for us, Lt. Didnae even resisted much. ~
— Is that right, sweetheart?
You can only nod, your mouth stuffed with a pretty gag – you’re drooling all around it, looking fucking adorable as you try and look as harmless as possible. No reason to provoke them now when they already made it clear just how many orgasms they are going to take from you tonight.
Ghost smiles under his mask, his hands moving to play with your lower tummy, squeezing the soft flesh and teasing your folds – you’re soft and pliable for them, spread out like a perfect toy. The most desirable thing they could ever find under a Christmas tree.
Price caresses your face with a softness you didn’t know a man of his position could have. He kisses you, and his whiskers tickle your soft skin – you aren’t sure if you can even handle him being so damn gentle about everything. He laughs as you try to wiggle out of Ghost’s grasp, their hands laying on your body – bruises and marks are scattered across your skin, making you the perfect canvas. Gosh, you’re beautiful – John doesn’t even know what they did to deserve such a little treat.
— Such a pretty display for us, eh?
— Sergeants outdid themselves this time.
— You bet they did. Are you goin’ to behave for us, love?
Price smiles when you whimper, spreading your legs like a pretty toy. Ghost already pushing you to the ground, forcing his way in between your thighs – you’re so open for them, vulnerable to the tip of his cock pressing in your folds already. Soap did a good job eating you out, even Simon’s cock won’t be too much – not after the way Gaz was spreading you on three of his fingers, smiling with each of your little attempts at moans.
You know the night is going to be long.
#cod#cod x reader#call of duty#captain price x reader#price x reader#john price#captain john price#soap#soap x reader#soap mw2#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#dark ghost#dark 141#141 x reader#gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick
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John gets your mail by mistake.
You forgot to change your address when you moved flats. He didn’t think people still sent letters—a nasty letter from an ex, no less, complete with illicit photos of yourself in compromising positions, and threats to spread them if you don’t come back to him. John does the proper thing and takes the rest of the misplaced post down to the landlord to forward on to your new address (and nicks that little tidbit for himself, along with the mention of how sweet you were; “good little tenant, too; was always fixing things so I didn’t have to. Really loved that flat of hers.”).
The letters aren’t doing the job so your ex starts calling you at work, resulting in your termination. Your friends encourage you to go back to bartending (“you used to love it!” “You’ve still got the looks for it!” “All you have to do is look pretty and make drinks—how hard can it be?”) and you do, begrudgingly. It’s not terrible, though. You settle back into the late nights and inconsistent schedule well enough.
There’s one regular—a little older; a little more… attentive—that’s branded his name into the cracked faux-leather barstool near the till during your shifts. Who always has a kind smile and no shortage of conversation for you between the leering gazes and filthy comments the boys from Uni toss over the bar in hopes of reeling you across the street and into their beds. You’ve taken to spending your breaks with him; tucked into the corner booth on slower nights, and leant up against the paint-plastered brick in the alley out back when the air is too hot and thick, bar packed with jerseys and jocks. He smokes, occasionally. Covers the stench of rubbish and piss with the whisper of tobacco and vanilla that clings to him, warm and sweet.
He’s there when your ex eventually finds out what bar you’re working at. See’s the way you lock up, hand gripping the tumbler full of scotch you’ve poured him hard enough to crack. He’s there when your manager can’t—won’t—send you home, leaving nothing between yourself and the embodiment of your fears but the chipping lacquer of the well-worn bartop.
He isn’t, however, there for your break. You don’t sit with him or abscond to the alley, hiding out instead in the kitchens. But if anyone minded the grainy feed on the back door camera in the office, they’d see him there, adding a fresh smattering of red to the graffitied walls.
He is there when you return—all night. Doesn’t leave his post at the bar, watching how you tremble through the remainder of your shift, getting orders wrong and dropping glassware. He’s there until close, waiting outside for you to lock up, and draping the leather bomber that smells like tobacco and vanilla over your shoulders as he guides you to his car.
He’s taking you home. Not to that shifty little place you let month-to-month; home. To the flat where creased, sticky photos of you, handcuffed to the bed his now sits in place of, are tucked away in his nightstand.
#john price x reader#john price x you#captain john price x reader#captain john price x you#dark fic#tw stalking#tw manipulation#tw forced relationship#tw kidnapping#written on my phone mind the mistakes
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Happiness is a Butterfly
It's been literal months since I read @ceilidho's divorce AU and guess what it is still rattling around in my brain because it is just scrumptious.
This is what I vanished to work on lol
Pairing| John Price x F!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 10.6k Kinks/Content/Warnings| 3rd person reader, Post Divorce John Price x Wife!Reader, Attempting to co parent, John is obnoxiously agreeable until he no longer wants to be, there is the s l i g h t e s t mention where reader is worried John might snap but he doesn't scout's honor, squirting, unprotected PiV, blow job, face sitting, unplanned pregnancy, childbirth, reproductive coercion if you squint, baby trapping if you squint, it is a lil dubby because John doesn't do anything behind Reader's back but he steamrolls the fuck out of her into getting what he wants lmao
The words choke in her throat like they don’t want to leave.
Maybe that’s a higher power giving her just one last out to change her mind- to not say the four words that will upend the lives of everyone in the household.
She can barely bring herself to look at him.
In the decade they’ve been married his temper has never been something she’s been afraid of, but in that moment it is all she can think about; every headline she’s ever read of a soldier snapping and killing his wife and children floating in her mind like a neon sign flashing danger.
She’s never feared his temper but she’s also never croaked out the words I want a divorce to him before either.
Her arms cross over her body as her gaze settles a bit off to the side of him. Everything about her body language is closed off and cagey as he looks up from his desk- no doubt having been mentally preparing for another round of come to bed, love - in a minute darling, almost done only to be caught off guard by the actual request.
He doesn’t answer her as he sits back in his chair, looking at her.
She chooses now to choke out the words because she really doesn’t think she has it in her to say the words with him standing. He’s sitting- still imposing as ever even if he’s always been magnanimous around the house- and she’s on the other side of the room avoiding eye contact.
He stands, still silent as the grave, before walking towards her in slow, measured steps and coming to a halt right in front of her. The ground has become absolutely fascinating as she refuses to meet his gaze.
As his hand raises she imperceptibly starts to shift, but absolutely nothing escapes John’s notice. “Don’t,” he starts before clearing his throat, his tone softer as he speaks again, “Don’t do that. You know me better than that.”
This time she doesn’t move as he goes to cup her face- takes her chin in hand and forces her head up. “Look me in the eye and say it again.”
It takes a moment for her to scrape together her nerves, eyes picking up off the floor to meet his. She’s not sure entirely what she expected but she thinks she assumed there’d be more of a reaction. He’s watching her- thinking- as she stumbles over the words.
Doubt twists in her gut as once again she squeaks out “I want a divorce.”
“Is there someone else?” he asks evenly.
“No! John I’d never-” It’s true; ever since he’d turned her head all those years ago she’s been blind where other men are concerned.
“Okay,” he soothes with his thumb against her cheek and she’s suddenly aware that this is probably not how this conversation should be going. “I believe you. Are you sure this is what you want?”
She’s been agonizing over this for months. She’s not even sure what gauntlet was thrown down to make her say enough is enough and have today be the day. Nothing spectacular has happened.
Maybe that’s reason enough. His job is always just the higher priority. While he always ensures his family is cared for while away, he drops everything for work in a way that simply isn’t reciprocated at home. Even when he’s physically here he spends so much time locked in this damn office he might as well be back at base.
Nothing has changed after begging and pleading and she is tired with a bone weary ache.
Are you sure this is what you want? Echos in her head while he awaits an answer.
“Yes.” No. “I’m so tired of being alone,” she confesses. “I’m tired of constantly having to beg you to be here even when you’re home. If I am going to be by myself raising the boys then I just need to be by myself.”
He doesn’t seem surprised by the words in the slightest. Probably because they’ve been having the same argument for years. This is not the first time she’s been frustrated with his job.
“Okay,” she can’t believe her ears with his easy acceptance. “If this is what you want, then okay.”
She sobs- alone- in their bed like the entire situation isn’t her fault, burying her face in the bedding to stifle herself from the kids. John’s gone.
Everything goes about as smoothly as it can. John doesn’t fight her on anything. With his schedule there’s no point in ironing out a visitation schedule through the courts. They agree to just work it out when they can, given how he can be called away at a moment’s notice.
They’re adults. They can handle this.
Once her nerves settle from the initial shock of actually saying the words to him, and she’s had a few days to think on his reaction, she decides she’s pissed.
The easy acceptance ruffles her feathers in a way she can’t put to words. She gave him a decade of her life, a home, three children- has kept everything running seamlessly while he jumped in and out of their lives to answer the call of duty and he didn’t even try to fight for her.
If he was being sullen or grouchy with her it would be easier to process everything- all the things set into motion that she started.
Perhaps she’s projecting. But he just acts like nothing is amiss as he comes by to pick up the boys or drop them off or just stop by to spend time with them.
She wakes up on the 15th and right on time she is awoken by a ding from her phone.
Perhaps, she thinks, it is a lapse in judgment to kick him out for not being around, given that she’s now cut into what already little time he has to spend with them. Isn’t that the focus of her argument? That it’s too difficult for the boys?
Their boys- three of them, each one a head taller than the last- are understandably devastated and struggling to deal with very big, very complex feelings that result in major meltdowns and fights. They blame her and they’re not wrong.
Then one day, when old habits die hard and she confides in John tearfully one day as he’s returned from his latest deployment to see them, while she can’t say it stops all together she can say there’s a marked improvement when they come back.
What did he tell them?
Her phone dings on the 1st like it always does every other week and her agitation is palpable.
She doesn’t even need to look at the notification.
John isn’t missing a beat this entire time and he’s driving her crazy.
The notification is from the bank, of an entirely too large deposit to an account that only she has access to. John’s name is not on it and he can’t touch anything in it.
He can however put money in it.
He is as steadfast and agreeable as always while stubborn enough to just bulldoze into getting his way.
She knows she should be grateful. That so many ex husbands abandon their children and former wives in favor of some shiny new girlfriend. That it would be so easy for him to throw her “if I'm going to be by myself then I'm going to be by myself” back in her face.
Her career had been put on hold with the boys. When everyone was older and in school and didn’t need her so much the plan had been to go back. And then John had kept putting babies in her and the timeline got pushed further back with the subsequent births of their two youngest children.
It would have been so easy for him to tell her to just figure it out herself, that this is what she wants and she can navigate life on her own just fine.
Instead he deposits entirely too much money into an account he can’t access.
She’s not sure why today is different, but she hits her limit and calls him. They’ve never actually spoken about his little transactions.
“You alright, then, love?” She remembers deciding to pick her battles and not harp that she’s not his love anymore.
“What are you doing?”
There’s a brief pause.
“…I’m on base? About to take my lunch, actually. Maybe you can -“ she cuts him off before he can get any further.
“I’m not calling to ask about your day and you know it,” she snaps irritably. “I’m asking about the deposit. What are you doing?”
John, once upon a time, used to tease about his spoiled, hot headed wife. She knows she is being the epitome of spoiled and ungrateful but come on- no one is this agreeable about a divorce. She doesn’t trust it.
“I have no idea what you mean, love.” He assures her good naturedly.
“You have no idea how several thousands have been deposited into my account?”
She wants to reach through the phone to strangle him when she hears that even tempered laugh of his.
“I know how the money got deposited, love- I did it myself. I don’t know why you’re questioning my motives. We both know you haven’t worked outside the home in years- you need money to keep everything going.”
“John, it's too much. I know you know how much I spend in a month!”
He sighs. She can picture him sitting at his desk on base. Sprawled out in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation.” He responds evenly. “The plan wasn’t for you to go to work until the youngest one’s in school next year. You’ve been out of the market for years, I can only imagine an employer trying to use that to short change you.”
He lets out a sigh, and she feels something akin to guilt for freaking out on him.
John’s always been the one to make the best out of a shit situation. To try to steady the boat in the storm. Even when his own wife (ex wife) is the one making waves.
“I don’t want you making decisions out of desperation,” he repeats. “I just want you to be able to raise the boys comfortably without worrying about making ends meet.”
The something coils tighter in her gut.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes.
“You’re alright, sweetheart,” he assures her and once again she has to bite back a not your sweetheart anymore.
“Now,” there’s the slightest shift to his tone and feels herself falling back into old habits again. As keyed in to him as a dog awaiting her master’s command. “What I was going to say earlier- I’m about to take my lunch. I would appreciate it if you could bring me the boys. I’d like to see them today.”
She can’t very well tell him no now can she?
The boys are her heart and soul but she sees them for exactly who they are- three rambunctious little spitfires always up to something. Good boys, but curious and mischievous. The curse of having smart children.
Until they’re on base at least. All three are quiet as church mice, gathered behind their mother and peering at the soldiers from behind her skirt.
She can’t truly correct the guards at the gate when they greet her as Mrs. Price- she hasn’t changed her name and isn’t sure if she’s going to.
It’s not hers anymore, but it’s still her boys’ name and things are easier. She’d likely have to retrain herself to respond to her maiden name.
The boys are hot on her heels until they stumble across John- as soon as he sees them, dropping a knee with open arms the trio are off like a shot as peals of “Daddy!!” fill the air.
“You can just call me after you’ve finished lunch and I can come get them,” she states amicably, watching John as he wrangles the three of them. The sooner she can get out of here, the better off she’ll be (because God help her, watching him with their oldest two was how she ended up pregnant with the third, and watching him with them now just makes her yearn for something she no longer has any claim to).
Immediately the three boys are protesting, albeit not quite as vocally as they normally would.
“Mummy, no!” “Mum!” “But it’ll be fun!” the trio state their cases to varying degrees.
John shushes the three of them gently to keep them from winding up too much before turning to her. “Come on now, sweetheart, for old time’s sake, hm?”
Their little three stooges voice their approval of that idea, chiming in with various degrees of “Yeah!”
Ultimately it’s the desire to keep her children complacent that has her agreeing. She doesn’t want a scene.
Unfortunately, a (albeit mild) scene is what she ends up having anyway.
She knows (is hopeful, at least) that her oldest doesn’t mean anything by it while they’re waiting for their food and asks “So what time are we going to nana’s later?”
Her eyes snap to him about the same moment as John’s snaps to her, and she’s deliberately trying to avoid his gaze.
Why, oh why, could he not have asked either before or after lunch?
“We’ll probably get ready after we go back home.” she’s careful to keep her tone neutral.
“How fun,” Ah shit, she can hear the suspicion in John’s voice. “Any reason in particular, or just a fun weekend?”
“Just for the night. Mum’s picking us up tomorrow. Right Mum?”
The server chooses that moment to bring their food, which gives her a moment to figure out how the fuck she’s gonna weasle out of this conversation.
“Yes, I’ll come get you after breakfast.”
“Could have called me.”
“That didn’t seem appropriate. They’ll be fine with my mum.” Her gaze drops to her plate, knowing full well if she looks up that his eyes will lock on hers.
“Don’t see what’s inappropriate about me watching my own kids.”
It’s not that she’s happy to squabble with John where the kids have a front row seat, but there is a dark part of her that delights in watching him. He has been obnoxiously agreeable this entire time and the cracks are showing. It makes her feel like she’s dealing with another human being, because she knows she’s got her moments where she loses her mind during all of this and it’s beyond frustrating that he is so dauntless no matter the circumstances in every situation.
“It’s not-” Jesus, does she tell him? What does that conversation look like? “I have plans tonight.”
John is not a stupid man and she can see the moment he realizes she’s not planning a girl’s night out for herself.
That she hadn’t thought it appropriate to ask him to take the kids so she can go on a date with another man.
“I’m watching them,” he asserts before returning to his plate.
“John-”
“I said I’m watching them,” his tone is softer, but leaves no room for argument. Conversation over.
There’s nothing wrong with her date. He is well mannered and polite, attentive when she speaks. No obvious red flags- he doesn’t dismiss her stories, doesn’t shirk back at the mention of her three children, isn’t rude to the server and isn’t texting on his phone opposed to actually engaging with her.
There is nothing wrong with him and for an idle moment she pictures what her could have been like had she married a man like him instead of John. The 9-5, the set routine, the security and reliability of knowing that he is coming home at his regular time and he’ll be there for the boys various sports and activities.
And yet all she can think of is John, who is sitting in their home, watching their children. Of the late night returns from deployment where they’d have their stolen alone time- quiet as church mice so as not to wake the boys who most assuredly would not be going back to sleep if they knew their father was home.
Of the delighted squeals of their children when they come into the room to wake her for breakfast only to find him in bed like nothing was amiss.
(And yes there was always the heartbreak that followed him walking out the door, the anxiety between phone calls that would brew until she once again could assess that he is alive and not dying blown to bits on the other side of the world)
There is nothing wrong with her date but he is not John, and that is an obstacle he will never be able to overcome.
She is safely deposited on her doorstep with polite pleasantries. She thinks he knows, has a kind smile and understanding eyes as she carefully tells him I’m sorry, I thought I was ready but I don’t think I am.
Someone will recognize him as a catch but John never let go of the hold on her heart. Someone will want this man but all she wants is John.
It’s not as late as she thought it would be when she comes home- a fact that John immediately comments on when her eyes land on him while searching for him.
“Well that didn’t last long.” The air feels different from before she left home, and she stands stock still as he rises off the couch and strides towards her.
“I,” she starts and stops, choking on the words. Why the hell did she ever agree to letting him babysit again?
Yes he’s the father of her children and yes she wants him to spend time with them whenever possible but this is just so incredibly awkward for her.
“I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” she finishes lamely.
“I would imagine not, if the date ended that quickly. We were always out for hours, weren’t we sweetheart?”
She can’t quite get a read on him but the entire tone of the conversation is… odd. Hell, the entire conversation is odd.
John is not one of her girlfriends for her to cheekily report back how her date went. He’s her ex husband for God’s sake.
“We were,” she agrees amicably- mind spinning with memories of the various times they had stumbled into bed early in the morning, or crawled into the backseat of John’s car like horny teenagers or-
One moment her thoughts are full of the various times John had folded her up like a piece of paper, and the next she’s aware that he’s closed the distance between them while she’s distracted.
“Makes me wonder if that was your plan all along,” he ponders out loud. She squeaks in protest, rooted to the ground and not even attempting to put more space between them.
“Was it? Having me home with the kids while you were out with another man?” His tone holds far more warmth than one would expect of a man all but accusing his (ex) wife of being a hotwife.
John’s hands grip at either side of her hips, thumbs rubbing in affectionate circles. She doesn’t quite know what to do with her own- she can feel the shift in the room. She hasn’t been with anyone since the last time they slept together, and there’s only so much fucking herself can due to take the edge off.
She can’t mimic the weight of a man’s body on top of hers- of his voice rumbling in her ears, the body heat radiating off of him as he coaxes one orgasm after another out of her.
She doesn’t want just a man though, in the broad scope of the term. It’s John.
He stops stroking at her before making a few deliberate swipes. It dawns on her that he’s feeling at the seam of her lingerie set underneath her dress.
“What’s this?” He asks, hands roaming and squeezing at her sides- possibly seeing if he can gauge which set is hidden away by feeling how the fabric wraps around her.
It’s a new one. While she hadn’t been sure about sleeping with her date, the thought of wearing lingerie that at one point had been meant for John felt wrong.
There’s a part of her willing to admit that at the rate things are going, he’s likely going to be christening this one also by the end of the night.
“Were you planning on showing this to him?” John’s enjoying torturing her- dangling the man she wasn’t ever all that interested in just to bait her.
“No, I-,” she hadn’t really thought about it. There was no plan. She was going on a date, so she put on lingerie like she always has.
Like she always did- for him. John would make a game of figuring out which set she had on.
“I just want you,” the truth bubbles out of her throat unbidden.
John descends on her like a man starved- fingers digging into her hips with a grip that she knows is going to leave bruises later.
“Bed,” she mumbles between kisses. Given how John immediately starts herding her backwards towards the bedroom, he’s clearly on board with this plan.
Once the door is shut, the pair cross the room before collapsing against the bed.
Clothes are shed in a hurry, pried off with little regard as they’re shucked to the floor.
“This one looks lovely on you,” John murmurs in praise against her skin as he gropes at the lace adorning her body, dropping to his knees on the side of the bed.
God has she missed this- missed him. The feeling is clearly mutual from the way he busies himself between her legs, lips peppering kisses across her inner thighs quickly while he makes his way towards the spot she wants him most, the gusset of her thong pulled aside.
Just as his breath is fanning over the core of her he pulls back slightly. Her thigh twitches in frustration, so close to finally having the nirvana of his tongue lapping at her only for him to have to be a tease.
“Has anyone else gotten a taste of this sweet cunt?” He asks, eyes on her with an intensity that has her squirming.
“No! There hasn’t been- John, I swear I haven’t-“ she protests.
“I believe you,” he assures her.
She probably should ask if the same could be said for him- for her own sake if nothing else. But she’s already made a slew of questionable decisions that haven’t gone the way she wants, and she errs on the side of not asking questions she doesn’t want an answer to.
Her eyes roll immediately once his mouth is on her. His hands grip at the underside of her thigh, holding them apart to give him unfettered access.
“John,” somehow she can’t quite wrap her mind around the fact that he’s got her back in their bed. Everything is novel and familiar at the same time, and she is overwhelmed by how easy it is to fall back into old habits.
He pulls away just long enough to speak, “I missed you so much,” before going back to eating her out.
John is a man on a mission, and he is familiar enough with her body to know exactly how to get her where he wants her. He also knows all of her tells- God damn him. No sooner has he dragged her to the precipice of her orgasm does he sit back, content to let her dangle but stopping just shy of letting her finally topple over.
“Wh-why?” She whimpers, lust, anticipation and disappointment curling in her gut.
He’s so gentle with her when he takes her left hand in his own, thumb running over her knuckles in soothing movements.
“Where’s your ring, sweetheart?” his question is a non sequitur if she’s ever heard one, head spinning trying to catch up through the haze of pleasure she’d been drowning in just a moment ago.
“My ring?” She mimics more on reflex than anything else, mind still reeling to catch up.
“Yes, sweetheart, your ring.” He repeats, eyeline following hers as her gaze shifts to the jewelry box sitting on the vanity.
There’s no written standard on how long to keep your ring before getting rid of it, and she hadn’t been sure about it. Figured she could always get rid of it later- when it’s never a question of if she’s making the right decision. Even with the ink dried on the paperwork finalizing their divorce, the ring feels like the final nail in the coffin for their marriage.
So she put it in her jewelry box, where it is safe but out of mind and she could worry about it later.
She never thought for a second that ‘later’ would arrive in the form of her ex husband telling her “Go get it and bring it here.”
It’s a beautiful ring; everything she ever wanted growing up. The cut, the size, the setting- John did a lovely job when he picked it out all those years ago.
Gonna be an officer’s wife, sweetheart he’d told her after she’d accepted his proposal. Gotta look the part.
Surely no one can blame her for not gnashing at the bit to part with it?
She hesitates for a moment before ultimately deciding to just do as she’s told- John didn’t tell her to put it back on. So she holds it pinched between her thumb and pointer.
In an alternate dimension, where she’d gone back with her date and let him charm her out of her new lingerie, there would be some insecurity over her body. Bringing three tiny lives into the world takes its toll in the form of stretch marks and loose skin and some extra weight that just clings to her like a needy toddler- but any time John has seen her naked, he is as moon eyed as he was the first time all those years ago. Like he can’t quite believe his luck and he’s not entirely sure she’s real.
Tonight is no exception. As soon as she’s in arms reach his hands settle on her hips, pulling her closer to him.
“We’re going to lay some ground rules, and then I’m going to fuck you into the mattress. Am I clear, pet?” Warmth and affection roll off of his tone in waves despite his words. All she can do is nod dumbly.
“This,” John takes the ring from her before sliding it back on her finger,” stays where it belongs. Right here.”
He pulls her even closer- she has to crane her neck to look up at him. “There’s no more dates with other men. That stops tonight.”
Another easy acquiescence. She nods in agreement.
He spins her slowly, facing away from him and then pulling at her hips so she’s sitting on him. She starts to hover, holding herself up until he swats at the side of her ass. “Now is not the time to play with me,” he warns.
She settles, feeling the mattress dip underneath their combined weight. John clearly has a plan in mind as he guides her to spread her legs, a chill running up her spine as the air laps at her wet cunt. His erection presses heavy at her ass, trapped between his body and her own.
His left middle and ring finger tap at her lower lip and she opens her mouth on reflex. John doesn’t even need to tell her to suck, tongue laving over the thick digits automatically, the same way she would his cock.
“I’m not mad,” he whispers in her ear, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You tried and tried to tell me, and I didn’t take you seriously, did I?”
She can only assume that this is all rhetorical- that there’s no way he can expect an answer out of her considering she’s gagging on his fingers.
“As soon as you told me you wanted a divorce in my office, I knew what it was. You needed my attention, and I wasn’t listening. I don’t blame you. Hell, I practically forced your hand. So I’m not mad,” he reiterates.
“But you’ve got my full attention now, lovely- I can promise you that.”
She twists as much as she’s able, watching John out of the corner of her eye while still sucking; her tongue tasting the metal of his ring as it ran along the base of it.
“We,” he pulls his fingers from her mouth, grinning when she chases his hand slightly, “are going to work this out. I love you, and I have no intention of letting another man raise my children.”
It would be easy to say the arousal dripping from her is left from when John’s mouth was on her, but that would be a lie. Him taking her in hand- literally- and telling her he has no intention of letting her go is definitely doing it for her.
Wet fingers grab at her jaw and turn her head, making her melt into his hold as he kisses her. “There’s my good girl,” his voice is a rumbling timber purring in her ear.
She whines when those two fingers trace down her body- an appreciative squeeze of her breasts trailing to grope at her ass before finally slipping between her legs.
“John,” his name is a whimper against his lips as she wiggles in anticipation.
“So impatient,” he admonishes gently as he works his fingers inside of her.
Warmed by their body heat, his ring isn’t cold against her skin by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, it feels like a white hot branding iron everywhere he touches. That tonight is a reclamation as much as a reunion as he crooks his fingers inside of her.
It was easy to ignore the need that burned in her at night. She’d run herself ragged during the day chasing after children and keeping all her ducks in a row. With John gone, it was easy to shove the desire down and ignore it.
But oh now that he has her in his arms, fingers buried in her as he works her closer to her peak? She feels like she’s on fire. Greed burns at her insides, needing more. Nothing short of climbing inside of him would abate the desire roaring in her body.
Her hips cant in short motions, following the movement of his hand eagerly.
As reluctant as she is to stop kissing him, she can feel a crick in her neck starting to form from keeping her head turned for so long.
Her head lulls against his shoulder when his free hand slips under the lace of her bra and grips one nipple between his middle finger and thumb, his pointer finger teasing the hardened nub in a way he knows drives her absolutely insane.
“Oh my God,” she squeaks just a breath too loud, her hand immediately clamping over her mouth as John pinches her nipple just shy of pain in reprimand. “Not too loud,” he reminds her, mollified when she nods in acknowledgement.
He’s got her panting in need in record time, a small part of her suspicious that he’s going to stop her short of her climax again. The anxiety only serves to fuel the fire burning in her gut, giving the final push to tip her over the edge.
Apparently neither trust her ability to be quiet when her climax hits, because John’s hand abandons teasing her breast in favor of also making sure her cries are muffled. The other is soaked as she squirts, twitching and bucking in his hold.
“Need to shove your face in a pillow,” he comments dryly, a shit eating grin on his face as he takes in her blissed out expression.
He knows her inside and out; knows exactly how long she needs to recover before he’s tapping at her side and prompting her up. “Get on the bed and lay on your back.”
She complies immediately on shaky legs, standing to turn and crawling to the middle of the bed.
John is just as delicious now as he was over a decade ago, and her brain threatens to short circuit watching him crawl over top of her. There’s more grey hairs and fine lines creasing around his eyes, and her heart still thrums in her ribcage like a hummingbird.
She relaxes against the mattress, trusting entirely that John has everything handled. He positions her how he wants, settling between her legs and rubbing the tip of her cock against her wet entrance.
“Please, John, I can’t wait anymore,” she begs, feeling like she’s about to lose her mind. The edge should be taken off considering John’s rather patiently gotten her off already once, and yet if anything it just makes her more frantic. As much as each swipe of his cock against her swollen clit sends tingles of pleasure up her spine, she’s gagging for him and running out of patience.
“You are a spoiled thing,” he admonishes good naturedly like he hasn’t made a habit of indulging her every whim and desire in the past decade up to and including getting a divorce.
“We might have our problems, sweetheart, but being able to fuck you right was never one of them, was it?” John teases as he lines himself up with her. She shakes her head in agreement. If she’s being truthful, that’s partially what had stayed her hand for as long as she had. The frustration with his work being so all consuming it was like his mistress had been a slow boil for quite some time. For years John would mollify her by fucking her into submission- and she has a sinking suspicion that their youngest was an attempt to get her to let up on the subject.
His generosity in the bedroom stems from equal parts wanting to please, and the pragmatic aspect that he is not a small man, and it’s usually easier for everyone involved if he gets her off before attempting penetration.
It’s like they haven’t missed a day- it takes a few thrusts to get her body to spread for him and then all the blood on John’s body dives south for the wet, warm cunt wrapping around his cock.
“This pretty cunt’s got me like a vice, sweetheart,” he praises, leaning down to kiss her.
“I missed you so much,” she whines into the kiss. “It feels so good.”
“I’m not gonna last,” he grunts against her neck, each clap of his hips against hers earning a whine. “You divine creature- got me wrapped around your finger, don’t you?”
An entire relationship’s worth of orgasms makes it so she doesn’t begrudge him that he’s going to be a quick shot tonight. His earlier statement is correct- if there is one thing the man knows how to do, it’s fuck her within an inch of her life. He’s proven that time and time again.
If anything, given their time apart, it appeases some of her anxiety- he must not be getting any from anyone else if he’s already this close to finishing.
“Look at me,” he instructs and she complies immediately. One of his hands strokes her face while his other arm braces his weight above her. “Tell me you love me.”
Her answer is immediate. “I do! John, I love you. I love you so much!”
His hips come to a halt against hers as he grunts against her neck in pleasure. “My perfect girl,” he praises, hands stroking at her sides as he comes down from his high.
She’s so caught up in the lust of the situation that it takes a second for reality to come knocking on her door. “Shit! Pull out!” she tells him, trying to scramble out from underneath him.
“What?” In all their years, ‘pull out’ has never been one of the instructions. He complies even as his brows knit in confusion.
“I haven’t been keeping up with my birth control!” Despite John’s easy assurance that he can just stroll in and assert that they are going to work through things (and she does want to)- adding a new baby on top of their mess will not help get shit sorted out.
Once again, his unflappable attitude has its way of driving her absolutely insane. “Bit late for that, innit? You’ve already had 3 of mine, what’s one more at this point?”
“One more at this point is exactly the point!” she tries to reason.
“We did say a girl would be nice,” he reminds her.
“That was before we got a divorce!” she hisses, trying to be mindful of her volume lest she wake their children.
“That’s nothing but paperwork, pet. We can have it sorted by the time you’re due.” John can tell he’s truly gone and wound her up more than he meant with that, immediately shifting gears to try and settle her back down.
“Okay, too much. I’m sorry. Come here,” he guides her to lay down, which she does albeit with a fair amount of suspicion.
John wisely chooses not to agitate her further or do anything that could be considered pushing in his luck (like, say, pointing out that despite her protests about another baby, she’s not said a peep about the cum dripping from her).
Instead he draws her up into his arms, sticking his nose firmly in her hair.
For a long moment it’s quiet, nothing but the sound of their breathing in the late night.
It catches her off guard when the tears come unbidden. One moment she’s happily lazing in her (ex-turned-hopeful-once-more?) husband’s arms, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably.
They’ve been through enough that it shouldn’t embarrass her. For fuck’s sake, she’d vomited all over him during the birth of their second son. But she feels like an exposed livewire sobbing over nothing and without warning.
“What’s wrong?” John mumbles as he wakes half-way, pulling her closer to him and stroking her back to console her.
“I mucked everything up,” she chokes out, burrowing her face against his neck. “I didn’t even want this, I just didn’t know what else to do!”
He shushes her gently, petting at her in an attempt to calm her down. “I meant what I said, pet. I know things have to change, but at the end of the day it’s just papers. We’ll get everything fixed back in its proper place.”
She doesn’t remove herself from the spot on his neck she’s nestling against, but quiets down and eventually they both fall asleep once again.
When she wakes again, she feels far more level headed- although neediness eats away at her. It’s like her body is craving to make up for lost time for the months they’ve been apart.
She can’t help herself as one hand trails down the thick hair dusting his torso, pressing kisses against his neck. Even in his sleep John responds to her touch- pulls at her to be closer to him, huffing as his dick twitches in interest.
It only takes a quick lick of her palm and a few strokes to have him stiffening in her hand.
The dried spend on the inside of her thighs is enough of a reminder, even if she’s feeling affectionate this morning, that she’s going to have to figure something out for her birth control.
For the morning at least the answer to that is easy- still working her hand in slow motion up and down on his shaft she kisses a trail down his neck and working her way south.
The movement is enough to have John stirring with a sinful groan in the back of his throat.
“Well good morning, gorgeous,” he greets, voice clouding in sleep in a way that makes her just want to sit on his face.
Humming out an acknowledgement, she continues to work her way down his abdomen. She does give in to the impulse to nip at the base of his happy trail, delighting in how he sucks back away from her teeth only to push at her head immediately after.
“Bad girl,” he admonishes with no true venom in his voice “Keep those teeth to yourself, hm?” he advises with an affectionate swat to her ass.
Rather than crawling down him, she’s got herself angled perpendicular to him. All the better for him to pet her with one hand while the other encourages her to take him in her mouth.
The moan he makes as she bobs her head is sinful, and she presses her thighs together and shifts her hips to get whatever little bit of friction she can- an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by John.
“That pretty pussy of yours needs some attention, doesn’t it sweetheart?” he asks, a warm hand running down her spine and trailing across her ass until he starts to tease her.
She works with a sense of urgency, even with John taking his time playing with her. They should have another hour or so to themselves before the boys wake up, but they’re also no strangers to a mad scramble under the covers with an unplanned interruption.
“Fuck,” he bites out a curse, hips flexing underneath her. That’s all the encouragement she needs to redouble her efforts, the hand not supporting her weight wrapping around him and stroking to help get him there faster. Despite their years together she’d never quite been able to take all of him down her throat.
“Look at me,” and the eye contact is all it takes for her to feel him stiffening beneath her. “Gonna swallow for me, sweetheart? Yeah, that’s my good girl- keep those eyes on- fuck,” he grunts, his climax hitting.
She’s well versed in swallowing his seed as he cums- keeps up the suction even as his orgasm tapers off just to see how long it takes him to grab her by the hair and pry her off of him.
“Sit on my face. And don’t even think about fucking hovering,” John orders and she complies immediately. His teasing while she’d blown him leaves her a horribly needy mess- None of the pent up lust releasing yet, although anticipation has her scrambling back up the bed and straddling his face.
He pulls at her hips, locking a forearm around her like he wants to make sure she isn’t going to change her mind and start teasing him back.
And fuck does that man know exactly where to lick and suck to make her eyes roll. One of her hands gripping the headboard for dear life, the other one buries itself in John’s hair. He takes direction like a champ, following the not-so-subtle cues from her as she pulls him where she wants him.
“Please, please, please,” she babbles breathlessly as he gets her teetering over the edge, only to release his hair in favor of clamping her hand over her mouth as her orgasm washes over her.
Her legs are weak as he guides her back down before getting her on her back and kissing her until she’s breathless. As engrossing as their make out session is, neither one particularly cares that they can taste themself on the other.
Eventually the pair wear themselves out, calming down from their earlier romp and managing to get into the shower and cleaning up.
It’s only after they’ve escaped the pull of their marital bed, as the water washes the lust out of her system that the reality of the situation comes knocking again, insistent.
“I want this to work, John.” She wants to melt at the way his expression softens at her.
“I do too, sweetheart- you have no idea how much.” A sigh escapes her, already fearing that they’re back on their loop that’s been the routine for the past decade. “What’s that for, hm?” he inquires.
“I want this to work, John,” she repeats “but things have to change. I mean it.”
“ I know you do,” he assures her, reaching down to kiss her temple. “I believe you.”
She’s uncertain if her refusal to be mollified is her winding herself into a snit again, or because she’s justified in the knowledge that this isn’t the first time they’ve had this conversation.
Especially when his palm drops to hover over her belly.
“You can’t try to get me pregnant if you’re not retiring from the field, John,” she asserts. “I can handle the boys, I cannot handle a fourth baby by myself.”
And much like a kind stranger trying to lure a skittish stray dog into their car, John hums in agreement.
Retirement from the military as a whole, she knows, is far too much of an ask. John has spent his entire adult life serving and it will probably take a career ending injury to get him to agree to retire outright. However she’ll happily settle for him promoting high enough that he’s not one of the first people contacted when they need boots on the ground. She just wants her husband home. She’s paid her dues being the sweet housewife raising the kids alone while he plays hero on the other side of the world. He’s beyond capable of climbing the ranks to one that involves less clandestine missions and more paperwork, and it’s absolutely infuriating that he hasn’t.
(She knows it’s not entirely a blind devotion to country and crown and preventing acts of terrorism, and the fact that he enjoys fucking off to who-knows-where at the drop of a hat- never knowing where he’ll be 24 hours from now at any given time, and he doesn’t want to give that up yet. She tries not to think about it too hard though, otherwise she’ll melt down like chernobyl.)
The hot water runs out before John’s refractory period, which is a good thing for her sake because she’s a scatter brained mess right now. The man’s not 20 and she doesn’t begrudge him the time it takes to recuperate, but she’s swinging wildly between being sappy and sentimental and wanting back what she had, and knowing full well she needs to get a grip before she does something stupid like letting John talk her into trying for a girl.
By the time they dry off and dress there are three hungry boys who are in for quite the surprise to see their dad come morning. No doubt there had been a reasonable expectation that John would leave in the middle of the night after they went to bed.
John keeps the boys distracted and out of her hair as she gets their breakfast sorted.
Before the divorce, the pair of them would go about their separate routines; making their morning caffeinated beverages of choice, idly commenting on the latest news headline, alternating getting things sorted for their children.
Now John hovers. Like he’s not entirely certain if he wants her out of his sight. He wrangles the boys to their seats as she gets their food, but it’s like one eye is kept trained on her.
Before the divorce, her children would make their protests- high pitch peals of ew! (The youngest, she suspects, merely imitating his older brothers who get a kick out of their parents' displeased stares) if they witnessed any displays of overt affection. While of course anything where they could see was kept G rated, once the boys thought something was funny they committed to the bit entirely.
Now, while she’s distracted by John giving a chaste kiss to her temple and running his hands up and down the sides of her arm, she realizes that the boys are as silent as the grave. Three sets of owlish eyes watch them intently before comically making a big show of going back to their breakfast as they realize they’re caught.
“John,” she starts quietly, eyes watching the boys before shifting her attention back to her husba- ex-husband. “We really need to talk about this. Actually talk.” Not just fuck each other silly - she knows they’ll just slip back into old habits. They need ground rules.
She knows how her husband works. If she can wrangle him into actually agreeing with a discussion, that is workable. John’s got his quirks and idiosyncrasies that she’s learned over the years. He won’t outright lie to her, he won’t go back on his word if he commits to something. But he will push and widdle and chip away at her to keep her compliant and happy enough to get off his dick (usually by putting her on his dick. Or mouth. Or hands. Or-
Anyway.)
“We will, sweetheart. Let’s just get through breakfast, hm?”
It is so familiar and yet still so different. The boys are running a mile a minute, eagerly soaking up the additional time with their father (the guilt gnaws at her- knows this could just be a normal morning. Had she either never divorced him, or kept him firmly away. This hemming and hawing that feels inevitable can not be good for the boys).
Screentime is a bit of a hot topic, but they need the boys content and quiet long enough for them to speak without interruptions.
The eldest is a bit too old for the target demographic for Bluey, but his handheld console is enough to keep him entertained.
She can’t help but feel like her oldest boy and John are conspiring- John firmly telling him “Your mother and I need to have a little talk with no interuptions. You keep an eye on your brothers, got it?” only for the oldest to salute him with a “Yes, sir!” that has John grinning as he herds her towards his office with a hand low on her back.
The click of the door sliding shut is as loud as a gunshot.
“I know I pushed too far,” John begins. The pair of them stand in front of each other. “You kept asking for the same thing over and over again. I never thought you would actually leave, but I can’t say I was surprised when you asked for a divorce. You were trying, and I wasn’t listening. I meant what I said last night. I’m not mad.”
It…. stings. Knowing the truth the whole time- John thinking he can just wait her out. That he can lean on her despite her protests and eventually she’ll give up. But it’s a dull pain, considering it’s something she’s lived with for years. She’s well familiar with it.
“So why? Why let it get that far. I know what you do is important. I know it’s selfish to ask you to give that up, but we’ve got three kids, John. You want a fourth! It is so hard to be the one who stays with them when you leave. They don’t grasp the situation. They just know that their dad’s gone and they miss you. And I cannot breathe when you are deployed and sent off to fuck-knows-where dealing with some of the most violent, dangerous groups on the planet. What if you don’t come home? How am I supposed to raise them without you?”
Sharp words coming from the same woman who kicked John out. But it’s the same story he’s been hearing for the better part of decade ever since their first was born. He can likely recite her speech from the heart at this point.
Like always, John is steadfast in the storm no matter how far into orbit she flies. He’s well acquainted with her whims, and knows just how easy it is to rile her up and yet also knows exactly how to bring her back down.
At the moment her expression is similar to that of a wet hen’s.
“I didn’t think you’d leave.” It’s the truth and she knows it and it pisses her off. “I knew you weren’t happy with it, but overall we were happy with each other. I wasn’t cheating on you. I’m not a mean drunk. I might be absent at times but I’m not cruel. I keep you happy in bed. You want for nothing. The boys know I adore them. Every marriage has its problems. I thought we both understood that the nature of my job is ours.” He sighs, rubbing a hand down his face.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” she reiterates, and she’s not sure if her voice warbles from how angry she is at the confirmation that he thought he could wait her out until he felt like retiring (or, more likely- she buries him), or at herself because she picked him and how mad can she be when he’s been honest about his work from the start.
There’s no clear cut villain. John is right. His job has weighed down on them since the beginning. In the beginning she thought she could handle it. But three children later and she’s begun to realize- far too late- that it’s so much. Subjecting them to something they never asked for because they were born into this schedule where John is beholden to Kate fucking Laswell more than his own family (peace and love to her- she’s great but she is the walking representation of everything they are struggling with in their marriage).
Her mind is a jumbling mess, like twine that’s interlocking and needing to unravel. There’s no clear cut path forward. She will go absolutely insane if things continue on the way they have been, but the time apart has shown her that she doesn’t really want to separate from John. No other man can even come close to him.
“So now what do we do?” she asks.
John steps closer to her, reaching to run his knuckles across her cheek in affection. “I want to come home, sweetheart.”
“It’s not that easy.”
She expects some sort of protest. Some sort of Yes it can be, and she’s not sure if she’s got the mental fortitude to continue holding her ground. But she knows that nothing will change if she lets up now. This is the moment where she either needs to throw in the towel, or maybe- just maybe there’s a chance.
They’ve made it this far. But she is so tired. She can’t go back but she’s got no idea what’s ahead or how long it will take to get there.
“I know. All I’m asking for is a chance.”
“It is your last one John, I swea-” She’s always hated that stupid fucking movie trope where the man shuts the woman up by kissing her. Yet here she is, her (fragile) attempt at a stern warning cut off as John snatches her up and pulls her to him.
After last night, one would think they’d gotten enough of each other to not be groping at each other like animals in heat.
Mother fucker he’s doing it again. He doesn’t fight as she pulls away, though those pretty blue eyes are blown showing where he would have been heading had she not stopped him.
“I mean it, John. You said you want this to work, but I need to see changes. You need to be home and not fucking off half away across the world at the drop of a hat. I need to be able to make plans and know that you will be here.”
“Anything, sweetheart. I just want my family back. I swear, I’m listening this time. I’ll figure it out.”
The lust has calmed from his eyes as he approaches again, making her look up at him. “You remember our little conversation from last night?”
He looks as serious as a heart attack, and there was a lot said last night.
She’s taking too long to answer, as he continues unprompted. “I know you’re not going to sign the papers overnight, and I’m fine with that. But your ring stays on, and there are no more dates with other men. You are mine. You are not single, and I expect you to act like it, hm?”
The chaste kiss to her temple is a sharp juxtaposition to the severity of his tone. He certainly doesn’t need to tell her twice.
“I promise,” she assures him, seeing how the intensity drains out of him as he’s mollified by her words. “I know I don’t have a right to ask, but did you- was there-” the words choke as she stumbles over them. She can’t be mad. She’s got no right to- they are divorced, and he (was) single and free to do as he pleases. But the idea of John drowning his sorrows in another woman’s body makes her want to claw someone’s eyes out.
And she really should have asked before he fucked her without a condom, but hindsight is 20/20.
Despite her inability to get the words together in the right order, John seems to know her question. He pulls her close to him, tucking her under his chin.
“No, sweetheart. There was never anyone else.”
The knot in her gut unwinds a little bit. “I love you, John. I’m sorry it came to this.”
“We’ll fix it, sweetheart.”
For a moment they stand there in the quiet, but there was no telling what sort of trouble their little trio might get into if left alone for too long. When John unlocks and opens the door, they both raise an eyebrow at the sight of their youngest dashing off around the corner.
Like the three little troublemakers had tried to listen through the door (which they would not be able to do- because she has tried once or twice), and the youngest was too slow to keep up with his brothers who are perched on the couch for all the world like they never left it.
The older two try to play their hand at staying cool, although the youngest boy is giggling- enjoying his “game” of teaming up with his brothers to try and pull a fast one on their parents.
“Do you have to leave?” The question from their oldest is deliberate, and succeeds in distracting them from the fact that their kids were definitely trying to eavesdrop on a conversation not meant for young ears.
“Not today,” John answers, ignoring the sharp look she shoots his way.
It’s a delicate balancing act as they stumble through picking up the broken pieces of their marriage. John can’t prove that he’s controlling his work hours unless she lets him in the house, but does give him shit about not moving in too soon. She doesn’t want him getting comfortable or complacent and back sliding on his promise.
Of course, John gets his lick back. There had been a stern conversation about condoms until her birth control is in hand.
Only to find out at her appointment that they can’t give it to her because she’s pregnant.
Mother fucker. Damn that “one shot, one kill” motherfucker. Their one slip up was the only discrepancy since they have gotten back together- that has to be when she conceived. Why did she fall in love with a sniper?
John is ecstatic with the news, as are the boys. She feels like a wet, disgruntled hen.
The new baby throws a wrench in her plans, but she can’t quite find it in her to be too disappointed once the shock wears off. John had been set on another baby, chattering on and on about how he hopes it’s a girl. They would have had another baby at some point, it’s just a bit sooner than she was anticipating.
No doubt for the boys, the new baby is an assurance that their parents aren’t staying separated. In their simplistic view, that’s as good as ink drying on paper that they’re staying together.
At her scan when it’s revealed she’s carrying boy #4, John kisses her temple and tells her how happy he is.
The youngest daughter that he’s got his sights set on is shelved for the duration of her pregnancy, not another peep of it mentioned.
A girl would have been nice, but she’s well experienced with wrangling John Price’s sons, and no doubt this one will fall into the group just fine.
John’s got quite the track record of giving her pretty babies, which everyone praises and compliments when the little man finally makes his arrival.
When he is home (which has been substantially more, she has to admit), he’s an active and involved father who’s besotted by his children and happily splits night duty with his exhausted wife. Keeps the older boys in line and behaving.
She doesn’t sign anything until John has a signed transfer request. While he’ll still be working in counter terrorism, and still be very close with the 141, his job no longer mandates he ups and leaves at the drop of a hat.
They celebrate quietly. Friends and family have made their opinions known about the back and forth tentative future of their marriage (mostly a well intended shit or get off the pot), and they elect to drop the boys with John’s parents to have a weekend for themselves.
There are no lusty slip ups and everything is followed to the letter but she wants to kill John when he grins at her positive pregnancy test.
Everything can fail, it seems. John merely commenting “Maybe this one will be a girl”, showing his hand that he hasn’t quite given up his dreams of a youngest girl to round out their gaggle of boys.
She doesn’t want to know the gender this time around, which John grouses about but ultimately accepts.
When Lt. Simon “Ghost” Riley promotes to a new rank, John is the one the man calls to ask him to participate in his ceremony.
She’s still in her second trimester, not quite teetering into her third just yet. John wants to bring the kids. If the third trimester exhaustion had stuck yet, she likely could have begged to be left out and he likely would have acquiesced. And the boys usually know better than to try anything when on base with John.
The day comes and she feels like a walking stereotype of an officer’s wife- gaggle of kids clinging to her skirt, the newest baby still clinging to her, and an unmistakable pregnancy bump.
“Cookin’ another boy in there, Mrs. Price?” Soap asks good naturedly while they’re waiting.
“Not quite sure,” she answers, eyes on her three more mobile kids making sure they’re settling in and behaving. “John’s been itching for a girl since before this one came,” she gestures to their youngest in her arms.
“Well, hopefully it’a girl then for yer sake- man’s gonna give ya a football team at this rate!” the Scot laughs, chortling at his own joke. There are times when she sometimes wonders how someone as charming as Johnny Mactavish got wrangled into clandestine counter terrorism missions, but then she remembers that as much as he can charm a bird from a tree, it’s comments like that that skirt just too comfortable that yes, he’s probably got a few screws loose. (She sometimes wonders about Kyle too, who is giving Johnny a “fucking really??” look, but can’t quite pin anything. The man is perfectly mild mannered and respectable, and she knows that their work can warp someone given enough time.)
“Hopefully so,” she answers amicably. While her pregnancy has been blessedly uneventful, she’s already over it and will be perfectly happy with this being her last.
Something tells her that John is going to get his wish, one way or another though.
Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡
#captain john price#John Price x reader#john price x you#captain price smut#dub con#dark!fic#<- that is just my typical 'catch all' blocklist tag for anyone who doesn't wanna read anything dark/dubious/etc.#I am being conservative with using the tag pinky promise#my writing
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hurt my own feelings again by suddenly thinking about john knowing he’s being sent on a suicide mission so he proposes but he’s like “marry me……like literally tomorrow?” and he doesn’t even have a ring and he pushes for the wedding with kate on already standby to be a witness, just because he wants to die knowing he’s your husband
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A grand escape...Attempt.
Summary: after being captured, you become a glorified Fleshlight. while the constant orgasms were... Nice...this still wasn't... What you wanted. You didn't want to be an object... So you decide you'd escape... But... It didn't work... And ended with more cocks for you to take care of...
<- Part 1
Pairing(s) DARK! Task force 141 x reader + a new friend 👀
Warnings: Smut, flashbacks, mind break, Readers name changed to Bandit, oral (Reader receiving) reader has fem anatomy but never given a said gender, age caps, MLM, more non-con/Dub-con, squirting, flashbacks, let me know if I missed anything my lovelies.
A/n: I use Google Translate for some parts. Let me know if anything is wrong!!
You cry out as your back arches once more, you huff as you try and focus. Johnny pulled away from your naked body, buckling his pants before kissing you on the forehead. "gotta go hen, stay here. Nice and pretty for Ghost ye?"
That was one of the few things you learned during your time here. All the men here had some type of connection to each other.
Johnny and Ghost were an item outside of their job and lived together...Loved each other.
You let yourself get lost in the fantasy. Your body is being cared and loved for by men who love you. Even if you know it isn't true. Ghost pushed his girth into your wet pussy as you gagged when Johnnys' cock hit the back of your throat. The sounds of their moans and praise for each other filled the room. They seemed so in love and wrapped up in each other that they barely paid you any attention.
"fuck I love you, Johnny." Ghost moaned and Johnny moaned "I love you too." they both pushed harder as they came close to their release. When you felt it. The warmth that filled your insides as well as your mouth.
But there was no praise for you. No care. This. This was now your job. Something for you to do, for them to enjoy. There was no love for you.
Price and Gaz had a relationship, but it wasn't the same as Johnny and Ghost. Yet it was still so intimate.
You had misbehaved. The idea of being nothing but a piece of cake had... Started to get to you... Being the romantic you are... But being the crybaby you are no words came... Just sobs and incoherent mumbling of wanting to be left alone and let go.
So your punishment was that you would be let go... But you had to watch.
Hands, legs, and feet bound. Gagged and forced to watch.
Price was so gentle with him. And Gaz looked so... Angelic. Strong body with such a sweet face, and strong but soft and enchanting eyes.
Price sang praise to the younger man, he knew just how to make Gaz tick.
And Gaz kept his eyes on you. 'look what you're missing.' they said, 'You could be enjoying this too,' 'if only you hadn't been bad.'
Your face was wet, you don't remember when you started crying. Again. But it was silent. You stared into Gaz's eyes, those sweet sweet eyes. There was no love for you...
And Alejandro... Now he was an interesting case... He's so passionate that you could trick yourself into believing there was love for you... If it wasn't for the fact you knew he hated you.
You and Alejandro rolled around in his sheets. Your moans seemed to drive him crazy. His sweet words and rough kisses made you feel so wanted.
But you couldn't keep your thoughts from wondering. You knew everything he said was just words... His words were sweet but his eyes said it all.
He hated what you stood for. Someone who killed for money. A paycheck. He was disgusted by you. You just had quick and easy pussy for his to enjoy. And that was it.
And even then his heart belongs to another. Another Man and seemingly a woman who had gone down the same path you did.
There was no love for you.
No love. Not for you.
You couldn't do this. You couldn't be alone like this. Physical was one thing but emotionally... You were starved. You had to get out of here.
You can't keep living like this.
You waited for Johnny to leave, for ten minutes. You waited Ten minutes before you left, in nothing but your underwear and an oversized shirt that belonged to Johnny.
And though you knew Ghost would be in that room soon and quickly notice you were gone, you were on a steady path out.
The Guys were very on edge lately. Having to work on a rough mission with some people they didn't particularly like. So you knew none of them would be paying attention to you.
And you almost did it. You almost made it. But almost in an ironic moment, almost replaying how you got here in the first place. You bumped right into a strong chest. Only it wasn't Ghost.
"Kleine Maus verloren?"
He also wore a mask, but he had piercing blue eyes and he was so... So tall... Strong... And intimidating...
"Poor little thing... You look scared..."
He walked closer to you. His body pressed against yours. His eyes roam over your body.
"Kleine Maus sucht Aufmerksamkeit~ aww."
You breathe awkwardly you didn't know what he was saying, but from the tone of his voice, it didn't sound mean... His hand reaches out and brushes hair from your face before cupping your head in his hands.
He now had you against the wall, his hands roamed over your cheeks.
He knew who you were. He wasn't deaf. He heard Johnny tell Ghost their "little bunny" was ready for him. But he was surprised to find you trying to run away. You weren't being taken care of properly... Poor little mouse...
Now he knows you aren't... His to punish... But there was no harm in playing with the little mouse. He is going to be partners with them for a while... Why not find something to... Bond over?
The bigger man slowly pushed you to the ground and after your slight spell was broken you started to struggle.
No. No, you didn't want to. You wanted to get away. You wanted to go home! You wanted to go home and find love!! You needed it!!
You started struggling harder, sending pitiful and almost laughably weak punches into his strong chest.
He pushed you to the ground, pulling your underwear down and stuffing it into his pockets.
With Johnny's cum still leaking out of you it was easy to stuff his large cock into your abused cunt. However, he still had to give a nice hard push to fully fit himself in.
" Was für eine gute kleine Maus~" the Large man moans, slowly pulling out before shoving his way back in. You cried out. "no! Not again!"
Man didn't hear you, and if he did he didn't care. He just kept shoving his big cock in and out of your pussy, the loud shlick sound and wet skin slapping was what he paid the most attention to.
His girth was perfect to hit that spot inside you that made that little string inside you pull tighter and tighter before it snapped.
A gush of liquid ran down your legs and the large man above you moaned.
What a perfect pretty mouse you are.
His cock twitched once. Twice. Then with a final thrust, he let himself relish in the feeling of his warm cum spilling out of you. Pulling away before letting his hands run against your ass, licking up your slit collecting his cum and yours in his mouth enjoying the taste and sound of your whimpers.
You moaned, reaching behind and grabbing hold of his masked head pulling him into your heat. You were ready to cum again, his tongue was so-
"KÖNIG!"
The man pulled away. His mask fell to cover his lower face, and he turned to the group of five men who looked at him before looking at the sight behind him, your slick heat displayed for them.
"Price! Hello. Sorry for the appearance. I found this little mouse trying to run away."
Price looks at König, "oh really?" König slowly made his way to the five men. "yes."- König leaned in his voice only loud enough for the five men to hear... "you should pay more attention to your pets. A little affection once in a while." before smugly walking away.
You would be punished. König knew that. And that's what he counted on. That one. small. sweet. Moment. Was all he needed to do. To know. One's your punishment was over. You'd come to him.
Looking for a little love.
#Dark task force x reader#Yandere 141#taskforce 141#task force 141 x reader#cod soap#soap call of duty#soap x reader#soap x ghost x reader#johnny mactavish x reader#johnny mctavish x reader#price x reader#captain john price#john price x reader#yandere soap#Yandere johnny x reader#Yandere price x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#Yandere ghost x reader#kyle gaz garrick#gaz x reader#gaz garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#alejandro vargas x reader#konig x reader#yandere cod#cod x reader
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TOO CLOSE - SELF AWARE COD CHARACTERS X READER
⥇❥"Reader" is described as "feminine leaning" or "feminine sounding"; however, they/them and it/its pronouns are used and no bodily adjectives are used in this part because reader is only described as "that person" or "the voice". Let me know if I should make an alternate post(s) slightly adjusted for masculine or androgynous description, and if I missed any content warning tags. I plan on making a masculine version for this one due to someone's request, currently deciding if I should just slightly re-write to change descriptions or fully-rewrite it :)
⥇❥Word Count: 3940, excluding warnings and text above the cut.
⥇❥CONTENT WARNING FOR:
↪ body horror(?)
↪ usual “Darkfic” stuff,
↪ yandere tendencies
↪ Angst™
↪ possible OOC characters
↪ american author writing (mostly) british people
I totally plan on continuing this drabble with another part so some of the warnings aren't quite apparent yet teehee <3
Link to main masterlist - Link to TOO CLOSE sub-list
You have been warned, scroll at your own risk.
There was always that nagging feeling that Ghost was being watched, paranoia which he had long since grown accustomed to. But, there were always times he felt it… heighten, where this… this strange sense of dejá vu seemed to take root in his mind. Sometimes, he felt like his movements weren't his own despite it being his will that moved those joints.
It occurred often after he joined the military, and occasionally, when in the quiet of his thoughts, he could hear something. At first, he thought it was a teammate coming through his comms, yet “the voice” wasn't familiar.
He remembered when he first heard it.
A quiet voice saying something he didn’t quite catch. He sighed, heavy and annoyed at himself, focusing a bit more on the radio firmly strapped to his chest as he pressed a button with a familiar practiced ease. Despite the fact he laid prone on the ground, hidden amongst foliage he had no trouble reaching it and speaking up. It was… slightly embarrassing that he lost focus and needed to repeat instructions, but he’d rather face slight embarrassment over fumbling an important mission because he didn’t want to ask for them to repeat what was said. Not that Simon “Ghost” Riley was afraid of dying. As a soldier he honestly felt more fearful that he’d fuck up a mission and get yelled at by a superior. That he’d hurt people he was trying to protect. That he’d prove that nagging voice in the back of his head right, the annoying doubtful little shit always lingering despite his confidence that had grown with experience.
Regardless, he didn’t care to debate with himself about yet another experience that would keep him up at night, wallowing in his bed thinking about everything he could’ve done differently. “Say again?” He asked, cautious to remain quiet and hidden, yet gravely tone firm and clear enough for the other side of his line to hear. Yet no one on the other side of the line said anything previously, voicing their confusion when he asked them to repeat something never said.
Yet no other soul was around the precarious position he perched himself, his scope aimed at distant enemies. He even briefly glanced around, surveying his surroundings for possible danger, anyone, anything. Then “the voice” came through again, energetic and excited— far too unprofessional for how serious that mission was. ‘A recruit,’ he would’ve thought if not for the fact nobody else acknowledged it.
However, once the mission ended, that strange feeling faded, and “the voice” didn't appear again…
…Until a few months later, on another mission.
The uncomfortable feeling of being watched, the almost foreign feeling of his own body, and “the voice” returned. His skin crawled.
As if something had forcefully crept beneath it, lifting the skin and making itself comfortable in his body. Claiming it for itself as it burrowed deep into the muscular fiber, into his organs, and flowed in his veins in place of blood. It felt… parasitic and invasive. It disturbed him greatly how the feeling came and went suddenly without cause. Leaving him as it wished and then showing up without warning, without his permission. How it happened to him regardless of how steeled his nerves were. Of how experienced he became.
And, as he would soon find, no matter how intensely he looked around, nobody else was present. Yet “the voice”, which he had to strain to even remotely understand, seemed to respond as if they could see him based on the few words he could catch.
“HOLY SHIT! He looks so cool, dude! Look at his fuckin’ rifle, his gear! This was so worth the wait. He’s got a new mask too! I’m so glad they brought him back, ugh, literally my favorite poster boy of the whole franchise.”
And if Ghost focused a little bit more, he'd notice it didn't quite sound right, as if it wasn't speaking aloud. “The voice” didn't echo around the room when he was inside, didn't echo through the air when he was outside, nor did it have the crackle of the radio. It was simply muffled, like if someone talked from a room over.
“...Uh, yeah, it was totally worth the fifty-freakin-bucks. Rent can wait, my war criminal pookies can’t! …Yes I know they’re probably not actual war criminals. Yeah, I KNOW they’re… man, you’re no fun. Let me simp in peace.”
Ghost knew he hadn't exactly been the… most sound of mind, but he truly began to worry he might have been hallucinating. “The voice” had been following him for an increasingly long amount of time at this point, and he mostly tuned it out. He recently found himself in a new group though, which led to a disturbing realization that he wasn’t fully insane. His worries about that were swiped away when Soap (his new sergeant who was a little too talkative for his own good, in Ghost’s opinion) ever-so-casually asked about “the voice” he overheard during the mission, which he couldn't quite recognize. Everyone in the helicopter was surprised on the ride back, anxiously discussing that faint voice they'd all heard— had been hearing on and off during missions. It gave Ghost a whole new fear.
It was no secret that a majority of the people in base and on missions with them were men, so that distinctly feminine voice being hard to pinpoint caused a new worry among the team. The potential breach of their communication network. The topic came up as an innocent question from Soap about who “the voice” was before everyone realized they all heard that voice, contradictory in how it sounded so near yet so far, so clear yet it hurt their heads to try and process what was said, clouding their minds in a haze if they tried focusing on it for too long.
It was a clear cause for concern.
Their task force, Task Force 141, a highly-qualified team, who frequently had taken on missions even some of the most seasoned veterans would find difficult.
Their task force, carefully hand-picked from all corners and crevices of the globe, skills compared, packed like a puzzle to cover all fronts. Their identities and information taken apart and put back together, their secrets in the open to the prying eyes of Captain Price as he was given the authority to form a team. Personalities scrutinized against one another to ensure the utmost efficiency and dynamic interactions between teammates.
Their taskforce, the best of the best, highly efficient, a well oiled machine crafted with the utmost caution for the most risky, dirty, and sometimes immoral missions that most wouldn't be able to stomach. All for the betterment of the world and for the protection of their homes and countries.
And yet they couldn't find a single trail, not a single damn clue, about this… voice. "That voice" that came and went almost exclusively on missions, too. There were very, very few cases where it breached outside of missions. Truthfully, Ghost didn't know what he found worse. That the team heard it outside of missions where they didn't have radio communication, simply just out and about, or that it had breached past the sanctity of the missions, crossing into the supposed safe zone of their respective bases, homes, and private lives. Passing the line that they usually hide behind for comfort after rough missions, the place they went to lick their wounds, to reload their guns, and to confide in each other. And this thing, brash and bold came through, kicking that metaphorical line in the sand and bouncing past their defenses without repercussions.
It started in instances where they could ignore it.
Where it could've been just their mind playing tricks or someone who sounded similar.
At first it was Soap, running around the track and hearing it faintly. He could've mistaken it for the music blaring through his ears if it wasn't for the fact he knew the lyrics by heart, and the singer sounded nothing like "that voice".
“Whoa, Soap cutscene. We’re being fed today. Get your bowls 'n spoons.”
He could’ve sworn he even heard a ‘clank’ of glass or something. It was worse when he realized his earbuds didn't block out “the voice” anymore than usual. It was always somewhat muffled and incoherent unless he focused, even in the quiet. Yet the earbuds in his ears didn't alter it at all. He took a longer shower than usual that day, trying to let the cold water shock him enough to forget what he heard while thoughts ran wild in his head… It ended with him being slightly late to an important team meeting and getting assigned some training as punishment. He chose to keep why he was late a secret, not wanting to startle anyone about “the voice” or sound crazy.
Then it was Gaz. Friendly, slightly more inexperienced than the rest, Gaz. Gaz was on temporary time off, having accidentally pulled a muscle in his arm. He was simply walking through the streets of a nearby town where he had rented a flat. He rarely actually used the thing, since he spent most of his time at base and it was more convenient to use the barracks. Nevertheless, he still found himself in the quaint little town, going for groceries to stock his apartment's fridge. He was weaving through the streets when he heard that odd and unrestrained laugh, snorting and uncaring if it's an embarrassing laugh.
“Gaz… my pookie-wookie, my cutie-patootie, my absolute ray of sunshine… WHOMST THE FUCK IS DRESSING YOU LIKE THAT?!”
He probably looked like a madman with how frantically he looked around, suddenly stiffened and still as some people complained behind him from how abruptly he stopped, causing them to bump into him. Yet nothing conclusive, he couldn’t even figure out the direction it came from, much less find out who it came from. He didn’t bother talking about it, only loosely mentioning it later when it came up in a discussion.
After that it was Price and Laswell. The two of them standing in a surprisingly mundane office in the base, not expecting much when that bold-fucking-voice echoed through both of their ears. Something about being a homewrecker? They… didn’t know.
“Laswell!!! Man I wish they had her appear more often, she’s so cool… I’d totally marry her if she didn’t have a wife… What do you mean you’d become a homewrecker in seconds? Have some fuckin’ respect for the woman. Besides I thought you liked Price? He’s… single? I think?”
But it forced both of them to lose their casual mood from before, because they both heard it and neither of them knew what to think about the fact that they were hearing it outside of missions now. That… that was very bad.
The last straw was when Ghost was handing spare masks to the team when there's a faint comment about it. He can't quite hear it, can't quite wrap his mind around what's being said. No one ever seems to make out the words; at least not fully. As if there's a barricade between them and “the voice”. A veil yet to be ripped away to reveal the person underneath. A blockade made to infuriate them and taunt their attempts.
“How many do you think he has?”
A small silence follows the initial voice, as if waiting for a response, then followed with a giggle. A response unheard to his ears, to anyone’s ears. The others tense, hearing "the voice", but no one comments on it at the moment. They had a mission to get to. But they all knew they needed to do something when they got back.
“They probably do smell. They’re out there hiding in grass, getting bloody and sweaty, sometimes deployed for a month, so they definitely stink.”
And yet nothing came of that either. The only thing that changed is that they were all aware of this voice that seemed to follow them. That only their taskforce ever seemed to hear or acknowledge it. That "the voice" came from everywhere and nowhere all at once, sounding as if it was being broadcasted directly to their brains. No trace of this thing only they could perceive, and they started coming to conclusions that were less than rational; because rational thought hadn’t gotten them anywhere thus far. Gaz suggested it might’ve been a ghost, to which Price corrected that it must be a demon rather than a ghost, Soap suggested it was some weird matrix shit, then Laswell tried to convince everyone it was some weird shared delusion. They couldn’t settle on any theories. Ghost didn’t need an explanation. Or at least, he tried convincing himself that, tried telling himself he just needed this thing gone.
These abrupt drop-ins by “the voice” went on for a long while. Something they regrettably got used to. Something they let fester and become a part of them, even if they didn't know it. “That voice” ingrained into their brains, the elated giggles, the annoyed groans, the triumphant cheers, the frequent queries, answers to questions they never heard, stupid comments, everything in-between...
Ghost didn't notice at first. Time went on, the Task Force's missions increasing after they bombed General Ghorbrani during an arms deal Ghost intercepted. Things were escalating into a silent war the general populace wouldn’t notice, and likely never know about, kept quiet and under wraps to keep the waters calm. The voice lingering on every damn mission, somehow with all of them at once even if they were in different corners of the globe.
Then he had a wave of realization wash over him.
It was an easy mission compared to the previous few. An easy in-and-out. Just him and Soap, watching a building from afar. Biding their time. He felt anxious, a long gone twitch in his fingers resurfacing as he felt his fingers become clammy beneath his gloves.
He had to stay calm, stay cool. He was ‘Ghost’ right now, a walking dead-man without weakness. He was strong. This mission was easy.
This was no time to be antsy. Patience, he reminded himself. It was just him coming down from the high of adrenaline of the previous missions, all fast paced and requiring frequent combat. That's what he tried to tell himself, when that bloody Scotsman casually began chattering over the radio.
Jokes, bad ones, yet jokes he shared an enthusiasm for with Soap nonetheless. Ghost could tell there was a slight edge to his voice as he spoke though, equally antsy. He may have been somewhat distant but he was perceptive. Picked up on behaviors in others. Read them and their emotions. It was necessary in his job, and he was sure Soap probably picked up on his nervousness as well, as he was smart, even if he sometimes seemed a little air-headed and brash at times.
"No laughs from 'that person' today?" Soap feigned offense. Then they both realized. They were anxious from the lack of that person. “The voice”. They obviously didn't know who it was or their name, but everyone on the force knew who was being referred to when someone said 'that person' or “the voice”.
It felt laughable that they were startled by some incorporeal voice not being there. If anything, they should be grateful they were spared its presence. Yet they weren’t. Ghost laid in his bed that night, sleepless, a common occurrence for him. But tonight instead of the nightmares that played when he closed his eyes, he just… contemplated. Brooding.
It was a few nights later when he came to terms with it. He knew some things were wrong with him, hell, most soldiers had something wrong with them if they worked as long as he did. But, he found himself.. weirdly fine with it. It seemed some of his teammates felt the same way as he did, and others did not. Soap made jokes out of it, unafraid around other Task Force members to refer to “the voice”, sometimes speaking directly at it, most of the time not getting much in terms of responses. There was only really one time he could make out something from “the voice” in response to one of Soap’s direct words towards it.
“That line… didn't play last time I played this one.”
It was probably one of the only things he could make the full sentence out of, and it seems everyone else on the team heard it fairly clearly as well. “...‘That line?’” Price repeated, quizzical. Referring to it like a game.
“Must… Must be an easter egg.” A nervous laugh followed.
The next time he found himself on a mission with that strange feeling, as if he weren’t himself, as if something else willed his way… There was almost complete silence. Unusual, a first for that sinking feeling to be there without any noise. He noticed after the missions were over that only when he had that uncomfortable feeling was "the voice" responsive.
“Not talkative today?” He asked, not really to anything in particular and not expecting any sort of response. He could almost intuitively tell whatever “the voice” was, was there. He was again alone for this mission and that probably was what gave him the confidence to actually speak to it. He wasn’t worried about anyone hearing him and sounding crazy. And the response? Well, it was hard to hear, almost inaudible to him, but he heard a small gasp, and a shaky breath afterwards.
…That was probably the first time the weird feeling left his body mid-mission. As if it was the one unsettled when every time it appeared, he and his teammates felt out of control, a passenger in their own body, hazed and moving as if puppets. Hearing a voice that lacked a body, floating around and seemingly coming from nowhere. It had no echo, no substance or matter, as if the sound didn't vibrate through the air.
And it was a while before he, or anyone, heard that lovely—
…“The voice” again. He was careful not to directly reference it. Them.
Ghost thought about it some more, and found himself talking to Gaz one night at the pub, Soap hammered, currently in the bathroom while Price tried to help him to get stable enough to get to the rented car so the four of them could return to base. “Maybe Soap wasn’t too far off with the Matrix idea.” Gaz idly swirled his cup, almost devoid of liquid and only really clinking the ice in it around. He wasn’t really talking to Ghost in particular, more-so rambling to the air and himself due to him being tipsy.
Ghost leaned back in the booth, his mask barely lifted enough to allow him to drink a bourbon he’d been nursing half the night. Didn’t want a hangover the next day, he’d already be in a bad mood since he had recruits to train and they were often stupid and infuriating. “Yeah? How so?”
Gaz, who seemed to not really mean anything when he initially spoke, sat up straighter, more zoned in on the conversation upon seeing his Lieutenant had taken an interest in what he was saying. “I was thinking about some of the things I’ve heard, that the others have heard, and just… the reactions in general. And that feeling… I don’t know if you get it but—”
“Like you’re possessed.” He interjected, knowing what he meant. Gaz’s eyes widened slightly. While they all knew about “the voice”, it seems none of them knew that weird feeling was shared. The feeling of being possessed, watched, almost like they were prey, not highly experienced military men capable of defending themselves and others. He nodded and drank the rest of his bourbon, setting it down on the table and looking back to Gaz, tucking his mask back down over his face.
“It’s just like… Like they’re playing a game. Controlling us. The reactions… It's like when you complete an objective or something. And it’d explain the feeling, like we’re controlled. Plus with how they reacted to Soap that one time, I could see it.”
“See it? The hell you seein’?” He didn't want to believe his life was a game. But Gaz made some good points. Ghost… No, Simon didn't play many games. He’d played a few party games with his team during off-time, Price convincing them that Mario-Kart was in fact a good team-bonding activity and absolutely necessary. But his off time wasn’t usually spent playing games, it just wasn’t something he could relax enough to do, never able to get calm enough to focus solely on said game.
“Imagine you’re playing a game—”
“Hard to imagine.” He barks, slightly sorry at the tone, though he wouldn’t correct himself.
Gaz sighs and continues. “Okay, imagine that it's team bonding night, and we’re playing Mario Party. Imagine everyone having a good time, laughing, chatting, playing the game, when Mario turns directly to the screen and acknowledges you. Like, unprompted, never happened before when you’ve played the game hundreds of times before? You’d probably be a little freaked out if you knew it wasn't the type of game to do something like that.”
Price interrupts, Soap slung over his shoulder and motions for them to head out to the car after he pays for the tab. Once everyone is in the car, Gaz continues.
“It’s just, the shit they said made me think about it. ‘That line’, ‘last time I played this one’, hell, them directly talking about us talking to them as an ‘easter egg’ makes it seem pretty clear to me.” Price glanced over, raising a brow at Gaz, who was sitting in the front passenger as He drove. Ghost was unfortunately stuck with a very clingy Soap in the back seat. “It’s clear whatever they were referencing is similar to a game, one they’ve played before. “
“You talking about ‘that person’? ‘The voice’?” Price sighs, slightly exasperated at the topic. He wasn’t quite convinced about "the voice" being real. He was still slightly in denial, but his slight intoxication must’ve allowed him to continue listening to the topic, not shutting down Gaz’s line of thought quite yet.
“You see what I mean though? If you were playing a game and the character you were playing just randomly acknowledges you out of nowhere, suddenly fucking sentient, you’d probably be scared shitless, especially if they’re a normal civilian.” Price hums, and Ghost blinks slowly, taking the information in and moving away from partaking in the conversation. The reaction was pretty akin to the one from when he was alone and spoke to “the voice”.
“Who’d wanna play a game involving the shite we do? We’re a bunch of soldiers doing unsavory work, I doubt that’s entertaining.” Price shakes his head, gripping the wheel a little tighter, his knuckles slightly turning white before he relaxes his hand with a sigh.
“Maybe not to us since it’s real-life. But think about it like this, a ton of people watch horror movies or slasher films. It’s not that they enjoy watching people die or get scared, but it’s like… an adrenaline thing. And you know when ‘that person’ appears most? On missions.”
This time, nobody responded. Gaz didn’t bother continuing either, already having made his point clear. An uncomfortable air settled in the car, not even forgotten the next day, even Soap somehow was capable of remembering the conversation despite the fact his head was reeling and his stomach turning in the backseat of the car.
This time they had settled on a theory.
#cod mw2#cod x reader#call of duty#self aware au#dark fic#yandere#drabble#oneshot#simon ghost riley#captain price#john soap mactavish#kyle gaz garrick#reader insert#x reader#kate laswell#cod mw3#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw x reader#self aware cod au#task force 141
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God! I love dark price, please write a part of dark price and reader with his son (I want a mini price 😔) I think it would be a boy 😅 but I'll leave it up to you <3 have a good day, best writer on Tumblr <3
Cage
Cw: forced pregnancy, forced relationship, MENTION OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, DARKFIC, tell me if I missed any.
“Mama! Mama!” Two, childlike voices called out to you, their tones light and jovial with a child’s innocence, untainted by the horrors of the world.
Rapid pads followed after their screams, running steps heading your way as you turned to look at the source, putting down the knife you used to cut the ripe and fresh carrot for supper. Two pairs of hands grabbed at your pants, wide, blue eyes staring up at you with joy and wonder in their pretty eyes, they begged for attention.
You loved them. You truly did. From the lingering fat on their three-year old cheeks, their round, doe eyes in a stormy, blue shade, their chubby limbs and fingers holding onto you to the soft locks in the shade of your hair. From the adorable behaviour, pliant and obedient, always eager to listen to you if it meant receiving praises and kisses from you, to the innocence in their being, untouched by the cruelty you’ve seen when you were still working. But everything about them reminded you of him, of their father, of your husband. Your boy and daughter were spitting images of their father, only with your shade of hair.
“What wrong?” You crouched to their height, thumb rubbing the blue ink off the fat of your daughter’s cheek with your clean hand, you’d left the both of them in the living room with a box of coloured pens and paper to draw with.
“Hungry, Mama,” Olivia moaned, clutching her shirt with an adorable pout, reaching for her brother for help to convey her hunger.
You cooed at her, picking the both of them up, bobbing them until they sat comfortably on each side of you, arms wrapped around your shoulder as they cried and moaned about being hungry, about their tumtums making sound. You put them on separate chairs, handing them a small cracker to eat while your finished making your soup. Olivia and Arthur - you precious twins - liked the bland crackers, wanting something to bite into while their teeth grew, to stop the itch and discomfort of growing teeth.
“Mama’s almost finished, it’ll be done once Dada’s home, okay?” Your kids were smart, they understood words that most wouldn’t at this age. You chalked it up to them having your husband’s genes, his smart and quick decisions made it nearly impossible to beat him in a battle of wits, you learned that the hard way.
As if summoned by your voice, you heard the lock click, announcing your husband’s return from work. Hearing their father open the door, Arthur and Olivia jumped off their seats and rushed to the door, smiling and giggling, overjoyed to see their father home after leaving early in the morning. He bent down to kiss them, bringing them into his chest and blowing kisses, a few dozen on their forehead, another dozen on each cheek and a few on their pink nose, small and adorable.
“Go on, give Ma and Pa a moment, yeah?” He smiled softly, petting them on the head before coaxing them away, wanting a moment to hold you on his own.
He pulled you towards him, hands grasping onto your hips, strong and unyielding in his hold. He pressed his lips to your cheek, slowly trailing down to your lips with a searing and possessive kiss, demanding your attention and whole being. He nipped at your lip, teeth biting on your lower lip until you let out a small whimper, audible to him and you alone, protecting your children from Price’s darker side.
“John,” you mumbled, panting when he pulled away, your lips swollen from his rough kiss.
When you tried to move back, you were stopped by his grip on your nap, unaware that his hand snaked up to hold you still, keeping your face near his. His stormy eyes brewed with a cyclone, a violent and powerful torrent of emotions that had you shudder in fear and apprehension. He was strung high, pulled tight on the edges, his nerves burned to its core without any relief for him to come back down. You knew you would have to help him relax, to surrender your body to his whims.
“Let’s… let’s just eat dinner and get the kids to bed first, all right?”
Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday
#x reader#cod mw2#cod mw2 x reader#tw: dark content#dark content#captain price#john price#captain john price#price mw2#captain price x reader#john price x you#john price x reader#price x female reader#female!reader#x fem!reader#price x reader#dark!price#tw: kidnapping#tw: noncon#tw: forced pregnancy#yandere
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stepdad!price raping his stepdaughter the night of his wedding with readers mother 🤭🤭
tw/cw; dark content, stepcest, non-con/dub-con. dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+
you're devastated that your mother decided to marry that depraved and disgusting bastard. she ignores and brushes off his perverted behaviour as him just being friendly, that you're being overdramatic and cruel towards him.
it's the night before your mother's wedding, and you're awoken to the throbbing and stabbing sensation of price's bulbous cock against your sloppy cunt. price stinks and reeks of booze and nicotine, the strong and pungent scent of tobacco assaulting your nostrils. if not for the strong smell of nicotine, you wouldn't have known it was your stepfather raping your sleeping body, with his hoarse grunts conforming your beliefs.
your wrists are held above your head in a tight fist, held by his large and calloused hands. your eyes glisten as you adjust to the darkness, while your pussy pulses and clenches onto his meaty dick, feeling him sink deeper inside. your t-shirt is rolled up over your soft breasts, your nipples perky and hard, being played with as if you're some toy for his excitement and enjoyment. you feel his scarred and rough fingers play with your nipples, causing your jaw to fall slack, your bottom lip quivering with mortification, realising the mess you've got yourself into.
how exactly are you supposed to explain to your mother what happened that night? you can't ruin her special day, and it's not as if she'd believe you anyways. she's head over heels for that horrible pervert, caring more about her relationship with him rather than with her own daughter. each stroke and drag is agonising and your cunt is left raw and sensitive, pussy coating his veiny shaft in blood and slick, your moans silenced and choked; choked, pained, and strained.
you put up with his sickening tormenting and harassment for your mother's happiness, focusing on how happy your mother will be to be remarried to a man she loves so dearly, while you're left tense and frozen at the agony and suffering forced onto your poor, sore body.
#orla speaks#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#tw: dark content#tw: non con#tw: dubcon#tw: stepcest#captain john price#captain price#captain johnathan price#captain price x you#captain price x reader#john price x reader#john price cod#price cod#john price#price x reader#price call of duty#mw2 price#john price mw2#price modern warfare#price mw2#price x you#cod x reader#cod x reader smut#stepfather price#stepdad price#stepcest john price
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Master list
Call Of Duty
Marvel
ACOTAR
Fourth Wing
Other Fandoms
Writing Resources
#dark bucky barnes#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick#bucky barnes#call of duty#dark fic#dark steve rogers#steve rogers#marvel#acotar#kidnapping#dub con#the cruel prince
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Task Force 141’s favorite torture method when they found out you work for Makarov is by tying your arms and legs wide open to the bedposts while you’re naked as they wrote derogatory words such as “cock whore”, “cum dumpster”, “gang rape me”, “free to use” all over your body. You will be nothing but their fuck toy, your body will be used at their own will. Your cunt and asshole will be so fucking sore and puffy after having to fuck them multiple times a day to the point it became numb.
Ghost and Price will be the most ruthless ones, they’ll fuck you like you’re a subhuman, torturing all your holes not only with their fucking thick cocks, but by using every single thing that they could fit inside you, making sure your holes are gaping and stretched wide open, solely for their amusement as you violently scream for their mercy.
While Soap and Gaz will physically torture you by choking, slapping and constantly using your mouth as a fleshlight. They love hearing you gag on their cocks while they face fuck your mouth. If you pass out, they’ll slap you over and over again until you wake up only to be used by them again.
Your body is all sticky from their cum, basically oozing with them from every single pore on your skin at this point. Your mind and body is constantly about to break from them constantly fucking and torturing you, while the room you’re held hostage in constantly blaring with metal music and blindingly bright lights for 24/7. You’re lucky if you get any water or food, most of the time their cum is your only food for days. But hey, you’re a strong girl, right? I’m sure you’ll keep up with their demands.
#i wrote this at 8am i have no shame left in me#task force 141 x reader#141 x reader#task force 141 x reader smut#141 x reader smut#simon ghost riley x reader smut#ghost x reader smut#john soap mactavish x reader smut#soap x reader smut#captain price x reader smut#john price x reader smut#kyle gaz garrick x reader smut#gaz x reader smut#call of duty smut#call of duty modern warfare smut#modern warfare smut#shaf brainrots#tw: dark content#tw: noncon#tw: torture
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Rescue
TF141 x gn!reader
TW: MDNI 18+, darkfic, canon typical violence, blood, graphic description of torture and injury, vaguely suicidal thoughts
AN: I have Covid again so have this treat that has been lurking in my drafts to tide you over while I’m getting better
You’d been dragged out of your cell again, hood over your head to make you disorientated, confused, fearful. You’d lost track of how long you’d been here, cold and tired, hungry and alone. Every muscle and sinew in your body screams with fatigue and pain, too tired to sleep and too miserable to stay awake. The place they keep you is pitch black, rats skitter and squeak in the dark following trails they’d left over the months, sometimes running over you, claws scratching skin to see if you were dead. You weren’t, not yet anyway.
Right now you are hunched limply in the chair, waiting for the hood to be pulled away to face your interrogator again. Questions, questions, always questions. You’d given nothing of importance away, just enough vague intel to keep you alive without risking the operation, enough crumbs to keep them coming back to you again and again. Just enough for the beatings to keep from being lethal. Which was nice.
The door opens and you don’t bother trying to sit upright now, you stay hunched over against the bindings securing you to the seat. You can hear him moving around, pulling the other chair over with an ear splitting metallic grating that makes you flinch.
“Ah, you are alive in there. I was beginning to worry you’d given up,” he chuckles, his light humor at odds with his actions over the last… however long it’s been. The hood is roughly pulled from your head, and you blink as you look up into the face you hate more than anything in the world. He grins, crooked teeth showing too much, as he sees the expression on your face.
“Wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” you mutter, mouth too dry and sore to form words easily. You’re past caring about rescue now, you’ve stopped being tossed on the choppy storms of fear and floated through to the calm waters of acceptance beyond. Your anger still raged underneath though, a dangerous current that threatened to pull you under.
There’s a derisive grunt from the guard standing at the door behind the interrogator, and it always gives you a tiny flash of pride that even in this shambolic condition they won’t have less than two people in a room with you. Price would be proud if he knew this, the thought sends a pang of pain through your chest.
The steel door stands ajar, a temptation, beckoning reminder that you can leave at any time if you just tell them what you know. It pulls your mind, a siren song telling you that the end is within reach. You screw your eyes shut, clamp your mouth closed, you fight.
The questions begin soon, the demands for who you work for, where are the others, where is this, where is that, who….
Then the first punch of the day lands, a loosened tooth comes away and flies from your mouth leaving behind agony, lightning that blazes through your entire skull. Coppery blood fills your mouth and you spit to stop yourself from inhaling and choking on it.
“You aren’t going to be much used to us for long,” he muses out loud. “Might as well stop worrying and tell me everything you know, I’ll make it a quick end for you then. Merciful,” he whispers. Your rage bubbles and seethes, threatening to erupt to the surface and wash you away into oblivion.
Minutes tick by, punctuated by strikes that begin to merge and bleed into one another, each one taking you a step closer to the end. It’s all you can hope for at this point. The pain becomes a constant, almost grounding force, tethering you to a world you are quickly wishing yourself apart from.
The walls and floor shake inexplicably, dust floating down from the distressed concrete like snow, as an explosion rumbles somewhere nearby. Your eyes flicker to a movement by the door as it swings open freely a split second after the noise, and your heart seizes in your chest as two darkly clad figures dart through the shadows beyond. For a moment you consider the possibility you imaged them, your mind finally unravelling under the stress of torture, until a gloved hand moves into view through the dust and signals you. Hold.
The falling dust settles into your eyes, burning them and you blink, tears rolling down your cheeks from the irritation hiding the tears of relief mixed in. There were bones on the back of the glove. His stupid, cartoonish gloves.
“What was that?” Your captor demands, turning towards the door to yell for the guards outside.
“Do you want to play a game?” You blurt out suddenly, pulse hammering with sudden energy and finding it easier to speak with your own blood wetting your tongue. You need to give them cover, keep these two distracted.
“What are you talking about?” He growls, turning his attention back to you so he doesn’t see the two figures stalk through the doorway behind him. It takes every ounce of self control you have left to maintain eye contact with him.
“A game,” you repeat. “You know like… Simon says.”
“Simon says? You’ve finally broken…” A muffled shout comes from the guard by the door as he is dragged to the ground, the sound of a suppressed rifle firing signaling his demise.
“Nah, they haven’t,” Ghost rumbles behind him at the same moment, pressing the muzzle of his own rifle to the back of your captors skull. “Simon says, shut the fuck up.”
You smile maniacally, bloody staining your mouth, as his eyes go wide and he freezes, realisation hitting him that your rescue has arrived and his life hangs by a thread. Laughter bubbles up your throat like bile at the sight, and tears roll through the concrete dust and filth on your face clearing two streaks.
You lift your eyes to the impassive skull mask looming behind your tormentor, the dark eyes behind it giving nothing away. Your other rescuer moves from the stricken guard and leans down, hand grasping your shoulders while intense brown eyes look into yours.
“Fucking hell, mate,” Gaz’s mumbles as he bends down to cut the bindings of the chair. “You look like shit.”
“‘S funny, you’ve never looked better,” you chuckle weakly, seeing the strain on Gaz’s features and knowing this would be mirrored on Ghost’s face if you could see it. “Get me out of here,” you whisper hoarsely, and receive a firm pat on the shoulder.
“We’re not leaving without you,” he affirms in your ear, continuing to work on the bindings until they snap loudly. The sergeant helps you up on shaking legs, and you look down at the sweating face of your captor.
“Wait, do we need him Lt?” You ask as Gaz helps put your arm around his broad shoulder. The two men exchange a look, and Ghost pulls his knife from its clip on his vest.
“No, we don’t,” he says simply as he holds it out to you, and with a slight tremble you take the hilt in your hand and lock eyes with him. He nods once, giving you all the permission you need, a promise of absolution for your soul after you cleanse yourself with blood.
“This isn’t mercy,” you croak, turning to the man who has brought pain and injury to you and countless others, his eyes already dull as he stares at his final moments. The knife slides through flesh and cartilage, bright red blood spraying forth and staining the pale dust that sticks to your skin and clothes, painting you red. You wish you could stay and listen to the gurgles for longer, but Ghost and Gaz pull you away, stumbling out of the room you know you’ll see again in your dreams for years to come.
Fire billows at the end of the corridor as you are half pulled, half dragged towards freedom, and another explosion rocks the floor beneath your feet when Ghost gives the signal over the comms.
Fresh air hits your face and stings your lungs when you get outside, a helo already waiting outside with Price and Soap waiting beside it. Between them they haul you onto the deck of the aircraft, and Price gives the call for take off.
You look down at your shaking hands that are coated with blood, both yours and not yours, and a grin creeps across your equally crimson stained lips.
Rescue came.
Taglist lovelies: @lolly145 @thriving-n-jiving @iloveslasher @southernpsychgirl @bossva @xxladysquishyxx @aulescev @Voidthewriting @evolutionarry @daniblogs164 @rantingraquel @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @fluffysmiko @bloodstoneruby @mandythemint @cringeycookies @ttsbaby01 @0alk0msan @raniyahxo @nobilitando @neoarchipelago @kaoyamamegami @dij-ology @vexshira
#tw dark content#tw torture#ghost call of duty#call of duty gaz#cod ghost#simon ghost riley#cod modern warfare#kyle gaz garrick#cod mw2#cod mw22#cod mwii#john soap mactavish#gaz cod#cod 141#sergeant kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick fanfic#call of duty ghost#ghost mw2#simon ghost riley call of duty#captain price mw2#price call of duty#gaz call of duty#tf141#141#task force 141#call of duty soap#ghost mw3#call of duty mw3#cod mw3#soap mw2
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Monster!141 x female! Jackalope/wendigo reader
CW/TW: poor eating habits, mentions of eating, mentions of human meat, crying, younger reader, note: in no way am I intending to offend anyone.
This was inspired by both @diejager and @bluegiragi and includes the reader character Hunter. This is also my first fanfiction being posted here and I have a couple to come if this one goes well.
A program is set up for hybrids that are considered difficult to control or dangerous to be around in public. Usually this is when their current living conditions are deemed as unsafe.
A jackalope with little knowledge of their own self fits both sides so locations and positions are set up for them to be in a safe controlled environment to learn how to keep themselves under control.
Price isn’t exactly happy when Laswell brings this to him. He’s not a babysitter and neither are his men. She explains to him there is little to be done and while she doesn’t agree with sending a vulnerable, uneducated, untrained teenager to a military base that deals with monsters, humans and hybrids alike, there isn’t much she can do either. Thankfully she does have some say in it, able to choose who comes on to the base. The files for candidates are sent to Price as well for review and upon looking at yours with a very dark and concerning past, he considers tossing it aside. Then he sees what hybrid you are. Having a few encounters in his past with hybrids like you he figures it would be safer taking you in then letting someone else get to you.
You do receive some training before transferring with a Retainer/handler who watches over you and determines whether you are ready to integrate into society. You aren’t sure if this will really help you join society but you figure it’s better someone taking you in rather than staying in the program. Price intends to put you to work after all and the location isn’t without risk. You’re told there are other hybrids on base, and you assume there will be at least a couple.
The first person you meet is Nikolai, the pilot for the awkward bumpy flight to base. He’s almost twice your height, plenty of people you have met are. You’re not very tall so not surprising, but you aren’t very used to people. Part of the program especially for you is keeping you isolated from most humans. His friendly attitude towards you is a little startling but you warm up to it quickly.
The flight was mostly your retainer setting ground rules and briefing you on what you will be doing. You would be training with him mostly, and doing everything he says. No stuffing your face, meals kept strict, and no seconds or late snacks. Nikolai calls you to the front halfway through the journey and lets you sit next to him. He could overhear your conversation with the retainer, wanted to give you a break from it while wanting to learn more about you.
You don’t have much to say, cause well you haven’t done much on your own. Well you do enjoy drawing, and reading. Sometimes writing is fun but that’s mostly it so far. He tells you a bit about the 141, recounting the small tales but while hinting at what hybrids you’ll be working with.
Soon you land on the base and exit the chopper heading towards the Task Force 141. In front is a dragon hybrid and next to him is a human, both in uniform. Names are exchanged and you’re led inside the base where you meet the others. You notice he’s missing a wing and his tail wrapping around the human’s leg. As a hybrid your instincts tell you what he’s doing. You’re not a massive threat to him being so young, but his body language makes it clear the value he puts in the medic and likely the rest of his men. He read your file, so you can’t blame him for being extra protective. You keep your head down as you’re taken inside with your handler.
You’re introduced to each of the 141 including the human, who asks to do a health assessment before anything else. Your retainer is strongly against this, insisting that you’ve already been cleared and don’t require one. There’s somewhat of a back and forth between them with you simply standing there. Your handler raises his voice and you have to dig your nails into your palm to not run off. You’re wondering if your should offer your own choice or ask someone what you should do while waiting. Price puts it forward that you get a check up so that Hunter can assess your conditions first hand.
You follow Hunter to their station in the infirmary, taking you to a private room. Hunter gets many looks while you follow them from the other soldiers with a couple even following with them to the room. You meet a harpy called Gaz and a werewolf called Soap. They stick closer to Hunter almost in a protective sense. Though each of them give you an acknowledgement. Soap has never smelled a hybrid like you before, and Gaz wasn’t sure what to make of you either. Your rabbit ears and antlers were hardly a cause for alarm though. You weren’t exactly intimidating. Hunter takes you into the private room while the two hybrids wait outside, offering to help them with paperwork and taking you to wherever you need to go next. The examination is very simple, checking to see your vitals, understanding how you worked so Hunter could help you on missions, and learning any instinctual habits you may have.
When Hunter asks you to take off your hoodie and remove your shirt, you do so. Their eyes go wide upon seeing your body. Your retainer’s “work” was evident by your rib cage and flattening stomach.
“When was the last time you ate?”Hunter asks.
When you tell them the last time you ate, they excuse themselves. You wait for about 15 minutes, when there’s a knock telling you to get dressed and come out. Gaz is still there but clearly Soap had left with Hunter. He takes you to a small room for you to bunk in for the next while.
You later find out Hunter had left the room and smacked your retainer for his methods. Even Price had to get involved to keep the two from getting more violent. Hunter is certainly a force to be reckoned with when it comes to patients. The handler believes that limiting your food intake will help you keep control. Hunter doesn’t agree with starving you, but Price can’t really argue with it.
The next while you’re training, and you do everything you can to keep up. Your limits are pushed and Price isn’t about to go easy on you. Partially cause he hopes the retainer will increase your food intake. It’s a lot, and Hunter doesn’t like seeing you running laps and drills knowing you haven’t been eating much. You push yourself hard, not giving in to judgements from humans or the other hybrids. It doesn’t matter if you’re the last or the worst or even fail the most, you keep pushing.
Meals are strict, with small but reasonable portions for you and eating by yourself in your room. For the next while this becomes the routine, with the occasional snack being slid to you by Hunter. It does make sleep difficult and your stomach growls periodically. Soap takes notice right away how bad it is, your stomach is almost like a random alarm for him, that he can’t shut off.
“You hungry?” He asks sarcastically. You shake your head, only for your stomach to object again. Soap rolls his eyes.
“Take a couple.” He says offering you some of his snacks. When you try to turn it down, he starts insisting harder. “Come on, the noise is drivin me bloody mad. Take em, a few won’t kill ya.”
You do so, and you take another couple after. Soon enough he’s slipping you pieces of his snacks when your handler isn’t around, like chips or cookies.
You have to go to school still, off base and some jerks decided to lock in a closet. Despite your protests and pleas they decide to leave you there overnight. You have a few snacks but you can feel yourself getting increasingly hungry, and you know it won’t be long until you lose it. You try your handler but they aren’t picking up. You don’t want to but you call Soap who picks up groggily.
“The hell is callin…”
“Soap it’s me…I’m really sorry…”
“…kid? The bleeding hell you still doing up?Wait, where the ell are you?”
You explain you’re stuck and hungry and really need help.
“Alright alright…I’m on my way… you need food?”
“Yes.”
He sighs and asks what you want to eat, if there’s any comfort food you have while he’s getting his shoes and pants on.
“Are you mad…” you ask in a small voice he can just barely hear over the phone. He’s been in Highschool as a hybrid and had people pick on him, call him a mutt yank at his tail, try to get him in trouble and whatnot.
“I’m mad at the pieces of shite that did this to you. What do you want to eat?” He says. You tell him and wait patiently after he hangs up.
Gaz is woken up, and looks over.
“Was goin on…” Gaz asks.
“Kid is stuck at school. Literally.” Soap says, lacing his shoes.
“She have food?” Gaz mutters rubbing sleep out of his eyes.
“No, so I’m getting her some.”
“What she want?”
Soap tells him and he orders it for pick up before getting dressed himself.
“What is she still doing at school?” Gaz asked pulling his hoodie on. “Little help?”
Soap helps get Gaz’s wings through the slots on his hoodie as he explains. Gaz can relate. He’s been bullied as well, and he’ll you’re a kid with a strong will. It’s not fair for you to be pushed so hard only for school to make you feel like shit. They pick up the food and head over to the school.
“Come on.” Soap jogs to the door and tries it. “Mother…they don’t check if anyone’s still inside?”
Gaz takes one of his feathers off and picks the lock. Gaz opens it and Soap shifts and gets in, as soon as he can fit through the door.
“Kid you here?” He yells. Nothing. Gaz comes up behind him.
“I want to make a lassie joke so hard right now.” Gaz admits, while Soap picks up your scent and hurries off up and down the halls, trying to figure out where you are. He starts scratching at a maintenance door. Gaz knocks on it.
“Kid you in there?” He calls.
“Y-yes!” You call back.
“We’re gonna help you okay? Just hold tight.”
“Gaz move.” Soap says. Gaz just barely gets out of the way before Soap manages to smash it in. They find you curled up and clutching your stomach. Gaz flaps away the dust before stepping over the broken remains of the door. He gives you the bag ripping it open and you hands go in quickly. You avenously eat away at the first thing you get, a still warm hashbrown . One bite and you stand up but Gaz keeps you sitting.
“Don’t choke, finish that first.” He orders. You do as he says a mutter through mouthfuls, “sorry.”
“So what exactly happened?” Soap asks.
“They pulled my ears and kept asking to see my tail… kept telling them I didn’t have one.” You mutter, finishing the hashbrown. “A few of them grabbed me and shoved me in here…kept calling me ‘bunny’ and ‘rabbit’. Said they would stuff me later.”
“No one’s stuffing anything except the assholes that did this and where it don’t shine.” Soap growls. I’m the dark it’s a little more intimidating with yellow glowing eyes. Gaz stretches a wing around you and gives you another piece of the order to munch on while helps you out of the room. You go on about how they kept messing with you in various childish ways. They had yanked your ears, played with your horns and called you a bunny breeder. Gaz and Soap get you into the backseat and encourage you to keep eating.
“You got made fun of by the teachers pet?” Soap asked a little surprised.
“He said I was the new class pet.” You say. “Then he wouldn’t stop saying I had to eat carrots and wasn’t allowed to have any of the snacks I brought.”
“You ignore em?”
“Tried, but then he started telling me I shouldn’t be snacking and had to eat ruffage.”
“Wow…” Gaz says. “You could always threaten to gnaw on his pencils.”
“Hows the food?” Soap calls from the front.
“Good. I should stop though.”
“You almost finished?” Soap says checking on you in the rear view.
“Uh…halfway?” You relay after checking the bags contents.
“Keep eating.” Soap says.
Gaz gives Soap a look.
“One meal won’t kill her.” Soap says quietly.
“Thank you for getting me.” You say.
“Hunter would have my head.”
Sadly your bonding time doesn’t go unnoticed and Price calls you all into the office. Your handler is unhappy you didn’t try contacting him first, and you stay quiet. Price chews out Soap and Gaz for B&E and property damage, until they explain what had happened to you. He’s a bit more lenient but not by much.
You, Soap and Gaz have definitely bonded more and at this point you’ve sort of become the team’s pup. Soap and Gaz teach you fight hand to hand, and they’re careful with you at first. You’re younger and smaller but you don’t hold back against them. They show you some maneuvers and Gaz uses his hardened feathers for knife training, going slow and giving you the chance to bat away his strikes. Off time is spent with them, getting a chance to go climbing or hanging out in the rec room. Soap teaches you how to play football, and Rudy and Alejandro join in as well. Soap and Alejandro definitely start showing off their speed and strength to the point you and Rudy find it safer to watch from the sidelines with Gaz. One wrong kick makes all your caution warranted, as you have to shoved Rudy over and the ball takes off part of your antler and is pierced in the process. Hunter gave Soap a very harsh talking to afterwards, and made sure you were okay.
Your handler over time becomes less and less involved with you but maintains your eating routine. He keeps your training high giving you exercises daily, that keep you busy from dusk til dawn. It’s exhausting and Hunter does express some concern to your handler who eventually gives in and increases your food intake some more.
Soap and Gaz have basically taken over your sparring sessions, keeping you trained and ready for anything. You have found a couple weaknesses when you go one on one. If Soap shifts to werewolf, you can get him with belly rubs.
Rudy had started showing you some tracking skills, and even introduced you to his dog spirits. Both spirits are weary of you at first with the red and black growling while the other stayed close to its vessel protectively. After calming them, Alejandro shifts to a panther or jaguar based on the terrain and becomes the target to track. At first he makes it easy but since you don’t hold back on Soap and Gaz he doesn’t hold back on you. You and Rudy both have to try and find him before he finds you, which is a bit of a 50-50. Your own skills as a hybrid are shown to be useful in more wild and natural terrain. In fact you become the one to be target and the two of them actual find some difficulty locating you.
“She couldn’t have gotten that far yet…” Rudy is scratching his head, genuinely dumbfounded. Alejandro shifts back next to him looking at his partner.
“Fast learner.” He says.
“Si.” Rudy sighs before jerking forward, hit in the back from behind. “Agh!”
Alejandro checked Rudy’s jacket and found a stain from a paintball. They both look up and towards where the shot had come from. There they see you behind a tree covered in dirt and mud, trying to hold back the grin on your face. The two men look at you surprised, and even Alejandro is stunned that he couldn’t detect you, while the white and blue cadejo trots over and barks at you, tugging at your clothes with his teeth. The two men look at each other baffled how you got 15 feet away from them without either noticing. Alejandro waves you over to them.
“Fall in corporal, back to base.” He calls over and you get up from your hiding spot. Your legs were dirty and…wet? The ground was damp but you were almost soaked.
“You take a bath Mija?” Alejandro asks crossing his arms.
“No sir.” You answer, shaking your head.
“You’re wet though.” Rudolfo comments, noticing the state of your pants as well.
“Yes sir.” You reply. Alejandro gives a half grin.
“Why are you wet corporal?” He asks.
“The river sir.” You answer. They hadn’t told you about the river nearby, not to mention it was a few clicks further than they had expected you to reach. You take note of their expression and shift slightly in place. “Should I not have…?”
“Por el contrario, you did very well Mija.” Rudolfo says.
“Very good.” Alejandro comments. “You cold?” He asks. You shake your head. There was a chill but it didn’t bother you. They take you back to base.
Missions go fairly well though you are often knocked down. It can be hard when you’re up against many other hybrid creatures. Ghost comes to your aid before any fatal blows can be made, consuming enemies in his shadows when he wasn’t slipping out of them to slit enemy throats. The lieutenant didn’t agree with bringing someone as young as you on missions, and hated that he was playing babysitter half the time. Ghost can sense something off about you though. Maybe it’s your smiling, or your friendliness, of this odd presence that seems to surround you like an aura. Either way, you show yourself to be a fast learner and strong soldier. Your main focus is to incapacitate enemies, even though you’ve been taught where vitals are and how to use a gun and a knife quickly.
“Would make life easier to kill… that’s what soldiers do.” He comments. You look out at the men he’s fed on. You’re quiet thinking for a moment before responding.
“If I killed all of them though…you wouldn’t get to eat as much.” You say with a cheeky smile. His expression doesn’t change.
“Don’t worry too much. Focus on your safety first.”
“Yes sir.” You say losing the smile. He’s not wrong. After that you ask Ghost for help with laying killing strikes. Not in the field but in training. He agrees mainly because you’ve shown promise and a willingness to improve yourself. Knife training with him is rough usually leading to you getting winded and on your back.
The hands on learning is honestly better than anything else though and your exercise routines just become a warm up. You look forward to everything and take everything seriously, asking questions and showing interest in what is presented to you. Weapons training is a bit daunting, as the guns are a bit heavy, but you find your skills work good with unconventional weapons. A slingshot proves strong with you, and even crossbows. Price helps you with improving your poor aim and there are times where you will spend almost an entire night just trying to hit the targets set in front of you.
Your handler is an afterthought except when you get invited to eat with them. He’s right there ready to tell you you can’t eat with them and your food is in your room. You excuse yourself and eat alone again. However on the nights he’s away you do take the opportunity to sit with them, and just bring your food out of your room. The amount while bigger is still small for a soldier, even for a teenager. Most of them assume it’s an insecurity for you so they don’t pressure you to eat more, or comment on it. Soap offers some of his snacks still.
Hunter is instructed when the handler goes on leave to give you meals he has premade for you. They have half a mind to toss them and get you to eat with everyone else, however much you wanted, but they leave the opaque container in your room as instructed.
You don’t eat any of it though. You recognize the smell and are both disturbed and distraught. No. Not that. Memories come flooding back, ones you wanted to stay buried. It takes everything not to break down, and your stomach is churning and begging for sustenance.
Do you tell someone? Would anyone believe you? Should you eat it? No of course not! But you’re so hungry and your mouth is watering. The scent makes your stomach do hard and painful flips, as if there was a grinding wheel whipping around in your belly. You try to look for snacks that you may have hung on to from Hunter but find nothing. The hunger starts to consume your thoughts faster than you’ve consumed anything. Your body starts to alter, you teeth grow sharper, your sense of smell grows stronger and you cling to yourself.
Hungry hungry hungry…starved…
You act fast and get your pillow case, tying it in your mouth, before getting your hoodie on and bolting. You’re fairly agile in your human form and your desire for sustenance drives you forward. Meat is everywhere but you don’t want it. You don’t want to want it. Any soldiers you pass, you keep your head down, and rush past them. You don’t even look up for your teammates calling for you, and instead bolt faster. You finally get outside and sprint for the woods with soldiers calling after you, and trying to stop you to figure out what’s going on. It isn’t long before your body shifts and contorts and you smell meat nearby.
Eat…eat…
Your sudden leave doesn’t go unnoticed. At first, your team saw you and thought you had to hurry somewhere or didn’t see them. Then Alejandro and Soap passed your door while talking.
“Hunter really told you no more football?” Alejandro asks.
“Won’t stop me from playan, but they did warn mae ‘bou-“ Soap and Alejandro both freeze in place smelling the food in your room, the door shut. What the fuck? They look at each other disturbed and in shock. Soap opens the door and his eyes widen in shock seeing what was inside the container.
“Steamin bloody Jesus.” He says while covering his nose and mouth with an arm. Flies buzzed around the human organs you were served in the container.
“The hell kind of diet is this, Mija?” Alejandro says under his breath. Soap puts the lid back on and takes it to Hunter. No way they would do this, but they likely knew who did.
“OI! Hunter!” Soap yells.
“Soap! Gods, please knock next ti-“
“The bloody hell is this!?” He demands holding up the container. Hunter is confused.
“The corporal’s meal? Why do you ha-“
Without wasting anymore time he sets it down and opens the lid enough for them to see. Hunter stands up from their desk quickly, and in shock.
“Soap the fuck is wrong wi-“ Hunter starts.
“The fuck kind of meal is this!” Alejandro barks.
“What?!” Hunter is just as confused.
“This is the corporal’s meal.” Alejandro clarifies.
Hunter is just as disturbed as they are and goes into the storage where the rest of your meals were being kept for the time of his leave. They found more organs and human remains. Hunter wasn’t sure whether to be pissed, disgusted or distraught.
“What the bloody… I’m taking this to Price immediately this is beyond fucked. Where’s the corporal right now?” Hunter demands to know. Soap recalls seeing you running down the hall.
“She’s run off.” Soap concludes. Hunter takes a moment to breath and calm themselves, somewhat relieved.
“She could be anywhere by now.” Alejandro adds recalling your tracking lessons.
Hunter heads for the door and the two hybrids follow as they go to the captain’s office. He looks up from some papers before standing, seeing the door open.
“The corporal is MIA.” Hunter states. Price is confused until they explain what was in the food. Price is angry, ready to roast the retainer upon his return but you are more important along with any bystanders. A search is put out and human soldiers are instructed to stay on base while Task Force 141 along with Rudy and Alejandro track you down. Price knew there was too much of a risk for regular humans to be close to you in this state.
The cadejos catch your scent and lead the search with Rudy keeping a watchful eye for any movement. Alejandro and Soap follow the scent and cadejos with Hunter riding Soap’s back to assist them. Gaz had taken to the sky trying to find you from above and cover more ground. The scent is how they follow you but they know you’re in the area by the sounds of screeches and unearthly clicking. Price hasn’t heard noises like that in a very long time. Ghost advises caution to everyone while he moves through the shadows and senses death all around them. He soon finds it as well.
At first a couple of bisected birds and bitten voles were traces. The deeper they went the bigger the animals. Soon it was small boars that had their meat stripped. There were a few large birds that had managed to escape but were bleeding. A few foxes were limping and cowering in their dens. When the team finally found you they kept their distance with Ghost being the closest to you, discovering why he had felt uneasy around you.
You were gorging yourself on the carcass of a large elk, and stuffing handfuls of blood and raw meat into your mouth savouring every bite. Dark crimson caked your mouth and hands as you continued eating, getting into your hair every time you decided to literally stuff your face. Your boney limbs and sharp fingers clawed pieces and your jagged sharp teeth tore into thicker, tougher parts. Gaz lands in one of the tall trees while Alejandro circles around slowly and quietly planning to flank you if you tried to bolt, his oanthef form slinking around in the underbrush keeping distant and cautious. Soap proceeds closer, slowly. He has Hunter on his back and at the moment was a muscled riot shield for them. You continued feeding ignoring them all, when Soap noticed the screeching had stopped and heard your muffled whimpers and sobs mixed in with the sounds of your eating.
He moves closer and closer, letting Hunter walk next to him.
You stop eating to wipe your mouth fruitlessly. That’s when you notice the large wolf standing before you, staring at you with eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. In the moonlight he could see your tears, lightly cutting through the blood and grime on your face. Your eyes were pure white, and almost void of life. Hunter came up next to him, and you start to scramble back, worried you might go for them.
“Hey hey, no it’s okay. You’re okay…” they reach into their med bag and took out a chocolate bar, tearing off the wrapper for you and offering it. It was like an animal trainer trying to get their charge to trust them. You slowly crawl over, eyes blank and white, but docile.
“Let’s make it a bit smaller.” They mutter. Hunger breaks a piece and you back away again, crawling on all fours. Hunter leans in a bit, offering the smaller piece to you. You take it gingerly and bite down on the candy. When the human medic offers the rest, you dig into it, eating it like nothing had gone wrong. Like you hadn’t run off, shifted and started gorging on the elk carcass right next to you. The area was quiet while your team watched as you continued eating. The snack was so good, so much better than the carcass.
It had happened again. You lost control again. You were a monster and you killed so many innocent animals. Tears continued to fall as the regret set in. When you smell human meat and you’re hungry, it can set you off, making your only thoughts to be “eat”. Animals weren’t as effective hence the number you had taken out. Human food, like the candy, was a middle ground. It would take some time to bring you back to your human state, and taking less to do so.
When you finally spoke, all you could croak out was a small and raspy, “sorry”.
Hunter offers you some more food, proper food, and you eat it slowly, trying not to make yourself sick. First it was the chocolate bar, and then some crackers, an apple, some water, a few carrots. Your beastly features begin to dull, and you feel yourself growing tired. Hunter moves closer with every bite and holds you close while you cry into them, and continue eating the food they give you. Soap curls himself around you preventing escape and trying to comfort you and protect Hunter. Neither of them worries about the blood, they had worse before. Soon you tucker yourself out and Hunter picks you up, and gets back on Soaps back.
“Price, target found and incapacitated. Returning to base.” Ghost said over comms.
“Copy Lt.” Price responded through a long sigh of smoke.
When you woke up you had food next to you on the bed, and Soap asleep in a chair. He wakes up to see you eating the food left for you, and smiles.
“Mornin’ Corporal.” He says.
“I’m sorry.” You say.
“Don’t. You didna do anythin wrong.” He said. He ruffles your hair which you realize had been cut off rather awkwardly. Apparently the blood was too thick to wash, and cutting it was the safer option. You didn’t mind.
For the rest of your handlers leave, your eating becomes top priority. If you try to skip meals, you’re hauled to the mess hall, or get a protein bar in your hand. You get firm reminders that your actions that night are not your fault. Hunter is ensuring you get your meals at regular times, and that you’re staying healthy in your eating habits. They’ve also taken to checking your weight, and body, which regains some pounds. Meanwhile paperwork is being shifted around and sorted and handed and signed making a report about what happened and the illegal obtainment of human organs and their distribution. Laswell is more than pissed and ensures your handler is kept off base for longer than he had intended to be.
A couple months go by of you recovering and getting into a healthier routine. You mention to your team that your form is much different and (you later learn) the one they had seen happens when you get hungry and are unable to eat. With this comes the chance to show off your monsterous form, which leaves them with surprised looks and a bit of shock. Your human form grows and your head is replaced by a deer skull, while your limbs shed skin and are replaced with natural wood, and your rib cage and a few other pieces are beared for them to see. Like Soap your clothes do get torn up, but you prepared with a blanket nearby.
You look down at them, and step back a little while they stare. Price smiles seeing what you are meant to look like, the full spirit creature. Price approaches you first and you go lower for him to meet your eyes. A hand is place on your skull and tilt your head.
“Welcome to the 141.” He says smiling. Soap steps up and shifts to his wolf form. You get down on all fours for him and he gives a soft headbutt against your shoulder which you return.
“Stuck with us now Corporal.” He barks.
Soap helps you feel more comfortable with your form, and helps you learn to move in it as well, alongside Alejandro. You find that while you’re bipedal, running on all fours does have some speed to it. You’re even more of a natural climber, able to launch yourself off large tree trunks and latch on to the next one, making any large enough forest a parkour playground. The cadejos are weary still but Rudolfo continues working with you on tracking. Alejandro is often busy having to assist the captain with paperwork. Gaz starts helping you instead, making your hiding even more fun, since he has the best sight out of everyone. Now you’re the target even more for them to find, which they assume won’t be hard with your immense size but your terrain becomes a part of you, and you it letting you hide almost in plain sight.
Ghost assists you in ways you weren’t expecting, as he helps you feel more comfortable with death. Now your sparring and take down sessions often come with a small talk. Taking a life isn’t easy, and given your story, he wants you to know you’re defending yourself and others. It’s not uncommon for you to get a bit carried away on missions now, as you’re able to charge with Soap into a fray. Your larger size makes it easy for you to forget your surroundings. It leads to more casualties than knock outs. Price even tells you what he knows about wendigos and works on getting as much information from you about the handler as he can. Price lets you use him as a target now for shooting range, given how much better your aim has gotten.
Your team becomes your family as older siblings, uncles and sometimes even dads. They pass on everything they can to you. At this point they’ve come to see you as the pup in their pack, the one they raise into a fighter and protector for the future.
Visual reference for wendigo form
#cod au#hybrid#hybrid au#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley#alejandro vargas#wendigo#jackalope#captain price#rudolfo parra#kyle gaz garrick#kate laswell#dark content#young readers#female reader#cod oc
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