John Price had always put the job first. There was no debate. His loyalty to the team, to the mission, to his men, was unshakable. They were his family. His blood. His legacy. He built his life around war, bled for it, sacrificed everything within him for a world that only respected fire.

And he was good at it.

He led like a man born for it. Steady hands. Clear orders. Always one step ahead. His team followed him into hell without blinking, and he’d drag them back out on his back if he had to.

For a long time, that was enough. Until he met you.

It wasn’t anything grand. You weren’t part of his world, didn’t belong to shadows and steel. You were too soft. Young, radiant, unscarred. You smelled like sweet things and smiled too easily.

And when you looked at him…

You looked through him. Not like a soldier. Not like a Captain. Like a man.

He shouldn’t have wanted to. But Price had always known when to break rules that no longer served him.

He told himself it was selfishness. That it wasn’t love. Not then. That it was just a hunger too big to ignore.

But that didn’t stop him from marrying you.

You looked up at him like he was the sun itself, and for the first time in decades, he believed in heaven.

The boys didn’t question him; not out loud. Not Johnny, not Kyle, not even Simon. They raised their brows, passed a few comments about age gaps and sugar daddies and wild choices. But they all came to the wedding. All stood beside him. Because they knew.

The Captain didn’t choose lightly.

You became a wife, a ghost of a thing inside his fortress of walls and glass and guns. You lived in a house built for silence, decorated by the echo of old wounds. You learned to exist quietly, to wait for his return, to be soft where the world had been hard.

You got everything in return.

Silk sheets. Gold jewelry. A garden to read in. A kitchen you didn’t have to cook in. rings too heavy for your delicate fingers. His hands on your hips, claiming you.

And then came the visits.

At first, it was just for drinks. Debriefs. The team comes over after ops to talk, rest and plan.

Soap would flirt, grinning like the devil. Simon would sit in the corner, silent but observant. Kyle would ask polite questions, helpful with dishes and always the first to compliment your cooking.

You played hostess. Good girl. Pretty wife.

But you weren’t blind.

You saw the way they looked at you. How their eyes lingered. How conversations slowed when you entered the room. How Soap’s jokes got filthier. How Kyle's touches grew casual. How Simon would go still when you bent over the table to serve them.

Price noticed. Of course he did.

And he let it happen.

It started with small things, a command. “Be good for them while I’m gone.”

You thought he was teasing. But he wasn’t.

One night turned into two. Two into five. And suddenly, they were always there; Lounging on your couch, drinking from your glasses, hands lingering too long at your waist.

And then, eventually, taking more.

And you let them; to keep the Captain satisfied.

Because he asked; they were his. Because some part of you, soft and wicked, liked it.

And now again, tonight, they were here. At your place, after a long mission; tired, worn, longing for something warm to return to.

“They’ve had a hard run,” Price murmured, brushing his fingers down your arm. “Be kind to them, love. You always are.”