Call of Duty Oneshots

He realizes too late. (Price x Reader)

TW: Violence.

The conversation felt like an old record stuck on repeat, the same lines exchanged between you and Price time and time again. You'd been yearning for something more, for a future where you could finally settle down, retire from the life of constant action, and start a life together that didn't involve chasing enemies and dodging bullets. You wanted to get a cozy house in a peaceful place, walk down the aisle, and have a family.

But it was always "next year," "next time," "next mission" with Price. Every time you brought up the topic, he had a reason to delay, an operation to complete, or a hostage to save. The days turned into months, the months into years, and yet the future you'd envisioned seemed elusive.

You paced the room, your frustration palpable. "Price, we've been at this for years. It's always 'next year' or 'one more mission.' I want a life with you."

Price sighed. "Y/n, you know I want that too. But there's always another threat, another mission. I can't just walk away."

Tears welled in your eyes. "What if we don't get the chance? What if something happens to one of us before we get to live the life we've talked about?"

Price took a step closer, his voice gentler now. "I know, love, I know. We'll retire soon, I promise. We'll have that life, a family, a home. Just a little more time."

Your voice quivered with emotion. "How much more time? I need something more concrete than 'next year.'"

He took your hands in his, looking into your eyes with a mixture of love and remorse. "Let's finish this mission, just one more. After that, I promise, we'll retire. We'll find that house, get married, and start our family."

You nodded, reluctantly conceding to this one last mission. Deep down, you hoped Price would keep his promise this time, but you couldn't help feeling a nagging doubt about the future you both longed for.

In the darkness of the night you and Price were huddled behind cover, your breath visible in the cold night air. Your mission had been intense, and now, your priority was getting to the exfil. As you planned your next move, you suddenly caught a glint of light in the distance. Without a second thought, your body moved on its own, propelled by pure instinct. You pushed him out of harm's way, his eyes widening as he stumbled backward. Time seemed to slow as the sniper's bullet found its mark, piercing your neck with brutal precision. Your body reacted to the agony, crumpling to the ground as blood spilled between your trembling fingers.

Price, wide-eyed and frantic, dragged you behind cover, his voice sounded distant, filled with desperation. As the seconds ticked by, your vision blurred, the world fading around you. You choke on your blood as you gasp for breath, your blood seeping through your fingers and staining Price's hands. Your fingers were trembling in Price's grasp as he tried his best to keep the blood from seeping out.

In your final moments, you met Price's eyes, and the regret in his gaze mirrored your own. It was a haunting realization, the truth that you both had been so close to that life you had begged him for. But in the end, it remained out of reach. You wished you could have told him one last time how much you loved him, but the words never left your lips as you took your last breath.

As you took your final breath, Price cradled your lifeless body in his arms, a sense of helplessness washing over him. All he could do was apologize and curse himself over and over, consumed by the realization that your death was a direct result of his stubbornness. He wished he had just listened to you, as you'd pleaded countless times to retire, to settle down and build a life together.

Perhaps by now, you could have been married, maybe you'd be sharing a peaceful dinner at home, and you both could have enjoyed a life without the constant danger of the field. All those times he'd put off retiring, all those moments he'd said, "Next year," now weighed heavily on him. It was too late for regrets now, and he knew that your death was entirely his fault. The opportunity for a peaceful life with you had slipped through his fingers.