#captain John price x reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeyinde · 2 days

Note

Brain went brrrrrrrr

Price and the new 141 member getting into an argument. Price is all like if you don't behave ill take you over my knee girl.

She's all like I fucking dare you or you'll have to catch me first or even you don't have the balls.

🫠🫠

i’ve always wanted someone who was super by the book to clash with John “i routinely tell my superiors i’m going to maim/murder/hang them” Price. this gave me the perfect opportunity to do so.

noncon spanking. abuse of authority. power imbalance. size kink. mean, dom!Price. forced submission.

You have this way of getting under his skin.

An impossible itch. No matter how many times he picks and prods at his flesh, you worm beneath the dermis, burrowing deep. Sitting pretty against his goddamn bones. Festering.

Incurable.

He turns to vice to stem the irritation. Cigars. Whiskey. His hand shoved down his trousers like he's a fuckin' boy and not a man on the wrong side of forty.

Thinking of you—of breaking that smart mouth of yours on his cock.

It's the way you saunter around with your head held high, balancing golden eggs on your crown, that irks him something awful. The patronising drawl when you huffily remind him that what he's doing is breaking seven, no, ten, different laws, Price. You can't just do whatever you want, there are rules—

And that's the crux of it.

A difference of ideas. Experience. You still see the world in shades of black and white. Good and bad. Unwilling to acknowledge that the line between is saturated and blurred. A putrid muck that traps all. Bogish.

He knew it was a mistake when they sent him your file, asked if he needed the additional help. Hostage negotiator. He's heard of you. By the fucking book. You recite passages like it's gospel, turning printed words into a knife. A terrible fit for a team that works in the pivotal no man's land you claim doesn't exist.

Yet—

He takes you on. Brings you in. Buries his anger at your fucking gall deep in his chest where it rots. Grows. Swallows down the rage, apoplectic fury, when you undermine him at every opportunity, citing laws and regulations like it's a fucking prayer.

A calamitous decision, he knows. Terrible. But—

Despite it all, you're good at what you do. Brilliant. A budding rose germinating in fecund soil. You'll grow into something wild, won't you? Something untamed.

Under his hands, you'll bloom the prettiest. He knows this deep in his bones. But—

“You're breaking the rules, Captain—”

—pedantic little thing, aren't you?

Obediently following the wrong master.

It irks him. He's been known to step on the toes of his superior officers for less, caustic words hissing foul from between his teeth.

But unlike them, you're worth something. Even as the moral antithesis to his utilitarian dogma, he sees your potential. How you can shape this world dangling on a brittle thread if you lay down your senseless principles and follow him. Listen to him.

But of course, you don't.

And he supposes he ought to have known better. It's dripping gasoline over an open flame. The sequence of events is easily premeditated, seen, when you refuse to listen to what he says (“it's against the law, Price!”), walking away from him, his team, the mission, and take matters into your own, morally righteous hands. Bringing his underhanded methods to the desk of your superior officer, demanding he be investigated for crimes. The result is a loose warning from someone in a suit several sizes too big for them, and your fury when he pulls you back, has you assigned to another mission with the 141, with himself. Preens at your glower when you march back into his office, into his hands.

In the fallout, he has no one to blame but himself, really. Anyone could have seen this coming. But the thing about shirking his morality in favour of a better outcome—above all else—is that he doesn't have to.

And so, he doesn't.

No. He blames you.

(How perfect for him, then, that there's no one on base except you and him.)

“If you think I'm not going to report you again if you do something illegal, Price, you're wrong.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at your fucking audacity.

"Better watch that mouth of yours, Sergeant, or you won't like what happens next."

His palm itches when you look up, offering him a slow, feline blink. Leonine eyes creasing at the corners.

"And what is that, sir? I'm just doing my job—" it's whispered breathlessly, all faux professionalism even as jest leaks down your brow. They pinch, then. Drawing together in a mockery of confusion. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?"

"What is that, mm?" He mocks, arms folding over his chest. He has to breathe through his nose for a moment. Gather himself together before he does something reckless, something like—

It's the defiant little jut of your chin that does him in. That unravels this fraying knot of control until threads slip through his fingers. Falling too fast for him to clench down on them.

He's threatened his superiors for far less. His kin, teammates. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, really. No one at all when he pulls his hand from where it's tucked under his armpit, curling rough, worn fingers around your wrist. Pulls you close, wrenching you into his chest until your nose bumps the buckle of his vest.

"'m'gonna take you over my fuckin' knee, is what's going to happen."

Your swallow is a gunshot. “You—you wouldn't dare—”

He leans in close, closer still. Breath scorching over your cheek. Preening when you bare your little teeth at him. “Wanna bet on that, Sergeant?”

It's easier than he would have expected to wrangle you over his knee, pinning you down with an arm across your lower back. The height of his chair keeps your front bent, belly pressed against his thigh. Ass seated perfectly in his lap. Precious gem.

He hums low in his throat, teeth sinking into the butt of his cigar as he locks you tight against him. Grabbing your wrist, twisting it up behind your back. Holding steady. A warning.

The dangerous twinge in your bone stills you.

One wrong move and he'd snap it in half.

This has you taking a different approach, legs falling limp over the armrest. Head dropping over the other side. Malleable in his grasp—however artificial it is.

“Price—” you breathe, winded. Panic on a spindle. “What are you—what do you think you're doing—?”

He hums, mouth tense around the cigar. Words muffled, slurred. “What I should have done a long time ago.”

“What—hey!”

Your words pepper off into a choked scream when his other hand falls to the hem of your pants, grabbing the fabric in his fist. The shock fades into indignation. Anger. He tastes it in the air as your hips squirm, legs kicking at nothing. Furious little growls spilling from your lips as you thrash, unconcerned by the ache in your bone.

“Better keep still, love,” he taunts, mouth curling over his teeth as he twists his hand high, higher, up the small of your back until your fingers brush the skin between your shoulder blades. Any more and he'll break it—

“I'm going to fucking—!” It ends on a whine. A whimper. The pain makes you shiver. “Fuck, fuck—stop, stop, ow, stop—!”

“Not a fan of a little pain then, mm?”

Your breath is ragged. Paints the air in a fine mist of defeat. He has you. The only option out of this is breaking your bone, a threshold no one is willing to cross.

Price purses his lips back around the cigar, inhaling once, thrice, before he slips his fingers out of the hem of your trousers, reaching up to take hold of the cigar. It's all so matter-of-fact. So nonchalant when he places it in the ashtray. When he brings his heavy, warm hand back to your ass, curling his fingers beneath the fabric. Pulling. Tugging.

They come off easier than he'd expected. A harsh tug, and the cleft of your ass is revealed. Plush skin curving enticingly as he rips them down to mid-thigh—panties and all.

The shock fades back into indignation. You hiss something foul under your breath that makes him huff out a chuckle.

“Not really in the position for that, are you, love?”

“Shut up—”

He likes the way you sound like this. Feral. Furious. There's ash in your throat. It blots soot around each word, giving them weight. Gone is the woman who barged into his office, sniffing like you smelled something foul. Backing him into a corner. Sputtering in his face about rules. Regulation.

Now you're bare-assed, panting, in his lap. Small little fawn in the maw of a bear. But oh, do you fight back—

Teeth bared, indignation bleeding into embarrassment, blotting pink in the whites of your eyes.

The sight is hewn into his hindbrain.

“Look at you,” he purrs, petting your cheeks. “Been beggin’ to be bent over my knee since you got here, haven't you?”

“Begging? Don't be—ahh!”

He brings his hand down with a small huff, eyes glued to your flesh. Watching it shake under his hand. The width of one swallowing up an entire cheek. So big is he that you're nearly made infinitesimal in his clutch. The thought makes him groan.

You squirm more in shock than discomfort. Head craning over your shoulder, eyes misting over with tears. Glaring at him.

“What the fuck, Price!”

He strokes your skin, feeling the heat of your flesh bleed through his palm. Resilient little thing, aren't you? He huffs again, blood buzzing. Electric. There's a kindling fire in his guts. Embers sparking, catching.

He can't deny how badly he's been wanting to have you like this. Craving your tears, your agony, your submission.

“Count,” he barks out, rough. Abrasive. “You're getting ten. Count ‘em for me, and if you miss one, I'm adding two more.”

“You're crazy, you're—!”

His hand comes down again. The impact shakes the fat of your ass. The strike makes you yowl, thrashing to get away. You don't get very far, still trapped in his hold. The threat of a broken bone keeps you from lashing out too wildly, and all you can really do is sit in his lap, and take it—

The notion has him groaning low in his throat. Something wicked spooling in his veins. Wanting. The sight of you heaving, bare-assed, and begging for mercy unleashes something inside of him. Something primal. Starving.

Price takes a breath to steady himself, head buzzing. Heart pounding. It feels like the euphoria of nicotine—all bliss, sedation. Ease.

Cathartic.

“I said count,” he rasps, words cinder in his chest. Smoke. Dragged up from that burning pyre in his belly. Nocuous, hungry. “That's an order, Sergeant.”

His hand is scorching against your skin. Thoughts turning over themselves as you hiccup in his lap. So pretty, he thinks, eyes flitting over to you. Taking in the sight of your shock, your denial. It tastes like fine wine on his tongue. Heady.

“Here comes one—”

“One?”

“I told you, didn't I?” His nail rakes across your skin, cruel. Mean. Something preens when you gasp. Your pain perfuming the air. “M’addin’ two more if you don't count. Thought your speciality was listenin’?”

You scowl, twisting back to level him with an awful sneer. “Oh, fuck you—!”

His hand comes down again, harder this time. Vicious. The scream is tangled in your throat, gagged. He feels pleasure—dark and ugly—bloom in his chest, dripping, liquid, down the length of his spine. The twist of agony on your face is beatific.

“Not gonna count?” He taunts, pinching your inflamed flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “We're gonna be here all day at this rate, love.”

He leans down, broad chest curling over the small of your back, hand cupped possessively over your cheeks. “But maybe you want that, mm? Maybe all this, mhm, insubordination has just been for show. You wanted this. Wanted to be taken over my knee—”

“You're wrong. I haven't—” it tapers off into a squeak when he pinches your flesh again.

Price pulls back, breathes shallowly through his nose.

“You and that smart fuckin' mouth. Told you it was gonna get you in trouble—”

He doesn't wait. His hand rears, and comes down with a loud smack that echoes in the sparse office he has you trapped inside. Your howl races alongside it, curling up the walls. Beautiful in all its agony.

“Christ—” it's a dagger to his resolve. You sound so fucking good howling like this. Oscillating between feral anger and pain, hissing vitriol between clenched teeth. Choking on sobs.

The first few are experimental. Testing the waters. Feeling. You're combative during it all. Fighting. Screaming. Each strike is uncounted, echoed only with a plea for help. One he knows won't come—

The only person on base is his Lieutenant. Ghost knows better than to barge in on his affairs.

“No one's comin’, love,” he grunts, sweat beading along his hairline, dripping down his temple. The room heats along with the blood in his veins, stifling and oppressive. He reinforces each hit with more strength, increasing the tempo until you're screaming on his lap, begging for mercy, mercy, please, please, Price stop, stop—

Your skin raises with each new strike. Swelling. Becoming inflamed. The perfect imprint of his handprint sits on each cheek, edges intumescent. The globes shake, shuddering deliciously under each hit.

He gets to eleven before you break. Tears streaming down your face, voice a threadbare whisper. Hoarse from screaming.

His hand rains down, slaps your left cheek so hard it stings his hand. Burns. You whimper. Mewling. Squirming on his lap, and then—

“O–one—”

He grunts, feels himself thicken in his trousers. “Good girl.”

You shudder, body breaking out in goosebumps. “Price—”

“Ah, ah, love. You're not allowed to speak unless you're counting.”

He hits you again, cock throbbing when you tense up, sniffling. Grinding out a soft two between trembling lips.

You don't break the way he wants you to. There's a glare on your face despite the tears, the sniffles. A defiance that burns over the bridge of your nose.

But that's fine. He has eight more strikes to ruin you, doesn't he?

He sets to it with a low moan, your pelvis pressing taut to his tumid cock, the friction raging in his guts.

But that, he finds, isn't really the point. No. The pleasure, the arousal, is secondary to the way you fall to pieces at his hand. Flesh stinging his palm with each loud smack that rings out sharply in the room. Uneven breaths. Shuddering little ah-ah-ahs that tumble out through clenched teeth.

It's addictive, this. Therapeutic.

There's static in his head. White noise. It renders everything else mute. Moot. Molasses drips down, thick and entrenching, congealing over every churning thought in the back of his head. There's a sense of peace, ease, he hasn't felt in years. In decades.

He feels his belly knot each time your ass jiggles, skin bulging up from the trauma of being hit so harshly. Chafed under his palm. Welts forming in the shape of his hand. A tattoo you'll have for weeks when he's through with you. Aching each time you try to sit. And fuck—

You'll think of him. Of this. Being taken over his goddamn knee like the bad fucking girl you are. Broken in over his lap. Helpless. Submissive.

The whimpers fade, replaced with shallow hiccups. Your throat is torn. Raw, ruined, by your screams, yowls. Each rasping whine sends jolts of pleasure down his spine. Liquid want molten in his marrow.

“S–seven, nngh—”

The moan slips out—scorched, bleached—and drills deep into his loins.

He peels his gaze away from your blistered skin, glancing at your face, but you duck from his view. Hide. Dropping your head over the armrest. Evading him.

It's new, this. This meekness.

You were so combative, so feral before. His gaze rakes down the expanse of your spine, over the curve of your cheeks, before settling, hot and heavy, at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. You squirm in his lap, thighs sliding together. Rubbing. It's no different from before when he'd spank you, but—

He catches it.

It glints in the soft light when you move, and he feels something dark, ruinous, curl in the tar-stained fibrils of his chest. Congealing in the crevasses. Hardening.

Price flicks his tongue out, swiping over his lower lip. The bristles of his beard graze the soft flesh, prickling across it. His throat is suddenly dry. Parched.

His hand comes down again, notably softer than the other hits he subjected you to. Almost—

Tender.

This isn't meant to hurt. Not this one.

He strokes his finger over your skin, cock throbbing with the rasping gasp that spills—a twisted amalgamation of pain, skin still smarting, burning to the touch, and—

His lashes flutter. Nostrils flaring.

Your slick, wet, between your inner thighs.

He slides his hand down, down, until your ass cheek is cupped in the bracket of his thumb and forefinger. Nestled tight. A perfect fit. The sight of your skin—soft, so soft—against his bearish, hirsute paw is sickeningly addictive. He grunts, pressing his thumb into the crease between your cheek and thigh.

“P–Price—”

And then he pulls, moaning deep in his chest as he peels the fat of your ass away, unveiling your cunt to his rapacious gaze. Fuck—

“What’s this?” He taunts, breathless. Pinched. You squirm, trying to press your thighs together. Hiding your pussy from his scorching stare. He doesn't let you. “Gettin’ off on me spankin’ your arse?”

“N–no, I'm—”

He pushes his thumb up, sliding it over your skin. Gathers your slick on the tip. “Don't lie to me, mm. You're fuckin' soaked.”

The air is punched from his lungs. Spills out in a wretched grunt. In the vacuum, something grows. Knots. Festering inside his chest. Animalistic. Primal. There's an itch in the back of his head.

He lets go of your arm, knows you won't run. Won't try to escape. No.

You're a good girl, aren't you? One who does what they're told. Follows orders. It tangles in the soporific slurry of his head, pitching a bivouac of need when you bring your arm down, curling it through the gap of the armrest, holding tight.

Bracing yourself.

His hum breaks in his throat. He drags his hand away from your cunt, reaching for the snuffed cigar idling in the ashtray. There's a fever in his veins. It makes his hand tremble. Shake. He needs the blunted drag of nicotine to quench this heady anticipation blooming in his guts. A brumous storm gyring inside him, an incipient maelstrom of want thickening. Intensifying. Threatening to spill over.

He needs something to steady himself before he tears into you like a beast—

You cock your head over your shoulder, staring at him with eyes drenched in midnight ink. There's a flicker across your tear-stained expression. Something coy. Feline. Leonine.

There's nothing said. Nothing needs to be. He finds what he's looking for in the fracture of your mien, and scoffs under his breath at your sheer gall. Little fuckin' minx.

Tobacco proves to be a paltry facsimile when he draws in a bursting mouthful. The restive glow of it dulled under the adrenaline coursing through his veins, heady. Syrupy. A roaring deluge of anticipation broiling in the balmy air, crackling around him like a storm cresting over the horizon. Ozone saturates in the thickening atmosphere.

Something will break. Shatter.

He tenses, waiting for the first stormcloud to breach, and drops his hand back to your tender ass. Stroking over the raised welts just to make you gasp. Your hips flex under the shocks of pain riveting down your spine, undulating in his lap. Pitched perfectly over his cock.

His breath shudders through a needlepoint. The friction is electric.

In petty retaliation—and just to see you squirm—he trails his knuckles over your heated skin, luxuriating in the way you shiver. Head falling back down over the armrest, beautifully alluring in your vulpine submission. His fingers dip between the cleft of your cheeks, feeling the slickness sticking to your soft, sensitive skin. Soaked between your thighs. Wretched girl.

His index and middle finger slide over your slit, parting your folds. He feels the small pulses of your drenched hole against his flesh when he slides over it with the press of his fingers. Eager little thing.

He hums under his breath at the sight of his hand seated across your hand, fingers shoved between the globes of your smarting ass. Soft and tender to worn and gnarled. The cropping of dark hair over his knuckles, his hand, against your bare skin is obscene. The picture of sin with your stricken flesh and his thick veins. The contrast curdled in the back of his head, morphing into something ugly and wanting.

Idly, he thinks of making you bounce your sore ass on his lap later, your pussy swallowing up his fat cock. Taking it all the way to the root. Over and over again. Breaking you on it until you're begging for mercy, until this little attitude of yours is crushed between his teeth.

Slick gathers against the rough pads of his fingers, drenching them. The hair on his knuckles is matted down, wet with your arousal. Naughty girl. He'll make you pay for that.

And for the puddle seeping into his trousers.

You mewl when he slips, sliding over your clit. The noise spilling molten over your lips, bludgeoning into his loins.

He drags in another mouthful of smoke. Lets it rot between his teeth as he drops the cigar into the ashtray once more, attention riveting to the slip-slide of your slick thighs rubbing together for friction against your aching clit. Cunt pulsing needily against his hand.

You haven't learned a damn thing at all, have you?

Smoke funnels out of his nostrils when he growls. “Spoiled, aren't you? Need to be taught a lesson in respect.”

“I, ah, am respectful, Captain—”

He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. This lippiness of yours grates on his nerves. He wants you begging for mercy, limp in his hold. Pretty doll. Waiting obediently for him to put you back together again. Soft and submissive at his heel.

“Got three more to go, love.” You shiver when he strokes over your ass. Petting gently with wet, tacky fingers. “If you're a good girl and take it for me, I'll play with your pretty cunt, mm. You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

Price brings his hand down, grunting when you moan out his name. Sharp and needy. Your plaintive posturing is a spark inside a tinderbox.

“E–eight.”

The next one is harder, sharper. The force twinges his joints. Rattles through his bone.

It's unexpected, and the pain makes you yowl, body drawing tight like a bow. There's no pleasure when it's like that. No friction against your cunt. It's just—

“Price—!” You yelp, shrill and distressed. The lead up to this has been child's play. A soft hand to tender a nervous mare.

His old man taught him to never strike with the whip first but to wean them slowly.

He waits, humming mockingly to your pettering whimpers as you heave, tremulous, into the air. Shuddering in his grasp at the aftershocks of agony rippling through your body.

Waits. Waits. And—

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, cooing low and condescending when you gasp, craning your neck to level him with an imploring, pleading stare as you stammer out a frenetic nine in a breathless rush. Tears soak your lashline, clumping them together when you blink through another deluge pooling against the rim. Your lip wobbles. The stream breaks, spilling over. Fresh tears run down your wet, sticky cheeks.

There's real panic in the whites of your eyes now. That haughty, pedant gleam buried under pyretic desperation. Gone is the coy twist to your lips. The wily little bloom of amusement in your gaze.

Aw, poor thing. But—

Too late. “You didn't count. You know what that means, love.”

That knot in his chest unfurls, and leaks acid into his lungs. This want is corrosive. A poison. The sob breaks through your chest. The first thunderclap. He relishes in it. Leans back in his chair to bask in the potency of your unmaking.

“Good girl,” he husks out, burning lungs spewing black smoke into the air. “Just ten more now, love. Know you can take it for me, can't you?”

Pretty thing. He'll have that haughty attitude snuffed out before the end of the night. Have you begging for his touch, his cock, him, before the sun draws across the horizon.

Your ruination at his hand. The thought strokes along the kindling smouldering inside of his chest. Burning away at the pyre he's been building since the day he met you. When you looked up at him, pretty in your scorn, and disobeyed his command. Undermined him. So righteous in your fury. A burgeoning flame he wanted nothing more than to snuff out under his heel, and now—

Wide, wet eyes plead with him. “Please, Price. Please, please. I'll be good—I promise I'll be good, sir—”

—ash in the palm of his hand.

He strokes over your searing flesh, humming softly under his breath. “I know you will, pretty girl—” basks in the hiccup of relief you let out, lets it glue in his ears, echoing over and over again. So sweet.

He lets your relief live for a moment. Take its first breath of air through aching lungs—

“But I told you, didn't I? That I'd take you over my knee.” Price pats his hand over your cheek, shushing you when you startle, squirming on his lap.

“Now. Be a good girl and count for me, mm?”

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader

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gothghostiie · 1 day

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fisting and object insertion with 141🥺

this turned out to be only fisting but let me know if u want another drabble with object insertion:3

cw: fisting, brief oral, stretching, gangbang, cumming on body, poly!141, gn!reader

poor little thing, didn't know what hit you when ghost told you he wanted to try fisting you in front of the others. you're blushing as if none of them saw you naked, mewling and sprawled out under each of them in the past few days.

Soap has a dirty grin on his face, teasing you immediately, despite how much he wants to see your hole stretched out. Price is surprised at the bold suggestion, a blush creeping over his face but God he's immediately intrigued. Gaz is straight up hard the second he thinks about your hole stretched out around his hand, hell anyone's hand for that matter. you look around the men, you'd be lying if you said you didn't play with with the thought before. so you agree, telling them you're down to try it. they're all over the moon, immediately doting and kissing all over you for being so brave, crowding the couch you were sitting on.

it doesn't take long for you to be stripped by the 4 pairs of hands groping you all over. they decide to let price do the honours, he's the calmest and has smaller hands than ghost - but of course none of them refuse the chance to push their fingers into you to stretch and prep you. you're a moaning, babbling mess within minutes, it's not often that all 4 of them are there, playing with you, so it turns you into putty in their hands without fail. they're all prodding at your hole, pushing fingers lubed up with spit into you, driving you over the edge at least once before price pushes the hands away from your slightly gaping hole.

he generously spreads lube on his fingers and your hole before inserting finger after finger, putting his hand in a cone shape to slowly push up into you. you squirm and whine loudly, gaz and soap holding your legs up while ghost rubs your torso soothingly. you cry out loudly when price's knuckles finally slip into you, the rest of his hand following easily. your eyes roll back, clenching around Price's wrist tightly as he wiggles his hand around inside you slightly. the boys are all praising you, groping you again as you look around, feeling slightly dizzy from yhe pleasure and the sheer fullness you're feeling.

slowly but surely he starts making a fist inside you, slowly moving it back and forth to get you used to the feeling before gently fucking you like that. all the guys are drooling at the sight of your hole being split open like that, price can barely hold back from speeding up. he'd spent ages like this if he could, but he knows the others want a turn fisting your pretty hole too, so he eventually pulls out with a heavy heart, kissing you deeply while he does. gaz takes his place, now soap and ghost holding up your legs. gaz lubes up too, pushing in a little faster, making your breath hitch. he's a bit more gentle than price in his movements, wanting to give you nothing but pleasure; he wants to feel you cum around his hand. he moves gently, trying to hit the good spots while giving your head, grinning stupidly when you cum with a loud mewl, arching your back and squirming. he's chuckling, peppering kisses all over your sex while he pulls out.

soap is next, he's arguably the most rough of them all, lacking the self control. he pushes his hand in, adding lube if necessary, but quickly moving his fist back n forth rapidly, knocking the air out of your lungs. you squirm and gasp for air, moaning as some tears prick at your eyes. soap grins, groping himself through his pants as he keeps fisting you roughly but mot quite painfully. he fully looses himself, basking in the sounds you make until ghost stops him, making him pull out. then it's simons turn, he has the biggest hands of them all. despite how stretched you already are he takes his time to work his knuckles past the resistance of your hole, making you cry softly with the burning stretch he's inflicting on you, until he finally slides in with a wet sound. ghosts eyes roll back slightly as he composites himself, your hot insides around him making him almost loose control for a second; before slowly starting to move.

he's fuckiny you open slowly, forcing your walls to adjust to his big fist while the others decide to start groping you again, your whole body having wave after wave of pleasure crashing over it, making you sob and moan alike. the boys are all jerking off at this point, praising and talking dirty to you. you're so overwhelmed when ghost hits the spots just right, making you come undone with a cry, a loud string of moans following as ghost keeps fist fuckling you all through your high, overstimulating poor little you while all the guys are fucking into their own fists, chasing their own highs desperately - it goes on for what feels like hours to you before the boys finally, one after one cum all over your sex, thighs and lower belly; only then ghost finally pulls out with a wet pop, leaving you gaping and breathing heavily.

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angel5ofp0rn · 2 days

Text

Young!Price x Younger!Reader

Where Exhusband!Price first tells you he loves you 🙂‍↕️

When John wakes up in your bed, he looks over to where you’re still sleeping next to him.

Your body looks so peaceful and comfortable as it rests against his. He can't help but just lay there and stare at you for a few moments.

You snuggle closer to him, taking in all the body heat you can to warm your naked body.

John smiles. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you in even tighter, as if that were even possible.

"Johnathan..." You murmur sleepily, your lips pressed against his neck.

John smiles and runs his fingers through your hair, stroking it gently. He has no plans right now other than to just cuddle with you and forget about his impending trip back home to London.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart. Lemme take care of you..." John speaks softly, your hair falling through his fingers.

You stretch a bit, eyes closed, your naked body becoming more exposed to the man next to you.

"Can you un-enlist?" You mumble sleepily, draping your smooth leg over his hairy thighs. “Jus’ stay here with me… no strings attached… just hold me an’ pet me…”

John snorts.

He pulls you in a little bit closer and kisses your head, pressing you against his chest.

“Wish it were so simple,” John murmurs, “I’d love to… I love you.”

You open your eyes suddenly, waking up a bit more "Wait... What?"

John continues to stroke your hair gently. He didn't mean to say it outloud, because he wasn't sure how you would react.

"You love me?" You sit up now, not caring that your upper body is fully exposed as the covers pool around your waist.

John chuckles, his eyes crinkling a bit in the corners, and he reaches out a hand to gently pull you closer to him again.

"You said you love me.” You repeat when John pulls you to his chest again. Your chin rested on his chest so you could look up at his face.

He nods to confirm that he did. There is no denying it at this point.

"I do love you."

You scan his eyes, as if waiting for a sign that he was joking… or talking in his sleep.

He meets your eyes and he holds your gaze. He’s being earnest.

"We've only known each other for, like, a few months. Is this crazy?"

''Course it's fuckin' crazy," John murmurs, pulling you in for a kiss.

You kiss him back softly, caressing his face with your hand.

"There's something goin’ on between the two of us,” John speaks in his gruff, sleepy voice when your lips separate from his. “I dunno if I’ve ever felt love like this…”

"You are such a softie,” You grin widely.

John chuckles at your response as he pulls back slightly to look at you better.

He can't get enough of your smile.

"I meant what I said,” John speaks carefully, a thumb gently tracing your cheekbone.

You sigh softly. "It's kind of scary, right?"

"It is, but it also feels so good. Feels right."

"Let's get married." You tease with a cheeky grin, leaning into his touch.

"Why not?" He smirks a bit. “I’ve got your ring picked out.”

Your grin falters. “ You have my ring picked out?”

John nods again, his cheeks slightly pinker than before.

You blink, considering pinching yourself to see if you’re still asleep.

“Picked it out after our first date,” He explains through a blush. “Said you wan’ed that second date proposal, after all.”

You shake your head slowly, realizing that you’ve truly met someone as crazy as you.

Your person.

Your soulmate.

You get out of bed and head towards your bathroom, leaving John behind.

“Gonna shower before our second date, then?” John calls after you with a smirk, arms folded behind his head.

He always knows he has you. Fuck, does he have you.

#young!price #young john price #price headcanons #captain john price x reader #price x reader #price cod #captain john price #john price #captain price #price #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod headcanons #price headcannon

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mangowafflesss · 3 days

Note

what do you think the 141 would do if they find out reader was ghosted by some guy she was talking with for a few months?

GHOSTED | 141 x F!READER

I do not like this at all. Please forgive this atrocity. CONTENT: MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE | SWEARING | SUPPORTIVE FAMILY-ISH DYNAMIC <3

Three months ago, you had met this guy, Joe. He was nice, handsome and someone you loved talking to. However, you could only ever talk on the phone but he didn't seem to mind what you did for a living.

So sweet and understanding.

One morning you woke up and when you checked your phone, you felt something was off. There were no text messages from Joe like usual, but you shrugged it off and sent him one before throwing your phone down and getting on with your day.

A couple of days later, still no texts or calls. It was unusual, he was always the biggest on communication. Always sending texts about his day but nothing.

When it turned the week mark, it came to your attention that he had in fact ghosted you. You had checked his social media and also found out he blocked you on everything.

Which was not so sweet.

You were a little hurt inside, after thinking he was the one you would want to date after years of nothing.

When you went to the gym the next morning, you felt annoyance seep into your workout. Why didn't he just say something to you? Why be an asshole?

You threw your fists at the punching bag and heard the sound of clapping sound behind you. Looking over your shoulder, you see Soap and Gaz standing there with amused looks on their faces.

"Whoever you're imagining that bag to be should be worried" Gaz chuckles and you smile softly before sitting down on the bench beside you "Sadly I can't hit the real thing" you murmured before taking a sip of your water bottle.

"Oh, so you are picturing someone. Who?"

Here we go. You rolled your eyes but the two biggest gossip mongers sit on either side of you with hopeful looks in their eyes, waiting for you to spill the beans.

Taking a deep breath, you run your hands over your thighs and groan. "You know that guy I was talking to for a couple months?"

"Mr. Nice guy?" they say at the same time and you feel them get closer to you, their faces rather close for comfort. You hated when they did this.

"Yeah well, he ghosted me" you deadpan and they gasp in unison while looking at each other.

"What a dick" you hum in agreement and feel them take one of your hands in theirs. "We got you, he can go die for all we care" "Good idea Soap"

You see them give one another a look and before you know it, you're hoisted off the bench and carried all the way towards what you know is the Captains office.

"What are you doing? Put me down!" you yell but your voice is useless.

You're sat in one of the chairs opposite Prices desk and he raises a brow in confusion, because you know for a fact they just busted their way inside without knocking.

"Tell him what happened" Gaz says breathlessly and you shake your head "Its not important-"

"The guy she was talking to ghosted her! Can you believe it?!" Soap interupted you and Price leant forward on his desk with his hands rested under his chin.

"Mr. Nice guy?" he asks and you sigh "Can we please stop calling him that" you groan while rubbing your forehead where a headache is starting to form.

"I'll get my knives" you heard a voice say and jolted your head up not realising Ghost was in the room.

"I don't think that's necessary"

Ghost shrugs while standing in the corner, backing down, for now.

"Oh come on! let ghost after him, it'll make him regret not seeing how amazing you are"

"Yes, shaking him to his core. Guys it's fine, I'll get over him" you say simply and Price smiles "We are here for you, if he contacts you. Let me know" you nod your head while standing from your chair and leaving the office.

"I want to every single piece of information on him, got it?" John commands and everyone moves around the room in sync.

"Already working on it"

"Lets go visit this bastard"

#141 x reader #taskforce 141 x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #call of duty

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gloomwitchwrites · 1 day

Text

Easy Access

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: explicit sexual content, canon-typical swearing, oral sex (female & male receiving), F/M/M/M/M, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, multiple orgasms, group sex, praise, restraints/restraining

Word Count: 3.7k

A short dress is your idea of an invitation for a bit of fun.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // spring 2024 masterlist

Under the shade of a tree, you inhale deeply, savoring the fresh spring air.

This is a party. A gathering. A break. A reward for a job well done.

But it’s not like you’re the one in the line of fire. That isn’t your job. Your one and only endeavor at work is making sure Kate Laswell has everything she needs while at the office. Field work is not your specialty, and you’re thankful for that.

You make phone calls. You bring Laswell her coffee. You keep her appointments and meetings. It’s office work. Clerical. But it keeps you safe, fed, and paid.

Amongst the crowd are familiar and unfamiliar faces. There has to be at least sixty people here in total, and yet the space doesn’t feel cramped. You were given an address, and this has to be someone’s backyard, but you couldn’t say who. And if anyone knows, they aren’t saying.

To your left is a large wood patio. It expands across almost the entirety of the back of the house. Most of it is covered by two connecting pergolas. Underneath the pergolas is a massive buffet and open bar. People loiter there, talking and laughing. The patio opens up to a large green space with a small pond and garden near the back fence. The majority of the space is open but there are a few tables and chairs set up. Music comes from speakers you can’t see, and lights line the fence.

It’s all very pleasant, but crowds are not your thing.

You scan the crowd but no one is looking in your direction. Bringing your plastic cup up to your lips, you scan the crowd one more time. Your gaze falls on Captain John Price. He’s having a conversation with someone you don’t recognize, and out of uniform, he’s even more handsome.

There is no silly, floppy hat or beanie. No windbreaker or boots. Price wears a button up shirt, the top two undone and slightly open with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He appears so casual and calm, a cool sexiness that instantly sparks heat low in your belly.

Your cup is almost to your lips, pausing as you gaze at him. In this moment—this fleeting second—Price’s gaze finds you. He winks. Smirks. Returns to the conversation.

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you nearly drench the front of your linen dress with red punch.

Glancing away, you only find the rest of Price’s team. Kyle Garrick, John MacTavish, and Simon Riley loiter near the deck. Kyle and Johnny talk, their faces animated and engaged. Simon stands with his arms crossed, but he’s not listening.

He’s staring at you, those dark eyes of his piercing you down to your marrow.

It’s silly, really, how all four of them make your stomach flip. How they each in turn seem to awaken something dark and primal in your blood.

While it doesn’t shame you in the least, you have flirted with all of them. It’s hard not to. Price is the one you see the most, and always makes an effort to stop by to see you if he has business with Laswell. Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all have to go out of their way to see you, but they do it. Often.

And it’s not just the flirting or sultry glances. You’ve allowed them each a touch or two. Of the four, you gave Johnny permission to kiss you. It was chaste. Quick. Nothing that curls the toes. But it turned his face beet-red.

But being with any of them is just a fantasy. It’s unprofessional. And you don’t need to know what Laswell might think of you for taking any further action with them.

Sighing, you turn away from Simon’s penetrating stare. You knock back the red punch, the alcohol in it hardly registering on your tongue. Removing yourself is the best solution. Perhaps you could hide in the bathroom for a bit. Splash some cold water on your face.

Depositing the empty plastic cup in the nearest trashcan, you head for the patio, passing the buffet and open bar, striding inside through the open kitchen doors. You nod in acknowledgement to a few people there, and they match it, but they immediately return to their conversations, not all that interested in your presence.

The nearest bathroom is just off the kitchen, but you want to hide. You aim for the hallway with the intent of entering the bathroom at the very end. No one is really using it, and it’s the perfect place to catch your breath.

As you reach out for the golden bathroom handle, a large hand shoots out, encasing your wrist, haling all movement. You turn sharply, ready to bite back at the man who decided it’s okay to touch you without your permission, only to freeze.

Your eyes widen as you realize who the hand belongs to.

“John,” you whisper. You didn’t even hear him approach. He completely snuck up on you.

“Where you off to?” he asks softly. He looks a little concerned, but there is something else under all of that.

While you want to answer his question, to give in a bit, you don’t enjoy being grabbed.

“Is that your business?” you reply, arching one eyebrow, chest heaving slightly as your heartrate quickens.

John’s head tilts slightly, his gaze assessing for a moment. The two of you are locked in, and you’re not sure if you’ve completely fumbled the exchange. John releases you from his stare but he doesn’t release your wrist.

Instead, he glances over his shoulder, and you follow the movement. Right there, in the hall, are three familiar people.

Kyle and Johnny casually lean against the wall while Ghost stands in the middle, watching the opening of the hallway.

You’re not frightened. Not afraid. If anything, you’re becoming slick between the thighs. There is a reason they’re here, and you want to explore what it is.

Price’s gaze returns to you and his gaze is soft. “Do you want it to be my business?”

You press in a bit, and Price’s mouth forms into a self-satisfied grin. “Does it include all four of you?” you counter.

“It can.”

His grip tightens slightly. The hold is almost desperately possessive.

What the hell. You should just do it. Have some fucking fun for once. If anything, this will be the one and only time. Get this ridiculous need out of your system all at once and be done with them.

“Then make it your business,” you murmur.

Price’s grip remains firm as he pulls you away from the bathroom door. He spins you around, his free hand reaching out to open the door that’s across the hall from the bathroom. You hear the creak of the hinges as it swings inward, and then you’re walking backward into the room, Price herding you along.

Behind him follows Kyle. And behind Kyle, Johnny. Then, finally, Simon. He’s the last to enter the room and the one that shuts the door, locking it without even glancing at it. He leans against it, crossing his arms over his chest.

Once the door is shut, you expect Price to release you. But he doesn’t. He keeps hold of your wrist, drawing you against him, pinning your arm to your chest. With his other hand, Price clasps your chin between thumb and forefinger, keeping your face pointed in his direction.

“You want to back out?” he asks. “Just say the word. We’ll stop.”

Do you want to stop? No. Your blood is buzzing, nearly burning beneath your skin. You want to see where this goes, and how much you can take before you’re unable to understand reality.

“Nervous, Captain?”

He laughs, throaty and low before his lips come dangerously close to yours. “No, love. I like that you’re willing to share.”

Someone shifts behind Price’s shoulder. Your gaze starts to drift but he jerks you back to attention.

“You’ve been teasing us with that dress,” murmurs Price.

Releasing your wrist, Price drops his hand to lightly tug on the skirt of the linen dress you wear.

It’s incredibly comfortable. The color an off-white. It stops at about mid-lower thigh, a bit above the knee. The top of the dress is solid fabric back and front except for the straps which are crisscrossed, leaving your shoulders and arms mostly bare.

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you reply just as softly.

Price makes a sound in his throat that goes straight to your pussy. “Somehow I believe that,” he chuckles, fisting your dress even tighter. It only pulls you closer, and even like this, you feel his hardness.

You’re so focused on Price that when another pair of hands join his, you almost jump. Price eases his hold on you a bit, and your body twists in the direction of these new hands. It’s Johnny. He has one hand on the back of your neck while the other plays with the hem of your dress. It’s just a gentle toying, one you don’t entirely notice until his fingers are slipping under it, brushing against your bare thigh.

“You want this? All of us?” Johnny sounds skeptical.

Your lips part at his question, the very image of them taking you one after the other only making you slicker.

You nod, chest heaving. “Yes.”

Price’s thumb brushes over your bottom lip, drawing your attention back to him. There is a pause—a second of breathing—and then he releases you. He walks backward toward the door as Simon moves away from it and Kyle closes in.

Johnny sidesteps, placing himself directly behind you. His hands slide over you, finding new homes. He wraps one around your waist, hand splaying wide over your pelvis. His other reaches down to dip beneath the hem of your dress just shy of your left leg.

You believe that Johnny is going to slide his hand between your clenched thighs. But he doesn’t. His arm hooks under your thigh, pressing up, lifting your foot from the floor. You’re forced to balance on your right foot. You instinctually reach up, grasping the back of Johnny’s neck.

But with Johnny’s support, you don’t topple over. His strength keeps you grounded.

With his hand on your pelvis, Johnny begins to bunch the fabric in his fist, lifting it away from your body. It is slow, almost agonizing in how all of their gazes are fixed on that one point.

You don’t need to see to know when you’re bare. You feel the air against you.

You are open for their inspection, and they do not appear disappointed. If anything, they’re fucking hungry.

“She’s wearing fucking nothing under there,” growls Simon, almost like he’s upset but doesn’t want to be.

“Teasing us on purpose,” says Price not to anyone in particular but to reiterate what he said early, that the dress is a tease, and this is just one more thing to add to it.

Simon moves, striding toward you like a predator. Slowly, his hand clasps the front of your neck, and you instinctually arch into Johnny. Kyle sinks to his knees before you.

“Gaz is gonna eat that pretty pussy,” murmurs Johnny in your ear. His breath is a whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. “And then we’re all going to fuck you. One after the other. Fill you with our cum. You want that, love?”

You crave them like a nourishing meal. Accepting won’t hurt. It’ll only fill the gap, satiating the thirst that boils in your blood.

“Yes,” you affirm, putting all the control in their hands now.

“Good girl,” growls Simon, gently squeezing, those dark eyes of his locking in on your parted lips.

Kyle’s hands are on your thighs. They rotate. Squeeze. Slide toward your hip bone.

“Look at that,” he says, absently. Kyle’s fingers lightly brush over your sex. Then, he is parting you with two fingers, and in that glide, you can hear just how wet you are.

“Hardly touched you,” croons Kyle, his mouth dangerously close to what’s aching for him.

He leans in, and goes in for a taste. It’s tentative. Testing. Just a little touch of his tongue against flesh. But it’s enough for your pussy to clench, for you to whimper as if he’s completely pressed his mouth to you.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Johnny. He nuzzles your neck, gaze downward.

You’re watching too. Everyone is. There is no point in hiding anything. You are spread open.

Kyle’s tongue dips again, this time tracing a line between his two fingers. He starts at your entrance, teasing it before moving upward to circle your clit slowly. He is languid about it. Taking his time like there isn’t a party happening just outside the door.

“Oh, you’re sweet, love,” he murmurs before going in fully.

There is no tracing of his tongue. It is only steady strokes and gentle flicks against your clit. Kyle knows what he’s doing. He knows to stick to a specific pace. To not change course. He feasts until your legs shake and it is only Johnny’s strength keeping you aloft.

The clench comes, shuddering outward. Your breathing intensifies, becoming desperate gasps as Kyle continues to work your clit. Simon still holds onto the front of your throat, and he does not let go.

“Look at me,” croons Simon, tilting your head in his direction. “At me. My eyes.”

Johnny murmurs sweet nothings against your throat as he watches Kyle lick and then suck your clit into his mouth.

Your hips buck against Kyle’s mouth as your orgasm consumes, absorbing all your strength, turning your muscles into sticky goo.

There are lips pressing against your inner thigh, and then Kyle’s voice drifts up from between your legs. “She’s ready.”

“But we aren’t,” replies Simon.

Johnny guides your leg down until your foot is flat again. From there, he presses on your shoulders, and you automatically sink to your knees.

“Be good and suck Gaz’s cock,” commands Simon as his hand slides from the front to the back of your neck.

Johnny steps back, his presence evaporating as Kyle undoes the front of his jeans. You are hungry. Feral. Desperate. The moment Kyle’s cock his free from his jeans, you’re reaching for him, sucking him down.

Kyle groans loudly, head tilting back as you throat him to the root.

“Fucking beautiful,” comes Johnny’s voice somewhere behind and to the right of you.

Simon grunts in agreement, his hand still firmly planted on your neck. His fingers dig into your hair, and even though you have some control, Simon has the rest.

He keeps you on your knees and your head still as Kyle thrusts shallowly into your mouth. You are wet between your thighs, the skin there rubbing against itself. Your hands rise to grab the front of Kyle’s jeans, but Johnny tuts, grasping both arms and holding them behind you.

“Breathe through your nose. Good girl. Like that.” These praises are all Simon, and you desperately want to please him.

You’re nearly still as Kyle claims your throat. But he’s careful. Thoughtful. He’s fucking your mouth yet he knows your limit. When your throat contracts, wanting to gag, he retreats until you’ve caught your breath, only to return to his pace from before.

“Fuck,” he mutters, abruptly pulling out of your mouth. You cough, saliva and cum coating your lips and chin. “Bend her over the edge of the bed.”

Johnny releases your arms and Simon is the one that helps you to your feet.

“Look at me,” says Simon, drawing you attention to his face. “You good?”

This can all end if you want it to, but you don’t. You’re not full. Not whimpering. You want them inside.

“I’m good,” and your answer is a bit raspy.

Simon nods and then he’s turning you around, his hands pressing on your back until you’re completely bent.

The bed is a bit high, and you have to go up on your toes. Your hands dig into the comforter, but you don’t feel stable. Not really.

There are hands on your thighs. They drive upward, flipping your dress up to expose your ass to the room. One of those hands comes down on the right cheek. It isn’t hard, just enough to bounce it.

“Open for us,” says Simon. You wiggle your hips, sliding your feet outward slightly. “More, love. Yes. Perfect.”

Simon shifts partially into view, and then he’s grabbing your forearms, holding you down to the bed itself. You have no idea who is behind you, but you feel the head of their cock at your entrance.

There is no condom, and you do not give a fuck. You want to feel each of them in turn, to feel them fill you up, to fuck each other’s cum deeper into you.

The head presses in. Enters. And then you’re being filled, being fed more and more until you’re stuffed. You moan loudly.

“Taking me so well,” groans Johnny as you clamp around him. “Bloody hell you’re tight.”

Johnny squeezes your ass, guiding your hips up slightly as he starts to drive in. The angle is deep, and your feet slide against the floor. He isn’t soft, but he’s not rough either. Johnny is steady, rolling his hips deep enough to hit that sweet spot.

You are soft. Pliant. Smiling against the comforter as Johnny fucks you. His soft grunts become gentle groans. Then his hips stutter, thrust forward, creating a seal. You feel his release flood your pussy, and you purposefully tighten those muscles, encouraging him to stay inside.

And Johnny does, for a moment.

He lightly pats your ass before withdrawing. The loss of him is immediate, and yet there is another ready to take his place. Simon does not move from his spot. You turn your head and find Price still leaning against the door. There is an apparent bulge in the front of his pants.

It is Kyle that settles behind you, and like Johnny, he finds the same rhythm. While Johnny felt girthy, Kyle is absolute perfection. The stretch is good but not too tight, and even though every stroke is pointedly deep, there is nothing but pleasure.

Kyle’s hand slips between the bed and your body. He finds your clit. Toys with it. Plays. You’re still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm, and the next one comes up suddenly. You cry out, squeezing on him as he finishes.

In that blissful state, you don’t notice Simon removing his hands from your forearms. It isn’t until he’s driving inside that you realize it, and you nearly come off the bed. Simon is absurdly large, and your back arches, fingers digging into the comforter as your groan into it.

Simon is not as gentle as them. He fucks their cum into you like he’s made to do so.

And Price is still off to the side. Still watching. Almost indifferent except for that outline in his pants.

Simon’s only tell is a low grunt before he too is finishing inside you.

You are overly stuffed. Full. Simon removes his cock from your pussy as their mixed cum begins to drip out onto your thighs.

You think Price will come. That he will take Simon’s place. Instead, you’re being moved, flipped onto your back. Your legs are brought up, and then Johnny is back, sliding home again. Simon stands to the right of him. He reaches out, runs his hand over your stomach before delving down to find your clit.

Simon circles it as Johnny’s cock pistons in and out of you, his hips smacking against yours sharply with each thrust. It isn’t long before the muscles in your body seize and then relax. Johnny doesn’t find his end until Simon has you clenching a second time.

Johnny steps back, a pleased grin on his face as he stuffs himself back into his pants. Your legs are weak noodles and you’re thankful for the bed beneath you.

Price pushes off from the door. He walks casually, his hands slowly undoing and then removing his belt. You push up onto your elbows, adjusting. Price observes you. His gaze is on your face and then it drops to your pussy.

Reaching out, Price runs his fingers through the mess between your legs.

“Mind if I add to that?” he asks, gaze returning to your face.

You smile and spread your legs wider.

“Good fucking girl,” he croons.

Price grasps your thighs and drags you to the edge of the bed. Shoving his pants down enough to free his cock, he rubs the head over the mess, coating himself in it.

He lines himself up, and then buries himself to the hilt. Your fingers dig into the bed and then reach for him. Price adjusts his grip on your thighs, pressing them up a bit and toward your chest.

You are at his mercy as he drives into you. The only sounds in the room are your breathy moans and the obscene wetness that is your pussy.

All those flirty invitations and teasing smiles has led to this. And you don’t entirely mind if this is all it is. That the five of you are just working it all out of your systems. You’re completely satisfied.

As Price’s thrusts becoming erratic, he lets go of your thigh only to grasp your throat. He leans forward as he brings you up off the bed. You are scrunched, and when his lips meet yours, you come undone just as he does.

You hang. Suspended. And then you’re melting into the soft comforter.

Someone is cleaning you up, wiping away the excess mess. And then you’re brought to your feet. Everything is unsteady as you focus on who it is holding you.

“Good? Or you need a minute?” Price’s palm runs over your hair, smoothing it.

“I need a minute,” you murmur, because it’s true.

Kyle, Johnny, and Simon all start to file out. With the balaclava you can’t discern Simon’s expression. But Kyle is smug. Content. Johnny is almost sheepish, his cheeks slightly flushed as they leave.

It is over. Done.

Price runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “If you ever want this again, you know where to find me.”

He leans forward as if to kiss you but instead brushes his lips against the curve of your cheek. He gives your hand a squeeze. A silent goodbye.

Then he too is gone. The door shut.

You place your hand over your chest and laugh as a trail of cum slips down the inside of your thigh.

taglist:

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@no-oneelsebutnsu @kayden666 @aykxz98 @soapyreaper @statixx-x

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majinbangus · 1 day

Text

"He's a keeper" = John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"He'll keep you" = Simon "Ghost" Riley, Captain John Price

honestly they'd all be on the "he'll keep you" side

#john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #soapy thoughts :]#john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader

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thegnomelord · 3 days

Note

Have you ever seen the penis inspection day meme? Well, I saw a version of this meme with Captain Price and now I can't stop thinking about having a Penis inspection day with the 141. They gotta make sure your cocks up to code

OOoooh damn, I can sure as hell imagine Price sometimes peeking at your dick when you're showering or when you're working out in those shorts of yours, wondering how you manage to keep that monster hidden and wondering how heavy it would feel in his hand.

So he calls you to his office, gruff and dominant, telling you it's just standard procedure and then tells you to drop your pants. And he's your captain, what are you to do but as you're told? So you drop your pants, already a bit chubbed up in your boxers. And Price is nothing if not thorough, groping you to full hardness before he even pulls your boxers down enough for your cock to bob against your belly.

"Well look at that." He hums when he sees you're already leaking a bit of pre, calloused hand lazily stroking you up and down. "You've been high strung for a while hmm?" He grins as you try to keep composure, the slow lazy pleasure steadily melting your brain.

#gnome's tea break #gnome correspondence #cod mw2 #x reader #male reader #captain john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare

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hostilecandle · 3 days

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Got a light?

(cw for being mildly suggestive. Originally m!reader but no pronouns used so its actually just gn lol)

Okay I remember one of the first times I ever *cough legally cough* smoked. I was freshly 18 and working as a line cook while I was still in high school.

And anyone who knows anything about kitchen work knows the only time you really get a break is when you take a cig break (this is actually a really big problem why youth begin smoking in America btw)

So I was on my cig break with another coworker of mine but I had left my lighter inside and asked if I could borrow his. He walked up to me and said "no need man" and stuck his lit cigarette to the end of mine to light it. That moment fundamentally changed my brain chemistry irreparably 😵‍💫😵‍💫So ANYWAYS obviously I'm taking one of the gayest moments of my youth and projecting it onto John Price.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Price who corners you against a wall while you're on a cigarette break after askong him if he's got a light when you realize yours isn't in your pocket.

Price who pushes right up against you with his full weight, trapping you in place

Price who slots his thigh between yours, his hand pressed firmly against the wall by your head as he leans down to light your cig with the end of his cigar.

Price who doesnt break eye contact as you take a long draw in, smoke from your respective vices curling between the both of you.

Price slowly moving back once it's lit, finally breaking your eye contact before looking you up and down, smirking.

Price turning oh his heels and walking away without a word. Only stopping briefly to toss a lighter over his shoulder before continuing on.

#its short but oh well #hot and fast baybeeeee #fun fact the cigs i occasionally smoke are considered cigars here in the US #even though they're just cigs lol #captain john price #john price #captain john price x male reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #cod mw2 #cod mw3 #cod modern warfare #john price x male reader #john price x reader

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lxvvie · 3 days

Note

Cod men with a reader that is a nail tech and wants to practice on them . Kyle definitely lets them practice on him

Kyle would be the one whose nails would be different shades of brown, and it's cute as hell and complements his civilian attire, especially his pastel autumn palette.

Soap has sparkly red gel polish because he's spicy like that.

Ghost is rocking the black gel and skull design on his ring fingers. Complete with some actual rings, too.

We don't know what happened. Hell, Price doesn't know what happened, but he woke up to an acrylic coffin nail on his thumb. And only on his thumb. What the hell?

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty x reader #call of duty x you #cod x reader #cod x you #captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #x black reader #x plus size reader #x poc reader #task force 141

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lawrencekansas1979 · 16 hours

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UPDATE ON THE PALESTINIAN TEENAGER

First off thank you guys so much for interacting with the original post I genuinely didn't expect it to get much attention and this was a last resort type of thing. Thank you especially to whoever made that first donation.

I got into contact with the girl we are fundraising for and told her about the post I made + her fundraiser getting its first donations

Unfortunately she almost died before she could respond today. She told me she was in the middle of typing a response to say how happy she was but then bombs started raining down on the camp, worse than the usual. She and her whole family as well as everybody else in the camp were once again displaced. She thought she was going to die but thankfully she is alive.

(Here is her fundraiser btw. It's Ko-Fi cause GoFundMe keeps shutting down Palestinian accounts)

It is pure luck we have had this much time to help her so far. Never forget the urgency of the situation. Don't stop reblogging posts and sharing fundraisers and donating. It's the least we can do.

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m0lliee · 2 days

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Somebody pls make a fanfic of ANYBODY but the reader is wearing the pheromones perfume !!!

Make it SMUT I NEED IT DIRRRTYYYYYYYY

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spookypete-94 · 3 days

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By Definition

PricexFem!reader

Based on the mission in MW3 with Price and Soap. Price stumbles upon reader whom is protecting civilians while being hunted by what you think is your own kind. Will be a two part story.

CTW for blood, violence, and language.

In the dictionary evil is defined as morally reprehensible, sinful, wicked. If you asked John Price, he would say it is defined by heinous actions. By men and women who can harm others. He himself would fit that definition, but as much as he sees it that way, his inner voice says he does it for the greater good. Part of him will never believe it but it’s how he justifies his actions. A hard sentiment to follow through with.

When General Shepherd dispatched him and Soap to the stadium at Verdansk from an attack of of Markarov, he knew evil would be the simplest way to describe it. In reality, it was a blood bath. Morally reprehensible, more like no morals whatsoever. Sinful and wicked, not even painting the scene to full picture. Ambush. Hate. Death. All better things to describe such ill intent. It was around every corner, him and his Sergeant seeing it decorate the endless hallways and numerous rooms.

The worst part of it though is the civilians thinking they were being attacked by those that had sworn to protect and serve for them. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Terrorists adorned in peace officer’s uniforms. The blue line tainted with the permanent red stain of mistrust, a light that will forever be altered in his mind of a horrendous plan.

The order from the General himself, to take out all of those in police uniforms. Something that felt abnormal to him, shooting ones who looked like he had worked alongside with many times. But if the terrorists had done this and John had been sent, he would consider himself the undertaker. The Grimm Reaper to make things right in the world… no matter how hard he had to justify it.

If John was listed in a dictionary, he would describe himself as well trained. Hesitancy not even close to the vocabulary of words in the list of himself. So, when he found you kneeling in front of a food counter, clad in the blue uniform causing the demise at the moment he was reluctant. You see, your arm was spread around a mother and her two small children. Chest pronounced saying "Shoot me, instead." Teeth bared as if screaming, "I'll bite your fucking throat." if he were to get too close. You weren't the wolf in sheep's clothing. You were the actual thing, the guard dog that did serve and protect. The yellow stripes on the outside of your arm signifying you were of rank, from what he could tell a sergeant. Blood and sweat had been smeared across your face, black powder from your gun down your hands and arms telling him you had been at this for a while now. Your pistol in your other hand, at the open and ready for the next feeding of bullets. Looking at the carrier vest, he saw no more mags in the pockets. You were unable to curb your handgun's hunger even if you wanted to. Finally, lowering his rifle he had trained on you and moving his finger off the trigger, he lifted both his hands up hoping to prove to you that he was not the threat here.

"They are dressed like officers," he said taking quick steps to you. "Yeah, no fuckin' shit," you spat out in between ragged breaths, puffing out further like a cobra ready to strike. Any other person might have been offended at the tone and choice of words, but to John, it meant you had your wits about still. You had been running, near drained and now only operating on pure adrenaline. As he got closer, he watched as you pushed the family further behind you. His heart ached at the muffled sobs.

"Don' wanta’ hurt any of you," his voice lower trying to find remorse for the ones you were guarding. Your eyes trained on him just like he had been with his rifle. The guard dog is planning her next move of attack even if she has no more bullets. Teeth shred just as well in close quarters, and you were baiting him at the moment come closer so you could prove it. Truly you were feral, but somehow so fucking beautiful to him.

"Do you want more bullets or do you wanta' take my spare?" he asked, trying to find common ground of trust.

"What?" You asked confused, glaring up at him. He was helping you? "Bullets or gun?" He asked pointing down at the one on his vest, going a more direct route.

"Gun." No hesitation. Just like John.

Standing up fully, he watched as your stance widened. Well trained to keep protecting the family that was behind you. Releasing your famished firearm of its open mouth, you rehosltered it, cautiously taking the one from the man in front of you still feeling like this was a trick.

"The hallway down the stairwells behind have been cleared by us, but you need to treat them like they are still hot, don't know wha' the enemy is up to, but get them to a safe place." His arm lightly patting your shoulder making you look up from the press check you were conducting to confirm that the gun was indeed loaded. The faith and trust you had in others had been taken out at the knees and butchered from the ground up. For who knows how long, you had been thinking your own kind was hunting you. A creature they thought was docile from her given gender in nature. Little did they know, they were trying to catch and kill a dragon. A beast among pretenders.

His eyes showed you the type of man he was. At the moment, he was concerned no doubt, but he was a man true to his word. A beacon through this chaos. "Get out of this alive. I want that gun back." Was this his way of making light of the situation? Or the fact he was trying to give you a reason to get out alive?

"Captain." The other man that was with him grunted to try urge him along from the screams that were erupting on the other side of the food court.

Nodding, you looked behind at the mother and children behind you. Again, finding the nerves and strength to keep going.

"Let's go," your head jerking the way as the new pistol in your hands helped guide your way securely. John didn't get to watch your back. It hurt that he didn't at least make sure you got out of the food court alive. Instead that inner voice that defends his work, prayed to whatever god was listening. Begging that you freed yourself unharmed with the other three trapped souls from this hell.

To you, all you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears. If you got to look back on all of this and review it, that would be the thing you remembered most, but no one would know. They cannot hear your own heart and feel the amount of fear coursing in your body right now. That man was right however, they definitely cleared their way up here. Bodies were dropped, blood running in multiple directions. It was a dog fight for sure to even make it this far. Who the hell was he? The Angel of Death himself?

Once outside, you had managed to help the family through the parking ramp. Relaxing a little, seeing them run in the direction of safety of what was Point of Command. Finally, you had found the secure safety of your own kind. In the back of the ambulance, you learned that there had been an explosion at the airport. How can there be so much chaos today? What was even happening? The ambulance soon left after your vitals were taken and it was confirmed to have no large injuries. Your Chief gave you the direct order to stand down and stay back, worried you were too shell shocked to respond to the explosion. The unknown man's gun still in your hands, unable to holster it since it didn't fit in any of yours. Sitting down on a bench, you couldn't help but stare down at it.

"Where did you get that gun?" A blonde woman asked kneeling down in front of you. Her hand rested on your knee as she spoke. Clearly, she just understood the carnage you had seen and didn't want to speak to shell you had put up to try to disassociate yourself. "A man inside gave it to me, was wearing camo," a voice that did not sound like yourself answered. It was raspy, more than likely from fighting for your life inside out. Your lips were chapped and peeling already.

"Did he have a big beard?" She asked, her manner of speaking showing that she was hopeful.

Only being able to nod, you did so a slow motion of up and down.

"John, I found her." she said into a radio standing up.

"Bring her to me," the other side said back. The voice you knew all too well belonged to the bearded man that had given you a fighting chance. Raising the gun up, handle to this woman thinking it was what he wanted back so bad. Instead, she stuck her hand out to you, an invite to stand up.

"He wants to meet you." She clarified. "My name's Kate Laswell. And we have an offer." She was gifting you a kind smile, calm in the storm that had finally lifted. A ray of sunshine through black clouds.

Reaching up for her hand, you took it. Little did you know, everything was about to change.

Captain John Price Masterlist

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angel5ofp0rn · 3 days

Text

♡ part twelve ♡

ExHusband!Price x f!reader

UPDATED

John is holding newborn baby Shae, rocking her gently in his arms as he walks around the living room, trying to soothe her cries.

Despite his soft humming, she continues to fuss, her tiny wails echoing through the room. Shae's delicate features scrunch up with the intensity of her cries, her little fists clenched tightly.

“I just got the little monkeys to sleep,” you whisper, coming down the stairs. You notice the weariness etched on John's face, and your heart aches for him. “Want me to take her?”

“Yes, please,” John sighs, relief flooding his features as he hands Shae over to you.

The moment your chunky little baby is in your arms, she stops crying, taking a shuddery breath and nuzzling close to you. Her tiny fingers grasp at your shirt, her big, curious eyes looking up at you with a hint of recognition.

John sits on the sofa, looking defeated with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. You sit on the other end, giving him space.

You've heard of couples growing distant after having a baby, but you don't remember it being like this with your first two children.

John looks up, noticing you watching him. The distance between you since Shae's birth is palpable, and he can't stand it.

Leaning back against the couch, he finally breaks the silence. “It does get easier after a while, right? She’ll stop hatin’ me sooner or later?”

You shrug, glancing down at baby Shae, who finally favors you more than John this time. “Just felt like it was a bit easier with Gabe and Linnie.”

“You were either deployed or sneaking off to your second family most of the time; it’s probably just hard for you to remember,” you say bluntly.

John stiffens, your words hitting him hard. He looks at you, remorse evident in his eyes. “I’m sorry…” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

“Water under the bridge,” you reply, offering a soft smile to Shae, admiring her big eyes and rosy, round cheeks.

John watches you, a mix of guilt and determination on his face. He wants to make up for lost time, to be the father he hasn't been able to be for his older children.

“She doesn’t cry because she hates you,” you explain gently. “She can just tell that you’re stressed.”

John processes your words, looking down at the baby in your arms. “Y’sure?”

You nod and move the baby closer to him. “Here, try to relax.”

“I’ve been trying,” John sighs, rubbing a hand over Shae's little swirl of a cowlick at the back of her head. “She jus’ screams her li’l lungs out.”

“You can’t just never hold your daughter again because she cries,” you insist. “Hold her.”

John takes a deep breath, nodding slowly. He moves carefully, taking Shae into his arms. She starts fussing again, her cries piercing the quiet room. John’s expression darkens, his frustration evident. “C’mon, Chunky Monkey… Don’t cry,” he pleads quietly.

You scoot closer, placing a soothing hand on his thigh. “Just relax. She’ll calm down.”

John's tense frame gradually loosens as you press a gentle kiss to his shoulder. He looks down at Shae, her cries becoming quieter. “See? She's calming down,” you say softly.

"You sure?" John asks, his voice tinged with hope. He watches as Shae's crying diminishes to soft whimpers. He takes a deep breath and finally cracks a small smile.

“If mommy and daddy are happy, baby's happy," you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder.

John's smile grows as he holds Shae, her chubby little hands clutching his chest. “Skin-to-skin helps a lot, too,” you suggest.

John snorts. “You think if I took my shirt off, she’d calm down even more?”

You nod earnestly. John hesitates but then removes his shirt, placing Shae directly on his chest. She finally stops crying, her tiny body relaxing against his. Her skin feels warm against his, and her little feet, no bigger than his thumb, curl up contentedly.

John’s expression softens. “Huh…”

“What’d ya know, your wife is a genius,” you grin, lovingly rubbing Shae’s back. You feel the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, and it reassures you both.

John chuckles, his earlier stress melting away as he holds his baby girl close. “She loves you,” you say gently. “She just loves you relaxed.”

Shae remains still and calm against John’s bare chest, her breathing soft and even. John looks at her with pure adoration, softly rocking her. “I can carry her up to her bassinet,” you offer.

“…I think I can,” John replies, standing up slowly with Shae in his arms. He walks carefully upstairs, rubbing her back gently. Her head rests against his shoulder, her tiny mouth opening in a big yawn.

You watch with a small smile as John heads to your office; the temporary nursery. After a moment, he stops at the top of the stairs and looks down at you. “Bed?”

John is always sitting at the end of the bed when you enter. You try to sit next to him, but he pulls you into his lap instead.

“Things haven’t been right with us, love.” he sighs, wrapping his arms around you.

“I don’t want us to do this… passive-aggressive, barely speaking to each other thing anymore.” You look into his eyes, seeking understanding. “We promised that we’d communicate, John.”

John nods, his voice breaking. “I know, love… You were right downstairs; I wasn’t around enough for Gabriel or Linnie, and I wasn’t around much for Theo, either.” Tears well up in his eyes. “I’ve just been sick at the thought of another one of my children growing up with me hardly around.”

Your heart breaks hearing him express his fears. You hold his head to your chest, pressing kisses to his hair and rubbing his back soothingly. You let him cry, offering him the comfort he needs. “You’re an amazing dad, babe… Theo is amazing, Gabriel and Linnie are such good kids… No doubt Shae will be even better, because she’ll get you full time,” you murmur. “You have nothing to be worried about when it comes to the kids.”

John lifts his head from your chest, looking at you with bloodshot eyes and tear-streaked cheeks.

“Just… promise we won’t do this passive-aggressive stuff anymore. I know new babies are stressful, but the kids need to see us happy. Okay?”

“I promise.” John whispers, holding you tightly. He kisses you briefly, resting his forehead against yours. For a moment, he just enjoys holding you, feeling a sense of peace and connection that he has long missed.

•••

You head outside at 3:30 and meet your oldest child at the bus stop, holding his hand on the little walk back to the house.

Gabriel seems to walk slower than usual, looking deep in thought. As you two get closer to the house, he lets go of your hand and turns to you.

"Mummy, can I ask you something?"

"Anything, monkey."

He looks up at you as you both walk inside of the house. "How did you and daddy get married?"

"Hmm. That's a good question." You glance at John, who has a head full of ponytails and is using chubby baby Shae as a weight, making Linnie giggle like crazy.

Gabriel looks at John and smiles a bit as he watches him being all silly with his sisters. Gabriel turns his head back to you, waiting for the answer.

"Mommy and daddy met each other at a... park." You fib a bit, not wanting to tell your six year old that you were at a bar. "And I looked right at your daddy and I told him that he was so handsome that I wanted to be his girlfriend."

This was pretty much the truth... You actually drunkenly told him that he was gorgeous, and that you wanted to have a hundred of his kids.

"Really? And then he was your boyfriend?"

Gabriel's innocent and curious blue eyes look up at you, and John watches from a distance as well.

You nod with a smile "And then he was my boyfriend!"

Gabriel nods a bit, smiling now. "How long until you two got married and had kissies?" He asks earnestly.

"One long year." You snort.

"Did he take you on lots of fancy dates?" Gabriel is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at you as if this is a serious matter.

"Lots of dates, but not always fancy ones. Sometimes daddy would take me on a picnic at the park, sometimes we would go to a movie..."

"What did you guys talk about on all those dates?" Your oldest continues the interrogation.

You laugh again, looking to John this time.

John grins from where he's been watching, he looks a bit amused by the fact that Gabriel's full of questions now. He watches you, waiting to hear your reply.

"We talked about nice things... Daddy would tell me how pretty l am, and I would tell daddy how handsome he is... We talked about how many babies we wanted and what kind of house we wanted to live in..."

"And you guys talked about love?" Gabriel asks again, giggling this time.

"Mhmm. Daddy told me he loved me really soon, right daddy?" You look back at John with a grin.

"It was about two months in, eh?" John chuckles a bit, thinking back to the first time he ever told you he loved you.

"More like two weeks." You chortle.

John's eyes open up a lot as he stares at you and then laughs hard. "Oh come on. It was at least two months."

"Your daddy loved me right away." You shrug.

John grins, remembering when he was just a bit love-drunk when he first confessed to you.

Gabriel giggles a bit at the reaction, then speaks once more. "And do you guys still love each other?"

"Of course we do." You ruffle Gabriel's hair.

"Well… How come Theo has a different mummy?”

You and John look at each other, both not knowing how to explain this to a young child.

Your middle child’s face scrunches up in thought. “How come Nadia Mummy and Theo live so far away?”

John carefully sets Shae in her bouncer before he turns back to you and the older kids, his short brown hair still standing up in about 8 or 9 hair ties all over his head.

“Well, erm…” He clears his throat. “See, before I even knew your mum, I was married to Theo’s mum.”

The middle child gasps. “Did you have kissies with her?!”

“Christ…” John rubs a hand over his stubble.

“You have to have kissies to be married, dummy.” Your oldest tries to roll his eyes at his younger sister, but actually just looks up at the ceiling with a frown.

“Gabriel Kyle, don’t call sissy a dummy.” You sigh.

“Yes, we kissed, but that was long, long before I knew mummy;” John continues, “When I lived in England, where Nadia and Theo live.”

“Daddy?” Your middle child clings to her dad’s back, her little arms wrapped around his neck. “Can we live in England?”

“No,” John shakes his head with a soft chuckle.

“Why?” Your oldest’s frown turns into a pout.

John looks to you now, wanting your help in explaining this to the kids.

But you don’t.

You just stare back, offering a small shrug of your shoulders.

“Why not?”

John’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Wh- huh?”

You shrug again, a small smile tugging at your lips just at the thought. “You’d be closer to Theo that way, the kids would be closer to your parents, too. They’ve only met Gabriel, they haven’t met the girls.”

“You’re being serious, love?” John asks, seriously considering.

You nod, trying to take your husband seriously with his ridiculous hair. “I’d love to.”

“England! England! England!” The kids cheer. Even baby Shae’s round face lights up with a gummy smile.

“Guess we’re movin’,” John smirks.

<< prev next >>

#exhusband!price #captain john price #call of duty #captain price #john price #captain john price x reader #cod headcanons #cod x reader #price headcannon #price headcanons #price x reader #price cod #price #dad!price #ex husband price

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frudoo · 21 hours

Text

Full Hands Pt. 4

Warnings: Mentions of wanting to have children (i.e. get pregnant, give birth, nurse, etc.)

Full Hands Masterlist

You knew the job was temporary when you took it. You were simply filling in as a nanny for the kids until their family was stable enough for the mother to stay home. You just didn’t expect it to be so soon. The man got a notable promotion at his place of work, and the raise that came with his new position meant that his wife would no longer need to sustain a job. You were happy for them, truly—you could see how she clung to her children in the mornings, the sadness in her smile as she bid you and the kiddos goodbye—but you had grown to love these kids like your own.

Yesterday was your last day, a bittersweet thing. The little miss helped you cook a special breakfast of blueberry pancakes, insisting on mixing the batter. To your surprise, she didn’t spill a drop and even helped hold the bowl for you as you dropped some batter into the pan. The now nine-month-old boy, instead of fussing at you to help him eat, decided to be Mr. Independent and grab the bites of torn-up pancake all on his own. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt, watching these children grow up so quickly only to withdraw from their everyday lives.

Of course, you’d still see them from time to time, either to babysit or in passing. Their parents had made it clear that you were still their friend and welcome in their home anytime. As for now, you were jobless, posting your information on corkboards all over town and praying that a kind family would give you a call. Even John and your closest friends were keeping an eye out when they could, sending you links to local mom groups on Facebook that you could join and advertise in. So far, nobody was in need of a full-time care provider, so you’ve been scheduled to babysit for multiple families for a night or two.

It’s like the universe is taunting you. Everywhere you go, you see mamas bouncing their happy babies on their hips, daddies carrying their toddlers on their shoulders, parents swinging their children by the arms as they walk. Today, you find yourself at the park where you and the kiddos would frequent, apparently set on torturing yourself. It’s a Thursday so most school age children are in class, leaving only stay-at-home moms and their young kids to roam the colorful chalk-covered sidewalks. There’s so much laughter and giddiness and joy, and-

God, you need a baby. It’s abundantly clear in the way tears spill down your heated cheeks as you watch a little girl, no older than two years at most, give her pregnant mommy an open-mouthed kiss on the belly. A job isn’t enough anymore, not ‘holding you over’ the way you kept telling yourself it was. You crave the bond that comes with motherhood, the unmistakable features of your stature on the face of a chunky baby that you get to call your own. You want to nourish a life with your body, grow and birth and nurse. The desire practically screams for you the way you cry for it.

With a drawn-out sigh, you stand from the white wooden bench and brush the tears from your eyes, wiping the salty residue on your white skirt. It’s about an hour before you’re supposed to go on a date with John, so you decide to go back to your place and clean yourself up a bit. You can feel the dried mascara on your cheeks and you can’t imagine that you look presentable enough to even be in public, let alone on a date with your ridiculously handsome boyfriend. You trudge down the sidewalks and zone out until your hands make the familiar motions of turning your key into the lock of your flat.

You shriek at the sight of a looming figure before you, standing in the complete darkness of your unlit home, and it takes his low shushes and soft chuckles for you to realize it’s just John. You hit his chest softly, relieved giggles escaping your throat.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning in for a soft peck.

“Sorry, darlin’. Thought I’d surprise ya and show up a bit early,” he hums, large, warm hands engulfing your face as he pulls you in for a longer kiss.

You hum contentedly as his hands wander down to your waist, fingernails gently scratching the nape of his neck before you finally pull away with a dazed smile. His kisses tend to do that to you, leave you utterly speechless. You turn on the lamp that rests on your kitchen counter and before you can move to switch on the rest of the lights, John cusps your jaw firmly in his hand, dark eyebrows furrowed in concern. You yelp a little, not from pain, but surprise.

“You’ve been cryin’,” John observes, eyes scanning over your tear-streaked face now that it’s illuminated.

“It’s nothing,” you shrug with a soft grin, gently wrapping your fingers around his wrist to coax him to let go of your chin.

“It’s not nothin’ if it made you cry,” he insists, intertwining your fingers and guiding you into the living room.

John sits on your couch and pulls you onto his lap, rubbing away the black stains on your cheeks with a sturdy thumb. He presses another short kiss to your lips, then your cheekbone, then your forehead.

“Talk to me, love,” he whispers, gaze flickering between your quickly dampening eyes.

“It’s stupid,” you laugh. “I-I just… I miss the kids, and finding new work is difficult.”

It’s not a complete lie—you do miss keeping the children, and finding a new family to nanny for has proved to be a hassle—but it’s not the entire truth either. It’s just that you and John haven’t talked about having kids yet, or anything about the future, really. You didn’t want to scare him off with that kind of talk. The last thing you want to do is add to his already overflowing list of stresses, but he can see right through you.

“What else?” He presses, fingertips running through your hair and massaging your scalp in a soothing motion.

You hesitate before sighing, shutting your eyes which only urges hot tears to spill from your waterline. John tuts, rubbing his thumbs over your eyelids to get you to look at him once more.

“Tell me,” he whispers, cradling the back of your head in gentle palms.

“I wanna be a mom,” you sniffle, a breathy sob escaping your parted lips. “I want a baby that’s mine, not one that I just take care of for a few hours a week, mine.”

John hums, and it’s quiet for a few moments. You cry a little harder, thinking you messed up and now this man that you adore wants nothing to do with you, but your sobs are interrupted by a fit of laughter from the man whose lap you sit on. You furrow your eyebrows, hurt that he thought your confession dumb enough to laugh in your face about. Your worries cease when he nuzzles his nose against yours, peppering short, sweet kisses to your swollen lips.

“If I were a worse man, I’d dare say I told you so,” John grins cheekily, kissing away the tears from your heated face.

“What are you talking about?” You huff, confused by his onslaught of affection.

“Don’t you remember, love? When I first met you and the little ones that day, you just had this… look about you. I could see the love, the longing in your eyes, and I asked if you wanted to be a mum.”

The memory hits you like a freight train, and you remember the way his words caught you off guard, made you blush until you were sure your face was red as a beet. You had forgotten all about it until now.

“Why didn’t you just tell me, darlin’?” His voice drops to a kind timbre, affection clear in his warm gaze.

“We haven’t even been together a year,” you frown. “I didn’t want to… y’know, scare you away.”

“Scare me away?” He asks breathlessly, his voice cracking, and if you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was in pain.

“Never. Nothing you do could ever scare me away, sweet girl. I would rip out my heart and present it to you on a silver platter if you asked. Hell, I still would even if you didn’t ask me to. Don’t you get it, darlin’? You’re my girl. I would do anythin’ and everythin’ for you. Whatever you need. Whatever you want.”

“Even a baby?” You giggle through a scratchy throat, wiping the snot from your nose with the back of your hand.

“Especially a baby,” he hums with a wide smile, and you trace the soft lines that form around his eyes tenderly.

John cups your face and pulls you in for a passionate kiss that steals your breath and all of your worries away, like he’s trying to take the burdens off of you and absorb them into himself. All he wants is your happiness, your smiles, your laughter. If he could, he would take away anything that dares make your lips twitch into something that even resembles a frown. When he pulls back, his grip on your face tightens ever-so-slightly, and his expression turns stern.

“I’m serious about you. Y’know that, yeah? Doesn’t take a year for me to figure that much out,” John murmurs, thumb tracing over your plush bottom lip. “But if you aren’t ready, or even sure that you want to be with me, then-”

“I do,” you interrupt hastily, muttering a small sorry when you see his eyebrows raise in surprise. “I do want to be with you. I’ve known that for a while now.”

“And is that because you really want me, or because I can give you a baby?” He jokes, nuzzling his face into your neck, his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle.

You tug at his hair playfully, sharp breaths heaving through your chest as you try to shy away from his relentless teasing. His movements still after a moment and he presses a chaste kiss to the skin right beneath your ear before he leans against the back of the couch. John wraps his arms around your waist and guides you to rest your head on his shoulder, snuggling into his firm body. He rests his cheek on top of your hair, hands aimlessly roaming your back.

“Marry me,” he whispers after a good moment of silence, and you stiffen.

“What?” You lift your head to look at him, eyes wide with shock.

“Marry me,” John repeats, his bright blue eyes boring into yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. “We want to be with each other, yeah? Why waste anymore time?”

“John, I…” you trail off, shaking your head softly in disbelief.

“I love you,” he interjects, rough fingers squeezing your waist affectionately. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. It’s all I fuckin’ think about, darlin’. You’re all I think about.”

Fresh tears form in your eyes, and John’s heart drops. Perhaps he was the one to scare you away with his bluntness. With trembling hands, he wipes away your tears and shushes you sweetly. He thinks that being skinned alive would hurt significantly less than seeing the way your bottom lip quivers as you cry.

“I’m sorry, love, I shouldn’t have sprung that on you. You don’t have to give me an answer right now, or even at all if that’s what you want. I’ll wait as long as it takes, darlin’, I’ll-”

“Stop talking,” you sniffle, giggling under your breath as you press a finger to his lips. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

For the first time in your relationship, you see him blush, his entire face and the tips of his ears reddening rapidly. He clears his throat and suddenly he’s the one that can’t look you in the eye. You cup his bearded cheeks in your hands and tilt his head up to look at you, that sweet smile he fell so head over heels for adorning your face.

“I love you,” you confirm, and watch as his eyes glisten with unspeakable happiness.

John pulls your face down to lock his lips with yours once more, small puffs of relieved breaths mingling with your own. Your mouth has never felt softer, never tasted sweeter, never pressed so perfectly against his own. All the hell he’s been through, all the hardships he faced, the pain he’s dealt and the wrongs he’s suffered are all worth it now, with you in his arms. If it meant that you would be his every single time, he would spend every life after this one pursuing you until the end of the world.

He just wishes that time could stand still for this very moment so he can cherish it for eternity.

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