#john price fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kneelingshadowsalome · 10 months

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I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience.

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream.

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel.

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside.

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement.

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either.

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day.

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price.

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear.

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks."

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke.

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes.

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things.

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to.

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you."

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not.

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed.

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young.

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant.

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick.

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car.

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh.

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for.

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old."

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had.

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan.

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his.

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away.

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in.

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good…

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point.

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest.

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects.

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…"

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple.

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want…

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying.

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already.

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…"

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull.

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth.

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago.

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway."

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed.

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap.

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too.

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?"

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say.

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes.

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart.

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?"

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco.

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not...

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong.

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in.

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream.

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?"

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise.

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel…

And Alaska.

#john price x you #john price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #price x reader #captain price smut #captain price x reader #john price smut #john price #mw2 smut #captain john price #john price fanfic #cod fanfic

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gloomwitchwrites · 10 days

Text

Just Like Dad (4 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff

Word Count: 957

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Checking through his daughter’s backpack strikes up a difficult conversation.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad masterlist

Price has no idea where his daughter’s disorganization from, but it certainly isn’t him.

Opening her backpack, Price cringes at the mess. It’s all crushed papers, broken pencils, scattered crayons, and food wrappers. Sighing, Price turns the backpack zipper-side down, the contents crashing to the dining room table.

She is going to sit down tonight and organize this. No exceptions.

Frowning down at the wreckage, Price begins sorting through the papers, glancing at a few just to find some order in the chaos. He picks up a piece of paper and pauses, his gaze landing on the title.

All About Me reads the top of the page.

Price smiles as he starts to read over his daughter’s answers.

Favorite color? Blue.

Favorite animal? Dragon—all capital letters with lots of exclamation points.

Happiest memory? That one just says “ghostie tree.” Her teacher will have no idea what that means, but Price knows, and he laughs so hard he almost chokes.

Price’s daughter adores Simon, and whenever he’s around, she turns into a koala, hanging off every limb. It doesn’t matter if Simon is standing or sitting down. And how does Simon feel about it? He’ll act bored, like it hardly bothers him, but then he’ll strike, tickling her until she runs away screaming only for her to return minutes later to do it all over again.

Flipping it over, Price continues to read, pausing when he reaches information about parents and guardians. This is where he slows and observers her writing. She already filled stuff out about mom, and Price knows you’d get a laugh out of her answers, but the sections about him cool his amusement.

Her answers are idyllic versions of himself, nearly whimsical in the way she describes what he does and how proud she is that he is her father. That makes him ache, brings a tightness to his chest that pushes out all other feeling. Price is proud of his work, and of his career, but it is not a beautiful thing.

It is not sweet or kind or tender.

It is rough. It is hard.

It is heartbreaking.

He has lost so many people. So many good men and women. He’s done horrible things. Stained his palms with blood. These are difficult truths he faces every day.

But there are softer moments in his career of watching those he’s mentored be promoted, of victories and celebrations, of marriages and births, and of all those he’s worked with who have gone on to lead fulfilling, happy lives.

All of that, and this isn’t what stops him.

It’s her answer to the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I want to be like my dad.

Price sighs and sets the paper down on the table.

How does he respond to that? Should he even take the initiative? Should he approach the topic at all?

Price isn’t certain.

“Daddy.”

Price starts at his daughter’s voice. He turns. She’s standing just inside the archway to the living room. She has a perplexed look on her face as she glances between him and the mess on the kitchen.

“What’ve you done with my backpack?”

Price blinks, and then chuckles. “It’s a mess, love. We’ve taught you better.” Her face flushes slightly as she slowly walks up to the table. “You’re sitting down and going through this. No exceptions.”

She nods sheepishly.

Price picks up the questionnaire. “Want to talk about this? I have to sign off on it.”

Her flush grows deeper. “Did you read it?”

“I did.”

She looks up at him expectantly and Price waits a moment to see if she’ll say anything. She doesn’t.

“You said some nice things about me,” he says softly, and she beams. It reminds him of your smile, and that melts his heart down to his toes.

“It’s true,” she says brightly, happy that he’s mentioned anything at all.

“You want to be like me?” She nods. “And what do I do?”

She blinks. “Didn’t you read what I wrote?”

Price barks a laugh. “Yes, love. I did. But I want to hear it from you.”

She squares her shoulders and looks up at him with fierce determination. “You protect people. I want to protect people.”

True. But not entirely.

“How do you think I protect people?” He can see her brain processing the question and attempting to formulate an answer. She chews on her bottom lip, shoulders sagging slightly.

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “But I know that you do. You protect me and mom.”

“That’s because you and your mother are mine to protect.”

Protect is not the right word. While his actions and the things that he does might prevent horrible things happening at a global level, doing so often results in pain and suffering. It’s just what happens even when he tries to prevent that.

“Can I not do that?” she asks.

“You can do whatever you want when you’re older.”

But military life? No. He doesn’t wish that for her, and it’s not because she’s a girl. He’d feel the same if she has been born a son. No parent wants to see their child in potential danger. Doesn’t matter what age.

“So I can be just like you?”

He wants to say “no,” but instead diverts the question elsewhere. “You can’t be anything if you don’t organize this backpack.”

She groans and starts rummaging around in the mess.

Price kisses the top of her head. When he glances up, you’re standing in the archway, a soft smile on your face. Did you hear the whole conversation? Or just the end?

You stride forward and reach out. Price meets your outstretched hand, threading his fingers with yours.

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nrdmssgs · 7 months

Text

Kissing Price on the forehead

Masterlist Kissing Ghost on the forehead Kissing König on the forehead

At some point it hits Price. A simple idea, just two words, enough to make his life easier.

He's replaceable.

War will not be lost the minute he is gone, his squad won't stop fighting, the world won't end. Gaz will eventually grow into the best Captain out there, Soap will never stop coming up with new shenanigans, Ghost... Well, John is sure, legends around Ghosts figure will only continue to multiply. It's not, that Price will be immediately forgotten - but in some ways he'll just be replaced with a new man. And that's a good thing. Aging and moving further and further away from egocentrism, which used to make Price the key to the existence of the whole world, felt... calming. John wasn't trying to surrender, give up the fight, he just slowly, but surely broke free from anxiety. Every next deployment he took a step closer to death, and every time it felt a bit easier.

Price was somewhere deep inside his thoughts, when the entrance door of his secluded cabin creaked opening.

You enter, and thin tongues of blizzard crawl across the floor in the hallway after you, before the door slams shut. John hears you kicking off winter boots and unzipping a coat. In a few minutes, water flows from the kitchen tap and a bitter smell of rowan fills the air. Price smiles to a memory, awakened by this scent.

***

A few years ago, it was as cold outside as it is now. You brought a mug full of crimson berries that you had picked around his house.

“I swear, if you had told me earlier that you have a rowan growing here - I'd already live here."

"And here am I, an old fool plotting dates to win your interest," Price chuckles croaky and takes a pair of berries from the mug. He never actually tried a rowan berry before - always considered it non-edible. And when their viscous and unbearably bitter juice filled his mouth - Price coughs.

Your laughter echoes in every corner of the kitchen, it tickles something deep inside him. John used to suppress the feeling for years, but now, after years of denying the obvious, all the dancing around and a few innocent dates, he finally does it.

"Stop laughing, or I'm giving you a taste of your own medicine." He moves closer, completely ignoring your attempts to pull the mug away from him. Price doesn't need it - only your face not moving away, not leaning back.

Your first kiss tastes like smoke and rowan berries.

***

John presses himself to your back, warming you, his touch still sending shivers down to your core, even after these years you spent together.

"You like it here, love?" His velvety voice resonates deep inside your chest, making you melt in his hands.

You nod, not stopping washing the berries. Pale pink droplets glisten on the edges of the sink.

"Good... That's good." His beard lightly brushes against the back of your neck as Price leaves a trail of feather-light kisses. He pauses over your ear. "Because I want you to have this place, if anything happens to me."

You freeze. Of course, you know, what John's line of work looks like, what are his chances to not make it even till fifty. But what he is proposing right now is too much. It hurts even to think of such a perspective.

"No."

"Wait." Price makes you turn from the kitchen counter to him. He starts explaining, but you can't make out any sense of the words leaving his mouth. It some rubbish about you having to move on after he's gone, having this place to enjoy life, having to find someone to build a happy future with. The words stick together into a disgusting, meaningless mush, merging with the growing noise in your ears. You manage to grab onto one word. "Replaceable"

"John, stop!" You cup his face and bring it closer to yours. "Who said, you were 'replaceable'? Who said, I could ever let go of what we have, of what I feel, when I see you, or even just hear your voice. It took us both so much time to figure out our own feelings. And you say, I can replace it?"

He sighs deeply, ducks his head, hiding his face from you. The thought, John suppressed so hard, reemerging once again. For once, he wants, he needs to be a person that isn't so easily replaced. He wants to be your only one, your priority for life. He is afraid to let himself that... but he wants to be a person, you are scared to lose. This is so selfish, so ugly, he is ashamed to confess to you, that he actually has this wish.

Your lips, still cold after you came from the outside, are pressing against his forehead. Price freezes. This feels like a touch of a shooting star, crashing against his skin. One moment your lips feel chilly, the very next second his skin is burning under your touch. Maybe it's a shame, that made him blush. He doesn't care. All that's important to John now is you, crowning him with your kiss, letting him be your only one. Your irreplaceable person.

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romanticintheory · 5 days

Note

Can you do something fluffy and domestic with Price. Like maybe him trying to ask civilian reader out on a date, and everything is just going against him. (He eventually does get to ask her whether or not it was how he planned it.)

john wants to ask his favorite waiter/waitress out on a date, but the universe seems to have other plans for him.

john price x gn!reader

fluff, john trying his best, domesticity

a/n: ty for the request!! you’re my first one so i hope you like it <3 also, let’s just pretend like the timeline of this fic makes sense :)

Oh, this poor man was hopeless from the start. He had been interested in you for a while and was finding the courage within himself to finally ask you out. He felt silly about the ache in his chest whenever he thought about what your response might be. He just wanted to do right by you was all. So, when he was finally out of his latest mission and allowed to take a break, he was determined to pop the question to you.

The plan was to stop by the flower shop and buy a simple bouquet for you, but when he found himself in front of the store it had been closed. “Family Emergency. Will be back next week.” He didn’t have a week.

Okay, so, no flowers. It was disappointing, to say the least, but he could make do.

You were nearing the end of your shift when your coworker, Missy, tapped you on the shoulder. As you turned away from the table you were cleaning, she leaned down and whispered in your ear, “There’s that hot man here, again. He’s asking for you, dear.”

She ended her news with a knowing wink. Looking past her shoulder, you could clearly see John sitting at a table with a menu in his hands. Your cheeks flushed at Missy’s insinuation.

“Thanks,” you managed to choke out, hoping she didn’t notice how flustered you were.

“Of course. That’s the second time, just so you know,” she reminded teasingly, nudging you with her elbow encouragingly before leaving to go attend to her own tables.

Out of the three times John had been to your restaurant (including this one), he spent the last two specifically requesting your presence. Though you tried not to think much of it, you couldn’t ignore the way it made your heart flutter.

Straightening your uniform, you made your way to his table with a genuine smile—a stark contrast to the fake one you give to other customers just for the sake of work. John pretended like he wasn’t secretly watching you in the periphery of his vision and looked up at you once you found your way to him.

“It’s nice to see you again,” you beamed.

“‘S nice to see you too,” he replied, unable to keep that lovestruck smile off his face. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

You laughed softly, “I’ve been alright. You know, just the same old. How about you, John?”

“I’m afraid it’s been the same for me. Just got off a mission.” Not once did his eyes leave yours. It was almost intimidating, the way he was so dedicated to giving you his full attention.

“Really? You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” you said hopefully.

It was the perfect opportunity for him. All he had to say was, ”Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime,” and he almost pulled it off.

“Actually, I—”

Ring, ring, ring, ring.

Internally cursing himself, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and saw the contact Laswell flashing on his screen. Usually, when she called, it was something worth hearing. He looked up at you apologetically, but you just smiled and waved your hand at him to let him know it was okay.

Standing up, he answered Kate’s call and pressed his phone between his ear and his shoulder. You couldn’t hear much of what the other person was saying. It was mostly just John nodding his head, saying a quick “yes” or “no,” or mentioning what you assumed were his colleagues' names.

Gathering his things, he turned to you and gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, but I have to leave, right now. I apologize for wasting your time like this.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry! It’s nice to have seen you anyway, and I’m glad you’re doing well. I don’t mind, honestly,” you reassured him, secretly disappointed at the fact that his visit was so short-lived.

Clearing his throat, he asked, “If it's not too out of line, may I ask when you get off work?”

Throwing all caution to the wind, you quickly answered, “At about ten thirty.”

“Ten thirty, all right,” he said (more so to himself than you). “Have a good rest of your shift, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, I hope all is well at work,” you nodded, watching as his eyes lingered on your for a moment before he left for the door.

The entire time he was back at work the thought of you sat in the back of his mind. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember why he was there. Something about an important lead? Or maybe a new contact? Honestly, his head was in the clouds.

Even though you didn’t know he was going to ask you out, he still felt guilty for not being able to pop the question to you. As soon as he left the meeting, he was out the door. It was already ten, and it took about twenty-five minutes to get to the restaurant. He silently cursed himself for the second time that day, still determined to get in his car and see if, by some miracle, he could catch you.

He had imagined himself in the exact opposite situation he was currently in. He had wanted to be out of uniform in something more presentable and approachable, being able to spend his time with you without any interruptions. Now, he was having to rush his pace with his uniform on as he attempted to make up for his first failed attempt at asking you out. He didn’t want to be the captain with you, just John Price.

Peeking into the front door of the now-closed restaurant, he scanned the few workers left inside to see if any of them were you only to be met with disappointment. His frustrated grew ten-fold as he turned away from the door, making his way back to his car.

Just as he was about to hop in, you were exiting the side door with your uniform in hand.

“John?” you called out, stopping just a few feet away from him. You almost didn’t recognize him with the way he was dressed (not that you were complaining).

He whirled around instantly at the sound of your voice. “(Y/n),” he started. “I almost thought I missed you.” You smiled. “No, one of my coworkers needed help with something so I stayed behind just a little bit.” “How kind of you. Most would leave as soon as they were able,” he praised, shutting his car door behind him.

“She’s always been kind to me. I figured the least I could do is repay her.” You paused. “So, uh, what brings you back here so late?”

You.

“Well, I was just…” Why was he nervous? He had asked out plenty of people before (though none quite like you). For Christ’s sake, he was a disciplined soldier capable of incredible feats without breaking a single sweat. He’s faced dangerous criminals with a calm face and a stable mind, but with you, oh, it was like everything he ever learned went out the window.

You waited expectantly with bated breath.

“Well, I was actually wondering if you would want to go out with me sometime. Anywhere you like,” he finally managed. “‘Course, feel free to say no. I promise I won’t be hurt.”

He’s lying, of course, but you didn’t need to know that.

Your face lit up at his question, answering with an immediate, “Yes, I’d love to!”

Finally, finally, he could release the breath he was holding. His shoulders visibly relaxed, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he grinned at your response.

“How do you feel about movie and a dinner?”

Maybe it didn't go exactly as he'd planned, but at least you said yes, right?

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raffe156 · 7 months

Text

Room for one more

Pairing - Price x OC Tank (F!reader)

Summery - Testing the limits of a one man tent…

A/N- little Drabble based on those single tents @atomiccrownpoetry mentioned, I’m sorry it took so long! Though I’ve tagged it as Tank an I read it as Tank and some of you will do the same, I don’t mention her by name so can be read as Price x F!reader 😌

Warnings - Smut (18+) Voyeurism kind of , Language, Age gap Price (38) Tank (26) unsafe sex, p in v

✨As always comments and feedback welcome ✨

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Call of duty characters - Only Tank

“You should get your head down kid, you look shattered” Price rubbed your back, he towered over you his hand lingered between your shoulder blades.

He was right it had been a long day of recon and you weren’t about to get into another argument with Soap over who ate the last digestive biscuit.

It was you but you weren’t about to admit that. Tonight was the last night of a 3 day stay in the desert and you were ready to go home.

“Yeh you’re right” You stood up stretching your back.

“Listen, one more night of this and I promise you fresh sheets and a real pillow.” Price squeezed the back of your neck a smile on his face. Everyone cheered at the idea of getting their heads down in a proper bed, but you knew he didn’t mean the beds back at the base. The thought caused a stir in your stomach and it was enough to get you through the next few hours.

You said your good nights and walked back to your single tent with Farah in tow.

You chit chatted as you both stripped down to your under layers outside your tents. Even though the temperature dropped at night, inside the tent was insulated and the last few nights had been so warm you had slept with just the mesh panel.

“Was it you that ate the last of those biscuits Soap loves so much?” Farah laughed as she turned you around to braid your hair just like she had done the last few nights. You gave her a knowing smirk as you handed her the comb. She laughed shaking her head.

“Sooo you and Alex eh?”

Farah didn’t need to see your face she could hear the grin as clear as your words.

“Asimat!” She tugged the braid playfully. You held your head laughing.

“OK OK ‘ana asf!” You pleaded.

“Never mind that, what about you and the Captain eh? Ya ‘iilahi, I see the way he looks at you, like a starving man looks at a meal…”

“Farah! Asimat!” You could feel your face flushing.

She tied a bobble around the braid a cocky look on her face. You both eyed each other, before bursting out laughing the sound echoed across the campsite and off into the distance.

For a few minutes the two of you weren’t soldiers in the night, but just two girls braiding each others hair and laughing about boys at a sleepover.

***********

You lay in your tent listening to the sounds of the desert, the distance chirps and hoots.

Just as your mind was finally drifting off you felt the air shift, turning your head slowly you watched the zip of the tent door curl down to reveal the pitch black night, the warm breeze blowing in as a dark silhouette moved closer inside. You knew instantly who it was the air bringing in the smell of dampened fire and cigar smoke.

You blinked a few times trying to make out where the nighttime visitors face was.

“You awake kid?”

“Yeh…I’am now”

“Mind if I join you?”

“Don’t think you’ll fit”

“I will…move over”

“Move over where? It’s a 1 man tent”

“Good thing I’m just 1 man then eh?”

“….”

“Just move over” a growl more than a whisper now.

“Someone’s gonna see you, I thought you said we have to wait till we get back home? You fully lectured me about it?”

“I know what I said…just move over”

You did as you were told, moving on to your side allowing your Captain to slide in next to you. It was a tight fit as he zipped the panel shut behind him, you could feel the air trapped inside get heavy.

“Come ere” Price pulled you into him, you threw your leg over his waist.

“Oh I’ve missed this…can’t wait to get back to mine, don’t plan on letting you leave the bed let alone the bedroom” He let out a little chuckle as he kissed the top of your head.

“I know it’s not the same….but I’ve wanted to be close with you like this since we arrived Kid, it’s been driving me insane…”

“I’m more than happy with this, I’ve missed you too Boss”

You stretched your body out over his, your hands finding their place to settle.

He was in his joggers and a T-shirt, he must of walked the distance from his tent to yours in his socks you could feel the tiny grains of sand against your legs. You tried to pull them off his feet with your own.

“What are you doing? You’re not taking another pair of my socks!”

“No you’ve got sand on them, take them off”

You felt a little rumble of a laugh come from his chest.

“If you want me to take my kit off all you have to do is ask love”

“Shut up! You’ve got sand all in my sleeping bag take them off now!”

“Oh using your big girl voice are we? Hmm I like it” He pulled you on top of him your body sliding over him with ease, legs either side. You tried to sit up but your back was pressed back down by the roof of the tent.

“John what the…”

He cut you off his hands pulling you down into him, his mouth finding yours in the dark. His kiss was hungry and needy, it had been a few days since he’d been able to show any real affection towards you. You had made do with the odd pat on the shoulder, his hand lingering a minute longer than needed, standing just that little bit closer during briefs, his legs looped with yours in the back of cramped vans and trucks.

You allowed him to devour you in the darkness.

Lifting your hips slightly Price pushed his joggers down just enough to pull his cock out and rest it on your underwear. You instinctively rolled your hips back into him feeling the sturdiness of his erection as it pushed against you.

You felt his hand pull roughly at your underwear, he wanted them off but knew there wasn’t the room or the time so pulled to the side would have to do. His fingers brushed against your folds as he pull the fabric away. Without needing to be told you eased the tip of him inside you savouring the feeling as you pushed through, you could hear the little grunts of frustration and swore there was a whimper or two as you sank yourself down taking him down to the base. It was a snug fit.

“Fuckin ell” he whispered as you slowing rocked your hips back and forth your chest pressed to his. A pathetic whine left your own body. You desperately wanted to sit up, wanted to feel his hands roam up your body, to cup your breasts, you wanted to see his face, see the same desperation in his eyes, to watch as his teeth clenched and gritted together as you rode him, but there was no room for fancy moves or position changes, this was it packed in tight, close quarters.

You tucked yourself in under his chin your head slightly tilted, Price held you close to him as you slowly picked up the pace, his other hand firmly on your backside rocking you back and forth grinding your clit on his pubic bone.

The thought of being heard or even caught made you want to be that little bit louder, just a few feet away your entire squad slept it made your system flood with adrenaline.

As if he had read your mind, Price gripped your backside tighter. You let out a moan.

“Need you to stay quiet love, can’t have you waking the whole camp up now can we…what would they say if they caught us like this eh? I promise you can be as loud as you want when we get back home…” he mumbled as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

You couldn’t take it, you pushed yourself up rolling your hips faster and faster. The roof of the tent rubbing against your back.

The air inside the tent was heavy and damp with condensation, but you didn’t care your bodies were buzzing, you could feel it right there building inside of you both. Each craving for this closeness, this connection for days.

Price placed his hand on the side of your neck. He was close, but you were closer and he knew it your body gave you away.

“That’s it….cum for me love…aww…good girl…that’s its…” he gripped your neck that bit tighter your moans came out ragged and broken from trying to stay quiet, but even though you were coming undone you couldn’t stop your hips from rocking back and forth your body wanted more your insides pulsed and fluttered around him, begging to come again.

Price couldn’t hold out any longer and began desperately bucking his hips up into you, cursing between gritted teeth with each thrust. The sticky wet noises filling the tent, someone would definitely be able to hear, the rush of being caught surged through your body again making your hips match the speed of Price’s thrusts. This caused you both to fall apart very quickly. You buried your head in his neck to stifle your cries.

“Fuckkkkkk…” Prices groaned as he came inside you, his thrusts slowing as he became more sensitive.

You both lay there trying to catch your breath, your bodies pulsing as your heartbeats tried to regulate. Once the blood had stopped rushing in your ears you tried to listen for any movement outside the tent, hushed voices or footsteps, but all you could hear were the distant hoots and howls of the night.

“Think we’re good…” Price kissed your temple as he slowly unzipped one of the panels to let some air in.

*************

You woke up at 6:00 alone having no idea when Price had left you, but you felt his socks at the bottom of sleeping bag pulling them on you sorted yourself out and grabbed your toiletries bag, the makeshift showers weren’t too bad and you definitely needed one.

As you unzipped your tent you were met with the familiar sleepy faces of your squad. Soap half hanging out of his tent with a brew talking to Gaz, his Mohawk fluffy and sticking out in all directions. The pair of them clocked you and grinned. Your heart sunk. They had heard you last night, but before you could speak or plead your case Ghost and Price walked over to the huddle of tents.

“Morning kid…want a swig of this?” He handed you his cup of coffee you took it looking him dead in the eye.

“Can we have a word…in private?” You whispered. His face changed a serious look on his face. He nodded guiding you away from the others.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I think Gaz and Soap heard us last night they were talking this morning and gave me this look…I don’t know but they know something” you held the cup of coffee tight.

Price smiled resting his hand on your shoulder he leant forward so he was eye level with you. You wanted to slap the beard right of his face.

“We weren’t the only ones at it last night kid, have you noticed anyone missing this morning?”

A wave of relief washed over you, thank god!

“So if it’s not us they heard who was it?….” It only took a spilt second to realise who was missing.

“oh my god….Farah and Alex!” You spilt half the coffee onto Prices boots as you whipped round to look back at the camp.

“Correct…and Soap said they were pretty loud so even if we had been heard everyone thinks it’s them” Price chuckled as he took back his coffee.

Just as you turned back to Price you heard cheering and whistles, Alex had crawled out of Farah’s tent, bed headed and shirtless a weak smile on his face. Soap slapped him on the back offering him a coffee, close behind Farah appeared looking more triumphant than anything as she light up a cigarette. She waved at you and the Captain.

“She’s ballsy that one” you smiled back at her as Price lifted his coffee mug up at her in salute.

***********

A few days later you get a text from Gaz

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 2 months

Text

A Spark To Ignite (Bodyguard!141 x Famous!Reader Preferences) Mild NSFW

Summary: You see each other every day. He works to keep you protected - a perk of your job and his. Occasionally feeling moments of passion and promises of something more between you two are only normal, right?

AN: I've got another bodyguard!AU for the 141 that's more angst based. I'll post that later. I've also got a Price x Escort!Reader in the works plus the end of "Star-crossed in the Crosshairs". Let me know if you have any requests/anything you'd rather see first <3

Content warning: Minors DNI, 18+ only, allusions to sexual tension/arousal, second person, no use of Y/N

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another notification of being tagged in the same paparazzi image hit your notification inbox, yet you still opened it and shared a giddy grin at the Instagram feed.

You hadn’t been fussed about going running; it was the company rather than the activity that attracted you. But one thing you were certain about the sport was that no one ever looked flattering whilst doing it.

Yet there he was, your Kyle, looking like a model for Sports Direct. He was snapped midstride, his biceps practically rippling in the glow of the morning sun. There was even a hint of his lean washboard torso with the flap of his t-shirt’s raised coyly.

However, his dimpled smile aimed was the main focus of the headline – mainly because it was aimed at you and your equally elated expression. You blamed the euphoria of exercised endorphins but the way the photo was framed (plus the gaudy text declaring it so) made it seem as if you and Kyle were a true couple in love. It looked incredibly staged. Kyle was an “unknown” though so most budding theorists did not support any claims of it being a publicity stunt. Just two lovers out on a jaunty little run together.

You saved then added the photo to the folder of photos that captured you out with your bodyguard and the headlines that (sadly) misidentified him as your new boyfriend.

“Hey Kyle!”

Blending some fruits. His duties did not include head chef but you had long since allowed him access to your kitchen, even storing some of his favourites around the cupboards and fridge in case he fancied a snack.

Your phone was thrust up into his eyeline, you beaming behind it, “Another Pulitzer.”

Abandoning his smoothie temporarily, Kyle cupped his hand around yours to steady your swaying phone.

“They need to up their standards. Taking you for a jog is hardly a date you deserve,” He commented.

“Ooo, do tell: what do I deserve?”

“Well,” Kyle began pouring the smoothie into a glass, “I could go classic, take you to out on the town to a special place only I know about.”

You leaned onto your elbows, chin resting in your palms, cheeks creased in a cheeky smile. “Mm-hmm.”

“Wine you, dine you, treat you like a deity,” Kyle said as if he was listing off menial tasks on his day to day whilst collecting another glass for the remaining smoothie. “Take you back to mine if you fancied it, another drink whilst we talk the night away and time passing without us noticing.” Graciously, he slid the other one across the countertop, and your fingers locked against his warm ones wrapped against the cool glass. “Then work up a sweat in a whole other way.”

Blinking away the glaze that had coated your eyes, you restrained the urge to gulp back your desire. A fresh breath in your lungs recovered you quickly and you managed to conjure a teasing quip amidst the fog that had settled over your thoughts.

“Think you could keep up with me?” You said before sipping the smoothie.

The sweetness of it countered Kyle’s smirking reply: “You and I both know I can more than handle you.”

“Better train harder then,” You said, proud of yourself for not stumbling over your playful banter, “I’m a catch, so you better be fast enough.”

“Jog, same time tomorrow?”

“Sure.” And, not missing in the reflection of the oven door how Kyle – for a split second – looked you up and down, you did your best not to collapse or squeal during your return to the sitting room.

-----------

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

You leant against the ropes of the new boxing ring with a panting chest and aching legs. Jellied bones dared to let you collapse to the ground but at least, since your self-defence training had begun, you were lasting the full session rather than just after the warm-up.

“I think we’re done for today! Did good, held your own.” Johnny gave you a hearty slap on your back that almost ricocheted you off the ropes. “I’ve still got a few reps to get in.” He leapt out the ring and swigged from his water bottle, tossing you your own.

“Show-off!” You called out after him, though all in good fun, as you caught your bottle and your breath.

Technically, since you didn’t have anything else to do, you could get a head-start on getting cleaned up. You were in the privacy of your own gym, added at your request so that Johnny could train you better and you could do so without being ogled or papped.

Quite hypocritical it was then, that you lingered in the ring to watch Johnny stack up his weights on either side of the bar (the ones you purchased as part of his perks of working for you).

Your day-job came in handy with pretending to do some cooldown stretches, sipping from and pouring your water bottle over yourself. Well, you were actually doing those things but acting as if they were the only things that occupied your thoughts was the main role you were playing. From the corner of your eye, you observed Johnny squatted with a stack of weights lining each shoulder. God, those arms were practically popping, his thighs bulging with the effort of remaining planted on the floor and folding up and down beneath the hefty set. Mesmerising, you forgot to keep up your pretence by the second load of reps.

It left your lips before you could reconsider for the tenth time: “Bet you couldn’t lift me.”

Soap paused in a deep squat and looked up through his lashes at you. Meeting his steely blue gaze was easier than anticipated but maintaining it as he righted himself and rested the weights back on the rack with a restrained grunt was the difficult part.

At first, you thought maybe his silence was his answer. Then Johnny knelt down and assumed the plank position.

“Get on,” He said, loud and clear.

You still doubted him, “Seriously?”

“You made the bet. Now lie in it.”

As elegantly as possible, you dismounted the ring before making your way over to his side. He showed no signs of tiredness during your journey, nor did he when you balanced yourself across his broad back.

“Ok, ready,” You said, your voice close to wobbling.

And so it began. Up and down, you could feel how his body sustained you through both your and his workout gear. His back muscles rippled beneath you and his elbows kissed yours each time he lowered you both to the floor. Out of nowhere, you began giggling and you couldn’t figure out how to put a stop to it. Giddiness flooded your entire system until you were beyond drunk.

Suddenly, your world tilted and you rolled off onto the mat but Johnny refused you any respite, flipping you over onto your back again, like a pancake.

“I win,” He panted, “What’s my prize?”

Still giggling, you felt your cheeks burning at the sight of him hovering over you, his skin glowing, his chest panting. His unrelenting stare had you locked beneath him, barred between his trunk-like arms. If this was your prison, you’d commit any offence to stay in there. God you were so close you could kiss him-

Nope.

“You finish your workout early so you can have a nice hot shower sooner?” You said, covering your mouth to cough and clear your airways of whatever shit you breathed in to make you even consider making out with your bodyguard. You must’ve looked so daft; you blamed the endorphins. Then you blamed Johnny completely as he started to laugh down at you, sending your thighs quaking as he crawled off you and ordered you to get cleaned up – that he’d be in shortly after as a hint to not use all the hot water. As you drifted back to the bathroom, you tried not to think about him in the shower or how you wanted to offer to scrub him down.

-----------

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Say the word and I’ll have him removed.”

For a man so stoic and intimidating, Simon sure made you smile a lot. You needed it after that… “interesting” conversation with one of the party’s guests – someone who you knew to be a detractor behind your back.

“It’s fine, really,” You insisted with a winning smile.

Casting a glance over your shoulder where your shadow dutifully remained was a reward you would never be exhausted of. Simon looked so good in his tux. Plus he’d humoured you and worn the silk black mask rather than his usual. You were brimming with privilege at seeing his hair styled beyond the flattened fuzz it would take on after being beneath the balaclava for twenty hours at a time. Even more so, you got to see his tattoos pairing nicely with them like a good bottle of wine.

You could hear the smirk hiding beneath his mask. His veined hands clasped firmly in front of him as he leant close, just his mask separating his lips and your ear.

“We could make a break for it. Ditch these twats. Get a drive-thru.”

He knew you never would agree to it; this gala meant a lot to you. Such a tempting offer though, in such a tempting voice too. His rough tone did nothing but delight you when you heard it. Turning to look at him, you took note of the two mere inches between your face and his.

He continued, “You’ve shown your face long enough.”

“Getting jealous of them stealing my attention?” You asked provocatively.

Simon let out a low laugh, shaking his head fondly with just a hint of patronising, “That’s funny, sweetheart.”

“Well, I’m sure there are plenty of people who are dying to still talk to me.” You gestured with the glass he’d gotten (and checked for any malicious interference) for you around at the room, those who would never have the privilege of being a part of your and Simon’s bubble.

“Just as long as you and everyone else knows that I’m the one who takes you home.”

The implications of that statement swelled in your chest, nestling into your heart like a cat in a warm patch of sunlight. Intently, he looked at your face for your reaction. That was the thing with Simon: always observing, recording every flicker, every possibility in that incredible mind of his. You were certain he could see into your soul with those all-seeing eyes. He kept you safe, kept you on your toes, kept you happy.

But the bubble burst before you could hit back and you abruptly checked yourself back into work mode. The person who’d spoken loud enough to bring you back down to Earth didn’t seem to notice your slip up. You, however, were more than acutely aware of Simon’s lingering presence at your side. So close the hairs on your arm extended on goosebumps, coaxing and begging to touch him.

As you were once again left alone, you found yourself stifled by your need to be nearer to Simon and quickly decided the alcohol was to blame. “I need the bathroom.”

“This way.” His hand grazing the small of your back had an impact tripled, but you managed to submit it to travelling through your nose, rather than gasping out your mouth. But you were certain that Simon had caught you. He never missed a thing.

-----------

John "Bravo Six" Price

After shaking hands again with the presenter and declaring a few thanks to the crew, you were guided straight to the dressing room by Price. You took off your own microphone and handed it to him, which he immediately passed to a nervous stagehand. Your name in Arial font on an A4 sheet of paper greeted you from the dressing room door.

Sometimes you needed that extra time to decompress and he knew before you did more often than not. Today was not one of those days, though you did request to stop and pick up the bouquet that had been there to welcome you in when you first arrived. It was so large, your favourites blooming in the dew-dropped cellophane, that you had trouble waving to the folks who’d stuck around at the barrier, Price’s arms keeping you walking and guiding you towards the car.

For your safety, you had to go in the back where the tinted windows offered you a hint of privacy. It was a thorn in your side though. You longed to sit beside Price as he fought playfully with you over the music, grumbled with the directions his phone offered, collected your drive-in order. Then maybe your daydream of being his partner could have a little more to stand on.

A true gentleman as well as your protector, Price walked you up to the house and let you set up your evening meal while he made final checks to secure your house again. Normality for you was hearing him walk around and jiggle door handles and returning only when he was certain none had been tampered with and your cameras were fully functioning.

“Anything else you need from me before I leave for the night?” He asked, standing at ease in front of you.

You gestured to the bouquet you were cradling like a baby, “Thank you for the flowers.”

His brows furrowed for a split second then a sheepish smile smoothed out the lines in his forehead, highlighting his eyes instead.

“You caught me,” He said quietly, sparing a look at the flowers he asked the host to order for you, then back at you.

Squinting mischievously, you asked, “Were you really hiding it?”

“I suppose not.” He let his smile soften and dull. Back to business. Yet you could’ve sworn he glanced at your mouth before he asked, “Anything else you need?”

Your heart yearned to beg him to stay and tell you what else he did behind the scenes without a hint of expecting more, so that you could show him how much you cared in an appropriately equal response. His favourite whiskey perhaps for when he was off duty, or one day doing something together that he wanted to do so it wasn’t just looking after you. It was more than that, the job. He’d told you so. But you didn’t want to just be a job to him.

Quietly, you maintained your decorum, “No, thank you.”

John nodded his head, “Of course.”

It was as he was about to cross the threshold when you started to ask, “Do you-”

Not even three words made it out before Price whipped around, already returning to where he’d stood before. You could feel your lungs struggling under the strain of maintaining steady breathing at the gesture, suspending all the blood in your face (and maybe your groin). It stopped your question in its path, as if it was waiting until Price was listening attentively (he always was for you).

“Yes?” He prompted, his voice soft as if to coax you out of your hideout.

Fidgeting with the bouquet still, you cleared your throat and began again, “Do you want to join me, for dinner?”

Price’s hands, now at his sides, tapped on his thighs thrice before he said, “Two conditions.”

“Name them.”

Perhaps you said that a little too quickly because it made him laugh, which only made things worse for you. You had a real weakness for that laugh.

“You teach me whatever you’re planning on making, and you let me help you make it.”

Your heart accelerated and you dismissed his with a smile and a slight self-deprecating remark to soften the weight of this decision you were both making: “It’s nothing special.”

“Those are my terms,” Price insisted. His eyes creased as a smile grew on his face, more beautiful than the flowers forgotten the second you placed them into the vase. But at least it gave you to excuse to look away and gather your expression into something more collected as you ordered him to go and wash his hands.

#kyle garrick fanfic #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish fanfic #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #ghost x reader #john price x reader #john price fanfic #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #cod fanfic #my writing #preferences #r: gn

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blingblong55 · 10 months

Text

To live without- 141 + Alejandro

Based on a request:

Hii can I make a request for some angst?? Maybe the reader having an argument with the TF 141 + Alejandro, inside the car or anywhere resulting to a break up?? Cause I'm a sucker for angst, thankss 🫶

F!Reader, angst, established!relationship, break-ups, cheating (not all)

A/N: This will be in 5 parts

Part 2, (Soap), Part 3 (Gaz), Part 4 (Alejandro), Part 5 (Ghost)

It has been a stressful few months for him, between his job, you, his own safety and yours, let alone the current argument over her. It's why you and he are now in the car, having this argument.

Price:

He decided that since Laswell invited him to dinner with a few other soldiers and agents, why not take you? Besides you and him haven't gone out much since his last deployment, so this is the perfect opportunity. While having dinner at some restaurant, Price and a woman, much closer to his age than you, stroked conversation. He was telling her stories that not once he had told you and of course, his natural flirty state was in the mix. You were talking with Kate and her wife when you saw how close the woman was getting with your boyfriend. So, as one does, you took his hand and he immediately let go of it, not once making eye contact with you.

Kate and her wife saw this and knew it would not end well if the woman was not taken elsewhere. After dinner, you were the first one to leave the establishment. All others inside were either saying their goodbyes or getting acquainted. "yeah, this is my-" he turns to introduce you to some agent only to find your seat empty. Immediately he left too, only to find you in the car, probably telling your friend what was going on. He gets in, " alright, so will you tell me what the hell that was about?" he asks you. You look at him, for a while now he has been distant, so of course you had even more motives to suspect him. "You let go of my hand," your voice soft yet hinting at some hurt his past action left behind.

That was it, the final straw that threw him over the edge, "you fucking walked away from dinner because I didn't hold your hand any longer?!"

"Yes, do you even care how that even looks? I hold your hand all the time at dinners and this was the first time you let go of it because of that woman!"

"Don't you dare bring her into this." by this point some of the wine he had drunk was making its way into his system. "Why not, hm? why did you let go of my hand, John!" your eyes teary, trying to blink them away. "You really think this is all about you? That I intend to hurt you by some little thing like letting go of your hand?!" Your argument is being heard by some people. He knows better, that at dinners or in public when you hold his hand it's because you are trying to calm yourself down, your social anxiety gets the best of you and his hold brings comfort. "...she's just a friend.." he murmurs. And just when you were going to say something, he gets a text, "Will you come over after you drop her off?" he knows damn well you saw it and now he is prepared for the storm. "you are cheating on me?" oh the way your voice cracked and how tears spilt from your eyes. "...sorry," was all he could say. "you let go of my hand because you and this fucking whore have a thing!" back to yelling. "R/n, you are just a fucking pain in the ass! So of course I am cheating on you!" the instant regret once those words left his mouth.

The look on your face as he said them, never to forget the last time he saw that face of yours. And now you are far from him, he alone in his empty house, never to be called home again. Never to be greeted by you and your happy personality, truth be told, he still looks for you in every place he goes.

A/N: Hi, so since I don't want to make this post too long I separated it into parts, who do you want for part 2?

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mlmxreader · 4 months

Text

Are You Ready? | John Price x gn!reader (🍋)

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Price

35 “One of my biggest regrets was not telling you how much I loved you sooner” ❞

: ̗̀➛ Price is finally home, and you can't quite believe it.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, anal fingering, dry humping, dirty talk, Daddy kink, praise kink

: ̗̀➛ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

You fidgeted uncomfortably in your bed, tossing and turning all night whilst the television continued to play quietly, bathing the entire room in a dull blue light; beside you, Price hardly even stirred, hardly even paused as he slept so soundly beside you.

Completely and utterly knocked out from recently coming home from deployment; he was exhausted, in all honesty, but who could blame him?

When he had spent days looking into the eyes of boys hardly older than fifteen, blank and lifeless stares glaring into his soul; when he spent hours hunched over a desk and writing letter after letter to mothers and fathers, telling them that their babies had died. That their babies who would never return home to loving embraces, to hot home cooked meals and to soft, kind and loving words.

When he had spent days marching in mud up to his knees, blisters on his feet, sores on his legs and burns on his fingertips; endless miles of mud, with only rats, fleas and lice to keep him company. After all of that, who could ever say that he was to blame for being so tired, for being so fucking exhausted?

Who could ever say that he was to blame?

But unlike Price, you couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t that you were upset, or that you were tormented by anything, but it was the mere fact that you were just so happy to have him home; you were fucking giddy to have him home, you just couldn’t settle down. It was uncomfortable to lie in bed, but it was so good to have Price home at last.

All you wanted to do was jump on him and scream in his face about how much you had missed him; but you knew that he needed to rest, so you did try and keep yourself a little bit calmer than what you would have wanted. But you couldn’t believe it.

You felt him shift beside you, a harsh groan coming from the back of his throat as his hand drifted down, grabbing your ass and pulling you flush against his body.

“I missed you,” Price grumbled sleepily, pulling you on top of him and gently rocking his hips against you. “Y’know that, right?”

Your hands went to his chest as you pushed back against him, nodding as a breathy moan left your lips. “Four years tomorrow, baby… four years together, and I miss you more and more every time.”

He pushed his hips up against you, grinding. “Four years, and one of my biggest regrets was not telling you how much I loved you sooner.”

You swallowed thickly, pushing down your pyjama bottoms to expose yourself to him, moaning softly when he slipped his ring and middle fingers into your ass, slowly pumping them in and out as you whimpered for him to keep going. “John… fuck…”

“You like that?” He breathed out, and when you agreed, he picked up the pace. Fucking you with his fingers as he felt you clamp down around his thick fingers. “‘M gonna fuck you and fill that pretty little ass… make you so fuckin’ full…”

“Unf!” You squeezed your eyes tightly shut for a moment, hips bucking as you ground down against his fingers, your mouth falling agape and giving him the perfect excuse to capture your mouth with his.

Sucking your tongue before grabbing the back of your neck and harshly grinding against you; you could only whimper, so needy and desperate for him that all your words seemed to fail so miserably, so terribly.

All you could think about was how good his cock would look buried inside your ass, slick with lube and hammering into you; how good his cock would feel as it stretched you until you could hardly take it anymore, until you were sobbing and biting down on the bedsheet as it became wet and squelched with your spit and tears.

“You thinkin’ about it?” Price huffed, gently nibbling at your neck. “How good my cock would look as I bend you over and fuck you… you’re gonna look so good when I stuff you full of my cum… you’re gonna look so good…”

You let out a harsh breath, shuddering against him as you felt it wash over you; your legs shook harshly, thighs trembling as you bucked against him and allowed yourself to let loose at last. Sharp short breaths coming from your mouth as you fucked yourself against his fingers. Your eyes shut tightly, you could feel yourself coming undone as you thought more about it.

The slapping of skin, the smell of sex filling the room, the sounds of grunts and growls and soft whimpers. The feeling of his skin on yours; Price grumbled softly under his breath, slipping his hand to you and letting your cum coat his skin as he tilted his head back slightly.

“That’s it, baby,” he praised softly. “Cum for me, c'mon.”

“D-Daddy,” you gasped out, trying to fuck yourself against him even more desperately, wanting to feel it all over again. “Please… please… wanna… wanna cum twice…”

“Oh, baby,” he breathed out, pulling his fingers from your ass and flipping you onto your back. He settled between your legs, his hands on your thighs as he grinned tiredly. “Do you want my cock, now?”

You nodded desperately, mouth agape and drool slipping from the corner. “Please…”

“Yeah?” He whispered, gently tracing your jaw. “You sure you can take it?”

“John,” you growled softly, tugging at him. “Please don't be a tease…”

Licking his lips, Price smiled down at you, attacking your neck as he kissed and bit and sucked at the skin until you were bucking your hips against him, begging for him. “Four years together, and you've never been hotter than you are right now.”

You laughed softly, playfully slapping his chest and rolling your eyes fondly. “Four years, and I've never wanted you to fuck me as much as I need you to right now.”

“I see your point,” he growled out, palming at himself for a moment. “You ready?”

“Yes.”

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fandom-imagines · 7 months

Text

Price taking care of future s/o (headcanons)

Fandom: Call of Duty

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Abusive relationship (readers ex), crying

Anyone interested in a full one shot of this premise?

Price knows your boyfriend isn’t good enough for you, you’re way too good for him and Price can’t stand seeing you waste your time on a man like your boyfriend, but he with himself that he’s simply jealous that you’re not with him.

He almost feels bad for wishing that you would come and be with him rather than your boyfriend, almost. He used to feel bad until he met your partner and saw just how bad he treats you.

You don’t see it, nobody would unless they were really good at reading people and relationships like Price is, especially those close to him, and you were close to him.

So, when you show up at his house in the pouring rain, tears staining your cheeks, one bruised with an obvious handprint, he immediately knows what has happened.

He’s raging internally, but he knows you need to be comforted first, and with gritted teeth and a frown, he opens his door to you and, in turn, his heart; not that you would know it yet, of course.

He asks what happened, despite already knowing, and lets you just vent to him. He knows you need to get it all off your chest and he doesn’t interrupt once.

Throughout it all, he’s listening to every word, squeezing your shoulder in a comforting manner, passing you tissues, and hugging you once you’re done and wiping your tears, apologies falling from your lips.

“Don’t be silly, love. You’re part of my team, you’re always welcome here. Just don’t let Laswell know, all right?” Whilst the last part is an attempt to make you laugh, it is partially true; she was already beginning to notice how he favoured you.

“Thanks, Cap.”

“No need to thank me, love.”

He’s glad you trusted him enough to come to him just as much as he’s glad you’re starting to smile. Oh, how he loves your smile.

A comfortable silence falls over you two and he just stares at you.

He sits there, admiring your beauty, both inside and out and it just clicks: he loves you.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, so quiet that you don’t hear.

This isn’t good, he thinks to himself, but brushes it off for now; he needs to take care of you.

“I don’t know where to go, John.” You sniffle and he’s enjoying the way his name sounds on your tongue the same way he always does, and immediately offers you a place in his home until you’re back on his feet. He’ll even go pick you some things up tomorrow, so you don’t have to face him.

You’re hesitant, not wanting to disturb his peace and intrude on his home but one look from your captain has you agreeing; you could never be a burden to him.

He tells you to take a bath and gives you one of his biggest shirts and some shorts that he didn’t even know he owned and for the first time in a while, you felt good.

The night is spent with you two watching crappy telly and talking about anything and everything. You’re both on leave for the next month so it was oddly enough good timing, and you didn’t have to sleep in the uncomfortable bed on base.

Eventually, your words becoming slurred and slower and before either of you realise, you had fallen asleep on John’s shoulder.

His heart rate quickens, and he can’t stop the light blush on his face, but his main focus is making sure you were comfortable.

He does his best to relax, and once he was 100% certain you were asleep, he carefully adjusts you to lay on his lap, hand playing with your hair, enjoying the content sighs you let out, despite being asleep.

The mark on your cheek pains him to look at but he can’t help himself gently running a finger across the mark.

“I’ll never let him hurt you again,” he mumbles quietly, doing his best to not disturb you from your peaceful slumber.

After about an hour, he also ends up falling asleep, soft snores falling from his lips.

You’re the first to wake, eyes wide and cheeks hot, cursing yourself for falling asleep.

Price is still fast asleep, clearly having the best sleep he had in a while, despite not being in his own bed and you can’t help but remain in his lap, snuggling into his thighs.

The safe feeling that your captain always gave you was one you had tried to fight, but now, you never wanted it to fade; he would look after you.

“Morning, love,” the morning voice of the man you had fallen asleep on makes your cheeks even hotter. “Sleep well?”

You’re unsure what to say, so you simply nod. He smiles and tells you he’s glad.

He cooks you both breakfast and sneaks glances at you in his clothes every chance he gets without the risk of you noticing; you just look so good that he can’t help but admire you.

You’re unsure why your chest feels so warm as you look at him flipping pancakes at 8 in the morning, but you’re not against it, it’s just strange. You had never felt that with your ex.

Over the weeks that you’re staying at his house, you grow closer than you were before.

Your days are spent together and anybody you saw in public simply assumed you were a couple.

Price, however, was finding it difficult to hide his feelings for you as they grew even stronger, and you were the same.

You had realised why you felt the way you did for all those months now, why you were nervous around him and why he made you so happy: you loved him.

One day, as the two of you rushed inside, away from the harsh rain outside, the feelings overwhelmed you both.

As you leaned against the front door, both of you laughing, Price’s arms pressed on the wall either side of you, both of your laughter having calmed down and changed to a happy smile.

His eyes stared into yours, and yours his.

As he leaned in loser, you spoke.

“We shouldn’t do this,”

He didn’t know what to say, so he simply said what he was thinking, dropping one arm from beside you so you’d have room to leave if you wanted. You didn’t move.

“I know, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to.”

“John…”

“Yes, doll?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he did, every emotion that he had kept bottled up pouring into the kiss.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and one of his arms snaked around your waist, the other cupping your cheek.

As he pulled away, both of you panting, you couldn’t help but smile.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispers.

“I think I do now…” You giggled, hugging him, both of you smiling as he hugs you back.

Neither of you knew where you were going to go from here, but all you wanted was to be together; it’s all you guys had ever wanted.

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fortunatelyuniquepeach · 10 months

Text

Kiss the chef𓆩♡𓆪

Pairing: john price x gn!reader

cw/tags: fluff, reader loves coffee.

a/n: I might've babygirlified price a little in this and i'm not sorry. enjoyyy🫶🏼.

it was seven in the morning on a day off at base, everything was quiet and peaceful while everyone enjoyed a little more sleep than they would on a normal day of working.

There was no reason for things not to be quiet except for a little one, it was price's birthday. he and his team are a little too close to not annoy them on his special day. He decides to make the biggest and loudest breakfast ever and no one can stop him.

You were the first to wake up, already knowing it cap's birthday and before you went back to sleep, just for 5 minutes, you remember how embarrassed you get giving john's his gift in front of the rest, so you force yourself to get up and give captain his present before soap can pick on you for loving price a little more than the rest of the team.

walking into the kitchen on your tip toes, to surprise john but you find yourself the one surprised because price suddenly turns and he finds you in front of him. "(y/n) !, good morning. grab yourself a coffee I'm making breakfast", he says with a big smile pointing at the coffee machine he got for you last year after he finally believe it isn't so terrible for your health to drink it every morning.

"good morning, cap. You really shouldn't be the one cooking today. It's your birthday after all." you say as you make yourself coffee. You don't know why you suddenly find yourself shy to say happy birthday to cap, and you think this is a smart way to do it.

Price chuckles at your shyness, understanding you a little too much. "thank you for the happy birthday wish, sweetheart. And I don’t mind the cooking, it's not like any of you know how to cook to save your life", he hesitates to say, remembering that one time simon cooked for him when he was injured after he made him swear on his life he's not telling anyone.

You laugh in response before getting quiet again and remembering why you are here in the first place, you slowly pull the gift from underneath your shirt, thanking your luck that price didn't already see it. "Uhm so I know you always tell us to get you nothing, but I saw this and thought since you cook us breakfast every birthday of yours, it'd be funny if you wear this while you do it" you start talking nervously as cap turn around to see at you holding an apron up, showing what it says. "kiss the chef (it's his birthday)". the in parentheses part is obviously handwritten with a sharpie, you thought it's hilarious to write that.

john just smiles at you before he takes the apron from your hands and puts it on. "well?", your eyebrows furrow, a little confused about what's your cap is asking, and it suddenly clicks. You giggle softly and your shyness fades away as you hold john's face to kiss his cheeks, as you do so price wraps his arms around you and pats your back, also giggling.

"Happy birthday, chef."

#cod fluff #cod mwii #mw2022 #cod x y/n #mw2 x reader #price mw2 #mw2 fanfic #john price #john price fluff #john price fanfic #john price x reader #john price x you #cod x reader #cod x you #gn!reader #peach

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 3 months

Note

nah cause wait price and the reader fucking in the bathroom of marissa’s bar……idk if she’d do that to her friend marissa but still it’s lowkey hot as fuck 😭😭😭😭

A/N: Oh anoooooon this is sinful in more ways than one🫠 A little filler until the next part of the main sunshine!universe chapter is published.

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

—Okay, so I definitely think sunshine!reader and Price would be apprehensive to sneak off and have some ehm... fun during normal hours and when the rest of 141 is there, ’cause you know, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Marissa and Price would probably not take such a chance with his menaces' of mates around for a similar reason

—But just imagine you're helping Marissa for the night, stepping in on her late closing shift, as she and Johnny have a date planned (bc after my last request regarding those two, it's canon they're dating now) and you and Price are well into your relationship

—You dress up in something that you're not too afraid will be damaged, stains and whatnot something you'll have to count on behind a bar, so after rummaging through your closet, you settle on an all-black outfit, suit pants and a short-sleeved slim turtleneck

—When you step into the pub, you immediately greet some of your co-workers for the night, all of which you'd met previously and got along well with thanks to your friendship with Marissa and sometimes helping out at the pub, like tonight

—You fall into your old routine quickly, flashing smiles and mixing drinks, putting on a show for whoever came up to the bar and ordered something that wasn't a beer or plain drink

—Imagine Price coming towards the end of your shift, about an hour or so left

—You spot him when he steps into the bar, a quick glance to note the new customer only to be pleasantly surprised by him, seeing you hadn't thought you would see him until after closing, as he'd said he would come get you after the shift

—As he sits at the end of the bar, you're by him in an instance, greeting him swiftly, deciding against leaning over the bar to plant a kiss on his lips in favour of professionalism

"You're here early". Your hand are clasped together, leaning on the bar, his finger brushing yours as he sits similarly on the other side of the counter. "Decided to come and keep you company". You smiled at that. It was getting late and the pace was slower. In the past 30 minutes, many of the customers you didn't recognise trickled out, only the regulars still around, and you'd called out goodbyes to more and more co-workers. "Well you don't hear me complaining", you reply and he chuckles at that. "Didn't think so".

—You and Price fall into a conversation about how both your days have been until one of the older men rises from his seat and you excuse yourself, knowing he would order another round for his mates

—It's something about the way you talk to the man, and anyone else that comes to order afterwards, that makes Price transfixed, eyes always on you rather than the glass of coke you put in front of him just out of hospitality

—You don't flirt with them, of course, even if some may drop a flirty comment here and there. You're all smiles, some are more genuine, while others are, what he comes to recognise, your service smile. And still, there's always the same glint in your eyes when you pitch a pint or mix a drink.

—Price finds himself sitting with a smile as he follows you, but something grows in his belly, a warmth unfurling as blood slowly gets diverted further south, he knows what it is but can't do anything about his desire flaring to life, it's just something about you at the moment that urges the reaction.

—And he can't help himself from perking up when he catches you informing the patrons they can enjoy their drinks in peace if you can start some of the closing procedures, the old chaps are all jovial laughter and appreciative smiles as they reassure you that it's fine, they'll be out of your hair when you return.

— When you come back to him, this time on the same side of the bar he sits at, kissing him on the cheek and saying you'll be back in a bit, swiftly disappearing down the corridor towards what must be some staff backroom, Price can't help himself to stand from his seat.

—He tries to convince himself he follows you because he wants to offer his help, but the uncomfortable tightness over his crotch calls bullshit, especially when he sees you bent over, shifting some boxes of bottles, the glass clinking together.

—In a few large strides, Price is swiftly standing behind you, instantly hooking an arm around your waist, hauling you towards his chest.

—He feels you stiffen, hand gripping his lower arm, instinctively trashing until the two of you stumble through the door he'd push you towards, the staff bathroom, and you see him in the mirror.

—He isn't a fan of quickies, he likes to take his sweet time with you, taking care of you good and proper, the foreplay as exhilarating as finally bottoming out inside your pretty and wet cunt.

—But in this instance, Price can't help himself, thinking with his cock throbbing for release rather than his head, something about you tonight making him lose all semblance of the control he likes to keep, thankfully he at least remembers to lock the door behind him and that there still are people down the hall.

"We gonna do this quick". His face is pressed close to yours, blue eyes locked with your wide eyes in the mirror as he husks the sentence straight into your ear. "Be a good fuckin' girl and stay still". You shiver as John let his hand fall, swiftly joined by the other, hands jerking your pants open and rucking them down the swell of your ass. 'I adore when you're sweet on me, John, but I-I also like when you're rough, just, you know, take what you want sometimes'. He remembers your words clear as day despite it being ages ago you'd uttered them. He wouldn't try this otherwise. Even so, he remained attentive to your reaction for better or worse.

—As your panties joined your pants around your lower thighs, neither pair cared about being pushed down any further than needed, Price would swiftly start circling your clit, wasting no time teasing you, making you jolt against him and whimper.

—His hand would shoot up, covering your lower face and mouth with his big paw and whisper into your ear, 'gotta be quiet for me love', as he uses all the knowledge he’d gathered about your body to make you feel as good as possible

—While working your core into a weeping mess, he would be rutting against your ass, hard as a rock, making you grow even wetter as your head hangs, basking in the sudden onslaught of pleasure

—He would pull away suddenly, stepping away from your body, making your head rise. As you watch him in the mirror, you catch some of his hurried movements following the sound of his zipper

—He would swiftly step into your body, pressing you tight against the sink, its edge pushing into your lower abdomen. His cock press against your upper thigh, hot and throbbing

"So fuckin' pretty tonight I couldn't help myself", you're mindful enough to silence your moan into a forced breath through your nose, lips in a tight line as he grips his cock and runs it up and down your slickness ”John”, you whine when he runs his cock up and down your slickness, immediately earning the muzzle of his palm again. He hushes you before pushing into you, both of you grateful he’d covered your mouth, seeing how the lack of proper stretching makes you moan unabashedly against his palm. Your breath is a hot, dragged-out puff of air and Price feels your mouth hanging open beneath his hand, your cunt clutching tightly around him at what he know is a burn-like pleasure from the stretch. And he can’t hep himself from harshly kneading your bared hip as he fold forwards, lightly biting your shoulder, eyes scrunching together in concentration to not make a noise hhhimself as you feel like a wet, hot vice around him.

—Price would work himself into you as slowly as possible concerning the time pressure, but as soon as he bottomed out, he would start rutting against you

—Your clothes silenced the slap of skin, but if anyone would pass the door, they would undoubtedly know something was going on inside, which only made Price thrust quicker into you, the situation dawning on him in a mix of concern of being caught and thrill induced pleasure

—You would go slack as you felt his thrust get harder, brushing against something making your lower belly tingle and legs quiver, forehead resting against the mirror that swiftly fogged from the proximity

—Price would lift himself slightly, changing the angle just a smudge in his thrust in his now upright position, immediately catching how the vibrations forming beneath his hand increased and your back arched the best you could from being bent over the sink

—And then, just imagine when Price’s orgasm would rush up on him, he just need to see your pretty face so he grips your jaw rather than cover your mouth, forcing you to look up and into the mirror

"Come on, love, smile for me like you've done all night", he taunts through a grunt, thrusting into you harshly enough that you only stare back at your reflection a muted uh, uh, uh sound punched from your lungs. Your mouth is hanging open, cheeks pushed together by his fingers digging into your flesh. "Ain't you a fuckin' sight", he can't help but groan, your eyes unfocused, pleasure written across every feature. Your brows are harshly narrowed, creases littering your forehead and the space between your brows. John would feel you flutter in that easily recognisable pattern that always pushed him over the edge, knowing you were close too.

—You're so close you can taste it when Price suddenly slumps against your back with a moan, stopping all movement as he remains nestled deep as his seed coated your inside.

—You whine, writhing against him, but Price stills your hips with a firm grip on them and then he does the worst thing he ever could, he pulls out and tugs your panties up and in place, covering your throbbing clit and clenching pussy, the fabric catching some of his cum dribbling out.

"Keep you nice and warm until gettin' home to yours", John pats your cunt through the lacy material, making you jolt and whine, head raising as he pulls your pants up your legs. Any sight of your orgasm has faded and when your gaze locks with John's in the mirror again, you know he sees your frustration as his head ticks and he grins. "Don't be poutin', love", he steps up close behind you as you stand straight, legs wobbly from what just happened and your robbed orgasm rather than a weakened pleasure state. His hand previously on your hips slide forward, now zipping your pants up and doing the button so they're kept up by themselves. "Just gotta lock up and I'll take my sweet time with you when we get home". "Better be a promise", you say, turning to face him. His chin falls, a big palm coming to cover your jaw and upper throat, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "M'gonna takes such great care of you, spoil you rotten, hm, what so say 'bout that eh?" He hummed, dipping his head to slot his mouth over yours. "Well deserved", you breathe in return when he steps backwards, amused eyes locked with yours util he opened the door to take a peak out the corridor. "Go on then", he cocks his head towards the door he now holds open, deeming the coast clear. When you pass him, he gives you a cheeky slap to your arse. When you jolt in your step, you send him a look, only to be met with an arch of his brows and a smug quirk in the edge of his mouth.

—Price would feel such a fucking possessive pride in watching you scurry out of the bathroom, trying not to shift your hips too much from feeling his spend still inside you as you rush through the closing procedure and attempting to keep a straight face when bidding goodbye to the last customers

A/N: And yeah, I think I died somewhere along the way of this🫠

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gloomwitchwrites · 27 days

Text

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (3 of 4)

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal and emotional injury, implied cheating, canon-typical swearing, protective / possessive Price, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Price might be your ex, but the two of you still consider yourselves friends. When you call him up about your current boyfriend’s horrible behavior, Price comes running with the intention of making you his again

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

Price sits opposite you at your kitchen table. The muscles in his jaw fucking ache from clenching it. He has to keep reminding himself to release the tension before he gives himself a headache. Between the two of you rests an open whiskey bottle. There are two glasses. One directly in front of you, and one directly in front of him.

You don’t want to have this conversation like this, but Price forced it. You’ve brought up the issue countless time, but it’s almost always been over the phone. You’re not afraid to contact him to seek advice or to vent. Price likes that you call him because it gives him an excuse to talk to you.

But he’s fucking sick of this. He is sick of you taking this man’s—no—this immature fucking boy’s bullshit. A real man doesn’t act this way. This time, there will not be a phone conversation, but a face-to-face one. You don’t have a choice.

The truth is you were once Price’s woman. The two of you almost made it to the altar.

Price nearly made it all the way you with, but that was all yanked away from him. He was younger then, and just earned the title “Captain.” But Price was glued to his job, making that a priority over you every time.

He had fucked it all up, and you were right in leaving him.

Over the years, the two of you worked it out, falling back on a friendship that Price deeply values but silently wishes could become so much more again. You should be with him. You could be happy. Price knows what he did during your relationship was wrong. If you gave him another chance, he’d show you all the ways he’s fixed himself.

Instead, you’re dating this fucking prick who isn’t even worth a lob of spit. Price met the guy once and that was enough. He made nice for your benefit, but right now, Price isn’t feeling particularly nice anymore. Not after your phone call.

This relationship isn’t working for you. Unhappiness oozes out of every pore every time Price sees you in person or speaks with you over the phone. He knows it lingers. He knows it clings. But you are far too hesitant to admit it.

Maybe, Price just needs to give you a little push.

He takes a deep breath, unclenching his jaw before he speaks. “This time he abandoned you at the bar.” Each word unfurls slowly as Price tries to suppress his rising anger. “Do you know where he went?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter where.”

Of course it matters. This bastard gets so ragingly drunk that he ends up fucking leaving you whenever the two of you go out. Sometimes he’s taken the car or wandered off or left with others. Those times, you never tell Price whether he’s left with a friend or a stranger.

And Price is almost always the one coming to your rescue.

Just like now.

It has happened yet again.

Price is here and your boyfriend isn’t.

“It does matter,” replies Price, biting back the annoyed growl threatening to crawl up his throat. “Have you even heard from him?”

You frown, and that tells Price all he needs to know.

Your boyfriend has a pattern. The amount of time between leaving and contacting you all depends on what he’s up to. By the look on your face, Price starts to form a semblance of an idea.

“How long?” he asks. You remain silent. “How long?” he repeats.

Your fingernail idly scratches at the tabletop. “Almost two days.”

“Two days?” Price nearly knocks over his whiskey glass as he leans forward in his chair.

You shrug. Glance away.

Price softly scoffs and tosses back his drink, rubbing at one of his temples. The whiskey leaves a lingering burn. He knows what this means. Two days and no contact mean this fucker is likely in a stranger’s bed.

Everything within him wants to lecture you, to chastise and argue like he would with any of his subordinates. But you are not a soldier. You are the woman he nearly married. Price expected the rest of his life to be filled with you and the children you might have together.

He needs to do better. He needs to be gentle.

He needs to make you see that you should come back to him.

Price reaches for the whiskey bottle, pouring some of the amber liquid into his glass. “Remember the pub we’d always go to when I was off? The one by the coast?”

He’s changing the subject, but it’s only to move you away from your thoughts. Like Price, you already know what your boyfriend is up to. You already know but you won’t say it out loud because doing so is too painful.

The corners of your mouth turn upward, and Price sees victory on the horizon.

“The sea salt always stuck to everything.” You sigh with pleasure. “And they had the best armchairs.”

Price keeps his gaze fixated on your face, observing your softening features. “The walk back to the cottage was nice.” He shrugs. “A bit cold but…quiet.”

Romantic is what he wants to say.

“It was,” you laugh, becoming more animated. “You’d always shove me into your coat with you. But you only wanted to—”

You cut off abruptly, those soft features turning inward, embarrassment clear on your face.

Price knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He always wrapped you up in his coat so he could touch you. You’d warm up in his arms, and by the time the two of you arrived at the cottage he rented, you’d be needy for him. The moment Price would walk over the threshold, you’d be on him, nearly climbing him like a tree in an effort to fuck him.

Price says nothing but he doesn’t need to. You speak first.

“I miss those days,” you murmur.

“Do you miss me?” His question comes out automatically. Price didn’t even think before it flitted off his tongue.

Your gaze turns back to him, and while Price believes he sees brief desire there, you do not answer.

Swallowing, Price leans back in his chair. “You don’t need to answer that.”

This time it is you that leans forward. “I do.” Your gaze falls to the table before returning to his face. “I know you don’t feel the same way but—”

“I don’t?” interrupts Price, setting his whiskey glass down to address you completely. “You can read my mind now?”

You roll your eyes and start to recline but Price surges forward, reaching out to snag your wrist before your hand drops below the table. “Why do you think I still come around? Why I come when you call?”

There is no tug. You don’t try to snatch your arm back.

“You should be mine,” murmurs Price.

The confession is liquid, seeping into everything. He cannot take it back but he doesn’t want to. This is his chance to reclaim what he lost all those years ago.

There is a hesitation before you act. Slowly, you turn your wrist in his grasp, presenting your palm. Price glances down at it, and then shifts his grip, sliding his hand into yours. You’re a bit cold and his instinct is to wrap his fingers around yours, warming them.

The sigh you release is soft, and Price wants to breathe it in. To take it into himself.

“When I said it doesn’t matter where he went, I meant it,” you whisper. “I don’t care. He left me behind. It’s not the first time. Haven’t heard from him either. He’s left as far as I’m considered. That only makes it easier. Means I don’t have to be the one to do it.”

Is this it? Are you finally his again?

You lick your lips, and he follows the movement, wanting to taste what he’s been missing.

“Make me forget, John. Please.”

The way you say it breaks something inside him. You could ask anything of him in this moment and he’d gladly give it.

Releasing your hand, Price stands, walking around the table to get to you. You are already on your feet, reaching for him. Price tugs you into his arms and you go easily, wrapping your arms around his neck as he comes in for what he’s been craving.

You are sweet, bursting on his tongue. Your fingers thread through his hair, and Price pulls you even closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, hands falling low to squeeze the gentle curve of your ass.

Breaking apart is agony.

“So, you have missed me,” teases Price.

The gentle smile on your face is all the answer he needs. You want to forget, and so he’ll make you forget.

You are in his arms in moments. Price already knows where the bedroom is, and the second the two of you enter, Price is laying you on the bed, tugging at your clothes. He needs them gone. He needs you bare.

And you are happy to oblige, helping him remove each layer.

Price brands your skin with his mouth and tongue. He brings your nipples to hardened peaks, he kisses the valley between your breasts, creates a trail down to the space between your thighs. When he drops between them, he decides to stay. He decides to worship.

He will not leave. Not until you’re fucking begging for him to fuck you.

Price runs his tongue up your pussy, swirling the tip of it around your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Your nearly come off the bed, hands threading through his hair. Twisting. Your grip is rough, but Price could give a fuck.

He wants you screaming his name. He wants you riding his face.

That is exactly what you do, but Price takes his time with it, savoring every inch of your body, tasting and remembering the space between your thighs. He could stay here forever. Each orgasm that surges and recedes is a victory.

Price is prideful. Smug.

Your hips roll against his mouth, and he has to grip them to keep you from accidentally breaking his nose. Even if you managed to do so Price would wear it like a badge of honor.

“John,” you moan, voice breaking. “Please.”

Price stops teasing your clit, retreats a bit, pushing up until he can plant a soft kiss on your belly.

“Please, what?” he asks, all mock innocence. You whimper, fingers digging into his skin. “Words, love. Use your words.”

You shake your head. “I need you.”

“How?”

“Inside me, John.”

A flare of possessiveness rages through him, consuming every nerve and muscle and bone. Price pushes up from the bed and moves up your body. The moment his face is level with yours, you kiss him. Your hand is reaching between your bodies, gripping him, stroking him. Legs parting further, you hook them over his, pressing inward, indicating what you want.

Price shifts, lining up to your entrance. You press more but he is stronger. He resists, grabbing the back of your neck. “Tell me. Truly. Are you mine?” He tugs on your hair, exposing your neck. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper.

Price starts to sink in. He’ll make you his again with more than just his words. Price will fill you up, have you dripping with him, just like he used to do.

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