#cod captain price

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Random headcanons: You set their wallpaper of a spicy picture of you

Featuring: Task force 141

Warnings: suggestive, NSFW

Captain John Price:

He rarely unlocks his phone during the day, so you assume it is safe to set his wallpaper to you wearing nothing but his hat, sitting on the bed, legs spread, hands tied in the front with a silky ribbon and one of his cigars between your lips.

You did not account for the fact that sometimes Price shows memes to his team or fact checks stuff in front of others, so you can imagine the shock on his face when he unlocked his phone to show Soap something.

Soap: Sir? Is this-

Price: Yes, it is

The conversation ended there, with the Scotsman leaving the room in a subtle, yet fast manner, trying to hide the forming buldge from his captain, who, on his side noticed everything, but decided not to comment on it, in order not to make the situation more uncomfortable than it already was.

Yes, Soap avoided Price for the entire day and they have never spoke about the incident again. Even though the captain notices his Sergent hungrily eyeing you from time to time, which makes his mind wonder of certain possibilities. (If you are into it)

As for you, you did get your punishment, after you spent 20 minutes laughing at your husband story.

Y/N: Poor Soap

Price: What about me? I had to avoid unlocking my phone all day.

Y/N: You never unlock your phone.

Price: There was not a reason for it, luv.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This man is phone rotting, whenever he is away from others and has some free time. Whether it is Reddit, Tiktok, or texting you - obsessively, he is on his phone - period.

For his picture you wear a sexy black lingerie, barely covering you and his balaclava. You are sitting on the sofa, with your elbows on your knees, leaning into the front camera, his dog tags hanging from your neck.

Simon goes feral.

He is immediately finding a quiet place from where he can call you and jerk off, while staring at your picture.

He will beg you to praise him, order him around and guide him in what to do and you can say anything - and I mean, anything.

This man is a slut for you. He is a huge switch. When he turns submissive he is completely at your mercy. Just, please, tell this man what to do and how you want him to do it.

Bonus points if you video chat and touch yourself, while edging him. He will try to hold himself back, but if you push him enough, he will cum within minutes.

This is how much power you have over him. Use it wisely.

And yes, Simon will absolutely fuck you stupid the moment he gets home. And will insist on taking pictures together, so he can keep something while on deployment.

Johnny "Soap" Mactavish

He will open his phone in front of Ghost and get lost, staring at the photo of you, hand mindlessly grabbing Simon's tight.

For his picture, you are laying face on the bed, back arched, wearing nothing but tight blue panties with the scottish flag on them. Side boob is slightly showing.

Soap doesn't even register Simon or where his hand is, who is shifting from side to side, but not peeling his eyes off of you, nor removing Soap's hand from his tight.

When the Scottsman finally snap from his trance, he is texting you every spicy thing he can think of and sending you pictures of his, and Simon's buldges with the caprion:

"Look what you did, darling. LT wants to stop for some dinner tonight, now too. Make sure to recreate the picture once we get home. We are gonna put some English in you too."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

Another chronic phone user. Gaz is on his phone 23/19. He is obsessed with animal videos and staring at ya'll pictures. Editing and candid photo stuff is his drug.

You warn him in advance that you will send him something, as he has the habit of showing off his editing skills*ahem* your cutesy couple photos *ahem* to either Price, or Laswell.

The last thing you want is to flash his superiors.

So, you tell him to unlock his phone at a specific time and make sure he is alone.

The picture for him is you wearing his sunglasses, naked, on the balcony. You are sat on a chair, legs crossed. The picture is taken at sunrise, right when the sun is softly highlighting your chest.

Somehow Gaz didn't time this right, he expected a attachment, not a wallpaper - in his defense, and he opened his phone in the middle of a briefing.

The sergeant dropped his phone on the ground while trying to catch it, creating the (trying to hold a hot stone effect). Price shot him a questioning look, but kept talking, pretending not to notice how Gaz picked his phone face down and put it in his pocket.

For the entire briefing Gaz couldn't focus on anything but your picture. He tried so hard, not to get a boner, but knowing you took the said photograph while he was sleeping, maybe 15 minutes before he got up for work - got him wild.

He went radio silent the entire day and when he got home, he didn't bother talking, or greeting you - Gaz just lifted you up from the couch and smashed his lips into yours.

[ghastlybirdie]

John Price is, of course, the husband that has a special whistle just for you

Did he lose you in a store or needs to get your attention? He whistles in the way meant for only you

Only needs to do it once till you’re bounding the corner seconds later and going straight to him, no detours, smiling at him just the way he likes

It’s worked on day one and knew from then that you were his

[apollodarling-writes]

thinking about task force 141 + könig with a gen z! reader.

tws : some suggestive themes but nothing explicit, cursing, ghost has no problem with the reader slapping his ass pls don’t mistake it as being nonconsensual

edit : it’s come to my attention that some of you are confused as to why i made a post like this. this post was made to be satirical and cringey and embarrassing. i am part of gen z and using the terminology that was all the rage in recent years to make something like this. it’s not a serious post. it’s made to appear the way it appears.

reader, walking past soap : youre looking very submissive and breedable today, johnny.

soap, shaking his head and tutting : i am not!

reader : big talk for someone within breeding distance.

ghost, trying to make a cup of coffee :

reader who takes notice of ghost’s ass and slaps it : god damn! i knew you had jiggle physics

ghost, slowly setting down his cup and turning his head : i’m giving you a five second headstart.

reader realizing they fucked up : oh shit.

reader knocking on price’s office door : knock knock! can i enter, captain price?

price, trying to finish his stack of paperwork and knows reader is up to something : …sure

reader : this is a vibe check! what do you think of this?

price, glancing between the picture and reader : … its nice.

reader whose eyes light up : you, my good sir, have officially passed the vibe check and that is why you’re my favorite captain.

price, exasperated : im your only captain.

ghost talking to soap : johnny, you ever feel… lost?

reader suddenly appearing with stress balls and plushies : here, these help me! this weighted stuffed animal hits different, so i recommend it personally.

ghost :

soap : where the hell did you even come from??

reader posing for a picture with the team before a mission : and everybody say “in our special ops era”!

the team, sullenly : in our special ops era…

reader : damn guys, this lighting is doing wonders for our dark circles.

könig trying to carve something for reader: hmm.. this side looks a little bit off…

reader bounding over to könig : heyy babygirl!

könig scrambling to hide it : scheiße, i thought they were busy!

[reveluving]

SHY WIFE AND PRICE....ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME!!!!!Imagine this Adonis of a man spoiling her from the first date and even her being shy, the 141(plus Kate) KNOW who's the boss( he ALWAYS have a photo and a story about Mrs.Price and it's just the cutest thing how his eyes light up that they also love her)

CUUUUUUTE AAAAAA!! GNAWING ON MY BARS RN!! And thank you for specifying the Adonis of a man bit! Can't forget about that!! ☝🏼😌💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

In any case of our beloved shy!wife fics, especially with his line of work, just expect your husband to have a polaroid or five of you ready.

And John is no different.

You must be a special one if you managed to catch the eyes of the captain, and to clarify, you are!

John knew there was no going back to his mundane yet chaotic lifestyle the second he asked you out. It took everything in him not to chuckle at your look of disbelief, your lips parting just a tad bit. He didn’t want you to think he was making fun of you, you were genuinely adorable with your expressiveness. And though had told him you were open to anything, even specifying that you wouldn’t mind anything small and simple, he didn’t let you.

He took you out to dinner on your first date, nothing too fancy, though that couldn’t be said the same on the later dates, gifted you a small but beautiful bouquet and the rest was history. 

And amazingly, he gets even better at spoiling you after he puts a ring on your finger. As if he wasn't already good since your first date!

Kisses or cakes, hugs or huge bouquets, he'll always find a way to spoil you. Because you—your smiles, giggles and laughs, your time and your love for him means so much.

More than you can imagine.

A sweetheart, a gentleman. You couldn’t ask for a better man to fall for you, though, like him, you were mind-blown to even think a man, no, a hunk like him showed interest in you. Made you feel wanted, special—someone he wanted to be with with zero hesitation. 

He wouldn’t be able to forget your shy smile, how you’d mindlessly trail your fingers across the table or your lap out of embarrassment, how your fingers curled around his hand, despite averting your gaze from his cheeky smile many dates later.

And though the wedding was small, to him, it felt like a sweet fairytale.

To finally be able to call you Mrs Price.

Laswell had the privilege to meet you first before everyone else. She enjoys the sisterly moments you’d have, a breath of fresh air from the craziness, to say the least, that she has to witness in her lifetime. Always appreciates you checking in on her via messages or if she’s lucky, a quick call. And it becomes a tradition of hers to jokingly remind John to take care of you and not to drive you crazy.

And then, there were the boys.

Johnny was the one who asked about you, catching the man looking at one of the polaroids of you with nothing but love in his eyes. Longing to get it over with and come home to you. Johnny didn’t think he’d be willing to talk about you at all, let alone more than a few sentences, i.e. privacy reasons or he just prefers to be on his own. Take in the quiet moment before any hell breaks loose later on.

Understandable, so imagine not only his surprise but also the rest of the 141 when he talks about you. First, with pure endearment in his tone, then the story gets romantic, cheesier even, but all three of them listened to his stories like no other (read: a father telling his kids how he met their mother), even if they acted like they were just casually fixing their weapons or thinking to themselves.

C’mon, he knows them!

Like John, you treat the boys like your very own. If Johnny, Kyle or Simon wanted to be doted over—to be cared for, something they haven’t felt in a while even if some of them wouldn’t want to admit it, then you’d give them millions! Even something as little as a handwritten message or passing them a few words i.e. take care and good luck via John.

Visiting the Price’s house now feels like a family thing. Again, it’s cheesy, it’s corny, and maybe even childish to some, for a bunch of men to be looking forward to these visits like a child being away from their parents at a dorm during college, none of you cared. Not you. Not John. And most importantly, not his boys.

None of them could have imagined your words to stick in their minds in dire times. A little motivation to return safely. Back to the base, for John, and back the Price’s home, for you.

“Johnny, I’m out of a few things in the kitchen. Could you drop by the store and get these for me, please?” “Can do!”

“Simon, have you seen John’s car keys? I can’t find them anywhere.” “I can help look for it w’you.”

“Kyle, I told you I can handle the fireplace.” “S’not that hard. Don’t worry!”

Home.

Bonus: A lil’ story I’m still working on with the COD men + dogs includes John with an American Akita. Similar to Phillip and Kai, John’s gigantic pupper tends to prefer listening to you to him.

His intolerance for certain people or animals drops in an instant the second he sees you, turning into a baby (your baby, might John add) but he also knows when duty calls. Ears tilting back and growling at a stranger who doesn’t know, or worse; ignores that you're taken.

And in John’s words: good boy.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[tobascoart]

Hello, Captain!!

🥺

[vikkrest]

Price: *observing how Nikolai speaks, easily switching from English to Arabic, while making occasional jokes in Russian*

Price: I didn't know I'm shagging a Google Translator

Soap: Cap-... Nevermind

[arthurlovesarthurmorgan]

My little (he’s everything BUT little) princess <333

[floffytofu]

Child Reader : what did you draw?

Price : a dog and he's bored, what did you draw?

Child Reader : a stick.

Price : a stick???

Child Reader : a stick from the park where- YOU PROMISE TO TAKE ME TODAY!!!

[yeyinde]

“#his beard just??? looks wet???” okay but Price having to talk to the team after eating you out and not getting a chance to make himself presentable 🫣🫣

you put this idea in my head (after i put it in your head) so now you have to deal with this!

➝warnings: cunnilingus, edge play (kinda), smut, P-in-V sex, creampie, D/s undertones; Price is a menace and the biggest dom; gendered anatomy, female Reader, female gendered anatomy

➝notes: this is so beyond messy, so sorry!! not even fun messy just. why would you do this, girl? messy.

➝word count: 2,4k

"Ah, cap—!"

Your knees quake when he presses the flat arch of his nose against your throbbing clit, tongue tracing figure-eights over the taut skin of your cunt, stretched around three thick fingers. 

He grazes his knuckles over a spot inside of you, dragging the rough skin over your gummy, fluttering walls, until you gasp for him, choking out something that sounds like this name. 

Price huffs, and the curl of his breath wisping over your soaked pussy makes your eyes roll, chin tilting back on the table he spread you out on. The one that, three hours prior, was used to plan a hostage rescue with the team. 

(The very same team getting their things ready in the debriefing room for wheels-up in forty minutes.)

The wry bristles of his coarse burnt umber beard scrape deliciously over the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, and the feeling of it chafing your flesh raw makes you tremble, quiver. It's that equinox of pleasure, and the beginning edges of that delicious burn of irritation when he rubs you raw. Tender. 

His other hand rests flat against your thigh, keeping it flush against the table. His thumb strokes your skin when you're good for him, a small modicum of comfort amid a storm of utter brutality. Of nearly twenty minutes of pure, delicious torture. The other he hikes over his broad shoulder, your heel knocking uselessly into the thick muscles of his back as he works you to the very top of a vertiginous mountain.

(Over and over and over again—)

"Sir—," you whimper, the word a featherlight cry from your chest. It makes him hum. 

"Steady now, Sergeant." 

Steady, he says, as if he hadn't been eating your pussy for twenty of the forty minutes, drawing it out until you were an overwrought, overstimulated mess on the table. All thoughts are caught in the sticky opiate mess of your head, rendered out into ashes, into wispy cries of his name (John, John, John—), or his title (captain, sir—), and please (please, please pleasepleaseplease—). It's muddled in bliss; in the bitter, maddening tang of dissatisfaction.

Price brings you to the edge of that delirious precipice, and then pulls back before you reach the top, leaning back on his haunches as you whimpered, begged, pleaded for him to let you cum, to just let you—

You'd look between your trembling thighs, then, as if you could somehow will the man to give into your demands, your needs, just by flashing the same expression that started this whole thing. Coy, saccharine sweet; lips arched in a smile that tasted sybaritic. 

(Knuckles brushed against his when you curled your fingers over the straps of his vest, and used his steady, solid unmoveable weight to hoist yourself up, lips brushing the wry, rough hair covering his chin, murmuring: "you talk a lot, sir. I should find a way to shut you up—"

He'd given in, then, shifting on his feet as you peppered kisses to his ulotrichy jaw. "And what do you have in mind, Sergeant, mm? Want me to bury my face in your pretty cunt? Gonna shut me up with your pussy?"

You thought you won when broad hands slipped away from the grip on his straps, and curled under your thighs. He gave you no time to prepare yourself before he lifted you on the table, eyes Sapphire beds of desire as he loomed over you.

It was a victory, then.)

But now, no matter how twee you act, or desperately you beg him for release, he won't give in. Won't. 

He just smiles at you. Grins. Chin wet, ruined, hairs sticking to his lips, matted to his cheeks, and he'd say (taunt):

"C'mon, Sergeant. You can't be about to cum already." Timbre drenched in sex and liquid with smoke. His eyes flash—florentine promises: a hymn to Hēdonē—and he waits, waits, until the high dissipates in your veins. "Don't be greedy, now." 

You want to laugh, to scoff, but the weight of his hands pulling your thighs apart, the ghost of his breath against your cunt, the rasp of his tongue sliding over your slit, stems the words in your throat. 

All you can do is thread your fingers through his messy locks, and get swept away by his pace once more. 

There is no respite in this. Despite the pleasure his humid breath on your cunt brings, or the molten roll of his tongue running from your messy, weeping hole to your throbbing clit and back again, it's torture. Madness. 

He circles your clit with just the soft tip, running figure-eights over the bundle of nerves until your thighs tense, clamping against the sides of his head, and locking him tight to your pussy. 

A huff. Then, "tryna' suffocate me, love?" 

It's muffled, and wet. Sticky from your drenched pussy leaking your slick down his wrist, his forearm, and saturating his beard until it turns the same dark shade as his cigars. Near black with how soaked you are. The bristles stick to his lips, and cheeks. 

The sight when he raises his chin, damp hair sliding over your raw cunt, makes you lose it completely. 

"C'mon, love," he groans into your cunt, nuzzling his beard over your sopping slit. The burn of it feels good—so, so good—and you break at the feeling of it. The indelible amalgam of pleasure that edges so sweetly into pain, into that raw quiver of a livewire.

It feels too much like sticking your finger in a socket. Licking the back of a battery. The shock, the jolt ricochets through your core until you leak dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins from every overwrought synapse. 

"Price—ah, fuck—"

"Come on, sweetheart," your knees quake from the sound of his voice alone: heady with smoke, sex; a crackle, charred wood, that spills from his soaked lips, heavy with your slick. "You wanna cum? Beg for it." 

Your hips arch, canting your greedy cunt into his eager, teasing mouth.

"Please, please—" 

"Not good enough, love."

It's a grumble; pitched low and liquid, and you nearly cum from the timbre of his voice—molasses thick, and covered in ash—but he pulls his mouth away from your clit, and slides it down to push at the rim of your entrance. His fingers spread inside of you, scraping over your walls until your back arches, head gummy and soporific from the way he fucks your pussy. 

"Price, please—," another rasping hum—disapproval—and he slows his thrusts until high begins to ebb. "Fuck, no, please—please, John, I need to cum—"

"Better."

"Fuck, sir, please! Let me cum on your tongue—I need it so bad—"

"Then cum for me, love."

It doesn't sound human when the command is scraped out of his throat. A mangled, thick demand; a smouldering ember. 

You cum with his tongue laving over your clit, three thick fingers fucking insistently against a spot inside of you that has nirvana liquifying behind your eyelids. 

Bliss floods through you like a deluge; a cascade of euphoria that snaps inside of you like a broken rubber band, an unspooling coil. 

You melt into the metal below; bone dissolving into raw mercury. Blissed out. Drunk on the opiate high of his tongue and fingers, and the burning husk of his voice—molten commands dipped in ashes. 

"God, that was—"

He stands in one fluid motion, and slots his hips in the loose, languid bracket of your legs. His cock falls on your mons, tip leaking prespend over your belly button. 

There is no warning, no words. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping you tight enough to bruise, and then he's wrenching your pelvis up, cock rubbing, bobbing insistently against your slit.

"John—"

One hand leaves your aching flesh to grip his throbbing cock in his hands, sliding it down the mess of your cunt until it catches on your weeping hole. 

"Oh, god—"

He catches your gaze as he rubs himself over you. 

"M'not gonna fuck you, love—;" his cock slides to your clit, tapping his frenulum against your aching flesh when you whine, pout. You want him inside of you, pushed to the limit— 

"Gonna be good for me, aren't you?" 

You're nodding before the words are out—eager, docile; you want him, always. Your cunt clenches on nothing, desperate to be filled, stretched to the absolute limit by his girth. 

But he won't. Not yet. 

His cock is covered in your slick, and when he runs his palm down the length of it, you hear the sticky, wet sound of it as he fucks his own hand, bringing himself to the edge despite your eager, willing cunt right there. Right there—

You angle your hips up, and feel the engorged head of his cock catch on your rim. So, so close, so—

He pulls away, tutting at you. "Greedy little cunt, isn't it?" 

You whine. "Please, need your cock—"

He leans down, pressing his chest against yours, and catches your mouth. It's not a kiss—it's a wet, sloppy mess of tongue, and teeth, but it makes you ache, makes you mewl at the taste of yourself on his breath, and the dripping state of his beard as it leaves behind a soaked trail over your chin and cheeks. 

He's a mess. An absolute mess of your pussy, and—

His hips jerk, and he breaks the kiss to press his mouth to neck, teeth scraping over your flesh as he finally, finally, sinks inside of you, stretching you, pushing your walls to the mettle as you struggle to make room for him. 

The head of his cock presses taut to the plug of your womb, knocking into it until you whimper from the too much too full feeling of taking him to the root. 

"'M'not gonna last long," he promises in a hush, liquid whisper, voice quivering from pleasure. 

You cant your hips into him until the grind of his cock inside of you sends you reeling through the opium haze of bliss that spoils inside of you once more. 

"Cum for me, John," you choke out with a gasp when he meets your messy thrusts with his own, sloppily pounding into you. 

His muscles quiver under your fingers, nails digging into his biceps as he pounds you like he's starved for it, desperate. And he is, of course. This whole thing has been just as much of a tease to him as it had been for you, and you know, know, he's close by the tells you pick up on. The divot between his brow, the clench of his job, the broken grunts that slip between gritted teeth, sibilant and aching, and the glossiness in his nautical blue gaze. 

The grind of his cock inside of you is more than you can handle, but you take it, anyway. Your legs lock around his thick waist, hands cling to his arms, as he fucks you in brutal, deep thrusts; hips pistoning into you as he chases the embers of his own release. 

You taste yourself when you press your lips to damp cheek, and whimper into his skin:

"Cum inside me, baby—"

You feel him tense, body coiling taut, and then he groans. Low and liquid, and you feel heat bloom inside of you as he cums, fills you up. 

He grunts with each jerk of his cock as he spends himself within you, low and brittle; guttural growls of masticated words that make little sense when they squeeze through the clench of his jaw. 

You take it all, holding him close as his lashes flutter, eyes roll, and his muscles lock over you. He looks good when he cums, when his face falls, lax and loose, mouth dropping open, as he spits the last of it inside of you where it pools, a molten puddle, against the seal of your womb. 

Price's bones liquifying. He sags against you with a huff of your name, and something you can decipher through the roar in your ears, the rush of pleasure and the gossamer of sex that clings to your skin. 

"That was—"

He's cut off. 

His phone buzzes. The ring is familiar. 

Times up. 

You snort a little when he groans, and slowly, reluctantly, pulls away from you. His irritation bleeds into the torpor of his expression, cutting through the aftershocks of bliss. 

It's uncanny, really, how he's able to reassemble himself into the shape of a leader with ease despite the scent of sex that clings to him, clogging the room in a thick, dense cloud. 

He pulls out of you, murmuring a quiet sorry, love when you flinch at the drag of him against your bruised walls, and then tucks himself back inside his trousers. 

Three minutes is all it takes and he's Captain John Price, a leader, superior; dependable man. 

If you didn't feel the ache in your cunt from where he split you open with his thick cock, or the steady trickle of his molten spend leaking from your raw, chafed hole, thighs sticky from your own slick, and irritated by the rough scrape of his beard against delicate flesh, you might have thought nothing was amiss. 

Nothing, except—

His face is flushed a bright red, eyes rippling with the aftermath of his ebbing pleasure. It's easy to hide, however—he might have been exercising prior to takeoff. Napping, perhaps. 

But the way his beard glitters in the jaundiced light, wet and slick, is—

You open your mouth to tell him, but his hand falls, palm smacking against your inner thigh, cutting your words short with a sharp gasp at the sting in your flesh. 

His lips curl up in a smirk when you flinch. 

"Gotta go, love. Get yourself cleaned up, and I'll tell the others you're doing the last-minute check." 

He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, but it does nothing to hide the dampness of his beard, the glossy sheen that coats his matted hair. 

Price turns with a sharp nod. 

(You blink at his back, and wonder if the gnarled thing inside of your gut, a twisting sense of possession and accomplishment at the sight of him, soaked from your cunt, should alarm you.

But you can't deny seeing him wrecked from you alone buzzes through your marrow in a way that makes your toes curl. Primal satisfaction, you think, and wonder when he'll notice how soaked you'd left him.

Moments later, through the thin walls, you hear Soap murmur:

"Did you wash your face before, cap? I think you forgot to dry your beard."

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

There was this post of Price and an AI aged version of him with the caption being: "How Price is vs how the community sees him" and I have something to say.

(Can't find the post to tag it)

Price being called an old man is so funny to me, like dude is 37 years old. 37 YEARS OLD?!

And y'all making him seem like he's already eating dirt.

"But he can be my father?!"

Girl you is 25 and above, sit down. There ain't no way he can be your daddy. at least not that kind of daddy

[ghastlybirdie]

I don’t like eye contact, especially in intimate moments

You’ve tried holding his gaze when you had to talk about plans or dates. You’ve looked at him when he spoke to you. But it never lasted, not when he confessed his feelings or pulled you closer, you couldn’t help but sink your eyes away or turn your head.

So imagine they compensate in other ways

John Price x Reader - Drabble

MDNI 18+ below

Price knows you don’t like looking right into his eyes. You’ve said they’re “too intense, like you’re sucking me in.” And he was almost flattered. But when he finally had you in bed, laid bare and shivering for him, hands having traced over stretch marks and scars; fingers stretching you open hoping it’s enough to help you take all of him, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of hurt when you finally opened your wet eyes to him and promptly dodged his lips. You apologized, a reflex even this far into your relationship, unshed tears of pleasure finally spilling as you tried to breathe your heart back into rhythm. John knew well how overwhelming this was, he did spend hours whispering and kissing proclamations of his love for you into your ears and body, scenting you with his ever present pine musk and cigar aromas. But even with all that you couldn’t bear to look at him for more than a single second, the weight of his gaze having overtaken your senses, the air between you both hot and heavy when you pulled your hands to shed your eyes in shame. He kisses your hands and knuckles, pleading to see you, beard scratching you gently when he tries to nose your fingers away from your eyes, pleading to look at you for all your beauty. You relent, willing yourself to steal glances when your heart slows, unable to hide your smiles when he quickly steals a kiss or brushes his nose to yours as he ground himself to your core. Even then, you couldn't help your eyes turning downwards or head turning sideways when John stared too deeply or kissed too roughly. So he buries himself. Buries himself into your neck, into your body, arms encasing you and mouthing gospel of how soft and sweet you are, how well you take him as he slowly pushes himself inside of you. He places chaste kisses over your heart when you drag your fingers through his hair, pushing his head into your chest when he chants your name in time with his thrusts, your own moans cut off every time his cock brushes against that sweet spot inside of you. It’s apparent from then on that John Price has no problem showing his love for you. If you won’t see it, you’d most definitely hear it.

[cherryredstars]

18+, NSFW, Boot Humping, Semi-Blowjob

Thinking about John Price and him making his cute, young girlfriend break in his new military boots before he goes off to deployment again :((

He's perched on the sofa, a beer bottle in hand as the television plays rugby at a low volume. The denim of his jeans stretches over his thighs, tightening at his knees as he spreads his legs wide. The hair on his upper body is exposed, chest covered in dark strands and a thick happy trail below the pudge of his stomach. He isn't even paying attention to you, eyes set on the tele as he sips from his beer every now and then. His bottom lip shines from the television light when he pulls the bottle away, tongue swiping over it to collect the beer.

The sight makes you whine, your hips moving over the top of his boot. You've completely soaked through your white panties, making them translucent as they stick to your cunt. The soft, frantic sound of fabric rubbing against leather is almost drowned out by the match and your noises, and John grunts whenever your whining gets too loud. Thin, white lines are scratched into John's jeans as you claw at them, trying to stabilize yourself as you hump his shoe. Your cunt drags against the material, streaks of arousal painting and softening the leather. Whenever your clothed clit grazes the rough ropes of his laces, you cry out, body jumping slightly. Your knees burn slightly from digging into the floor to sit over his shoe, but the slight pain is nothing compared to your desperate attempts to get off.

Your head rests on his leg, whining and moaning as you try to get the right angle and speed. When you turn your head you can see the defined outline of his chub straining against his pants, making your head dizzy. You can't help but whine, pawing at it as you move your hips. It makes John hiss, finally looking away from his game to look down at you.

"Please," you whimper up at him, your hand still pressing into his erection. Price chuckles, raising an eyebrow at you in question as he takes another sip of his beer.

"Please what, doll? Can't read ya' mind y'know," John teases, and his hand slides down your face, relishing the way you instantly lean into his touch with fucked-out eyes.

"I want it in my mouth, please," you practically cry. Your hips press harder into his shoe at the visual playing in your mind, and you almost cry out in joy when he gives you a lazy smile as he begins to unzip his pants.

His hand slips through the band of his jeans and boxers, fishing out his cock. He's thick with bulging veins and a mushroom tip that's red and leaking. He can't help the chuckle he lets out as your eyes stare at it half-mast. Your mouth parts slightly as he slowly pumps himself, getting himself nice and hard. You reach out, taking over as his hand pulls away. You press yourself against his leg, whining as you're only able to reach his tip from the position he's in. His leg stops you from moving any further as it presses hard against your chest, but if you were to readjust on his shoe, you would lose the perfect angle you're in to stimulate your clit. John groans as he watches you struggle to suck him off properly while riding his shoe, the rugby match long forgotten.

Your head bobs sloppily, whining around his tip as you try to lick up the precum that he leaks out. As your hips move, he slips from your mouth every now and then, causing you to repeatedly suck him back into your mouth desperately. John hisses, hand coming to tangle in your hair as he throws his head back with a curse. You can feel your peak approaching as you stare up at him, pulling away from his cock as you moan out. You refocus all your energy on bucking your hips, mouth dropped open and noises reaching a higher octave with each movement.

When your clit skids over his laces again, your body tenses up. Your nails sink into his thigh, trying to keep yourself steady as you finish. Your body jumps slightly, feeling more wetness spill into your panties. Your movements get slower as you try to ride out your high, panting heavily as you call out John's name. John has this dark, hungry look in his eyes as he watches you come down, his cock twitching. When your movements finally stop, you slump into his leg, cheek resting on his knee as you look up at him. John's hand comes down to you, petting your hair and you smile gently as you close your eyes.

But, right as you think you've finished your job, John yanks your hair so you look up at him.

"Don't get too comfortable, babe. Still got another shoe ya' gotta break in f'me."

[reveluving]

morning, mrs price ; john price x reader

summary: mornings are better with john.

warnings: implied s~mut (minors DNI!), loads of fluff & kisses!

a/n: unplanned. domesticity today is cranked up by a 100 because I woke up on the GOOD side of the bed today, and I hope you will too! please enjoy & don’t forget to leave some sugar! ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

» curious about my writing? come & check out my COD m.list!

☕️ price melting when you come up from behind as he reads the newspaper in the dining room, feeling your hands lightly massaging his shoulders before leaving a few kisses on his temple and cheek, followed by a warm and tired, "g'morning."

☕️ he loves it when you're extra lovey-dovey—when you nuzzle your cheek against his, hearing your soft laugh as his beard tickles and almost prickles against your face.

☕️ he loves it when you hook your chin over his shoulder, asking if there was anything interesting in the paper he was reading. there's likely nothing worth noting half the time, but for you, he'd flip through a few, just to hear your cute "oh!" or if it so happens to be a funny one, being the one to share laugh with you.

☕️ + turning his head to the side to kiss your cheek!

☕️ him casually dragging a chair closer to him with one hand (those arms!), your hot drink of choice (likely prepared by him when he knows you're about to wake up) already next to his own mug to start the day off well together!

☕️ putting the newspaper aside as you sit next to him, talking about whatever with one of his hands on your thigh. it can be innocent, it can be naughty, but chances are, you're never going to leave the dining room right away.

☕️ him trailing his fingers over the visible bite marks on your thighs, his eyes crinkling shamelessly, because how could he forget when the two of you were 'fooling around' last night?

☕️ him purposely jiggling the plush of your thigh and leaning in, complimenting your obedience from last night and whispering how it wouldn't be the last time leaving such marks on you, as if he hasn't done so countless of times.

☕️ price letting out a hearty laugh when you lightly shove him for his teasing, then to ensure you don't pass out of embarrassment, by the way your body was growing hot, he asks what you'd want for breakfast.

☕️ want to try and make a recipe you found on the internet? he's ready to help you, or, if you want to spoil him by making it on your own while telling him to just 'sit there and look handsome', he'll be the most good-looking husband for you.

☕️ hell, he'll flex his muscles for you if you want.

☕️ want to try out that diner you saw the other day? give him a few minutes to finish his coffee then change, and he'll drive you there!

☕️ but shit, if you said you wanted him for breakfast right then and there, then don't be surprised if he spreads his legs without question 💗

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» a/n: okay AND because I read the ask I sent to @bubuslutty as SOON as I woke up... so... <3 ;; anyway! gorgeous divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

[d0youc0py]

You didn’t understand what was going on with him. When you talked to him on the phone he seemed alright- excited to get home to you. Yet, as soon as he walked through the door he had a different energy about him. He wasn’t your Simon. He was cold. He didn’t look you in the eye- brushed you off, only speaking to you when he absolutely had to. His hands that were usually all over you stayed put at his sides, like he had no desire to even be near you. It all came to a boiling point tonight.

“Si, I’m home.” You sighed, kicking off your shoes at the front door. A nice hearty bag of groceries in your arms.

“Hey sweetheart.” Your ears piqued up. That was the first time he had called you that in a week.

“You feeling better?” You asked quietly.

“Better than ever.” He slurred. Your heart dropped in your stomach. He was drunk. Simon liked a good drink but he always capped it at 2-3. You wondered how long he had been at it that he could barely talk. The empty whiskey bottle in the bin and the freshly open bourbon bottle on the counter was enough to answer your question.

“That’s good.” You humored him. You didn’t want to press your luck with him. You had never seen him drunk before and the state of mind he had been in recently was enough to cause a shake in your hand as you quickly put groceries away. You decided to just put away the perishables and leave the other things for the morning.

“Hey sweetheart, pour me another drink would ya?” A small whimper left your throat. You decided to act like you hadn’t heard him and continued putting the groceries in the fridge. “Y/N!” He shouted. You jumped causing your head to hit the fridge. “‘Nother drink!” He had his arm slung over the back of the couch holding his empty glass to you. You decided to ditch the groceries and quickly grabbed both your shoes and car keys before heading out the door. You sped out of the parking garage and drove as fast as the speed limit would allow.

You knew when he woke up tomorrow and realized you were gone he’d agonize over it. A part of you looked forward to it. Him being scared, just like you were now. But for right now you needed to find a place to sleep, the tears streaming down your face making it incredibly difficult to see the road.

The fight had started right after a double date. Your friend had begged you to meet her new boyfriend- Johnny agreed willingly always down to meet new people. Your friends new boyfriend however, thought poking fun at Johnny was the best way to spend the evening. He snickered at his accent. Made snide comments about his Mohawk. Worst of all he made jokes about how you could do so much better than him. Johnny was able to keep his emotions under wraps not wanting to embarrass you- that was until you laughed at one of his jokes. Johnny shut down the rest of the evening, and when you both made it back to the car he snapped.

“You alright?” You asked. Johnny always opened the car door for you and walked a little behind you. Tonight he walked ahead of you and you barely made it into the car before he sped off down the road.

“Way to have my back in there.” He snarled.

“What are you talk”-

“Oh fuck off Y/N. You know what I’m talking about.” He growled. The car engine roared as he raced down the street. You bet he was doing at least 20 above the speed limit. Your hand gripped the door handle, your feet pressing themselves against the floor.

“Slow down!” You shrieked. His foot pressed the accelerator harder. “Johnny!” You sobbed. You pressed your body against the seat, your free hand reaching out punching Johnny’s chest. That seems to bring him back down to earth. His foot left the accelerator and turned towards the brakes. The car finally slowed down just in time for a red light. You didn’t bother to hide your sobs, as you quickly unbuckled your seatbelt, jumping out of the car.

“Y/N!” Johnny yelled after you. You slammed the door in his face. The combination of your wobbly legs and cobblestone proved to be a bad combination as you hit the ground hard. You could feel the skin on your knees, elbows and hands scrape off. You shakily pulled yourself back up. You didn’t have the best idea as to where you were, but in that moment you didn’t care. You needed to be away from him.

John was always exceptionally patient with you. Never raising his voice. Always having the deepest consideration for your feelings. You could get away with murder. That’s why the screaming match happening in the living room right now was so earth shattering. After two years dating and five years of marriage you two were finally having your first real fight. He’d been a little extra on edge the past few days, his emotions on high knowing he was about to leave you for 3 months on one of the biggest missions his team would face. Not only that, his contact with you would have to be slim to none, while he was away. Maybe that’s why he picked a fight with you- to make his leaving tomorrow easier.

Both of you were flushed, hands waving manically in the air. He was panting- his eyes stone cold. You’d seen that look on his face before- when someone had tested their luck with you, but it had never been directed at you. You anger boiled down and you wracked your brain trying to even remember what this fight was about. Something about dinner you think. Your throat stung and your eyes burned from tears streaming down them for the last twenty minutes. Half of you wanted to run up and hug him. You wanted the soft him back, the one that kept you safe. The other half of you wanted to run and hide. Your lack of yelling back at him seemed to spur him on. His voice got louder. Shaper. His words became more hurtful. Your brain could hardly keep up, and you didn’t bother trying. The meaner he was the harder it would be to forgive him. And you already wanted to.

Suddenly a glass flew past your head, shattering into the wall behind you. Your safe, protected world began to crumble. Maybe you were being dramatic. This type of thing happened in movies. Yet his attack never faltered. He was screaming at you like he had never even loved you. So when his hand reach down to grab another glass you ran. You ran, pushing past him and into the bedroom locking the door behind you.

Konig wasn’t a relationship master. In fact he was the opposite. He was an absolutely wonderful partner but he struggled with certain aspects of it. The feeling of jealousy was one of them. He lived for you. You seemed to be in his mind constantly. When he was on the field it was: “Do everything you can to get home to them.” When he was home he was near you as often as he could be. He didn’t care about anyone else. You were the only one in his head. His brain just worked that way. So when you were able to completely shut him out and focus all your attention on someone else even when he was sitting next to you- it confused him. Then it upset him. Did you not feel for him the same way he did for you. Did he not completely overwhelm your senses until he was the only thing you could focus on?

“Konnie what’s wrong?” His grip on your hand was tight. He didn’t participate in the conversation between you and your friends, only speaking when the waitress asked for his order. He shook his head, silently telling you drop it. “I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.” You pressed. He let go of your hand. “Konnie?” You whispered. He opened the car door for you.

You thought maybe if you left him alone for a bit he would process and open up to you. It had been a day since you’ve spoken to him. “Konnie talk to me please.” You plopped down next to him on the couch, and paused the TV. His eyes remained on the paused screen. “Did I do something to upset you?”

His eyes flickered over to you. They weren’t cold and uninviting- but they didn’t send tingles up your spin like usual. “I was jealous.” Konig mumbled. When he did open up he was always blunt about it.

“Jealous? Of what?” No one had flirted with you to your knowledge. Even the few times people had he would just send them a glare and move along- never blame it on you.

“It was like I wasn’t even there when you talked to your friends.” He stated, his eyes remaining on you.

“I tried to include you.” You assured. You couldn’t understand how he was jealous. Maybe he got his feelings confused?

“I know.” He agreed. Finally it dawned on you.

“Konig you aren’t jealous just because I was talking to someone who wasn’t you, are you?” You questioned. He looked down- guilty. “Konig.” You gasped. “I have to have a life! These are the people that look after me while your away. You can’t expect me to give you every ounce of my attention while you’re home.” Your body was tense, not responding well to the new information your boyfriend had revealed about himself. You had heard about situations like this. One person in the relationship making their partner close themselves off. You swore if you ever saw those signs in your partner you would run for the hills.

“I give you all of mine.” He spat out.

“I never asked you to do that!” You matched his tone. “Just because you don’t have friends doesn’t mean I have to drop all of mine.” You regretted the words as soon as they came out. You knew how hard it was for him to put himself out there and meet people.

“I understand.” He growled out. He got up from the couch and went into the bedroom, leaving you on the couch.

[raffe156]

Tiger I want your opinion on this please?

Tight, muscle, trim Price

or

Dad bod, little paunch, but strong muscle Price

🤔

DAD BOD PRICE*

All day long anon, all day long…he’s a little bit softer round the middle than the other lads, but you know he’s 2x as strong 👀

*My opinion, but all versions are good, just like all bodies are good*

[athena-studios]

sugar daddy!John Price x fem reader.

pairing: established relationship

headcanons of Price as your sugar daddy, pretty short hc's tbh

18+ MDNI CONTENT UNDER THE CUT.

he would by you anything and everything. from shoes to hats, lingerie to sex toys.

he comes home from deployment, you would be in your newest clothes and pamper him with kisses all over his face.

after everytime you guys have sex, he would hand you his credit card and tell you to spoil yourself from doing so good. thing is, you can't walk.

which is why he is usually seen at the mall, holding your bags for you as you go to every single shop.

if you're not big on clothes and more of a book person, then the workers at barnes and nobles already know your name.

buying atleast 5 new books everytime you enter the bookstore.

even with how tired the both of you are, he still ends up cumming inside you at the end of the day.