#captain john price fanfic

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Star-crossed in the Crosshairs (John Price x Reader)

Epilogue: Choosing My Confessions

Fic Summary: This mission is the pinnacle of your efforts for the past three years. Your whole team and yourself have worked countless hours, slaughtered hundreds, risked life and limb for scraps of intel, and now it all boiled down to pairing up with another taskforce to get this job done and dusted. An unexpected spanner in the works comes in the shape of your former best friend, now also a Captain and somehow resurrected from his KIA status, John Price.

You can’t afford to let feelings - old and new - get in the way of your purpose. No matter how much you’ve missed, wished for, loved him, and no matter how much he might feel the same

AN: Mild spoilers but this is the hurt/comfort aspect. If you'd rather hurt/no comfort, then leave it at the previous chapter.

Chapter 10 // AO3 Version // Masterlist

Weighed down by a worn-out fleece, John Price dragged himself into the lift of his apartment building, hitting his floor button with one knackered pointer finger, his other hand refusing to drop his bag until he was inside his bedroom. Tomorrow, he’d spend half the day soaking in a hot bath with a flannel on his head, air heavy with condensation and the smell of cedarwood. What a welcome for the new year. He counted each of his breaths each level he was taken above. His toes were stiff with chills in his boots, wriggling to get some warmth in his bones before the stroke of midnight.

Sliding in between the doors, he grunted whilst fidgeting in his pockets. At last, his key came free and it slid into the door - awkwardly, so he made a mental note to oil it later into his shore leave. The door slid open. John instantly withdrew his pistol, using the muzzle to push the door open further. A quick evaluation showed the additional cylinder lock still functional.

Abandoning his bag outside his door, John silently prowled into the front room, expecting anything: unturned furniture, ransacked drawers, an identical gun pointed straight at him, anything.

Except for the large lump he spied tucked up on the couch.

The maroon throw blanket that usually rested over the back of the sofa was curled around a sleeping body. John pivoted around, his gun still raised until he saw the face poking out the blanket’s edge. Then his arms slacked, the gun still safe but loose in his grip by his thigh as he laughed under his breath.

He reached across to the side table and flicked on the lamp. Its golden glow highlighted the scar on your cheek, a new one gained in the nine months since he’d seen you last. Your chest was rising and falling with little snores accompanying each motion.

Once he’d retrieved his bag, John slung it to the floor beside the almost identical one at your feet. He debated over what to do next. Eventually, he landed on clearing his throat.Your head lifted instantly, your soporific gaze meeting his equally tired one.

“Hello, stranger,” He said, his voice hoarse yet kind.

“Hi,” You replied, rubbing your eyes before waving a hand at the front door, “Sorry, I waited an hour before I picked the locks.”

So you had gone through the motions of getting his address but not his phone number. Not for the first time in his life, John questioned your train of thought. Then he remembered what he put you through for a decade and decided that hypocrisy was not the goal of the evening.

“Waited longer than I would’ve,” He huffed then used his foot to carefully nudge your overnight bag, the onehe knew you could live out of for a fortnight if push came to shove.

You didn’t notice, or chose not to, instead asking, “What time is it?”

“Uh,” John checked his watch before taking it off, “Half eleven.”

You nodded in acceptance but made no further effort to talk, looking down at your hand fidgeting with the throw rug in your lap.

Sensing you didn’t wanna get into the reason you were sleeping in his sitting room yet, John offered you a helping hand, “You can take my bed. We can save the shop talk for tomorrow.”

Your hand in his, hauling yourself up, grip tougher than it looked, you moved past him, leading the way to the bedroom, “Thanks.”

John didn’t ask how you knew which door it was behind. Rather, he sought refuge in his en suite, shedding his clothes and finding the energy to bother separating them into his divided laundry baskets. It was all he could handle not to fawn over you being in his home and your reason. You always were a curveball in his life, keeping him on his toes. Opting against the effort of shaving, he washed his face and pulled on his pyjamas.

Somehow, the image of you slotting in your earplugs and seeming stiff in the middle of the ice cold bed tilted John’s world off its axis all the more. You whispered a good night to him, which he returned, then he moved away, out and onto the couch just as you had done. His feet poked out onto the armchair, but he didn’t bother covering them in the throw. Instead, he focused on the ceiling, flat and smooth with boring white paint.

Sudden cheers caught his attention, echoing from outside. Faintly, he could make out the numbers descending.

The bellowing of “zero” brought flashes of red and yellow lights slipping through the gap in the curtains. They irritated the white paint with splashes of unpredictability. John’s mind switched up, despite his deep breathing, and he swiftly closed the blinds behind the curtains, shutting out any sign of the new year from his sitting room. Slipping back under the blankets, his body tensed against the few echoes of explosions that made it past the double glazing. He despised every second his body betrayed his intentions, putting him in work-mode in the comfort of his home when he could normally flip the switch without a second thought.

After about ten minutes, John pushed to sit up and groped around the sofa cushions for the remote. Grounding himself amidst the sounds with the images of the sparks showering around the Thames had to be easier than this.

Outside, some drunkards singing Auld Lang Syne clashed with the sporadic and delayed fireworks and the arid display on his TV set. It did little to convince his amygdala that he didn’t need five exit strategies on top of the ones he already had in place. The only reassurance was that, if something were to happen, this would be a nice place to go – with you nearby.

A dim shadow in the screen turned John’s head to see you and how you’d found his dressing gown, donned it accordingly.

You spoke before he could. “Can’t sleep. Where’s your tea?”

When you held up your hand to his attempt to get on his feet, John began pointing out the cupboards needed for your quest. His twisted spine didn’t complain; you brewing for two nondescript mugs was far more fascinating than whatever revelries were going on in some London stadium or recording studio. A soft thanks crossed his lips as you passed one mug to him over the back of the couch.

“Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year. What you watching?”

“BBC concert. Wanna watch with me?”

“You’re so fucking-” You let out a huff, then you hit him lightly with the dressing gown’s cord: “Polite.”

With a short yet deep belly laugh, John patted the sofa cushion beside him, “Never been called that in my life.”

“Don’t make me do it again then.”

Still, you moved around the couch and sat in the space offered to you. A healthy distance cushioned between John’s legs and yours.

Temptation to ask about what you’d been doing the past nine months blended well with the milk and tea – it was “tomorrow” after all. The words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to fall out in such a casual way to mask the impact of your reply, whatever it would be. You couldn’t just be here and not have something to say.

Your earplugs, nudged neatly in place, protected you from the stray fireworks outside and from noticing John’s runaway train of thought. It was almost peaceful to watch Rick Astley and Rylan (of all people) bop about on stage with warmth in your hand and at your side. Just enough to settle your stomach, you sipped your tea and absorbed the warmth through your palms.

In a move categorised under “high risk, high reward”, John unfolded the blanket he had been sheltered under and held up the corner in your peripherals wordlessly. You tried not to let this action derail your intentions as you tucked in closer to him to lay that portion of the blanket over your lap.

Three inches of suffocation between the two of you yet goosebumps extended from your arm hairs to feel the hum of his blood beating through his veins, like your body needed proof you were really next to him and not just a daydream you’d conjured up each time you debated if you regretted your choice or when you’d revisited the situation in therapy numerous times. This feeling was no doubt mutual. John Price had the patience of a sniper, but you were dangling him off a precipice whilst he waited for you to explain yourself.

Knocking back another sip of tea like it was whiskey, you asked, “I’m not keeping you up, am I?”

“No. No, you’re all good.” John told both truth and lies. Yes, you were fine being here. But you’d kept him up many nights, not just this one.

He zeroed in on your wrist as you leaned forwards to place your mug on the only other coaster on the coffee table. A new tattoo of a lit match sat beside his callsign’s artwork, the flame’s linework a nice contrast to the helmet’s bold yet fading black. So much of John’s attention was on the inked pairing that he almost missed what you said to him as you sat back into the couch.

“I think I’m ready to try and work things out with you.”

John wasn’t the kind of man to double take at something shocking. His body was built for earthquakes, absorbing all shockwaves, no swaying, sturdy and reliable. But the phrase he’d hoped to hear all those months ago sent tremors off the Richter scale. Twice glancing at your complicated expression, your words sank into his head with a sluggish pace he was unfamiliar with.

“What?” He asked, his heart beginning to pound and pine for confirmation.

You gave him the privilege of looking right in your eye as you repeated yourself, as steady as before:

“I’d like for us to try working things out. I’m ready to move on from that and I’d like to do that with you, like you asked me to back in March.”

A lot of Nerve was needed to pull this stunt off. Good thing you were known for it. The old times, so far away, waved to the new ones you’d just told him could exist.  

Eyelids pressing shut to stave the mist that filled them, John’s chin met his chest as his head gave into gravity. His voice had gone AWOL. Maybe you were gonna be in the habit of making his speechless, but he wouldn’t care if you did if it meant what you said was God’s honest truth.

Meanwhile, you were starting to tremble with the effort you’d made to come here in the first place. All the decisions you’d opted for, rehearsals with your therapist and in your head, led you to sit in front of him and say with the integrity of your soul bared that, after months of absence, you were willing to try properly. And you were met with a stoic stern man sniffling.

“Am I too late?” You said quietly.

John sighed, drawing himself back up to show you the smile breaking out on his face, “Never.”

First time in years, your tears were not brewed in agony and his presence hummed in your veins. Reaching for your hands, John’s snapped together with yours like magnets. It wasn’t enough. Almost instantly, you had climbed into his lap and wrapped yourself around him until you could strangle each other with your iron grips. You felt nauseous with relief. John’s nose stuffed into your neck, his entire body bloating as he breathed you in with his burly arms firm against your back.

The smallest gap between you so that he could look you in the eye. His thanks fell from his lips over and over, like water tumbling down a fissure, for giving him another chance. Through his gratitude, he could see in the glass of your eyes how much you’d worked to get to here – to him, for him. Because of damage that he’d caused. The best thing anyone had ever done for him, and he didn’t deserve it. But he would take it in this rough reunion, too overcome to do more than just sink into one another.

Far from the same, from before, from a normal steady relationship that would survive under normal circumstances, especially considering you’d be shipped back out to Urzikstan in three days. But God, you knew you’d made the right choice coming back at this point in time. You’d take every second with him now that you could.

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

AN: And that's it! I finally finished writing a fanfiction series. Thank you for reading and engaging with it on here and AO3. I really appreciate everything. Thank you again also to @mockerycrow for the original concept and allowing me to write this inspired piece of writing. Onwards, to the next fanfic!

Tag-list: @mockerycrow and @algor-babe

[gloomwitchwrites]

What Are We (3 of 4)

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): light angst, soft!Price, heavy suggestive themes, canon-typical swearing

Word Count: 978

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

Not interested in playing games, Price makes it clear what he wants.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // what are we masterlist

“Are we doing this or no, love?”

You glance up from your morning tea, surprised. “What?”

John crosses his arm and leans against the edge of the counter. He’s only wearing sweatpants, and his bare chest is distracting. He might be older, but John is just as strong as the younger men that work under him. Those large arms of his are all corded muscle and protruding vein. His chest and stomach have a thickness to them that speaks to more than simply going to the gym.

“Us,” he replies. “What are we? What are we doing?” He sounds slightly huffy. Not angry, just impatient. In need of an answer.

You swallow down the burning liquid and nearly grimace from the heat. “I—what do you mean?”

One eyebrow rises, almost in chastisement. Which is fair since you know what John is pushing back about even as you feign innocence. Right now, you don’t want to face the reality. What you and John have is so peaceful that pushing it forward—or back—might disrupt the quiet, shattering it all like smashed glass.

John sighs, and reaches out, placing his large palm over the mouth of your tea mug. His fingers grip it, and you know to let it go, to release your hold. John sets the mug down on the counter next to him.

Spreading his legs, John uncrosses his arms, holding them out in front of him. “Come here,” he murmurs, and the tone is so soft and inviting that you immediately comply, entering his arms like melted butter over toast.

Fuck, he’s warm. A furnace.

You wrap your arms around his middle, and John does the same, tucking you against his body. “We live together,” he says.

“Yes.”

“We sleep in the same bed.”

You nod. “That we do.”

The corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “I’ve met your bloody parents.”

“What’s your point?” you ask, haughty and stubborn.

Price’s hand drops lower. Squeezes. The power behind it forces you further against him, and you feel everything, especially the hardness that hasn’t appeared to abate since the morning’s quickie.

“My point, is that we need to call this what is it.”

Shit. This is it. You’re going to have to face the reality of this and look it in the face. You and Price are not simply friends. You are not even friends with benefits or a uncomplicated fling. This is real. Truly and utterly real and yet you keep denying what sits in front of you.

You and John are a couple. That is what this is.

He has met your parents. He has met your friends. You know his coworkers—at least the ones he trusts enough to share your existence with. The two of you talk about the future together, never pivoting away from the possibility of separation.

Everything happens together. Everything.

So why keep denying it?

“I’m not looking to play games, love.” John reaches up and slides his hand to the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your throat. “With my career, I need stability when I come home.” He hugs you closer. “I want you as my wife. Little versions of us running around.”

He closes the distance, lightly pressing his lips to yours. With the hold on your throat, John is a bit possessive with it, a little rough in the way he holds you. It’s such a contrast to how his lips caress your skin, tasting softly.

John releases your lips, pulling back just enough to stare into your eyes. “If you don’t want these things, you tell me now.” The husky drop in his voice sends a shiver straight to your core, makes you slick between the thighs.

Returning to your lips, John’s pressure increases, becomes slightly desperate. Slightly choking with his need to get his point across. You need to make a decision. You need to tell John what you want.

Because, you do want him. You crave him every second of every day. But this is a massive step, and John’s life is an unpredictable assortment of missing time and extended absences. The stability John desires is something you are more than willing to give, but you also don’t want to carry that burden all on your own.

“What happens when you’re not here, John?” you ask, once he’s ceased kissing you. “And even when you are, am I to take up the mental load?”

There are times when you will need to give more, or John might have to, but you don’t want to be left to do it all yourself. John’s job is difficult. It can be traumatizing and stressful, but you need to know if he’ll be present when he returns.

You don’t need to elaborate. You don’t need to explain. John already knows. He understands.

“Coming home to you in between is the happiest I’ve ever been. I just want you here. Everything else is negotiable.”

You smile against his mouth. “I thought you said you wanted little versions of us running around?”

John shrugs. “I do. If you don’t, that’s fine.” Both hands fall away from your body to firmly squeeze your ass. “But I will fuck you like we’re trying.”

“John!” you rear back and playfully smack his chest.

He nuzzles your neck and inhales, drawing you right back into him. “We can go try right now.” John lightly presses his pelvis against you and you smile as his desire creates a pressure between your bodies.

“We don’t have anything planned today,” you murmur.

John squeezes harder. “Exactly, love. We have the whole day.”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glassgulls @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @pearljamislife @wrathofcats @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppixie @bbyfimmie @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project

[dmitriene]

cw: dark content, dubious consent, spanking, humiliation, thigh riding.

you were a proper brat, the one that town sheriff jonathan price couldn't stand at all, every outing you made to the town was leaving him with bulging veins all over his neck and forehead, jaw grinding harshly as his calloused hand stroked his mutton chops.

price just hadn't a single nerve for your antics, wandering around the town in the tight little shirts of your daddy that you sewed to fit your body, the slinkiest denim shorts that was possibly existing were hugging your rounded ass cheeks, soft flesh barely peaking beneath when you were bending against the shop's wooden counters.

you were john's menace, stealing for your own fun some fresh juicy fruits from some poor lad's shop, never paying and always giggling, charming his brains out of his head so he wouldn't notice your arm full of sweetest peaches.

wandering around john's office, twirling your ass all around and chatting with muppets that were sitting in jail cells, the same place you should be sitting at least couple of hours as well, but price doesn't have a strength to run after you, and his boys were failing on catching you as well.

you outrunned every one of them, from charmingly annoying scott, to the politely sunny man that was called kyle, and even the behemoth of a man that everyone was naming as a ghost, mostly because he gave up the first time you shoved your tongue at him and sprinted away by jumping through the gates.

your biggest fault was stealing something from sheriff himself, wandering to price's office while he was out for some deal as you wiggled yourself through the open window, just «a silly joke» on him for not letting you having your fun and reporting each movement you did to your daddy, but oh, you shouldn't have touched his things at all.

shouldn't turn his neatly organized office upside down, climb through his shelves and touch folders with important documents, as well as shouldn't open the jail cells and let out those who were sitting there for malicious mischief and other, similar to this one, things.

it really wasn't worth it to end up bent over a hard, muscular lap, with your tight little shorts dangling at your feet and cotton panties crumpled just enough to expose your rounded, soft rear to the silent room, where the only sound that resonates off the brick walls is loud, raw spanking slaps.

it's the first time in a long when john was that much furious, making his face go deep shade of red out of anger, fists tight and whitening at his sides when he opened the door to his office, catching you off guard in the middle of your antics, azure eyes darkening almost immediately as his fingers twitch and grasp at your hair, rippling out a loud, strained squeak off of your pretty lips.

you clearly didn't expect to see him, that john could tell, as well as end up half naked before his intense, burning gaze, a complete mess with your hands literally tied, now you couldn't run away from him, not when he finally caught you up.

maybe he enjoyed it too much, the thrill of having something that was constantly running from him made warmth bubble in his bulky body, like a game of cat and mouse, but finally you got exactly what you deserved, and john intended to feed it to you till the last spoon.

— “cocky, impudent little brat„ he all but barks and growls, making you shook not only from the stinging pain on your bulging ass cheeks, but also because of slightest fear that grip your body in its clutches, holding you unmovingly on john's thick thighs as you let out whimpers and tiny, ringing mewls.

tiny rope bites at your sore wrists, calloused palm slaps against your completely raw, reddened flesh with licking pain, your limbs feel absolutely putty, useless in your current state, with fat salty tears rolling against your fluttering eyelashes and down the flushed cheeks.

he smells of musk and gunpowder, sweat, scent with which he came back at least hour ago, and you knew that you're in for trouble, because he reeled of irritation.

all this situation was supposed to scare you away, make you beg for forgiveness, but you welcome each and every harsh slap with pooling wetness in the gusset of your cotton panties, the gentle lips of your pretty pussy visible just enough for john's gaze to catch on, and he straight on slows down.

the only thing that you register in your buzzing brain is harsh puffs that comes off his mouth, before dry ungloved fingers slide up against your folds, gathering the sticky, pooling mess, and you jolt, sobbing out a high gasp, which makes price huff out bewilderedly — “fuckin' hell, you're getting off to this, sweetheart? enjoying the humiliation?„

that makes your blood run incredibly hot, cheeks and ears burning up harder than the sensitive flesh of your perched ass, and you wiggle intuitively, pussy throbbing on itself and making you whimper, sincerely plaintively, cotton fabric sticking to your slicky folds, as you gather the courage to wobble out the small — “n-no„

but your body doesn't agree, you're aching, every limb feels as if it's itching and pulsing, you don't see how price bores his cerulean eyes into the slick gathered on his thick fingers, his own body rolling with waves of heat, clothes feels suddenly too tight for his own good, before he yanks your tied hands.

sudden movement makes you choke a squeak, rope still biting into the thin flesh of your wrists as he moves you to straddle his thighs, sitting securely, making your denim shorts slip off your legs completely and to the floor, as air in his messy office bites your sensitive ass cheeks, before there's another delivered, stinging slap.

you cry out, body jolting and pressing against his as you fall face first into his shoulder, inadvertently inhaling his cologne and hints of leather, his rough fingers knead your ass, calloused thumb rubbing strangely soothing circles that make your plush thighs squeeze together around his, desperate need for some kind of relief wells up hot and bothering, in your tummy and pulsing, currently neglected cunny.

price drinks up your every reaction like the most delicious whiskey, the labored breaths and the feel of how your pussy throbs, he can feel it all, together with hardening sensation in his boxers that makes his pants feel too tight beneath you, but it all will end up more than soon, cause his free hand moves to grip the back of your neck.

he's tugging, making your spine arch as your mound rubs against his leg just the right way, and he growls, head tilting to whisper out in your ear, his facial hair rubbing your skin harshly — “let's see how brave you are for real, darling? get off what's bothering you, and maybe.. maybe i'll consider to not telling your daddy what happened here today„

that makes you mewl so embarrassedly, nod your head silently into his muscular shoulder as your rounded hips roll cautiously, sudden pleasure sparks all through your shaking body as you still hide your face from him, but it doesn't matter, cause you're already signed the deal with sheriff jonathan price.

and no one in this town, if it's not the future dead man walking, will risk betraying the deal with him.

so you roll your hips rhythmically, letting your sopping pussy glide smoothly against his clothed thigh as your ass perches up, with his thick hand still caressing and kneading shamelessly, your strained, panting voice huffs out ashamed and delirious — “y-yes, sir„ which pulls a wide grin to his lips and a dark glint to his vivid eyes.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[fandom-imagines]

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.

[mlmxreader]

Brat Tamer | John Price x gn!reader (🍋)

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Hello there, can I request the prompt “Just stay still for five minutes” with price please? Thank you very much :) ❞

: ̗̀➛ Act like a brat, get treated like a brat.

: ̗̀➛ swearing, Dom/Sub dynamics, Daddy kink, spanking, anal sex, anal fingering, marking/possession kink, praise kink

↳ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

Price groaned softly as he held you down, one hand on the back of your neck and the other at your ass; he had two fingers inside, his ring finger and middle fingers stretching you out as you pushed back against him and begged for him to go deeper, harder, faster.

He grinned, admiring your ass and how tight it was around the digits as he resisted the urge to leave a firm smack to your cheek; thankful that he was ambidextrous as he gripped your right cheek firmly before delivering a hard smash and tutting under his breath.

He loved how you begged for him to do it again, loved how your voice was hoarse and so close to being little more than a needy whisper; it served you right, in all honesty.

Distracting him from his job and making him lose his place amongst the field reports that he had due for a week from now. All day, you had been acting up and acting like a brat, and he had just about had enough of it; you begged for him to fuck you, but he wasn’t about to let you off so easily.

You weren’t allowed to cum, not yet, not until he said you could. You weren’t allowed to do anything he didn’t order you to, and although it was painful to force yourself to keep enough composure to obey him, you knew it would all be worthwhile.

It always was.

You reminded yourself of what to do when you weren’t comfortable - the safe word was always the same, it was always “Hurricane”, after his favourite type of aeroplane from world war two.

If you couldn’t speak, you had to hit the bed three times with your right hand, or smack his left shoulder three times. Depending on which you could reach. 

“You’re so tight,” he breathed out, but when you squirmed against him to try and fuck yourself on his fingers, he smacked your harsh harshly. “Just stay still for five minutes, I’m not fucking done.”

You whimpered, pouting at you felt the same old ache you usually did when he didn’t give you what you wanted. “Daddy, please…”

“Oh, so now you wanna be good?” Price breathed out, tilting his head to the side as he ceased all movement. “Do you have any fucking idea what you did today? Making me lose my place in all those papers… I shouldn’t even be fingering you right now, let alone fucking you.”

“Please…” you pleaded, voice breaking as if you were about to break out sobbing any second. “Please, I’ll be good, I promise. Please.”

Withdrawing his fingers from your ass, Price huffed as he sat with his back against the headboard, giving his thigh a firm tap as he ordered you to ride him; you did your best not to grin, lining yourself up before slowly sinking down on his cock.

You shuddered, your ass feeling so full as you let him bottom out; you clenched around him, whimpering softly as you put your hands on his shoulders. 

“Come on, then,” he demanded. “Be good and fuck yourself until you cum.”

You nodded, biting down on the inside of your cheek so you didn’t grin. “Yes, Daddy.”

Price grabbed your hips as you started to rock back and forth, pushing your chest out a little as you arched your back to get a better angle; you were a little surprised when he forced you to pick up the pace, rutting into you as quickly as he could, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room as he put his hands on your ass and spread your cheeks.

Groaning softly when you moaned for him to go harder, deeper, faster. Fuck. If there was anything Price couldn’t deny, it was you. You felt like you were made for him, like you were all he would ever want.

He was thankful that an old friend of his - Elias - had introduced him to his son - Hesh - as it meant that Price met you; you were Hesh’s best friend, and Elias was an old friend of Price’s, so it was natural that the two of you would meet at some point.

But now, Price was more thankful than ever; three years together, and Price could never be more thankful than he was at that moment. Buried inside you as he fucked you until you grabbed the headboard and lifted yourself up slightly, trying desperately to keep up with his pace but hardly able to.

The sound of your soft moans and how you were so eager to please him at every and any opportunity, how you needed and begged for him even though you were hoarse and breathless. Price adored you, every fucking inch of you.

Fuck. Sometimes he wondered how he ever felt satisfaction without you. 

You ground down against him, matching his pace as you moaned and whimpered, and Price smiled as he licked his lips, kissing and sucking on your neck for a moment before he bit down properly, leaving his mark on you for everyone to see within the next few hours.

Fuck.

He loved it when you proudly showed off the marks around base, especially when he caught the others checking you out; a smug grin on his lips as he smoked a cigar and looked at you knowingly.

It was fucking brilliant, if he was ever concerned. Price loved to mark you up, loved to show off the fact that you were all his and he was all yours, that he was devoted to you and lived to serve.

He loved it when he caught his men checking you out when you were working out, all sweaty and panting heavily, your clothes sticking to you and showing every inch that Price loved so much; knowing that they wouldn’t be caught touching, but still nearly breaking their necks when you walked past.

Fuck.

Price toyed with the idea a few times, fucking you over his desk or letting you suck him off under it, and hoping to get caught by just about anyone; just so they would see how you belonged to one another, and he could show off.

Just for you. Price would always show off just for you. No one made him nearly half as weak as you did. 

But neither of you were going to last long, you could feel it bubbling in your stomach as your toes curled and your stomach started to pull into knots; your tongue fell from your mouth, drool seeping from it as you panted heavily as let him fuck you harder and deeper.

Crying out as your legs shook and you stalled completely; freezing up as you felt yourself spill onto him. Price grinned, collecting some of your cum on his fingers and bringing them to your mouth; he closed his eyes as you sucked his fingers, running your tongue over the tips flatly.

Fuck. He couldn’t stop himself, grunting and groaning as he paused and shot his load into you. 

“I’m not done with you yet,” he grumbled harshly, giving your ass a firm smack. “You’re gonna take every drop, do you understand?”

“Need it,” you whimpered in response, nodding. “Please, need your cum inside me. All of it.”

“Good,” Price praised, a little softer as he gently ran his hand down your ass. “Stay fucking still.”

You nodded, trying not to push back against him and squeal as he fucked his cum into your ass as much as he could; a little bit dripped out and onto his sack, but he soon enough scooped it up on his fingers and made you suck them clean again.

Fuck, you were so brilliant. He pulled out just as you were on the brink of cumming again, laughing smugly as he patted your ass and kissed you sweetly. 

“You’re in my good books again,” he murmured between gentle kisses. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

You shook your head, just about able to keep yourself upright as you swallowed thickly and tried to catch your breath. “Not at all… do you want a hand with those papers?”

Price shook his head as he smiled, kissing your jaw softly. “You’re alright. You spent all night awake last night, so… just rest, yeah? Have a bum day today.”

You nodded, kissing him softly. “I love you.”

He hummed as he gently grabbed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. “I love you, too.”

[thisfanisgonesorry]

in sickness (and in flames) — john price

first you get hurt, and then there’s healing; its a process, believe me

tags: kyle “gaz” garrick mentioned, angst, hurt/comfort, injury resulting in chronic pain, ptsd, flashbacks and pov switches. -> fem!wife reader but also not really an x reader fic if that makes sense? just give her a chance;; 4.7k wc

a/n: this is self indulgent "fuck off and die" fic /lh (nerve dmg sucks) but might add more to it yet, who knows

💊

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching his fists periodically. The memory ingrained in his head as he ignored the figure looming over him.

Bullets whizzed past them as he barked orders, directing his soldiers through cover, to eventual evac. To safety. There were so many of them that there wasn’t time to stop and shoot, the only option was to run, sprint, hide, use cover to your advantage, don’t let them get to you. His orders filled the air and cackled over the radio as he demanded backup or some form of overwatch.

He stood in the doorway to a building, his ears ringing from the sudden outburst of violence, dust covering every position, impossible to see how many shooters were from any angle, he waved his arm, gesturing to them to rush from cover-to-cover. He kept a count of his soldiers, mumbling names and numbers under his breath. His fingers looped into the edge of their vests or backpacks like you would on the scruff of a dogs neck, heaving them into the room and pushing them past the doorway threshold as he counted.

Bravo 6-2 walked through the door and John sighed in relief, giving him a pat on the back, and he continued to lead them through the building, not giving himself a moment of repose. ‘Everyone made it to safety’ echoed in his thoughts, the only thing that mattered.

“Anyone hit?” His voice hoarse as he scanned the group. He was met with reassurance from them, everything and everyone was fine, maybe a few minor injuries, but they were okay. That’s the only thing that mattered.

He raised his hands, two fingers pointing upwards as he glanced, squinting through the dust before waving, rushing through. His mind was fogged, which he now kicked himself for. He wanted to rush this, get out as quickly as he could manage. But if he just took his time —

A loud thud as he fell to the ground, blood seeping through his uniform but his body numb and tingly. He patted himself down as he tried to figure out where he was shot but nothing, the blood was thick to cover its origin, and his eyes wide, his eyebrows knitted in focus, trying to clear his thoughts despite the heavy rain of gunfire surrounding him.

His men covered him quickly, trying to pull him to his feet, but a rough, barked. “Go!” filled the air, a demand of desertion that was swiftly ignored.

“Sir, we’re not leaving without you.” 6-2 spoke firm, picking up the fallen soldier quickly and heaving his arm over his shoulder. There was an unspoken glare between them, a silent argument. Though the soldier averted his gaze, taking his role as second in command immediately in stride.

John was silent, observing, uncontesting the willingness of his soldiers to save him. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe they’d truly leave him behind, but the quick thinking would earn some medals.

The hospital was worse than the battlefield. Half of his body was numb, though he sat there clenching and unclenching his fists, wriggling whatever part of his body could move. His voice was ragged from exhaustion, and rough from the lack of hydration. Despite knowing better, he just couldn’t bring himself to drink anything, or to eat. He simply laid there, fighting for control over his body.

The bullet was removed from his spine and laid next to him, covered in his dried blood that crusted the pristine silver, it laid idly in the metal tin, but John couldn’t help but glare at it like it offended him.

His body laid straight and flat on the hospice mattress to ease the spinal column. His eyes stayed glued to the roof, though his eyes failed him, and despite his instinct, he fought to look away from the offensive side-table.

He’d been hospitalised for weeks while the army did their last duty to support him. Nurses coming in and out to make sure he left in the best of conditions, though he couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

A letter of discharge sat on the table next to him, sided with a bottle of water and using the metal tin with the bullet as a paperweight. The victoria cross was placed formally on top of the discharge paper, gifted to him while he slept.

As weeks went on, small tidbits were left on his side table as farewells, as souvenirs, as gifts. It wasn’t long before the news of Captain John Price’s discharge made its way around the base.

His spine recovered quickly, no major damage — not paralysed permanently. Once he was able to sit up without insufferable pain, he analysed the few items that were left for him. He rattled the tin, staring down at the bullet and cursing it for changing the trajectory of his life. The paper insulted him slightly, and he dreaded the day where he’d have to sign it, he was putting it off as long as he could, doing his best to ignore it’s presence, but his time was nearing. He couldn’t stay in this infirmary forever.

The Victoria Cross, in all its glory. He picked it up carefully, treating it like it was fragile. It wasn’t his to discard. He analysed the soft red ribbon, running his calloused finger over it. Awarded for astounding bravery. He flipped it over, to find the date of such an event labelled on the centre of the cross, and one ‘Kyle Garrick’ engraved into the suspender bar.

“You’re lucky to even be able to walk.” Were words that made his eyes glaze over, and they were always met with a brisk, formal nod. How was he supposed to respond to that information? He was bombarded with information like that, how he was lucky to be able to walk, how he was so lucky that it didn’t do more damage than it did. How much luck would he have needed to not get hit at all?

So he laid there, staring up at the ceiling at the memory. Fists clenched and unclenched. “Honey?” Was called out from the dark, and he turned his head, sitting up briefly to see his darling wife. “Made you some tea.”  

The glass was sat next to him and he stared up at me like he’d seen a saint. “I love you.” He spoke, like if he didn’t say it, then there would be no way for her to remember on her own. A chaste kiss, and a reassuring palm on the back of her waist was the physical touch that soothed his mind, though he continued to linger on the thoughts.

He was tired, beyond so, a permanent scowl hidden behind his outgrown beard, he’d neglected most forms of self care at this point in his life. He’d shaved it once — the day before he came home. He stood in front of the mirror for an hour just staring at his reflection, dreading what would come next, like it would be something bad until he forced himself into maintenance.

He walked up to the doorstep, his bag slung over his shoulder and the discharge paper firmly on his hand. He presented it like a child who just got an ‘F’ on their test, handing it to their disapproving mother that expected better. The look of shame that covered his face. The pleading in his eyes. 

I carefully took the paper from his hands, confused by his expression before seeing the glaring sentences. ‘Certificate of discharge from active duty’ plastered across the top, as well as his name and neighbouring information. A mumbled ‘what?’ escaped my lips as I continued to skim, knowing few of the words, but wanting that extra confirmation.

‘Medical discharge’ stuck out awfully. There was information about the discharge scattered throughout the letter, something or other mentioning medical retirement and the permanent disability retirement list. “John, what’s this?” I asked, met with silence, the soldier continuing to stand tall. “What happened?” His heart sank, his reserve falling. God, did he feel selfish.

He walked into the large, oh-so-empty house, and he half-expected to get dragged by the ear. “Got shot.” He grumbled under his breath. “Don’t even know how it happened — it was all so fast.” His breath quickened, his heart racing at the shooting memory of the pain that slithered down his body before the numbness took hold.

I wrapped my arms around him, and he fell silent. The words stopped pouring and he slumped down, letting his large, strong arms wrap around the smaller torso, and he accepted the act of affection warmly despite the way his gut churned in disappointment in himself.

All that hard work, and for what? What did it even pay off for?

Weeks passed, and he struggled to cope with the knowledge that he’d never go back to work. The pension came in smoothly, he was given what was needed to live comfortably, they did their part to make sure he was well-cared for. Government wise or other. He was supplied for, and that left a tight feeling in his chest that he didn’t like.

He wasn’t disabled — not by a long shot. Not in his eyes. Though that fiery pain that starts in the heel of his foot and quickly strikes up his leg like lightning spoke otherwise, like an echo behind his voice that said the opposite of his words.

Once again, he laid in bed, the sheets kicked off his aching, touch-hot legs, though they stayed wrapped around his doting lover. Why wasn’t he able to support his wife the same way he did before? It twisted him up and spat him out.

“Love you.” Was mumbled into the flesh of his neck, and he gave a sharp exhale, sighing at the words and closing his eyes, basking in the moment. He held his breath when he thought about these things — holding his breath in hopes it eased the tightness in his chest. He let out a soft laugh. She noticed, of course she did.

His arms squeezed them closer together, the same way he used to. Not much had changed besides his body. The sudden ache in his muscles, the discomfort. The all-too-well known demotivation that came with upheavals of change. The only other thing that changed, a good change, was his lack of motif bred a healthy amount of weight gain.

‘Soft around the edges’ were the words of choice. They reverberated around his skull for a few days, and he sulked and sulked, unsure how he felt about it. Initially taking it as an insult before that consciousness in the back of his head reminded him that he was loved.

“Love you too.” He brooded.

“Stop thinking so much.” I hummed, letting it hang in the air the same way he hung his head in shame. He let out a gruff hum of approval, letting me know my words were heard, but he wasn’t happy to hear them.

He woke, stirring slightly and noticing the distinct emptiness in his arms that he’d grown familiar with, though it continued to be strange. His arms reached out, patting a side of the bed, before he picked himself up, opening his eyes to be met with the distinct *clink* of his cup of tea placed gently on the bedside table.

“Hate it when you do that.” Was his confession. He loathed the feeling of waking up alone, and it was salt in the wound to know that she did it for him. He always felt like it was his job to be the caretaker, the provider, so for it to suddenly be ripped away like that? It killed him. Anyone with half a mind would be incredulously grateful that their partner loves them enough to care for them back the same way, versus whatever Jennifer Tilly has going on the side. But for whatever reason, never John Price.

He wasn’t met with a response, just an affectionate smile as the day continued, not pausing for a moment, it never did anymore. He missed the closeness, the affections. More than anything, he missed the intimacy.

He was kicking himself for letting it affect the marriage, because of course it did — of course it would. He couldn’t believe himself. He managed to find someone so loving, so caring, so supportive, so radiant. So unbelievably perfect. His own bitter, brooding pushing away the one good thing he had left. 

The only thing he felt that continued to function in his body correctly was his heart.

He gave a deep sigh, his hands tightly holding onto the side of the sink as he sat in the big house alone, oh; it felt so empty sometimes. His knuckles noticeably paler from how tight he held onto the sink, analysing his face.

He picked the sleep from his eyes and ran his hands over his beard, running his nails through the messy hair. The electric razor buzzed to life in his hands, he held it to his cheek and let it remove all the excess unkemptness.

A low growl rumbled through him, his hands struggling to respond to the actions his brain told him as he tried to trim his beard, the guard pressing into the fur and trimming it as it fell into the sink. The door behind him clicked, his arm tensed and the safe-guard failed, pressing deeper and a ball of fluff falling into the basin, a small bald patch forming on his cheek.

I apologised needlessly, assuming I was the distraction that caused the incident. “I’m sorry.” — I greeted him warmly, a reassuring touch, and he scowled, though there was no frustration; only disappointment. — He sucked his teeth, moving his jaw for easier access as he clean-shaved his face, leaving his cheeks bare and naked for the first time in years.

“Not your fault.” He responded gruffly, turning the razor off and swapping it between hands, shaking his dominant one briefly before going back to his actions. His cheeks were stubbled as he tried to keep it smooth, though he was heavily limited.

The razor was placed down on the side of the bench, and he rubbed the smooth skin, feeling the dull bristles over his fingers. It took him a moment, the person in the reflection looked nothing like him, it almost prompted a double take. He hadn’t looked this baby-faced in so long but it was welcome. Maybe even the change he needed. “I’m proud of you.” He froze, nodding with a thick swallow and slight gasp of air, almost like the words itself hurt more than a gunshot.

“Thank you.”

“It looks nice.” I whispered, my palm on his strong, muscled back. “You look nice.”

He leant into the touch, his shoulders relaxing and his body untensing at the reassurance. I rested my chin on his shoulder, and ran my hands up and down his arms, taking in his beauty. He was tired, and the conversation felt like a stab in the chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He grumbled, shuffling from foot to foot, rolling his shoulders as a slight innuendo that he didn’t want me touching him, and the conversation ended there. His words were terse — and I pulled away slowly at his actions.

He turned to me hesitantly, breaking eye contact with his own reflection, a million untamed thoughts running through his head. “I love you.” He reassured, a soft kiss on my forehead, feeling the stubble scratch me slightly, his nose pressing into my hairline, a firm hand on my shoulder as a vague form of affection like he did to his soldiers, the ones that he misses so dearly.

The sound of dishes clinking into the sink filled the kitchen. “I’m sorry.” He spoke with his chest, all puffed like a scared animal trying to survive against a predator. The tall, strong ex-soldier was now acting like nothing more than prey. “For everything. For.. All of it.” He struggled on his words with a sigh.

“What? You didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t.” He commented, his voice low like it was a warning. “Don’t try and act like it’s nothing and don’t—” His words caught in his throat. “Don’t think you have to take care of me.”

The silence was overwhelming, consuming the room and filling the air like a noxious gas. What was I meant to say to that? I shook my head, wordless, unblinking, unmoving, unbreathing. My mouth fell open to speak, though I pressed it into a thin line, keeping myself quiet. What do I say? He noticed the awkwardness, and sighed once again.

“Didn’t mean it like that.” He admitted, the roughness to his voice like gravel, like a man who hadn’t slept in days, lying awake, memories haunting him and the rigid words he planned to say to his doting lover filling his senses, but now he was here saying them it was fleeting. “You know what I meant, just..”

“John.”

“I know that this can’t be easy for you—”

“Like it’s easy for you?” I quickly retorted and he fell silent, his eyes staring through me as his mind lingered on the next argument for him to make. Though it seemed every argument he made quickly fell to an impasse.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.” “I’m your wife, I’m doing what I’ve always done.”

“I should be the one supporting you.” “You’re still getting paid, aren’t you?”

“What kind of man gets like this?” “A man that gets shot in the spine, and should count his blessings that he can still walk.” “I should’ve done a better job.” “You could’ve done better by telling me you were hospitalised.”

The room fell silent after the last dry, airy comment. He felt like he’d been shot all over again. “Look.. I’m sorry for that.” He said earnestly. A pause, a beat. “I don’t think that this is what you signed up for.”

“What about ‘in sickness and in health’?” Another silence, another pause, another beat. The air felt humid, sticky with tension, like a bead of sweat could roll down the side of his forehead, down his temple and slick onto the now bare-faced man.

“Don’t twist my words.”

“I know what I signed up for.” And the argument ended there. His stomach twisted up, why was he doing this? He was once again chewing himself up. Why was he pushing everything away? Why couldn’t he just get over it.

His thoughts scurried as he sat alone, dwindling on the minor argument, a common sight now. Why did he do that? How can such a tiny piece of lead do so much damage? How can it rewire his entire life? How can it rewire his brain? He dreaded the thoughts that always came next — is he selfish for wishing it took it instead? It was never a thought that he meant. Never truly, earnestly something he meant.

He was lonely. It was obvious. He’d lost his job, all his friends and all of his connections. He loathed it, and he wanted anything to take up his time. He itched to distract himself, to move his mind away from the guilt. He was fighting and he hated it — so he walked.

Walking made his feet burn, his big and heavy combat boots never felt like such a burden. Weighing down his body as he trudged along. He continued to walk anyway, working his legs back into metaphorical shape. It was a struggle, a fight, and how he managed to do this every day of his life before was a distant memory.

The ex-soldier continued to brute force his way through the pain. He convinced himself that the pain was like a runners-high where if he pushed past it, there’d be a sudden burst of renewal, though it never came.

He pushed through the front door, heavy footsteps banging on the floor, a wince in each step. He had a tired frown, searching the house idly. He placed a bag of food on the bench, a sigh escaping his lips as he wrapped his arms around his beloved. “Darling..” His voice was gravelly from the sudden uptake of smoking and yelling. “Got us some food.” He tried to speak sweetly as a surrender, a statement that there was not an argument to be had. 

“You’re done being a baby?” I mumbled and he let out a silent grunt of disapproval, though he took it in stride. A weak stride as his chin rested on my shoulder, his beard scratching my neck as he nuzzled slightly.

“Guess so.” He sighed, earning a nod. “‘S your favourite.” His eyes drooped, peaking at what kept my hands occupied. He tried to keep his attitude light, but all attempts of talking fell flat on its face. “C’mon, talk to me.”

I slinked out of his hold, turning to face him and he locked me into place, both hands holding the bench on either side of me, his tall figure looming over me dearly, the ghost of an embrace. “This is f’you.” I commented, handing him the cup of tea. Honey, herbs, tealeaves, sugar, milk. Spice, everything nice. He smiled, half-lidded eyes. “How was your walk?” He shrugged, he took the cup, and he was less domineering as he no longer trapped me between the counter and his large build.

“Good — and good.” He nodded, sipping the tea and gesturing to it with a short lift. He adored the new tea flavours, the variation between them. He was just a bland black breakfast type of guy, enforced by the lack of choice between being a military man and living alone with no desire to explore, but he can’t say he didn’t enjoy the list of flavours being thrown at him, too many to count or remember, but he knew most of them taste amazing, but he couldn’t distinguish if the love it was made with had something to do with it.

“And you? How are you?”

He licked his lips, excess tea wet on his moustache. “Suppose ‘m good.” His eyes were untelling, keeping all the secrets he’d ever seen in his life balled up in his pocket like a handkerchief, stained with the blood, sweat and tears of the memories, the ultimate grime that got stuck under his fingernails and buried into the crevices of his brain. He noticed the way he was being analysed, scanned by those knowing eyes. “Things should’ve been different.” He eventually grumbled, caving slightly at the all-too-intimidating stare of a lover wanting the truth.

“But they’re not.” Were the harsh words that responded to him, he knew better; it didn’t mean to come across like that but with all the lingering tension filling the air like dust mites, what was he to do but take it personally? “And there’s nothing you can do about it but move forward. You should know that.” I continued, trying to make my tone more gentle but failing.

“I do know that.” He said defensively, and there was a moment of silence as the tension peaked. Another argument loomed, and he coaxed himself into relaxing. “I’m just trying to get through it.” He explained. “I think if I just—”

“You’re pushing yourself.”

“That’s what I’ve always done.” He responded dumbly. “You gotta push through the—”

“Stop.” Cracked through the air like a whip, and he tensed, putting the tea down with a clink. “Pushing yourself is how this doesn’t get any better. You need to just relax, and get used to everything.”

“You know that’s not what I’m like.” He said back like a warning, though he caught his words between his fingers before they could be twisted. “And I know I’m not in the army anymore.”

“So why don’t you act like it instead of making everything worse?”

He cleared his throat, averting his gaze at the words that made his heart sink into his gut, like he could digest it at any second. “I don’t want to fight. I never want to fight you..” He said calmly and slowly despite his tense demeanour. His tone was low and cautious like he was talking to a cornered animal. He took a step back, hands raised in defence, physically moving away for space, trying to relieve the feeling of being trapped. “I want to eat dinner with you, ‘n’ watch a movie on the couch. Like we used to, yeah?”

Part of him felt that lingering doubt. Were these arguments just misguided, misplaced care like a child forgetting their toy? Or were they a symptom of a vacant husband that for once, is finally home, and is that too much?

He watched the awkward shuffles as the figure pushed past him, inspecting the bag like he was a liar, as if he didn’t actually get his wifes favourite food. The tension was unbelievably palpable, and he watched every move carefully. A short huff, and they met glances, and he had a knowing feeling in his chest.

“Can we just pretend everythin’s fine? This.. This is jus’ a rough patch, baby.” He spoke reassuringly, trying to calm the thick air but his words were calloused and rough like he didn’t fully believe them, like how the next reaction went would define the difference between truth and wishful thinking. “Look at me.” He said firmly, interrupting his degrading thoughts. “We’ll be okay. We’re okay.”

“Are you saying that for me or for yourself?” I commented, handing him his takeout dish, and an airy silence took us before he gave a light shrug, a soft smile. He took it briskly, almost curtly, and he reached to grab mine, holding both in his large hands then deftly moving around the kitchen, swinging around to avoid any flying bullets that could fire randomly from the argument.

“Does it matter?” He answered, happily carrying both of our meals over his head, knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach him and stop him until they were placed on the coffee table with a clink of the cutlery. His large hands looked comical, his small cup of tea in one hand and his other hand carrying everything else together.

I bit back all the sardonic grumbles, slumping down with a thud onto the couch, it creaked under his large figure and we shared an expecting glance, unspoken words were beyond audible. 

“I want you to understand that I need to do what I’ve always done.” He brooded. He’d spent every other day of his life pushing himself to the limits, following orders, doing what he’s told, risking his life, everything that’s expected from a soldier. “It’s who I am.”

A silence, a distant sound of clicking of the remote skimming through the TV, trying to find some form of movie that’d fill the tremendously awkward silence. Click-click-click. What to watch, what to watch? What to relive the youth of the strained relationship? To pretend that everything is honestly, truly fine, just for a miniscule moment.

“I know this — change — is hard on you.”

There was a moment of eye contact, a look of pleading recognition, a want of his life back despite what was taken from him. A want flashed behind my eyes of simply wanting him to be grateful for what he still has, not for what he lost. There would always be that miscommunication and he knew that it would always be a critical language barrier.

“I love you.” He reminded me like there’d be no tomorrow. Like all these temporary problems would all pile up and result into one permanent landslide of a solution, something drastic, something he dared not even mention or think or say aloud, nor spell in his mind with fear of accidentally jinxing his life.

A sigh escaped my lips, and I understood, of course I did, but was this argument even worth it anymore if it created nothing but incessant guilt and paranoia? The TV flashed to life, the movie was selected as he tried to move onwards, away from the taut past. The intro sequence played out slowly, the music quiet and low in the apartment air like white noise.

“John.. It’ll get better, you know?”

[squishycheekanon]

Price, price and more price🌸🩵

Imagine being John’s pen pal. It’s starts off so innocent, strangers, with you intent on staying that way after a recent nasty break up with a rather nasty man.

You just wanted something to take your mind off of everything while you wallowed away in self pity. Your work had sent you home for a month, said you needed time to heal and get your mind right.

So here you were with nothing to do when one of your friends suggested being a pen pal. And who of all people were to take up your request but John Price.

A simple, name, favourite colour and asking how his day was going was all you wrote. He replied with exactly what you’d asked word for word. Very straightforward and almost strategic and of course asked you the same things.

Then it was age, favourite food and how tall he was. A little description of his face. And again he replied with exactly that. You knew then that you’d have to work hard to get more out of him.

The weeks went by and slowly but surely, John began to become looser. Open up more. Genuinely talk to you. It helped not only you start to heal but also help John heal. He didn’t even know he needed to heal in any way. Maybe the loneliness, the fighting, the pain, the emotionlessness had finally caught up to him.

Work decided you still weren’t ready which was quite honestly bullshit, that’s what you told John anyway. He completely agreed and asked for your manager’s name and social security number. You thought it was a joke, he wholeheartedly wanted to teach the man a lesson.

This week you decide to paint the spare bedroom in your apartment and you told John all about it. You felt almost giddy as you sent letters back and forth deciding paint colours. He loved the domesticity of it all, felt like his little woman was asking what colour to paint a shared home while she waited for him to return. What he wouldn’t give….

He loved the little things like that. Loved when you’d tell him about what you were getting from the grocery store and he’d suggest something he thinks is good. Loved when you’d tell him about a new outfit you bought. He’d tell you how much he’d love to see it and how he bets you look beautiful.

You feel ecstatically nervous when he asked for your phone number. You obviously gave it to him. Impatiently you waited, staring at your phone for it to ring. When it did you jump up, palms sweaty, lump in your throat, heart beating so loud you could heard it in your head…then you pressed answer.

“Hi love.”

“Hi John.”

[empresskylo]

price getting hurt on a mission and you have to help bandage him up as he tries not to lose consciousness. he gets so loopy from the blood loss he starts to expose his inner thoughts, calling you pretty and how often he thinks about you. “mmm y’smell s’good, love,” he mumbles aimlessly, slurring his words slightly. his fingers running through your hair as you work on his bullet wound, his voice barely a whisper “fuckin’ torturing me.” and you’re not sure if he means because you're hurting him physically or something else entirely.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

YOU MATCH THE 141 ON TINDER 💓

Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

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

I was only going to post these when I finished writing and everything but I'm just... SO FUCKING EXCITED 😭😭

spoiler: Johnny and Kyle are the ones managing Price's account (took covert pics of the captain) but they ask Ghost how to answer the questions and DMs in order to have "the right tone of voice" LMAO

I'll post the actual drabbles soon!!! 🙏

If you'd like to be tagged when this comes out, lmk! (via dm, question or even here) THE TAGLIST IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED, not accepting any more requests! (I'm sorry, there's just too many people on it)

[Read the FIC]

[gloomwitchwrites]

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.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @nelladowney @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair

[dmitriene]

john price didn't intend to be someone's sugar daddy, not knowing that well what it means, and not even planning to join a relationship — yet, that's till he meet you on a dating app his lads almost begged him to install.

or they even installed it themselves, taking his phone while they were off in some country pub, and it wouldn't hurt to open it at least once, price thought.

indeed, it wouldn't, because that's how he found you — the sweetest, soft thing his eyes ever fell upon and seen, reminiscent so much of all the images and scenarios he often dreamed about, but always pushed further away.

john thought you looked like a proper sunshine itself, well mannered darling with toothy smiles and small, yet so sweet description of yourself, and this is the first situation in his life in which he did not think twice, before deciding to write to you straight away.

he's an old man, price is a captain inside and out, with warm heart and sincere smiles, yet bloody hands and fucked up head — he's seen everything, experienced everything, which made him the jonathan price he is right now, and still, it didn't pushed you away a tad bit.

all the time you were such a sweetheart, from the text's in the app and down the road to the first meeting, and if john didn't experience falling in love before — that was it.

it started by itself, after the first meeting there was another, with each of them you became closer and closer not only mentally, but also physically, and against the background of falling in love with you, there's responsibility that began to shallow.

john wanted to pamper you — pay for your lunches together at every meeting, then for your grocery's delivery, then it moved to fixing some little financial issues you had or even buying you something you couldn't afford right now, all of this was just for you, and you hadn't to do anything to receive it.

he had a good amount of money, the one he didn't exactly know where to spend, but there's you — you help john relax on hard days, take care of his health, comfort him when things don't go as they should, and wait for every new message from him while he's away on another mission.

shouldn't he repay to you for being his little pocket sunshine?

his, he always thinks and says, yet you don't exactly belong to him, you never talked about what exactly are you two — friends, lovers, or something else, because price never voiced his feelings and never crossed any possible boundaries, until you did it first.

a little kiss on the stubbled cheek to thank him for buying you some silly things you wanted so much recently, a warm hug against his bulky body, an innocent act of holding hands.

before it turns into messy tongue kisses, squeezing grasps of calloused palms, itchy mustache rubbing against soft flesh of your neck, sucking blooming marks to form a patch down your shoulders and to your cleavage, kissing, biting, moving away unnecessary clothing that gets into john's way.

you became his entirely, body and soul, with buzzing warmth inside your stomach and pleasurable soreness between your doughy thighs, with red marks both from price's fingers and beard, while waking up huddled under his heavy arm and under cool, silky sheets of his spacious bed.

john price fell in love with you completely and irrevocably, just as you in him — welcoming him home each time with soft touches and featherlight kisses, freshly cooked meal and tidy environment, light giggles and sincere words of love and adoration.

a dream come true, a place for him to return to, with light walls that hold only precious memories, with your gasping mewls that reverberate here at night.

from his grounding touches, soft roll of his broad hips when he nestles against your back at nights and curl his hands over the curve of your waist, hoisting your leg to probe against your sopping warmth, burrowing inside your gummy walls softly as john nuzzles his face against your shoulder blades.

price adores you, without planning it all in the first place, but now he is sure that he would not have refused to meet you in any of the circumstances.

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood Masterlist

Summary: Task Force 141 operates successfully without an omega, at least that’s what Price has been saying since its formation. Two alphas and two betas balance the pack just fine, and they have the numbers to prove it.

It works for a while, until the Omega Initiative is born and the 141 find themselves having to adjust to the sudden addition of an omega to their pack. Fresh out of an institute, you’re hardly fit for their secretive, dangerous world, or so Price thinks. 

As each member of the team gets closer to you, things begin to come to light, not only about you but about the decision to force you into their lives.

Maybe, just maybe, Price was wrong and the 141 does need an omega after all. 

Pairings: Poly 141 x reader, Price x Gaz, Ghost x Soap

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, NSFW content, explicit smut, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), knotting, biting, claiming, mating cycles, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, age differences, military inaccuracies, canon typical violence, blood, weapons, language, no use of Y/N, brief torture, hurt/comfort, let's be real this is so unrealistic but it's a/b/o you're not here for accuracy.

Chapters containing smut are marked with a *

Updates are posted on the weekends, either Saturday or Sunday PST

This fic can also be found on my Ao3 -> HERE

YOU DO NOT HAVE MY PERMISSION TO USE MY FICS FOR AI UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES

NAVIGATION PAGE Lore and world building masterlist CRCB Barracks Sims 4 Build Masterlist Support me on Patreon for more bonus content

Divider by: samspenandsword

Part 1 - The Omega

Chapter 1 - The Introduction Chapter 2 - Adjustments Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language Chapter 4 - You Can Be Useful Chapter 5 - What I Want *

Part 2 - The Bond

Chapter 6 - One Step Closer * Chapter 7 - Sweet Strawberry Chapter 8 - The Thing About Ghost Chapter 9 - Save Me Chapter 10 - Treat Me Gently*

Part 3 - The First Heat

Chapter 11 - It's Coming Chapter 12 - Fire In My Veins* Chapter 13 - Piece Me Back Together* Chapter 14 - The Aftermath*

Part 4 - The New Normal

Chapter 15: Bonnie* Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes * Chapter 17: Alone Chapter 18: Don't Let Me Go

[mlmxreader]

Taste of Nicotine | John Price x gn!reader (🍋)

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Price

7 “My days, I missed you so fucking much”

112. Dom/Sub ❞

: ̗̀➛ Price can be a cruel, cruel man - but at least his punishments are always beautiful.

: ̗̀➛ smoking kink, smoking, swearing, orgasm denial, spanking, marking/possession kink, biting, face fucking, swearing, edging, bruising, dom/sub, daddy kink

↳ @mockerycrow @seigwaidau

: ̗̀➛ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

The smell of coffee and cigarettes filled the office, the sounds of slapping skin and harsh grunts echoing and ricocheting off of the walls; your knuckles were sore and raw as you gripped the opposite side of the desk, your head pressed against the thick mahogany as sweat dripped from your brow.

Anyone could walk in, but that was just how Price liked it. Punishment was always such a beautiful way to wash away your sins; getting caught flirting with another man from another regiment, your punishment was well overdue.

Price couldn't take you anywhere without you acting up, and even now, as he fucked your warm and tight ass, he was still talking about it.

Telling you what a dirty little thing you were and how you would let just about anybody watch you get fucked, watch your ass get filled and stuffed with his cum as he used his mouth to leave harsh and prominent marks all over you, showing off who you belonged to.

You were desperate to cum, but he had stopped you from doing so for over an hour; edging you over and over and over until you sobbed and wept as you begged for him to let you cum. Price could be so cruel when he wanted to be.

But his punishments were always so fucking beautiful.

Your ass cheeks were raw and stinging, his handprints so fucking obvious, stained on your skin from where he had put you over his lap and spanked you.

Your jaw still ached from where he had fucked your mouth so harshly, the taste of his cum still heavy on your tongue as you whimpered and begged for him to let you cum; your ass was still burning from how thick and long he was and how hard he was fucking you against his desk.

All you wanted was to cum, but Price wasn't going to give into you; punishment was punishment, after all, no matter how beautiful.

You knew what to do if it got too much, though; smack the desk three times with your right hand, or call out "Merseyside", or both. If it ever got too much, Price was always adamant that you had one way or another of signalling it to him; as cruel as he could be, he wasn't an absolute cunt.

"This is what you get," Price growled out, grabbing the back of your neck with a bruising grip. "Being so fucking naughty. I don't think I'll let you cum at all. Just use you as my cocksleeve until you learn how to behave."

Well, that was just inviting bad behaviour, really. But you knew what would happen if you said such, so you grinned, rolling your hips and trying to fuck yourself on his cock. "Please, Daddy, I said I was sorry for flirting with Mister Walker!"

"Oh, no," he chuckled darkly. "You don't get to say you're sorry, puppy."

You whimpered, so desperate to cum that you would do just about anything. "Please, please, Daddy, I promise I'll behave!"

Price shook his head as he tutted, lighting a cigarette. "Oh no, baby. You gotta do better than that."

You whined, tears slipping from you and extending the puddle on the desk; a mix between your tears and your sweat and your drool.

You swallowed thickly, voice raw and hoarse from how many times you had cried out and begged for him to please, please, please let you cum. But Price wasn't going to, fucking you hard as he smoked his cigarette casually, flicking the ashes onto your back before tossing it into the ashtray next to him.

His cock was so big, he could hardly fit the whole thing into your ass, but you were always so good for him, you always took his cock like such a good puppy... maybe he could let you off easily.

Even though you were already stuffed and filled with his cum, so much so that it had leaked down onto your thighs and had become cracked and dried.

Hesitantly, Price eased his movements, giving you the order to cum when you were ready to; he didn't expect you to scream and writhe and squirm against the desk, sobbing as you finally found your release. Spilling everywhere and dripping down onto the floor.

He grinned, licking his lips before he sat down and pulled you onto his lap, rubbing your back gently as he hummed.

"I didn't go too far, did I?"

You shook your head, dizzy and content and euphoric and breathless all at once. Overwhelmed. "N-no."

Price nodded, his touch soothing as he gently kissed the marks on your neck. He did feel somewhat bad for pushing you so far, but all the same, he knew that you loved every minute of it; especially when he gently peppered your face in soft, sweet kisses.

His beard and moustache tickling your skin and making you grin despite the tear stains in your eyes.

Price was always so gentle with you afterwards, especially if he knew he had pushed you a lot more than usual; you smiled, gently running a hand through his hair.

His lips still tasted like nicotine, but that didn't stop him from moaning at the taste of himself on your tongue when he licked it and sucked it into his mouth. A harsh, heavy kiss seemed so sweet and gentle.

"My days, I missed you so fucking much," he breathed out. "I'm so sorry deployment was longer this time."

You shook your head. "I knew what I was getting into when I first agreed to go out with you."

He nodded slowly, although he still looked rather remorseful. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me."

[the-californicationist]

They Help You Practice

Task Force 141 asks you to be the bait for a secret assignment. So, they make you audition for the role. You end up getting gangbanged by the whole team and loving it!

TW: gangbang, vaginal sex, anal sex, oral sex, gay sex, degradation, explicitly consensual, spit? please check AO3 link at bottom for full tag list

You let yourself into his office, shutting the door behind you, and stood before him at a sharp parade rest, waiting to be informed about your fate. 

“Sergeant, thank you for coming. There is no need for formalities. This is just a chat.”

You moved to a more relaxed rest and nodded. 

Price continued,

“This is going to be quite the ask. Would you be willing to perform duties which are…outside of your current scope?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded just as you should have, as you were trained to, but Price was hoping you would understand exactly what you would be getting yourself into. 

“I need you to go undercover to a Konni restaurant cover in Minsk…as bait. Am I making myself clear?”

A pause. But, to your credit, you didn’t flinch. You did raise an eyebrow and ask a clarifying query,

“What kind of bait, sir?”

“Our next target, Dimitri Sokolov, will be at the Black Pearl bar in Minsk tomorrow, and we won’t get a better chance to lure him away from his bodyguards. He almost never makes public appearances, so he must be making an exception. Sokolov has,” he paused for a moment, trying to find the words, making general, suggestive motions over his own chest, “particular tastes in his women. You just so happen to have the right profile for the job. Again, this is not an order, Sergeant. I need to know if you’re willing to accept.”

“Yes, sir,” you tried to appear fully in control. You knew your breasts were large, but you had never been asked to use them as a weapon. There was a first time for everything, you supposed. You would do anything to help the team.

The captain loved your composure. He knew you would be perfect for the job. 

“Good. Let's brief the team.”

Price walked with you down to the meeting room at the end of the hall and found Soap, Ghost, and Gaz sitting in the desk chairs every way except the way they were designed, lounging over the furniture like big cats, melting into the various surfaces they encountered. They fixed themselves when the captain walked in. 

“Gentlemen,” Price opened, “this is our bait. Her code name is Rabbit. Rabbit, this is Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.”

You nodded politely and resumed a semi-formal rest position. 

The men had noticed you around the base but hadn’t been formally introduced. You were a desk rider, but still, you were hard to miss. The baggy military clothing had almost managed to conceal a bounty of soft curves, but your lush body persisted beneath it, and the outlines of your feminine form made heinous suggestions in the fabric. Unfortunately for them, you didn’t hang around the gym or the common area enough for them to have generated a fully accurate image of your enticing body, but they were certain it was delicious. They watched you like peckish wolves. Waiting hungrily, shifting in their seats in anticipation. For what, you weren’t sure.

“Rabbit is going undercover for us to take down Sokolov, Vladimir Makarov’s new shipping controller. He has a particular penchant for,” Price paused just long enough for anyone to understand his true meaning, “certain types of women. Rabbit fits the mold, so all she needs is the gear and the training.”

Price cut open three large cardboard boxes to reveal slinky dresses and a number of questionable garments. 

“I’ll need to try them on,” you offered, “Do you want me to get changed, Captain?”

“Sounds good. Come back in when you’re all set,” he smiled, enjoying the view as you left the room. 

Ghost crossed his arms, clearly with quite a mouthful to share and but refusing to. Gaz stared down at the knife he was playing with, bashful. But Soap would not be cowed, and as soon as you left, he said,

“Feeding her to the sharks like bait, Captain? I dinnae ken any of us was so expendable.”

“Soap,” Price warned, “the sergeant is more than capable of handling -”

“I wasnae askin’ about the lassie’s capabilities. Send her in to slit his throat with a knife in her hand, for all I care. But to send her in unguarded, unarmed? No. It’s not right,” Soap crossed his arms. 

“He’s got a point, Captain. Why take the risk of losing an operative?” Ghost spoke coldly. 

Price furrowed his brow at their short-sightedness,

“And do what, exactly? Have the Russians scurry back underground at the first hint of an assassination attempt? We’ve failed that mission three times, boys. I’ll not have this go south again.”

“I’m sure she is capable, Captain. But, is Rabbit committed to this plan?” Gaz asked. 

“Sure,” Price tried to sound reassuring, “we spoke in my office. She agreed to come down here. Besides, she’ll have you three as backup. You won’t let anything happen to her.”

Gaz did not seem convinced. All three soldiers wore a scowl on their faces, and even though Ghost’s was obscured by his mask, his body language communicated his displeasure. Price carefully ashed his cigar to renew the glowing tip, taking a long drag while they waited for you to return. 

You were back without too much of a delay, but when you walked in, your colleagues were visibly stunned. They didn’t recognize you at first. A short black dress had replaced your camouflage fatigues, showing off miles and miles of smooth, shining skin. Your thick thighs stretched the silky fabric, and your ass threatened to escape from the edge of the dress with every step you took. Your new heels clacked sharply against the cold concrete, making your legs flex and tense, showing off your well-formed musculature. You did not miss squat day very often, apparently.

But, the assets you were trying to use for this particular mission were the real stars of the show. Your heavy breasts battled against the low dip of the dress, providing a deep display of cleavage, hinting at pink perky nipples hidden just below the line of the black silk. Your tits jiggled as you struck the floor with each careful step, making the room full of men breathe a little heavier at the sight. 

Soap’s big mouth betrayed them all,

“Christ in Heaven. There you are, bonnie.”

Ghost backhanded him hard on the shoulder. Price glowered.

You had put on a little more makeup than might be socially acceptable in an office setting, making the suggestive outfit complete. Finally, as you stood at the head of the meeting table, you took out your task force regulation braid and pulled your fingers through your hair, breaking up your long waves as they spilled down your neck and back. 

You smiled,

“Well, do I look the part?”

Price coughed, inhaling too much smoke on accident. Gaz hadn’t moved since you walked in the room. He just stood there, dumbfounded, arms held at an odd angle as if frozen in time. Ghost cleared his throat to save them,

“Yes, Rabbit. You clean up very nicely, don’t you?”

“Well,” you sighed, “this is sort of the raunchiest outfit I found in the box. I was going to go with something a bit more casual, but I thought I’d better be noticeable if we’re going to nail this asshole.”

Gaz finally came out of his locked state, aghast,

“Noticeable? Sweetheart, this is more than noticeable. Goddamn.”

“You think it’s too much? I don’t really know what would get his attention,” you shrugged, looking shy as you confessed, “I don’t get asked out very often.”

“You could go out with me, lassie,” Soap edged his way closer to her, slinking around the table, “We’d have a hell of a time, so we would.”

“Don’t listen to Johnny,” Ghost stood in front of him a bit, snaking an arm around your cinched waist, “He thinks takin’ his birds to the dog races is a good date idea.”

“Well, isn’t it?” Soap protested.

Gaz grabbed your hand tenderly, examining your fingers like they were a precious work of art,

“Maybe you could come with me to Berlin next weekend, babes. There’s a killer music festival going on, and we could have a really good time. How does that sound?”

“Boys,” Price interrupted, “I’m sure she has plenty of work to finish here; can’t just be galavanting off with you muppets. In fact, why don’t you stop by my office after this mission, bunny rabbit, and we can work on your projected shipment dates together? You know, I used to be a logistics man, myself.”

Ghost rolled his eyes at the Captain,

“Please, logistics? You drove a truck back and forth on base delivering food to the canteen twenty years ago. I’ve read your file.”

The men all started talking over each other, forgetting your presence in favor of coming out on top of the dog pile. You smiled to yourself, eager to push more of their buttons. 

Slipping one skinny strap down your shoulder, you spoke through the din,

“You know, this dress can be strapless. Do you think Sokolov wants it up…” you locked eyes with Captain Price, seeing his throat swallow hard as he watched you in the silence you had created, “or down?”

The other soldiers were stunned, unable to look away as you slipped both straps off of your shoulders and tucked them into your dress. One strap was still partially visible, and Ghost slowly moved one gloved finger up your arm, tracing your skin lightly, and finished tucking it in for you. He lingered, caressing the side of your breast as he removed it. 

“You gonna be able to seduce this Russian bastard, Sergeant? Or, do you need some practice?” Price asked with a low, threatening tone. 

The whole room held its breath waiting for your answer. The four men towered over your short frame, casting shadows over you like black spells, hoping you would relinquish your control over them. All of their eyes watched as you slowly, achingly lifted a hand and traced it up Gaz’s canvas pant leg, stopping when you discovered the heavy head of his cock, hardening down toward his knee. With the back of your hand, you pet it like a skittish animal, reveling in its smoothness and warmth. Your eyes found his as they fluttered, blood rushing through his body in a panic,

“I think I could use some practice, Captain.”

You felt Gaz’s rod leap at your answer. He bent down to kiss your mouth, slanting his lips fiercely against you. 

Soap came up behind you, gripping your ass through the silk of your dress roughly,

“We’ll help you, lass. We’ll help you practice, won’t we, boys? Jesus, you smell so good,” he buried his face in your neck and sucked against your skin. 

Ghost found your other hand and held it tightly, using it to steady you from Soap and Gaz’s assault. Price moved Gaz out of the way, earning himself a glare, and peeled the dress off of you in one fell swoop, revealing the expanse of uncovered skin underneath. 

“Holy shite,” the captain breathed, whispering his lament, “Sergeant, where are your knickers?”

“I guess I forgot them, Captain,” you blushed, batting your eyes up at him, doing actual damage to his psyche.  

He didn’t have much time to savor the moment though because Ghost was shoving him out of the way to pick you up by the thighs to lay you on the table. The giant knelt between your legs, pulling you by the knees until your ass was hanging off of the low wooden planks. He lifted his mask just enough for you to see him lick his lips over sharp, white teeth before feasting on your wet folds, letting the cloth of the balaclava hide most of his efforts. 

Ghost created a soothing, yet electrically wet warmth in your core which made you keen loudly, only to be muffled by Price’s smoky kiss. You could taste the burned tobacco on his tongue and your skin was scraped by his thick mustache. 

Gaz’s voice got your attention. He had freed his cock from his pants and started to stroke it, standing by your side and playing with your breasts with his free hand as Price savaged your mouth. He tugged on your nipple and told you,

“You know, Rabbit, you’re going to have to really put yourself out there tomorrow. Show him these gorgeous tits of yours. Make him think you’re hungry for his cock,” Gaz rubbed his head, hard and hungry for you, “Can you do that? Let us see how good you can be, princess. We need you to ace this mission”

You felt Ghost dip his hard cock between your pussy lips, distracting you from Price’s tongue in your mouth. You broke the kiss and looked up at Ghost, dazed, into his masked face,

“I promise, sir. I’ll be good,” you looked around at all four of the men, reaching out to grab Soap’s cock that he was stroking for you, “Will you show me how?”

You didn’t give Soap time to answer. The Scot gasped as you devoured him, sucking him down into your throat, making yourself gag as he fucked your throat in and out in long thrusts. He tangled his fingers in your hair. Ghost matched his rhythm below you, pounding his cock into your wet hole. You thought you could feel something on his dick. Was he pierced? You could see your slick gleam on his lips and chin where his mask was still askew. 

“Yeah,” Ghost smiled haughtily, “you like those piercings, don’tcha baby?”

You didn’t have a chance to respond. Price pulled your head away from Soap’s dick, kissing your mouth lewdly again before giving you an order,

“Open your mouth wide for me, love.”

You obeyed. Then, he spit onto your tongue, warm and bubbling, before shoving your face down onto his own fat rod. It made your lips burn with its cruel girth, even though it felt relatively soft, and you thought fleetingly that there was no way your poor little cunt was going to be able to take him, Ghost was big enough to be filling, but the captain was carrying around a true weapon. 

He pulled your head off of him roughly, watching as the strings of drool connected your tongue to his cockhead, growling in short, lustful breaths. 

“Alright, boys. Make sure she’s good and ready for me. You know the drill,” Price barked, and then he was gone. 

The drill? You looked for him, confused, and only found Gaz, who was now slapping his long dick on your cheek, knocking for entrance. He let you take his head into your mouth, having a much easier time than you did with your captain. You bobbed your head up and down dutifully, not realizing just how long his cock was until he tried to force it into your throat. He held you down for a moment, moaning shamelessly, before releasing you to let you breathe. 

“You alright, babes?” He laughed.

You nodded, moaning. Ghost took himself out of your wetness and pulled you off of the table. Soap hopped up to lay where you were, and you moved to ride him, making sure to get right to the edge with him to let Ghost back in. You’d never taken two men at once, much less four, but there was a first time for anything, and you were a quick learner. 

Spearing yourself onto Soap felt like someone had created a warm, custom, living dildo just for you. He was a perfect fit, and you both cried out in pleasure from the sensation. Ghost slapped your ass, hard, and you screamed, clenching around Soap’s cock. Soap moaned darkly. 

“Keep suckin’ that big cock, baby. Need to teach you how to multitask,” Ghost threatened as he bent to eat your asshole, wiggling his tongue into the tight rim to gain entrance.

He started to fuck you with it, his long wet muscle moving in and out as Soap thrust himself up into you, hitting your g-spot every single time like magic. You took Gaz back into your mouth and tried your best to take him deeper into your throat. Every time you did, you would gag, and your muscles would involuntarily clench, and the whole room would moan. You started to come, feeling yourself flood around Soap, whose mouth had latched onto one of your nipples, suckling like he was trying to feed from you. 

You could see Price out of the corner of your eye. He had lit another cigar and was smoking it, stroking himself, still not at his full capacity. You were scared of him. He looked like some sort of demon, breathing fire, as big around as your forearm. He wasn’t as long as Gaz, nor as delightfully curved as Soap, but he made your legs shake without even touching you. When he did touch you, rising from his chair when he wanted to fondle you, pinching a nipple, pulling your hair, forcing your head down on Gaz, it lit you up like you were kerosene and he was the match. 

Suddenly, Ghost’s tongue was gone, only to be replaced by his heavy head. He was going to fuck your ass, and there was nothing you could say to stop him. You’d only done anal once or twice before, and you knew it might hurt. He went so slowly that you could feel each and every piercing as he popped them into you, one by one. Then, as he pulled back out, you felt them pop as each one went through you again, raking himself in and out gently, as careful with you as he could be. When you were more pliant, he began to throw his weight into each thrust, and Soap started to groan below you from the sensation. 

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Johnny boy,” Price threatened, his voice full of stern warning. 

You weren’t sure what he was warning him about until Soap pulled his cock out of you and came all over your stomach, Ghost’s thrusts making the fluid smear between you two, rubbing your bodies together. Ghost pulled out next, and you felt his hot, thick ropes spray onto your ass cheeks, melting down your thighs. 

Gaz abandoned your mouth and took over for Soap, feeding himself inch by inch until he found your end, leaving some of his cock out in the cold. He fucked you faster than the others, not caring to move out of the way as Soap rolled off of the table, whining like a whore the whole time. 

Captain Price came around to your face, holding your chin in his hand, looking down at you without pity,

“Garrick’s got a long cock, don’t he, love? You’re being so good for my men, such a good girl. Sweet little slut, hm? You’re going to do so well on this mission. Those areholes won’t know what hit ‘em.”

He grabbed your hair fiercely, hurting your scalp, forcing you to turn and look back at Gaz. Price took a long puff from his cigar, blowing it past your face, 

“Baby, he could fuck you for a hundred years. He’s not gonna come until you scream his name.”

You heard Gaz moan louder at Price’s suggestion, so you did. You screamed for him over and over, not caring who might have heard you, begging for him to come in you. 

“He’s not allowed to come in you, love,” Price kissed your open panting mouth, “But, don’t worry. It’s about to be my turn, and you’ll be feeling my fuckin’ come drip out of your cunt all night long.”

Price’s voice made your blood run cold with fear. He wasn’t making threats. Those were clearly promises. Predictions of the future. His cock was tucked back into the band of his pants, but it lay in wait there like a serpent, eager to strike.

Your heart pounded in your chest as Gaz pulled his long shaft all the way out of you, his come shooting onto your lips and ass, feeling him use his hand to rub it into your skin, making you sticky. Your captain gave him a warning look, and you realized they had done this sort of thing before. Perhaps many times before. As you watched Soap and Ghost comfort each other, breathing close together, touching themselves, you wondered if they ever fucked each other as well. Picturing the four of them rutting into each other made you hungry, deep in your belly, starving to witness such an act. 

Finally, it was your captain’s turn. The look in his eyes made you tremble. You knew he wouldn’t be cruel, not on purpose anyway. He wasn’t a heartless man, but he wasn’t one to hold himself back from what he wanted either. You knew that he would fuck you the way he wanted to, as hard as he wanted to, no matter how much complaining you might do about how his cock would stretch you out - even to the point of pain. 

“On your back, love. Legs up. Spread that pussy open for me,” he commanded. 

You did as he told you, opening yourself up shamelessly, letting your folds spread wide. 

He walked around the table to gaze upon your form, staring at your pink flesh like it was a hot meal, and he was starving. He moaned, rubbing his hand across your sticky mons, 

“Mm, that’s my pretty little Rabbit. Now…” he paused for effect, sinking three fingers into your hole roughly but ever so slowly, twisting his arm as he did, corkscrewing his knuckles into you, “...I want you to understand that there’s a reason I’m last in line, love.”

You cried out from the pressure of his huge hand. It felt like you were going to tear. Then, after a few hard thrusts, he released you. The emptiness you felt was heartbreaking. You looked for him, pleading with your eyes for him to return to you. He pulled his cock free from his waistband, unable to connect his finger to his thumb as he wrapped around it. You whined involuntarily, something animal in you recognizing its fate. 

“Shh, baby, I know,” he drug out his voice, “I know…”

He positioned the heavy shaft on top of your body, measuring himself from base to tip, reaching your navel. As he slapped it against you, it made a loud thudding noise, slamming into your muscles like a fist. Price was so heavy. You’d never even imagined a man could feel like he was pure, warm, thick marble. Your pussy seemed to understand the panic you were feeling, flooding itself, preparing for the upcoming invasion. 

“I’m so fuckin’ eager for you, love,” he slapped you again, quick taps right to your swollen clit.

Then, he put his head inside of you, squeezing himself in. He left it inside of you and started to pump himself with his hand. Between the vibration from his fist and the fact that it felt like you were sitting on the end of a steel bat, you couldn’t hold back your keening, loud and high-pitched. 

Price began the steady, slow march forward, swelling harder and harder by the moment, making your walls feel like they might break. It seemed as if all the blood in your body was rushing down your belly and up your legs, hurrying to your core. 

Your eye were wild, full of your fear, tears forming at the corners of your eyes,

“I can’t, please! I can’t. It’s too big, fuck…”

Price didn’t stop. He just kept feeding himself in and pulling himself back out, wetting his cock’s skin with your soaking hole. 

“You can, and you will, love,” the captain growled, “Now, shut that pretty mouth and take it.”

Your cheeks were wet and your eyes burned, he was so deep within you that it felt like he was thrusting into your throat. You couldn’t breathe.

Suddenly, Soap grabbed your hand, kissing your palm, using his tongue to lick your skin,

“It’s alright, bonnie. I’m here, lass. Breathe with me, lass.”

He bent down to kiss you, but he didn’t quite connect, letting his lips graze yours featherlight. Soap breathed in and breathed out in steady, measured beats. You felt yourself begin to relax. It had such an immediate effect that you heard Price groan, able to slip himself a bit deeper than he had done. 

It was like a chain reaction, the more relaxed you became, breathing with Soap, feeling him suck and lick your nipples softly, the more Price was able to squeeze himself in. 

Finally, you felt his hair at the base of his cock, thick and curled, and as he sighed, he settled inside of you, impossibly pressing against your whole body, making a clear outline of himself in your lower belly. He rubbed it, almost fondly, and you felt every inch of him throb against your walls, his head bullying your womb.

You cried out again from the strain. Ghost and Gaz joined Soap. Gaz began to suckle from your breast on your left side, fondling himself as he did so, getting hard again. Ghost was at your head on the end of the table, and he bent to kiss you, upside down, his tongue running all the way down your throat, long and slippery against your own. 

He pulled away, petting your cheek as Price began to grind himself into you,

“You alright, Rabbit? You enjoying your captain’s cock, hm?”

“Mm hm,” you whispered, whimpering through your tears.

Ghost smiled, and his straight, white teeth looked menacing as he did, sharp, wolf-like,

“I know you are, babe. You’re doing so well. Look at him. You can see him inside of your cunt.”

He lifted your head by your hair, showing you the grotesque shadow of Price’s heavy rod as it shoved itself into you. You reached your hands down to it, feeling it through your skin. It was so unique. His size wasn’t like anything you’d ever experienced, and your body was sending confused signals of passion, your orgasms coming in shattered, broken waves. Feeling incomplete. Too powerful, and yet drawn out like the last note of a symphony. 

As you touched him from the outside, Price moaned aloud for the first time. It shocked you. You looked up at him, managing to meet his eyes.

“Fuck,” you moaned, “You feel so good inside of me, Captain.”

“Mm, yeah?” He replied, using his hands to press yours down onto his cock, making you gasp, “You like it, baby? I’m gonna make sure you never want anybody else.” 

Price reached down and grabbed you by the throat, scaring away Soap and Gaz. He lifted you up, making his dick fit inside of you that much tighter with the change of angle. Then, he began the true performance. He thrust himself in with fast, punishing strokes, slamming himself into you. You were sure you would bruise, and you felt dizzy, almost like you’d pass out. 

Soap was at your side again, holding your hair away from your face,

“Look at you, lassie. Such a good girl for your captain. Takin’ that cock so damn well. Can’t wait to be back inside you, girl.”

He kissed your cheek, palm massaging his dick which was back to full mast, eager again. 

“Alright, Johnny,” Price grinned, “Since you asked so nicely.”

Without any strain whatsoever, Price lifted you up by your hips and held you in the air as he fucked you, bringing you around the table so that Soap could position himself at your asshole. Ghost’s earlier efforts had made it ready for him, and you could very acutely feel how much he was throbbing to be inside of you, pulsing as he fit against Price. 

“Ungh, fuck, lass,” Soap groaned as he began to thrust into you, pistoning with the captain, “He’s got you so tight for me.”

“Yeah? It feels so good. Mmm…” you whimpered, feeling more full than you’d ever been. 

Johnny was holding your breasts as Price lifted you up, brutalizing your pussy. Every thrust felt like an electric pulse, making you cock-drunk and mindlessly pliant. 

They worked in tandem for what felt like eons, pistoning in and out with each other. Eventually, after he had felt you come, Soap addressed his captain directly,

“Sir, I’m…please, sir, can I?”

“Can you what, soldier?” Price grunted through gritted teeth, testing his sergeant.

“Can I come, sir? Please, Cap…”

“Yeah, Johnny. C’mon, mate. Let her feel it.”

“F-fuck! Fuck…” Soap groaned, pushing himself flush against your asshole, pumping his come into you. 

He caught his breath while he was still in you, kissing the nape of your neck, and then he pulled away slowly. He helped Gaz replace him, holding your ass wide apart so his comrade could position himself inside. And just when you thought your poor pussy would have room to breathe, Gaz’s incredibly long shaft was piercing your hole again. 

You felt him sigh, his breath against your neck. He took over holding you up, and Price praised him,

“That’s it, Garrick. She’s all yours. Take it.”

Gaz reacted to his words in a way that made you rethink their entire dynamic. Then, you remembered how he had come when you said his name. He seemed to get harder and harder the more Price praised him, and you wanted to give him that same validation. 

“Gaz,” you whispered, leaning your head back to rest on his shoulder, “It’s so big, baby. It’s like I can feel you in my throat. Oh, Gaz. Gaz!”

“Mm,” Price put his mouth to your neck, groaning, “That’s it, love. Tell him how much you like that long cock.”

“So much, Gaz. It’s so good,” you added. 

Then, Price took his left hand and wrapped it around the back of Gaz’s neck in a moment of surprising intimacy. As Price kissed the front of your throat, Gaz kissed your shoulder and nape. You felt like a peeled fruit being shared between them, a ripped rind, your juicy flesh being split in two; two halves of a ripe orange. 

Gaz lasted longer than Soap had when he fucked your ass, but Price’s attention seemed to spur him on. His movements were slippery, and you could feel the remnants of Soap’s come frothing around your entrance, easing his efforts.

“Captain,” Gaz whined, desperate for more of that approval. 

“C’mon, Kyle. She’s ready for you. Good lad.”

The use of his first name made Gaz thrust up into you with a feverish pace. He cried out as he came, hard, into you. Feeling him fall back out of you made you imagine the tendrils of a giant kraken, seeming to travel forever just to remove himself from your body, slithering out of you with a terrible squelching noise. 

Gaz let Price hold you again, and you turned, expecting Ghost. Price laughed at you, chuckling softly,

“Missing your masked man already?”

You looked at Price, feeling raw and used, waiting for an explanation,

“He’s a little…preoccupied.”

Price laid you back on the table, letting you turn your head to see Ghost, buried in Soap’s asshole up to the hilt, furiously jacking him off, slamming into him a little too roughly for your liking. It was violent, but Soap seemed to be enjoying himself beyond measure. 

Your pussy, though, disagreed with your assessment, clenching around Price’s cock while you watched Simon abuse his friend’s hole. 

“Mm,” the captain moaned, feeling your muscles react, “You like that, love? You wanna be fucked rough like that?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. Price wrapped your legs beneath his chest in a full mating press and wrecked you, pounding into your body like a giant fist. You felt your bones shudder beneath his behemoth form. Just when you thought you might puke from how overstimulated you were, you felt him pause. Then, your pussy felt like it was leaking, and it was. Price’s come just kept milking its way out of you, his cock pulsing inside, making your walls throb. 

When he finished, he kissed you on the mouth, almost lovingly, reverently. He started to slide out of you, being extremely careful, and you’d never felt so empty in your entire life. It was as if you’d never be full again. You found yourself whining, whimpering for Price to return. 

“That’s right, pretty girl,” Price smiled, “Never gonna want anybody else, are ya?”

You smiled, shocked and in considerable discomfort. Gaz scooped you up off of the table, cradling you, sitting down with you in his lap in a large chair. He reached down for some water and handed it to you, helping you recover. 

Price was standing with his hands on his hips, panting from his exertion. Ghost and Soap were connected like two hounds, locked together, the Scot cock warming his tall lover, groaning on every exhale. 

“Well, what do you think, lads? Do we have a winner?” Price asked.

“Yeah, we fucking do, Cap,” Gaz pet your head, moving your sweaty hair out of your eyes. 

“Fuck yeah, mate,” Ghost growled, pawing at Johnny again, rabid for him. 

“Hear that, bonnie?” Soap managed to ask, still moaning in little breaths as he was being speared by Ghost, “Got  yourself a new permanent assignment.”

Price walked over to you, grabbing you by the face and kissing you once more,

“You belong to us now, love. Perfect little slut.”

AO3 Link

[phantasmagoria-in-neverland]

COD men and what article of clothing of theirs they prefer to see you in.

John Price is an elegant gentleman, he loves putting his coat over your shoulders when you're cold. He always holds it for you to help you put it on, and he adjusts the collar as his fingers gently brush against your neck. His coat is big, warm and it smells like him, and he adores the way you burrow yourself into it. During the colder months, he keeps an extra jacket in his car that he can wear if he gives you the one he had on, and if you fall asleep while you're not at home, John always gently lays his coat over you like a blanket. 

Simon “Ghost” Riley is an absolute sucker for the way you look in his hoodies, and although he never says it out loud, he gets a certain look in his eyes that speaks a thousand words in his place. They're oversized even on him, and they fit his style perfectly: black with the occasional skull/edgy design of some sorts. He especially loves it if your style is even just a little bit different from his, the contrast makes him melt. He never asks you to wear his hoodies, but he does leave them lying around in a way that is very obvious.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish goes feral every single time he sees you in his boxers. It doesn't even have to be sexual, just the intimacy of it makes him go wild. It's something that you simply don't share with anyone else, sure, someone else might lend you their jacket, but no one else but him can lend you something as intimate as his boxers. If you also wear boxers he is more than happy to trade, if you don't, he will not so jokingly insist that his underwear is way more comfortable than whatever you're wearing.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick puts his signature cap on your head every time he isn't wearing it or he isn't on a mission. It's the most him thing he owns, and he thinks there's something incredibly intimate (and attractive) about seeing you wearing it. He's sharing with you the one thing he wears that truly feels like it represents him, and he'd love it if you did the same for him. Sometimes he helps you put it on almost reverentially, other times, he pulls the visor over your eyes and chuckles like it's the funniest thing in the world.

Alejandro Vargas loves when you wear his shirts. It's a bit of a classic, but he loves the difference between how they look on him, tight and accentuating his muscles, and how they look on you, with the neckline wide enough for small flashes of your collarbones to peek out. Wear his shirt as a dress, even just once, and he will never shut up about how much of a breathtaking sight you make. He subconsciously starts buying colours he thinks will suit you, and the wide grin he gets when he sees you in them could light up an entire city.

Rodolfo Parra prefers to give you the most comfortable, cozy clothes he owns. It can vary from a warm sweater, to comfortable joggers, to a loose T-shirt. Whatever makes you feel the most at home is immediately transferred from his wardrobe and into yours. And if you prefer it when they still smell of him, he'll either take the care of wearing them just to give them back to you, or give you a bottle of his perfume that you can spray on whenever you want to. Most of all, he has a gigantic soft spot for seeing you in an article of clothing that has sentimental value and meaning to him.

Phillip Graves loves to give you clothes that are very easily recognisable as his, like the blue button ups that he always wears. He adores seeing how comfortable you look in them while you wear them at home, maybe paired with high socks. And he adores it even more when you style them properly to wear them outside the house, in a way that makes it clear that you're happy to let everyone know who your man is. Either way, his eyes are glued to you for the whole day while you are wearing his shirts, a smug smile on his face.

König always gives you small pieces of himself, small things that remind you of him but that are subtle enough not to bring other people's attention to it. He likes that it's something only the two of you know about, something you keep for yourselves. The things he gives you always change, it could be a ring one day, then a necklace, a scarf, or even a bag. And in the privacy of your home, he adores seeing you in his mask, as he shares the intimate part of himself he never shares with anyone else.

Alex Keller literally gives you free reign over his closet. Everything that is his is yours as well, you don't even have to ask. He'll even change his outfit for the day if he sees you wearing something he was planning on putting on. When he goes shopping, he often asks you to accompany him, so that you can help him choose the pieces that you think would look best on him, and also the pieces that he knows you'll want to steal later. He also adores wearing his clothes after you've borrowed them, your smell still lingering comfortingly on them.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

YOU MATCH THE 141 ON TINDER 💓

Summary:

While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you?

Pairing:

141 x Reader

poly!141 x Reader

The Beginning:

Teaser

Legend:

Red - Johnny

Orange - Kyle

Blue - John

Purple - Simon

Green - All of them

Chapters:

Prequel

1 - Kyle

2 - Johnny

3 - Simon

4 - John?

5 - GETTING LAID?

6 - John.

7 - Getting Laid!! 😈🌶️

8 - Awooga?

9 - Drinks?

10 - SIMON?!

11 - Excuse me?

12 - A date?

13 - Yes, and?

14 - (B)romance?

15 - Mo leannan

16 - Teeth.

17 - Guard dogs.

18 - Picnic.

19 - Slippery Slope. 😈🌶️

20 - Control 😈🌶️

21 - I BEG YOUR PARDON?

22 - What is it about you?

22.5 - Cardiff, London, Cairo, Cabo, Tel Aviv. 😈🌶️(mini chapter)

23 - Kiss and Tell?

24 - Pokémon

25 - Soap..................?

26 - Smart mouth 😈🌶️

Pre-27 - Away (mini chapter)

27 - Peace and Quiet

28 - How in the-

29 - Taking Turns

30 - Playing House.

31 - Uh-Oh.

32 - No Harm Done.

More chapters - COMING SOON!

Click here to see some fanart of "it's a match" chapter 14 "(B)romance)?" by my lovely moot @xxshadowbabexx.

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[FIND MY FICS ON AO3]

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taglist below the cut

@daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket