#john price

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Soap: You're like our cool dad.

Price: I'm not your dad.

Gaz: Dear diary, today we were disowned by our own father.

Ghost: Father.

Price: Not you too, Simon.

Ghost: Father. I crave violence.

[ch1n1tahwrites]

Bimbo!reader :3

i think Price would be just absolutely smitten with a girl who would let him take care of her

it wasnt that you were dumb persay, just ditzy..

John Price who would literally kiss the ground you walk on

John Price who would pay every week for your fill ins

John Price who would accompany you to the doctors cuz

"You don' even know the difference in type a and b blood lass'"

John Price who would pick out the color of your nails

Jonathan "lass. yes i would love you if you were a worm" Price

John Price who would buy you rollers for you hair and help you achieve the 'blowout look'

"You know what i can blowout darl-"

"Shut up"

"Yes ma'am"

John Price who would crumble when you run your long french tips through his hair

John Price who would go with you to the mall to buy hello kitty stuff.

John Price who would sleep in the pink 'girly' bed filled with sanrio and sonic characters

John Price who would chuckle when you bump into things and say sorry

John Price who would kiss your boo boos.

John Price who would let you tie a bow around it

Captain "i can't fall in love" Price

Johnathan "i might marry her" Price

[dante-mightdie]

your last post gave me bossy blue collar price energy and now I can't stop thinking about him being mildly rude. not in a way that makes his wife cry but every once and a while he'll scruff her neck if she's being a brat or interrupting him. but he always apologizes with a rock of a ring that probably cost his paycheck

I started giggling and kicking my feet whilst getting ready for work and reading this 🤭

c/w: john is a little mean but it’s sexy so idc, groping

everyone knows you’re a little bit or a brat. all of the men on the site can’t believe the shit you get away with. they still think you’re a sweetie though considering you always bring them coffees when you drop one off for your husband, paid for with his card of course

normally when you come up to him asking him to take you shopping or take you out for dinner at the new restaurant that opened up, he just smiles and indulges you. a soft ‘of course, darling’ leaving his lips

but every once in a while you forget your manners on the site, prancing into his office and putting your jimmy choo handbag right on top of his important paperwork :( planting yourself on his lap and smacking a wet kiss onto his lips whilst he’s on the phone

he’ll let a slide for a little while, covering the speaker and moving your bag out of the way. “just a minute, lovely, i’m on the phone.”

you’d pout and grab his wrist when he tries to carry on his phonecall, “can I have your card, please? those shoes I wanted are back in stock.”

he’d put his finger up to his lips, pulling his hand from your grip and carrying on his conversation, ignoring you when you wave your hand in his face, “John! you’re not even listen-“

he cuts off your whining quickly, gripping your jaw and squeezing your cheeks together. not enough to hurt you, of course. he’d never hurt his darling girl but it’s enough to keep you quiet on his lap

“enough. I’m working. How am I meant to buy you stuff if you don’t let me work, hm?” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. he doesn’t give you a chance to respond, going back to his phone call whilst you pout and snuggle into him

it’s a good half an hour until he gets off the phone, “now. what does my sweet girl want?” he’d coo at you before pressing a kiss to the top of your head and taking a hand down to grope your ass

[squishycheekanon]

Slow burn but they are also fucking the whole time trope but it’s Price Got a little dark at the end, don’t at me.

Price taking things nice and slow, thrusting in and out at such an agonising, teasing pace. But it’s hard and rough, your face pressed against the bed while you sob into the sheets with every jolt of his hips against yours.

Price taking things slow as he rubs over your swollen little clit, grinning at the way you whine and tug at the cable tie restraining your hands and keeping them attached to the hook he so thoughtfully drilled into the wall.

Price taking things slow as he slips his thick fingers inside your throbbing cunt, watching in awe as your mouth opens the further he pushes in, searching for that sweet spot and groaning a “there it is.” When your back arches off the bed and your eyes roll back before fluttering close.

Price taking things slow when he gropes your tits and ass, trying to throw you off when you’re asking what type of man he is. Price is not an ass man. Price is not a tits man. Price is a hot, pulsing, slippery, dripping, pussy man.

Price taking things slow as he wines and dines you every single night, using that hard earned military money to buy you pretty things. Price who watches your cute eyes light up when he places his dog tags around your neck.

Price who will ‘wait’ as long as you need him to before he pops the question, knowing full well he already has a beautiful ring in a box tucked away in his sock drawer.

Price who knows, even if one day you say you don’t love him anymore, because he knows you do even if you refuse to say it, even if one day he has to wisk you away to some remote cabin far far away, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you go.

[cod-dump]

*after a mission went south*

Price: What the fuck happened out there??

Soap: I borrowed Kyle’s braincells and lost them

Price: What???

Gaz: He owes me braincells and I owe Ghost braincells

Ghost: Those weren’t even mine! I got them from Nik!

Price:

Soap: Can I borrow some braincells? I swear I’ll pay you back-

[metallictastinglifesupportliquid]

Ghost: You have friends and I envy that Y/N: You can share my friends Ghost: *looks at Johnny and Kyle* Ghost: I don't want those

[temeyes]

hey you know how you’ve made Ghost, Soap and Gaz (sorta) belly posts?

Can we get a Price one next? 😼

ALSO I JUST WANNA SAY UR ART MAKES MY SKULL SO ITCHY IN THE BEST WAY POSSIBLE I LOVE IT SM ‼️‼️

poor captain was a little hesitant, but here ya go!

[remiebear]

Prices hat extends out to a sunhat trust

[konigsblog]

thinkin' about rapist simon and rapist price.

cw: rape/non-con, dark fiction, dead dove: do not eat. MDNI 18+ 🔞🩸

they're cruel and violent with their favourite recruit. you're always so obedient and eager for their validation, so compliant and easy to coerce. they want an excuse to scream at you ‘til you're sobbing and trembling, to see your daft mug glistening with your tears, cheeks glossy.

your anxiety and nervousness is visible on your dumb little face when they hiss at you, terrified that you might've upset them. they adore mocking you, taunting you for being such a goody two-shoes. they'll excuse their touchiness as them just innocently training their favourite rookie, helping you out with your form, grinning ear to ear at your naivety and trustworthiness.

it's your own fault you're in this state.

you're drunk, gagged, blindfolded, and bound. you're bent over your captain's desk, with simon's fat cock stuffing your mouth, gagging you. your captain drives his broad hips into you while grasping at the rope binding your wrists together, sliding his swollen dick into your raw folds ‘til you're coating their cock in pearly arousal, whether you like it or not.

they love the mortified and horrified look plastered on your face when you're left alone with the pair, knowing you're going to be brutalised and violated again and again until they've had their fill.

[cntloup]

Fem!Reader

Price saves you from some creeps

Simon's version

thinking about Price taking you on a drive after he picks you up from some shady bar to keep your mind off the creeps.

when you called him in a panic, uncontrollable sobs and hiccups escaping you while you tried to explain what happened, he felt his blood boil with pure rage.

"I'm on my way, sweetheart." he said to you and he was there in about 10 minutes, then found your shaking figure hiding in the bathroom.

"Shh, baby. It's ok. You're safe now. I'm here." he coos softly in your ear while holding your trembling body in his arms.

he calls the lads to get in there and teach them a lesson while he takes care of you.

he'd be more than happy to do it himself, knocking their asses off for daring to touch his princess.

but he needs to take care of you. you're his priority. he has to take you away from there asap.

"Are you ok? Did they hurt you?" he asks, "I-I'm f-fine... I got in here to hide as quickly as I could." you respond through sobs and gasps for air.

"Good girl." he praises and kisses your forehead before placing a hand on your back to guide you to his car.

he takes you to your favorite places after roaming around the city for a while, "I'll take care of it, baby. Don't you worry about it one bit." he promises, his hand gently caressing your thigh, his touch warm and comforting.

he tells you funny stories and sings along to some old tunes and plays your favorite songs to distract you.

and when that gorgeous smile of yours finally returns, painting your beautiful face, he smiles proudly and reaches over to gently trace his fingers along your chin and jawbone, cooing softly "There's my girl!"

[midnightarcheress]

another casino thingy with john price, bc why not?

cw: nsfw. masturbation, fingering, implicit exhibitionist price?, f!reader. idk shit about poker. part one | part two

you go to the casino again. not to gamble though.

at first, you were reluctant on showing up. it was nice of John to give you money for your services that night, and you couldn't deny the instant attraction lingering on your brain, but you didn't want to feel like a token, a four-leaved clover he picked out of the grass. also, you were convinced that your luck was a one-time thing, so why bother trying again? he surely found another charm to put in his pocket by now. 

however, those thoughts vanished from your mind when you heard a sharp knock on your door. 

you look through the peephole and immediately recognize the person standing in your hallway – mohawk guy. how did he...? your first instinct is to ignore him, but curiosity wins the fight against logic and you open the door.

"hello, bonnie." he smiles, "Price's waiting for ye," he blurts out before you can even ask anything. he's waiting?

for a minute, you don't think. your body moves on auto-pilot, scouring your closet for a decent outfit and smoothing down your hair to look at least presentable, as a stranger – Johnny, you learned – paces in your living room. 

the next thing you know, you're in the passenger seat of his car, one hand resting on your leg and thumb edging the hem of your skirt, driving downtown. you couldn't help but shudder at the tingling sensation of his fingers on your skin, and he just snorts at your reaction, amused. are they all this touchy?

thankfully for you, Johnny is a talker, so you don't have to do much work to pass the time. he tells you that John is actually the owner of the casino and that every friday night he hosts a poker game with some of his friends. that he and the boys – Simon and Kyle – help Price with the management and with making sure no one creates trouble, and that John hasn't stopped talking about you.

your eyes widen after his last words, earning a chuckle out of the scot and nearly making you forget the question that first popped into your head when you saw him at your door – how in the hell did he know where i live? but at this point, you're not sure you care. 

the light squeeze on your thigh alerts you that you've arrived, hopping out of the car and walking inside. the place is as packed as ever, but he leads you directly to the back, the same door as before. 

"there she is." John grins, already tapping his lap for you to sit, "now we can start." this time, you don't hesitate, happily obliging to his request even when a part of you cringes at your eagerness. you accept the glass of bourbon, neat, that Kyle hands you, and despite being too strong for your liking, you don't bother. probably tastes like John.

the first few rounds were tame, with low bets, but soon enough you see the flying 5000 chips landing on the table and hear the laughs getting louder, as he traces circles on your hip. you don't know if it's the alcohol coursing in your veins, the softness of his touch, or his hot breath on your ear, but warmth starts pooling in your stomach and your legs clump together to ease the tension.

John notices your squirms and devilishly smirks, enjoying your desperate attempts to forgo the desire building in you. "here, kiss it for good luck, Ace." Ace? his left-hand holds a chip up, as the right one sneaks between your thighs and pry them apart again, making you gasp. 

you timidly lean forward to press a quick kiss on the chip and instantly feel the heat creeping up your cheeks when his hand reaches your underwear. "you're so wet, Ace," he whispers, pulling your damp pants to the side. god, what is he... oh.

you try your best to be calm, not let the sensation of his fingers grazing your folds cloud your mind, but it's too much. your head tips back onto his shoulder, and any word that threatens to come out of your mouth and stop him gets caught in your throat. there's people around. everyone can see how much of a mess you are. and they... don't care?

his thumb gently rubs your clit as his middle finger toy with your entrance in an agonizingly slow manner, soft sighs escaping your mouth and eyes embarrassingly glossy focusing on the table. the game is still going, there's at least eight other men in this room, counting the players and the boys, fuck i'm– you bite back moans, gripping his forearm to keep him in place and to stop yourself from writhing in his lap. 

"easy, love," he murmurs, finally pumping his digit inside you, "such a greedy cunt." his tone is low, syrupy, dripping like honey over you and nearly making you cum at the sound of his voice. you nuzzle your face on his neck, muffling your whimpers and drowning in the scent of his cologne. "what's keepin' me from throwin' you on top of this table and takin' you right now, hm?"

"John–" you breathe out, coil on your belly tightening when he inserts another finger, hitting the spongy spot you were never quite able to reach, making you mewl with pleasure. his beard brushes on your neck and his warm lips trace your jaw, leaving an underlying burning on your skin that drops straight to your core. 

through half-lidded eyes you see the dealer finishing distributing the cards and the subtle twitch in John's mouth when he glances at his hand. your mind is too far gone by the point when they place the bets, too lost in the feeling of his frantic thrusts, velvety walls instinctively clenching around him to enhance the bliss.

the knot inside of you snaps and you cry out, limbs trembling in his hold and pure electricity travelling under your surface; it's intense, ripples through your core, heavenly overstimulating every corner of your body and sending your mind to outer space. 

you float back to earth and taste the metallic flavor in your mouth, bottom lip sore from biting too hard to prevent your screams. John nudges you back to reality with a kiss on your temple, "such a good girl, love." he flaunts his cards in front of your eyes, and after a few attempts to refocus your vision, he gloats, wide smile and lustful eyes directed only at you, "just won me thirty grand, Ace."

i'd love to write more of this casino universe but i'm very much lacking in the ideas department lol

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Texting the TF141.

Soap: Hello, I’m sorry for the late notice but I cannot find the specific outfit I imagined myself in for this mission and thus can no longer deploy with you all.

Soap: Many thanks.

Price: Simon, get him.

Ghost: Already on my way.

Soap: Wait. No!

[moongreenlight]

Mafia!Price is NOT your fucking aesthetic. A full comprehensive list as to why.

He cooka da pizza!

He goes to church every Sunday. A massive Roman Catholic Church downtown. Ancient building with floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows depicting the life and loss of Christ. Full two hour masses that he always wears a suit to. At first it starts as some last-ditch attempt to absolve him of his guilt, but then it became habit. 

And maybe it was his wife. Her parents were devout and just about keeled over when they found out their only daughter was married by a quick ceremony in the courthouse to a man they’d never met. Her mother was the worst, though it was to be expected. Likely didn’t know John had won his new bride when her husband didn’t have the funds left to pay off his debt. Fucking miracle she hadn’t yet done the math and realized his first child was born seven months later. He’d be persecuted to no end.

There was a target on his back since the wedding. Always put him in the hot seat on Sunday evening dinners while his wife was trying to wrangle their children into eating their vegetables. Drilled into him about work and life and why he always seemed too busy to prioritize “something worthwhile” in his life. Mother sets in on him like she’d been waiting for the opening all evening.

“So, John. Remind us what you do for work.” Accusatory. Glaring over her barely touched plate of roast at him.

“Contracting. Bit of this and that.” He fights the urge to roll his eyes, if only barely. 

“Hm. And what does that entail? Can’t keep you as busy as you swear you are.” She’s unabashed. Her husband doesn’t share the sentiment. He sighs into his glass of brandy and tries to catch her eye. 

“Don’t do much hands-on these days. Project management and bookkeeping for me now. Brought on a few guys to do the grunt. You remember from when we did your bathroom, I’m sure.” He doesn’t shy away from the challenge. Principled. 

“Boys would do well to have some structure. Bet they haven’t been in a church since they were baptized.” She ignores his parry and switches to what she really wants to talk about after looking over to her daughter who is all but force-feeding them florets of broccoli. Typical.

He finally wore down after a Christmas where the only gift he got from them was a deep brown leather-wrapped bible. Used. Split down the spine, dog-eared pages.  Like they’d stolen it from the shelf in the pew for the dolts who weren’t well-mannered enough to bring their own. 

From then, it had become a welcome escape from reality. Church in the morning. 8am service, because he was up before the sun anyway. Sipping coffee in the kitchen beforehand, pouring over a heavy binder with the title ‘family finance’ scrawled in his wife’s delicate handwriting across the front.

He could hear her wrestling with their two boys in the bathroom upstairs. Their indignant screeching clueing him in that he should probably get up and help, but he always tried to steal a few more moments to himself. Calm before the storm.

The boys have sour looks on their faces when they stomp down the stairs not five minutes later, though they’re nothing in comparison to their mother who’s only a few steps behind. They get the deep furrow in their brows from him, the bitter curl of their lips from her. 

“Glad you’re enjoying your slow start, John. Really.”

He should feel worse for not helping. Tries to lay her hackles back down by snapping the binder shut and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple. She barely pauses to accept it before pushing past to pack her purse. Four bibles, his ratty one, her perfectly white one with different colored sticky notes poking out the sides, and two smaller children's bibles that she’d shove in their laps for appearance sake. Snacks for the boys, and a flash of the handle of her small handgun- safetied and then shoved into the bottom of her tote.

“Should’ve shouted f’you needed help. Can’t hear a thing down here.” The boys snicker when he winks over at them. They’re outfitted in their Sunday best. Slacks with damp finger marks on the thighs from where she’d tried to smooth out wrinkles. Buttoned-down shirts that they were already tugging at the collars of. Hair gelled back, no doubt the reason for their griping earlier. 

She doesn’t find it nearly as funny as they do. Shoots him a nasty look over her shoulder before disappearing into the spare room to grab a pair of low heels. 

“We’re already late. If we have to sit in the back again, you’ll never hear the end of it.” It’s not an empty threat. They’d missed one service and some aunt had told her mother in passing. Took three months to get her to stop bringing it up.

“S’not even half seven. Takes fifteen minutes to get there.”

It’s supposed to mollify her, but it has the adverse effect. She looks ready to throw a shoe at him when she sits on the bottom stair to tug them on. He raises his hands in surrender.

“Easy.” 

Somehow all four of them make it to the car in one piece. He sends a message to Kyle before they leave telling him to save them a space toward the front to err on the side of caution.

[deunmiu-dessie]

(unedited) john price knew he would marry you the first time he saw you.

john price met you in the rain.

the memory of the encounter remains etched in his mind like a timeless portrait. as the years pass and his recollections fade, the moment of your first meeting remains vivid and unblemished.

the sky, a somber shade of ashen blue, was adorned with brooding clouds of a dark and furious pearl grey. thunder roared in the distance, while lightning ominously streaked across the sky. the rain, a gentle drizzle, tapped rhythmically on his freshly trimmed lawn and his parked truck. seated on his porch, cradling a cup of tea, john's loyal english mastiff, simply known as 'dog', slumbered beneath his chair.

he'd only had a few more days left until he was back in the field, and despite having needed a couple of days to rest, john was ready to get back to the familiarity of work- especially when there wasn't anyone waiting for him when he got home. ( well, besides 'dog' )

john had always been content with his own company, finding relief in the quiet moments spent with his loyal dog. the peacefulness that came with his aloneness had become a sanctuary, a place where he could escape from the disorder of the world and his position; and find solace in his thoughts. but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months and then further, john's heart began to yearn for something more.

the familiarity of being alone, once a source of comfort, now felt like a hefty weight on his shoulders. the emptiness that had once brought him peace now seemed suffocating, as if the walls of his home were closing in on him. he craved for a wife who would eagerly anticipate his return home from his weeks away, someone to hold close and shower with affection.

the stillness that had once brought him solace now echoed with a deep longing for intimacy. the sound of his footsteps seemed hollow, and the absence of life within the house filled the empty spaces of his home with a haunting void. john couldn't help but yearn for the day when his despondent home would be replaced with the joy of shared moments and the love of another.

he craved for the warmth of another's touch, the feeling of intertwined fingers and loving touches. he craved the sound of laughter filling the air, the kind that could only come from shared jokes and inside stories. john imagined the simple pleasures of cooking together, of sharing meals and conversations that stretched long into the night.

and despite himself, despite not wanting to feel anything. his heart ached for the intimacy of whispered secrets and stolen kisses, for the comfort of knowing that someone was there to catch him when he stumbled, unconditionally. he yearned for the simple pleasure of waking up next to someone, their presence a constant reminder that he was not alone anymore.

john price, for the first time in what felt like decades; craved for something more.

john's focus is abruptly interrupted by a thunderous slam, causing his weary eyes to shift from his tepid cup of tea. his piercing blue gaze fixates on the source of the commotion across the street. as he observes, his attention is captivated by you, and while being lost in his own melancholic thoughts, he realizes that the rain has intensified, pouring down relentlessly.

there you stand on your porch, engaged in a heated argument with a man. your gestures are animated, your lips downturned in a pained frown, and your brows knitted together in irritation.

the rain's melody drowns out all other sounds, leaving john in a world of silence from the conversation. yet, even amidst this deafening quiet, he cannot tear his gaze away from you, your eyes widening in disbelief as the man retreats into the house, slamming the door shut. price watches as you fish out a pair of car keys from your pocket, walking briskly down the porch stairs and to a car that sits in the driveway. you're immediately drenched in rain from head to toe and john finds that you still look breathtaking regardless.

inexplicably, the two of you lock eyes, and your lips pull into a thin line, your words barely audible over the pouring rain but he catches them nonetheless. "what the hell are you lookin' at?!" then you slip into the car and speed down the street before he can even process what he's heard. slowly a smirk pulls at his lips, the crowsfeet around his eyes deepening.

john price, wanted you.

[frudoo]

John Price with his chunky baby and spunky baby mama 🫶

Warnings: Spit-up, normal baby things!!

Fluff ahead 🤍

“Better stop kickin’ them legs, little lady,” John huffs, squishing the giggling infant’s round cheeks softly to make her lips pucker out.

Her incessant babbling and the playful growls that come from your husband’s mouth coax you into the nursery. As you lean against the doorframe, you have to stifle a laugh—there are about twenty used wipes scattered about the changing table, and the rowdy little babe is kicking off every fresh diaper John tries to put on her. Suddenly, her cute little coos and gummy smiles turn into tiny grunts and a concentrated face. Your eyes widen, trying to warn your husband.

“John, she’s about to-!”

“Bloody hell!” He groans, holding a diaper over his weapon of a baby’s bottom.

The laughs don’t cease this time, covering your mouth as your chest shakes with spiteful delight. You walk over to your grimacing husband, hugging him from behind and pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He sighs in defeat, grabbing what seems like the thousandth wipe and starting the whole process over again.

“Think it’s funny, do ya?” John jokes, turning around momentarily to give you a playful glare.

“I think it’s hilarious, actually. She gets it from her dad,” you shrug, crossing your arms and cooing at your chunky baby.

“Ha, ha,” John mocks dismissively, giving his baby girl a stern look as he lifts her legs up yet again. She replies with a belly laugh, and his pursed lips turn upward into an amused grin as he slides the fresh diaper beneath her bottom.

“Got a pair o’lungs like her mum, though,” he smirks, fastening the sticky tabs to the front part of the nappy.

That earns him a soft smack to the back of his neck, making his shoulders dance with each chuckle he lets out. John zips up the pink camouflage onesie he’d put on her and lifts her into the air, pretending to groan like she’s the heaviest thing he could possibly lift. She babbles and stares down at him adoringly for a moment before staring off into space and chewing on her fist. He lowers her into his bent arms, cradling her and tapping her nose with the tip of his finger.

“Here, give her to me, I’ll go get her a teething ring,” you suggest, holding your arms out to your chubby little infant.

John laughs heartily as the sassy infant glances at you through her peripheral vision before returning her attention back to her old man. The heart-eyes she gives him make you pout, bottom lip quivering in mock offense.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I guess she just prefers her daddy,” he beams, lifting the baby up into the air once more, but making one crucial mistake—pressing his hands into her soft tummy.

You raise an eyebrow as John continues to brag and boast about the tiny human’s favoritism. He misses the way her squishy body jiggles with a silent burp. You don’t.

“Ain’t that right, lovebug? Daddy’s your very fav-” he stops mid-sentence when the waterfall of rancid milk spews out of the wriggly baby’s mouth and right into his own.

Wordlessly, you take your daughter (who seems rather proud of herself) into your arms and clean her up with a burp rag, leaving John open-mouthed and horrified in the middle of the nursery. You snicker as you kiss the noisy babe on her forehead, cooing to her proudly. With a final glance over your shoulder, you smile innocently at your husband with one last suggestion.

“Should probably brush your teeth before you come back downstairs.”

[cod-dump]

*late at night at Price’s house*

Graves: *jumps awake when there’s a loud bang downstairs*

Graves: Oh shit- What was that?!

Price, getting out of bed and grabbing his gun: I’m about to find out-

Graves: Wait, it might just be Nik coming home

Price:

Price: *marches out the door into the hall*

Graves: John-!

Price: I told that bastard to not touch that cake!