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dreamingofaizawa · 2 months ago

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𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 | john price

price meets you on base after mission gone south—a strict little thing, the medic barking out orders at disgruntled men. you tell him you don’t date soldiers. price has no doubt he can change that.

contents: fem! reader, smut (mdni), piv, oral (m! receiving), cunnilingus, age gap, price has fantasies of knocking you up and making you his pretty little wife, breeding kink, size kink, virginity loss (reader), pet names (sweetheart, dove, love), price is a little questionable but he means well. wordcount: 6k

Price meets you after a mission gone south.

You're a medic at the base they’ve been assigned to, a pretty little thing who swarms around and barks out orders. He intends to just drop off Gaz and then head back to the barracks he was temporarily appointed to; however, your eyes seem to zero in on him, and your brows narrow.

"You’re dripping on my floor."

He glances down at the dark stain on his sleeve, raising a brow. He thinks he hears Johnny snicker, though he’s more interested in you now, watching the way you frown at him.

“Just a scratch,” he states, sending you a smile. “Nothing serious.”

Still, he sits down where you point for him to go, letting you fuss over him. His grin widens when you scoff, murmuring under your breath.

“You call this a scratch?”

There’s a dirtied cloth tied around his arm, already turning dark. Price isn’t proud of it. He was focused somewhere else for mere seconds when a soldier came from behind, managing to slice him before he got the situation under control. The bandage was a temporary solution given he didn’t have time to inspect it further.

"You're going to die from an infection if you don't do something about this."

You're scolding him while you help him take his jacket off, barely fazed by the size of his bicep as you clean the cut on his arm.

“Been doing pretty well so far,” he murmurs, eyes soft as he watches you fuss. You haven’t offered him any painkillers, and you’re not gentle when you dab the alcohol on the wound before grabbing your gauze and beginning to roll it around his arm. He wouldn’t have accepted any painkillers anyway. “Trust me, sweetheart. I’ve had worse.”

“Lucky you,” you murmur, not even glancing at his face, and a smile curls onto Price’s lips. He sees the flush on your cheeks at the proximity.

Price knows he’s older and experienced. Rough from the effects of war and constant strategy. He’s not oblivious to the effect he has on the younger soldiers on base. You hesitate for a second, eyes darting over his dog tag, and Price catches it immediately.

“Call me John, dove,” he says, and you roll your eyes.

“Price. If you don't take care of yourself, then you're going to—” He lets you continue to fuss over him in silence, mapping out every curve of your body, never once taking his eyes off you. Afterwards, he listens to your instructions on how to keep it clean, as though he hasn’t dealt with wounds like this countless times, but before he can ask you for your name, he’s being ushered off the bed so the next guy can get treated, practically pushed away.

“So bossy,” he hums, and you glare before motioning the next soldier over.

“If you don’t mind, Captain,”

“John”,

“Captain”, you grit your teeth in annoyance. “Then I’d like to do my job uninterrupted.”

Price stops for a second. He eyes you up and down, noticing the way you quietly shift on your feet.

“Course, love,” he states, grin turning sharp. “I’ll leave you alone for now.”

“Never seen the captain so cooperative before.” It’s half light-hearted, half not, as Gaz watches Price, amusement present in his tone. Johnny snorts, eyes flickering between the two of you before his attention is back on Gaz.

“Yeah, it’s because he’s getting dizzy with how fast his blood is rushing from one place to another.”

✰ ✰ ✰

It doesn’t take him more than a day to show up at the infirmary again. This time you’re calmer, the infirmary empty apart from one sorry lad sleeping in a bed by the door.

Your office is at the very back end—a cute little place, scattered with paperwork and Band-Aids and pastilles. You hear his heavy boots on the floor before he announces himself, and you’re turning around to eye him with a faint suspicion as he sits on the bed closest to you.

“How’s your arm, captain?”

He smiles and shrugs off his jacket, revealing his poorly wrapped bicep, and you sigh before digging out some gauze from between a stack of papers.

“You know, sir—“

“It’s John, dove.”

You sigh as you come closer, calmly unwrapping his bandage. He spreads his legs and pulls you in between without a word, ignoring your squeak of surprise.

“It’s easier this way,” he murmurs, and big warm hands find the back of your thighs as he looks up at you, soft blue eyes grinning at you with mischief.

You’re more skittish when you’re not wrapped up in an infirmary filled with injured soldiers, much less strict. John likes you like this. You’re more malleable, giving a resigned sigh as you begin to unwrap his arm.

“I’ve asked around about you,” you murmur, voice low as if you’re doing something you’re not supposed to. Price hums, hands moving up the back of your thighs, but then you squeeze the gauze around his bicep in warning, and he stops, though he doesn’t move them back down.

“Is that so?” Price asks, and you nod. He’s staring at you, his eyes not once straying from your face.

“Yeah,” you say and your cheeks are warm when you finally meet his eyes. John smiles, the skin around his eyes crinkling while you pretend to be distracted by the bandage. “They say you’ve been in service for decades.”

Price shrugs, but he doesn’t confirm or deny anything. He doesn’t really count the years anymore, most of it having muddled into a mess of memories and chaos. His retirement is nearing, though—can’t blame a man for wanting a pretty thing to settle down with.

“To be frank, Captain,” he’s about to correct you again, but there’s that fire in your eyes that you had yesterday too, and he closes his mouth. There’ll be enough time to teach you his name later down the line anyway. “I’m having a hard time believing a man who’s been on the field for as long as you doesn’t know how to do something as simple as wrapping a wound.”

Caught red-handed.

John’s smile turns wolfish, and he squeezes your thigh for just a second before completely letting go. You try not to think about how your skin feels scorching where his hands were just seconds ago, and you shift slightly, tightening the gauze around his arm.

You take his silence for quiet admittance, and you sigh, finishing up your work. “You’re wasting my time. I have other patients.”

John looks around, perking an eyebrow up before he gazes back at you again.

“Don’t look much like it, sweetheart,” he states, and you sigh.

“I don't date soldiers.”

“Date? Who said anything about dating?” Price is smiling, and your cheeks flush as you shake your head.

“Well, alright. Then you shouldn’t mind quitting all your nonsense flirting and nicknames and–”

John laughs, head thrown back, eyes closing. Something inside you stutters, and you look away, feeling out of bounds in his presence.

“Well, love, I thought we had a moment yesterday. Got to first-name basis and everything too,” he states, and you shake your head, glaring, heat in your belly instantly dissipating.

“You’re way too old for me anyway,” you state, though Price isn’t sure if you’re saying it to him or yourself. He already knows he doesn’t care though.

You’ll beg to be his pretty little wife in no time.

You’re sent home a week later. You haven’t seen Price since he showed up at the infirmary for the second time, but you push that thought to the back of your head as you pack your things and drag yourself all the way back to your tiny old empty flat in London.

You tell yourself you like being home. No whiny soldiers, no blood and bandages, no sleepless nights. The truth is you prefer being stationed rather being holed up in your home, with no routine, no purpose.

You’re nearly three weeks into your self made pity party when a knock on your door brings you out of your sleepy state on the couch. Normally you wouldn’t open the door unless you were expecting someone or had ordered food but for some reason you feel compelled as you walk barefoot towards your door.

Your heart nearly beats out of your chest when you find John Price on your doorstep.

Civilian jacket stretched over his ridiculously broad shoulders, beard trimmed neater, a cap hiding his hair. You blink, unsure if it’s really him. You’re wearing your pajamas, ready for bed.

You’re sputtering, talking about inappropriate fraternising. It goes in one ear and out the other for Price, who’s already walking inside your apartment, taking in the quaint decorations and interior, all calm and collected like he’s been here a thousand times before.

“Calm down, love,” he states, casually picking up a small picture on your drawer of you and some of your family. “It’s not fraternising if we’re not in the same unit, now, is it?”

Your brows furrow, and you’re stuttering out more excuses, but Price is already inside your kitchen, turning on the kettle and finding cups on the table. Eventually, you resign to your fate, sitting down at your dining table. Price is sliding a cup towards you, and you take it, sinking down into your chair.

“What are you doing here?” you sigh, shifting in your seat.

“Wanted to see you,” he shrugs, calmly taking a sip of his tea. “Missed you.”

Your eyes narrow, and you push your tea away.

“You don’t even know me,” you state, and Price hums, head tilting to the side. You can tell he’s taking you in, reading your body language and your red cheeks. Your tank top is thin—he can make out the outline of your tits. They’re probably soft, perfect for him to grope and bite.

“Of course I do, sweets,” he smiles, and for a second it feels like you’re being hunted.

“Know where you live, know your local gym centre and your favourite pub.” he states, shrugging. “Though you haven’t been out in a while.”

You shrug, looking away, trying not to overheat underneath his attentive gaze.

“So we’ll start with having a cuppa, yeah? And then I’ll take you out on a date and show you how a real man should treat a pretty bird. Might fuck you in the backseat of my car afterwards.”

You flush at this, mouth falling open. The mental image of Price towering over you, pounding you into the cushions of his car, haunts you as you try to think of something else.

It’s morbid the way he says it like it’s factual. But then he cracks, and he’s laughing, shaking his head.

“I’m just messin’ with you, love,” he states, and you giggle nervously, feeling smaller and smaller in your seat by the second.

Price likes to ask questions. He asks why you joined the military, why you’re a medic. He asks about your family and your hobbies. He pokes into your (private) records, mentioning how you’ve seemingly never stepped out of line.

How good you are at following rules.

He likes this about you—the naivety. You’re green in ways he hasn’t been in years, all docile and sweet.

And eager to please.

He waits a week before he fucks you.

Takes you out twice, first to dinner at the one restaurant in town he likes, then to the movies.

He hasn’t done something like that in years, but he’s willing to for you. Figures you should get a taste of the dating life before he puts a ring on your finger and a baby in your tummy.

Just the thought of it—you, in a dress, a baby on your hip—it makes his cock twitch to life.

He’d figured you’d be harder to crack. That he’d need at least a month if not two, maybe even a deployment together before you’d cave in. But you’re much needier, much lonelier than he thought.

And, god, if you aren’t a pretty thing.

Sat in his lap, your brows are furrowed, there’s a pout on your lips, and you look at him with not a single ounce of the strict little lady you were when he met you in that infirmary a month ago.

“John,”

John, John, John. He wishes you would say it again and again; he knows he’ll never get tired of the way it rolls off your tongue like it belongs there. However, your tone is accusing.

Tired of waiting.

“Please?”

It’s a little raw, already worn with wear, and you wriggle around, trying to pull him closer, get him to do something. Anything.

Price chuckles, and you sigh, placing your head on his shoulder. Big hands are on your waist, burning into your skin, and your legs are spread wide to accommodate the sheer size of his thighs.

“Will you do something, please?” Your tone is whiny. It makes John throb. He noses at your hair, taking in the scent of your shampoo. He chuckles when you begin squirming around again, hands grabbing at his bicep, almost whimpering at the way he vibrates beneath you.

“Well since you’re asking so nicely, sweetheart,”

There’s something demeaning about the way he says it, an edge that makes your brows furrow. He grabs the back of your head and pulls you back, pressing his forehead against yours so he can look at you right.

You’re frowning. Surely, you’re getting cold too, sitting there, all naked while he’s clothed.

“Why don’t you touch yourself?”

The command makes your breath hitch, and you’re about to complain, but then he grabs your hand and guides you to your dripping centre, pressing your fingers through your folds. It makes you whimper, legs already feeling weak as he pushes your fingers to your entrance while his palm digs into your clit, sending dull stimulation through you.

His hands are big. Big enough to cup your pussy perfectly, enveloping your hand in the process. He pushes one of your fingers inside you despite your helpless whimpers, following along with two of his own, till you’re stuffed and stretched.

It’s tight and warm and pulsing. He feels the way you’re all wound up, refusing to let him go any further, clamping up around him.

“Oh, baby,” he says, and you whimper again, barely able to keep any sounds contained. It’s like he’s opening you up, desperate to see what’s hiding inside. And you can’t help but feel that you willingly laid down on the operating table, handing him the knife.

“You need to loosen up, yeah?”

You shake your head profusely, tears beading in your eyes, and John can’t wait to lick them off your cheeks. He nods, slowly, and gives you a short peck before slowly beginning to thrust in and out of you.

You gasp, head falling onto his shoulder again, eyes squeezing shut.

“You made me wait a week,” you complain, gripping onto his shoulders for dear life.

“A week? You always give yourself this easily?”

“No. You’re the first person I've been with.”

Your voice is timid, your face feeling hot as you chase the burning coil in your stomach. You feel the way he tenses underneath you, taking a sharp inhale of breath, his movements momentarily stopping.

“Sweetheart,” it’s a coo, and he retracts his fingers from your cunt, shushing you when you whine, leaning in to kiss your cheek, lips moving up your temple. “Sweet, sweet girl,”

You feel drowned in his sudden tenderness, bewildered at the pet names rolling off his tongue. Price looks at you with such adoration that it makes you dizzy and confused.

“You've never been with anyone? At all?”

You shake your head, feeling shy.

“Haven’t had time,” you murmur, trying to avoid his burning gaze. “I don’t date soldiers, you know.”

Price is chuckling, deep and fond, a thumb rubbing at your clit, big gentle circles that make your breath hitch, hips chasing more friction.

“Not even in uni? No one?”

You shake your head.

His awe is almost sickening, and immediately you’re on your back, with Price looming over you. He takes a second to admire you before he shrugs off his shirt, pants coming with them till he’s just in his boxers, his dog tag dangling over you.

Then he’s pulling your legs apart, lying down in front of you, admiring your soaked pussy.

“And here I’ve been so mean to my girl.”

You have a feeling he’s not talking to you per se, but you still huff, instinctively trying to get away from his piercing gaze. His hands around your thighs turn bruising, and you get a warning look from him.

“None of that now.” He smacks his lips and runs a finger through your folds. “Look at her. And you kept her untouched just for me.”

You purse your mouth at the way he speaks so lewdly, ready to snap back that it has nothing to do with him, but then he leans down, getting on his stomach in front of you, blowing air on your clit.

Your legs twitch and you gasp, thighs threatening to snap closed, but Price still has that bruising grip on you, keeping you wide open for him.

“But you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” He’s still cooing, still talking to your cunt more than you, and you squirm, a hand coming down to grip at his hair, the other digging into the sheets underneath you. “Fuck, you’re practically dripping with it.”

He doesn’t hesitate to dig in, attaching his lips to your pussy like it’s second nature. You gasp, back arching off the bed at the sudden stimulation. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, wet and warm against your centre, pleasure coiling in your stomach.

You can barely control the sounds leaving you, strangled gasps and whines of pleasure filling your bedroom as your heels dig into his back and your thighs clamp around his head.

Price seems to enjoy it even more than you, kissing and sucking and licking you with zero shame, pushing you towards your orgasm in record time. You’re gasping and squirming, and your thighs are already turning raw from scratching against his beard, the pain somehow only adding to your pleasure.

You shake your head, your hand in his hair trying to pull him away, especially when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, sparks shooting up your spine.

“John, oh, I’m going to come if you, ah, if you keep that up,” you whimper, and Price moans, sucking even harder.

“Come on my face then,” he says, kissing your clit and licking up your juices till they’re dripping down his chin. “Make a mess, sweetheart,”

You come hard, vision going white and a strangled moan leaving you. You grind your hips against his face uselessly, gasping little thank you’s as he continues to eat you out through your intense high, his own hips humping the bed beneath him.

By the time he’s done, you’re limp, sunken into the mattress beneath you. Your muscles ache, bones feeling heavy, as he hovers above you, not bothering to wipe his chin before kissing you again.

“You sound so pretty like that.” The praise makes you flush, but most of all, the way he says it so casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You hide your face between your hands, letting out a laugh of disbelief, but then you feel something poke at your entrance, and your hands shoot down to his pelvis.

“Wait, are you–? Oh,”

He's huge.

You gape, wondering how it’s going to fit.

Price croons, grabbing your face so you’re looking at him and not the thing between his legs, pressing his lips to yours.

You gasp into his mouth when he pushes in, pain and pressure gathering at your core. You whimper, and he nods, rubbing tight circles into your clit with his thumb while he pushes further.

“It’s only going to hurt for a bit, sweetheart, I promise,”

You claw at his shoulders, legs spreading wider and wider to accommodate him as he pushes further in, pressing his hips to yours. You don’t even realise tears are rolling down your cheeks till he’s wiping them, murmuring praises to you, telling you how well you’re doing.

Soon he’s fucking into you slowly, still swallowing each of your gasps, his hand now grabbing onto your hip, holding you in place. His thrusts grow rougher, and pain and pleasure begin to mix as you grow used to the foreign feeling of him rearranging your guts.

“Feels good?” he asks, piercing blue eyes trained on your expressions as your mouth falls open.

“I – oh,”

Your back arches when he hits somewhere good, ice hot pleasure coursing through you. He laughs, big hand slipping under you to keep you arched as he continues to hit your g spot dead-on, punching out the prettiest little moans from you.

“Sounds like music,” he chuckles, gazing down at where your hips meet, watching the way your pussy swallows him up perfectly. “Looks like she loves it too, creaming all over me,”

His cock is coated in your slick, and it’s dripping down into the sheets beneath you. You can’t reply, all coherency went out the window the moment he started fucking you.

You don’t think he wants a reply, though, not really. The way your eyes are threatening to roll back is enough reply on its own.

“Perfect fucking pussy, the best I’ve ever had,”

You clench around him, and he groans, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. With a hand still on your back, his other sneaks up to grab your tit, squishing it tight while he fucks you into the mattress beneath you.

Your orgasm is over you before you even realise it, your mouth falling open in a silent moan, your body tightening up, pussy nearly choking Price’s cock. He groans, pulling you close, balls drawing tight when he empties himself inside you, painting your walls white.

He fucks you both through it till you’re out of breath and sweaty.

You’re barely present, eyelids nearly falling shut as Price catches his breath and lies down beside you, pulling you onto his chest. His hand strokes your back while he pulls your hair behind your ear.

“Still with me, baby?”

“Uh huh,” You shift, feeling his cum drip out of you, coating your inner thighs. Your pussy feels sorer than ever. “Felt good,”

After that, you’re insatiable.

It’s like he’s struck a chord, awoken something in you. Gone is the strict little missus he found at the infirmary; now there’s just a horny pup, ready to jump his bones at all times. He finds himself fucking you in the shower, eating you out on the kitchen counter, and fingering you on the sofa. You moan and gasp and coo and grind your hips into his touch, begging him for more, more, more.

You’re on the couch, legs spread wide to accommodate John’s big body between your thighs. He’s got you all splayed out, completely naked against the scratchy fabric, a hand on the back of each of your thighs keeping you right where he wants you.

It’s not exactly comfortable. You’re being pushed deeper into the couch with each thrust, made to take every inch of his thick cock inside you. Your neck is bent at a deep angle, your chin almost colliding with your collarbone, and every time he bottoms out, the air is pushed out of your lungs.

It feels good—he’s able to get deep with this angle, and there’s really nowhere for you to go except further into the cushions.

The moans feel like they’re being punched out of you—tiny little ragged things, sounding between a sob and a whine. You’re starting to think John likes you like this, all ruined and sloppy for him.

He’s naked too, his sweats and shirt somewhere on the floor, a light sheen covering his chest. You push at his pelvis, though you’re unsure what you’re trying to gain from it as your fingers curl into the coarse hair.

John chuckles. Blue eyes are locked on your every move, and he removes a hand from your thigh so he can take your hand and intertwine your fingers, pushing them into the couch. He leans over you further, caging you in as he pushes his forehead against your own.

You whimper as you’re curled further into yourself by the action; meanwhile, something delicious is building in your core. You know he’s feeling the way you flutter around him; you can see the predatory look in his eyes as his gaze flickers down to where you’re connected.

“John, I—ah!”

You cry out when he thrusts particularly hard, your free hand now pushing at his chest as you squeeze your eyes shut. His chuckle is deep and fond, and it rings in your head as you flush, digging your nails into his chest.

“Use your words, love,” he teases, moving a hand down to push down on your stomach, and he hits your sweet spot with his next thrust, making you jolt in his grasp. “What do you want?”

You’re glossy-eyed, pouting up at him. It's mean of him to ask this; he already knows exactly what you want. He’s sure you’d prefer it if he just told you to take it and told you what you wanted, so you didn’t have to think about it.

Part of him likes this—the naive trust, the trembling “I want whatever you want”. Another part of him wants to mould you into something needier, something loud and demanding.

He’s not sure what part of him is winning.

You shake your head, gasping moans and breaths, leaving you as you pull him closer.

“Please,”

There’s a furrow between your brows, and the moans that leave you each time he grazes your g spot make him groan. The hand on your stomach inches down so he can thumb at your clit just the way you showed him you like it. (How he showed you that you like it.)

The graze of his cock against your walls, combined with the big gentle circles on your clit, brings you over the edge, your eyes rolling back into your head when you come. You get so tight that he’s pushed out, something wet splashing against his pelvis.

Price grins. Wicked and gross, as he grabs your thighs so hard that he knows it’ll bruise and pushes into you again, fucking you deep and rough. You go limp in his grasp, taking everything he gives you as praise tumbles from his lips.

“Pretty baby, huh?” His voice is breathy. “Feels like you’re trying to, fuck, strangle my cock.”

He pushes deep when he comes, barely sparing it a second thought that he’s filling you up for the nth time this week. Hope it takes, he thinks, the thought crossing as quickly as it leaves again, while he stays deep, keeping you full. It’s dripping out around where he’s stretching you thin, droplets of cum dripping down onto the couch beneath you.

You’re hardly there anymore, nothing but putty in his hands. He grunts when he slips out of you, his cock immediately feeling cold.

“You broken, sweetheart?”

You’re mumbling something incoherent. He thinks you’re blaming him for how sore you’re going to be in the morning. His eyes fall to your pussy, and there’s a low thrum of excitement in the shape of him dripping out of you.

“The couch is ruined,” you grumble, and he pulls you up, helping you stand and patting your ass. He eyes the darkening stain.

“I’ve dealt with worse stains than that.”

For some reason, it makes you giggle. It makes his dick twitch back to life, slowly growing between his legs. You haven’t noticed yet, still humming as you stretch out, pretty tits and cunt on full display as you wince.

It’s not long before he’s back on the couch, back against the cushions, as he motions for you to sit on it. You’re still giggling, but you’re crawling onto the couch, positioning yourself right over his cock. There’s still cum glistening on your thighs, and you’re already sinking down on him, laughter morphing into moans as you place your hands on his chest for stability.

Price reaches out, one firm hand groping your tit while the other grabs your hip. He lets you take him at your own pace till your bodies meet again.

“Yeah, that’s it.” His hand is rubbing soothing circles into your hip, while his other is squeezing your tit as though it’s a stress ball. Eyes trained on where you connect, he groans.

“Fuck, taking me so deep, yeah?”

He lets go of your tit, giving it one last fond squeeze before he’s stroking your tummy. You gasp when he digs in right under your navel, trying to feel himself in there.

“Must be right around here,” he states, and you whimper, but then the hand on your hip is guiding you in circles, and your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. “So tight, and yet you’re taking me like it’s nothin’.”

You cry out, clawing at his arms, riding him with more desperation as the tip of his cock hits your g spot.

“So good,” you gasp, leaning down so you can kiss him, moaning into his mouth. “Love your cock”,

This makes him laugh, and then he’s placing his feet on the couch so he can fuck up into you, causing you to collapse onto his chest.

You let out a surprised curse, eyes rolling back again, and Price cups your face, making you open your mouth so he can stick his thumb in. You instantly wrap your lips around the digit, moaning around it, and Price grins, nodding.

It’s not long before your brows are furrowing and your thighs are shaking, and your pussy is clenching around him while you come all over his cock again, pure bliss overtaking your features.

Price moans, feeling the way you throb and slick cum drips down his balls. It’s not long before he’s giving you the last couple of erratic thrusts and then he finishes inside you, creamy cum spilling out around where he’s filling you up.

You hum, satisfied, resting your head on his chest.

“Let’s stay like this,” you murmur after letting go of his thumb, your pussy still throbbing around him. “Like it when I’m full of you,”

Price thinks you might be a succubus.

✰ ✰ ✰

You’re deployed a month later. It runs cold down your back when you realise you’re deployed to the same base as Price, expected to take care of his team. Price chuckles, soothingly stroking your back when you read the email beside him in bed.

“Relax, sweetheart. No one’s going to care.”

You’re not entirely sure about that, but it seems easy enough to keep quiet about. As long as no one questions why Captain Price is going to the infirmary more than ever.

“John, you don’t need a checkup.” You’re slightly annoyed, glaring at him. The infirmary smells like antiseptic and stale coffee, and Price hums, shrugging his shoulders.

“Can’t even come to see my favourite medic anymore, huh?”

His tone is serious, but you’ve been around him enough to know that there’s a teasing edge. You shake your head, sighing.

“Not if you’re not sick or hurt.”

Price whistles, adjusting his seat in the bed closest to you.

“I am hurt,” he states, palming the bulge in his military pants. Your eyes flicker down at the motion, and your mouth instantly feels empty. “I think it’s best you take look at it.”

You shift your weight, glancing at the door behind him. It’s late, and no one is scheduled to return from any missions today, so it’s going to be a quiet night anyway.

Hesitantly you walk over, about to sit beside him, but then he shakes his head.

“I think it’s better if you get on your knees,”

He’s still palming himself, letting out an occasional sigh. “That way you can get a real good look,”

All fight is gone in you as you follow his orders, sitting on your knees in front of him. You place your hands on his broad thighs, blinking up at him through your lashes.

“Where does it hurt?” you ask, and he groans when you move your hands up his thighs, towards his cock. “Right here, perhaps?”

He lets his hand fall away, and you coo, before your hands are unbuttoning his pants, pulling out his heavy cock. It’s already hard, drooling precum, and you lick your lips before moving closer.

“Looks like you have a serious problem here, captain,” His cock twitches in your hand at the title, and you smile. “It’s good you came here right away.”

He grabs your hair, and you don’t hesitate to follow when he pulls you forward, tapping his cock against your lips.

“Open up then,” he hums. “Let me fuck that pretty mouth.”

Your eyes are glossing again, just the way he likes it. You lick along his shaft before wrapping your lips around him entirely, bobbing your head up and down. John leans back and lets you do what you want. He groans when you pull off again, just to lick the underside of his cockhead, tasting salty precum on your lips.

“You look gorgeous like this, baby.”

An affectionate hand finds your head, and he pets you, almost making you purr when he strokes your cheek, pulling you away from his cock so he can really take in the way your lips are all glossy with spit and pre and how your eyes are looking at him with such unbridled (undeserved) trust.

Your hand is still stroking him, and at this rate, he thinks he might finish early in your hand like a fucking teenager. You rest your cheek on his thigh, humming.

“I love you,”

The words leave you before you can even process them, ripped from your mouth. You pull back, feeling mortified, but Price puts his hand on the back of your neck, keeping you close. His expression is unreadable, eyes locked on your face.

“I didn’t mean to— oh my god, I—“ you fumble over your words, but then you’re being pulled up from your knees, nearly stumbling when he does.

“Say it again,”

You shake your head, tongue stuck in your throat, cheeks growing hot. Price nods slowly, and the hand on the back of your neck moves down to rest right over your collarbone.

“Can we please forget this? I didn’t mean to—“

“Come on, sweets,” he mutters, and you frown, still hesitant. It feels weird and silly and childish.

“I love you,” you murmur, words clumsy on your tongue, and Price groans, kissing you roughly in response, pulling you into his lap. He pulls your panties aside, making you sit on his hard cock, groaning when you take him to the hilt with no problem.

“God, sweetheart,” he whispers against your lips, swallowing up your moans and whimpers. He rocks your hips back and forth while his other hand is possessively around your throat. “Gonna make you my pretty little wife if you keep that up,”

The words make you clench around him, and Price hums.

“Your pussy is telling me you would like that, huh?”

You whimper again, head going cloudy when his tip nudges your g spot and his hands are all over you. He moves back to watch your expression, grabbing your chin lightly so he can nod your head up and down.

“Yeah, good girl.” He states, chuckling when you nuzzle into his hand. “Gonna knock you up and put a ring on your finger in no time.”

more of price and medic! reader here.

thank you for reading! beta-read by cutiepie @houndofllove <333

masterlist. dividers by my lovely letta.

#I’M SICK #fucking shoot me #I NEED HIM #wai RBs #wai recs

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dreamingofaizawa · 2 months ago

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baby trap anthology | of your own longing

18+ SMUT | DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT —baby trapping, heavy noncon/dubcon elements, stalking, kidnapping, and other morally reprehensible behaviour

when your need grows teeth | John Price dangle on the leash | Simon Riley straw house, straw dog | Johnny MacTavish third hour of the night | Kyle Garrick

POLY141 Ghoap Reader

PINTEREST BOARD • AO3 LINK

#tbr list #I’m gonna reeeead this laterrrrr

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dreamingofaizawa · 2 months ago

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It’s my birthday :DDD I got spoiled by my coworker today I love her a lot

#birthday #stfu wai #it’s been a good day #Yeah I worked but it’s like half my fault #I didn’t request for an off day #oh wells #it was a peaceful with day anyways #going out to dinner tomorrow with the family so

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dreamingofaizawa · 2 months ago

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Violent Tendencies - Scattered

Sheriff! John Price x AFAB! Fem! Reader

~Small Town AU~

***This piece contains DARK SEXUAL CONTENT. If the warnings make you uncomfortable, LEAVE. If you are under the age of 18, GET OUT***

Warnings: References to and mentions of noncon/rape, noncon recording, kidnapping. Detailed descriptions of trauma, dissociation?, healing

Word Count: 3.1k

Author's Note: I'm back from vacation!!!! And now I continue the storyline :D I did miss working on this ngl, my little passion project that was meant to be a one-shot. Anywho, please heed all warnings and know your own limits <3

Series Masterlist

Part One Here - Part Seventeen coming soon

Enjoy!

***

You hope he’s alright. Desperately, you hope John is okay once he watches the recording you’re sure they’ve found. There isn’t a lot else they’d need him to come in for, especially regarding that fucking house.

You hope he doesn’t start to look at you differently.

Especially since you already look at yourself differently.

It’s something you’ve never experienced before. You’ve beaten people to the brink of death. You’ve killed a man in cold blood. You’ve broken people’s bones and dislocated joints and killed. Through it all you’ve never looked in the mirror and seen someone else in your body.

Disgust is an emotion you’re becoming intimately familiar with, seeing your body slowly heal over the days but you can still feel him. The purples are fading into putrid greens and yellows, but you can almost see his hands all over you. Every time you see your reflection Graves is behind you in the mirror, rough twisted hands clawing at your body, vile grin and ice cold eyes trained on you from over your shoulder.

Nausea is a constant. You haven’t been able to keep much down, despite how simple you keep your meals. Despite being out of that hell hole for a week.

You feel different. Another woman stands in the mirror, a woman scarred and ruined, seams along her joints pulled loose and stuffing leaking out at every popped stitch. It’s like your body has separated from your soul, watching the creature in the mirror as she heals without you. Two separate entities warring for dominance. Your soul desperately wants to lash out, wants to sprint down to the basement and tear the punching bag to shreds while imagining Graves hanging in its place. Your body? It fears those stairs, fears the depths of the below because all you can see when you go down is that chair, the camera, and him with that bloody knife.

All you feel when you step through the doorway is panic. Your feet make the decision to bolt, your heart longing for the violence you’ve lived so long with, as if it’s trapped down in that bag you can’t reach.

You can’t sit in a chair straight-on anymore. Wooden ones especially. You’re just glad your home has none with armrests, since you’d been bound to one. It means you can sit sideways without the backrest piercing your spine and sending you into a spiral. John has been your rock through everything, comforting you when you broke down and held you when you were too tired to hold yourself. The morning after coming home, you’d panicked when he came up behind you to hold you. It only took him looking at you once to bring you back, but you still thrashed in his hold.

You’d both apologized profusely to each other, and you both clung until you passed out in bed.

Part of you feared being in the same house as him. You’re different. You’ve been changed. And you hate to admit it, but Graves got in your head with his words. He’s integrated himself into your mind, some sick and twisted imitation of your husband. He’s used John’s name for you, used Tempest as a moniker that’s reserved for John to use, and it’s fucked with your head. When you close your eyes and think too hard about it, you can see the barest similarities between the two. Blue eyes, raging temper, eerily similar taste in women. But that’s where the similarities end, and when you look at John you can separate them instantly.

Where John’s eyes are bright and electric, Graves’ were cold and dull. Where John’s temper is a raging storm, Graves’ is closer to a brisk wind. Nowhere near as dangerous or powerful as your husband, and nowhere near as passionate. They’re physically different too. Graves isn’t nearly as big as John, and it showed when you were able to knock him on his ass more than once. He’s lean where John is bulky, and his anger comes out in words more than action.

No, they’re nothing alike. And you have to remind yourself of that fact when you’re left alone. Even your nightmares know they’re two different people, don’t confuse the two when you’re reliving that hell. Sometimes the guilt tries to eat you alive, and you have to say it again so you’re not consumed. Remind yourself that this is exactly what Graves probably wanted, to get in your head and drive a wedge between your marriage.

The bell rings, and when you answer the door Celeste throws herself over you and holds you tight, cradles your head and babbles about being worried and happy you’re back. She pulls back to look at you, and her eyes tell you everything you need to know.

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back.” Yeah.

“Feels like I have. Come in.” The door is shut behind her and you both settle at the dining table. If she notices the way you sit sideways on the chair, she doesn’t show it. “Thanks for coming, Celeste.”

“Of course, babe. Always.” Being in her presence eases you, just a little. It’s good to have a friend, good to be talking to someone you don’t feel guilty looking at.

“Celeste…” Your voice cracks a little, and she reaches a hand out for you to grab. Breathe. “I feel so guilty. I feel like John doesn’t deserve this, deserve to be stuck married to someone that’s broken and can’t function anymore.” It’s been weighing on your mind ever since you got back, and the only thing that outweighed the stabbing shame was the desperation to have him beside you. This is what he wanted. Don’t let Graves have the last laugh.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that, babes. You’re not broken, you’re healing. And he’s not stuck with you. You know how I know? Because he can barely breathe without you. I saw him the day you went missing. He was a mess without you. I’ve never seen someone so distraught.” You’re sure he was. But now, what does he think? You’ve been ruined.

“But I’ve been…damaged. Graves he…he did things to me that I don’t know if I can recover from.” The admission makes your soul split in two. Her face falls, paling in the light of the kitchen.

“Wait, you mean he…” Her body trembles while her eyes flick down toward your legs, and you know she knows what you mean. You detach yourself for the next admission, not wanting to feel the fear again.

“Almost. He used his hands before he got that far, and the threat was there when he started taking off his pants.” Nothing can really prepare you for the horror on her face at the realization. It breaks your heart to see it, like you’re looking at yourself through her eyes. You’re grateful there’s no pity. Just fear and sadness. Tears fall down her cheeks, and she lunges off the chair to throw her arms around your shoulders.

“Oh my god. Oh my god I’m sorry, oh my fucking god that’s awful.” You cry with her when it all settles in, mourn the misery, feel the dread slowly fading into a sharp melancholy. When she’s run dry and you’re both reduced to sniffles, she pulls away and holds you at arm’s length.

“Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did. Does anyone else know?” You take a breath, speaking through small hiccups.

“Currently John is at the station with his deputies. They’ve found the recording. I’m sure they’re watching it as we speak.” She gasps, her hand covering her mouth while more tears fall.

“What the fuck. He recorded it?” You nod. “Well why the fuck are they watching it?” She’s bewildered, anger alongside the sorrow.

“Because I want them to know. I just can’t relive it, telling them everything that happened. I feel guilty for that too. It’s not going to be easy for them to witness.” Her shoulders sag, her expression shifting back to worry. “John may never look at me the same after watching it.” When you look her in the eyes, you think you see her heart shatter.

“He’ll still love you the same, babes. I know he will.” You’re not so sure.

“I just don’t know. I’m…different now, Celeste. I know I’m acting differently, I know I’m not the same as I was before.” Her eyebrows curl downwards, creasing her forehead with anger.

“Stop that. It’s not your fault that you’ve been hurt, and it’s not your fault that you’ve changed. Nobody expects you to just be okay, and it’s unfair that you expect yourself to recover so quickly. It’s been seven fucking days, and the fact that you’re even talking about this is a monumental step in the healing process. Don’t you dare discredit yourself because of your natural human emotions.”

Nobody expects you to just be okay. It’s not your fault. It sends a wave of crisp air into your lungs. It’s not something you’d ever thought about, not that you really had the time to think about things like that at all. You’ve been busy trying not to break down every other hour.

“Thank you, Celeste.”

“You don’t need to thank me, babes. I’m always going to be here for you. Just talk to your husband, damnit. He needs to know what you’re feeling, and he’s no mind reader.” She’s right. You nod, and get up to make something to eat, but the front door swings open and slams shut with more force than you’re used to hearing. John’s voice rings out through the house, fear and rage and sadness curling around the single name he calls out.

“Tempest.” He stomps into the kitchen and you don’t even get the chance to blink, let alone ask him what’s got him so worked up, before his arms crush you against his chest and he weeps. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner, I’m sorry I let you be taken. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry-”

“John!” He freezes when you pull back, barely able to put any kind of distance to get a look at him. He’s crying, tears soaking through his collar and sorrow painted over his face. His voice breaks when he wheezes out another apology.

“I’m sorry, my wife. I wasn’t there to save you.” Oh. Oh. He heard it, then, the way you begged his name out into the empty basement.

“You did save me, John.” More tears fall as he holds you.

“But not fast enough. I wasn’t there for you when you were crying all alone, when you were so strong to keep him from seeing you hurting. I wasn’t there.” Celeste’s words find their way into your mind as you see her slip out the door with a sad smile and a wave.

“It’s not your fault. None of it is. If you could have gotten to me faster, you would have. I know you would have. You still came, you found me, you saved me.” His eyes are red-rimmed, the blue dull and gray while he stares into your soul.

“Tempest…” You have to wrestle with his steel grip to get your hands on his face, but when you do you make sure he’s looking at you.

“You saved me, John.” You pour as much as you can into those four words, will him to listen because it’s true. He saved you. He saved you when you were on the brink of collapse, saved you when you were inches away from begging for death to claim you. “When I called for you, you were right there.” His eyes blow wide, tears still forming rivers down his face. His voice is shattered when he speaks.

“15 hours.” What?

“John?”

“15 hours and 37 minutes. He had you for 15 hours and 37 minutes.” Oh shit.

“You counted?” A ragged sob breaks through his chest.

“Of course I counted. Fuck I thought I lost you. I thought he’d buried you and I was so scared that I’d never see you again.” Oh... “But then we found you and I hadn’t even thought about everything that could be worse than death.” Oh. Your own tears are running wild, blurring your vision no matter how hard you blink them away. You’ve been worried about him looking at you differently, and this whole time he’s been beating himself up over the thought that you’ve been through something worse than death.

“Tell me you love me.”

“I love you. I love you so much. I love you to the end of days, I love you until we’re fossils in the earth.” From the very first day you met, the two of you had torn your hearts from your chest and presented them to each other on a silver platter, filling the basin and spilling blood over the edge while you traded hands. For twelve years you’ve been safe, steady and solid in the love you share.

Nothing strains love more than fear. Fear of loss, fear of pain, fear that something fundamental has changed between you. Despite everything you feared, and everything he feared, your love has not felt the sharp pull that tears kevlar to shreds. Your love has withstood the test of time, of fear, of distance. It makes everything else fade into background noise.

“And I love you. Nothing else matters, John. I love you.” His tears slow, the last few falling and leaving his eyes crystal clear. His chest still trembles, but his hands steady against your back. Slowly, he nods.

“Nothing else matters.” His hands are strong when they tug you close, and your skin lights on fire when his forehead touches yours. You can feel his breath on your face, he’s right there.

“Kiss your wife, John.” Flames engulf your whole body when your lips meet his. It’s gentle, hesitant, the way he barely leans into you, but you crave him. He groans low in his chest when you push into him, needing to feel him against you. Your husband, the man who would burn the whole damn world to save you from all your demons. He breathes life back into your shattered soul, fuels the pit of rage you’ve been desperately trying to light.

This is the first time you’ve kissed since you’d been taken. Since you'd come back. It’s a realization that has you clinging to him harder, has you holding him tighter. You can’t bear to separate, only wanting to breathe him in some more. More. Greed sinks her claws into you, and you wrap your arms around his neck just to keep him kissing you. Your husband. Your man. His fingers thread into your hair, dig into your scalp to keep you in place, the warmth of him beneath your body fuels your heart’s wild beat.

It takes a monumental effort to pull away from each other, but still you refuse to fully separate. Your breaths mingle together, holding each other tight while you let your body mold into his. Something clicks in your brain as you sit there, staring into his sapphire gaze and feeling nothing but the love that’s spanned over a decade.

“He wanted to pull us apart.” He wanted to rip John from your hands, wanted to hurt you so profoundly, change you so fundamentally, that he’d fall out of love with you and you’d be driven apart. It was going to be his revenge, for ruining his life he’d ruin your marriage. An eye for an eye.

“Don’t think of that bastard when I’m holding you. He’s dead, and you’re mine, and nothing in heaven or hell can take you from me.” A chill crawls down your spine, then your whole body floods with fire. Devotion courses through you like nothing you’ve felt before, and all you can do is kiss him again. He doesn’t protest, just clings to you and holds you like he’ll lose you all over again if he does. He’s strong beneath you when he grabs at your thighs and lifts, stands and walks you both up the stairs and straight to your bed. He settles his weight on top of you, nestling right into your chest and you notice how he presses his ear to your sternum.

He seems to relax when he hears your heart thumping against your ribs. It’s a feeling you’re familiar with. You remember doing much of the same a little while after you’d buried Celeste’s stalker problem. All you do is hold him, wrap your arms around his shoulders and hook your legs around his hips to keep him glued to you. For the first time in a week, you feel whole again. You feel like your soul has fused with your body once again, you feel like you’re finally starting to heal.

“John?” He hums into your chest, squeezes you tight and nestles deeper into you. He may be falling asleep. But there’s something you need to get off your chest. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to have sex again. It could be months.” It’s just one of the many things Graves has fucked with in your mind. Part of you is stuck on the notion that John would leave you without the intimacy, but saying it out loud makes it sound incredibly stupid. His head lifts and he just stares, blinking at you like you’d said the dumbest shit he’s ever heard in his life. Then he laughs. His chest and belly rumble with it, and it makes your face heat from embarrassment. “Hey! Don’t fucking laugh at me, damnit. I’m trying to be serious!” He’s in shambles now, rolling off of you so he can wipe his eyes. It takes a solid couple minutes for him to calm himself, and when he does he leans over to press a kiss to your pouting lips.

“I don’t love you for the sex, Tempest. If we never had sex again I’d still love you the same. Be a damn shame, though.” You roll your eyes.

“Oh my fucking god. You’re insufferable, you know that?” He chuckles again, settles into your side and kisses at your cheek softly.

“You love me.” Yeah, you really do. You huff, roll your eyes again. But you tuck yourself into his chest and press a kiss to his jaw.

“That I do, John Price.” His palm cradles your cheek, tugging your gaze to meet his.

“My beautiful wife.” The softness in his eyes has you melting into him. There’s so much love in his expression you’re suddenly finding it hard to breathe while your heart swells.

“No more blaming ourselves, John. One man holds all responsibility for this. He’s dead now, and he can’t hurt us anymore.” You say it for the both of you. Saying it out loud helps solidify the notion in your brain, helps ebb the guilt from your chest. You hope it helps with his, too. All responsibility lies in a grave with one person.

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

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dreamingofaizawa · 2 months ago

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Okay but John Price who isn't in the mafia, he's mafia adjacent- maybe he's a contract killer or something. His latest target is some fat, balding politician who is in cahoots with the criminal underworld. It would have been an easy job if it weren't for you, his daughter.

As soon as Price lays eyes on you, the plan changes. With your father out of the picture there will be nobody to keep you safe, and he knows that you won't trust him on principle. But that's alright, nothing he can't fix...

So instead of offing the politician, he exposes him. He gets him on trial and makes sure to comfort you through the proceedings. Sits with you in the audience each day, making sure you've eaten and got home safe.

And if there happens to be an attack that kills your father one day as he takes the stand, that's alright. Price will shepard you to safety. He'll offer to look after you until they can ensure nobody is wanting to kill you, as well. Never can be too safe.

Of course, you'd have no idea that he arranged it all from the beginning. You'd only know that he was a constant, protective presence through the nightmare you'd found yourself living in. And if you did somehow find out and try to escape?

Well, Price has Simon for that. The big ghost man would be more than delighted to frighten you back to John's waiting arms. Because "what a silly girl, trying to run like that. Shh birdie, you're safe now. I've got you, yeah? I'll always be here to keep you safe."

#yeah I’m frothing at the mouth rn #RABID #wai rbs

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dreamingofaizawa · 2 months ago

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johnny's best friend

Cw: implied but nondescriptive sex scene, mild misunderstanding. Authors Note: I spent a very unreasonable amount of time on this. F!reader X John price

John didn’t mean for it to happen, at least not like this.

Every deployment there is at least one story where Soap mentions her, his lifelong best friend from back home, The quick witted, smart mouthed woman he keeps so close. Everyone by this point had gotten used to this character in every tale from his high school days or childhood memories. She always sounded so funny, clever, clearly able to keep MacTavish on his toes. But it was just that, stories until it wasn’t.

_______________

John was sitting alone drinking his tea, trying to get a few moments of quiet in the morning before the usual chaos of the day unfolded. Johnny sat next to him, typically chatty like a bird, he was calmer in the early hours of the morning.

“Mornin’ Sergeant” John grunted, not cold, not friendly, just John. The team was good enough mates at this point to understand the difference between John’s usual gruffness and genuine irritation.

“Aye, morning sir.” Soap says leaning his back against the chair, letting his shoulders relax before the day truly began. A beat of silence before he spoke again.

“Lass is comin up this weekend to see mine and Simon’s new house” he informed, John was a smart man, that was an invitation. In truth John had little interest in meeting the sergeant’s little friends, he didn’t think he could handle yet another 20 something year old kid making internet references he didn’t understand.

“Yeah?” John asks, trying to sound at least somewhat interested before he turns down the coming invitation flatly in favor of sitting in his armchair and watching the Telly over the weekend.

“Yeah, we’re going to cook, drink, Kyle’s comin'.” Soap added, Johnny had this special way of making everyone do exactly what he wanted at any given moment with just the right words. His best mates and alcohol? Well you can’t really turn that down even if you kind of want to.

John let out a defeated sigh

“What time?”

________________

The days that followed were no different than any other day on base, John thought about his job, important and vital. He thought about his hobbies fishing and whisky collecting. And he thought about his desire to get out of going to the Riley/MacTavish house this weekend, he could just not go but then he’d have to endure Soap’s guilt tripping and Simon’s cold glares for bumming out his boyfriend, god they were easier to deal with separately than together.

Nevertheless, John showed up Friday evening. He walked into the white house, case of beer in hand. His entrance was followed by a string of “hey captain” from Gaz, a “price!” From Soap who’s no doubt already been drinking and a grunt from Ghost.

“Yeah, yeah.” John waved off the group while heading to the kitchen to set down the case of alcohol when he saw her. He looked up as she entered from the hallway, dear god.

“Cap, this is the lil shit herself.” Soap announced, she smiled, pretty smile. Fuck.

“Nice to meet you.” The captain smiled at the woman, young, beautiful. The kind of pretty that knocks the wind out of you and leaves you wondering if maybe one kid wouldn’t hurt.

“Yeah, you too.” She smiled again, sat next to Johnny and he was left wondering how the actual hell soap somehow managed to convince that beautiful creature to not only be but to stay friends with him for so many years.

Truly it wasn’t but half an hour before John had his answer to that burning question.

“Lass, get daddy another beer.”

“Ewww Johnathan! Go fuck yerself!”

Giggling erupted from both of them, she’s him but if he were gorgeous and interesting. John sat with Gaz on the couch, drinking, while Simon cooked in the kitchen and Johnny annoyed the woman he seemed to share a brain link with.

“Too bad she doesn’t work with us, people don’t tell you to shut up enough.” As soon as the words left his mouth he could see her amused stare. John didn't consider himself a man of wants; he lived alone, unmarried, without family, all by choice. But that didn't mean he never indulged on occasion. And Mary, mother of god if she looks at him like that again his thoughts are going to go sideways fast.

“You know I like you.” The little thing wags her finger towards him, teasing mostly to playfully irritate Johnny.

Throughout the night John watched her, the way she walked, the way she spoke, the way she smiled and laughed. John has a lot of self control, he’s spent years denying himself things he wants because he’s simply just too busy, gone too often, too old. But after the drinks had been flowing, he found himself crossing the living room and sitting next to her on one of the couches.

“Johnny talks about you a lot,” he said trying to make conversation, he does not get nervous easily working the job he does and living the life He’s led, he has pretty much gotten rid of nerves altogether but the bird is fucking pretty.

“Yeah, talks about you too.” She hums, she’s not sober, none of them were, but out of the group the two of them had probably drank the least.

“How long you stayin for?” Making pleasant small talk has never been his strong suit, but all things considered. He figured he was doing Okay.

“A week or so.” Her sweet voice rang out. As they talked, the conversation got less formal, less awkward, John learned what she did for work, heard snippets from her and Johnny's childhood he'd already heard twice over from Soap. And listened as she spoke about music and art. But it was her recent breakup that really caught his attention.

“Hmm sounds like he didn’t deserve you.” John commented, a passing thought that just slipped past his lips. She looked at him, she smiled.

“Are you flirting with me, John?” he was, he wasn’t sure how Johnny would feel about that if he was well…sober but she didn’t seem like she was complaining.

“I am.” He spoke calmly, truthfully. He looked at her through his alcohol fueled haze.

“Oh good I was worried I was imagining it” she giggled, he wondered just how mad he thought soap would be if he took the woman who was practically his sister upstairs.

As the conversation continued, he found himself actually unable to shake that thought, found himself considering it. He had ultimately decided that that was not the best idea, to fuck your sergeants, best friend in the guest bedroom of his new house. That was until she announced she was going to turn in, he was going to tell her a polite good night, he really was but then she looked at him the way she did, the pressed lips and eyes gesturing to the staircase, that “aren’t you going to come?” Kind of look.

The next thing he knew he had her pressed up against the wall, his lips exploring wherever he could get them, doing his best to fiddle with the lock on the door given how poor his hand eye coordination was at the moment.

He remembers the way her skin felt, the way she smelled, the noises she made. John was not a man who allowed himself much, but she was not a woman that you just get off to, not one who deserved to simply be pleased, she was the kind of woman that you worship like your life depends on it so he did. Soon the worry of what his brother in arms would feel about the situation faded. The only thought occupying his brain was the woman mewling and writhing beneath him.

_____________

When he woke in the morning John looked at the woman slowly blinking awake. To describe the night they shared as anything but fantastic would be a gross understatement, the kind of sex you have that turns into a relationship.

“Hi”

Soft, quiet, the calm before the storm that was Johnathan Ryan MacTavish. The walk of shame if you could call it that was simply just two people walking to the kitchen after spending a drunken night at a friend's.

Of course, the unfortunate part was they couldn’t get away with that, not with Johnny present.

“Price, I didn’t realize you spent the night…I was so…” he looked from the girl to John, back to that pretty thing. Soap has always been a bit of a drama queen.

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKIN KIDDING ME!”

John didn’t necessarily feel guilty per se, he’s a grown man, she’s a grown woman and none of them have ever exactly been known for their strong moral compasses.

“Oh relax, Johnny!”

The little bird barked at him, it would’ve been very amusing had it not been for the younger man’s face turning a particularly concerning shade of red.

“Relax! That’s muh fucking boss, Bonnie!” Once you get soap started he doesn’t stop. Ghost looked apologetic immediately, such a calm man to be dating such an immature reactionary kid.

Neither she nor John could get a word in before he began again. It felt like when he was a boy and his father used to yell for any small thing, a grown man of 38 years old being yelled at by his own subordinate.

“He’s at least a decade older than you! Are you insane!” This went on for a while, Johnny asking a question, no one answering simply because he would just start three seconds later with another one.

“Johnny.” He tried, using his captain voice (or dad voice if we’re telling the truth) but Soap wasn’t stopping. If it were any other person, any other situation, John would not just sit there and take that, but it’s soap.

“Oh Haud yer weesht!”

You know Johnny is upset when he starts yelling in Scottish slang no one but him even understands.

“Okay, okay…let’s calm.”

Simon held his hands in the air, a silent look to his boyfriend, a cue that it was time to stop talking. Johnny to his credit did stop talking.

“John, why don’t you go home.” it wasn’t a demand but rather a silent plea to let Simon deal with his partner, he knew that John would only take that for so long and the last thing they needed when everyone was hungover and running on high emotions was for a fist fight to happen.

“Yeah, yeah alright”

_________________

The texting began that afternoon, John while not old is not a spring chicken and texting anything but “ok” and a thumbs up emoji embarrassingly takes a small bit of effort from him.

“Hey sorry I got you in trouble with the boss.” An attempt at a joke, though he understood to a point why Johnny was upset.

She is not a woman afraid to be straight up or genuine, this much has been obvious for even the small amount of time he’s known her but even still the immediate and multiple replies still made him feel like a high school age boy with the attention of a pretty girl.

“He’s fine.”

“Don't worry about it, you did nothing wrong.”

“I had fun :)”

She’s technically correct, he did nothing wrong, he didn’t ask how the tension was on her end, felt it best to let her tell him if It was something to write home about.

“Yeah me too, love.”

The week drudged on, the weekend came and went and yet rather than spending it like usual, smoking while watching the Telly he instead found himself texting the little birdie. The work week however was not as peaceful, not quite as fun either.

Johnny was obviously not over it in simply a matter of days, in order to function like a team they have to function like they are a goddamn team. This gets incredibly difficult when your sergeant hardly says more than two words to you the entire week that aren’t “yes, sir” and “no sir.”

John honestly doesn’t understand how Ghost willingly puts up with him at home.

“MacTavish.” John spoke Thursday afternoon, prepared to give an order to a man who is, yes, a friend, but also whom he is in charge of, the silence he could handle the attitude? Not so much.

“Yes sir?” Johnny’s words were phrased as a question, but the unmistakable irritation written on his expression was not only pissing John off but making working conditions feel unnecessarily hostile.

The orders were given, the interaction over. By the end of the day. The team all having had plenty to do that day were rightfully tired, John texting his bird, Johnny giving him a glare from across the room. Annoying but not unbearable, it makes sense really why “no fraternizing” rules exist though none of them have ever really listened to orders but it does in fact make sense.

______________

Friday morning John barely walked into the door of his office before Simon was there, mediation no doubt.

“What is it?” A tired sigh left the older man looking over to the masked giant shutting the door to his office.

“Talked to Johnny.” John knew it probably wasn’t work related when Simon shut the door but a guy can hope for some level of professionalism.

“Mmhm” he sat at his desk flipping through the paperwork that all but consumed his life at any given moment.

“I just think you need to talk to him.” He doesn’t say much more, he’s not the talker of the group by any stretch of the word.

John sighs as Ghost leaves. Bloody ridiculous.

Then for the first time that morning, he checked his phone. Birdie.

“Have a good day.” He wasn’t in love with the girl, he’d barely known her a week but dammit having a woman check on him for no other reason than a desire to speak to him. That does things to a guy.

Tea, he needed some caffeine, maybe a cigar. John Made his way through the base with his typical quickness. And of fucking course there was soap. As soon as he walked into the doorway.

“Cap”

“Soap”

The quiet stare off, each waiting for the other to speak.

“My office, ten minutes” wasn't up for debate, nor a question of whether he wanted to or not. Johnny would be in his office in ten minutes. And with that, he made his tea.

________________

As Johnny sat in his office the quiet tension between them filled the room.

“Well?” John asked, a very real demand to let it out, Johnny had been allowed to effectively pout for the last week, John knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t make a scene at work.

“She’s basically my sister.” He muttered

“I’m aware.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“She’s grown, I don’t have to ask anyone but most definitely not you.”

They stare for a moment, the issue was neither one of them was entirely wrong. They both knew it but put two bulls in a room together and China is certainly going to be broken.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen…at least not like this.”

“You were out of line messing with someone so close to me like she doesn’t matter.” Now that comment from soap wasn’t going to stand, John may have had his fair share of little bar flings, soap being used to this fact but they are like brothers, a team. John would never intentionally hurt a woman Johnny loves so much.

“I’m not messing with her, I’d like to take her out but I don’t want to keep getting lip from you about it.”

Silence, Johnny' s face went from one of quiet rage to one of silent understanding.

“You don’t do that.”

“Not usually, No.”

________________

Soap’s blessing, as reluctant as it was, gave the two space to explore what they chose without fear of a Scottish crash out. At first John and his little lady saw each other sparingly, she went home after a few weeks and it was simply late night phone calls and “I miss you” texts. But the woman being who she was with the determination she had, moved to England, to “be closer to Johnny.” A blatant lie to cover up the fact that she moved a very considerable distance for a man.

Johnny was still fussy about the two at first but he grew used to it, going over to the hen's house and there was John, answering the door, calling his best friend to complain about work and there his boss was; coughing like someone’s father in her bathroom.

He may have not loved it but John treated her well, clearly made her happy. The bird likes to recount the tale of the day they got engaged as if it were a horror movie told from Johnny's perspective “and without warning Johnny was blindsided by the evil old man stealing away his bestie! The horror!” The reason for the joke was the pure look of panic on Johnny's face when John asked her to marry him.

The seasons changed, the years passed, and the second deployment passed with her heavily pregnant.

Johnny while he tried pulling the “I can’t believe you left your wife to fend for herself.”

Was immediately met with

“Your best friend's husband is deployed and you’re not even there to help her through it, a terrible friend really.”

The hostility turned to jokes, new stories about John’s wife started popping into conversations, the same crazy little thing she had always been.

_____________

The group sat peacefully in the Price family living room, watching footy and each taking turns holding the new baby, Gaz making considerable effort to hold the little girl more than everyone else, food had been ate, the Telly had been yelled at, now the quiet conversation of five of the best friends filled the room. Well, it was peaceful until Johnny.

“Do you guys remember when you defiled my brand new guest bedroom?”

“Shut up, Johnny.”

CoD Masterlist

#yes #a million times yes #fucking love him

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