#captain jonathan price x reader

[chamomiletealeaf]

Price fucking you over the table but he positions you so your clit rubs against the corner just right every time he thrusts into you.

The pressure and friction is so good you can't help but squirt all over him, yourself, and the table.

[joapmactavish]

i will be accepting asks / requests for writing when it comes to cod characters ! specifically 141 (price, soap, gaz, ghost) and los vaqueros (alejandro, rudy) !!

the ask button on my profile is available!

I WILL NOT WRITE

- p3dophilia

- “SLAVE PLAY” or anything revolving play with race

there is so negotiating these things as i simply find them to be disgusting behaviors! respect my opinions/morals please.

if anything else bothers me i will simply reply that i will not write it! but i am 100% fine with writing smut/nsfw alongside sfw/comfort/angst!

[lyeofhell]

you know John’s petty as hell. like no one that controlling and obsessed with caretaking is normal. if you unbuckle your own seatbelt and open your own door before he can jump outta the driver’s seat and do it, he’ll run around the car and shut the door back in your face just so he can open it for you djskdskd

[bunnys-kisses]

"if you don't shut up. i'm going to shut you up." was a common phrase that captain jonathan price would often say to you. inconsolable brat. he had just gotten home, can a man not relax in his own home. you stood there with your arms crossed. you looked almost cute when you were angry, you looked like you could take him. maybe you could take his cock, but never in a fight. no matter how much he smoked and how angry you got, price could easily keep you from doing too much damage. he eyed you up and down and said, "don't give me that look. you'll get lines." his words were bordered by poison.

a drag from his cigar before he grabbed you by the arm to pull you into his lap. you were whining against about him smoking in the house. you had no room to talk missy, you were the spouse of breadwinner. you hadn't work since you got 'fire' from your job right before your wedding. and, you had been looking into another job. but nowhere is hiring in the town you live. so keep that damn trap shut. let the man of the house do as he please. he'd even be petty and knock some ash from his smoke and onto the hardwood floor. "clean it up, love or i'll make ya lick it up." john was domineering, aggressive to a fault.

but yet you stay firm on your stance. you hated the lingering scent of smoke that forced you to open most of the windows the next morning. and john had just enough of it. those cheap sleeping shorts you wore were now on the floor, split down the seam. "stupid whores don't need these." he added as the panties became scrap fabric in john's grip. he was soon fucking you, that big fat cock of his. as he held you by the throat. you made sharp noises as the air got restricted. he wouldn't bruise you up, he wasn't a monster. but his monster-like cock was already bruising your poor little cervix. be hard to get your own job when you're all fat with john's kid. but all in due time. he continued to hold your throat and fuck you with the pace of a stallion. even at his age, price was far from feeling his age. he could keep up with a cock-hungry dog like you. he squeezed a little tighter and heard you choke a little. he groaned against your skin. it only made it hotter when you claws at him and whimpered.

"that's it. that'll shut ya up." before he gave you a messy kiss on the lips. <3

a/n: "and what do we say, bunny?" "sorry women."

[peachetteprice]

42-year-old John Price;

Who gets a cramp in his bottom when he's knee-deep inside you and can't keep his grunting at bay. You find it hilarious how he instantly seizes up and mutters that he needs a minute, panting heavier than he did when he was pounding away at your poor cunt, bless him.

Your sweet John, who lets out an anguished whine and a hushed 'Christ on Earth', as he pulls from inside of you, cock turgid, pulsing and slick with the scent of your mingled cum, who stays on all fours all throughout the duration of the cramp, huffing through flared nostrils, occasionally relinquishing one hand from the mattress to clutch his left buttock (it's always the left buttock, never the right), exclaiming 'I'm not the man I used to be, love,' which, in any other regard would have been downright upsetting, but is ultimately what sends you into a fit of laughter.

And, when the muscle finally relaxes, and you give it a massage to make sure it's loose, pliable and ready for action again - dare a smack - he crawls back over the top of you, gives his cock a light pump or two to ensure the peak of its stiffness before sinking it back into your cunt, with a little more vigour, this time, thanks to the mid-coitus breather (that he later suggests should be mandatory on these nights, for the sake of his old bones), praying that he won't seize up again just before he's about to spill himself inside of you.

| Masterlist |

[eccentricallygothic]

| Older |

Pairing: Boyfriend's Dad!John Price | Son's Girlfriend!You.

Description: Guys your age just aren’t the same.

Warning(s): Infidelity, age gap, Cap being a badass, teasing, thumb sucking, stuffie riding, Daddy kink, Cap smokes, allusions to biting, little boob play, lowkey intimidation kink bc it's me, power imbalance-ish. MDNI. 

Note: I, infact, am not sorry. I guess the son and Reader are in college/uni? Ps, Barry Sloane is becoming an obsession. HELP!  

MASTERLIST

. . . 

It wasn't supposed to happen and you didn't mean for it to.

Not at first, anyways. 

But your boyfriend's good natured, authoritative, brave and yet mysterious dad was always so calm and cool and laid-back with a cigarette dangling between his lips and his thick maney arms and tattoos that often hid under his shirts. He always knew what to say and what to do. Nothing was a big deal to him and he always had your boyfriend's back in the most warm and wholesome way. He was a man who understood how to take care of things and he knew everything and you were convinced there was not a problem he didn't know his way around.

At first it was curious glances on your part, then it was friendly and innocent grazes on his. It moved onto lasting looks and then longing touches. The two of you never said a word, though. No. There was no address, no discussion. Just a chilly day when you had been a little cold and your boyfriend hadn't been home. 

Class had been a little too upsetting and your boyish partner had been too caught up in his own worries. You had been in need of comfort and some big love and John had been your knight in shining armor. He had come around looking for his son in that truck of his, sensed your distress, sat beside you and reassured you like no one had ever before. His gentle voice and careful caressing was something you'd never forget. However, your other memories of that day were foggy, you were not sure whether it was out of how small your mind had become or due to the burning guilt of what it had started. But one thing had led to another and one moment you were nuzzling into his warm arms, then your soft cheek was rubbing against his beard, next your noses were touching and then your lips were on each other’s, his mustache tickling your skin as he had went about exploring you with his scarred manly hands. So on and so forth, it hadn't stopped from that day on.

Time was against the two of you and every minute was valuable. 

But that didn't stop the Captain from being an absolute tease who often brought tears to your eyes. 

Like he was doing right now. 

“Daddy, please…” You whined as you rocked yourself harder on the soft toy, your baby blue dress bunching on your thighs that were covered in his bite marks -thank God your boyfriend was out of town on a school errand- as your hair fell about your face. “Hnng…” Your hips ached a little from the strain you were putting on them but the heat scorching your loins was way too compulsive for you to even think about stopping. 

John's heavy form was relaxed against the headboard as he lazily took another drag of his cigarette, cool eyes watching you almost casually. “What is it, babygirl?” You whined at the name he used and how the baritone of his voice drilled into your soul as he did so, causing for more slick gush out of you as a result. “Hm?” Your pussy was so puffy and needy. 

“Need you, Daddy, please!” You cried out your plea, feeling yourself on the verge of tears. 

“You do?” You vigorously nodded to his raised eyebrow. John snorted before tilting his head to one side and shrugging. “I don't know, baby” you pouted at his words, gulping a thick bile down your parched throat. Your lips were so dry. “Mr. Octs looks quite cozy tucked in between your pretty little thighs” it didn't matter what you looked like, he had a way of always making you feel like the smallest most precious thing alive. 

“But Daddy!” Your protest transformed into a moan midway.

The soldier exhaled a white cloud of eye watering smoke, his eyes squinting as he did so. “Aw,” he chuckled, leaning forward to finger your hair away so he could look at you better. “But what, precious?” His eyes darkly flickered down to your flushed lips and he connected the poisonous stick to his lips again, its lit end glowing a bright amber as he did so. 

“W- Want you!” You were dangerously close but it wasn't enough. “Want you o- only!” You needed him most, always. 

“You do?” He feigned surprise as his voice strained due to how he pushed the cloudy venom into his lungs.

“Yes!” You couldn't believe it. You were doing a hell of a job at showing him what he appeared to be dubious about. He was too mean. But that was exactly what you loved so much about him; the perfect mix of strict and soft.

John shrugged. “I don't believe you.” 

Your eyes widened. “Please!” Your voice became a little too agitated and the man looked at you a bit dangerous now. 

One of his eyebrows raised. “Please… what?” 

Your pussy clenched. God. He was too much. Your chest that spilled over the neckline because of how he had pulled your dress down ached from how it was heaving. “Please, D- Daddy…” A satisfied half smile quirked one side of his mouth up. “Please, n- need you…”

“Yeah?” He cupped one side of your face and collected the half tear that threatened to trickle down your face. 

It was a sign. You must show him. Daddy needed to be earned.

So you obediently wrapped your lips around the thumb he pushed in your mouth after tracing its shape with his rough thumb pad, exhaling through his nose as his eyes squinted again and the sight made you moan. You felt your cheeks hollow as your lips made an embarrassingly loud squeaking sound but you were way too far gone. 

“Oh, baby” John chuckled as he looked down at how you were animalistically grinding against the plushie. Your knees were getting tired and you were desperate. You needed him to lay you down or bend you over or put you on your side and take you until you were full and sore from his girth. “You are drowning Mr. Octs down there” his dirty words both added to the heat in your cheeks and between your legs. You moaned out loud and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. 

“Pweeee—” you tried to plead but his thumb alone was too much for you. You were just a little girl after all. You gagged. 

“Is that how you'll suck me dry, baby? You will be good like that for me?” He watched your glittery lip gloss coat his digit as he took a small suck of his dying cigarette. You hoped with everything you had for him not to light a new one. You eagerly nodded. “Gonna be good for your Daddy?” You meweled out a yes, feeling a cold droplet of sweat trickle down the side of your face.

“Mmm” he snuffed out the cigarette in the glittery ashtray that you had bought for him in secret and hid in your boyfriend's presence -since he didn't smoke and neither did you- like your life depended on it. “And how would you like Daddy to be good to you?” The remainder of the smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke.

“Nnng” John pumped his thumb in and out of your lips now. You settled the plushie in a slightly different position so you could free one hand. “Dada~” you lisped out through his digit as you cupped your pussy before moving to your ass and squeezing it before giving yourself a light spank, the twinge of pain bringing you to your orgasm and you threw your head back, feeling your thighs violently shake as you rubbed your cunt hot on Mr. Octs' belly, feeling your insides boil over with the sweet turbulent pleasure.

“Good girl,” the Captain praised as he unplugged your mouth to shrug his flannel off. “You did such a good job for Daddy” your hands desperately darted to your boobs as you squeezed them and pinched the nipples to show him how you wanted them to be treated. Although you knew right then that John would do better and more. He always did. It was the reason why you betrayed your loving boyfriend the way you did. “Now lay back for Daddy and let him take care of you.”

You obeyed but your mouth began to run from the sensitivity and need. “I— Daddy— I—”

“Hey,” the old(er) man pushed you further down with one of your boobs and then crawled over you like a vulture. “Shut up” he softened the blow of his words with a soft kiss, making your upper lip tickled with his bushy mustache. “I got this” he knew you had nothing valuable to say. Your mind just ran too fast sometimes. Fortunately, you had your boyfriend's dad to take the weight off your shoulders. “I got you.” 

. . . 

I appreciate feedback, reblogs and thots. Let's cry about our Daddy together <3 

[spurbleu]

oldman!price x reader angsty (?) drabble

‧︎✳︎༚︎‧︎⁎︎°︎

age leaves john price in tantrum.

he despises what it’s done to his body. the creak in his knees when he walks, the strain in his shoulder when he reaches across the table. steam engine, ironclad and coal hot, neglected the rust on the belly of its stirrups. adopted a sudden fragility he cannot stand.

takes a literal force of nature to get him to retire, and he grieves it like a father. it, in all honesty, was one. taught him how to shoot straight, how to hold his men, how to be without feeling like he’s an imposter in his own skin. forced him to grow up- which is ironically exactly what ended their alliance.

nursed whiskeys, fattened ice kissing the base. smoked like somehow- fossilized in ligero- he’d find his youth again. blistered under reluctant mortality, indulged in fatal vices because if anything is putting him in the grave it’s a gun or a cigar.

a pot never boils watched, yet you stay at your designated post by the doorway while he broods (he’s a dramatic at heart), storm clouds stamped on the collapse of his shoulders.

if you were one of his soldiers, you let him fester.

but you were his wife.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t aged yourself, silver linings sprouting from your scalp, sun spots and bleached knuckles. even so, you found time to pick up his medications, comb through amateur food blogs for gut health and bone pain, roll the aches out of his shoulder before bed. you were kind- and it was insulting.

spitfire catching on the burs of his muttonchops- unfamiliar with dependence. he was a captain for Christ’s sake- alloy lighthouse, built by cement and sheer fucking will. he didn’t need to be hand fed vitamin C and dragged to yoga class. he pitched barbed wire, dug his shallow trench and intended lay in it.

until, one evening, thunder strikes him out of dewy acrimony. he clambers up the stairs, musk of tobacco and spite plants a grimy boot in the oak. he glances over the railing, and stills.

bathroom door, cutting swaddled atmosphere with thin bisque, a pyramid down the center of the hall that created the illusion of darker corners. centered in the odd, domestic scaffolding was you- shower damp and concentrated.

it was like watching a bird preen feathers. tugging at the sags, yanking at the silvers, skin pitching at the nostril and eyes narrowing into thin keyways. and if he squinted, sniper accuracy rendered tears. sallow river bed on your flushed cheeks, clumped lashes, a frown that broke hearts.

“you’re never struggling alone, John,” you had said one evening, when he had been foolishly apathetic, “i’ll make sure of that.”

he hadn’t said anything.

guilt squirms at the base of his neck. the stranger named comfort that swelled within your embrace unnerved him so much he had forgotten to introduce himself. and now, milking moonlit lighting, with a wife who thought he was hiding from her, he called himself what he had never been as a soldier.

a coward.

you were making tea the next morning, windows surrendering a warmth when the day was still docile. it was while you were humming that your husband, sneaky bastard, folds you into the plush of his chest, drowsy lips dragging on the cusp of your shoulder.

“you always look so beautiful in the mornin, darlin.”

and it was true. you’ve never looked better to the old man.

[duck-a-doodle]

COD IMAGINES

TACTICAL BUDDLE BUG 4/4

Chapters 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

TF141!reader x 141

WARNING: Angst, Death, Comfort

A/N: I could not think of any other way for Ghost to accept your hug. I apologise for the trauma in advance. :'-)

Masterlist

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

The most serious member of the 141 is secretly a very affectionate person.

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

The mission was rough, one that pulled you under and dragged your bloodied knees through dirt and gravel.

It was a ground search and rescue operation which lasted for weeks on end, and one which tested the limits of the human body, bending your sanity to the brink of a clean snap.

The streets were coloured in violence, and the grounds were a tangle of rubble, vehicle parts and severed bodies.

Wherever you stepped, there would lay a limb or a head, of which you could no longer tell if they belonged to an enemy or hostage. It no longer mattered, not when your boots must travel the roads of a thousand stripped souls.

You saved several hostages from the scene, but there was one that you know would haunt you til the end of your days.

It was a little girl. Small, young, with her favourite doll that was caked with remnants of dirt and coagulated blood, the latter of which should never have made its mark upon such a pure soul.

You had to coax her to climb down from the roof, to bring her to safety, and you had failed to realise that you were not the only one to notice the child.

A bullet tore through her chest, and another through her side, bringing her down from the roof, soft and limp into your arms.

Not every hostage can be saved. Not every enemy will be found. Ghost, who buried the young girl you in the aftermath, had watched you ruin every unfriendly sight with a fury unmatched.

He witnessed the angry flames that swallowed up every dead man as you pulled them straight down to hell with you.

Your body had moved blindly when you heard the roaring sound of your captain's orders to return to the plane.

Gaz was adjacent to you, resting quietly while Johnny sat on your other side, watching you carefully; you refused to look at him, knowing that his eyes would look right through you.

The captain said nothing, and Ghost, who propped himself opposite to where you were, was unreadable.

There was no banter, no questions, and only a silent prayer remained.

You cannot remember whose hands have rested on your arms or shoulders in an attempt to calm you; all you recall was the chill and bile that rised from within you. You could not remember the debriefing that felt like seconds but passed like hours.

You could not remember how you got back. Not how you got into your fresh clothes, not how your wounds — once bloody and inflamed — were now patched, and not how you found yourself standing at Ghost's door, waiting.

Why were you there? What were you waiting for? And as soon as the question arose, the answer made itself clear; because of all people, he would know.

As if sensing a presence, the room opened with a click, and Ghost appeared in the doorway, taking a moment to register your presence. He moved to one side. Stepping in silently, the door closed shut behind you, enclosing you in a box of white noise.

He stood before you, saying nothing. He did not need to say anything. In fact, he need not even ask. He simply knew.

"You did what you could."

The reality of his words were a dagger to your beating chest. You lived. You lived, and you were grateful. But you lived at a cost, with the price of blood on your hands.

You took one step. Then another. And Ghost, who did not anticipate what you were about to do, stilled as you wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight.

Fingers tangled tight into the fabric of his shirt, and you press your face deep into his body, seeking — begging — for a reprieve. The darkness was a comfort. He was a comfort.

For once, you want to feel a life that you can hold in your hands, that will not disappear under your touch, that is living and breathing. To hear the heartbeat of a soul, to get rid of the memory of cold, colourless skin that rest unmoving against your arms.

"Breathe, cub."

You could not move. You did not want to move. You cannot bear to move. Not an inch, not away from him who you knew understood better than anybody. His hands were placed on your back. Warm. Alive.

There were no use for words as both of you held each other in silence, resting in the comfort of a feeling near-forgotten.

That was your last memory of that night before you knocked out cold, and in your sleep you dreamt of a hand that wiped the warm corners of your eyes, rough yet gentle.

Unbeknownst to you, a storm in Ghost had calmed when you chose him of all people to seek comfort in, and silently grateful he was for the team to have a most sensitive heart on board.

You were the most affectionate person of the 141, and you cared and loved unconditionally. Those qualities made you the most lethal one of them all, for despite any rankings or titles, you commandeered them all with a piece of your heart — and the day your heart dies is the day they raise hell in your name.

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

FOOTNOTE(S):

Ghost likely has only hugged the captain once or twice and Johnny, several times but not of his own volition.

Your heart reminds him of his better days with his brother Tommy and it makes him want to punch you (cuteness aggression), but he will take that knowledge to his grave.

[sapchat]

141 head cannon based off irl story

So my brother-in-law’s brother was telling us how he met his current wife, (he’d been married 10 years then she cheated and they divorced.) they’d been coworkers and had hung out outside of work with others and stuff. Well one day he was like “hey a group of us are going to ‘local pizza place’ after work, wanna come?” And she was like “yeah sure I’ll see y’all there!”

Guys she got there and it was just him. Was a complete set up and he was just chilling. But she was like “eh whatever let’s eat”

He moved in with her 2 weeks later and they’re married with 2 kids.

It’s 141 coded. You can’t tell me that Soap wouldn’t be like “hey lass me and the boys are going to the pub later, wanna join?” And showing up to Johnny just sat at a table like ‘😄’

Gaz is a little more subtle… he invites you out but when you show up and no one else is there he’s just like “☹️ they ended up not being able to make it…” ‘😏’.

Price is also a little more subtle, he’s all “hey we’re gonna try and go try this place! I’ll even drive you!” Just for people to slowly start dropping out/getting called back to base until it’s just you two.

Simon honestly probably doesn’t even give it 2 weeks until moving in. He’s probably putting his socks in your dresser that night. He isn’t subtle about the invite either, “going to the pub later, wanna come?” Not his fault you just assumed the others were coming too…

[miserycanary]

’CAUSE YOU ARE THE ONLY EXCEPTION ᡣ𐭩

pairing: Capt. John Price & fem!reader

synopsis: how Price is when he's with you

tags: fluff, mentions of pussy-eating, brief smut

Price would describe himself as a restrained, responsible man. Being a captain of the force, such traits are needed. He’s not the kind of guy to be easily swayed and sticks to the rule

But, oh, with you… he’s the opposite of everything he’s supposed to be

| On time

When he's with you, every training engraved on his brain and drilled into his spine that taught him to be tough goes out the window. Suddenly he’s incapable of showing up at the designated time; too busy burying his cock deep inside of you. How could he not? Did you really expect him to not devour you right there and then when you wore the prettiest and fittest sundress? The slit on the side was quickly found by his hands and you soon find yourself being held up by his arms like you weigh nothing. Doing a full-nelson in front of the living room mirror while he sings praises to your ears. Telling how pretty you are, the perfect wife, such a good girl. 

| Focused

His attention span? He likes showing off the fact he can maintain focus for a long time— even when it’s watching paint dry. With you though? He’s like a ticking time bomb. Always forgetting what he was saying just because he looked at you. This is why you guys could never finish a whole movie. It just ends with him trapped between your thighs, eating you out like there’s no tomorrow. If he’s extra, he’d make you sit on his face or guide your hands to grip his hair and tell you to move on your own. 

You’re just so pretty :( 

He can’t keep his hands off you.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: these are self-inserts (I'm feeling lonely)

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist is open!! Comment if you want to be tagged in the next posts.

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[chamomiletealeaf]

Thinking ab Price fucking you after seeing you so upset from a really bad day to help cheer you up. You’re on your back as he’s fucking you so good that your eyes are unfocused, you’re panting, and have a big dumb smile plastered across your face, which was his final goal, other than making you cum so hard you forget your name.

“Yeah that’s right lovey dovey.” He coos. “Smile for me baby. Lemme see how happy this cock makes you hm?”

He’d smile himself, proud with the way he has you dumb on his dick, happy that his pretty girl is happy again.

“Aww see baby?” He coos at you again. “All you needed was a nice thick cock.”

[lushrue]

thinking about helping your bear shifter husband prepare for winter hibernation (john price x reader)

“john, i’m home!” you call, toeing off your shoes in the doorway. your arms were full of paper bags from the grocery store. you never seemed to be prepared enough for your husband’s appetite before hibernation. somehow, it was always a shock to you when the cupboards came up empty more quickly than usual. it was your third trip to the grocery store in as many weeks, and you anticipated making a couple more before winter finally came.

you set the numerous bags down on the kitchen counter, unwinding the scarf around your neck once your hands were free. the chill of autumn had fully settled in the air, vibrant reds and yellows dotting the treeline of the neighborhood you lived in. it wasn’t cold enough for your winter jacket just yet, but a beanie and scarf kept you warm enough on your walk to the store and back. as you ran your fingers through your hair to set it right again, you stopped to listen. usually, you would have heard john typing away at the computer in his office or watching a football match on the television. instead, it was nearly silent, save for the sound of rustling fabric and frustrated snuffling coming from your bedroom.

you smiled knowingly. price was picky about how the bedroom had to be for his hibernation. he’d already hung the blackout curtains, which you thought made the room feel like a dungeon. he’d also started working on his stash of snacks and water for when he’d wake up enough to eat and drink. but the bed, that was what he spent the most time on. there were certain blankets he only pulled out during the winter, quilts and furs that had belonged to his family for generations. there had to be a certain amount of pillows, even though they would get knocked off when he inevitably tossed and turned. more than anything, though, he wanted your scent all over.

though you would occasionally go in and sleep with john during the winter, you couldn’t stay with him during his whole hibernation period. someone had to keep the lights on, make sure the house stayed clean, tend to the things that john normally did during the year. even when you couldn’t be there, he wanted to feel like you were. so it was little surprise when you walked into the bedroom to see your husband with his face shoved into a pillow.

you couldn’t hold back your laugh as you stood in the doorway. price’s ears twitched, head turning to catch sight of sweet little you watching him. his cheeks flushed and he chuckled with you, the sound deep and rolling like thunder. “caught red-handed, ‘m afraid,” he teased, tossing the pillow back on the bed. “didn’ hear you come in, lovie.” you smile, moving to his side and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “don’t know how you could’ve through all the pillow stuffing.” he swiped at you playfully as you giggled, a laugh of his own joining yours.

“jus’ tryin’ to find the right ones,” he said, fixing his rapt attention back on the bed. he’d already divided the pillows into two piles: ones that he wanted to keep, and the ones you’d be putting in the closet until spring. you reached up to pet his ears, watching the way he melted into your touch. your favorite part of fall was how clingy he got. always needed his hands on you, needed to have you within earshot. one of his large hands wound around your waist, rubbing over the plush curves of your body. he grumbled, pulling you in close to his chest and burying his head in the crook of your neck. “not gonna get much preparation done if ya keep touchin’ me like that, pet,” he said, the barest hint of a growl in his voice. it always sent a thrill through you when he let the bear come out.

“nonsense. i’m trying to help,” you quip back, pulling away from him and running your fingers down his chest. they continue south, over the soft layer of belly fat he always gained in the autumn, and down to his hip. he quirked an eyebrow, trying to anticipate your antics. “and how exactly is this helping?” he asked, unable to hide the way his breath was quickening with each stroke of your fingers. you smile and pull him towards the bed by his hip. “because,” you start, your voice raising into that breathy octave you know he loves. “we can make all these pillows smell like me.”

the growl that comes out of him as he throws you on the bed might just be your favorite sound in the world.

don't love how i ended this, will probably revisit it later

legit didn't mean to take a hiatus, grad school has been kicking my ass and i got married a few weeks ago so life has been a lot 😅

gonna start working on chapter 9 of frozen hearts and hopefully get that posted soon too!

[lyeofhell]

sooooo I’m thinking about plus-size!reader joining a pole dancing class because you’re just so bored and need something to do while John’s away on missions…

thinking about keeping it a secret when he texts you in the middle of class, asking you what you’re up to and only replying with “nothing.” thinking about John coming home after being away for months, unpacking his clothes to find your 7-inch platform heels sitting at the bottom of your shared closet, and when he picks them up with an arched brow, you only giggle and grab them from him, telling him it’s a surprise. later that week he’s being drug down to the studio, sitting in on your little dance recital and trying to keep his breathing under control as your fellow students whoop and cheer you on. the way you curl around the pole, arching your back and flaunting your hair, it all only accentuates your curves, and John’s digging his own fingers into his palms as he considers all the ways he could tear into your softness. all the ways he could fuck you senseless and feel the ripple of his force in you. and all the ways he could punish you for keeping this a secret from him when you could’ve been sending him videos all this time.

by the following week a pole is installed in your master bedroom. and after he gives your ass a proper beating, followed by a train of soothing kisses, he sits a chair in front of the pole - leaned back, legs spread and expectant, cigar hanging loose from his grinning mouth as he tosses a nod towards the pole,

“Give us a show, sweetheart.”

[the-californicationist]

jonathan price's hot palm that reaches up high to squeeze your nipple, your belly, your flesh while his mouth is sucking away between your thighs, as if he needs more than what he's already got; drowning in you and still thirsty, full of you and still hungry.

[peachetteprice]

John Price, who - on your eighth date together; yes, eighth - dons himself in lavender oil in an attempt to smell like something a woman would feel at peace to be around, for fear that, when he tells you of what he does, who he is, you might wish to run for the hills, but it's okay if you do; it's okay if you don't want to want him after that fact, and it's okay if you leave him now and don't look back - he won't hold it against you.

John, who - for the first time in a long time - permentantly turns red in the face from embarrassment as you crinkle your nose, laugh a little, lean across the table, and ask;

"Is - is that lavender I can smell, John?"

And whose worry dims as you take more notice in the fact that he smells like your grandmother's back garden than the fact that he's just told you that he kills people for his monthly wages.

And, when you probe about whether it's his shampoo or a bottle of perfume from the women's aisle in Sainsbury's - it's a beard oil, in case you wanted to kiss him that night, but you don't learn that until years down the line - he has the slightest inkling, but doesn't want to undo all of his effort and believe in it so much that he gets himself too indulged by the mere thought of you;

That you might just be the one.

| Masterlist |

[eccentricallygothic]

| Just A Little Bit Colder |

You are having a Sunday BBQ with your Bf's family but his Dad!Captain Price and you…

Warning(s): Infidelity with Bf's Dad, rough unprotected p-in-v, doggy style, feeling of guilt, spanking, manhandling, age gap, hair pulling, he is lowkey bossy, m!dom, f!sub, sir kink, mild dacryphilia bc the D is so good, Price's BDE, pinching, brat taming, Daddy kink, light overstimulation, creampie. MDNI.

Part of the Older verse, apparently.

Your eyes are glazed and widened as you watch your boyfriend who, while tending to the grill on the patio, laughs along to something his mother says from where you can see him through the window of the wine cellar. If it weren't for how dazed your mind is, you would have felt the tense knot that you can only identify as guilt form in the base of your chest. 

But as the older man behind you grunts and curses under his breath before landing a smack on your blushing ass from behind, your eyes cannot help but roll to the top of your head, making you nearly drop one of the wine bottles that you are hugging tightly to your chest.

Bottles that the two of you are supposed to be fetching…

“W- We— hnng!” You nearly double over when Captain Price steers you around and towards the wine racks again by rough handfuls of your hips, his hot and hard cock pistoning in and out of your noisy cunt whilst his tip abuses your sensitive spot with each thrust. “Someone w- will hear—!” You nearly go head first into the bottles that neatly line the rows due to how the cruel man forces you to walk on your wobbling knees whilst he blows into you from behind. “We'll get caugh— auggh— awt!” 

Captain Price has to reach out to grip your hair to stop you from falling down, his nose flared from how hard and fast his fucking of your youthful little pussy is. “Then I suppose we should be quiet and not make noise, eh, babygirl?” His accent gets so thick during these moments that you barely understand him sometimes. And it only makes you clench harder. “Come on, now” you shake your head no as a snot bubble bursts from the mess he has made of you. He always does. “Grab that one from the fourth row, fifth bottle from the left.” Amidst your turbulent fuck, you had somehow managed to place the bottles that you were previously holding in the padded basket that the man had brought.

You weakly shake your head as you bite back a sob and sway towards the rack before holding it for support when he lets go of your hair. “I can't! I can't, sir,” he likes you to call him that sometimes. “I am sorry!” The smell of sex permeates the air and the only sound you can hear over the thumps of your heart is that of his skin clapping against yours. 

“But you can” you feel his rough hand smack your ass again. “And you will” the next hit sends you spasming and shuddering as you begin to cum hard. “Get to it” but he pulls you backwards into his chest by a handful of one of your boobs so he can dip his hands between your clammy petals to rub at your cunt. 

“No! No! Oh, God! YES!” It feels good but to such an intense extent that you cannot decide whether you want it or not. Your body tries to curl in on itself so he hooks one arm under your armpits to lift you off the ground to prevent your violent flailing from interfering with his own orgasm that now shadows over his edge due to how hot and tight yours feels around his cock. “Gggg! Hhggg!” Your body collapses on his as you literally dangle from his cock, the jabs bouncing you upwards with each thrust like you're no heavier than a cock sleeve. “Ohmigoshhhh!” Your hiss runs into eventual silence but doesn't die out because of his treatment of your pussy and you tremble pathetically. 

“Are we ’aving fun yet?” His voice is so firm that it makes you clench around him from the sensitivity. “Was that silly little antic of ours worth it, then?” The pinch he administers to one of your pussy lips is mean and you quickly shudder out the well due apology. 

“S- Sorry, sir… So sorry, sir…” His fingers feel raw against your cunt and you're on the brink of the post cum half orgasm this always brings you to. 

“Should I expect a repeat of that, or?” His mustache tickles the skin of your soft cheek as he grips your jaw with his cum covered hand now, pressing your faces together so you can hear his menacing whispers in their full intensity. 

“N- No, sir… No, sorry…” Your broken words tip him over the edge and he begins to paint your overstimulated walls with his cum, still stubbornly moving his fingers over your sensitive folds. “Oh!” The barrage of your tears finally breaks loose and you begin to cum again, feeling his hot cum deep up your cervix. 

Making you cum has never been a problem for your boyfriend's father Captain John Price.

“Tha’s fuckin' right” he urgently lowers you both until he's on his knees, your flushed cheek touches the cool ground and Captain Price holds the lower part of your body up and spreads it out so he can properly fuck out his orgasm until your puffy cunt is stuffed full of his creamy cum and your walls are raw from the friction. “So don't fuckin' try your Daddy again.”

Okay, so.

You had, during a particularly cheeky moment, teased him about being old and challenged him that he did not have the courage or stamina to take you and finish in time without getting caught when you were helping with the moving of the BBQ contents to the patio. Before your boyfriend's dad could have had the chance to answer safely, you were already walking out the kitchen backdoor with his son, a devilish sway to your hips and a teasing smirk on your face. 

The man had just watched you then, silent and unreadable as his own wife had approached him. 

And then he had requested you to help him with fetching the wine after he had rejoined the party with his own share of the ‘carry out’ items.

As your cheek rubs against the floor and your drool forms a little puddle next to your mouth, you reckon it is safe to say that you are not going to be challenging your boyfriend's dad anytime soon.

Or…

Are you?

MASTERLIST