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random-thot-generator · 2 years ago

Text

Going Down?

Capt. John Price x Fem Reader

Summary: You live down the hall in 14-C. Captain John Price lives in 14-G. A friendly relationship has developed over the course of a year, though the attraction you both feel for one another is becoming very hard to ignore. Then late one night the two of you get stuck in your building’s faulty lift, and your friendship takes a turn into filthy uncharted territory.

Tags/Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, oral - F receiving, PiV, light Dom/sub tones, maybe competency kink(?), no use of Y/N

(N/A: I ain’t gonna lie. This was supposed to be about the same length as my other smutty one-shots, but it’s Captain Price, and I adore him, and he deserves a sweet, smutty love story, dammit! It is what it is.

Think of this fic as a good, sappy, smutty weekend fic - the ones you want to read when ya ain’t got nothing else to do but clean, and you’re procrastinating. It’s that kind of fic. I would apologize for the lengthy smut scene, but what’s the point? I needed the purge and you guys get... lots of Captain Price smut! Win-win.

Oh, and suspend your knowledge about elevator dimensions and basic elevator safety protocols. This is fanfic. We stan bullshit here as long as it serves the smutty narrative.

Word Count: 7950

You were standing at your postbox, your back to the main lobby while sorting through your mail, when a deep voice spoke at your ear.

“Any of that mine?”

You jumped, startled, and snapped your head around. Your frown morphed into a flustered grin when you saw who was standing at your shoulder. “Oh, my God, John. You startled me,” you fussed, giving the captain a playful smack on the arm.

Captain Price beamed one of his warm smiles at you, blue eyes crinkling at the corners. His ruddy cheeks bunched up over the whiskers of his beard, giving him a boyish look. He clasped his hands behind his back and nodded to you in proper greeting. “How’ve you been, love? The little nippers not done ya in yet?”

The ‘little nippers’ he referred to were your year two primary students. Smirking at him, you turned and whipped open your trench coat like a pervy flasher, showing off your leggings and sweatshirt. They were currently covered in food stains and finger paint, with a light dusting of glitter. “Does this answer your question, Captain?”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, an amused expression on his face. “Quite the ensemble, Miss. Put that together yourself or did the kids help?”

You scoffed, dropping the sides of your coat. You looked him up and down, relieved to see him back in one piece. “It’s about time you came home. I get terribly bored without you around. I’ve missed you.”

His amused expression softened as he peered down at you. “It’s good to be back.” He then leaned forward and whispered, “I missed you, too, by the way. Was bored out of my mind the whole time.” He puffed up with smug pride when you blushed, giving him a flustered smile. Tilting his chin down, he slanted a glance at you. “Are you already in for the evening?”

You gave him a curious look. “That was the plan. Why?”

“I was about to nick out for a drink. Thought you might like to come with.”

A smile brightened your tired features. “That sounds perfect. After the day I’ve had, I could use a drink. Give me a few minutes to change?” you asked.

He gave a quick bob of the head. “Of course. I can wait here for―”

You sniffed at his attempt at propriety. “Don’t be silly. Come up to the flat with me. You can at least sit in a comfortable chair and watch some telly while you wait.” You leaned back and arched a brow at him. “Or are you hanging out down here hoping to run into Mrs. Kelsey?” you asked, your tone teasing.

Mrs. Kelsey was seventy-two and fawned over the captain like he was her one true love. It would have been endearing if not for the fact that she’d gotten a bit handsy with him a few times. It amused you to no end, especially when you got to watch John try to extricate himself from the old woman’s amorous attentions.

“Very funny, love, but no,” he said, then cast a wary look around. “I’m not prepared to see the old dear just yet.” He pressed his hand to the small of your back and guided you towards the lift, whispering at your ear. “I’ll need you to distract her if she corners me again.”

You gave a soft laugh, shaking your head. “And get in the way of true love? No way!”

He poked your side as the two of you entered the lift, making you giggle. “You know, I’ve never had a woman come onto me like she does. It’s a bit flustering,” he joked, pressing the button for your floor.

You snickered behind your hand. “So, does that make her your cougar?” When he rolled his eyes, you gave him a sly grin. “Guess that would make you her ‘boy toy’, wouldn’t it?”

Price dipped his chin to give you a heated look, sorely tempted to tell you what you could do with his boy toy. Your playful teasing always got him worked up in the worst way. “Watch it, love. You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”

The husk in his voice made your belly swoop, made you want to cause all sorts of trouble for the captain. Feeling more than a little aroused and giddy, you smirked at him, ready to snark back, when the lift suddenly began to emit a terrible grinding noise and the carriage noticeably slowed.

You both stared up at the ceiling, alarmed. Price’s arm instinctively went around your waist as the two of you listened to the grinding sound grow higher in pitch until it finally whined itself out. The lift then gradually began to pick up speed again until it was moving at its normal pace, as if nothing had happened.

“What in the bloody hell was that?” Price uttered, shifting his eyes down to you.

You stared back at him, unsettled. “It started doing that about a week ago, but it wasn’t this bad before.” You peered back up at the ceiling. “I got an email from the building manager this morning. He sent out a mass notification to all the tenants, informing us that the lift is supposed to be down for repairs next Monday. We’ll be allowed to use the staff elevator until it’s fixed.”

Price frowned. “We should be bloody usin’ it now.”

You made it to your floor without further incident, both of you relieved to finally be off the faulty lift. “What d’you say to us using the staff elevator when we go for drinks?” you suggested.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Price agreed with a grim expression.

He followed you into your flat, closing the door and locking it behind him before taking a seat on your sofa to wait for you. You trailed off into your bedroom, chattering on about the building’s latest gossip, leaving the door ajar. He didn’t bother with the telly, content to just listen to your voice. He really had missed you terribly this last deployment.

You came padding out of the bedroom a few minutes later wearing a svelte looking knit dress with a turtleneck collar, It hugged every curve on your body to perfection, stunning Price into open-mouthed silence for a moment. You were oblivious to his reaction, however, too busy gabbing on about the newlywed couple who had moved into 14-J.

“They seem like a nice enough couple, but that twat, Mr. Graham, has been complaining about them nonstop, so now there’s this whole big to-do going on between them and some of the other tenants...” You turned your back to him, pointing over your shoulder. “Mind zipping me up, love?” you paused to ask, then continued on with your story. “Anyway, like I was saying...”

Price swallowed as he stood up behind you. You smelled amazing, like flowers and soft musk, and you’d pinned your hair up in a style that flattered your face and exposed the lovely curve of your neck. He inhaled your scent as he brought his hands up to slide over the soft weave of the dress, pinching the small zipper between finger and thumb. His eyes fixated on the soft skin at the nape of your neck, wishing he could press his lips into the little hollow at the base of your skull. He brought the zipper up slowly, then skimmed his hands over your shoulders before he turned you around. You had a ridiculous, goofy grin on your face, amused at something you’d just said, eyes bright and sparkling as you looked up at him.

“...and then Mr. Graham had the nerve to tell the building supervisor he couldn’t get a decent night’s sleep with all the moaning and groaning going on next door, but Mrs. Graham told Jessica in 14-B that her husband probably wasn’t sleeping well because he spent most of his time wanking it off in the loo. I almost died laughing when Jess told me that!” you giggled.

Price gazed down at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes. He reached up and tucked a stray curl behind your ear and smiled at you. “You’re beautiful, ya know that, love?”

You don’t know what got to you more, the expression on his face or the low, raspy register of his voice. but combined they had you thinking some very inappropriate thoughts as you gaped at the captain. You blinked up at him, completely caught off-guard, not sure what to do or say. You could feel your cheeks growing warmer as you opened and closed your mouth, trying and failing to form a coherent response.

Price, sensing you were floundering, gave your shoulders a gentle squeeze and stepped back. “You look lovely in that dress, Miss.”

Flustered beyond reason, you dropped your gaze to stare down at your fidgeting fingers. “Oh. Th-Thank you.” You cleared your throat and gestured back towards your bedroom. “I just― um, I n-need to get my shoes, and I’ll be ready to go.”

Price slipped his hands into his pockets, the picture of smug confidence, and gave you an indulgent smile. “Take your time, love. No rush.”

You gave him an awkward smile as you hurried out of the room. You were obviously flustered, but there was no mistaking the heat he had seen in your eyes before you could look away. He hummed, his expression thoughtful.

That brief interaction had brought everything into sharp focus for the captain. He’d been tiptoeing around his feelings for you for months now, but there was denying it anymore. He wanted more than friendship from you. Yes, he adored you and considered you a dear friend, but his attraction to you wasn’t waning, like he thought it would. Instead, it was only growing stronger with the passage of time, and he was fairly certain you felt the same way.

Now, he just needed to figure out what to do about it.

Your evening out with the captain lasted far longer than you expected. Drinks ended up segueing into having dinner at the pub, and then a shared dessert followed by a nightcap. Not wanting the night to end just yet, you had suggested walking off dessert in a nearby park before returning home, which John eagerly agreed to. You probably talked the poor man’s ear off, but his warmth and charm had you fawning over him almost as bad as old Mrs. Kelsey. You couldn’t help but wonder if he could see the adoration on your face every time you looked at him. It was embarrassing how infatuated you were with this man.

It was edging close to midnight by the time the two of you made it back to your building, both of you surprised to discover how late it was. Whispering and giggling as you passed through the lobby, you both were too distracted by the other to remember to use the staff lift and boarded the one in the lobby without another thought.

John hit the floor button then went back to telling you about his first kiss with an older girl named Veronica when he was only ten years old. Apparently, the girl had bullied him into to giving her the smooch.

“I’m tellin’ ya, love. She was a head taller than me, almost twice my size, plus two years older. I was terrified of her. When she told me to pucker up, I puckered up.”

You were wheezing with laughter, holding onto his arm as you dabbed at your watering eyes with the back of your hand. “Oh, my God, you poor thing!” You sniffled, grinning at him. “There must be something about you that attracts older women. First, Veronica and now Mrs. Kelsey. It has to be that boyish charm of yours.” You giggled again when he tilted his head and shot you a warning look.

Then that grinding sound started above your heads, again.

You startled at the noise, and both of you looked up, your fingers gripping John’s arm tighter. The lift slowed to a crawl, the noise almost ear-splitting, before it finally came to a complete stop. You both stood in shocked silence for a moment, staring at each other.

You blinked at him and then peered up at the flickering light above your head. “Oh, God. Are we...” You leaned over and tapped the button for your floor, but nothing happened. “Are we stuck?”

John tried pushing more buttons, but when nothing happened, he hit the emergency button, instead. Still, nothing happened.

You looked between him and the control panel, a confused look on your face. “Um... shouldn’t there be like an alarm or something?”

John nodded, pressing the emergency button again. “Yeah, but it doesn’t seem to be working. Bloody hell,” he muttered, jabbing the button again before finally giving it up for a lost cause. He blew out a sigh as he pulled his cell from his pocket, but then grunted in frustration. “Of all the bloody luck... I forgot to charge the damn thing. It’s dead.” He looked up at you. “Can you call the building manager, love? Let ‘em know we’re stuck in here.”

“Yeah, sure,” you nodded. You opened the small clutch purse you’d brought with you, an anxious expression coming over your face as you pawed through the few contents, and then you grimaced. “Oh, my God, John. I— I left my cell in my other bag. I’m so sorry.”

John blinked his eyes shut for a moment, but then simply nodded, taking the news in stride. “It’s alright, love. We’ll figure something else out. Don’t worry,” he said, unflappable as ever.

You twisted your fingers together, worried. “But what can we do?” you asked, feeling a little panicked, though you tried your best to remain calm.

He noticed your fidgeting hands and wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders. “Don’t fret, love,” he murmured, rubbing your arm. “I’ll figure something out.”

You gave him a hesitant smile and nodded. “I know you will.” You tried to put on a brave face, but you were lowkey freaking out on the inside.

John gave you a reassuring hug, then stepped away to properly assess the situation. There were two ways out of the lift: through the doors or through the emergency hatch in the ceiling. He considered his options and then decided to pry open the doors, first. Having you stand opposite him, he traced his blunt fingers down the seam where the doors met, finding enough of a hold to pry them apart, then the two of your worked together to open a gap. He huffed a frustrated breath at what was revealed.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, dreading his answer.

He planted his hands on his hips, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “We came to a stop between floors. I was hoping we were close enough to one of the levels to pry open the doors and climb out, but that’s not going to happen.” He then peered up at the ceiling. “Guess there’s nowhere to go but up.”

You glanced up at the hatch several feet above your heads, then shot him a dubious look. “How are you going to reach it? You’re tall but not that tall,” you said, peering back up at the ceiling and shaking your head. “They must have designed this lift with pro basketball players in mind.”

John chuckled, relieved to hear you joking. “The lift is this big because it’s actually a freight lift. This building used to be a factory before it was renovated into flats. Instead of installing a new lift, they kept the old one and gave it a facelift.”

You gave him a quizzical look, slightly impressed by his little historical lesson. “Huh. I didn’t know that.”

John looked at you as if sizing you up and then stared up at the hatch again. ”You’re right about one thing, though. I’ll never reach that hatch on my own, so you’ll have to open it for me.”

You snapped your eyes back to him. “What?!”

He made a calming gesture with his hands before taking yours. “Listen to me, love. I can’t reach the hatch to open it on my own, but if you can get it open for me, I should be able to jump and hopefully catch the edge. I can then boost myself up and climb through.” He pointed to the hatch. “I want to lift you up so you can open the hatch for me, alright?”

“Lift me up?” you repeated, incredulous. “You’ll break your back!”

He smirked, a rather smug expression settling on his features. “Believe me, love. It won’t be a problem.”

You shook your head, unconvinced. “I’m heavier than you think. I’ve been in a toxic relationship with the Cheesecake Factory down the block for the past two months. Let’s just say I’ve put on a few pounds,” you confessed.

John couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ll never do, love.” He gripped your shoulders and looked you in the eye. “I promise, everything will be alright. I’m going to lift you up on my shoulders so you can reach the hatch, but I’ll be holding onto you the whole time.”

You frowned, nowhere near as confident as he was, but there didn’t seem to any other option. You glanced up at the hatch, then back at him. Steeling your nerves, you took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. Fine. I’ll do it.”

John lifted his brows, surprised you were so quick to agree. “Are ya sure, love?”

You gave him a determined look and nodded again. “Yeah. I can do this.”

A bubble of pride swelled up in his chest. He gave your shoulders another squeeze. “That’s my girl.” He held you out at arms’ length and looked you up and down. “Alright, first order of business is to get those heels off.”

You nodded, kicking the pumps off your feet and flexing your toes. “Okay. Now what?”

John opened his mouth, but then snapped it shut, his cheeks coloring slightly. Clearing his throat, he dropped his gaze down to the skirt of your dress. “You’ll have to, ah— hitch your skirt up, so you can sit on my shoulders properly.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t sure whose blush was worse once he told you that. He gave you a chagrined little smile and rubbed at the back of his neck, embarrassed by his own request.

And you...

Well, you were trying to reconcile yourself to the situation. It wasn’t that big of a deal, not if it meant getting the two of you out of there. It wasn’t like you didn’t have underwear on— well, thongs were technically considered underwear. It was just the thought of his head being trapped between your bare thighs. Sure, you’d fantasized about having your legs wrapped around his head plenty of times, but never like this. Just the mere thought of it made a heavy feeling settle deep in your pelvis. God, what if your body— responded to him being in such a position? Considering his voice alone got you wet, it was a genuine concern.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you can say no, love. I can try to find some other way to reach the hatch.”

Your heart melted a little at his words. There was such a look of sincerity and remorse on his face that you knew that he meant what he said. If you said no, he would just accept it and try to figure something else out.

You blew out a breath. You were being ridiculous. John was doing everything in his power to get you two out of this situation, and here you were acting like some shy, teenaged virgin. He needed you, and you’d be damned if you were going to let him down over your own silly little insecurities. Shaking off your worries, you stiffened your spine and your will.

“No, it’s fine. I can do it.”

John tipped his chin forward to peer into your eyes. “Love, truly, if you don’t want to do this— “

You blew out an exasperated breath. It was sweet of him to be so considerate, but it wasn’t helping anything. If anything, it was only undermining your confidence. “For fuck’s sake, John. Just shut up and get on your knees, please.”

Well, that definitely shut him up. His eyes went a little wide to hear his sweet little schoolteacher speak so boldly and with such confidence. Oh, he liked this side of you very much.

He drew back to look at you with a rather seductive smirk on his face. “Whatever you desire, Miss. Your wish is my command,” he teased, eyebrow quirked.

You huffed and rolled your eyes, spinning your finger at him to get him to turn around. With a cheeky grin, he turned around and knelt on one knee, bracing his hands on the floor as he lowered his head. “Just stand over my neck, and I’ll do the rest, love.”

“Right,” you muttered, gulping past the lump that had formed in your throat. God, were you really about to do this? You inhaled a deep breath and blew it out.

Grabbing the stretchy material of your skirt, you pulled it up high on your thighs, feeling the cool air on your bare behind. Taking a fortifying breath, you stepped over his bowed head, planting your bare feet on either side of it. When his hands came up and gripped your shins, you inhaled sharply, but managed not to startle at the contact. He lifted his head, sliding his hands up to take a firm grip just above your knees, and—

Wow! His hands were so warm. Were his hands always that warm? And big? And so strong?

Your heart skipped a beat and your lower belly fluttered with arousal. God, this is so not the time for this, you chided yourself.

John’s fingers flexed on your legs and then gripped them tighter. “Ready, love?” he husked out.

“Oh— y-yeah. Yeah. I’m ready.”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit...!

The captain rose in one fluid motion, standing up with a little grunt. It was so fast, you yelped and grabbed onto the sides of his head, knees locking down around his neck in a vice grip. He chuckled, though it was a little breathless, and squeezed your legs to reassure you. “Easy, love! I’ve got you. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Omigod, I’m so sorry!” you said in a breathless rush, easing the tension in your legs so the poor man could breathe again. “Are you okay?”

He patted your leg, his hand landing a little higher on your thigh when it came to rest again. Your skin prickled with goosebumps. “No worries, love,” he murmured lowly. “Didn’t mind it at all.”

Did his voice just get deeper? Because it definitely sounded like it did. It was almost a fucking purr, it rumbled out so smooth. He turned his head slightly, and his beard scratched over the sensitive skin on the inside of your knee.

You shivered.

You shivered and felt a trickle of arousal slowly ooze down your fluttering channel. Shit! No-no-no, please don’t do this right now...

“Ya alright, love?”

Get your shit together, Miss!

“Give me just a second,” you replied, trying to calm yourself down. You inhaled a deep breath, closing your eyes, and held it for a count of four, then slowly blew it out. “Okay,” you sighed. “I’m good.”

“’Atta girl,” John praised you, squeezing your leg again. “Alright, love. I’m goin’ to get you under the hatch. You just say when to stop or move, yeah?”

“Got it.”

John grinned at the determination in your voice. He knew this had to be incredibly uncomfortable for you, but you were soldiering through, regardless. He had the sudden urge to turn and kiss the inside of your knee but bit the inside of his cheek, instead. Later, he promised himself. Shifting your weight forward a little more, he moved towards the center of the lift.

“Alright, Miss,” he said, all business now. “You tell me which way to move, so you can reach it, but don’t over-extend yourself. I don’t want you to get unbalanced.”

You looked up to see you were directly beneath the hatch, but when you reached up for the metal latch holding it in place, you felt your sense of balance shift and panicked. Locking your legs around poor Price’s head, again, you dropped your arms and grabbed onto his head for support. Luckily, you recovered quickly and released him before he passed out.

“I’m sorry, John,” you apologized, petting the top of his head like he was one of your students. You caught yourself and stopped. You seriously needed to hang out with people your own age more.

“It’s fine, love,” he chuckled, sliding his hands up higher on your thighs. “Just tell me which way I need to move.”

You looked up at the hatch, keeping your hands on his head to keep you steady. “Um, take a couple steps back.”

John backed up a couple of steps, but you ended up a little further away than you would have liked. You felt him shift beneath you and readjust his grip. His neck and shoulders were probably killing him. You glanced back up at the hatch.

Just get the hatch open and get off this poor man’s back, Miss.

You sighed.

Fuck it. You could reach it from here, it would just be a little bit of a stretch.

You settled yourself more firmly on his shoulders and clamped your calves onto Price’s sides. Looking up at the hatch, you stretched your arms up, your fingers just shy of reaching the handle. “Shit,” you muttered. You glanced down at the top of his head. “I’m going to have to lean up just a little to reach this. Is that okay?”

Price adjusted his grip. “I’ve got ya. Go ahead.”

You stretched your torso up, leaning slightly forward. You could feel your lower belly rubbing over the back of Price’s head and then something else rubbed against it. You pressed your lips into a thin line, determined to ignore it, but holy shit! His head was right there! For fuck’s sake...

Your fingers caught at the latch, but slipped off, and you huffed in frustration. You tried again, this time hanging on long enough to pull the latch about a quarter of the way down. “Shit!” you hissed, and Price chuckled again. Someone seemed to be having a grand old time.

“Patience, love.”

You rolled your eyes, then refocused on the task at hand. You leaned up again, this time a little higher and more forward, extremely aware of your crotch rubbing against the back of Price’s head again. You huffed out a breath and grabbed a hold of the latch, then attempted to give it a little yank, but it barely moved. “I think the latch is rusted or something. It’s moving, but it’s really stiff.”

“Do you think you can get it open?”

You peered back up at it. “Yeah, I think so.” When he nodded for you to try again, you stretched yourself up, leaning more forward, and wrapped your fingers around the latch. Price tilted his head back to look up, notching it perfectly into your crotch. You startled at the contact, hand jerking the latch as you instinctively rocked your hips away, unbalancing you both.

You heard Price grunt and clamp his hands down hard on your thighs as he staggered back a step. Your hand was yanked off the handle by the momentum, the hatch popping open with a scattering of dirt and rust. You shrieked as you felt your balance tip back, and once more locked down on Price’s head.

Bless him.

Somehow, the captain managed to stay upright, going with the backwards momentum, and let it carry the two of into the wall. Your head connected first, and then your shoulders, your lower half shifting back and forth as Price regained his balance, steadying beneath you.

“Are ya alright, love?” he asked in a shaky voice, easing himself down to his knees, hands like vice grips on your thighs. “Just hang on, almost got ya down.”

Even after he knelt, it took you a few seconds to release the death grip your thighs had on his head. You were panting, heart pounding out of your chest. Your eyes rolled up to the ceiling and you snorted. “Hatch is open.”

Price huffed out a labored breath. “That’s good, love.”

You eased yourself off his back. When you had both feet firmly planted on the ground, Price lowered his head in relief and fell back on his bum with a sigh.

“Bloody hell...” he breathed out, rubbing the back of his neck. “Scared the bloody shite outta me, love.” He scrubbed his hand over his head, and then drew it down over his face. “If you’d been hurt, I—”

You shushed him, petting his head, again. “Hush. I’m fine.” You closed your eyes, trying to calm your breathing and settle your nerves. You were shaking like a leaf from the leftover adrenaline rush, knees trembling. You locked them so you wouldn’t slide to the floor and leaned hard against the wall, letting your head thunk back.

Price turned to look up at you, mouth open to apologize, then froze. The hem of your skirt had worked itself up until it was almost around hips, the crotch of your panties peeking out from below. His eyes drifted over the black satin material, unconsciously leaning closer. He slowly lifted his eyes to see that you were staring down at him, eyes at half-mast and lips parted.

Bloody hell, the way you were looking at him. You looked both flustered and wanton at the same time, so needy for attention, but too afraid to ask. His sweet, sexy, oblivious girl. He would give you everything you needed, if you would allow it.

Flustered, you reached to pull down your skirt, but he caught your hand, his blue eyes glinting as they locked with yours. Head tilting, his gaze trailed back down to your panties again before sliding back up to meet yours. A little smirk played around his mouth.

“Don’t be shy now, love. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about.”

John’s words had your breath catching in your throat. You watched as he shifted to his knees and sat back on his heels in front of you. He brought his hands up to grasp the back of your calves, looking up at you with open lust in his eyes.

“I want to touch ya, love,” he told you plainly, his voice a gruff rasp. “Wil ya let me?”

God, what a question. This will change everything, your logical mind intoned, but your emotional self was screaming, He’s right fucking there! Do it! Say yes!

You inhaled a shaking breath and nodded.

“You need to say it for me, love,” he chided you softly, tipping down his chin. “If you want me to touch you, tell me.”

Your dry throat clicked as you tried to swallow. Your lips parted, heart ticking up a beat. “Y-Yes... I want you to touch me. P-Please.” you whispered, an urgent note in your tone.

A different expression settled on his face at your words, something sinfully dark yet endearingly affectionate. Leaning forward, he pressed his nose into your clothed pussy as he slid his hands up to grip your hips. He raised his head to look up at you, his eyes darkened to a deeper shade of blue, his pupils large and glassy black. His expression left no doubt to what his intentions were with you, but he was silently giving you an out, if you wanted it.

Since he didn’t speak, neither did you. Instead, you sighed out a shuddering breath and rolled your hips, pushing your covered sex right into his face. His grip clamped onto your hips as his eyes rolled shut, and he groaned into your crotch.

The vibration made your clit hum with energy, the sensation buzzing all the way up to your brain and tightening your scalp. Goosebumps rose over the entirety of your body and your gut dropped in a devastating fell swoop. A positively filthy moan oozed past your lips as you raked your fingers over the top of his head, crooking them to hold him in place. Your eyes rolled up and slid shut, your mouth falling open as you slumped back against the wall.

John nuzzled his face into your crotch, grazing his teeth over your mound, then hooked his thumbs under the narrow, satin strings at your hips. He peered up at you, pressing a kiss above your mons before sliding the panties down your legs to expose your sex. He moaned at the sight, his posture going slack.

“Bloody hell, love,” he sighed, his expression almost wistful. He stroked over your damp folds with the backs of his fingers. “Such a pretty little thing.” The corner of his mouth tugged up when you whimpered. “Prettier than I ever imagined, and I thought about it. A lot.”

He slowly smeared your slick over your swollen lips with his thumb, teasingly soft, never once slipping in between the delicate folds. “I thought about how pretty it would be,” he murmured, tracing a feather-light finger over the slit. “Thought about how sweet it would smell.” He grazed his nose right above your clit. “An’ bloody hell, it made my mouth water to think about how fuckin’ good you’d taste.” A rumbling hum poured out of his throat as he mouthed at your wet folds, running a flat tongue up its seam.

He had been holding you in place this whole time, not letting your hips move, keeping you from grinding into his face. He had yet to breach your folds, and you were trembling in his grasp. He slanted a glance up at you. “Tell me, love. Would you like me to make ya cum on my tongue?” he asked, mild and teasing. He brushed a knuckle against your clit, smirking when your hips bucked, and you gasped out a little cry. “Be a good girl and tell me what ya want. sweetheart. Hmm?”

The gentle authority in his voice worked like a balm for your brain, even as it set your core on fire. There was so much confidence and competence in his tone. That tone told you that this was a man who knew what he was doing and how to do it well, a man who would always deliver and leave you satisfied. There was no doubt in his mind that he could take care of you and give you just what you needed.

And all you had to do was be a good girl and ask.

You felt a warm rush of arousal coat your walls as you tried to roll your hips in a futile attempt to reach his mouth. “Please, John...” you begged in a plaintive whisper.

He planted soft kisses on the inside of your thighs, pausing before he pressed a kiss over your clit to rasp out, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart, an’ I promise you’ll have it.”

You whimpered and gripped his head. “Your tongue... Please, John. Make me cum.”

The expression on his face was wrecked. “Fuckin’ hell, love,” he moaned, swiping his tongue up your slit. “Any bloody thing ya want.”

And then, without further ado, he buried his face in your cunt.

You choked on your breath, eyes going wide as his tongue ran up through your folds in a fast, hot streak before his lips latched onto your clit. “Ha-ahh— fuck!” you cried out, back curling over his head.

John chuckled into your pussy, and, damn, if your knees didn’t buckle. If not for his hands holding you against the wall, you would have dropped like a stone. You darted your eyes down as you tried to brace your knees again, only to find him already looking up at you, a smug, amused light in his eyes. He swirled his tongue around your clit and wobbled your knees again, smirking into your folds when you had to grab his shoulders for support. You huffed out a surprised breath, panting out a little mewl. He then did it again, rolling his tongue over the nub like a piece of hard candy. And then winked at you.

He...

Bloody winked at you...

With his face still buried in your pussy.

You groaned as you felt a hard pulse of arousal flow down your channel, knowing the instant John became aware of it, too. He hummed a growl and slid his lips off your clit to mouth at your soaked entrance, dipping his tongue in for more.

“Ah, John...!” you gasped out, your hands seizing his head, hips canting up to meet his mouth.

You felt like you were going to pass out. Or explode. Explosion seemed more likely as you felt his fingers slide up the inside of your thigh to graze over your soft lower lips. His tongue slithered back up to your clit as he slipped two fingers through your folds, stroking your entrance before sinking the thick digits into your pulsing channel.

Your head banged back against the wall as you felt your core quiver and tighten. This was not going to be one of those slow and easy orgasms, like the ones you were used to giving yourself. No, this felt like he was going to drag this climax out of you kicking and screaming. You were clenching down so hard around his fingers, and he was still attacking your clit, winding you up to the point of breaking. You felt your thighs begin to tremble and then shake as the pressure in your core red-lined.

John slid his hand back, felt the first spasms in your channel and crooked his fingers, stroking them inside you until he hit that little spongy spot that sent a shudder through your entire body. You cried out and clutched at his head, which only made him redouble his efforts. Hand working between your thighs, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked.

Your vision went watery, and a high-pitched ringing filled your ears. Your orgasm really was like an explosion, like a bomb set off in the ocean, sending ripples of near-brutal pleasure ripping through your core. You drenched his face in your release, unaware of the filthy groan he breathed into your folds, already too far gone.

John leaned back, chest heaving, a vicious smile on his face. “That’s my girl!” he growled and lunged back in.

Everything blurred.

How he dragged an orgasm out that long, you will never know, but by the time he finished with you, you were only upright by the grace of John. He eased you gently down the wall, pulling your legs around his hips to settle you over his spread thighs. He held you to his chest as he rubbed his hands over your back in soothing circles, letting you come down at your own pace. You were heaving for breath, panting against his neck, little aftershocks making your muscles spasm every now and then.

You felt dazed— hell, maybe even a little traumatized. Your reality had just been turned up on its head in the span of a few enlightening minutes, and you were having a hard time catching up. You had known this man for over a year, thought you knew his true nature. This sweet, warm, teddy bear of a man had just made you cum hard enough to make your ears ring. This mild-mannered gentleman had just rocked you to your very foundations. My god, if that’s how he eats pussy, imagine how he must fuck...

You lifted your head slowly from his chest, leaning back to stare at John. His eyes met yours, just as kind and soft as they ever were, but still blown wide and smoldering with lust. You could smell your arousal on his skin, on his breath, and damn, that did it for you. You slid your hands up to cup his face.

“Love, what’s—?”

You darted your head forward and kissed him, catching him by surprise, but the captain quickly adapted to the situation. Arms tightening around you, he pulled you closer with a pleased growl, tilting his head to lean into the kiss. It shouldn’t have surprised you at all that he was good at kissing, too, not after what he had just shown you he could do with his tongue, but the man had you floating. You were panting for him again in no time, moaning and gasping into his mouth as he held onto your rolling hips.

“Bloody hell, love,” John gasped against your mouth, eyes pinched shut. “If ya don’t want this to go any further— ah, shite...” he choked out when you rolled your hips down and began to grind against him. “Love, listen to me. I— “

“John, you back out on me right now, I might just have to hurt you.” You said this to him with the utmost sincerity.

His brows ticked up, surprised, then he huffed a laugh, a pleased smile spreading across his face. “Copy that, love. Read ya loud an’ clear,” he drawled, capturing your mouth in another heart-stopping kiss.

He took your arms and wrapped them around his neck, then moved his hands from your back to the front of his trousers. You heard the muffled jingle of his belt and the hiss of his zipper, and your heart ticked up another beat. You were trembling with anticipation, huffing out a short breath when you heard him rumble out a sigh, relieved. You glanced down between your bodies to see his length bobbing between you, the swollen tip dark red and leaking. Moaning, you closed your eyes and raised your head until your lips were on his again.

“Want you inside me,” you breathed into his mouth, and you felt his breath hitch in his chest. Your pussy literally quivered when he slid his cock against your folds the first time. “Oh, my god... John, that...”

“Shh. I know, love. That’s it. That’s a good girl,” he cooed into your ear. “Just hang on to me, yeah? I’ve got you.”

You felt his hands under your ass, gripping it tight. He lifted you up enough to notch his cock at your entrance, and then captured your lips with his before he sheathed himself to the hilt inside your walls with one fluid thrust of his hips.

He swallowed your small cry of surprise, drinking down the subsequent whimpers and gasps as he began to rock inside you. You clung to his shoulders, rolling your hips to meet him, letting your head fall back and closing your eyes to simply feel him.

John couldn’t resist the temptation and latched his lips onto the column of your throat, his beard scratching the sensitive skin and sending shivers racing down your back as he sucked his mark into your neck. He bit the edge of your turtleneck and pulled it down to leave another mark, making you gasp and clutch at his head.

He groaned into your skin and moved his hands to your back, shifting his weight to his knees to lay you back on the floor of the lift without missing a stroke. His warm hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled your leg up onto his shoulder. deepening his strokes as he leaned over you. You stared up at him, eyes gone lazy and dazed with arousal, your red, swollen lips parted, and cheeks flushed.

“Fuck, yer so beautiful,” he husked out, breaths heaving as his thrusts began to stutter. “Wanted ya for so long, love. Always on my bloody mind.” He gave a hard thrust, making you cry out. His eyes were darting over your face, drinking you in as you fell apart. “An’ ya feel so bloody good,” he grunted, with another hard thrust.

Your cry wavered as your walls began to squeeze and pulse around his cock. He dropped his head and growled, then pinned your other thigh to the floor, holding you open as he pistoned his hips between your thighs. “Fuck, right there,” he hissed to himself, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you convulse around him. His head snapped up to watch your face as you began to spasm around him. “Yesss, love, that’s it. Be a good girl an’ come for me,” he coaxed, making sure to hit that spot again and again until you finally shattered.

Everything seemed to tense up at once, your body locking into place as your climax rolled through you. It stunned you when it hit and then dragged you under, like a wave crashing against the shore and receding, pulling you far out to sea.

John hissed a curse, the way you felt around him as you came more than he could bear. With a frustrated growl, he pulled himself out, his release decorating your folds and quivering inner thighs. He watched your cunt flutter and spasm for him, a sense of deep satisfaction and pride swelling in his chest, even as he gathered you up in his arms.

He peered down at you, your eyes dazed, a blissed-out expression on your face, and knew he was done for, that he had been all along. He couldn’t deny it, even if he tried. You were it for him, and that’s just all there was to it.

“Hey, love,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over your chin. “Are ya with me?”

You blinked, sleepy and slow, then breathed out a sigh. A lazy smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Mm-hm. No place I’d rather be.”

John huffed a laugh. “Under the circumstances, that’s quite the compliment, love.”

You hummed, lifting your head to place a soft, lingering kiss on his lips. “Just stating facts, Captain.”

His eyes softened. “Good. ‘Cause that’s where I want you to be. With me.”

Your smile was sublime. “Then that’s where I’ll be.” You then gave him a teasing little smile. “Even after we get out of here.”

John chuckled as he pressed his lips to yours. “You’ve made me a very happy man, Miss,” he murmured against your lips, then smirked, “But Mrs. Kelsey is never goin’ to forgive ya for this.”

And the captain was right.

That mean old bird still won’t talk to you.

It’s been two years.

(Notes: @mirthlxss you asked for it lol. Hope you like. (((hugs))) )

#captain john price x fem reader #captain price x fem reader #cod captain price x fem reader #cod mw2 smut #cod captain price smut #cod captain john price smut #cod price smut #cod smut

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bunnibombz · 3 months ago

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The thought I was having...

"She can take it, don't let her whining fool you Ghost" John said, taking a drag off his freshly lit cigar as he sits back in his chair.

"Can't be runnin' away from me now," Simon gruffed, gripping your hips to hold you in place as he sank in deeper.

What had started out as a little joke between you and John after a drunken comment you made one night about wanting Simon to "stretch you out" had quickly evolved into John bringing his soldier into your bedroom on one condition. He got to watch.

Your fingers pulled at the sheets as Simon bottomed out, a rough groan dragged from his chest as you squeezed around him.

Fucking his thick, throbbing cock into your tight pussy had been no easy task despite how wet you were, and now that you were pulsing all snug around him and crying his name as you clawed the bed he didn't think he could ever pull out.

"That's it lovie, take a deep breath" He praised, pressing a warm hand against your spine to sink your chest lower to the bed as you moaned at the absolutely sinful angle he had you held in, "such a pretty bird Price, wanna keep her for myself".

"No can do Ghost," John replied with a chuckle as he adjusted himself through his pants. The sounds of your pleasure bringing a hot flush to his face, "she's got a ring on her finger for a reason".

#couldn't go to sleep without this out of my head #im a ghost girlie through and through but man if i dont think Price is FINE #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #cod smut #simon riley smut #tw voyeurism #em talks 👄#em writes ✍️#em x simon 🩷#poly 141 x reader

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sai-int · 2 months ago

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TICKET TO PLAY | john price

Sheriff Price has a habit of pulling you over, and you have a habit of seeing how far you can push him. It’s a game you've been playing for years—a harmless one, until he gives you exactly what you’ve been asking for.

⤿ based on this | [ AO3 ]

18+ AU, fem!reader, small town vibes, porn with minimal plot, smut, oral (m receiving), dom!john (back and forth between hard and soft), bratty—sort of pathetic reader, fingering, squirting, public sex, smidge of voyeurism, size kink if you really read the fine print, implied slight age gap [ 6.6k words ]

You weren’t going that fast.

Maybe nudging 35 in a 25, but the road was empty—just you and the soft, golden light of a July evening slipping into dusk. The cicadas hummed their lazy symphony, crickets chirping in harmony, while the air carried the scent of fresh-cut grass and summer warmth. It was the kind of night that wrapped around you like a blanket, slow and sweet, the kind that made you want to roll the windows down and let the world drift by.

But then the sirens sliced through the calm, sharp and jarring, shattering the stillness. Red and blue lights flashed in your rearview, splashing the road ahead in a chaotic swirl of color. Your hands tightened on the wheel, that familiar knot twisting in your gut. You didn’t even need to check the mirror to know who it was.

Sheriff John Price.

The small-town Sheriff (asshole) that had a sixth sense for catching you when you weren’t even doing anything wrong. The guy who’d written you up for a rolling stop at an empty intersection, or a right on red at 2 a.m. when the streets were dead silent. Sure, maybe you were five over on a straight stretch of road, but come on—did he really have nothing better to do than hassle you over that? It was starting to feel like he was just looking for excuses to pull you over.

At this point, you figured you were practically on a first-name basis. Hell, you were probably the most frequent flyer on his ticket roster. But that was the trade-off for living in a town where the sheriff knew everyone’s business—and apparently, yours most of all.

You eased the rickety old Nissan Skyline to a crawl, tires screeching softly as you pulled onto the shoulder and shifted into park. Your fingers moved on autopilot, fishing the registration out of the center console before he even asked. If John Price had one talent, it was knowing where you were before you did—and you’d learned the hard way to keep things within arm’s reach.

The music blared for a second longer before you killed the volume, the sudden silence pressing down on the summer night like a weight. You rolled down the window, letting the warm, sticky air flood the cabin, thick with the scent of grass and distant rain. Leaning back in your seat, one hand resting lazily on the wheel, you waited. Same old song and dance.

First came the slam of his cruiser door, sharp and final, like he was already annoyed at the prospect of dealing with you. Then the crunch of his boots on the asphalt—slow, deliberate, each step dragging out the inevitable. It was almost comical, the way he took his time, like he wasn’t the one who’d flipped on the lights and sirens.

The window hissed as it rolled down, the sound jarring in the quiet, and before you could stop yourself, a smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth. You didn’t bother hiding it this time. If you were walking away thirty dollars lighter, you might as well make it entertaining.

"Evenin’, John," you drawl, letting the words hang in the air with a playful edge that makes his jaw tighten.

He leans in, his arms braced against the window frame like he owns the whole damn road. His face is all sharp lines and shadows in the fading light, the faint scent of cigarettes and worn leather wrapping around you, mingling with the heavy, humid air of the summer night.

“Don’t call me John,” he grumbles, his voice rougher than usual, like gravel under tires.

You raise an eyebrow, your lips curling into a grin. “Why not?” you tease, letting your fingers trail lazily along the steering wheel. “Thought we were friends, John.” You bat your lashes, adding a pout for good measure, laying it on thick just to see how far you can push him this time

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. His eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he leans in closer, his presence crowding you. “We aren’t ‘friends,’” he says, his voice low, almost a growl. “You know why I pulled you over?”

It’s not really a question—it’s a challenge, and you can’t help but rise to it. You tilt your head, letting your gaze linger on him, your smirk widening. “Hmm… maybe ‘cause you’re a sucker for a pretty car?” you suggest, your tone dripping with sarcasm, sweet enough to sting.

John’s lips press into a thin line, but the subtle shift in his posture tells you everything you need to know. His gaze is unrelenting, sharp enough to cut through the cool facade you’re trying so hard to maintain. Internally, he’s fighting not to laugh—you can see it in the way his shoulders tense, like he’s holding back a cackle.

“If this—” he steps back, his eyes sweeping over the exterior of your car with deliberate slowness before landing back on you, “—is your idea of a ‘pretty car,’ I might have to issue you a ticket for driving without glasses.”

You lean back in your seat, arms crossing over your chest, your mouth hanging open in mock offense. Just because Fergie was old didn’t mean she was ugly. “Has anyone ever told you you’re an ass?”

He stands there for a moment, just watching you, his expression unreadable. It’s like he’s weighing how much more of this he’s willing to put up with. Finally, he tilts his head, his voice dry as dust. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a brat?”

“Touché.”

You two had been here before. Over and over again. Ever since you’d come back home from college, he’d been hot on your trail—always showing up at the worst possible moments, right when you thought you might’ve gotten away with it.

This was your town. You’d grown up here, knew every road, every corner, every face. It was small, sure, but it was yours. And then John Price showed up. Sparkling, brand new hot-shot sheriff, fresh off the Mayflower. Sworn in by all the touch-starved wives and swooned over by every teenage girl in a fifty-mile radius. Ever since he’d arrived, it was like Elvis all over again

You figured he didn’t have the right to boss the locals around like he owned the place. No shiny badge or gun on his hip was going to earn him any respect from you. This wasn’t some big city where the badge meant everything. Out here? You could be just as stubborn as he was.

Still, he had a knack for showing up when you least expected it, always lurking in the background, keeping an eye on you for reasons you couldn’t quite figure out. No one could explain it, but there he was, always hovering like you were some kind of problem. But you never did anything wrong. Not really.

“I bet you 50 bucks there’s about five disgruntled teens smoking pot under the high school bleachers as we speak,” you say, leaning back in your seat with a grin tugging at your lips. “Surely, they deserve your devotion and attention more than little ol’ me.”

He pauses, clearly weighing your words, and you can see the flicker of recognition in his eyes. “I don’t want your money,” he mutters, his tone dry but with a hint of amusement—and something else you can’t quite place. “Besides, I doubt you’ve got 50 dollars to spare, considering how often you’re in the precinct paying off tickets.” He leans in just a little, his gaze sharp, like he’s daring you to argue.

You shrug, playing the part, even though you know he’s right. “Hey, I’m just saying. You’re wasting your time with me. I’m practically a model citizen. Those kids under the bleachers, though? They could be causing all kinds of trouble.”

You give him a sidelong glance, letting the playful challenge hang in the air between you. “I’m just trying to help you out here, Sheriff.”

Your tone is sweet—too sweet—and you can almost see the gears turning in his head as he tries to figure out whether you’re messing with him or just being your usual self.

He takes a slow breath, clearly trying to keep his composure. His hand pinches the bridge of his nose before he exhales, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Oh, I’m sure you are,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Big help, givin’ me that advice.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “What can I say, Sheriff? Someone’s gotta make your job worthwhile.”

For a moment, the world seems to narrow to just the two of you. The air grows heavy, charged with something you can’t quite name, and the silence stretches taut between you. But then the faint hum of a car engine cuts through the stillness, tires rolling past on the asphalt—a sharp reminder that you’re not alone out here.

“Step out of the car.” His voice is calm, steady, but there’s a flicker of something darker beneath the surface, a low undercurrent that sends a shiver down your spine.

Your jaw tightens, anger flaring hot and sudden in your chest. He’s never asked you to step out of the car before, and the demand catches you off guard. You can’t afford to be arrested—not with a shift at the diner at 6 a.m. tomorrow morning, not with the way your life is already balanced on a knife’s edge. The thought of cuffs, of being hauled into the precinct, makes your stomach churn.

But you don’t move. Not yet. Instead, you meet his gaze, your own sharp and defiant, and for a heartbeat, the two of you are locked in a silent standoff.

You don’t say a word, just reach down to unclick your seatbelt with an indignant sigh, movements slow—like dragging out the inevitable might change the outcome. The latch pops, the sound too loud in the quiet, and you open the door, letting the evening air rush in, cool against the heat prickling at your skin.

You step out, tugging your shorts down where they’ve ridden up, keeping your gaze on the ground, on the cracks in the pavement, anywhere but at him. You try to keep your breathing steady, try to act like this is just another bullshit stop, just another way for him to waste your time and break your wallet. But your heart’s already racing, faster than you want it to.

Then his hand is on your hip.

Firm. Unmoving. Not quite guiding, not quite restraining. Just there. A weight that lingers, like a silent reminder that he’s the one in control here, no matter how much you want to believe otherwise.

For a second, you freeze.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches you. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, charged with something you don’t want to name.

You swallow, still refusing to look at him. “Gonna write me a bullshit ticket, John?” Your voice is casual, flippant—too much so. You know it, and so does he.

He doesn’t answer right away, and that makes it worse.

Because the truth is, you’d rather he just do it. Write the damn ticket, hand you the fine, and send you on your merry way. That would be easy. It’d be normal.

But nothing about him has ever been easy. And this? Whatever this is? It sure as hell isn’t normal.

His fingers tighten—just slightly—but it’s enough. Enough for you to catch it, that flicker of something dark and barely restrained. His jaw tightens, his nostrils flare, and you realize he’s at his limit.

Like he’s weighing his options. Like he’s wondering if he should just give you the damn ticket and walk away.

You tilt your chin up, finally meeting his gaze, like a challenge. Would he?

His voice is tight when he finally speaks, low and strained, every word biting through the air.

"You think this is a game?"

You pause, letting the question linger as you ponder. Is it a game? Is that what this has always been? This back-and-forth, this constant chase—where you go about your life, minding your business, and he shows up, lurking, watching, like he’s got nothing better to do than make you his personal problem.

Would he really arrest you? Pin you against his cruiser and throw you in the back? Take you downtown like you’re some criminal? The thought sends a slow, involuntary shiver down your spine, but the more you think about it, the more ridiculous it sounds. If he was going to do it, it would’ve happened already.

He’s just a big softie. A stubborn, gruff, self-righteous pain in the ass who acts like he’s got the whole town in a chokehold but has spent too many years shadowing you for it to be a coincidence.

And deep down, you reckon he must have some sick, weird crush if the only way he can muster up the courage to see you is by stuffing a white slip of paper under your windshield wiper, like he can’t even be bothered to have a conversation without the safety of bureaucracy to hide behind.

You don’t even have to think about it anymore.

This is a game.

You keep your gaze steady, watching him. Watching the way he’s fighting to maintain that authority, to keep control. And through the harsh headlights from his car, it’s almost cute—the way his jaw tightens, the way his nostrils flare ever so slightly, the way his fingers twitch against your hip like he’s waging a war with himself. Like he thinks he can win.

But he can’t.

Not really.

His grip on you tightens, fingers pressing deeper, slipping beneath soft flesh to squeeze the bone. Like he’s trying to ground himself. Like he thinks if he just holds on tight enough, he can remind himself who’s in charge here.

But you see it—the shift in his expression, the cracks forming right in front of you. His eyes are darker now, narrowed with something he’s still pretending isn’t there, and his teeth grit like it physically pains him to keep standing here.

You just can’t resist.

You lean in just enough, close enough that your breath tickles his cheek, and with a slow, knowing smirk, you whisper, “You’ve been dying to get your hands on me, haven’t you, John?”

The words hang between you, sharp and saccharine, and for a moment, it’s like the world holds its breath.

His eyes go dark, that flicker of anger flashing through them like a warning. But it’s not just anger anymore. It’s something else, something raw. For a split second, you’re certain he’s off the deep end.

Before you can even blink, his hand moves. It’s fast, and suddenly, he’s grabbing you by the arm, yanking you toward him with a force that steals the breath from your lungs.

“Get over here,” he growls.

The words are rough, guttural, scraping against his throat like he’s been holding them back for too long.

The next thing you know, he’s dragging you to the hood of his cruiser, his grip tight and bruising as his fingers wrap around your wrist, effortlessly dwarfing it. The cold metal of the hood bites against your skin as he shoves you down, bending you over the car.

And then he’s on you.

His chest is solid heat against your back, his weight pressing you into the hood like he’s making sure you stay there. Your breath catches, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven movements as you try to process just how quickly the shift between you has turned into this.

“Talk so fuckin’ much,” he mutters through clenched teeth, his voice a growl of frustration and something deeper, something rougher. His breath fans against your ear, hot and unsteady, sending a shiver down your spine.

One hand clamps over your wrists, holding them firm against the small of your back, while the other tangles in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose the vulnerable line of your throat.

The grip is possessive. Unforgiving, like he’s staking a claim.

“You think you can just keep pushing me? Keep fuckin’ with me like this, hmm?”

A soft whimper tumbles from your lips, and you bite down hard on your bottom lip, the rest of the sound dying in your throat. His hand pulls on your hair, making your neck arch back, and the sharp tug sends a jolt straight to your cunt. You try to choke back the reaction, but it’s impossible—the way he’s holding you, the way he’s pressing into you with every word, every move.

His body presses into yours, the intensity of it all making your pulse race. Despite everything, despite the situation, a shiver runs down your spine. You can tell he’s holding back by the way his teeth grit, the sharpness in his voice.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly to meet his gaze from the side. “By the way John Jr’s more sprung than a rainy day in April, I’d say you like it,” he groans and you chuckle, “You do like it, don’t you, John?”

The words slip from your lips, taunting him, and you can feel the shift in his posture before he even moves. His grip on your hair tightens, pulling you back further, forcing you to arch your neck more as he leans in, his breath hot and heavy against your skin, each exhale brushing over you like a warning.

“Think you’ve got me figured out?” he growls, teeth grazing the curve of your ear, his words a promise and a threat all at once. “Since you’re so fuckin’ knowledgeable, tell me something…”

Your pulse quickens, the anticipation like the loaded gun in his waistband. “Tell you what?” you ask, your voice quiet, almost breathless, but your eyes never leave his.

“Tell me what I do t’dumb girls that don’t know how t’speak only when spoken to,” he murmurs, his grip shifting, pulling you in closer, his body pressing against yours in a way that makes it impossible to ignore the growing bulge in his pants.

You can feel his cock twitch with interest in his jeans, and instinctively, you roll your hips back into his. The firm bulge presses against your pulsating cunt, offering just the smallest bit of reprieve from the ache in your clit and you can’t help but whimper. “You give them a ticket and send them on their way?”

“Nice try, love,” he says, the words dripping with disappointment, like he’s genuinely let down by your guess.

Before you can even react, his hand leaves your hair, and you hear the cold click of the cuffs snapping around your wrists.

You jerk against the restraint, but it’s useless. You turn to look up at him, but the look on his face—hands on his hips, blue eyes locked on you—makes you stop.

No smirk, no joke. Just intensity.

“Get on your knees,” he says, voice low, rough, without hesitation.

You bite your lip, the urge to snap back hitting you. But instead, you swallow it down and push yourself up, kneeling before him on the pavement. The roughness of it bites into your skin, the cuffs digging into your wrists, each pull reminding you of just how much control he has in this situation.

His boot taps lightly against your thigh, the sound sharp in the quiet air, a silent demand for your attention. You glance up, meeting his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes makes your breath catch. It’s a look that makes your pulse quicken, as if he can see right through you, into everything you’re trying to shovel deep..

“Sit,” he commands, the word simple, authoritative.

It takes you a second to realize what he means, but when his boot nudges against your clothed cunt, you get it.

You lift your hips slow, like you’re not sure but can’t help it, settling atop his boot. The sensation makes a shiver run up your spine. His fingers find your hair again, firm, enough to tilt your head back and make you look up at him.

“This’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, dove?” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper, like he’s savoring the sight of you—knees to the ground, wrists bound, eyes wide as you stare up at him. He can’t help but palm himself at the sight.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, heat simmering in your cheeks with anticipation. “I’m not gonna beg,” you sneer, defiant like your cunt isn’t already drooling for him. The lie sits thick on your tongue, heavy enough to choke on.

He smirks—slow like he’s amused, but there’s something else there, like he’s already decided how he’ll play with you.

“That’s cute,” his fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head back just a little further. Your lips part on instinct, a quiet, pained mewl slipping out before you can stop it.

“but you will,” he hums with a smile so saccharine, it makes you want to smack it off his face. His free hand reaches for his belt, fumbling with the leather as he pulls it out of the buckle. You can feel your body buzzing with anticipation, the tension building in every nerve of your body. Everything in your mind is screaming at you, telling you how wrong this is, how this can’t happen. But deep down, you know he’s right. This has been a long time coming.

But fuck, he’s a literal cop, the Sheriff. This has to fall under some public indecency law.

But despite everything, despite all the warnings your mind throws at you, the pull is stronger, too real to ignore. And you can’t stop yourself from leaning into it.

He peels down the zipper of his blue slacks and the sound echoes in your ears. You’re on your knees on the shoulder of a road, the last vestiges of daylight fading, and God help you, your mouth waters when you see the outline of his solid cock through his boxers.

He doesn't break eye contact, his other hand still tight in your hair, daring you to even try to look away. The recklessness, the sheer audacity of him whipping out his cock in the middle of a traffic stop. It’s all so palpable, like a stack of weights on your chest. He tugs down his boxers in one fluid movement, his cock springing free, and you can’t help but try to back away at the sight.

He's massive in every sense of the word. Dark curls trail from his navel to the base of him, thick but neatly kept. His cock hangs low and heavy between his legs, thick and long with a few veins and just the softest blush of pink at his tip. There’s no way you can take him all, let alone in your mouth.

He could see the shift in your eyes, the sudden apprehension in your demeanor, and the hand in your hair loosened. He trailed his fingers from your scalp to your cheek, his thumb wandering to the plump flesh of your parted lips.

“You can say no, dove. I won’t hold it against you,” he says softly, giving you an out. His blue eyes soften as they meet yours, and you know he wouldn’t force you. But the way the hard leather of his boot presses through your shorts, firm against your clit, has you fighting the urge to grind against him. You want—No, need him. Badly.

You bow your head to meet his cock, tongue darting out, hungrily swiping up the drop of precum dangling from his tip. He automatically groans and his hands find their way back to your scalp, feeding his cock into your mouth. Your lips tighten around him immediately, suckling as he presses in and stretches you out.

“Fuck— that’s it, love, so fuckin’ tight,” he babbles as he watches his length disappear in your mouth over and over. His eyes flutter shut as he tips his head back—he knew if he looked at you any longer he’d blow his load too soon. Your tongue is just so hot. He hadn’t expected it to be ice, but God you were sweltering. He nestled himself in the back of your throat so nicely, tickling and toying with your gag reflex each time you bobbed your head. You coat his length with slick spit, the sounds of your gags subconsciously making him push your head down even further.

You focus on steady breaths through your nose as his grip tightens. Your hands strain against the cuffs, aching to touch, to feel, to at least stroke where your mouth can’t reach. So pretty like this, he thinks. The way you look up at him, defiant yet desperate. The way your breath catches and your throat flutters around his mushroomed tip.

It drives him crazy—how much he wants to break that control, to make you lose it completely. His groans only spur you on further, your tongue moving with purpose, tracing the prominent vein along his underside.

Your hips jerk against his boot as spit gathers at the corners of your mouth, knees grinding into the asphalt, but you barely notice the sting. All you can think about is the way it makes heat pool in your cunt—sends sparks up your spine.

You can’t help it—your hips keep moving, grinding against his boot, the rough leather driving you wild, and you’re sure you’re leaving a wet spot. The friction is delicious, and you’re so lost in it that you almost miss when he speaks.

“Look at you,” he says, smirking despite how badly he needs to cum. “Can’t even help yourself, can you? Just a needy little mutt, humpin’ my boot.”

His hand tugs your strands, not rough but firm, just enough to make you gasp. “Just need your pretty pussy touched, that right?” he tuts softly, pulling you off him, a thin strand of saliva connecting your glistening lips to the tip of his cock. “On your feet, come on.” He guides you up, your legs shaky and chest heaving but his grip steadies you. “There you go, sweetheart.”

The sky’s a deep blue now, the sun long gone, the cruiser’s headlights casting faint shadows. He shoves you back against the hood, the metal cool against the backs of your thighs. His hands are on you immediately, rough and demanding, squeezing your thighs, your tits, like he’s marking his territory.

You bite your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but it’s useless. His fingers dig into your flesh, and your hips jerk instinctively, craving more. “So quiet now, hm?” he hums, his face centimeters from yours. “What happened to that smart little mouth of yours?”

The way he switches from caring to being so dominant, it makes your head spin. You glare at him, but he doesn’t care. His hand slides under the waistband of your shorts, fingers dancing over your soaked panties, and you can’t stop the way your hips roll into his hand, desperate for any touch he’ll give. “All this for me, sweet girl?” he mutters, middle finger slowly circling your sensitive clit, “All wound up, yeah? Need me to set you straight?”

“Fuck—,” you whine, your hips bucking into his hand, you can feel his breath against your lips as he chuckles. He deftly pulls your panties to the side, groaning when his fingers slide through your folds. His lips find your neck and he mouths at the sensitive patch of skin above your pulse, sucking a dark, red splotch into your skin as if you’re his.

You instinctively toss your head back, letting him lick hot, wet stripes from your clavicle to your jaw. He slips a single finger into you and your cunt squelches embarrassingly.

“Feels so good, John—,” you whine into the evening breeze as he pumps his finger in you, curling to hit your g-spot with precision you’ve never experienced. He smiles against your skin before enveloping your lips with his.

It’s hungry, messy, and desperate. His tongue crowds your mouth trying to drink you whole, like he’s been parched, waiting for you to quench his thirst since he first met you. He swallows your whines and pleas for more as he works you open, grinning when he slips in his ring finger alongside the middle and you gasp.

It’s a pathetic attempt, really, to kiss him back—to try to match his fervor. He has you at his mercy and you’re near collapsing into him as he finger fucks you, low heat pooling in your belly as the coil tightens, as you claw at the hood of the car, wishing the cuffs weren’t there—wishing you could claw at him instead.

“Feel you gettin’ all tight ‘round me, dove. Gonna cum? Gonna soak my fingers, doll?” He questions against your lips. Your walls are squeezing him so tight, sucking him in and keeping them there. So greedy, he thinks.

You nod vehemently, biting your lip so you don’t scream—or sob, you aren’t sure how to feel—into the air. He grinds the heel of his palm against your clit, and that’s all you need to finally break. You near black out when you cum, sparks shooting up your spine and making your vision go black for a moment, his fingers lazily working you through your orgasm as your legs shake and your walls damn near break his fingers.

“That’s my girl, knew you could do it,” he hums against your temple, wiping away tears you hadn’t known fallen.

You hadn’t cum that hard in your life. Not by yourself, and most certainly not by any of the lame frat boys you fucked in your college days.

But John isn’t in a frat.

And he certainly isn’t just a boy.

He gently slips his hand out of your pants, bringing his fingers up to his lips before popping them into his mouth. The way his eyes flutter shut, eyebrows pulling together softly as he groans at the taste of you on his tongue, it’s all fucking sinful. You watch him, mesmerized as he pulls the glistening digits out of his mouth with a pop.

He dips his head to yours, kissing you again, but much softer this time, less hungry, more savoring. You can taste the subtle tang of your own juices on his tongue, and you’d be a liar if you said it didn’t turn you on further.

John subtly tugs your shorts and panties down, the fabric whispering against your skin. He fishes for a small key in his pocket, before using them on the cuffs. They open, releasing your raw wrists with a near-silent snick. You feel the moment the cuffs fall away, and your hands move as if drawn by an invisible force, reaching for him, clutching at his jaw, pulling him closer with urgency. Your fingers roam his shoulders, his neck, tracing the hard lines of his body as he spreads your legs, tossing your discarded shorts aside. He settles between them, lazily pumping his cock with his free hand.

“You want this, love?” he whispers against your lips.

You nod almost imperceptibly before crashing your lips back to his, like you just can’t get enough.

He kisses you back like a magnet, but just as quickly, he pulls away again.

“Words,” he says sternly.

You huff, ever the impatient brat. “Put your fucking cock in me or I swear to God, I'll get in my car and drive right out of here.”

“That right?” he scoffs, "You gonna drive off?" He brings his angry red tip to your sodden folds, teasing your sensitive clit with each brush, making you jolt, “You want t’act like a brat,” he whispers, his breath warm against your ear. “Then we can do this the hard way.” He leans in, his lips brushing against yours. “Unless,” he murmurs, ghosting the head of his cock into your hole, “you'd like to ask nicely.”

You bite your lip as you watch him tease you, fighting a groan at the way your cunt squelches and stretches around just his tip.

“She’s so greedy, already tryin’ to suck me in,” he coos, “don’t want to deprive her, now do we?”

You whine as he notches just the head in. He pauses, waiting for you to speak before he moves any further. You open your mouth and your voice just breaks as you leak and drip around him and onto the hood of the car.

“Please, John, Please, I need you—Please, I’ll be so good,” You break and claw at his shoulders and back, desperate to pull him closer to you, to have you flush against him, chest to chest and full of his cock.

“See how gorgeous you sound when you’re nice? See where that gets you, love?” He coos as he inches his cock into you. Your walls are already fluttering, still all worked up from your last orgasm. He has to fight the urge to cum right then and there, gritting his teeth as his grip tightens on your thighs, fingers dimpling the fat as he spears you open.

You’re slack jawed, eyes glassy as he bottoms out. You’ve never been so full and stretched in your life. You can feel him in every orifice of your body, you feel him in the pits of your stomach, in the hollows of your lungs, in the cavern of your throat. His tip nudges against your cervix and all you can manage is a strangled sob.

“Oh none of that, lovie, none of that,” he hums, pecking your lips and wiping the tears from your eyes with the pads of his thumbs.

“Gonna fuck you real nice,” the thumb he used to wipe your tears away travels south, finding your clit and drawing soft, slow circles that have you gushing and relaxing around him, “Just be a good pet and take it.”

You nod as he cradles your head in his hand. He gently moves his hips, inching his cock out of your cunt before sliding back in, squeezing the air out of you like a fucking balloon.

Gasps fall from your lips with each stroke, not entirely from discomfort, but from the sheer intensity of the feeling. He repeats the motion, a slow, deliberate push and pull that sends shivers down your spine. He keeps his thumb on your clit steady, making your legs shake, a burning heat already blossoming low in your belly. You grip his shoulders, your nails digging into his clothed frame as you try to anchor yourself against the rising tide of sensation.

He continues, his movements becoming more insistent, more demanding. Each thrust is deeper, faster, steady plaps from where his hips repeatedly meet yours. He knocks the breath out of you, each stroke forcing a soft mewl from your lips, your body trembling with anticipation. The world narrows, focusing on the rhythmic movements of his hips, the feel of his skin against yours, the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with his.

He leans, his lips brushing against your own. “That's it, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “Take it all.”

His words ignite a fire within you, a raw, primal need that surges through your veins. You arch your back, meeting his thrusts with a ferocity that surprises even yourself. His pace quickens, his movements becoming more urgent, more erratic, and you know he’s getting close. The burning in your abdomen intensifies, spreading outwards, and throughout your body.

His name falls from your lips in a litany—John, John, John, john—a prayer, both a plea and a demand as his cock plows into you with staggering precision. Your cunt clenches around him, milking every ounce of pleasure from each stroke. He groans, cursing as his grip tightens on your hips, until you wail, toes curling and clawing at his back, your voice hoarse as you squirt all over him. He continues to move, his rhythm relentless, until he too reaches his peak, groaning as his body shudders, as he spurts hot ropes of cum deep inside your cunt.

You’re breathless, spent, your limbs heavy and relaxed. The dampness of sweat cooled on your skin, a pleasant contrast to the lingering heat between your legs. The world slowly comes back into focus and a soft smile plays on your lips as you trace the line of his jaw with your fingertips.

“That was…” you murmur, your voice still rough.

He nuzzles your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “A lot,” he finishes for you, his voice low.

You hum in agreement, tightening your grip on his jaw just slightly. You don't need to say more. The silence that settles between you is comfortable. He shifts slightly, and it reminds you he's still there, sheathed inside you.

You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his body against yours, a comforting heat that seeps into your skin. Every nerve ending still fires, buzzing with aftershocks.

Slowly, he inches out of you. It feels weird to not be full of him, a sudden emptiness that makes you instinctively clench. He's out, and the cool air against your skin is a stark reminder of the reality of the situation. Of the fact that you’re literally on the side of the road. John reaches for your discarded clothes, picking them up with a casualness that borders on audacious.

He starts with your panties, briefly bending down in front of you as you step into them. He pulls them up your legs, snapping the elastic against your hip. “Sheriff’s discretion,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with amusement as he fastens your shorts too. “Wouldn't want you getting a ticket for indecent exposure.” Fucking knew it.

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “You were just as indecent as I was, if I recall.”

He shrugs as he tugs up his own pants, a picture of nonchalant authority. “Evidence suggests otherwise, doll,” he counters, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping to a low rumble, “I'm the one writing the tickets.” He finishes buttoning your shorts, his fingers lingering against your skin.

The world sways for a moment, your legs still a little shaky. He steadies you, his arm around your waist. He walks you back to your car, the silence between you comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. He stops just short of the driver's side door, his hand resting comfortably on your back.

“Drive safe,” he says, his voice softer than you've ever heard it.

You nod, your eyes meeting his. You stand on your tip toes and kiss him, a soft, lingering peck on his lips that’s got him feeling like a teenager again.. He responds in kind, other hand moving to cup your cheek. Judging by how he holds you close, he’s reluctant to pull away.

But he does, and he turns and walks back to his cruiser. Eventually, You watch his car fade away, a strange mix of emotions swirling within you. Then, with a deep breath, you turn and get into your car. The door shuts and you just exhale, replaying everything that just happened.

You reach to crank the keys sitting in the ignition and your eyes fall on a small white rectangle tucked under the windshield wiper. You get back out of the car and pull it free.

It's a ticket. For speeding.

Asshole.

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feelgoodinct · 6 months ago

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nsfw. price who takes pride in how well he takes care of his missus. it’s your world and he’s just living in it baby!

there’s not a day that goes by where you aren’t fucked and fed properly. will go to great lengths to make your life as easy as possible, which includes being selfless. which is why when he goes on long work trips he’ll ask one of the boys to take good care of you until he gets back. preferably simon; johnny is much too eager, and gaz is too much of a sweetheart to rough you up just how you like. he can’t bare the thought of having his girl waking up to an empty bed. which why he’ll leave simon with the keys to your home and a heavy pat on the back.

“I’ll be back in a few days. keep her entertained for me, will ya? if she starts getting fussy just means she’s due for a proper fucking. she’s a restless little thing. take good care of her now, yeah? I’ll be expecting updates.”

#john price x reader #john price x reader smut #call of duty x reader #call of duty x reader smut #cod x reader #cod x reader smut #cod smut #john price smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut

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thundersoothers · 4 months ago

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john price, his wife, and... the dog (derogatory)

who: John Price x wife!reader

what: inspired by this thought about john price being an absolutely softie for his wife. continued here!

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of cheating but it’s NOT TRUE! you’ll see… just fluff that reallyyyyy makes me want to marry this man.

It’s 2AM on a Saturday in the summer when John Price thinks he hears his wife cheating on him.

“Shhh!! You have to be quiet, you’ll wake up my husband.”

He opens his heavy eyes to see the TV paused at the end credits of some movie he can’t even remember the name of. The screen reflects in the crystal of the empty rocks glass on the coffee table next to his feet, holding only a warm whiskey stone.

He groans and stretches, his old t-shirt riding up to show a dark happy trail disappearing into low-waisted flannel pajama pants. He has one sock on with a hole in the toe. You told him to get rid of them and got him a pack of 20 of the same sock (he’s very particular about his socks), but he still wears these ones, anyway.

“Stop moving, I’m trying to concentrate here. Damn lock… can never— oh, shit. Heh. Wrong key.”

He can hear you muttering and giggling and the scratch of the key against the lock as you struggle to get it in.

It’s your girls’ night and he likes to wait up for you to make sure you get in safely. He saw you off around 8PM, pouring himself a glass of whiskey as you took a shot of tequila. You planted a big kiss on his cheek, leaving a red lipstick mark that he didn’t bother to fully wipe off.

“Sorry, I know you’re eager to get inside. I bet you’re so cold, all naked. Here, you can go in my dress, is that better? Fu—ow! Don’t bite my tit, Jesus! Sharp teeth…”

Price suddenly feels much more awake. He pushes himself up from the couch and starts to walk to the foyer.

“This damn door… ah! There we go.”

The door creaks open and he hears you tiptoe inside in your heels (wearing heels and tiptoeing—are two actions that are mutually exclusive, especially when you’re plastered).

“Remember, we have to be quiet. My husband waits for me to get home, we don’t want to wake him up. He’s very nice, you see, but he can’t know you’re here.”

Apparently, you have gotten home safely—with an extra guest who just bit at your tit. And you’re being louder than your guest, who you keep telling to be quiet.

“My husband is gonna be soooo mad. He’s gonna be so mad at me, but once he sees how cute you are, I think he’ll forgive me. He’ll understand. I had to. I just had to!”

He hears rustling as he gets closer to the foyer, you fumbling around in the dark.

“Stay there, don’t move, okay? Stay, yeah? You know that, don’t you? Mummy will teach you if not. Just stay right there. Lemme get these damn heels off…”

There’s an odd sound of something quickly clicking on hardwood floor that makes his eyebrows furrow, and then you gasp—

“Wait, don’t run—“

Bang!

You groan loudly.

Price flicks on the lights.

You’re lying face down on the rug. You have one heel on. The second heel is twisted around your other foot—what you fell over. Your little dress is flipped up over your ass and your arms are outstretched.

“You okay there, love?” John asks, torn between amusement and concern. You just groan. “Sounded like you fell pretty hard.”

“I tripped,” you say into the rug, sounding very sad.

“You hurt?” he asks. “Anything broken?”

You shake your head and curl up a little. “I’ll just sleep here.”

He laughs softly. “Come on, none of that.”

“It’s so comfortable. I’ll just��“

There’s that clicking sound again and he’s almost startled by the abruptness of your movement. You push yourself up with one arm, stretch the other out and fucking snatch the quick-moving little brown blob that’s moving toward you. You pull it to your chest and cradle it, shielding it from John’s view.

He blinks. “What you got there, love?” he asks after a second.

“Nothing,” you say innocently.

“Right.” He crosses his arms, looking you over. “Who were you talking to just now?”

“No one,” you say quickly. “Myself.”

“Right,” John says again slowly. “Show me what you have.”

You look over your shoulder up at him through your lashes, vision blurry. “No. You’re gonna be mad.”

“Just show me.”

“Promise you won’t be mad.”

He sighs. “I won’t be mad.” You give him a look. He sighs again. You’re wasted—he can tell by your eyes. They’re unfocused and heavy. “Promise. Now show me.”

You look down at whatever you’re holding to your chest. “Okay,” you whisper (to your tits?), “you need to be very well-behaved, okay? No biting, please. Be very nice for Daddy so he will like you, okay? Can you do that? Yes? Okay.”

You glance up at John again over your shoulder and then turn yourself around in a very clumsy movement. Then, as if presenting whatever it is like you’re Mufasa from the Lion King, you lift it up in the air toward your husband.

It’s a puppy.

It’s quiet.

The little dog wriggles in your hands, wagging his tail so hard his whole body shakes. He barks up at John, high pitched. A small pink tongue lolls out of his mouth.

It’s still quiet.

You lower the dog a little so you can look up at John. “You said you wouldn’t be mad!”

“I’m not mad,” John says, sounding mad.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad,” he says again. “It’s just… dirty.”

You gasp. “He’s not dirty!” you exclaim, sounding offended on behalf of the dog. You pull him to your chest. “He’s just a little mangey, you see. But that’s okay. It can be fixed. You know—they have medicine for that. Or lotion, or whatever it is. He’s very nice, John, I swear. I know he’s a little… skrunkly but he’s very cute and—ow! That’s my hair, no biting Mummy, please.”

“You’re already calling yourself his Mummy?” he asks, bemused, eyebrow raised at you. Yep. You’re fucking wasted.

“Yes, and you’re his Daddy.” You hold the dog up again, this time facing him toward you. “I think you’re very cute, puppy. You’ll grow on Daddy. Just be very good for him, you can do that, can’t you? Yes, you can.” You whisper, as if John isn’t standing right there, “We’ll wear him down. Don’t worry.”

“I thought it was something else,” Price says.

“What did you think it was?” you ask, not looking away from the dog.

“Where did you find it?” he asks instead of answering.

This is much better than what his traitorous mind momentarily supplied. You, cheating? As if.

How silly of him to even think that. For a moment, his stomach twists with the guilt of doubting you. He should have known better.

Of course it’s this. What else could it have been?

A puppy.

A puppy!

“Oh, hello, there.”

You crouch down in your dress and heels and hold out your hand to the little puppy emerging from the bushes by the side of the road.

“What are you doing here, all alone? Come here, love, I won’t hurt you. Come on, puppy, come to me. Yeahhh, there we go. Oh, look at you. You’re so cute. You’re all mangey, though. Oh,” you say pitifully, “you little baby.”

You’re drunk as fuck at 2AM on a Saturday in the summer, halfway through your walk home from the bar, squatting in the middle of a back road in England, about to cry while petting this puppy clumsily—but he doesn’t seem to mind. He wags his tail and nips at your fingers.

“Where’s your mummy? You shouldn’t be out here all alone. No collar… oh, goodness, what should I do with you? I don’t want to leave you. I’m not sure what to do.”

He barks at you, high pitched.

You nod at him seriously. “Oh, yes, good point.” He barks again. “Mhm. Yes, yes. I thought so, too. Exactly right.”

He runs in a circle around you.

“What are you, a month? You should be with your Mum, you shouldn’t be all alone. Oh, you little baby, you must be so scared.” (He’s wagging his tail.)

“It’s so cold.” (It’s summer.)

“Maybe you can come home with me?” (Your husband would be so mad.)

“Yes,” you decide. “You’ll come home with me.” (Your husband is going to be so mad.)

That’s how you end up stumbling home with a puppy in your arms, rambling to him about yourself and your life.

“Well, puppy, my name is Mrs. Price. I’m from around here. I live in a nice three bedroom house with my husband, I think you’ll like it very much. It’s very cute, but that's mostly because I decorated it. He doesn’t understand feng shui, you see. You should see his office, puppy, it’s so bland. No taste for interior design.”

“Our house is only 10 more minutes away. See that big tree there? That means we only have 10 minutes left until we’re home. I’m not great with street names, so I go by landmarks.” He barks. “Yes, yes, you get it.”

“Anyway. So, I’m—stop wiggling please, Mummy’s going to drop you—I’m married to a very nice man named John. I love him very much. You’ll like him, too,” you tell the dog seriously. "He’s very likable. I like lots of things about him, puppy. Actually," you say, "I like everything about him.”

“He says I can’t have a dog, though. He says it’s for my own good—booooo. Boo! But maybe we can sneak you in. What do you think, puppy? Should we do that? I think we should do that. We’ll have to be very quiet, though. Very quiet.”

“John waits for me to get home safely—he’s so nice, he’s so kind to me, I love him sooooo much—but we have to make sure not to wake him up. This is one of them—uh, covert operations. He’s very well-versed in those. My husband is very talented, puppy, he’s a military Captain. So we’ll have to be extra careful.”

And that’s how you end up trying to sneak into your own house and then trip over your shoe and fucking slam! your face on the rug.

“Where did you find it?” John asks you as you sit on the floor after you presented the dog to him.

“On the way home from the bar, kind of my that big tree.”

“By Notting Street?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Notting Str—I dunno. Maybe? I just know the big tree. The one with all the branches.”

“‘The one with all the branches,’” he repeats, nodding slowly. “Right.”

“But he was there all alone so I took him home. I couldn’t leave him, John, he’s so little. And he’s very cute, look at his little ears? And his little feet? His toes are soooo small. His little teeth are sharp, though—like a shark. Fuckin’ hurt, he almost bit my tit off.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“You heard? Oh. I was trying to be quiet. I didn’t want to wake you up.”

He smiles at you. “I know.”

You smile back.

“Give me the dog.”

You frown. “No.”

“The dog, please.”

“No.” You hold him tighter. “You’ll take him from me.”

“Well,” he says, “yes.”

You sigh heavily. “Be gentle.” You hand him to John and he takes him in one hand and holds him out, frowning, as if it’s offended him.

A puppy.

“Can we keep him?” you ask hopefully.

He glances at you and then back to the puppy and then back to you and then back to the puppy. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“But…” You trail off and he looks back down at you. You’re starting to tear up.

“Oh—love, don’t cry.”

“He’s so little and soft and nice and he’s all mangey and he’s all alone and he’s just a little baby and…”

“Okay, okay, darling, we can keep him.”

(By that, he means you’ll talk about it tomorrow when you’re sober, and by ‘talk about it’, he means, ‘no.’)

“Really?!” you gasp.

The way your face fucking lights up makes John pause. For a second, he almost feels like he lost his balance.

“Oh, John, really? Oh, thank you so much! Puppy, did you hear that? Daddy said yes! See, he’s very nice, just like I told you, remember? He’s very nice and kind and he’s very handsome and I love him very much, and I—“

“The dog can’t understand you.”

“You don’t know that,” you say defensively.

He looks down at you. “Right.”

You stare up at him, standing over you as you sit on the floor. “How are you handsome even from this angle?” You frown deeper. “Stupid face,” you mutter.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Let’s get you up.”

“I’m so comfortable.”

“Hand.” He tucks the dog under his arm and extends his other hand toward you. He crooks his long, thick fingers at you. “Now.”

You look between his hand and his face, and then slip your hand into his.

“Good girl.”

He fucking yanks you up and, in one movement that’s somehow graceful, bends down and throws you over his shoulder.

He, naturally, slaps your ass and you squeal. “Hey!!”

You kick your feet (still with only one heel on) and he laughs, resting his hand on your hip, heavy fingers digging into the plush of your butt, as he makes his way up the stairs with you on his shoulder and the dog in his hand.

Gently, he drops you onto the bed and you fall back with an oof! and stare up at him.

“Well,” Price drawls, “aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You grin. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” He takes off your shoe (singular), your dress, and your makeup as you hold the dog, curled up, on your chest.

“You’re so good to me, John,” you say, your eyes closed. “I’m so lucky. I don’t know how I got so lucky. And, you, puppy,” you mumble, petting him slowly, “you’re so lucky, too. You’re about to have the best Daddy in the world. He’s so good to us.”

“‘Puppy’ is asleep,” John says. “And,” he adds, scooping him up in one hand, “puppy is not sleeping in the bed.”

You just groan, too tired and drunk to argue.

He holds the dog out in the air again, turning him around and upside down to examine him. He yips and wriggles in his hands, but John shushes him. “Hush now. Your Mummy is asleep.” He shakes his head and sighs. “What am I going to do with you?”

He takes the dog to the bathroom and puts him down on the floor. His paws slip a little on the cold tile. John puts his hands on his hips, staring down at the dog. “I can’t believe this.”

He reaches over to turn on the heated floor (which he got installed for you), throws a fluffy towel onto the ground (also for you), and says to the dog, “You are so, so damn lucky I love your Mummy.”

In the morning, despite John Price’s best efforts to say no to you, you end up convincing him to keep the dog. He’s a military Captain but the pleading of his wife is enough to make him crumble.

The happiness on your face when he finally says yes, makes him wonder why he ever said no in the first place.

note: thank you for reading! this is my first time posting in years–and in a totally new fandom. thank you for your patience and your support. let me know your thoughts! merry christmas!

posted 12.26.2024. revised 02.17.2025.

do not repost or modify any of my original words on any other platform.

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#john price #john price x reader #call of duty #call of duty imagine #cod imagine #john price smut #well wait I guess not #for once #lux.writes #lux.price #john price fic #john price drabble #call of duty fic #I haven't done tags in forever what else do I do #call of duty smut #price #price.wife #price cod

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