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bunnyreaper · 1 year

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𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸 𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.7k warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), cheating (not from reader or john), older male younger female, future daddy kink) notes - dropping chapter one just because i need to get it out of my head ! a lot of setup really, but i swear we will get somewhere soon!! also on ao3! ♥

The rain had been threatening to come for days now—thick grey clouds lurking in the sky like a promise, but so far no drops had seemed to fall.

It's easy to get lost looking out the window, as the gunmetal sky gains an amber hue. The dinner you'd cooked had long gone cold—your boyfriend staying late at work again instead of coming home. It's easier now that it's almost a habit, to take your mind off things by staring at the sky, the record player crooning in the background.

You suppose if you took him out of the picture, life wasn't all that bad. The house the two of you shared was nice and homey, your job was mundane and untaxing and exactly what you desired, and your friends were solid.

James was the only sticking point, with his eyes that were never quite blue and his heart that was never quite yours. You suppose you knew deep down, without ever really knowing.

The creak in the floorboards and the sound of a voice pulls you from your thoughts, bringing you back into the room.

"Knock knock." A sonorous voice rings out as a head pops around the door of the living room, before John Price—your boyfriend's father, makes his way inside.

You force yourself to be present, offering an unbridled, warm smile at your guest as you playfully greet him. "Captain."

"Darling girl." He replies, your smile mirrored on his face. He sets down a box of beers on the table and starts to take off his jacket. "Tried texting you to let you know I was headed over, saw the light on, and the door was unlocked." He explains, as if he hadn't made his own way inside before.

It never bothered you, your place feeling more like home to John than his own little house on the other side of town.

You rise to your feet, heading through to the kitchen on instinct—he brought beers, which means you'll grab the bottle opener for him before he even needs to ask. "Sorry, John, I kind of zoned out for a good while there."

His footsteps are heavy as he follows you through, with an easy swagger to his steps as he brings through the beers to put in the fridge. "You should lock it even when you're in." Authority laces his tone, as he directs his paternal instincts at you.

"Yeah, I know." You laugh, nodding along, as you're so used to the way John can't help but look out for you at every opportunity. You move on autopilot, taking the box from him and setting the beers in the fridge before taking one, uncapping it, and handing it back to him.

His gaze follows your every movement, observing you as his thoughts tick over with every passing second. "Everything okay?" He asks, seeing right through you, as he always seems capable of. The concern that's clear in his voice almost makes you flinch—you get so unused to being cared for when he's not around.

You force a tight-lipped smile onto your face as you force yourself to whisper some excuse, even if it isn't too far from the truth. "Tired, it's been a long week."

John's brows furrow momentarily, and the slightest frown plays at his lips, which you know from experience means he doesn't believe you, but he won't push it for now.

He wraps his hand around the neck of the beer, taking a deep gulp before wiping his beard with the back of his hand. "Where's James? The two of you should be cuddled up on the couch, unwinding."

"Still at work." You shrug, turning away from John to try and find something to busy yourself with—currently, wiping down the counters and loading the dishwasher.

"Guess I'll keep you company then." John chuckles, his voice soft. Despite only being here for mere moments, his quiet presence is already starting to lift your mood.

You turn to him, naturally falling into a more playful spirit as you lean over the kitchen island, pausing for a moment. "Hopefully my company won't be too much of a disappointment then."

"I don't think that's possible, love." He answers without missing a beat, his eyes serious even if the smirk on his face isn't.

John always knows how to make you feel better—you couldn't have asked for a better support system when it comes to your life with James. His mother is lovely, endlessly self-sacrificing, and sweet, but now more focused on her growing children than her adult son—especially since James never seems to appreciate her as much as he should.

She raised James without John by choice—rightly or wrongly deciding not to tell anyone who the father of her teen pregnancy was. John was leaving for the army and wanted a different life for himself than the one she and a baby could offer, so she kept the burden to herself and let him go. That's how she told it, that's how it seemed to be when James showed up at John's door over two decades later and confirmed his father had no idea he existed.

The two have been making awkward attempts to make up for lost time in the years since, with you and your unfolding relationship witness to the whole thing. James had gained another father, you had gained... a friend?

"You say that now." You wink, knowing full well that you've found ways to exhaust and annoy John Price before.

He takes another sip of his beer, longer and slower this time, as if savouring the taste. "Getting as much of you as I can before I ship out on Monday." He admits.

Your heart sinks just a little. Even though it's been years of John disappearing to god knows where, it never seems to stop causing you to worry. How would James deal with it if he never came back? How would you?

Like so many other things in your life with John, you've become practiced in the way you are around each other. Despite having a million questions, you know he can answer none of them, so each time he gets dragged off to someplace unknown, you find a silly way to get something out of him.

Last time, you asked if the nation's flag had a star in it, and it did. You could almost imagine him in a different country every day that he was away, until he came back to you both.

Today, you fell back on an old favorite. "Flip-flops or snowsuit?" You ask with a giggle.

"Ha, flip-flops." He answers quickly, confirming that wherever he's headed, it's hot weather, he drinks some more as if to silence the rest of the words on the tip of his tongue.

You know by now that John prefers the cold.

"Hopefully I'll be able to catch the kid before I go." He adds, referencing James—he always tries his best to say goodbye to you both before he goes, now he has a reason to come home.

You grit your teeth at the mention of your boyfriend, knowing you won't see much of him this weekend either. "Sunday is your best bet, he'll be hungover after the stag do he's going to tomorrow." The one he only told you about two days ago.

"Those were the days, eh." John smirks, tilting his head as if to recall a memory. As an army man, you can only imagine the shit he's gotten into with his squads, the places around the world he's gotten drunk out of his mind and done god knows what. He has so many years on James, so many stories you'd love to hear.

"Too busy playing lawn bowls with your comrades now?" You can't help but tease him as you always do, the two of you falling into your back and forth with a familiar ease.

He tuts, sending you a playful glare that forces you to ignore the way it makes you feel. "Less your lip, young lady."

You have to ignore the way that makes you feel too— fuck, you're lonely, and you need James to just fuck you already.

"Absolutely, old man." You snap back, never able to resist the urge to tease him for his age. He's only in his early 40s, hardly an old man at all, but you still love to wind him up about it.

"You're the one listening to Otis Redding." He huffs, raising a brow as if to suggest you don't have any room to mock him with your own habits.

You suppose you do listen to golden oldies, knit for fun, and prefer nights in rather than nights out.

"You're the one who bought it for me." You counter, as John had bought the vinyl for you, along with many others. If anything, he was transforming your music taste into his, one album at a time.

"That I did." He chuckles, before finishing his beer with one final swig. You're setting a fresh one down in front of him before he can even ask. "You won't drink with me?"

Perhaps he feels left out drinking alone.

You wrinkle your nose, catching a whiff of hops that makes your stomach churn. "Even you can't convince me to drink that swill, I'll grab something, though." You concede that at least, turning to reach the shelf up high to where you keep your liquor.

John is offering his bottle up as soon as the clear liquid is poured into your glass. "Cheers, love."

Your glasses clink as your eyes connect, a soft, sincere moment passing between the two of you that makes your heart beat a little faster. You were awfully fond of the older man. "To your safe return."

"I'll drink to that." He toasts, before downing half of the beer in one go. "You still owe me the dinner that you promised me last time, I'm coming back to collect."

"I actually have some I can reheat, it was for James, but since he's staying late..." You offer, your sentence trailing as you battle to keep your thoughts on the man in the room with you, rather than the one who isn't.

"Can't let your lovely cooking go to waste now, can we?" He grins, deeply pleased to be getting one of your meals.

You turn to the oven, pulling out the two plates that are still warm, food piled high on top of them. "Glad it's appreciated."

John pauses, his eyes trying to meet yours, yet you continue to avert your gaze, focusing on grabbing cutlery for you both. You said too much.

"You don't feel appreciated?" He asks, voice softer—concerned all over again.

As you sit down beside him, setting the two plates down, you struggle to meet his eye as your feelings swirl and conflict inside you. If anyone offered the perfect understanding ear, it would be John, and under any other circumstance, you'd happily tell him all about what ails you. "I don't... think it's appropriate to talk to you about my relationship troubles."

His posture stiffens, his voice hardens, and his food is temporarily forgotten as his protective instincts kick in. "But there are troubles?"

Now, you find the strength within you as you force a laugh from your throat and a spark into your eyes. "Oh no, I meant hypothetically." You joke, hoping he takes the bait.

Instead, a hand reaches out to settle on yours, warm and firm and reassuring—ebbing away at your propriety. "Love, you're a terrible liar." He whispers, yet unable to keep the smallest of smiles from tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Or you're just used to reading people for a living." You counter—after all, you tell James you're fine all the time, and he's never suspected any different.

"That too." John laughs, as he pats your hand and begins to rub circles over the back of your smaller hand with his calloused thumb. "You have to talk to someone."

There's that commanding, authoritative, caring voice again—the one that makes you relent every time he uses it on you.

"I will, just... not my boyfriend's dad." You whisper meekly, guilt stabbing through you as the words leave you.

He nods understandingly, patting one more before he pulls his hand away, and goes to twirl pasta around his fork. "Why? I might be his father but a blind man could see the way he takes you for granted."

Hearing the words out loud, verbalised by someone else—verbalised by John of all people, feels like a stab wound to the chest. You'd felt it for so long, assured yourself that you were just going crazy, ignoring the way James cares for you, assuring yourself that nothing was amiss. But John sees it too, sees it in his own son.

"Well, I don't think men who wouldn't take me for granted actually exist." You laugh bitterly, stabbing at your own plate of food before swallowing a bite—you're sure it would've tasted nicer when it was actually fresh.

John's jaw clenches, a hint of frustration passing through him as he watches you, hurting and hiding it all away. "Then you're dating the wrong men, darling. We exist."

You take a deep breath as you try to let go of the ugly feelings within you. Men like John do exist, good men, caring men.

"And yet you deprive women of your company, how cruel." Your eyes roll back sarcastically as the grin breaks out onto your face.

Any woman would be lucky to have John, but for as long as you've known him, he's kept himself to himself. Now he preaches his own virtues like you have something to look forward to, and yet men like him always seem to be out of reach.

"I'm a busy man." He shrugs, taking a bite of his food before rushing down another as gentlemanly as he can.

"And yet here you are."

He nudges you with his knee, flashing you a smile. "Spending time with my favourite girl."

It takes everything within you to remain calm and remind yourself that he doesn't see you like that. You're just his son's girlfriend, that he happens to get along with, very well.

You giggle anyway, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of his statement. "Ah, waiting for the main event."

John sets his fork down with a clatter, his attention now fully on you. "Love?"

"Yeah?" You swallow, wondering just how he's going to chastise you for your self-deprecation. If you had a pound for every time he's told you to be kinder to yourself, or gently corrected you when you make jokes at your own expense, you could probably afford to pay for the therapy you clearly desperately need.

"I didn't just come to see James." He admits, the words a quiet confession.

He's right—the two of you have become fast friends ever since your introduction, and find nothing uncomfortable in each other's company as you wait for James to come around.

You nudge his knee back, making your chair spin more than his. "You came for Otis and some lovely pasta."

"And good company, couldn't ask for a better way to spend my evening."

Your stomach flips at his words. You know he isn't flirting, but you'd be lying if you said his constant compliments didn't make you feel better than you had in ages.

Maybe you should tell him about things with you and James, maybe he would have some good insight. After all, he must have a wealth of relationship experience under his belt.

"John..." You start hesitantly.

"Bunny?" He asks, the intensity of his blue eyes firmly fixed on you—the nickname he reserved when he was feeling especially fond.

The front door all but crashes open, and a frustrated growl rings out from the hallway as keys are thrown down and shoes are kicked at the shoe rack. "Fuck, I need a drink."

James appears in the kitchen just a few seconds later, practically ripping his hair out the roots as he snarls to himself. His expression softens when he lays eyes on you and his father.

"Hi." You greet him, feeling rather apathetic at his late appearance.

"Hey babe. John." He nods, giving his father a manly slap to the back before he gets to work on tugging his tie.

"Alright son." John greets, lips quirking into a smile at his son's appearance.

James steps forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, which you receive with a forced smile and no affection of your own. Both of you are blind to the frown that flashes onto John's face.

As James pulls away, he rips his tie from his neck, bundling it up before throwing it at the hamper and turning away. "I'm heading straight for a shower, I'll be back down soon." He calls out, disappearing up the stairs two at a time.

"Yeah, see you soon." John offers, a hint of frustration to his voice—he's never been all that fond of his son's manners, as he's mentioned on numerous occasions.

The mood feels a little stifled now, as both you and John eat your meal with an uneasy silence hanging over you. You hear doors slam upstairs as James makes his way around the house, likely leaving a mess behind that you'll have to clean.

You knew why you felt worse at this moment, your opportunity to talk to someone snatched from you by his untimely appearance. He's always late home, couldn't he have been a little later?

What puzzled you was John's shift in demeanour—it didn't sit right with you. Perhaps he felt ignored by his only son, the one he'd been waiting for this entire time. It's funny, you supposed, the way you both find solace in each other over the similar treatment you get from the younger man.

"Everything okay? You've gone quiet." You ask John, it being your turn now to play the concerned friend.

You know him well enough too to know his smile right now is forced—you don't need to be a trained SAS operator to notice the way his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Fine, love, just thinking."

John was a man who could probably stand to think a little less, especially when he's at home. It's one responsibility you found yourself picking up all this time, as you tried to make his days away from war lighter.

You nudge him again, practically trying to force the playfulness into him with the push of your knee. "Well, we can't have that, can we? I hear it's dangerous."

He barks a laugh, pulled out of his glum mood, and back into the room with you. "You never fail to make me laugh, darling."

"Might be my proudest accomplishment." You giggle, feeling oh so pleased with yourself. "What would your soldiers think if they knew the fearsome Captain Price had such an atrociously bad sense of humour?"

He rolls his eyes, but that bright smile that splits his handsome face doesn't waver. "Eh, not sure if it's atrocious, most of the lads' jokes make me groan."

You roll your eyes at that comment. "Most things make you groan."

"You don't."

"Not for lack of trying."

There's a solid second of silence before you realise the heavy yet accidental innuendo in your comment. You feel your face burst into flames, mortification taking over you as you meet John's shocked expression. "I mean—"

"I know what you meant, love." His laugh warms you as he seems to take the whole thing in stride. "That blush is quite something, though."

You throw yourself into your curled-up arms, hiding away as you're unable to look John in the eye any longer. He's your boyfriend's dad, almost twice your age, and you're making jokes about him groaning. It's a tough battle to force the thoughts out of your head lest you blush any harder. "I'm gonna go stick my head in the oven."

"And ruin your pretty face?"

"You're making it worse." You whine, pushing yourself further into the safe cocoon of your arms.

"I'll stop." John laughs, hand coming to settle on your back as he soothes you. "But it's nice to have cheered you up."

"I suppose..." You sigh, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. Your blush abates as the two of you continue to eat until your plates are clean.

"All done?" You ask, gesturing to where John is setting down his cutlery atop the plate.

"It was perfect. Thanks, love." He says sincerely, a hand resting on his stomach as if to add to the sincerity of the gesture.

"Anytime." You smile, taking the plates and heading over to the dishwasher. "If I'd have known you were coming, I'd have gotten dessert."

John knows you wish you would've had more notice—even if he's had to tell you many times that you don't need to clean the house and cook a three-course meal every time he happens to pop over. "Only got the marching orders this afternoon." He shrugs as if to absolve himself of any responsibility.

"Do you know how long you'll be gone?" You ask, voice quieter as you return to his side.

"A month, probably not too much longer."

A month was fairly typical. "Well, make sure you come home to us."

Come home to me, you think selfishly.

"Always, darlin'." His eyes burn with a promise, and a sense of joy at hearing those words. "Someone's gotta keep that old soul of yours company." He winks.

"So, I'll get initiated into the bowls team soon?" You wink back.

John finishes off his beer before laughing once more, the sound filling you with warmth. "Maybe you can be my pool partner."

"I can't play pool for shit, John." You whine, remembering the last time you tried to play pool and ended up injuring yourself, as well as sending balls flying all over the pub.

"Guess you're due a lesson then."

Once more, you're interrupted at the most inopportune time.

"Keeping the old man company for me?" James asks, meeting your gaze over his father's shoulder as he rubs a towel at his dripping hair.

"Somebody has to." John teases, more poking fun at himself than at anyone else, and the two of you share a laugh.

You begin to mourn the light moments you've had, as the atmosphere shifts once more at James' arrival, and you feel yourself growing tense and unsettled. You watch in silence as James looks around for the bottle opener, and you make no effort to help or tend to him.

It's John who breaks the awkward silence. "I won't stay too much longer, leave you two to enjoy your night."

You stand, the stool scraping back loudly against the floor as you do, making your hair stand on end. "Uh, actually, I think I'm gonna sleep. You should enjoy some father-son time." The smile on your face is polite and perfunctory.

"Goodnight love." John smiles, soft and genuine, as he watches you walk away.

James speaks up too, but the words barely register. "Night babe."

As you reach the threshold of the kitchen, you turn back once more—John's eyes are still on you.

"Stay safe, John."

"Yes ma'am." He nods, holding your gaze until you disappear up the stairs.

You try not to think of the look in his eyes when you fall asleep that night.

————

Time seems to go differently when John is deployed. Despite not being anything more than your boyfriend's father, you're still always filled with worry waiting to hear from him. Outside his military family, you and James were the ones waiting for him to come home with bated breath, and with John's disastrous love life, you found yourself the only woman waiting to welcome him back to civilian life.

As you stare at your inbox, waiting for anything to come through, you find your thoughts drifting easily to other things in life—to John.

You're his friend, if you can even call yourself that—but you miss him when he's gone. Back on English soil, he's visiting you and James pretty frequently, coming over for dinner or helping around the house—since James is useless with a drill.

Things are different when he's gone, though sometimes you feel like you're the only one who thinks that.

Your boyfriend doesn't worry like you do, despite being closer to the man, though James has never been the most emotional of guys to begin with.

Despite work keeping you busy, and friends inviting you out for drinks, you often find yourself waiting for a text, or anything from John—just to know he is safe.

Your phone chimes one Monday afternoon, interrupting your monotonous work day with something different. The timing makes your heart soar, as it must be from John letting you know he's back in Hereford—the notification you see instead is the end of everything as you know it.

A message request from an anonymous account: "I'm sorry for you to find out like this, but I couldn't keep the secret any longer."

Attached to the message is a series of pictures, and a video from a bar, of James entangled with another woman in a way that couldn't be mistaken for anything else. You recognised the tie, the one he'd worn for the first time only a month ago—the one he'd thrown in the laundry before rushing off to shower.

The nausea overwhelms you in an instant, sending you rushing for the bin beside your desk as the content of your stomach leaves you in harsh retches.

Everything that happens after is a blur, as your co-workers rush to your aid—your closest work friend seeing the messages on your phone as she pulls you to the bathroom, cleans you up, and makes sure you get home safe and sound.

She doesn't want to leave you alone, but you know that company right now will only make the whole thing worse. You wander around the house in a haze, tending to your chores like nothing has changed, and your world hasn't been turned upside down.

That deep, unsettled feeling you've been getting as of late? It all makes sense now—why you never truly felt at ease around the man who was supposed to love you. And yet, a part of you felt relieved. Relieved that you weren't crazy, relieved that you weren't to blame for the way things had changed lately, relieved that you finally had the chance to walk away.

You haven't stopped thinking about the text all day—wondering how the fuck you're going to confront James and not rip his head clean off of his body, how you're going to end your years-long relationship and upend because your boyfriend couldn't keep his dick to himself.

The clock on the wall ticks away, counting down the moments until he comes home from work, late as always. At least now you know why.

Your phone chimed again a while ago, probably whatever excuse he had cooked up—you hadn't even bothered picking the damn thing up to check the notification.

A knock at the door pulls you out of it all, as you move on autopilot to go answer.

Did he forget his keys? Or has he gotten himself drunk to the point he can't put them in the door anymore?

On the other side of the door isn't James, isn't your cheating, good-for-nothing boyfriend but John.

His beard untrimmed and eyes dull—the scent of cigars rolling off of him in waves. "Hello, darling girl." He says his usual, as a smile tugs at his cheeks.

"Hi." You offer in return, your voice almost completely motionless. Time seems to slow as you stare at the man before you—usually, you'd greet him with a quick hug and a bright grin, so pleased to see him safe and on your doorstep. Yet, the day's events have stolen that joy from you.

John picks up on your mood almost immediately, head tilting in concern as his eyes roam over you. "Bad time?"

"No." You shake your head as you step aside. "Come in."

John scrapes his boots against the doormat before he takes them off, along with his jacket.

"Tea." You whisper, snapping into action as you turn and head to the kitchen. You almost always make tea when he comes over—you don't even have to ask anymore.

"Thanks, love." His voice rings out after you.

Focusing on making the tea helps calm you somewhat, and you pull out two mugs to make a cup for yourself too.

How were you going to tell John? The news would ruin him. How are you going to tell John that you'll be leaving his son's life, and therefore his?

Your heart falls deeper into a pit of misery at that thought alone—the loss overwhelming you.

"James home?"

"Still at work." You whisper, not trusting yourself to speak properly without the bitterness unfurling and the truth spilling out.

John scoffs from behind you, but you know he isn't really all that bothered. "Oh, right. No heroes welcome from my lovely son then." His sarcastic words are graveled.

"Saves you from all his silly questions, I suppose." You shrug, still not turning to look John in the eye. "Though you put up with mine, so."

"Yours don't ask me to break the law." He huffs, short and sharp, before he perks up again. "Didn't actually get to bust out the flip-flops this time, though." He offers, a hint at your last conversation. The weather was milder than he expected then, you suppose he was rather pleased about that.

You let the silence settle over the two of you as you continue to make your drinks, focusing on the way the unfurls from the bag and changes the hue of the boiling water. Next is the milk, semi-skimmed because James doesn't like full fat—at least that's something that'll change for the better once you leave.

The thought makes you freeze.

"Love, what's the matter?" John's smokey voice is soft and sweet and coming closer—laced with concern.

Your chest tightens, impending doom feeling like it's right over your shoulder—everything is going to fall apart in 3. 2. 1.

The milk bottle falls free from your hands, crashing to the floor with a wet splash—the cold milk is easily ignored as a hand comes to rest at your back, pulling you away from the edge of the abyss of your pain.

"Talk to me, what's going on?" His voice is more insistent this time, but still just as concerned. He ignores the pool at both of your feet in favour of consoling you. His features are knitted together in a terrifying amount of worry that makes you crack completely.

"John." You whisper shakily, finally meeting his eyes.

His baby blues are filled to the brim with care for you, with concern and confusion and a million unanswered questions. "Yes, darling?"

"He's cheating on me."

There's a beat before John explodes. It's not the bombastic, showy anger where things get screamed—he's quiet and seething and eerie, his words spat through gritted teeth. "He's fucking what?"

Your whole body begins to shake as the truth tumbles free, solidifying itself as reality now it's spoken aloud. "He's cheating on me with one of his coworkers, Lucy."

Not that it mattered whether it was Lucy or Georgia or some girl from the club or whatever.

John stiffens—his shoulders squaring up, his jaw clenching and his body tightening like he's going to war. You've never seen John Price the soldier, but you imagine it's something like this "When's he due home?"

"I don't know." You answer honestly. You don't know, and you don't particularly care. At least you'll never have to wait for him to come home ever again.

"I'm gonna ring him—" John snarls, shoving his hand into the worn pocket of his jeans as he grabs his phone.

"Don't." Your hand shoots out to still his wrist, though you know the effort would be futile if he truly chose to ignore him. "Please."

"If only I'd have fucking raised him." John seethes before launching into action, he moves around you to grab the kitchen towel, ripping off piece after piece as it soaks up the spill. He throws the half-empty bottle into the sink, as milky white sprays up the backsplash.

"It's okay." You whisper, genuinely feeling that in a sense, it is. You've been betrayed, but at least now you'll be free.

"It's not okay." John moves to stand before you again, his arms braced on your shoulders as he looks down upon you, craning a little to get closer to your height. "Love, you're perfect, you're too lovely for him, how could he hurt you?"

"How could anyone hurt something so precious?"

"Not precious enough, clearly." You scoff, wondering where it all went wrong. Right now you felt the furthest thing from precious, from loveable and perfect and everything else John said. Fuck, you feel like you're turning him against James. "Sorry, I feel like I shouldn't be talking to you about this—"

"I'm on your side, yeah?" He interrupts you with good reason before your thoughts can spiral any further. His grip tightens a fraction as his thumbs move, slowly and reassuringly, across the bare skin of your shoulders. "He's my son, but he's a fucking bastard for this. You deserve better, love."

The sweetness in his voice makes you snap. Why wouldn't you have a man like John? So caring and kind and knowledgeable—older and experienced and so out of your reach.

"I don't—" The tears start to flow freely, as you desperately search John's eyes for answers.

"Shh, come here, I've got you." He pulls you in close, his arms wrapping around you in a warm, secure embrace. His smell surrounds you, the soothingly familiar smoke coating your skin. Lips press against your forehead delicately, as he holds you like he's holding every piece of you together, bit by bit. His body is like his presence—solid, unwavering, ever-present.

"I've got you, everything's going to be okay." He whispers, over and over and over again, chanting it like a prayer.

In his embrace, firm and reassuring, you might actually believe him.

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#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #lmaooo here we go #such a boring first chapter tbh but you know we need the setup

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