#john price x female oc

[the-californicationist]

Cali Cali bo-bali banana fana fo-fali me my mo mali! Cali!

I'm three Budweisers in and got an itch for alpha Price with a sudden need to breed (yay! Surprise rut!), and there's his sweet smelling omega neighbor who he's been keeping at arm's length because he's a professional dammit and has complete control of his urges, thank you very much.

Honestly, I just wanna see Mr. "I'm Married to My Job" lose it and show back up on base abashed and mated, and also ridiculously proud of his lil omega's claiming bite, because "she turned into a wildcat, lads. I couldn't stop her." *wink-wink*

Or not. I'm happy with any smutty Price fic you bestow on us, really. I'm just being weirdly specific because— alcohol = horny thots. 🍺😏🥴🫠

Drunken hugs 🫂 from Random Thot

RTG!! You are the most amazing person, and every time I see your pfp on AO3 or tumblr, I just get all gooey inside. Thank you for the ask! I wrote (and fully deleted) this fic three times because I wanted to get it right. I just pray that I could deliver. <3 <3 Hope this is what you were hoping for!!

MDNI/NSFW -- TW: damsel in distress, ABO dynamics, knotting, fuck-or-die scenarios, CNC, fluids, PIV sex, female OC

Glory, Glory

It was his last beer of the night, and he was ripping it apart. Curling, soggy shards of the torn label were stuck under his thumbnail, darkening the translucent edge and making it look dirty. They littered the sticky, lacquered bartop like ugly snow, falling in a tiny, chaotic mess. His hands were more than just dirty, the captain thought to himself as he used his wide thumb to itch at the glue-covered glass, rolling little, paper shards away from the smooth surface to reveal the amber liquid swirling within. The captain’s hands; they were covered in blood. Not innocent blood, but blood all the same. They’d never be clean again. 

But, that was the job, and he was good at it. His hands were a direct reflection of his hard work. Killing evil bastards kept the world safe. Some poor sob in a factory could clean out the glue-painting machine that pasted these fuckin’ labels on all of these bloody beer bottles because of one unshakable truth: John Price was good at killing evil bastards.

Unfortunately, the killing would need to wait until after the mandated leave window closed again. His argument with Kate still grated inside of his head. He could almost hear her harsh, Yank accent in his ears.

“What do you want me to tell payroll, John? You can’t be here. You’ve got too many days. Go home. See your mom.”

“I see her plenty, Katie. Let me run that ops gig with Keller. C’mon. I’ll do overwatch,” he tried his best to weasel his way back into a bit of active duty.

“You’d be the world’s most expensive overwatch. Hell no. Here’s your ticket,” she shoved an envelope in his hands, “...and your money,” another envelope, “Go the fuck home, Captain. That’s an order.”

An order. More like a toothless threat. 

But, alas, here he was, staring at a freshly shaved, buzzcut version of himself in a filthy pub mirror, undressing bottles left and right. 

“Another, mate?” The barkeep pointed to his almost-empty drink, making a slight grimace at the paper graveyard that was sprinkled across his bar.

“No,” John sighed, pulling out a few notes from his wallet, “I’m off.”

“Happy Christmas,” the barkeep took the bills and didn’t bother to look up again, setting himself to sweeping the torn strips off of the surface, preparing for the next paying customer. 

“You, too,” John muttered, tugging his black wool beanie over his ears before braving the classic cold, wet, and windy Liverpudlian night. 

He didn’t live far. John’s mum had kept up his loft down by the docks, but it certainly didn’t feel like home. Home wasn’t real. Not anymore. As he walked along the Mersey’s edge, he peered into the black water, wondering if he’d ever truly go home again. 

All of a sudden, he heard a shrill scream. Every sense that had been dulled by his lager was now as sharp as a blade and set on its edge. Again, a high-pitched shout pealed through the night air, beckoning him back to his heroism. That keening was the sound of some evil that needed stamping out, and he was hungry for it. 

He sprinted through the warehouse district, chasing the noise of scuffling, ducking behind alleys and abandoned garages, looking for the source. Finally, there was a flash of red that caught his eye, so he ran towards it, his mind making sense of the scene in front of him. 

Voices were jumbled and mashed up together, barely registering in his mind.

“Out here in a fuckin’ heat. Dumb bitch! C’mere.”

“She’s got a knife!”

“C’mere, you little slag. Get –”

In the middle of three huge, stinking Alphas, a tiny Omega was struggling, arm outstretched, brandishing her knife at them to keep them at bay. John came up behind the biggest one, some bald fuck with a dirty coat, and dropped him, cracking his spine in two places with well-placed fists, and breaking his jaw on his way down to the ground, leaving him groaning on the concrete. 

One of his mates, a older man with thick, black eyebrows, lunged at Price, a look of indignant surprise on his face. The Omega screamed, her red coat yanked back over her face by the third man, her knife clattering to her feet. Price focused on Mister Eyebrows, dodging a lazy haymaker before popping him twice in the nose, drawing out his blood and knocking out at least two of his front teeth. Then, John grabbed him by the collar, pulling his jaw into his raised knee and listening to the satisfying splash as he fell into a murky puddle. 

Finally, he set his sights on the last Alpha of the pack whose ropey arm was looped across the Omega’s neck, choking the air from her lungs. He growled at Price, his scent turning to rancid fear,

“Stay back! She’s mine, you big bastard.”

The captain had nothing to say. With a practiced ease, he side-stepped her assailant, breaking the elbow that controlled her throat, making him release her immediately. The evil bastard stumbled back, hand outstretched, bargaining for his life, 

“Wait, wait. I’ll share her with you, how’s that? I’ll even let you have first go!”

A deafening howl came out of his mouth as Price’s boot heel made contact with his kneecap, forcing it to snap at a terrible angle. John’s hand shot out and grabbed the man by the hair on the crown of his head, tugging cruelly at his scalp. Without mercy, John slammed his face into a nearby bollard, and the howling stopped.

It was quiet again aside from the Omega’s trembling breaths. She had recovered the knife and was now pointing it towards John with shaking hands and wide, determined eyes. 

“You alright, love?” Price asked, holding his hands up in a sign of peace, edging towards her in gentle, predictable steps. 

“Y-yeah… Stay! Stay right there,” her voice was bright and clear, and he could hear her strength laced through her words. He stopped in his tracks, respecting her wishes.

“What are you doin’ all the way out here, darlin’?”

“They dragged me over here from Baltic Fleet,” she straightened up, getting her bearings, wiping the blood from a small cut in her cheek, “Fuckin’ bastards. Thank you, by the way.”

“Jus’ doin’ my job,” Price shrugged, waiting for her to lower the knife even further before he continued his approach.

“Police?” She asked, a little confused. 

“Not exactly,” Price smiled, offering a hand out to her, “John Price, Captain of His Majesty’s RAF service.”

“Oh,” she studied him for a moment, and then her eyes fell to the hand, ready to bite but deciding to shake it instead. 

When he touched her skin, Price felt her fever. Shocked, he tightened his grip, not meaning to startle her but too surprised by her temperature to ignore it.

“Christ, love. You’re burnin’ up.”

As quick as a flash, she yanked her hand out of his grasp and retreated back towards the wall of the warehouse behind her, scooting her way towards the corner to get out of his range, ready to bolt. She didn’t respond, but John watched as she wiped her brow, dotted with sweat and covered in concern. 

“Hey,” he moved forward again protectively, “You can’t be out here alone. Not like this. At least let me walk with you. I’ll stay ten paces behind. It’s not safe.”

“I’m fine,” she said with more strength in her voice than what she was ready to produce.

“You’re not. You’re in a bloody heat. When did it start?” He watched as her knees began to tremble, and against her obvious wishes, he helped her sit on the warehouse deck, letting her keep the knife so she could feel safe. 

“Yesterday…” She closed her eyes, trying to shake it off, “It’s… I’m fine. It’s never this bad.”

Now that he was close to her, Price was smothered by the scent of her body. The Omegan glands in her neck smelled like thick, wild honey, and her heat was mixing with her aroma, turning an already sweet smell into a lucious, decadent gourmand, pulling him in like quicksand. 

“C’mon,” he helped her up, “Where’s your place? I’ll get you close.”

The clang of her knife made him glance up to see her eyes closed and her mouth slack. She was out, too weak to withstand the fever and the physical exertion. 

Price felt his body react to her need. He was filled with rage, white and hot, at her situation. Those goddamn monsters were trying to take advantage of her in this vulnerable state. She should be home in her nest, being taken care of by her Alpha, covered in soothing oils and cool compresses, her needy little cunt stuffed full of his knot, staving off these symptoms and enduring them for her. Instead, she’d been hunted, chased, made to fight for her dignity out here in the middle of the docks. Something else inside Price’s chest curled around his anger. 

Possession. 

He tried to shake it off, knowing it came from being unmarked, but it had been so many years as a lone Alpha that he knew how to control it. Or, at least he thought he did. 

Now, though, he found himself pulling at the neck of her coat as he held her in his arms, invading her privacy to check for a bite. He felt the shame wash over him as he covered her skin back up. He had no business searching for a mating bite. She was not his Omega, and he was not her Alpha. 

After a few minutes out in the chilled wind, he made it to his apartment. Thankfully, it was late enough that his neighbors weren’t outside to witness what looked like a literal kidnapping, and he shuffled her inside without much trouble. Price lay her down on his long, leather sofa, careful to rest her head on the soft arm. He went to the kitchen to retrieve a cold rag and pressed it to her forehead, hoping to hold back the fever for as long as he could.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Wake up,” he whispered, trying to gently shed her coat and sweater, peeling her layers off to bring her temperature down to a more manageable level. 

She moaned, her eyes wrenching shut even tighter, her face twisted in pain,

“My head…” She sighed, desperate for some relief. 

“I know, love. C’mon,” John propped her up a bit, moving the rag so that the coldest parts would be against her skin, “What’s your name? I can find an address. Do you have your purse?”

“They… took it? I don’t… I dunno…” She muttered, obviously having a hard time stringing her thoughts together, “I don’t feel so good.”

This was not ideal. Price knew what came next. A high fever, exhaustion, fatigue, nausea, increased heart rate, and then… 

“Alpha?” Her eyes were open, glassy and dark, the pupils fully blown, looking up at him with an outpouring of unfathomable need. Her scent rolled off of her in mind-altering waves, shoving Price’s carefully-built walls out of the way and sending shocks of desire straight to his heart and his fat, growing cock. 

“No, baby. I’m not your Alpha. Who is he? Can you give me a name?” John asked, checking her coat pockets in a rushed panic. He was running out of time. 

“Alpha, please… I need… Help me, please,” her shaking hands reached under his jacket and shirt, her knuckles rubbing against his furry belly, her strong fingers digging around for his belt buckle, getting right to the point. 

Price felt the room flex around him, and he tried to breathe in air that wasn’t saturated by her vanilla spice, searching in the deepest recesses of his mind for some semblance of his self control. 

“Easy, love. I can’t m–mmngh!” Her mouth slotted over his as he tried to protest, stopping his heart and his words at the same time. 

She was heaven. Her smell was making his skin tingle all over his body, down his arms and up his legs, rushing to his central, sacral core. And her taste was even better. His little cinnamon roll, so sweet and warm, burning for him like a flame, hot and ready to scar him for life. 

“Mngh… Love, mmm… Wait…” Price held her back, using more force than he thought he should need, surprised by her sudden power. 

“John…” He met her eyes and found a particular clarity within them. She was coming out of her haze. But, it wouldn’t last. This was his final chance to keep her from doing something she would regret. 

“Darlin’, I can’t. I’m not your Alpha.”

“You smell like you are,” she mewled, rubbing her wounded cheek across his engorged neck gland, spreading his scent all over herself. 

“I can’t,” he moved away from her, trying to hold her in his arms for comfort rather than to bask in her expressive heat, “My work… I can’t leave you here, pretty girl.”

She sobbed out, trying to hold back from writhing against his body, doing everything she could not to make it harder for him to turn her down. Her eyes were rimmed red and pink from exhaustion, and she was staring down at her own hands, vibrating with tremors, slurring her words,

“Just lock me in the bath. I’ll run cold water. I’ll be fine…”

Something ancient and feral snarled in Price’s mind. 

No.

“No,” he said, involuntarily, the voice in his head escaping from his throat. 

“Please… I can’t stop myself… I want your knot, Alpha. Lock me up before I do something to you… Something you don’t want…” She could barely put two words together. Every thought was a struggle. He was losing her again. 

He grabbed her and held her to his chest, clutching her like water in his palm, using all his strength to keep her with him,

“I want you, love. I want… Fuck, I need you.”

All of a sudden, the energy around their bodies stilled. That cracking, sparking electricity that bound them together was roiling just beyond John’s consciousness, ready to surge. But, he stayed perfectly still, waiting to see what she did next. She locked eyes with him and leaned in close, as if she would kiss him. But, she didn’t. She dipped her head down until she found his Alphic gland, swollen and bruised purple from him holding back his lust, nuzzling at it with the tip of her nose, rooting against him, testing his patience, checking to see if his temperament was true. Then, when he let her sniff him in his most potent spot, when she knew his soul was as pure as his scent, that he was true, she sucked his flesh between her lips, drawing his musk onto her tongue.

She’d accepted him. He reeled from it, unable to hold back a groan, his cock jerking against his zipper, thrashing to escape, flooding with hot blood and threatening to fill his knot before he’d even had a chance to taste her. 

John pulled her mouth off of him and stared at her eyes again, in awe of her beauty, his mind swirling and yet perfectly sharp, begging her darkly,

“Give me your neck, Omega.”

The ritual had begun, and as she swept her hair away from her shoulder, pulling it around her back, she bent for him, arching her head down in a submissive bow, revealing her Omegan mating line. It looked like a keloid scar, the raised skin swollen and painful, like a pounding vein that ran from below her earlobe down to the top of her shoulder, full of her hormones and thick with her magic. One bite, and he would be in her thrall, pliant to her every whim, beholden to her needs until her heat had run its course. 

Price had never given his bite to anyone. It had been easy to abstain. In fact, in his youth, he had a hard time understanding his mates’ commitments to their Omegas, scoffing at their lack of duty to their stations, doubting their commitment, and - moreover - doubting their loyalty. He remained a captain through and through, and he’d never made room for anyone or anything else. But, here he was, his teeth aching in his jaw, bigger and sharper than they should’ve been, his every sense heightened and taking her in like a drug, compelling him to punch through her delicate flesh and suck her nectar deep into his belly. 

The feeling of her skin against his lips was enough to send a chill through his body. He was cooling from the inside out, and his body needed her heat. She was forcing a rut to take hold in him, and he could feel himself changing for her. Then, he bit down as hard as he could, breaking the thin seal of her mating line with ease, feeling the searing mixture of her oil and her blood filling his mouth and throat like a ripe plum, wet and sweet, and promising pleasure if he chose to swallow her. 

He drank from her for as long as he dared, taking her in long, slurping gulps, letting her essence coat his throat, feeling the hot fluid burn inside of his chest and down into his stomach where it pooled and lingered, warming him up from the inside out. 

“Alpha…” She moaned, raising her hand to cup his cheek as he sucked her life into himself, rubbing her thumb so softly over his shut eyelashes that he barely felt it. 

John pulled away from her, his eyes fluttering open, her bright orange blood iridescent with her mating oil, making the red cells burn bright like a fresh-cracked yolk, gleaming, trapped between his teeth like gold. He watched it drip down her chest, staining her clothes, and he began to tear them off of her. She let him, limp and mute as he peeled her open, making her naked and pulling her into his arms. 

He carried her into his bedroom, kicking open the door and busting the bolt through the strike, splintering the wood and not giving a shit about the damage. John lay her in the middle of the mattress and set to surrounding her with whatever softness he could find; his shirts, his blankets, even his scarves. Anything warm and comfortable was added to the nest, giving her as much support as he could before standing back to admire his work. 

She eyed him from her recumbent throne, commanding him with her gaze. John stripped off his shirt for her, raking it up his back and over his shoulders, feeling as if he was moving his body for her and only for her. All of his motions, even his ragged breaths, were only escaping from his lungs because she wanted them to. His buckle clattered apart, and he popped open the button of his jeans, lowering the zipper in a sharp, metallic rip. 

Once free, his heavy prick flagged, leaping forward and pulsating for her, proudly showing her his gleaming head. He was drooling an unrelenting stream of iridescent precome, his balls tight and full of Alphic oil, ready to coat her warm insides with his shining sex. 

John climbed onto the bed, his face focused on her wet mound, admiring the plumpness of her, imagining her - in every delicious way - like a tender peach. He crawled to her, his mouth still stained neon orange from her gland, and he smeared her wet quim all over his lips and tongue. He wasn’t licking her so much as he was wearing her like warpaint, moving his nose and cheeks through her to ensure he was soaked in her heady slick, his body making wild, unbridled choices purely on instinct.  

“Yes, baby, please…” Her voice went straight through him like a bullet, tightening his cockhead to an uncomfortable degree, and it jerked against the mattress in protest. Her hands were in his hair, scratching through his scalp, encouraging him to sink his tongue deep inside of her hole. 

John obeyed, helpless to her desire, his mind wiping clean and being rewritten by her will. He was swimming in her scent, drenched in her slick, and gasping against her pussy, his eyes fixated on her form as it writhed above him. When she met his eyes, she bit the inside of her lip, crying out for him, rewarding him for his prostrated fealty. Then, she began to rock her hips against his jaw, fucking herself on his face, and he let her use him to her heart’s content, staying strong and sure, allowing his body to be used, objectified and glorified by it. 

When she began to come, it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He followed his tongue inside of her with two of his thick fingers, pressing against her walls, pushing her over the edge. She bolted upright, wrapping her thighs around his face, smothering him with her body, trapping him breathless between her legs. Her whole being trembled for him. He could feel the shimmer of her very soul, rattling and writhing with her siren-like keening. And just when he started to see spots in his vision, needing air just a little less than he needed to please her, she lay open for him, blooming outward like a flower, releasing him from a limbo he longed to return to, oozing with a stream of rainbow-tinted come, the Omegan oil within her womb escaping to advertise its promises to her mate. 

Without knowing why, John found himself lapping it up from her pulsing hole like a hound, swallowing mouthful after mouthful and grunting with each pass of his broad tongue. 

“John, I need... Please, put your knot inside me. I’ll be good…” She begged, tears shining at the corners of her eyes from her come-drunk bliss, her hands plucking at her nipples and trying to soothe herself down from her high. 

“My pretty girl wants this knot, yeah?” John grinned devilishly, dipping his finger into her over and over and licking it clean like she was a jar of endless honey, “Wants me to breed this gorgeous cunt…”

At that comment, she spread her legs even wider for him, opening up for him like a blossom for the sun, ready to take whatever he had to give her. It was mesmerizing for John to see her like this. Everything about her was filled with intoxication and need. He was just a vessel for her pleasure, pouring himself into her to make her full again. Dizzy and drunk with adoration, he notched his girth at her entrance, struggling to fit even his cockhead within her. 

“Fuck… so bloody warm…”

Her body was burning him with every millimeter he sank into her, the heat of her tight sex in such high contrast with his cool rut. It felt like he was swimming in a roiling pot of sugary caramel, clinging and cloying and sticking to every part of him, and yet it was not enough. He needed more. His hips thrust forward, savage yet steady, reaching deep inside of her like an anchor, rushing to settle himself within her darkness. 

The way his Omega cried out this time was different, and it snapped him to her attention, his mind immediately sensing a new need. 

“Love, tell me what you need.” He purred, his mouth kissing her lips and her neck, lapping at the now-healing wound his own fangs had made, talking to her between long licks of his tongue, “Tell me, and it’s yours.”

“You’re so big. I’ve never…” She sounded ashamed. 

Price slowed to a creeping pace, focused fully on her face, 

“Never had a knot before?”

She shook her head, her eyes full of worry. John wrapped her up in his arms, dragging himself out of her slowly before filling her up again as carefully as he could.

“Tha’s alright, baby. You’re mine, and I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“Feels like I’m burning alive,” she sighed, her brow furrowing with distress, “John, I need… I don’t know how…”

“Look at me, alright?” He helped her focus her eyes on his, “Don’t… Just stay with me, right here. You’re gonna come for me, and then… I’ll give you what you need.”

“Please,” she whimpered, her voice so small. 

Price set himself on a path with a purpose. He used his hand to rub small, rhythmic circles beside the rigid body of her clit, coaxing her pussy to drop even more slick around him, using every ounce of willpower he had left not to let his knot slip inside of her prematurely. His thrusts were jerky and restrained, but he felt her begin to rock back and forth with his hand’s movements, bringing her closer and closer to her glowing joy. 

“Good girl,” he praised her, watching her as she began to fall apart around him, “Tha’s my good little Omega. Come for your Alpha just like that. Just… mmf-fuck! Like that! Holy fuck.”

The feeling of her slick pussy clenching and twisting around his cock’s tugid body was enough to make him see stars. He felt almost sick with pleasure, his whole core lighting up like a roaring fire, spitting and aching to bury himself within her. 

At the end of her crescendo, he felt himself let go of the chain, and he rutted his knot inside of her, humping himself forward ruthlessly, his body contorting itself to fit her needs. His knot sealed him within her, and although he was not yet orgasming, he was filling her with his come, the creamy flow of it spilling out of his tip, filling her hole and coating his prick from inside of its hungry little sheath.

“Your come… I can feel it inside of me. Oh, my God,” she sighed with some sort of relief, her eyes rolling inside of her head, her arms losing their strength, and her back arching towards him, lifting up as if she would float right into Heaven. 

And just like that, her fever began to abate. With his knot stuffed inside of her, locking his seed within her hole, his Alphic oils could soothe her heat, bringing her back to the realm of consciousness and delivering her from her wild state. 

“John,” she lay back, her hand pressed to his cheek. 

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he bent forward on his elbows and kissed her mouth, chastely at first, and then languidly, exploring her taste. When he did finally pull away, she was awake and alert, sated and happy. He smiled down at her, 

“Hey, pretty girl,” he whispered, wiping her hair back from her face. 

“Hey,” she smiled back at him, wrapping her ankles around his back for comfort, not knowing that it was just enough to set his cock on edge again, his Alphic instinct rejoicing at the feeling of being trapped by his mate. 

“You alright?” John asked, a tinge of worry at the edge of his voice.

“I am now, thanks to you,” she sighed, tucking herself in beneath him, rubbing her hands along his ribs and the soft fur of his back and arms, feeling every bit of him as if she was seeing him with her touch, “You saved me, Alpha.”

“Aye,” he nudged her jaw with his nose, asking her wordlessly to give him the vulnerable softness of her neck. She obliged, and he spoke to her between sucking kisses, “All mine. My Omega. Innit that right, baby?”

She was practically lambent beneath the scrutiny of his possession, rolling in it like a wave in the sand, captured by it and surrendering to the riptide of his unbreakable grip. She nodded, humming her ascent, her expression turning a little rueful right at the end of his kisses. The sorrowful timbre of her voice broke his heart, 

“I’m grateful. But, I know this isn’t what you wanted, and I’m so sor–”

“No,” he kissed her words away, feeling his length throb inside of her, urging him to kiss her again, “No, love.”

“I won’t bite you,” she promised, her gaze still full of apology, “You won’t be stuck with me.”

“Bite me, Omega,” he bent his head and buried his face in her shoulder, giving her his gland in total surrender, “Go on. I’m yours.”

“John…” She hesitated, but he could feel her body flood her hole, excited beyond measure at the thought of binding him to her as her mated Alpha. 

“Go on,” he commanded in his smoky growl, holding her tighter and bracing for the ecstasy of her teeth.

He felt her lips first, and his balls tightened, ready to fling him into a messy orgasm as soon as he felt his gland shatter in her mouth. Her Omegan teeth wouldn’t break the skin, but he knew she was strong enough to crack the shell around his swollen node. The anticipation of her bite was wrecking his mind, and he was gasping for breath by the time he felt her jaw set itself against him. 

“Baby, please…” He whined in her ear, his hips thrusting in short, jerking thrusts, unable to move much with his knot still trapped up inside of her, holding his gushing come in her hole, pushing it into her womb from the sheer volume of it. 

Her teeth connected, and he could hear his unbroken shell give way beneath her strength, the hormones inside of it rushing through his system like wildfire, burning through his veins and making him scream for her. At the same time, John felt his core throw him into a raw orgasm, his whole body trembling above her, wringing himself from the inside out. 

“Alpha,” she sighed, licking his neck to comfort him, “My Alpha…”

“Yours, baby. All yours.”

— — — — — 

The new trainees filed out of the gym, sweaty, bloody, and eager to be out of the captain’s sight. Price had run them ragged, forcing them to spar with practice weapons, pitting them against each other in a strained, exhausting competition. Ghost and Soap sat with Gaz as they eyed their commander, their eyes glued to the fresh bite mark on his neck, shocked into a silent stupor. 

“I cannae believe it. Mated? To which lassie?” Soap asked, dumbfounded.

“I didn’t think he’d ever take a mate,” Gaz marvelled.

“I thought he was savin’ himself for marriage,” Ghost quipped, earning himself a scuff from Soap.

Price made his way across the mat, pulling his sweaty shirt off his back to trade it for a clean one. The red welts and nail-marks across his shoulders and down his belly made Gaz let out a low whistle. But, his commander’s glare stopped him mid-note. 

“Wha’s that, Garrick?”

“Nothin’, sir. Just… admirin’ your battle scars,” Gaz smiled, wishing his two teammates would stop snickering so loudly. 

“Looks like a hell’uva fight, Cap,” Ghost added, looking everywhere but into Price’s icy eyes. 

“Wha’s her name?” Soap asked outright, skipping over the double entendres and going right for the point. 

Their captain sighed, zipped up his gym bag, and stood in front of his three officers, glaring down at them with a look that was on the border of dead-seriousness,

“If I told you that, lads, I’d have to kill you.”

[thewulf]

The Price of Protection || Captain John Price

Summary: Request -Recently I was SA. Now I wasn't R@ped. But I was peer pressured/manipulated and intoxicated to verbally consenting to things I didn't want to do. I'm not asking for it to be relived but rather comfort. Everyone always talks about feeling disgusted but I want comfort for the guilt and second thoughts... Read Rest Here

A/N: THIS ONE IS HEAVY. Please read the trigger warnings below. Thank you anon for trusting me with this. I hope you like it.

Pairing: Captain John Price x Female Reader, TF 141 x Platonic Female Reader

Word Count: 4.8k +

TW: MENTIONS OF SA (Not outright but hints), Heavy Angst, general COD warnings.

You had always admired your Captain for as long as you’ve known him. It wasn’t but almost three years ago now that you were assigned to Task Force 141. They were skeptical at first, as you would be too. Who was this little American girl infiltrating their ranks? This was a Task Force with the most brilliant minds and somehow you were there. Yet, you had proven yourself one of the most valuable assets to the team time and time again. You were good, great even, at your job. You could hack into anything, take over any camera you wanted, reroute rockets if you had the time allotted. You were the genius behind some of the missions that could’ve gone south fast. You were Captain Price’s secret weapon that he kept well hidden.

It took you a while to open up to the guys. But leave it to Soap to get you talking. After a year of trying your best to maintain the Ghost persona, Soap had successfully broken you down. They learned of your past, how you came to be so freakishly good with computers and hacking, where you went to school and where you grew up. You were an enigma to the team. And they grew to love you. It was slow until it wasn’t. You were an outcast until you weren’t. You found yourself laughing and bantering with John, Soap, Gaz, and Ghost time and time again. Suddenly, you were a part of the team, a true member of TF141.

Most times you would head out with the team to help them out. But sometimes you could do the job right from your home base. And this mission turned out to be one of those times. You didn’t hate that you didn’t get to go; you just felt a little left out when you stayed back. But Price always assured you it was for your safety above all else. Sometimes these missions were a little too dangerous for even you. Which of course led you to be more nervous than ever. If it was too dangerous for you, then what was it for them? Surely no walk in the park.

You walked with Price out to the chopper trying one last time. “Captain, are you sure? I can help with logistics once you get there.”

He gave you that signature soft Price smile before shaking his head softly. “I’m sure. It’s a quick in and out. No need to put you in the line of fire for it.”

“But…”

He cut you off. “I know you want to go. I really do. But it’s not worth the risk. You’re too valuable to this team.”

You let out a sigh before nodding. “I understand. Please be safe. Make sure everybody comes back in one piece.”

He gave your shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Like we always do. We land at 0800 local time. Soap will be giving you a call then. We’ll see you soon.”

Pressing your lips together you forced a smile to him. “You better.” With a quick nod, you watched as he hopped in the chopper with the rest of the team. Soap flipped you off before the pilot ascended, leaving you in a fit of laughter, always the shit he was.

You had forgotten how much you disliked being away from the team. You felt so far, so disengaged. Even with MacTavish swearing like a sailor in your ear. You felt totally helpless but tried your best to do whatever you could for the team. The mission was successful but not without hiccup. Gaz had been shot, fortunately, it was just a small graze to the shoulder but nevertheless it reminded you of how fragile their lives were. How one misstep could take a best friend away from you. How crucial you really were to their livelihood.

The stress was getting to you tonight though. The thought of mortality was becoming too much. So, you found yourself at the bar just outside of base. What better way to bury your stresses away than to drink your worries away right with it? You weren’t usually so careless. But the worry and the helplessness got the better of you. One beer turned to two. Turned to a few shots bought by a man across the bar who was giving you the eyes. You’d seen him around base. Maybe even chatted for a brief time. But you chose to never give these men the time of day, until tonight. You knew the type and usually stayed far away. But it was a moment of weakness that got to you.

As the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, the edges of your worries dulled. For a fleeting moment, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. It was a temporary reprieve, a fleeting sense of freedom from the constant pressure of your responsibilities. In the chatter and clinking of glasses you felt an unwanted hand on your shoulder, and you turned to see the man who had been buying you drinks. His smile was charming, but there was a hint of something predatory in his gaze. Instinctively you tensed as your senses were on high alert in your inebriated state.

You forced a polite smile, but you felt uneasy. The alcohol had clouded your judgment, leaving you vulnerable and exposed. You knew you should’ve left right then and there. Find your way back to the safety of base, but a part of you hesitated. Maybe it was the loneliness or the desire to forget, but you entertained the idea of staying just a little longer.

As the minutes ticked on, you found yourself ensnared in a web of conversation with the soldier. His words were like honeyed poison, dripping with false charm and manipulation. He seemed to know just what to say. But beneath the surface there was a darkness lurking. A predatory intent masked by the guise of friendly banter. The alcohol eventually dulled your senses, clouding your judgment as you struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of the conversation. His words became a blur as each syllable merged into the next until they lost all meaning. But still you listened captivated by the illusion of connection he wove around you.

His touch was insistent. His hands lingering where they shouldn't have been sending shivers of discomfort down your spine. You tried to pull away, to put some distance between you and this stranger who seemed to know too much about you. But he only tightened his grip, his fingers leaving marks in their wake.

As the night wore on, the line between consent and coercion blurred. Your protests drowned out by the relentless onslaught of alcohol and manipulation. You knew deep down that you didn't want this, that every fiber of your being screamed for you to escape. But you felt trapped, suffocated by the weight of his expectations. And so, with a soul weighed down by guilt and shame, you surrendered to his advances. Your body moving on autopilot as you sought refuge in the temporary oblivion of physical pleasure. But even as you gave in a part of you screamed in silent agony you mourned the loss of you usual control.

In the aftermath as the harsh light of reality pierced through the haze of alcohol and regret, you were left grappling with the devastating truth of what had transpired. You had been used, manipulated, reduced to nothing more than a pawn in someone else's twisted game. The guilt threatened to consume you, gnawing at your insides as you struggled to come to terms with what had happened. You blamed yourself, berating your own weakness and naivety. Wishing you had been stronger, smarter, better able to protect yourself. But deep down you knew the truth. You were not to blame. You were a victim of his manipulation, preyed upon by someone who saw you as nothing more than a means to an end.

The next day dawned with a heavy burden that seemed to press down upon your shoulders, weighing you down with the crushing weight of guilt and shame. As the TF141 team returned from their mission, the atmosphere in the base shifted. You left the air thick with an unspoken tension that hung over the corridors.

Alone in your room, you felt as though you were drowning in a sea of despair, the walls closing in around you with every passing moment. Tears streamed down your cheeks unchecked, leaving salty trails in their wake as you grappled with the overwhelming flood of emotions. Each sob that wracked your body felt like a physical manifestation of the agony that churned within you. A relentless reminder of the betrayal of your own body and the violation of your trust. Every breath was a struggle, a battle against the suffocating weight of shame that threatened to crush you beneath its relentless onslaught.

Outside your door, the sounds of laughter from Soap and Gaz only served to deepen your anguish. You could hear Price and the others talking, their footsteps echoing through the corridors as they made their way back to their quarters. But despite the familiarity of their presence, you couldn't bring yourself to face them. You couldn't bear the thought of meeting their eyes and seeing the disappointment and judgment reflected back at you. Instead, you remained sequestered in your room. You isolated yourself from the world outside as you struggled to come to terms with what had actually happened.

As the hours passed and the weight of your guilt continued to bear down on you, your phone buzzed incessantly with messages from Soap, Gaz and even Ghost. Each notification felt like a sharp jab to your already fragile psyche, a painful reminder of the concern and judgment you knew awaited you on the other end of the line. Soap's messages were filled with words of worry and encouragement, his concern evident in the way he repeatedly asked if you were okay. Gaz's messages were more subdued, but no less concerned, his terse inquiries betraying the depth of his worry for your well-being.

You ignored their messages, unable to fake it to them. Instead, you buried yourself deeper in the cocoon of your own despair, the silence of your room offering little solace in the midst of your turmoil. But as the day wore on and hunger gnawed at your stomach, you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed and made your way to the cafeteria. It was late, far later than anyone else would-be getting dinner, or so you thought.

As you entered the desolate cafeteria, your heart sank at the sight of Ghost sitting alone at a table in the corner. Despite the emptiness of the room his presence felt suffocating, casting a harsh spotlight on the turmoil brewing within you. With a sigh you ignored him and walked up to serve yourself the usual dull military food. You felt Ghost's gaze boring into you. His eyes a mixture of concern and confusion as they lingered on your tear-stained face.

You filled your plate with food, your hands shaking as you struggled to maintain your composure. The weight of Ghost's scrutiny felt like a physical burden. But as you made your way past Ghost's table, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes. Instead, you kept your gaze fixed on the floor. Your cheeks burned with shame as you tried to hide the evidence of your recent breakdown.

With a quick nod of acknowledgment, you hurried away from Ghost's table. Your steps quickening as you sought refuge in the farthest corner of the room. You found an empty table and sat down keeping your head bowed as you focused on your food, desperate to avoid any further scrutiny. But despite your best efforts, you could still feel Ghost's gaze burning into you. His concern was a palpable presence in the empty room. You felt exposed, vulnerable, as if every inch of your skin was laid bare for him to see. And as you picked at your food, your appetite all but forgotten in the wake of your turbulent emotions. You couldn't help but wonder how long you could keep up the charade. How long before the facade you had constructed came crashing down around you?

As Ghost approached your table, his presence a calming anchor in the midst of your turbulent emotions, he gave a curt nod of acknowledgment. "Hey, kid," he greeted you in his trademark gruff tone, his voice carrying a note of concern beneath its rough exterior. "You alright?"

You tried to mask the evidence of your tears with a feeble attempt at a smile, but Ghost saw right through that. His keen eyes bore into yours, his gaze unwavering as he waited for your response.

"Yeah, just allergies acting up," you replied, your voice betraying the strain of your attempts to deflect his concern.

But Ghost wasn't fooled. He knew you better than that, could see the pain etched into every line of your face. With a grunt of acknowledgment, he accepted your explanation, though you could tell he wasn't entirely convinced.

"I won't push ya," he said with his gravelly voice, his tone softened by a rare display of empathy. "But if you ever wanna talk about it, I'm here." With a grateful nod, you thanked him and watched as he walked out of the room leaving you to your thoughts.

As the morning sun filtered through the curtains you found yourself ensnared in a labyrinth of restless thoughts. Each beam of sunlight seemed to illuminate the tangled mess of emotions that swirled within you, highlighting the heavy shroud of guilt that enveloped your very being. You had spent the night tossing and turning, your pillow dampened by tears that ebbed and flowed.

Just as you had managed to drift into a fitful slumber the persistent knocking at your door shattered the fragile semblance of peace you had managed to find. Each rap on the door felt like a blow to your already fragile composure jolting you awake from the fleeting respite of sleep. Groggy and disoriented you stumbled across the room, every step a struggle against the weight of exhaustion that hung heavy upon your shoulders.

With a heavy heart Captain John Price stood on the other side of the door, his hand hovering tentatively over the handle as he took in the sight before him. His breath caught in his throat, a pang of concern twisting in his chest at the sight of you. The vibrant energy that usually radiated from you had been replaced by a sadness he rarely saw from you. A shadow of your former self. His heart clenched with a mixture of empathy and apprehension as he took in your fragile state. Every instinct urged him to gather you into his arms, to shield you from the pain that etched lines of sorrow upon your face. But he held back, knowing that you needed space to unravel the tangled threads of your emotions in your own time. With a silent prayer on his lips, Price waited for you to acknowledge him.

"Captain, what are you doing here?" you greeted him with a ghost of a smile, though it failed to reach your eyes, which still held traces of the turbulent night you had endured.

Price's gaze softened at the sight of you, his concern etched into every line of his expression. "Hey love," he greeted softly, his voice carrying a gentle warmth that offered solace in the midst of your turmoil. "Missed you this morning at PT. Everything alright?"

You forced a tight-lipped smile, the effort of masking your inner turmoil nearly unbearable. Every word you spoke felt like a weight upon your chest, each syllable a struggle against the overwhelming tide of emotions threatening to engulf you. "Yeah, just feeling a bit under the weather," you replied, your voice strained with the weight of the unspoken troubles that gnawed at your conscience. Price's brow furrowed deeper in concern as he studied your haggard appearance. His gaze lingered on you, searching for answers in the depths of your tired eyes, his intuition telling him that there was more to your distress than a simple case of illness.

"You sure that's all it is?" he pressed gently, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and skepticism. He had known you long enough to recognize when something weighed heavily on your mind, and the mask you wore now couldn't conceal the truth from him.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to respond. The weight of your secrets threatened to suffocate you, but you clung to the fragile facade you had constructed, unwilling to burden him with the weight of your troubles. "Yeah, just... a rough night," you murmured, the words tasting bitter on your tongue as you forced them past the lump that lodged there.

Price had always treated you differently, with a softness he never seemed to reserve for the others. From the moment you joined Task Force 141, he recognized the weight of the horrors that came with the job.  He made it his mission to be there for you in a way that went beyond mere professional obligation. He became your confidant, your sounding board, the one person you could turn to when the darkness threatened to overwhelm you. His gentle demeanor and unwavering kindness provided a safe haven in the chaos of missions and the toll they took on your spirit.

Price's gaze softened with understanding as he reached out to gently squeeze your arm. His touch was a far cry from the man a few nights ago. He was that comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions.

"You don't have to face it alone, you know," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your weary soul. "Whatever it is, you can talk to me. You can always talk to me, love."

Indeed, Price's tenderness towards you was unmistakable. While you were every bit a soldier like the rest, he recognized that you were different. The things you witnessed and the actions you took on these missions slowly started eating away at you long ago. But Price was there offering solace and understanding. His affection for you growing deeper with each shared moment of vulnerability.

Over the three years of working together Price found himself drawn to more than just your skills and abilities. It was your spirit, your unwavering determination, and your unique personality that captivated him. At first it was subtle, just a flicker of admiration for the way you handled yourself under pressure, the way you never backed down from a challenge. But as time went on and he got to know you better, that admiration blossomed into something deeper. He found himself enchanted by the fire in your eyes when you spoke passionately about something you believed in. He admired the way you never lost your humanity, even in the midst of the darkest missions. Your compassion and empathy for others in the face of danger touched something within him that he hadn't realized was missing.

Price began to notice the small things about you, the adorable quirks that made you uniquely yourself. He found himself smiling at your jokes, laughing at your antics, and feeling a sense of peace whenever you were around. He cherished the moments when you let your guard down and allowed him to see the vulnerable side of you. He felt honored that you trusted him with your fears and insecurities.

As the years went by, Price realized that his feelings for you had evolved beyond mere admiration. He was in love with you. He loved the way you made him feel alive, the way you challenged him to be a better man, and the way you brought light into his dark world. But even as his feelings grew, Price knew that he could never act on them. Not while he was your Captain and the stakes of their missions remained so high. So, he buried his feelings deep inside. He was content to love you from afar and grateful for the opportunity to know you. Even if it meant keeping his emotions hidden.

Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were like a finely tuned unit, attuned not only to the dynamics of the battlefield but also to the subtleties of their comrades' interactions. They noticed the way Price's demeanor would shift whenever you entered the room. The slight softening of his usually stern expression, the warmth that crept into his eyes as they lingered on you, and the way his voice would adopt a gentler tone when he spoke to you. It was unmistakable to them though they never openly acknowledged it.

In their downtime when the mission chatter had quieted, and they found themselves lounging around the base, the guys would exchange knowing glances whenever Price's attention seemed to linger on you a little longer than necessary. Soap might chuckle and nudge Ghost, raising an eyebrow in silent communication that spoke volumes about Price's apparent fondness for you. Ghost, ever the silent observer, would offer a small smirk in return, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched Price navigate the delicate balance between professionalism and the undeniable affection he held for you.

Gaz, always one for a bit of banter, wouldn't hesitate to make playful remarks whenever the opportunity presented itself. He'd tease Price about being extra protective of you during missions, jokingly suggesting that Price had a soft spot for you that he couldn't quite hide. Price would roll his eyes in response, brushing off Gaz's comments with a gruff retort. But the slight flush that colored his cheeks betrayed the truth behind Gaz's jests.

Despite their teasing, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz respected the unspoken boundaries that surrounded Price's feelings for you. They knew that his affection for you was genuine and deep-rooted, and they never pushed him to confront it unless he was ready. As for you, you might have been the only one oblivious to the undercurrent of emotions swirling around Price. To you he remained the steadfast leader, unwavering in his commitment to the mission and the safety of his team. His true feelings were well hidden behind a mask of professionalism and duty.

Tears welled in your eyes as you struggled to find the courage to vocalize the turmoil that had been devouring you from within. The weight of your confession hung heavy upon your shoulders. Each word feeling like a jagged stone forced from your chest. "I... I had a little too much to drink while everyone was gone," you confessed, your voice barely rising above a whisper, as if you were afraid the words themselves would shatter the fragile sanctuary you had built around yourself. "And... I did things... things I didn't want to do."

As you spoke, the air in the room seemed to thicken with a suffocating sense of shame. You couldn't bring yourself to meet Price's gaze. You feared the judgment you were sure would reflect in his eyes. But when you finally summoned the courage to glance up, the expression etched on Price's face was not one of condemnation but of utmost concern. His features tightened with an intensity that mirrored the turmoil raging within him. His heart twisted with a potent blend of anger and sorrow at the thought of someone exploiting your vulnerability in such a despicable manner. But despite the roiling emotions churning beneath the surface, he remained stoically composed. He understood that now was not the time for upsetting you even further.

"Coerced..." you added, your voice trembling with shame as you unveiled the truth that had festered within you like a poison, eating away at your sense of self-worth with every passing moment. "I tried to resist, but... he wouldn't listen. He wouldn’t take no for an answer."

As the weight of your confession hung heavy in the air between you, you couldn't help but feel a surge of relief wash over you. As if the simple act of vocalizing your pain had lifted a burden that had threatened to crush you. Despite the shame that threatened to consume you there was a profound sense of solace in knowing that you were no longer bearing this burden alone. That you had finally allowed yourself to be vulnerable in front of the one person you trusted implicitly.

In that moment of raw honesty, you couldn't help but wonder if Price understood the depth of your feelings for him. If he could see beyond the facade you presented to the world and glimpse the tangled mess of emotions that lay hidden beneath the surface. As you spoke you couldn't deny the palpable sense of comfort that enveloped you. It was as if in allowing yourself to be vulnerable with Price you had discovered a sanctuary where judgment held no power, where acceptance reigned supreme. Captain John Price was the best of men.

And as Price listened his gaze never wavering from yours, you couldn't shake the feeling that he knew on some level the depth of your affection for him. Perhaps it was the gentleness in his touch, the understanding in his eyes, or the unwavering support he offered without hesitation. Whatever the reason, you found yourself daring to hope that maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way. As the weight of your confession hung heavy in the air between you, you realized with startling clarity that Price was more than just a trusted confidant. He was your rock, your pillar of strength in a world filled with uncertainty and doubt. And as the realization settled deep within your heart, you couldn't help but acknowledge the truth that had been staring you in the face all along: you loved him, in a way that transcended mere friendship.

With each passing moment, the bond between you and Price grew stronger, forged in the chaos of shared experiences and unwavering support. And as you looked into his eyes seeing the reflection of your own emotions mirrored back at you, you knew without a doubt that you could tell him anything, and he would be right there for you, no matter what.

Price's grip on your arm tightened ever so slightly as you made your confession. His touch both grounding and reassuring in its strength. His resolve hardened as he fought back the surge of protectiveness that threatened to consume him. "I'm here for you," he reassured you, his voice unwavering in its conviction. "Whatever you need, I'll do everything in my power to help you through this."

As Price listened to your trembling words a whirlwind of emotions roiled within him. Anger burned hot in his chest at the thought of someone taking advantage of you. His fists clenched with the urge to seek retribution. But beneath the rage a deeper sense of sorrow welled up aching with empathy for the pain you had endured alone. "I will always be here for you," he murmured again. As the weight of your confession settled upon you both Price felt a swell of tenderness wash over him, mingling with the fierce determination that burned within him. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you in his arms, to shield you from the pain that gnawed at your soul.

With a gentle hand he lifted your chin, meeting your tear-filled gaze with unwavering reassurance. His heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability, and he couldn't help but brush away the tears that traced delicate paths down your cheeks. "You're not alone. I promise you that," he whispered, his voice infused with a quiet strength that resonated deep within you. "I'll be right here, every step of the way." And as he spoke those words you felt a sense of solace wash over you. You knew that you could lean on him, trust in him.

Against his better judgment, Price drew you into his embrace. His arms encircling you with a tenderness that concealed the strength of his resolve. He held you close as you surrendered to the flood of tears that just kept coming. "It's okay," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle reassurance in the midst of your turmoil. "I've got you. You're safe now."

His heart clenched at the sight of your vulnerability. He couldn't help but brush his hand through your hair. His touch a comforting caress that made you shiver. With each stroke he hoped to ease the burden that weighed so heavily upon your shoulders.

"You're not alone love," he whispered in reassurance. His voice a quiet promise against the chaos of your emotions. "I'm here for you, always." He said once more letting you know that he wasn’t going anywhere. He continued to hold you as the tears slowly subsided. His silent grasp on you a vow to stand by your side through every trial and tribulation that may lay ahead.

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[jellyfishstarrer]

zoo wee mama 💕

Captain Knows Best

Captain John Price x f!Reader

Tags: um....yeah. Pervy!Price, !!!DUBIOUS CONSENT!!!, corruption kink, age gap, experience gap, blow job, Dom!Price, Captain taking advantage, pseudo Daddy kink, praise and degradation, spanking, under negotiated kink, bimbo!Reader

Summary: You're a new recruit who's a little wet behind the ears. Good thing you have Captain Price to help you out. After all, the Captain always knows what's best, doesn't he?

Or, simply, pussy inspections with Captain Price.

Word count: 6.5k

When you joined the military, you hadn’t been aware of your own two left feet. For the first few months, you tried valiantly to prove yourself to no avail. Now, you’d learned to keep your head down and work alongside the others as best as you could, and yet, you always find yourself running in the back of the pack or struggling to keep up during rucks. You’re always the last over the finish line, always stumbling over your own two feet on both the running track and the field. Your superiors know that you lag behind, and eventually, they stop expecting anything more from you…

That is, until one Captain John Price comes into view. Immediately, the petty sergeants who'd been yelling at you straighten up, whipped into shape the minute he comes into the room. This time, it's them that trip over themselves to earn his approval...and as you watch him survey the lines of eager recruits, you can't help but shrink in on yourself in embarrassment, knowing that you'd only make a fool out of yourself in front of a man like him.

He watches as you clumsily fumble through the drills, his big arms crossed over his muscled chest in quiet contemplation. By the end of it all, he hardly spares a word to your fellow privates, watching with a bored expression as they file out of the room. You're last, like always, shirt stained through with sweat that you'd barely earned. You duck your eyes as you pass by him, heart thrumming just at his presence. That is, until a low voice beckons you back into the room. Then, it’s just you and him

"Sweetheart, you can do better than this"

Instantly, your heart drops. He's not yelling at you like the other men do, and yet, there's just something so shameful about hearing it from a Captain of all people. He's seems so earnest and kind, so big, strong, and knowledgeable...and he's telling you you aren't good enough...

...that is, until he makes an offering.

Private lessons on how to be a model soldier. Private lessons with the captain himself.

"I'll make you into a better soldier than this sorry lot, darling."

Really? He'd really help out a lost cause like you? Your heart bursts at the thought. Surely, with the captain's help, you'd be able to show up the rest of the people who've doubted you. The two of you would meet in the gym the following night. Young and inexperienced as you are, you agree without a second thought. After all, the Captain must know what’s best, right?

Little did you know, Price had his own ulterior motives. Perhaps if you'd been smart enough to look behind you as you left the room, you would have seen the way his eyes lingered on your ass for just a little too long.

When you get to the gym, wringing your hands shyly as you desperately try not to crumble into a shaking pile in front of this man, he only croons at you. He folds his large, calloused hands over yours, some sweet expression coming over his face as he moves closer, so close you can smell the musky beard oil in his hair. And it's then that he comes up with a set of rules. You nod along diligently along, not even noticing how his hands possessively curl around your own, just a touch too tight.

-

You can't tell anyone else what you're doing with the Captain. After all, if they knew he was giving you private lessons, they'd only want some for themselves! You wouldn't want to get rid of your own advantage, would you? 

-

You agree without a second thought, and John silently breathes a sigh of relief. Good, if any of his superiors caught wind of what he felt towards a lower ranking woman like you, he’d be court-martialed. Though, that naïve, wholly trusting look on your face gives him the feeling you’d be hard pressed to disobey him. 

Good, all the easier to have you to himself, then.

-

2. You need to follow whatever he says. It doesn't matter if you don't understand it...after all, you're a private. The Captain knows what's best for you. You wouldn't dare to disobey an order, would you? 

-

You shake your head with a cute, empty look in your eyes. Of course you wouldn’t dare to go against him. He smirks just at the thought. Sweet little thing like you, didn’t have an ounce of sense in that head, did you? Didn’t even think twice when a higher ranking, older man like him decided to take you under his wing. 

-

3. Price demands nothing less than perfection. Your uniform, your manners, the way you address him—everything. They have to be perfect, and he'll enforce mandatory inspections just to make sure you get it right.

-

“Yes, Captain,” you tell him, voice so high and so, so sickly sweet.

John sucks in an imperceptible breath, looking at you through low lidded, dark eyes. God, you really had no idea. When he quietly dismisses you, he waits until you’ve turned around to reach for his fly and readjust himself. 

-

It starts out fairly simple. Late night sparring sessions with the captain. Before any match, he inspects your uniform to make sure you're wearing it correctly. He circles you like a shark, watching the way your shirt begins to cling to your breasts as sweat collects across your skin. He watches the way your ass fills out your pants when he shoves you into the mat, likes the noises you make when he pushes your wrist between your shoulder blades, and you whine at him to let you go. 

One day, during uniform inspection, he sticks his fingers under your belt, clicking his tongue when it isn't tightened at just the perfect length. 

"Sweetheart," he scoffs, a stern look on his face as he forcefully yanks your belt out of your pants, "There's no point in wearing it if you put it on incorrectly. Try again."

With every harsh word, you find your ego wounded. It's a struggle not to let tears burst into your eyes at his harsh tone. But you suck it up, nodding along eagerly. The captain knows best, after all, even if the click of his tongue made something…strange curl in the bottom of your stomach.

The sparring is hard. After all, he's just so much bigger and stronger than you are. He’s tall and burly, with thick arms and dexterous hands. He pins you every time without fail—and rather easily, too, you might add. You swear you can barely manage claw yourself out from under him before every rematch, the entire length of his muscled body holding you down like a weighted blanket. Though, every time, he only urges you to keep going, spurs you on.

-

"C'mon, love," he demands, pinning your ass to the mat with his strong hips, all but pinning you below him, "Get me off. C'mon, you know how to do it"

-

It ends the same way each time. You, on your stomach, cheeks flushed with heat. His hips pressed into your ass, his hands pinning your wrists to the mat nearly hard enough to bruise. You quickly become used to it...That, and the hardness you feel pressing in between your legs every time he gets you like this.

But surely that didn't mean anything, did it? After all, the Captain knows best. 

-

"Shouldn't worry 'bout the tiny things, love. Just do what I tell you, yeah? It's about respect. Always gotta give your commanding officer respect, isn't that right, doll?"

-

And as it turns out, you do start to get better.

You become a fast runner, taking morning jogs with the Captain each day. You begin to find your own footing on the mat, even having pinned the man a few times all by yourself. You treasured those memories, few and far between as they were. Strangely, they had a way of sticking in your head, replaying themselves over and over in your mind every time you lay down to go to bed at night. It was a sign of your own improvement, after all, how could you not bask in it? Especially when the Captain was so generous each time you managed to do it.

“Good girl, darling,��� you can hear his voice echo in your mind, “Just like that. A big man gets you cornered, you take ‘em down just like that, yeah?”

You smile just at the thought, wringing you hands in your bedsheets.

“Manage to pin me by the end of the night,” he’d whispered into your ears with a smile, hands on your shoulders as he walked you into the gym, “And maybe I’ll take you out to the bar for a drink tonight. On me.”

You can’t help but gush, thinking back on it. After having come so far, that day seems like a far off dream. His voice in your ears, his kind hands over your shoulders. You’d nodded in agreement with his challenge, and he’d looked at you with that now-familiar look—the one you couldn’t help but crave time and time again.

Warm, wide eyes, lips curved into a small smile.

“M’proud of you,” you can practically hear him say.

You’d been so starstruck at the look of it, you’d hardly been able to do more than jump when he’d gently patted you on your backside, some unknown heat springing to your cheeks. He’d moved to the mats without another word, flicking his fingers in a silent gesture for you to follow him. Chest light with pride, you follow after him, nearly skipping.

You’d seen the guys on your high school sports team do the same thing to each other countless times over. Maybe it was like that? Maybe you were finally good enough to be on the team.

And your Captain thought so, too.

-

Best of all, your drill sergeants’ incessant screaming no longer followed you around the halls. In fact, they've begun to shower you with praise, as well. For some, they've even seemed taken a special interest in you, their smiling eyes following you restlessly about the running track every time you lace yup your boots.

For you, it’s like crossing the finish line in first place.

For Price, it's nothing but a slow motion nightmare.

Your tits bouncing with every step during your morning jogs.

The way your little shorts curved around your thighs whenever you exercised.

The way your nipples shown through your shirt if he cranked the air con up.

For days, you let him manhandle you on the ground, let him shove your weaker body under him, let him talk down to you. You let him grind his hard, aching cock against your ass during every sparring session, hardly batting an eye, purely because you couldn't ever dare to doubt your precious, competent Captain.

God, there really was nothing behind those eyes, was there?

You showed up bright and early each morning, saluting him the instant he opens the door. You giggled when his fingers dug into that one soft spot on your side, even when his hard dick was rocking against the planes of your covetable ass, and he couldn’t help but grunt into your ear like a man in pain. To you, it was all just normality, just a friendly gesture that meant you were finally a part of the squad, of the team. To Price, it was another fantasy to jerk off to when he walked you back to the barracks at night, sending you off with a hand against the clasp of your bra and a low "Sleep well, darling."

God, you let him get away with so much.

You let him run his hands all over your precious body under the guise of "uniform inspections." You let him dig his fingers up under your shirt when you were sparring—almost to the band of your bra, nearly. You let him study the pretty, perfect panty lines under your fatigues every time you walked ahead of him, your high voice ringing in his ears like a bell.

Of course you were too dim to realize it, but he even palmed his aching cock during your water breaks, watching as the bare skin of your stomach slowly revealed itself during your ambient stretching.

And, fuck, his balls are just so full and heavy. He fucks his fist to the sound of your voice in his head almost each and every night, spilling his seed against the trail of hair that ran down from his belly button. Despondently, he looks at his own semen against his skin, cursing your oblivious nature. This should be in your pussy, not on his hands.

Though, could he blame you? You were a young thing, a skip in your step, hardly a single chip on your shoulder. He doubts you've slept with many boys—not any men, for sure. And, god, even if he had to hide his infatuation with such a young, low ranking thing like you, he'd be lying if he said your inexperience didn't make his cock throb in his pants nearly every time you stood in front of him.

If you let him do all this, what else could he get away with?

-

When your staff sergeants started to get handsy, Price decided to test his theory.

Things changed. Instantly.

He became more aggressive, more demanding. He didn't go easy with you during sparring anymore, didn’t roll over and play dead like he used to. Every chance he got, his arms were wrapped around your body, framing your tits, fondling your ass, pressing his crotch up between your legs. As the days go on, you become more and more frazzled, struggling to keep up with the change in pace. His words are harsher, voice lower.

-

“Can’t even fight me off,” he scoffs, subduing your little hands up against your tits, struggling to pin your legs to the floor with the strength of his hips, “You’re fucking better than this, aren’t you? Get me off. I said, fucking get me off.”

When he ruts against you this time, you don't react like a highly trained soldier. No, it takes you minutes to push him away. He swears he sees your eyes glaze over the next time he gets himself in between your legs.

-

Even on leave, he demands you see him, demands that you come to his home just to continue your "training." Just because you weren't in uniform, however, doesn't mean you could slack off. When you show up to his home in sweatpants and a long sleeve shirt, he clicks his tongue, pawing at the soft set of your body as if the clothes had personally offended him.

"It's too much fuckin' fabric, sweetheart. It's a disadvantage in a fight. If there's loose clothing, they can easily take you down. Wear something tighter next time—something smaller, okay?"

And like a good girl, you listen.

With each visit, your clothes get skimpier and skimpier. Crop tops, shorts, sports bras. Hell, by the end of the week, when your laundry's due, you've got nothing left except for an old skirt and a tight exercise top. When Price opens the door, sense all but flies out the window, and from that point on, uniform inspections become a bit...different.

You stand tall, head held high, arms flat at your sides, like a model soldier. Price circles you with a frown on his face, lip curling into a snarl as he studies the curves of your cleavage and the dangling fabric of your skirt. You don't bat an eye when he swipes his hand over your stomach, running it underneath your tits. After all, that’s only commonplace. However, when he stands behind you and clicks his tongue, hooking his finger underneath the edge of your skirt to push it upwards—to look at your panties—something...new starts brewing in your bloodstream. 

"This..." he runs his finger underneath the edge of your old, Victoria Secret panties, watching your skin come alight under his fingers, "This isn't part of the uniform, love. Are you trying to disrespect me? Showing up here like this?"

"N-no, Captain," you manage to stutter.

"Good," he huffs, copping a quick feel of your ass, "'Cause from now on, I'll have to check them, too."

He shakes his head, letting the skirt fall back over the curve of your ass.

You're mortified. How could you mess up the uniform code? Thank god the Captain had brought it to your attention. Who knows what another officer would have said. The Captain was always looking out for you. After all, he always knew best.

-

However, even when you try desperately to please him, he only seems to become more and more dissatisfied with your clothing the longer it goes on. Shorts and pants quickly become unacceptable. The last time you dared to show up at his house, he demanded you go home and change. When you'd shown up in a skirt, however, he'd been no less angry.

"Can't even remember the blasted uniform code," he scoffs, shoving the hem of your skirt up over your ass to viciously snap the waistband against your hip, "Imagine if the other officers could see you now…God, they wouldn't believe it. Need to straighten you out myself," he growls, swatting you across the ass cheek hard enough to make you flinch, "Need to make you fuckin' listen."

-

To be completely honest, you couldn't quite understand why the Captain insisted on checking beneath your skirt every time you came over...

"Uniform, love, how many times do I have to fucking say it?" he scowls, grabbing a fistful of your hair, "Gotta make sure you're clean and decent, yeah? Wouldn't want the other officers to think ill of you would they? Wouldn't want me to be disappointed, would you, doll?"

"No, sir..."

He slaps your ass with a furious curl of his lips, "Fuckin' good, soldier."

-

Cotton, lace, thongs, bikini cut—none of them seem to be the right answer. If the way the Captain spent longer and longer each time with his hands underneath your skirt, there was still something glaringly obvious you must be getting wrong...

Your cheeks only get hotter and hotter. Your hands only wring further and further. Something deep within you—something in your very nature—screams at you to hide yourself from him, especially now that the Captain insists on pressing the entire breadth of his big hands between your legs, his warm palm smoothing over your pussy and ass...

“Gotta make fuckin’ sure,” he’d growled at you the first time he did it, and you’d jumped in your shoes, “You’ve been so outta line lately…if you want me to go easy on you, learn how to fuckin’ dress, love.”

-

However, one day, during another mandatory inspection, the Captain suddenly freezes, the heel of his palm pressed right into that single sweet spot that always had you biting your cheek to keep a straight face. You’d come to learn that standing still and quiet was important. The first time you’d made a noise, the Captain had spanked you so hard you’d gone home with a red handprint over your ass.

"Sweetheart," he straightens up, "What's this?"

He bunches your skirt up, raising his palm to show you his hand. And it's then that you see it: your own arousal smeared over his palm. Instantly, you're stumbling over your words to give him an excuse. However, he just drags his eyes over your soaked panties once more, quieting your panic with a single word.

"Hush, love, you've done nothing wrong. It's okay that you're wet," he says lowly, dropping the edge of your skirt. HIs voice is so soft and kind, reminiscent of all the days he’d spent standing behind you, whispering in your ear with a smile in on his face. 

"It's normal,” he takes you hand, squeezing it to comfort you, “It's what girls are supposed to do, darling. Won’t make me think any different of you. Now, be a good girl and bend over so that I can keep going..."

-

After that night...

After the way that he spoke to you.

After how kind he’d been to you…you can't help but feel warmer any time he lays his eyes on you.

Even though you know it's wrong...even though he's only trying to help you get better...

But no matter what you do, he only becomes more and more neurotic. First, it was the skirts. Then, it was your panties. And now, it was a miracle if you made it through an entire inspection without soaking through the fabric, getting his hands all messy.

Price starts to notice.

-

"Fuck, darling," he muses with a pensive look on his face, swiping a finger over the droplets of slick that cling to the fabric, "This is hardly decent. Might need to clean you up myself..."

"M'sorry, Captain..."

"Fuckin' better be..."

-

And then, you can't even say that you're surprised when he insists inspecting your pussy, too, just to make sure you were well and truly decent for him.

-

He pulls the panties away from your skin, pulling them just far enough to press his a rough finger between your folds, just barely nudging your clit. When you jump, he clicks his tongue.

"Sit still, sweetheart," he commands, "If you respect me, you'll let me do this without interfering."

-

One day, when you wear a nice set of lace panties, the slick leaks through once more. Fuck, it's so obvious that the captain can see it the minute he flips your skirt up. 

"Darling—“ he shakes his head in disappointment.

"I'm sorry, Captain," you begin to whine, tears gathering in your eyes from day after day of failed uniform inspections,When would you ever get it right?

“Hey, hey—shh, sweetheart,” he cups the back of your thighs from his crouched position, tilting his head so that you can see his face better.

"M'not mad," he tells you, pulling your panties down your legs to swipe his fingers in between your folds, "Just disappointed."

"I know, Captain," you sniffle, legs shaking as you struggle to maintain your composure, “I—I swear that I'm trying to learn, but I just—”

A low coo escapes his mouth and he stands to his full height, a gentle look in his eye.

"Shh—hey, love, look at me," he croons.

Hesitantly, you do, barely able to see his face through the haze of your own tears.

"It's okay, just a little mistake," he brushes his thumb over your cheek, wiping the tears away, "We all make mistakes."

You raise your eyebrows in question.

“Even you?”

“Even me.”

You watch his thick chest expand with a slow inhale, and you watch as his dark, chocolate brown pupils expand.

"Happens to everyone," he explains, and before you know what's happening, he's reaching for your wrist. He guides your hand to lay over his crotch, where the hard length of his cock curves against his hip. Your tears slow, and with a small inhale, you slowly settle your curious fingers around the length of him. Innocent and unsure in your movements.

God, just the sight of it makes him twitch. At the tiny movement beneath your hand, your face flushes with heat.

“See, happens to me, too," he whispers, pressing on the back of your hand to make sure you're gripping him tight, "Look."

Slowly, you look down at his hardened length. God, the weight of it in your palm...

Even the captain wasn't immune. Even he struggled to follow the rules sometime. But even so, he was always decent and prepared...if only you knew as much as he did.

"See?"he breathes hoarsely, curving your palm to cup his bulge, "Just have to know how to take care of it. Wouldn't want any of the other officers to see you like this, right?"

"But, how…when the barracks are so full…” you trail off, listlessly staring down at his arousal. The Captain was always so gentlemanly. But like this—vulnerable before you—you can’t help but marvel at the breadth of his knowledge and experience. 

"Shh, darling," he interjects, still holding your hand where it lay over his cock, "I'll teach you how to take care of it.”

Two of his fingers sneak back beneath your skirts, easily parting your folds. Here, standing in front of you, he towers over you, some unfamiliar look in his eye. His fingers are so big and rough, padding over your clit. Electricity runs up your back with the movement, and you jerk where you stand. And when one of those big fingers pushes gently inside of you, you can’t help the small gasp, eyes shocking closed.

However, a swat against your ass forces you to open your eyes.

“Look at me,” he commands, grabbing you by the jaw with one hand while he continues to fuck into you with the other, “You’re gonna keep your eyes open and stand at attention, yeah? Let me do my job, sweetheart.”

“Yes—yessir,” you manage weakly, eyes widening when a second finger stretches you out. You go up on your tip toes, looking resolutely in the comforting depths of Price’s brown eyes.

“Captain,” you gasp.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, “I’ve got you. Just let me help you now.”

-

That night, you’d gone back home with a flush over your face, the phantom memory of the Captain’s expert fingers between your legs. You’d tossed and turned in your bed, trying to will your own mind into submission. However, when you’d shown up at the Captain’s house the next morning, you couldn’t even fein innocence when strings of slick hung between your panties and your swollen pussy during the next uniform inspection.

He’d looked at you with caring, worried eyes.

“Darling,” he’d held up your panties, swiping his fingers over the puddle of your juices, “Again?”

You only nodded your head shamefully, skin buzzing with anticipation when he’d stood up with a sigh.

“Well…” he’d dangled them from his finger, tucking them into the pocket of his jeans hardly a second later, “‘Guess it wouldn’t hurt to let you off easy just this once. You’ve always been such a good girl, haven’t you, darling?”

“Yessir,” you’d said reverently, trying to slow your breathing as he came closer.

“Yes, you have,” he’d whispered, and when his fingers had filled you up, only then had the hollow ache disappeared.

-

That day, Price had sent you home without your panties.

“Just because I let you off easy doesn’t mean it’ll be like this every time,” he’d held you by the chin, forcing you to look him in the eye, “Don’t forget my kindness. I’ll be keeping these for now.”

The minute the door had closed behind you, he’d darted to his bedroom, reaching for his pocket with impatient hands. John Price had never been smitten with a young thing like you before. But the image of you with raw asscheeks, tears in your eyes, too naïve to know better.

Hell, he could write you up and call it love, and you’d fucking thank him for it.

Fuck.

It was a good thing he hadn’t promised to give you the panties back. After all, they looked purely sublime wrapped around his cock as he jerked off, your sweet smell clinging to them. And when he stained them with his own cum, he would be lying if he said the look of it hadn’t inspired something completely unhinged within.

-

"Can't let the others see you like this...when this happens, come to me, and I'll take care of it.”

“Really?” You’d asked him, nearly bouncing in your place.

“���Course, darling,” he’d answered sternly, “You’d humiliate yourself if I let yourself walk out the door like this. I know you’ve got no little toys to help you out at home, and your fingers…”

He’d splayed your fingers over his palm, shaking his head.

“They’re too small to stave it off for long,” he’d explained, trying to hide the wild desire in his eyes behind a façade of well meaning guidance, “Need something bigger. Something that’ll keep you sated.”

“Of course, sir,” you’d nodded along, acting as if you completely understood every word he was saying.

Fuck, he’d thought, cute slag.

“Good,” he’d dropped your hand, reaching for your skirt to reveal your pussy to him, “But just because I’m willing to help doesn’t mean you can slack off, y’hear me? You show up here wet again, and I’ll have you bent over my fucking knee. Understand?”

“Yessir.”

-

And soon enough, there are a plethora of new instructions you have to follow along with.

If you thought you couldn’t make it through uniform inspection, the Captain would let you slide your hands underneath your panties before you came over—if and only if it was truly necessary. 

“A good soldier knows how to be decent,” he’d snarled at you when you dared to show up with a wet spot once again, “If you can’t fuckin’ keep your uniform clean, I’ll have to write you up, sweetheart, is that what you want? Want all the other officers to know that you’re a whore who can’t even make it through inspection without getting her panties wet?”

“No, sir.”

“Well,” he’d slapped your pussy then, causing you to finch against him, “This—”

He’d yanked your head downwards by grabbing a fistful of your hair, wringing your skirt up so that you were forced to look down at where he pressed over your soaked panties.

“This,” he’d growled, “isn’t very fucking convincing, now is it?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Good,” he’d released you, “Do better next time.”

-

As the days go on, and you continue to show up to his door with slick between your legs, he can’t help but push you further and further.

-

"Stop squeezing your thighs together," he reprimands, striking your thigh when you try to hide the obvious wetness between your legs, "Lemme see you—let me fucking see you. Fuck, you're so wet. Didn't even try today, did you?"

He shakes his head, grabbing your wrist to pull you over to his desk. You whine when he bends you over the edge of it, and you feel the cold air against your wet folds when he pushes your skirt up.

“God, darling,” you can tell he’s angry. You hide your face in the fold of your elbow, if only to try and hide the elated, excited look on your face from the Captain.

He was just trying to help you, and here you were, taking advantage of him like this.

If only you were smart enough to realize it was the other way around.

“I told you,” a hit against your thigh, “Touch that pretty pussy when it gets like this,” a swat against your ass, “Fuck yourself on your fingers,” a slap against your pussy, “Rub your clit,” he leans over you, his hard cock pressing against your wet hold.

“Anything,” he grabs a handful of your hair, yanking you backwards, forcing you to arch your back, “I gave you so much leeway, and this is how you fucking repay me.”

His breath is hot against your cheek when he hooks his chin over your shoulder. And you swear—you swear that you try to stay still and stand at attention, but your brain screams at you to press your pussy back into him, rub your cheek against the soft bristles of his beard, just so that when you wet home at night, you’d smell like the oil and aftershave he wore every day.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Captain,” you mutter.

“You wanna show me how sorry you are?” He pants, and you feel the fabric of your skirt move as his belt buckle jingles.

“Get on your knees,” he commands loudly.

You scramble to do just that, fidgeting on the plush carpet beneath you as you study his face with rapt attention, trying to gauge the best course of action. However, you hardly expect to see something akin to desperation on his face. That, and you can’t hide your own surprise (and secret elation) when he reaches for the zipper on his thigh.

Your heart swells when he pulls out his cock, and you watch it bob just above your face, so heavy and swollen in his big hands. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you were completely unblinking as he poised himself above your face, mouth still turned downwards in reprobation. 

“Suck my fucking cock,” he tells you lowly, sliding his fingers into your hair, “Then we’ll see how sorry you are.”

You salivate, puddles of spit pooling on your lower lip. You yearn to reach out for him, but the smallest, little prick of confusion works its way into your brain.

“But Captain,” you say mindlessly, “How does this help me—”

His hands tighten in your hair, “Quiet, private. You don’t need to understand. You just need to follow my fucking orders. Is that clear?”

God, how could you have been so clueless? It was like you were back on square one all over again.

“Yes, sir,” gingerly, you reach out for him, trying not to gasp when your soft fingers meet his velvet skin. His cock twitches at the feeling, delectable beads of precum gathering at the tip.

“Good,” he sighs, jaw going slack as your pretty, sweet mouth envelops the tip of him. He struggles to keep his voice steady through the force of his pleasure, but even when he spreads his legs wider, you hardly react. You only suckle on him innocently, giving him tiny kisses that hardly gave him any feeling, but that nearly sent him over the edge.

Fuck, you didn’t know what the hell you were doing.

Good. No other man should teach you things like this.

You moan around the length of him when he bullies himself deeper into your mouth, but he soothes you easily.

“Shh, love, just suck me like this,” he pushes a strand of hair behind your eyes, “Captain knows best for you.”

-

However, this new dynamic seems to do anything but help you keep your panties dry. If anything, it makes it worse. Weeks into it, with bruises on your knees and his soft voice on your mind, nothing could satisfy you. Not your fingers, not his—nothing.

If the welts on your ass had anything to say for it, the Captain wasn’t happy about it. And even though you know you were supposed to remain quiet and obedient like a good soldier, you were at your wits end trying to make it stop.

“Captain, it’s not working…” you beseech him, trying your best to keep your voice polite, lest he think you’ve disrespected him, “Even when I…before I come here, I’m still…”

“Really?” He quirks a brow, looking anything but pleased.

“Yessir,” you try not to sniffle when a tear falls over the edge of your eye, “I—I followed your instructions to the T, sir. And—and when I was in the shower, I tried to…to make myself feel better, but—but even if I do that, it still happens…”

You avert your gaze to the floor, trying to hide your shame. You can feel the frustration rolling off of you in waves, but when he doesn’t make to reprimand you, you can’t hide your relief when he lays a hand over your shoulder. He squeezes you there, a knowing look in your eye. It’s simmering alongside his anger, but you feel anything but lost. No, if anything you preen under his gaze.

“You need something more,” he begins softly, kindly, “Is that it?”

You furrow your brow. How could he expect you to know what you needed? He was the Captain. He should be the one telling you what’s what.

“But—But what do I need…” you trail off, trying to catch your breath when he steps so close you’re practically breathing in his cologne.

“Sweetheart,” he croons, pursing his lips as he takes your hands. He looks serious, a thoughtful look in his eye.

 “If you wouldn’t be opposed to some overtime, I think I might know what could do it…”

“How?”

You can’t help but inhale sharply when he rubs over your fingers comfortingly. He leads them to the front of his pants, pressing them against the zipper of his thigh. You feel him there. So big, warm, and familiar. Ever since that first night, he hadn’t let you touch him here. No, he’d only let you use your mouth—but, if he was letting you do this to him, then that must mean…

“Normally, Captains don’t do this with their soldiers,” he explains, purely informational, “But—but you’re such a good solider, such a good girl. You’re special.”

“Really?” You pry.

“Mm-hm,” he nods,“So if you do what I tell you, look me in the eye, and promise real hard not to tell anybody…I’ll help you. How does that sound?”

You struggle to keep your eyes on his face as you feel him throb beneath you. You swear you can feel your heart beat between your legs when he begins to gently walk you backwards, towards his desk.

“That—that sounds good, Captain,” you whisper, jolting when the back of your thigh hits the edge of it.

The click of his tongue is stark against the abject silence, and the sound of stacks of paper and knick-knacks falling to the floor pales in comparison to the noise of his inhale when he presses you back into the surface.

“That’s not what you say to me,” he reprimands you, standing over you in all his glory as he slowly undoes his fly.

Raptured, you watch as he pulls himself out, the leaking head of him just barely grazing your inner thigh. 

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Captain,” you correct yourself, voice completely and utterly mindless, focused singularly on the man in front of you.

“Good girl,” he praises you, stroking over himself in long, agonizing passes, “Now, spread your legs. I’ll need to look at your cunt before I’ll know how to help you.”

-

And this time, when he looks at you, you can’t even begin to feel remorseful for how much slick leaks out of you. It spills down the curve of your ass, pooling on the desk beneath you. Price doesn’t comment on it—he must be feeling generous. His hands are soft and familiar, kind and helpful. They knew what was best for you, knew how to make you feel better. Graciously, he doesn’t curse you for your mistake. No, he only stands up, rubbing his hands up your thighs comfortingly.

“Sweetheart, would…”

He trails downwards, looking at the aching erecting jutting out from his fly. You bite your lip, nodding unconsciously to who that you hear him. Then, he leans over you, his masculine scent overwhelming you at once.

“Would this make you feel better?”

You gasp quietly as he swipes the head of his cock up and down your folds, gathering your slick on his tip. Your entire body comes alight at the feeling, and your hands shock to his shoulders to grab ahold of his shirt. Without even thinking, you nod along, babbling words falling out of your lips.

“Yeah? That it? That’s what you needed? Just a little attention?” The head catches on your hole, and you can’t even help the pitiful sound that leaves you.

He chuckles, standing back to his full height. He guides your thigh around his hip, holding himself with one hand to line his cock up.

“Tell me,” he tucks the head barely inside, watching the way your back arches in anticipation, “You ever let a man do this to you before?”

Eagerly, you shake you head no, barely able to breathe through the force of your own unadulterated want. You don’t even notice the condescending, victorious smirk he wears.

“Good,” he says, and all at once, the length of him slides into you.

It shatters you, your legs shaking as he sinks down the hilt, his balls resting comfortably against your ass. You feel like you’re floating, viewing the world from the third person, outside of your own body. But he grounds you easily, planting his elbows next to your head.

“I’ll write you up if you spread your legs for anyone else,” he growls, digging his nails into your ass nearly hard enough to bruise.

“Y-yessir,” you mewl, not even thinking to fight it.

After all, the Captain knows best, doesn’t he?

-

NOTES: ao3 version will be updated soon!! Thank you so much for reading!!

[elysianightsss]

John, he’d been waiting for this moment, been waiting for you to come through the door with tired eyes, an ache in your bones and your head pounding so much you were disappointed that your instincts had kicked in when you slipped on some ice outside and caught yourself instead of letting yourself get knocked the fuck out. So disappointed.

And after a long train ride into the beautiful countryside, a taxi ride to the rustic cabin that always looked more like a cottage to you, you weren’t even bothered about special greetings anymore.

You practically collapsed on John’s lap, curling up there. Your sleeves pulled over your fists because you once again forgot a coat on the way out of your flat. Rubbing your tired eyes with said sleeve covered fist, you mumbled out a sleepy ‘hello’ to which he chuckled pulling your hand away from your now red eye.

“Hello to you too love.” You snuggled further into his neck, thankful that he had trimmed his mutton chops and beard down so they weren’t massively bushy and tickling at your nose like last time. “Long day?”

“The longest.” At this he grinned. John had been waiting for you to have a bad day at work so he could convince you to quit and live off of his money. He’d mentioned it so many times before but unfortunately you always thought he was joking and when he had rasped it into your ear while he was buried deep inside you, you thought that he was just being his usual possessive self.

Not fucking true. Okay it’s partly true, but John was serious. He wanted to put you up in his well polished cabin. Wanted to marry you so you couldn’t argue against him when he said ‘what’s mine is yours’. Wanted to come back from missions to find his cute little wife in his bed. He wanted to spend his free time gardening and baking with you. Going to the farmers market with you and he always wanted to try his hand at painting.

John Price wanted nothing more than to come home to you swollen with his child. Couldn’t wait to take leave so he could take care of you properly. Desperately wanted nothing more than to be there when you bore his child, holding your hand and telling you ‘you’re doing so well, my brave girl’. Wanted to see the sweet little baby that you made together on your hip while you told him all about the new curtain samples you got because ‘the ones in the den are ghastly’ as you so eloquently put it.

And now this was his chance to broach the subject seriously with you. If you agreed, which was a big chance because of how dishevelled you looked and how exhausted you must have been feeling. Then that was brilliant.

If you said no? Maybe he would have to resort to the old ways. Getting you fired. Getting you evicted. Taking all the fight out of you until you truly are broken and begging him for help. It’s not nice but it’s necessary.

“I have something I want to discuss with you sweet’art.” . . .

[eccentricallygothic]

| Older |

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

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

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

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

MASTERLIST

. . . 

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

Not at first, anyways. 

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

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

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

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

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

Like he was doing right now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . . 

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

[ghouljams]

missing witch and fae!price hope they r doing good n fuckign nasty and intimate this halloween

Price is going to breed her on purpose. (tw for me calling price "John" lol, sorry everyone)

“John,” you gasp-moan, your fingers working over your clit, “God, yes, John, please.”

Your pretty voice echoes through the room. Echoes in his head. You know exactly what you’re doing. 

You’re doing exactly what he said, you’re staying where he left you.

Your hips are in the air, your back is arched, your face is pressed in the pillow. The only difference is now you’re using the come that drips out of your hole, the come he left, to get off. And you’re making sure he knows it. 

Price settles his chin against his palm, his fingers curling over his lips as he pushes his other hand hard against his erection. Christ the things you do to him. That he’s going to do to you. He could smell the heat on you, the need. It itched at his skin.

That damn tattoo he stuck on you…

Whatever he agreed to for the magic to work it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

“John,” The whine in your voice, drawn out and hiccuped, you’re torturing him, “I need it, please.”

You’re saying his name, knowing it’ll tug at him, knowing he’ll hear your pleas. Knowing he can’t do anything about it. 

The fall fae at the end of the table drones on about preventing a hunt this year. Something about human casualties and keeping a low profile. The big fucker radiates malice across from him, and growls when asked his opinion. A new trait he must have picked up, normally he'd dive straight into eating people.

It’s truly boring to pretend any of them are civilized. That they aren't all yearning for a hunt, feeling the pull of the wild in their veins, the hunger... Price knows as well as anyone that they’ll do the same thing they do every year: pick a battlefield and hunt the soldiers that will never go home to their families. A familiar song and dance, an unnecessary step in their own pointless bureaucracy.

His chest burns, threads tugged hot between your fingers. Rolled against your already heated skin, gods he can feel the sweat that clings to them. Damn witch.

Price closes his eyes to focus on the feeling, on the way the magic slips and slides, pulls and releases. Almost wet. Christ you’re doing something to it, something you shouldn’t. His shoulders twitch, unused muscles beating with your finger’s tugging. He catalogues the feeling, the sound of your panting breath, each whimper growing softer as your voice fades, only to be brought back to the forefront when his name drips off your lips. Wet with your spit, probably drooling against the pillow, naughty thing.

It's a blessing that the so called "King" decides now is the time to lunge across the room at his fellow fall fae. Price jumps to his feet, vaguely registers Ghost's bored shuffle to his feet, and snaps his finger. His smoke is almost as excited as he is, jumping and shivering as it implodes around him and places him right back where he should have been all along. Behind you.

And your devious fingers, pulling tethers to rub the golden threads between your folds. Naughty indeed.

Price hooks his fingers in the threads that slip beside your fingers and pulls, leaning down to lick the slick that drips from them. If magic had a taste it would be this, heady with the soft musk that clings to your sweat.

"I told you," He tries to keep his voice even, "You have to wait."

"And I told you," Cheeky, you're always so cheeky, "to breed me."

Christ it's like he never left. Your slick drips onto the sheets, his come rubbed into your skin such that he can barely find a trace of it, your hips wiggle and your face is pressed into the pillow. The only difference now is the way you turn your head to pout at him. Pretty lips pursed and your eyes watery, God-

He nearly breaks his belt buckle with how hard he tugs at the thing. "Fine," He growls, "You want it so badly, I'll make sure it sticks this time."

Oh it's worth the red tape he'll have to wade through for leaving the meeting early for the absolute pleasure of pushing into your tight wet heat. You cunt wrapping around him like pure ecstasy as you mewl into the pillow. You're so fucking wet, loosened by your own fingers, and taking him to the base in one thrust. Fuck. You're so good for him, taking him without a complaint, letting him stuff your pretty little cunt full.

Your hand reaches back to claw at his hip, grabbing his ass to hold his hips in place as you grind back onto his cock.

"Tha's it," He breathes, "nice and deep sweet'eart."

You whine, your hips twitching when he grinds right back. He can feel the way you clench around him when he hits that aching spot in the back of your cunt, the flicker of muscle that tightens your stomach and pulls him in. Such a pretty thing.

Price slides his hand over your hip and around over your stomach to wedge itself between your legs and rub your clit. Warm, like you'd been rubbing it raw. Well, he can certainly help with that, rolling the tight bud between his finger as he gives a shallow thrust into your tight cunt. Rubbing it makes shivers run up your spine, pinching makes you jolt, Christ you whine so pretty for him when he pulls out, like you really can't bear to lose even a centimeter of his cock.

He thrusts into you hard, lets you clench, trying to suck him back in as he pulls out again, setting a steady rhythm for you. Lovely to feel your hand drop from his hip, to see the way your back arches and you curl your fingers in to the sheets. Your moans pushed from your chest with each punch of his cock, your shoulders drawing up as you try to meet his thrusts.

You'll be so pretty when you're fat with his baby. He'll have to come up with new positions, make sure you're comfortable, that he can still fuck you the way you need.

"Jo-ohn," You squeal, and he releases your clit to grip your hips, pushing them up when you try wiggle out of position. None of that now.

"What sweet'eart?" He patronizes, cooing at you like you're a child, "what can I do for you?" He knows damn well you won't answer him.

His hands knead at your ass, the soft fleshy globes pulled apart by his fingers so he can watch the way your cunt swallows his cock. He spits, lets it land on your ass and drip down, only to be caught in the piston of his cock and mixed with your slick. More of him mixing with you, but not the important part.

That comes when you tighten like a vice around his cock, all your muscles seizing as your breath locks tight in your chest. You shake apart on the next thrust, your voice streaming out of you in a scream of moans and pleas. Price grits his teeth and pulls your hips tight against his, blanketing your body as he leans over you.

There's something desperate, animal, about the way he fucks you then. No steady pace, no rhythm, just the needy in and out of a man that can't hold himself back. Chasing his own orgasm as it pulls in his chest and warms his body. Your little whimpers spur him on, make him sink his teeth into your shoulder, make his ears ring with the soft whispered encouragements you murmur.

"Come on baby," You whisper, your voice like rain against windowpanes, "come for me, give me what I want."

He always will. Especially when you ask so nicely.

And if he settles his hand low on your stomach afterwards, pumps a little piece of magic into the scarred swirls of the tree that had carved his name into your womb, then that's really just an assurance that you get exactly what you asked for.

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

john price is a relatively new soccer coach. he retired a few years ago as one if the greats because of an injury. he's worked his way up from assistant to the main man in a relatively short amount of time. his first season had a rough start, but ended up with his team going to the semifinals. price is proud of the progress, but he wants more and is total workaholic. he's gruff and mean, but good at his job.

he has tons of thirst traps on tiktok that johnny occasionally shows him. loves a good pint at the end of game night, but hates coming home to his empty flat.

price is known to be a flirt to journalists and potential sponsors to get the best cut, but he never goes home with any of them. he stays away from fans and anyone who's interested. geninuely thinks he'll never have a sweet thing to come home to after his divorce, and with all the young blood around. low self confidence from his wife's infidelity and how his body has changed in retirement. imagine his surprise when he ends up pursued by you.

---

you end up meeting completely outside of soccer, to his surprise. it's one of those rare moments he gets outside the field. price is working on plays and watching film in his favorite little coffee shop when you bumble up to ask if the seat across was taken. of course price lets you sit.

you're very obviously younger than he is. he's quickly taken by your sweet little smile at him once you notice his blatant staring. quickly calms and rights himself- there's no way you don't have someone at home.

however, you two seem to fall into a routine. john finds himself coming to the coffee shop more often and sharing his table with you. he didn't realize the reprieve he needed from his seemingly 80 hour work week.

maybe it's the narcissism, but price is ready for the rug to be pulled out. at the beginning, he doesn't completely believe that you're not aware of who he is. he's convinced you're an undercover journalist for a tabloid for awhile, but after a visit or two without a page dedicated to him he's quelled his fears.

you're not obvious about wanting more than coffee, but you drop hints to him. there's a new movie you're really wanting to see, he hopes you have a good time with your girlfriends. you want to go for a walk on a new trail, be sure to carry pepper spray. ice cream is really good someplace and you want to try a new flavor, tell him if it's any good. he can see you deflate a bit everytime he refutes you, but he's saving you both from heartache. at least that's what he thinks.

---

one day, price's out with a whiny johnny, cold kyle, and tired simon. he normally wouldn't risk coming by the shop when you could be there with these beasts, but he's desperate and thinks you're busy.

it's a rude sight across the street when he sees you outside the shop with another man. he is close; too close for john's comfort. a lazy hand on your waist with your arms on his shoulders. price nearly faints when you press a sweet little kiss on the fuckers cheek. hell nah, price's face is enough to scare the most hardened war criminal.

as soon as your loverboy walks away, price forgets all about the boys. he walks over to you with a purpose, ignoring the way his heart stutters when you smile at him with flushed cheeks. the smile quickly fades when you see his murderous expression.

"oh! john! it's good to see you! i was just-"

price is in your face, huffing your air, eyes demanding an answer for your supposed infidelity. he doesn't know where this sharp pang of possessiveness has came from, but he's not sure if he wants it to leave.

" wha' you doing with that other bloke, love? this 's our spot. only me you're s'pposed to ask for ice cream, uh huh? don't like it when yur with other men"

he spits the last word, like it's acid in his mouth.

you look up at him with furrowed brows and a harsh blink.

"i don't understand, john"

"mhmm, wrong answer, dolly."

he's worked himself up into a fit now. the boys all watch as he attempts to calm himself, least he scare you.

"love, ever since you sat at that table you've been mine, uh huh? don't be throwing a fit, c'mon, you're the one who was with the other bloke"

anger blurs across your face as he speaks and he knows he's fucked up

"yeah, i can't do anything, huh? you won't do anything with me! you ignore my attempts to get to know you better, john. we share a table, for god's sake, not a house! you're the one who's snubbed me" you're fuming, but still going.

"so what if i want a normal relationship without having to wonder whether the man is actually interested in me? he wants to do things with me, john. can you blame me?"

you're a bit teary at the end, staring up at him with disappointment in your eyes. kyle, johnny, and simon have slipped inside to let you two squabble, but they're watching keenly through the the window.

"love, I-" john starts but you must not like the look on his face, as you interrupt him again

"no, john. i can't keep doing this. find me when you grow some balls of get some sense."

price is tempted to grab you and ask you to listen, but you're already gone. he's left on the pavement with three inquisitive sets of eyes staring through the glass.

---

would you guys be interested in a part 2? feel like i didn't do this idea justice, but ill link if i do another part

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: When the god of the Winter needed a messenger, he had chosen you. Yet your elders wanted you dead. But John Price, the god of the Winter, had other plans for his devotee. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Leaving this here, then backing away slowly. If you like, please comment and reblog. Special thanks to @itsagrimm for editing, even though you aren't into the type of writing. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you three and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for your beautiful dividers that I use in literally everything.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, brief mention of suicide, brief mention of hypothetical pregnancy because what is John Price without a breeding kink? Voyeurism, exhibitionism, praise kink, elements of paranoia, and mindreader elements.

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

You had been abandoned. Sent aimlessly into the east by your deceiving elders to find the oh-so-benevolent god of Winter. Your people had discarded you, and perhaps, you had now been forsaken by the Holy One. Under the new winter moon, you had no bearing in these strange woods. You were lost and without hope. Stumbling into a thicket, you paused, catching your breath. Once your village elders cut your binds and removed the blade from your still bleeding throat, you ran. You had three options now: find the Winter God John Price and beg for mercy, return home to your village to die by your elder’s blade, or finally, die by a frozen death.

 

Yanking down the sleeves of your dress, you shivered. Only a fool would think the thin lace would be enough to fight the cold. You hadn’t bothered to ask for a cape when you would be dead come dawn by the blade of your elders or the mercy of winter’s chill. Besides, if the elders thought it could help entice the winter god closer to you, you welcomed the possibility. The god liked fine things- the fragility of ice coating sleeping trees, the nuanced tendrils that composed a snowflake, the finespun embroidery on an altar cloth. Perhaps the gossamer lace of your gown would make you look as alluring as snow?

 

Your village worshiped the god of the East along with his three other seasonal counterparts. In the winter, the altar faced east for John. In the spring, it faced north for Kyle. In the summer, the altar faced west for Johnny, followed by facing south in the Autumn for the one they called Ghost. You traversed the mezzanine of the aged temple as if it was your birthing ground, dedicating yourself to the unknown and to what divine vexed within. 

 

A creature howled in the far distance, three more joining in the call. You wished you had a blade for protection, but the foolish  elders would not allow it after the last messenger sent to find the God of Winter killed himself. He died from fear of the gods with his body left for the animals starved for winter scraps according to the elders. The collapsed skull and bloodied rock meant otherwise. You would become like the warrior- murdered- if you didn’t keep moving.

 

At least you’d be dead if you stopped moving, and wasn’t that something to rejoice over for the elders? They wanted you gone the moment you opened your mouth, defending the holy temples in a burning righteousness against their infidelity. The elders mocked your faith, staging a spectacle to rejoice in their perceived standings with the holy gods, to enshroud their continued greed of village resources, and holy temple offerings while preventing you from stepping foot inside the sacred temple. 

 

All you wanted was to worship your gods in peace and for your village to know that peace. 

 

A branch snapped in the distance. Setting your foot down ever so quietly, you glared into the darkness of the night. In your chest, your lungs froze as if a tiny breath could lead starving beasts toward you, but your heart tapped a wild rhythm against your bones like a war drum urging warriors forward in battle. Between the bones of the trees, a figure raised from the ground. Dirt quaked in its path, fearing the disturbance as flashes of odd whites and black wove into a tall, hulking beast emerging like smoke. The vaporous monster inhaled. It was as if he sucked the forest in with his expanding breath, the conductor of the skeletal structure of the land. The one who assembled appendages of bone like armor and crown, marking his distinct otherness to any creature known before. Opening his eyes, bright gold light flared from its eye sockets, a perpetual fire, locked on burning you alive.

 

You ran. Barreling through the underbrush, thorns cut and tore at your dress, slowing you down. Pushing deeper into the woods, you dared not glimpse back at the monstrous shape. The gods, you prayed, would give one last indulgence by sparing your life. Dodging fallen trees and saplings, you heaved for a breath. Your toe caught on something sending you tumbling forward, down the hill, to be stopped by a mangled stump. There was little to be felt from the roar in your mind and blood careening to endure, to run, to survive.

 

Looking up, the terrifying haint peered down at you with its head tilted to the side, lazily biding his time hunting you. Fleeing, you made way towards the river that supplied the village with water. The monsters couldn’t cross the running water at the bottom of the ravine. Everybody knew that. Your breath created puffs of smoke with each gasp of air, streaming from your lips like a dragon’s purr.

 

Down at the river, you paused, cursing at your luck. The river was frozen over, but how deep the ice went was beyond you. You had to cross, fighting for a chance at life and to find John Price to appeal for assistance proving your claims. Taking a deep breath, you ventured on the ice, straining your ears for cracking and shifting sounds. Freedom sang like a siren from the other side of the waters with the promise of faith delivering you into her hands. On the other side was an assurance of one more day in your beloved temples with the beloved gods, of life, and of being free from the elders.

 

Without the freedom to roam the holy grounds of faith, what would be left for you?

 

You slipped with a screech, flailing until you caught your balance. Your hands trembled as breath fogged the air. Crossing was the only option, regardless of death prowling down to find you. The thought of the being sent shivers down your spine, and you squeezed your eyes shut as if it would banish the evil and push you across the waters.

 

“Stop!” A man bellowed like thunder echoing in the ravine. You jumped, slipping on the ice. With an assured crack, the ice broke, plunging you into the icy waters.

 

You gasped, choking on river water. Kicking to the surface, you were met with a ceiling of ice. You hit the ice with your hand to no prevail until the bubbles from your nose dissipated and a film of darkness descended upon your peripherals. In the gloom, eyes of golden fire shimmered at you, refracted by the ice, illuminated by the flash of lightning. 

It smelled like oak and spices as you inhaled. The bed you laid in was spacious, a soft luxury you sunk greedily into. Moments of time slowly returned to you as you stirred, until a tapestry unfolded, painting what had occurred in the woods to you. How you had survived drowning or hypothermia was beyond you, feeling none of it, now. Cocooned tightly in thick blankets, albeit naked as the day you were born, sleep still called in the comfort of the home. A warm crackle of a fireplace and the deep mutterings of men speaking filled your ears as you blinked. In your nest, you buried further in, savoring the needed heat with a sigh with your eyes peeking over the cover.

 

The two men, seated in the corner, had stopped conversing to stare at you. One was slim but muscular, with dark skin and shining brown eyes. He wore a grin both authentic and sly as if mischief personified, waiting for his time to strike and laugh at your mild misfortune. 

 

The other man was a bear. Thick, burly, legs with sizable thighs spread to consume room; it seemed all he did was call attention to himself. The cocky spread of his legs to the icy blues of his eyes; your neck burned as he smirked, having caught you staring.

 

“Hello, Fawn,” The bear rumbled, intentionally softening his voice and leaning down as if afraid to spook you like the little deer.

 

“Ghost found you,” injected the younger one. “It took him and Soap to pull you from the ice and bring you home. That was pretty stupid; getting on the ice like that. Haven’t people told you not to do that?”

 

Getting on the ice was stupid, but letting yourself get consumed and murdered by a beast was even worse. You had half a mind to tell the younger man your thoughts on the matter, but here you were, naked in a stranger's bed… alive. While grateful, you needed to leave. The task to find John and plead for his assistance in clearing the village of your awful elders still loomed, as did the precarious nature of being nude in a room of two strong men. 

 

“I’m looking for someone,” You mumbled. “I had no choice.”

 

“I know,” The older man hummed before speaking your name like a whisper of wind on your ear. 

 

The God of Winter . Your spine went straight before you bolted upright, clinging the blankets to your chest. These men were not men at all but your four holy gods. There was half a mind to shuck off the blankets and fall to your knees in reverence. You had offered prayers while bathing before; was this any different? As you shifted, apologized, and begged for pardons on the tip of your lips, John shook his head and stood.

 

“Gaz, go let Soap and Ghost know our fawn is all right,” John said, clasping Gaz on the shoulder. Gaz promptly left the room, closing the wooden door behind him, not before offering you one final comforting grin.

 

“I am sorry. I had to find you. The elders sent me to the woods to murder me. And… I didn’t know what else to do but to seek your help. I’m so sorry, please forgive me. The elders are murdering anyone who dares question them. Nobody believes me even though I have proof! The village will not survive the winter because of our elder’s theft from them and of the temple and I need your help. I have done nothing wrong except be loyal to you, John,” You rushed out in a single breath. “Please, help me. Help us .”

 

John set his hand on your cheek, running his thumb over your warming cheeks. A violent shiver sprung through your body, encouraging you closer to the god. You closed your eyes and nuzzled into his palm, lulled by the smell of spices and the alluringness of being physically held by him. Finally, you had removed the burden of secrecy and responsibility and John took it lightly with his hands soothing the ache from your skin with the glide of his fingers. 

 

“Love, you’re being too harsh. There is no reason to apologize,” He reassured you with a kiss on your forehead. “The fault lies with your elders. You have done all I have asked of you and more. Do not agonize yourself over the stubbornness of others. It will get you nowhere.”

 

You closed your mouth and held his wrist, keeping him to you. You thought of all your nights spent praying to the god of Winter when sleep evaded you. When you screamed or cried your prayers in agony, begging the divine god of winter to make himself known to you so that your faith was not in vain and your people could be free from the elders. 

 

But what of your people? What choice would they make? The old gods were worshiped only in tradition and the elders had slowly pushed your people further from the gods as the temple began to deteriorate. 

 

You were always dedicated to the divine in odd ways. Observant gifts of John’s favorite flowers and drinks were left on your homemade altar—prayers written on little papers in a box. Spare time spent tending to the aged temple and cleaning it, preparing it for worship. Devotion in wearing John’s favorite color as a ribbon around your wrist, bearing his color like a mark of ownership over you. 

 

It was… your stomach clenched as you remembered bathing in his favorite fragrances, the soap trailing between your breasts, water falling as gracefully as the curves of your skin, for his solstice day. Later that night, deciding to offer John an orgasm on a lust-induced whim. When you came down from your high, you swore you could feel the divine by your knees, looking down at the mess you had made, dribbling into the sheets. The idea of him voyeuring into your bedroom made you leak, reaching a bold hand down to part your lips for him to see your swollen clit.

 

“What you want from us, little Fawn,” John tilted his chin to look you in the eyes as his warm toned voice dipped between your thighs to make them clench. “Comes at a high cost for you.”

 

“And let my people suffer from the elder’s greed? Surely, you understand how harsh winter can be! And to let the gods lay waste when this is proof you still are near has to be blasphemy. I don’t want to die, but I’d rather try dying than be left bystanding in silence, rotting away-”

 

John took your neck in hand and hulled you to your feet. Your words died on your tongue as his nose pressed into your cheek. Chests pressed together, his human form radiated heat and softness protecting layers of muscle and power. You wondered briefly if his divine form would look more bear or beast, unleashing the thrum of calculated energy pulsing inside the god.

 

“Fawn, martyrdom is for suicidal fools. Not even the martyrs ask for their portion, they stumble upon it trying to uphold the will of the gods which threatens the portions and powers that be in your mortal world,” John shook your head ever so slightly, pressing closer until you gasped, looking up at him with wide eyes. Dark as ice, they pierced into you flickering from your eyes to your mouth, the urgency he held you with inching into territories you were unsure of but eager to explore. His eyes flickered down for a moment, and you shivered at your exposure, pressing your face into his neck as if to hide. “You will stay the night but come dawn, you must return home to live for us.” John instructed, pushing your hair from your neck. Leaning down, he nipped the bottom of your ear playfully, kissing along your neck.

 

You hummed, offering your neck to his lips. It didn’t matter if you had laid with a million other people before or none at all. You yearned for the assured solidity of the gods, and now you had it. They could have your body, the works of your hands, the words of your mouth, the paths of your feet. You only wanted to be near John, safe, nestled into his side, even if for a little while. To be welcomed into the god of winter’s bed for even a night? The idea made your thighs slickened with want, heat pooling in your stomach.

 

Everything in your bones wanted to please him, to let him have his fill of you, to honor him with the best of your skin and body. You’d get on your knees for him. Suck his cock until you are panting, with his cum on your tongue. You wanted to be good . You let out a little whine, a soft vibration in your throat. John chuckled, coming up from your throat to kiss you properly, all while moving you on the bed.

 

He kissed down your throat, gently touching your chest with the hints of friction making you squirm, tangling your fingers in his hair.

 

“I want you to soak my fingers and cock with this pretty cunt tonight, Fawn” John decidedly spoke. You eagerly nodded, humming as his hand squeezed the fat of your stomach. 

 

You opened your thighs as he descended between them, grinning as he knelt before you. You could have laughed at his eagerness if it wasn’t for the gentle, inquiring sweep of his finger through your folds, collecting your wetness. A sigh fell from your lips as he played with your cunt, a pleasant warmth filling your mind as your legs found a home on his shoulders, your hand on the back of his neck, scratching the short hairs there.

    

“Been thinkin’ about this pretty pussy since you showed her to me,” John growled, thumb swirling on your clit just as you had when you played yourself for him. Your knees bent, pushing your pelvis to catch the angle just right . “Offered me use of your body, a delicacy, to use as I please. Perfect little human for me to fuck whenever,” He growled before putting his mouth to work, sucking on your clit.

 

You keened, bucking your cunt into his face. John devoured you whole, feasted on you, your head in the clouds, floating with nothing to tether you but his mouth. The god of winter’s fingers prodded your entrance, slipping in with a slight stretch. His fucking hands, reaching depths you could never achieve on your own, made you moan, opening your eyes to watch him. From below your stomach, John was fully committed, eyes closed, grunting against your cunt.

 

John fought against your legs, drawing out the pulsing waves of pleasure until your ears were ringing, vision white, cresting into a beautiful brainless hum as your body went limp. 

 

“Fuck, John, I can’t,” You whimpered, pushing his forehead back. Your chest heaved, hands grasping for anything you could reach until he slid his hand in yours, anchoring you to him. He moved, and you closed your sticky thighs, clenching at the slick dribbling down. John reverently kissed your collarbone, hands brushing over your scalp, lulling you from the cloudy space.

 

His lips kissed along your neck and chest as his hands wandered along your hips and thighs, rough fingers tickling the sensitive skin of your ass. Your eyes opened, greeted by his gentle gaze as he hovered over you. His mouth had been pinkened by your cunt, hair mused by your thighs and hands. 

 

Grabbing his hand, you kissed his palm before licking the fingers that had been inside of you moments before. Something was intoxicating about the way you tasted, strong and delicious. Taking his fingers in your mouth, you hummed, thinking about how much thicker his cock would feel. John swore, pushing his fingers against your tongue, stilling your control. You moaned, letting your eyes close and legs fall open. Holding his arm, you could feel how your tits were pressed together by your biceps, making you not only a sight but a spectacle .

 

“Want my cock that bad, little fawn?” John teased. Opening your eyes, you nodded, nudging him closer with your foot. Removing his fingers, he drug his hand down your centerline, leaving a cold trail of your spit down your body. He slowly entered you, grunting with his eyes glued to the way you sucked him in.

 

“Fuck, John,” You whimpered, panting at the fullness pressing you open. His thumb rubbed your clit, lulling you back to another orgasm. Spreading your legs, he placed a knee on the bed as he began to thrust, covering his cock in your frothy slick.

 

It was hot and so, so full as he reached parts of you that had you gasping for air and tearing up. There was no pinch, only a subtle burn from the stretch, soothed by his cooing in your ear and thumb working wonders on your clit. Shifting his hips, he fed you more of his cock, making your vision go frayed around the edges. If your brain could leak away, it would slowly leak out with the wetness of your cunt.

 

“Just like that, fawn,” John encouraged, making you clench around him. “My little offering to take as I want, letting me use you like a good girl,” John grunted as you clenched around him, his hands falling to your stomach and hip, selfishly grasping at the plush skin to pull and drag you off his cock with.

 

“I’m,” You whined, clawing at the god’s massive arms, rippling with movement. “Please, John! Feels so good, filled up,” You babbled, trying to run closer and further with each thrust.

 

His other hand laid over the base of your throat, curling possessively around, forcing your eyes to his, forehead to forehead, as he pressed and pressed into your cunt, stretching you wide and filling you perfectly.

 

“Pretty wet cunt, dripping for me,” John’s lips brushed your ear, moaning into it. He reached a hand to gently pinch your nipple, making you gasp. “Rub yourself for me. Let me see you soak my cock.”

 

You slid a hand between your thighs and rubbed your clit, spreading your lips wider, feeling fully exposed, unable to help the moan and the chasing buck of your hips, humping the tight heat pooling in your stomach.

 

“Cum, love. Cum for me.”

 

You listened, you always did, a perfect little offering for him to use. You fought to keep your eyes open as you came, body convulsing, to show him what he had made you into. But when your fingers became too sharp, the pleasant hum of blood in your head turning into a sharp ringing, you went limp, thighs covered in slick cum as John took his final thrusts. Ropes filled you as his hand lovingly smoothed over your lower stomach. He rested his forehead on yours, panting as he lazily kissed you, his cock twitching as you warmed him. 

 

“You okay?” John whispered from his place between your breasts as you scratched the back of his head.

 

“Sore,” You hissed as he slipped from you but was quickly scooped into his arms and laid across his chest. “M’tired,” You confessed, closing your eyes with a soft sigh.

 

You would be content to lie on his chest for the rest of time, feeling the rise and fall of his breath, wrapped in the warmth of his broad arms. Everything about you felt small compared to him; the way his hands engulfed yours, the way your calves had laid over his shoulder, the ripple of muscles and fat as he had fucked you. 

 

“I need to clean up,” You mumbled, fingers following the lines of his pectorals. 

 

“In a moment, darling. We’ll both clean up.” John kissed the top of your head, reaching for a glass of water for you to drink from before he took a few sips.

 

The god of Winter leaned down and kissed you so gently, soothing the aches with gentle hands against your thighs. Though, you felt it was more an excuse to touch your thighs more, but you didn’t mind. After cleaning up, you fell asleep swiftly, draped over his chest as his fingers traced dainty traces of snowflakes along your spine, tended to and protected. 

In the morning, you woke in your own bed, dressed in the robes of a high priestess, as someone pounded on your door. As you rose, you felt the phantom aches of the previous night between your thighs. Quickly hiding the robes, you caught the white scars of John’s handprint over your womb, etched like silver ice into your skin.

 

“One second!” You yelled, dressing. Once you were decent, you threw open your door and gawked.

 

“There’s been a war party! They burnt the elder’s homes and the wheat stores! We need help!” The man took you by the arm and pulled you into the fray of dark smoke against the blooming pink winter sky. It was snowing, melting into water that slid down your arm and into the frosted grounds.

[the-californicationist]

Gravitational Shift

Captain John Price is having dreams. He can feel a powerful Force user somewhere out in the black emptiness of space, but it's not until he is confronted with her signature that he understands her true abilities as well as his own.

Price/FemOC Star Wars AU - Force Bond

And no, I don’t know what’s medically wrong with me for writing this, okay? 😂

MDNI/18+

Link to AO3

+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+

The captain’s mood had been foul over the last two months, and with each passing night, he became more and more withdrawn, spending most of his time alone in the galley, seated by himself in the corner table, staring out of the rear viewing pane. In front of him, millions and millions of miles of stars and planets stretched out like bright streaks as his ship hurtled through the empty blackness of space beyond the speed of light.

Somewhere, in this same galaxy yet far, far away, the Republic was losing its power to a fierce rebellion, and the Force had warped itself around that conflict. He could tell that it was struggling for balance. There weren’t many Force-sensitive people in this side of Canes Venatici, and the Empire didn’t much care to find itself or its stormtroopers out here in the badlands.

More than just sensing the disturbance in the fabric of the Force, Captain Price had started to dream. He never dreamed, and when he did, it was always because another Force user was near, their power corrupting his and sending false signals, emotions, and images into his mind. But, these dreams were different. They were so very vivid, and he could feel them on his skin. That was the problem. Whoever this Force user was, they were soft and supple, and he wanted to…

“Captain?”

His first officer stalked around the corner of the galley door, and stood at a semi-formal rest in front of him. The man was enormous, and his masked figure took up the majority of the room.

Price sighed,

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We are approaching Phath VI. Would you like us to initiate orbital sweeping?”

The captain nodded,

“Aye. I’ll be on the bridge shortly.”

The masked giant left him alone, and he stood to clear his empty bowl. He’d barely touched his Janari ramen, but he couldn’t think about eating lately. He wasn’t hungry for food. Price was hungry for…

The Force push that entered his mind nearly knocked him off of his feet. Price felt the warm, all-encompassing sensation of being plunged into hot water, sunk up to his neck, skin tingling and flushing from the heat. Suddenly, his clothes were clinging to him, making him suffocate in the heat of the pool, too constricting and too warm.

Then, before he could catch his bearings, his cock began to tingle. He began feeling lithe, eager fingers playing along his length, rubbing across his head over and over and over and over, and he was stumbling back into the dining chair, missing it and slamming into the ground.

His vision was doubly exposed, and he could see both the galley and the dark blue bathroom of the other Force user. She was seeing him, too.

Her eyes were black, like two gaping doorways to nothingness, and yet they held a comfort in them that made him want to dive deeply into her gaze. Her dark hair lay plastered against her sweating forehead and cheek, and a full, pouting mouth hung open and gasping. She needed him, wanted him badly, and she had crossed time and space to find him.

Her whisper in his mind was a sound and it wasn't,

There you are.

As he watched her strong, well-muscled arm twist and dip below the hot waterline, he felt her ministrations within himself. When her two, arching fingers found the tight fleshy bundle of nerves inside of her cunt, he felt her work happening inside of him at the same time.

His cock strained at the sensation, feeling warm and wet and stroked in all of the most unnatural ways, and Price was incapable of stopping it. Whoever she was, she was incredibly strong in her power, but she didn’t seem to understand how to wield it.

John sent out a touch to her, just as a test. A long, swirling tendril of his Force traveled far and wide to caress the skin of her breast, and he immediately regretted it.

She felt him, alright, and she used her own strength to grab him and yank him to her. His mind was towed across space to her bath, and his soul stretched through the inky blackness to land on top of her in the large, cerulean pool.

Back in his ship, his first officer, Ghost, had returned to find him on the floor of the dining hall along with his security officer, Soap, and his helmsman, Gaz. The three men were trying to help him up, thinking that his writhing was that of a man in pain, not realizing he was trapped in the overwhelming swell of her ecstasy.

“Let’s get him to the medbay, c’mon,” Ghost commanded.

“Cap? Are you alright? Talk to us, mate,” Gaz helped Ghost hoist him off of the floor and drug him down the hallway.

John Price couldn’t make a sound, not when his mouth was pressed to hers in a deep, sensual kiss. He was frozen in place, feeling her Force wind and tangle itself around and around his cock - from the inside and the outside - as if it were a long, constricting Yundari snake, with its smooth golden skin and thousands of tickling little legs.

Every little glittering, sparkling, explosive sensation she felt, he felt. She guided his aching dick to her hole and fit him in, pulling him into her with her magic, manipulating his huge body like it was nothing. Price gritted his teeth and wrenched his eyes shut, shouting,

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“Captain? Wait!” Soap almost had his hand caught in the door.

They had opened the port to the medbay, but just as they tried to put the captain inside the room, he had used his energy to shove his men out and crush the door’s latch behind him, effectively trapping them outside.

Finally alone, and knowing they would have to run all the way back to the armory for the laser saw to cut open the door, Price began to strip out of his uniform, wincing from her other-worldly affection. He kept having to stop undressing to catch his breath.

To his incredible joy, she was using her energy to overwhelm his fat cock, and it began leaking into his pants, slick with sweat and precome, throbbing against his clothing painfully.

It felt as if he were fucking her, guiding himself as well as being guided right to her most sensitive spot, every single kriffing time. As she increased her pleasure, she increased her hunger for him. Her mouth was on his neck, on his hairy chest, licking his skin and biting him every time another layer of the uniform came off.

For her, it looked as if his clothes were floating in the pool, strewn about like leaves on a pond, his boots bobbed in the water like fallen apples. Meanwhile, his cock was filling her in a way she had not imagined possible.

When she had dreamt first of this bearded captain, she had been terrified of him. She watched as he made his way, ruthlessly, across the badlands, killing swarms of Huttese pirates, casually taking out their death cruisers like it was a side-job of his. He was a merciless commander, and he spared the terrorists no quarter. Whole planets were saved because of John Price, and she began to feel herself admiring him - especially when he came back to his rooms covered in warm, green blood.

Now, she had finally been able to feel his energy signature. He must be close, she thought. She usually had no idea where he was or even when he was (time and space were funny that way), but he was always so lovely with her.

While he lay there, fast asleep, his subconscious would seek her out. He’d chase her through a mental glade, a prairie that existed only in his mind, hunting her down like a hound would a hare, and then he’d have her however he wanted. More often than not, he would eat her until she cried hot, passionate tears. His mouth and tongue would leave slick, wet drool along her folds, and he would use his Force to press into her walls in a rhythmic, thrusting motion, swirling it around her in a delicious pattern, lulling her into an orgasmic trance.

She had practiced on herself, trying to mimic his somnolent affections, but she always came up short. Hers was nothing compared to his immense power. The Force was almost physically visible around him like a golden aura. But, he didn’t seem to notice it, or if he did, he kept it under such tight control that he had forgotten just how strong he was.

He seemed to find it now, though. She felt him toss his men back like they were nothing, and his magic had melted the steel of his door together - which should have been impossible.

Naked and flushed red, he was ready for her now. She’d gotten the jump on him while he was vulnerable, thinking about her Force signature again in the kitchens, almost as if he was calling her to him.

Price gathered himself up and lay on the bed in the medbay, closing his eyes and entering into a deep meditation. He was hunting her.

Find me, John. Come find me.

I’ll find you, love. And when I do, you’re mine.

Meanwhile, she began to clench herself around him, pulling and tugging against his heavy rod like her body was her hand. John cried out in a dark shout, his back arching from the bed, arching above her in the bath, shoving more of himself deeper and deeper into her, his heavy girth stretching her cruelly.

He looked into her face with those bright blue irises, shining in the gleam of the pool. One by one, he pinned her limbs with his Force, spreading her open like a fresh specimen, trapping her beneath him. As part of his mind searched the galaxy for her, the other part wrapped itself around her like a vice, squeezing and pulling her body closer and closer to his, and yet she felt so far away, witnessing her cosmic pleasure as one witnesses an eclipse.

Price felt her come on him, her body vibrating beneath him as if she would explode, and the champagne burst of her fluids around his shaft were enough to make his vision hazy. He was dizzy from the pleasure, and his cock pulsed hard inside of her from the sensation.

He was ready to come with her, and he had no idea how mind-altering it would be. She had tightened her pussy and her power so fiercely around him, that he couldn’t move within her. He could only spread his Force inside of her belly, warm and thick, and use her like a sleeve. She sent him back the feeling he was providing to her, and they became trapped in a tortuous loop of white-hot bliss. Her walls ached from trying to contain all of his sticky come inside of her, and her womb swelled from its inclusion.

Then, in the middle of his languid kiss, he was gone. Something had severed their connection. She wailed at the loss, trying in vain to reach for him, splashing through the water like a shark chasing its prey.

Price jolted off of the bed, covered in come and searching for her. His Force reached farther than he had ever seen it go, hunting her down, still hungry for her.

Had she cut him out? No, something had though. He had to find her. He was close, that much he knew. She was somewhere in this solar system, but with seven habitable planets and two space stations, he was desperate to figure out how to narrow down his search. All he had were her eyes and the blue of her water.

It was enough. It had to be enough.

Sitting up, he rubbed a tired hand down his face and put his pants back on along with his boots and tunic. He burst open the lock with ease, something that should have surprised him but he knew his power now. She had shown him his own depth of Force, and he was shining with it.

Ghost and Gaz were still in the hall and they jumped back in shock.

“Captain! Did you just -” Gaz didn’t get to finish his sentence.

“Land the ship in Cassadaga City. We’ve got a new target.”

“Aye, sir,” Ghost acknowledged his order, but he kept and eye on his captain.

Something was definitely not right, and Ghost vowed to himself that he was going to find out what was affecting his commander.

[thewulf]

Hey love this might be a dark request. But one I've been needing however feel free to not write this or write it in a happier version for yourself. Who this fic is with I'm torn between John price, gaz, or aragon lmao. But let's get to it. Recently I was SA. Now I wasn't R@ped. But I was peer pressured/manipulated and intoxicated to verbally consenting to things I didn't want to do. I'm not asking for it to be relived but rather comfort. Everyone always talks about feeling disgusted but I want comfort for the guilt and second thoughts. "maybe it was my fault" "maybe I'm being sensitive" "it's my fault". How I came to terms of it being sexual assault was due to my mother and best friend telling me it was after I came to them about it. I just need comfort you know? Despite my family knowing, like most my issues a lot of things are brushed aside and I feel invalidated, which causes me to seek validation getting me into such problems. So I just need a hug and confirmation that I have someone. Even if fictional.

Have a lovely month hun, you deserve good things❤️🤗

Aww love I'm so sorry that happened to you :( people can be so cruel... but I can certainly write something comforting/sweet for you.

This one is giving big John Price energy. Idk he always seems like such a big teddy bear for the right person. Here's what I'm thinking - feel free to message me if you don't like the direction!

Captain Price has always had a soft spot for you (I'm thinking reader is 25-30 while Price is 35-38). You'd joined TF 141 a few years prior as their tech specialist (kinda like Penny from criminal minds!). You went on missions with them but didn't always go into the field. There so happened to be a mission you weren't required to go on so the guys packed up and shipped out. When they got back Price noticed something off with you immediately. Shying away from him and his usual touches you loved so much. Kinda keeping your head down when he/the guys are speaking. Not speaking up or bantering them as usual.

After a week of your odd behavior he finally decides he needs to talk to you. He catches you after a training session and the comfort insues. Kinda feel like reader has to breakdown and he builds her back up kinda thing. Hella heavy but supppper comforting/sweet at the same time.

Thank you for trusting me with your request! <3

[yawnderu]

Sweet home — Captain John Price x Reader | Part I

Slowly writing more again until I feel better<3

"I missed you so much." John says, dropping his heavy bag on the floor before scooting you up in his arms, spinning you a few times playfully before setting you down.

"You have no idea." He whispers, arms wrapping around your waist as his face seeks shelter on the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet smell after over a month of being away on missions.

"Welcome home, John." You can't help the laugh that escapes your lips at the tickles his beard causes, gently pushing his head away before giving his lips a gentle peck.

"It's good to be back." He leaned forward, nipping at your lower lip playfully before giving you a full kiss, the pressure of the stressful missions slowly going away the more he was with you. He broke off to breathlessly whisper in your ear.

"I need an extra taste, sweetheart." You giggled and playfully hit his arm. Even after years of being married, certain things never change.

"Let's shower and then you can have a taste. You smell." You say teasingly, grabbing his hand and dragging him with you to the bathroom. As much as you love him, he smelt like a bizarre mix of sand, smoke, gunpowder and sweat. He rolled his eyes playfully, one of his hands on the small of your back as you guided him in, locking the door behind you.

"It's not that bad, is it?" He asks jokingly, already knowing the answer is yes. You simply sniff around him, pretending to gag and dragging a laugh out of him, the sound rich and deep that always made you fall even more in love with the man.

"It's awful, but... I did miss you a lot, so let's clean you up." You help him get out of his dirty uniform, taking a second to admire him hole. Price is a grizzled veteran, a muscular and fit body being living proof of just how much he moved around while on missions. You run your hands over his hairy chest, admiring the dark hair all over, scars faintly visible in some areas that only added more personality to the beast if a man your husband is.

"Someone's happy to see me." You comment playfully as you look down at his bulge, already starting to remove his pants and boxers, the 7-inch uncut cock or your husband pressing up against his stomach, tip glistening with precum, and veins that you have traced with your tongue along his shaft hundreds of times.

"Happy doesn't even cover half of it." He replies, eyes glued to you as you take your time to admire him, the way your eyes set on every detail of his body as if he was sculpted by God himself never fails to make his heart weak. His hands go to your dress, pulling it up slowly while he takes his time to admire you as well.

"Bloody hell." He whispers, eyes on your body as he begins to remove your underwear. No matter how many times he has seen your bare body, he always admires you like it's a work of art— and in his eyes, it is. There's nothing more perfect than you, nothing more rewarding than making it back home to his lovely wife.

His hands gently run up and down your hips, the warmth of them leaving a path of fire anywhere he touches as he brings you closer, planting soft, gentle kisses from your neck, going lower and lower until he finds your chest, both of his hands gently cupping your breasts before leaning down more, his lips finding one of your nipples. He begins to lick all around it slowly, only putting it in his mouth once he hears your needy moan. His tongue teases you, rolling the nub up and down, teeth gently biting on it enough for the bundle of nerves to make a path of warmth spread all the way to your cunt.

"John..." His name being moaned out by you sounds like music to his ears, one of his hands firmly holding your rear while the other one starts to play with your free nipple, rolling it around his fingers, gently pinching and pulling. He hesitantly lets go, offering you a sheepish grin as he guides you to the shower.

"Got a bit ahead of myself, love." You take a deep breath, laughing softly at his comment despite the warmth pooling up between your legs. The hot water washes over your bodies, embracing each other lovingly before you lean down to grab the fancy body gel, spreading it on your hands, shooting your husband a small smile while you start to spread the gel all over his body, shamelessly feeling the muscle that seems to cover his entire body over a thin layer of fat.

"I'm really proud of you." You say softly, hands massaging the tense muscles on his back as he groans softly, enjoying your fingers working on his sore muscles. He leans down to give you a kiss as a small "thank you", the exhaustion of the mission slowly catching up to him all of sudden. He leans his body closer to yours, arms wrapping around your waist before gently running a hand down the length of your wet hair.

"Mhm..." He mumbles softly, your words reaching his heart, as they always do. He may be a hardened soldier, but right now? He's pure putty under the seemingly magical hands of his wife.

[live-love-be-unique]

Sandalwood and Smoke

My submission to @the-californicationist nameless challenge. I hope you enjoy it.

cw: MDNI. Female reader. Smut.

The door to your bedroom creaked open and the scent of sandalwood filled your nose. “Hello?” Your hands moved to raise the silken fabric that cover your eyes.

“Ah, ah, ah love, don’t you remove that blindfold” he smirked as he approached you laying on the bed. You jumped as you felt his fingers grazing the skin on your thigh, fingertips calloused with the years of his work. “What a pretty picture you are”

“Let me take this off so I can see how pretty you are” your smirk was met by a deep chuckle. You turned your head, the cheeky bugger had moved to the other side of the bed, he was toying with you.

“You don’t want to see me love, too old and grisled”

“That’s not true, women love looking at naked men” you simpered up at him as you felt the bed dip at your side.

“Is that so?” Again his fingertips trailed lightly over your collarbone towards your chest. “I think I prefer looking at you”

You felt almost helpless as his fingertips turned into calloused hands as his touch became more sure in their movements “I think you like having me at your mercy, you love being in charge” he slid the straps of your bra down over your shoulders.

The bed frame creaked as he leaned over you, his lips barely touching yours, the smell of smoke combing with the sandalwood surrounding you “you haven’t complained before”

“No sir” oh how you wanted to see him. He was enjoying teasing you

“Good girl” he finally kissed you and all of your nerves became alive. “I’m starting to think you’re enjoying yourself love. Do you trust me?”

“Yes” you breathed. You did trust him, you wouldn’t allow yourself to be this vulnerable with any man before him. No other man commanded attention like he did.

He kissed you again as his hand traveled slowly south, over the valley between your breast, down over your stomach and stilled as he reached the elastic of your underwear.

Your body arched towards his touch, chasing more of the sensations he was drawing out of you. He mouthed at your neck and chest as his hand dipped underneath the elastic and his strong fingers teased you, touching every inch of you except for where you wanted, needed, his touch the most.

“Please..” you gasped.

“Tell me what you want love” you could feel him smile against your neck.

“Stop teasing..” your hands grasped onto his broad shoulders, trying desperately to keep yourself tethered to earth, to keep from floating away.

“Oh, is this what you want?” He asked as his fingers found your clit and you felt like your body ignited in a blaze of fire. Hands that knew what it was to take a life were so skilfully drawing a pleasure from you that you hadn’t felt before.

His hands stilled as you came down from your high. He moved the silken fabric from around your eyes and his eyes traveled over your face and trembling body “are you alright love?”

“Never better” you smiled. Your body felt heavy, like it was moving through molasses as your hand reached up to cup his cheek.

[elysianightsss]

Stalker John Price thot🩵🌼

Stalker John Price who firsts sees you in the library, cute little sundress rising up your thighs as your strain to reach for pride and prejudice on a shelf that’s much too high for you to even try to reach.

Stalker John price who goes behind the shelf and pushes the book out from out from the other side, you thankfully catch it before it falls on your head.

Stalker John Price who uses his military experience to stalk you and not get caught.

Stalker John Price who examines your house while you’re at work to find the perfect hiding spots for him and placing the tiniest cameras around.

Stalker John Price who knows how wrong it is when he’s quick to dart into one of those hiding spaces as you open the door sighing from a long day at work but can’t seem to find a reason to care when you start to strip off your work clothes and change into your fuzzy stitch pj bottoms and hoodie.

Stalker John Price who thinks you look so fucking cute in your pjs. He leans forward almost making the house creak wanting to see more of you. He moves when you do, watching with a grin on his face as you cook your dinner while shaking your hips to music that’s blaring through your speaker.

Stalker John Price who smiles softly when you stuff your face full of pasta, your eyes never leaving the tv screen and soon end up falling asleep on your sofa. He feels it’s safe enough for him to come out.

Stalker John Price who presses a sweet little kiss to your cheek and then leaves your house to go home and set up all the cameras on his computer. He smiles seeing you clear as day on the screen in the same position as before, fast asleep on the sofa.

Stalker John Price who knows exactly how you like your morning coffee. He’s watched you make it 1000 times.

Stalker John Price who notes down in his notebook what your favourite foods and drinks are so he doesn’t forget.

Stalker John Price who confides in Simon about what’s he’s doing only for Simon to assure him he’s doing nothing wrong and it’s all normal even if he feels it’s wrong.

Stalker John Price who goes round your house more often after speaking to Simon.

Stalker John Price who gets painfully hard when you’re first out the shower, fluffy white towel wrapped around your wet body. His blue eyes never leaving your figure as you massage lotion into your skin and spray body mist all over. He inhales holding back from groaning at the scent that clings to you.

Stalker John price who watches you through the crack in your wardrobe doors as you pant and whine and buck your hips against the vibrator buzzing hastily against your little clit.

Stalker John Price who is practically drooling when he thinks you’re done, satisfied but watches you reach for the dildo in your bedside drawer. He was in for a long night of restraint.

Stalker John price who comes up with a plan to be a part of your life because he can’t keep going on without having you for himself. Without keeping you.

Stalker John Price who ‘bumps’ into at your local grocery store and the library and your local bar. Eventual you think it’s fate. Never suspecting he would be a stalker. He’s such a nice, sweet guy.

Stalker John Price who is giddy with excitement when you agree to go on a date with him. He makes it the best damn date you’d ever been on. Dinner, dancing and a show.

Stalker John Price who groans, “Fill my hands with you finally.” When you do eventually let him touch you, his large calloused hands grabbing at every part of you he can. “Finally gonna let me take care of you huh love?” He’ll grin down at you as you nod, so whiny and needy for him. “So fucking perfect and all mine.”

Stalker John Price who marries you.

Stalker John Price who cries when you show him the positive pregnancy test.

Stalker John Price who laughs loudly when your children say that daddy is obsessed with their mommy.

Stalker John Price who after thirty years of marriage, three children and 5 grandchildren never admits that he stalked you but tells you everyday how much he loves you.

[eccentricallygothic]

Depraved Old Man!John Price | Soap's Girl!You. 

Description: Johnny gets too reckless on a mission this time around and gets booted off the team. Now only you can convince the Captain to revoke his decision.

Warning(s): Noncon, dubcon, naive!reader, corruption kink, groping, coercion, dacryphilia, dark!Captain Price, dark!Soap, size kink, fear kink, fingering, forced kissing, misogyny, infantilization, sir kink, handjob, they're unsavoury men. Minors do not interact.

“Go on, baby” you feel a strong nudge on your shoulder from behind, causing for your smaller form to go tumbling forwards and face first into the ominous door in front of you. “Oh, shit. I–” Johnny whips you towards him to hurriedly get a look at you before examining you and rubbing the tip of your nose where he thinks you got hurt. “I am sorry, baby. But it's okay. I promise it'll be fine. But you have to be strong for me, okay?” The beads glimmering in your eyes sting them just a bit more and your bottom lip wobbles at the mention of the horrendous prospect. “Go on, the Captain is a nice man. Just show him some of that sweet love of yours and he will be good to us” before you can attempt to plead for him to reconsider, you have been pushed into the room and forced to come face to face with none other than the man you dread the most in this world right now.  The door clicks shut behind you. 

John Price's gaze feels nearly scrutinizing as you nibble on your bottom lip while trembling in your frilly little dress, the tips of your fingers folded over the extremely high hem that you try to extend by pulling at it but in vain. Silence pervades the scene for you have no idea how long before the man finally speaks. 

“Well, love, come on over here, then.” Your heart drops as the little bit of hope you were desperately clinging on to extinguishes. Johnny was Johnny and you had signed up for the kind of man he was when you decided to stay with him despite his flaws but from a man of Price's station you expected something else. 

Something better. 

Johnny got too reckless this time around and got booted off the team by the Captain. Since he never tells you work related stuff -like he ever tells you anything serious at all- because ‘those’ ugly things aren't for little girls like you to know, you have no idea what exactly happened but it turned out that though you were too simple minded to know what happened, you weren't too small to be pimped out to your boyfriend's boss like this. 

Since you have tried to get Johnny to reconsider this every time you possibly could ever since he told you you were going to be doing this for him like a good girl supports her man and his colleagues have always terrified you because of how capable they are for any and all kinds of destruction, you hiss in a hiccup and let your wobbly steps carry you to the old man. 

Price is sitting in a big office chair behind a heavy wooden table, mighty and intimidating yet agreeable with his smile that is almost kind. You would have believed it like the impressionable fool you are if it weren't for the clouds of darkness that are threatening to burst out of his eyes, the light orbs looking you up and down everywhere except for your eyes with a chilling hunger. 

It is after your dignity is wholly mortified and you decide you cannot feel any more shame than this does he pat his lap as a silent gesture for you. 

“Hey, hey, hey, little thing” the material of his uniform is harsh under the exposed skin of your ass when you sit down, the sensation causing you to have a moment of realization all over again and a tear threatens to spill down your cheek but you catch it just in time. “It's okay, we are all friends here, angel. No need to cry, it's okay” you are tense and uncomfortable as you try to shrink in on yourself but one of his rough hands wrapping against the curve of your hip to push you into his hard chest doesn't help. The stiff tent in his pants touches you next and you cannot help but flinch as a hushed cry tries to crawl its way out of your throat. 

Unbeknownst to you, it only works up the man even more and he speaks to you in the most comforting of tones. “I get it, you're scared of the big Captain, aren't you, love? Never had much of an interaction, you and I, did we?” You barely understand him as you're too focused on trying to keep your tears at bay like Johnny ordered you to. No crying and no pleading. That was the rule if you wanted your man to keep his job. And you were a good girl and future wife. So you would do whatever it took. 

“I know what we need to do” your hands that helplessly lie clasped in your own lap clench and twitch when he suddenly kneads your skin where he is holding your hip. “Easy now” he warns when your legs defensively try to force you to stand and your body freezes before you even register his words. Price sighs unhappily. “I was told you were okay with this. I don't like my girls unwilling and unappreciative. You can go” your eyes widen in horror as everything Johnny had warned you against plays in your head at full volume and you go into a panic, shaking your head vehemently and trying to reassure him in as much voice as you could muster, desperately trying to convince him that you wanted this. 

Price ‘contemplates’ you for a couple moments and the suspense is enough to send you into a cardiac arrest because of how erratic it makes your heart. But then;

“Yeah? Are you sure?” You timidly nod. “Then what're those tears for?” The side of his mouth quirks up when you quickly wipe them away and shake your head wordlessly. “... No? Not scared…?” He talks to you like one would a child and your cheeks burn even hotter in humiliation. 

“A- A little…” You manage to squeak out as a measure of carefulness because he appears a bit dissatisfied with your response. 

Johnny's words ring in your head. Keep the Captain satisfied no matter what.  

And your response seems to do the trick for he faintly smiles, a bit proudly even. “A little, huh?” You timidly nod again. 

“Y- Yes, sir…” His eyes visibly darken at that. 

“You see” his fingers caress your hip gently. “I've got just the solution for it” you can barely see his face due to the haze of your thick tears burning your eyes. “Want to know what it is?” You have no choice. 

So you nod in agreement. “Y- Yes, sir…” You feel a brief twitch in the lap he has you perched on.

“There's a good girl” praise doesn't make you feel better, for once. “Well, you see, love. It's rather simple, really” his rough hand cups your face briefly to wipe at your tears and a shiver runs down your spine due to the stark difference between his meticulous touch and Johnny's reckless one. That, however, is not to say his is better. There is a lingering quality to it. A sickening coarseness. A dark manliness which contrasts the good natured boyishness of your lover's, however clumsy he may be. “We just need to familiarize ourselves to each other” your bottom lip wobbles involuntarily and his eyes flicker to it. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. “Want to know how we are going to do that?” 

��... Y- Yes, Captain” you don't notice it but it causes for the tent in his pants to become even more visible.

“Bring that little thing here” you tremble as he takes your smaller hand in his much bigger one and takes it to his beard, the sensory shock of his coarse hairs digging into your pampered fingertips making you gasp with a flinch. Price's chest reverberates in silent mirth. “Just like that, love. Easy does it” you let him guide you as you meekly scratch the thick scruff, your nails nearly disappearing in the dark mass. “There now, all better, isn't it?” You try to return his smile but you can literally feel the awkward shape in which your lips are twisted due to how uncomfortable you are. 

Next he nudges your hand closer to his mustache and the second you do it, one of his heavy hands clamp on the bumps of your chest and you audibly flinch. But before you can even attempt to move away, the hand he has on your hip steels itself into your skin. But his friendly behavior doesn't change. Not on the surface, at least. 

“See? This is why we need to do this” a tear finally outweighs your eyesocket's bearing capacity and pushes its way down your lashes and all the way to your chin. His grip almost makes you cringe away and the way he gently kneads your boob doesn't do anything for you. “So when we are familiarized, you won't be so scared of your Captain and we can have a good time like friends do” and you have no choice but to sit there and scratch his beard and stroke his mustache while he ‘gently’ feels you up.

“Hmm…” He muses after a couple long horrible moments have passed. “What about a little kiss, angel?” Your eyes widen and your body trembles. Oh no. Johnny is the only man you ever want to kiss. This is so wrong. “Come here” you try to stiffen your back and go to plant a firm hand on his chest but your boyfriend's cautionary words ring in your ears again. 

His chance, his career... 

You cannot fuck this up for him. 

No.

Good girls support their men.

“Yes, Cap–” you force yourself to not retch when his lips touch yours, the bristles of his mustache causing you to jerk your head back as your eyes crinkle shut, the back of your hand slapping against your lips to swipe at them the moment he pulls away to get rid of the ticklish sensation. 

Price's huge form vibrates again. “Not used to a real man kissing you, are ya, angel?” You gulp at how intimidatingly deep his voice sounds. 

“N- No, sir…” So he beckons you closer again. So you can familiarize yourself with it. Your eyes lower in shame and disgust as you cup one side of his face, feeling a waterfall erupt from the corner of your eyes as you peck his lips over and over since he keeps ordering you with low, ‘one more, one more, one more…’s

It is not that he tastes bad. In fact, he tastes much better than you expected -if you ever even thought about it in your wildest of moments- any man other than Johnny to taste. Dare you say… better than your lover, even.

But you have only ever had eyes for your boyfriend. 

And this is sickening, terrible, revolting…

But you don't have a choice. You must be good. You must obey. Must support. Johnny is also human. And he made a mistake. That shouldn't cost him his career. It's almost unbelievable how this kind looking man is capable of such cruelty. 

In a matter of minutes, the length of your neck has been felt up in his strong fist, the pink lace strings which held your dress on your shoulders have been slid off, the swells of your chest has been fished out of the neckline of your dress and thoroughly groped, the hem has been pushed all the way up to your waist, your legs have been pushed apart, your underwear rests on your ankles and Price's hand is knuckles deep between your slick coated thighs. 

“C- Captain!” You let out a choked out cry as you tremble, violated and stuffed full of his fingers. “P- Please!” Your back arches as you clutch his knee for support, sparks of pleasure overwhelming your pussy when the rough pad of his thumb finds your clit before swiping against it slowly while two of his fingers squish their way in and out of your tight cunt. 

“Please what, love?” Price is breathless as he grunts in pleasure. 

You sob from the sensitivity and helplessness of your situation. “M- More, please!” You don't want this. But he has you so worked up you cannot think of anything else anymore. It feels too good. You must cum. There is no other way. 

Price hums deeply. “Keep working that pretty little hand and I'll give you all that you need, angel” you obediently nod as you desperately speed up your fist that is wrapped around his hard cock. “I didn't think a thing as small as you could make a mess this big, love. But look at you” his pants are drenched in your juices and sweat. “Leaking yourself stupid for your Captain” you shamelessly moan out loud, albeit against your will, when you feel his middle finger graze against your g-spot. 

“S- Sir!” More hot pearls of precum bubble out of the apex of his swollen tip and trickle down to meet your curled fingers, aiding the movement of your hand.

“Tell me, angel, has he ever made you feel like your Captain is?” You realized it a while ago that Price does not care if Johnny can hear you. Hell, sometimes he speaks so loud -like right now- it feels as if the older man wants him to. 

You shake your head, crazed with need and lust. “N- No, no sir he hasn't!” You tell yourself you're only following the orders you were given. 

Keep the Captain satisfied no matter what. 

“Aw, a girl as pretty as you deserves everything, angel. Why not?” It is the way his cock twitches in your fist can you tell this is getting him off. 

“S- Said– ah!” The tight band of your entrance tries to shut in on itself but his firm fingers roughly fucking in and out of you deny it its desire. 

You're so close. 

“Go on then, angel” you let the base of your palm linger on his ballsack to massage it and he grunts before mumbling out a praise. 

“Said s- sex is the g- girl's way of t- thanking her man for taking c- care of her and loving her, sir!” You repeat Johnny's words that he has told you since day one. “So she l- lets him do whatever he pleases like a good girl!” Price chuckles before clicking his tongue. 

“That little bastard told you that, did he?” You nod as you feel all your muscles pulling taut like they do sometimes when Johnny makes love to you nicely. “Tsk, tsk. That is no way to treat a sweetheart like yourself… Maybe you need someone better, huh? Someone older–”

“CAPTAIN!” Your vision fills with neon blots and a faint ringing dominates your hearing. The speed of your fist goes rather lax but his seed that bursts out soon after and seeps down his length to coat your fingers is a relief. Because the intensity of undeniably the best orgasm you have ever had has relaxed your muscles way too much for you to be coherent anymore. Your body collapses tiredly against his broad battle hardened chest and your gaze fixates on a spot on the floor, your cum covered hand lazily stroking him to milk him empty. 

“You like the idea that much?” Price snickers as he pulls you closer before burying his nose in your hair to breathe in your scent, his own back relaxing against the leather chair now. The man does nothing to pull his fingers out of you, his thumb still turtling along the width of your clit while his free hand strokes your bare ass. “Hm?”

“H- Huh?” You let out a puzzled sound, fucked too stupid to make sense of anything. 

“My, my, angel. Just what am I going to do with you, hm?”  

You're too exhausted to look up but your heart faintly jumps. 

He is not done with you?

[hunterbunter3000]

141 Sweetheart, bursting through the door: OH MY G O S H YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED TODAY--

141 Sweetheart pacing back and forth, ignoring the fact that she walked in the men's locker room with tf 141 shirtless:

Ghost: ...Love.

141 Sweetheart still talking and pacing:

Price: Sweetheart.

141 Sweetheart: AND THEN HE-- huh

Soap, smirking: We're changin' 'ere, St.

141 Sweetheart:

141 Sweetheart, backing up: Oh.

141 Sweetheart, slowly closing the door: Sorry.

(Everyone knowing she's still there)

141 Sweetheart, opening the door again: Nice assets by the way-

Price: Sweetheart!

141 Sweetheart: SORRY

[brokenpieces-72]

Reunion

Navigation let me know if you want to be tagged

The following was inspired by @bluegiragi hybrid AU, and includes the reader character Hunter, from @diejager

TW/CW: Trauma, past trauma, abusive parents, discipline, mental distress, breakdowns, yelling… I warned you at the poll

No this wasn’t right, this wasn’t fair, they were supposed to be gone, locked up, put away, gone for good.

Yet there they had been, working with him. Graves was no saint but working with them of all fucking people?!? You felt your stomach twist and churn and you froze in your form as the others tore through the thralls. It wasn’t until one had been brave enough to jump on to your large form that you regain your focus.

Fight. Focus on the fight. Deal with them later. You reach up and behind you and grab the jumper, before over head slamming him into the floor, making him almost splat. You look around, trying to ignore them, and find where you can assist. König was having little issue, Horangi and Alejandro were proving to be an effective pair, with Rudolfo taking shots beside them, Price was making his fire spread everywhere he could while Gaz dive bombed any the Captain might have missed. Ghost was of course sticking to the shadows and intercepting the thralls on their way to provide back up. Soap… no…

They were moving towards Johnny and you panicked. Johnny was tearing through the shadows like he often does but they had caught sight of him. They were going for the closest target. Johnny hadn’t spotted them yet.

Not again, not again, no!

You hear yelling but it’s muffled by your ears ringing as they make their way towards Soap who finally takes notice of them. You’re in the basement for a moment, and there’s two smiles before you. One kind and the other… it has no right to be a smile. Darkness closes in, you have to stop it this time.

No, leave him alone!

Soap faces them, ready for whatever hybrid they might be. He doesn’t get the chance to pounce because you’re there instead, screeching in their face, and forcing them back before they can react. You whack them away with your wooden forearm and shriek at them again in warning. Soap steps back a little, shocked to see you react and in front of him.

“Fuck! Rudy!” Alejandro yells, as he tears thralls off of his partner and your attention from the humanoid monster before you. Thankfully Rudolfo’s cadejos are there to protect him, the dark one ripping through them quickly with Alejandro slicing them to ribbons. Rudolfo was already spent and passed out. Alejandro was standing over him protectively, and hissing and swiping at whatever thralls were nearby. Price growls angrily, and orders you all to fall back.

Soap clamps his jaws on to your arm and tugs, bringing you back to reality again. He’s repeating the orders Price had given. You flee before they can try anything, or take advantage of the chaos. The thralls chase after you, and Alejandro carries Rudy back with Horangi providing cover from behind. Gaz is able to get control of König well enough to steer his Percht form in the right direction.

They wouldn’t hurt your friends. Not again. You wouldn’t let them. No one would hurt your friends again. You wouldn’t let anyone go into the dark again…

Never again…

Fortunate doesn’t begin to describe the luck you had making it back to base. Price is pissed off, Rudolfo is unconscious, the whole team is exhausted or wounded. They nearly had Graves, once he was dead the thralls would have been easy.

On the ride back you keep your head down, no one talking to you. It was your fault. You heard the orders from Price to assist Rudolfo, but you not only ignored them you went against them, to protect Soap who didn’t need to be protection. When you return to base, Rudolfo is taken by Hunter to rest while Price reprimands you in front of everyone. You don’t blame him.

“Care to explain corporal?” He asks, arms folded, smoking drifting out of his mouth as he spoke. You keep your head down, and your arms at your sides. Facing a superior officer is one thing. Facing your captain who put so much faith and trust in you, and endless hours into your training…you can’t.

“You are damn fucking lucky you understand me? Sergeant Parra nearly got killed, and could have been if we hadn’t gotten out of there. When I give you orders you follow them, understood?”

“Yes sir-“

“Then why the fuck was this any different?!”

You still don’t look up, and clench your fists tighter to keep yourself from flinching. You smell the smoke, you hear him talking, but you can’t face him. Price is standing over you now, and you can feel the heat from his smoke just above you. Hell he has half a mind to send you back, and you’re just praying he won’t.

“What do you have to say for yourself corporal?” He asks, arms crossed. You don’t answer. ‘Sorry’ would cut it. There was no excuse. You messed up. Nearly cost a life. Nearly cost your family.

“Nothing sir.” You mutter, and swallow under your breath.

“Speak up!” He yells, making you flinch.

“Nothing Captain.” You say. He’s stunned and disappointed. You won’t even look him in the eye when you say it. He has half a mind to send you back to the program. This time you nearly cost them a life to Graves. The rest of the team is either standing there watching everything play out or has since left to tend to their own injuries.

“Dismissed corporal, return to your quarters. Punishment will be dealt later.” He orders. You don’t look at anyone as you go to your room. It’s a rather brutal sight seeing Captain Price discipline you. Soap and König are uneasy about your behaviour though and share a brief look on their way to see Hunter for debrief and assessment.

You shut the door to your room and sit on the bed, removing the tactical vest, along with the rest of your gear. There’s a growing lump in your throat. Your heart is still pumping, and you claw at the bed sheets, trying not to cry.

They were supposed to be gone and locked up, never able to hurt you again. What if Price sent you back? Could they find you?Did they even recognize you during the fight? You hadn’t felt like this since you lost control. Scared. Scared you would lose your team. Scared they would get you back. Scared your team might be all that was waiting in the basement.

No please…please you just wanted friends…

“Oy! Spirit open up.” There’s a knock at your door and you jump. It’s Johnny, checking up on you. You’ve heard that tone before.

“C’mon, open the door I’m not playin.”

You get up and crack open the door to see Johnny standing there, his own tactical gear off and wearing cargo pants and a tshirt. He looks disappointed with you just as much as Price probably was. When Soap looks at you it stings more.

“May I come in?” He asks with mild sarcasm. You nod and quickly open the door. He walks in, and stands in front of the bed while you stand by the door, as if it were a room inspection. “Close the door, sit down.”

You do as he says. You sit in silence for a moment. Soap looks down at you with his arms folded. “What the hell was that?”

You’re quiet again and he sighs in frustration. The question nearly breaks you. Staying silent keeps you from crying.

“Pup you better start talkin, or this won’t be pretty.” He warns. Your silence remains, but he starts noticing something is more wrong. Your body is locked up and tense, you keep clenching and unclenching your fists and you keep biting your lips. There’s no eye contact from you either.

“Tell me. Now.” He says, firmly but calmly.

“I saw…I saw my mom.” You say. Johnny stares at you for a moment. You’ve told him about your family, and the shitty ways you were treated. The program had put her in jail and protected you. Her getting out meant a lot of different things and raised so many questions. He realizes the woman who had been trying to flee was your mother. The one that was ready to fight him.

“Why did you disobey orders?” He asks.

“I… I wanted to protect you.” You tell him.

“Spirit I was fine. I canna andle myself. You shoulda ave said somethin.” There’s frustration in his voice as he shakes his head.

“I couldn’t…” you say softly, trying to keep the lump in your throat down.

“Why?” He presses.

“I…I…”

“Why didn ya say somethin Spirit? Why didn ya follow orders?” He asks leaning in closer.

“I was scared!” You shout before the tears run down your cheeks. Johnny stands there seeing you cry, and it hurts for him too. He hates seeing you like this. But it’s necessary.

“Why…?” He asks again.

“I thought she would hurt you…she would kill you…” you whimper. “I don’t…I don’t wanna…”

“Don what? What don ya want?” He asks.

“……eat you.” You say just audible enough for him to hear and things start making sense. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Two and two were put together recalling the night you told him about being locked in the basement and given raw food. Johnny knew about your life…but not this.

“Corporal.” He says finally. “You canna disobey orders ya got that. You obey those orders, unless told different ya understand?”

“Yes sir.” You say, nodding.

“Look at me when you’re talking.” Johnny says. You look up at him and see the same face that checked on you during the holidays. You sniff and wipe your tears taking a breath.

“Yes sir.” You repeat, a little louder, and swallowing back the lump in your throat.

“You’re still gonna ave a punishment, but das for the cap’n.” He tells you. You nod.

The sergeant role drops as he takes a breath.

“You need a hug…” he asks.

“Yes sir.” You say.

He sits down next to you and holds you close. You hold on to him, as if he’s about to be pulled away from you.

“That witch is gonna ave to try pretty fuckin hard to get through me…ya know that.” He says letting you cry into him. He squeezes you tighter, asserting his possessive nature over those he considers his pack. “She ain’t fuckin touching you.”

You pull away after sobbing for a bit, tears still on your face.

“I…you said you wouldn’t go into the dark…”

“I won’t… not unless I know you’re in there, and you canno get out… promise.” He says wiping a tear from your cheek. He presses his forehead to yours, and you’re trying to stop crying.

“No one ‘ere is goin in the dark… never… if one of us goes we’ll pull em out… got that?” He says looking into your eyes.

“Got it…” you say. “Do I have to tell Price…?”

“Yeah…you need to… Laswell needs to get that program checked out. I’ll go with you…take a breather and drink some water first.”

You get your water flask and chug a bit, taking deep breaths.

“Ay. Canna tell you somethin?” He asks. You nod. “You took Price like a pro. Seen plenny of other soldiers crumple in fron of him… you didn cry and whine. Das not a bad thing.”

He takes you to see Price, and you explain everything, apologizing for your actions as well. Price has a grim look on his face, and dismisses you and Johnny. He has to do some digging but for now everyone needed rest, especially Sergeant Parra. You go check on him before heading to bed and Hunter tells you he’ll be okay.

Price was right though. You let your emotions and fears control you, take over. If it had happened again, you could have gotten Rudolfo killed. What if Hunter had been there instead? They don’t have any hybrid abilities to protect them. What if it had been someone else? You’r frustrated with yourself despite Johnny reminding you that mistakes have costs, and it’s part of the job.

When he wakes up you apologize profusely. He admits he was worried about you when you didn’t follow orders. You assure him you’re better now. You tell him what exactly happened, and he listens to you, staying quiet.

“No one can blame you for getting distracted Mija. You were protecting your hermano de armas.”

“I should’ve been protecting you.” You say.

“I know. But instincts can take over. Alejandro is the same way.” Rudolfo assures you. You nod and he ruffles your hair.

“Hey it took forever to get it in a ponytail!” You whine swatting at his hands.

“Your hair is already a mess. You need a cut anyways.” Rudolfo points out.

“Yes sir.” You nod.

As a sort of personal punishment, you offer any help you can to Rudolfo during his recovery. Honestly it’s the least you can do. Price’s punishment is mainly getting you to stay up late and clean anything that needs it for the next month or so. A couple times he’s lenient, offering to let you go to bed, or move on to your next chore with only a couple small tasks left. You refuse each time, taking your punishment seriously.

At the end of each day, you go to bed with sore arms, fingers and sometimes your back. You know it’s for the best in the end. You’re supporting your team. You’re keeping them safe, and becoming stronger. You’re becoming a soldier.

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