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eccentricallygothic · 3 months ago

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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

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sapchat · 4 months ago

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141 head cannon based off irl story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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piratesfromspace · 1 year ago

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Night Blue (Price x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Price

Rated: Mature

Word count: 3k

Summary: "Between two containers, he sees the target, bloodied and tied up to the floor." or when Price comes to your rescue.

Note: I'm not the author of this fic, it is actually a Christmas gift from my boyfriend (yes I have the best boyfriend ever)! He writes for a living and has yet to dip his toes in fanfic territories, but I think he did fantastic and was very good at writing with the female gaze in mind. His take on Price has me drooling. He used the codename Rain, but note this is not part of the Rain Universe. Please let him know in the comment what you think of his first CoD fanfic!

Content: military!fem!reader, Reader has blue eyes but no body description other than that, mention of food & alcohol, rescue mission, implied torture, competency kink, typical level of violence

Muffled voices. Metallic clinking. Crowded interior. This could be your next mission. Or the last one. But it isn’t. It’s only a date. Well, Only. If only “only” could be only. It isn’t. It’s been years. You know him. This isn’t a first. But somehow, your heart is racing. It’s a fancy restaurant, after all. In the middle of good old London. He always had great taste, if not old-fashioned. But he’s late. He’s always late. You never understood that. How could someone that precise on the field be this messy in civvy street? Where the heck is he?

Did he try to take the tube? Again? He can’t do that. Not anymore. Not after what happened the last time 141 was deployed in London. He should be in a cab right now, on his way, with a big, innocent grin on his face. At least, you hope he is. You don’t want to drink this expensive bottle alone. Spend the night by yourself. Fall asleep in a cold bed.

“Don’t let me down, Bravo 6.”

You said it aloud with a sigh. Someone answers.

“Oh, you know I won’t, darling.”

He’s here. Where did he come from? Doesn’t matter. His noise discipline is on point. That’s something he brings from the field. Ever so stealthy, he takes the chair before you and says “hi” in his thick accent. Thick as his moustache. What’s the name again? Mutton chops or something. He’s so damn proud of it. It’s cute. You noticed he trimmed it for the occasion and probably added some kind of oil to it. You smell it from here. An odd but somewhat comforting smell. Like a cosy fireplace or a warmish glass of Scotch. You wonder if your sheets will smell like that in the morning. He’s trying to say something, but you're already lost in the thought. Split seconds where you don’t listen, only think about those infamous mutton chops climbing your legs. Focus, damn it. What is he wearing? A suit? That’s strange. Well, you always thought anything besides a loaded chest rig looked weird on him. Wait, no. That’s not true. He wears jumpers and cardigans quite nicely. You always pictured him as an old British gentleman. A sailor embarking on a frail boat. Or a hunter walking to a black forest. Something like that. Old-fashioned indeed. It’s an acquired taste.

So you talk. Like a lot. Spend time in each other’s eyes. Those grey-blue marbles, in which you see more than what is said. The joy of the moment, of being here, yes. But also the sadness, the pain. What is supposedly left behind, somewhere on a desolated field, and yet always comes back to scratch those eyes. It’s okay. You have the same. That’s why it’s working. But you remember. You remember how bright, much brighter, these eyes were the first time you saw them.

TEN YEARS AGO

Black and white. Night and snow. Somewhere in Northern Europe, the winter wind sweeps the clouds across the sky and dusts the flakes off the trees. But two bushes remain still. Until they don’t. All ghillied up, two operators crawl in powder snow. They talk as loud as the wind allows them to.

“Follow me and keep low, lieutenant. Target’s right ahead.”

“Solid copy.”

Captain MacMillan leads the way in near-total silence. His second in command, Lieutenant John Price, tries to keep up. He misses the warmth of the base. Of a pub. Of anything warmer than this icy desert at this point. But he needs to stay focused. They’re deep into enemy territory, trying to retrieve an ally he only knows by reputation. A track record he admires. So he wonders. What happened? A trap? A mistake? Perhaps it’s a warning in disguise. It goes to show that no one is ever too good to get caught. To get killed.

Listen to the captain. Do what the captain says, his head repeats. Enough to forget his instincts or the will to think for himself. Violence and timing. Once you’re on the field, only these two matter. They don’t require you to think. Only to act, and act at the right moment. Old man MacMillan told him so. And despite his age, Alpha Six is teaching him a lesson. The captain moves like a damn ghost. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him. It’s almost like the snow melts around him so he can look like a real bush. The deadliest bush in the country, probably.

“It’s a goddamn convention around here, John.”

Price looks down. The warehouse and its surroundings are barely lit, but using thermal goggles, he can already count twelve guns guarding the target, plus three engineers working on an Infantry Fighting Vehicle. Guards, not soldiers. The new plague of the free world: PMCs. Former soldiers, swapping insignias for fatter paychecks. Russian, probably. He hears them talking through the wind. Or maybe French. They hire all across Europe, after all. The captain’s accent brings him back to Scotland.

“We could wait for them to break off, but that’d be playing with the target’s life, and we’d probably freeze our asses to death… There’s only one way to do this, innit?”

“Right. Care for a suggestion, captain?”

“I’m all hears, lieutenant.”

“That IFV. Maybe it is operational. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t want to find out. We take it down first. C4 should do the trick. They hear the boom. We split. You dance, I get inside. Once the target’s identity is confirmed, I take the long trek home through the forest, and meet you at LZ.”

“You forget your rank, lieutenant. Why should I be the one dancing, John?”

“With all due respect captain, you forget your back. I’m sure the target’s a big boy. Unless you’re ready for the fireman carry of your life, you let me do it. If you hurt yourself, who will put those Christmas lights on the tree? Your wife will never forgive me…”

“Alright John, lead the way.”

They don’t need their ghillies anymore. The bushes become men. They check their weapons. Price is about to take point when MacMillan nudges him. His fatherly smile almost lights the dark.

“The next time you bring my wife into this kid, you’re going down.”

“Roger that, captain.”

One of the engineers went for a cigarette. Lord bless the smokers. They all leave their post, eventually. Even when they don’t, that smoke will shake their focus. Move fingers away from triggers, grenades, alarms. Enjoy that last cigarette, lad. This smoke’s about to kill you faster than lung cancer. MacMillan jumps from the white shadows, arms instantly locked on his prey. His combat knife bites. Screams die in the engineer’s throat. Blood bubbles explode. The wind covers almost everything. The fluff of the snow takes care of the rest.

Words come to them, though, and both captain and lieutenant freeze instantly. Their weapons are up, ready to strike. But they don’t want to fight. Not here, not now. More words. Price is trying to make sense of them, but he skipped too many classes for that. Damn you and your bad boy attitude, he thinks, until he hears a laugh. The words are repeated, but not as a question. That delivery transcends all languages. It’s a joke. Tension goes down, but MacMillan is already one step ahead.

Pripyat. Urzikstan. Many more. Price has fought next to the captain since he joined the SAS. It’s a weird thing, but by now, he probably knows him better than friends. Better than family. And it shows. They don’t have to speak, but that’s always been a requirement on the field. What’s more impressive is they don’t have to sign full sentences either. They’ve experienced enough settings and parameters to understand how the situation will eventually play out. So they commit to the action, together, before the scenario can even start. Like two polished pieces of the same high-precision clock, they act as one to define time itself.

“Together”, he signs.

For the two engineers, it’s time to die. Focused on the scratched hull of their IFV, these poor bastards never see it coming. A .45 ACP bullet penetrates their skulls at subsonic speed and settles down in their brains, avoiding any ricochet on the armoured surface of the vehicle. They climb on top of the tank. Price removes the bodies to find a hatch while MacMillan gets a block of C4 ready. Except for the wind, the place is silent. Which means no one knows they’re here. Good. But it could also mean the target is dead by now. The same thought has crossed the captain’s mind. He suddenly acts faster, despite the gloves and the numbed fingers they’re supposed to protect. Price follows and places the C4 inside the IFV, next to what he remembers to be a fuel tank.

About ninety-two seconds later, John learns his memories are correct. From the safety of distance, MacMillan has blown the IFV straight to hell in one glorious explosion. But it only takes about twenty more seconds for the PMC to react, learns Price on his watch. And that’s bad news. They’re still sharp. Drilled. Ready to respond. And they do. John counts half of them spreading out of the warehouse through truck gates and access doors. Their plan is sound. They’re looking out, trying to nullify the effect of surprise with a solid assessment of who or what is outside.

And it’s only one man, but he gives them a round for their money. MacMillan uses every trick in the book and every weapon he carries to make them think there’s a whole squad hunting for them behind the snow, between those big black trees. And they fall for it. At least one of the mercenaries does, and chooses to provide firing support from the door he was supposed to shut behind his comrades.

John sees the opportunity immediately. Timing. In just a few rounds, the mercenary will have to reload. Or maybe he will suddenly realise the door is still open and stop firing. An empty mag hits the floor, and Price jumps out of cover. Violence. He grabs the mercenary’s weapon with one hand while the other secures the kill. The bastard’s heavy, and the thump of his fall makes a lot of noise. Silenced handgun raised, Price waits for a moment, scanning the entry corridor for potential targets. But no one comes. More words, inside. More shots, outside. Chaos is settling in, everywhere.

Another opportunity, then. Price presses on, checking his corners with the precision of a machine. A door opens to his right. Two mercs, rushing out of a room to help their comrades overwhelmed by MacMillan’s tactics. John is almost as surprised as they are, but not quite. Timing. They’re too fast, and likely to fire from the hip. Violence. He empties his mag on the two targets. One mercenary drops suddenly, like a puppet cut from its strings. The other falls, but slowly. His vest caught the heat. If he’s good, there’s a chance he might go for a sidearm, or a knife. No time to reload then. Price runs and then falls on his knees to finish his target with a clean cut from his combat blade. The bastard knows death is coming, but he’s not ready to embrace it just yet. His arms move in a life-or-death reflex, and Price is stopped a few centimetres away from a kill. There’s no timing anymore. Only violence, a test of raw strength. John tries to stab the merc down the neck. The poor guy can’t do anything but buy some time, and wait a few seconds for someone to go check the corridor. But no one comes for him. Only death, in the form of a straight silver blade slowly piercing his throat.

Rolling to the side, Price suddenly remembers to breathe. Staying on his back, he reloads his weapon without thinking, his two eyes locked on the door the mercs have opened seconds prior. He counts. One when he entered. Two in the corridor. With half of them still outside fighting MacMillan, that’s two mercenaries unaccounted for. Usually, it is the wounded, the insecure or the frightened you leave behind. But when it comes to target protection, it’s the other way around. Your last wall of defence is also the toughest. The big guns stay with the target until the end. If Price wasn’t so actively trying not to think, maybe he would have remembered that.

He enters the room. More like a hangar. It’s dark. Only the moon and distant muzzle flashes provide some light through large, rectangular windows. Timing? Put the night vision set on, find the bastards, and apply a bit of violence. Wait. Price holds on to his set. Did someone cut the power? It could be MacMillan toying with them. But more likely, the mercs have figured their opponents are properly equipped. And now, they’re just waiting for Price to put his night vision on. They want him to rely on the tool, for there’s no faster way to blind a man than putting the power back at the right moment. So Price throws the night vision set away, into the room. Five thousand quid of government-issued tech crash on the industrial floor. One second. Two seconds. The light goes back and the night vision set dies a second time, broken apart by crossfire.

The shots from the right probably came from that little accounting office Price sees through a piece of shattered glass. He resists the urge to throw a grenade, that could threaten the target’s life. His back on the wall, he’s getting closer to the office. More words. They come from the left. These mercs can’t shut up to save their lives. What is it this time? There’s a trace of panic in the sentences. They’re probably asking for reinforcements, but there’s a hell lot of static on the other end of the line. MacMillan has done his part, and there’s no military base around anyway. In typical Laswell fashion, Kate had saved the only piece of good news for the end of her briefing, Price remembers. So good luck with that, lad. But keep talking. The echo allows John to move closer and closer to his next kill. Until the warehouse is silent again. Until something inside the office decides to move.

It’s a lock. Inside the door, it jiggles enough for Price to notice someone’s about to leave the office. He waits for the final click to bash the gate. It arrives a split-second later, and John kicks the door like his dad used to kick rugby balls on Sunday mornings. Wood breaks. Bones follow. Price puts another bullet in another skull. It happens so fast the merc can’t even fight or scream. But his finger was already on the trigger, so his assault rifle yelled for him. The burst catches price off-guard. Bullets pound his plate and the walls alike. He falls.

When the kick finally fades, the world is backwards. Literally. Between two containers, he sees the target, bloodied and tied up to the floor. Or is it the ceiling? He’s not sure anymore. His ears are buzzing. His chest is compressed by the impact. There’s no gun in his hands. He wants to rise but he can’t. Someone comes. Someone that’s not MacMillan. Price rolls from back to belly. The world looks finally looks right again. Well, right as it can be when you’re crawling unarmed in the face of the Grim Reaper.

His weapon raised, the last merc stops next to the target and fires. Not rounds, but words. More words. Insults, probably. Weirdly, they’re not aimed at Price. They’re for whoever is still under the same black hood they always put on prisoners. She answers, proudly, in their language.

Wait, she?

Gunshots. They come from outside, from the forest. Surprised, the last merc tries to sneak a look between the crates. Price gathers the little strength he has left to look for a weapon. But he’s still dizzy. A hippo with a full belly would be faster. He looks up, facing death with both eyes open. Only death doesn’t come for him. The target is free. She climbs on the mercenary like a damn spider, using her legs to maintain the bastard’s weapon against his chest while she strangles him with the little piece of plastic tying her two hands. John finally finds his sidearm. He wants to help her. He wants to shoot. But SAS lieutenant John Price is not so sure of his aim anymore. So he looks, and eventually, the mercenary crumbles.

Price now moves a bit faster and a bit closer. The target’s still fighting. But her prey is long dead. There’s no breathing left in him. His neck is broken. So broken that little piece of plastic is slowly severing head from body. And yet she fights, furiously. Moving slowly, talking even slower, he tries to calm her down. She releases her grip on the dead mercenary. Describing his every move out loud, John carefully guides his blade between her two hands and next to her neck. Underneath the bruises and the cuts, she’s a woman alright. Their eyes locked. Back to the mission.

“Lieutenant John Price, British SAS. I need your codename, fast.”

“Why are you here? I had it under control!”

Her voice is confident. Not a single taint of doubt in it. Price chuckles.

“I’m not sure I see it that way, darling. Now, give me your codename so I can get you out of here.”

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Again. Confident. She’s looking at the half-decapitated mercenary with disdain, not disgust. She killed before. In more ways than one. More brutal ways.

“I had it under control.”

Her time to chuckle. She pauses. Takes one good look at him. That sort of threatening gaze birds of prey will give you if you happen to drive through their land. She measures. Judges. And weirdly enough, the whole thing ends with a sight smile.

“Codename’s Rain. Nice to meet you, lieutenant. Now, can a lady get a proper extraction, or what?”

“Sure thing, ma’am. Follow me.”

They grab some gear and step out of the warehouse. Outside, the night is silent again. The moon shines on the black of the trees. The white of the snow. The red of the dead bodies.

And the blue of their eyes.

#price x reader #cod fanfiction #captain price x reader #jonathan price #captain john price #john price x reader #captain price imagine #captain price #captain price fanfic #search and rescue #light angst #hurt/comfort #fem reader

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l0velylecter · 2 years ago

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PLEASEEEE, I need more of Lana Del Rey vinyl coded men a.k.a Philips Graves and Captain Price (maybe a 'million dollar man' inspired(?) fic) if you're still taking request or not busy 🫦🫦 everytime I listen to her, all I can think about are these fine men 😩 your writing is EVERYTHING btw, chef's kiss 👌 also, don't forget to take care of yourself!!! 🫶

(I'll be 🧸 anon if you don't mind 👼)

Look like a million dollar man — captain john price / f!reader

— “you're screwed up and brilliant, look like a million dollar man”

summary : price takes you to an opera and fucks you in the backseat of his bentley after pairings : captain john price / reader fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii pairing : f!reader / captain john price rating : e for explicit, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : graphic descriptions of sex, cursing tags : female parts, kissing, making out, praise kink, size kink, sugar daddy vibes, papa smurf takes you to an opera alternative title : the cod : mw ii men as lana del rey songs, vol.ii song used for inspiration : million dollar man by lana del rey

01| You stared at your face in the bright, fogged bathroom mirror. This must be a dream. You thought, staring back at the dress, the earrings, the bracelet— everything was bought and gifted to you by Price, right down to the skin. Subsumed, like Venice, into his world. This wasn’t all of it. One last parcel laid unopened by the foot of your bed. The pristine, white bow holding it together gracefully. You glanced worriedly by the window, swallowing your nerves to unwrap it, knowing John would be here soon. When the Bentley pulled up by your driveway, you were already by the door, still adjusting the heels. He was in a black wool overcoat: double-breasted, with gold outlines around the buttons, scarf draped over his shoulders. He lit a cigar and smiled at you: eyes crinkling by the corners with mirth. They paused to admire the necklace : the centerpiece to the carefully crafted costume Price had catered for your date tonight. You released the trembling breath you didn’t know you were holding.

02| He doesn’t start the car right away, lingering to watch you. John didn’t need to say anything. You can tell from the look in his eyes, the hitch in his breath as he cups your cheek to stroke the skin with his thumb. Yet he compliments you anyway. The warmth of his hand as they helped you down the stone steps earlier, still stubbornly clinging onto your fingers. You look exquisite. You hide your smile, and he tips your chin his way, angling your face as if to kiss you — only to retract, starting the car and letting the hum reverberate down the interior. Knowing that if he were to kiss you now, you'd never make it on time.

03| You looked down at the crashing ocean of people beneath. Bright dresses and black tuxedos. The flash of gold and expensive watches and sharp eyes. Above the house, lights started to fade. The sound of shifting fabric dwindled down to a monotonous murmur. You smiled, sinking into the glamor, entertained by the show of music and plot. And in the periphery of your mind, you stole a few glances at John. With your arm around his, resting atop the soft fabric of his suit, he chose you over the performance. You joked that he should pay attention, or else that would be at least a hundred worth of pounds down the drain. He let out a small smile. Thousands, actually. John didn't look the slightest bit remorseful. 04| By the end of the night, draped in his coat, you descend into his cologne — it’s aromatic. He tells you it has patchouli oil from leaves grown in Sumatra. Clove bud oil from Zanzibar, bay oil from the East Indies. Cinnamon and Carnation. Your head feels heady as you parade past the crowd. People were looking, eying you — eying John in an almost envious and approving way. How could they not stare, love? It’s true. The jewelry should be under a sport of lights and protected behind a ten millimetre thick glass instead of around your chest, cold and heavy, sporting two emeralds, hundreds of diamonds, and a litter of fine pearls. You shivered in delight, spine straightening when Price’s fingers skimmed it. Backless dresses. He seemed to have an obsession with that lately. 05| The stretch was almost too much. His cock was thick, leaving you struggling to relax around it.

Breathe. John reminded. You tried, but the further he pushed, the less room there seemed to be for air. Static was overtaking your mind, the heat making you melt into the leather seat. You've only been apart for half a year, and still, your body needed to be accommodated. He's ruined you for other men. There was no one like him. You were sure of it, nails digging into his shoulders. Just don’t stop. You begged, tears pricking your eyes. Don’t stop.

He tells you how good you are. With each thrust, he emphasized just how sweet and good, and exquisite you are. And suddenly, you were being lifted, gripped by strong arms, and manhandled around to face him, knees on either side of the captain’s hips — cock pulsing inside of you. When you came, you let out a string of ‘thank yous.' They quivered past your lips, your chest heaving up and down: the jewels reflecting the white, translucent light brought by the moon across his face. His beard scratches your chin as he shudders, hot liquid running down your legs and ruining the million-dollar coat around your naked body.

a/n : HI 🧸 ANON THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS, THIS WAS SO FUN FOR ME TO WRITE BECAUSE I AM A FELLOW LANA FAN <3 and i am lowkey obsessed with men who are lana del rey vinyl coded ( this is the consequence of being exposed to her music at such a young age, anyways ) thank you again for requesting, i know you said graves as well but i feel like it’s better to include him in a separate work ! don’t worry though, i have more graves content coming up soon because this silly evil man has me on a chokehold 😔 in the meantime, merry christmas and enjoy this fic ! i hope you’re having a wonderful time with your loved ones, thank you for the sweet reminder to take care of myself ❤️ → also for those curious the bentley i chose as a hc for price is a 2003 Bentley Arnage T !

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mrsmidnight15 · 2 years ago

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Imagine getting up early and having coffee with Price. The sun still hasn't begun its ascent and everything is still quiet. Both you and John work in tandem, clearing out the old coffee grounds and filter while John gets a new one. There's a slight fumble when both fingers go to press the start button at once, coming to a compromise and pressing it together. Strong arms lift you up onto the counter, pressing soft kisses to your temple and bridges of your face as the coffee machine goes to work. Rough weary hands hesitant to leave your waist as the dripping coffee slowly comes to a stop, reluctantly pulling away to grab two mugs and fixing both to your preferred tastes.

#cod imagine #cod x reader #cod #cod mwii #jonathan price #john price #john price x reader #jonathan price x reader

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gazspookiebear · 9 months ago

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Ugh idk I'm just gonna spit this out

I feel like last names are a very underrated thing in fanfics- There's so much potential!!!

Take Ghost for example

Imagine: He has his father's last name, he's not a fan of it, he falls in love and gets married, whatever.

Give this man your last name!!! Simon [L/N] would be so fucking cute in x reader fics???

Or shipping with other 141 members...

Simon MacTavish, Simon Garrick, Simon Price!!!

Ghost has his mother's madien name and is very fond of it (I usually see x reader fics give the reader his last name, so I don't think I need to mention that lol)

But John Riley? Jonathan Riley or Kyle Riley?? God, I think I'd explode...

OR!!!

Combining their last names!

Hyphenate it or just put it together, idk. You can't tell me Rileygarrick or Price-Riley doesn't go hard??? C'monnn

Orrrr give him someone else's last name and make his last name into the middle name

Simon R. Price/Simon R. Garrick...

If I make an au where soap and ghost get married, y'all better BELIEVE I'm making his name Simon Riley MacTavish!!!

Sorry if this isn't coherent 😭🙏- just had to get this out so I don't forget about it

#poly 141 #poly!141 #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #ghostprice #ghostsoap #ghostgaz #God I love them #You don't understAAANDDD #Ugh please ignore me lmfao I'm not making any sense rn #Can you guess who just woke up after a long ass nap???#Forgive me for my nonsense 🤭☠️

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year ago

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It’s subtle things they notice in Price’s demeanor that tell them something’s going on in his personal life. A flash of joy in his eyes at a text here, a private phone conversation outside the building there. It’s only until Ghost makes a note of Price’s new aftershave that the man seemingly fumbles his reply with, “Oh, just wanted to try something new.” Something new, their asses. The man’s been using the same aftershave since he was sixteen. Why change now?

With no tact at all, it’s Soap that breaks the silence in the break room with, “So, who is she, Captain?”

Even Ghost rubs his temples at that, but Price looks shocked. “What?”

“The lass that’s got you tripping over yourself. Going home at five-thirty on the dot. Who is she?”

Price looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole, an uncharacteristic expression on him and he clears his throat, scratching at the table. “Just a woman I met at a shop the other day.”

“Just a woman?” Gaz retorts with a smile. “C’mon, Price, you changed your aftershave.”

He flushes. “I just wanted a change.”

“After thirty years of using the same wintergreen scent you got from your old man?” Ghost mutters, cocking a brow. “Try again.”

Price’s neck disappears into her shoulders. “She thought it smelled nice when we were shopping one day.”

Soap smirks. “Oh…he’s whipped.”

“I am not!” but his defense betrays him as crimson creeps over his skin.

“How old is she?”

At that, Price falls silent and he looks away. “She’s…a few years younger.”

Soap blinks. “Sugar baby younger or just younger?”

“Dude,” Gaz gripes. “Subtlety much?”

“What? No one else was ripping the Band-Aid.”

“She’s in her late twenties,” Price answers. “Twenty-nine.”

“Damn, she’s almost half your age.”

“I…I know,” Price says, practically deflating. “I keep trying to tell her that there’s someone younger and better for her, but she won’t have any of it.”

Before anyone can even break that silence, Price’s phone rings, Elvis’ Burning Love echoing between them, and he’s just a hair short of Soap’s fast grip to answer. Price is spitting as he jumps for his phone but Soap answers it on speaker.

“Hello! You’ve reached Captain Price’s phone.”

Uh…is Jonathan there?

“Oh, Price is busy at the moment, but I’m one of his guys. I’m Soap.”

Oh! Jonathan talks so much about you! You and Kyle, and Simon! He’s so proud of the three of you.

“See that’s surprising, because he hasn’t told any of us about you, Missus Price.” Soap smirks at Price as the man suddenly goes still.

Oh—I, we—he, oh, we’re not—we’re not married. We’re just...dating.

“I dunno, Missus Price, you got him to change his aftershave after thirty years. I think it’s a sealed deal.”

You think? I wouldn’t mind being married to Jonathan. He’s…everything I’ve ever wanted. He’s amazing. He takes care of me, even though he doesn’t have to. And he’s always telling me that whatever burden I can’t carry, to just give it to him, because he can. He…he’s the love of my life. I’m so proud of the man he is.

Soap’s smirk melts into something soft, much like the Captain in front of them. “Yeah…he’s good like that.”

He is. Look, I was just calling to ask what he wanted for dinner, but I’ll just make his favorite. I know he’ll be happy with it regardless. And, John, will you…will you tell him that I called and that I love him? And that I hope he has a wonderful day?

“Yeah, Missus Price, I’ll tell him the second I see him.”

Thank you, John. And tell the others that they’re welcome to come visit any time. I know I can’t wait to meet all of you in person.

“Neither can we. Have a good day, Missus Price.”

You too, dear.

Soap hands Price back his phone and smiles at him. “So, can we come over for dinner?”

The lot expects Price to rear back and punch him, but he’s still trying to pick himself up from the puddle he melted into. “Yeah…I think that will be okay.”

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penguinbuttcheeks · 5 days ago

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sugardaddy!price x gn!reader

(slight nsfw)

₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽ °˖˚𓏲࿐࿔ ₊˚.༄:፣₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽

sugardaddy!price can’t keep his eyes off of you when you’re all dolled up in the finest pieces he can afford.

extravagant pieces adorning your neck, ears, fingers and wrists, all thoughtfully planned out to suit your style and preferences. they gleam softly in the light, accentuating all your defining features.

he never holds back, showering you in anything and everything you could ask for, even when your desires never leave your lips.

he keeps a keen eye on you, watching the way your eyes linger on a specific item of clothing, perhaps a pair of shoes or a pretty necklace.

if you’re shy about his materialistic gestures, price takes pride the way your eyes widen when he hands you each gift, your brows furrowing in concern - his little pet always so worried about the amount he’s spending. he simply shakes his head, gently pulling you closer to clasp a new shiny bracelet around your wrist.

he fails to hide his pleased smirk each time he glances at you, finding any possible chance he can get to compliment you in your new accessories.

it’s no secret his favourite purchases are the plethora of jewellery pieces adorning your body. seeing you sprawled beneath him, clothes discarded carelessly on his bedroom floor, left in nothing but glittering diamonds and delicate, precious metals.

his own little doll to dress up and care for.

he prefers to buy his gifts in person, rather than online. it’s better that way though. seeing the quality in person, nodding in approval at the sales assistant who hastily wraps the expensive pieces in sleek designer brand bags.

he’s about to leave the store, keen to decorate you with his new purchases when a display of glittering diamonds catches his eye.

at this point, he’s bought you enough rings to decorate each of your perfectly manicured fingers. all except one.

he turns around, pulling out his wallet and flagging down the poor sales assistant once more, lips curling upwards as he nods in the direction of the glass case, not a crumb of doubt in his mind.

₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽ °˖˚𓏲࿐࿔ ₊˚.༄:፣₊˚.༄:፣ 𓏲࿐࿔ ˚˖°☾☽

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eccentricallygothic · 3 months ago

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You've a sore throat but you like to refuse medication so Older Boyfriend!Captain John Price…

You best believe the man uses his age as a reason to be bossy especially if it concerns your wellbeing.

“No, meanie, stop!” You fight against him although it's always in vain because the older man is a wall of muscle and strength. “Ugh, get away!” You try to smack away the strepsils he holds for you in a firm pinch.

After the gargles he forced on you just now by trapping you between his body and the sink, you will die before you take the strepsils!

The oldie always gets the worst tasting ones too!

Something about this specific flavor makes them more effective, if it even makes sense which it doesn't!

One con of having an older partner that you've discovered -damn your type- is that the fuckers are fucking stubborn.

They're always right because they've ‘seen more’ and ‘know better’ and you're just a kiddie brat.

“Come ’ere” he grunts in his burly man voice, eyebrows knitted together as he collects your struggling form with one arm and pushes the lozenge in your mouth with the other.

“Nu! Ugh! Leave me alone, I don't like you!” You cough at the taste that manages to permeate itself in your mouth and huff as you glare up at him before sealing your teeth shut.

“Yes, now say a real big and cute ah for me~” he shimmies open a slot between your lips, completely unfazed by the ‘fight’ you're putting up, before pushing the little coin of medicine inside with the help of his thumb.

“Hate you!” You puff your cheeks. “Y'ur a brute!” You further express your disapproval by pushing both of your hands into his hard chest the moment he releases your hands that he was holding captive behind your back. “Meanie, meanie, meanie!” Tiny fists drum on his rock hard chest.

The bear of a man only smiles before leaning down to press a cheeky kiss on your lips. “I love you more.” You roll your eyes at the satisfaction on his face.

You'll get him back, and soon!

. . .

had a rough day. this is pure coping.

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 years ago

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Underneath the City Lights, Part 2

Summary: Ari has some questions and a plan

Pairings: Ari Levinson X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, forced dancing, non con groping and sucking, choking, fingering, voyeurism, conspiracy, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.3K

Series Masterlist

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

“Ari, what are you thinking?” Ari’s piercing blue eyes look out the window of his office, and over the city. The distant neon glow of the Dirty Martini clouding anything that he should be thinking. You had grown up, and it appeared that you were being used as a pawn by your own brother.

Your father had been a kind and just man. Ran a respectable establishment, and now it seemed the Dirty Martini was more seedy. Gossip of how it was just a cover for peddling more than just burlesque entertainment. The business in flesh wasn’t anything new, but would your brother actually offer up your own body for the right amount?

“Ari?” Jonathan asks again. His boss had become more and more distant with his thoughts. “You’re taking her claims seriously.”

“Why would a brother send his sister into my room where she was wearing fabric that left nothing to the imagination? Cameras pointed right at the chair I was sitting in to ‘protect her’ or was it to sell more than just her body? He didn’t care to have her fully exposed to me. And on display for whoever was watching.”

“Yes, the city knows you are the most fierce mafia boss since your great grandfather. The sight of your silhouette causes fear. He knows better than to let a video of you out of some woman’s cunt was soaking your pants.”

“I’m not worried about that video getting out. I’m worried about a brother selling his sister for the right price. Her grandfather was my father’s advisor. You realize that, right?” Ari shakes his head, still unbelieving of how your family had fallen so far. Your family was once feared, and now they were selling lust.

“She knows something. Look at their accounts. They’re passed due. They’re desperate. Why wouldn’t they try and take from the hand that feeds them? And fucking August Walker. Pig. How many dropped soliciting charges does he have? Calvin would sell his sister to make a buck, and get them out of debt with me. This is trouble for us. But she also needs protecting.”

“Well, you’ve been invited back again tonight. The diamond has a grand performance just for you. So says this August Walker.”

“I want the place surrounded. I won’t be moving tonight, but I’m going to see if I can get any information out of her. She’s an asset. And our teams can formulate the best way to get her out of the club undetected.”

“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact she’s got a beautiful voice, and even prettier face? Judging by the state of your pants, and quick departure to the shower you thoroughly enjoyed your time with her,” Ari smirks, adjusting his jacket before he leaves without another word. He always was a softie for a damsel in distress. Especially ones he felt familial loyalty to.

“Hmm,” Calvin asks, studying the footage from last night. He had seen Ari intently watching you while you performed, but your private audience solidified his affections. Ari, the most feared man in the city, was entranced by you. He looks away from the screen when Ari’s mouth surrounds your nipple. It was an image he couldn’t get out of his head, but if it meant that Ari had a distraction, it would be okay. “What state was he in when he left?”

“You mean the huge hard on he couldn’t disguise with your sister’s juices spewed on his pants?”

“Can you not talk about my sister like that?”

“You’re the one that put her up on stage. The one who knew exactly what Ari would want. She’s got him wrapped around her little finger. Imagine, Ari the man we’re trying to take everything from, wrapped around the pinky of your baby sister,” August leans back in the chair, wondering just how long it would take to have Ari completely spent by you.

“A baby sister that I control. This is too good. Whatever you did that night, we need a repeat.”

“No. We need grander. Ari needs to feel possessive and jealous that other men are staring at her tits, vying for her attention, and willing to pay for her pussy.”

“And she needs to understand who is in control,” his hand rubs over his chin as he thinks. It was the perfect option for you to realize exactly where you stood in this operation. You were nothing. “Put up the cage. Make sure she remembers that she is but our little bird. She’s there for entertainment, and for everyone to gawk at. Women need to want to be her, and men need to want to sink into her and own her. And if her cunt can keep Ari occupied, and we make more money in the process, it’s exactly what we’ll do.”

“You’re a sick fuck you know that?” August stands, it was time to get you ready. He knew the perfect costume. The perfect way to show off your curves.

“Yeah, well, keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll be able to feel her flesh around you.”

“Aye aye, captain,” he wipes off his mouth, heading to your dressing room where he could already hear you protesting. It was always the same. A little brat that needs to be punished for her stubbornness. In time. He would get to it. In time.

Slinging the door open you take one look at him before throwing a vase of fresh flowers towards his head, and he glowers at you. Wiping the water off his face before starting towards you, “Go away!” You scream, but he doesn’t react. He wouldn’t give you the satisfaction.

“Don’t touch me!” Grabbing at your wrist, he pulls you closer to his body. His free hand pulling aside your robe. Getting a peak at the swell of your chest, “You pig!” You spit up at him, and he wipes your saliva off his face as well. The hand around your wrist moving to your throat, and he backs you up to the wall.

A thick thigh going in between your thighs, “August, please, stop.”

“How quickly your tune changed, princess. So sure into groveling for mercy. What have we here?” He moves aside your robe, exposing one of your breasts, and pushes you further on his thigh. “Such a little girl and such a big attitude.”

“Let me go.”

“No, I don’t think I will. I enjoy the view too much. You want to act like you can pitch your little fits without consequences. You can be heard all throughout the backstage. Do you know why you have a private dressing room?” You shake your head no, and his glowing blue eyes finally look up at your face. “Privacy, princess. I could have you choking on my cock if I wanted to. Slam you down on the vanity while I rail into you, and you’re just a slobbering mess.”

“Then why don’t you?” His grip around your neck gets tighter, and you try and gulp, but he only forces a slow grind on him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Because your untouched pussy is more valuable than one that’s been stretched out on my fat cock. You need to remember your place. You’re worth nothing more than the wet skin between your legs. You think you’re something special because you can sing, and you got the King to pay for an hour of your time. His first question was how many people have had you. All he wants is to split you open. Conquer you. You’re nothing. There’s nothing special about you, but these perky tits, and tight ass. Once you realize that you’re no more than a flashlight to these men, the better off you are. And stop with this fucking attitude,” he leans over giving your nipple a suck before grabbing the pumps out of his pocket. Cupping your tit as he gives your pebble peak a nibble.

“They need to be lubricated, don’t they? I believe we’re going to suck the life out of these pretty tits. Keep them hard the rest of the night. They did the trick though, didn’t they. I watched Ari unable to keep his mouth off them.”

“August,” Rita says firmly, walking into the dressing room. “I think it’s time for you to leave,” your lip trembles as he tightens the contraption on you, wincing when he twists it all the way, and you look down in horror at your nipple sucked into the cylinder, throbbing and swollen. He moves onto the other one, and Rita slaps a hand on your vanity.

“August, your master is calling you.”

“Shut up, you fucking bitch,” his voice mumbles around you nipple. Standing up straight and attaching the other clamp. “You know what the third one is for, princess? You gonna let me suck on that clit, too?”

“August!”

“What the fuck is your problem, Rita?” He finishes up on your skin, and his body spins around to look at her. “What? Ari already requested an hour-long private show. He liked what he saw.”

“And I’m sure Mr. Levinson would not like to hear about you tainting his companion. What costume is she wearing tonight?” Rita changes the subject to business. She was smart even if people assumed she was just your handler. Her eyes only flick once towards you, but it was long enough to see you were stunned quiet.

“The dove costume. She’s singing in the cage tonight. Just so she remembers her place. Make us proud. Maybe you can see if Ari’s dick really is that big. I’ll be watching,” smirking, he makes sure to hit Rita’s shoulder with his own. Slamming the door for good measure as he walks out of the room. He would have you. Once Ari was destroyed by you, August would make Ari watch him own your pussy, right before he was shot in the head.

“You know how to piss him off,” Rita says, stepping up to you. “What else did he do?”

“Nothing you didn’t see,” wiping at your tears, you look down at your chest, “God, I hate him. I hate this.”

“Play the game,” Rita straightens herself back up, looking at you, smiling when your breathing picks up in panic, “Play their game better than they do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, you do. That’s why you're not fighting him. You’re playing their game, and you’re playing it better. You see the bigger picture. You’re smarter than either Calvin or August give you credit for. Ari is a good one to have on your side. And even you know this,” you turn around, not wanting to acknowledge anything she was saying. Playing dumb was becoming second nature to you.

“Good girl. You just may survive.”

“Rita, go get my costume for the night, and have Tonya come in here to do my makeup.”

“Of course. Dulce.”

Ari snorts, but leans closer towards the stage, watching you swing inside of a cage. Calvin wanted to pretend he was a genius, but this message was not subliminal as he thought. It was meant for him and you. Putting you in your rightful spot. Caged up, pretty, and singing for a crowd. Top completely exposed to everyone looking.

“They’re all watching her, boss,” Jonathan knew better than to stare too long at you. Ari never took kindly to sharing his play things.

“Put in my bid for her company. I do not care the cost,” Jonathan looks over at his boss, wondering what exactly had him so consumed in you. He was sure that it was more than just the information that you claimed to have. “Jonathan, I will have company with her tonight.”

“Of course,” he heads off to tell Calvin to name his price for you for the evening. Knowing that he would only take an hour of your time. But he would ensure that you would not entertain anyone else.

Ari’s eyes drift over your curves as you shimmy around. Other people would think that you were confident in this performance, but he knew better. Watching as you try to hold the microphone in a way to cover your bare chest, or even the amount of times you would turn around, showing only your feathered ass to the audience.

He didn’t care. He would have you alone soon enough. Away from these prying eyes, and men that were licking their lips and ready to devour you. He had to get you away from here, regardless if you had information or not. Your brother had brought you out to slaughter, and left you to be nothing more than a pile of flesh, rhinestones, and feathers.

The ache in Ari’s pants told him he was definitely attracted to you, but he would be more than just a hungry man. Unlike the men and women in here that are chomping at the bit for a tiny morsel of you, he wanted you to be able to be the little girl that couldn’t look people in the eyes when she talked. Now you were a dancing fool for money and pleasure. Business of the flesh would always be there, but you didn’t want it.

The other girls laughed, and giggled on stage. You kept looking off to the side at someone. Waiting for approval, and continuing on your number. Ari had questions, and when you were safe, he would get answers. Was it just Calvin controlling you? Or was there someone else you feared? And should those people lay a finger on you, they would be dealt with.

“Mr. Levinson,” Ari turns to look up at the gentleman that dared to take his attention away from you, “I’m August, I’ve come to take you to your private room.”

“And you can wait until she’s finished. I’m quite enjoying the show.”

“She’s nearly finished.”

“Then you won’t mind waiting. Are you in charge of her wardrobe?” August nods, smiling as Ari looks only at you. “Make sure her tits are covered. I’m the only one that gets to look at them.”

“Sir?”

“I will pay extra to make sure she’s properly dressed for my tastes. In the private room she can wear whatever she prefers, or nothing at all. On that stage I want her covered. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do me a favor, quit pumping her nipples up. They look bruised. Perhaps you’re using too much suction, August?” You bow, and your arms immediately cover your chest as Ari stands up. Proving just how much taller than August he was. Ari’s shoulders are much more broad. Ari didn’t know why, but he loathed this man.

“I…her nipples need to stay hard.”

“Her nipples will be covered up for all of these people, but me. I can make them plenty hard on my own. You may show me the way to the private room.”

“It’s our finest room, sir.”

“I’m sure it is,” buying his time. That’s all he was doing. Waiting for the proper moment to strike. No one would ever find you, and they would never make you feel like meat again.

“Ari,” you whisper, walking into the darkened room. He was already comfortable and sitting on a couch, his legs spread out wide when he lifts his finger, instructing you to spin around. Unlike August’s demands, you obey promptly.

“C’mere, and remove your robe,” you let the silk slide off your skin, and only a shelf bra, and barely there panties decorated your body. Sashaying your hips as you walk closer to him. You are much more confident with just him. He’s even able to catch a glimpse of your velvety and glistening folds as you go to straddle his lap. Whoever chose this outfit needed a raise.

Settling on his lap, his hands circle around your ass, pulling you flush to his crotch, and you lean forward, kissing along his neck as you start grinding on him, “They want to kill you,” you whisper into his ear, leaning back off his chest, and placing your hands on his knees, you continue your motions. Those panties exposing more and more of you.

Your swollen tits did look good in your bra, and they were beckoning him to grab them. Giving you a pinch, you wince, making him stop immediately. “You’re bruised.”

“He left me in those things too long, and they were too tight.”

“I knew it. I’ve got,” you shake your head no, looking up at the camera again. “What is it that you want?”

“Make him pay for earlier,” Ari could feel his blood boiling already. He didn’t know who he was, but he did something to you. “Put on a show for him. He’s watching.”

“August?” You give him a small nod, reaching to move your panties aside, you are drenched. Your body still rolling over top of him. One look up at him, and you nod, giving him permission to touch you. “I won’t do this if you’re not okay with it.”

“If I wasn’t okay with it, I wouldn’t have my pussy spread open for you. I want him to pay.”

“This is only a business agreement.”

“Exactly,” you agree, moaning when his finger slides up your slit. Giving your clit a roll between his finger and thumb, he pushes two fingers into your core, and you are no longer pretending when you whimper at how well he fills you up with only two thick fingers. Looking down to watch him pumping in and out of you.

“Son of a bitch!” August hits the table, and slides his chair away from the screens. “Fucking whore!”

“Isn’t that her job?” Rita laughs. It served him right. August and Calvin could play their little games with you and Ari, but they were idiots. Wanted to start selling you because of Ari’s interest, and then get pissed off when he enjoyed his merchandise.

August looks back at the screen as Ari spits down into your hole, his other hand grabbing at your tender nipple, and pulls. Making you move closer to him. “Fuck my fingers, and tell me what they’re planning.”

With your body hunching over him, you lean into his neck, and no one was any the wiser as to what you were doing. No one could see your mouth moving, or what you were saying. All they could see was you rising and falling onto his fingers. Viewing your legs quivering as your walls clench tight around him.

“Growl all you want to, August. He paid for ‘the flesh in between her legs’. Now how will you ever stack up to him?”

“You’re a bitch just like she is.”

“And she’s the product, isn’t she? That’s what you and Calvin wanted. I believe she’s doing her job well. Enjoying herself in the process,” August grits his teeth when your head tilts back on your shoulders, and you ride over Ari like a crazed woman. Tits bouncing in his face when he sucks on one of your hardened buds. “Don’t be jealous. You can’t sell sex, and get jealous when people enjoy your wares.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Then quit getting hard.”

“Get out of here!” He yells, and Rita slowly backs away from him. He had an erection that needed to be tended to. He’s just thankful that all you were feeling was Ari’s fingers, and not something else. It was almost time.

Ari wipes at his beard as he gets into the car. Looking out in the city lights, “The house better be prepared. I need her out, and need myself to go missing. You’ll be in charge, but I’ll be the one driving. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” his assistant responds. Not making a comment about the state of Ari’s clothes, or the red bruises on his neck. Didn’t want to mention how Ari kept making excuses to have his hand near his mouth, or was constantly readjusting his pants. “What did you find out?”

“They want to overthrow me. Ahh,” he lets out an evil laugh, looking back at the Dirty Martini, “They’ve made an enemy of Dulce though. She wants blood.”

“She wants your dick.”

“And she can have it whenever she wants. But she’s much more valuable than that. Have a jet ready. We move tomorrow night.”

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @softsatnin @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @buckysteveloki-me @whimsyplaty92 @elrw24 @sunshine-midnight-rain @lovsalpkin

#underneath the city lights #ari levinson #mafia au #mafia!ari levinson #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x fem!reader #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x you #ari x dulce #ari levinson smut #chris evans #red sea diving resort #rsdr

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imkumichan · 2 years ago

Text

Call of Duty x Makima!Reader

Call of Duty with Dazai! Reader

Warning: MC’’s personality is based on Makima from Chainsaw-man.

took place after modern warfare 2022

“Captain price, you’ll meet my intel in the second’s safe house tomorrow”

Price, he must admit that the person he’s seeing in front of him right now is not what he imagined. A beautiful young woman with doll-like features wearing a dress shirt and black tie looking at him with her lips curved into a smile, which he noticed it doesn’t reach her eyes.

She was standing with both hands behind her back, with how young she looked, Price would not be surprised if she was a greenhorn in this field, but as good as Price could read people, he doesn’t see anything that could tell him if the woman was nervous. In fact, she seems relaxed and confident.

“Captain Jonathan Price”

a sweet, gentle voice coming out from her mouth, greeting his ears like a melody, he was sure, if he was a lesser man he probably would get slightly distracted by how alluring it was.

“Just Price is fine,” he said, noting how the young woman walking toward him. As she was coming closer, he then feels something is off with the woman, something about her just making him uneasy. And not many people could make him feel that. He then decided that he will ask Laswell about this woman before they will be working together with the rest of his team. He will test her himself if he needs to. He will make sure that there would be no more back-stabbing to his team.

“Looks like we’ll be working together until death do us part”

He wonders where Laswell found this woman.

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #cod mw x reader #mc with cunning and manipulative personability #will be hard to have a nice relationship with her #i mean... it's Makima lol

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ragingbookdragon · 2 years ago

Note

STOP THIS SHIT IS SO FUCKING CUTE OMG

hello! i'm pretty sure your requests are open but i'm not sure if your write for all the cod characters if possible could you write for a reader who does beauty pageants/is a beauty queen and is really famous because of it. Thank you!!!!!

ghost team/141 with a beauty queen s/o

tags: established relationships, reunions, fluff, jealousy, talks of death/kidnapping, no actual death or gore, general chaos

characters: simon, johnny, gaz, price, alejandro, rudy, farah

a/n: this wasn’t exactly specific so i’m assuming it’s their s/o, i’m sorry if that’s wrong 😭

✞———————❖———————✞

ghost

he never actually talks about you

if word got out at all he knows he’d be putting you in danger

so everyone in his squadron is surprised when they touch down and a beautiful woman is standing there

they’re immediately gossiping, accusing each other of holding back on a relationship status- no attention lands on simon

johnny genuinely thinks you’re gaz’s girlfriend due to how young and vibrant you look (which mildly offends simon- is he saying he looks old 😭)

gaz on the other hand thinks you could be dating alex or rudy- who immediately gets flustered whereas alex laughs and said he wishes

this annoys simon, so he walks away from them, towards you. no one seemed to notice- but when you call simon’s name excitedly and fling your arms around him they’re all stunned

johnny SPRINTS over, wanting to meet you and tease his friend- simon punches him in the arm

“you’re beautiful by the way, i’m johnny. so how long have you been seeing this grumpy ass- ow!”

simon rolls his eyes, whereas you shook johnny’s hand and met all his colleagues

of course, they all complimented you, giving you wide smiles and sweet words

simon feels a spark of jealousy, protectiveness- he wants to pull you away but that would be extremely out of character

you notice simon’s discomfort and hold onto his arm, deciding on telling them the basics such as your name, occupation, how long you’d been seeing simon and the fact you were his fiance

johnny and gaz go wild- literally trying to get more information- yet price pulls them back

“sorry about them. have a nice evening, ma’am. you too, si’.” he smiles, and simon finally gets to leave

pampers you over you pampering him- he loves taking care of you

washing your hair, cooking for you, all that domestic stuff drives him wild <3

will only allow you to give him a massage when he’s half asleep, lord knows he needs one- but he will allow you to wash the fading face paint from around his eyes and press kisses along his lips and face

he’s very happy to be back with you, hugging you tightly and swaying with you

if you came home with another trophy from a pageant he’ll congratulate you then say sorry for missing it- so many kisses, he’s so proud!!

johnny

OH MY GOD THIS BOY LOVES YOU SO MUCH

will NOT stop talking about you

shows many pictures of you to the team- they think he’s lying 😭

simon teases him about having a ‘fake girlfriend’

gets so defensive of you, if someone even tries to say your images are ‘photoshopped’ he goes off on one saying how they haven’t met you and how you’re really pretty!

as soon as he can, he gets you to meet his friends :)

he hates feeling like he’s leaving you out of things when he goes out with colleagues, so he finally brought you along when your schedule was clear and literally everyone nearly fainted from shock

“so johnny wasn’t lying, huh?” “seems that way.”

he’s so prideful- HE pulled YOU, he’s so proud and loves you so much

keeps an arm around your waist, leans into you, kisses your cheek- loves pda

he makes sure to watch EVERY single one of your pageants- he gets upset at other models trying to one up you

the others just thought he was really into it because he has 3 older sisters, but they didn’t actually know it was you in them so they were really mean about it 😭

LOVES helping you pick out costumes or outfits, LOVES IT

will beg to do your makeup- he was used as a model for his sister’s stuff when he was younger so he knows the basics about makeup

it’s a little sloppy tho, he doesn’t practice so you’ll look a little… off

if you had to join some sort of reality tv style beauty show, he will kick EVERYONE out of the rec room to watch every episode and records every episode he misses on his phone 🫶

he loves you so much and is so supportive

gaz

he’s only open about it if people ask him if he’s dating anyone

so of course, johnny being johnny, asks one day

“hey are you seeing anyone?” / “oh yeah, my girlfriend back homes waiting on me.”/ “WHY DIDNT YOU TELL US????” / “no one asked..?”

when he shows everyone a picture of you, they’re all so shocked

“y/n l/n??? are you sure?!” “nice try kid, she’s a literal celebrity” type attitudes all around

he silently plots to prove them all wrong

texts you asking to meet him when his mission is over ‘because he misses you’ when in reality he wants to rub it in his friends’ faces- he’s so mischievous

as soon as johnny sees you he trips and falls out the jeep- he thought he saw a ghost or smth

“baby!” you grin, engulfing your boyfriend in a hug. he twirls you around as you kiss his cheeks saying that you missed him

“i missed you too. come meet my friends.” he’s so sweet

smug little smile as you talk to everyone, holding your hand, eyeing each of their surprised faces with pride

his plan worked perfectly and he was in such a good mood

anyway- as a general lover, gaz is so sweet

he’s got some spare cash- so he likes to spoil you

literally loves buying you dresses or makeup palettes and accessories, even if you can buy it yourself

adores your pageants- doesn’t understand them, but watches them anyway just to see you smile

if you get all ‘oh don’t look at me, i haven’t got ready yet’ type of person, he puts a whole ass rule on the house saying you’re not allowed to dress up fancy- he wants to see you however you look because he loves you no matter what <3

price

is very secretive. more than simon. doesn’t want you getting tracked down, linked to him or worse

comes home silently in the dead of night and kisses your face gently

you wake up when he gets in bed, rolling over and hugging him tightly.

“you should of told me you got home” / “no, no. it’s okay. i don’t want anyone affiliated with me seeing you… you’re too precious.”

so protective, when someone recognises you in public he’s got a hand on your lower back- if anyone asks about him you literally just flat out say he’s your husband (because he is), as much as he doesn’t like it

he understands you may want to be public about your relationship, but he doesn’t want the wrong people seeing it and coming after you- it’s his worse nightmare

he’s literally had nightmares of you dying, is so paranoid sometimes that he forgets to relax and spend time with you

as badly as he wants to keep it under wraps… he loves you too much. if you wanna go to dinner, he takes you. wanna go shopping? sure, where do you wanna go?

loves pampering you, like the others, but his pampering is much more personal or gentlemanly (not that the others aren’t) he loves showering with you, zipping up the back of your dress, holding the door for you, etc

literally the definition of gentleman, he loves doing things for you

calls you beautiful and gorgeous every time he sees you

can’t always watch your pageants because he’s such a busy man, but he does his best- he definitely forgets everyone’s names and does not understand anything

alejandro

you were a big face in las almas, but no one in his life other than you, his and your families and rudy knew about him being your husband

johnny saw your face on a billboard modelling something and immediately was like “she’s so pretty omg??”

alejandro grew very jealous, but understood people would react that way to you a lot considering you’re a beauty queen

like price, he keeps everything under tight secret- he’s dealing with a literal cartel, he can’t say a peep about you in any presence in case the wrong person hears it- your life is literally on the line

when he’s home with you, gives you gentle kisses and hushed words on how much he loves you

as much as he wants a normal life, he can’t take you out to places, el sin nombre has eyes and ears everywhere and if the cartel were to see you it would mark you as a target immediately- however, he does want to take care of you and give you a semi-normal life

he goes out, buys takeout for you, little gifts, ect

loves how your eyes light up when you see him, it’s what he lives for

doesn’t get to watch any pageants you’re in, but loves hearing you talk about them and you’re experiences

hugs you tightly at night, he’s so protective and silently scared- he doesn’t want you to get hurt. his worse nightmare is waking up and you’re dead or missing

such a clingy lover, he’s so romantic too. he wants you to know he genuinely loves you

brings rudy around sometimes, it’s always lovely because you and rudy are like best friends (i.e sneaking off to plot a prank whilst alejandro is terrified thinking something happened to you)

he adores making homemade food for you, it’s one of his passions, not to mention his food is amazing and it’s the least he can do for you

gets so involved in any gossip you have, literally sits on the couch with you gossiping and expressing his feelings on the situation/drama

will repeat the gossip to rudy on missions because he’s awful with drama, loves talking about it (in spanish so the others don’t really understand it)

rudy

same as alejandro, he’s petrified something could happen to you

unlike alejandro, he loves going out to places with you

he’s a pushover too, if you wanted to go on a day out for your anniversary, he’s all there

keeps his pistol on him because he doesn’t want any trouble and wants to protect you

calls you his mariposa (butterfly) because he thinks butterflies are beautiful like you :,) <3

avid cuddler, yet he’s the one on your chest, head resting on you as you talk about all the drama going on with other models/beauty queens

adores you, stares at you with lovesick eyes because you’re just so pretty!!

doesn’t have a lot of money, but saves up a lot to buy you nice things :)

he’s reluctant, but after johnny nagging him he introduces you to the team- much to alejandro’s disapproval because he’s like your older brother and wants to protect both you and rudy

rudy will one hundred percent spend some time in and out of missions looking at pictures of you, you fuel him and give him a reason to fight to survive when he’s away

one hundred percent has a locket with your picture in it- the picture is of the two of you on your first anniversary with rudy smiling brightly and you kissing his cheek- but he isn’t stupid and leaves it at base just in case anything happened to him

watches your pageants on his phone, absorbs every drop of information so he can talk about it with you either on the phone or when he gets home

he’s such a dedicated lover too, spend so much time with you because you’re his favourite person :)

farah

gushes about you around base

like literally brags

“yeah that’s cool alex, but have you seen my girlfriend?” / “yes. as a matter of fact we all have”

rerun nights? rerun nights

will rewatch everything you’ve been in with you, face masks, junk food- she wants you to be a normal person outside of your ‘beauty queen standards’ that the company you’re under force onto you

never expects you to uphold those standards around her, she loves you and wants to let you be yourself <3

adores how you look no matter what- her gallery is full of candid shots of you and selfies of the two of you

nights out!!!! loves going out with you, especially if alex comes along because you guys are a triple threat

if you’re not from urzikstan like her, she wants to introduce you to her culture and wants you to do the same, loves cooking traditional meals for you and wants to know everything about your country

her wallet has pictures of you two in a photo booth, it’s her favourite things to show everyone around her

she CRAVES that domestic life with you, but also craves the chaos that comes with your fame

wanna chase paparazzi?? she’s leading the charge and will bark at people- she’s going the full mile

the public love her, they literally adore you two

interacts with your fans a lot too :) she loves watching them go wild when you post a pic of the two of you on a date night

#cod imagine #cod imagines #mw2 x reader #mw2 #farah karim #rudy parra #rodolfo parra #alejandro vargas #jonathan price #john price #john mactavish #soap #simon riley #ghost #kyle garrick #gaz

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l0velylecter · 2 years ago

Text

i vowed I would always be yours ( cause we survived the great war ) — captain john price / f!reader

— "my hand was the one you reached for, all throughout the great war"

BOUND BY HISTORY, from the redwood forests during the age of kings to the trenches of world war ii, your family has served his family for generations. And so the story repeats itself. Yet the small part of you that dared to hope had wondered if it would always stay this way. Deep in your bones, you know this longing: forbidden yet tethering on the edge of your control, waiting to reach out, to explode, ran deeper than ancient oaths. You were a product of a hundred years worth of longing, and if Price keeps standing this close to you — drowning you with the stench of bergamot and tobacco, you will snap.

summary : where the reader and price's families have fought alongside one another as kings and knights, and now as his sniper, you can't help but ache to be more. pairing : captain jonathan price / f!reader | codename : angel fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii rating : m for mature and suggestive themes, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, cursing, brief descriptions of sex tags : military!reader, afab!reader, female parts, references to knights and kings, price's family being kings, and yours being knights,”where you go, i follow” +“ she fell first but he fell harder” trope, brief themes of magical realism, scent kink lol, mentions of unrequited love, angst, hurt and comfort, first times, loss of virginity, mirror sex(ish), female masturbation word count : 4.5k note : font is normal sized under the cut ! song used for inspiration : the great war, taylor swift

" Bravo six, state your position. Over."

The creek beside you trickled down the stones, whistling past the grass. Static crept up your ear, competing with the heavy, ringing sound of silence.

" Angel to Bravo six, state your position. Do you copy? Over."

Your breath hitched at the absence of a reply. Switching off your night vision and flipping the goggles up, you let the night breeze kiss your eyelids: your vision straining as it tried to adjust to the darkness. Across you, the shadows stretched past the pine trees and eventually into nothing, the wind stilling with the bristle of leaves to hold its breath with you.

" Price ?”

You tried again, voice slightly wavering, " John ?"

" I'm here."

You quickly spun, arms raised as if to defend yourself. Yet his hands flew to steady your shoulders: clothed thumbs digging into your shoulder bone — " Easy there, Angel."

Sighing, you took a step back, briefly noting that you had been chest to chest. You looked to the right, focusing on the pine cones littered across the moss-covered ground to ignore the heady stench of cedar and amber; noticing how you scrunched your face, Price let out a chuckle, " Don't tell me you also hate this aftershave too."

" I never hated any of it," You quickly replied. Clearing your throat before fixing the sentence, " I don't hate it, sir."

" It's just the two of us now, (name). Comms are down. The forest's too dense to pick up anything, and a storm is brewing." He gestured to the sky, and although the clouds blurred together with the night, the wind pick up its pace: the chill sinking past your mask and jacket. " We should head back."

You nodded, adjusting the rifle against your back — the sound of your name instead of your call sign falling from his lips caused you to ease your shoulders, jaws unclenching as the tension slipped off your body like a coat. He let out a small smile, "Walk with me."

The silence was immediately interrupted by the flicker of the lighter against the cigar (already hanging between Price's teeth.) And as if you've done the motion a hundred — a thousand times, you reached out to cup your hands around his to block the wind. As always, he'd pull away with a thank you, leaving you to flex your fingers quietly as if to preserve the skin-to-skin contact, trapping the warmth to savor the brief moment.

Occasionally Price would comment on the weather or make small talk, but aside from that, it was just the sound of your boots crunching the thin sheen of snow — the branches above a shelter of extended limbs, your steps guided by the pale, gentle light. Your shoulders, brushing.

" We need to address the elephant in the room."

You bristled, steps faltering.

" What do you mean?"

Your breathing quickened. Despite years and years of training, when you're around Price, you can never help yourself. Bound by history, from the redwood forests during the age of kings to the trenches of world war ii, your family has served his family for generations. And so the story repeats itself. Yet the small part of you that dared to hope had wondered if it would always stay this way. Deep in your bones, you know this longing: forbidden yet tethering on the edge of your control, waiting to reach out, to explode, ran deeper than ancient oaths. You were a product of a hundred years worth of longing, and if Price keeps standing this close to you — drowning you with the stench of bergamot and tobacco, you will snap.

He leaned forward to your ear, chest grazing your back, " You're hiding something from me."

This close, you can practically taste him; whiskey, cedar — the scent crowded you from all sides. If he didn't choose that moment to slip his hand into your pocket to fish out the paper-wrapped object, you would have grabbed him by the face and —

" Care to explain ?"

You exhaled shakily, gesturing to the gift with your chin and mumbling lamely, " Happy birthday."

He searched your expression, leaning against a bark to unwrap it, ignoring the oncoming rumbling of thunder ahead; cigar nearly falling from how wide he smiled.

" A hat ?"

" You'll be heading to the midlands next week."

A bird perched on one of the branches above. Snow lightly dusted his hair.

" You shouldn't have, kid."

" That's what you say every year."

You suddenly feel an ache within your chest, a slow, dull pull that reminds you of what's to come: while it wouldn't be the first time you'd separate from each other, it will be the first time since you enlisted in the army that you'd be apart. And he was the reason you joined in the first place: to make up for the times you weren't there with him, starting from when you were too young to play football with the high schooler next door. You were both ships passing in the night, and now that you were both anchored to each other, the tides have come to drift you apart. It hardly seems fair.

It won't take longer than a year. He promised. If I'm lucky, I'll visit.

You tried to take his word for it, but it didn't remove the dread pouring off you — always observant, Price walked closer.

" Chin up. I'll come back."

The moon was beautiful that night, and so was the rain: it started with a drop on your forehead, followed by another, another, and soon you were caught under a deluge, pouring over the two of you. Yet you both stood your ground as if trying to savor this moment. Price only moved to unclip his cape to drape it over you, pulling the hood over your head before walking away to get a head start, ignoring your protests.

Looking back, you would have given anything to know what he was thinking that night, his eyes young, hopeful, and electric blue past the mist.

When you saw him again, his eyes were grey — sure, they were still blue, but under the streetlamp and peeking through the hat, they burned silver like steel: steady and sharp, burdened by hardship. So when his voice drops almost fondly, softly, to greet you, a familiar ache bloomed in your chest.

“ It’s good to see you again, kid.”

The words caught in your throat, the sentence you practiced in your head for years, dissolving into one stiff nod. And when he crossed the distance, the men behind him stood their ground to watch.

A heartbeat passed before he gestured to your — well, his cloak, " That old shabby thing can't possibly do you any good, sergeant."

He was right, you thought. Despite your best attempts at preserving it, the fabric was worn and old and falling apart by the seams, barely protecting you from snow, wind, or rain. Yet how do you tell him that it still faintly smells of the earth, of gunpowder, of him? And it didn't matter how many times you washed it: the faint, sweet fragrance still lingers; a phantom trick that keeps the yearning at bay. So you settled with a curt: " It gets the job done, sir."

You gripped the strap of your rifle, subtly resting the fist above your heart in a poor attempt to soothe it, and his gaze followed your subtle movements: eying the family crest. Realizing that he would probably want the heirloom back, you started to unclip it from your neck.

“ Don’t,” He ordered, and you obeyed. Fingers pausing.

“ Keep it. It looks better on you.”

You wanted to say so many things: to tell him that the beard suits him, that you still couldn’t believe this was real, that you’ve missed him to the point where your bones ached. With him towering over you with only a footstep away from being chest to chest, the saccharine smell hit you square in the stomach. This time you didn’t need to imagine him.

Rumors were questions going about you and Price. And only during rare moments like these did the questions begin to materialize in the air like clouds, heavy and unsaid, suspicion gathered like precipitation: waiting to pour out of everyone's mouths like rain. Throughout the entire interrogation, you stood by the entrance, quietly observing the scene unfold, not wanting to interfere. You only moved once the captor opened his mouth to spit on Price's face. Immediately, you pressed yourself to the front, ignoring your teammate's protests to hold the edge of your blade against his adam's apple, only lowering the weapon when Price placed a hand on your shoulder. An amused smile crept up the informant's face: thinking, suspecting, plotting.

" I'm impressed that you keep your dogs on a tight leash, Captain. Can't you do the same for your bitch ?"

You didn't know who shouted for Price to stop: it must've been either Gaz or Ghost, both men hauling him off the prisoner: the cracking of bone echoing down the walls. Kate had every right to be angry — He has diplomatic immunity, John! What the fuck were you thinking?

Next to you, Ghost crossed his arms together, taking shelter under the rooftop from the pouring rain, " Bastard would have died if we didn't cut a hole in his neck. A bloody nose makes it hard to bloody breathe, don't you agree, sergeant?"

His eyes narrowed as if to ask. No, as if he already knows and maybe even understands. Not knowing what to say, you chose instead to watch as blood: fresh and wet, trickled down Price's knuckles, slowly washed away by the downpour. ( You weren't worried, it wasn’t his blood.)

“ What’s his name?”

Almost immediately, Fahrah tucked the picture back into her pocket. Alert, her hand reached for her gun, only to relax once she saw you. Outside, the desert was tame under the full moon, breathing with each howl of wind rolling down the hills. That was her habit: when it seemed as if no one was looking, Fahrah would sit by the corner to rest her head against the wall, gaze zoning into the man by the very end of the group polaroid almost longingly.

“ Alex.”

“ My condolences.”

You shifted in place.

“ Do you miss him?”

She pursed her lips as if to think, but you knew it was because she didn't want to hear how easily the admission would slip past her lips as if his name was something she feared.

“ I do.”

On serene nights like this, when there wasn’t a single cloud to block out the moonshine, you were compelled to seek comfort in the presence of one of the only women on the team. And on the rare occasions where the noise fades with the rest of the battlefield, Fahrah lets you.

Resting her chin atop her knees, she put her novel aside: A Collection of Urzikstan Fables.

“ Do you believe in fairytales ?”

You let the words mull, sparing a few seconds to think, “ Sometimes I do.”

The comms were stagnant, quiet: a few stories wouldn't hurt, Fahrah suggested. And so you told her a story — the only story you had chosen to believe in: weaving a tale of kings and knights, where oaths are sacred, and crowns are heavy.

“ And did the knight love his king?”

You pictured a knight cradling her majesty's body on the forest floor, unmoving and ruined by grief. You imagined a trooper limping past the minefields with his captain on his back, body: broken yet persevering through the pain. You thought of Price bleeding out in your arms, eyes blue and blood red.

“ Very much.”

“ But did the king love her back?”

You laughed as if the answer was obvious, “ No.”

“ Why not?”

“ They say kings were often needed elsewhere, and sometimes, they were needed in places where knights can’t follow.”

" Well that's hardly fair, isn't it?"

Her voice was sad, sorry even. You tugged the cloak closer to around your body.

" No, it’s not."

Once Gaz had asked you how to tell if Price was angry. You told him it was easy: if he starts cursing and throwing chairs, he's angry. But if he stays quiet, then he’s furious. You’ve seen Price make threats and shove tables in retaliation, but you’ve never quite seen him like this — jaws clenched and eyes burning. Silent throughout the car ride back to base. He couldn't even bring himself to look at you.

" I told you to take the shot."

He spat through gritted teeth.

" I could have hit you.” You reasoned, “It was too risky, sir."

" Don't fucking sir me, (name)! Not now! " His fist collided with the metal table as he pushed himself off the chair, the table dragging against the stone floor. " I trusted you to take out the enemy, no matter the cost."

Your frown grew deeper as you looked back on the last few hours. You could still feel the wind against your ears, rushing past you as you supported your elbows against the ledge. With a finger against the trigger, you shouted against the comms for someone — anyone, to come and pry the captain away from the enemy. Yet no one came, and Price was directly in front of the target's body, looking straight into the crosshairs and ordering you to shoot.

" I can't."

" Can't or won't?" He challenged, stalking forward to crowd you against the wall, "Answer me !"

" I won’t hurt you! "

His eyes flickered to the fresh cut across your cheek, dripping blood down your chin. The consequence of your reluctance: an opposing sniper had aimed his rifle right at you. His copper bullet zoomed past your temple and knocked you backward. And Price was shouting from afar when Soap had come to collect you back inside the chopper; From below, it looked like a headshot.

" And because of that, you could have...people could have been hurt tonight. You let him go, and he will kill civilians — children! "

" I..." You struggled to find the right words. While there hadn't been any reports of casualties, civilians within a fifty-mile radius were currently under evacuation, the sound of helicopters in the distance creeping past the windows.

The corners of your eyes burned.

" I'm sorry."

He tore himself away from you, a hand wiping down his tired face: crestfallen, his voice was low and angry.

" Don't make yourself a liability on my fucking behalf because if it was up to me and you were down there, you bet your arse, I would have pulled. that bloody. trigger. Do I make myself clear?"

When you gave no reply, Price stormed out of the room, and only an hour later did you finally find the strength to follow suit.

The helicopter rocked sideways, dipping past the clouds before catching itself. You already have your arm extended, reaching for Price. Yet his expression told you to stay put because the fire was growing by the minute. But you were crying: nearly hysterical the moment Gaz placed an arm over your waist to hold you in place. You thrashed and kicked and begged him to let you go after the captain on the other side, feet tangled in one of the seatbelts.

The chopper won't hold. There wasn't enough time.

When he finally cut himself free, the helicopter was already plummeting, and in the small timeframe where he could've leaped to grab your arm, his hands slipped past the tips of your fingers. Within seconds, he had plunged past the smoke and into the waters — your screams swallowed by the blaring alarms.

By the time you pry your eyes open, you were already gripping someone’s forearm, bracing yourself to hurl and cough the water out of your lungs. A set of familiar hands pulled your hair back, running down your nape in a shaky, soothing motion, “ You broken?”

You didn’t need to lift your head to know it was him, “ N-no sir.”

With your vision still blurred, you can’t see past the haze, and sensing this, Price moved his hand against your face to swipe his thumb over your eyelashes. In the background, the engine from the helicopter exploded, sending debris into the ocean. The tides might have been causing havoc underneath you, rattling the metal beams, but for now, above the oil rig: you were both safe. By the time you were fully conscious, the enemy plane was already sinking halfway down the Atlantic, allowing Price to lift your body against his chest to carry you inside.

Seizing the moment, you began to sob, tears pouring down your cheek because you knew the seawater would wash it away: salt and smoke, burning the small incision.

Similar to the hull of a ship, the room creaked and faintly rocked sideways with the tides, the storm above barely letting in any light. None of you spoke, yet you could sense it: you just wished you knew what he was thinking.

After three hours and a half, with rolls of gauze scattered everywhere, you snipped the fourth and last wound. Price let out a curse, the sharp hiss ringing down the hallway and nearly causing him to drop his cigar. You spared one last look at the old scars littered across his torso, a pang of guilt ringing in between your chest. He pushed himself to sit up.

" You couldn't have done -"

" I could have saved you," You interrupted.

" If I had known sooner, I would have come for you."

You pictured Price, beaten and bleeding all over the dank and dirty prison cell, enduring weeks and months of torture. The regret was wrung out of your heart and into your words, " They shouldn't have separated us."

Thunder rumbled overhead, the wind howling and spraying against the glass. When his gaze softened, the silver in his eyes melted into cobalt. No longer angry, his eyes burned softly instead: warm and apologetic.

" Why are you here, kid?"

" I...I want to be with you."

There was no use in lying. Yet Price remained unconvinced, slipping a hand against your jaw to lift your chin. Still kneeling beneath him, you inhaled sharply at the sight of Price looking down.

" Because of some bedtime story your parents used to tell you before bed? Fuck tradition, love. I doubt this is what it's all about."

" Why are you here?" He repeated.

Again, you not knowing what to say, you stayed quiet with his face dangerously close to yours. Even with the soot and salt on his skin, you can still smell him : tobacco earth oppressing you, speeding up your heartbeat.

" Because you're my friend, John."

" Aye. That I am," He whispered, voice dropping and breath warm against your cheek. You shivered, hands clutching his shoulders to keep yourself upright when he pulled you against his chest: bodies flushed. “ But when I ask you a question, sergeant.”

There was a weight in the pit of your stomach, a growing heat that fluttered — pulsed.

“ I expect a proper answer.”

Everything moved so quickly, his hands, his mouth — and you should really tell him to slow down, but not when he has you against the wall, an arm next to your head while a hand angled your face to him: lips warm and feverish against yours. Only when he pushed his tongue past your teeth did you still, making him pull away. The aroma of bergamot grew stronger around you. Price's brows knitted before it dawned on him.

" Is this your first time?"

With his knee pressed against your crotch, your nipples hardened against his chest, and the thin cotton fabric of your t-shirt did nothing to hide the heat, the want. For a minute, Price did nothing, and from your peripheral, you can sense him staring. You braced for him to leave, but instead, he trailed his lips up your neck, a hand against your throat — thumb skimming your pulse.

" Bloody. Tell me to stop, and I will."

With that, he went back to kissing you, slower this time. Each move was calculated and deliberate. All those nights you spent wondering, yearning, craving leading up to this very moment. His fingers tugged your hair, and you sighed, overwhelmed by emotions and pure fucking pleasure. You pulled away to breathe, letting him pepper kisses against your collarbone while you moaned.

" Have you been imagining this ?" He whispered: voice dangerously low.

You imagined all those times you stood on the sidelines to observe — standing beside him, yet always at arm's length. " Did you ever touch yourself thinking about me, love?"

Your cunt clenched at that, not knowing how to tell him that the night after he gave you his cloak, you had laid in bed with your legs spread open: fingers experimentally probing, pushing past the wetness. You had wrapped yourself in nothing but the fabric and fucked yourself til morning, hands sore and body vaguely reeking of palm leaf the next day.

As if hearing your thoughts, he pulled you down by the waist to the flat surface of his knee, the friction from your jeans causing you to whine.

" Answer me."

" I- I did."

He maneuvered you onto the steel bench, and across you was the locker room's long, full-body-length mirror. With your back against his chest, he spread your legs apart, helping you peel back your clothes. He lazily ran his hand down your side, prying your arms away when you subconsciously covered your chest, the other finding its way across your neck to tilt your head up.

" Then show me."

Without thinking, you brought one hand to the cleft between your thighs, using an index finger to part the folds. You slid a finger in slowly, and Price watched, digits finding your clit before rubbing it in circles. You closed your eyes, cheeks wet with tears: body tense and mouth open to let out a high-pitched whine.

" Always so obedient. Always so good. You've been saving yourself for me, haven't you, sweetheart?"

All you did was give him a nod, making some kind of needy sound at the back of your throat. “Please, John.”

Price cursed under his breath when he watched your second finger slowly disappear inside your hole. Not able to resist, he pushed his finger inside, causing you to unconsciously grind your hips: feeling a little ashamed when you sensed his digit curl inside to slowly massage the roof of your — " Jonathan, please."

Hearing him groan against your ear made you shiver, the warmth further spreading throughout your stomach.

“ Patience, love. Patience.”

You found it ironic that he was telling you to wait. After more than a decade’s worth of silent pining, you were more than entitled to have him bend you over the chair, but you know he wouldn’t do that. He’d take his time to stretch you open, exploring, savoring, and by the time you opened your eyes to look in the mirror: blue, clouded eyes that were akin to diving into a storm stared back.

“ Look at you, always taking care of me. And who takes care of you, eh?”

He was touching you everywhere, the stimulus too much for you to handle: you understand it now. This was raw and unbridled desire pouring out of a man tired of holding himself back. And when you trapped his wrist between your thighs, body seizing and clamping down, Price grabbed one of your nipples and pinched it with his free hand, making you arch back. With a grunt, he tried to ease you off the orgasm, whispering words of encouragement against your nape.

“ Don’t worry. I got you. I got you.”

The rain was starting to lull, the clouds dispersing to make way for the moon. And in the darkness, you adjusted your eyes to make out his silhouette. With your body propped up against your elbows, you were entranced, unable to look away as he undid his belt in one fluid motion. To have him kiss up your thigh had you moaning into your arm. Even from this position, he still oozed control, his eyes alight and electric. Nails clipped short and digging against your hips.

And when he had eased himself inside of you, slowly, gently, with so much restraint as not to hurt you, tears were still coming out of your eyes. Your fingers dragged down his back as you fluttered around his cock.

" Shhh, easy now," He groaned. And as you inhaled the smell of sex and musk and him, your body ached for more — even when he buried himself at the hilt.

And somewhere in the midst of him pistoning in and out of you, you had confessed: urgently, desperately, the words crashing down along with your high; bodies, sliding against each other.

" I..." He trailed off, still panting as he pulled you close, heartbeat pounding against your back, " I’ve always known.”

He held you close, nose buried into your shoulder, " That night... I didn’t mean what I said. Fuck, love, I thought I nearly lost you."

" Me too," You sobbed, threading your fingers down his hair, " Earlier today...John, don't go where I can't follow. Please."

His grip around you tightened. Under the shadows, your breathing was loud, fighting with the blood rushing past your ears. Yet the moment he nodded, you immediately relaxed against the sheets, relief interweaving itself between the serene silence of the room.

By morning, his touch still lingered down your spine: one of the many reminders of last night. And when you found the space next to you empty, a shot of panic had woken you, followed by a wave of sadness. Just as it was about to melt into pain, the door swung open to reveal him: already dressed with two cups of coffee in his hand.

Past the window, the sunrays drenched the room gold. The ocean was clear and bright in the distance.

“ Bravo six, to Angel, are you in position? Over.”

You adjusted the earpiece before repositioning yourself over the brick ledge, pulling back the hood of your cape to allow for better aim.

“ In position, sir. Over.”

“ You have my back, sergeant?”

You let a faint smile creep up your lips.

“ Always, sir.”

a/n : to be fair, i believe i can do better with this : it was rushed and it has been sitting in my drafts for ages so i apologise if the plot is too quick and somewhat disorganised, i suck at making long fics 🤣 but i just have to go through with this idea because it has been scratching my brain for ages ! i hope you all still enjoyed it, and i hope he wasn’t ooc or misread as a character in this piece <3 notes : → the great war by taylor swift has so many other lines / verses that fits specifically to this fic i highly recommend everyone to listen to it while reading this ! → in medieval times, knights will receive a form of token from their kings or queens to carry as a blessing. It could be a piece of clothing, which in this case, is the cape gifted from price to you. → yes, alex was fahrah’s knight 🥺 → the folklore i read usually also describe knights as hunters/trackers, hence the strong sense of smell. Price assumed you hated how he smells like based on your strong reactions. False, you were incredibly confused and turned on every time. this is also for the bestie @nfr89s because you’re daddy price’s & taylor’s number one fan 😻☝🏻

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