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elysianightsss · 9 months ago

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Another sweet sweet price thot💋

Okay but let’s talk about Mountain man Price. He retired a few years ago and decided he much prefers the solitude of the beautiful mountains, with the tips of them all covered in snow. He likes the quiet, knowing he won’t run into anyone here. No one from the little town at the bottom of the mountains would be brave enough to hike the mountain trail.

He remembers the day he built his nice log cabin with the help of his trusty lieutenant of course. Simon helped his Captain one last time, before parting ways. Price wanted to be alone, after everything he’d experienced in the military, he wanted it to be just himself and the weather to keep him company.

He’d have the survival skills no doubt about it, but the more time he spent up there the more his social skills began to fade away. He’d have to come down every six months or so to restock his food, he make his trip down the hike trail to the little town at the bottom of the mountains and through the woods.

But the shop workers weren’t his biggest fans. He’d practically clear them out of their stock, the poor little local shop. They didn’t like his attitude either, found him strange and unapproachable. Though that’s exactly what John was going for. The less people that spoke to him, the better.

Until he met you of course.

It was only your second week at your new job, you’d just moved to the little town around a month ago and this was the only job available after some woman called Darlene went of maternity leave.

My gosh the way you’d be so nice to him having no idea the stigma that surrounded him and how suprised he’d be at the kindness you showed him. He’d actually look forward to coming down to the town.

He’d come more often as well, saying he’d ran out of supplies and yet he’d only buy a bag of fruit or some meat. Then he’d start to tidy up his appearance too, trim his over grown beard and moustache back to its former glory. The blush that would spread across your cheeks the first time you see him like that.

Hair trimmed too, you’d be able to see his perfect lips and crooked smile. It provoked a feeling in you that you’d long forgotten. Slowly but surely he’d start trying to flirt. Trying. Though you found it endearing how bad he was at it. Finally though he’d succeeded asking you out on a date and fuck the moment he’d turn up in his dark blue jeans, black shirt and dark brown leather jacket and boots. You swooned.

He had the charm turned on, especially after his phone call with his ex team. They could all hear how nervous their former captain was for this date. It made them very intrigued to meet you one day.

John didn’t miss a beat, almost as if he’d laid this date out like a mission. Going step by step to win your heart. He made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt, made you smile until your cheeks ached. Ordered the food and drinks impressively, no umming or stuttering.

He gave you butterflies when he reached over the table to grab your hand in his larger one. The skin was rough and calloused, but it felt amazing against your hand. He loved how soft your skin felt against his. He traced around the palm of your hand with his thick index finger, those gorgeous ocean eyes gazing into your soul.

After dinner, John took you to a local bar that you were pleasantly surprised with. A few drinks later you tipsily confessed how handsome you thought he was. The longer the evening went on, the more longing looks and teasing touches were shared.

The evening ended with the two of you slow dancing until last call. The way your bodies pressed together, the intimacy and warmth. The way he’d always make eye contact, almost as if he was trying to read you. The way he held you so tender yet tight, his large hands on your body. It all just felt so right.

John walked you home, looking so sad when it was time to part ways. “Please, let’s do this again sweetheart.” When your manager Billy had called you that, it made you feel sick. Had the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, disgust shivering down your body. But when John said it, damn. Your body shivered in delight, the deep mumble entangled with that delicious accent of his made you gulp back a lump in your throat. You swear your underwear was a little wet too.

You nodded leaning forward to kiss his cheek goodnight, John was quick to take your cheeks into his hands and press his wanting lips against yours. He was hungry and almost vicious when he kissed you, it made you wonder what kind of lover he was like as he pressed you against your front door and kissed you like he’d never get the chance again.

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rejectedbytheempty · 1 month ago

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from the dirt we rise ch. 2

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 1.9k

cw: your boyfriend is an asshole, again

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

when nathan got out of the car, you realized that this was actually the second time today that you had forgotten about him, too busy talking with john to remember your literal boyfriend a couple of feet away.

“this is the place?” nathan asked incredulously, “looks kind of busted up.”

you stiffened at his rudeness and were about to apologize when you heard john laugh, “yeah, this is the place, i keep telling them it could do with a paint job.”

you all walked over to the open garage doors and john yelled out, “soap, ghost, get your asses out here. you have customers.”

you heard a dull thunk, a grunt of pain and then looked down to the ground to see a man with a mohawk roll out from underneath a car. he rubbed his head to soothe the angry red spot now forming on his forehead but there was still a lopsided grin on his face and mischief sparkling in his bright blue eyes.

“cap’n, bringin’ us guests? you shouldnae ‘ave” he looked over at you and nathan, his grin growing a bit wider when he spotted you. “och, and who’s the lass?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows at john, who looked sternly at him, “soap, behave.”

soap just shrugged making john sigh, but he continued, “found her and her boyfriend on the side of the road, her car’s dead, told them you could fix it. oh, and that you’d give them a friends and family discount.”

he shook his head and you worried that he wouldn’t be willing to do the job, or that this apparent kinship to john didn’t extend to people he found on the side of the road. then he said, “wouldnae be right, makin’ a bonnie lass pay a cent.”

“johnny, you can’t give free repairs to every pretty girl that comes in, we’d go out of business,” said a man as he walked into the garage, wiping his hands with an oily cloth.

“simon, finally joining us, then?” john said. “had to order some parts,” simon shrugged. simon was huge, big muscles, even taller than john, he had close-cropped blonde hair and he wore a black surgical mask but it didn’t stop him from leaning over to kiss johnny on the head through the material. out of the corner of your eye, you saw nathan cringe slightly at this action, but maybe he just didn’t like pda, he had mentioned something a while ago about it grossing him out.

simon’s words broke you out of your thoughts and you turned back to him, he had asked something about if this had been a reoccurring issue.

“oh, no, this is the first time it’s done anything like this. sure, it’s not the best car, but it’s never up and gave up before.”

simon scratched his chin and nodded as you spoke, “you mind if i take a look then?” you shook your head, “go ahead,” and you handed him your keys.

“actually, i know some stuff about cars, think i could take a look with you?” nathan spoke up, making you raise an eyebrow.

“since when?” you said, making both johns laugh, and it even got a small chuckle out of simon.

nathan’s face went red, “i- i know plenty about cars, you don’t know everything i do.”

“come on then, maybe you can do my job for me” simon said, walking over and practically scruffing nathan, leading him towards your car.

“so you two were in the force with john?” i asked. the three of you had settled in the air-conditioned office of the repair shop and johnny had made you tea, despite your insistence on it being unnecessary.

“aye. me, lt, and cap’n were all on the same task force. until i almost got murked, that is.” soap emphasized this by pointing to the giant star-shaped scar that marked the side of his shaved head.

“lt retired then too, had to take care of my sorry ass for a long while. then cap’n retired too, moved here-“ “yeah, and you two followed me here, so you could keep being pains in my ass” john grumbled, but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

“he really does love us, ye ken?” johnny stage whispered to you. john just shook his head, his smile growing.

“so, that just leaves one o’ us still in the force, our boy gaz. he’s a lieutenant now, ugh, they grow up so fast” johnny wiped away a fake tear.

“he still visits us old folk from time to time,” john said to you which made soap practically squawk in protest.

“awa' an bile yer heid, i’m a spring chicken compared to you two old heads” he pointed at john and then outside the window where simon stood with nathan at the car, the latter looking very emasculated.

“john calls you soap, was that your nickname?” you asked, suddenly curious.

johnny grinned in response, his annoyance fading away, “aye, it’s an inside joke between us. sorry lass, i couldn’t tell you even under threat of torture.”

“hm, alright, well, do you all have nicknames? unless you’re not allowed to tell me that either” you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“och, ye found yourself a feisty bird, price,” soap laughed as he looked over at john.

“she’s not mine, remember?” he looked pointedly at johnny.

“aye, i do now. she’s with that weird looking fellow?” johnny said with such seriousness that it made you burst out into laughter, even if it was making fun of your boyfriend.

“oh god, i shouldn’t be laughing, that is so mean” you said between giggles which made soap smirk,

“he could do with being knocked down a peg or two. the bell above the door rung as nathan stepped inside, quickly followed by simon, “speaking of” soap murmured, his face shifting into a scowl.

“bad news, babe, he said it would take at least three days to fix the problem since we’d have to order a part from somewhere else,” nathan grumbled.

your face fell, “oh no, but what about the dinner with your parents?”

he shrugged, “i don’t know, i’m gonna have to call them or something.” you bit your lip, “right, okay. ugh, i’m sorry, i know you were looking forward to it.” “i knew we should’ve taken my car” he practically spat out, and you just barely stopped yourself from reminding him he insisted on taking your car.

“you could take my truck?” john offered and your gaze softened as you looked over at him, “that’s really nice of you-“ “we are not taking that thing to my parents’, it’s probably worse off than her car and we’ll be back to square one. let’s find a hotel or something and stay there until we figure something out.”

nathan apparently didn’t notice the cutting glares that both simon and johnny were giving him, not liking that someone was disrespecting their captain.

“you’re shit out of luck then, not gonna find a hotel anywhere around here” simon said, his voice had gotten lower, if that was possible, almost a growl. john looked between the two men, something in his eyes somehow conveying for them to back down because they settled slightly.

“you two can stay at my place until the car is fixed,” john turned to face nathan, “if that isn’t going to be a problem?” nathan glanced between the three men, who all stared patiently at him, almost like they were stalking their prey and waiting for the moment to strike.

“that would be fine” he said after a moment’s consideration, making john smile, his angry countenance fading away like clouds passing in front of the sun.

simon and johnny decided to close up shop early and drive with us to john’s house, figuring they could stay for dinner as well. plus, someone needed to drive nathan, otherwise he’d be stuck in the bed of the truck with all the other things simon had unloaded from your car. however, nathan did insist that you rode with him this time, him sitting in the front of simon’s car, you in the backseat and simon driving.

“so, what was your nickname on the force?” you broke the silence.

he eyed you through the rear view mirror, raising an eyebrow, “who said i had one?”

you fidgeted with your hands, worried you’d upset him, “well, i guess i shouldn’t have assumed but since johnny had one, i thought you all would.”

he just laughed, “sorry, love, just messing with you. i did have one, callsign was ghost.”

“ghost? hell kind of name is that?” nathan asked from the passenger seat.

“means you’d never see me coming” simon growled out, making nathan flinch slightly.

he laughed nervously, “that’s.. that’s a joke right?” simon just glanced at him, eyeing him up and down, and then turning back to the road. nathan didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride.

when simon turned onto john’s property, your mouth practically hung open. it was beautiful, like out of a story book. a two story english farm house with aged bricks, half engulfed by vines and surrounded by lush gardens. simon chuckled and you realized in an embarrassing moment that he was laughing at you and your dazed, open expression.

quickly, you shut your mouth with your hand and cleared your throat, “it’s, um, it’s a beautiful place, is all.” you stepped out of the car, after simon opened the door for you (who knew he was such a gentleman) and watched as john did the same.

“it’s gorgeous” you remarked to him, fairly certain you still had a starry-eyed look to your face.

he just shrugged, “could do with some work, for sure” but even through the dismissive comment, you could tell he was proud of his home.

turning back, you saw nathan, sour-faced. you let out a small sigh, ‘can’t wait to find out what that’s about,’ you thought, grimly.

“i’ll get yer bags for ye” johnny said, an impish grin on his face, making you wonder if he was going to go snooping in your stuff but you just thanked him and watched as he disappeared into the house.

“i’ll go make sure he behaves” simon said gruffly, following after him. you did notice that johnny had specifically only grabbed your bags, leaving nathan to contend with his own, and in the deepest part of your mind, that made you just a little happy. you shook that thought away, ‘no, that’s your boyfriend, do not laugh at him.’

he pushed past you, grumbling something about these men all being assholes, pausing every so often to shift the bags in his grip.

“think he needs help?” john asked, startling you slightly. you didn’t even notice him walking up even though he was standing right next to you.

“oh! uh, maybe, but he’ll be fine. he can handle it” you said, and then flushed slightly, “i’m sorry, that was mean.”

john just chuckled, “sweetheart, i don’t think you have a mean bone in your body.”

that made you flush even more, hiding your face by turning your head slightly, “i wouldn’t say that, exactly, but thank you.”

you froze slightly when he put his hand on your waist, “ready to go inside? or you gonna keep staring at the outside for a couple more hours.”

“right, yeah, let’s go in, sorry.” you tried to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest as he used his arm behind your back to guide you towards the house. christ, this was looking to be a long day.

a/n: ok yay!!! pt. 2!! haven’t written this much in a long time ngl 😭 yet again, no beta reader, so this is very much unedited, sorry. really wish i could’ve put gaz in this but it didn’t really make sense that he would retire as well :/ but maybe he’ll make an appearance later!! i’ll think of smth..

tag list: @the-disaster-in-waiting

@night-girl-301

@darkangel4121

#john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x reader #captain johnathan price #farmer!price #price x f!reader #cod x reader #cod fics #fluff #fluff fic #will they won't they #soap mactavish #ghost simon riley #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soap cod #ghost cod

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celestialprincesse · 11 months ago

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🪻💌

More Price being fucking whipped for his wife!!!

nsfw below the cut 🪻 mdni

She's so utterly spoiled by him, like to the point where he'll see her looking at something in a shop window or her ears perk up at an ad on the TVY&? and it's on their doorstep the next day.

When they move into their home together, he refuses to let her lift a finger. He makes her sit on the couch and choose paint samples whilst he builds furniture and brings the boys in to help with the heavy lifting.

He buys her flowers all the time because she likes to keep the house feeling fresh and vibrant. He comes home with takeaway coffees, a patisserie bag between his teeth and a massive bouquet of flowers which match the colours in their home.

Their wedding was fairytale material, held in some beautiful manor in the countryside with all of their friends and family there. Yes, Gaz, Soap and Ghost were his groomsmen.

They go somewhere quiet and warm on their honeymoon - Bali or somewhere similar, where they can spend days soaking up the sun sea and sand.

Something about being a married man just really sets a fire blazing in his belly, and they've barely even got the door to their luxury villa closed when he pounces, going on about how he 'needs to fuck his Mrs.'

Obviously he's wanted to have kids for the longest time, and he sees having two weeks with nothing to do but swim, sunbathe and fuck as the perfect opportunity.

He grips her hand when he's literally balls deep inside, with her on the verge of tears just to look at the way her ring sparkles in the light of the setting sun.

He calls her 'Mrs Price' or 'My Mrs' "My woman' etc whilst they're fucking just to hear the way her mewls get louder and how her pussy flutters around him.

He'll cum inside and then slot a fancy hotel pillow under her hips to make sure that not a drop of potential is wasted. Afterwards he'll order basically the entire room service menu and hop back on the bed to put on her favourite show or movie.

When she does get pregnant, he's practically got an entire nursery built in a day.

He also becomes like a thousand times hornier, something about seeing his woman, knowing she's carrying his child makes him go totally feral.

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tojisun · 5 months ago

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john finds love again there, in the palms of his mistress. she is a lot younger, all bright-eyed with untamable dreams. she speaks and the words fall like honey; like nectar, or ambrosia, and john pulls away always starved — his mouth bubbling with froth, his eyes razor-sharp to try to find where else can he place his mouth, needy for even just a drop.

he waxes in her presence. she laughs and giggles, tiny trills of beautiful chimes. john never gets tired of the way she sounds; of the way music pulls from her throat, spilling into the canvas they've made on the bed, and permanently etching the vibrato on his heart until john feels like he is twenty-one again, getting his first tattoo on a drunken whim.

she makes him feel young.

she makes him feel old. she dances to songs that john doesn't recognize. the tempo in them is a lot faster, the lyrics packed with metaphors he can't understand, but she pulls him into her space anyways, moulding the two of them together, and he finds that he didn't even need to worry — they have a rhythm pulsing within them and she coaxes it out with such strong familiarity, he forgets that there are years he's spent, a lonely voyage, before her soul was even formed.

he is complete with her, and the admission feels wrong like a confession made from within the flesh of a church. he knows there is penance to be made — his wife, greying with him, had long since pulled away — but he also knows that when he chooses, when he is asked to recite the lord's prayer, there is only one person john would think about. there is only one name that would itch the tip of his tongue, begging to be sounded out.

that night, he pulls her close, breathing her in. she smells like dew and ozone, and sweet chamomile.

"do you want to run away with me?" he asks, only half-joking because john may not be an honest man but he knows she deserves an honest love, so he will forge it from the shards of his broken home and sand down his edges so she can melt into him softly.

but she huffs, pressing her cold nose on the cut of his jaw — but she huffs, finding peace in his chaos — and says, "i thought you'll never ask."

the better half of his soul, there, meeting him in between.

#john price x reader #f!reader #price x f!reader #john price #suns #UHHHH yea i dont even know. i just wanted to break out of my writing slump so heres an attempt :/

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sageyxbabey · 10 days ago

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Every Move You Make

MDNI John Price x Fem!Reader | your husband likes to watch you

Inspired by @the-californicationist who so graciously tagged me with the idea "Price comes home and watches you finger yourself." Teehee c:

WC: ~900 (this is entirely not proofread it might be a bit shit i'm so sorry)

CW: none, really. just mutual masturbation and piv

At last, you allow yourself to melt onto your sheets. Freshly showered and free from work for the day. You should have two hours until your husband makes it home. More than enough time to help yourself release a bit of… pent-up tension. You wriggle your pants off, graceless in your exhaustion, and begin circling your fingers gently over your clit. No need to rush.

You’re finally in the throes of your pleasure, that slow build of warmth and electricity in your core just beginning to culminate into something absolutely delicious, when–

You jolt at the shift in weight at the end of the bed. Eyes flying open, you lock gazes with your husband, one knee resting on the mattress but otherwise preternaturally still, like a wolf waiting for his prey to bolt. He’s early.

“John,” you pant.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t mean to startle you.” His rumbling voice is almost as dangerous as the smile slowly spreading across his face. “Don’t stop on my account.” He moves slowly, sinking his other knee into the bed and shifting forward until your thighs lay over his.

You don’t move, enthralled by the look on your husband’s face. He’s so very hungry.

Normally, John would have slapped your hands aside by now and taken over for you. Wasn’t that one of the benefits of having a partner? Orgasms that you didn’t have to give yourself?

He raises an eyebrow, looking between your face and your glistening cunt, “Well? I want to see the show I almost missed out on,” he grumbles.

Ah, it was going to be like that today.

Your fingers dip into the slick arousal pooling at your entrance before returning to dance over your clit. Your eyes never leave John’s face, but his stare is fixed upon the movements of your hand, licking his chops. He hums, big hands stroking over the sensitive skin of your thighs, soothing you like a wild animal. He’s burning you alive, you just know it. Every nerve ending lights up at his touch like iron filings following the pull of a magnet. There’s no stopping the moan that crawls out of your throat, and your pussy clenches pitifully around nothing.

Empty, empty, empty.

You need your husband. You need your John inside you.

When you’re finally considering begging, you watch him bend his head forward. “Stop,” he says.

‘Thank fuck,’ you think. At last, your husband is going to take care of it, and you can relax–

You hear him spit. You feel wetness land on your clit and meander down to your opening.

“Alright,” he whispers with a short nod, “Continue.”

You blink at him owlishly, frustration building with each pulse of arousal through your swollen clit. It’s only now that you realise John has shucked his work trousers down to the mid-thigh without your notice, one large hand fisted tightly around his cock. You tease yourself again, this time with the wet gift he has provided you, and his hand starts to move.

You stop. He stops. You speed up, he speeds up.

He smirks, a low chuckle escaping him. He looks like a dragon billowing smoke. “Thank you for finally catching on, love, I was worried you’d leave me to play all by myself.” That smile from earlier turns into a full-on grin, just a little too toothy to be innocent.

Dangerous, your husband.

That’s okay. You’ve always liked it when he puts those teeth around your neck.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you sigh. His eyes snap to your face for a moment at your words, before they focus back on his prize. “I’ll always play with you,” you croon. Your free hand trails a path from your knee to your centre, one fingertip circling lazily around your entrance. Your husband’s eyes narrow viciously.

“Don’t,” he growls. His hand stills on the base of his cock, watching. Waiting. Hunting.

You laugh and thrust two fingers inside yourself.

You barely get to crook them before John snaps, massive paw wrenching your hands from your flesh, notching himself against your cunt before sliding home in one smooth stroke. You’re not laughing now. You’re shrieking.

“You little fucking minx, you just couldn’t help yourself. Are you happy?” He asks, the weight of his hips pinning you open beneath him like a butterfly under glass. You’re grinning like the cat that got the cream, cheeks burning with mirth. Your husband chuckles darkly at the sight.

“Of course you’re fucking happy.” John pulls out until he’s barely inside of you, “Can never let me sit back and watch, can you? Always so desperate to have your husband inside of you.” He drives his point home with a brutal thrust, and you wail at the feeling of his tip popping past the tight ring of muscles just behind your entrance.

“Yes,” you cry. “Always want you inside, need you inside…” Your words trail off into moans, clawing at John’s shoulders until his entire body is draped on top of you, crushing you into the mattress. It takes barely a minute before you’re bearing down on his cock with a blinding orgasm.

You let your wolf devour you that night.

tag list:

@universitypenguin @teenagellamaangel @frogtowne

#price x reader #john price x reader #cod x reader #cod mwii #price x f!reader #john price x f!reader #yeehoo force that big man's hand #and did i make him husband? YEAH i did bcus that man is the most husband to ever husband #call of duty modern warfare #price x you #price x female reader #john price x you #john price x female reader #cod fanfic #captain price #captain john price

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zombieplaygrounds · 8 months ago

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cw: afab! fem! reader x john price, sex, probably unprotected, manhandling, oral sex, masturbation, sex toys, its a drabble not proof read

"Y'very prett', luv."

"Mm." Your eyes, half-lidded by the dim lighting of the room. A large, calloused hand caressing the soft curve of your ass, touch gentle and sweet. You felt good, too good for a bastard like Price, master manipulator and man whore to women. He loved the way you sat on his cock, riding him, back arching as you hid your moans into your own shoulder.

'Course, he could help ya, rub the swollen nub of your clit, puffy bundle of nerves like that throbbed for attention. But you felt too fucking good for him to care about your orgasm. Your hips rolling in a fixed rhythm, pussy squeezing 'im real good. You oozed arousal, left a creamy ring of pleasure dripping down his cock; if he didn't know better he'd bust a baby into you.

So damn tempted to just ruin your future, poor thing. All you prolly wanted was some fun with your neighbor, little one night stand. He was such a creep - you were sure he couldn't keep his eyes off of you since you moved in. Leaving his windows wide opened, gave you a lovely view of his life, couldn't help but welcome him to the same luxury; the one of you fingering yourself near your window.

Such a tease, made Price glad you finally caved and came by for a good fuckin'. Didn't know if he could take much more of your painfully slow rubs against your clit, loved making him brood and grunt over the sex toy that got to treat you rather than himself. By the end of your "sessions" he was left drooling, fisting his cock and pretending it was your pretty hands pawing at him. 'magined you had a gentle touch, mischievous too, softly nipping just to earn a thrustful into your throat.

However, reality was so much harder on him. You were such a good fuckin' girl. Let him grab you by the throat or hair without a whimper, maybe a mewl or whine just so your womb could be kissed by the head of his cock again. All the nights he imagined fucking you until you couldn't walk were humbled when you made him cum with just some kitten licks to the cum beading slit of his cock. Felt his whole body shake and shiver a nice warm load into your mouth.

Fucking succubus you were, pushing him into the bed while he was already so vulnerable and pliant. Crying as you bounced on his dick like an energetic pup. Let him take a few slaps and grabs at your ass and breasts. Pinching and tugging your nippes as a way to "get back at you."

Sure, Price, you're the boss. S'long as you gift another splatter of your warm seed.

#john price #captain price #price #price x reader #zombieplayground #zombieplaygrounds #cod #cod smut #smut cod #price x reader smut #price x f!reader #cod x reader #cod x reader smut

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dilf-luvr-4evr · 12 days ago

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Unable to stop thinking about Price x secretary reader… I can’t believe he got me out of my writing block yay 🩷

Price likes his job to say the least. Dedicated. But there was no denying how difficult it was to manage everything as a captain.

Until you came along. The secretary he insisted he didn’t need but made everything much easier. He should like his job more now. Right?

No, not really. Instead, he finds himself thinking about retirement more often. Retirement with you. Not that he’d do it.. Would he? He starts wondering a lot and things he was sure about, he wasn’t so sure of anymore now.

Of course you, the secretary, had no idea of this. As sweet and attentive as ever as if it doesn’t drive him a little insane.

He ended up depending on you so much, whether it’s paperwork or personal life. Soon enough, the lines started to blur and you end up reminding him more about doctor appointments, lunches, et cetera. He’d turn back around to you to explain it’s just lunch with his mum. Not that you’d care. Would you? He sort of wishes you would at least ask.

You’d never say no, whatever stupid task it is he’d put you through. Thank God he didn’t have a fish so you don’t have to feed it or anything like that. But it was stooping to that level anyway. You’re always such a dear. It makes him wonder how far he could push. He’s talking about asking you to dinner of course..

Not anything.. Improper.. At least that’s what he tries to convince himself.

On days when you’d wear those short pencil skirts (with the very sexy slits that never revealed enough of your thigh), he insists he refills his own coffee. God forbid his subordinates see you. Again, always so nice, you’d refuse to let him do that and he’d convince you he needed to stretch his legs anyway. The truth is that he wanted to - no, needed to get away from you to prevent the things he’d do to you in that damn skirt.

You got somewhat comfortable the more you got to know him. Started talking to him like a nagging wife. He loves it. “Yes sir”s on your end replaced with “yes ma’am”s on his. He absolutely loves it.

Something about your relationship with him making him realize how much he’s been craving it.

Getting deployed means he doesn’t get to see you of course. Between the intensity of missions, he catches himself thinking about you. What do you do when he’s not around? What are you wearing? What are you thinking about? Is he in that pretty little head of yours somewhere?

The morning he returns to base, he’s welcomed by so many smiles. But only yours tugged on the edge of his lips the widest.

Suddenly he was sure that he wanted to come home to this sight for the rest of his life.

my masterlist

thank you for reading!! 🫶🏼

#john price #captain price #price x reader #price x you #price x f!reader #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #john price x f!reader #john price x female reader #cod x reader #cod

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oceantornadoo · 4 months ago

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can be read as part of the duckie universe?? standalone tho. here

“‘ello, duckie.” john’s voice was smooth gravel in your ear, honeyed and sweet. “hey john. date was ok. won’t be a second one though, it felt like i was talking to a colleague, not a potential lover.” john was silent on the other end, just gruff breathing. you bit the tip of your tongue, cursing yourself for giving so much information. he was supposed to be your best friend, your confidant, but somehow this felt like crossing a line. but you weren’t anything, he never tried anything, so really this wasn’t even your fault.

“where are you?” what if you didn’t tell him? what if you ignored the fact that he has your location and was probably already on his way? what about the sound of an engine turning on in the background? “that one thai place off base. john i-“ “took him to our spot?” shit. you were in for it.

john pulled up ten minutes later in his worn truck, the transport he took when he was undercover or off duty. when he was wearing those jeans that hugged his ass way too well and that black henley you bought for him two christmases ago, his biceps practically bursting out of it. “john, it’s not a big deal.” he refused to meet your eyes, taking your bag and guiding you to his truck door, ever the gentleman. “get in, duckie.” instead of complying, you turned and placed a hand on his chest, an attempt to make him meet your eyes. instead, he gazed at your hand, your left hand, with its bare fingers. “don’t make me say it again.” to postpone a fight in the parking lot and to quicken the time it would take you to get home and out of these extremely uncomfortable shoes, you rolled your eyes and made your way to the passenger door. you ignored how he opened it for you, how he placed a hand on your ass to help you up into the truck, even thought it was just a few inches off the ground.

the ride back to base was silent, your fingers itching to press the radio button just to break the tension. the minutes passed quickly, john pulling up to his base quarters with practiced ease. he backed into a parking spot, a hand on your headrest that you tried valiantly to ignore. the smell of his cologne reached you anyways, a pavlovian reaction relaxing your body on instinct. he helped you out of the car despite his anger, rough hands guiding you towards the familiar path leading to his room. never mind that you desperately wanted to go to your own room, change into sweats, wipe off your makeup, decompress with a glass of wine or two. instead, you were walking to john’s room like a prisoner, heavy steps echoing your own as he opened doors and tugged you through them.

finally you were at his room, watching his nimble hands open the door with the slightest shake. that couldn’t be right. he only shook when he was angry and - you did a quick catalogue of his bunched shoulders muscling through the entrance, the sharp way he toed off his boots - maybe you were wrong. he knelt down before you before your brain could even register, grasping at your ankle and tugging off your shoes. he did it with too much force, causing you to stumble into him, stomach squishing against his face. “i’m sorry.” he grunted in reply, still not meeting your eyes. “sit.” you gulped at the sight of his bed, tucked in with military precision.

“explain.” john was looking down at you, arms crossed against his chest. instead of answering, you tugged him down to sit next to you. the fact that he let you? he wasn’t that mad. “we were supposed to eat at the pub but it was closed so that’s why we went to the thai place. and he suggested it, ok? it wasn’t on purpose.” he shook his head, shoulder brushing your own. “he’s a bloody idiot for not checking beforehand.” you giggled, laying your head against his shoulder. “right? i would never betray our restaurant like that, john.” john was silent, lost to his thoughts. the anger was still there, a simmer instead of a boil. he wasn’t hearing you, so you decided to take matters into your own hands.

“john, you’re not listening.” you stood up, walking in between his open legs, your hand on his shoulders. his eyes were still glazed, brows furrowed. deciding on drastic measures, you dragged yourself into his lap, straddling him into the mattress. finally, his eyes met yours, all blue and wanting. his hands on your hip, your pelvises kissing. “duckie.” you shook your head, biting your lip. “there a reason why you’re so mad at me, captain?” john’s hands tightened against your body, holding you in place. “don’t play that, sweetheart.” you dragged your hands into his beard, tugging lightly on the strands. “then why did you pick me up all stoic?” he brought his face closer to yours, noses touching. eyes flickering to yours, searching for something. you were tired of this caveman act. “kiss me, john.”

his eyes widened. "stop playin', duck. not the time." you shook your head, giving him a roll of your hips. denim brushed on denim, stirring his cock to life. "don't you want to kiss your future wife?" his eyes widened at the mention of the marriage pact that usually only he brought up. "you told me to wait, so i'm waitin’, sweetheart." he wasn't getting it. you finally saw past it, past the wall of anger he portrayed. "well, if you won't, then maybe i'll call my date and-"

john's lips smashed against your own, his hands tugging you closer into his laps. he was searching, for what you didn't know, chasing you with a kiss. his cock was hard against you, the brush of denim against your clit sending shock waves to your system. "not gonna fuck you, duckie. not yet." you frowned, breaking the kiss. "why not?" he moved to your neck, kissing it frantically.

"'cause you're not as deep as i am. 's okay, i can wait a few more years." you started bucking in his lap, chasing the feeling in your stomach. "john, you're so hot when you're mad. please please please fuck me." he chuckled at your tone, one hand moving from your hip to grip your jaw in place. "y'r so whiny when you're horny, baby. can't wait to fuck you one day." his beard was scratching your neck, the sensation setting you on fire. you kept grinding, his hands pulling you in and own, helping you chase your orgasm. "gonna come like this for your husband?" you didn't even try to correct him, too lost in the waves of pleasure. just a bit more and - he bit your neck, sending you over the edge into blissful orgasm. you worked out the waves in his lap, slowing down as the exhaustion hit you. "john, i-' you ended with a yawn, sinking into his embrace. "'s okay, duckie. all the time you need. i can wait."

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barbiesmuse · 6 months ago

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WELCOME TO NEW YORK ₊✧⋆

;ֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָjohn price + reader

summary: in which john finds a new column in the paper quite interesting, although he isn't the target audience he keeps coming back for more.

tags: perv!john, reader is somewhat slutty (but aren't we all?), talk of sex, reader and john masturbate, perv!john has a voice kink, john is also a hoe, reader is astute, john is painted in a more submissive way in reader's mind, when the true smut comes it won't be this way obv!! this is long as hell and i hate the way i wrote the end but i needed to get this out, reader being sexy as usual!!

HEAD BARBIE'S ANNOUNCEMENTS: hi gorgeous gorgeous people!! this is so silly and unexpected of me but with sex and the city being added to netflix we're going to celebrate!! i'm actually moving to NYC because this barbie has a boyfriend!! alright, now you may read. it's very long so beware!! also yes i did steal the name of carrie's blog i am not that creative i fear!! love you always, xoxo natty.

ps. y'alls little reblogs for better version headcanons & the fic were absolutely adorable i read them over and over!! your ideas and continuations were so so smart. i loved it soso much. if u ever have any thoughts send an ask!! thank you thank you thank you!! ₊✧⋆

Wednesday, October 20th.

John Price was a man who liked routine. If anything was even remotely out of order all hell would break loose. John saw it as a silly quirk, his past partners saw it as a deal breaker. Which is how he ended up here, watching his seventh girlfriend this year pack her things. He watched as she packed her belongings in a cluttered manner. He couldn't help but cringe at the sight. Her clothes overflowing as she stuffs them in the cardboard box. As she heads for the door, she and John make eye contact. John can't help but chuckle at her glare and wave her off, he told himself again and again that he was getting too damn old for this. As the girl walks out of his condo John can't help but sigh. It wasn't like he was attached to these women, they were just simple sleeves for his cock until he found a pretty little housewife. John runs a hand over his face, his beard hairs scratching against his palm. He lets out a low grunt before heading to bed, as he trudges up the stairs he spots the woman's red lace panties. He let out a quiet chuckle before picking them up and stuffing them inside his pocket. She'd left them on purpose. After all, John was a hard man to get over. He would worship you like you were a goddess, all to sneak out the next morning. Thursday, October 21st.

As John made his way into headquarters he picked up the newspaper, exchanged pleasantries with the secretaries, and even gave the nurse a nod. He was in a good mood, and when John was in a good mood all was right in the world. The sound of his heavy boots filled the halls as he made his way to the break room for his morning coffee. He threw the newspaper on the table before grabbing a mug, as Soap walks in he can't help but roll his eyes. He did not have the time for his childish banter. Not after he spent the whole night fisting himself with those red lace panties.

“Mornin' Cap, have a good weekend?” Soap says as he comes beside his Captain. He smelled of liquor and sex, his hair was disheveled, and his pants were unzipped. John let out a scoff before pouring the rest of the coffee into his mug. “No, but I can see you've had a good morning,” John says before licking the coffee that drips from the black pot. Soap lets out an embarrassed chuckle and takes a seat next to Price as he sits at a table.

Soap opens the newspaper and is met with the same column every time, written by a young female journalist. Soap would know because his wife practically lived off of it. He lets out an annoyed groan before turning to see any big news. There was none, the only interesting thing on the paper that morning was that damn fashion and gossip column. John quirked an eyebrow up at his exasperated expression, he didn't want to know, but the awkward silence in the room was slowly eating away at him.

“Sorry Cap, s' just this damn fashion column is what takes up the paper these days. S' all my wife talks about with her friends, I mean I get it. The journalist is a fuckin' babe. S' just annoyin', continue y'r coffee.” Soap rambles, although John doesn't really listen after the mention of Soap's wife. That woman had been eyeing him since Soap had joined the Task Force. John nods before speaking firmly, “We've got a briefing in less than twenty minutes, I suggest you fix yourself up now unless you have a kink for embarrassment.” Soap nods before scurrying out of the break room.

John grabs the newspaper and his eyes widen at the black and white picture of you. He could only imagine what you looked like in person, how fucking beautiful you were. You looked as if you belonged in the Louvre. His eyes trail down to your column, he can't help but chuckle at the name.

❝𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲!❞ The guide to Vogue, sex, and cigarettes.

John was more than intrigued he was captivated by you, even from words you had caught him by the balls. As he continued reading he couldn't help but start to wonder who you were. How did you get to be this mysterious woman who he craved to know more about? John grabbed the paper and left the break room, his coffee now cold and lonely. Hell, who needed it when you had given him just enough energy by showing the tiniest bit of cleavage! John walks into the briefing room as if he's in a hurry. He looks around at the men before mumbling, “Meetings canceled.” In ten minutes you had thrown John completely off of his game. Where was the order and routine he usually lived for? Had he thrown it all out the window for a pretty little minx such as yourself? Of course, because when John saw something he liked; he needed to have it. No matter what it took. John barges into his office and locks his door, he couldn't be seen reading some girly column in the paper. His eyes trailed down to your column, and he began reading his eyes squinting at the use of your tiny font.

❝𝐒𝐞𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲!❞ The guide to Vogue, sex, and cigarettes.

Why do all men have to be so complicated? I swear we women deserve a raise for the constant bullshit we put up with. It's almost impossible to find a man who isn't trying to keep his penis hard! Although I degrade men usually, one of my closest friends just got engaged! He's one of the few who deserve a pat on the back. The engagement was out of a movie almost! Although it's nowhere near close to happening for me, I can live vicariously through my friends. As I sit here and right to you I can't help but wonder if there actually is a man out there for me? I'm not as scary as I sound, I just have a passion for women's rights! What's so scary about that? It's not as if I'm some lock-ness monster trying to lure people in, just a woman who knows her worth. On a happier note, I've found a new bar called the “Cafe Society.” They open at five o'clock every day! They have some of the best espresso martinis I've ever had, and I consider myself a connoisseur of espresso martinis! I go every Thursday, come see me! Although this month's column is short I'll be back and better than ever before you know it. Might just need a man to pick me up and show me a good time, until then you might not know where to find me most of the time; but you can always find me on the 21st. Lots of love.

On the twenty-first, your column was in the newspaper every month. Finally, something else to look forward to besides fucking brainless women. He usually didn't like women who put up a fight, but you, God, there was something about you. You were such a breath of fresh air, you had opinions. He could tell you were able to hold a conversation. You were a woman. Not a girl, a fucking woman. John looked at the date, Thursday. What a perfect little setup, almost as if you planned it just for him. At least, that's what John would like to think. The time was currently 12:35 pm, he could last until five, only for a pretty girl like you.

Thursday, October 21st. 5:00.

As John walks into Cafe Society the first thing he sees is you, setting your purse on the bar counter and making conversation with the bartenders. He figured they knew you well considering you were a regular. He walked over to the bar, exhaling slowly. He takes a seat on the stool next to you. His cologne gently clouded your nose. You look over at him, your gorgeous eyes meet his cold brown eyes and he swears he's in heaven. “Captain John Price, a pleasure to meet you,” he trails off, waiting to be told your name. After hearing your name he swears he's been struck by Cupid himself. He can hear the winged baby chanting your name in his ear. Had you cast a spell on him? As a soft smile paints your sweet face he knows he's struck gold. You turn away, not sparing him another glance for the rest of the night. John's palms are sweaty, had he not charmed you enough? You were an enigma to him, and he was determined to figure you out.

As you get up from your seat, slinging your mini purse around your shoulder John smirks. You were such a pretty sight, the way your curves filled your skirt made him spiral. You shoot him a tight-lipped smile before walking out, your heels clicking echoing in his mind. He quickly gets up, placing a hundred-dollar bill in the bar to pay for his drink before rushing to find you. There you were, looking around for a taxi, he assumed.

“Ending the night so early?” John says, a chuckle escaping his lips as he accidentally startles you. He places his large hand on your shoulder. You let out a soft giggle, looking up at him with those same fiery eyes. “Well, unfortunately, the man at the bar didn't speak to me. I assumed he was married.” You say, a grin resting on your face. You were witty, John didn't usually like that in a woman. He liked more submissive women. But you, you were different. You held your own, you would be just fine without a husband. At least that's what you kept telling yourself after the failed relationships.

“Quite far from married, darlin',” He begins, his hand trailing down to your lower back. You shiver at his touch and he hesitates. You give him a reassuring glance and begin to walk, you wait for him to follow before letting out a playful sigh. “You coming or what?” You say and smile as he quickly catches up. The two of you walk side by side, a comforting silence cast over the two of you. “So besides being a captain, what do you do in your free time?” You ask, a bashful smile painting your face as your pinkies touch briefly.

“Not much, work usually takes up a lot of my time. What about you? What do you do for a living?” He asks, you look up at him and as you pass a newspaper stand you pick up a paper and point to your face. “Journalist, Mr. Captain.” You say with a cheeky smile, almost as if you knew he knew. It hurt your ego he didn't know who you were, almost everyone did. “Ah, interesting,” He says calmly, his eyes trailing down to your breasts, fuck. They were even better in person. He couldn't help but mentally facepalm as he felt a hard-on begin to grow.

“Quite,” you say, pronouncing your “T.” sharply. The silence is now not-so-comforting. Before you can say anything John quickly speaks, a hint of panic in his voice. What had changed in the last twenty-one seconds? The size of his hard-on, that's what. “As much as I'd love to stay n' chat doll, I've got to get home. Th-the missus needs me.” He says before quickly walking to his car. The missus? Didn't he say he wasn't married?

Men, what a bunch of fucking assholes.

Thursday, October 21st. 11:00.

As you lie in bed, your computer resting to your side, glasses perched on your face. Legs spread, lip drawn between your teeth you search for everything there is to know about Captain John Price. How old is he, what he truly does for a living, and if he is married or not. Various pictures of random men come up, none of them the sexy captain you'd met only a few hours earlier. You sigh and let out a sexually frustrated moan, how could there be absolutely no pictures of him. Just as you're about to give up you spot a picture of him with a woman, they're kissing and they seem to be in a tropical setting.

Intrigue takes over and you decide to click on her page, double-checking your incognito window before scrolling. You'd hit the jackpot. Several pictures of the woman and John flood your screen, some are more sensual others are simple selfies. Yet as you scroll you check for one thing, a ring and or wedding pictures. A small smile on your face as you find none. Gosh, he looks so damn sexy. It's shameful, truly. But you can't help but dip your hand down into your panties. Your pointer and middle finger rub gentle circles on your bud.

You can't help but slip a finger inside yourself at the thought of him touching you. He was just so perfect, you could only imagine how his rough beard would feel against your pussy as he laps at it. The burning feeling would feel good, you'd come right on his tongue. He'd be so needy for you, humping against the bed to get himself off while he pleasures you. He'd whimper against your clit, a chuckle escaping his lips as you whine from him blowing cold air on your pretty pussy.

Oh, you just know he'd touch you so well.

As John sits in his bed, his gray sheets crinkled as he fucks his fist at the sight of you. He'd searched the internet for you, needing to know everything about you. You made him crazy, you carried yourself in such a polite manner, he almost felt ashamed for wishing it was your hand wrapped around his veiny cock. You'd take him so well, he was sure of it. A sinister smirk painted his face as he clicked on an interview of you, it was recent and fuck you looked perfect. He couldn't help but imagine your plump lips wrapped around his cock, his tip repeatedly hitting the back of your throat as he face-fucked you.

Not to mention how well you'd take him, you were such a good girl. Your moans would be so pretty against his pillow, he'd fuck you from behind so well you'd be shaking when he was done with you. Your sweet sounds only making him come quicker, he was sure he wouldn't be able to last long. And your voice, your sweet voice. You might've been a little firecracker but your voice was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. If only you'd moan his name, just for him. One day, you would and he was damn sure of it.

As you come down from your high you can't help but imagine the title for next month's column, “My shameful addiction to Mr. Captain.”

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rejectedbytheempty · 1 month ago

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from the dirt we rise

pairing: farmer!john price x reader, no use of y/n

word count: 2.2k

cw: your boyfriend is an asshole

synopsis: when your car breaks down in the middle of the english countryside, a tall, dark stranger comes to your rescue

“christ, going to visit my parents was your idea in the first place, don’t put this on me” your boyfriend lamented, sighing and folding his arms across his chest like a child.

your hands gripped the steering wheel with an audible squeak from the leather along with you gritting your teeth to avoid a number of profanities from slipping out. your boyfriend, nathan, had complained for months that you were never interested in his life, or that you hadn’t seemed as invested in the relationship as he was. never mind the fact that you would plan every date, or that he forgot your birthday and went out with friends instead, leaving you alone at home with a pint of ice cream.

being the good girlfriend you were, you suggested a road trip to go visit his parents, something you supposed you both wanted. you were dead wrong, apparently. the moment you brought it up, he seemed more ambivalent than happy about it and come the day of the trip, he dragged his feet all the way.

so now here you were, driving your car along the english countryside, because his was too nice to drive on all these dirt roads.

“nathan, i was trying to do something nice, for the both of us, and all i asked was that you some snacks for the way.”

he rolled his eyes, huffing with contempt, “yeah. and i did, for me. i figured you were getting your own stuff.”

you looked up to the roof of the car, muttering a silent prayer to whatever gods could hear. “fine, it’s fine. i don’t even care anymore, i.. i guess i should have clarified, i’m sorry.”

he just muttered some incoherent complaints and looked out the window. you sighed slightly and took the silence to allow yourself to admire the countryside rolling by in peace. the hills covered in lush, green grass, cows dotting the landscape. you could almost imagine living here, waking up to the sound of birds chirping for once instead of someone shouting bloody murder outside your flat’s window.

you smiled softly at the idea of walking outside onto the dewy lawn with your bare feet and not having to worry about some junkie leaving behind a used syringe. the daydream was interrupted by your boyfriend shouting your name. the front of the car had started smoking, plumes of grey billowing out from under the hood.

“shit!” you cried out, braking suddenly and jolting the two of you slightly in your seats.

“the hell is wrong with your car?” nathan asked, looking over at you with a glare.

“i- i don’t know. it was perfectly fine yesterday and i took it to the shops a couple of months ago for a checkup. do you mind checking under the hood?” you looked over at him.

he looked slightly taken aback at that, “me? i don’t know about cars, besides, it’s not my car that’s gone and killed itself. why don’t you go check?”

you supposed you couldn’t argue with his logic, it was your car after all, but you still scowled slightly as you put the car in park and popped the hood. you opened the door and stepped out, looking at nathan in the passenger seat, who took about .5 seconds of worrying before looking at his phone again.

you let out a frustrated grunt and stomped over to the front of the car, pulling up the hood. the smoke immediately rose up to meet your face and you waved it away, coughing and grimacing. after a moment of wafting away the smoke, you were finally able to look over your engine and.. all of that other stuff.

yeah, you knew nothing about cars.

you thought that maybe talking a look under the hood would automatically make you a mechanic, but apparently that’s not true. pulling out your phone, you tried to look up on google something along the lines of “my car is smoking. what do i do?” but you had not a singular bar.

groaning slightly, you shut your phone off and began to shut the hood and give up when you heard the crunch of gravel behind you. turning to look, you saw a beat-up old truck heading your way, stopping at the edge of the grass where you had pulled off the road.

you looked between the truck and your car where your boyfriend sat in the front seat, not even looking up from his phone, probably too busy playing clash of clans or some dumb shit like that.

what if whoever was in the truck was a serial killer or something and your boyfriend was too busy playing subway surfers to even notice you getting kidnapped?

you swallowed nervously as the door of the truck swung open with a loud squeak. out stepped a man that made you swallow for an entirely different reason.

he had dark brown hair and a thick, well-maintained beard. his bright blue eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled warmly at you, something so easy about the way he smiled that had your knees buckling. and if they did, then he could easily catch you with his arms, tanned and muscular, the arms of a man who spent his life working in some kind of physical labor.

“engine trouble?” he asked, his voice a deep, rumbling thing that made your brain go fuzzy.

“oh.. uh, yeah, maybe? i don’t know for sure. the car just started smoking so i pulled over to look at it” you said, finding it hard to talk with your mouth having gone dry. the sound of a car door opening and the sight of your boyfriend stepping out made your face fall slightly.

you have a boyfriend, right. almost forgot because you were too busy imagining those arms wrapped around- nathan speaking broke you out of your thoughts.

“who are you?” he asked, in a tone that made you wince. looking over at the stranger though, it didn’t even seem like he flinched at nathan puffing up his feathers.

“i’m john, nice to meet you,” john put out his hand for nathan to take. which he did, hesitantly, grimacing slightly at the force john used.

“right, i’m nathan.” he eyes flicked over to you, “not gonna introduce your bird?”

your cheeks flushed, “oh, uh, yeah” you stuttered uselessly before telling him your name.

“beautiful name for a beautiful girl” he winked at you. your mouth fell agape slightly and nathan inhaled a sharp breath, “what do you want, man? we got this handled.” when john’s eyes flicked back to nathan they hardened ever so slightly, even though he still sported a grin on his face.

“just thought i’d offer my help, i mean, it doesn’t seem like you know what you’re doing if you’re making your girl do all the work.”

at that, nathan’s face contorted with rage and he took a step towards john, whose grin only widened at that. after a second to process what happened, you immediately stepped in front of nathan, pressing your hands to his chest, “babe, stop. he’s- he’s just joking, right?” you looked pointedly to john, waiting for him to back you up. you knew it would only end badly if nathan wasn’t calmed down, not because nathan was going to hurt the stranger but because you definitely knew nathan wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

glancing between you and your boyfriend, john relented, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to offend you. i was just joking.” looking back to nathan, you noticed his nostrils flare slightly in discontent but he backed down.

“yeah, well, don’t do it again,” nathan huffed. you relaxed slightly, letting your hands slip down from his chest to by your sides again.

“look, i’ll make it up to you. i can tow your car to the nearest mechanic. i happen to know the guy and he can give you a friends and family discount” john said, eyes glancing between you and your boyfriend.

nathan eyed him suspiciously for a second but then nodded, “alright, fine.” john then looked to you and it took a moment before you realized he was waiting for your input. “oh! i didn’t realize you were asking me too. yes, of course, thank you, that’d be wonderful” you said hurriedly. nathan shot you a dirty look when john turned around to go grab some equipment from his truck.

“what the hell was that?” he hissed. “was what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what he meant. “you, practically starry-eyed, looking at him. acting as if your boyfriend wasn’t standing right there” he glared at you. “i.. i wasn’t starry-eyed” you said softly, it was a weak defense but you couldn’t help but think he was right. a random man off the road looks at you for more than five seconds and you’re already on your back with your belly up for scratches. “whatever, we can talk about this after the car gets fixed.”

after john secured the straps between the cars he admitted that he only had so much seat space in his truck and that one person was going to have to stay in your car for the ride there. suffice to say, nathan wasn’t happy about that.

“can’t we both sit in the car?” he practically whined.

john shrugged, “i guess so, but there’s no use in adding any more weight to the amount i’m towing, takes unnecessary risk, right?”

nathan’s lip twitched in annoyance but he couldn’t really find a reason to argue with him, “fine, i’ll sit in the truck with you.”

john looked amused at that, “making your girl sit in the car all by herself? it’s really none of my business but-“”fine! she can sit up front with you, then. jesus,” nathan said, throwing up his arms and practically stomping his way over to the car.

you winced as he slammed the car door shut and looked apologetically over at john,

“sorry, he’s just.. stressed.” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “stressed, right.”

you bit the inside of your cheek at john’s obvious lack of belief but said nothing else to persuade him, it wouldn’t do any good. the truck door squeaked open as john opened the passenger side for you, gesturing with his other hand, “in you get, sweetheart.”

you blushed slightly at his casual use of pet names, muttering a small thank you as you got in. john shut the door and then got in on his side, sliding across the worn leather bench, his warm thighs practically pressing against yours. he wasn’t lying, the seating in here was limited and you couldn’t imagine what it would have been like if nathan had tried to ride up here with the two of you.

you’re honestly surprised he didn’t. something about john made you want to listen to him, and you could guess that even though nathan was stubborn, he subconsciously felt the same way.

“so, where were you headed? doesn’t seem like you’re from around here” he broke the silence.

“oh, uh, nathan’s parents’ house, he hasn’t seen them in a while, and we figured it was time for me to meet them since we’re coming up on our third anniversary,” you said, fiddling with your hands in your lap.

“ah, the in-laws” he chuckled lightly.

“oh, me and nathan we’re not- i mean, we’re just dating right now. not engaged or anything.”

“three years and he hasn’t put a ring on that pretty finger? hm.” john frowned.

“nathan wants to take it slow. he doesn’t want to rush into anything,” you said, but it felt more like an automated response than something you actually agreed with. sure, there was nothing wrong with taking your time but anytime you brought up marriage or anything like that, nathan would get all defensive. it happened enough that you just stopped bringing it up altogether, and you hadn’t realized until now how much that had hurt you.

“sorry, i overstepped, didnt’t i? laswell’s always telling me i need to stop interrogating people, but old habits die hard.”

“you were in the military, then?” in hindsight you should have guessed something like that, from the way he stood with perfect posture or how he spoke from a place of authority, was likely an officer of some kind.

“yes ma’am, special forces. i served my time, but now i’m retired and trying to put it all behind me.”

you nodded along, “but old habits die hard” you said the words he left hanging in the air.

“exactly” he smiled over at you, making you melt into the seat.

collecting yourself, you cleared your throat then asked, “so what do you do now?”

“ah, inherited a bit of land from my grandad on my mum’s side. decided that when i retired, i would move to the countryside and start a farm.”

you laughed to yourself imagining him chasing around an escaped chicken but quickly stifled it behind your hand. he furrowed his eyebrows but looked at you more quizzically than the scalding expression nathan would have given you,

“and what’s so funny about that, miss?”

you shook your head, “nothing, really. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to laugh at you.”

“no need to apologize, i like seeing you laugh” he said, something that slipped so casually from his lips it almost startled you.

“thank you” you murmured, looking out the window to hide your flushed cheeks. just in time to save your embarrassment, john slowed the truck to a stop outside a small mechanic shop that read ‘tav and riley repairs.’

a/n: this was so fun to write actually. idek what started this whole thing but i actually typed all of it in my notes app 😭 so sorry for possible errors and also lack of capitalization. i am a certified american writer so sorry if i get something wrong :(

but anyways, lmk if you guys want more of this or if this should be a dark fic or smth more wholesome and fluffy bc i could go either way 😈

#john price x reader #price x reader #johnathan price x reader #captain price x reader #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #cod fics #farmer!price #price x f!reader

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syoddeye · 5 days ago

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the warren, part nine - misunderstanding

price x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 tags: implied/reference suicide attempt, implied/referenced abduction/captivity, gaslighting, stalking, taxidermy mention, pov multiple, italics flashback a/n: you know what you saw. ...right? 🔪

The suit fiddles with the gift, his disgust evident.

Price will be happy, he thinks, cheeks smarting from all his grinning. He's a dog with two tails.

The stranger disappears into the motel, and he puts his nose to the ground. There are only so many places she could be. He twirls the keys, perfectly at ease. Rabbits are on their own during hunts, whereas he's got his fellow dogs. All it takes are a few cheerful inquiries for him to end up at the library.

Brave thing. Smart thing.

He knew it. Pride warms him as he lopes through the doors, taking in the place. It's grand. Temple to knowledge and all that. He hasn't set foot inside in years. It was one of the first solo errands he ran for Price, way back when–

He staggers, pressing a hand to his temple as pain splits through his skull. It's sudden, the strike of an icepick, and his whole body reacts—muscles seizing, limbs tightening as though he's been thrown into freezing water. But then, just as swiftly, it dissolves, leaving behind a light fog.

"Can I help you, sir?"

Sir.

The address cleaves through the mist.

Been ages since anyone's called him that. He rubs the ridge of his scar and beams, taking in the peculiar woman and her many bracelets. "No, I dinnae think ye can. Just browsing."

He drops the smile once she totters off, tilting his nose a little to catch the scent of John's doe. Syringa and prickly rose, same as her soap. If he licked her teeth, he knows he'd taste the mild mint from her toothbrush, too. Instead, he pretends to browse, nostrils flaring as he filters out the tang of glue and lignin decay, tracing her steps to a secluded corner.

Through the stacks, he watches her lean over some oversized machine. John's doe is clever. He called it. All those books and writings and not investigating all that terrible racket he made. Clever, clever.

He tongues his canines in thought. Interrupting would be awkward. She'd ask questions, and he's on strict orders to keep it simple. There's no sense trying to coax her out now. He retreats, content to loiter outside. It's a long walk back.

"Soap?"

He turns, the sound of his name like fingers threading through his hair. He arranges his face into surprise and delight, but his attention shifts, quickly and completely, to her. There's a twitchiness, a strain in the line between her eyebrows.

"Bonnie! Fancy seeing ye here."

"What are you doing here?"

"Could ask ye the same thing. I was just retrieving supplies for Simon. Predicting an uptick in business with the big game season open."

"That makes sense." She smiles tight again, and nods. "Well. I ought to head back–"

"Where's John? He not with ye?"

He reckons that if she had the right ears, they'd flatten to her head. Friendly fella like himself, but she still shrinks to a degree. Polite, even when she's stiff. Knows better than to let her guard down. Like he told them. Smart.

"Uh, no," She shrugs like it's nothing. "I walked here. From Grouse."

He whistles. "No…you didn't!" He already knew that. "Hell of a jaunt, bonnie. Aren't you sore? Tired?"

"A little," She admits, her expression finally softening. "I used to have to walk into town where I lived before, too, but I like walking."

"Clearly," Hopefully, she remains smart. She's not like he was. She knows what's good for her. "C'mon. I'm taking you back."

It doesn't take much to convince her when he harps on the distance, the weather. She follows him into the truck, the volume of the tape deck making her jump when the engine roars to life. He dangles an arm out the window, feeding off the glaring tourists on the street. He takes the longer route out of town to roll past the Patridge, then nearly slams on the brakes.

Ahead of them, it's him. The suit. That handsome bastard, face pointed at his phone. The novelty of their little welcome gift must've already worn off. His fingers drum impatiently on the wheel, and he steals a glance at his passenger. She's watching the stranger, too.

When the man reaches the other side, he looks back, double-takes, and stares. His gaze shifts between them, brows knitting behind his aviators. Beside him, she opens her mouth to speak, so he lays his foot on the gas, stares straight ahead, and peels out of town.

~~~~

The truck reeks. Cigarette smoke and wet dog clings to the sun-bleached fabric seats, and through the rear window, sharp bursts of acetone and the sour tang of formaldehyde drift in. The seats are pockmarked with cigarette burns and patch jobs. The floor caked in cracked mud, ground-in dirt, and pine needles. A heap of worn cassettes in the center console.

You slowly turn down the volume, shooting him a nervous smile. You're still reeling from what you saw at the library. For all his oddities, Soap feels like a tether—an outsider like you, or at least someone who once stood where you stand now, and far more approachable than Nikolai or Simon. You'll ask John, too, but something about Soap just feels more…open.

"So…Soap. We haven't spoken since the Fourth. How have you been?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Really? I'm fine. Workin' hard, playin' harder." His eyes flick to you, a fleeting look before he shifts focus back to the road. "And you? Heard rumors you might stick around after the season's over. True?"

You wonder how many ears John has whispered his hopes into. "No comment," you say, then quickly add, "How long have you lived here again?"

He shrugs. "Years, I reckon. I'm bad with time."

"John mentioned you worked at the store, too." You watch him closely. "He said your stint was short-lived."

"Aye, I did and it was. Not cut out for workin' with so many people."

You force a soft laugh. "I find that hard to believe. He said you were a bit of a flirt, though, that Simon swept you off your feet. True?"

Soap's smile falters, and he looks out his window. The silence hangs long enough to feel pointed. Then he glances back, sidelong, expression almost stern. "You a reporter now, bonnie? Askin' a lot of questions."

You're dancing around it, the photo, the snag you feel yourself unraveling around, and although you're trying to keep things light, it's obvious Soap's caught on. "I just want to get to know you better. I spend all my time with John, which is fine, but you're his friend, right? And if there's a chance I'll stick around through the winter, I ought to get to know everyone better."

He raises a brow. "Even Simon?"

Right. They're a package deal. "Even Simon."

"Then it's only fair that I get to ask questions too, right?"

"Oh, um, yeah. Of course."

"Then what's eating you? You looked ill when I caught you outside the library. Like you'd seen a ghost."

Your mouth opens, the words pushing to the front and failing to organize themselves. A small stampede. "Actually, I wanted to ask you about something. It's going to sound insane." You hesitate, but he doesn't interrupt, so you open the gates. "I was curious. About local history, the mines and stuff. My hus—I used to be familiar with the business. So, I was looking through old newspapers at the library, just to see what I could find, and there was this photo, from decades ago, of a group of miners who survived a huge fire. One of them looked exactly like Alex. I think it was Alex."

"Alex." Soap repeats. "Ye dinnae say?"

"Yes. Do you know him? Works at The Echo? I'm positive it was him."

"I know him." He grins, bemused. "I think you're seeing things. Not close with the man, but he's not that old." He chuckles softly. "Could be his grandad or something."

You try to laugh along, but it catches. "I…I know what I saw, Soap. It wasn't a lookalike. It was him —exactly him. I know that sounds crazy. That would make him, like eighty? Ninety?"

Soap checks the rearview, then guides the truck to the shoulder. He faces you, his broad frame pressing against the worn seat. "Aye, maybe," he speaks slower than before. Careful. "But ye ken, sometimes our minds play tricks. Price...He might've mentioned you've been sleeping poorly."

You blink, thrown. Sure, small towns gossip. Let every clucking hen share theories about your circumstances—but John? You had no idea he even knew about your worsening sleep. You hadn't told him about the nightmares, or woke him.

Soap continues. "Bad dreams, tossing and turning…early mornings. When did ye wake up today, bonnie? When did ye hit the road?"

You begin to answer, then stop. It's as if now that he's pointed that out, exhaustion creeps in, and alongside it, doubt. Could it really be a coincidence? Your tired brain misfiring?

"I'm not tired." You say more to yourself than to him, blinking. "I know what I saw."

There's a flash of pity. "Alright, bonnie. If you say so." He pulls the truck back onto the road. "But I think John's working you too hard."

He doesn't believe you. Disappointing, but not surprising. What you're implying is absurd. So you bite your tongue and feign agreement. "Maybe you're right."

The conversation peters off, leaving the sound of the tires on the road. You'll have to ask John now, otherwise, Soap will beat you to it.

You stare at the passing trees, and it feels as if your mind is slipping, one treacherous inch at a time. You want to believe it's the creep of exhaustion, the stress of being on the run, because for all your comforts, that is what you are doing here. Yet, even as the excuses form, they dissolve, because you know what you saw.

The photograph is not something you can forget. You think of the man in Ponderosa, behind the counter at the diner, smiling ear to ear, asking about the cats at the cabin. And then the exact same man, covered in dust and dirt, happy to be alive. It doesn't make sense, and the pit forming in your stomach deepens.

Soap's words circle back. I think you're seeing things. You're sleeping poorly. It's true, isn't it? You haven't slept well for weeks. Months, really, not since you left your husband. Not since you started driving north, stopping in towns where no one knew your name. Sleeping as little as possible, waking up before dawn, like you're always outrunning something. The way the woods press in at night, the noises, the dark—a perfect storm for the kind of thoughts that keep you awake. The scratching. The eyes. It's easier to believe you're imagining it all.

Your thoughts split in two. You know what you saw. Except, maybe you don't.

That's what scares you. If you believe it, you know how it will sound. How it will look.

You glance at Soap out of the corner of your eye. One hand on the wheel, cradling and rubbing his head with the other. Now, he probably thinks you're just a jittery, paranoid woman who's been through too much. Maybe you are. If you're wrong about this and really are losing your grip, what else have you been wrong about?

"Soap," your voice cracks slightly. "What if…" You trail off, not even sure how to finish the question. What if you're not crazy? What if you are? The doubt is a splinter, buried deep and bound to fester. You already know that no matter how much you try to convince yourself it's nothing, you can't.

"Nevermind."

~~~~

Her head must be spinning. He knows what that's like.

She doesn't get out of the car right away when they stop. Her smile's bent in a brittle shape, and she places a tentative hand on his arm.

"Thanks for listening to my ramblings. You're a good friend."

Oh, how he wants to correct her.

There was once a man with his face, his body, a name—but that isn't him. Not anymore. John and Simon saved him from that, or they tried to. Fixed him when he didn't deserve fixing. He'd been so selfish.

Some days, he tastes the metal on the back of his tongue. Hears the gunshot, sees the flash. His favorite memories are those months spent in the mounting room, stretched out, recovering on the cot. All the fussing, the tenderness Simon showed him, even though it came from a place he hasn't been able to reach since. No. The weeks that followed, when he could move, fastened to the hutch, reminded of his place again. He wished those memories had vanished instead. His head's a minefield. Gaps, holes. Pits, great and small, with nonexistent or false bottoms

But he has a modicum of sense left, so he swallows the lump in his throat. "Like ye said. I'm your friend."

He returns her wave when she pauses at the shop door.

Am I?

He rides the accelerator all the way home.

"Simon! Simon!"

Slaughter and the Dogs drowns him out, but he barrels through the workshop anyway, feet pounding the floor. The door to the mounting room is ajar, so he jams his hand inside to turn the volume down, stepping in just as Simon looks up. In the lowlight and shadows, Simon's shoulders look like a snow-capped ridge, scars tracing the curve of his muscles like weathered timberlines. The air holds a scent of sweat and hide paste. An acquired taste. Intoxicating. Normally, he'd grovel, fall to his knees to nose between the thighs wedged under the steel table, but there's no room for hesitation. No time to indulge the usual knots twisting in his chest.

"I dinnae ken how, but I think she's onto Alex. She saw some picture at the library. I–I think I talked her down, but..."

The news hangs, then Simon exhales sharply, the paper mask fluttering over his mouth and nose. He stands, abandoning his work with the bolting buck's pinnae, its slate eyes wide, frozen mid-flight, and peels off his stained leather apron.

"You tell Price?"

His tongue fattens with every step his man takes. Has to force it out. "No. I only just delivered her to him, I didn't have a chance–"

"Mm," Simon grunts disapprovingly, reaching past him for the towel on the hook. He wipes his brow, pausing to press it to his mask and inhale. "Thought you liked her."

"I-I do! She's nice to me."

Simon snorts and tugs his hair with his free hand. "Well, you've shortened her lifespan. If she asks 'im, which she will, no tellin' 'ow 'e'll react. Remember the last girl?"

His head throbs. The scent of blood on gravel, salt and metal, reaching forward in time. He gawks, horrified.

The hand pulling his hair flattens, cups his skull. Strokes. "She'll be alright," Simon mutters. Soothing, but not quite. "Price thinks she's the one. It'll take more than a few questions to make 'im do somethin' stupid."

He wants to believe him, always, but the last girl—well, Price thought she was the one, too.

And they all paid for that mistake.

~~~~

The stranger arrived after a long, unsuccessful week away. Just at the right time. A balm for John's bruised pride.

He loathes the days he leaves his range. He hates the cities to the south and the backwater latrines up north. He loathes that his needs require travel and discretion these days, for him to prowl territory where no one knows him and his authority's nonexistent. He relies on the weight of his influence, his power. The decades of blood, of dirty and thankless work, of blessings and curses, of folklore and superstition. The rabble who grew up at their parent's and grandparent's feet listening to stories about the men eaten and spat back out by the mountain.

He likes the wary. The watchful.

More than that, he likes the overlooked and the desperate. People starved for attention in any form. People with nowhere else to go. Both groups careless with where they go looking for belonging.

Most times that place is the dingiest bar in a shithole town. A truck stop. The edge of the highway.

Sometimes that place is his general store.

John weeds out the characters that don't fit the bill. No families. No groups. He's tried couples, when one or the other's to his liking, but their residencies stir up too many questions. Individuals? Now, much better. Individuals like the man in his shop. Scuffed, secondhand gear and a ratty pack. An overgrown haircut and beard. Wild, sleep-worn eyes heavy with bags. He's seen dogs with mange look better than the specimen stalking his shelves.

"This it?" He stares at the man's selection: a single beer, a pack of pencils, and a cheap razor.

"Aye. That's it."

The brogue, thick and unmistakable, wraps around the words and John decides then and there. He holds the man's eyes, a shock of blue, more striking than his own. "You're a long way from home."

"Could say the same to ye," The man laughs, fishing out a wad of crumpled bills and some coin. The billfold looks as worn as his clothes, edges fraying, stuffed with two other currencies.

"Looks like you've been around," John sorts the coin by feel. "What brings you here?" He leans on that word, here. It's a habit now, sizing people up. Most tourists are easy to place—locals from a few towns or the next state over. But every so often, someone like this turns up, someone from further afield. It's usually a sign. Fish nibbling at bait on one of the hooks he's cast.

"Just going where my thumb takes me. I'm spending the next three, four months in America. Left tracks all over already, but someone told me the camping's good up this way. Figure I'll make my way to Seattle, then through to the Yukon."

"Somebody waiting for you up there?"

The stranger's smile is wide and reckless. Toothy, sharp. "Nah, that's the beauty of it. Free as a bird. No strings, nowhere."

John returns the smile, feeling that rotten thing in his chest stir, stretching awake, licking its chops. It's always hungry, always ready for a reason. The man's candor is laughable, he's tying the snare around his own neck. John looks him over again, considering. It's probably a bit of both, he decides. Starved for attention and just dumb enough to show it. Typical rabbit.

However, there's the matter of the shit he's stolen.

John chuckles along with the stranger, but his hand moves without hesitation, wrapping around the sagging strap of the backpack and giving it a tug. He stares down his nose. The man's smile vanishes, fast as a light switching off.

"Son, I'm gonna need you to empty your bag."

Outside, as if on cue, Simon rolls into the lot, and John watches the man's posture stiffen at the sight of the hulking mass climbing off the dirt bike.

"You don't want him to empty it." John warns.

It's almost dizzying how quickly he complies, dumping the contents onto the counter: mostly food, a folding knife, and a bar of soap. The door chimes behind him, and John picks up the soap, turning it over in his hand, his eyebrows raised in silent accusation.

"Am I interruptin'?"

Simon stands in the doorway, helmet under one arm, already fixed on the man. His chest rises and falls like bellows, his gnarled lip curling in that way John knows too well. Interest. Blood in the water.

The stranger isn't small, not by any measure. Solid, broad through the shoulders and arms, though he's hunching slightly, an instinct to look bigger. A meal trying to pass for something harder to swallow, and isn't that the way with those lower on the food chain?

But he's not stupid. He sees the man for what he is now that his right hand's here. He's just Simon's type. All he needs is a shave.

"Not at all. I'm clearing up a misunderstandin' with…"

The man clears his throat, eyes still locked on Simon. His voice steady, but barely. "John. John MacTavish."

Simon's chuffs. John cracks the bar of soap.

Another decision made, then.

~~~~

Kyle can spot trouble a mile away. He sees the ills of the world and the way violence threads through things and stitches them together. Why people do what they do, the multitude of factors and reasons—it's all straightforward in his head. In the real world, though, nothing is. Cases don't wrap up neatly, they unravel. Leads dry up. Witnesses clam up. Evidence falls short or gets thrown out, and he has to move on, whether he likes it or not.

He tells himself it's necessary. That there's too much evil in the world to fixate on just one piece of it. But moving on doesn't mean letting go. The frustration festers. The urge to kick in doors, to pull people out of the mess they're in, to handle those responsible the way no court ever will—it simmers under his skin, a wire fraying at the edges.

But there are rules. Policies. A whole bloody process he's meant to respect and follow. So when he spots some wild-eyed man ferrying around a woman who looks like the unnamed witness he's searching for, he memorizes the plates, sends them in, and waits.

His stomach rumbles. His choices are slim on that front, too.

In the corner of the café, Kyle scrolls through the scanned posters on his phone. Missing persons, runaways, and other BOLOs from the local precincts. Shepherd had theatrically dropped the files on his desk, handing over Graves's case like it was a poisoned chalice.

Shepherd warned him nothing was digitized, leaving him to do it all. The batch of missing persons spanning decades hadn't been touched in years, he added, like it was some kind of badge of honor for the region. Called the area a breeding ground for bad shit, nearly spitting the words out. A place no one actually wanted anything solved, not in what he described as an inland Bermuda Triangle carved into the panhandle.

The old man expounded about the violent, standoffish types who called Grouse Bay, Ponderosa, and the surrounding area home. The kind of people who'd rather shoot you than admit what they ate for breakfast. Then, with a final slap of the files, Shepherd wished him luck—luck with the missing, the answers he'd likely never find, and the colleague who'd managed to disappear right along with them.

It's clear to him that he's not actually expected to solve a thing. He's supposed to find whatever mess Graves had gotten into, yank him out, and clean him up.

To do that, he had to find him, and that smarmy bastard seems intent on staying lost.

#the warren #price x reader #john price x reader #price x f!reader #john price x f!reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price x f!reader

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celestialprincesse · 11 months ago

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🎀🩷

John Price & his wifey💕

Price considers himself a somewhat traditional man, and he's proud of it! Not in the sense that he believes that women belong in the kitchen and that men should call the shots, but in the belief that women should be respected - looked after.

His now wife is perfectly happy to indulge him in that way. She's far from docile or subservient like most men expect of housewives, oh no, she's an absoulute firecracker when it comes down to it, which only makes John love her more.

She's happy to play house, 'hold down the fort' as John calls it, which makes her feel important. He works so fucking hard, and she just wants him to have a beautiful home and lots of yummy food to come back to.

She has a part time job or works from home, because she flat out refuses to be financially dependent on anyone. Upon marrying John, though, she was able to quit her 9-5 that made her miserable and persue her passions.

John gets her a dog to keep her company until they can think about starting a family proper. He's most definitely antsy to have kids with her though. He's already training up his subordinates to a standard which will allow him to take a more hands off approach and spend more time at home.

The 141 know he's married, but John only really talks about her when asked. He wants to protect her, but also wants to seperate the little life he's building for himself from the blood and gore of the life he's getting ready to leave behind.

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #captain John price #John price #captain price #price #captain price x f!reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x y/n #john price x f!reader #price x reader #price x y/n #price x f!reader #call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare #tf 141

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savagebite · 3 months ago

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Price x Gn!reader one shot

summary: price beats the crap outta you for not doing all the chores after he comes home from work and he assaults you. He packs a punch so be warned.

Tw/Contains: hitting, insulting, and non con.

Bonus link to watch that inspired me <3: (tw hitting)

Pairings:Price x Gn! Reader

The soft sound of crickets chirp outside as you clean the dishes, the lukewarm water running across your hands as you move the sponge around the plate. You hear the door open, freezing as the door slams making you flinch slightly. The heavy footsteps walk across the living room, then to the kitchen. Feeling the taller figure loom over you, a soft panic washes over you as you pray to yourself to whatever god there was that he didn’t have a bad day. A pair of heavy arms hug around your waist, cuddling into the crook of your neck.

“Welcome home….how was your day?” You softly ask, a small quiver of fear in your voice

Instead of answering, he hugs you a bit tighter, a non-verbal answer that his day didn’t go well. Putting down the dishes, you turn on your heal and face him nervously. You hug him, comforting him as you coo

“Wanna talk about it?” You softly ask, Looking up at him

He shakes his head, letting go and grabbing a beer from the fridge, the soft glass bottles clicking together as he gets up to walk to the couch. He sits down with a sigh, watching the tv.

After you finish up the dishes, you sit next to him, a distance between you two. A small grumble leaves him about his job as he talks, angry at a mission gone wrong, you can barely pay attention. He was getting angry, making you nervous. Slamming his bottle down after finishes,he sits up walking to the bathroom presumably to shower. You take his empty bottle and throw it away sighing.

“Sweetie? Where are my clothes” you freeze, a chill running through you. You forgot to clean his clothes. Shit.

nervously walking over to him, peaking your head through the door as you speak

I..forgot to clean them, I’ll do it tonight! It’ll be quick I-

A hard smack is thrown across your face, making you slightly stumble back before he grips your face making you look at him.

“I work all day, and all I expect is my partner to clean the house, but you can’t even do that. Are you that fucking stupid?”

Another smack is thrown, making you squeak in pain as he holds your face. Tears slowly start to well as he yells insults, insults you can’t even register as his hits turn to punches. Punches hit your stomach and ribs as he pins you on the floor, roughly pulling down your pants and whatever else you had on.

You barely let out small no, he scowls, hitting your face as he roughly rubs your clit making you mewl in pain, before it turns into pleasure.

If you can’t do a basic task to help me, what’s the point of you staying around huh? Why don’t I just throw you out? He yells, angry

Tears well as he spits on your cunt, taking his fingers out as he grabs your hips as he unzips his uniform pants as he fishes out his cock. You panic, softly pushing him a bit, he barely notices. He positions himself as he grabs your hips, shoving himself in as he roughly thrusts and slams into you, uncaring.

Should be grateful I even fuck a useless cunt, can’t do shit can you? He spews, slamming roughly inside you.

A rough punch is slammed against your stomach as he continues, occasionally making fun of how you reacted. After a final punch, he roughly groans, cumming inside you. Pulling out immediately, he shoves you off him as he gets up, sighing as he walks away, his seed starting to leak out of you.

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dilf-luvr-4evr · 10 days ago

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Last Christmas | John Price x F!Reader

mdni!!! Tiny nsfw implied (this is so random but I thought it fits the holiday season hehe inspired by wham! ofc)

Something something the base decided to throw a Christmas party after a successful mission and you showed up in the most ravishing dress, a far cry from your usual uniform. Price choked on his drink the moment you walked through the door.

George Michael ridiculed him from the speakers. I kept my distance but you still catch my eye.

Your relationship with him was.. complicated. You broke up with him over a year ago. Though you weren’t sure you were even dating him. Again, complicated. The concept of working together while secretly fucking didn’t really go hand in hand. Oh the fucking was simple. The feelings that develop each time you do it? Not so much.

You were the one who broke things off. Stating you wanted to stay professional. You just didn’t want to confront him about the three forbidden words that lodged in your throat every time he kisses you so gently while his cock roughly pistons in and out of you.

Price physically felt his heart sink to his stomach when you told him. Though he would never admit it, thinking you were just bored of your fuck buddy. He just uttered a simple “Alright.” Idiots really, the both of you.

You dawned more drinks than you should, having just recently broke up with a guy. Price pretends to stumble into you as if he hasn’t been burning holes on the back of your head the entire party. And maybe your ass too. Hell, your tits, your thighs.. It was like he was trying to snipe you with the way he never let you out of his sight.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry sir,” you giggled, slurring all over the place. Your face was a little flushed, hair slightly disheveled and he had to swallow the hitch in his throat, shift his weight. As kids these days would say: he was down horrendous.

“S’fine,” he chuckled, steadily holding your arms to prevent you from falling. He missed your soft skin. He was so close, it made him nervous. Girls don’t make him nervous. He reluctantly let you go once you got back on your feet, his touch lingering. Just to make sure you won’t fall. And maybe just to feel you a little longer.

“Let me-“ you hiccuped. “Let me clean that up,” you say, reaching in your purse to see if you could find a napkin. Price had to look down his shirt to notice the small champagne stain you spilled. Bloody hell. Had he been so focused on you that he didn’t feel it? Must’ve looked like an idiot.

“Forget it, love,” he said, instinctively reaching out to your hand before he even realized it. He closed your purse, giving your hand a little brush of his thumb before letting you go again. He felt like a thief, stealing little touches whenever he could. You nodded sheepishly.

None of you said anything after that. None of you left either. He kept his eyes on you as you looked at your kitten heels. The first time in over a year you talk about something other than work and it’s about spilled champagne. He figured you’re still sober enough, your shy nature still peeking through.

“How are you?” You blurted out, tilting your head to look up at him. No sir, no captain, no nothing. How are you? The question and the way you caught him staring almost gave him whiplash.

“Good,” he says a second too quick, not even having thought of it. Miss you, his brain says, delayed. The words echoed in his head, desperate to leave his mouth. “You?” He asked back, deciding and hoping that the first part didn’t make it out.

“I- I think I need help with something,” you say before hiccuping again. Price raised a brow. Concern? Confusion? Intrigue? You can’t really tell. Perhaps it’s all three. “I can’t talk about it here.”

He nodded before he could stop himself. Let his feet follow you somewhere secluded. It seemed that his pride had left him a couple minutes ago, the thought of getting you alone again getting to him. Just to make sure you don’t trip again, right? And especially not fall into another man’s arms.

You turned around to face him when it was just the two of you, the music a blur in the background. Price searched your eyes, waiting for you to say something.

You held his face and kissed him.

And it was like you turned off a switch in his brain, his lips moving with you like autopilot. His hands find their way back home to the back of your neck, your sides, wherever he could touch you.

“Missed you,” he murmured against your lips. You don’t say anything.

But if you kiss me now, I know you’d fool me again.

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