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starry-eyedblog · 2 months

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legitimately the only thing I can think of is husband!price coddling his partner, they're all bleary eyed from crying out of desperation for physical touch since he's been deployed for so long- just the pure neediness. needing him there in every way, physically and emotionally. just like him muttering small "'m here, I have you baby" or "feels too good now that I'm back, yeah? gonna take all of me anyways, love"

(the last sentence is nsfw but either way just... the reader being needy for him in every way when he returns home)

- cruel anon

cruel anon hello !! how are you? you're constantly keeping me fed with ideas and i love it. i need price to soothe me in his arms while i cry

warnings/tags: john price x gn reader, crying, clinginess, smut

you've spent most of this month in tears, desperate to be in your husbands arm, safe and sound. for some reason, his latest deployment was taking a real toll on you.

days seemed longer and the house felt too big without him. cooking just for yourself was becoming more difficult and going out to socialise just didn't seem to fill the gap in your chest.

but finally, it was the day he was coming home. you knew that his time home would fly by and you'd be waving him goodbye again, but thankfully he had been given a wee bit longer off this time due to how demanding and rough his latest deployment had been.

you were now waiting in the living room, sipping on a tea anxiously while you waited for the front door to open. any minute now and he'd be kicking his shoes off and sweeping you off your feet in a bear hug.

after around fifteen minutes, you had finished your cup and decided to go pour another. as you stood up from the comfy chair, that's when you heard the swift click on the front door.

you dropped the cup down, uncaring of where it lands as you rushed through the hallway to the front door. tears instantly pooled in your eyes, making your vision a bit blurry but you didn't care. all that mattered was that your husband was finally home again.

"hey honey, miss me?" john chuckles, dropping his bags onto the floor to open up his arms for you - which you happily ran into. he picked you up, squeezing you tightly before gently setting you back down.

salty tears streamed down your face as you pressed kiss after kiss onto his lips and face. after a minute of this, warm hands gently cupped your face, forcing you to stop moving and stare up. "hey, shh what's wrong baby?" john soothes while using a thumb to rub away some tears.

"i don't know, i guess i've just missed you a lot." you sniffle, your hands wrapping around his waist and holding on tight, never wanting to let go. your chest feels light now that your husband is back safe and sound.

john leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, "well i'm here now huh? not going anywhere honey." he whispers and you nod slowly, tears still streaming down your face.

it's been a few weeks since then, and your emotions haven't got much better. you cling to john where he moves around the house, desperate to just be with him. his physical touch always settles you, keeps you happy and calm.

john hasn't minded, he honestly thinks it's cute. you're acting like a needy house cat, and he's more than happy to treat and spoil you. the two of you haven't really gone out to be with friends since he's been back, too wrapped up in re connecting with one another to even think of leaving the house.

completing simple tasks around the house requires him by your side now, and whenever anything get's too much or goes wrong - he's quick to step in and help. you feel like you've struck gold with your husband. most people would find this emotional and physical clinginess too much, but not john.

he understands how hard it must be for you to be home alone for months on end, trying to keep everything together while also making sure you're getting out enough and staying on top of things. he's always well taken care of too when he gets back, you pamper him to the point he doesn't need to lift a finger.

this time though, it's you needing that extra support and closeness and john is more than happy to be there however you need. after all, why wouldn't he? john loves you, deeply.

it becomes even more apparent during sex, the way you cling to him and never want to let go. being able to have his bare skin on you while he fills you up is so comforting. he's surrounding you with his body, voice and scent; to the point where all you can think about is 'john john john john john.'

you cry and moan, gripping onto him while he slowly slides in. his lips are pressed to your ear, whispering filthy things. "feels so good that i'm back, right sweetheart? oh i know i know, c'mon you can take all of it i know you can. s'just been awhile yeah?"

it's emotional and euphoric, the way you tighten around him while tears stream down your face. he loves the sight of you broken before him, so dependant and trusting. it's something he'll never forget for the rest of his life.

the fact you trust him so deeply, letting him pleasure you to the point of exhaustion, still gripping onto him and crying for him. how could any man ignore such a beautiful bond with his wife?

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lethalchiralium · 10 months

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Diamondback | [1]

a/n: i love this series and i haven’t even finished out the ending yet

warnings: Mentions of cheating, mentions of pregnancy (not reader), mentions of alcohol

summary: Pine, Arizona. You’ve touched down in Phoenix and driven up to a relatively normal sized city, more than ready to see your best friend and grossly underprepared for an interview you got twelve hours ago. It’s hard to tell if you’re ready, but now you have to be. It’s time to chase the light.

You weren’t surprised that the Hotshot Fire Station wasn’t located in town, but on a backroad that was in a patch of sand, surrounded by high mountains. Sand has already contaminated your boots and hair by the time you had exited the airport in Phoenix in the early morning. A manila folder sat in between your hands as you looked at the silver building, nerves dancing up and down your spine. The sun was bearing down on you, something that used to really be your friend.

Change is good. Change is supposed to be good, right? So why am I nervous? Don’t be nervous. People can see when you’re nervous. Quit it. Quit it!

Swallowing a bit of your nervousness, you moved out of the sun and into the building. You opened the door and walked into what appeared like the front room - it was painted a soft beige, floor made of sealed concrete and decorated with mismatched couches and seats - you could hear the clink of workout equipment down the hall, the smell of air freshener was dull.

This was so much different than your Firewatch tower in Yellowstone National Park; it was a two day hike to it, there was a babbling brook 50 yards away with a small campsite nearby as well. All you had was your radio, books, and binoculars to keep you company for two to four months out of the year, as well as an old laptop that was connected to very shitty ethernet. You had many years of firewatching under your belt, you had taken classes for fire science and wildfire safety, as well as EMT training just in case one of your fellow fire watchers had a medical emergency. You were well prepared for this job, to be a 141 Hotshot.

The 141 Hotshots were the second municipal hotshot crew to ever be formed and based in Arizona, holding up legacy of the Sandstone Mountain Hotshots, who had perished in a wildfire less than a decade prior - it was said that the Superintendent of the 141 had trained under the Superintendent of the Sandstone Hotshots only a few years before the tragedy, a man who you had read about before even thinking about becoming a Hotshot seven years ago, especially before your fiance forced you into fire watch. Wildfire firefighting work was grueling, you were very fit because of your work as a fire watcher, but this takes it to a whole new level.

“Y/N!”

You had stopped in the middle of the front room, eyes now focused on the sweaty and dirt stained face of your childhood best friend - Alex Keller. The man had been kind enough to lend you a room in his apartment and put in a good word to the well-respected Superintendent he had worked for for almost seven years. It had been a few years since you had seen him; you had only a backpack waiting in your rental car. You instantly opened your arms and let Alex hug you, not bothered by the sweat or dirt on him.

He patted your back before releasing you, a smile on his mustached face. “I hope that dickhead didn’t cause you any trouble.”

The dickhead he was talking about was your ex-fiancé, the man you definitely did not want to talk or think about. You rolled your eyes. “Alex, I’m fine.”

He gave a small huff before continuing, “Well? Did you decide?”

You held up your folder, to which the man smiled wider.

“Good! I know Price is gonna like you.” He patted your shoulder before he nodded back towards the hallway he had come from. “C’mon, I’ll give you a tour.”

“I don’t need a tour, I need to get to my interview-“ You blubbered before he grabbed your arm, pulling you towards him. “Alex!”

“I’m takin’ you to the interview, dingaling.” He chuckled, your apprehension slipped away and you then began to walk beside him. “So stubborn for no reason.”

“I like to think my stubbornness is a good quality.”

Alex gave you a look, you laughed at him. “Sure.” You opened your mouth to retaliate but he kept talking. “Anyway, I’m goin’ to Farah’s after my shift, you’ll have to fend for yourself. You know where I live, and the code to get in.”

You sighed. “I’ll be fine.”

He patted your back, smile still big. “You always are.” He then looked towards the large equipment you two were walking towards, seeing his fellow Hotshots working out or fixing their gear before he took your arm, stopping you from continuing. You looked to your friend as he spoke, “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s a lot different than just sitting in a tower and just watching a fire.”

“I was a Hotshot for a year, Alex.”

“Yeah, six years ago.”

You were about to retaliate to his argument when you heard your last name be called. You looked around Alex to see a genuinely handsome blond man, standing tall with his hands behind his back. Alex turned to look at the man, a hand then clapped your back. “Y/N, this is Assistant Superintendent Riley.”

Riley had a bored look in his eye, it made your skin bristle a little. He glanced to Alex before going, “Supe’s waitin’ on you, L/N.”

British? You glanced at Alex before he pushed you forwards, you immediately kept walking towards the door Riley was holding open. You nodded to him before walking into the office, watching as the man you were hopefully interviewing with stood.

Damn, what is with having pretty superiors?

“L/N, I’m Superintendent John Price of the 141 Hotshots, and you’ve just met my Assistant, Simon Riley.”

“British?” You blurted out as you held out your hand.

John chuckled a little before he took your hand with a firm handshake. “Yes, Liverpool. Simon’s from Manchester.” He gestured to the seat across from him as you let go and you instantly sat down, then handed him your manila folder. He took it, settling down in his chair as you heard the office door click. Footsteps behind you instantly told you that Simon intended to stay for the interview, noticing in the corner of your eye that Simon now leaned against the wall, watching you. “So, I heard you were fire watch?”

Your full attention was on John now, he had settled onto his arms on his desk. You nodded in response. “Six years.”

“Lonely up there.” Simon commented, John gave him a sharp look before gazing back at you.

“Keller said you were a Hotshot before. Why’d you quit?” You stared at John, noticing he hadn’t even opened your folder of qualifying classes and certificates.

“Fiancé-“ You cut yourself off before continuing. “Ex-fiancé convinced me to do fire watch instead. Said it was less dangerous, which it is.”

There was a twitch in John’s eye. “Then why are you here?”

“For a job-“

“Don’t run around the question. Why would you leave a cushy job that I’m sure pays well in one of the most beautiful National Parks in the world?”

“To be clear, sir,” Your eyes narrowed. “My personal business as to why I decided to change my career so quickly is none of your concern. I can promise it won’t be a problem, I didn’t leave because I was forced or fired.” You glanced to Riley. “And I may have not been on a team for the past few years, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a team player.”

The Superintendent in front of you chuckled, your facial expression didn’t change but your chest tightened.

I’ve done it again. There goes my new job. Rest in peace my independence - I’m gonna have to move in with Mom.

“You have all of your qualifications?”

A moment of shock stopped you from speaking, but you pushed through it, confusion flooding through your chest. “Uh, yeah. In the folder, fire science, EMT, fire safety training-“

“Where were you a Hotshot?” Simon’s voice made you look over to him, your answer instant, “Diamond Mountain.”

Simon whistled. “Up near Reno?”

You nodded as you looked back to John. “Was tough. No one liked me on the team except the Supe. Said I had potential.”

He had finally opened your file folder, flipping through the papers with almost blatant disregard for any of the information on the printed pages. He closed the folder after only looking through it for fifteen seconds, tossing the file back onto the desk. He settled on his elbows as he leaned forwards. “That Supe gave you flying colors when I called him.” Oh thank you, Breaker, thank you. Best Supe ever. “Said he was disappointed to see you go to fire watch so quickly.” You kept stoic, watching as John stared back. “You’re not gonna quit on me, are you?”

“No sir.”

“Not gonna run off when shit hits the fan? Or use this as a step to get to structure?”

“No sir.”

With one nod, John sat back in his chair.

“The crew’s going on a hike.” He nudged his chin towards the door. “Got running shoes, Firewatch?”

With a smile on your face, you nodded.

Summers in your fire watch tower were hot and dry - you used to sit at the worn desk, a book you’ve read thousands of times under your fingertips, as you watched over the large fields of brush and the faraway whispers of dense forests in the heart of Yellowstone. The four fans about the small one room cabin were on high, trying to move air around and keep you from overheating. It was nice, calm - even when you were watching a wildfire one year with high distance binoculars. Something about relaxing in the cabin and being over ten thousand feet in the air - it gave you a sense of calm. After years of having to fight to prove yourself, somewhere you can just be yourself was dropped into your lap.

Your heart was in your throat, you supposed sand had lodged into your esophagus by the time the 141 Hotshots had hit the second mile of the ‘hike’. Alex was kind enough to stay behind with you, not saying a word as the jog up a steep terrain was about to throw you into the hands of God. Both Price and Riley were at the head of the single file line, it slithered through the well defined trail like a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake - poised and ready to strike. There was a soft jingle that came from Alex, the sound of his two necklaces, and there was only the chchchchch of shoes against loose gravel and sand.

You were supposed to be up in that stupid one room cabin in Yellowstone by now, but here you were. Pushing yourself well beyond your now adjusted limits, you didn’t feel the need to entertain Price's statement in your head - you didn’t leave your ‘cushy’ job in Yellowstone for fun; you didn’t even want to go, but there was no way you were staying anywhere near Justin and that oddly sweet southern girl he got pregnant. You quite literally packed up three outfits, a couple pairs of underwear, and only took two pairs of socks and shoes. You had nothing else with you, anger pumped through your veins so intensely, that you wouldn’t dare go get the rest of your belongings without someone to keep you in check.

“Don’t beat yourself up.”

You looked to your right, seeing that Alex had slowed to your pace to talk to you. You then gazed back in front of you, seeing the person in front of Alex had a shirt tagged ‘Soap’. What the Hell kind of name is Soap? “I’m not.”

Alex chuckled. “Sure.” His elbow hit your arm, your head whipped to look at him. “It’s okay to be upset.”

You glared at him, eyebrows furrowed as you kept pace. “I don’t want to talk about it.” You pushed yourself further, closing the distance with the Soap Guy by a couple of feet. Alex was instantly at your side again. If you weren’t trying to be on your best behavior, you’d throw a punch directly in his smug face. He was right when he said Justin was bad news, and you were dreading the ‘I told you so’. “Can we do this later?”

Without even looking, you knew Alex gave you the look that he always gave you - you’re lying and I know you are, so I’m gonna wait until you’re not being stupid to talk about it. “I got you a key for my apartment, it’s coming in tomorrow. I didn’t really have time to clear my spare room, though.”

The sun was burning you, you regretted not thinking about sunscreen in that Phoenix airport store, you regretted not having better jogging gear, and you definitely regretted not packing your suitcase. You would have all of your hiking gear, but this job was quite literally a last minute decision you made in an airport bar. But did you regret this?

Your head looked out to the right, watching the scenery slowly change as you jogged behind the line of well-trained or in-training Hotshots. Golden colored brush, tall trees that you observed were pines, and an occasional cactus. You then looked back to Alex, his head faced ahead. He had truly grown into a handsome man, much more confident than that young adult you left in New Orleans six years ago. Sun-kissed skin and obviously gelled hair, a smile that seemed permanent; your best friend had done well for himself, you thought you had done the same. But your life had exploded into a million pieces, cutting into your not so delicate skin. You had to prove yourself, you had to do this to gain control again or everything might fall apart again.

You weren’t quite sure that you would actually regret this change, but anything was better than that one bedroom apartment in the Irish Channel in New Orleans, and with the witch of a woman who called herself your mother.

You turned your head forwards. “I’ll try to get out of your hair as quick as I can.”

“Don’t rush it.”

“Alex-“ You turned to look at him, but realized the group had slowed, you stopped on a dime.

The blond looked at you, giving you another look but it was one you couldn’t read. His hand settled on your back, pushing you to stand in between him and the stopped Soap Guy. “We’ll chat later.”

The booming voice of John Price made you snap to attention, “This is what we have been assigned to preserve. Take a breath.” You took a breath through your nose, the air tasted nothing like Yellowstone - the air in the valley you stood above was bitter and gritty, but it felt clean. “Then look out onto these thousands of acres of forest, admire it.” Your eyes fluttered as you gazed upon thousands of acres of dense pine trees, fields of brush and grass, and mountains that danced through the landscape. A twinge of guilt trembled through your stomach, guilt that you had left your entire life for an incredibly dangerous job that can get you killed at almost any turn. Your eyes moved from the horizon to the bearded man, watching as he fixed the band on his watch without even a glance to it, his eyes on all of the crew you only had a moment to glance over earlier. You watched his eyes scan every single person’s face before his eyes landed on you, maybe just for a moment too long before he looked to Alex.

“Breathe it in, because this will be one of the last times that you can look upon this sight without any negativity.”

It was truly a sight that stood before you. Breathing in air you’ve never had the chance to before, seeing the wonders of nature in a different place of America was incredible. Your lungs burned, you hadn’t had a fast-paced and tough hike since you were a Diamond Mountain Hotshot. It was good, you knew it was good for you - your eyes wandered back to Price.

“Because once I’m done with you,” His blue eyes landed upon you again, his voice sharp like a dagger as it sliced the sentiment into your brain. “all you’ll see is fuel.”

Okay, get yourself out of the gutter. He’s your boss, not a fucking treat to dangle in front of yourself! You literally just broke up with Justin, you cannot get the hots for your hot boss! KEEP IT TOGETHER!

He gave you a smirk before he started to jog towards you - then past you, then Riley behind him, and the crew followed. You waited for the Soap Guy to go for you to turn and go, but you noticed in the crew that you weren’t the only female - you didn’t catch that earlier when you went out to get your running shoes from your rental car. The only one who even looked at you gave you a smirk, she had almost black hair cut right at her shoulders, covered in tattoos. She was four people ahead of you, so it shouldn’t be hard to find her and hopefully make a friend out of Tattoo Girl. Your eyes then moved to the bold letters on the shoulders of the Soap Guy. You then saw him look over his shoulder at you.

What the fuck is with all of these guys being pretty?

“Say ye'r th' fresh meat. Alex said a lot o' guid things.” He had a wild mohawk and a charming smile, his fingers pinched the front of his shirt so he could somewhat fan himself.

“Scottish.” You remarked as Soap chuckled, following the person in front of you - you followed too, but he had moved to jog beside you like Alex. “Why do they call you Soap?”

The man looked over onto his back, tsking before giving someone ahead in line an invisible dagger through their chest. “Damn bastard wasn't suppose tae put that on mah shirt.”

Alex elbowed you again, you kept your eyes forwards now. The trail was becoming steep again, but it was easier to descend than to climb earlier. Your lungs were burning, but you were somehow pushing through. Adjusting and all that jazz. This shit is gonna suck with all the weight I have to carry during drills. Hopefully I get used to the heat quickly or else this might actually break me.

The Soap Guy cleared his throat, nudging you with a knuckle, you didn’t spare a moment to look at him. “Top secret!”

“He put Dawn dish soap in the dishwasher one night, and we came back to the station to a floor of bubbles. So his name is Soap.” Alex snickered, a smile grew on your face as Soap audibly deflated.

“So why aren’t you named Bubbles?” You kept your arms close to your chest as the route kept winding around, both men allowing you the worn gravel path as they opted for the sand and patches of grass.

Soap scoffed, “What, so I can be th’ ‘prettiest girl at th’ party’?”

A cackle of laughter came from the man you were following, another man with a nickname written on the back of his shirt - but he was conscious about the sun by wearing what looked like a well loved baseball cap. In big black letters in between his shoulder blades was ‘GAZ’, and Gaz kept cackling like a hyena. Soap took a couple fast strides forwards, immediately tugging Gaz into his sweaty armpit. The man screeched, Soap yelling some Scottish obscenities that you wouldn’t have been able to decipher if you tried. All Alex did was laugh, you watched as Soap now jogged next to Gaz, who was trying to get out of his hold.

“That’s the Team Leaders for you.”

You spared a look to Alex. “Team Leaders? Them?”

Your friend shrugged. “For as stupid as they act now, they’re amazing in the field.”

“Good to know.” Your legs burned, chest roared in pain. You gazed out onto the landscape, now noticing that the silver dot in the distance was turning into the Fire Station. “I could use a drink.”

“I also feel that you need a drink.”

You reached out and smacked Alex’s arm, snapping at him, “That’s not funny.”

He glanced to you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “There’s a quiet bar in town, I’ll send you the address.”

By the time you had gotten into your rental car after being dismissed with the rest of the Hotshots, you were exhausted. Lungs hummed with a slight burn, your back splattered with aches. It wasn’t hard to know you needed a stiff drink, especially after changing career paths drastically and uprooting your entire life.

You ditched going to Alex’s apartment as soon as you realized you really only had three outfits and barely any necessities to last you four days. Instead of going out to the nearest Walmart to get some new underwear and some shampoo that wasn’t Alex’s, you found yourself at the polished dark oak stool of a warmly lit quiet bar. There were barely a handful of souls in the small and cozy bar, it was well decorated and taken care of - yet you haven’t seen a bartender for twenty minutes. At least you were tired enough not to care, just glad you remembered deodorant when you had gotten back to your car. The bar had good air conditioning, softly blowing cool air around the black and gold themed bar.

Your phone had been off all day, but now it sat in your hands, on and with non-stop notifications. You had instantly put on Do Not Disturb, upset about it. Hundreds of calls from your ex-fiancé, almost a thousand texts, begging for forgiveness, then blaming it on you, then apologizing. Next was the calls from his mother, his three sisters, his brother - all people you had considered family. All were either asking where you were or asking to talk, to have Justin explain. You wouldn’t dare listen to them, wouldn’t dare listen to their defense for a slimy cheater. You wished you could just shove one sentiment down their throats:

He’s a liar, pathetic, mean, and he’s gonna get what’s coming to him. I don’t fucking cater to him anymore. He’s gonna have to learn how to suck the energy out of someone else.

The only message you wanted to read was from Justin’s father, a man you respected deeply and one you knew despised cheating. In your bones, you knew that man would take your side, even if the rest of his family took your ex-fiancé’s. The only reason why you didn’t tap on the message was because a voice had broken you from your focus.

“Thought I told you to go home and rest?”

You looked up in surprise, seeing the familiar face of Simon… behind the bar. Your eyebrows furrowed, “I thought you were a Hotshot?”

The blond shrugged in his white button up and black vest, resting his tattooed hands on his side of the bar. “Gotta have a year round job, had to pick up a shift for Lucy.”

You didn’t look away from Simon when you turned off your phone. “141 Hotshots aren’t year round?”

“God no.” He shook his head, pulling out a clean glass and a napkin, letting it settle on the bar in front of your folded arms before setting the cold glass in front of you. “We’re only mandatory for 90 consecutive days a year - I still need this cash for gas.”

A nod, you settled your phone in your lap. “Long Island, please.”

His hand was reaching for water, but it had stopped. He gave you a sharp look, a warning. “You almost passed out coming down the trail. My statement still stands,” He took the glass back, pouring water into it from the pitcher he retrieved only a minute ago. “Go home.”

Your phone buzzed in your lap. The pit of despair in your stomach got deeper. “One drink.”

He placed the glass of water in front of you. “Drink it, then go home.”

A straw was set in front of you, but you didn’t move your stare from the blond’s face. “I just moved across the country with the clothes on my back and barely enough money to rent a car.” You moved the glass off of the napkin, setting it a few inches away as you continued, “I’m moving into my best friend’s apartment because my eight year relationship ended ‘cause my fiance had to get his dick wet with another girl for an entire year.”

The stare of your Assistant Superintendent would’ve made you laugh if you weren’t waist deep in misery; his eyebrows furrowed just a little, his lips pressed into a thin line. His hand raised from the bar, grabbing another glass.

“Not to mention his mistress is pregnant.”

He let out a grunt, moving away from you to grab the liquor. “One drink.”

The buzzing phone on your lap did nothing to deter your small smile. “Thanks, Assistant Supe.”

He turned around, a small chuckle escaped him as he said, “You can just call me Captain like everyone else.”

“Captain Riley,” You smiled, he gave you a glare over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

He turned back around, grabbing his bottle of liquor before returning to his spot from before. He began to make your Long Island Iced Tea, eyes kept on his work as he spoke, “Remember to be at the firehouse at 6am. This is your only drink tonight.” Ice cubes clinked the glass as they were dropped in. “You got a ride home?”

You shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”

Simon looked up from his work, meeting your eyes with a sharp gaze. “I’ll take you home.”

A flush ran through your chest, eyebrows raising as you blubbered, “No, I’ll be fine, I promise-”

His hand waved a little. “Just wait for me.”

You smiled at him. “Thanks, Cap.”

taglist: @all-good-things-have-an-ending @warners-wife @random0lover @as-is-above-so-below @peachesofteal @halfmoth-halfman

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wombywoo · 3 months

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business

#call of duty #cod #john price #captain john price #my art #this one's for all the housewives at home (me) 💅

7K notes · View notes

xynnoix · 6 months

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//mw3 spoilers

He’s fine, what do you mean? He’s just in recovery

(And I’m still in denial)

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ultraviolencer23 · 28 days

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Older price showing younger reader how to give head. Praising us as he forces his thick cock down our throats.... (Sorry for being a menace)

an : stop this had me giggling and kicking my feet!! older price has my heart <3

nsfw 18+・₊✧⋆⭒˚｡⋆ minors dni!!

pairing : older!price x fem!reader

warnings : smut, oral (m receiving), rough, praise, non-specified age gap, kinda innocent reader

"on your knees, sweetheart," he commanded, giving you no choice but to comply. you silently obliged and settled your knees upon the wooden floor beneath you, glancing up at his stern-looking face. "you ever sucked cock before, honey?" he asked, tracing his fingers over your jaw.

you shook your head in response, adrenaline coursing through your mind. he huffed out a chuckle. "of course," he smiled, "that's okay. i'm gonna teach you, alright?"

you nodded nervously, watching him begin to undo his belt, hearing the clanking buckle as the strip of leather dropped to the floor, and watching his steady fingers unfasten his trousers' button. in an almost desperate manner, he shoved his pants down his thighs, leaving his boxers, that seemed much too tight, for he had hardened from the moment his eyes found themselves set upon you. his hand instinctively came down to palm his ache with a low grunt leaving his throat.

your eyes widened at the sight, catching a glimpse of the outlined size of his dick beneath the fabric. you felt yourself subconsciously fidgeting with your hands as he pulled the waistband of his underwear down, reavealing his thick, solid cock. as he took it in his hand, you felt your heart rate quicken at the sheer size of him, almost in fear, watching him stroke the shaft a few times before stepping closer towards you.

"don't worry, sweetheart," he muttered, "y' gonna be fine." replying was the last of your thoughts; instead, you began to reflexively open your mouth as he inched closer. you gently wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock, sucking off his pre-cum, whilst staring up at him with wide eyes, yearning for some praise. "that's it, honey," he said, lacing his fingers through your hair, "now, you gotta take it a bit deeper, that okay?"

you pulled away to nod in reply, before moving back to his cock, once again wrapping your lips around his tip, but now slowly taking more of him in your mouth. "good girl," he groaned, "now move up and down, like this. let me show you."

without hesitation, he grasped a handfull of your hair, allowing him to easily move your head up and down his cock as he wished. you found your eyes closing as his tip inched further into your mouth and back out repeatedly, when you felt the grip on your hair tighten.

"eyes up here," he said; your teary eyes fluttered open to see his face contorted in pleasure, as he used your mouth to get himself off. he bucked his hips towards your mouth, making you splutter around his cock, and causing held up tears to spill down your face as he hit the back of your throat.

"sorry, honey," he grunted, holding onto the sides of your head and thrusting his hips towards your mouth. one especially deep thrust had your throat contracting around his cock, dragging a guttural moan from his mouth. "fuck. that's a good girl, baby," he groaned, "doin' so fuckin' well for me."

the length of his cock ploughed in and out of your mouth and the speed of his hips increased as he brought himself closer to the edge. as his thrusts grew more desperate, more haphazard, his grasp on your hair grew tighter, his grunts grew louder and you moved your hands to hold onto his thighs to steady yourself from his relentless pace.

"oh honey, so good for me," he groaned, leaning his head back with eyes closed in ecstasy, rutting his hips up to your face in exasperation. the touch of your soft hands against his skin was enough to drive him mad, only encouraging the ceaseless movement of his hips as you had no choice but to take his cock down your throat.

“‘m gonna fuckin’ come,” he grumbled, keeping up his harsh pace with his hands tightly tangled in your hair, “you’re gonna take it all.” with a few more deep thrusts, you felt his cock swell in your mouth, along with a loud series of groans that clouded your mind with desire. “fuck,” he grunted with one final pump, spilling himself into your mouth, rope after rope.

instinctively, you swallowed the liquid as he took his cock from your mouth and looked down upon you in awe, taking in the sight before him. you smiled up at him and his entranced state as he chuckled in response, offering you his hand to stand up from the floor.

“you took that so well, honey.”

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

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criminalamnesia · 3 months

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Simon x Reader whose already work with TF 141 for a pretty long time. And one day, there's a traitor around the base, leaking their information. All of the proof are leading to reader but reader always deny it! And they interrogated reader, and reader always deny it! And he's (with other 141 members, of course, but it mostly him) do their torture methods to get information out of reader. They keep doing it until someday, the real traitor finally captured!

And make the reader traumatized, pls. Like, she would have trust issues, trauma, and others. She wouldn't forgive them, tho.

ooooo the angst. had to sit on this one for a few days before I wrote something, but here goes nothing.

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

when you blink open your eyes, the room is dimly lit. it’s silent save for the sounds of your labored breathing.

you must’ve passed out. one second johnny— a man you’d known for years—was slicing into your skin with a knife. the next, you’re staring into an empty room.

your hands jerk up involuntarily. still bound. the rope holding them to the arms of the chair have rubbed them raw. the skin is bright red and bloody. it makes you grit your teeth.

you look down at your lap, taking inventory of the parts of your body you can see. large gashes break up the fabric of your tac pants. the blood surrounding the deep wounds is dry and crusty.

one of the cuts looks like it’s getting infected. you swear you can see bone.

you’d taken this kind of suffering before. been capture by enemies, held and tortured and pushed to the brink of death. this was different. this was being done by your team. men you’d bled with. cried with. laughed with.

one you’d even slept with. the same one you loved. the one you called yours.

the door to the room swung open, hitting the wall with a metal thud. your head slowly lifts, eyes squinting to see him. by his stature, you know it’s simon.

he doesn’t bother shutting the door behind him. instead, he walks towards you slowly. as he comes closer, can make out his eyes in the sea of dark paint he smears around them. the same paint you’d helped him apply a time or two.

“back for more?” you say, and it’s meant to sound sarcastic, but all it sounds like is pitiful. your voice cracks, and pain seeps into your tone.

the first rule they’d taught you about scenarios like this was to never let the enemy know it’s working. never let them know that they’re hurting you— that they’re slowly wearing down your defenses.

well, you’d just broken that rule, and you hadn’t even meant to.

you didn’t know how long you’d been tied up, subjected to torture by men you had once called your family. all because a fucking liar whispered your name into their ears. all because they fucking believed it.

apparently the years meant nothing to them. to him, least of all, considering he’d done more damage to you than the rest of them.

simon comes to a stop in front of you. his hands are empty by his sides, but that’s not reassuring. there’s a table full of weapons off to the side. he would have his pick of the litter.

“ready to talk yet?” he says, and his voice is gruff. his tone is hollow. he’s speaking to you the same way he’d spoken to countless enemies. it makes you sick.

“fuck you, simon,” you spit out.

the betrayal of john, gaz, and johnny had hurt. but simon’s betrayal? that was enough to almost put you in the ground.

you’d stopped pleading with them the second they tied you to the chair. now, you were angry. furious. rage filled your veins, and if you weren’t beaten to all hell, you’d find a way out of these fucking restraints and strangle the man in front of you to death.

the man you loved. you’d thought you meant something to him, but apparently not— because who tortures someone they love?

“if you talk,” he ignores your outburst. “it’ll be easier. quick.”

“fuck. you.” you enunciate the words, your jaw impossibly tight as you grit your teeth. “im not the fucking rat.”

“all the evidence,” he starts as he disappears from your vision. you know he’s going to pick his weapon of the hour. you force yourself not to shudder.

“points to you.”

“take that bullshit evidence and shove it up your ass, riley,” you seethe, ropes pulling taut as you lean forward in the chair.

he’s back in your line of sight now, brandishing a large knife.

“you’re only making it harder on yourself, love,” he tuts, and then he’s swinging the knife down, right onto one of your fingers.

you scream as the blade cuts right through skin and bone. your teeth dig into your lip, drawing blood as you refuse to give him more of a reaction. it fucking hurts, but you’ll be damned if you let yourself cry.

“feel like talking now?” he asks, watching as half of your left pinky finger falls to the floor.

“or should we take off another?”

you look up at him, hoping he can see the hatred in your eyes as you speak your next words. “you could take the fucking hand off and I’d still have nothing to tell you.”

“let’s see how true that is then, eh?” he replies, and raises the knife again. he’s about to swing, when someone comes running into the room.

“ghost!”

it’s johnny. he’s obviously winded as he stops beside simon, dropping his hands to his knees as he struggles for breath.

“what, mactavish? im busy.”

“they’re—” he gasps. “they’re not— the— rat.” he says between breaths.

the room goes impossibly still. so quiet you swear you could hear the men’s heartbeats (or maybe that pounding in your ears was your own).

“you sure?” simon’s voice is softer as he lowers the knife and turns to johnny. the younger man nods, his eyes trained on you. you can see the regret in them, the sorrow.

“it’s fucking shepard.”

it’s not funny, but at the news, you burst into laughter. the men stare at you in confusion, but you can’t stop.

you’re laughing so hard you’re crying, and they’re just standing there.

“are you alrigh’?” johnny’s asking as he moves towards you. he’s fully recovered his breath now, and he drops to a crouch to be eye level with you.

you don’t answer— you can’t. you keep laughing. distantly, you hear the knife simon was holding clatter to the ground. can just make out the sound of more footsteps out in the hallway, coming towards the room.

you pass out.

when you wake up again, you’re in the infirmary. your eyes open slowly, adjusting to the bright fluorescent lights.

“easy, love,” a voice to your right drawls.

your eyes are fully open now. you look down at yourself, noticing the lack of bindings. noticing the iv taped to your arm, the stitched cuts, the black and blue bruises, the missing fingernails and missing finger.

the person sitting next to you clears his throat. that’s when you look up and meet the eyes of your captain.

your captain. the man who was supposed to lead you, to keep you safe. what a fucking joke. he’d started the damn witch hunt.

“how d’you feel?” he asks, his words soft, like he’s trying not to scare off a timid animal.

you stare at him for a beat. then two. then you’re moving, pulling the iv from your arm and shakily pushing yourself up in the bed. price is telling you to stop, reaching out to push you back down, but you slap at his hands.

“get the fuck off me!” you shout, and that takes him aback. he stops, frozen, as he watches you shift in the bed. you throw your legs over the side of it and prepare yourself to stand.

“you really shouldn’t—” he begins after he’s regained his senses, but you pay him no mind. you place your feet on the ground and start to stand. your legs wobble, almost give out, but you’re able to stand. barely.

“shut up,” you growl, stumbling forward and towards the exit. he’s moving to cut you off, and you slide him a gaze that’s sharper than a knife. “and leave me the fuck alone.”

he halts again. he seems almost scared of you— but that can’t be right. even on your best days, he would still beat you in hand-to-hand combat.

he’s not scared of your threats or your frail body. he’s scared of what he’s done to you.

just then, johnny and gaz come through the infirmary doors.

“cap, y’alright? we heard yellin’—” johnny begins, but his mouth snaps shut at the sight of you out of bed.

you’re heaving from your spot next to the bed. your legs are shaking violently, threatening to give out any second. you feel nauseous and numb.

“let’s get you back into bed,” gaz says, and he starts towards you, but you stop him as your gaze snaps to his.

“don’t come any fucking closer. any of you.”

“bonnie,” johnny murmurs. he sounds miserable, but you don’t care. don’t give a fuck about how any of them feel.

“don’t. im leaving,” you grunt out, moving a foot forward slowly. you’d be damned if you fell in front of them.

“you can’t, love. you’re in no shape to be walking.” john says, and you snarl.

“and whose fault is that?”

the men stay silent as they watch you slowly shuffle towards the foot of the bed. you’re bracing yourself to walk on your own when simon walks in.

“get back in bed,” his tone is blunt. you ignore him.

you remove your hand from the bed, move to take a step forward without support, and you begin to crumple to the floor.

simon moves forward, quick as a cat, and catches you. he lifts you into his arms bridal style, and you’re screaming hysterically. your limbs are flailing the best they can in such a battered state. you’re in fight-or-flight mode, your body betraying your desire to put up a steely front.

your palms slap against simon’s upper body and his masked face. he gives no reaction. he doesn’t say anything. the others are watching the exchange silently. the room is buzzing with tension.

“get off me!” you screech, landing a slap to simon’s cheek. “let me— let me go! let me go!” you’re gasping for breath, tears streaming down your cheeks. you’re panicking. your heart feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

“put me down! get— get— off me! stop—” you sob.

the doctor rushes into the room then, yelling at the men for allowing you out of bed. you can’t make out what she’s saying over the rush of blood in your ears. you feel light-headed. you can’t breathe.

“put them down, now!” the doctor yells at simon. “they’re having a panic attack— I thought I told you four to stay away from them? they’re too vulnerable right now—” the doctor is chastising them as simon places you back in the bed.

spots are dancing in your vision. you don’t even feel it when the doctor sticks another needle into your arm. the words being exchanged above your head are muffled. it’s like you’re underwater.

john’s face comes into view, then johnny’s, then gaz’s. as your eyes start to close, you notice the only face you don’t see again is simon’s.

when you wake up again, it’s been two weeks.

the doctor had put you into a medically induced coma to allow your more serious wounds time to heal, without risking another episode. unbeknownst to you, the members of your team had stayed by your bedside almost the entire time— minus simon. he hadn’t come within ten feet of the infirmary since the day of your panic attack.

there’s fresh flowers on the bedside table. a steady beeping of the heart monitor. a fuzzy feeling in your head.

it feels like a dream, all of it does. none of it feels real as you settle into your body again. but then the hurt starts, and you remember the truth.

your family betrayed you. your lover betrayed you. they locked you up and tortured you. they didn’t believe you.

when the doctor came to your side to check your iv, she smiled.

“how’re you feeling?”

you look up at her, and it takes a moment for you to speak.

“don’t,” you begin. your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “don’t let them…in here. don’t…wanna see them.”

the doctor nods in understanding, and she doesn’t say anything else to you. she turns and walks out of the room.

the door clicks shut behind her. she lets out a sigh before turning around to face the three men.

“they don’t want to see you.” she tells them, and their expressions drop. they don’t protest, and like wounded puppies, they walk off.

no one else comes to check on you for a few hours.

you’re in and out of consciousness— can’t tell what’s real and what’s a dream. flashes of your torture come back to you. flashes of a smile. of a scarred face. of hands on your hips and—

you crack your eyes open, and the room is dark. the only light is the blinking of some of the machines. it illuminates the room enough to allow you to see a large, dark figure slip from the room. the door clicks shut so quietly it’s almost imperceptible.

that’s when you notice fresh flowers on the bedside table.

your eyes start to droop once more, and you chalk up whatever you just saw to a dream, while simon exhales heavily on the other side of the infirmary door.

————————————————

authors note:

I hope this alright! it’s one in the morning (and I’m half asleep writing this) so I apologize for the errors that are most likely present, and the sense this most likely lacks. I feel like I could write a whole book about this idea, but im cutting myself off to sleep lol.

thank you for the ask, I hope I did your idea justice. 🫶

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