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blingblong55 · 6 months

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Choke-Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader x John Price NSFW

^Such a fucking good song

Based on a request:

OK, weird combo Price!jealous x Ghost!possessive x F!reader. Reader goes on a mission with Her mentor Ghost and her Captain. I just imagine them pulling reader one way to another to end up sandwiched between them for some angry dominant sex. Idk just a thought --- F!Reader, smut, MDNI, 18+, dub-con, angry!sex, dom!Ghost, dom!Price, sub!reader, P-in-V, unprotected!sex, degrading, threesome, anal!sex, jealous!Price, possessive!Ghost, spanking ---

A/N: in Badjhur we trust

It was supposed to be a short missions, simple and quick. No one knew it'd end up being running to the woods' safe house, having to stay longer than expected and make both of your commanding officers jealous or possessive of their little private. Tension grew when you asked Ghost to open a bottle, the lid too hard to twist and your tired state not being able to create much strength. Price wished you asked him instead, a real man, in his words. That whole day, you spent it between laps, getting taught how to clean your riffle properly, teaching you new techniques and then the occasional groping.

At some point, you went from occasional pulls towards one of their laps to having one man pull your waist to his side whilst the other pulled your arms towards him. "Fuckin' leave her to me Price," Ghost said through gritted teeth. "I'm not letting you have her sit on your lap, lieutenant." Price puffed out a cloud of smoke. You looked between them and as Price lifted your chin to look at him, Ghost cupped your face and made you turn to him. "My pretty girl," he lifted his balaclava and as he was about to kiss your forehead, Price pulled you to his side.

"Don't touch her," his arms wrapped around you. Ghost couldn't take it you were his and at base, he had made sure all soldiers knew that. Price kissed you, hands roaming on you and then you felt it, Ghost bitting onto your neck, marking you as his. "Whoever makes 'er come more, fucking wins 'er." Ghost took your jackey off, lifitng the shirt from your body and tossing it aside. "What a beauty," Ghost kisses your shoulders and neck. Price with one single move removes your bra and kisses the collar bone.

Clothes all off, your captain's head between your thighs, teasing your folds all while the lieutenant makes you open your mouth wide as you give him head. You let out a whimper when they abruptly stop and put you on all fours. "Let's see who gives her a better time," Price's hands caress your bare ass before he gives you a good slap. You mewl and he chuckles, "Oh, what a good girl," he continues to slap your ass and without warming, Ghost smacks his cock on your mouth. "Stick your tongue out for me, be a good slut," he commands. You do as told and he smirks. "Spit on it, baby," your spit covering his tip, tongue swirling around and giving him pleasure.

Your mouth slowly stretches thin as his fat cock gets inside it. His thrusts all in rage, wanting to win this bet, make you his slut by the end of it. Price needed you to be his, needed your pretty holes filled and leaking with his cum, leaving you to his mercy only. Thick fingers deep inside your cunt, pumping themselves into that tight pussy of yours. The sweet noises of you gagging and being choked by Ghost's fat cock, making you clench on Price's thick and veiny cock. You cry out. Your g spot getting pleased at every thrust. Ghost knew this, so he pulled out, "Let me take her first, to show you how good her face looks when I take her fully," he tried to reason but in truth he needs you to himself, to be the one fucking himself into you.

"Fine, but I'll be next," His heavy cock gets stroked by his calloused hands as he sits and watches from the chair near the sofa. Ghost rubs his tip rubbing your slit, you let out a soft whimper to which he grbas your chin and makes you look at him. "Good fucking sluts take what I give," he spits out. Your mouth spread open, his fungers fucking your throat, tears and gags all running free, he smirks, his dick hard and slowly being thrusted in you. Your tits bouncing at his hard thrusts, he slaps yopur face when you close your moth around his fingers, "fucking keep it open!" he commands.

Price couldn't take it, so he moves to your mouth, his cock taking the lieutenants fingers place. "We had a fucking deal, Price," Ghost growls, thrust become more rough. You try and plea but both men could not care for you at this time. Price chokes you with his hands, your neck would for sure get some bruising after this. His balls slapping against your face. Your eyes shut as the tears and war paint came offf your face. Ghost hoplding your hips in place, his cock abusing your tight cunt. Price holding your neck, enjoying how you choke and clench around his cock, Ghost encouraging this by groaning. "Fucking. Slut. Taking. It.All." He said with each thrust.

The bulge of Ghost's fat and lenghthy cock on your tummy, he presses it down, which makes you moan. The vibrations only feeding Price to win this contest. Your tits getting slapped, Ghost bends forward and nibbles on them. Price pulls out, lays down and forcefully makes Ghost pull out. Your juices leaking from the lieutenants cock. Price on his back and your back to his chest, legs spread apart as he aligns his cock to your ass. The tight walls stretching for his size, you cry out only to get your mouth filled by Price's fist. Ghost holding your legs up as his cock gets buried in your cunt.

Your body was beyond pleasure, beyond the ecstasy of it, it was like entering a realm of sex and pleasure. Both of your holes getting stuffed and as wanted, filled by their cum. You'd think they stopped there, but they didn't, especially not Ghost. His thick and rough fingers pinch and rub your clit, you squirm and before you could even close your legs, he slaps the sensitive tissue. "Oh...what a delight," he smiles and leans forward, kissing your neck only to get pushed away by Price who kept choking you.

"Mine," Ghost grunts and bites your shoulder, leaving his teeth marked on your skin. "My fucking slut," he bites your neck this time and as his cum leaks into your cunt, he bites harder. You cry out a moan and he aggressively slaps your face. "Take it, bitch!" He slaps you again.

Price pulls out, your ass filled and covered in his cum. Ghost lifts you up, your weak legs wrapped around his hips, his cock still buried deep in you. He pushes you onto him, guides your pussy to his cock with every thrust. His hands under your ass as he moans. Price lighting up a cigar, watches with a smirk. Your nails dig into Ghost's back, you leaned against him, cries of pleasure escape your precious lips. Once he pulls out, he feels your juices and his cum drip form hour abused hole.

His big arms wrap you in a tight embrace as he gives you a sweet and long kiss. Soon, as you sat on his lap, all cuddled and kissed, he turned to Price. "Look who she is with now," he smiles and looks down at you. Pouty, flustered mess in his arms, holding him like he was your source of life. "My cum still leaks from her," Price comments. "Not for long, I'll make sure to replace it with mine," he kisses you again.

--- A/N: Let's thank @gh0stsenpai007 for helping me write parts of this scene <3 ---

Tags: @amygaster004 @liyanahelena @archangel1206 @bubblegumbabycow @saoirse06 @montenegroisr @potatoknight @braindancecopy

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ahqkas · 8 months

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no thoughts, head empty, just a thought of husband!price (civilian!gn!reader)

husband!price who might be an expert on the battlefield but he’s a little clueless in the kitchen area, his skills not reaching the point of culinary knowledge. however, he’s determined to express his love to you in any form, even in the form of taking the lead in breakfast cooking when he’s finally home from quite a long mission and you’re soundly sleeping in your shared bedroom upstairs of the cozy house. price’s culinary skills are a work in progress and despite his best efforts, the toast might often come out a bit burnt and his attempt at flipping pancakes led to all sorts of creative shapes (but you’re fine with that, your husband is trying his best). as the time progressed, price became more and more skilled in the area and the breakfast he served now could be described as perfect, especially with the proudest smile he offered on his face

husband!price who really didn’t want you to be involved in the line of his work but as your relationship grew stronger and the feelings became deeper, he decided to introduce you to his teammates, to the people who are important to him in the way a family would. he was skeptical at first but when he saw how you beamed at his team members and gave them all a warm welcome, he could’ve sworn he fell in love with you once again. diner gatherings and informal get-togethers are now a normal thing in your shared household, the cozy house filled with warmth and laughter because of the people inside. price appropriated how you even stepped out of your comfort zone and invited them to all birthday celebrations, holidays and other special occasions because it showed you cared about him, whatever it was his personal or work life

while husband!price’s life is filled with high-stakes missions and intense situations, the man always finds time to show you he cares, even when he’s far away from you. he shows it in a form of thoughtful packages he sends you. whenever he’s on a mission in a new location, he makes sure to gather an unique trinket or an item that represents the local culture to put into the package. he can be very busy during that time, he’s doing his job after all, but he really tries to write you letters (which he includes in every package he sends). those handwritten letters and notes are like a piece of his mind, giving you a glimpse of his true feelings and thoughts when he’s not with you and he secretly likes the idea of you keeping every single thing he’s sent you because to him it means you care about the little things he does

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siriusleee · 5 months

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what about amnesia au with price? :o

send me a character and an au and I'll write the first scene that comes to mind

Everything was spread across the house when John got home. Like following a trail of the life the two of you had together, he picked his way gingerly over pictures and trinkets. Movie stubs, your first house key, a shirt from a Rugby match the two of you had attended once even though neither of you liked rugby.

All spread out across the living room floor in intervals. John knows you’re in the bedroom - the living room television is turned up loud enough that you can hear it from bed - the same way you’ve had it every day he’s come home since you were able to get out of the hospital.

It had been a little cold. At first, just something picked up at work, just enough to keep you home for a day. And then two. And on the third day, John found you collapsed in the kitchen, skin so hot he thought you were catching fire beneath his hands. The doctors had whispered to him outside your room that there could be changes - a fever that high was enough to eat straight to your core if had the chance.

Everything was subtle - a first, at least those first few days home from the hospital. You blamed the stress on not remembering where your favorite cup was tucked away in the cupboard, being ill for forgetting John’s phone number when the cashier asked for it. But something had eaten its way through you - John could tell by the way you stared at him across the dinner table like he was a puzzle piece that didn’t fit quite right in the slot it was supposed to. You cried more coming home from work, something you had never done before.

And John could hear you crying again through the bedroom door. But this? This was different. Different than the frustrated sobs you let out in the bathroom when you got home, different than the way you cried the night he tried to touch you, and you were so startled by the way his hand felt against your side that he hadn’t tried since.

This is wild, and raw and you don’t stop when John shoulders the door open gently. You don’t stop when he crouches down beside you, eyebrows knitted together in confusion at the bundle of white fabric in your lap. Confusion that’s cleared when he sees the pictures spread out in front of you and recognizes the lace of your wedding dress.

“What’s wrong love?”

“I can’t-” You can hardly speak through the tears, through the unbridled panic that’s starting to rise in you. “I can’t remember it!”

John’s hand finds your hair, pushing it back from your face as he pries the white lace and pictures from your hand, pulling you into him until your clutching at his shirt still dirty from work.

“What can’t you remember love?”

His question causes you to wail harder, and his response is to hold you tighter until you can finally speak, never pulling your face away from his shirt.

“Sometimes I look at you and for a second I don’t know who you are.”

It’s a knife to John’s chest, but he doesn’t say anything, instead just shifting so that you’re between his legs, hiding his face from your view.

“I was trying to remember our wedding - trying to figure out if this was real.”

John’s hands tighten; he breathes in the scent of you he’s become too used to after all the years.

“Of course it’s real.”

#my fics #this one was hard i won't lie #captain john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #cod imagine #cod price x reader #call of duty imagines

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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You can ignore this if you don’t wanna talk Price, but hear me out: the reader from ’Don’t‘ being dared to take other things from Cap’ Price (not realizing they’re fucking) and her wiping her mouth as she shows Soap the cigar he dared her to steal.

ohhhh, i have had this same thought, anon. sameeee thought.

john price x f!reader

(same reader from don’t, but you don’t need to read to know or understand | 18+, includes spice — all price belongs to @guyfieriii )

You’d knocked, all polite and innocent—even if he knew you were anything but. His eyes drinking you in as you close the door, leaning your back against it.

He’d narrow his eyes before your name fell from lips like syrup as you walk closer. His boots are flat to the floor, thighs spreading as you come to a stop, standing between his spread thighs as you take the papers from his hands.

Need a favour.

Favours gonna’ cost y’, love.

And, fuck. You loved what it cost you. Your shorts dropped to your ankles, underwear snapped from your skin with a hiss. Mostly, you loved tasting him, running your tongue around his leaking head as your knees dig into the floor.

Each hiss he let loose, you wished to bottle; each groan of your name, you wished you’d hear forever. Hollowing your cheeks as his hand held the back of your neck, and then—

Only one place I wanna finish, love.

Your chest meets the desk, his hand on your lower back as he slides his cock in to the hilt. A wicked smirk spreads across your face, one you keep hidden, buried. Because you didn’t give a fuck about the cigar that Soap dared you to take—you wanted an excuse to see him. To be at his mercy, to be stuffed full of him.

This just gave you an alibi. A reason for why the two of you were alone.

His palm cupped your mouth, smothering the sounds that fell with ease. Your hands carve their own marks in his wooden desk—leaving reminders of your pleasure in the surface where he works.

He always makes sure you finish first. Pleasure spreads like a fire as it licks its way across your body; making each nerve light as you groaned his name into his palm—searing it into his skin.

The same way he coated your walls in his.

Sorry about y’knickers, love.

You’re forgiven.

Your hand pulls your shorts up, arranging your t-shirt back into place before taking the cigar from his desk. His belt already fastened, looking as handsome as he did when you entered—as presentable—just with a twinkle in his eye.

Holding the cigar up between your fingers, his brow arching.

If he smokes it—

You’ll get to order me in here. Ask me to explain myself. Make me pay for my theft…

The hair around John’s lips twitch, the only indication that he liked the sound of it before he sighed. Picking up his papers, and returning to his leaning position on the desk.

Go. Now. Before I find a reason t’keep y’ere all night.

Yes, sir.

You hear his muttering that you’ll be the death of him, the words ringing through your ears as you head to the mess—trying to stifle the cockiness in your walk. Trying to bury your grin under a guise as you spot them all.

Ghost looks up first, his eyes stern—analytical. Desperately trying to read and understand what has changed. Gaz is next, turning his head, brows narrowing before they smooth out, a smile itching in the corners of his lips.

Then Soap—Johnny.

You don’t let him react, wiping your mouth to conceal your smile and wipe away any evidence, as you lift your fingers. Showing him—them—what he’d been sure you wouldn’t get.

It’s clear before you sit opposite him, stealing a bite from his burger that he doesn’t understand how. His fingers rotate it, disbelief etched into his face.

“How t’fuck d’yer get this?”

Picking a chip from his plate, you wink. “Talent. That’s how.”

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ohmygraves · 2 months

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I was wondering if you could write a 141 how they react when you give them gifts. I love giving gifts, it makes me happy. Maybe even happier than the person receiving it sometimes. I bet some of them will like the excitement you get more than the gift itself, happily accepting everything you give just to see that smile.

ooh, i have to agree to that, anon. i honestly think that ghost and gaz would be the type to enjoy your reaction more than actually caring what you get them. just seeing you be so giddy when you hand them the gifts are enough of a treat, y'know?

you gave ghost a little knife carving kit, a little thank you for all the times he mentored you and saved your ass. you knew he liked knives and you thought that it was a nice activity to do instead of working out or smacking johnny's head if the scot misbehaved. and maybe he could use the knife or add it to his collection.

still, you are very excited to give it to him no matter what, as you want him to enjoy your gift. he could see you basically jumping in excitement when you see him, holding a small bag and with a giddy look on your face, cheeks flushed red and bright eyes as you hand him the gift bag.

now, ghost doesn't particularly care about gifts himself. since he doesn't have many things in general, his barracks room is really just basic necessities. trinkets like these are not something he enjoys collecting.

oh, but to see you all so excited and the way you try to contain your joy and happiness as you explain what you got him? now that's adorable, it made his heart clench that he thought he needed to get it checked with the medics.

"... thank you, love." he said softly, looking at the small box of knife carving kit in the bag. you cheered, telling him that you'd like to see the result when he finished it, bouncing off somewhere else. he hoped that you didn't notice that his eyes are basically softening looking at you walk away, the corner of his lips curled upwards under his mask seeing you so happy.

gaz's cap was getting really worn out, and you noticed that the bill had a slight tear on it, revealing the material underneath the fabric. so, as a good friend you decided to get him a new cap.

you knew that he liked some good joke, so you got him a trucker cap that says "women fear me, fish fear me" at the front, with a graphic of a bass. soap thought it was funny, and you did too. you're sure that kyle would like it just as much.

well, you didn't know that kyle has like twenty baseball caps in his barracks room, so he didn't need a new one. he collects caps.

when you see him one day, a gift bag in hand, you didn't even notice that the cap that had a tear on it was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a similar cap in color. you were too busy giggling at the idea of him wearing a cap that says "women fear me, fish fear me" to pay attention, and yet when he opened the gift from you, he didn't even complain. your cute giggles and laughs were enough to make him happy.

"really, love? 'women fear me, fish fear me'?" he scoffed, a smile on his face as he took off his hat, wearing it on his head proudly. he didn't care that soap immediately had to take pics of him, he only cared that it made you laugh.

i feel like soap would love anything you give him as well, but it's in a sense that "awh, ye got me noodle maker because ah'm too lazy to cook ramen noodles in the commons room 🥺" like this man would be excited with anything you give him, no matter how stupid the gift is.

you hand soap a wrapped gift box, knowing that he will get excited over this. you'd seen this infomercial a few times and you know that he would enjoy this gadget, given how silly it was and how oddly specific the function is. the infomercial was so silly.

of course, you gave him a slap chop.

opening the gift, his eyes went wide, smiling giddily as he looked at you, eyes glimmering. "bonnie, is this th' one where th' lad threw a slicer out th' window!?" he looked so excited and happy, you were so happy knowing that he liked the gift.

you nodded, saying that it could practically chop anything he wanted. it'll make things so much easier when cooking. soap hugs you, squeezing you as he practically squeals, thanking you for the gift. you said it was okay, and now soap can make all the salad he wanted. you left him to try out his gift, needing to go back to work.

ghost raised his eyebrows looking at you, crossing his arms as he looked at soap. "no bloody way someone like ya would eat a fuckin' salad, johnny..." he scoffed, knowing that the chance of soap eating fruits and vegetables are close to zero, since the scot is a picky eater.

soap sighed, looking down at the gift you got him. "seein' bonnie happy is good enough gift."

he'll make some crushed doritos at the top of his sandwiches or something.

price i feel is the same as soap, but only when it comes to the aesthetic of the item? he's easy to give gifts, likely smth related to fishing or cigar. he won't comment if you give him a cute shaped ashtray for example, or a floral patterned cigar holder.

as a token of appreciation to your captain, you decided to get him something that you thought he might use. price smokes a lot, so it was easy to find something to get him. you, however, are not great at picking the style for it.

ashtray is arguably one of the simplest items around. it's a small dish with sometimes notches to hold the thing you're smoking. as long as it catches the ashes, anything can be considered an ashtray. likewise, there are a lot of shapes and designs of an ashtray that you just spent lots and lots of time picking, scrolling through hundreds and thousands of pages online to find something that's both useful and nice.

you ended up ordering an ashtray in the shape of a ball, made of alloy and had lots of intricate designs of a dragon and bird. it was not only heavy, but also quite big for an ashtray, truthfully.

you started to second guess if this was a good idea, given that it looked like something that your asian grandpa would have on the table when he takes a smoke break out in the porch, sipping coffee while enjoying some hit of nicotine. maybe you should give it to someone else instead, or resell it and get something better, but soap had seen the massive ashtray and were laughing at how big it was, and his big mouth spilled the beans to the captain about how you got him a particularly garish looking ashtray. because of course, everyone told you that what you got him was a bit much for his very simple aesthetic.

having soap basically ruined the surprise, you had to give price the present either way, a bit hesitant as you handed him the box. you were worried that he'd just make fun of it, that he'd laugh at your choice.

"a bit heavy for an ashtray there, doll?" he hummed, looking at the patterns. it seems like it was somewhat like a carving of ancient chinese murals, the typical dragon and phoenix flying through the sky. it looked out of place on price's desk.

"well, i'd have to say the lid is quite a game changer," price added, smiling at you. "covers up the pile of ashes inside."

you were relieved that he seems to enjoy it for its intended function at least.

"have to say though, love, i didn't expect you to pick this style..." his fingers traced over the pattern on top. "it looks beautiful. thank you."

you're not sure if he's just being nice or if he actually enjoys such aesthetics, but you're glad to see it on his desk being used every time you go to his office.

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yeyinde · 1 year

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FINESHRINE | John Price x F!Reader

It surprised you when he’d taken your off-handed comment about wanting to fuck him senseless for a change as something sincere, obtainable, and simply looked at you, plain-faced, if a little bashful around the edges, and said, “alrigh’, love. Lemme see what you got.” Or—John Price finally gets pegged.

WARNINGS: 18+, SMUT—pegging, rimming, anal fingering; bottom John Price; soft dom!John; topping from the bottom WORD COUNT: 5,3k.

His skin tastes of brackish water—briny, salty; mossy—when you slip your tongue over the tight ring of muscles clenching like a vice around two fingers. The stranglehold of his flesh feels like it might cut off the circulation to your veins, digits bluing under the strain, the clutch.

It’s almost the same tension as wrapping several rubber bands around your appendages until the tips turn garishly purple, nails bright vermillion. It's tight.

You pull back, fingers easing out of him until only your first knuckle remains locked in his iron hold, pushing and throbbing around the intrusion. Your tongue slides over the raw rim, easing the ache, the sting, you know must be there.

The same soothing motion he’d used on you many, many times.

He must recognise the pattern. It makes him huff.

“Don’t stop, love,” he husks, voice the consistency of wet papier-mâché in your clenched palm. “C’mon—”

“Price—”

Your murmur is swallowed when he notches his hip, taking more of your fingers into himself, tightening around you like a vice when your palm is flush against his perineum.

“Fuck—,” his groan is airy. Light. “Ain’t gonna shatter me, kitten. Jus’ – jus’ keep fuckin’ me, yeah?”

It snatches the breath from your lungs in a way that leaves you dizzy.

Even then, even with his acceptance, his willingness, you hadn’t believed him. Hadn’t even given it another thought.

Not until he looked at you, brows raised when you spread your legs for him, baring your cunt to his smouldering gaze, and said:

“When is it my turn, love?”

And okay. Okay.

Price wanted you to fuck him. To split him apart with your plastic cock until he came, clenching like a vice around the mocking imitation of you, and—

Sure. Yeah.

Why not?

So, you do.

It takes three weeks to work up the nerve, and another two to find the toy you like, to research everything, to plan, prepare.

You sit him down and have discussions, much to his unfathomable bemusement.

It's when his hand curls over the nape of your neck, thumb pressing against the soft curve of bone behind your ear, and drags you close to him, noses pressed flush together, do you see the sincerity in ashlar blue. His rasp, then, of you weren't this hesitant, this careful, when I said I wanted to stick my cock in your arse. You were raring to go that night. So, why are you acting like I'm some blushing little virgin, hm? You think I can't take it? brings everything back into focus.

Right. This isn't about you.

Well. It is. But it's about—

"Us," cambium soft, the word slips from the seam of his teeth, festering like a sickness in the thick atmosphere between you. "This is an experience for us."

It’s only when you have a lovely cock strapped around your pelvis—dual pleasure, the package read (a must, Price insisted: he wanted you to cum when you were inside of him, the words leaving his mouth—you’re gonna cum when you fuck me, yeah? Cum while you’re inside of me, kitten—nearly sending you to an early grave, and a desire so deep, you soaked the gusset of your panties with your slick)—a bottle of lube, and a mountain of pegging knowledge nestled in the fibrils of your head do you even begin to feel ready. Eager.

You want this. It surprises you just how much you do.

Price is a bulwark. A curtain wall. He’s untouchable, unmoveable.

And you—

You get to see him break. Get to fracture him down into little pieces in the palm of your hand, the blunt press of your—cock—

—and then make him whole again. Patch him back together.

“Fuck—!”

The expletive is snapped out between clenched teeth when you add a third, final, finger. Your tongue follows along, slipping between the spread of them, chasing more of his taste.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell—,” he snarls the curse out, chest heaving when your fingers graze his puffy prostate, swollen and full from the nearly hour-long abuse by the tips butting into it over and over again. “Christ, pretty thing. Where the fuck did you learn this?”

You pull back, a strand of spit and lube following you from his soaked, spread hole. You wait for him to look at you, to glance between his massive thighs, and see—

Broken sapphire falls to your face, flushed cheeks darkening when he catches sight of your wet mouth, your hand buried between his legs, beneath his throbbing, leaking cock, and the groan he lets out makes your pussy ache.

His head falls back, eyes snapping shut. The muscles in his thick neck bunch, veins throbbing.

Price clenches around you fluttering in tandem with each jerk of his turgid cock.

The sight of him sends something blustering through your core, rippling down your spine. It stabs through the thick tissue around your heart until you're gasping from the ache of it all. The want.

It’s intoxicating. This power, this dominion over him.

The way you can pleasure him with gentle notches of just your fingertips, the flat seam of your tongue laving over his flexing, fluttering flesh—a place only you have ever claimed, taken. Touched, licked. Fingered. Fucked.

Something gnarls behind your ribs—an ugly, noxious, greedy thing—and the spores it releases seep into your bloodstream, into your marrow.

He's yours. All yours.

Just like you're his.

Implicit.

And John has already assured you of this—many, many times—but it's somehow infinitely different, more intimate, and possessive, than anything else you'd ever experienced.

It's bare, raw trust.

He wants this. Asked for it. Asked you for it. He wants to share this moment of vulnerability, the base reversal of traditional roles, with you. Only you.

Affection blooms in your chest, and the spillover makes you tremble. Makes you want. Yearn.

You want to make him feel heavenly. To feel the same potent Nirvana you do when he fucks the tight clutch of your cunt, pounding bliss into your synapses.

An experience shared by both of you.

He's been inside of you. And now—

"C'mon, love," he pants, drawing your attention.

In your periphery, you catch the sight of his hands fisting the sheets so tightly, his knuckle blanching under the strain.

When you lift your gaze from the mess you've made between his firm thighs, you find nothing but blistering desperation in the cut of blue.

He holds your stare for a moment—liquid sapphire pools brimming with desire, with want; with something so achingly tender, so vulnerable, you feel it bludgeon into your chest like a battering ram to your pericardium—and then, softly, softer than you'd ever heard him speak, he says your name. Just your name.

You echo it with his own, the utterance drenched in your devotion, an orison spilled over into the honey-thick air that pulses between you.

It drums through your veins, the steady plume of a hummingbird's wings, and everything that isn't this—you and him: bathed in a diaphanous fragility, an epoch in the making, and weaved together with the brassbound threads of devotion, trust—dissipates into ash.

He stares at you, drinking in the heat in your irises, the deep pools of want in your eclipsing pupils. There is a smoulder under your skin, the steady burn of a low-grade fever. The current of anticipation thrums in your veins.

Your eyes drop, gazing at the hardened length of him laying fat and heavy against his quivering stomach. Prespend leaks from the tip, puddles on his naval. Each minuscule movement of your fingers makes him twitch, and more of his milky release stains his flushed skin.

He burns inside. A molten heat that envelops you. The squeeze of him stops the tremors in your joints, the quake born from your own nerves, uncertainty.

You don't want to hurt him—ever. The thought churns in your guts, sour and acrid, and wells up like you'd drunk bleach concentrate from the nozzle. Noxious, polluting. The thought alone has your mouth knotting to the side.

"What're you thinkin' about?"

Your chin snaps up. Price gazes at you, cheeks flushed, forehead wrinkled, creased with his syphoned concern.

"I—," you swallow, tasting him on your tongue. "I don't want to hurt you."

John doesn't say anything. Not for a moment. A beat. He stares at you, plain. Open. His brow twitches, a flex. A throb.

When he exhales, you feel it against your joints.

"You're not gonna hurt me."

You swallow again, eyes dropping to his thighs. Quivering. Bunched tight. Muscles coiled.

"Love. Look at me."

It's a command.

Your eyes flicker to him. Dutiful soldier even when you're three fingers deep inside of your captain.

"Sir—," you bite your tongue over the word, the accidental slip. But the way he clenches around you, cock twitching, spitting a thick puddle of prespend over his belly, you don't think he minds.

"Fuck, love," his voice is a pulsing wound. "You're not going to hurt me, alright?"

You nod. It's pulled out of you. A magnetic acquiescence in the face of your superior, your lover. A man you're undoing with little flicks of your fingers, knuckles. Tongue.

"Lemme hear you, kitten," he rasps, words sticking together when you slide your middle finger over the soft bump inside of him. "Always, yeah? Wanna hear you say it."

"Yes," you breathe. "I won't hurt you."

"Good—," he shifts, clearing his throat. His Adam's apple buoys when he swallows, muscles flexing in his throat. A bead of sweat runs down his hairline and you have the sudden urge to chase it with your tongue. "Now—come on. Been at it long enough. Gonna make me cum if you don't stop it with those little fingers—that fucking tongue."

Your head lifts higher. Price catches your gaze again, eyes lidded and heavy. Cheeks dusted pink with desire.

"Hurry up, and fuck me."

It takes everything inside of you not to whimper. Fuck me. Fuck me. The words ring in your ears, reverberating around your head in a ceaseless crescendo.

Your fingers tremble when you give one last thrust, spreading them wide apart, and feeling the resistance around the rim. The stretch. You know the burn. The sting.

"Ah, Christ—"

And the pressure. The fullness. The feeling of being pried slowly, agonisingly apart. The tension coils. Builds. You can only imagine he's feeling it too when you scissor your fingers once more, leaning down to tease your tongue between the wedges of your digits.

It's a good stretch when it's like this. When the muscles loosen, going lax. Soft. Malleable.

You take a steadying breath, easing your thundering nerves, and letting everything else fade away until Price, his pleasure, sits on a carved strait.

You pull away, fingers slipping gingerly from him. A shudder wracks his chest, and you reach out with one hand, curling your fingers over the thick length of him. His cock throbs in your hold, skin wet, sticky from his spend.

"Are you—"

"Yes."

It's bitten out through his teeth. A snapped affirmation. Quick, decisive.

It draws a nod from you, lashes fluttering when you swallow.

"Okay. Tell me if it's too much."

The skin of his palm is searing, sandpaper rough, when it folds over your own still loosely gripping his cock. The contrast between his raw palm and the velveteen softness of his cock is familiar. Comforting. His thick thumb circles your webspace.

"You know I will," he says, thick. Sincerity bleeds into the vowels. Reassurance rings in the rounded consonants. "I remember the safe word and all."

"I know. But it can be a bit much, and—"

His hand tightens, eyes flash. "If I didn't want this, do you think I'd be here?"

Another swallow. It sticks at the bottom of your throat. "Okay."

"Come on, love," he urges, an ashy demand that plucks against the fibrils of your heart. "Been waitin' for it."

His words pulse in your head, in your cunt. You moan a little at the aching want in his voice, the rough desire.

Price gives one last squeeze of his hand before letting you slip away, thumb sliding over the weeping head, gathering his prespend on your flesh. It makes him suck in a sharp breath, eyes fluttering in pleasure.

He takes over, holding his cock firm at the base when you lean back on your haunches.

Your nerves spark when you reach for the bottle of lube. It's tacky. Sticky. You'd already used half just fucking him open. Steady, you think, struggling to find some sense of control amid the rapid thunder of your pulse. Your guts churn, featherlight, but it's the gossamer of want that simmers beneath it all that piques across your spine.

You're going to fuck him.

Spumes of desire lick up from the flames that billow inside you, and in the red-hot ache of your molten core makes you feel fervid. Feverish. It melts your nerves into liquid metal that hardens, ironclad, brassbound, into a near-perfect equilibrium of galvanised need.

You're going to fuck him.

You pour a generous amount into the palm of your hand, letting it puddle in the cup you make before carefully lowering it to place between your legs where the fake cock juts out from your pelvis.

The toy is a little cold when you touch it with your slick fingers. You grab it loosely in your fist, pumping your hand up and down, rubbing the excess over the mushroomed head, and then back to the base.

The heat of your skin bleeds into the polymer. The added friction makes it feel warmer than it had before. It still feels of plastic—fake, rubbery—and as it sits between your curled fingers, you know it isn't real, that it isn't pulsing flesh and tissue; but it feels—different.

A novice experience. A first for both of you.

Your eyes flicker to John, to his heavy, thick cock grasped in his hand. The tightness of his knuckles wrapped around his turgid flesh makes you suck in a deep breath, nearly choking on it when it tickles your trachea.

He looks good with his legs parted, thigh notched up and spread. Cock bobbing in the V of them, leaking over his closed fist.

"John…"

"Ready, love?"

There is something in his voice that gives you pause. It's deep. Gritty. Pulverised desire whispered in his rasping lilt.

You glance up at him, searching his gaze, his expression. John's brows are drawn tightly together, knotted in the centre. The divot between is not from unease, or distress. Anger. Irritation. Hesitance.

The thick cock in his hands twitches again, prespend pooling at the tip.

Oh.

You swallow, and taste humus in the back of your throat.

"I am," you breathe, belly bubbling, roiling, with want.

Pleasure sparks down your spine when you move, shuffling toward to settle between his spread thighs.

It brings heat to your cheeks, your chest, when you feel the movement of the toy inside of you. It does very little to pass as anything like Price with the smaller tapered end nestled within you, curved tip rubbing behind your pubic bone. But it's the idea of fucking him that makes your blood feel red-hot in your veins than the snug plastic grazing against your walls.

The other end juts forward, knocking against Price's knee. It leaves a smear of lube behind.

"Take a deep breath," you murmur, hand gripping the plastic base as the other settles behind his stretched thigh, holding him open. Lifting him higher. The thought has your pulse racing. Sputtering.

"Speaking from experience, eh?" he rasps, liqueur-rich. When you lift your gaze, you see humour cut in cerulean ashlar. "Or sage wisdom?"

"Both," you volley back. "My cock isn't nearly as big as yours, but taking deep, even breaths will help you relax."

"Your cock?" His eyes gleam in the jaundiced light spilling over from the lantern beside the bed. "Gonna fuck me with your cock, then?"

Your eyes flutter. A paroxysm blistering through you. Your tongue grazes the whetstone of your lower lips, shredding it into a blunt point.

"Yeah, I am." Your voice is pitched low, sultry. The decibels dropped, dripping with the glaze of bold, impish confidence. "Are you ready for me, John?"

His chest expands, lips curling up behind the wry hairs of his beard.

It's aided by the ease in which he sprawls out for you, letting you bend his legs, hitching them below your arms, and pulling you hungrily into the apex of his spread thighs, that fortifies your mettle.

"Always, love."

The facsimile of your cock nudges against his slick hole. It spreads around the head, rim widening, flexing, around plastic until it's swallowed by his reddened flesh. Disappeared into the clutch of him. The first inch. He huffs at the stretch, the feeling of you slipping inside.

You push, burrowing in deeper until his ass is flush against you. Cock swallowed whole.

You pull back, and his rim suctions against you, pulling taut around your cock. You trace the seam with your eyes, breath caught in your throat. Your hips cant, a soft roll, all the way until you're buried deep.

"I'm—"

"—fuck."

The throaty groan makes your head snap up, eyes fixed on Price, and the sight that greets you is nearly your undoing.

Cheeks flushed a deep vermillion, jaw clenched taut—he looks good. Looks like it feels good. His head is tossed back on the pillow, broad thighs spread apart to fit you between them as you sloppily pound into his ass.

And it's you. You making him feel this way, breaking him apart at the seams.

The slap of your thighs hitting his ass is the perfect parody of when he has you bent over, taking him deep, and you feel it in your head with each clap, each noise that spills from between the two of you. A microcosm, a place, where only you and he exist in tandem.

"Does it feel good?" You pant, hips rutting into him, sitting low to hit the grove of his prostate with each thrust.

It forces a rough bark of laughter from his lips, chest expanding with it. "Fuckin' cheeky little thing—"

His words are cut off when you grind into him, hips pressed flush against him.

"Oh, shit—"

Your hands fall from his shins, pressing flat to the mattress under his arms. He's too tall for you to bend over him the way he does when he's fucking you, or when you're on top, balanced on his lap, and you settle for coming to his chin when you lean over him.

His eyes are wildfires, smouldering embers. The lick of flames is a magnetic dance in endless pools of sapphire, brimstone. You seek him out, eager, rapacious. Greed gnarls inside of you; a basal bud, a dormant seedling, now fed, nurtured. It springs up, roots taking refuge in the fibrils of your beings, locking tight to your cells, molecules, and leaching sustenance from your appetency as you take him.

Take, take, take.

A moth drawn, haplessly, to the light that sways, hypnotic, in front of it, you have no choice but to go. Instinct, primal and starved, lead you to him.

His hand threads into your hair, cupping the back of your skull. Price pulls you close until his warm, wet mouth meets yours in the middle.

It's messy, breathless. You can't stop gasping at each noise he makes when your cock hits deep, the blunt, polymer head grinding against him. He groans into the kiss each time, breath heavy and thick. The hair on his chest grazes your nipples. The rough scrape of his beard chafes your skin until it's raw, irritated. Stinging like a sunburn.

Through it all, Price holds you steady. Letting you take. Explore. Rut into him however you like, knowing—trusting—that whatever it is you do, however you decide to shift your hips, it'll be good.

It's new. Different.

You venture through this unfamiliar arena on fawn-like feet, stumbling around under the lush peat beneath you. Scrambling for purchase, for some sense of stability. Clarity. Control.

A foothold, solid ground, is found when you strike his prostate with the eager tip of your plastic cock, and he huffs, startled, into the wet seam of your mouth, cool breath ghosting over your scorching tongue.

You're good at patterns. At geometry. Linearity. Lines and parallels.

You remember the place, the angle; head running through the minutiae of the movement, the sway of your hips, the placement of your knees, until it tangles inside the sulci of your hippocampus.

A steady rhythm grows amid the clumsy cants of your hips, shaping, forming, into a dance you can fall into easily.

His mouth slides over your chin, your jaw, a trail of spittle following it, cooling on your skin with each little stutter of his breath washing over you.

John isn't usually vocal in the bedroom. His noises are reserved. Pulled from the threads of his chest, wrenched through the barbed lining of his throat. They're deep, low. Rasping curls of grunts. Ashy growls. All soaked in petrol. The rumbling of an old car engine. Brassy. Baritone.

But as you quicken your pace, you punch little gasps from his lungs that he can't stifle under the harsh grind of his teeth.

It's—

Incredibly appealing. Addicting.

He tastes of nicotine when you bring your mouth back to his, devouring the hickory tang on his tongue. It slides down your esophagus where it puddles in your guts; a heady elixir that seeps through your tissue, into your bloodstream. Ichor thick.

"God," you gasp into the messy wetness of his lips. "It feels good—"

The toy rubs the walls of your cunt with each blunt press of your hips notching into his ass, and the pressure of it makes everything feel real. Potent.

Your slick fingers grip his massive thighs in your hands, leaving indents where your nails dig into his flesh, finding purchase. You fuck him in deep, full thrusts that make heat coil inside of you. Steady. A building tempo.

Each roll makes him grunt, groan. Short huffs leave his broad chest, punched out through gritted teeth when you sink to the base, cock kissing his prostate.

His belly quivers. One hand falls to your forearm, the other gripping your hip. He pulls you in deeper, fingers locked tight around your hip bone, and you let him lead, let him guide you how he likes.

"Fuck," he breathes, fingers leaving the stain of him on your skin as he rolls your hip, cock bludgeoned into his prostate, grinding over it. "Like that—oh, fuck—jus' like that—"

"Yeah?" You tease, teeth nipping the coarse hair trailing down his neck. The angle makes the head of his cock rub, slick and wet, against your sternum, his knuckles pressed into the valley between your ribs. "Feels good, John? Like it when I fuck you deep, huh?"

"Ahhh, you little bugger—you, uhh, fuck—you fuckin' menace—"

You pull back, settling between his thighs.

"Gonna like this even better, I reckon."

You punctuate the promise with a sharp snap of your hips, pausing only when you're seated deep, letting the blunt head cudgel against him.

Another thrust makes you whimper when the flat harness presses taut to your throbbing clit.

"You feel good, John—," your head tips back, hands spasming around his sticky skin as you rut into him. Your eyes are heavy, lidded with soporific bliss that bleeds into your synapses. "You feel so good, so so—"

You're babbling. Words leak out between your slack jaw, but you can't swallow them down with the static in your head, the bliss in the joints of your fingers, and palms, as you feel his broad thighs tensing under you.

Seated deep, hips gyrating against him, your hand falls to his throbbing cock, leaking rivulets of prespend over his taut abdomen. You stroke him in time with your shallow thrusts, eyes fixed on the way his brow folds, eyelids wrinkling when he squeezes them shut.

His lip curls up, teeth are bared, cusses spat between the grind of his molars.

"Shit—shit—"

It's snarled out of his heaving chest.

A blunt jab to your sternum knocks the air from your heaving lungs when his gyre blue eyes snap open, piercing into the white haze that clots behind your retinas.

The veering of his jaw, teeth gnashing together as he struggles to hold his composure, has liquid pleasure clogging the filament lacing down your spine, weaving through the gaps in your bones, leaking into the spongy marrow below.

Your head buzzes with an opiate gossamer of bliss spooling inside of you with each motion you make. Each noise you drag out of him.

Price groans—a low, needy sound rucked from his chest, punched out through the cant of your hips into him, cockhead burrowing into his prostate—and then he's cumming. Spasming around the toy as you ride him through it, fucking into him in deep, languid bucks of your hips.

"That's it, baby," you gasp, voice thin, airy, arching over the words as his cum lashes over his broad, sweat-slicked chest. His eyes snap shut again, fingers curled around your forearms as you thrust your cock into the spasming clutch of him. "Cum for me, cum for me, John—"

His voice is effervescent, aerated when he groans your name out in a pitched drawl. "Fuckin' Christ—that's it, that's it—feels so fucking good, fuck, fuck—"

"Fuck," your running tally of curses stacks up. This one is breathless; a sandpaper husk. The next one that leaves his lips is deep. Oceanic. "Fuck, love."

Price's hands are firebrands when they roam over your flesh, tugging you down to his sweat-slicked chest, and tucking you into the fold of his embrace.

He opens his mouth, lips rucking up in the same shape of another cuss, but you beat him to it, stealing the word from his tongue with your own. He rumbles into the kiss; the low growl deep enough to rattle the bones in your chest.

It's wet. Messy. The clumsy, sloppy melding of your lips, tongue lolling out, filling the chasm of his heat where he tastes of smooth cigars and bitter scotch.

Spittle dribbles down your chin as your tongue lashes over his teeth. It draws a mirthful puff of hair through his nose; a chuff.

"Makin' a mess of me tonight, ain't you?"

You make a show of rolling your tongue under his bottom lip, smile curling up at the corners with the tickle of his hair grazing your flesh.

Peppering kisses into the corner of his mouth, you murmur: "you just look good messy."

"Yeah?" He husks, lids dropping, lashes cresting over glacial blue. "So do you."

It drags a twee from the depths of your chest, prickling along the flutter of your heart. "We look good all messy, then."

"Fuckin' right we do."

He shifts, and the motion makes him groan a little under his breath. You catch the draw of his brow, a little valley of discomfort, and reach for him, hand settling on his chest.

"Sore?"

One lid lifts half-mass as he mulls it over. "Tender," he settles on, shifting once again. "Nothin' too bad."

"You'll get used to it."

He lists toward you, lips curling into a waggish grin. "That right?"

John lifts his arm, chin jerking in a soft beckon toward. You follow the wordless command, sidling into the open bracket of his side, careful not to jostle him too much. He's strong. Resilient. Having his ass split open on your cock (left hanging on the end-table in some parody of a war trophy, glistening with the sheen of lube in the flushed light of the lamp) isn't enough to barrel him down, but there is something about this tender moment that makes you want to care for him. To coddle him. To hold him tight to your chest, and never let go.

You won't ever tell him that, of course. Never. He's too proud, too practical, for your bare sentimentality in this tender moment, but you give it to him, anyway. Small motions. Giving little by little before he can't catch on to what you're doing.

You brush your fingers over his chest, soothing the quiver in his stomach, and perch your chin on his arm. There is no distress in the cut of his brow, the dip in his lids. Drenched in torpor, satiated, and still dusted pink with glow of his pleasure, his heated release, he looks good. Satisfied.

It makes you sink your teeth into your chapped bottom lip to stem the broad grin from stretching over your face.

"Takes some practice, but I think we broke you in quite nicely."

A sharp snort jostles you. "Yeah, you did."

John's hand rests on your hip, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," you pout. "Tired. It's hard work. Next time you should be on top."

"Right," he huffs. "I'd snap you half, love."

"I can take it," you hum, fingers carting through the matted hair on his damp, slick chest. "Plus, think of the view I'd have."

His chest rumbles when he laughs. "Yeah, and think of the backache I'd have."

"I'll give you a backrub," you murmur, tilting your head down to press a soft kiss into his breastplate.

"Hm."

Price eases into the mattress, eyes lidded. Heavy. In the absence of your playful volley, a question weighs in the back of your head, needling through you. Something soft. Fragile. Achingly uncertain.

It feels silly to be so clumsy, so hesitant, when moments ago you were buried inside of him. And yet—

You lick your lips, tasting him on your tongue. Stalling. Hedging.

A thick mass wells in your throat. You feel your pulse throb in the thick of it.

"Did you… did you like it?"

Price sucks in a sharp breath at the ginger utterance, eyes rolling up to the stark white ceiling as he considers the weight behind your question.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting.

When he turns back to you, chin dipping down, something cracks. The muskeg splinters, splits.

There is something almost liquid, open, about the way he looks. As if a wall had fallen. The deep moor around him eroded, washed into the chasm that surrounds him. The sediment settles at the bottom of the trench, making the untraversable waters shallower than they were before.

His voice is featherlight when he speaks, eyes are limned in the lantern, framed in gold. When he drags his fingers over your skin, the tips are leaden. Heavy.

"Yeah, love. I did."

You settle into his side, tension bleeding from your marrow.

He sometimes says that his hard edges are buffered by the softness inside of you; giving and tender. But you're not a smooth surface. You're porous and gritty. You scour the abrasiveness off of him, and he, in turn, makes you rougher.

That sentiment has never been more apparent now when he cups your jaw in his worn, rough palm, the cracked, cry pads of his fingers scraping over the plush give of your cheek.

Your emotions coalesce into a deluge, cascading through your being with a visceral intensity. When you try to reach out and grasp one, it slips through your fingers.

You settle, instead, for sleepily lying your head on his chest, crown buffeted by the plinth of his palm, and run figure-eights into the damp, coarse curls matters to his chest.

"Good," you murmur, and try to ignore the thunderclap in your chest. The too tight feeling clutching at you in the aftermath of an epoch, the shattering of a wall.

His chest wobbles under your hand. When you lift your graze, you find his eyes filling with the same uncatchable emotion that curls in the brackets of your ribs, gnarling its ironclad roots over the soft tissue of your chest.

Featherlight. Evanescent. Nothing but he and you, and the feeling of his skin, the taste of him on your tongue, exist in the cosm that lingers, honey-thick, between you.

It catches in your throat. Sticking in the empty spaces of your being when his lids flutter, lashes fanning over his roseate cheeks.

The weight of his stare is a brand on your flesh. You want to run from it, and bask in its glow. Hold it tight to your chest with your trembling hands, and never let it go.

It's the breaking of everything that settles low inside of you. Too much, too soon.

It's easy to cover up the whirlpool of your emotions with false bravado. With a jest.

And so, you do.

"'Cause, I'm ready for round two whenever you are."

"Cheeky little—"

(You tuck it away for later, content to just feel the steady rise of his chest beneath your palm when he laughs.)

#well #ticked this bad boy off my bucket list #Captain John Price #John Price #Captain Price #omgggggggggggg #cod john price #cod price #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x reader #john price x you #price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you #cod fanfic #cod price x reader #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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vampirekilmerfic · 3 months

Text

The Sin Eater || Chapter 01

The Sin Eater || Chapter 01, Gluttony

The Sin Eater Masterlist

Relationship: John Price / Reader Rating: Explicit

Summary:

Captain John Price is a loving husband, a dedicated soldier, and a good man. But, that’s not all he is. Underneath his controlled exterior lurks something dark, something hungry, and something wholly inhuman. You’re his only solace during his wrath, and only you can consume the sin from his shifts. He’s the love of your life, but at what cost?

Tags: Extremely Dubious Consent, Monster John Price (Call of Duty), Inspired by Jekyll and Hyde, Occult, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Author Is Not Religious, Author Has a Lot of Cultural Religious Baggage, Seven Deadly Sins, Cunnilingus, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Violence, War, War Crimes, Child Death, Child Soldiers, Child Abuse, Terrorism, Eventual Happy Ending, Smoking, Drinking, Rough Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dark John Price (Call of Duty), Bukkake, Consensual Non-Consent, Somnophilia, Self-Mutilation, Anal Sex, Warnings: graphic violence, Wordcount: 3.4k

Authors Notes:

Welcome to Cali and Vamp's Monster Price fanfic! We've been workshopping some Dark!Price ideas back and forth, and we wanted to explore the concept of the Seven Deadly Sins. This was originally going to be the endcap for The Californicationist's 2023 Kinktober collection, but after Vamp started cooking, we decided to make it a fic on its own.

You should read the tags before you begin this story to make sure you are prepared for its contents. This material is not intended for readers below 18 years old.

This fic is not going to be for everyone, and that's okay. No hard feelings if you decide this isn't for you. But, that being said, I would deeply appreciate any comments, concrit, or support you can provide. Writing a dark fic is a lonely thing, and your input means a lot to me and to Vamp.

Thanks for checking it out, brave souls! --Californicationist

Read on AO3

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Disclaimer: ©️vampirekilmer.2024 ©️vampirekilmerfic.2024~ The intellectual property of vampirekilmer and vampirekilmerfic is not permitted for reposting, transcription, translation or use with AI technologies.

#call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #captain john price #captain price #cod price #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #cod price x reader #vampirekilmer writes #vampirekilmer #the-californicationist #californicationist #dead dove do not eat #dddne #fanfiction #thesineater

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isabella-kr · 1 year

Note

Are you still taking requests for Price fics??? Can I please get a fluff/smut with him and a reader who has insecurities about her body

I most definitely am!! Thank you so much for requesting!! The beginning turned out sadder than planned, so I’m sorry about that. Also, this isn’t my best work; I’m not sure why but my brain wasn’t braining when I was trying to write this so the quality is slightly off.

Marked Beauty

Do not repost

Synopsis: When Price catches her looking in the mirror for longer than usual, he can immediately tell something is wrong. When she voices her insecurities, he makes it his mission to show her just how beautiful she is.

Pairing: John Price x Female!Wife!Reader (I’m sorry, I’m a sucker for husband Price)

Genre: Fluff & Smut. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 YEARS OLD

Warnings: Insecurities, dislike of one's body, Mention of stretch marks, scars, and cellulite, body worship, smut, description of male and female bodies, description of male and female genitalia, cunnilingus, fingering, penetrative sex, p in v, soft sex, creampie, use of ‘love’ and ‘sweetheart’ (let me know if I missed anything)

Note: There is no mention of body weight or size in this fic. The reader is not described as having a specific body type - stretch marks and cellulite is something anyone can get no matter their size.

Word Count: 4.5k

General Masterlist COD:MWII Masterlist

GIF not mine (Boobies 😍)

He could tell something was wrong the moment she stepped in front of the mirror to brush her teeth. The way her eyes raked over her own body made his chest ache; there was a certain hatred in them, and he would even go as far as say she looked disgusted.

Feeling his heart break piece by piece, he stood up from where he sat on the bed and stopped in the threshold of the bathroom that was connected to their bedroom. She didn’t even notice his presence, too focused on judging every inch of herself. He approached her the moment she spat the toothpaste in the sink, his arms immediately moving to wrap around her torso and pulling her close against him.

She let out a small sigh when he pressed his face into the crook of her neck, and placed her hands atop his, enjoying the feeling of his warm chest pressing against her back. She almost smiled, but the moment she looked into the mirror again, her face turned blank.

“What’s wrong?” he muttered against her skin, his beard tickling her neck.

She exhaled sharply, internally scolding herself for allowing him to see through her. “Nothing’s wrong,” she sent him a small smile, “Go to bed, I’ll join you in a sec, alright?”

He shook his head and pulled himself up to stare into her eyes through the mirror. He said her name softly, his gruff voice barely above a whisper as he continued, “Please talk to me.”

She looked to the side and away from his concerned gaze, “I’m fine,” she told him.

But John didn’t believe her. He turned her around in his arms and placed his hand on her cheek, angling her face so their eyes would lock, “Sweetheart, we’ve been together far too long for me to believe that.”

He watched as her eyes glazed over, and she quickly hung her head to look at the ground; she refused to let him see her this way. To see her broken and on the verge of tears.

“Hey,” he attempted to lift her head back up, but she refused.

It was when she let out a choked sob, and when he felt her hot tears wet his fingertips that he brought her closer towards him. His palm cradled the back of her head as he pressed her cheek against his shoulder, his other hand reaching to rub comforting circles on her back. Her own hands grabbed onto his shirt and cramped it between her fingers as quiet whimpers left her lips.

“Shh-shh-shh,” he tried to comfort her, placing a loving kiss against her head as he swayed them from side to side. She clung onto him like her life depended on it, quiet apologies leaving her lips when she felt her tears soaking through his shirt. He could only shake his head in response and assure her it was okay, that she had nothing to be sorry for.

Once she began to calm down – her sobs ceasing and tears drying on her skin – he pulled away, cupping her cheeks in his calloused hands to look at her. The whites of her eyes were a faint red, and her face was slightly puffy from crying.

“Talk to me?” he whispered, his eyes begging her to tell him what was wrong - what he could do to help.

Hesitantly, she nodded, and the moment she did he felt like he could breathe again. He pressed his hand against the small of her back and led her back to their bedroom, where they both sat on the edge of the soft bed. His hands reached for hers and he held them, gently rubbing his thumb against her skin.

“John,” she managed to whisper, and he hummed, urging her to continue, “Do you still find me attractive?”

The question alone took him aback, but it was the seriousness in her tone that made him freeze. His brows knit together, and his eyes looked more concerned than before as he leaned forward. He searched her face for something, perhaps because a part of him wished this was all just a really bad joke.

“’Course I do,” he stated in disbelief, “What makes you think I don’t?”

She shrugged, her eyes gazing down at their intertwined fingers, “I just-” she let out a deep sigh, “I don’t know.”

“Hey,” he moved off the bed and crouched down in front of her, keeping his hands on top of hers as he looked into her eyes, “You can tell me.”

She looked more tired from this angle. The way the shadows fell on her face made her look as though she hadn’t slept in weeks. The frown that pulled on her lips didn’t make it any better, only showing how truly devastated she looked.

His mind began to work on overdrive. Had he said something to her? Did he do something without realising? Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe someone said something nasty to her, and now she couldn’t get their words out of her head.

It was as though she could hear the thoughts that ran through his head. She shook her head at him and let out a small breath, “I just... I don’t feel-” she groaned, placing her hands on her face, “Whenever I look at myself all I can see is flaws, and sometimes I’m scared that one day it will be all you’ll start seeing, too.”

He couldn’t believe his own ears. He couldn’t believe she thought of herself that way, that she saw herself that way. His chest felt heavy as he moved to sit beside her and placed a comforting hand on the small of her back.

“Did someone say something to you?” he questioned; his voice gentle as he spoke.

“No.” she assured him, “No, no-one said anything, and don’t worry, you didn’t do anything either. It’s me – I just don’t like the way I look. Honestly, I don’t know what you see in me, John.”

He hummed, taking her words in and digesting them before he opened his mouth, “D’you want to know what I see?”

She swallowed thickly, “What?”

“Definitely not the flaws you’re seeing, love,” he attempted to lighten her mood. “I’m not even sure what ‘flaws’ you’re thinking of. All I can see is my beautiful, beautiful wife.”

Despite the awful thoughts still plaguing her mind, she couldn’t help but become bashful at his words. She could feel the heat on her cheeks, and hated herself for lifting the corners of her mouth into a small smile.

“There you are,” he said as though he hadn’t seen her in months. He quickly turned serious, a hand pressing against her cheek to turn her face in his direction, “You’ll always be beautiful to me,” he said her name with so much love, she could feel her heart swell, “Even when we’re both old, wrinkly and complaining about back pain. I love you, and that’s never going to change.”

“You already complain about your back pain,” she pointed out as her arms wrapped around his neck to pull him into a tight hug.

“See, we’re already half way there,” he laughed, “If you ever feel like this again, you tell me, alright?” she nodded into his shoulder, “I can’t have you feeling like this.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “For worrying you.”

“I’m your husband,” he chuckled, pulling away from her, “It’s my job to worry, yeah?”

She snorted at that, and he couldn’t help but grin at her reaction. With a small laugh of his own, he pressed his lips against hers and used his thumbs to wipe away the dry tears from her cheeks. The kiss started off sweet and gentle, their soft lips melting against one another in the slow dance. But it eventually turned more passionate – more lustful – as he pressed his lips harder against hers, hands beginning to wander down from her hips.

They pulled away to catch their breaths, their foreheads pressing together in a loving gesture. “Can I show you just how beautiful you are to me?” he asked.

She knew what he meant by this, and she didn’t even have to think about her answer. She nodded, a small ‘yeah’ leaving her lips as she pressed them against his once again. This kiss was short and sweet and he smiled when they moved apart.

Placing his hands on her hips, he guided her along the bed to rest her head on the fluffy pillows. He hovered above her, hand resting by her head as he leaned down to kiss her once again. His tongue entered her mouth, and the quiet mewl that left her when their tongues met had his body turning hot. They explored one another as if it was their first time doing so; hands ran up and down each other’s bodies and tongues swiped against one another in a loving embrace.

A string of saliva connected them when John eventually pulled away. His breathing was heavy and eyes closed as he attempted to calm himself down. He pressed his nose against the soft skin of her cheek and decided to press more kisses there, trailing from her cheek, to her jaw, down her neck and stopping just above her clavicle.

“John,” she whispered, legs moving to rest on either side of his hips.

He groaned at her needy tone, the sound of her voice only spurring him on as he kissed past her clavicle and over her shirt. His hands slipped underneath the hem of her shirt and rolled up the material to her ribs to expose her stomach. His lips attached to the newly uncovered skin, pressing soft kisses around her belly button.

As his lips moved downward, stopping at the waistband of her bottoms, he noticed something different. Instead of the usual shorts she wore to bed, her legs were covered with long pyjama bottoms that reached her ankles. He frowned, eyes gazing up at her curiously.

“Is it your legs, love?” he asked, brows furrowing in question.

She let out a sharp breath, her tongue wetting her lips as she nodded. He kissed the softness of her abdomen before pushing himself up to look into her eyes. “Can I take ‘em off?” he asked seriously, hand stroking the apple of her cheek.

She nodded, though he could see the hesitance in her eyes. One of his hands settled on the soft skin of her hip, gently rubbing the area with his thumb as he tilted his head to the side in thought. He let out a soft hum, eyes analysing her own.

“John,” her voice caught his attention, “I trust you. I just... it’s my thighs...”

“Are you sure?” he asked, wanting to be certain she definitely wanted this.

She smiled at him, and pressed a hot kiss against his lips. He groaned at the feeling, and almost whined when she pulled away, “I want you, John.”

He only smiled before moving his head back down towards her stomach and pressing open-mouthed kisses against her skin. He hooked his fingers at the waistband of her bottoms and began to pull them downward, her hips rising a little to help him get them off.

Despite him having seen her naked countless times before, and despite still having her underwear and shirt on, she felt more exposed than ever. Yet when she looked into his eyes, which were already staring back at her - scanning her face for discomfort – she felt herself relax; his eyes were so soft, and held so much love, she felt like her heart was going to burst at the sight.

He pressed his lips against her knee as he held her leg carefully in his hand. He squeezed the soft flesh of her thigh, enjoying how it jiggled underneath his fingertips. Her breath hitched when he lifted her leg further up her body, the top of her thigh making contact with her torso.

The position reminded her of the many times he practically folded her in half to pound deeper into her. It reminded her of the nights when she finished multiple times in a row, and when her legs felt sore the day after. But this time was different; instead of his fingertips digging into the skin of her hip, they softly held onto her knee; instead of harsh kisses that stole her breath away, he lightly pressed his lips against the bumpy area of her thigh.

His eyes gazed upon the cellulite that decorated her skin, but unlike her, he didn’t see flaws. All he saw was the woman he fell in love with. The woman he was willing to take a bullet for. The bumpy area of her thigh was nothing but a decoration on her body. And he kissed it. He kissed every bump that adorned her skin, refusing to miss even a single one.

Her breathing was turning heavy as he travelled from underneath her knee and down to her buttocks. His fingers caressed the cellulite on her thigh before digging his fingers into her skin and moving her leg to expose the cotton of her underwear.

He moved his face toward her core, and placed a soft kiss against her clothed clit. A soft mewl left her lips at the action, and he smiled proudly at the sound. “You mind if I take ‘em off, love?”

She shook her head, and practically begged him to do just that. A breathless ‘please’ left her lips, and that’s all he needed. Quickly, yet still as carefully and softly as before, he pulled the material off her hips and almost salivated at the sight of her bottom half bare in front of him. He swore he would never get tired of seeing her like this; with eyes clenched shut and mouth ajar, small sighs leaving her open lips as she subconsciously rutted her hips towards him.

“John,” his name left her lips in a quiet plea.

He smirked, and on any other occasion he would have waited another moment; he would have her begging to place his lips around her. Yet this time he gave her what she wanted – what she needed – without a second thought.

His lips were wrapped on her already swollen clit before she got the chance to say his name again. A choked moan left her lips at the feeling, and her fingers went to grab onto his short hair. Her thighs clenched around his head when his tongue pressed against her hot skin, tasting her arousal as he licked her from the opening of her vagina, and up to her sensitive bud.

She let out a desperate whine as she lifted her hips, pressing her core harder against his face. She felt him smile against her, the hairs of his beard digging into the skin of her thighs. He wrapped an arm around her abdomen and pushed her down to keep her in place.

His lips were back to sucking on her clit in no time, and she felt as his index finger moved through her labia and gently pushed into her. The feeling was ecstatic, and she couldn’t help the loud moan that tumbled from her lips. “John,” she chanted his name as though it was the only name she knew.

He pumped the finger in and out, the sound of her wetness seeping out of her making his cock feel even harder than it already was. He added another finger and curled them in her tight canal. Her soft walls clenched around his digits, and when she attempted to arch her back, he knew she was close.

The pulls on his hair turned harsher, and her soft thighs squeezed his head when her walls began to spasm. He let her push her core against him, his mouth refusing to leave the swell of her clit as she shook underneath him. Her orgasm seeped out of her and drenched his fingers, which he continued to pump in and out until she stopped moving.

He pulled out his digits from her and placed them in his mouth, keeping eye contact with her when he licked them clean off her orgasm. The sound that left her lips was unholy, and it took everything in him to not grin like the Cheshire cat in return.

“You’re stunning,” he told her, and smiled when she moaned at his words.

He moved back towards her face and kissed her hungrily. She could taste herself on his tongue, and the it made her wrap her arms tightly around his neck. She pushed her torso into his, and when her naked crotch made contact with his still clothed dick, she felt how hard he was. She could only imagine how uncomfortable it was, so she let her hands travel from the hard muscles in his back and towards his abdomen, eager to wrap her fingers around his thickness.

Her hands barely had time to touch the soft material before he pulled them away and shook his head at her. “Not tonight,” he told her and stood up to remove the soft material himself.

His boxers ended up on the floor of their bedroom, and he didn’t stop until he was fully bare in front of her, his shirt joining the small pile on the floor. She shamelessly ogled his form from the bed, now sat up and hugging her naked legs against her chest.

He let out a small chuckle at the sight of her, “Enjoying the view?” he asked, getting on his knees in front of her.

She giggled, “Wish I could take a picture,” she answered with a soft smile.

He breathed out a laugh and grabbed onto the hem of her shirt, pulling it off her before letting it join his own clothes on the floor. “Show me,” he told her and she looked up at him with a confused expression, “What else, love? Show me.”

She bit into her bottom lip in thought before nodding and grabbing his wrist. Spreading her thighs so he could step between them, she moved his hand toward her hip. He got her to lay back down as he analysed her skin. It was only then that he saw the faint lines on her body, the stretch marks running from the top of her hip and down to her thigh.

Truth be told, he never paid them much mind. Sure, he’s seen that they were there, but he never would have guessed they caused her such heartache – such pain. He pressed gentle kisses on her hip, smiling against her before moving to hover above her once again.

“You know, all scars tell us is that we survived,” he pointed at his own torso, which was littered with scars of all sizes. Some were short and faint and others long and deep, but they all told the same story; he survived everything that was thrown his way.

She let out a sigh, “They’re not scars, John. They’re stretch marks. I haven’t survived anything.”

“Yeah, you have,” he argued, and she knit her brows in question, “You survive every day, don’t you? No matter what’s thrown at you, you’ve survived it all. Like that time you hit yourself on the table – remember the bruise you had for weeks?” He asked and she nodded, “Look, you might not have survived anything life-threatening, but you survived nonetheless. I mean, you survive with me and my, as you call them, ‘awful hats’ everyday, so that counts for something.” He laughed, “They’re nothing to be ashamed of, sweetheart.”

She could feel the tears brimming her eyes at his words. She managed to nod, pulling him into another kiss as her legs wrapped around his torso. She was becoming desperate, his words only making her want him inside her more and more.

“John,” she breathed out, “I love you. I love you so much.”

He groaned when her hand suddenly grabbed onto the base of his cock and pumped him, moving up and down his length. She lined the tip with the wet entrance of her vagina, moaning at the feeling of his hot and sticky skin pressing against her.

“I love you, too,” he managed to say as he pushed inside of her.

The feeling of his cock stretching her out felt heavenly. She could feel every inch of him as he moved inside of her, pushing in until he bottomed out. His pelvis was pressed against her clit, and she clenched her walls around him at the feeling.

He grunted, tightening his hold on her left hip as his other hand moved to rest beside her head. “Fuck,” he cursed, forehead pressing against her shoulder. He tapped his hand against the side of her hip, and she arched against him, her hard nipples pressing deliciously against his hot skin.

Taking the chance, he moved a pillow underneath the small of her back, the slight lift allowing him to push even further into her. His tip pressed against the soft wall of her cervix, and she attempted to move her hips against his.

The desperation was clear on her face when he opened his eyes to look at her. His forehead pressed against hers and he finally moved his hips – slowly, sensually. His thrusts were slow and deep, as though he was trying to reach the deepest depths of her being.

She could feel the love radiating off him; the tenderness of his movements, gentle hold he had on her thigh as he pushed it further up his torso – attempting to reach as deeply as humanly possible – and the way he pressed small kisses against her temple. She could feel it all, and it brought hot tears to her eyes.

He held onto him as the tears began to roll down her cheeks, and her hips moved in sync with his. He whispered her name in her ear, followed by words of adoration, “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he spoke against her ear, his beard tickling her skin.

She clenched around him and her hips stuttered with every word – with every thrust. “So gorgeous,” he continued, lips pressing against the edge of her jaw after every word, “My fuckin’ gorgeous wife.”

Her abdomen felt hot, and the knot that slowly began to form in her stomach was threatening to snap. He could feel it; he could feel her getting closer. He slightly sped up his movements, his pelvis rubbing against her clit with every single thrust.

It was becoming too much. The words of love he chanted in her ear, the way her breasts rubbed against the scarred skin of his chest, and the way his cock pressed against the wall of her cervix with every single thrust. It was too much, and with a clench of her walls, she felt the knot finally break.

A loud moan got past his lips as the feeling of her walls hugging him tighter. His own hips began to stutter, and as she continued to spasm in his arms, her pushed into her with one final thrust.

She felt the warmth of his cum filling up her insides, the feeling only making her whine louder than before. His forehead went to press against hers once more as he fully emptied himself inside of her, his orgasm mixing with hers.

They stayed like that for a moment; he was still inside her, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and bodies remained flushed together. They were both panting, their chests heaving after the passionate and intense session.

When she eventually opened her eyes – her vision slightly blurred from her orgasm – he was already staring back at her. The corners of his lips were pulled into a smile, and his eyes held a softness she had seen many times before, yet would never get tired of.

“Hello, gorgeous,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he repeated the compliment he had previously chanted like a prayer.

She smiled, her arms loosening around his neck as she moved to cup his cheeks in her palms, “Hello, handsome,” she replied.

With a look full of love, he pressed a kiss against her cheek and pushed himself up to pull out of her. She whined at the feeling of sudden loss, her hands grabbing onto his forearms that were on either side of her head. She could feel his release slowly seeping out of her, and before it could trickle too far down – before their bed sheets were ruined – he picked her up from the bed.

She let out a squeal of surprise when she was lifted into his arms, and with an amused laugh, he took them both to the bathroom. “Bath?” he asked as he placed her on her feet, making sure she was steady and her legs weren’t wobbling.

She held onto his shoulder for a second, but nodded when she felt the feeling return to her legs. As he went to draw them both a bath, she reached for the towel cabinet and pulled out a small, clean rag. She wet it with warm water and just as she was about to wipe it on her thigh, it was taken from her.

John turned her around and pressed her back against the cold sink, making her hiss out at the feeling. He only chuckled when he grabbed one of her thighs and pulled it up towards him, only to then press the warm towel against her hot skin. He cleaned off the stickiness of her thighs, doing the same for himself before pressing the material flush against her crotch, collecting the arousal that had seeped out of her.

She couldn’t help but flinch and moan at the feeling, her mouth falling ajar as she grabbed onto her husband’s bicep. “Sorry, had to clean you up,” he told her with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

She almost rolled her eyes at him, but could only smile when he pulled her in for a kiss. The towel was discarded in the sink as his hands moved to rest on her waist. The skin-on-skin contact was nice, the intimacy of the moment causing a certain peacefulness to fall upon them.

“C’mon,” he eventually said and led her to the bathtub full of hot water.

The moment the water enveloped her, she could feel her muscles relaxing from the warmth that surrounded her. John stepped in behind her and pulled her into his chest, where she rested her head against his shoulder.

His hand moved to lay on the expanse of her stomach, lightly rubbing the area as she nuzzled into him. She finally felt happy, and content with herself. The insecurities that previously burdened her mind were forgotten, and the only thing she could focus on was John, and how he lovingly held onto her. She knew the thoughts would eventually return, and that they would try their very hardest to be the only thing occupying her mind. But she also knew John would be there to put a stop to them every single time.

“Thank you, John,” she whispered into the silence.

All he did in return was press his cheek against the top of her head and hum as he pulled her in even closer towards him. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t need to, because his actions spoke louder than words ever could.

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crimsonbubble · 11 months

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Babe I gotchu for a prompt. I'll be up front, if you write more for Price I'll just combust. I'm thinking, he was daddy before, now you've made him an actual daddy and he now wants another kid? The image of him pressing his wife to the mattress, kissing her neck and muttering "let's have another, love. A whole housefull" like yes absolutely as many as you want.

cw. soft nsfw, afab!reader, breeding kink *not proofread, just pure horny

[price + breeding kink >>>] brain juice isn't as strong tonight :((

MINORS DNI!!

I am a whore for this man

absolutely unashamed about it

anyways 🧎🏽‍♀️

price loves the way you are around your kids

just so loving and gentle

his heart swells when he sees you playing with them

when he looks back at the pictures from when you were pregnant, it's more than his heart that's swelling up

he loves the glow that pregnancy gave you

and he isn't one to deny the fact that he just loves seeing how fucked out you get when he pumps you full

he'll prop your hips up and give you load after load just to "make sure it takes."

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blingblong55 · 5 months

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Some love- John Price NSFW

Based on a request:

Price and a gn reader where we walk in on him and he then makes us give him a bj

A/N: Short smut but I hope I do the request some good ---- GN!Reader, smut, 18+, oral!sex, soft!Price?, established!relationship ----

It was a long day at the base, you were stuck in meetings all day long with Ghost. Lieutenants from all over the base conversing about some issues when Price texts you.

Office. Now.

It was a blind game but you excused yourself and went to his office. "Captain?" you walk in after the usual knock. He was sitting there, lights dim as he strokes his cock. "Lock the door and c'mere," his voice raspy and low. You do as told and go to him. Your gaze on his swollen tip when he tugs at your arm. "On your knees, love." He positions himself further from the desk as he watches you lower yourself, your head between his legs as you await his next order.

"Obedient pet, aren't you little one," he kisses the top of your head, his hand on the back of your head as you part your lips open. His tip teased your tongue and before he told you what to do, your mouth wrapped around his cock. As your head bobbed, his head was thrown back. Grunts and moans cover the air from how good you are making him feel. "Don't stop, darling," he says between heavy moans. You loved it when he would get this horny to the point where he would ask for a blowjob at work.

"C'mon, don't close your eyes," his voice determined to keep that pretty gaze of yours on him. Your tears ran down as you kept gagging on his cock. The tip of his fat cock hitting the uvula, your drunk stare on his which only causes him to chuckle. "That's it, you're doing a great job darling," he continues his praise. You can feel him beginning to push you faster, at times keeping your head still as he enjoys the feeling and then once more making your head bob.

His cum leaks through your mouth and throat. Your lips at his shaft as you gag and him. "Oh fucking-....yes my love," he pulls your head back and kisses you. "God you are something," he ushers between kisses. His big strong arms bring you to his legs as he nuzzles his head on your neck. "I love you," his lips once more meeting yours. Your head still spinning and each one of his kisses gives you more and more comfort. "You did well, okay?" His warm hands cupped your face, thumbs caressing the softens of your skin.

"Just lay on my chest, let me take care of you," his voice softer now. Your lover comes back only when alone and in between the secure four walls. He grabs his jacket and covers you with it. Rough hands become soft as they caress your back and head. You soon close your eyes and rest against him. His breathing soothing you to a short nap.

A/N: I know you would like this and also im working on your request @anonymuslydumb

Tags:

@liyanahelena @kit-kats06 @pupgothic @sans-chara @katybaby00 @vampsquerade @goldenmclaren @frizzseaberries @frazie99 @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @enarien @luvecarson

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mousedotjpeg · 4 months

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cw: price being a cutie patootie for his wife, tooth rotting fluff

John Price was quite certain that, of all the moments he's shared with you, this had to be one of his most treasurable. Each and every time the weather forecast predicted storms, from gale-force winds to a gentle Sunday shower, his sweet little wife insisted upon starting a pot of coffee and building a little nest in the nook of the windowsill; the spot he had built especially for you.

Without fail - not counting the times he was away from deployment - you'd always have a hot cup of coffee awaiting his arrival, and a warm pair of arms to fall into, surrounded by blankets and pillows. More often than not, you'd both end up foregoing the comforts of your own bed in order to bask in each other's arms, squished together against the window.

"Honey?" Stepping into your shared home, coat damp from the rainfall, John softly calls out to you. Just as he expected (and found himself looking forward to the whole drive home) the Wizard of Oz was playing at a low volume on the living room TV, blankets pulled from open cabinets, and your shared nest already neatly fluffed up with pillows and the aforementioned throws.

"Welcome home, handsome." You coo, catching him slightly off guard as you pad over from the kitchen. Immediately beginning to help him shed his soaked layers, you press a gentle kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, then finally on his lips. "Your coffee is on the counter. Go put some warm clothes on." You instruct, before giving him another chaste kiss.

Price groans appreciatively into your lips, hand giving your waist a soft squeeze before he's off to the bedroom, rushing to get changed into boxers and a loose-fitting crewneck sweater. Upon his return, you were precariously balancing two very full mugs, shuffling over from the kitchen to the living room. He's taking them from you with a chuckle, pressing sweet little pecks on your temple and forehead, then motioning for you to walk ahead to the windowsill.

Setting them down gently in the little square hole carved out by the window, (another handy little thing John insisted the builders add) John's quick to crawl onto the padded wood, making himself comfortable.

"C'mere, darling." He calls, voice gruff as he finally relaxes into the copious amounts of blankets surrounding him. The harsh wind and rain create a juxtaposing lullaby, his eyes already droopy by the time you're settling into his eager arms. With a contented smile, you drape yourself over your husband, the chill of the room quickly being chased off by his warm embrace. Turning so your back is to his chest, (so you could still see your favorite movie play out) you take a moment to fully appreciate the loving warmth radiating from your husband.

"You're like a space heater, y'know?" You murmur, words muffled against his chest.

"That so, love?" He responds, a breathy chuckle to his words. John is met with only a brief nod, then he's gathering you up further into his arms, squeezing your smaller body tightly against his.

"The main reason I married you, actually." You tease, meaning only a slight bit of it.

"And here I was, thinking it was jus' for John Junior." He concludes.

"Oh God..don't... don't call it that."

"Sorry, love. My cock. Thought it was all for my cock."

"Not sure that's any better, John."

"Mmph."

You giggle softly against him, prompting John to smile broadly into your hair. Shit, how he fucking loves that sound - he'd do anything just to hear it.

"Reckon it'll flood, dear?" He prompts after several minutes of silence, only to be met with the very same thing. John precariously tilts his head back, only to find you dozing off, cheek smushed oh so preciously against him. Reclining his head back onto his pillow, it only takes a few more moments of watching the little rain drops race to the bottom of the glass, and the captain's out like a light bulb, snoring loudly into your ear.

cute lil shitty drabble cause it's "raining fucking hard" down here in texas, and mouse loves rain. anyways, i feel like this one turned out like poopoo doodoo. next one will probably be Nik or Rudy. ~ mouse

#mouse's mess #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #john price fluff #captain price fluff #cod x reader #cod x you #cod fluff #john price x you #cod price x reader

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stag-beetle-wastaken · 5 months

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☆THEIR SLEEPING HABITS!!!!☆

ive seen ppl do lists like this n i wanted 2 try it out

Ghost

(extreme) light sleeper. will literally wake up when you breathing rhythm changes. Like. Yeah.

can sleep next to anybody tho. like, you can put your hand on his mouth while he slept and he'll still find a way to be comfy. (bc hes used to sleepin next 2 Soap)

holds you close. im talkin you aren't going anywhere if you wake up kinda close.

Capt. Price

heavy sleeper. snores. loud. Like, zzzz mimimimi type of loud. (once you couldn't sleep bc of it)

human heater. which is extremely good for winter but in summer? May god help you.

touchy. He HAS TO hug you or put at least an arm around you when you sleep next to each other.

Soap

This guy right here is a HEAVY sleeper. Like, you could punch him in the face and he'd still say "5 more minutes, please".

Moves A LOT. He can't stay still unless you're laying on top of him, then he won't move an inch until you wake up or move.

Sometimes even moves out of the bed and continues sleeping on the floor.

Also touchy. He can't sleep when he doesn't have your weight on top of him or the other way around.

Loves cuddling. You get out of the bed 15 minutes later than you usually do when you sleep w/him.

Gaz

sleeps really normally compared to the rest of the team, but has one huge negative.

Takes all the blanket for himself. Like, you'll be sleeping, and suddenly he'll yank the blanket away from you. I guess the only solution is to sleep on top of him.

A/N: my fave character isnt obvious at all right?

#call of duty x reader #cod mw2 #cod x reader #call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod soap #john soap mactavish #captain john price #ghost cod #cod gaz #cod price #cod gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #captain johnathan price #cod price x reader #cod soap x reader #cod ghost #cod ghost x reader #stag beetle writes

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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hi! Requesting something like these “On a whim, pulling your lover into an alley and pressing your lips firmly against theirs, getting lost in each other's touch while the streets bustle outside. “If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, kind of shady alleyway, it's on you."” For price please and thank you! I personally would love to feel this big man push me against a wall haha

#mmvalentinesevent

small, dark and kind of shady

john price x f!reader

It’s sudden. One minute the two of you are walking along the street.

Pretending, hand on his forearm, fingers dancing up and down a vein as the sun kisses your face.

The next you’re in an alleyway. The cool air cooling your skin, spine against firm brick, as the building casts you both in shadows.

His hand, large and calloused, captures your cheek. Pulling your eyes to him, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Feeling his knee between yours.

Did y’need to wear a dress? You said blend in—like a tourist. I am dressed like a tourist, John.

Recon. That's what he had said. The two of you to roam some cobbled European streets, take photos, and pretend to be a couple.

The latter being the easiest part of the whole thing.

Naturally, you weren't sure what recon needed to be collected on your face. Not when his fingers had wrapped around your elbow or when he had pulled you into the alleyway.

Less so now as he studies you, letting his eyes draw across every single part of your face. His eyes were almost hidden by the shadows, thankful his cap is backwards—not that you’d never find his eyes.

You always find them. Across rooms, across streets. A silent conversation is always able to be had through them.

Not that you care. The two of you rarely get a chance to do this, to watch, observe and admire. So many eyes on you both—the captain and his sergeant.

You almost speak, feeling yourself need to. But, you don’t want to shatter the moment. Snap whatever this is and whatever it could become.

Instead, you allow the cars driving over cobble and stone to disturb the peace at the other end of the alleyway. The entrance closest to you both has people peppering the air with languages you only partially understand.

But, no one notices the two of you.

The two people who should know better, but are acting like teenagers. Even with the clouds heavy above the two of you, threatening to spill and rain down on your plans for the day.

Making the task harder. Making the trip last longer. Again, you didn’t care much. The fake story of being a couple in Europe allowed you both to benefit from it. Allow you to lie with him undisturbed.

Meaning now, the lines are blurred. Allowing you to be lost in him, and he in you.

It makes you not want to go home. To return to base and go back to pretending.

You pull him closer by his jacket. The once-tan but now-a-worn-brown one. The one he’d put over your shoulders months ago, not saying a word as he did, side-eyeing you as you buried your cheeks against the lapels. The ones which you suspect had once been soft, but now were bobbled and overwashed.

His chin tilts, staring into your eyes like you have the answers to all his questions.

"If we get caught kissing in a small, dark, and kind of shady alleyway, it's on you, Captain."

"Won't get caught, love."

"Overconfidence, I like it."

He smirks, his low laugh brushing over your skin. The scent of his last cigar flowed in the little space between the two of you. One you wish would attach itself to your clothes, your skin, your bedsheets.

Merging and mingling with the scent he leaves on your skin. When his hand hooks your leg over his hips and calls you pretty, and good, and a bunch of other praises that make your cheeks and chest burn.

"You going to kiss me then, John?"

He strokes his thumb across your cheek, inhaling deeply, his eyes staring into yours. "Y’always in a rush."

“Have you seen yourself?”

His thumb brushes your cheek. “Enough.”

You grin, light and easily. One he pulls from you without trying—has done since this all began.

Licking your lips, you tilt your head. "If I was pissin' around with Soap, you'd rip me a new arsehole."

He chuckles, low and deep. The corners of his mouth twitch, the wired hair catching the limited light. His other hand slid under the hem of your dress, palm grasping your upper thigh.

"You're not wrong."

"Never am, am I, John?"

He shakes his head. "No, love."

Sighing, you roll your hips against his. Watching his throat, seeing how he swallows.

He tries to hide it. He fails at it like he did when he denied he didn’t want to fuck you that first time. The internal war he had with himself almost allowed you to walk out the door.

You’re thankful he lost to his better judgement. Even more glad that he’s changed his judgement, realising how worth it you are.

He presses his forehead against yours, seeing how his eyes have darkened—just enough to know that his original thoughts of a quick makeout were turning into something longer, something which would have you likely walking funny.

The loud sound of a bang is followed by a car horn blaring. But, neither of you pulls your gaze from the other. Not that he’d let you. His hand still holding your cheek in place.

Even if your pulse quickens—even if he feels it—your hand almost flexes to reach for something. Something you don’t even have on you—

“It’s alright, love. I’m here.”

“I know,” you whisper, hooking your finger inside the waistband of his jeans.

Stroking your touch lightly against his skin, hearing the noticeable inhale.

“That’s the problem.”

“I’m the problem, hmm?”

“Well, I’m not the one in charge, distracting the impressionable sergeant who has to collect intel…”

He runs his tongue over the front of his teeth. The first indication you’re going to be warned, your thighs squeezing around his knee at the thought.

“Already got enough intel, love.”

“Oh? So, we’re what? Seeing the sights?”

“I am.”

Your skin warms. Eyes flicking down, never sure what to do with his praise, with his flattering words.

“Look at me.”

You do. You’d do anything he asked. “Still the problem?”

You nod lightly, watching him smirk. “If you kissed me, I’d reconsider though.”

He licks his lips, mumbling a fair, and then he crashes his mouth to yours.

Chapped lips against yours, filling you with warmth similar to the European sun on your skin. You whimper, the sound stolen by his tongue and his mouth.

Mostly, you let yourself feel how his hand keeps you close—so close, there's no space left. His lips burn words into you he hasn’t yet said. Your hand tugging his hips flush against yours. Wanting him. Needing him.

Even if you had him this morning. Even if you'd spent hours, when you should have been sleeping, getting your fill of him.

The two of you are like teenagers when the parents are away. Two people who are not scared of being caught.

Nothing like a captain and his sergeant.

Not that you care at all.

#mmvalentinesevent #mm valentines event #john price #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price #john price cod #john price x female reader #cod price x reader #cod price #cod x reader

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