Latest Posts by cappepaw - Page 3

john price and shy reader 🙂‍↕️😵‍💫🥹

you and john progress quickly in your relationship.

warnings: basically john is controlling and wants a housewife whether you want to be one or not, possessive/toxic behavior, elements of gaslighting, age gap, mentions of sex

john price leans too heavily on the crazy side of possessive—and at the same time, he likes to see you perfectly taken care of, but by no one if not him. you think stupidly that you'd be a fool not to be interested—a handsome, older man similar to the ones you and your friends are always fantasizing about after complaining about boys your age. he checks off every box, a bit too well, actually.

he communicates, openly and often, not just single word texts but rather long phone calls and drop-ins at the small florist shop where you work. plans are always made in person—you think he's just old-fashioned but there's something about seeing your eyes light up when he lays out the order of the date night he's put together for the two of you. it's sweet—like no one has ever put this much thought into something for you. it's always dinner at some place that would probably cost half your rent, a sweet treat after since you're so fond of it but you feel greedy ordering dessert at the restaurant, dancing or a walk or browsing through a bookstore together or something else that's not just going back home. it's so well thought out, so attuned to your taste. you almost forget you've just met john a couple of weeks ago, that he was just a cute customer buying flowers from you a few dates ago.

your friends spur him on—you can't tell if it's something akin to jealousy or not. the very idea makes your face burn—you've never been someone that others are jealous of, but maybe now you are, and that's all because of john. and he doesn't let up—keeps it going wonderfully, still planning dates and picking you up and bringing you some small yet expensive jewelry after the first month claiming that it reminded him of you. you don't think it's something that he would just stumble across at a store but you accept it anyways, start wearing the ring on your right hand. you think you should feel alarmed when he presents matching earrings a little bit later, but you don't. you start wearing them daily, let your friends catch a glimpse when you move your hair behind your ear.

you've become perfectly pliant to john price and his antics, eager for his validation, eager to see him again. the way he talks about things makes you think he knows everything there is to know in the world, so you believe him wholeheartedly. like when your landlord says the complex is being bought out. your little one bed, one bath is perfect for you but you certainly don't want to buy an apartment right now. but it's okay—because john is there to help. he answers the phone when you're sobbing into the receiver, comes over and comforts you. he shushes you when you blubber about moving and work and finding a new place and murmurs against your ear, moving your hair aside to look at the earrings he'd gotten you.

"sweet girl, why're you cryin', hm? you'll just come live with me until s'all sorted, alright?"

and, well, john knows best, so you listen. a few short weeks later, you're moved into his place, which is so much nicer than your own. your books and photo frames and knick-knacks blend in perfectly with his belongings. it's a little further from work, but how can you give up waking up next to john each day and curling up next to him, severely fucked out, each night?

the commute is getting annoying—you grumble about it one night over the dinner table. john meets your eyes and runs a hand over his beard and says—

"why don't you just quit, love?"

and you don't really have an answer. you love the shop, love getting paid to be around flowers all day. but is it really worth dragging yourself back and forth across the city every day, especially when you don't even pay rent anymore? you tried, insisted, even, but john says something about how he's not your landlord and you're not his tenant, saying something else about how the missus doesn't pay rent, and you're left with a burning face wondering how many other times he's referred to you as that. it's not like you need the money, you don't think you've paid for anything other than coffee and bagels since you moved in.

you tell him you'll think about it, but then the decision is made for you. the little old lady who owns the store says she needs to downsize, and well, she had to make a tough choice. it's fine—you're hardly upset. your coworkers both have young kids, are both there every day of the week, they definitely need it more than you. so for the first time in a while, you head home early, picking up some stuff for dinner and finding it way too easy to swipe john's credit card to pay for it. you get dinner ready and then get yourself ready, waiting for john to come home to tell him about what happened, hoping he's not too upset that you're pretty much a leech now.

you and john end up tangled in the sheets a little later—you hum while he rubs your back and you think briefly that you'll have to wash these sheets tomorrow since you two have made a mess. his touch is hot, he's like a furnace, but you can't pull away, clutching to his warmth and gripping his arm with your hand. the only time he even looks concerned, or maybe upset? angry? is when you mention that you can start looking for a new place to work nearby home. he says something you only half-hear in your sleepy state, something about 'don't worry your head, love. i can take care of my girl.'

and well, who are you to argue with that?

(when you wake up, the ring he'd gotten you what seems like forever ago, is on your left hand now. on your left ring finger. but that's crazy, you swear you always put it on your right hand. it fits nicely enough there, so you leave it.)

Bravo 6

cw: wound and blood

Injured

this was one of the first thing I drew in 2024, but I couldn't get back to it cuz i lost the vibe to this lil comic, I didn't do any storyboard for it at the time, and just went ahead and drew the first panel XDD

been trying to continue this, but nothing really worked out, so have this small part haha

Price on a date (he's a lil nervous)

his fit is based on this

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒, john price.

summary: john has spent years feeling like his desirability has faded with age, but when his daughter’s best friend starts making subtle advances, he finds himself unable to resist the temptation. cw: age gap, taboo relationship, unprotected sex, mild dirty talk, praise, porn with slight plot. g!n reader, female anatomy. wc: 2.3k note: i was inspired by the song 'colors' by halsey. those who get it, get it.

John isn’t old—not really. But some days, he feels it.

It’s in the way his knees ache when he stands too quickly. The gray creeping into his beard, a little more stubborn each year. The way people call him sir now, not out of respect, but because he looks like he belongs to another time.

He’s never minded getting older, never cared for vanity, but something about it feels heavier lately. Maybe it’s because his daughter—his little girl—isn’t so little anymore. She’s in college now, fully grown, filling the house with stories of her own life that no longer revolve around him.

He listens, nods in the right places, but he knows he’s fading into the background. A spectator to youth, no longer a part of it.

And then, there’s you.

You, her best friend. You, always at his house, curled up on his couch, laughing at things he doesn’t quite understand. You, in little shorts that ride up your thighs, oversized sweaters slipping off your shoulders, bare legs tucked beneath you as you steal glances at him over the rim of your glass.

At first, he thinks he’s imagining it. The way your gaze lingers when he walks past. The way you stretch, slow and deliberate, when you know he’s looking. The way your lips curl around the edge of your spoon when you eat ice cream straight from the carton.

Subtle things. Nothing he can call out without sounding mad.

But then there are the other things. The way you compliment him too much—that sweater looks good on you, Mr. Price… The way your touches linger, fingers brushing over his when you pass him a drink. The way your lips part just slightly when he speaks, like you’re hanging on every word.

He tells himself he’s imagining it, because the alternative is dangerous.

But tonight, he knows.

The house is quiet, his daughter out for the evening. You shouldn’t be here, not really, but you’d dropped by to return a book, your usual excuse. And now, you’re standing in his kitchen, wearing something too small, too sheer, something that tells him you knew exactly what you were doing when you came over.

“You don’t have to rush off,” he says, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. He shouldn’t say it. Shouldn’t give you a reason to stay.

But you smile, slow and knowing, like you were waiting for him to ask.

The tension between you stretches thin, tighter with each passing second. You close the distance first, stepping into his space, tilting your head up to look at him. He can smell your perfume—sweet, warm, something that makes his pulse slow and heavy.

“You always act so polite,” you murmur, eyes flickering over his face. “But I think you like when I test you.”

His jaw tenses. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

You hum, fingers lifting to graze the collar of his shirt, featherlight. “I think I do.”

He exhales sharply, hands bracing against the counter behind him. He shouldn’t touch you. Shouldn’t let you get this close. But your fingers slide higher, brushing along the thick column of his throat, tracing the edge of his beard.

“Been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?” you ask, breath warm against his cheek.

Christ. You’re shameless. And worse—he wants to give in.

His resolve crumbles when you press onto the balls of your feet, lips barely brushing his. A silent invitation. A challenge.

He grips your waist, not gentle, not hesitant, pulling you flush against him. A sharp inhale, a second’s hesitation—then his lips crash into yours, swallowing whatever taunt you were about to whisper next.

You melt against him, fingers twisting into his shirt, pulling him closer like you’ve wanted this just as badly. He groans into your mouth, deep and needy, his beard rough against your soft skin as his hands tighten, feeling the warmth of your body beneath his palms.

It’s been a long time since he’s let himself take something. And fuck, you’re making it impossible to stop now.

You gasp against his lips, a sweet little sound that shoots straight through him, sending all the blood in his body rushing south. His cock, already straining uncomfortably against the zipper of his jeans, presses hard against your belly, and he swears under his breath.

“You—” he starts, voice rough, but the words die in his throat when your hand slides between you, palming him through his jeans. A sharp hiss slips past his teeth. “—fuck. You’ve got no idea what you do to me, love.”

The endearment hangs heavy between you, thick with meaning, and the way your breath hitches tells him you felt it, too. You pull back just enough to meet his gaze through your lashes, lips curling into a knowing smirk.

“…I think I know exactly what I do to you,” you murmur, voice dripping with sweet, teasing sin.

His control snaps.

In one swift motion, he spins you, gripping the backs of your thighs and hoisting you onto the kitchen counter with effortless strength. You let out a soft, breathless laugh, hands clutching at his shoulders as he steps between your legs, settling his hips flush against yours.

“You’re a fuckin’ menace,” he growls, the words half-admiring, half-accusing, but his smirk betrays him. His hands slide up the heated skin of your thighs, thumbs pressing into soft flesh before gliding higher, slipping beneath the hem of your tank top.

When he pushes it up, his breath stutters.

Pastel pink lace. A delicate little bow in the center, nestled between the swell of your breasts. Fucking hell.

“For me?” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher, as he dips his head to press open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, until he reaches the sensitive spot at the curve of your shoulder.

You hum in affirmation, fingers threading into his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He shudders at the feeling, at the way your hips shift, restless against his, seeking more.

His hands find the hem of your tiny little shorts, fingers hooking beneath the fabric with a quiet grunt. He gives them a sharp tug, impatience written in every movement.

“Hips,” he orders, voice thick, edged with need.

You obey without hesitation, lifting them eagerly, breath catching as he drags the fabric down your legs in one rough motion before tossing them to the floor. He’s barely paying attention to them now—no, his focus is locked entirely on you, on the delicate scrap of lace still clinging to your hips.

His pupils darken, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths as he takes in the sight of you, all wrapped up in soft, sheer fabric, the matching set he’s certain you wore just for him.

“Christ,” he mutters, running his hands up your thighs, fingers pressing possessively into warm skin. “You just had to be a fuckin’ tease, didn’t you?”

You smirk, shifting slightly on the counter, letting your legs spread just a little wider, an unspoken invitation. His jaw tightens, eyes flicking back up to yours, searching for something—permission, maybe, or control he knows he’s already lost.

A low curse rumbles in his chest as his hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with a practiced ease. The soft clink of metal echoes through the kitchen, followed by the slow, deliberate unzipping of his jeans. He shoves them down just enough, boxers sliding with them to mid-thigh, freeing his cock—heavy, hard, already leaking at the tip.

Your breath hitches, eyes flickering downward, but before you can say anything, he’s already moving. One hand gripping your hip, the other curling around the damp fabric of your panties.

“They’re too pretty to take off,” he murmurs, voice dark with something almost reverent as he tugs them to the side, exposing the wet heat of you. His cock twitches at the sight, at the way you shiver under his touch, at the way you’re already so fucking ready for him.

“Gonna ruin you just like this,” he breathes, lining himself up, dragging his thick head through your slick folds, teasing, testing. His forehead presses to yours, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with hunger.

“You want it, don’t you?” he rasps, nudging just barely at your entrance, enough to make you gasp. “Say it.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself against the solid warmth of him. His forehead stays pressed to yours, his breath hot, unsteady, as he keeps himself poised right at your entrance, refusing to move until you give him what he wants.

“Say it,” he murmurs again, voice deeper now, rougher. His cock throbs against you, thick and heavy, the head catching just enough to make your thighs twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, the word barely a breath.

His lips part, something dark and satisfied flashing across his face before he finally pushes forward, sinking into you with one slow, aching thrust. Your mouth falls open, a sharp inhale catching in your throat as he stretches you, your body molding around him, taking him in inch by inch.

“Fuck—” he exhales, his grip on your hips tightening, fingers digging into soft flesh. “That’s it… take it, love.”

His pace is slow at first, savoring the way you flutter around him, the way your nails press into his shoulders, clinging to him as if you’d fall apart otherwise. The fabric of your panties, still pushed to the side, rubs against the base of his cock with every movement, a delicious friction that makes his head spin.

“God, you feel so good,” he mutters, his lips brushing along your jaw, nipping at the delicate skin beneath your ear. “So fuckin’ tight around me.”

A broken moan escapes you, your hips rolling up to meet his, desperate for more. He grins against your skin, hands sliding up your waist before gripping beneath your thighs, angling you just right.

Then he moves—slow, deep strokes that have you gasping his name, your body trembling against his.

“That’s it,” he groans, watching the way your face twists in pleasure, how your lips part, how your eyes flutter shut. His own restraint is fraying, unraveling with every needy little sound you make. “Been thinkin’ about this, haven’t you? Been wantin’ me to fuck you just like this.”

You nod frantically, unable to form words, nails raking down his arms, your body burning beneath his.

He chuckles, voice laced with something dark, something utterly wrecked.

“Yeah,” he rasps, thrusting into you harder, deeper, his forehead pressing to yours once more. “Me too.”

His confession sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling deep in your belly as his hips snap against yours, slow and deliberate, dragging every inch of himself from your soaked cunt only to sink back in, stretching you all over again

Your fingers twist into the fabric of his shirt, knuckles white, nails digging into the muscle beneath. He groans at the sting, at the way your body clenches around him like you never want to let him go.

"Fuckin' hell, love," he breathes against your lips, swallowing your moans as he kisses you, messy and consuming. "Look at you… takin’ me so damn well."

The words make your walls flutter, make him grunt as he buries himself to the hilt, keeping you pinned between the warmth of his body and the cool kitchen counter. Your legs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs, urging him deeper, harder, until you're nothing but gasps and desperate little sounds against his mouth.

His breath is ragged, his control slipping as he watches the way your body moves with his, the way your fingers tug at his hair, dragging him closer, as if you need him pressed into you, as if you want him to consume you whole.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, his voice raw. His grip on your waist tightens, his strokes turning more forceful, his cock hitting that devastating spot that has your back arching, a strangled moan falling from your lips.

"John—" His name breaks apart on your tongue.

"I know, sweetheart," he murmurs, forehead pressing to yours, sweat clinging to his brow. "I know—"

His hand snakes between your bodies, fingers pressing against the swollen bundle of nerves between your thighs, rubbing slow, tight circles. The pleasure spikes instantly, your body tensing, toes curling, the coil in your stomach winding impossibly tight.

"Come on, love," he encourages, voice rough, desperate. "Let me feel you. Let me have you."

Your breath shudders, your body bowing against his, and then you’re falling—pleasure ripping through you in waves, blinding and all-consuming. You clench around him, your walls milking him, dragging him to the edge with you.

"That's it—fuck—" His rhythm falters, his grip on you bruising as he thrusts deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he spills into you with a ragged groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he rides out the high.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your heavy breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the background, the warmth of his body pressing you down into the counter. His hands, rough and calloused, smooth over your trembling thighs, grounding you, keeping you there.

He exhales a quiet laugh against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss to your collarbone. "Christ, sweetheart," he mutters, voice spent, a little hoarse. "You’re gonna be the death of me."

You hum in amusement, fingers dragging idly through his damp hair. "Guess I should start making funeral arrangements, then."

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are still dark, still hazy with what just transpired, but there’s something softer there, too. Something that makes your stomach flutter all over again.

His fingers ghost over your cheek before trailing down your body, adjusting your panties back into place with a satisfied smirk.

"You," he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, "are trouble."

Jumping The Gun

or: the one where John Price fucks the idea of marriage into you.

cw: 5.9k words (gawd DAMN), 18+ MDNI, klutz in love!Price, kinda toxic!Price, smut with plot, no use of y/n, dumbification, squirting, p in v, protected & unprotected sex, dubcon, dumbification, creampie, breeding kink, marathon!, water show, cum eating, engagement, reader!has tattoos, reader!is in denial of Egypt, Daddy said a couple times idk, john visuals, reader visuals,

a/n: My Whole Life by Alina Baraz *chefs kiss*

Everyone in the 141 was shocked when John Price came back after taking a month an a half off for leave with a golden ring on his ring finger, a new picture frame to place on his desk, and practically jumping off the roof to fill out more paperwork for a special someone. Again.

You were his third marriage.

John was good at making quick decisions, making up his mind at the exact right time when it was do or die. But the old man was a complete klutz when it came to love.

The first marriage, admittedly, was never gonna last long. He was fresh out of highschool, still in the infantry and married his highschool sweetheart. His parents were sceptical but supportive. It wasn’t uncommon to marry early, hell, his parents did so why couldn’t he?

It just wasn’t in the cards.

The distance and the worry was just too much. The divorce was clean cut since they didn’t have any kids and we’re still young. Him and his ex-wife, Cara, were still fairly close. He’d get a call from the woman and her husband (surprisingly) to come over for dinner every once in a while. No bad blood.

But that second marriage? John was a goddamn idiot.

Was it his fault he married with his eyes and not with his brain? Yes. A man is still a man at the end of the day. You see a woman with an amazing set of knockers on her, pretty blue eyes, skinny waist and blonde hair— you’d fall for it too!

She was obnoxious, loud, and always, always, always needed new clothes, shoes, hair and nails done. Now John had no problem spending on his woman, he’d bring down Jupiter if had to. The problem was she complained and whined. Complained about the clothes not being ‘high quality enough,’ the house not being big enough, the brand new convertible not pink enough. Whined when she went over the already pricey budget the man set for her, that she couldn’t spend his life savings on her, that John was too hairy, ran too warm, too tall—no fucking sense.

He got out of the marriage by the scrape of his teeth, lucky that his siblings convinced him to get a prenup. She left with no pounds to her name, shoving all her belongings in that hot pink convertible and crying that no money went to her when the captain had sold the house.

But you? Oh you. His honey, sweet girl, little wanderer— you were the real deal.

John was walking with a couple friends heading to some bar a few hours after being back in the UK. You were walking the opposite direction, bags from different stores after a day of shopping in your hand. You looked like a model, long black trench coat on, a fitted baby blue crop top, black leather shorts that showed off the tattoos that went down your legs, slouched heeled boots that went mid calf. Curls blowing in the wind, you thankfully hadn’t noticed the hairy fellow till you bumped into him.

“You alright?”

Your brown eyes met his blue ones as he steadied you upright. You were awe struck, as if you were meeting a famous person on the street but you had just ran into a good looking older, muscular, brunette with a few stray grey hairs. You slowly started nodding, laughing aloud at yourself at how dumb you probably looked. “ ‘M just fine.” You said breathlessly.

You started to hear the passing cars, bustle of the streets and the murmur from your phone as your friend on the line was calling out to you. “Shit, I-I gotta go.”

And your feet was guiding you away without another word but your eyes were still glued to the man as you walked away. Looking back as he watched you walk away. You chuckles as you got back on the phone with your friend, disappearing into the croud.

The second time he saw you he was heading for a tea, as he walked past ‘Walker Travel Agency.’ John glanced inside and there a woman sat— no— you, sat turning in your chair towards the computer as you spoke to someone through your Bluetooth. You were dressed in an oversized white button up, black slacks, hair now pin straight in a low ponytail, pinned back by a few purple clips with very a light blush on your cheeks.

Even dressed casually, you were a sight for sore eyes. He tried his best not to look like a creep as he finally went to go get his tea but his eyes were glued to you as he walked past the office again. He figured it was fine just this once. Twice, three times— okay, maybe a forth that was completely out of the way of the military base and his own home but this was fine.

He was just getting tea after all.

But the forth time you stood by the water cooler sipping water, you caught those blue eyes. A small smile formed on your face as he tripped a bit once he saw you finally looking back at him. You gave him a small, shy wave with your fingers before he completely passed the building. Your angelic smile growing wider as he passed the building again to get to his car.

And that continued for another week, waves and smiles and stupid blushes that made his heart jump outs until he finally got the courage to pop his head in. He’d just say hello, this was a silly crush. Nothing more, nothing less.

The doorbell chimed once the door opened and you immediately sat straight in your chair, as you were trained to do when a potential customer came in.

“I was thinking of a trip?”

No he wasn’t. He knew that, you knew that by the way he was completely dressed in military attire and kept staring at you instead of the posters of different vacation spots on the wall. But you nodded your head, gesturing for him to take a seat in front of your desk.

“Where would you like to go sir?”

You two hit it off after that. John would pop his head in, leaving thirty minutes before his lunch break even started just to get his little dose of you, before running off to get a tea. You even started making tea so he didn’t have to go to the coffee shop.

Right, it was his lunch break?

You’d made sure to start packing lunch for two and arranging meetings so your lunch break was suddenly at the same time as his. You didn’t know why you did it for your new friend, it just felt right. You made that forty something year old man feel like a teenager again, he couldn’t just sit on this crush forever. He wouldn’t.

*Care to join me for a pint after work?*

A simple text that he’d debated on for two days had him flushed.

*new message*

Don’t usually drink beer :(

Two days down the drain. Maybe he should’ve asked for dinner instead? Or a movie? A walk? Too fucking causal—

*new message*

but if you’re the one asking, how can I say no?

text me where baby :))

Gaz had to make sure he wasn’t sick before he left work that day because he was as red as a cherry tomato.

You laid it out clean to John that you weren’t ready for a relationship.

“ ‘M too flighty ya see.”

“How so?” You two had already been in the crowded pub at a booth, you’d been chatting for 3 hours already senselessly. One pint for each of you, you weren’t good with beer while John just didn’t wanna make a drunken mistake.

“I told you I’ve just been here for a year, right?”

He hummed, nodding for you to continue.

“Well I was in Brazil before that, Osaka for a couple months before that. DR, LA and France before all that.”

“Oh, you’re a real traveler I see.”

“More than you.” You smirked and John laughed, “Think you can beat me sweetheart? Been all over the world ‘nd back. Thrice over.”

You teased, “I can beat’cha soon enough, just wait on it.” You sighed, picking up your half empty glass to take a sip, “But really, a relationship right now is a no-can-do for me. I’d hate to waste yer time after you’ve been so kind t’me honey.”

“Not a single moment with you has been a waste’ve time, believe me [+].” It was gentle but stern, your fingers brushed over the table which made your heart race faster.

John was too sweet, sinkingly so. It made you question how his marriages didn’t work sometimes but you kept your mouth shut about it. You gave him a smile, “I wouldn’t mind bein fuck buddies though.”

His thick eyebrows furrowed together, “Oh John come on now, you ain’t that old!”

Friends who fucked, he knew what it was. But with you? Someone that he’d grown to care for? This was a line he preferred not to cross.

But damn, those brown eyes under the dim light, the mid length blow out that went just below your shoulders, your long sleeve flared blouse that showed off your cleavage just right, wasn’t helping. He hadn’t even realized he’d given you a ‘sounds good to me’ before you gave him an okay and went on to another topic as if you two hadn’t just agreeded to be sex partners.

The night came to a close around 10:50, John didn’t want you at the station by yourself late at night since you were a woman so he took you home.

“I’m a grown woman, John.” You insisted for the thousandth time.

“Yer a grown woman that ‘m drivin home. Exactly. Yer right.” John nodded along with you nonchalantly and you groaned into a giggling fit, no longer being able to fight with him over this.

You pulled up to your apartment and pointed out a parking spot, John followed suit. Thinking you’d probably rather get out of a parked car than hold up traffic on a Friday night.

You got out the car, looking between your apartment building and the older man.

“You wanna come up?”

John fucking Price was a god damn problem.

The first time you two fucked, was just to dip your toes in. See if the older man could handle you, keep up with what you were up to.

The second time was for good measure. You had to make sure it wasn’t an illusion! Get your bearings in order.

The third time— looking back you should’ve known that’s when he caught you. And I mean really had you for good because you’d be damned if he was fucking some other girl the way he was fucking you.

You had to have a cordial briefing with your friend group, explaining to them how you were now a born again Christian because John didn’t just have you seeing stars. No— you saw Jesus resurrecting from the tomb, legs shaking as they were wrapped around his hips. Chest to chest, as John knelt on the bed, fucking up into you through your orgasm. You’d pushed yourself away from him but he snatched you up just before you passed out.

“Stay with me lovie, can’t have you passin out on me can I?” His pink lips connected with your neck again. Your entire body was trembling. This fool, this barbarian, loooved making you a dummy on his dick. You’d learned that the second time. But this time, fuck, it was strange.

“Strange, baby, it feels- mmph s-strange.” You mumbled through a moan, you were limp as he held onto your waist with one arm, bouncing you just the way he needed you to. He was practically using you as a sex toy and you hadn’t minded. You were drooling on his shoulder and down your own face and that freak kept lapping it up. Opening your mouth so he could spit it back in you and suck on your tongue.

“Your tight little cunt squeezing me so good. You love when I suck your tongue, don’t you pretty?”

Your eyes were rolling into each other again, “loooove it sooooo much Daddy.”

“Come on, kiss me while I give it to you.” He didn’t have to tell you twice to get your lips to latch onto his. John kissed so romantic like, slow, desperate— like he was trying to mold the two of you together and you loved it. John’s thrusts got fast, barley pulling out with every swing of his hips up into your tight walls. But he kept hitting your g-spot, clit rubbing right at the bottom of his hairy abdomen. It felt amazing— too amazing—

You yankied yourself away from him again, “wait! ‘M serious- J- fuuuck- John! It’s too weird! I’m- shit- ‘m gonna pee!”

“ ‘S not pee, let it go.” He gruffed, groaning at how good you felt around his swelling cock.

“It isssss!” You whined out, slapping at his arms but he wouldn’t let up.

“Come on sweet girl, squirt all over me. Wanna be covered in you.”

And the crash came, water works flying every which way and your eyes. John came right after you, babbling about how good you were, how amazing you felt around him. But you were crying real tears now, you swore you just peed all over this older man’s thighs even though you told him it was weird. It was humiliating.

“I told you I was gonna pee, ‘nd you didn’t listen!” You hiccuped, covering your face as John laid you back on the bed. He’s eyebrow lifted as he slipped out of you, removing the filled condom and examining the situation that was now on his pudgy stomach, his thighs, your legs and the bed.

“Sweetie,” he started chuckling at how cute were being, you shoved one of your wobbly legs at his chest. It didn’t do any damage. “Have you never squirted before?”

“No,” you sniffled, “ ‘s just pee!”

“ ‘S not the same thing lovie.”

“Yes it issss!” You retorted, going to kick him again but your own leg giving up on you.

John rubbing your thighs as he got inbetween them. Your pussy was glistening in the rooms light, too mesmerized, he let the pads of two fingers take a swipe of all the juices that sat on your vulva and putting it in his mouth. He moaned at the taste.

You gasped, “John!” You hadn’t meant to see the sight through your fingers but shit, it was making you even more wet. The older saw you squirm, shaking his head, he needed a front row seat this time. He lifted your thighs over his shoulders so his mouth was right in front of your cunt.

“Gotta feel it on my tongue baby, won’t you? Please?”

You two went on like that, calling each other whenever you needed. You were always the first to know when the Captain got home, before his own family, because he’d have his fat cock in you by the time you could finish saying ‘welcome back.’

John couldn’t lie and say it was inconvenient getting to let off steam other than exercising or taking a swing of bourbon. It didn’t help that you were actually such a sweet girl, he loved being around. You two would hang out when you had the chance, going out and about or just watching a movie at home. When you were out, all dolled up in a mid thigh, navy blue sun dress and white heels showed off your heels, curls in a high ponytail— you two looked like a sugar daddy and a sugar baby. But you never cared about the looks people gave you, you’d grab his larger hand in yours that was freshly manicured with long soft yellow nails and swing your hands back and forth. Even taking the time to properly introduce the man properly when you ran into your friends on the street.

“He’s a real carin, smart and just all around incredible guy I swear,” Your eyes would beam at him, so longingly then back to your friends and back to John because you always found yourself getting lost in his pretty ocean blue eyes. “I’m real thankful to have met a man like him.”

How could he have not fallin for you?

It was when you and John accidentally ran into his parents while casually hanging out in his home town he knew he just had to marry you.

You were as charismatic as ever, your southern charm easily pulling them in. John thought for sure they’d be more careful since you were younger than the past two women that John brought to meet them. But despite how eccentric you looked in your shorts that hung off your hips, waist beads around your stomach, crop top and the tattoos that his parents generation definitely weren’t used to, layered necklaces and bracelets— they easily fell for you just like he did.

“You sure ‘bout takin them out for lunch, [+]? You don’t have to.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling out of the parking spot and onto the road.

“It’s only right to treat the folks who raised you John. They’ve done well with you, ‘nd ‘m sure your siblings ‘re just as kind. Plus I kinda wanna see more of your smile through your mom. It’s sooo fuckin cute.”

Yup.

That was right there confirmed, he was gonna put a ring on that fuckin finger. He could’ve blurted it out while at that quaint little lunch you had. His parents adored you, even got your number down to give you a call if you needed anything while you were still in the UK.

The man was gonna get you to stay in the UK.

The first time he’d asked, it was too fucking casual. Again, the man was always too eager. Tripping and falling through love was a bad habit of his. You’d laughed in his face.

“John, baby, please be serious.” You threw your braids up in a ponytail, tip toeing around the room to get your clothes. John did that on purpose, the old man always wanted a little more time with you, to see the sunrise kissing your skin perfectly as that after glow of sex looked gorgeous on you.

He’d pout under that thick beard, fuckin precious bear, “ ‘M bein serious. Want us t’get married, be happy.”

“Don’t you leave next week John?”

“So?”

You deadpanned, “John.”

Okay, he was too eager that time. He should’ve thought it though. Right, you deserved proper proposal planning. Not some random after sex question. You made your way over to that big guy, he was still naked, sitting on the bed with his feet on the floor. You bent over, that same gleam in your brown eyes that shown every time you looked at him. He could’ve fuckin melted right then and there as you placed your hands on his knees, leaving a long a gentle kiss on the corner of his lips.

“You call me if ya need anything John. I mean it, even if it’s those fuckin cookies-“

“—Biscuits—“

“—Whateverrr~” you giggled, lightly touching his beard as John took your waist in his hands. Shit, he’d miss you. Miss your kindness, your willingness to drop everything for him, those long lashes that fluttered when you woke up. “I’ll send ‘em yer way, letter ‘f course too. Whatever ya need, John, you let me know.”

With the softest kiss on the lips, you were on your merry way just as you usually were.

The second time John proposed, he did it right.

He had a proper ring. Simple, because you loved simple. The box was in his pants pocket the entire night, itching to get out. You went to a nice fancy dinner to a place you swore you’d only told him once about, took you for a nice stroll, your curls in a half up, half down, dress hugging you just right and John was in a dressy casual. Ultra simple, classic. He was sure he’d get a yes this time.

He hadn’t even gotten the chance to get on he knee before you’d grab his hands. Your bottom lip trembling.

“Sweetheart…”

“Need you tuh listen t’me baby, please.” You pleaded, tears already threatening to burst out like a dam.

“Now I care ‘boutcha so much John. So much that I hate myself fer puttin you in a situation like this.” You sniffled, squeezing his hand to reassure him.

“But ya can’t marry me.” John lamented.

“John—“

“—what is it then? Is it the age gap? I thought you’d gotten over it.”

“John-“ “-clothes? I’ll give it to you. Want me to shave? Done. Love? I’ve got multitudes. If it’s money- it’s yours.” He was racking his brain for something, anything that could’ve draw you to keep him near. 

“I don’t want your money John.” You cursed.

“Then what do you want?! Why can’t I give it to you?!”

“I want your happiness above all else John! But I can’t-“ your voice croaked. You let go of his hands, “I can’t give that back to ya. I know I can’t.”

“Tha’s a fuckin lie—“

“—I’m sorry John. Truly.”

Without another word, you’d ran off. Your heals clicking against the pavement, cries heard through the silent park.

You’d known John for a year but technically only about 5 months since he was away for the other seven. But you knew so much about him, he’d send letters whenever he could, call, text and be right with you when he was back because it ‘felt like the place he needed to be’. It wasn’t a shock that John had grown to love you, it was a shock that you’d grown to love him too.

It scared the living shit out of you.

So you did what you always did.

Move.

It never took you long, you always had a storage unit ready, a few cardboard boxes in the back of your closet, a new job to hire you in another country because you always knew a little bit of the language. But this time you didn’t move far enough, you didn’t have to heart to. If John were to call you right now, you would’ve dropped what you were doing and ran to him.

Which is why you blocked him on everything (even though he didn’t use social media that often).

You moved yourself to the countryside, in a much smaller apartment but in a much quieter town by the sea. You were working the front of a fish market, did you know about fish? No. Did they hire you because you were pretty and your endless list of credentials at other random places on your resume? Yes. You didn’t have a problem with blending right in, building peoples trust with ease.

It was a good and bad habit.

John on the other hand was loosing his mind because he didn’t know where the hell you were. He couldn’t call you, couldn’t text you, and you weren’t replying to his letters. Fuck, the man called his parents and they managed to get an answer but only vague answers.

He’d come to you flat after being away, rushing through (but properly taken care of) a mission because he needed to make sure you were alright. As he rung thr buzzer, he got no answer. He was lucky one of your neighbors came out and told him what had happened.

How could you have moved without telling him, of all people?

It hurt him more than anything to have a mishap like that happen and then not be able to contact you. But to move? With no explanation?

He could play cat and mouse.

He’d play it constantly in the 141, taking down terrorists and the like in less than a couple weeks— you’d be an easy find. He was sure of it.

He’d found you soon enough, a couple days, in that god damn fish market, a wide smile on your face as you talked to the multiple people who crowded the stall where you worked. Why were you working here of all places?

He ignored the growing concerns, joining the line of customers at the stall. Most of the customers having something to say to you and you encouraging more conversation as they made their orders and paid. Then it was his turn. He took a step forward and you looked up at him like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart dropped out of your ass. He looked to the fish that sat on display on ice, then to you and titled his head.

“When do you get off?”

“John-“

“-When.” The older man spoke tightly. It came out more like a statement than a question.

The lady who worked with you, Malissa, chimed in with a knowing smile, “Give ‘er an hour.”

Your eyes widened at the older woman whilst John gave her a pleased look, “I’ll be around.” John left the building and you felt your stomach turn over. You glared at Malissa and she laughed at you, “But it’s love, isn’t it [+]?”

Was it that obvious?

Couldn’t have been. As if the blush showed on your brown cheeks. You gave him the same smile you did everyone else, didn’t you? The same kindness, same glances you snuck, soft touches, and the same brushing of fingers. The way you held onto that man’s arm as you presented him to your friends like a trophy, you did the same to anyone else you admired, right? Right?

No fucking way you did. John was the one, well, situation you fully committed to head first. And you didn’t even know when that happened, you liked the thought of someone romantically caring for you, the kindness and joy that was always a package deal when being in that guys presence. Someone that took you and your hopes and dreams serious for once in your life.

Oh God, you were in deep love with John Price.

You could’ve been thrown across the field by your own heart pounding so loud when you walked out of the market. John sitting on the bench, cigar between his fingers, watching the passersbyers and then at you. He stood, nodding for you to follow him in some direction.

“Let’s take a walk.”

The tension was too damn high. You could feel it through the air as you too walked, the only sound being made was the sound of you feet on pavement, the jingle of keys, the sea in the distance. Your curls were probably a mess now, the cold air blowing every which way.

“How’ve you been?” You tried cutting through the ice, eyes finding anything else to look at.

John paused for a moment, a sigh coming out, “I didn’t think you hated me enough to block me [+].”

You winced, as if it pained you to hear those words alone. “I could never hate you John.”

“Then why-“ another frustrated sigh, “You switched jobs to avoid me!”

You squinted your eyes, “Why would you wanna see me after that John!? There was nothing more to say. I was trying to make your life easier!”

“And why would life be easier without you?” His eyebrows furrowed, hand on his hip. He kept rubbing his face.

You opened your mouth to say something, try to get out of the mess you made but nothing would come out. John wanted to laugh at this but it’s not like it would be genuine. Scoffing, he flicked the end of the cigar to the ground. You were like a Hurricane, create a mess to keep people away but right at the center, there was a serene calm. Only soft winds. You didn’t know what you were doing with yourself. John, saw that.

“I’ll take you home.”

“I can walk from here though.”

John gently took your hand in his, looking down at you with sincerity in his blue eyes. “You know how I feel about you bein alone like this. Let me take you home.”

It didn’t take much convincing, it was just a short 5 minute drive from the hills you stood now to your flat. John opened the door to the car for you, making sure you were safely tucked in before slamming it shut and getting in the drivers side. He drove off, down to the main road but then passed the street you had pointed out.

“Where we going?”

“Home.”

“But my place is-“

“—[+], please.” His jaw was clenched, gripping the wheel and your thigh. “You hate it so much, you yell to the rooftops that ya hate me. Despise every breath I breathe. I’ll stop right now.”

Like you would. You huffed, crossing your arms and looking out the window.

John didn’t get irritated easy. Patience was a vertue, that’s what his parents told him all the time. After two marriages you’d think the man would’ve learned by now.

But the man was starving for you, aching to have you say you were his and he was yours after all this and you still not knowing what you wanted— he’d make the decision for you.

You would be his wife and you two were getting married.

The thought of John being mean hadn’t crossed your mind once.

John Price who was usually so gentle, tapping your thigh so you could move yourself in whatever position he wanted you in, grabbing pillows so it would be easier on you, always checking if you were alright every take you reached you high.

That was not the John you were dealing with right now. He was manhandling however he wanted, both hands on your ass cheeks, legs over his arms, slamming you up and down on his cock and letting you cum over and over. Till he had enough of you in that position and fucked you right on the floor, your back getting carpet burn in front of the bedroom door that you didn’t get the chance to close.

And fuck, you thought it was heavenly before, him raw was otherworldly. You felt every ridge, every vein, every twist of his throbbing manhood, every once of precum that made your walls even wetter than they already were.

“Gonna fill you up-“

“—John- mmm- you can’t-“

He grunted, swatting your hands that tried to push him away.

“Gonna fill ya up like a good husband should,” the man’s nodding at his own words, already pussy drunk. But he was speaking words that he’s held back for months. “gotta getcha ready for when we have a baby.”

You hiccuped, John was talking crazy. A baby? A marriage? With John? And he’s whispering it all in your ear. This was tooooo much— too full—

“John i-it’s too deep! I- shit- gimmie a second—“

He pouted, fucking pouted, as if he didn’t know he was pushing his fat, veiny, cock to the fucking hilt of you. Your ankles somehow at the back of your head, “Can’t ya see it baby? You, waddlin around with our baby inside you-“ John hissed, you just kept clenching around him perfectly everytime he thrusted into his “-In a new house- haaah— after we broken it in ‘f course. Gotta break it in for good- fuckin- measure. Little ones running around, an office for daddy ‘nd a office for mummy— It’ll be perfect.”

You didn’t even realize you were cumming, your ears were just ringing, cunt contracting around Johns dick like you were aching for it.

You’d never in your life had a man cum inside you, but my God. John, this old barbarian, was gonna get you addicted to each and every single shot of cum that came from his leaking tip that reached inside your deepest place.

“Fuck, gotta give you another baby.”

John was determined to fuck you into delerium, you’d pass out after cumming so much and wake up to John sucking his cum out of you. Water breaks? The older man is sipping it and putting it in your mouth. Felt stuffy in the bedroom? No problem, John’s moving you to the bathroom to fuck you there with your leg propped up on the bath tub, the wall in the hallway looked like it was missing your face being pressed into it as John drilled you from behind.

Hungry? John’s feeding you whatever he cooked up the thirty minutes he’d left your bruised pussy alone, and then having you cock warm him in the fucking kitchen. All while kissing all over you, how you were such a pretty wife on his dick.

“We gonna get married John?” You slurred out, sticking your thumb in his mouth then sticking it in yours and moaning at the taste. Sweet.

You were fucked out, if the man said he was gonna max out your cards right now he could’ve. But you were, in fact, his finance. Right then and there, no one could convince you otherwise.

“S-Say that again sweetheart?”

You gripped the back of his neck your your hand, getting him to look at you head on, pecking his lips once. Twice. Three times, “You said you’d make me your wife, you’d really do that John? Make me a wife? Won’t get tired of me?”

“Oh birdie, h-how could I ever get tired of you? I-I’m in love you you.”

“Really? I love- I love yooouu John.” Your hips practically rolled on their own, the captain throwing his head back against the headboard for dear life.

“Fuck mee lovie— whatever you want, whateverrr you fucking want.” His hands found your hips, guiding you just the way you needed to get off. Slow, mean— loving.

“G-god, so amazin, amazin John! Wan’ a chapel wedding -ngghh- You, me, some rings and that fuckin preist,”

“ ‘F course baby, course.” John was stammering out words, he could barley keep up now. Fuck, rings. Those fucking rings— “wait baby, gimmie a second.”

“But John,” you keened, hating the idea of being apart for even a millisecond. Oh you’d be the death of that old man. And he wouldn’t’ve minded dying in your sopping cunt knowing you wanted to marry him.

He’d marry you from hell if he had to.

He reached out to the nightstand, an arm hooked around your waist to keep you close as you sloppily rode him, fumbling to grab the black box he placed there yesterday.

Some how he managed to get that box open, two golden rings sat inside. He grabbed yours, tossing the box to the side and slipping the ring on the proper finger.

“Oh! It’s sooo pretty John!” You moaned, eyes stuck to the ring, heart eyes practically forming in your pupils as you looked at the man who was balls deep inside you.

“Come on wife, you know how to cum for your future husband don’t you?”

“You keep looking at it.”

“ ‘S just so nice John.”

It was a single gold ring that fit your finger perfectly, the matching one that you asked to put on John once woke you up. You two were completely knocked out after two days of going at it like animals. You couldn’t feel your legs and your voice was an inch off from being shot. But you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. You loved being engaged, you loved John, and you loved the thought of a future with him.

“You wanna have a small wedding, don’t you?” John entangled your fingers together, his other hand caressing your thighs. The sunshine was shining through the window of the dim room.

“I’d prefer if it was just you ‘nd me. We can do somethin with your family later. I-I think it’ll be real intimate ‘f it’s just us. Like the movies-“

The older man’s eyes crinkled, “Oh, so you’ve thought about it?”

You scuffed, “I’d be silly not to think about marryin you at least once, John.”

Price opened his mouth, feeling more than shy at his grown age. He stuttered, “No take backs, alright? You gotta marry me now.”

You hooked your ring finger with his John’s matching one, giving it a quick kiss.

“No take backs.”

a/n: it’ll be a miracle if anyone even reads all this. if you did, leave me a message or comment if you liked it or if you hated it pls I wanna hear your thoughts.

Barry Sloane as Zachary Heflin | Longmire s6ep9

BARRY SLOANE as Joe 'Bear' Graves in SIX (2017—2018) Episode 1.07 Blood Brothers

need him to look at me like this so bad

Winning Them Over

pairing: John Price x Younger!Reader

synopsis: Spending New Year’s with your family was always filled with traditions and warmth, but this time, it’s different. Introducing John Price to your parents adds a layer of tension you didn’t anticipate. Between your dad’s probing questions, your mom’s quiet doubts, and your own nerves, the evening is a test of patience, love, and John’s unshakable resolve.

word count: 2168

warnings: Family tension, age-gap dynamics (reader late-twenties and John late-thirties), protective parents, but lots of eventual fluff.

The drive to your parents’ house was quiet, though the silence between you and John wasn’t empty. It buzzed with the kind of unspoken tension that came when two people prepared for an inevitable battle—though in this case, the battlefield was your parents’ living room.

John’s hands rested calmly on the steering wheel, his steady presence grounding you in a way that you desperately needed. But no matter how many reassuring glances he sent your way, your nerves refused to settle. 

“You alright, love?”  he finally asked, his deep voice breaking through the spiral of anxious thoughts swirling in your head.

“I’m fine,” you replied, though the nervous tapping of your fingers on your thigh betrayed you.

“Sure about that?” he asked, a hint of a smile softening his words.

You sighed, leaning back against the seat. “You’ve met stubborn recruits, right? Ones who won’t back down no matter what?”

“Plenty.”

“That’s my dad.”

John chuckled. “He’s just protective. I’d expect nothing less.”

“It’s not just him,” you muttered. “It’s my brother, my mom, my aunts, uncles—basically everyone. And don’t even get me started on my grandparents.”

He reached over, resting a comforting hand on your knee. “You’re worth it, love. Let me handle the lot of them.”

As the house came into view, its glowing windows and faint sounds of laughter wrapped in a blanket of snow, your stomach twisted.

When you pulled into the driveway, the house was already alive with movement. Warm light spilled from the windows, and the muffled sounds of laughter and chatter filtered through the cold night air.

The door flew open before you could knock, revealing your younger cousin Sam, who immediately shouted back into the house, “They’re here!” He bolted inside, leaving the door wide open.

Your mom was next to appear, pulling you into a warm hug before her gaze shifted to John. “This must be him,” she said, her tone polite but cautiously curious.

“Yes, ma’am,” John replied smoothly, shaking her hand. “Thank you for having me.”

Her smile was polite, though the flicker of hesitation in her eyes was impossible to miss.

Before she could say more, your dad appeared, his broad frame filling the doorway. He scanned John with a critical eye before clasping his hand in a firm, deliberate handshake. “So, this is the boyfriend,” he said, his tone heavy with skepticism.

“Dad,” you said quickly, stepping in to buffer the tension. “This is John Price.”

John offered his hand without hesitation. “Sir,” he said, meeting your dad’s gaze evenly.

Your dad’s handshake was firm—too firm—and his eyes didn’t leave John’s. “Military, right?”

“Yes, sir. Captain.”

Your dad released his grip, though his expression didn’t soften. “Well, let’s hope that discipline carries over into how you treat my daughter.”

“Dad,” you interjected, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

John, steady as ever, responded calmly. “It does, sir. With all due respect, your daughter is the most important person in my life. I treat her with the care she deserves.”

Your dad grunted, stepping aside but clearly not convinced.

In the living room, chaos reigned. Your aunts buzzed in the kitchen, their voices rising and falling in a rhythm only they understood. Your uncles were sprawled on the couches, debating loudly over a football game.

“So, you’re the infamous John,” your Uncle Robert said, leaning back in his chair with a beer in hand.

“Infamous?” John asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, we’ve heard a lot about you,” Uncle Robert replied with a grin. “The age gap, the military background. It’s all very… interesting.”

Before you could snap a retort, John replied smoothly, “I’m glad to be a topic of interest. Hopefully, I can live up to the hype.”

That earned a laugh from your Uncle Paul. “He’s quick. I like him.”

“He’s not here for you to like, Paul,” your dad muttered, glaring at his brother.

John’s calm reply cut through the tension. “I’m here for her. But earning your family’s trust is just as important to me.”

In the corner, your grandparents were observing quietly, their expressions unreadable. Finally, your grandfather spoke up, his voice gravelly with age.

“You’ve been in the service a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” John said, straightening slightly. “Twenty years.”

Your grandfather nodded slowly, his sharp eyes narrowing. “And now you’re looking to settle down? Start a new chapter?”

John hesitated, then met his gaze steadily. “I am. And your granddaughter is the best chapter I could’ve asked for.”

The room fell silent for a moment before your grandfather let out a low chuckle. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

Your grandmother smiled faintly. “He’s polite. That’s rare these days.”

Meanwhile, your little cousins had taken to bombarding John with questions. 

“Uncle John!” Peter exclaimed, dragging him toward the couch.

“You’re in the army, right? Does that mean you can fight anything?”

“Have you ever fought a shark?” little Tim asked tugging at John’s sleeve, his eyes wide with curiosity.

John leaned down to his level, his expression serious. “You know, I’ve never met a shark brave enough to try me.”

“Whoa,” Jane whispered, her mouth forming a perfect O. “What about a lion?”

“Lions aren’t too keen on me either,” John replied, straightening up with a grin. “Guess I must be scary.”

“And a bear?” Sam added, bouncing on her toes.

John crouched to their level, his tone serious. “Not a bear or a shark—but once, I wrestled a crocodile the size of a car. Oh and I even had to outsmart a pack of Dinosaurs” John said with a straight face earning gasps and giggles from the kids.

Jamie chimed in, “Bet you could take down a dragon too!”

John leaned in, his voice low. “Depends. Fire-breathing dragons? Or ice ones?"

The kids erupted into a debate, forgetting to press for more stories as John gave you a knowing smile.

Looking at the scene your cousins Henry and Sarah cornered. “So, he’s the guy, huh?” Henry asked, tilting his head toward John.

“Yes, he’s the guy,” you replied, your tone edging toward exasperation.

Henry smirked. “He looks like he could snap a tree in half.”

“Good thing he’s on your side,” Sarah added with a wink.

In the living room, your brother Matthew leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he observed John with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“So,” Matthew said, finally speaking up, “what’s it like dating someone so much younger? Bet it’s a nice change of pace from all the army guys.”

“Matthew!” you hissed, glaring at him.

John, however, didn’t miss a beat. “It’s not about age. It’s about connection. Your sister and I understand each other—that’s what matters.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting such a composed response. “That’s a good answer,” he admitted, though his tone was still tinged with skepticism. “But let’s hope you keep proving it.”

“Plan to,” John said calmly, his expression unchanging.

Inside the kitchen, your aunts were bustling in the kitchen, their chatter blending with the clatter of pots and pans.

“So, he’s the boyfriend,” Aunt Lisa said as she stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She gave John an exaggerated once-over. “You didn’t say he’d be so… imposing.”

“Handsome,” Aunt Rachel added, grinning.

“Both,” Lisa corrected with a wink.

You groaned, shooting John an apologetic look, but he just chuckled.

By the time dinner rolled around, the dining room was filled with the overlapping sounds of clinking silverware and animated conversation. Your dad took every opportunity to steer the discussion toward John—his job, his past, his future plans with you.

“So,” your dad said, leaning back in his chair, “where do you see this going?”

John didn’t miss a beat. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t see an end. I’m here because I want to build a life with her.”

Your mom’s fork paused halfway to her mouth, her eyes flicking between you and John. The room fell quiet for a beat, the weight of John’s words settling over the table.

“Well,” your dad said finally, clearing his throat. “I suppose time will tell.”

Later, while helping mom and aunties in the kitchen, your mom finally voiced what had been simmering beneath her polite exterior.

“He’s lovely,” she said, glancing at you over her shoulder. “But… he’s older.”

You sighed, setting down the tray of glasses you were carrying. “Mom, we’ve been over this. Age doesn’t matter to us.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But it’s hard not to worry. You’re young. You have so much ahead of you. Are you sure this is what you want?”

You stepped closer, your voice firm but gentle. “Mom, I’ve never been more sure of anything. John is kind, patient, and he loves me in a way no one else ever has. He makes me happy. Isn’t that what matters?”

She studied you for a long moment, her expression softening. “You’re happy?”

“Completely,” you said.

She sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then I’ll trust you. But don’t expect your dad to come around so easily.”

“That makes two of us,” you muttered, earning a quiet laugh from her.

As midnight approached, while most of the family gathered in the living room for the countdown, you found yourself helping your dad with the fireplace. The crackle of the logs filled the quiet space, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

You glanced at your dad, his familiar furrowed brow mirroring the weight of your own nerves. If there was ever a time to be honest, it was now. “I know the age thing bothers you.”

He paused, his hands stilling as he adjusted the logs. “It’s not just the age,” he replied, crossing his arms. “It’s the life experience, the gap in where you both are.”

“I get that,” you said, meeting his gaze. “But John and I aren’t about the years we’ve lived. We’re about how we make each other feel—safe, supported, loved. Isn’t that what matters?”

He hesitated, his expression softening. “I just don’t want you rushing into something you’ll regret.”

“I’m not,” you said firmly. “This is the most certain I’ve ever been about anything.”

Your dad’s brow furrowed deeper. “You know, I wasn’t sure about John at first either,” you added with a small laugh, hoping to ease the tension.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said smiling. “I thought the same things you’re probably thinking—he’s older, experienced, and his world is so different from mine. But the more I got to know him, the more I realized that he doesn’t just make me happy; he makes me better.”

Your dad was silent for a moment, his hands pausing in their work. “That’s a high bar,” he muttered, but the tension in his tone lessened.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

“Sure,” he said warily.

“How did you know Mom was the one?”

He blinked, taken aback. “Well, I just… knew. She made me feel alive, like no one else ever had.”

You smiled softly. “That’s how I feel about John. He’s not perfect, but he’s perfect for me. Isn’t that what you’d want for me?”

Your dad sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I want you to be happy. That’s all that matters to me.”

As you stepped away from the fireplace, your dad lingered there, his gaze distant but thoughtful. The warm glow of the flames danced across his features, softening the usual stern lines of his expression. You could tell he was still mulling over your conversation, weighing your words against his protective instincts.

John was waiting for you near the window, his steady presence like a beacon pulling you away from your swirling emotions. When his arm slipped around your waist, the warmth of his touch grounded you.

“Still holding up alright?” John murmured, slipping an arm around your waist.

“Better than I thought,” you said, leaning into him. “I think you’re winning them over.”

“Mission accomplished, then,” he said, his lips brushing your temple.

Ten… nine… eight…

Your dad caught John’s gaze and gave a small nod, subtle but meaningful. It wasn’t a surrender, but it was the beginning of something—a fragile truce, an acknowledgment,  a reluctant but meaningful sign of approval.

Three… two… one…

Cheers erupted as the clock struck midnight. John turned to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek. “Happy New Year, love,” he murmured, his eyes holding yours for a heartbeat before he kissed you. 

Playing for Keeps

pairing: RugbyCaptain!John Price x Female Reader

synopsis: Dragged to a local rugby match by your best friend, you didn’t expect to find yourself captivated by the team’s captain, John Price. 

word count: 832

warnings: Suggestive themes, playful teasing, mutual pining, soft fluff, and a healthy dose of rugby-inspired tension.

a/n: Heavily inspired by Sébastien Chabal. Sorry, this is the most suggestive I can go😭

You weren't sure why you let your best friend drag you to the local rugby match that day. It wasn't that you didn't like rugby-it was fine-but watching a bunch of burly men tackle each other wasn't exactly your idea of a relaxing weekend.

That was, until you saw him.

John Price.

The captain of the team, with his broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, and that perpetual scruff that somehow made him look both rugged and polished. He had an air of command, moving on the field like he owned it. Every pass, every tackle, every barked instruction was met with respect. It was impossible to look away.

Your friend had noticed.

"See something you like?" she teased, elbowing you in the ribs.

"Shut up," you muttered, though you couldn't stop your eyes from following him.

By the end of the game, Price's team had taken home the win, and you found yourself lingering near the sidelines as the players began to filter out. You weren't exactly sure what you were waiting for-an autograph? A glimpse of him up close?

What you weren't expecting was for him to notice you.

"Enjoy the game, love?" His deep voice sent a shiver down your spine as he approached, his shirt slung over one shoulder, revealing a chest and arms that could have been sculpted by the gods.

You blinked, trying to gather yourself. "It was... intense."

He chuckled, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "Intense is one word for it." He offered his hand, large and calloused. "John Price."

You shook it, your hand practically swallowed by his. "I know."

He arched a brow, his smirk growing. "Oh, you know, do you?"

You flushed. "I mean, you're the captain. It's hard not to notice."

"Noticed me, did you?" he teased, leaning in just enough to make your breath hitch.

You tried to muster a witty response, but before you could, he stepped back, pulling a card from his back pocket and slipping it into your hand.

"Give me a call sometime," he said with a wink. "I'll show you a game up close."

And that's how it started.

-

The months that followed were a whirlwind. Price was nothing like you expected. Beneath his commanding presence and tough exterior was a man who could be gentle and fiercely protective.

He made you laugh, listened to you talk about the smallest details of your day, and always, always made you feel like you were the center of his world.

But that didn't mean he didn't have a mischievous side.

Like now, for instance.

You were in his kitchen, attempting to make dinner while he leaned against the counter, freshly showered and still in his team's training shorts.

The tight fabric clung to his thighs, leaving little to the imagination, and the way he kept running a hand through his damp hair wasn't helping.

"John," you said, exasperated as he reached over to steal a piece of the bread you were slicing.

"Stop it!"

"Can't help it," he said, his voice low and teasing.

"You're too tempting, love."

You rolled your eyes. "I meant the bread."

"Did you, now?" He stepped closer, crowding into your space, the heat of him enveloping you.

"Because I think you like it when I can't keep my hands off you."

Your heart skipped a beat as his hands settled on your hips, his fingers brushing against the thin fabric of your shirt. He leaned in, his scruff scraping lightly against your cheek as he whispered, "Admit it."

You turned to face him, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes. "You're insufferable," you managed, though the words lacked any real bite.

"Maybe," he murmured, his lips hovering just above yours. "But you love it."

Before you could respond, his mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was both playful and demanding. He tasted like mint and something inherently him, and you found yourself melting against him, the bread completely forgotten.

His hands tightened on your hips as he lifted you onto the counter with ease, slotting himself between your legs. The kiss deepened, and you threaded your fingers through his hair, earning a low groan from him that sent heat pooling in your stomach.

"John," you gasped when he finally pulled back, his lips trailing down your jaw to your neck.

"Hmm?" he hummed against your skin, his scruff adding a delicious friction that made your toes curl.

"The food," you managed weakly.

"Forget the food," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I've got something better in mind."

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound soft and breathless. "You're impossible."

"And yet, here you are," he teased, pulling back just enough to look at you. His eyes softened as he cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "You're everything, you know that?"

Your heart swelled at the sincerity in his voice.

"You're not too bad yourself," you said, pulling him back down for another kiss.

Dinner could wait.

taglist:@honestlymassivetrash

CAPTAIN PRICE 🤚 IN MODERN WARFARE III

Barry Sloane as Zachary Heflin Longmire (2012-2017) Pt. 2

i cannot get over how low his jeans are here

Charmed by Two

pairing: John Price x singlemom!Reader

synopsis: When John Price steps into your life, he’s not just falling for you—he’s falling for your spirited 4-year-old daughter, too. Without a father figure in sight, Price finds himself enchanted by the little girl’s charm and innocence. As he slowly earns her trust with bedtime stories, backyard adventures, and a well-placed British wit, he also finds himself falling deeper for you. But his determination to impress you both comes with a question: can he truly be the man you both deserve?

word count: 1574

warnings: Fluff, mild angst (discussions of past relationships), Price’s fatherly charm, emotional moments, and a lot of found-family vibes.

John Price had been in plenty of tight spots before—ambushes, firefights, missions that left him questioning if he’d make it home. He’d spent most of his adult life on the battlefield, navigating dangerous situations and making life-or-death decisions. But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the delicate operation of holding a tiny pink teacup in his calloused hands,  pinky out, under the watchful eye of a four-year-old who was beaming up at him like he’d just hung the moon.  

"Mr. Price," she said with all the seriousness her little voice could muster, "you’re not holding it right. Your pinky has to stick out like this!" She demonstrated, her tiny pinky jutting out at an angle as she lifted her cup of imaginary tea.  

John chuckled, his deep laugh rumbling through his chest, and she giggled in response. "Right, right," he said, mimicking her movements, awkwardly extending his pinky. "Like a proper gentleman, yeah?"  

"Yes!" she exclaimed, her curls bouncing as she nodded.  

"Careful," your daughter warned, her tiny brows furrowing in a perfect imitation of your serious face. "You can’t spill it. This is very important tea."

"Got it, ma’am," he replied, his gravelly voice warm with humor. His pinky stuck out awkwardly as he mimicked her movements, holding the teacup steady. "Wouldn’t want to ruin the most important tea of the year."

She giggled, her curls bouncing as she leaned forward to pour another round of imaginary tea from her plastic teapot. "It’s the best tea in the world," she declared.

Price didn’t miss a beat, bringing the empty cup to his lips and sipping with exaggerated gusto. "Ah, perfect brew. You’re a natural, love. Could open your own tea shop."

Her eyes lit up, and she beamed at him like he’d just handed her the moon. "Really? You’d come to my tea shop?"

"Every day," he said solemnly. "I’d be your best customer."

From the doorway, you watched the scene unfold, your heart swelling at the sight. You hadn’t expected John to bond so easily with your daughter. When you’d first introduced them, you’d been nervous—terrified, even. She was your world, and letting someone into her life wasn’t something you did lightly. But John had stepped into the role with a natural ease that left you in awe.  

It wasn’t just the little things, like playing tea parties or reading her bedtime stories. It was the way he listened to her, the way he knelt to her level when she spoke, the way he made her feel important. He had a quiet patience with her that made your chest ache, especially knowing how her father had never shown her the same.  

"More tea, sir?" your daughter asked, holding out the teapot.  

"Don’t mind if I do," he replied, holding out his cup with a grin.  

She poured the imaginary tea with the utmost concentration, her tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth. When she finished, she beamed up at him. "There! Now you have to drink it all, or it’s bad manners."  

"Bad manners, eh?" He raised an eyebrow, feigning seriousness. "Well, can’t have that."  

He brought the empty cup to his lips, making an exaggerated sipping sound, then smacked his lips. "Ah, that’s the best tea I’ve ever had."  

She erupted into giggles, her laughter filling the room.  

You couldn’t help but smile as you leaned against the doorframe. When he glanced up and caught your eye, his expression softened. He gave you a small, almost shy smile, as if to say, I’m trying my best.  

And he was.  

-

Later that evening, after your daughter had been tucked into bed and the house had fallen quiet, You found John in the kitchen, rinsing out the teacups she’d insisted on washing after the party. He looked up as you entered, a dish towel slung over one shoulder.

"Tea party wear you out?" you teased.  

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "She’s got more energy than I do, that’s for sure."  

"She adores you, you know," you said softly, your gaze steady on him.  

His eyes flicked to yours, something tender and vulnerable in his expression. "Yeah?"  

You nodded. "She talks about you all the time. Says you’re her hero."  

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but there was a weight behind his smile. "She’s a good kid. Smart, too. You’ve done a hell of a job with her."  

"Thank you," you murmured, your chest tightening. "But you’re the one she looks at like that now. Like you’re her whole world."  

His eyes distant for a moment before he turned to you. "I’ve never had anything like this before," he admitted. "Never thought I’d… fit into something like this. But I want to. For her. For you."  

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you reached out to his arm. "You do fit, John. Better than I ever imagined."  

He squeezed your hand, his voice low and steady. "I know I can’t replace… I know I’m not her dad. But I’ll do right by her, for as long as you’ll let me."  

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your heart full. "I wouldn’t want it any other way."  

You smiled despite yourself, but you couldn’t help but feel a pang of something deeper.

This wasn’t the first time he’d spent an afternoon entertaining your daughter, but it was the first time you let yourself really think about what it meant. He wasn’t just playing along; he was present in a way you hadn’t expected. In a way that scared you.

This wasn’t something you’d planned for. When you’d first met John, you’d been cautious. He was older, gruff, and came with the kind of baggage you knew could complicate things. And you had your daughter to think about—her safety, her happiness. Letting someone into her life wasn’t just a decision for you; it was a decision for both of you.

And yet, here he was looking at your daughter like she was the most important person in the world. It was endearing, yes, but it also scared you. What if this didn’t last? What if he decided this wasn’t the life he wanted?

You closed your eyes as you tried to steady your breathing. The logical part of you knew John cared, but the quieter, more insecure part of you couldn’t help but question if this was all temporary. Was he here for you? For her? Or just because it was easy right now?

"Love, you alright?"

His voice startled you, and you quickly wiped your hands on your jeans, pretending you hadn’t been lost in your thoughts. He was looking directly at you, the tiara still perched on his head, though slightly askew. His eyes were soft, a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Yeah," you said quickly, offering him a small smile. "Just… thinking."

"You’ve got that look," he murmured.

"What look?"

"The one you get when you’re overthinking something," he said, his lips quirking up into a small smile. "Want to tell me about it?"

You hesitated, biting your lip as you glanced past him toward the living room, where your daughter was now busy rearranging her tea set. "She really likes you," you said quietly.

John didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you carefully. "And you’re worried about that?" 

You let out a shaky breath. "She’s already been let down once. I don’t want her to get attached if…" Your voice trailed off, and you shook your head, looking away.

"If I leave?" he finished gently.

You nodded, feeling a lump rise in your throat. "It’s not just about her, though," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "It’s about me, too."

His expression softened, and he reached out to take your hands in his. "Look at me, love."

You did, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his eyes. "She’s brilliant, smart as a whip, full of life… she reminds me of you."  

"I know I can’t erase what she’s been through," he said quietly. "And I know I can’t promise to be perfect. But I’m here because I want to be. For her. For you. I’m not going anywhere." he continued, his voice low and steady.

You blinked up at him, searching his face for any hint of doubt, but there was none. Tears stung your eyes, and you bit your lip, trying to keep them at bay. "You mean that?"

"With everything I’ve got," he said, his voice steady and sure. "I know you’ve been hurt before, and I know you’re scared, but I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t mean it. I care about her, and I care about you. Both of you."

Tears welled in your eyes, and you quickly wiped them away, embarrassed. "I just… I don’t want to get this wrong."

"You’re not getting it wrong," he murmured, stepping closer until his forehead was nearly touching yours. "We’re figuring it out together. Yeah?"

You nodded, exhaling shakily, a tear slipping down your cheek. He reached up to brush it away with his thumb, his touch warm and reassuring.

"Besides," he added with a small grin, "I think your little one’s already decided I’m sticking around. She said I’m her best customer, remember?"

You laughed, the tension in your chest easing. "She really has taken to you."

"And I’ve taken to her," he said simply. "To both of you."

taglist:

@honestlymassivetrash

Fixer-Upper

pairing: John Price x Reader

synopsys: What starts as a simple date quickly becomes something else entirely—because apparently, Price can't flirt properly until he's made sure your place isn't a "death trap." But once the distractions are handled? Oh, he's got other things to fix. And you're at the top of that list.

warnings: Slow-burn to full ignition, Domestic flirting disguised as home improvement, Price being absurdly attractive while doing manual labor, Subtle dominance, Countertop moments, John being a man who takes care of things (and you).

word count: 1910

a/n: Oh god, I have never written anything like this, but it just flowed. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was thinking about Price fixing a door hinge, and the next, he was fixing something else entirely. Sorry or… you’re welcome?

thank you @leteddiebehappypls for the inspiration!

It started with a swipe.

A lazy Sunday afternoon, scrolling mindlessly through Hinge, when his profile stopped you in your tracks.

John, 38.

His pictures were simple—one of him in the soft golden light of a pub, a pint in hand, his beard neat but a little scruffy at the edges. Another of him in a heavy coat, standing near a lake, looking out at something unseen. His prompts were straightforward, no nonsense but with a dry wit that made you smile.

"You should not go out with me if…" "You prefer a man who can’t change a tire."

That made you laugh.

A quick glance at his profile details—he lived nearby, worked in the military (vague), liked dogs, smoked an occasional cigar, and enjoyed old films.

You sent the first message.

And from there, it was easy.

He was charming, but not in the way that felt rehearsed. He asked about your day and actually listened. His voice notes were warm, deep, laced with a quiet amusement whenever you teased him. You liked the way he flirted—subtle, gentlemanly, never pushing too far but always making sure you knew he was interested.

Three months later, after countless late-night talks and stolen kisses in the back of his car, you invited him over for an afternoon date at your place.

You expected a relaxed day—coffee, maybe a walk, maybe some kisses on the couch if things went well.

What you didn’t expect was John Price stepping into your home and immediately conducting a full inspection of the place.

—

"That door hinge is loose."

The first words out of his mouth after he kissed you hello.

You blinked at him. "What?"

He was already scanning the room like a man on a mission, his blue eyes sharp and assessing, he crouched down to inspect a loose cabinet hinge.

He was already moving, crouching to inspect a cabinet hinge, fingers running along the wood.

"You know this is about to come off, yeah?" he said, tapping the corner.

Your lips parted in disbelief. "Are you making a list?"

Price turned, arms crossed over his broad chest, giving you that slow, knowing grin that never failed to make your stomach flip. "’Course I am, love. Can’t have you livin’ in a death trap, can I?"

And the worst part? Every time he found something else, he’d glance at you—this warm, amused glint in his eyes like fixing things in your home was the only thing keeping him from dragging you against the nearest wall.

"John."  You exhaled, exasperated, leaning against the counter. "I invited you over for coffee, not a home renovation. You know you don’t have to do all that," you teased, leaning against the counter, watching him with an amused smile.

John tilted his head, stepping closer. Too close. His broad frame filled the doorway between the kitchen and living room, and suddenly your whole apartment felt smaller.

"I know," he murmured, voice dropping just slightly. "But I’m already here, aren’t I?"

And oh, there was something about the way he said it—like he meant something more.

Your heart skipped.

John had always been like this—quietly attentive, always looking after you in little ways. Making sure you ate, texting to see if you got home safe, standing between you and the street when you walked together.

It was dangerously easy to fall for him.

But you wouldn’t admit that. Not yet.

Instead, you rolled your eyes. "Do you even have tools?"

"We’ll get ‘em."

— 

It was supposed to be a quick trip.

But walking through the aisles of the local construction shop with John Price felt less like a casual errand and more like some kind of slow-burn seduction disguised by home repairs.

You watched from a few steps behind as he scanned the shelves, utterly focused—like a man on a mission. His sleeves were still rolled up, revealing strong forearms dusted with hair, and when he reached up to grab a toolbox from the top shelf? Yeah. You may or may not have gotten distracted.

He caught you staring. Of course he did.

And the bastard had the nerve to smirk.

"See something you like?" he asked, low and warm, that teasing rasp in his voice curling deep in your belly.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. "I’m just impressed you’re taking this so seriously."

He stepped closer—close enough for you to catch the faint scent of tobacco and cedarwood, something distinctly him. "I take a lot of things seriously," he murmured, his gaze lingering on your mouth for just a beat too long.

And oh, the way he was looking at you—like he was barely holding himself back—made your knees go weak.

—

Back at your place, John’s standing in your living room with a fresh-cut two-by-four rested on his shoulder like it weighed nothing, and he had a tool bag slung over one arm.

You were so fucked.

"Alright, love," he drawled, adjusting his grip on the lumber. "Where do we start?"

Your brain short-circuited for a full five seconds.

Because, fuck, did he have to look so good while doing this?

You cleared your throat. "I, uh—John, you really don’t have to—"

He cocked a brow, stepping in just close enough that you could smell sawdust and the faint hint of his cologne.

"I do, though." His voice was low, deliberate. Gravel wrapped in velvet. "Can’t focus on anything else knowing you’ve got loose hinges and a lock that’s barely holding up."

Oh, that was unfair.

The way he was looking at you, like he wanted to flirt so badly but couldn’t until he handled the absolute crime of a squeaky door hinge—it was absurdly attractive.

Like some kind of gentlemanly home improvement seduction.

You folded your arms, tilting your head at him. "So what you’re saying is, you’d be distracted trying to flirt with me knowing there’s a leaky pipe under my sink?"

His mouth curved into that infuriatingly smug little smirk. "Exactly."

—

Watching John work was almost too much.

The sight of him standing at your kitchen sink, carefully fixing the drip with his broad hands and furrowed brow, was almost too much. Especially when he paused—wiping his hands on a rag—to glance over his shoulder at you.

"You’re staring again, love."

You huffed a laugh, crossing your arms as you leaned against the wall. "Can you blame me? Not every girl gets a full home repair service on a date."

John chuckled, that deep, warm sound vibrating in your chest. "Lucky you, then."

And God, he made it impossible not to flirt back.

"Yeah? What’s next—building me a bookshelf?"

His expression shifted. Darkened.

Something in his posture changed, the heat between you suddenly heavier.

"If that’s what you want."

Your breath caught.

And then he stood up, slow and deliberate, dusting sawdust from his palms. He turned to you with that look—the look—like he was holding himself back. Like there was a war raging inside him, one side demanding he be the gentleman and the other telling him to pin you against the nearest surface.

You barely had time to react before he was in your space, moving in like gravity pulled him there.

His hands landed on either side of you, caging you against the counter.

Heat rolled off him, thick and dizzying. The scent of sawdust, cologne, and him filled your lungs.

His fingers skimmed your waist, slow, teasing."So, tell me," he drawled, voice casual, almost teasing, "what else is wrong with this place? Besides the obvious lack of a proper man around to fix it?"

Your mouth fell open.

Oh, he was so full of shit.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him just a little closer. "Oh, so now you’re flirting?"

"Told you, love." His lips were right there, hovering over your jaw, breath hot against your skin. "Had to fix the distractions first."

Christ.

His breath shuddered.

And then—his hands were on you.

Sliding up your sides, tracing your curves, claiming you without hesitation.

"You know," you mused, "you could’ve just said you wanted an excuse to spend more time here."

John chuckled, voice dipping low, warm. He reached for a rag, dusting his hands off with that infuriating, deliberate ease. Then he met your eyes, something wicked flashing behind those deep blues.

"Darlin’," he murmured, "if I wanted an excuse, I’d just ask to stay the night."

"That somethin’ you want?" His voice was pure, slow-burning sin, dragging along your spine like velvet and gravel.

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you plan on fixing me, too."

His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. "Oh, sweetheart," he rasped, voice dripping with dark amusement, "you might be my favorite project yet."

Your head tipped back against the counter as his lips traced a slow, burning path down your neck, his beard scratching against your skin.

One of his hands slid lower, pressing against the small of your back, dragging you flush against him—against the unmistakable proof of just how badly he wanted you.

"John," His name slipped out between parted lips, a breathless whisper as your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging—not to pull him away, but to keep him right there.

A low groan rumbled in his chest, vibrating against your throat, and the sound alone sent another wave of heat curling through you.

His grip on your hips tightened—fingers pressing firm, possessive. A silent warning.

"Careful, love." His voice was low, thick, a heated drawl that wrapped around you like silk and smoke. "You start something, you better be ready to finish it."

Oh, fuck.

The weight of his words settled deep in your bones, in the press of his body against yours, in the way his mouth hovered just over your skin like he was barely holding himself back.

You exhaled a laugh, soft, teasing, tilting your chin up until your lips just brushed his.

"Guess we’ll be here all night, then."

His answering growl—low, dark, dangerous—sent a full-body shiver through you.

"Guess we will."

And then he was kissing you.

Hard.

Desperate.

The slow, teasing restraint snapped in an instant, replaced with something raw, something that burned hot between you. His hands roamed, strong and sure, mapping every curve like he was memorizing you by touch alone.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss, swallowing every sound you made. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you into him, fitting you perfectly against him, like he needed you closer.

You barely noticed when he lifted you onto the counter—barely registered anything beyond the feel of his hands, the press of his body between your thighs, the way his mouth devoured yours.

"Fuck," he murmured against your lips, his voice wrecked, his forehead pressing to yours as he tried to catch his breath. His hands didn’t stop moving, gripping your waist, trailing up your sides, claiming every inch of you.

"You okay?" he rasped, and fuck, the way he asked—like he was barely holding himself together, like he needed you but would stop the second you wanted him to—had your heart slamming against your ribs.

You smirked, breathless, brushing your lips over his once more, teasing.

"Oh, John," you murmured, dragging your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

"You better finish what you started."

His hands tightened.

His lips curled into a smirk against yours.

And then—he did.

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash

Barry Sloane as Captain Price Beta version Joe “Bear” Graves | SIX

john price would trap you with a baby. no questions asked. he knew the years were catching up to him. he knew that wouldn't be much longer before he couldn't pass on the price genes.

he felt bad when he masturbated, felt like he was wasting his boys. spurts of hot cum down his large shaft wishing that it was inside a pretty little things smaller cunt. his hand was too rough even with lubrication. he needed something with supple flesh that he could sink his teeth into and a wet pussy to stuff full. he wanted to feel himself impregnating someone.

that was where you came in.

you felt amazing, sex with you was something else. the way you were like a bunny when you rode his cock. you bounced on him, not slowing down until he wrung at least three orgasms out of you. he found it endearing that you could take him. and while cowgirl was fun and missionary felt classic.

if price wanted to get you pregnant then, he knew that doggy style would be the best course of action. sadly, that position was a little more difficult given your size difference. price the bear and his little cub, those weren't just terms of endearment. he was burly, hairy, but you were so much shorter that he couldn't easily slip into you. but things could always be modified.

he smothered you under him as you laid on the bed with your legs spread and price was on top of you with his cock invading your slick entrance. the feeling was different and the weight on top of you only added to the pleasure.

his mind was focused, as he worked himself into you. he slid in easily, little resistance from you. your pussy was greedy for him, not that price could blame you. you were just so perfect for him. he shaped you into the perfect thing for him. you were his angel, the sweetest fruit, the woman he wanted to carry his child. if you liked it or not.

thoughts of you dark puffy nipples, the waddle in your step, the complaints of back pain. how your body changed because of him, he marked you in a way that no other man could. price boys grew strong and were a handful both in the womb and out. hungry boys too, but price would happily massage your fat tits to make sure there was more than enough milk for his boys. might have a little taste himself, see what all the fuss was. the heavy milk on his tongue as he fucked his pretty wife.

no need to go out and find a job. price's got enough to make sure that your wallet and your womb were packed full. no need to worry your little head, just make sure the babies are taken care of and price will do all the thinking in the relationship. he knew your dream was to see your diploma on the wall, but he thought that a family photo would be much better.

hard to complete your degree when your pregnant belly doesn't fit in the lecture hall seat or it was feeding time for john jr. there was nowhere for you to nurse his hefty son and you'd in the end miss too much class because price would be keeping you at home to start on the next one.

"that's it, doll. that's my girl. she suckin' me right in. she know what she wants and she's takin' it. made just for, huh, petal?" he growled as he pressed into you further, his cock didn't slip out. he fucked you feverishly.

he felt you tremble as you came not once, but twice, back to back. price continued to fuck you, ruin your pretty little folds and let him feel as much as he could of your sweet sex. you felt amazing, only pussy price would want. he fucked you roughly with his hands pressed into the covers on either side of your head. you were too blissed out by the time he finished inside of you that you didn't even ask for him to pull out.

a good wife took every drop.

he soon after pulled his cock out, the sight of his cum sticking to your slick pussy lips with most of his seed inside of you. made his cock peek at attention once more. "there she is." he purred, "messy girl." he tipped your hips up and held them in his large hands. he dipped between your legs and played with your pussy. something to distract you while his cum slid into the back of your pussy.

now be good, and get pregnant <3

a/n: i don't know what came over me... i'm sorry

The thing where you're Price's neighbor -- you move in while he's on leave, and he meets you while you're moving the few belongings you have into your new place. He's good at reading people and can sense that you're sad and broken, despite the tentative smile you give him when you shake his hand.

And it's not like there's some immediate spark. You're pretty, sure, and sometimes he might sneak a little look while he's walking behind you up the stairs when the elevator goes out again, but he's not falling in love.

Not yet, anyway.

It's not until one night, just before he's set to leave again, that he starts to think maybe this could be something. When he begins to toy with the idea that he might let himself feel something real for you.

He hears you crying through his bedroom wall. He's been in your apartment a few times, helping you bring in your groceries, little neighborly things like that, so he knows your home mirrors his own. He can almost imagine you there, laying in your bed, crying over whatever had happened to make you look so small and sorrowful all the time.

It's hard to hear, but he's made a living out of doing things that are too hard for most people. But then he hears one particularly pitiful sob, a little hitch in your breath as you cry, and it's enough for him to pull a pair of jeans on and knock on your door.

You're embarrassed when you answer it, and you try to make it look like you weren't crying, but something in the warm, knowing look in his eyes, the small, tight smile he gives you sets you off again, and before you know it, he's ushering you out of your apartment and into his, guiding you to sit on his couch and moving into the kitchen.

"I'll make you some tea, love," he tells you in his quiet, gruff voice. "You just sit tight."

"John, you don't have to, it's late and --"

He cuts you off with a chuckle, glancing to you from behind the counter as he asks, "You really think you could make me do something I didn't want to do?"

You give in -- of course you couldn't -- and soon he's sitting on the other end of the couch, arms crossed over his broad chest, and he waits. He gives you a choice to talk about it if you want, or to quietly enjoy his company if you don't.

But you're tired, both physically and of feeling this way, and so you unload everything. How you moved here after a rough breakup, your ex was a jerk who didn't want to let go. He'd called you again earlier, which was what had gotten you upset.

And Price listens to all of it. Even as he feels a surge of anger at the thought of someone making you -- sweet, soft little you -- feel that way. He lets you get it all out, and when you're done, he can't help but reach out a hand to give you a light tap on your shoulder.

"Well, pet, I'll tell you what," he says softly. "Next time he calls, you come give the phone to me, yeah?"

It feels protective, the way he says it, like he wants to keep you safe. It's sweet, and it makes you smile. A real smile this time, one that finally meets your eyes.

And there it is -- the moment that John knows he's all in.

You talk for a while longer, more lighthearted conversation that flows easily. It lasts long enough that by the time you leave to go back to your apartment and back to bed, he realizes that it makes more sense to stay awake until it's time to leave.

He's gone for weeks on a mission, and so much of the time, his mind wanders back to you. How that smile lit up your face, and how he wanted nothing more than to bring that smile out as often as he could. He dreams up ways he'll tell you how he feels, plans out different scenarios for how you might react.

It's almost tactical, how much thought he puts into it. But, for better or for worse, he's a man with a plan. And by the time he gets back home, he has what he feels like is a foolproof one.

The plan goes out the window when he knocks on your door and is greeted by a man. A tall, thin man he could break over his knee if he wanted to (and in that moment, he very much wants to).

Price asks for you, nervous for a moment that you'd somehow moved out in the time he was gone and that this man is his new neighbor, but then the man turns and calls out your name, and you walk out from the bedroom.

You won't meet his eyes, and he understands immediately what's going on -- this man is your ex, who seems to have weaseled his way back into your life.

Price clears his throat, looking down at you.

"Just came to check on you, love," he says quietly. "Wanted to let you know I'm back."

You do look at him then, and smile softly at him, but it's not the beautiful, radiant one he'd thought about so often while he was away. No, it's the fake one. It's meaningless, a perfunctory twitch of muscle.

You're broken again.

That simply won't do, will it?

cw: john price x f!reader - older man/younger girl; smut; smidge daddy kink; meet cute or smthn

thinking about being moderately creeped out when the waiter came your way and told you that your tab has actually been settled by that gentleman over there.

and you’re quite hesitant to look around and acknowledge the gentleman’s presence but your friends are whooping, making kissy faces and being so embarrassingly obvious at their own checking-out that you bit the bullet and turned around, dutifully ignoring the lump lodged in your throat—

oh.

well, that’s one good looking man, sure. kind of young for your taste though, if you’re being honest but if he’s treating you and your friends, then you guess that’s—

the man beside him turns, meets your gaze, and shoots you a sultry wink.

his scruff and his hair is a mess of salt and pepper, and he’s got crinkles around his eyes as he smiles, and he’s got tan skin like he just spent a summer in greece while you were honest to god killing yourself for your capstone as your graduation is coming close, and—

“yeah,” your friend laughs, all sleazy. “he’s your type, ain’t he? a fucking dilf.”

oh.

so that younger one is—

god, he’s almost twice your age then if that kid’s his son. what the fuck that’s—

“please shoot your shot before we lose this group-sugar daddy,” another one of your friends chirps and that forces an ugly snort your way but mr. dilf doesn’t even look turned off by the way his smile just grew and- oh god, he’s standing up and he’s moving close and—

“hey, sweetheart,” he says and honestly the british accent is just uncalled for.

“hi,” you reply after being jabbed on your side.

his scruff dances as his humour bloats. he nods his head to the group and turns back at you.

fuck, yeah okay so— “thanks for that, by the way. you didn’t have to.”

he shrugs. “i wanted to. ‘sides, all that money ought to be spent on a pretty thing, don’t you think?”

pretty thing — does he mean you?

that…

that honestly does it for you.

your cheeks tingle with warmth as shyness creeps in. you feel yourself slowly clamming up, still so painfully unused to being the point of attraction. no one has ever liked you above your friends, but there he is, so suave and beautiful in his tan and charming in an honestly concerning way as he pours all his attention to you. not them but you.

“do you want to, uh, go somewhere? show me around or something?”

he huffs a fond laugh and offers his hand — big and callused, with a scar drawn across his whole palm — and says, “thought you’ll never ask.”

he pulls you up. “name’s john.” he tips his head back to his table, one that’s now bar of the other patron. “that was my son, lucas.”

you didn’t even notice that john’s hand has left your own until you felt it on the small of your back.

“and what about you?”

“huh?” you ask, trying to focus on not tripping on your feet.

“what shall i call you, sweetheart?”

“oh,” you say, blinking, before muttering your name.

john hums something deep in the base of his throat.

“beautiful.”

and, somehow, you know that he doesn’t just mean your name but he means you.

.

(it ends with you on his hotel bed, speared open by his cock. you’ve never been this wet before, walls all loose and squelching as he fucks it even deeper, punching the head into the pucker of your cervix.

john is all quiet grunts, animalistic as he devours you.

jesus, this man couldn’t truly be almost twice your age — how the fuck is he moving this way?

he fills you up to the point of tears, and fills you up even more, pushing and pressing in until he’s all snug in you, his pelvis flushed to yours. you feel so full. so stuffed that you couldn’t even moan right, raspy breaths all that could puff out of you.

“s’good!” you hiccup, sobbing, twitching at the drag of his cock as john pulls out only to choke on your own voice when he fucks in.

“jo-hnnn, s’good! s’good!”

“yeah?” he grunts, scruff tickling the shell of your ear. “y’feel so good ‘round me, darling. tight like a vice. christ, has no one ever fucked you open? stretched you out good?”

you shake your head, whining because no. no one’s fucked you this way. no one’s filled you this way. and if they did, everything’s been overwritten by john.

and his thick fingers and wide palms and his fat cock, fucking in, in, in.

“oh, darlin’,” he croons, his skin slapping against your own. “don’t worry, then, love. daddy’s going t’fix you up, ‘kay? daddy’s going t’make you feel so good, i promise.”

daddy—

fuck.

fuck.)

size kink w/price 🚬 (🌽 link)

john price is big, like have you seen the man? he's tall, beefy, and covered in powerful muscles built from years in the military, strong arms and thick thighs. huge overall. and small you, little thing, doesn't even matter if you are tall or short, skinny or chubby, because anything compared to him is small, you don't stand a chance against him and his strength.

he doesn't realise at first, but there's certain things that make him feel strong and powerfull compared to you and like he needs to protect you: standing behind you in the kitchen to grab something you were trying to get from the top shelf, how big his hand is compared to yours or how small you look in his shirts.

and oh those shirts are the worst ones, they completely dwarf you and just show his sheer size. let's say that was the full awakening for his size kink and the last straw for him, after that he just manhandled you, threw you over his shoulder and carried you to the bedroom.

once he had you in bed he just lifted that shirt to expose the lace panties you were wearing underneath, pulled those to the side, while laying one of his strong arms next to your head, supporting himself and fully engulfing your small frame under his, and dipped his fingers into your already wet middle.

and since he you were already wet and ready to take him, he just pushed himself into you, feeling your tight walls trying to fit his cock while also seeing it in your lower stomach once he was balls deep.

god does he love to rearrange your fucking insides.

from the dirt we rise

pairing: farmer!john price x reader

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

masterlist

ch. 1

ch. 2

ch. 3

ch. 4

ch. 5

ch. 6

Captain John Price in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 15/??

Captain John Price in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 14/??

Captain John Price in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 09/??

Captain John Price in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 04/??

I like to draw the captain a little shaggy

Captain John Price in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 01/??