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Captain John Price in CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE II (2022)

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE IN CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE (2019)

Valentines day with Price and the Missus

Happy Valentine’s Day my lovelies! I hope you all have a lovely day, if you’re celebrating today or if it’s just like any other day for you, either way I hope you have a wonderful day💕And enjoy this valentine’s fic of Price with his Missus.

(Btw I hyped this up and got people excited for it and now I’m scared it’s shit🙈)

Cw: male and female receiving oral

The feeling of heat between your thighs has you stirring in your sleep, the early morning sunrise bleeding in through the slight gap in the curtains, an orange glow taking over the room.

The movement underneath the covers snags your attention. Lifting up the edge to take a peak underneath, a head of brown hair littered with short greys is nestled between your legs.

Price has made himself quite comfortable with a leg over his shoulder and his arm wrapped firmly round the other keeping you spread wide for him, as he continues the trail of hickeys that he's started on the inside of your thighs. Not even bothering to look up at you from his position between your legs.

The purplish bruises litter the inside of your thighs. There's loads of them. Big and small covering the tender flesh in different shades of purples and blues.

How long had he possibly been down there for? If the hickeys were anything to go by it has clearly been quite a while.

"J...John" You mumble out a hand drifting down to lace through his hair, giving it a slight tug release a groan from deep in his throat.

"Good morning, love" John mutters between the kisses he's now placing on your thighs. his thumb aimlessly tracing over your hip bone back and forth, the feeling comforting. "Happy valentines day, my darling" His coarse facial hair scratching against your inner thighs as he hooks a finger under the waist band of your pyjama shorts, pulling them down round your hips and up over your thighs, discarding them some where in the room.

Your pussy now bare and exposed to him waiting and aching for him to bring his warm mouth to your aching core. His lips come down to wrap around your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth hard.

His fingers dig into the fat of your thighs (most likely leaving more purple bruises on your body). His tongue lazily circling your clit flicking it before sucking it back into his mouth. Your loud moans fill the room, all filthy and lewd as you whine out.

"J..John, oh god...fuck!" Your back arching off the bed, thighs shaking as they rest on either side of his head.

Dipping down into your cunt, his tongue flattens against your folds before he's lapping at your slick. Your hips rising from the bed and pushing into his face tryna get more from him. Desperate to coat his face in your cum. Wanting to see your slick coat his facial hair in a slight sheen.

"Shh, shh, shh, almost done darling" John coos pushing your hips back down into the bed. The tips of his thick digits press at your sopping entrance, pushing their way through and stretching your tight little hole out. Fingers curling up to hit that spongy part of you that will have you toppling over the edge.

Fingers thrusting in and out of you at a slow and torturous pace, fingers hitting that spot deep inside of you just as his mouth continues to flick and suck on your swollen clit.

Your hands find their way underneath your pyjama shirt, pinching and twisting at your nipples. The added stimulation has heat building inside you, your stomach twisting into knots as that pleasure builds up ready and waiting to explode.

John rises up from underneath the covers, his lips meeting yours sloppy and wet as teeth clash together in the desperation of his need for you, his tongue pushes its way into your mouth, dancing with yours, as the taste of yourself on his tongue overwhelms your sense.

His fingers continue to pump in and out of you, the palm of his hand brushing against your swollen and sensitive clit with each pump of his fingers. Your moan being swallowed down by his mouth on yours.

“Cum for me, love. Come on give it to me” John says as he nips at the skin just below your ear. His fingers pumping faster his palm brushing harder against your clit. Your hips grinding up against his palm, begging for more friction against your poor aching clit.

Your walls clenching down on his thick digits as you spasm around him, your orgasm coming in waves as you reach the peak of your arousal. Removing his fingers from inside of you, John brings them up to his mouth so he can suck your cum clean off them. Making sure not leaving anything behind.

“Good morning” John remarks a smirk plastered across his face before pecking a kiss to your forehead. Rolling his body off of yours to lay next to you, the mattress creaks in protest at his weight.

Laying your head on his chest he wraps an arm around you pulling you in close. “Enjoy yourself?” John asks clearly chuffed with his morning activities.

“I could ask you the same question” You pant out still recovering from your recent orgasm. John lets out a chuckle as his fingers automatically start running through your hair.

“Hey John” you mutter as your hand trails down his chest, over his stomach and down his slight happy trail towards his cock, that lays half chubbed up under his boxers.

A grunt from deep in his chest is all you’re met with as you slip under his waistband, gripping a hold of his cock.

“Can I return the favour?” You ask mischief in your tone. As you run your hand up and down his length, the precum escaping his red aching tip acting as a lube for you to use.

“Always” He mutters as he crosses his arms behind his head and closes his eyes. Relaxing into the soft mattress and pillows making himself comfortable.

Raising his hips so you can pull his boxers down onto his thighs, freeing his cock from its confinement. His cock springing free slapping against his stomach.

Taking it in your grasp you work his cock up and down, it now being fully firm in your grasp. His red angry tip profusely leaking beads of clear sticky precum as you work him from base to tip.

You take him into your mouth swirling your tongue around his tip before you’re guiding him deeper down your throat.

"oooh, look at you, darling. You take my cock so fucking well" John grunts out hips rising, pushing himself as deep as he can go into your throat. His large hand coming down to tangle in your hair, slightly pushing down just so he can hear your gag and sputter around him as his tip rams against the spongey skin at the back of your throat.

John watches you through hooded eyes as his cock continuously disappears down your throat. Your other hand cups his balls, giving them a slight squeeze as John loves when you do that.

A string of animalistic grunts and growls escape from deep inside John as you pull his cock out from your mouth with a pop, dragging his tip over your lips coating them in his precum before you place a kiss to his tip, your tongue drags across his slit, tasting the salty liquid that escapes from it.

"You keep doing that and I'll coat that pretty little face of yours, darling" John says through gritted teeth. His thighs shaking underneath you, he won’t last much longer and you know it.

Swirling your tongue around his tip one more time has him cumming all over your face. Warm creamy spurts of cum coat your face in a glimmer of his pearly release.

(Here's your reminder @kamlicious, enjoy🤭)

John is so inordinately desperate to be back home after five months in God–knows–what–town within God–knows–what–country that he hasn't the time to take off his fingerless gloves before he fucks them into your sopping cunt, having just barged into the bedroom where you were coherently enjoying your book, now unable to recall what the last word you read was because the cloth over his palm is bullying your clit, his fingers are curling and tugging at your walls to get you to squirt for him so he has a better reason to put them in the wash, and you're whining and whimpering, just trying to figure out how he's been all this time.

"An– and did you manage to–" you choke on the words as his brutal fingers continue their crusade, hand plummeting beneath your panties, skull bumping the headboard enough to creak the bed like an old door– "eat plenty? Or do you want me to whip you up some– oh– oh– fuck– John!"

"I'm fed, lovie." He pants at the raw sight of your cunt split open from his fingers, noticing the way you can barely keep your eyes from rolling back, stomach binding and twisting as you audibly squirt over his palm, wincing at the fuzziness you feel in your bulged clit as his thrusts plateau.

"Let's focus on feedin' you, 'ey?" He leans to pinch a kiss from your pussy, the stunning girl she was for him, and relishes in your faux–drunken state as he palms the same hand he just used to shoot pleasure up your spine against his crotch to get himself throbbing and turgid for his beautiful wife.

"You gonna be good and throat my cock, sweet woman?”

| Masterlist |

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?

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

being john price’s secretary who’s running on caffeine from the bottom of the mug, boredom, and spite from an unloyal partner who decides it’s a good idea to mess with her boss.

bending a little lower when delivering papers, soft skirts suddenly become skin tight, unbuttoning your shirt so the whisper of your cleavage is barely visible- enough that you catch him glancing at it while at the water dispenser.

it was harmless right? a stunt to remind yourself that you were desirable after the shit your ex pulled. nothing could penetrate his resolve- he had the thickest grip on self control you’d ever seen.

you and your sore cunt are proved wrong. regret and slick reeking up the work restroom- as you wipe ointment on the bruises that stamp your hip bones. they’re reminders of how he bent you over his desk and showed you just how thick his grip could get on something that’s had his full attention for months.

CoD/Military Writing Reference Masterlist

Here is a compilation of information (with references/links/citations) that I think the CoD fandom and fic writers in particular might find useful:

British Army:

Here is a list of ranks and abbreviations (with appropriate capitalization) (for anyone with the shinigami extension, sorry, it's the BBC)

Here is a list of the equivalent ranks of the British services and US Air Force (for some reason not the US Army or US Navy. Don’t ask me why lmao).

Here and here are some posts about the ranks in the 141 and general attitudes that they would hold for each other (and how others would see them)

Here is a detailed breakdown of the British Army organization (with average numbers and who is in charge of who).

Here is the wiki page for British Army uniforms (literally good luck, I’ve spent hours trying to figure out when soldiers wear what). As far as I can tell, the 141 would wear the No. 8 Combat Dress 90% of the time with the SAS beige beret. For formal events, they would wear the No. 2 Service Dress with berets instead of peaked forage caps. Interestingly, the Royal Regiment of Scotland can wear their No. 2 Service Dress with kilts (which I know Johnny would be livid about because he can’t). Super formal occasions are marked by the No. 1 Temperate Ceremonial, or “dress blues”.

Commissioned ranks are Second Lieutenant and above. These are members who hold positions of authority granted by formal documents of appointment signed by the monarch. In the US (which I am assuming is the same or similar in the UK), a commissioned officer has gone through officer training, which usually requires a university degree or a military equivalent.

Warrant Officers (WO) and Non-Commissioned Officers (NCO) are included in the enlisted ranks. They are members of the enlisted ranks who hold positions of authority. WOs are granted authority through a warrant instead of a commission and must be promoted from an NCO rank. NCOs are Lance Corporals to Staff Sergeants.

The only enlisted rank is Private. These are members who have enlisted and have gone through basic training in order to be counted against the Army’s trained strength.

Sergeants (Gaz and Soap) are among the highest-ranked NCOs and therefore have a lot of practical experience (more, sometimes, than commissioned officers). They have climbed through the ranks from Private all the way to the top of the enlisted ladder. Commissioned officers, on the other hand, have the option to skip the enlisted ladder altogether and jump straight to Second Lieutenant (assuming that they are entering the army with a university degree). However, it is canon that both Ghost and Price were promoted from enlisted ranks. Nevertheless, the NCO/CO divide would be stark; Price and Ghost both have pieces of paper signed by the Royal Crown that give them authority while Gaz and Soap don’t. That being said, Gaz and Soap are incredibly high ranking enlisted while Ghost and Price are (relatively) low ranking officers. While they have less authority, they have similar levels of responsibility and leadership.

Comm discipline is incredibly important in the military. Communication must be clear, concise, and (most importantly) unambiguous. There are many, many commands that can be given over the radio and some of them aren't as self-explanatory as they may seem. Here are some of the basics, lingo, etiquette, and FAQs about military radio communications.

SAS:

The SAS is nicknamed "The Regiment", its motto is "Who Dares Wins", and its color is pompadour blue. Contrary to popular belief, the dagger on the badge is wreathed in flame, not wings.

"The SAS is the mirror in which other special forces reflect." The SAS is the most elite special forces regiment in the world and they all know it. They take their jobs incredibly seriously and are held to a ridiculously high standard, both by their superior officers and by themselves. The 141, as a specialized task force, would take both their training and their commitment to their job to the extreme. The SAS has a fierce reputation of being the blueprints upon which every other special forces regiment was founded, and every single one of them takes an incredible amount of pride in that. It's easy to characterize Soap as a rookie, especially because of his reputation as the Perpetual FNG, but he alone could run circles around every single non-special forces soldier in the world (and a hell of a lot of the special forces soldiers, too).

The SAS consists of one regular and two reserve units. The 22 SAS (regular) is based in Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire and has five squadrons (A, B, D, G, and Reserve) and a training wing. The 21 and 23 SAS are the two reserve regiments.

The UK Special Forces do not recruit from the general public. All current members of the armed forces can apply for Special Forces selection, but most have historically come from the Royal Marines or Parachute Regiment. In 2018, recruitment policy changed to allow women to join the SAS for the first time and in 2021, two women passed pre-selection, making them the first women eligible for the full course.

The SAS Selection Process is held twice a year (once in summer and once in winter) and is a three-phase process that has an 8-10% pass rate. Between 2014 and 2022, there were more deaths in training and exercises than in combat against active threats.

Phase 1 is an endurance test, known as “the hills” stage, where candidates undergo a series of timed hikes between checkpoints with increasingly heavy packs. This phase takes a total of three weeks and culminates in a 40-mile hike carrying 55lbs that must be completed in 24 hours. By the end of this phase, candidates must be able to run 4 miles in 30 minutes and swim 2 miles in 90 minutes.

Officers undergoing SAS selection have a week-long phase which assesses their ability to plan operations while fatigued and stressed (sucks for Price and Ghost; Gaz and Soap would've skipped this step).

Phase 2 is Jungle Training, which takes place in Belize, Brunei, or Malaysia. Candidates are taught navigation, patrol formation and movement, and jungle survival skills; they are put into teams of four, where they simulate living for weeks behind enemy lines, living completely off of rations without a lifeline back to base.

Phase 3 is E&E (Escape and Evasion) and TQ (Tactical Questioning)/RTI (Resistance to Interrogation). This is the final phase. Candidates are given brief instructions on appropriate techniques (likely from former POWs or special forces soldiers) and then are let loose in the countryside, where they must navigate to a series of checkpoints without being captured. After 3-7 days, whether they have been captured or not, they then report for TQ, which tests the candidates’ ability to resist interrogation. During TQ, candidates are only allowed to answer with “the big 4” (name, rank, serial number, and birthday) and all other questions must be answered with “I’m sorry but I cannot answer that question” while being subjected to what is essentially no-touch torture (listening to white noise for hours, standing in stress positions, being verbally berated/humiliated, etc) for 36 hours.

After all of that, candidates are accepted into the SAS ranks, but still go through continuation training, during which many SAS soldiers are RTU’d (returned to unit).

The youngest person to ever (IRL) pass SAS selection was Lofty Wiseman in 1959 at the age of 18. In order for Johnny to have beaten that record, he must have been 18 or younger when he passed selection. Given that the minimum age for enlistment in the UK armed forces is 16, this is entirely plausible.

The names of regular SAS members who have died on duty were inscribed on the regimental clock tower at Stirling Lines, which was rebuilt at the Credenhill barracks. Those whose names are inscribed are said by surviving members to have "failed to beat the clock". The base of the clock is also inscribed with a verse from The Golden Journey to Samarkand by James Elroy Flecker.

Military Life:

During basic training, soldiers live in gender-segregated accommodations in a dorm-style room. Once out of basic training, however, many barracks are individual rooms with en-suite bathrooms (big win for our Sergeants). At most, trained soldiers would live in 4-person rooms separated by gender. The fastest and most reliable way to get off-base housing is to get married, but many commissioned officers get a housing stipend in order to move out of the barracks, meaning that Ghost and Price would likely (if they so chose) have houses near Credenhill, while Gaz and Soap would have individual rooms in the barracks. While deployed, all bets are off.

Many tattoos and piercings are permitted by the British Army. Here are the official guidelines. In terms of hair style/length, the rules are few and far between and incredibly vague to boot. As far as I can tell, Soap’s mohawk, Price’s sideburns, and Ghost's... everything are vastly out of regulations, so I wouldn’t be too concerned about any of the 141 following personal appearance guidelines (Gaz is likely the only 141 member within regs which is a little shocking considering most military regulations are unfairly biased against people of color, but that's neither here nor there). If you’re interested, here is the 2021 version of the guidelines, though many of them have been updated since.

As of 2002, unmarried service members are permitted to invite their partners to stay overnight in single-room barracks (again, big win for our Sergeants). However, these guests must report to the duty and sign in, which is a hassle, so sneaking someone on base is still a plausible course of action.

Unfortunately, I can’t find any information on the use of alcohol/drugs in barracks, but I assume that the regulations are similar to those of the US armed forces, where alcohol is permitted to any off-duty member (any member who is on authorized leave) above the legal drinking age.

Humor: military humor has a pretty infamous reputation for being dark as fuck. Soldiers joke about a lot of stuff because they deal with a lot of stuff, and humans naturally cope through humor. There aren’t a lot of resources for this, because soldiers don’t like that kind of stuff reaching civilian ears (for pretty obvious reasons). Active special forces soldiers like the 141 would have especially fucked up senses of humor because they deal with especially fucked up scenarios. Don’t push yourself for the sake of realism, though; if you aren’t comfortable writing jokes about active hostage/bomb/terrorist situations, don’t write those jokes. However, if you think of a fantastically dark joke and want to include it, know that it would be perfectly in character (especially for Ghost) and true to real life. They absolutely would casually joke with each other about racism, homophobia, xenophobia, war crimes, torture, etc. The important part is that they all know that it’s always a joke; shared humor is one of the most common ways that soldiers bond with each other, and being able to take the piss with each other is key to unit cohesion. If you don’t like that or if that makes you uncomfortable, don’t write it!

Fraternization: In general, fraternization is strictly prohibited. It’s grounds for a reassignment at best and a court martial at worst. One or both parties may be dishonorably discharged. Realistically, any relationship between anyone in the 141 (with the exception of Soap and Gaz, who are of equal rank and therefore their relationship does not affect the chain of command, big win for SoapGaz shippers) would be strictly prohibited and treated as a criminal offense. It is up to you whether your characterization of the 141 members warrants any action upon the discovery of fraternization or if it would be ignored in favor of keeping the team together. An argument could be made either way, so it’s a judgment call.

Call Signs:

The IRL SAS does not use call signs; they are almost universally used for pilots across all military divisions, which means that regular soldiers, even those in Special Forces, don't get call signs. However, as the CoD universe evidently uses call signs, here are some things you should know:

No one really knows how call signs originated. Some say that they started as nicknames given to pilots in the early days of flight. Others say that they originated as a way for ground control to quickly and easily refer to pilots over the radio. In any case, call signs have cemented themselves firmly in aviation culture

Call signs are not supposed to be cool. Ghost in an anomaly. The vast majority of people are not given call signs like Maverick or Iceman. A call sign is supposed to be (playfully) teasing and embarrassing; it's what the military calls "humility culture". They are often a derivative of a last name, based on physical features or personality, or related to a mistake the soldier made early in their career.

A call sign, once given, is rarely changed. Call signs follow soldiers for the entirety of their careers and beyond, and it is not unusual for fellow soldiers to only know each other by their rank, call sign, and last name (some can go their entire careers without knowing each others first names; a call sign basically replaces a soldiers first name).

Call signs are voted on and chosen by the soldier's squadron; they have very little (if any) say in the process. The squadron's commanding officer has the ability to veto a proposed call sign and often will if it crosses any lines (racist, sexist, etc) or if it isn't funny enough.

Here is a forum of US Naval call signs and their stories. I highly recommend giving it a read, especially if you need name ideas or a good laugh

General Writing Reference:

Resource for describing physical things (settings, weather, colors, textures, shapes)

Sickness Descriptors

Keeping Tenses (one of the most common writing mistakes in fic writing; this blog has a lot of very informative writing tip posts!)

WordHippo (One of the best dictionary/thesaurus/rhyming dictionary websites I've found and unfailingly keep open while writing/editing)

Tumblr account dedicated to writing characters of color

Tumblr thread with resources/references for international clothes and other items

Tumblr post with links to building/architectural terms and references

Tumblr post with links to helpful writing websites/resources (reverse dictionary, translator, body language, etc)

Misc Helpful Links (Will be Updated):

https://www.eliteukforces.info/special-air-service/ (detailed information about the SAS, selection, training, operations, weaponry, skills, and roles)

https://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/british-army-ranks (British Army ranks in order with brief descriptions of roles/responsibilities)

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_British_Army_installations (List of British Army bases and barracks, both in the UK and overseas)

https://www.quora.com/Does-the-British-Army-really-have-mixed-dorms-as-in-the-TV-show-Our-Girl (Quora forum detailing British military barrack living conditions)

https://taskandpurpose.com/news/military-pilots-call-signs/ (Blog post about aviator call signs and their use in military culture)

https://www.military.com/history/history-of-aviator-call-signs-and-how-pilots-get-their-new-name.html (Blog post about the history of aviator call signs in the military)

https://www.tumblr.com/sighmurderbot/735894836939472896/are-you-like-me-suddenly-obsessed-with-cod-and (Tumblr post - CoD mission generator)

https://www.army.mil/ranks/ (lots of very helpful information about US Army enlisted, warrant, and officer ranks as well as corps and division sizes/operations. Whoever designed this website needs a raise tbh)

If you found this useful, feel free to drop a like! I like knowing that my hard work is being used and appreciated!

John Price who fucks you for the first time and now it’s all he can think about. Your warm cunt wrapped around him so tightly and your nails digging into the backs of his thighs. When he showers the day following, he traces the marks with his fingertips and his dick is immediately hard at the reminder of you. His hand wraps around his length and his head fills with images of you in front of him, soap running down your body collecting between your tits. He comes within 3 minutes.

John Price who hasn’t seen you in days around base, no matter how far he wanders. Not until a meeting the following Friday, you’re sat in a chair, leg crossed on top of the other and hands resting in your lap. You try to look engaged in what’s being said, but he can tell your mind is elsewhere. And when the meeting ends and you stand, reaching your arms behind your back to stretch with a groan and a sliver of your stomach showing, he’s hard again.

John Price who shows up at your room later that night, his head shamefully hung low and dick straining in his pants. When you open the door wearing a tank top and sleep shorts he has to fight himself from grabbing onto the flesh of your thighs. Instead he just stares at your bare legs in front of him, already thinking about how he’s going to leave marks of his own.

When you break up with John Price but you didn’t break up with his mom.

You’re still over Mary Price’s (yes that’s her name) house for noon day tea, right after mass and she always goes all out for you because you were the favorite daughter in law that got away. A tray full of Macaroons, biscuits, little cheese cakes, croissants and taking out the China set that probably cost a shit ton, passed down from her mother, just to have a good catch up with you.

You coupon together, review cookbooks together, dinner dates at your favorite restaurant. You’re even bundled up under the same blanket on the living room couch during your once a month movie night, whispering and giggling like little girls while her husband (Charles) shushes you two from the recliner for disturbing his favorite movie. You bring her youth back, and besides your break up with John, she loves you like her own.

Now, John already is a little irritated that you and his mom— hell— the whole damn family still likes you. John knows you still baby sit his nieces and nephews, still out partying with his cousin, still playing Mario cart with his older sister and older brother— everyone loved you. He tries so desperately to get you off his mind, he goes on dates, he goes out with his friends, works himself to the bone, but when he has to drop something off at his parents, coincidentally you’re getting out your car. Still gorgeous as ever, stray curls that were supposed to be in a high bun blowing in the wind, taking in that cold sea air. And you freeze once you see him on the front steps of his parents house, watching you with your own bag of groceries his parents asked for.

And he huffs, “Just come on then. Can’t stop you two from seein each other now, can I?”

Does John hate when he hears from his sister that you brought over a new man to meet his parents? Something in his brain ticks.

Well that just won’t do. You can’t go deciding you’d be with another man when you’ve spent half the year since you’d broken up galavanting with his own mother. You were a Price.

That’s final.

He waits till the family dinner on Friday, he knows you’ll attend, body growing more and more tense with irritation as he waits for you to enter through the front door right behind his older brother just as you always do.

“Let’s have a chat [+].” His voice tight, lips in a thin line. You gulp as John guide you upstairs to his old bedroom, his hand firm on your lower back. Locking you both in as soon as you get there. And you’re so sure this is when John wants you to break up with his mother. You were sweet to the woman, but you admittedly were pushed the boundaries farther than anyone who was genuinely trying to get over a breakup should. But before you could even stifle out some random scrambled words, Johns fucking railing his veiny cock into you poor cunt against his childhood desk.

“The audacity,” he breaths through his nose, hand pressing on your lower back, forcing an arch to get more of your greedy pussy onto him. “For you to bring another man here? As if you’d move on- Jesus- from me? Don’t think you were thinking sweetheart.”

“Jooooohn, w-we can’t- your parents!“ you’re a mewling mess, toes curling in their socks as you try to knock some sense into the bearded man.

“—what about them?” He’s ignoring you, letting his tip kiss your g-spot with every thrust. Admittedly, ignoring your concerns was part of the reason you two broke up. When John didn’t want to hear what her deemed as nonsensical chatter, he’d close his mind off from you.

“That fuckin muppet wouldn’t understand you swee’art, wouldn’t understand what we have. You ‘nd me-“

“—At least he listens!” You bite and there’s just enough behind it because John knows it’s true. Knows he isn’t the perfect man and he knows he’s fucked up along the way, fighting off demons constantly. But he’d do it ten times over just to get to you, to be with you, become the perfect man for you.

“You don’t think I listen?” He curses, slapping a hand over your mouth and pulling up for your back to meet his chest. John grunts, his other hand finding your perfect tit and groping it, getting a loud moan out of you.

“Shhhh, baby you have to listen too.”

It’s fucking heinous, the sounds you two are making together the squelching of your mixed fluids while John slowly drags himself out of you before ramming back in, the thunk, thunk, thunk of the desk meeting the wall with every thrust.

“Can’t help but need to listen to you baby. Haaa, is that what you want? A good husband that listens? Talk it it out? Tell you everything that’s on my mind? Then I’ll just have to be that man, huh?”

John curses, resting his hand on your shoulder and kissing it. So sweet, simply devine, his baby, his lover- his future spouse. Your ears are ringing when you cum, pretty cunt sucking the daylights out of his aching tip. The man whimpers, snatching your lips onto his, slipping his tongue in your agape mouth, pumping you full with every bit of cum that’s been stuck in his balls since your two broke up. Waiting to give it to you.

You two are a panting mess, John pulls out and quickly pulls your panties up. The idea of you being around his family while stuffed full makes his heart and his dick swell.

“John- this- I don’t want this to be a one off thing.” And you’re looking at him with those pretty brown eyes, bottom lip that was painted dark red trembling.

“Lovie, of course this isn’t a one time thing. I want to be back together with you. Always.” His words are stern but so soft, he’s handing you the gun. If he were to ever mess up again, you’d be the one to pull the trigger to his heart.

Till death till you part.

John doesn’t have to say another word, wrapping you in his arms. Oh, how you missed him. He almost can’t let you go, smothering your face in kisses, making you giggle, “John, your family!” You whisper yell, smacking at his back.

“Right, them. We should tell them later, okay? Not have them yelling and squealing all night.”

Mary grins as you two reemerge from upstairs, just as dinner hit the table, her hands clasped, and blushing — along with half of the other adults at the table.

“So,” she breaths, a knowing look on her face, “when will the wedding be?”

a/n: this has been sitting since forever. Cheers to you and John getting back together!!!

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