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evergreenfields · 18 days

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A Helping Hand

Captain Price uses his deft fingers to help you take out your menstrual cup.

Pairing: Captain Price x Female Reader

CW: descriptions of female anatomy, digital penetration, fluff, swearing. MDNI.

Words: 2.7k

—

You didn't mean to swear so loudly in the toilet cubicle but you were sweating, your hands were hurting and your thighs were burning.

You could not, for the life of you, take out your menstrual cup.

After a gruelling CQC training session, your hands were cramped and now slick with blood. You surprised yourself at how far you could fit your fingers inside yourself without even reaching the inch long handle of the cup.

"Sergeant?" A gruff voice called through the door.

"Fuck." you whisper, "yes sir?" You call back, sitting back down on the toilet in defeat, staring at the tiled floor.

"Everything alright in there?" Captain Price is closer to the door now. Of all the people! You thought of him in his far-too-fitted top tucked into his far-too-snug combat trousers, all pressed and neat. Earlier in the day he had patted your shoulder for a job well done and you hated how you could still feel his eyes on you after you walked away.

“Yes captain, all good here." Ending it abruptly, you wait for him to leave.

Getting back into a squat position, you try again. You swear again.

Another knock at the door.

"Sergeant. Do I need to call someone for you?" Concern laced his gruff voice.

Something in you falters. You think it's stupidity, you think it's the opposite of courage, you consider it vulnerability. Either way, your mouth and mind move in different directions as you pull your trousers up, wash your hands and walk the short way to the door.

“Have you seen a period cup before?" you say quietly through a small gap in the doorway, looking past your Captain at passers by, looking anywhere but at his deep-set blue eyes.

He looks at you with knitted brows and answers "no. But I'm guessing it's not coming out." He enunciated ‘out’ with his trademark back stretch.

"Precisely." You get redder and try to quell it. He knocked, he asked, maybe someone else could help me, a female medic, but the thought of gloved hands felt clinical and made you tense. The pause was palpable.

"Right, let's get you to your quarters," he steps back from the door, straight as a board, and you slip out past his hulking frame.

Filling what you thought was an awkward silence you said you had training with Simon and “it's not usually this difficult, usually it pops out easily." Accidentally making eye contact on the “pop.”

"Right." Price says and you think you saw him swallow a smile. You arrive at your quarters and open the door.

"A nurse once told me I had a high cervix, so who knows where it's gone." You turn to close the door behind Price and you're surprised to see him chuckling, the movement in his broad shoulders and the crows feet around his eyes make you feel a way you know you shouldn't.

"Give it another go, I'll get a tea brewing," he strides past you into your tiny kitchen, knocking around your cupboards for teabags.

You avoid your gaze in the bathroom mirror as you wash your hands again and pull your trousers down, rooting around for the damned silicone cup. You were naturally more dilated as you were on your period, but pushing down with your pelvic floor muscles still didn’t get it within reach of your fingers.

You can hear the kettle going, you imagine him leaning against the counter, muscled legs crossed at his calves, calloused hands on the fake marble top.

John asks himself unanswerable questions, the exact kind of questions he hates. Why am I here? He has an inkling of the answer but it’s not absolute. He can’t deny you’re electric, an excellent squad mate and charming to boot. The chemistry is palpable between you and he knows exactly what he’s doing when he banters with you at post-mission briefings and winks at you when handing you a drink at the pub. He indulges in the flashes of recognition when he sees you around base, especially when you’re in civilian clothing.

Minutes later you're back in your kitchen, which Price manages to dwarf.

"No luck?" He says as he passes you the steaming cup, handle first. How polite.

"No luck.”

“No problem." Price says in his husky voice, taking a seat on your small sofa. He's taken his hat off, he's basically naked now. You join him on the furthest end, you're both turned half towards each other, your crossed legs are mighty close to touching his.

"Sorry, this is really awkward."

“Nothing awkward, relax yeh." He sips his tea.

"You make a shit tea." You say absolutely unprompted, staring into your cup seriously.

Price doesn't respond and you look up expectedly.

“Funny that, I couldn't find a good cup." He says with his usual dry gruff.

A beat.

You both burst into laughter, almost spilling your tea. You end up having to put it onto the table, calling him a prick in the process.

"Fuck sakes sir!"

"I had to." He continues drinking his tea, too cool for school as you settle yourself.

You decide to regale him as a way to fill the silence again, "so the cup has a stick at the end but I can't grip it, I can barely reach it. It's silicone and around an inch long." you instinctively measure it out with your thumb and index finger.

"Right."

He's killing you. You remember he's a gentleman, a professional, helping you feel more relaxed and less tense.

“It’s more than just grabbing and pulling it though-”

"So I'm going to have to break the suction first." He finally says, a mercy.

You did a double take and accidentally looked at his gloved hand. It hangs over his knee. You know they are heavily veined and strong, you want to evaporate at the thought of them touching you in such an intimate place.

"It doesn't take much.” You say dry mouthed.

"I can get someone else." Is quickly followed by you breathing "I'd rather you didn't."

Next thing you know, you're standing in your shower with only a towel wrapped around your lower half. Your captain was seated on the rim of the bathtub. It was as if you had a tipple of whiskey instead of tea, you felt drunk, giddy, nervous. There was an undeniable pulse in your clit you were trying to ignore. Price thoroughly washes his hands and you make an effort to not watch his sinewy forearms flexing.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna be laying down?” Price asks earnestly.

“No it would feel too clinical. And we need gravity on our side.” You say absentmindedly, he nods an affirmative.

“Understood.“

"I'm going to look like Winnie the fucking Pooh.” You sigh.

"Ey?" blue eyes flicker at your eyes.

"He doesn't wear any trousers. He just wears a top."

"Stop being a muppet." He dries his hands.

“Okay so you'll have to use a thumb and finger." You say, feeling flushed as you place your feet further apart, they were wet with the residual water from your shower earlier in the day.

"I’ll be gentle." He puts the hand towel under your feet for grip. You almost place your hand on his shoulder to balance yourself but you're too afraid to let go of the towel.

"Better?" He asks. You nod. His back straightens, he's in serious mode, “if it hurts at any point, say and I'II stop immediately." And he waits for your affirmative and more disgustingly, your eye contact.

"Yes sir. I will.” You nod, blink and then look away.

A pause. Silence.

You're still holding the towel over yourself. You feel like a lost lamb and you even start to hate yourself for feeling so shy. You wonder how Price is so calm and collected, you’re trying to see from his perspective but you can’t fathom how he’s so blase and annoyingly professional.

In a measured movement you remove the towel and swing it over the curtain rail. Everything feels red, you feel a flash of anger at yourself for existing. You look up past him. Blood rushes to your face and ears. Cool air hits your legs and butt. John carries on with acute focus, mentally noting you had incredible legs. He wished he was still wearing his hat so you couldn’t see the sweat bead on his forehead.

“Put your hands on my shoulders." He says, “and relax." He drawls, admittedly more to himself. “Alright I'm going to make-"

"Don't say make entry, for fuck sakes." Your voice sounds distant with the acoustics of the tiled bathroom.

"I was going to say make contact, sergeant." His tone is clipped but his eyes smile. You sheepishly look away.

“I’ve tried a few times, it’s quite… elastic, so don’t be worried if you go past the knuckles.” You chew your lips.

“I’ll be gentle.” He reiterates. You assume he knows his way around things, a fleeting thought of him with other women floats through your mind.

John knew you trusted him which is why he was here. He was very aware of what he was helping with and felt it was beyond his duty of care, kind of like how he has to decide who lives and who dies when they’re attached to a bomb vest with 8 seconds left. It was discretionary. He put it out of his mind and considered this a ‘removal of foreign body’. But with no need to staunch the bleeding. And no need to report it in the injuries log. The only thing he was staunching were any feelings towards you. Tucking them deep away like a professional, or like a pressure cooker. There was a reason he was the captain, he was measured and controlled.

With the softest touch, you feel his index finger and middle finger part your folds and fall into the valley of your hole. His fingers deftly dodged your hardened clit and he slipped in gently until he’s fully inside of you. His finger runs along your gummy walls, they are much thicker than your own digits. You scrunch your eyebrows. He’s warm and tentative. Your face is flushed red, but not entirely from embarrassment, it’s that familiar feeling you get when you’re filled. Heat rises from you. Your breathing is shallow and quick.

His left hand leaves the tub edge and holds your calf softly. You feel safety in his touch, you feel like he's entering with trepidation. You've fought on battlefields together, traversed through tight streets in war torn villages and travelled for days in cramped trucks, you trusted him with your life and by extension your body. It was as if it was all to culminate in your bathroom. You find yourself wishing you had just asked him for a coffee a week ago when you weren't on your period.

"Is that okay? Ready for the-"

"Yes sir." He pushes his thumb in gently too. You feel it breach your cunt and against your spongy walls. You can’t tell but John’s heart is hammering against his chest, but it doesn’t betray his breathing.

"You don't have to call me sir.” He mumbles.

"Yes sir.” You hold his broad shoulders and lean over him, looking straight ahead at the cheap wooden door. His fingers gently move up into you, he’s warm and you’re hot, you try to stay still and not squeeze your walls around his fingers.

You hear his breathing, it’s even. You want to look down at his lap but your line of sight is obscured by his arm, you know what you want to see and you swallow. His fingers move, you can feel the pressure but you can only guess at the direction. You feel the large knuckle of his thumb press against your innermost folds. His ring and little finger push into the underside of your butt cheek, you realise you did the same thing to yourself when you were trying earlier. There was no where else those fingers could go without being in the way.

John tries to ignore how your body feels around his fingers and focuses on pushing in with the least resistance, he has big hands so there was no doubt he’d be able to find it but he didn’t want to hurt you. Sweat forms along the back of his neck. Steady now.

"Try to relax. I know this isn’t ideal, I'll go slowly" He says, you can smell his cologne, his musk, you hold your breath but he feels that too.

"Breathe and bear down." You daren't comment about how he knows about "bearing down" but you push down with your pelvic muscles.

"I’ve got it, gonna go further to grip it." You dare to look at his face and you're surprised to see he's not looking at your mound, he's staring at your rucked up top, just above your belly button; he's concentrating. He looks adorable, mouth a little open.

"It’s a slippery bastard." He chuckles and then reels the laugh in.

"I'm so sorry about the blood." You whisper above him. He just grunts.

"Nothing we haven't dealt with before, ey?" His eyes crinkle into a smile. “Can I go further?" He says, you look at each other and you nod. You feel pressure and friction, you try to breathe and it comes shakily. You clear your throat.

"It's not hurting is it?" He stops.

"No, it doesn't hurt, it's just this entire situation-"

"Look, I know you'd do the same for me." He meets your eyes and you snort, trying not to laugh. You instead lean your forehead down to the top of his head for a moment, he can see your stomach move and your breathing change as you laugh silently. It’s strangely intimate.

John swallows.

"I got it." You feel pressure push upwards into you and then the suction disappears. With a pull and a slick pop, the cup comes out. Your body feels doubly empty. Price holds it steady with one hand, he marvels at the amount and viscosity of the blood. He then brings his other hand up to cradle it. You add both your hands around his to stop it spilling.

"Y'alright?" He carefully lets go of the cup. His left hand is on your arm, his intense blue eyes boring into yours for what feels like way too long.

"Yes." You smile.

"Right, I'II let you get that sorted.” He smiles, squeezes your arm and turns to use the faucet.

With his broad back turned, you look down at your naked lower body and bloody chalice. You see that he doesn't turn to look back at you. Such a gentleman. You cheers him silently with the cup and get to sorting yourself out.

When John leaves the room, he exhales hard. Needing something to do, he immediately walks into your kitchen. He hates that he’s clammy and not from exertion. He pushes your warmth and wetness from his mind, but he knows he’ll be summoning the memory soon, when he’s alone.

When you step out of the shower, you're in a daze. You don't know what to say when you get dressed and return to your living room. Thanks and sorry? Sorry and sorry? Let's never speak of this, but can we talk about your unwavering eye contact and those touches? You pull on your knickers and cargo trousers and wrestle with a sanitary pad.

You return to see him washing the tea cups, his gloves tucked into his back pocket, his narrow waist fanning into a broad back.

You jog into the kitchen and grab the tea towel he's hung over his shoulder.

“I got it - thank you,” you say, quickly adding “John.” As if to point out the power dynamic was left at the door. You dry the cups. You feel longing, you don't know what possesses you, you didn't want those fleeting touches, gentle words of affirmation and smouldering eye contact to evaporate into nothing. Like they usually do.

“Don’t mention it.” He says, heading for the door.

“Not even to my girl friends?” You snap back, shrugging the tea towel over your shoulder.

“Wind your neck in!” He laughs loudly from the chest.

“Consider it wound in, sir.”

“The lengths you go for my attention.” He retorts with his trademark grin, turning to face you with his hand on the door handle.

“The lengths are apparently 3 or 4 inches, sir, give or take.” You laugh back knowingly.

John pauses.

“Between us, that’s only the half of it.” He says with a wink. And with that, he leaves. Your laugh gets caught in your throat, you’re left with a feeling your next one-to-one with your captain would be a little different moving forward.

#captain price x female reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #cod fanfic #john price x female reader #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you

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evergreenfields · 18 days

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Is it ready yet??????

I’m sitting on the edge of my seat!!!!!

You star - It will be uploaded today 🥰🥰

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evergreenfields · 21 days

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I’ve been waiting all day for the fic, where is it lovie?😭😭

no need to rush tho, I love you more 🥰

Aaaah loves you more, I screenshot this because it made me so happy - I’ll reply to this when I upload it!

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evergreenfields · 22 days

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Guess who struggled to get their period cup out and turned it into a fanfic?

🙋🏽‍♀️ Me. I did.

You struggle in the toilets and your captain hears you while he passes by. He asks if you need help and you decide his fingers are much longer. You’ve seen each other bloody, bruised and tired, this is no different, right?

Here it is!

#captain price x female reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #cod fanfic #john price x female reader #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you

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evergreenfields · 1 month

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Tea for Two

Part 2 of Yours Truly, A Hostage (Part 1).

After rescuing you in Piccadilly Circus, the Captain takes you up on your invite. Naturally you make tea, scones and sexual tension.

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!reader

CW: explicit smut, piv sex, penetration, fingering, descriptions of a male body and female body (reader). MDNI.

Words: 3.5k

A/n: Let me know what you think! Also, I love how reader can afford to live on her own.

——

You honestly didn’t mean to be folded in half and speared so deliciously by John’s cock. It was only supposed to be tea and scones.

He arrived promptly, not giving you a chance to worry you had been ghosted.

You open the door to find him standing with his hands clasped at his front.

“Hello.” He says, it’s a rumble, heat fills you.

“Hi! Come in! Let me take your jacket.” You wave him into your tiny flat.

“Thanks, love.” You don’t watch as he shrugs it off. He’s wearing a green plaid shirt that hugs his broad chest. He looks different to yesterday, you thought he may look smaller as he wouldn’t be encumbered by all the gear and harnesses. But he was still huge, tall and broad. He’s not wearing a hat so you see his hair is neat and kind of side parted with a lot of grey. He’s in dark blue jeans and boots which probably added another 2 inches to his hulking frame.

“How did you know I love a tea party?” he marvels at the teacups while rolling up his sleeves revealing strong bulky forearms covered in dark hair.

“My third eye.” You point mysteriously between your eyebrows, trying to be nonchalant even though you feel flustered as he essentially started the foreplay by revealing his muscled forearms.

“What else does that third eye see?” He looks at you, it's strange how such icy blue eyes can show heat.

“It sees you behaving yourself.” You say with more gumption than you actually felt. You carry over the teapot and he waits to seat you. You can’t help but laugh awkwardly as he gently tucks your chair in.

“You didn’t have to do all this.” He says with mirth, the delicate teacup in his large hand was making you feel a certain way. You try not to stare.

“It’s a bit much.” You say quietly, “but so was yesterday.” Your thighs bounce up and down nervously. “How’s your friend, teammate, the younger guy, Gaz?”

“He’s alright, he sends his best,” Price didn’t want to reveal the full conversation they had when he told Gaz he got your phone number. Things like “but sir she’s closer to my age” and “no sir, she wasn’t complimenting my facial hair.”

“Oh bless him,” you say, touched.

“Are you okay? What you went through yesterday was no cake walk.” His brows knit together.

“It’s not really hit me yet, to be honest.” You admit, feeling conflicted because you were absolutely sidetracked with getting ready for a date with an SAS captain. You had left your statement at the police station earlier in the morning.

“If you need to talk, I’m here. And there’s no shame in speaking to a professional. A proper professional.” When he smiles, his lips disappear into his moustache and you find it was so endearing, smiling unintentionally along with him.

“Are you always like this with… rescued hostages?” You say earnestly, you’re not sure where you’re going with it.

“Definitely not.” He sits back, ramrod straight, “especially as you were so subtle.”

You feel mortified at how eager you were yesterday and it must show because he leans forward with a concerned hand out, as if to say ‘wait’.

“I’m glad you weren’t subtle,” he says quietly, “I was really taken by you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” It feels weird hearing something so vulnerable, it doesn’t feel real. You feel flushed.

“Are you okay?” You ask him, “I know it’s your job but… it must be such a weight on your shoulders.” You reach out without thinking and squeeze his hand, it’s hot while yours is cold.

“You’re sweet,” he whispers “I’ve been doing this a long time, love.” He turns his hand over and envelopes your fingers, you feel patches of rougher skin.

You nod feverishly “I’m sorry I - it’s another world. I just sit behind a desk.” You’re in uncharted territory, he operates in another world, a dangerous one, one that collided with yours yesterday.

“You don’t need to apologise, it’s an important desk.”

You’re not satisfied with that. Trying to find the right words, caressing circles with your thumb into his hand, you blurt out “you were really brave.” You speak through the embarrassment.

“I couldn’t see you but I could hear you.” Your heart rate climbs. “It was…” you breathe out “so decisive and final.” He squeezes your hand. “I knew I was safe.”

He smiles warmly and covers your small hand with his. You sit like this for a moment, in the moment. You were sure the events of the last 48 hours would dawn on you heavily but right now you felt grounded.

“You’re wondering what to do with your other hand now, aren’t you?” He chuckles, breaking the silence.

“Am I that readable?”

“You’re an open book.” He smiles warmly, crows feet etching into his skin.

You reach over and tentatively cup his cheek, his beard tickles your palm, your thumb caresses his cheekbones, he has bags under his eyes, you sense you were right about him carrying unspoken weight. “Am I?” Vulnerability seeps from your pores.

You breathe from your mouth and on your second intake, John has a hand on the back of your neck. His azure eyes flicker between your eyes and your lips. You didn’t realise how your hands got to his shoulders and on the back of his neck.

He pulls you in slowly and you engulf him, the band has snapped, the kiss is deep and forceful. He controls the pace which is deliberate and slow. He bleeds into you and you feel dizzy with the intensity. His mouth is molten on yours.

You both break away with a pant, the table shakes and the cutlery clinks.

“You alright, love?” Both of his hands are back on the table, palms down, unthreatening. His voice is no longer suggestive, but clipped. You search each other’s eyes.

“I’m good.” You nod frantically.

“We can go as far as you want, we can stop right here, you’re in charge alright?” Your heart and stomach flips.

“I-.” You laugh, shaking your head, all you can feel is the wetness growing in your knickers.

“Talk to me, love.” He flips his hands so his palms are facing up.

“I’m not usually like this.” You say, standing up, “but then yesterday wasn’t usual either.”

Pushing your chair back abruptly with a squeak, you climb into his lap and straddle him. You hear a quiet vibration from his throat, a delectable groan.

“If it makes you feel better, neither am I.” He feels just like you imagined but better, harder, expanses of muscle and a layer of mass. Your dress barely covers your ass as you seat yourself on his lap. His hands move along your waist and down to the swell of your hips. You can smell his cologne and see his eyelashes flutter again as his gaze roams over your chest and neck.

He looks up at you and you can’t look back, his gaze is too intense, you want the floor to swallow you up. You look up to your left, feeling goosebumps as he explores your exposed thighs. He presses them, sighing.

He kisses your neck. You feel tickled by his beard hairs and flexing thigh muscles. In response to his kiss, you do what any respectable woman would do on top of a man, you push against his hardening cock. The chair creaks as he bucks his hips up to meet yours, both of your heavy breathes filling the room.

When he hears the moan that tears from your throat, he is undone. He imagined what you sounded like while he got dressed for the date, and this didn’t hold a candle to it. With one swift motion he pushes his seat back and lifts you up. He squeezes your ass which causes your cunt to flutter and twitch, your knickers fall into your folds.

“My bedroom’s out there to the right.” You wrap your legs around him and you feel something hard.

“Fffuck!” You gasp and grind into him, unashamed.

“That’s my belt buckle.”

You whine in response.

“In time, in time.” he kneads your ass while minding your knees through the tight corridor. He gently lays you on the bed and pushes you into the mattress, manoeuvring so his growing manhood is against your throbbing cunt.

“This is a nice room.” He says seriously while only looking at your eyes and pushing his erection against the juncture of your spread legs, waiting for your reaction.

You gasp, “oh it’s big” and push back against him. His eyes roll and you feel emboldened at the sight of this burly man, a captain no less, lost in how your body feels. You reach up under his shirt to feel the mass of his pectorals, you’re electric with need. His bulky arms on either side of your head frame your vision.

“Darlin’ you are beautiful.” He unbuttons his shirt with one hand while still hovering over you. He likes the blush that falls across your features when he opens his shirt. He kisses you deeply before quickly taking the shirt off his shoulders, pecs flexing and skin shining with sweat. You catch that narrow waist and a happy trail of hair disappearing into his jeans which you resented were still on.

You didn’t realise you said “fuck” out loud again and his laugh hits you in your core.

“Your dress is really pretty, can I take it off?” John drawls, you nod and smile dumbly at his flattery, he’s clearly enjoying your fucked out brain working overtime.

You wriggle out from under the dress and let him pull it over your head. His hands claim your breasts in your lacy bra, fitting perfectly in his palms. You think you heard him groan “s’soft” before pressing his lips to yours.

“Did you wear this for me?” He pushes the lace to either side of your swollen breasts and sucks on your nipples. He teases them gently, pleased to feel they were hard and ready for him. The rough pads of his fingers give you much needed friction.

You look up at him doe eyed and then say “I did. Why are your jeans still on?” with a hard tug of his belt.

You see him laugh silently, shaking his head. He gets up from the bed. The loss of his weight makes you bounce up slightly. You pant and touch yourself, mewling at the ceiling.

A wry smile appears on his face as he bends to take off his boots, watching you intently as you draw circles on your clit through your knickers. He drops his boots next to your slippers, they are massive in comparison and you find yourself breathing in sharply.

Finally the zipper comes down and he shucks his jeans. You watch his bulge intently as he moves.

“Are those boxers regulation?” Your mouth is dry. He laughs and you feel that same flash of affirmation you felt when you first met.

“Are you always like this?” He doesn’t climb on top of you, instead he lays beside you and places his hand on top of yours, taking over the job of drawing circles into your bud. He then slides his middle finger down and up your wet slit, collecting your dew in your knickers.

“Definitely not.” You manage to say before you moan and shudder at his touch, you feel a tightening coil and the pleasure spreads through your body like shattered glass, instant and permanent. His fingers are deft and the movement precise.

“Y/n, you’re so wet.” John’s breathing is heavy against your cheek. You look at him as if to say something but when you meet his eyes, you’re speechless. Only a moan comes out and you snap your eyes shut as waves of electricity hit you. You don’t realise your hands are on your breasts.

“Tell me what you want.” He grits against your temple, hot and humid.

You open your mouth but you can only moan while he teases your clit with fleeting strokes.

“Tell me,” John slides your knickers to the side, eyes down at your glistening sex, “what you want, love.”

You arch your back and turn your face away from him, shy and overwhelmed. You really were in charge of the pace.

“I want you inside me.” Your voice muffled by the back of your hand.

His thick fingers followed the curve of your mound and down to the dip of your entrance. Slick with your juices, it doesn’t take much for his index and middle fingers to push through. John’s cock twitches at the sensation of your tight, hot cunt. You hear him take a sharp inhale.

“Tha’s it.” He begins pumping and you’re embarrassed to already feel an orgasm building. God he’s good at this you manage to think. His fingers curl up to your g-spot and you start to see specks of light behind your closed eyelids. John revels in the sounds of your wet pussy around his fingers and your moans. He adjusts himself, mindful of the undeniable tent in his boxers.

“John I’m- I’m- gonna!” You pant in time with his pumps. You can see his massive forearm and bicep moving between your smaller by comparison legs, his once parted hair now messy and his dark gaze on you - you’re pretty sure that’s why you came so suddenly.

“Oh god fuck!” You call out, the orgasm pulsing through you violently. Your stomach involuntarily convulses and you writhe, one hand knotted in the duvet and the other one clutching his free arm. John watches as you ride out the orgasm, the broken pants and small whines short circuit his brain.

“Fucking hell.” He breathes. You look up at him, neatly groomed beard, a strong dimpled chin and a smirk that could kill. He’s stroking his hand over your thigh and up to your stomach, his eyes are hooded.

“I’m not on birth control,” you say with a parched mouth. You roll over to a drawer and pull out protection. You tear one from the packet, you know it can be a deal breaker for men but it sorted the riff from the raff.

“I had no idea you wanted to have sex.” He says dryly, a prominent bulge in his boxers. You chuckle and slap him playfully in the chest, leaving the packet against him.

You trail your hand down his chest.

“It’s all yours.” He muttered as you pushed past his waistband to find his heavy cock. He breathed out with a guttural groan, calling you darling. You bite your lip and ignore the redness in your face, he’s well endowed and you’re almost afraid to see it. You remove your hands and pull at his waistband so his reddened cock springs out.

“Of course it’s huge.” You mewl, pulling back on his foreskin gently to reveal a pretty pink and leaking tip. John tenses at your needy touch, restraining himself.

You slink to the floor and manoeuvre yourself between his legs. John's heavy breathing fills the room. You reach behind your back and unhook your bra. You shuffle closer and the tip of John’s cock smears precum on your breast.

“Oh love, you already said thanks,” he laughs, bucking his hips so his cock is nestled in your cleavage. You press your breasts together around his manhood and bounce on your haunches. The Captain grunts, his hands pushing your hair out of your face. You stare at his engorged cock appearing and disappearing between your breasts.

Soon he gently pulls you toward him and peels your knickers off. He makes quick work of putting on the condom, you like that he does it in front of you.

“Let me take care of you now.” You climb onto him and rub your slit along his cock, coating it with your wetness.

“You’re perfect.” He groans in response, fingers digging into your hips. You grind faster and faster, moaning with abandon.

“Are you always such a gentleman?” You stutter, rolling your hips, your hands splayed across his muscled chest, your cunt quivering around nothing.

He laughs and flips you over, his arms on either side of you. You giggle in surprise and then choke out a groan when he pushes his cock against your core.

“Please fuck me” is all it takes for his resolve to crumble, on top of your supine and smooth body, smelling like flowers and white musk. You moan in unison when he pushes his tip against your core, his hips shifting closer and closer. Your pussy clenches around his girth.

“Oh god - is it all in?” You stutter, blood rushing to your face, your cunt pulsing at his sheer size.

“Just half way, love.” You hear the smirk. “I’ll slow down.” He pushes himself deeper tantalisingly slowly. You pant when his hips are flush with yours, eyes fluttering. You wonder how you looked stretched around him.

“You alright?” He checks.

When you nod, John sets a steady pace, pulling mostly out and then plunging back into your heat, down to the hilt.

“Oh god,” you shudder, hands gripping his shoulders. His stomach connects flatly with your clit.

“You like that?” His voice distorted with the movement.

“Yes! Yes!” He speeds up and your world is a flurry of motion. His thrusts are fast and sharp and they push you into the mattress.

You feebly try to bring your legs up onto his shoulders.

“Deeper?” He snarls, his day couldn’t get better. He easily swings your legs onto his shoulders, the backs of your knees wet with sweat against his chest. You’re folded into a mating press and speared by his cock. The friction melts you, you’re surrounded by his mass, his scent, his strength.

You thank the stars for his training because his stamina is unwavering. The bed frame creaking, mattress thumping and lewd noises from your wet cunt hits his ears, he’s not going to let this be a 1 and done.

“I think I’m gonna-”

“Do it darlin’, cum on my cock.”

“No no - I think I’m gonna wet myself.” You shudder, a palm to his chest.

“You won’t, trust me.” He grits out while maintaining fevered eye contact, “let go.”

And with that, your orgasm tears through you and you cover both your nethers in liquid.

“Oh f-uck!” You writhe and roll your hips, John slows down to languid thrusts, whispering into your ear “tha’s it, good girl.” The aftershocks spasm through your body, your toes tingle and you babble incoherently, having never squirted before.

“Mmm, y/n,” the Captain hovers over you and looks from eye to eye. He unsheathes himself from you which is met with a whine from your parted lips. He plunges himself back in. You’re wide eyed and breathless at the motion.

“Yes John!” Your nails dig into his shoulders and your calves and feet flop uselessly over his back as he thrusts quickly and deeply, slamming into your sex.

Soon his hands are under your knees and you're folded further, the angle causing him to connect with your tender spot. You feel a fizzle build in your stomach again.

With unnatural speed and precision, John gets you on the precipice again. You begin to feel him quiver, his muscles coiled and tense as he pistons in and out of you. One of his hands squeezes your right breast and the other is on the mattress.

“Please Captain, please,” you coo, trying his rank on for size with a broken moan. With that, John erupts inside you with a violent shudder, his member pulsing stripes of white hot seed. His orgasm is sharp and absolute.

“Ah love, fuck,” He grunts, his thrusts turning sloppy and his grip loosening on your tender breast. “You’re something else.” He barely manages to grit out. You stay entwined for a few moments, savouring the afterglow between kisses.

“Let me clean this up.” He climbs off of you, a finger trailing down your left breast. You’re too fucked-out to respond.

“To the- to the um left.” You call out to him but he’s already found your bathroom. He catches his reflection in the mirror, his sweaty and hairy chest heaving, face flushed red, hair falling onto his forehead, his softening cock hangs between his sweaty heavy thighs, with a full condom.

He swings by the kitchen for two glasses of water, still naked. He likes how your face softens when he passes you a glass, he doesn’t know if he’s flattered that you only looked at his eyes when he appeared.

He joins you in bed, both of you gulping water.

“Tell me,” your voice is hoarse, you add a pause, “what you want.”

John peers at you as if you’ve grown another head. Then a suppressed smile grows across his face as he realises. You are secretly proud of how you copied his accent.

There’s a pause and you patiently give him some grace, he drains the glass and places it on the bed side table.

Finally he turns to face you with softness in his eyes and says, “you. Asleep on my chest, love.”

#captain price x female reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #john price x female reader #cod fanfic #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price #john price fluff #john price smut #captain price smut

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evergreenfields · 1 month

Text

Model Behaviour

Your neighbour Captain Price is looking for a hobby, you suggest an art class.

Little does he know you’re the nude model.

Rating: fluff, swearing, flirting, descriptions of a nude female body.

Pairing: Captain Price x fem!reader

You’d started talking to your new neighbour, John, when he was moving in, you watched him bring boxes in throughout the day, his jumper coming off to reveal a t-shirt over a bulky chest. He didn’t tell you too much about himself but you had gathered he was military. He sometimes wore a hat and had excellent posture, standing completely upright and then shifting his weight to one leg, relaxing. You sometimes caught him on his way back from a run and you would chew the inside of your mouth at the sight of his tight grey jogging bottoms, he probably didn’t look in the mirror before he left the house.

You saw him again in the post room, he had a healthy stack of brown envelopes.

“That’s a large parcel, need a hand, love?” He sauntered over, marvelling at the long parcel.

You try to hoist it up, “it didn’t leave the floor, did it?”

John doesn’t waste a second, he lifts it effortlessly.

“I was heading up anyway.” He’s already out the door.

“Oh thank you,” you rush to open the doors for him and you catch the elevator.

It’s a tight squeeze and you face each other. Only the tall box is between you. You reach past his trim waist to press floor five, avoiding eye contact and ignoring his cologne.

“Are you liking the area?” You ask him, trying not to look at his strong hands on the box, dark hair covers his tense forearms.

“It’s charming. Quieter than I expected.” He smiles, you feel like he’s alluding to his job but you don’t want to pry.

“It is very quiet here. If you do find yourself free on a Thursday evening, come down to the Evergreen Library, I do life drawing there.”

“An artist? Well aren’t you full of surprises.” The elevator dings on your floor and he gestures for you to go first. You hold your palm against the doors.

“You go at your own pace, there’s wine too.” You say as you unlock your door, expecting to take the parcel over the threshold.

“I can pop this in your living room if you like?” He waits for your go-ahead, you find his respectfulness thrilling, it makes you want to do filthy things to him. You unlock your door.

“Thank you, near the table is fine.” He puts it on the floor and taps it for good measure.

“So Thursday, is it?”

“Yes, you don’t need to bring anything, just yourself.” You smile warmly.

“I’ll do that.” He smiles, rubs his hands and steps aside to leave, “goodnight y/n.” You try and make space in your narrow hallway but he still has to side step out of your way. He smells like beechwood.

“Goodnight John.” You try his name on for size, you like how it sounds in your mouth. You close the door and the giddy energy over takes you, you dance to your bathroom to get ready for bed and think of what you’ll wear on Thursday.

~~~

Hands on his hips, John wonders what one wears to a life drawing session. Currently in a towel slung low on his hips from a shower after his run, he decides on a casual plaid shirt and black jeans with boots.

“Steady on John, you’re out of control with your wild evenings ey.” He chuckles to himself, acknowledging that forgotten but familiar feeling in his stomach and chest. He’d moved in recently and hadn’t quite felt like he belonged, which wasn’t unusual for someone who’d spent their entire life in the military, but he couldn’t deny he liked being around you. He felt he was probably a little too old for you, but your invitation gave him an idea. Single for a while, and for good reason, John thinks of this as a new start, though he isn’t sure what he’s doing, he knows he wants you. In some way.

He thinks about how sweet you were in the elevator, looking everywhere but his eyes, rushing to hold the doors open. He caught you looking at his arms. He also caught your figure as you opened your door, all curves, soft and smelling like flowers. He liked that you had introduced yourself when he moved in and asked him to hold a parcel for you when you were away. Sometimes he didn’t see you for a few days and he’d have to push the disappointment out of his mind.

He trimmed his moustache and beard in the morning and gave himself a once over, feeling foolish for being so invested. It was just a way to while away an evening. He slipped his phone into his back pocket and headed out into the crisp autumn evening.

When he arrives he tries not to rubber neck too much, trying to find where you were seated. The librarian who pointed John to the studio gave him a double take. The studio was dusty and large, tall windows filtered in what light was left of the evening. There were around 20 people already sat waiting, sharpening pencils and pouring themselves small plastic glasses of wine.

John tried to ignore the feeling of disappointment when he didn’t see you. Maybe she leads the session, he thought, not really considering what she meant by “I do life drawing”. Watching the others, he grabbed cartridge paper, a pencil and charcoal from the head table. He sat at one end of the room, facing the centre were a few stools and seats covered in a towel.

“We’ll start in a few minutes, please help yourself to some wine.” A man said.

Feeling overdressed, John looks around. What am I doing here? He thought as he saw a young woman open up her sketchbook with pages of incredible drawings of people. I can draw one hell of a stick man if it all goes to shit.

John considers going up for some wine but he catches a figure in a bathrobe enter the room. There she is, but his smile drops when you enter the circle of easels.

~~~

You don’t see him but you were searching for him. You haven’t felt this nervous to pose nude since your first time. You nod at a few regulars, scanning your peripherals for your neighbour.

You slink out of your bathrobe and you decide on a standing pose with one arm above your head, legs together, poised and coy, your face looking up at the ceiling.

Is he even here? God I hope he is. Your thoughts are joined by a cacophony of pencil scribbles.

Meanwhile, John is fighting for his life. You’re facing away from him and he already dropped his pencil once. Jesus Christ, he feels bad for looking at your naked body. He swears everyone just heard him swallow. He looks to his left, a young man stares at you, then down at his sketch book and then back up at you.

John looks at how tendrils of your hair falls across your shoulders and the gentle hollow of your lower back. Your curvy hips and swollen butt have gentle shadows. He follows the lines of your body down your legs. He had imagined you naked, and he was short changing himself: you were far more beautiful, with soft skin, muscle under a layer of mass, and elegant lines he wanted to taste with his tongue.

Unfortunately all he had was a pencil.

He started drawing your shoulders, painfully aware of a tightening in his lower stomach.

Someone says there’s only a minute left for this pose and John knows he is going to need a drink. He carefully gets up and walks the short way to the wine table. He unscrews the lid with a smile, she wanted me to see this. He pours himself a small glass.

You swing your arms to get some life back into them and decide to lay across the wide stools for your next pose.

Looking ahead you see an empty seat. Your heart flips. You’re facing it as if sleeping on your side. Your breasts pushed together, nipples pebbled from the exposure. Your hip juts out but your leg hides your mound ever so slightly. You close your eyes because you know who’s footsteps you hear coming back to their easel.

You try to hold your smile in but when you open your eyes, you fail.

You see John sitting languidly on his seat, legs spread, glass of wine in his left hand, his right hand on his knee. For a moment you think what a sweetheart for wearing a nice shirt but then you take in his deep blue gaze. His eyes are darker than when you saw them in the elevator, or the post room, or the stairwell. He looks hungry, you feel like you’re the only people in the room.

You maintain eye contact with him while his eyes wander the rest of your body. It’s electric being underneath his gaze. He picks up the pencil. You see his eyes travel over your breasts, down to your stomach and past your legs, then back to your eyes.

You break eye contact, still trying to deny your smile, hoping no one else noticed who you were looking at.

~~~

“I do life drawing was a stretch.” John approaches you, passing you a glass. You’re in your casual dress now, the biggest smile on your face. You feel like you’ve been caught red handed and you revel in it.

“I may have been slightly disingenuous.” You laugh, “thank you.” You take the glass, immediately taking sips because you don’t want to talk and ruin whatever this was.

“See you next week y/n, great lines!” A young woman waves.

“Great lines!” You repeat the inside joke.

John smiles, you looked so happy, in your element.

“I’m an old man, you could’ve killed me with this stunt.” John says quietly, “you are absolutely stunning, love.” He says even more quieter, low so you have to concentrate, the world evaporating around you. His eye contact is devoted, fevered.

“I was sure you could handle it.” The wine giving you courage to look him in the eyes. “Your sketches were pretty good.” You touch his forearm.

“Bollocks.” He laughs. You enjoy how he towers over everyone in the studio, the greys in his beard more apparent as well as his thick neck, chest hairs just visible at his spread collar.

“They were pretty shit,” you laugh “why did you give me such tiny hands and feet!” You’re both laughing, giddy.

“Alright wind your neck in - I’m coming back next week, so get used to naf drawings.” He reaches out and taps your bicep, giving you a wink. You like his light and respectful touches.

“Would you consider posing nude? You’d be very welcome from the usual men we get.” You say quietly.

“Is that so?” He waits for you to dig your ditch deeper.

“Mmm hmm.”

“Older? Greyer?” He teases.

“I prefer built and distinguished.” You tease back, disarming him with your clothes on, for a change.

“Any excuse to get my kit off, ey.” He teases, quietly.

“I asked nicely.” You sass him back quietly, hyper aware of the people topping up their glasses nearby.

“Can I walk you home?” He asks, waiting again for your go-ahead, knowing you’d be walking in the same direction anyway.

“I’d love that.” You say, heart hammering in your chest.

You left the stragglers in the studio and walked into autumn night side by side laughing about something. John felt light, unburdened and content. You were feeling emboldened but nervous, you didn’t want the night to end but you had a feeling John was not one to push, he seemed old school and traditional.

You both reached the fifth floor landing, finishing a story about his job taking him to the Adriatic Sea.

“Y/n, I’m going to be away for the next few days,” your heart sinks, “but when I know my schedule, I’d love to take you out, you know, the proper way.”

“Proper way?”

“Clothes on.” He said while standing straighter like a drill sergeant. You burst out laughing, blushing at your own audacity of inviting him to the session. You were never very good at flirting.

“I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“You’re right about that.” His eyes smile. You want to fall into them.

There’s a pause and you reach out on tiptoes, you kiss him lightly on his cheek, his hands are light and fleeting on your waist.

“Goodnight, love.”

Once you’re in your flat, you wave at him through the gap in the door, of course he’d wait to see me indoors safe, and why did I bloody wave?! You lock your door and quietly squeal, feeling the ghost of his hands and gaze on you.

John drops his keys on the kitchen counter and leans against it, laughing. She’s something else, he thinks. He unbuttons his shirt, knowing he’s going to need a cold shower if he wants to get a wink of sleep tonight.

#captain price x female reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #cod fanfic #john price x female reader #john price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price

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evergreenfields · 2 months

Text

John Price is your neighbour and you invite him to a life drawing session.

Little does he know you’re the nude model.

I’ll be posting this one soon.

Here it is. Sorry it took so long, life has kicked me in my ass.

#captain price x female reader #captain price x y/n #captain price x you #john price x female reader #john price x y/n #john price x you #cod fanfic #john price smut

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evergreenfields · 2 months

Text

Panties and Parties

John makes you jealous. You make him pay by only letting him watch. (Shorter version, longer version is here.)

Pairing: Captain Price x fem!reader

Rating: mature, explicit, MDNI

Warnings: voyeurism, mutual stuff, panty sniffing, smutty AF. NSFW under the cut.

You wiled away the last hour of the party in a sour and short mood. The attention John got from the women at the party put you in a foul mood. Once the drawn out goodbyes were done, you and John waited for the driver.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” John puffs his cigar, taking short drags, the end pulsing orange.

“Why not ask your new friend?”

He grunts an affirmative.

“These events are bullshit but they go a long way if I just play the role. And that includes having to be interested in some generals’ daughters’ non profit organisation. I couldn’t give a single fuck,” he turns to you “but I need to look like I do.”

“I get it, you’re at work, it just doesn’t look like you are.” You drawl. “And she was so annoying.”

“That she was.”

Price opens the taxi door and helps you in, closing the door once you were all in. He fills the back seat, his dress pants are neatly ironed, his legs spread. He’s deliberately touching your leg. He thinks he’s in the clear.

John gives the driver the address, his face awash in the vibrant colours of the city, neon lights separated by dark alley ways fill your window.

You wriggle around in the seat, you look like you’re adjusting your dress.

“Lucky for you I didn’t make an idiot of myself.” You touch him high on his thigh. “Or you.” He lets out the most imperceptible grunt.

“I was in the firing line a few times…” he side eyes you.

“Was? You still are.” You feel his cock hardening under your inquisitive palm. You’re looking out the window, he can only see your cheekbones, the dangly earrings he bought you reflecting what little light there was.

“I know it wasn’t the best night. Thank you for not going ballistic on her. Or me.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” You squeeze his cock.

“Well I don’t know if I deserve this.” He says quietly, eyes hooded.

“You don’t.” You let go of his clothed hard on and when he looks down, he sees you’ve left your black lace thong on his lap. You had pushed down with your thong and the wetness had left a slight smear on his trousers.

You can hear his breathing, heavy and punctuated, he shoots a look to the unaware driver and then pockets the fabric, clearing his throat.

“Sweethear-” he starts.

You shush him, your finger goes from your pouted lips to his pulsing cock.

When you arrive at John’s flat, you admire how he surreptitiously adjusts his cock, an impressive feat for one so well endowed in tight dress pants.

He pays the driver and you petulantly wait for him to open the car door for you. You were in this role too deeply to let up now.

“Darling.” He groans when you cup his manhood as he leads you from the car.

Your heels click in the cool night and John follows you dutifully into the elevator. You run your hands through his thick hair, roughing it up.

You walk ahead of him and when you get to his door, you lean against it and face him, you watch him walk towards you with the keys.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grits out, missing the keyhole several times because you pulled your dress straps down to expose your swollen breasts.

He’s large enough to cover you so his neighbours across the hall don’t get a free view, he slams the key in and you both tumble into the hall way.

He holds you firmly by your hips and pushes his cock against you, kissing you desperately, feverishly.

You pull away from the kiss and his hands with some effort, you gesture for him to follow you.

“Don’t take that off.”

“You want me to fuck you in the uniform, darling?” He smirks, his accent getting stronger. On any other given day, you would have said yes. But tonight was different.

“Something like that, take a seat.” You point to the arm chair that was in the corner of the master bedroom, some 2 meters away from the foot of the bed. Thinking he’s about to get some lap action, he relaxes into the seat, legs spread invitingly.

He moans as you place one of your shoes onto his thigh, the sole digging in ever so slightly. He quickly undoes the finicky little buckle. You repeat this with your other foot but you dig it in harder. You run your hand in his hair again and wrench his head back. You get in his face, he smells like expensive scotch and cologne. You’re sure the woman smelled this too and felt the same pulse in her clit.

“You don’t get to touch.”

“What?” He laughs dryly.

“You don’t get to touch me or yourself.” He’s still holding your shoes, dumbly staring as you climb onto the large bed by yourself and lay on your back, kneading your breasts.

“Darlin’.” He laughs, incredulous at your vindictiveness. He really thought he was going to get it easy tonight.

You make eye contact with him as you pull your dress over your hips, legs spread open. You run your fingers down and then up your swollen slit, a deep shivered sigh leaves your lips. A sigh leaves his lips at the same time.

You push two fingers in. Head thrown back. Other hand digging into the duvet. Sweat glistens on your cleavage.

You hear John swear and the leather creak as he adjusts himself in his seat. His suit jacket is open haphazardly as it’s not meant to be worn unbuttoned, his opened collar exposing a hint of dark chest hair and a thick sweaty neck. His polished smart shoes glint in the low light.

You raise your hand up towards him: your slick glistens on your fingers. He whimpers. Swears. Breathes out.

“Oh fuck.” You moan out as you bring your hand back down to you rub your clit, toes curling.

“F’fucks sake y/n.” He grunts up at the ceiling, he sounds angry but you know it’s his self control beating against the self imposed bars.

You then get onto your knees and shuck the dress over your head, throwing it aside, you’re pretty sure you heard a seam rip. You bounce on an invisible cock and mewl, John watches your tits move, nipples like diamonds.

“Fucking hell, y/n I need you.” John groans.

You lean over to the dresser on your side of the bed, pushing your ass out so he can suffer some more. You unzip a bag and out comes your vibrator. It’s close to John’s size, a very deliberate purchase. You love that his pupils are blown out, a ring of icy blue stares back at you in need.

You fall on to your back again and your glistening, sopping cunt needs no prep, you rub the toy along your slit and then smoothly push it into yourself, right down to the hilt, a guttural moan joins the wet noises in the room.

He had also pulled something out; your thong. He unfolds it, struggling to find the gusset and marvels at the wet patch with a moan and half lidded eyes, heavy with need.

“Y/n, please,” his voice sounds muffled and when you look over to see why, you’re enlightened by the sight of your thong to his nose. His lips are parted and he grips his cock through his trousers as best he can. He is incoherent with your scent.

“Please y/n, y’want me to beg? Fuck.” A rasp.

You plunge the toy in and out of yourself. It wasn’t anything like the pneumatic pace John usually gave you, but it was hitting the spot. You chased your high with your other hand on your clit, ignoring John’s pleas.

You feel that familiar pressure in your stomach, it’s coiling and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“I’m close John,” you rasp, “I want you to cum for me.” You manage to moan out between pants, forearms aching from the movement.

He wastes no time in unzipping his trousers and pushing them down. He pulls the waistband of his boxers down and his girthy cock flops out angrily, smearing a ludicrous amount of precum on his jacket. You wonder for a moment if he already came. The sigh that leaves his lips when he wraps his hand around himself is primordial, he lets out a full body shudder.

His left hand grips his thigh, you see his broad and bulky shoulders moving in rhythm with his right hand, he stares at you like you’re prey. You moan at his untethered lust. He won’t last long.

He bares his teeth for a flash of a moment, you see a canine in the low light while he pumps his cock furiously. He grunts out your name and he comes with a jerk, hips bucking, pearly ropes of cum hit his chest, landing on his jacket.

You watch unashamedly and immediately your moans get higher in pitch as you hit your peak, calling out his name and gasping. Your pussy convulses and you shudder. You pull the toy out completely with a husky moan and leave it where it lands, panting into the now silent room.

You laugh as you try to lift your head up, John is an absolute mess, his turgid cock twitching against his stomach as he laughs with you.

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you take that to the drycleaners,” you chuckle, out of breath, throat dry.

All you hear is an equally parched “for fucks sake.”

#captain price #john price cod #john price smut #captain price x female reader #captain price x you #captain price x y/n #captain price x reader #john price x you #john price x female reader #john price x y/n #john price x reader #cod fanfic

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evergreenfields · 2 months

Text

Panties and Parties

John makes you jealous. You make him pay.

Pairing: Captain Price x fem!reader, established relationship.

Rating: mature, explicit, MDNI.

Warnings: voyeurism, mutual stuff, teasing, panty sniffing, smut.

Image credit @yumethefrostypanda - the expression is everything and Price saying “for fuck sake” to Farah is also everything. Enjoy!

~~~

You know you shouldn’t blame John for the attention he gets, especially when he’s in his ceremonial clothes, beret included, at a party with dignitaries and decorated military men. But you couldn’t help clench your jaw when that woman kept laughing at his shitty jokes, touching the medals on his chest and leaning into him, her breasts served on a silver platter.

“That dress isn’t regulation, maybe if it was camouflage, love.” John laughs with her, answering her inane question. She smacks his bicep playfully. You let that be your exit to get a drink. You sashayed away confidently but John caught you turning to look back at him.

You’re simmering at the bar. You ask for 2 single whiskeys, no ice, neat. You dig your heel into the floor, tensing your thigh, trying to squeeze out the tension.

You were in a slinky midi dress with a cowl neck which fell along your cleavage beautifully. You went bra-less for the silhouette and your breasts moved hypnotically with the fabric. Clearly not hypnotic enough for John. You tongue your top teeth, you have a plan to make him regret it.

You don’t bother flirting with the bartender, there is only one man you want at your feet, and he’s currently at risk of being under your boot.

When you re-enter the circle of conversation, you see John already has a new drink.

“Sorry lov-“ he starts, lifting his new drink, another scotch provided by you know who, and quickly, she must have flagged down a passing waiter.

“Why waste good whiskey?” You say nonchalantly as you pour the now-spare whiskey into one glass. You hear Soap beside you say “nice” and he helpfully takes the empty glass. You’re sure you saw the woman grimace. John leans in and puts a hand around your waist, you don’t react, you just drink. From the corner of your eye, across him, you see the woman standing way to close to him.

You wiled away the last hour in a sour and short mood. Once the drawn out goodbyes were done, you and John waited for the driver, Soap left half an hour before you.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” John puffs his cigar, taking short drags, the end pulsing orange.

“Why not ask your new friend?”

He grunts an affirmative.

“These events are bullshit but they go a long way if I just play the role. And that includes having you looking stunning, entertaining those old bastards.” He takes a drag. “And me being interested in some generals’ daughters’ non profit organisation is part of it. I couldn’t give a single fuck,” he turns to you “but I need to look like I do.”

“I get it, you’re at work, it just doesn’t look like you are.” You drawl. “And she was so annoying.”

“That she was.” John nods as the car pulls up and helps you in.

He fills the back seat, his dress pants are neatly ironed, his legs spread. He’s deliberately touching your leg. He thinks he’s in the clear.

John gives the driver the address, his face awash in the vibrant colours of the city, neon lights separated by dark alley ways fill your window.

You wriggle around in the seat, you look like you’re adjusting your dress and then your shoes.

“Lucky for you I didn’t make an idiot of myself.” You place your hand high on his thigh. “Or you.” Your hand finds what it’s looking for. He lets out the most imperceptible grunt.

“I was in the firing line a few times…” he side eyes you.

“I know it wasn’t the best night. Thank you for not going ballistic on her. Or me.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” You squeeze his cock.

“Well I don’t know if I deserve this.” He says quietly, eyes hooded.

You can hear his breathing, heavy and punctuated, he shoots a look to the unaware driver and then pockets the fabric, clearing his throat.

“Sweethear-“ he starts.

You shush him, your hand goes from your pouted lips to his pulsing cock. He knows he’s in for a ride with your attitude.

When you arrive at John’s flat, you admire how he surreptitiously adjusts his cock, an impressive feat for one so well endowed in tight dress pants.

He pays the driver and you petulantly wait for him to open the car door for you. You were in this role too deeply to let up now.

“Darling.” He groans when you cup his manhood as he leads you from the car.

Your heels click in the cool night and John follows you dutifully into the elevator. You rub your hands through his thick hair, roughing it up.

You walk ahead of him and when you get to his door, you turn and lean against it so you face him, you watch him walk towards you with the keys.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grits out, missing the keyhole several times because you pulled your dress straps down to expose your swollen breasts.

He’s large enough to cover you so his neighbours across the hall don’t get a free view, he slams the key in and you both tumble into the hallway.

He pulls your hips into his and presses his cock against you, kissing you desperately.

You pull away from the kiss and his hands with some effort, you gesture for him to follow you.

“Don’t take that off.” You commanded. You wondered if this was what it was like being Captain Price at work.

“You want me to fuck you in the uniform, darling?” He smirks, his accent getting stronger, voice heavy with desire.

On any other given day, you would have said yes. But tonight was different.

“You don’t get to touch.”

“What?” He laughs dryly.

“You don’t get to touch me or yourself.” He’s still holding your shoes, dumbly staring as you climb onto the large bed by yourself and lay on your back, kneading your breasts.

“Darlin’.” He laughs, incredulous at your vindictiveness. He really thought he was going to get it easy tonight. His eyes rove over your most intimate areas, he’s never this far away from them. Seeing you from this angle makes his nerves sting. He needs you.

You make eye contact with him as you pull your dress over your hips, knees spread open. You run your fingers down and then up your swollen slit, a deep shivered sigh leaves your lips. A sigh leaves his lips at the same time.

You push two fingers in. Head thrown back. Other hand digging into the duvet. Sweat glistens on your cleavage.

You raise your hand up towards him: your slick glistens on your fingers. He whimpers. Swears. Breathes out.

“Oh fuck.” You moan out as you bring your hand back down to you rub your clit, toes curling.

“F’fucks sake y/n.” He grunts up at the ceiling, he sounds angry but you know it’s his self control beating against the self imposed bars.

“Fucking hell, y/n I need you.” John groans, rubbing his beard, his hand staying in front of his mouth, as if to stop himself from begging.

You lean over to the dresser on your side of the bed, pushing your ass out so he can suffer some more. You unzip a bag and out comes your vibrator. You don’t turn it on, you want it to feel like him. It’s close to John’s size, a very deliberate purchase. You love that his pupils are blown out, a ring of icy blue stares back at you in need.

He had also pulled something out; your thong. He unfolds it, struggling to find the gusset and marvels at the wet patch with a moan and half lidded eyes, heavy with need.

“Please y/n, y’want me to beg? Fuck.” A rasp.

You feel that familiar pressure in your stomach, it’s coiling and your breathing hitches in your throat. John can see you’re close, your rhythm falters. He swears when he sees white smears along the toys length, wanting to be as deep inside of you as the toy was.

“I’m close John,” you rasp, “I want you to cum for me.” You manage to moan out between pants, forearms aching from the movement.

His left hand grips his thigh, you see his broad and bulky shoulders moving in rhythm with his right hand, he stares at you like you’re prey. You moan at his untethered lust. He won’t last long.

You watch unashamed and immediately your moans get higher in pitch as you hit your peak, calling out his name and gasping. Your pussy convulses and you shudder. You pull the toy out completely with a husky moan and leave it where it lands, panting into the now silent room.

You laugh as you try to lift your head up, John is an absolute mess, his turgid cock twitching against his stomach as he laughs with you.

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you take that to the drycleaners,” you chuckle, out of breath, throat dry.

All you hear is an equally parched “for fuck sake.”

Price is not having it.

#captain price x female reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #john price x female reader #john price x you #captain price x you #captain price x y/n #john price x y/n #captain price smut #cod fanfic #cod smut

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evergreenfields · 2 months

Note

Do you think you’ll grow the fic into a series?

I’m already working on the next chapter! I don’t think it will be too long though. Thanks for asking, I’m super new to posting fics!

And here is the next chapter, I hope you likey!

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evergreenfields · 2 months

Text

Yours Truly, A Hostage - Part 1

Part 2 here.

My first fic, inspired by the Picadilly mission cutscene. Captain Price pushing that guy over a railing is my love language.

Pairing: Captain Price x Fem!reader during the events of Piccadilly, MW1 (2019)

You’re a hostage that gets rescued by the Captain and you’re both absolute flirts.

Rating: Mature. MDNI.

~~~

Bruised, bloodied, scared and hyper alert, you had only wanted to get a new sports bra and some white trainer socks. Instead you were in pain and strapped into an explosive vest.

You had managed to painfully wriggle your arms from behind you, the men had only bound your arms with tape. They had torn your shirt off and forgotten to click the lock shut of the strappy-homemade bomb vest, but you still struggled to get out of it.

You lie on the floor and turned your head side ways and digging your heels into the floor in an attempt to shimmy out from underneath it.

You hear heavy boots run into the room and you freeze, playing dead.

“All clear! We’re here to help!”

“Wait wait!” you shout “I’m down here!”

You jump when the gruff voice is suddenly closer to you, “stay still,” he commands, “you’re hard to miss looking like that,” comes out softer, you thought you heard a chuckle.

You feel movement on the vest.

“It’s stuck on 57 seconds, Captain.” A younger voice says, you feel movement on your vest.

“I- they didn’t lock the lock.” You say, overwhelmed, arms waving at the wrong party of the vest.

“Stop, keep your arms up.” The gruffer one says, it’s soothing like a whisper to get back into bed in the early morning.

“Sorry yes.” You breathe out, arms going slack.

“Gaz grab the vest, what’s your name love?”

“Y/n” you breath, voice muffled by being under the vest.

“Right, y/n, I’m going to hold you by your waist, keep your arms loose for me.” He smelled like oak and blown out matches.

You feel gloved hands on your waist on your skin. Your top is rucked up so you feel the hands on your skin are big and strong. And warm. Through the gloves. You tell yourself your face is red because of the exertion.

You feel hands tug the straps of the vest.

“I only wanted to buy a sports bra and some socks and next you know I’m strapped into a fucking bomb vest. I dropped my stuff too, you guys have no idea how hard it is to find a decent sports bra. Shittiest Tuesday ever.” You say filling the silence with a dose of self deprecating humour. You hear them chuckle, you try not to enjoy making your saviours laugh too much, it sounded like an unhealthy coping mechanism.

“Right, pull.” Light enters your eyes and the vest is gone. You immediately wipe the hair out of your face and instinctively pull your top down, not knowing how far it got dragged up. Looking up you see an older man on his haunches, dressed to the nines with webbing and tactical gear. He’s imposing but the smile on his face disarms you immediately. He’s painfully handsome under all the gear. Blood rushes to your face. You can see broad shoulders hugged by his holsters. You’re panting and can see your own chest rise and fall, accentuated by wearing a bra that’s a size too small. You feel like you’re spilling over.

He holds his hand out and you take it a little too fast, he doesn’t stand you up, he only gets you up right, checking you over for injuries.

“You alright?” He says, searching your face, I am now. His eyes are blue and intense, you see a beauty spot on his nose. You feel warm under his gaze. Your don’t know if it’s the adrenaline and the intensity but you feel like you’re under a spotlight, at a crossroads. You didn’t feel brave all afternoon, you felt scared and helpless. Now you were saved and that had to mean something, especially when it was him. The gravity of the event would not dawn on you until you got home and watched the news at night in your flat, but at this moment, you felt like you were part of something so much bigger than yourself with people who were, too.

“Yes, thank you, thank you both,” your hand is on your chest, your heart is hammering, you turn to face the younger man with the soft brown eyes.

“Don’t mention it ma’am.” The younger man says, his eyes flicker from you to the older man, who you assumed was his boss. You see a flash of acknowledgment and he walks away after a beat. The air was electric and expectant, like a rubber band being pulled - but not released. Only getting tauter and tighter. You hope you weren’t the only one feeling it.

You were alone with him now.

“Are you in charge? Like Captain? Or commander?”

“Captain. Call me John.” He gets up, his massive gun hanging near his thigh. He puts his hand out again to get you standing.

“Now the exquisite facial hair makes sense. Least shittiest Tuesday ever.” You declare with a nod. You feel eager. You feel like you’d be letting something go if you didn’t say something.

“You’re too kind.” He chuckles and you enjoy his laughter lines. You almost feel bad for maintaining eye contact, you swore you could see pink in his cheeks. You enjoy how effortlessly he pulls you up. You wonder what he looks like under the top.

“Sorry about your socks, love.” He says softly in his gruff voice, you feel rebuffed and embarrassed. You smile and shrug, hoping he hasn’t noticed your attempts at flirting. Let the man do his job and go home. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve read signals wrong.

“No biggie,” You quickly say to dismiss the conversation entirely, brushing yourself down so you don’t have to look at him anymore, especially now you could see his narrow waist and thick muscular thighs.

“And about your lingerie.” You don’t see the band get tighter, you’re too busy trying to hide your face by bending over to dust off your jeans.

“Sports bra actually.” You say with a sigh, still dusting yourself off.

“Sorry I was thinking lingerie.” The band is pulled further. Translucent with the stretch. Your brain isn’t firing all its cylinders, limbless with the opportunity.

You immediately bounce up, unfolding yourself, “You don’t make mistakes,” you say with a smile erupting onto your face, you were never particularly subtle or mysterious.

“I don’t.” He smiles, eyes twinkling.

You don’t miss a beat.

“27 Evergreen Street, Eastfields.” You say.

You’re level now, looking him in the eye, but he towers over you.

“27 Evergreen Street, Eastfields.” He repeats, his eyebrows knitted in patient bemusement.

“You can show me what you were thinking.”

~~~

You’re out on the cold wet streets blasted by lights from dozens of emergency vehicles. You’re being waved down by a paramedic, she’s leading you into the seat at the back of the ambulance. She’s checking your vitals but you can only think about John with his gloved hands tucked into the neck of his vest, his gaze unwavering, shifting weight from one leg to the other. His phone on the new contact screen, handing it over to you saying “does tomorrow work for you, love?”

——

Part 2 - Tea for Two

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