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reveluving · 5 months

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Hii!

I was just thinking Price with a wife who is insecure about her body because of things like stretch marks or chub finally working up the courage to do something like lingerie or naughty photos as a surprise for him ;D

Hi!! OMG. SWEATING. As someone who has stretch marks and a little 'cushion' here and there, plus is also a big fan of this trope(?), this thot is CALLING me! 😩🤌🏻

Includes: soft dom!price, unprotected sex (p in v), finger-sucking, size difference, petnames ('pretty girl', 'sweetheart'), mentions of lap dance/strip tease

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

No matter which lingerie suits your fancy, just know it will give your husband a heart attack.

Why wouldn’t it? He already loves you for who you are—you can do the most mundane things and he’ll stare. A lot. You could be wearing anything, even if you think it doesn’t suit you, and he’d have to fight the urge to just have you for himself, be it at home or in public.

So, you want to thank your husband for being the hunky sweetheart that he is.

He wouldn’t be home until a few hours, giving you enough time to execute your plan.

Hiding the lingerie you bought days prior is one thing, posing for the camera is another. The thought of having your ass up, face down or the strap of your bra or babydoll fall off your shoulders in front of the lens just causes your body to heat up immensely, even if it's just you. Possibly because it’s your first time taking photos of yourself in such a deliciously scandalous manner, but it also could’ve been due to the fact that you know exactly how John is going to react to them.

Especially since you’re planning to gift these polaroids for when he needs to leave for work—with no way to have you with him except for these priceless photos, specifically made for his eyes and use only.

But three polaroids aren’t enough for him to survive the field without you.

Because as soon as he comes home to find these photos on the table, placed under his hat for his next deployment in the near future, expect to hear heavy footsteps approaching the bedroom, where you’re likely waiting for him—being struck dumb to find you sitting prettily on the bed in your new piece.

His eyes are blown out, and you can’t help but gulp when he closes the door behind him too calmly before walking over to you. The way he stalks over to you ever so slowly prompts you to crawl back. Not because you’re scared, but you had to admit, your heart’s beating wildly, even more so when he begins taking off his clothes without uttering a word.

Your nails dig into the sheets when you have nowhere to go, feeling the headboard against your back as he traps you from the front—resembling a predator hunting its prey.

“John…” You mutter, letting out a shaky sigh as he slides his hand up your leg, biting his lip at the sight; the stockings/garter belt squeezing the plush of your thighs just enough to drive him wild. He doesn’t even give you a second to utter his name once again when he yanks you forward, with John on his knees as he holds you to sit on his thighs, forcing you to look down at him.

“S’a really nice piece, sweetheart,” He purrs, his voice telling you that he’s holding himself back from just fucking you. He licks on the deep cleavage, the small, thin material leaving little to his imagination as it barely covers your tits, all while maintaining eye contact as a guttural groan leaves his lips. One of his hands moves to your front, playing with the hem of your stocking/garter belt, pulling it back before releasing it. His lips part in delight, almost mirroring the way you gasp as the tight material slaps against you with a light smack, “Is this all f’me?”

You nodded with the tiniest whine, holding onto him like he was your lifeline.

Ignoring the dampness of your panties was useless since you knew he could feel it against his thigh. His stare becomes too much for you, and you can’t do anything else other than rest your forehead against his, feeling his warm breath against you just as he feels yours and begging him to have you.

And how can he say no to you?

Especially since you’ve been a good girl at posing for him as he takes countless photos of you on the polaroids—from the more ‘innocent ones’ like having you drool on his fingers (“Suck on them real good. That’s it, my pretty girl”) to the lewder displays, where he has you on your side, taking you from behind before taking a picture or two your pussy tightly gripping and leaking around the base of his cock.

Now he knows he won’t be alone in his next deployment.

Bonus: Him asking you for a lap dance or a strip tease for him as he sits all smug at the edge of the bed or the bedroom chair. He does this thing where he throws his head back and bucks his hips when you rub yourself against him. Yes.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

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sirenmoth · 23 days

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please don’t come for me but why does john price remind me of the once-ler?

IM SORRY BUT

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koisuko · 11 days

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Imagine:

Price is home for a vacation with the love of his life, and what better to spend that time than to spoil his pretty little prince/princess.

TW: (legal) age gap, sugar daddy Price, fem implied reader, pet names

Money had never really been an issue for Price, he made enough to get by and then some, it was just a matter of time to spend it that he had a hard time getting. An issue of who to spend it on also often came up, he had everything he needed, so why would he spend it on anything but essentials? Price was never really the materialistic type, he indulged in wants here and there, but he had far more important things to look after, aka you.

Price: check your PayPal, get yourself something nice for tonight princess. :)

He hit send, feeling a sense of pride well up in his chest, crawling up to curl his lips in a satisfied smile. Now, back to the task at hand. One final fold and it’s perfect, a neatly wrapped gift for his baby. He glanced at the clock, 4 pm, he’s still got time to kill. And he knows just how to spend that time. First things first, he needs a damn haircut. All those years in the military, he never really cared much about his appearance. Not to say he wasn’t clean, he just threw the little things out the window, opting to worry about the more important tasks at hand. However, he’s about to go on a nice date with his arm candy, to a brand new expensive restaurant.

It’s been way too long since Price even looked at the suit in his closet. Being in special forces, he never really had many romantic opportunities, nor was he interested in them. But now, he had a sweet little thing to show off. He needs to at least try to put himself together, for you of course. He wondered if the suit even still fit, or if it was still in good enough shape to wear. His thoughts were cut short by a notification on his phone.

y/n: thanks daddy, I’ll spend it well. See you tonight! ;)

Price couldn’t hold back the grin that spread across his battle hardened features, his pearly whites sparkling beneath his signature mustache. The familiar sensation of excitement bubbled beneath his skin at the response, something he rarely felt, and hasn’t for a long while aside from the adrenaline in battle. But this was a different kind of excitement, not the type that would leave him further immune to the sight of death, but the kind that made him genuinely smile.

A/N: lost motivation for this one, so here’s what I had!

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god-complex-12 · 2 months

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Atychiphobia II

— Paring; Cpt. John Price x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II

Atychiphobia: (n.) fear of failure; fear of not being good enough

Quote; “When you repent, you make a promise to turn away from the sin… abandon it. But, Jonathan… you are my sin, and I am incapable of abandoning my love for you.”

Disclaimer; Mention of religion. Reader is an Angel. Religious based. Christianity. Talks of sinning. Reader is a fallen Angel. Descriptions of pain and blood. Not an accurate representation of Christianity. God is referred to as “father” and is depicted as slightly cruel. Kissing. Crying. Praying. Begging for forgiveness. Religious trauma. Tending to wounds. Reader is in the bath. John helps Y/N in the bath.

Word Count: 1.0k

Masterlist; part I

A/N: Please note that I do not believe this is how God truly is, this is for the sake of entertainment purposes only.

John is speechless as he stares at the torn and bloodied skin of his comrade. It’s revolting. Though this is nowhere near the worst John has ever seen, what brings him to a shake is what used to be in its place. Wings? No, that couldn’t be possible. Y/N had never had wings. Heaven and hell existed? John isn’t sure if that was something he wished was confirmed. He’s damned. But so is Y/N. Damned because of him, perhaps.

John gently poured the disinfectant onto the massive wounds. Y/N shuddered and sobbed. He wasn’t used to pain. Suddenly he felt unmeasurably weak. He’s mortal. This wasn’t fair. Since when was love a sin? And why was the punishment so cruel? Y/N’s fists balled, and his jaw clenched.

“Relax.” John whispered in the softest voice his gruff voice could manage. “It’ll pass.” He gently washed the dry blood from Y/N’s back. The warm water stung horribly, making Y/N tremble more. He sobbed silently into his hands. John was overwhelmed, but he didn’t let that stop him from taking care of the now man in front of him.

John dried his hands off on the towel next to him. He heard Y/N begin to whisper as he opened the box of medical supplies next to him. He knew what he was doing. “Y/N, stop.” He said sternly. However, Y/N did not stop. He continued to whisper to himself like a mad man. Whispering what, both of them knew, was a prayer that would fall on deaf ears. “Shh,” John shushed, “please.” He ran his hand over Y/N’s bare shoulder, he gently pushed the fallen angel a bit forward to gain better access to his wounds.

Padding the area with a cloth, Y/N made a pained noise and began praying more vigorously. John dried the area, and he wrapped Y/N’s torso in plaster. “He forgives all,” John whispered, “but why not you?” He pulled the sobbing soldier back towards him.

“Because I can’t seem to make a change.” He wiped his useless tears, getting a handful of water and drawing his flushed face. His voice trembles, as does his body. “When you repent, you make a promise to turn away from the sin… abandon it. But, Jonathan… you are my sin, and I am incapable of abandoning my love for you.”

“Your holy position is more important than man’s attention, is it not?”

“No.” Y/N said firmly. “Not when that man is you. I am a disgrace for committing the blasphemous act of loving one more than my creator. Not only have I chosen man over God, but I have committed a sacrilege act in allowing lust to cloud my faith.”

“Lust?” John questioned. “Do you mean this is all just lust?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and he spun around, water sloshing over the side of the tub. His wet hands grab John’s knee in an act of desperation. “No, no. This is love. I love you more than anything, and that is a problem. I am referring to the time we’ve gone farther than just touching hands. That was lust.”

“Was it?” John asked, his hand gently trailing up the side of the Fallen Angel’s neck, pushing around the wet strands of hair that clung to Y/N’s skin. “Because I didn’t sleep with you for the sake of your body.” He leaned closer. “I did it for the sake of love. The passion. I hold myself back, so when it happens, it feels even better.”

“That is why we are supposed to wait till marriage bonds us, though even then, Father would not be accepting of devious acts unless it is to reproduce… which I am unable to do either with man or woman.”

“This isn’t about his rules. This is about you and me. I don’t care about his incorrect judgment, and neither should you. His judgment only brought you immense pain. Should you still speak highly of a God who causes you only suffering?”

Y/N was stunned for a moment, stumbling to find the right words, but the pain, overwhelming reality, the closeness of their lips, it made his mind bug out. “I- He did not only cause me suffering. He has also given me life!” He sat on his knees. “If not for his orders, we would have never met!”

“Then why does he punish you when he was the one who caused us to love?” A silence engulfs them. Y/N is speechless, and he feels his breath quicken with each passing second. It’s all too much. His chest feels heavy, and he feels as though someone had covered his face with a pillow and watched him squirm around for a pocket of air. “Let us love without him, Y/N. Let me love you.”

“Okay,” Y/N whispered, almost inaudibly.

Suddenly, John’s lips find Y/N’s, leaning down in his seat as he kisses Y/N with a tenderness he’s never held before. John can help but keep leaning forward, if not for his own gear, he would just go ahead and get in the bath as well.

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isabella-kr · 1 year

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Hi 👋

I haven't ever requested anything before and I don't know what exactly to dodo I hope this is okay.

I like price the best but I'd be fine with anyone.... Or everyone if that a thing. I'd like a Female reader

So the idea is based off one of my insecurities. I'm a virgin which at my age isn't super common and I also have never been able to have an orgasm myself due to being unable to relax.

What if a reader had the same circumstances and one of the boys find out and helps, y'know.

Love you 💗

Hello, lovely!! Thank you so much for the request! I would just like to say that you don't need to be insecure about that <3 Everyone moves at their own speeds and that's okay! Love you, too!!

First Time

I do not give permission for this work to be reposted or translated.

Synopsis: It was meant to be a simple evening spent at a pub, but as their conversations strayed, it turned into much more than that. Neither of them could have expected it to end the way it did.

Pairing: John Price x Female!Captain!Reader

Genre: Fluff & Smut. Mature content. 18+ only

Warnings: Swearing, slight alcohol consumption, description of male and female anatomy, talk of masturbation, driving after drinking (Please don't drink and drive!!!), smut, praise, body worship, fingering, cunnilingus, penetrative sex, p in v, protected sex, after care

Word Count: 4.4 k

Note: This was proofread, but my eyes hurt from looking at the screen so there might be some mistakes. Sorry about that!!

General Masterlist I COD:MWII Masterlist

GIF not mine

The sound of glasses clinking against one another echoed in the small booth they had found themselves in. The pub was uncharacteristically quiet, only a handful of chattering civilians and humming workers filling up the place.

Perhaps visiting in the middle of the week had its perks. They did not have to deal with loud teenagers celebrating their 18th Birthday, oh so happy they could finally buy themselves a pint of beer. There was no ear-piercing yelling, no obnoxious laughter, and no cheering that followed the sound of a glass smashing against the hardwood floor.

It was peaceful. Quiet. Relaxing in a way.

The past few weeks had exhausted her to the bone. After a mission almost gone wrong, the days were nothing but constant meetings and paperwork that had her hand cramping every few minutes. Her eyes were begging for a break, stinging in the corners as they dried up from exertion.

Her head felt heavy, and the sweet alcoholic drink she sipped on every couple of minutes only seemed to be making it worse. Her cheek pressed against the palm of her hand and her eyes fell shut on their own accord. A sharp exhale passed her lips, followed by a quiet murmur, “I think I might go on extended leave.”

The burly man in front of her hummed, his own tiredness getting the better of him as he took sips of his beer. “Think I might, too.”

“Yeah?” she opened an eye to peak at her co-worker, “What’re you gonna do?”

“Sleep,” was his answer, and she couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle, “You?”

She shrugged, rolling her shoulders and moving back to lean against the soft backrest, “The same probably,” she admitted, “Maybe go on a walk or two.”

He moved forward, leaning against the wooden table and rubbing his coarse fingers against his face, “Don’t have anyone waiting for you?” he questioned curiously.

She shook her head in a reply, “Never had.”

“Never?”

“Never. You?”

“Used to,” he muttered, his voice deep, “A couple times. Never worked out.”

She sent him a smile which told him she understood. “Away too much?”

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I don’t hold it against them. I’d get sick of waiting, too.”

There was a pause. His eyes were transfixed on hers, as if contemplating his next words. He swirled the beer around in his glass and took a large swig.

“What do you mean by never?” he asked with curious eyes, continuing to speak upon noticing her confused gaze, “Never anything serious? Was it just like a... fleeting summer fling?” he gestured with his hands, the curiosity pulling him out of his tired state.

She almost rolled her eyes in response. “No, John. By never I mean never. As in I’ve never been with anyone in any way, shape or form.”

Silence. A blink. She could almost see the gears turning in his head.

Surprise was the first emotion she saw on his face. Perhaps she should have expected this. No-one really expects someone her age to still be a virgin. Not that it never happened, clearly, it was just uncommon. She could only blame it on her tired brain; it was rare for her to truly speak her mind. Under any other circumstances, she would have simply said, ‘it never got serious’, or ‘it didn’t work out.’

“Anything?” he tilted his head to the side.

“I never really had the time, John,” she replied, her tone suddenly defensive, “This job is basically my entire life.”

He put his hands up in mock defence, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “Not shaming you,” he defended, “Just surprised is all.”

“Too old to be a virgin I guess... but from what I heard from other women; I’m not exactly missing anything.”

He laughed, his eyes creasing in the corners before he took the last swig of his beer, “Guess you can do a better job yourself.”

She could feel her cheeks heating up at his words. Her eyes immediately left his as she looked away, “God, this is awkward.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, it is, John. It’s embarrassing.”

“How?” he hummed, resting his arm on the backrest of the booth, “We’re just two adults sharing stories. Nothing to be ashamed of, really.”

“You’re making me wish I was back at the base.” she retaliated.

He almost snorted, “Alright, alright, I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.”

A pause.

Of course, He didn’t drop it. “D’you ever think about it?”

“John.”

“Just wondering,” he said, but when her cold gaze reached his warm one, he let out a defeated sigh, “Alright, lets change the subject.”

Despite his willingness to speak about something else, she could see the curiosity still dancing faintly in his eyes. His fingers were mindlessly playing with the empty glass in his hands, teeth biting onto the inside of his cheek, and his foot creating a quiet rhythm as it tapped against the wooden floor.

She let out a sharp breath, “Sometimes.”

“Hm?”

“I think about it... sometimes,” her voice was meek; quiet. As if ashamed of what she was telling him.

He crossed his arms and rested them on the table, eyes brightening with sudden interest. “It’s normal,” he assured her with an amused smile, “Any candidates?”

“No,” she denied.

Wetting his lips, he manoeuvred his body around the table and sat closely beside her, his muscular arm draping behind her on the cushion backrest. “How about him?” he pointed with his eyes.

Across the pub sat a man one could only describe as handsome. A strong jaw, thick hair and dressed in a nice button-up shirt. He didn’t seem to be waiting for anyone, rather like he was taking a few minutes to unwind after a stressful day at work. He was attractive but-

“I don’t want to have sex with just anyone, John,” she countered, turning to look his way.

Due to the nature of their conversation, she became increasingly aware of his proximity. His forearm, draped over the cushion, was almost pressing against the back of her neck. His thigh was pressed flush against hers, chest almost pressing against her shoulder as his other arm rested on the table, practically caging her in. She could feel his slow breaths fan across her hot cheek, and when their eyes met, she could see the same thoughts swimming in his head.

Sitting so very close to him, she took the chance to scan his face. The freckles that littered his nose and cheeks were faint but added a certain softness to his otherwise hard features; like those sharp blue eyes currently staring her down. His skin, although smooth, was dried out from the extreme conditions he was often exposed to, creating many wrinkles he wouldn’t otherwise have.

When their eyes met again, she couldn’t deny the sudden pull she felt towards him. She wanted nothing more than to cup his face in her hands – to feel the roughness of his beard scratch her palms – to press her lips against his, to taste the cigars he smoked so much on his tongue. Despite knowing she should, she could not look away; couldn’t break the intense eye contact they were sharing.

He cleared his throat suddenly, eyes snapping from hers and to the half-full glass that still sat in front of her, “You done with that?” he asked, his voice deeper than before.

Looking over at her drink, she hummed, no longer interested in the alcohol she was so happy to drink not even half an hour ago.

He nodded almost urgently, collected the two glasses and took them to the bartender who was cleaning the bar with a white cloth. The two men exchanged pleasantries, and soon enough John was back at the table.

“Need a lift?” he asked, hopeful.

“You’ve been drinking,” she pointed out, her eyebrow rising as she pushed herself to her feet.

John sent her a look, “Only one beer... and it was watered down anyway.”

“Hm,” she hummed, grabbing her coat and putting it on, “Alright.”

The moment she stepped outside the warm pub, she was met by the freezing evening air. It prickled on the skin of her cheeks, instantly numbing them as they walked in the direction of his car. John was a gentleman through and through, and the moment the car came into view, he rushed to open the door on the passenger’s side, letting her in with a smile on his face. The car ride was mostly quiet, with only a few words exchanged throughout and the radio filling up any silence that stretched between them.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, but with her mind going to inappropriate places every time he reached for the gear stick – with his veins popping out and fingers gripping tightly around it - she couldn’t wait to get out of the enclosed space. She couldn’t help but wonder how those fingers would feel against her naked skin, how they would feel gripping onto her in the most inappropriate of ways. At this point, she was shamelessly ogling him, and although she was certain he could feel her gaze on him, he didn’t say a word; not a peep, not even a look spared her way.

As much as she hoped to get out of the car, the moment he parked in front of her home, she felt nothing but disappointment. She wanted to, nay, needed him to stay with her. She needed him beside her for however long he would grant her, but this was way too early.

The words slipped out before she could even properly process her thoughts, “Would you like to come in?”

He stared at her for a short while, his eyes searching hers for something. She wasn’t sure what exactly, but she felt herself relax when he nodded, a breathless, “Yeah,” leaving his pink lips.

Surrounded by the familiarity of her own home, a feeling of comfort spread throughout her. Discarding their coats and shoes, the two ventured into the warm kitchen, where silence settled upon them once more.

“Hungry?” she eventually asked, to which he shook his head in reply, “Thirsty?”

“No,” he slowly approached her, a soft smile gracing his features.

He took in a deep breath upon stopping barely a foot away from her, his hand reaching up to fix a strand of hair that stuck out beside her ear. He rested his palm against her cheek then, and the warmth that radiated off his skin almost made her press further into him, to feel more of his touch.

As his thumb began to draw invisible circles against her skin, he angled her face to lock their eyes together. He leaned forward slowly, analysing any micro-expression on her face that told him to stop, that she didn’t want this. But he found none. In fact, her eyes looked hopeful... needy almost.

A faint gasp escaped her when the tip of his nose bumped into hers, swiping it across so that it then pressed against the apple of her cheek. His lips were like a ghost against hers, barely touching, yet still feeling their inviting presence.

“May I?” he asked seriously, refusing to take the first step without clear permission.

Her hands cupped his cheeks as a quiet plea escaped her lips. “Please,” she almost begged as her forehead pressed against his.

He gave in then, and the moment their lips melted together, they released breathy sighs of relief. His lips were soft, his beard equally so which was a pleasant surprise. She expected the dark hair to dig into her skin, to burn her chin and cheeks, but the hairs were gentle, like a soft cushion against her cheek.

What was a gentle kiss at first, quickly turned into something more. His hands eagerly transcended from her cheek, down to her neck, and eventually resting on the curve of her hips. He caged her in, the small of her back pressing against the cold of the countertop, but she felt nothing short of secure.

His hold on her was comforting, and perhaps it was due to his role as her trusted co-worker for what felt like decades that made her feel that way, but she couldn’t deny that his presence brought her a sense of comfort. A sense of safety she didn’t often feel.

“John,” she pulled away, a string of saliva connecting their swollen lips.

He hummed in question, his lips pressing against the softness of her cheek as his hands moved underneath her top and massaged her hips with his fingertips. She hummed at the feeling and wrapped her arms around his shoulders to pull him in even closer.

“Not in the kitchen,” she whispered into his ear.

He smiled against her, fingers entangling with hers as he pulled her away from the hard countertop. ‘Lead the way’ he told her with only his eyes. No words needed to be said for her to understand – to know what she was to do.

Pulling him behind her, she took him straight to her room, where the bed looked more inviting than ever before. His hands were quick to find their way back to her hips, where he squeezed her comfortingly and pulled her flush against his chest.

“Are you sure?” he questioned her, his brows knitting together with a certain worry.

A soft nod, “Yeah.”

“Not just anyone...” he repeated her earlier words whilst cupping her face lovingly.

She smiled and pressed her lips against his own, “You’re not just anyone, John.”

As they melted into a passionate kiss, John swiped his tongue along her bottom lip, begging for entry which he was eagerly granted. His tongue pressed against hers, tangling together in a lustful dance as a high-pitched moan rumbled through her throat. A feeling of embarrassment flooded through her at her own reaction, but before she could pull away from him and apologise, he let out a moan of his own.

He was slow to lift her shirt up to her ribs, even as he walked her backwards until the back of her knees were pressing against her wooden bedframe. With their lips parting, and a look shared between them, he pulled the shirt off her body and threw it mindlessly across the room. She didn’t have the time to turn insecure – to cover herself up from his prying eyes – as he, too, discarded his shirt to reveal his strong chest.

Her eyes were soon glued to the newly revealed piece of skin her eyes had never gazed upon. Littered with scars, and covered with a small amount of chest her, he was nothing short of attractive. Beautiful, she would even say.

Grasping her hand in his, he brought her hand up to rest against the skin of his chest, then her ribcage, and finally down to his abdomen, she was met with a thick-haired happy trail. She swallowed thickly, and her eyes moved up to meet with his.

He could see the concern clear as day in her eyes. Nervous. Heart beating at a rate it never has before.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, his voice soothing as he reached for the zipper of her jeans.

He pulled it down slow, his eyes never leaving hers to assure she was still comfortable, to know whether she had changed her mind. When he saw nothing on the sort, he pushed down the waist band of her jeans, one hand pushing from her hip as the mother moved to the curve of her ass until the jeans were half-way down her thighs.

She helped him then, ridding herself of the material to leave her in only her underwear. His eyes scanned her from head to toe, admiring every piece of skin revealed to him.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered lowly, causing a smile to bloom on her face.

He reached for the buckle of his belt then, but before he could undo it, her soft hand stopped him from doing so. His brows knit, wondering whether she had changed her mind, but instead of telling him to stop, she reached for his waistband and began to undo his belt herself. The metal clinked loudly as she worked on it, her hands shaking as she moved on to his zipper and pulled it down to reveal the band of his boxers.

“Lay down for me,” he told her, his thumb brushing against her cheek.

She wordlessly did as she was told, laying down on the comfy bed as John got out of the confines of his jeans. The tent that was slowly forming on his boxers was clear, even more so as he crawled above her, his arms resting by either side of her head.

She was first to kiss him, her lips nipping at his as their tongues met once again. Her hands, previously staying glued to his face, ventured down; she explored his body starting from his shoulders, the bumpy scar tissue thick underneath her fingers as she ventured further downward. She cherished the softness of him, the warmth that spread to her fingertips like a flame.

Pulling away from her eager mouth, his lips travelled down to her jaw, neck, and collarbone before placing soft kisses on the soft flesh of her covered breasts.

Her breathing turned heavier, her fingers tangling in his short hair as he reached underneath her, grabbing onto the strap on her back. The bra was pulled off without struggle, releasing her breasts from its tight hold and exposing them to his eyes.

She felt the urge to cover herself up; to hide away from his tender eyes. His own hands beat her to it, engulfing her perk nipples with his warm palms as he kissed down the valley between them. The open-mouthed kisses he was placing just below her collarbone descended further, replacing his right hand as he began to nip at her nipple.

She moaned at the feeling, her eyes clenching shut and back arching from the soft bed. It was as if electricity was flowing through her veins, causing hairs to stand at the back of her neck and skin to erupt in goosebumps. One of her legs lifted around his hip and her crotch lifted involuntarily. His covered cock ground into hers clothed core at the movement, and a guttural moan vibrated in his chest.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his right hand travelling down to her clothed core. He lifted the waistband gently, his fingers digging underneath it until his soft fingertips reached her already swollen clitoris.

“John,” she cried at the feeling. Her thighs moved in an attempt to close around his wrist, but only wrapped around his waist instead.

His finger moved in slow circles around her bud, the pressure slowly increasing as her breathless moans turned harsher; faster as the feeling spread throughout her body.

“Relax,” he whispered, feeling her tense underneath him at the unfamiliar feeling.

“I’m Sorry,” she replied, swallowing hard when he moved back up to look her in the eyes, “I’ve never-”

His brows furrowed at her embarrassed expression, “Finished?” he asked, to which he nodded, “Not even by yourself?”

“I-,” he took in a deep breath as his fingers ceased their movements, “I’m not sure how.”

John hummed at her answer. Pressing a quick kiss against her lips, he moved to sit on his knees, staring into her eyes as he hooked his fingers on the waistband of her underwear. Receiving a small nod from her, he pulled the material down her legs until she was completely bare in front of him.

Her core glistened from the arousal that slowly leaked out of her, wetting her labia with a shiny coat. He pressed a kiss against her knee, muttering soft praises as he moved closer and closer to her throbbing clit.

“Relax for me, yeah?” he said, and although she wasn’t sure whether she would be able to, she sent him a nod.

He wasted no time pressing his lips against her clit, softly sucking on the sensitive flesh as his fingers moved to spread her lips apart. The wet sound that echoed from this movement had her almost cringing, but when a finger pushed past her entrance, she couldn’t stop the moan from escaping her lips.

Her fingers pulled at his hair as his finger began to pump in and out, in and out, in and out. His lips were relentless, kissing and sucking on the most sensitive part of her with newfound vigour before another finger was pushed inside of her.

“John,” she called as a strange feeling erupted in her stomach and her walls began to clench around him.

“That’s it, love,” he complimented, the vibrations of his voice pulling a loud whine out of her, “Doing so well for me.”

“John, I-” her thighs clenched around his face and before she knew it, her back was arching from the bed and the knot that formed in her stomach finally broke, coating his finger and tongue with a thin liquid.

His movements didn’t cease, but the pumping got slower, milking her orgasm as she slowly came down from her high. He swallowed the fluid that covered his tongue and licked his lips before crawling back up to place a deep kiss on her lips.

She groaned at the taste on his tongue, her own arousal filling her tastebuds. “How was that?” he asked, his eyes bright with curiosity.

“Good,” she said, unsure how else to reply.

“Yeah?” she nodded, “Good. D’you want to continue, or-”

“Yes,” she cut him off, “Please.”

“Have you got any condoms?” he asked hopeful, to which she nodded and wordlessly reached for her bedside table.

“A joke from a friend,” she whispered, handing him the untouched pack.

He hummed, pulling out and placing the latex along his length. “Cruel joke,” he commented and placed himself back between her thighs.

She only smiled, and then gazed between her legs to take a peek at his hardened length. Her eyes visibly widened, nervousness suddenly proving her speechless.

“Hey,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against her temple, “If it’s too much, you tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, cradling his face.

He simply smiled and took his length into his hand, guiding it up and down her slit to coat the tip of the condom with her orgasm. The mere feeling of his cock pressing against her caused her eyes to close, and fingers reach for his own.

He granted her the comfort, entangling their fingers together as he began to push into her. Despite her previous orgasm relaxing her walls, the sting of pressure as he entered her was still present. It wasn’t painful per se, but the pressure was not comfortable either.

He cooed into her ear, whispering sweet nothings to soothe her until be bottomed out inside her. No inch of him was left, the tip of his covered cock kissing her cervix as whilst he waited for her to adjust to his size.

One of her legs moved up to his waist, the other being pushed up by John himself until her feet were locked together on his back. He pushed even deeper then, and she moaned at the pleasant feeling when he pushed into her.

“Please,” she begged, her own hips rocking against him to stimulate some friction.

He was happy to provide her with what she needed, pulling almost completely out of her before thrusting back in. She could only mewl at the feeling, her hands reaching for him and pulling him close as he thrusted into her. Her breasts were pressed against his chest and thighs squeezed his waist as he peppered loving kisses along the expanse of her throat.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him ever so close as she tugged on his short hair. His beard tickled her skin, but at that moment she could pay it no mind, much too focused on the feeling of his going moving in and out of her wet entrance. The slick sounds echoed in the room, and though she felt embarrassed by them earlier, right now they only added to the arousal that was slowly building up in her stomach once again.

She hadn’t expected for her second orgasm to approach her so soon, but from how John moaned and picked up his pace at the feeling of her clenching walls, she could tell he was not complaining. His fingers reached between both their bodies, and as if the penetration was not enough, he began to rub harshly against her clit, spreading the wetness that covered her skin.

“John-” she whined, her legs holding him more securely against her, “Harder-”

He grunted in her ear as his hand slammed against the pillow by her head. His hips increased their pace per her request and his tip began to slam against her cervix harder than it had before. Not too hard, careful not to cause her any discomfort as he changed the pace.

The sudden change seemed to finally throw her off the edge, and with a harsh clench of her walls, she came around his still thrusting cock. John was not too far behind her, as his thrusts soon began to turn sloppy. Her spasming walls guided him through it, and with one last, deep thrust he came inside the latex condom that separated them.

Their breathing was harsh as they attempted to catch their breaths and calm down their heartbeats. John kissed her once more, this time much softer – gentler – than he had before, and slowly pulled out of her.

She whined at the loss of contact, hands and legs attempting to keep him in place, but he just laughed, and assured her he would come back in just a second.

And he did. After throwing away the used condom, he returned with a cloth wet with warm water, and wiped the stickiness that was smeared on her inner thighs and her puffy lips. He disappeared once again then, getting rid of the cloth and returning to her, where she was now laying underneath a thick duvet.

His arms wrapped securely around her waist in a comforting embrace. “About that Leave,” he began, gaining her attention, “How about instead of sleeping... we get dinner some day?”

She turned to look into his eyes, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“I am,” he confirmed with a large grin, “So?”

“I’d like that,” she admitted, “a lot.”

“A date it is, then,” he muttered, pressing one last kiss against the crown of her head before they both drifted off to sleep.

John Price Tag list: @neon-lights-27

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mindie-arts · 7 months

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💰🧢‼️

#they’re so father son #this one is for the price and gaz enjoyers #call of duty #captain price #gaz #cod captain john price #captain john price #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #cod mw2 #artists on tumblr #cod fanart

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tobascoart · 7 months

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Drew my new dad 🫡

🥺

#fanart #cod modern warfare #cod price #captain price #john price #call of duty #cod mw2 #cod captain john price #cod john price

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arthurlovesarthurmorgan · 2 months

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Captain Price comes home from deployment👀

F!reader

(smut, blowjob, thats it actually lol)

—————————————————————

You were patiently waiting for John to come back from deployment. He had told you that he’d be home at 7pm and time went on slower than anything. So you occupied yourself with doing work around the whole house. Putting all your dirty clothes from the hamper in the washing machine and then sorting them by color, going outside to the garden and watering all the plants, then going back inside and rearranging the bedroom and living room, scrolling on your phone to find new stuff to buy for your home, and so on.

As evening came around, you started cooking John's favorite food to welcome him with a warm meal and to finally give him something different than his usual MREs. You’re wearing a simple blouse that slightly shows off your cleavage and some jeans, and underneath all that, you’re wearing John's favorite lingerie that he bought you a few months ago. As you're cooking you don’t notice that it’s getting late and that John is going to be home in any minute.

You were startled as you heard the familiar sound of keys jingling in the lock and quickly ran to the front door to greet your husband.

“John!”, you were quick to give him a big hug and bury your head in his warm and solid chest, not minding the big duffle bag in his hands and his dirty clothes. He hugged you back and placed his hands on your waist to pick you up and give you passionate kiss on the lips, showing you how much he missed you. John kept slowly swaying you back and forth in his embrace and placing small kisses around your neck and breathing in your comforting scent.

“I missed you so much, love”, he murmured in between kisses. His head moved back up and he put his forehead against yours to look into your eyes. “What has my girl been doin’ while I was away, hm?”

“Nothing much. Just waiting for you, my bear”, you were staring at him, like it was the first time you have seen him in forever and went in for another kiss. You intertwined your fingers with his and lead him to the kitchen after closing the door and checked on the food, turning the stove down a bit. You turned back to John and gently pushed him, so he was leaning on the counter so you could put your hands on his chest and kiss his neck. “Missed me huh?” he asked in a teasing tone and placed both of his hands on your hips and slowly pushed the hem of your blouse up to touch your bare skin. “Needy little thing you are…”, he whispered into your ear and removed one of his hands from your hip to place it on your throat. Not choking you, but lightly cutting off your air flow, putting you in that hazy space and making your eyes flutter closed.

“Look at you baby, so needy for me, right?”, you nod eagerly and go down onto your knees and look up to see him smirking “There you go baby, such a good girl.”

You slowly unzip his pants, the sound echoing loudly in the kitchen. While pulling down his jeans and boxers and letting them pool at the floor, you notice his already rock hard cock leaking precum at the tip and you decide to lick it off just to hear John letting out a small groan. “I missed your mouth around me so much, baby. I thought of you everyday…”, he gripped your hair in his hands and lead your mouth to his throbbing cock. You look up to him while sucking him off and go as deep as you can, tears building in your eyes from holding back your gag reflex. The tears that managed to escape and running down your cheeks getting wiped away from Johns thumbs that are resting on your face. “That’s my good wife… go on, you can do even better than that, can’t you? I know you can sweetheart…”, you moan around his cock, the vibrations of it making him moan loudly. You’re forcing your throat to relax around him and then you finally have his whole warm length in your throat, your nose touching that small patch of curly hair at the base of his cock. “Fuuuuuckkk… good job honey, that’s it”

As you slowly bob your head on his cock and lightly graze your teeth on it, you feel his thighs start to tighten around your hands and small grunts and moans slipping out of his slightly parted lips. His balls start tightening and twitching and you use on of your hands to roll them around in your palm, “D-don’t stop baby-! ’m gonna c-cum!"

You take his whole length in your mouth for the last time and feel the telltale twitching of his cock in your throat and not even a second after that, he’s shooting his warm, salty and thick cum into your throat. John is a whimpering and moaning mess, relaxing against the counter as you swallow his cum and remove his softening dick from your mouth and stand up to give him a messy kiss, your knees wobbly from the hard floor.

“Welcome back John”, you whisper teasingly against his lips and smile, giving him one last peck on the lips before pulling up his pants and zipping them up.

“Thank you, love…”, he says tiredly. “No need to thank me, Captain Price”, you teasingly reply and giggle quietly and go back to the stove to finish cooking. He comes up behind you and places his head on your shoulder, turning his head to whisper into your ear,

“I love you, honey.”

“I love you too, John.”

—————————————————————

A/n: this is the first fanfic I’ve ever written so have some mercy please I know it’s shit😭😭 and english isn’t my first language btw so PLEASE ignore grammar mistakes and my horrible writing😁

#captain john price #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod john price #john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price/reader #captain price/reader #barry sloane #fanfic #cod mwii #cod #cod x reader #cod mw3 #cod captain price #cod captain john price

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paperbag-prncss · 7 months

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Price: *sees people doing something stupid*

Laswell: idiots

Price, after realising they are Ghost, Soap and Gaz: oh no, those are my idiots

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thisfanisgonesorry · 3 months

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in sickness (and in flames) — john price

first you get hurt, and then there’s healing; its a process, believe me

tags: kyle “gaz” garrick mentioned, angst, hurt/comfort, injury resulting in chronic pain, ptsd, flashbacks and pov switches. -> fem!wife reader but also not really an x reader fic if that makes sense? just give her a chance;; 4.7k wc

a/n: this is self indulgent "fuck off and die" fic /lh (nerve dmg sucks) but might add more to it yet, who knows

💊

He laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching his fists periodically. The memory ingrained in his head as he ignored the figure looming over him.

Bullets whizzed past them as he barked orders, directing his soldiers through cover, to eventual evac. To safety. There were so many of them that there wasn’t time to stop and shoot, the only option was to run, sprint, hide, use cover to your advantage, don’t let them get to you. His orders filled the air and cackled over the radio as he demanded backup or some form of overwatch.

He stood in the doorway to a building, his ears ringing from the sudden outburst of violence, dust covering every position, impossible to see how many shooters were from any angle, he waved his arm, gesturing to them to rush from cover-to-cover. He kept a count of his soldiers, mumbling names and numbers under his breath. His fingers looped into the edge of their vests or backpacks like you would on the scruff of a dogs neck, heaving them into the room and pushing them past the doorway threshold as he counted.

Bravo 6-2 walked through the door and John sighed in relief, giving him a pat on the back, and he continued to lead them through the building, not giving himself a moment of repose. ‘Everyone made it to safety’ echoed in his thoughts, the only thing that mattered.

“Anyone hit?” His voice hoarse as he scanned the group. He was met with reassurance from them, everything and everyone was fine, maybe a few minor injuries, but they were okay. That’s the only thing that mattered.

He raised his hands, two fingers pointing upwards as he glanced, squinting through the dust before waving, rushing through. His mind was fogged, which he now kicked himself for. He wanted to rush this, get out as quickly as he could manage. But if he just took his time —

A loud thud as he fell to the ground, blood seeping through his uniform but his body numb and tingly. He patted himself down as he tried to figure out where he was shot but nothing, the blood was thick to cover its origin, and his eyes wide, his eyebrows knitted in focus, trying to clear his thoughts despite the heavy rain of gunfire surrounding him.

His men covered him quickly, trying to pull him to his feet, but a rough, barked. “Go!” filled the air, a demand of desertion that was swiftly ignored.

“Sir, we’re not leaving without you.” 6-2 spoke firm, picking up the fallen soldier quickly and heaving his arm over his shoulder. There was an unspoken glare between them, a silent argument. Though the soldier averted his gaze, taking his role as second in command immediately in stride.

John was silent, observing, uncontesting the willingness of his soldiers to save him. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe they’d truly leave him behind, but the quick thinking would earn some medals.

The hospital was worse than the battlefield. Half of his body was numb, though he sat there clenching and unclenching his fists, wriggling whatever part of his body could move. His voice was ragged from exhaustion, and rough from the lack of hydration. Despite knowing better, he just couldn’t bring himself to drink anything, or to eat. He simply laid there, fighting for control over his body.

The bullet was removed from his spine and laid next to him, covered in his dried blood that crusted the pristine silver, it laid idly in the metal tin, but John couldn’t help but glare at it like it offended him.

His body laid straight and flat on the hospice mattress to ease the spinal column. His eyes stayed glued to the roof, though his eyes failed him, and despite his instinct, he fought to look away from the offensive side-table.

He’d been hospitalised for weeks while the army did their last duty to support him. Nurses coming in and out to make sure he left in the best of conditions, though he couldn’t help but feel betrayed.

A letter of discharge sat on the table next to him, sided with a bottle of water and using the metal tin with the bullet as a paperweight. The victoria cross was placed formally on top of the discharge paper, gifted to him while he slept.

As weeks went on, small tidbits were left on his side table as farewells, as souvenirs, as gifts. It wasn’t long before the news of Captain John Price’s discharge made its way around the base.

His spine recovered quickly, no major damage — not paralysed permanently. Once he was able to sit up without insufferable pain, he analysed the few items that were left for him. He rattled the tin, staring down at the bullet and cursing it for changing the trajectory of his life. The paper insulted him slightly, and he dreaded the day where he’d have to sign it, he was putting it off as long as he could, doing his best to ignore it’s presence, but his time was nearing. He couldn’t stay in this infirmary forever.

The Victoria Cross, in all its glory. He picked it up carefully, treating it like it was fragile. It wasn’t his to discard. He analysed the soft red ribbon, running his calloused finger over it. Awarded for astounding bravery. He flipped it over, to find the date of such an event labelled on the centre of the cross, and one ‘Kyle Garrick’ engraved into the suspender bar.

“You’re lucky to even be able to walk.” Were words that made his eyes glaze over, and they were always met with a brisk, formal nod. How was he supposed to respond to that information? He was bombarded with information like that, how he was lucky to be able to walk, how he was so lucky that it didn’t do more damage than it did. How much luck would he have needed to not get hit at all?

So he laid there, staring up at the ceiling at the memory. Fists clenched and unclenched. “Honey?” Was called out from the dark, and he turned his head, sitting up briefly to see his darling wife. “Made you some tea.”

The glass was sat next to him and he stared up at me like he’d seen a saint. “I love you.” He spoke, like if he didn’t say it, then there would be no way for her to remember on her own. A chaste kiss, and a reassuring palm on the back of her waist was the physical touch that soothed his mind, though he continued to linger on the thoughts.

He was tired, beyond so, a permanent scowl hidden behind his outgrown beard, he’d neglected most forms of self care at this point in his life. He’d shaved it once — the day before he came home. He stood in front of the mirror for an hour just staring at his reflection, dreading what would come next, like it would be something bad until he forced himself into maintenance.

He walked up to the doorstep, his bag slung over his shoulder and the discharge paper firmly on his hand. He presented it like a child who just got an ‘F’ on their test, handing it to their disapproving mother that expected better. The look of shame that covered his face. The pleading in his eyes.

I carefully took the paper from his hands, confused by his expression before seeing the glaring sentences. ‘Certificate of discharge from active duty’ plastered across the top, as well as his name and neighbouring information. A mumbled ‘what?’ escaped my lips as I continued to skim, knowing few of the words, but wanting that extra confirmation.

‘Medical discharge’ stuck out awfully. There was information about the discharge scattered throughout the letter, something or other mentioning medical retirement and the permanent disability retirement list. “John, what’s this?” I asked, met with silence, the soldier continuing to stand tall. “What happened?” His heart sank, his reserve falling. God, did he feel selfish.

He walked into the large, oh-so-empty house, and he half-expected to get dragged by the ear. “Got shot.” He grumbled under his breath. “Don’t even know how it happened — it was all so fast.” His breath quickened, his heart racing at the shooting memory of the pain that slithered down his body before the numbness took hold.

I wrapped my arms around him, and he fell silent. The words stopped pouring and he slumped down, letting his large, strong arms wrap around the smaller torso, and he accepted the act of affection warmly despite the way his gut churned in disappointment in himself.

All that hard work, and for what? What did it even pay off for?

Weeks passed, and he struggled to cope with the knowledge that he’d never go back to work. The pension came in smoothly, he was given what was needed to live comfortably, they did their part to make sure he was well-cared for. Government wise or other. He was supplied for, and that left a tight feeling in his chest that he didn’t like.

He wasn’t disabled — not by a long shot. Not in his eyes. Though that fiery pain that starts in the heel of his foot and quickly strikes up his leg like lightning spoke otherwise, like an echo behind his voice that said the opposite of his words.

Once again, he laid in bed, the sheets kicked off his aching, touch-hot legs, though they stayed wrapped around his doting lover. Why wasn’t he able to support his wife the same way he did before? It twisted him up and spat him out.

“Love you.” Was mumbled into the flesh of his neck, and he gave a sharp exhale, sighing at the words and closing his eyes, basking in the moment. He held his breath when he thought about these things — holding his breath in hopes it eased the tightness in his chest. He let out a soft laugh. She noticed, of course she did.

His arms squeezed them closer together, the same way he used to. Not much had changed besides his body. The sudden ache in his muscles, the discomfort. The all-too-well known demotivation that came with upheavals of change. The only other thing that changed, a good change, was his lack of motif bred a healthy amount of weight gain.

‘Soft around the edges’ were the words of choice. They reverberated around his skull for a few days, and he sulked and sulked, unsure how he felt about it. Initially taking it as an insult before that consciousness in the back of his head reminded him that he was loved.

“Love you too.” He brooded.

“Stop thinking so much.” I hummed, letting it hang in the air the same way he hung his head in shame. He let out a gruff hum of approval, letting me know my words were heard, but he wasn’t happy to hear them.

He woke, stirring slightly and noticing the distinct emptiness in his arms that he’d grown familiar with, though it continued to be strange. His arms reached out, patting a side of the bed, before he picked himself up, opening his eyes to be met with the distinct *clink* of his cup of tea placed gently on the bedside table.

“Hate it when you do that.” Was his confession. He loathed the feeling of waking up alone, and it was salt in the wound to know that she did it for him. He always felt like it was his job to be the caretaker, the provider, so for it to suddenly be ripped away like that? It killed him. Anyone with half a mind would be incredulously grateful that their partner loves them enough to care for them back the same way, versus whatever Jennifer Tilly has going on the side. But for whatever reason, never John Price.

He wasn’t met with a response, just an affectionate smile as the day continued, not pausing for a moment, it never did anymore. He missed the closeness, the affections. More than anything, he missed the intimacy.

He was kicking himself for letting it affect the marriage, because of course it did — of course it would. He couldn’t believe himself. He managed to find someone so loving, so caring, so supportive, so radiant. So unbelievably perfect. His own bitter, brooding pushing away the one good thing he had left.

The only thing he felt that continued to function in his body correctly was his heart.

He gave a deep sigh, his hands tightly holding onto the side of the sink as he sat in the big house alone, oh; it felt so empty sometimes. His knuckles noticeably paler from how tight he held onto the sink, analysing his face.

He picked the sleep from his eyes and ran his hands over his beard, running his nails through the messy hair. The electric razor buzzed to life in his hands, he held it to his cheek and let it remove all the excess unkemptness.

A low growl rumbled through him, his hands struggling to respond to the actions his brain told him as he tried to trim his beard, the guard pressing into the fur and trimming it as it fell into the sink. The door behind him clicked, his arm tensed and the safe-guard failed, pressing deeper and a ball of fluff falling into the basin, a small bald patch forming on his cheek.

I apologised needlessly, assuming I was the distraction that caused the incident. “I’m sorry.” — I greeted him warmly, a reassuring touch, and he scowled, though there was no frustration; only disappointment. — He sucked his teeth, moving his jaw for easier access as he clean-shaved his face, leaving his cheeks bare and naked for the first time in years.

“Not your fault.” He responded gruffly, turning the razor off and swapping it between hands, shaking his dominant one briefly before going back to his actions. His cheeks were stubbled as he tried to keep it smooth, though he was heavily limited.

The razor was placed down on the side of the bench, and he rubbed the smooth skin, feeling the dull bristles over his fingers. It took him a moment, the person in the reflection looked nothing like him, it almost prompted a double take. He hadn’t looked this baby-faced in so long but it was welcome. Maybe even the change he needed. “I’m proud of you.” He froze, nodding with a thick swallow and slight gasp of air, almost like the words itself hurt more than a gunshot.

“Thank you.”

“It looks nice.” I whispered, my palm on his strong, muscled back. “You look nice.”

He leant into the touch, his shoulders relaxing and his body untensing at the reassurance. I rested my chin on his shoulder, and ran my hands up and down his arms, taking in his beauty. He was tired, and the conversation felt like a stab in the chest. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He grumbled, shuffling from foot to foot, rolling his shoulders as a slight innuendo that he didn’t want me touching him, and the conversation ended there. His words were terse — and I pulled away slowly at his actions.

He turned to me hesitantly, breaking eye contact with his own reflection, a million untamed thoughts running through his head. “I love you.” He reassured, a soft kiss on my forehead, feeling the stubble scratch me slightly, his nose pressing into my hairline, a firm hand on my shoulder as a vague form of affection like he did to his soldiers, the ones that he misses so dearly.

The sound of dishes clinking into the sink filled the kitchen. “I’m sorry.” He spoke with his chest, all puffed like a scared animal trying to survive against a predator. The tall, strong ex-soldier was now acting like nothing more than prey. “For everything. For.. All of it.” He struggled on his words with a sigh.

“What? You didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t.” He commented, his voice low like it was a warning. “Don’t try and act like it’s nothing and don’t—” His words caught in his throat. “Don’t think you have to take care of me.”

The silence was overwhelming, consuming the room and filling the air like a noxious gas. What was I meant to say to that? I shook my head, wordless, unblinking, unmoving, unbreathing. My mouth fell open to speak, though I pressed it into a thin line, keeping myself quiet. What do I say? He noticed the awkwardness, and sighed once again.

“Didn’t mean it like that.” He admitted, the roughness to his voice like gravel, like a man who hadn’t slept in days, lying awake, memories haunting him and the rigid words he planned to say to his doting lover filling his senses, but now he was here saying them it was fleeting. “You know what I meant, just..”

“John.”

“I know that this can’t be easy for you—”

“Like it’s easy for you?” I quickly retorted and he fell silent, his eyes staring through me as his mind lingered on the next argument for him to make. Though it seemed every argument he made quickly fell to an impasse.

“You shouldn’t have to take care of me.” “I’m your wife, I’m doing what I’ve always done.”

“I should be the one supporting you.” “You’re still getting paid, aren’t you?”

“What kind of man gets like this?” “A man that gets shot in the spine, and should count his blessings that he can still walk.” “I should’ve done a better job.” “You could’ve done better by telling me you were hospitalised.”

The room fell silent after the last dry, airy comment. He felt like he’d been shot all over again. “Look.. I’m sorry for that.” He said earnestly. A pause, a beat. “I don’t think that this is what you signed up for.”

“What about ‘in sickness and in health’?” Another silence, another pause, another beat. The air felt humid, sticky with tension, like a bead of sweat could roll down the side of his forehead, down his temple and slick onto the now bare-faced man.

“Don’t twist my words.”

“I know what I signed up for.” And the argument ended there. His stomach twisted up, why was he doing this? He was once again chewing himself up. Why was he pushing everything away? Why couldn’t he just get over it.

His thoughts scurried as he sat alone, dwindling on the minor argument, a common sight now. Why did he do that? How can such a tiny piece of lead do so much damage? How can it rewire his entire life? How can it rewire his brain? He dreaded the thoughts that always came next — is he selfish for wishing it took it instead? It was never a thought that he meant. Never truly, earnestly something he meant.

He was lonely. It was obvious. He’d lost his job, all his friends and all of his connections. He loathed it, and he wanted anything to take up his time. He itched to distract himself, to move his mind away from the guilt. He was fighting and he hated it — so he walked.

Walking made his feet burn, his big and heavy combat boots never felt like such a burden. Weighing down his body as he trudged along. He continued to walk anyway, working his legs back into metaphorical shape. It was a struggle, a fight, and how he managed to do this every day of his life before was a distant memory.

The ex-soldier continued to brute force his way through the pain. He convinced himself that the pain was like a runners-high where if he pushed past it, there’d be a sudden burst of renewal, though it never came.

He pushed through the front door, heavy footsteps banging on the floor, a wince in each step. He had a tired frown, searching the house idly. He placed a bag of food on the bench, a sigh escaping his lips as he wrapped his arms around his beloved. “Darling..” His voice was gravelly from the sudden uptake of smoking and yelling. “Got us some food.” He tried to speak sweetly as a surrender, a statement that there was not an argument to be had.

“You’re done being a baby?” I mumbled and he let out a silent grunt of disapproval, though he took it in stride. A weak stride as his chin rested on my shoulder, his beard scratching my neck as he nuzzled slightly.

“Guess so.” He sighed, earning a nod. “‘S your favourite.” His eyes drooped, peaking at what kept my hands occupied. He tried to keep his attitude light, but all attempts of talking fell flat on its face. “C’mon, talk to me.”

I slinked out of his hold, turning to face him and he locked me into place, both hands holding the bench on either side of me, his tall figure looming over me dearly, the ghost of an embrace. “This is f’you.” I commented, handing him the cup of tea. Honey, herbs, tealeaves, sugar, milk. Spice, everything nice. He smiled, half-lidded eyes. “How was your walk?” He shrugged, he took the cup, and he was less domineering as he no longer trapped me between the counter and his large build.

“Good — and good.” He nodded, sipping the tea and gesturing to it with a short lift. He adored the new tea flavours, the variation between them. He was just a bland black breakfast type of guy, enforced by the lack of choice between being a military man and living alone with no desire to explore, but he can’t say he didn’t enjoy the list of flavours being thrown at him, too many to count or remember, but he knew most of them taste amazing, but he couldn’t distinguish if the love it was made with had something to do with it.

“And you? How are you?”

He licked his lips, excess tea wet on his moustache. “Suppose ‘m good.” His eyes were untelling, keeping all the secrets he’d ever seen in his life balled up in his pocket like a handkerchief, stained with the blood, sweat and tears of the memories, the ultimate grime that got stuck under his fingernails and buried into the crevices of his brain. He noticed the way he was being analysed, scanned by those knowing eyes. “Things should’ve been different.” He eventually grumbled, caving slightly at the all-too-intimidating stare of a lover wanting the truth.

“But they’re not.” Were the harsh words that responded to him, he knew better; it didn’t mean to come across like that but with all the lingering tension filling the air like dust mites, what was he to do but take it personally? “And there’s nothing you can do about it but move forward. You should know that.” I continued, trying to make my tone more gentle but failing.

“I do know that.” He said defensively, and there was a moment of silence as the tension peaked. Another argument loomed, and he coaxed himself into relaxing. “I’m just trying to get through it.” He explained. “I think if I just—”

“You’re pushing yourself.”

“That’s what I’ve always done.” He responded dumbly. “You gotta push through the—”

“Stop.” Cracked through the air like a whip, and he tensed, putting the tea down with a clink. “Pushing yourself is how this doesn’t get any better. You need to just relax, and get used to everything.”

“You know that’s not what I’m like.” He said back like a warning, though he caught his words between his fingers before they could be twisted. “And I know I’m not in the army anymore.”

“So why don’t you act like it instead of making everything worse?”

He cleared his throat, averting his gaze at the words that made his heart sink into his gut, like he could digest it at any second. “I don’t want to fight. I never want to fight you..” He said calmly and slowly despite his tense demeanour. His tone was low and cautious like he was talking to a cornered animal. He took a step back, hands raised in defence, physically moving away for space, trying to relieve the feeling of being trapped. “I want to eat dinner with you, ‘n’ watch a movie on the couch. Like we used to, yeah?”

Part of him felt that lingering doubt. Were these arguments just misguided, misplaced care like a child forgetting their toy? Or were they a symptom of a vacant husband that for once, is finally home, and is that too much?

He watched the awkward shuffles as the figure pushed past him, inspecting the bag like he was a liar, as if he didn’t actually get his wifes favourite food. The tension was unbelievably palpable, and he watched every move carefully. A short huff, and they met glances, and he had a knowing feeling in his chest.

“Can we just pretend everythin’s fine? This.. This is jus’ a rough patch, baby.” He spoke reassuringly, trying to calm the thick air but his words were calloused and rough like he didn’t fully believe them, like how the next reaction went would define the difference between truth and wishful thinking. “Look at me.” He said firmly, interrupting his degrading thoughts. “We’ll be okay. We’re okay.”

“Are you saying that for me or for yourself?” I commented, handing him his takeout dish, and an airy silence took us before he gave a light shrug, a soft smile. He took it briskly, almost curtly, and he reached to grab mine, holding both in his large hands then deftly moving around the kitchen, swinging around to avoid any flying bullets that could fire randomly from the argument.

“Does it matter?” He answered, happily carrying both of our meals over his head, knowing I wouldn’t be able to reach him and stop him until they were placed on the coffee table with a clink of the cutlery. His large hands looked comical, his small cup of tea in one hand and his other hand carrying everything else together.

I bit back all the sardonic grumbles, slumping down with a thud onto the couch, it creaked under his large figure and we shared an expecting glance, unspoken words were beyond audible.

“I want you to understand that I need to do what I’ve always done.” He brooded. He’d spent every other day of his life pushing himself to the limits, following orders, doing what he’s told, risking his life, everything that’s expected from a soldier. “It’s who I am.”

A silence, a distant sound of clicking of the remote skimming through the TV, trying to find some form of movie that’d fill the tremendously awkward silence. Click-click-click. What to watch, what to watch? What to relive the youth of the strained relationship? To pretend that everything is honestly, truly fine, just for a miniscule moment.

“I know this — change — is hard on you.”

There was a moment of eye contact, a look of pleading recognition, a want of his life back despite what was taken from him. A want flashed behind my eyes of simply wanting him to be grateful for what he still has, not for what he lost. There would always be that miscommunication and he knew that it would always be a critical language barrier.

“I love you.” He reminded me like there’d be no tomorrow. Like all these temporary problems would all pile up and result into one permanent landslide of a solution, something drastic, something he dared not even mention or think or say aloud, nor spell in his mind with fear of accidentally jinxing his life.

A sigh escaped my lips, and I understood, of course I did, but was this argument even worth it anymore if it created nothing but incessant guilt and paranoia? The TV flashed to life, the movie was selected as he tried to move onwards, away from the taut past. The intro sequence played out slowly, the music quiet and low in the apartment air like white noise.

“John.. It’ll get better, you know?”

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