Husband Price Is Sad. The Military Fucked Him Over. No Comfort, Just Angst. Sorry Gang
Husband Price is sad. The military fucked him over. No comfort, just angst. Sorry gang
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You don't tie your shoelaces right.
The knots are crooked. One shoe is laced up a little wonkily. Not that you notice.
Price noticed, but he's not going to tell you. He can't stop looking, though. He's trying not to let it get to him, but it's one of his bad days.
He joined the military as a directionless seventeen year old. There was no real weight to the decision when he enlisted. He was just sick of filling out job applications.
And that's when his life started. That's what he always said. Johnathan Price's life started on the first day of basic training. In the past, he said it with a tone of pride
Now, it settles in the back of his mind. A sickening pit weighing behind his eyes.
Lacking a sense of self upon retirement was normal. He was in therapy for that. He was working on a renovation project in your home, a suggestion from his therapist to give him something to do with his hands. But as soon as work finished for the day, John felt hollow again.
His therapist said he was healing. But that didn't make sense to John. the effects of his service were the metaphorical wound, but wounds were isolated. A specific area that has been damaged in a specific way. But that's not what it felt like.
The effects of his job were ingrained into every part of his body. Ground into every pore, every string of connective tissue in his body. There was nothing about him, body or mind that wasn't connected to it.
Like the shoelaces.
A normal husband wouldn't even notice how his spouse ties their shoes.
A normal husband's mind doesn't jump to yearly presentations about mangled feet and ankles, to the list of complications that could spring from improperly laced boots.
A normal husband doesn't instinctually open his mouth to bark an order to tie them right.
A normal husband doesn't have to catch himself and hurriedly clamp his mouth shut before he does.
You and price were going out. A Saturday morning farmer's market. Something to get you out of the house together. He felt a wave of guilt.
This was going to be a sweet moment. He was supposed to enjoy it. To be present, with you. But his mind was elsewhere, consumed.
He marches. No. Walks alongside you, gets in the car, starts it, and drives on autopilot. His mind elsewhere.
God. The military affected him even now. The ability to march along, drive, and even make small talk whilst his mind was wrapped six layers deep. Unawares of his real surroundings was a hard earned skill. What did his therapist call it?
Disassociation. Right. Lots of soldiers do it.
You're talking. He's forcing himself to listen. He hums and responds to your small talk. Something about planting pepper bushes. Sure, love. He'll get on that.
You laugh, the unexpected reaction pulls him out of his mind. He glances over at you, confused, before fixing his eyes back on the road.
"What's so funny?"
You giggle, and he could feel your gaze on him
"You have this silly way of talking. You start a sentence practically shouting and quiet down to a normal volume as you talk. It's just a little funny."
Price furrowed his brow. His mind turned inside out again.
He was aware of that. Nobody had ever commented, though. Not even his nitpicky therapist.
He naturally spoke loudly. yet another example of his old job snaking into every part of his life.
For most of his life, he had to shout, loud and clear, to be heard. Whether it be to be heard over the roar of helicopter blades, to come through clearly through radio, or to be heard by his coworkers, whose hearing had degraded over years in the field.
But it's been two years since he's been in the field. He's been living in a quiet neighborhood. The loudest thing he encounters on a daily basis is a barking dog down the street. There's nothing to dampen his speaking voice now.
"John?"
His eyes snap up. He hadn't responded. Whoops.
"Sorry, love. 'Didn't notice I do that. I'll quiet down."
You say something else, maybe telling him it's okay. Maybe telling him you think it's cute. But he's consumed again.
John feels selfish.
He takes a smooth, controlled turn, forcing his face to relax. The GPS says ten minutes until he reaches the farmers market.
It's selfish of him to stay married to you. John didn't know how to be a man. Let alone a husband. He didn't know how to have a friend. Let alone a lover.
If he catches you doing something risky, the protective fear that shoots through him makes it impossible to dampen the urge to shout. He hates that. He hates that his first reaction to anxiety, to fear for your safety, is to bark an order at you. Like a soldier.
He coveted you softness. Your lack of involvement in the military. He hated that he couldn't be soft, too. He wanted to chastise you softly for accidentally pointing his nailgun at your feet. He wanted to laugh and coo at you to get down when he caught you climbing on an old chair to reach a shelf in the laundry room.
But he reacted to every shred of danger like your life was on the line. Like the lit candle dangerously close to your sleeve was going to put your name on a casualty report.
He can never meet your scared gaze after those moments, his voice still ringing in the air. He always takes the cowards way out and turns to walk away instead.
He pops open the center console and pulls out a tissue, handing it to you before he even registered you had sneezed. A moment of warmth graces his cheeks at the sound of you thanking him.
The GPS says five minutes. He tells you you're arriving soon. He placidly tells you to remind him to look for seeds for the pepper bushes you wanted. Already building a shopping list for the materials to build raised garden boxes to put them in.
That pacifies his guilt slightly. He loves you. He loves you like he's starving. He wants what's best for you. And he's terrified that what's best for you, isn't him. He banishes that thought by doing everything he can for you.
Like a barn cat, he dropped offerings at your feet in hopes you'll understand his ornery way of loving you.
Out of the car. Kiss on the cheek. Into the crowd. He never stopped being a soldier.
Those candles are expensive, you're so right.
He doesn't feel human.
Pepper shoots instead of seeds. He'll keep an eye out.
Is he human? He's lived a life so far removed from how humans are meant to act.
That lady was shoving people. Good job keeping your cool darling.
No. He is unrecognizable to his own species.
He kisses you on the cheekbone. He wonders if you know your husband isnt truly human.
You go home. He makes an excuse about a project that needs work before it gets dark.
John feels like a coward.
More Posts from Allpurposeramen and Others
Have some more ✨Suggestive Boots✨
Simon Riley, who discovers (and accepts) that he has a raging Mommy kink on a random Saturday, when he meets you in the supermarket around the corner of his flat, where you click your tongue at him in reprimand, ogling him shamelessly as he checks out the new flavours of Ramen noodle cups.
And his spine goes rigid, when you address him directly.
"Big lad like you needs a proper meal," you remark, pushing your grocery cart full of fresh meats, produce, and other healthy goodies past him. "In my humble opinion." You add, nearly cooing at him as he dares a side glance from behind his balaclava.
Within seconds, his eyes flicker to your left hand on the cart, checking for a wedding band, checking for anything that could help him figure out who you are, really.
His fingers dig into the plastic cup that looks comically tiny in his hands, fingers nearly denting the fabric as he tries to come up with a witty, dry remark to keep you from leaving, to start a bloody conversation for once, but then you hit him with a "Have a good day, love." and his breath catches in his throat like someone punched his solar plexus.
By the time you round the corner to the next aisle over, his cock is so painfully chubbed up in his jeans, Simon fears he might faint from the sudden rush of blood down south.
And he doesn't quite know what he's feeling in this moment, but he puts the Ramen back into the shelf, boots squeaking on the linoleum floor as he turns on his heels to give chase like an abandoned pup who might have just imprinted on his new mommy.
Oh, Simon's going to get that proper meal, one way or another—hoping you'll let him have your sweet cunt for dessert.
➥ READ MORE ×
'accidental baby daddy soap mactavish' aka the worst man in the world to accidentally knock you up after fucking casually a couple times. there's no such thing as personal space or boundaries or distanced co-parenting with him; he already broke his lease / sold his house. shows up on your doorstep with all his belongings in the world. you wouldn't let the bairn's dad sleep rough, would you? no, the couch won't do, doe, he needs a tempur pedic bed or his sciatica will act up. knocked him flat on his ass last time it flared up, so just let him in the bed. if you're cold, they're cold 'n all that shit.
the simon and kyle blurb?!!! hello?!!! I rarely see this duo together and it’s so unfair 😣
Sugar and spice is the best way I can describe being sandwiched between Kyle and Simon.
Just imagine the sexual tension between them and the reader and how it just... comes to a head.
It's you three, shooting the shit, and the conversation somehow veers over into shotgunning. Next thing you know, you're in Simon's lap, Kyle's scooted a little bit closer and they teach—demonstrate, rather—the basics of shotgunning.
Which turns into Kyle's tongue down his Lt.'s throat.
Which then turns into Simon's tongue down your throat.
Which THEN turns into you sandwiched between the two, you and Kyle making out, your tongue down his throat, and Simon leaving hickies on your neck and groping you wherever he can.
Cheers, darling.
https://www.tumblr.com/ink-n-shadow/763622525217423360/what-if-i-did-this-but-as-an-smau
Omg omg omg omg YES. 🙏🙏
i did it. i apologize for the woman i am now that i did this
NEW NAILS
𝜗𝜚 the texts where you get your nails done and show the CoD men in a special way
𝜗𝜚 characters: simon "ghost" riley, john "soap" mactavish, john price, kyle "gaz" garrick 𝜗𝜚 cw: smut themes (minors—DNI), reader is afab!fem, sending of nude photos, CoD men talking about your pussy (sometimes with personified pronouns)
𝜗𝜚 based on this amazing idea from @gothghostiie
©️ ink-n-shadow 2024
do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission
currently thinking about the time i absently mindedly started humping his leg cause i was worked up and he was being a fucking tease. didn't even realize i was doing it till he ASKED if thats what i was doing. i went to stop cause fuck that's embarrassing and he just pressed his leg harder against me and told me not to stop till i finished
the whole fucking time he was making fun of me and shit i need him so bad man i am horrendously into everything that man wants
lasted maybe 3 minutes, and he mocked me when i finished.... please.... god please do it again i need that in my life
anyways, now i have to write a fic based on this experience because im just THINKING so hard about it rn.... god damn...
nearly overslept for class and ugh. i hate that i have to wake up in the mornings to go to class that I need to get a degree instead of having a tall, buff military man spoil me materially and financially. literally the only thing that’s been keeping me going the past couple weeks is the thoughts of 141 sugar daddies 😭
Anon, I feel your pain. Us struggling college students have to get through this together. <3
That being said, absolutely delicious idea. Yum.
Price is the obvious choice but @ceilidho put the idea of sugar daddy Gaz in my brain and he’s been fermenting in there for days.
Unfortunately I think Soap spends his money as he gets it on dumb bullshit. As much as he’d love to spoil you he simply doesn’t got it like that. (He probably collects funko pops or something literally stupid) (I love him he’s horrible.)
And Ghost is a stingy motherfucker just because. Like he just doesn’t want to spend his money until he absolutely needs to and even then he’d probably consider being homeless for a little while before it came to that. (He actually just sucks idgaf he’s a nightmare. I want to put him through my mattress.)
BUT Gaz saves all his checks because he simply has nothing to spend them on. He gets the essentials, maybe rents a little flat for when they’re home, but otherwise he just tucks the money away. It’s not intentional, per-se, like he would spend it if he really wanted something, he just doesn’t really see the point in spending large amounts of cash on himself because he’s never stationary long enough to enjoy things like that.
Maybe he meets you by chance, it’s a one-off date that ends up going REALLY well. He foots the bill for dinner at a nice restaurant (bc he’s classy like that) and gives you a kiss on the cheek at the end of the night when he walks you back to your car. Next day, he has flowers delivered to your place with a note that says something about how he’d love to go out again if you’re interested.
Obviously you accept, but then the time comes around for your next date and you have to cancel because someone was offering quite a bit of money to get their shift covered at work and it was simply too good an offer to pass up. You apologize profusely and he’s completely understanding, tells you to just let him know when you want to reschedule.
When you get off work there’s another arrangement of flowers waiting on your doormat. Another note stuck in them with an envelope tucked behind it. The note is sweet. He’s sorry you had to go to work because he really would have loved to see you. There’s a gift card and instructions to get a coffee on him before class tomorrow because he remembered how miserably early your schedule started.
And then you open the envelope and there’s a few hundred dollars cash tucked neatly in it. You text him and ask if he meant to put it there and he responds with;
Didn’t want you to have any reason not to come next time. :)
You’re shocked to say the least. So so appreciative, but you try a few times to get him to take some of it back. Insisting it’s too much and he barely knows you but he shuts you down and insists it’s better spent on you than sitting in his savings gathering dust.
As time goes on, he’ll get to know you and your interests and niches better and instead of flowers, you’ll find new notebooks and a pack of the fancy pens you say write better. Straight up cash in an envelope with a scribbled heart on it. Jewelry he said reminded him of you. Lingerie, but always two sets at a time. One in your favorite color, one in his. Bits and baubles either from shops nearby or from his travels. Always with a handwritten note about where they’re from or why he got them for you or what he was doing when he saw it.
You make some joke about how he’s practically your sugar daddy and he teases you back in the moment but the idea sparks something fucking crazy in his brain. Loves the idea of taking care of you. Pays the rest of your lease as a birthday gift. Calls in and pays your tuition for your anniversary. If you ever try saying it’s too much, he’ll wave you off and shush you. Maybe try distracting you with lunch or he’ll say some fuckboy shit about I know how you can pay me back.
workout
was thinking about kyle just straight up freeballing at the gym. he’s wearing some tight ass shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. you can see his dick print perfectly. and no matter how hard you try, you can’t stop staring at kyle from where you sit at the machine across from him.
and because he knows you’re watching, kyle definitely puts on a show for you. you’re not subtle at all when you lick your lips at the sight of his glistening biceps and the ever growing bulge in his shorts.
by the time your workout is over, your pussy is soaked and the only thing on your mind is you getting bent over one of the machines by a man you don’t even know.
and idk kyle definitely sneaks into the bathroom to eat you out while you’re showering, before he presses you up against the wall and buries his cock in your drooling pussy. like just imagine him balls deep in it while you yowl and claw at his back as he tears your shit up.
his dick is what you wanted in the first place, right?
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kyle’s masterlist
Benzo doesn't get paid anything at all to deal with this 😔
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