Playing For Keeps

dbf!price who buys you pretty little skirts, knowing how much you love them, just so you can wear them at family dinners that he’s invited to.

dbf!price who rubs at your clit under the table, gently pinching your thighs because you’ve gotten so good at controlling your reactions and he enjoys seeing you jump a little

dbf!price who likes flustering you, asking if you have a boyfriend. his eyes blazing with amusement as you stutter out a ‘no’.

his finger sinking into you in a slow, shallow thrust. and right before you’re about to cum, his finger leaves your wet cunt :(((

dbf!price who after dinner offers to drive you to a friends house, knowing the two of you are going to end up fucking in his car.

stuffing you full of his cock as he tells you how naughty you are. and how good girls don’t fuck men twice their age :(((

dbf!price who laughs at how wet you are, spanking you softly as you writhe against him.

“what would your parents say if they saw you like this, hm?”

dbf!price who uses the excuse that your dads always out of town to check up on you. fucking you in every flat surface of your home and when he comes over he likes to remind you how many times he made you cum there.

i need him :((

John Price who isn’t just older—he’s worn in. A little gross. A little rotten. Manipulative. The kind of man who sees a pretty bird like you—young and sweet, all soft lips and shy eyes—in some dingy pub sipping something pink, and he doesn’t think I want her. No. He thinks mine.

John Price who decides quick. From the first glance, it’s already settled. He’s already imagining you on your knees in his kitchen, wearing nothing but one of his shirts. Already thinking about how tight your cunt will feel wrapped around him. How pretty you’ll look pregnant, tits swollen, begging for him to fuck you slower.

You don’t know it yet, but he’s mapped it all out—where you’ll sleep in his house, how long he’ll let you play independent before he starts cutting off your options. You won’t need your job. Won’t need friends. Won’t need anything but him.

He’s already picked the ring. Already picked the crib. Already thinking about whether he’ll fill you up before or after dinner, or how many kids he wants.

Twisted in the head, that’s true—but it doesn’t matter. He knows what you need before you even open your mouth. Knows how to touch you, how to own you, without ever asking for permission. You’re not equals. Never were.

He’s choosing you. He’s keeping you.

And oh, sweetheart—whether you feel it yet or not, he’ll make damn sure you learn to be grateful.

Grateful to wear his ring. Grateful to carry his name.

Grateful every time he fills you up, breeds you with his cum until you’re full—so full it leaks out of your swollen, poor cunt—reminding you exactly who you belong to.

Because in his house, in his bed, wrapped around his cock—you’re not just his girl. You’re his wife.

And he’ll fuck the doubt right out of you if he has to.

tell me im wrong.

═════════════════════════

The Mountain Is You

Ch. 1:  I've become a figment of my imagination

Dom!Ghost and Dom!Price x Sub!Reader

I'm making this one official. (Chapter 2!)

CW: Dom/sub, bondage/discipline, pain play, spanking.

Explicit/NSFW/MDNI

Ghost had been the perfect introductory level Dom.  You’d started visiting the office of Life Connect 141 after a referral from a friend, and he’d had many of the qualities you’d been looking for in a partner. 

He was anonymous and discreet.  With his mask on, you never had to worry about bumping into him in the grocery store or bringing your car into the shop and finding out the man operating the nut driver had whipped your ass raw and called you his perfect little dove as you gargled incoherent sounds around his fingers. 

He was quiet, too, and had a way of making you feel comfortable.  His commands were issued in crisp, clipped tones that were easy to follow and get right.  Yes.  No.  That’s it.  Again?   You even heard his voice in your dreams and used it to ground yourself when you needed motivation or a tether to the present.

You replayed your most effective scenes in your mind in the same way you imagined some people pictured the ocean or listened to bird songs.

The pulsing heat of your backside tucked tightly in a pencil skirt, combined with his languid ‘good girl’ echoing through your mind, was enough to make your panties wet in the middle of a board meeting or standing on the platform at the train station.

And his aftercare was more than sufficient.  Although, to be honest, it bordered a bit on the cold side.  Rehearsed in a way that felt like he was only going through the motions.  Counting the minutes before whispering, “That’s my time, hon,” in your ear as he helped you to your feet.

He was there for you, but he didn’t need you.  It was you who sought out his services.  He’d done his job when you left feeling refreshed and confident to tackle whatever chaos awaited you in the world outside his office.  He was a professional, and you were a client. 

He wasn’t cheap, either.  Your self-care budget had taken a backseat to more pressing responsibilities, and it had become more and more difficult to make an appointment.  He’d become quite popular and needed to be booked further and further in advance.  You didn’t always know if you’d be in the right headspace when he was available, but you didn’t want to give up your place in the rotation. 

But it wasn’t for any of those reasons that you called to cancel your future sessions and take your name off the last-minute openings list.  He didn’t do anything wrong.  It was all you.

You’d trusted Ghost, worked up a relationship where he knew what you wanted and gave it to you exactly how you liked it, with a sniper’s precision.  At least until your latest session, when you desired something a bit...more. 

Work, and life in general, had been especially stressful.  A guy you’d started seeing from the gym had turned out to be a complete creep who stood you up on your second date, and spammed your phone for three days when you didn’t accept his apology or his offer to reschedule.  And your assistant had left for an unexpected medical leave and her temporary replacement didn’t know how to answer the phone. 

You were patient.  You were kind.  You were tired.  And now, on top of everything else, you needed to find a new gym.

It’d been a few months since you’d been in to see him, and you were severely overdue.  It was a recipe for disaster that, had you been a more experienced Sub, you may have been able to avoid.  Never go to bed angry?  Never visit your Dom when you were on the edge of spiraling out of control.

You were in your usual position, bottomless with your hands bound with his silk tie behind your back, ass presented to him on the faux leather sofa and your black lace panties in your mouth.  The mirror in front of you gave a view of the mirror behind you.  A 360 degree look at the crimson blood flowing hot under your fevered skin, the Hitachi vibrator strapped between your thighs and the dark figure at your back orchestrating it all. 

Everything was perfect.  Except that with each crack of the leather crop against your tender surface, you didn’t get any closer to the relief you sought.  You’d hit a wall, right on the cusp of that rapture you chased like a fiend.  Like a starving animal running down a faster prey with the last of its strength.

Pain had always been a curious thing for you.  Walking barefoot on the beach, the sharp rocks and shells against the arches of your feet were tactile and exhilarating.  The punishing ache of a deep tissue massage was more satisfying than the gentle glide of hands on your skin. 

There were times your whole body felt like an itch you couldn’t scratch.  That it needed to be flayed off or burned away, grown anew like antler velvet or snakeskin.

When he counted his twentieth whack, and you weren’t there yet, you whimpered with frustration.  The slickness at your core dried up, and the precipice of your orgasm disappeared from reach.  Just as you teetered at the top of the mountain, you slid back down to the bottom with a hopeless crash.

“Color, pet?”  At the unfamiliar sound of your distress, he stiffened behind you and moved quickly to pull the fabric from your mouth. 

“Green,” you pleaded, tears flooding your eyes unbidden. “Please.  Give me a few more.  I was close.”

“We already did three rounds of twenty.  I can’t go any further today.”  He kept his voice hard and controlled.  “Don’t want to scar this sweet, perfect ass.”

He slipped a glove off one hand and reverently grazed his knuckles over your welting hide.

“I’m renegotiating.  Please!”  You weren’t above begging.  Not like this.  Not when your blood ran hot enough to burn and sweat dripped between your breasts in desperation.

“No.”

“You think I’m weak, is that it?  That I can’t take it?”  Your ire sprung from your helplessness.  Not the physical surrender that you’d craved, but the impotent kind that left you empty and unfulfilled.

“Careful, dove.  Talking back to me like that.”  He slid his gloved hand along your cheek to cup your chin, turning you up to look at him.  Deceptively gentle as he gritted through clenched teeth, “You know better, don’t you?”

“What are you going to do about it?”  A fresh flare of anticipation fluttered through your belly, and settled low, where your bare cunt cradled the head of the vibrator.  

Fathomless eyes narrowed back at you with calculation from the openings of his mask.  The skull painted in place of his face sized you up in a fraction of a second before he let his hand fall away.

You squirmed under his scrutiny, clutching the smooth, hard plastic tighter between your thighs, rutting against the only point of contact you had left.  Willing it to be more and feel better than it did.

He sat silent, watching you struggle for what seemed like hours as your shoulders cramped and your knees shook from the constraints of your position.

“Help me?”  You begged again, running your tongue along your pouty lips.  Hungrily eyeing the zipper of his black dress pants.  “I’ll do anything you want.” 

Finally, he fisted a handful of your hair, pulling tight and sharp.  The sting both too brief and too late.

“You know the rules.”  The sympathetic slant of his head and the soft honesty in his tone pulled you out of the scene once and for all. 

You did know.  For all of its merits, Life Connect 141 also had its limits.  It was a business, and it came with strict guidelines.  No sex and no blood.  No exceptions.  Safe, sane, and consensual.  Sanitized and structured. 

Except none of those things were going to get you where you needed to be at that moment.  So, you did something you never thought you’d do.

You tapped out, muttering your safe word and pulling the plug.  He’d never given up on you before, but the clock had run out, and any further discussion was just a waste of his precious time.

The only indication he’d even heard you was a curt nod of acceptance and a clipped, “Alright,” as he untied your hands and rubbed some life back into your arms.

“Dove?”  He was concerned, and probably looking for his own reassurance.

Too humiliated to melt into his thick, tattooed arms, or to accept his offered ice pack for your battered backside, you simply dressed silently and shook him off with a faked smile.

“I’m fine.  Really.  See you next time.”  With not an ounce of truth.

You didn’t know the etiquette for breaking up your Dom, so you were surprised when you got a call barely an hour after you’d canceled.  Thinking it was a last ditch sales pitch to keep you as a customer, you let it go to voicemail.

But instead of a generic, “What can we do to keep your business,” you were greeted with Ghost’s voice instead.

“It’s me.  I’m just sorry that things ended the way they did.”

Why was he apologizing?  You’re the one who'd made a fool of yourself.  Pushing him for things he couldn’t give you.  As if you were more than just a transaction to him.

“I’d like to take you out for a drink.  There’s someone I’d like you to meet.  He can do more for you than I can.  I think you’ll like him.  I wouldn’t trust my best girl with just anyone.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at that, even as it curled your toes.  He probably said that to all his Subs.

“Call me back.  Please?  His name’s John.”

for your plane reqs….id just love the dirtiest age gap/daddy kink shit. just like old man bf john or soap

oh anon you have come to the right gal. cw infidelity

i wrote about something similar on this post, but i deeply believe in a handyman retired price reality. his wooly hands are built for termite wood and rust, so when he holds a soft thing like you, the callouses catch on your dress before he takes it off.

specifically and technically, you’re off limits. sweet newlywed he’s working for, with an ungrateful husband who’s already forgotten the luck of his marriage after the first down payment on the house.

that’s okay though, old man john knows how to treat a woman. his wisdom corners you in the kitchen over tea, where you entertain conversation with him because he’s working on your kitchen. and then he makes you laugh. really laugh, the ugly kind that tickles your insides and heats your neck.

his crows feet and smile creases make you flush, and when you hold your husbands face you start looking for that same sign of aged petrichor and expensive wine in him.

never comes.

you blink, and suddenly John’s got his big, working hand clamped over your mouth in the coat closet, fucking you from behind as you grip the sides of the door. he grunts, whispering as he ruins your soaked cunt,

“knew a pretty doll like you needed a real man in your womb, hm? the daft boy,” he groans when you cum for a third time, cunt squeezing his cock, “was a couple years too young. this is what a decade gets you, darlin.”

comes deep inside you, and the dirtier part of you hope it takes.

CAPTAIN PRICE 🤚 IN MODERN WARFARE III

What if for dads bsf, he comes on a family trip to the beach with you and your father.

You in your bikini, the sneaked glances when your dad isn't looking. MAYBE have him apply sunscreen on you!

dadsbf!old man john price in his late 40s n young, innocent sweet fem!reader who’s 21

you’ve always been a mountain lover, sunny countryside and green lavish trees filled you with the warmest joy, but just like he would any other summer, your dad has forced you to come to the beach with him, stating that ‘vitamin d is important’, but what convinced you is that you can just lay down, read your book and sip chill cold cocacola in peace, especially since your dads best friend john price is coming with you

laying happily under the cozy shadow of a colorful umbrella, heart shaped glasses and a book in your hand, your reading is cradled by the gentle hum of the wind moving through the waves, but you find it hard to focus on the lines on the paper as your eyes keep moving towards him — his muscular, buff, hairy chest is wet, burly and decorated with a few scars, his dark, graying hair and beard kissed by the sun as he shook his head, thin drops of water falling over the sand.

you take a shaky breath, feeling your cheeks grow warm and red, brighter than the sun, and quickly look away, blushing hard and feeling bad for staring so much — but gosh, he’s the most attractive man you’ve ever seen, so bulky and mature, aged in the most handsome way.

you toss over the towel, shifting position and continuing reading, already too caught up in the book to notice the looming and lurching shadow above you, that covered the sun rays — you tilt your head, and there he is, bundle of muscles, thick beard and intimidating, pure masculine energy.

“enjoying your book, love?” he asks playfully, his voice rough and low, quirking his brow as he let his eyes travel down your figure, shamelessly staring over your legs and adorable, vintage style bikin, all frills and ribbons — he sets his warm eyes back on your face, “what are you reading, Lolita?”

your cheeks are burning like flames, and you feel like you’re steaming with the hot air around you “m not, sir,”

he only laughs, a short, deep chuckle, before he tilts his head towards the water behind him “not gonna take a swim, doll?”

“dont think so, haven’t put on sunscreen yet..” you nibble on your bottom lip, head elsewhere, before you reach out to heap your bottle of coke “was waiting for someone to help me open this, can you help me sir, please?”

you give him big, doe eyes, your puffy lips parted slightly as your dolly features look up at him with such a tender, innocent look he needs to ignore how uncomfortable and suddenly tight his wet shorts feel.

“of course, doll face,” he takes it from your hands, opens it with a tiny, effortless twist of his large hand and hands it over to you, giving you a slight wink — you flame up under his gaze, and quickly bring the bottle up to your lips, mumbling a shy “thank you, sir”

the first sip is the best one, cold and frizzy bubbles running down your throat as you savor them — you let your eyes mindlessly set on him as you drink, almost choking with the coke when you notice how his own sharp ones are stuck on your lips wrapped around the bottle.

you swallow, placing the bottle down — your dad is swimming cluelessly back in the sea, near the limit of the string of buoys marking the swimming area, out of sight and of reach.

“need me to put sunscreen on you, princess, can’t have your delicate skin get burned now,” he says it almost like a command, stating it like you don’t have a voice in the matter and that makes your heart flutter — he brings his authoritative, caring and dominating attitude everywhere he goes, even when he’s not working, he’s a soldier in control of his surroundings inside and outside of the field.

“don’t wanna bother you sir, but thank you, alright..” you just blink, carefully placing your book down next to you and laying on the sandy towel, practically giving and serving yourself to him. he almost grunts at the sight, you, so young, too young, sweet and modest in your bikini, always dainty and refined.

“never bother me, sweet girl, stay still for old price, good girl” he grips — yes, grips — the sunscreen hardly and bends over one knee, applying it on both hands before starting to smear it over your skin, your arms, your legs and then your thighs. you almost gasp at the contact, his hands have always looked calloused, rough and scarred, like sandpaper, but they feel so good, warm and large against your skin.

he remains silent as he lower his hands and gently squeezed your thighs, a silent request, which you immediately followed by parting your thighs to him, still laying on your back — his hands apply the sunscreen on your inner thighs, close to where you ache the most, where you want him, but your bashfulness prevents you from addressing this need.

his thick fingers distractedly brush over your clothed clit, making you let out a soft, tiny sound, that sounded like a strangled whine and a little sigh — his eyes shoot out, completely and utterly in control, but when he spreads more cream next to your needy spot, you involuntarily buck your hips against his hand, making him clench his jaw and mutter down a restrained, growly “careful, doll, be a good girl and don’t move, said stay still”

you swallow back your embarrassment, your cheeks red and bright, whole face on fire as he shifts his hands on your tummy, caressing it and smearing more white cream on your flat chest, between your tiny, small boobs that are raising and falling with every hard breath.

“feel good, doll?”

you nodded, unable to say anything, but you wanted him to kiss you, to just take you however he pleased “yessir”

“good, on your tummy f’me now, come on” he pats your leg, and you quickly turn around, closing your eyes when you feel his large hands on your back, applying your cream — you arch your back against his fingers, earning a deep, amused chuckle from him.

“look at you, love, stretching yourself like a bunny, huh?”

you nod again, but this time, your eyes shoot open when you feel his thick mustache and beard pressed against the skin of your shoulder, pressing a light, small and tickling kiss — he lowers his hand and playfully pats your bottom, caressing it before drifting back. “done, love, all nice and safe.”

you’re left like this, blushing and wide eyed, watching him take a sip from your bottle of coke, and you can’t help but let your romantic mind think this is an indirect kiss.

Sleepy Price commission for @oasislake76 💤

Masterlist

This was supposed to be a drabble, but the spirit of horny John Price possessed me. Completely unedited with a very abrupt ending... Oh well - sex pollen incoming!

John Price x Reader

*18+, Minors DNI*

Divider by @/cafekitsune

You'd been John Price's secretary for the better part of the last half decade. You'd been with him since he'd first made captain and had formed an excellent working relationship over the years, the nearly seamless teamwork of two people who knew each other inside and out. There'd been a time close to the beginning when you'd wondered if the two of you could have been something more, but it never progressed past the occasional flirtatious comment during a late night paperwork session.

No, you'd resigned yourself to a professional relationship with John years ago, no matter how fast your hear beat whenever you thought of his broad shoulders or strong hands. You told yourself it wasn't his voice you heard in your head when you touched yourself at night, that you didn't see the flex of his forearms as he moved his fingers in and out of you playing like a flim behind your closed eyelids.

You'd always assumed John had a partner tucked away somewhere, some pretty little wife to run his house and keep his belly full whenever he was on leave. You'd never seen a ring, but you'd heard Ghost make an offhand comment to Soap about "the missus" once. It made perfect sense - of course someone as good and dedicated as John would have a significant other waiting in the wings. It made it easy to bury your feelings - you'd never pursue a married man.

But you know what they say about assuming. You couldn't stop the phrase from flitting through your mind as you sat in the briefing room with the members of the 141 minus John. As they told it, he'd been compromised on the most recent mission with some kind of bioweapon and was currently in the infirmary for observations. He'd been asking after you since they'd arrived back in base, begging the other three men to track you down and bring you to his bedside.

"Shouldn't you be ringing Mrs. Price instead? I'm sure she’d want to know her husband was compromised."

A brief silence settled over the briefing room, and Soap and Gaz shared a strange look before glancing at Ghost.

"Price don't have a missus. 'Sides, he's asking for ya. We've wasted enough time already anyway - let's go."

The soldiers were on their feet and out the door before you could process the bomb they'd just dropped. John was single? Who the hell was "the missus" then? You scrambled to your feet and darted down the hall behind them, one arm bracing your chest to keep it from bouncing as you jogged to catch up.

They made it to the infirmary a few minutes ahead of you (damn their longer legs), and you could hear the murmur of their voices alongside John's low baritone. You could hear them laughing inside - that was good at least. John's laughter cut off abruptly as soon as you pushed the door open, his eyes cutting directly to where you stood in the doorway.

You almost thought you imagined the flare of his nostrils as if he was scenting the air, but you couldn't brush off the immediate tent that had formed in the bedsheets.

"There y'are, Dove! I've been dying to see ya all day."

It was your turn to look questioningly at Ghost, but he was sheparding the two sergeants out of the room, drawing the curtain around the bed, and giving you a thumbs up as he shut the door to the room. You swallowed as you heard the click of the lock. You were alone in a locked room with a compromised soldier - he could do anything to you here, he could hurt you, and no one would be the wiser.

"Stop standin' in the doorway like a stranger. Get over here before I have to come get ya."

This was a John Price you hadn't seen before - his cheeks were flushed, pupils dialted, and he was grinning like a madman. What was that bioweapon?

"John?"

He moaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his hips canting up slightly as you stared incredulously at him. Surely you were dreaming - you'd fallen asleep with your fingers buried between your soft thighs before you could orgasm. This had to be your brain's way of working out the lingering frustration of your unsuccessful wank session before bed. This couldn't possibly be real life.

"Please, Dove. I need ya - 'm so hot and everything aches. Just need ya to touch me, just for a second."

He was getting redder by the minute, a line of sweat starting to bead on his brow, his mouth falling open into a pant as he pushed the base of his palm against his erection. You couldn't stay here - you spun on your heel, intent on leaving as fast as possible when you heard a whimper behind you.

"Sweetheart, please. I feel like I'm dying over here."

You couldn't face him - this had to be a cosmic prank. It had to be karma for a past life; the universe dangling the man you wanted the most right in front of your nose as he begged you to touch him.

"John, I can't. You're sick - I'll go find a doctor or something."

You didn't wait for a response as you began to rattle the door handle. Did it only unlock from the outside? The crinkle of a paper under your foot caught your attention, and you looked down to see what was under the toe of your shoe.

Price got hit with a bioweapon making him extremely reactive to anyone he's attracted to. We figured it might be why he was so insistent on seeing you. It should wear off in about 12 hours - see you then.

You were going to find a way to kill Lieutenant Ghost. He'd broken about 15 different military protocols locking you in here, and you'd ensure he was court-martialed as soon as you figured out how you were going to escape.

A scorching heat at your back pulled you out of your vengeful reverie. Somehow, John had rolled out of bed and crept up behind you while you were reading the note. His palms were burning against your skin as he kneeded the fat of your hips.

"Always loved this fat arse, these pretty thighs. I’ve gotta sit on my hands sometimes when ya come into my office to stop myself from grabbing at ya. Just want to get a nice handful..."

You gasped as his hand slipped down the curve of your hip to grip your ass and squeeze, the hot length of his cock pressing against the small of your back. He slipped his muscular thigh between your legs and shifted you forward until your hands were pressed against the wall, using his broad shoulders to cage you in.

John was quickly starting to eclipse the world around you until he was all that was left. You couldn't stop the little whimper that tore up your throat as he bounced you on his thigh, his hands coming up to grip your chest. You could tell by the glide in your underwear you were already wet, almost past the point of reason now the man you'd wanted for years had his hands on you.

You didn't stop yourself from grinding back into him as his hands wandered across the planes of your body, gently caressing every curve and dip, pausing to stroke the rolls of your stomach tenderly.

"God I love you, Dove, but I can't wait anymore."

You whined as he slid back, the sweet pressure from his thigh dropping away as he fiddled with the button on the front of your trousers. You knocked his hands out of the way impatiently - he wasn't the only one who couldn't wait. John moaned as you finally ripped your trousers and underwear down your legs to pool on the floor at your feet.

"The shirt too - I need to see all of ya."

It was all the encouragement you needed to tear the rest of your clothes off, leaving you completely bare to John's tender gaze.

"So pretty, and all mine."

A switch seemed to flip with those words, and he was on you in an instant, his lips bruising and insistent on your own as he tugged you down to the floor. The juxtaposition between his fire on your front and the coolness of the tile at your back was intoxicating - you were going to fuck John Price.

"I'm not gonna be able to take my time, not the way I want, so you gotta promise me we'll go slow next time."

You gasped as he slid two fingers into you without warning. "Next time?"

"Yeah, next time," John was rapidly loosing his presence of mind, his words coming out in a growl as he scissored his fingers inside you.

"What kind of man would I be if I didn't make sure my missus was satisifed?"

You were the one Ghost was talking about - he'd been talking about you. The idea John talked about you enough for you to be seen as "his" had you unspooling, and you cried out his name as your orgasm rocketed through you.

He didn't wait for you to catch your breath before lining himself up with your entrance and sinking in, sighing in contentment as your walls gripped him.

"Thank you, Dove. You always know how to make everything better."

His eyes were closed as he rocked above you, setting a punishing rhythm as he chased his own release. Your eyes were hazy as you looked up at him, your fingers trembling as you reached up to trace his lips. They parted as you touched them, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste the salt on your skin. It didn't take him long to get close, only a few dozen thrusts before he was growling into your shoulder as he came, panting your name into the crook of your neck.

He seemed to come back to himself as you stroked his hair, blushing and stuttering as he apologized for taking you on the floor like an animal.

You couldn't stop yourself from giggling as you looked up at him. "You can make it up to me in the bed. You did promise me the next time would be slow. After all, you've got to take care of your missus, right?"

please hear me out- do you see the vision of laswelll scolding price because he's too dumb to let go of one of the rare good things in his life? i just need a man like john price to fight for me (for his love) back 😩

Don’t Be an Idiot, John.

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Synopsis: After pushing you away, convinced you deserved better, he finds himself on the receiving end of a well-earned lecture from Kate Laswell. And for once, he listens. Because if there’s one fight he can’t afford to lose—it’s the one for you.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, second chances, Price being stubborn, but ultimately a soft, devoted idiot.

Laswell had seen John Price survive war zones, outmaneuver enemies, and command respect from the deadliest soldiers on the planet.

But right now?

Right now, he was just a complete idiot.

She sat across from him in a dimly lit café, arms crossed, staring him down like a disappointed mother. The silence between them was sharp, cutting through the hum of quiet conversation and clinking mugs. Price, on the other hand, sat there looking like a man being read his last rites—tired, grim, and entirely too stubborn for his own good.

“So, let me get this straight,” Laswell started, voice dangerously calm. “You had someone—a good someone—who cared about you, made your life better, and for some inexplicable reason, you let them go?”

Price exhaled slowly, rubbing his fingers along the rim of his coffee cup. “Wasn’t that simple, Kate.”

“No, John. It was that simple,” she snapped. “And you made it complicated.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when he was already haunted by the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t just a soldier, but a man worth loving.

Laswell leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “You can sit there and tell me all the bullshit reasons you convinced yourself it wouldn’t work, but let me remind you of something—people like us don’t get a lot of second chances, John. And when we do, we don’t waste them.”

Price let out a slow sigh, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “She deserves better,” he muttered, like the words hurt to say out loud. “I’m not exactly… an easy man to be with.”

Laswell rolled her eyes so hard Price thought she might strain something. “For fuck’s sake, John. She chose you. Despite the missions, despite the scars, despite the fact that you probably smell like cigars and gun oil half the time.” She jabbed a finger at him. “And instead of fighting for it, for her, you pushed her away. Because what? You were scared?”

Price didn’t answer. Because maybe—just maybe—that was the truth of it.

Laswell exhaled, shaking her head. “I’ve seen good men lose everything to this job, John. I’ve seen them come home to empty houses, to regrets they can never fix.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “Don’t be one of them.”

Price looked down at his hands, his mind a battlefield of memories.

The way you had always welcomed him home with that tired, knowing smile.

The way your fingers traced over his scars without fear, without pity.

The way you had kissed him—really kissed him—like he was something more than just a soldier, something worth coming home to.

And then he remembered the hurt in your eyes when he had let you go.

Laswell’s voice cut through his thoughts one last time.

“If you love her, fix it. Because if you don’t, John…” She leaned back, shaking her head. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Price sat there for a long moment, staring at his coffee like it might have the answers.

Then, without another word, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.

Because fuck being an idiot.

He wasn’t about to lose you—not without a fight.

The city hummed around him—cars passing, distant voices in the night—but none of it mattered.

Not when the only thing he cared about was you.

He hesitated for half a second before knocking, hard enough to make sure you heard, but not so much that you’d think it was an emergency. Though, in a way, maybe it was.

Seconds passed.

Then—soft footsteps. A pause. And finally, the door cracked open.

And there you were.

Hair a little messy from sleep, wearing one of those oversized sweaters he always liked seeing on you. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, surprised—hesitant.

“John?” your voice was cautious, uncertain. “What are you doing here?”

Price exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

“I fucked up.” The words were gruff, unpolished. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly, like you weren’t sure if you had heard him right.

He ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. “Kate gave me a proper bollocking,” he admitted, almost like a grumble, and you couldn’t help the tiny twitch of your lips at that. “Told me I was an idiot. She was right.”

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest. “John… you ended things. You made that choice.”

“I did.” His voice was firm, resolute. “And I was wrong.”

Silence stretched between you. You wanted to be angry. You had been angry. But standing here, with him looking at you like you were the only thing in the damn world that mattered…

It made it hard.

“You deserve better,” he continued, quieter this time. “I thought walking away was the right thing to do. Thought I was saving you from a life of waiting, worrying—” He let out a sharp exhale. “But I was just a coward.”

Your heart clenched at that. Because damn him, you knew how much it took for John Price to admit fear.

“I don’t need saving, John,” you said, voice steady. “I just needed you.”

His jaw flexed, and for a second, you saw it—the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes flickered with something raw.

“I love you,” he said, simple, honest. “And if you’ll let me… I want to fix this.”

Your breath hitched. “And if I don’t?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, like the thought alone was unbearable. “Then I’ll leave you alone.” A pause. “But I won’t stop loving you.”

Damn him.

You looked at him, at the man who had fought wars and won battles—but was standing in front of you now, waiting, hoping. Fighting for you.

You took a slow step forward, then another. Until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, to see the slight tension in his posture as he waited for your answer.

Then, softly, you murmured, “You’re an idiot, John Price.”

A beat.

Then his hand lifted, warm and familiar against your cheek. “I know.”

And when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his—when he let out a shaky breath, pulling you closer, like he wasn’t about to let go again—

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap

cw: wound and blood

Injured

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

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