Straight to business, Masterlists will be right under the cut, but if you wanna learn a bit more about me, keep reading beyond that 😌🩵
If you ever wanna just scroll endlessly through everything I've written, you'll want to visit my archive account. This is where I reblog every single fic I post as I no longer do taglists. Find me here @nastybuckyarchives
If you're looking for Masterlists:
My Old Works
My New Works
My Old Dark Works
If you wanna get to know me!
My name is Lex! I'm a twenty something year old 🇨🇦 Marvel fan, but I'm branching into other fandoms slowly but surely! I'm more of a reader than I am a TV or movie watcher, but I'm trying to watch more (send movie/tv recs plz). I am a published author and am currently working on a few more original books on the side!
I write in second or third person, with my reader character being described as 'she/her' with female anatomy.
I write dark fics, smut, fluff, angst, a/b/o, and lotsa AU's (I'm a slut for royal aus).
Who do I write for?
MCU- Mostly just Bucky and Steve, however I am considering writing for Wanda and Yelena as well 👀
COD - Ghost, König, Potentially Soap and Price
Top Gun - Open to writing for Rooster and Hangman
The Witcher - Geralt
TLK - Sihtric, Finan
Do I accept asks/requests/submissions?
Yes! I love love love these I live for this shit! Especially now that I'm getting back into the swing of things! If you want me to write for a character that you don't see on my blog, shoot me an ask and I'll see what I can do! If you have questions or ideas for something i've written, send it my way! If you wanna get to know me more, I'd love to chat!
Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?
A/n: i've got a short little epilogue written but that's pretty much it for this series! I'm so open to blurbs and one-shots with this pairing, and i do have a vague plan to weave this into the story of ghost and mouse. i hope you guys enjoy!!
~*~
“I don’t even know, anymore, to be honest.”
Your therapist looks up from the circles he was drawing in the corner of the paper.
“Can you elaborate on that a little bit?”
The question that sparked such a response had been: 'What are you looking forward to these days?'
“I don’t know… what is there to look forward to these days? I don’t have any friends or family… what am I supposed to be looking forward to when all I see when I look toward the future is a blank abyss staring straight back? How could I possibly have anything to look forward to when the only things in my life are reminders of the worst things to ever happen to me?”
Instead of doodling on his notepad the way he normally would during one of your weekly sessions, Doctor Martins is taking quick notes and nodding along with a few of the things you say.
He hasn’t been able to extrapolate much from your weekly sessions till this point.
You just haven’t had much to say.
“It’s gotten to a point where I can’t help but question if saving my life was the right thing to do.”
His pen scratches the paper with such force it tears it a little.
“Miss Doe, your life matters. It well and truly does.”
You snort and give your head a tiny shake.
“Not sure how a life like this could matter.”
He opens his mouth to speak again, but the little timer on his desk chimes softly, signalling the end of your session.
You give him a bland smile and rise to your feet.
“Looks like we’re out of time for today. Until next time, Doc.”
He watches you silently, a little worried for you as you leave the room, but not worried enough to do anything about it.
One of your handlers is waiting outside in the car, silent as you get in and silent as she drives toward your safe house.
The entire ride, you’re pondering… everything.
Everything you’ve lost. From your friends to your family to your new friends and new family to John. Hell, even Ruth is on that list.
But now you’re stuck with Agent Greene and Agent Patel and sometimes Agent Ryback and being around any of them is as riveting as watching paint dry.
Maybe, you decide, they’re this boring because you’ve never opened the door for any sort of conversation or friendship.
Eventually, when you pull up to the house, you turn to Agent Greene and give her a friendly smile.
“Did you want to come in for a coffee or something?” The words are rushed and blurted, but she doesn’t flinch. She only gives you a polite smile and unlocks the doors.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate for your safety.”
You blink at her once, then turn and exit the car without another word.
Welp. There goes the door to conversation or friendship slamming in your face.
As you sulk your way through your little safe house, you can’t help but think bitter thoughts about your last team.
Maybe if they had Agent Greene’s mentality, they would’ve kept you safe.
It’s a stupid thought, especially when you remember that you asked Simon to put you in harm's way.
Price hadn’t wanted to put you in that position. He didn’t want to end the daydream. Maybe he was on to something.
Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you get into the shower.
How is this all that your life is now?
You find yourself thinking, as you so often do these days, that it would be better if that bullet had killed you.
~*~
Price is nursing his second cup of ‘tea’ when there’s a knock on the door.
He ignores it, as he usually does, and looks through the files on his desk for the most prospective opp.
It's been less than a week since he got back from his last one.
The door opens and the big bear at the desk sighs, glaring at the person who dares to enter his cave.
“Don’t remember saying you could come in.”
Simon ignores his grumbling and makes himself comfortable in the chair across from his Captain, watching him for a long while.
He looks bad, Simon notes. Though, he and the boys noticed this starting several months ago. His eyes are tired and dull, weighed down by heavy bags.
Simon’s not sure the last time he saw the Captain leave base for any reason besides work, much less get a good night’s sleep. The man looks old and grey and withered. He reeks of sweat, booze, tobacco, and a hint of misery to top it off.
Hard to believe the only difference is the lack of one pain-in-the-ass little dove.
His strong, revered Captain looks old, tired, a little bit drunk, and straight up bad.
Only when the vein on Price’s forehead pulses with enough force to burst does Simon lean forward and drop a piece of paper on the desk.
Price stares at it for a long moment, flicking his eyes between the paper and Simon’s eyes before leaning forward and taking it between his fingers.
He’s not sure what it is at first.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
They’re coordinates. That much is obvious.
But where and what they’re for is beyond him.
He stares at the coordinates intently, as if watching them will somehow reveal their destination.
“S’been like watching a two-legged dog hobble around these past few months,” Simon finally says, glancing at the paper. “Figured I might as well put you out of your misery.”
Misery?
How could this possibly…
He glances up at Simon, eyes asking the question his tongue refuses to taste.
Simon only looks pointedly at the coordinates once again.
When Price had given you that manila folder with your new life inside, he refused to take a single look. He couldn’t bring himself to read one tiny detail about you or your new life. Hell, he doesn’t even know the names of your handlers.
If he knew anything, he would’ve found you by now.
He needed a clean break. No loose ends.
And he’s been fine! Has he been drinking… more than he used to? Yeah, so what? That happens when you’re in the field of work he finds himself to be in. Has he been struggling maybe a little bit with sleeping at night? Mmmmm how is that anybody’s business but his own?
He was fine.
And then in saunters Simon Riley, loosening his meticulously tied ends.
Like the man could let his Captain lose his bird.
Fat chance.
Simon’s kept tabs on you since you and the team parted ways.
Good ones, at that.
“You sure about this?” Price finally asks, looking at his lieutenant. Instead of sorrow and exhaustion and guilt swimming in his eyes, Simon sees hope. For the first time in months.
Simon gives him a very slow nod, then rises to his feet and turns to the door.
He pauses with one hand on the doorknob.
“She needs you.”
Price stares at the coordinates as the door shuts behind Simon. His eyes are stinging but he refuses to blink - scared that the coordinates may be gone when he reopens his eyes.
Finally, for a fraction of a second, his top lashes meet his bottom ones and when they separate again the coordinates are still on the paper.
He lets out an incredulous little laugh and shoves himself to his feet.
The whiskey in his teacup is in the trash can beside his desk, and then he’s marching over to the coffee maker to start sobering up.
~*~
You trudge up the walkway to your safehouse with a scowl on your face.
It’s hot, blazingly so. You feel hot and sticky and sweaty and sore from physio and just plain miserable.
Summer is supposed to be fun. Full of days at the beach, pool parties, and backyard barbecues.
Instead, it feels like an endless march through the heat toward an unknown and, possibly worse, destination.
All your life consists of these days is therapy for your gunshot wound, and more therapy for what your gunshot wound did to your brain.
Not the most stimulating existence.
As you lock the door, goosebumps rise on your skin.
Something feels off.
You turn slowly, heart racing as you expect the worst.
Instead, there’s nothing.
You heave a sigh and push away from the door, freezing when you enter the kitchen.
There’s a bag on the table that does not belong.
Your heart is pounding in your ears as you sweep the house for hostiles.
For Makarov.
“Your new team isn’t nearly as good as your old one.”
You gasp, almost shriek, and grab your chest as Captain John Price steps into view.
“Captain,” you whisper, breathless and still a little afraid. “Are they here?”
The question breaks his heart a bit, and he curses the forces that brought the two of you to meet.
When he’s not thanking them profusely for dropping you in his path, he’s cursing them for the way they did it.
He shakes his head and takes a step toward you with his hands raised in surrender.
Only then do you really take a good look at him.
He’s not dressed in his usual military attire. No, he’s wearing dark jeans, a sweater, and a hat on top of his head.
His face looks tired and worn, and for a moment you find yourself remembering the ‘Grandpa’ comment from all that time ago.
He’s never looked older.
“You’re safe,” he whispers. “It’s just me.”
Your shoulders shrug as a sigh whooshes from your chest, and Price feels himself calm down a tiny bit when you visibly relax.
“What are you doing here?” You finally ask, wringing your hands together.
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Then opens it one more time to let out a sigh.
“I… wasn’t going to,” he admits softly. “I didn’t know where you were. I… I tried not to know. I knew that if I knew where you were… who you were now… I wouldn’t be able to keep myself away.”
Your heart is in your stomach, and your stomach is in your ass as his words process in your mind.
“H-how did you find me?” You manage to whisper.
He’s quiet for a moment, eyes focused on you, watching you as intently as you’re watching him.
He’s reading you. Reading your body and taking you in after all this time.
He still has nightmares of your lifeless body on the cold, hard floor, blood pouring from your chest.
But here you are in front of him now, on your feet. Alive.
He’s missed you.
A lot.
A lot more than he realized, now that he’s with you again.
“You left quite an impression on us, Dove. S’not just me who missed you.”
One of the others, you realize. Likely Johnny or Kyle. Certainly not Simon. Right?
“Why are you here?” What does he want? Why is he here? What happens next?
“Because I don’t want to be anywhere without you anymore.”
“B-but what about…” you trail off and look around pointedly.
You can’t exactly just march out of here hand-in-hand without some sort of explanation to your handlers.
Price raises a brow at your lack of imagination. He has no intention of telling those squares a lick of what’s about to go down.
“Pack what you need. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”
Price is pleasantly surprised to find out that you learned a thing or two during your time with him and Task Force 141. You’re back down the stairs with an emergency bag over your shoulder in just under two minutes.
“You’ve got all you need in there?” He asks. He knows you do, he just can’t believe this is really happening.
You nod up at him, smiling and a little breathless.
“Yup. I was just using the bathroom. I imagine we’ve got a long drive ahead of us?”
Price gives you a wicked grin and leads you to the back door.
“The drive isn’t too bad. It’s the flight that’ll be long.”
Whatever you thought was going to happen when you got home from physio, this is beyond that. This… it’s beyond even your wildest dreams.
Price leads you out the back door and down to the back lane where an old sedan with tinted windows is waiting.
He walks confidently without shame. He knows he has nothing to worry about.
The cameras have long since been deactivated, and Kyle already cleared him a straight path from the house to the chopper.
Now, the only thing he has to worry about is what music you’ll want to listen to in the car ride over.
~*~
(the) Price is right, the flight is long. Ridiculously so. But some hours or days later, after another car ride and a ferry, you’re standing outside of your new home.
It’s large, two storeys, and the exterior walls are composed of different light-coloured stones and bricks. It shines like a beacon of hope against the gloomy grey skies.
The feeling that bubbles up inside of you is bittersweet.
“You doin’ alright over there?” John asks, grabbing your bag from the car and coming up to stand beside you.
You nod at him and give him a teary smile.
This is it.
As if.
He leads you up toward the oak front door and holds it open for you like a true gentleman.
You take your shoes off at the front door and slowly make your way through the house.
The rooms are spacious and hold lots of potential, but are scarcely decorated and hardly furnished.
You’re not sure if you expected the man to have had Martha Stewart’s input when decorating his home or what, but the lack of warmth in his home fills you with excitement.
A project.
From painting the walls to adding some homey touches, you know his home - your home now, too - has more than enough potential.
“I’ve got two guest bedrooms here, if you’re needing your own space at all. They’re both down that hall, and there’s a bathroom on the other side as well. But this here is the master bedroom. Ensuit is just through there.”
You follow Price as he leads you into the bedroom, going in the direction of the master bathroom to have a look.
He trails after you, watching you with a soft smile on his face.
This feels good. This feels right.
Though the rest of the house may be open to opportunity and potential, the master bathroom is the one area that Price put the time and money into maximizing.
The shower is massive, with two waterfall showerheads raining down from the ceiling and another adjustable one against the wall.
As if the shower wasn’t enough, he’s got a lovely freestanding oval tub that almost looks like it was custom-built to accommodate his massive size.
After hours and hours and hours of travel, you could certainly get behind a hot shower or bath.
Especially if you have some help.
You’re suddenly reminded of the promise he made back in the bunker.
You’d be lying if you said you haven’t spent a night or two (or more) with your fingers between your folds, dreaming of him fulfilling his promise one day.
Today is that day. It has to be.
Tugging open the shower door, you turn the water on hot and watch in awe as warm water rains down.
Without saying a word, you begin to undress.
Price stands in the doorway of the bathroom, thick arms crossed over his chest as he watches you slowly get undressed.
His cock stirs in his trousers as you reveal inch after inch of gloriously naked skin to him.
Oh, how he’s only ever dreamed of being allowed to witness something so sacred.
You’re fully naked now, bare back toward him as you stick your toes under the spray to test the water.
He drinks in every inch of you with hungry eyes.
The curves, dimples, stretch marks, and scars.
Every perfect piece of you, bare for him to view.
And then you’re stepping into the shower and the water is cascading down your body and he swears his heart stops.
Michelangelo himself longs for such a muse.
You keep your back to him, almost like you’re pretending he’s not there, as you start to help the water familiarize itself with your body.
Price’s breath catches in his throat when you turn to the side, giving him just enough of a view of your front to have him drooling and ready to beg for more.
“Am I supposed to be doing this alone? Or are you coming to join me?” Your voice is silky smooth and carries on the steam across the bathroom over to where he stands in the doorway.
Or rather, where he stood.
As soon as your words reach his ears, his clothes are pooled on the floor and he’s stepping into the shower behind you.
You can’t help the little gasp that leaves you when you find your hips held in his hands and his hips pressed against your ass.
He says nothing, only pushes the two of you forward until you’re both under the full spray of the shower.
The water rains down on the two of you, hot and steamy and a little suffocating as he slowly rocks his hips against you.
A whimper tumbles past your lips and your eyes fall closed.
This is bliss.
This is home.
“If memory serves correctly,” he whispers, lips dusting over the shell of your ear. “I made you a promise.”
He sure did.
One of his hands leaves your hip and begins its slow and wet journey up your body.
Your breath hitches when his hand cups your breast, and he pauses there for a moment.
He tucks his chin onto your shoulder and watches as his own hand squeezes your supple breast.
“Fuckin look at you,” he whispers, pinching your hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You whine at the touch and arch your back, pushing your chest further into his hand.
He chuckles, low and gravelly, and pulls on your nipple until you whimper.
“Such a desperate girl for me, aren’t you?”
You’re nodding before his words have fully registered in your brain, and that only makes him laugh again.
You frown at that and turn around to glare up at him, ignoring the water pouring down on your face.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
The gruff man before you smiles softly at your pout, index finger dragging against your bottom lip for a moment.
“Sorry, Dove. You make it hard, though.” He means that in more ways than one, and your eyes drop down to his crotch instinctively.
He watches as your eyes widen and your throat bobs with a gulp.
He wonders what it would feel like to have you swallow around him like that.
“What? What’s got you lookin’ so scared?” He asks, tauntingly. To punctuate his words, his cock jumps.
You shake your head and look back up at him, pupils blown.
“Please.” One word. Six letters.
He’ll give you anything you want.
In an instant, you find yourself bracing against the shower wall, wet fingers splayed against the tile as Price’s hand in your hair tugs your head back.
“You gonna trust me?” He asks, dragging his nose down the side of your throat.
You nod breathlessly, desperate to see what he’s going to do next. To feel what he’s going to do next.
He gives your hair a tug at the root, teeth grazing over your neck.
“I asked you a question.”
Oh.
Your legs wobble and your head gets a little airy.
“Y-yes,” you whisper.
You can feel his mouth pull into a smile before he sinks his teeth into your skin.
The sound that leaves you is half cry and half gasp, and John is quick to soothe his tongue over the spot.
“Sorry, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kiss after sweet kiss to your neck. “I need to taste you.”
Your knees grow even weaker.
The hand on your waist slowly slinks around to the front of your body, following the water droplets until he’s dipping his fingers beneath the waterfall at the apex of your thighs.
His fingers spread around your slit, avoiding your more sensitive areas, and instead, they engulf every other inch of you between your thighs.
He stuffs his big hand between your plush thighs and cups your mound gingerly, making sure to keep his warm fingers away from your aching core.
“You’ve been seein’ anyone? Hmm? Let anyone else touch this pussy?” His crass words make a gasp bubble out of you.
“N-no.”
He knows that already.
“Hmmm… should I see if you’re lying?”
You don’t say anything. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to say. But he doesn’t mind.
He waits until you spread your pretty thighs apart for him, and then he’s slowly dipping the tip of his middle finger into your sopping cunt.
He’s gentle.
Painfully so.
The rough pad of his finger just circles your dripping hole, never going beyond the tip. He can feel you clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. It’s cute.
He plays with you like this for a moment, his mouth at your throat and his finger at your hole.
For a moment, you feel like a puppet, and he, your master.
Well, maybe for more than just a moment.
Finally, he ends your suffering and slides his digit in to the hilt.
You suck in a sharp breath and quickly sputter out the water.
“You alright?”
You nod quickly, rocking your hips into his hand desperately.
He starts a slow, steady pace. Thrusting his finger in and pulling it back out, thrusting - pulling. Until he stops to wiggle it against your gummy walls and your toes start to curl.
“O-oh!”
Price chuckles at your reaction.
“Honey, this is just the beginning. Need you to relax a bit if you expect to take my cock.”
You clamp down around his finger at his words, and he shakes his head in mock disappointment.
“Should I stop?”
“No!” Your voice echoes in the bathroom. “Please…”
He gives your neck another nip and kisses it better right after.
“You think you can handle another, then?”
You nod immediately, and then he’s sliding his middle finger out to slip it back in alongside his ring finger. The stretch is noticeable but not at all unpleasant, and you find yourself relaxing into his hold.
The hand in your hair moves down until it finds your breasts, and he gives them each a harsh squeeze. You sigh softly at the feeling, undulating your hips in rhythm with the thrusting of his fingers within you.
“You’re stunning,” he whispers, breath hot against your skin.
His fingers press against your walls firmly, intentionally stretching you out to get you ready to take his heavy, weeping cock.
Your cunt is tight and warm and soaking around his fingers. He’s not sure he’ll last more than a pump or two inside you, if he’s being completely honest.
He’s spent countless nights fisting his cock to the memory of you. Now that he gets to have you? Cardiac might come to arrest him!
“Oh!” Your hips arch back when his fingers hit a spot inside of you that makes you see stars.
“Right there? That the spot?”
You nod like an idiot and drop your mouth open to moan when he hits that spot again and again and again and again.
With every thrust of his fingers inside of you, the palm of his hand rubs against your clit. The combination of both has your head spinning in the hot shower air.
Your toes curl as the coil in your belly tightens, and your brows draw together as you chase the feeling.
“Please,” you whisper, leaning your head forward until it knocks against the shower wall.
“You close already?” The way he asks it makes you want to turn away in shame, but all you can do is nod pathetically and clench your hands into fists as he works you closer and closer to the edge.
This is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.
Without warning, your walls clamp down around his fingers, and you pulse around him.
He stares at you in shock, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Huh. That was a lot easier than he was expecting.
He was prepared to spend all night nuzzled between your thighs until you came. Maybe now he’ll spend the night seeing how many times he can make you cum.
You breathe heavily through parted lips as he slows to a halt and withdraws his fingers from your body.
“That easy?” He asks, voice light and teasing in your ear. It still sends a shiver down your spine.
“I said I was close,” you defend weakly.
The sound of your voice, full of hunger and desire, sets something alight within him, and he pulls your body closer to his.
“I want you to take my cock, darling. Can you do that for me?”
How could you possibly say no to that?
“Do you think you can take me? Or is your poor little pussy too tired now?”
Oh. It’s not a matter of if you want to do it. He’s not sure if you can.
You’ll show him.
You slip one hand off the wall in front of you and slide it behind your back where his leaking cock is throbbing against you. You wrap your warm fingers around his thick shaft and pump once, twice, three whole times before he regains control of his mind and snatches your wrist up in an iron grip.
You’d been behaving so well so far. But really, he was a fool to think that the brattiness you’ve shown him would not resurface.
He pins your wrist to your lower back and takes your earlobe between his teeth, ignoring the sharp gasp that shakes your pretty tits.
“You really wanna misbehave? I planned on taking my time with you. Not sure if you deserve that now.”
You whine your disproval, shaking your head and wiggling your hips in something that’s half-apology, half-mockery.
But the way your ass feels against his cock is too good for him to be mad about anything.
He lets you grind on him for a moment longer, and then he’s withdrawing his hips just far enough to adjust himself, and then he’s pushing back between your legs and spearing through your pillowy pussy lips.
Every pass of his cock lathers his length with your slick, and each thrust bumps over your clit, making your hole gush.
He continues this for several long, torturous minutes. Each time he rubs the tip of his cock over your swollen clit, you let out a different sort of noise. Some of them border on pain, but all of them are dripping in pleasure.
Only once he’s deemed his cock wet enough does he stop thrusting, and that’s only to line himself up with your quivering cunt and fuck the tip in niiiiiiiice and slow.
Your eyes roll back in your head once you finally feel the warmth of him inside you.
The thick, bulbous tip stretches your poor little cunt to its limits, and you can do nothing but take it as he ruins your messy little hole.
Your wrist is suddenly free, but your hip is now held captive in his bruising grip. His other hand finds purchase on the wall, thick fingers clawing at the tile as he slowly starts to feed you more and more of his girthy cock.
Every roll of his hips forward forces another inch of dick inside of you, the walls of your pussy clinging to it every time he pulls back. He wishes he could watch, could see the way your sweet pussy stretches and clings to his heavy cock.
But what he can’t see, you can intimately feel.
Every added inch drags on your walls with each thrust, filling you up in a way you didn’t know you could be filled.
Every crevice, every cranny, every nook, is sowly being overtaken by him until finally, finally, his hips are flush against your ass and your cunt is stuffed full of him.
The hand on your hip moves up up up until he’s holding the back of your neck, and he gingerly guides you down down down until you’re bent over for him.
The new angle forces him impossibly deeper, and his heavy balls nestle against your aching pussy when he leans over you.
Forearm braced on the wall, his big body shields you from the stream of water above as he begins to roll his hips into your ass.
Your hands act as a barrier between your head and the tile wall, but Price has other plans.
“You said you could take it, yeah? So take it.”
He has your wrists bound in one big hand against the small of your back mere moments later, forcing your cheek to smush against the wall. Your chest is pressed against the wall soon after, and the contrast of the cool tiles against your burning skin only adds another layer of pleasure.
He fucks into you harder, fueled by each keening moan that leaves your pretty mouth.
You feel so fucking good around him.
Tight and wet and hot. Heat like he’s never felt is suckling his cock every single time he thrusts into you, and he’s not sure how long he’s going to last.
He wants to cum in you.
Wants to fill you up with his hot cum and watch your tummy swell with his children.
Those are the thoughts that plague him as he squeezes your wrists and fucks his seed deep into your womb.
His balls throb and his cock aches, but he doesn’t stop thrusting into you until he’s sure you’ve milked him of every last drop.
Only once the tremors have stopped and his cock has softened does he pull out of your puffy cunt, but your hole isn’t empty for long.
His long fingers are sliding through your messy folds from the back, smearing his cum over your swollen clit until you whine.
Then he’s got two fingers fucking your gaped hole, cum sloshing audibly. You push yourself up onto your arms again and your legs tremble. “F-fuck… I can’t…”
Price grins at the challenge.
“Yes, you can.”
You shake your head but your body obeys him, and in a matter of moments he has your pussy spasming again, sucking his cum deeper.
You collapse in his arms at the force of your second orgasm, eyes rolled back and mouth dropped open as wave after powerful wave of bliss washes over you.
He holds you, limp like a ragdoll, in his arms for several moments, before manuevering you to lean against him wiith your arms wrapped around his neck.
While you recover, he washes your body for you, being careful of the sensitive mess between your legs. He’s gentle with you. Soft. It makes your heart sing and your head spin.
Once you’re nice and clean, Price helps you out of the shower and wraps you up in his warmest towel, then ushers you into the bedroom.
Your eyes are glazed over and tired, and your body has a light airiness to it that feels like walking on a cloud.
Price dries you off and helps you climb into bed, sliding in on the other side and immediately pulling you into his arms.
You nuzzle into his chest and let your lids flutter closed, body still thrumming with the afterfeelings of your coupling. Your heart feels warm and full, and so does your pussy.
Price tucks his chin on top of your head and lets out the most satisfying breath he thinks he’s ever taken in his life.
He did it.
Albeit, a bit quicker than he’d imagined. But expecting a man to last long when he’s balls deep in a slice of heaven is too much to expect from John Price.
As if hearing his thoughts, your tired, fucked-out voice emerges from the tangle of limbs and love.
“That easy, hmm?”
Your entire body shakes with the force of laughter that bubbles out of John’s chest.
His Dove and her viper tongue.
“That’s the first time I’ve had sex in over a year, sweetheart. Apologies if I was a little… prompt.”
You can’t help but giggle at his archaic word choice, but then the weight of his words hits you.
The two of you crossed paths a little under a year ago, at this point.
He hasn’t slept with another woman since meeting you.
You open your mouth to ask about it, but he’s quicker.
“I’m sure I can make it up to you, if you’ll allow it.”
And just like that, any thoughts that aren’t all the ways he plans to make it up to you, fly out the window.
He can feel the shift in your mood and smiles, tugging back just enough to look at you.
His eyes are warm, happy. Full of so much love and joy and peace.
And you’re sure that your own eyes are a mirror of his.
Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?
A/n: i've got a short little epilogue written but that's pretty much it for this series! I'm so open to blurbs and one-shots with this pairing, and i do have a vague plan to weave this into the story of ghost and mouse. i hope you guys enjoy!!
~*~
“I don’t even know, anymore, to be honest.”
Your therapist looks up from the circles he was drawing in the corner of the paper.
“Can you elaborate on that a little bit?”
The question that sparked such a response had been: 'What are you looking forward to these days?'
“I don’t know… what is there to look forward to these days? I don’t have any friends or family… what am I supposed to be looking forward to when all I see when I look toward the future is a blank abyss staring straight back? How could I possibly have anything to look forward to when the only things in my life are reminders of the worst things to ever happen to me?”
Instead of doodling on his notepad the way he normally would during one of your weekly sessions, Doctor Martins is taking quick notes and nodding along with a few of the things you say.
He hasn’t been able to extrapolate much from your weekly sessions till this point.
You just haven’t had much to say.
“It’s gotten to a point where I can’t help but question if saving my life was the right thing to do.”
His pen scratches the paper with such force it tears it a little.
“Miss Doe, your life matters. It well and truly does.”
You snort and give your head a tiny shake.
“Not sure how a life like this could matter.”
He opens his mouth to speak again, but the little timer on his desk chimes softly, signalling the end of your session.
You give him a bland smile and rise to your feet.
“Looks like we’re out of time for today. Until next time, Doc.”
He watches you silently, a little worried for you as you leave the room, but not worried enough to do anything about it.
One of your handlers is waiting outside in the car, silent as you get in and silent as she drives toward your safe house.
The entire ride, you’re pondering… everything.
Everything you’ve lost. From your friends to your family to your new friends and new family to John. Hell, even Ruth is on that list.
But now you’re stuck with Agent Greene and Agent Patel and sometimes Agent Ryback and being around any of them is as riveting as watching paint dry.
Maybe, you decide, they’re this boring because you’ve never opened the door for any sort of conversation or friendship.
Eventually, when you pull up to the house, you turn to Agent Greene and give her a friendly smile.
“Did you want to come in for a coffee or something?” The words are rushed and blurted, but she doesn’t flinch. She only gives you a polite smile and unlocks the doors.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate for your safety.”
You blink at her once, then turn and exit the car without another word.
Welp. There goes the door to conversation or friendship slamming in your face.
As you sulk your way through your little safe house, you can’t help but think bitter thoughts about your last team.
Maybe if they had Agent Greene’s mentality, they would’ve kept you safe.
It’s a stupid thought, especially when you remember that you asked Simon to put you in harm's way.
Price hadn’t wanted to put you in that position. He didn’t want to end the daydream. Maybe he was on to something.
Tears are streaming down your cheeks as you get into the shower.
How is this all that your life is now?
You find yourself thinking, as you so often do these days, that it would be better if that bullet had killed you.
~*~
Price is nursing his second cup of ‘tea’ when there’s a knock on the door.
He ignores it, as he usually does, and looks through the files on his desk for the most prospective opp.
It's been less than a week since he got back from his last one.
The door opens and the big bear at the desk sighs, glaring at the person who dares to enter his cave.
“Don’t remember saying you could come in.”
Simon ignores his grumbling and makes himself comfortable in the chair across from his Captain, watching him for a long while.
He looks bad, Simon notes. Though, he and the boys noticed this starting several months ago. His eyes are tired and dull, weighed down by heavy bags.
Simon’s not sure the last time he saw the Captain leave base for any reason besides work, much less get a good night’s sleep. The man looks old and grey and withered. He reeks of sweat, booze, tobacco, and a hint of misery to top it off.
Hard to believe the only difference is the lack of one pain-in-the-ass little dove.
His strong, revered Captain looks old, tired, a little bit drunk, and straight up bad.
Only when the vein on Price’s forehead pulses with enough force to burst does Simon lean forward and drop a piece of paper on the desk.
Price stares at it for a long moment, flicking his eyes between the paper and Simon’s eyes before leaning forward and taking it between his fingers.
He’s not sure what it is at first.
Well, that’s not entirely true.
They’re coordinates. That much is obvious.
But where and what they’re for is beyond him.
He stares at the coordinates intently, as if watching them will somehow reveal their destination.
“S’been like watching a two-legged dog hobble around these past few months,” Simon finally says, glancing at the paper. “Figured I might as well put you out of your misery.”
Misery?
How could this possibly…
He glances up at Simon, eyes asking the question his tongue refuses to taste.
Simon only looks pointedly at the coordinates once again.
When Price had given you that manila folder with your new life inside, he refused to take a single look. He couldn’t bring himself to read one tiny detail about you or your new life. Hell, he doesn’t even know the names of your handlers.
If he knew anything, he would’ve found you by now.
He needed a clean break. No loose ends.
And he’s been fine! Has he been drinking… more than he used to? Yeah, so what? That happens when you’re in the field of work he finds himself to be in. Has he been struggling maybe a little bit with sleeping at night? Mmmmm how is that anybody’s business but his own?
He was fine.
And then in saunters Simon Riley, loosening his meticulously tied ends.
Like the man could let his Captain lose his bird.
Fat chance.
Simon’s kept tabs on you since you and the team parted ways.
Good ones, at that.
“You sure about this?” Price finally asks, looking at his lieutenant. Instead of sorrow and exhaustion and guilt swimming in his eyes, Simon sees hope. For the first time in months.
Simon gives him a very slow nod, then rises to his feet and turns to the door.
He pauses with one hand on the doorknob.
“She needs you.”
Price stares at the coordinates as the door shuts behind Simon. His eyes are stinging but he refuses to blink - scared that the coordinates may be gone when he reopens his eyes.
Finally, for a fraction of a second, his top lashes meet his bottom ones and when they separate again the coordinates are still on the paper.
He lets out an incredulous little laugh and shoves himself to his feet.
The whiskey in his teacup is in the trash can beside his desk, and then he’s marching over to the coffee maker to start sobering up.
~*~
You trudge up the walkway to your safehouse with a scowl on your face.
It’s hot, blazingly so. You feel hot and sticky and sweaty and sore from physio and just plain miserable.
Summer is supposed to be fun. Full of days at the beach, pool parties, and backyard barbecues.
Instead, it feels like an endless march through the heat toward an unknown and, possibly worse, destination.
All your life consists of these days is therapy for your gunshot wound, and more therapy for what your gunshot wound did to your brain.
Not the most stimulating existence.
As you lock the door, goosebumps rise on your skin.
Something feels off.
You turn slowly, heart racing as you expect the worst.
Instead, there’s nothing.
You heave a sigh and push away from the door, freezing when you enter the kitchen.
There’s a bag on the table that does not belong.
Your heart is pounding in your ears as you sweep the house for hostiles.
For Makarov.
“Your new team isn’t nearly as good as your old one.”
You gasp, almost shriek, and grab your chest as Captain John Price steps into view.
“Captain,” you whisper, breathless and still a little afraid. “Are they here?”
The question breaks his heart a bit, and he curses the forces that brought the two of you to meet.
When he’s not thanking them profusely for dropping you in his path, he’s cursing them for the way they did it.
He shakes his head and takes a step toward you with his hands raised in surrender.
Only then do you really take a good look at him.
He’s not dressed in his usual military attire. No, he’s wearing dark jeans, a sweater, and a hat on top of his head.
His face looks tired and worn, and for a moment you find yourself remembering the ‘Grandpa’ comment from all that time ago.
He’s never looked older.
“You’re safe,” he whispers. “It’s just me.”
Your shoulders shrug as a sigh whooshes from your chest, and Price feels himself calm down a tiny bit when you visibly relax.
“What are you doing here?” You finally ask, wringing your hands together.
He opens his mouth. Closes it again. Then opens it one more time to let out a sigh.
“I… wasn’t going to,” he admits softly. “I didn’t know where you were. I… I tried not to know. I knew that if I knew where you were… who you were now… I wouldn’t be able to keep myself away.”
Your heart is in your stomach, and your stomach is in your ass as his words process in your mind.
“H-how did you find me?” You manage to whisper.
He’s quiet for a moment, eyes focused on you, watching you as intently as you’re watching him.
He’s reading you. Reading your body and taking you in after all this time.
He still has nightmares of your lifeless body on the cold, hard floor, blood pouring from your chest.
But here you are in front of him now, on your feet. Alive.
He’s missed you.
A lot.
A lot more than he realized, now that he’s with you again.
“You left quite an impression on us, Dove. S’not just me who missed you.”
One of the others, you realize. Likely Johnny or Kyle. Certainly not Simon. Right?
“Why are you here?” What does he want? Why is he here? What happens next?
“Because I don’t want to be anywhere without you anymore.”
“B-but what about…” you trail off and look around pointedly.
You can’t exactly just march out of here hand-in-hand without some sort of explanation to your handlers.
Price raises a brow at your lack of imagination. He has no intention of telling those squares a lick of what’s about to go down.
“Pack what you need. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”
Price is pleasantly surprised to find out that you learned a thing or two during your time with him and Task Force 141. You’re back down the stairs with an emergency bag over your shoulder in just under two minutes.
“You’ve got all you need in there?” He asks. He knows you do, he just can’t believe this is really happening.
You nod up at him, smiling and a little breathless.
“Yup. I was just using the bathroom. I imagine we’ve got a long drive ahead of us?”
Price gives you a wicked grin and leads you to the back door.
“The drive isn’t too bad. It’s the flight that’ll be long.”
Whatever you thought was going to happen when you got home from physio, this is beyond that. This… it’s beyond even your wildest dreams.
Price leads you out the back door and down to the back lane where an old sedan with tinted windows is waiting.
He walks confidently without shame. He knows he has nothing to worry about.
The cameras have long since been deactivated, and Kyle already cleared him a straight path from the house to the chopper.
Now, the only thing he has to worry about is what music you’ll want to listen to in the car ride over.
~*~
(the) Price is right, the flight is long. Ridiculously so. But some hours or days later, after another car ride and a ferry, you’re standing outside of your new home.
It’s large, two storeys, and the exterior walls are composed of different light-coloured stones and bricks. It shines like a beacon of hope against the gloomy grey skies.
The feeling that bubbles up inside of you is bittersweet.
“You doin’ alright over there?” John asks, grabbing your bag from the car and coming up to stand beside you.
You nod at him and give him a teary smile.
This is it.
As if.
He leads you up toward the oak front door and holds it open for you like a true gentleman.
You take your shoes off at the front door and slowly make your way through the house.
The rooms are spacious and hold lots of potential, but are scarcely decorated and hardly furnished.
You’re not sure if you expected the man to have had Martha Stewart’s input when decorating his home or what, but the lack of warmth in his home fills you with excitement.
A project.
From painting the walls to adding some homey touches, you know his home - your home now, too - has more than enough potential.
“I’ve got two guest bedrooms here, if you’re needing your own space at all. They’re both down that hall, and there’s a bathroom on the other side as well. But this here is the master bedroom. Ensuit is just through there.”
You follow Price as he leads you into the bedroom, going in the direction of the master bathroom to have a look.
He trails after you, watching you with a soft smile on his face.
This feels good. This feels right.
Though the rest of the house may be open to opportunity and potential, the master bathroom is the one area that Price put the time and money into maximizing.
The shower is massive, with two waterfall showerheads raining down from the ceiling and another adjustable one against the wall.
As if the shower wasn’t enough, he’s got a lovely freestanding oval tub that almost looks like it was custom-built to accommodate his massive size.
After hours and hours and hours of travel, you could certainly get behind a hot shower or bath.
Especially if you have some help.
You’re suddenly reminded of the promise he made back in the bunker.
You’d be lying if you said you haven’t spent a night or two (or more) with your fingers between your folds, dreaming of him fulfilling his promise one day.
Today is that day. It has to be.
Tugging open the shower door, you turn the water on hot and watch in awe as warm water rains down.
Without saying a word, you begin to undress.
Price stands in the doorway of the bathroom, thick arms crossed over his chest as he watches you slowly get undressed.
His cock stirs in his trousers as you reveal inch after inch of gloriously naked skin to him.
Oh, how he’s only ever dreamed of being allowed to witness something so sacred.
You’re fully naked now, bare back toward him as you stick your toes under the spray to test the water.
He drinks in every inch of you with hungry eyes.
The curves, dimples, stretch marks, and scars.
Every perfect piece of you, bare for him to view.
And then you’re stepping into the shower and the water is cascading down your body and he swears his heart stops.
Michelangelo himself longs for such a muse.
You keep your back to him, almost like you’re pretending he’s not there, as you start to help the water familiarize itself with your body.
Price’s breath catches in his throat when you turn to the side, giving him just enough of a view of your front to have him drooling and ready to beg for more.
“Am I supposed to be doing this alone? Or are you coming to join me?” Your voice is silky smooth and carries on the steam across the bathroom over to where he stands in the doorway.
Or rather, where he stood.
As soon as your words reach his ears, his clothes are pooled on the floor and he’s stepping into the shower behind you.
You can’t help the little gasp that leaves you when you find your hips held in his hands and his hips pressed against your ass.
He says nothing, only pushes the two of you forward until you’re both under the full spray of the shower.
The water rains down on the two of you, hot and steamy and a little suffocating as he slowly rocks his hips against you.
A whimper tumbles past your lips and your eyes fall closed.
This is bliss.
This is home.
“If memory serves correctly,” he whispers, lips dusting over the shell of your ear. “I made you a promise.”
He sure did.
One of his hands leaves your hip and begins its slow and wet journey up your body.
Your breath hitches when his hand cups your breast, and he pauses there for a moment.
He tucks his chin onto your shoulder and watches as his own hand squeezes your supple breast.
“Fuckin look at you,” he whispers, pinching your hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You whine at the touch and arch your back, pushing your chest further into his hand.
He chuckles, low and gravelly, and pulls on your nipple until you whimper.
“Such a desperate girl for me, aren’t you?”
You’re nodding before his words have fully registered in your brain, and that only makes him laugh again.
You frown at that and turn around to glare up at him, ignoring the water pouring down on your face.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
The gruff man before you smiles softly at your pout, index finger dragging against your bottom lip for a moment.
“Sorry, Dove. You make it hard, though.” He means that in more ways than one, and your eyes drop down to his crotch instinctively.
He watches as your eyes widen and your throat bobs with a gulp.
He wonders what it would feel like to have you swallow around him like that.
“What? What’s got you lookin’ so scared?” He asks, tauntingly. To punctuate his words, his cock jumps.
You shake your head and look back up at him, pupils blown.
“Please.” One word. Six letters.
He’ll give you anything you want.
In an instant, you find yourself bracing against the shower wall, wet fingers splayed against the tile as Price’s hand in your hair tugs your head back.
“You gonna trust me?” He asks, dragging his nose down the side of your throat.
You nod breathlessly, desperate to see what he’s going to do next. To feel what he’s going to do next.
He gives your hair a tug at the root, teeth grazing over your neck.
“I asked you a question.”
Oh.
Your legs wobble and your head gets a little airy.
“Y-yes,” you whisper.
You can feel his mouth pull into a smile before he sinks his teeth into your skin.
The sound that leaves you is half cry and half gasp, and John is quick to soothe his tongue over the spot.
“Sorry, honey,” he murmurs, pressing kiss after sweet kiss to your neck. “I need to taste you.”
Your knees grow even weaker.
The hand on your waist slowly slinks around to the front of your body, following the water droplets until he’s dipping his fingers beneath the waterfall at the apex of your thighs.
His fingers spread around your slit, avoiding your more sensitive areas, and instead, they engulf every other inch of you between your thighs.
He stuffs his big hand between your plush thighs and cups your mound gingerly, making sure to keep his warm fingers away from your aching core.
“You’ve been seein’ anyone? Hmm? Let anyone else touch this pussy?” His crass words make a gasp bubble out of you.
“N-no.”
He knows that already.
“Hmmm… should I see if you’re lying?”
You don’t say anything. You’re not sure what you’re supposed to say. But he doesn’t mind.
He waits until you spread your pretty thighs apart for him, and then he’s slowly dipping the tip of his middle finger into your sopping cunt.
He’s gentle.
Painfully so.
The rough pad of his finger just circles your dripping hole, never going beyond the tip. He can feel you clenching around nothing, desperate to be filled. It’s cute.
He plays with you like this for a moment, his mouth at your throat and his finger at your hole.
For a moment, you feel like a puppet, and he, your master.
Well, maybe for more than just a moment.
Finally, he ends your suffering and slides his digit in to the hilt.
You suck in a sharp breath and quickly sputter out the water.
“You alright?”
You nod quickly, rocking your hips into his hand desperately.
He starts a slow, steady pace. Thrusting his finger in and pulling it back out, thrusting - pulling. Until he stops to wiggle it against your gummy walls and your toes start to curl.
“O-oh!”
Price chuckles at your reaction.
“Honey, this is just the beginning. Need you to relax a bit if you expect to take my cock.”
You clamp down around his finger at his words, and he shakes his head in mock disappointment.
“Should I stop?”
“No!” Your voice echoes in the bathroom. “Please…”
He gives your neck another nip and kisses it better right after.
“You think you can handle another, then?”
You nod immediately, and then he’s sliding his middle finger out to slip it back in alongside his ring finger. The stretch is noticeable but not at all unpleasant, and you find yourself relaxing into his hold.
The hand in your hair moves down until it finds your breasts, and he gives them each a harsh squeeze. You sigh softly at the feeling, undulating your hips in rhythm with the thrusting of his fingers within you.
“You’re stunning,” he whispers, breath hot against your skin.
His fingers press against your walls firmly, intentionally stretching you out to get you ready to take his heavy, weeping cock.
Your cunt is tight and warm and soaking around his fingers. He’s not sure he’ll last more than a pump or two inside you, if he’s being completely honest.
He’s spent countless nights fisting his cock to the memory of you. Now that he gets to have you? Cardiac might come to arrest him!
“Oh!” Your hips arch back when his fingers hit a spot inside of you that makes you see stars.
“Right there? That the spot?”
You nod like an idiot and drop your mouth open to moan when he hits that spot again and again and again and again.
With every thrust of his fingers inside of you, the palm of his hand rubs against your clit. The combination of both has your head spinning in the hot shower air.
Your toes curl as the coil in your belly tightens, and your brows draw together as you chase the feeling.
“Please,” you whisper, leaning your head forward until it knocks against the shower wall.
“You close already?” The way he asks it makes you want to turn away in shame, but all you can do is nod pathetically and clench your hands into fists as he works you closer and closer to the edge.
This is everything he’s ever dreamed of and more.
Without warning, your walls clamp down around his fingers, and you pulse around him.
He stares at you in shock, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Huh. That was a lot easier than he was expecting.
He was prepared to spend all night nuzzled between your thighs until you came. Maybe now he’ll spend the night seeing how many times he can make you cum.
You breathe heavily through parted lips as he slows to a halt and withdraws his fingers from your body.
“That easy?” He asks, voice light and teasing in your ear. It still sends a shiver down your spine.
“I said I was close,” you defend weakly.
The sound of your voice, full of hunger and desire, sets something alight within him, and he pulls your body closer to his.
“I want you to take my cock, darling. Can you do that for me?”
How could you possibly say no to that?
“Do you think you can take me? Or is your poor little pussy too tired now?”
Oh. It’s not a matter of if you want to do it. He’s not sure if you can.
You’ll show him.
You slip one hand off the wall in front of you and slide it behind your back where his leaking cock is throbbing against you. You wrap your warm fingers around his thick shaft and pump once, twice, three whole times before he regains control of his mind and snatches your wrist up in an iron grip.
You’d been behaving so well so far. But really, he was a fool to think that the brattiness you’ve shown him would not resurface.
He pins your wrist to your lower back and takes your earlobe between his teeth, ignoring the sharp gasp that shakes your pretty tits.
“You really wanna misbehave? I planned on taking my time with you. Not sure if you deserve that now.”
You whine your disproval, shaking your head and wiggling your hips in something that’s half-apology, half-mockery.
But the way your ass feels against his cock is too good for him to be mad about anything.
He lets you grind on him for a moment longer, and then he’s withdrawing his hips just far enough to adjust himself, and then he’s pushing back between your legs and spearing through your pillowy pussy lips.
Every pass of his cock lathers his length with your slick, and each thrust bumps over your clit, making your hole gush.
He continues this for several long, torturous minutes. Each time he rubs the tip of his cock over your swollen clit, you let out a different sort of noise. Some of them border on pain, but all of them are dripping in pleasure.
Only once he’s deemed his cock wet enough does he stop thrusting, and that’s only to line himself up with your quivering cunt and fuck the tip in niiiiiiiice and slow.
Your eyes roll back in your head once you finally feel the warmth of him inside you.
The thick, bulbous tip stretches your poor little cunt to its limits, and you can do nothing but take it as he ruins your messy little hole.
Your wrist is suddenly free, but your hip is now held captive in his bruising grip. His other hand finds purchase on the wall, thick fingers clawing at the tile as he slowly starts to feed you more and more of his girthy cock.
Every roll of his hips forward forces another inch of dick inside of you, the walls of your pussy clinging to it every time he pulls back. He wishes he could watch, could see the way your sweet pussy stretches and clings to his heavy cock.
But what he can’t see, you can intimately feel.
Every added inch drags on your walls with each thrust, filling you up in a way you didn’t know you could be filled.
Every crevice, every cranny, every nook, is sowly being overtaken by him until finally, finally, his hips are flush against your ass and your cunt is stuffed full of him.
The hand on your hip moves up up up until he’s holding the back of your neck, and he gingerly guides you down down down until you’re bent over for him.
The new angle forces him impossibly deeper, and his heavy balls nestle against your aching pussy when he leans over you.
Forearm braced on the wall, his big body shields you from the stream of water above as he begins to roll his hips into your ass.
Your hands act as a barrier between your head and the tile wall, but Price has other plans.
“You said you could take it, yeah? So take it.”
He has your wrists bound in one big hand against the small of your back mere moments later, forcing your cheek to smush against the wall. Your chest is pressed against the wall soon after, and the contrast of the cool tiles against your burning skin only adds another layer of pleasure.
He fucks into you harder, fueled by each keening moan that leaves your pretty mouth.
You feel so fucking good around him.
Tight and wet and hot. Heat like he’s never felt is suckling his cock every single time he thrusts into you, and he’s not sure how long he’s going to last.
He wants to cum in you.
Wants to fill you up with his hot cum and watch your tummy swell with his children.
Those are the thoughts that plague him as he squeezes your wrists and fucks his seed deep into your womb.
His balls throb and his cock aches, but he doesn’t stop thrusting into you until he’s sure you’ve milked him of every last drop.
Only once the tremors have stopped and his cock has softened does he pull out of your puffy cunt, but your hole isn’t empty for long.
His long fingers are sliding through your messy folds from the back, smearing his cum over your swollen clit until you whine.
Then he’s got two fingers fucking your gaped hole, cum sloshing audibly. You push yourself up onto your arms again and your legs tremble. “F-fuck… I can’t…”
Price grins at the challenge.
“Yes, you can.”
You shake your head but your body obeys him, and in a matter of moments he has your pussy spasming again, sucking his cum deeper.
You collapse in his arms at the force of your second orgasm, eyes rolled back and mouth dropped open as wave after powerful wave of bliss washes over you.
He holds you, limp like a ragdoll, in his arms for several moments, before manuevering you to lean against him wiith your arms wrapped around his neck.
While you recover, he washes your body for you, being careful of the sensitive mess between your legs. He’s gentle with you. Soft. It makes your heart sing and your head spin.
Once you’re nice and clean, Price helps you out of the shower and wraps you up in his warmest towel, then ushers you into the bedroom.
Your eyes are glazed over and tired, and your body has a light airiness to it that feels like walking on a cloud.
Price dries you off and helps you climb into bed, sliding in on the other side and immediately pulling you into his arms.
You nuzzle into his chest and let your lids flutter closed, body still thrumming with the afterfeelings of your coupling. Your heart feels warm and full, and so does your pussy.
Price tucks his chin on top of your head and lets out the most satisfying breath he thinks he’s ever taken in his life.
He did it.
Albeit, a bit quicker than he’d imagined. But expecting a man to last long when he’s balls deep in a slice of heaven is too much to expect from John Price.
As if hearing his thoughts, your tired, fucked-out voice emerges from the tangle of limbs and love.
“That easy, hmm?”
Your entire body shakes with the force of laughter that bubbles out of John’s chest.
His Dove and her viper tongue.
“That’s the first time I’ve had sex in over a year, sweetheart. Apologies if I was a little… prompt.”
You can’t help but giggle at his archaic word choice, but then the weight of his words hits you.
The two of you crossed paths a little under a year ago, at this point.
He hasn’t slept with another woman since meeting you.
You open your mouth to ask about it, but he’s quicker.
“I’m sure I can make it up to you, if you’ll allow it.”
And just like that, any thoughts that aren’t all the ways he plans to make it up to you, fly out the window.
He can feel the shift in your mood and smiles, tugging back just enough to look at you.
His eyes are warm, happy. Full of so much love and joy and peace.
And you’re sure that your own eyes are a mirror of his.
Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?
Warnings: mmm language, violence, murder, drunkenness, age gap relationship, smut, angst, fluff, injuries, slow burn, <3,
Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?
Warnings: violence, language, injuries, angst, death, hospitals, implied sa, RUN ON SENTENCES like you wouldnt believe, unedited cause we raw dog in this house (use protection, i beg)
Word Count: 4k
A/n: waahhhh i finished writing this series now idk what to do with myself 🧍🏽♀️anyway, i had SO much fun writing this chapter ugh i am wagging my tail. 2 more parts after this (including epilogue) i hope you enjoyyyyy
~*~
Shouting.
Gunshots.
Banging and something breaking and men shouting in the distance.
The warmth against your back is suddenly gone, pulling you from your light rest.
You turn at the loss of him, frowning and rubbing the sleep from your eyes when you see Price on his feet with his rifle in hand.
“What’s going on?” You ask quietly, flinching when there’s another loud bang, this one from much closer.
“They’re here.”
Two words are all it takes for your stomach to drop into your knees.
You push yourself up and look between him and the bunker's only exit quickly.
“What do we do?” You sound breathless, and you know deep down that the only thing you can do is hope to God Price is stronger than the men making their way inside.
Price’s heart is hammering so loudly in his ears that he barely hears you.
When he finally processes your words, he nods to a supply closet in the back corner of the bunker.
“Get in that closet and do not, under any circumstances, leave. I will get you when it’s safe. If it isn’t me or someone you know, you stay in there. Understood?” A shitty hiding place, at best, but he hopes hiding you is only a precaution.
You know there’s no room for argument here, and even if there was, you’re not sure what you’d say.
Without another word, you scramble into the tiny little closet and pull the door shut tightly behind you.
It’s dark. Not a single crack in the wood to show you what’s going on out there.
All you can do is listen as more guns are fired, these ones even closer.
It sounds like they’re in the bunker, or at least making their way down.
Terror grips your spine in its icy hand, freezing you in place as the sounds get louder and scarier with each passing second.
You hope he’s okay out there. You wish you could help but at the same time, a tiny cowardly part of you is grateful that you don’t need to be directly involved in the firefight.
All you can do is sit and stew in your fear and panic as the sounds increase in frequency and intensity.
You can hear bodies slumping to the ground, the metal clang of bullet casings hitting the concrete floor, and shouting.
So much shouting.
And none of it is Price’s voice.
The louder gunshots are from him, that much you know for sure.
But then there’s a grunt that sounds a lot closer than you’d like, and there are boots on concrete and boots approaching and then the door is open and there are guns trained on your face.
Time seems to stop for a moment as you look death in the face. But nobody pulls the trigger.
You scramble as far back in the closet as you can, mentally cursing yourself for not listening when Price was trying to dress you. You feel stupid and even more terrified in such little clothing.
Who knows what these monsters plan to do now that they’ve caught you? You don’t want to think about it.
A long arm is reaching toward you, and then your scalp is burning as the person grabs you by your hair and yanks you out of the closet.
You cry out at the sudden stinging pain, only to be silenced by a sharp smack across the face.
You whimper, tears prickling your eyes as you look around frantically for the only man who could possibly save you.
“On your feet.”
You can’t see him anywhere.
The fact both comforts and unsettles you. It comforts you because that means he’s not dead down here. But that means he’s not down here. You could very well be alone now. He could be dead somewhere else. Or maybe he’s already being tortured somewhere.
You’re wrestled to your feet, arms yanked behind your back, and forced to march through the bunker, up the stairs, and into the cold world above.
As hard as you try to put on a brave face and show them you’re not scared, you can’t stop your lip from trembling.
Your feet hurt, the cold pinching and prickling at you as you’re forced across the frozen wooden floor barefoot.
You’re pushed into the only other room in the shack, gun bruising your hip as it pushes you deeper into the room.
Finally, you see Price. Just not in the state you’d hoped.
Instead of being upstairs ready to be your hero, he’s slumped in an old wooden chair with two guns pressed to his head.
He’s not tied up, surprisingly, but you suppose that the guns are likely enough incentive for him not to move.
His face is uncovered and -mostly- unscathed, save for a gash on his forehead.
His eyes look hollow for a moment. Empty, almost.
The sight of it is jarring, and you finally understand the thousand-yard stare.
But then his eyes flick up to yours and you see the fire reignite.
You want to say something, to reach out to him, to find comfort in his embrace, but instead you’re shoved into a chair on the opposite side of the room.
Little pieces of old wood find their way deep into your skin, but the temperature of the environment around you stops the pain from being unbearable.
You can feel the barrel of a gun hovering near your ear, and another at your ribs. You count a total of five armed men in the room, three on Price’s side of the room and two on yours.
Even if you were somehow able to break free or cause a distraction, you’re not sure if he can incapacitate all of them.
You’re starting to lose feeling in your toes.
“I must admit, Captain,” a new voice muses from down the hall. “I had anticipated a bigger fight. You take us on this goose chase only to be overpowered in a matter of minutes. I… I find myself… disappointed.”
Price’s jaw clicks with how hard it’s clenched, and his eyes harden.
His reaction is all you need to see to know that whoever is approaching must be someone to worry about.
Finally, the man speaking steps into view.
He’s tall. Not taller than Simon or Price, but taller than your average Tom, Dick, or Larry.
His hair is more brown -or maybe black- than it is grey, but his age and his war crimes are written across the lines in his face.
His eyes, burdened with heavy bags, are alight. Excited.
His voice sounds eager, too. Like he’s been looking forward to this for a while.
“It would have been much more convenient to have your entire boy band here for this. I hate having to do the same work twice.”
The man’s attention moves from Price to you, and his eyes find a new twinkle.
“We have not met. But by now, I’m sure you know who I am.”
You say nothing, only glare at him.
“You’ve gone through an awful lot of trouble for this one, Captain. You’ve taken great… personal interest in her safety.” Makarov tosses a glance over his shoulder as he speaks. “I hope having her here will make you more compliant. I would hate for her to have to get hurt.”
Funny enough, you would also hate that.
He stalks toward you, head cocking to the side as if he’s inspecting some artifact that’s existence has only been speculated, not confirmed.
“Call your men here. I want to do this once, only,” Makarov orders, not lifting his gaze from you.
Price says nothing.
You can’t see him with Makarov in the way, and you’re sure he’s done that on purpose.
After another moment of silence, the man before you turns to glare at the Captain.
“Did you not hear me?”
Price says nothing and keeps his bored eyes on the wall across from him.
Makarov stares at him for an endlessly long moment before turning back around and backhanding you with such force that the breath is knocked from your chest.
Your head drops to the side and you blink a few times in shock. There’s no pain at first, just the ringing in your ears. And then your cheek starts to sting and throb and your jaw aches a little and you think a headache is on its way, though that could be for any number of reasons.
“I’ll say it once more,” Makarov says, grabbing you by the hair and yanking you out of the chair.
You stumble to your knees, wincing at the pain on impact, and scramble after him as he forces you across the floor.
He gives you a particularly hard yank, hard enough for you to forget about the floor beneath you and grab your hair with both hands in a pathetic attempt at stopping the pain.
Price surges forward, only to be yanked right back where he was, the barrel of a gun pressed sharply to the base of his neck.
“Call your men here. Now!” His words are punctuated with another yank on your hair and you can’t help the cry of pain that tumbles from your lips.
Price’s eyes are fixed on your form as you struggle to get rid of the pressure on your scalp. Your eyes are red and puffy and filled with tears that will freeze as soon as they touch the floor.
Grunting with disdain, Makarov shoves you to the floor and spits at you.
You flinch away, sniffling.
“Nothing to say? Really?”
Silence.
And then you’re curling in on yourself as a hard boot meets your gut.
You choke and heave as he kicks you again, arching this way and that to try and escape the torment as your stomach churns.
Quite quickly, it becomes too much, and then the contents of your stomach are spilling on the floor in front of you.
You’re sobbing now. Crying from the pain, from the fear, from the humiliation of it all.
And you know it probably won’t stop anytime soon.
If death is what waits at the end anyway, you know Price won’t speed it up for you if it means sacrificing three other lives.
But as much as you hate it, you can’t exactly blame him.
Which is what makes it so much more upsetting when Makarov lifts your head and tries to force you to look at him.
You keep your eyes trained on the wood, avoiding his gaze.
As if this whole ordeal wasn’t enough as it is, the last thing you want to see is the pity in his eyes as they torture you to death.
“Last chance, Captain. Call your men, or I’ll drown her in her own vomit.”
Your bottom lip quivers and tears blind you, but you don’t let a single sound slip out.
If this is how it ends, so be it.
If this means that Simon and Johnny and Kyle get to live to see another day, then fine.
Hopefully, their plans for the future include avenging you and the Captain.
Finally, you lift your eyes to Price’s, and he’s taken aback by the determination he sees in you.
“Fine,” Makarov sighs, “have it your way.” And then your face is smeared in your stomach contents.
Your body reacts instantly, shoving away with all your might as a scream tears through your throat.
If you’re going to die, fine. But not like this.
You turn your face this way and that, struggling just enough to keep your face out of the putrid substance on the floor.
“If you want to be difficult, I can make this much harder for you,” he sneers, grabbing you by the back of your neck and yanking you upward.
You pant hard, wild eyes on Price as Makarov pulls you up to your feet once more.
“You wanna fight, I’ll give you something to fucking fight.” He yanks your shirt up over your face, exposing your bare body to the cold winter air.
“No!” You shriek, wriggling in his iron grip.
“I’ll do it!” Price shouts, every muscle in his body straining with the tension of holding himself back.
All he wants to do is mash Makarov into a bloody, unrecognizable pulp.
But he can’t.
He can only watch as a grin finds the terrorist’s lips. He releases you, letting you fall to the floor in a heap.
You yank your shirt back down and wrap your arms around yourself tightly, sniffling and hiccuping sobs.
You feel breathless, like someone is sitting smack dab on your chest.
Even as Makarov crosses the room and hands Price a cellphone, your breathing doesn’t return to normal.
A million questions are racing through your mind.
Will they kill you now? Will they make you wait? Will they kill you quickly, like they said? Does John value you so much that he would willingly walk three of his men to their deaths?
You watch as Makarov slowly lifts the phone to Price. The Captain reaches out for it, but instead of taking the phone, he grabs the other man’s wrist and yanks him on top of his own body like a human shield.
The events that transpire next happen so fast they practically blur together.
As Makarov tumbles on top of the Captain, a bullet is flying through the wall and connecting with the head of the guard to their right.
The guard to their left is taken out by another bullet as he’s lifting his own weapon.
And then the one behind them is dead and Makarov is on the floor and Price is on top of him and the door is opening and more bullets are raining sideways.
You scramble away from the chaos as best you can, tucking yourself into the corner behind a chair as bullets fly this way and that. Your own bloody hands clamp over your ears as big boom after loud bang erupts.
The whole shack is shaking with the force of the fight.
There are so many bodies and so many sounds and so much violence and terror and death and you wish you had never ever gone out that night all those months ago.
You wish you’d stayed home, safe and warm in your bed.
The chair protecting you is suddenly gone, and you’re left vulnerable and exposed to the man at fault.
Soap gives you a reassuring smile, hardly visible beneath all his gear, and grabs your hand.
“Come on, Dovie. I’ll get us outta here.”
Time slows down almost comically over the next several moments.
The two of you rise to your feet together. Soap turns to his left to lead the way out.
The gunman gets the better of him, and before poor Johnny can lift his gun to fire, a bullet tears through his vest and rips its way through his chest.
Your eyes expand to the size of your face, and as he starts to crumple in front of you, a burning pain like nothing you’ve ever felt erupts in your chest. Almost like someone is shoving a red-hot poker inside of you with the hopes of giving it a new home.
You may not have heard the shot, but you sure as shit feel it.
It knocks the wind out of you, or maybe collapses a lung, you’re not too sure. All you know is you’re suddenly looking up at the ceiling as all the blood in your body rushes to the wound in your chest, and you can’t breathe.
Come to think of it, you can’t hear either.
There’s no more shouting or rushing or gunshots.
For a beautifully serene moment, there’s nothing but you and the consistent ceiling above you.
And then there’s suddenly a face in your field of view. The details are a little hazy, but the eyes look brown and worried.
John.
Why is he so worried?
His mouth is moving, or maybe just his beard. It’s hard to tell. But you can’t hear a word he’s saying.
Maybe he’s whispering.
But then you become aware of the pain in your chest again and you realize why he’s so worried.
The bullet is still so hot inside of you, and your blood is burning hot pumping out of you, but your skin is ice cold.
Cold and firm and dull.
You wonder if Soap is cold, too.
Price is saying something else now, to someone else. He lifts his head, and when he does, the image gets stretched and distorted and a little delayed - almost psychedelic.
You’re not sure what he’s saying, or who it’s to.
All you know is that he’s slowly fading out of your field of vision, until it’s just you and the safe ceiling again.
And eventually, even that disappears, too.
~*~
Modern medicine truly is magic.
After several surgeries, blood transfusions, and two medically induced comas, you’re finally allowed visitors.
You wish your family could come visit. Or your friends. The old ones, from your original life.
Instead, John Price is the one who walks through the door, a tired look on his face.
He’s missing his hat, and his beard is much thicker than you remember it being the last time you saw him.
He looks okay, though. Tired, but okay.
As you inspect him, he does the same to you.
You look… alive.
And honestly, that’s all he really cares about.
The bruises on your face and the bandages hiding beneath the fabric of your hospital gown are welcome as long as he can see the steady rise and fall of your chest.
Does it feel like his heart is marinating in lemon juice when he sees you hurt? Yes, absolutely. But nothing can compare to how he felt when he saw that bullet take you down.
Your eyes were far away and your skin was cold. You weren’t breathing or responding to the environment around you.
He thought he’d lost you.
“Captain.” Your voice is scratchy and hoarse after a few weeks of minimal use.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, settling down in the chair beside your bed.
This is oddly reminiscent of your first sober encounter with the man.
“I… I’m okay.” You’re really not sure what else you should say to that question, all things considered.
“How’s Johnny?”
Price huffs out a breath at the question and his eyebrows jump for a moment.
“Gave us a good scare. The both of you did. But he’s okay. He’s gonna make it. He’ll need a few more weeks to recover before he’s discharged, and a few months at least before he’s back in the field, but it takes more than a bullet to the chest to put him down.”
It’s true. If the stars hadn’t aligned exactly as they had, if he hadn’t been at the angle he’d been at, the two of you would be nothing more than a wonderful memory.
Instead, the Scot recovers in a medically-induced coma, where he will likely remain for a little while.
“How are you? Really?” He asks again, leaning forward and locking his intense eyes on yours.
“I…” You falter for a moment, lost in his eyes. When he looks away, you drop your gaze to your hands and take a deep breath.
“Getting shot sucks.”
Price laughs, a full, hearty belly laugh that startles you, and you can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.
“Well, I could’a told you that. Didn’t need to go test the theory yourself.”
You roll your eyes at his joking, but play along.
“Hey, I’m nothing if not thorough, okay?”
It feels good to be light about something again. It feels like it’s been so long since…
“Makarov… is he…?” You trail off, leaving the million-dollar question hanging in the air.
Price waits a moment before answering.
“He’s locked away tighter than Mary’s bones. Once the… interrogation team… is done with him…” He trails off, but the look he gives you lets you know exactly what’s going to happen.
He may not be able to pay for all the horrible things he’s done, but they’re gonna make sure he dies trying.
You slowly nod your understanding, though it takes a long moment for his words - and their meaning - to truly set in. When they do, a strange weight lifts from your shoulders, and a heavier one settles in its place.
It’s done!
It’s done.
…
Now what?
You can’t very well go back to your old life after everything that’s happened, can you?
As if reading the question in your eyes, Price clears his throat and hands you a thick manila folder.
Holding it in your grasp, you flashback to the first time this happened.
Back when you didn’t understand the severity of the situation. Back when it didn’t seem nearly as serious as you now know it to be.
“Everything to do with Makarov is being dismantled as we speak. That being said, your old life is still compromised. We… can’t risk sending you back after everything that’s happened here.”
He pauses and fidgets with his sleeve, and you can’t help but wonder what on Earth could possibly be making him anxious like this.
“You’ll be under a new protective detail,” he finally explains, his voice a little more serious and professional than it was mere moments ago.
“It will be an official protective detail, this time. No more being bait, or anything like that. They’ll give you a new life to live. One that could actually be real, if you’d like.”
That doesn’t sound too bad at all. But what about…
“A proper team has been assigned to your case, and they’ll be handling you from now on. No need to pretend to like us anymore.” He tries to joke, but it falls flat.
A ‘proper team’.
Your stomach is in your ass as Simon’s words from all that time ago ring in your ears.
A team that gets paid to babysit.
Your heart sinks to where your stomach usually is.
A new life. A new team.
No more Task Force 141.
No more fake brothers.
No more Captain John Price.
You swallow hard and drop your eyes to the folder in your hands, nodding despite yourself.
“Do, uh,” you pause and clear your throat. “Do you know when?” Your voice still sounds thick, but you blame that entirely on your injuries and not at all on your heartbreak.
“Not too sure the exact time, but someone should be here later today to give you more information. We, uh…” he trails off with a heavy sigh, scratching the back of his neck as he looks anywhere but your face.
“They’ll be transporting Johnny tonight. Wanna bring him to a military hospital back home now that he’s stable. The three of us will be escorting him. Now that we’ve done what we came to do…” he trails off again, but this time the silence rings loudly between the two of you.
Something in your chest cracks and pops, and you struggle to breathe through the pain.
“I understand.” The words come out far steadier than you had anticipated. Maybe it’s because deep down you knew this was only a matter of time.
They’re leaving.
You need to start over once again, but this time without any of them.
Without him.
He’s leaving.
For a brief and incredibly stupid moment, you remember the promise he made when you were together in the second safe house.
Shaking the thought away, you keep your eyes down.
“Safe travels, Captain Price.”
He feels like he’s been punched in the gut.
Scratch that, he’d take getting punched in the gut a thousand times over if it would make this feeling go away.
Slowly, he rises to his feet.
He lingers there for a moment and just watches you. Unabashed and brazen and openly staring with no shame as you flip open the folder and begin to read your new life.
He drinks in this image of you, the last of you that he will ever get, then walks to the door.
“Take care of yourself, Dove.”
And just like that, he leaves you alone in the hospital room with your new life in your lap.
Do you plan to continue Kingdom Fall? I’ve loved it since you posted part one a couple years ago.
I do….. either as a fic or as a full novel… not too sure yet. But it WILL have a conclusion available for your consumption. I just… don’t exactly know when
dirty drabbles make a comeback except this time we've got marvel and cod fellas to choose from? mayhaps......
Marvel under the cut
one set of hot lips is trailing down your neck, and another pair is pressed to your stomach just below your belly button.
Six sets of hands are on you, blazing trails of fire overlapping until you're sure there isn't an inch of you that isn't scorched.
Bucky's on his knees in front of you, lips trailing down down down until he's just above where you want him. where you need him
Steve is steady behind you, hands on your hips as he slides his aching cock between the cheeks of your ass. he makes sure to bump the tip along your twitching back hole with each pass, smearing hot beads of precum against you.
"Gonna take us?" He asks lowly in your ear, one hand sliding up to grab your throat as someone else plays with your tits.
"Gonna take all of us?" He tilts your head back and squeezes, cutting off your air.
Your eyes roll back into your head as he readies himself behind you.
As he does, Bucky lines himself up at your front entrance, sliding his heavy cock through your dripping messy folds.
Your hands are full of cock, one on either side of you, and for a moment you think you've died and gone to heaven.
And then the two super soldiers split you open and you know you have
~
~
~
a/n:
a little rusty but this is how we get those skills back
Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?
Warnings: injuries, language, minor angst, fluff, not edited nor proofread - good luck again :)
Word Count: 3.6K
A/n: sorry for long delayyyyys only two more parts plus epilogue... and then... lex pauses to work on her books??? who knows. not ME because i've got more ideas brewing for bucky simon and konig soooooooooo... but anyway, that's enough from me. i hope you enjoy!
~*~
The next thirteen hours are spent driving.
This drive isn’t as bad as the first one, in your opinion.
The drive to the first safe house was dark and scary and full of so many unpleasant thoughts and feelings and unknowns.
Sure, you’re not exactly any safer now than you were then, but for some reason you feel like you are.
Now, after everything that’s happened, you feel more relaxed, more at ease with the big man beside you.
You’re not sure if it’s the close proximity over the past few days, or if it’s the intimate way he held you, or the soft touch of his hands against your skin when he cleaned your wound.
Whatever it is, it makes you feel safe.
Price, on the other hand, only feels more apprehensive.
Every time the two of you get closer, his emotional investment grows.
At this point, he can’t lose you. The very idea of it makes him sick to his stomach and he wants to tear Makarov apart for putting you in this situation.
But at the same time, if it weren’t for Makarov, Price wouldn’t know how soft your skin is, or how sharp your tongue is. He’d have no idea what your cooking tastes like, much less your lips.
He still doesn’t know what your lips taste like, but he hopes he has the opportunity to find out.
He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, stealing a nice long look at those plush pillowy lips of yours.
Every day, he finds himself wishing more and more that the two of you had met under different circumstances.
Proper circumstances.
But that isn’t the case. So, he’s forced to make do with the situation at hand.
The longer he drives and the further North he drives, the thicker the snow is and the heavier it falls from the sky.
You stare out the window, enchanted by Mother Nature and oblivious to the fact that the car is quickly running out of gas, and the nearest gas station is too far away to be of any help.
Price has long since turned off the heat and all non-essentials that could drain gas, but eventually the vehicle stutters to a halt on the side of the highway in the middle of the thickest part of the blizzard so far.
You glance out your window when he kills the engine, a frown finding your face as the howling wind replaces the thrum of the vehicle.
“We’ll be walking from here.”
Your sharp gaze snaps to him as your brows reach for your hairline.
“Through that?” You ask, incredulous, pointing to the raging storm outside.
The snow is so thick, you can’t see a thing beyond the car.
“Shouldn’t take long. An hour, tops.” He sounds unbothered and unfazed by this, almost like he’d planned for it.
“Yeah, right.”
He shrugs and begins layering up.
“Alternative is sitting in the car and waiting to freeze to death. Or, wait for Makarov to find you. The choice is yours.”
You frown at your options, looking at the storm again for a moment before looking back at him and taking the mittens from his outstretched hand.
“Here. Put all this on. You’ll need it. Try to move quick, we want to lock as much heat in as we can.”
You follow his instructions and begin pulling on layer after layer after layer, until you feel like the Michelin Man.
Finally, once you’re all bundled up, Price turns to the door and tugs on the handle.
“You wait here.”
No problemo!
You have absolutely zero issue obeying that order. Especially when he opens the door and is nearly sucked out of the car by the wind.
He battles the gusts and eventually manages to climb out of the car and slam the door shut behind himself.
A flurry of snowflakes whisks through the car before settling and melting quickly, leaving you in temporary stillness once again.
The trunk opens and you listen as Price rummages around back there, looking for God-knows-what before he finally slams it shut and trudges along to your side of the car.
He gives you a second, nods, and waits until you copy the gesture to tug open your car door.
The wind howls in your ears, and he needs to throw his big body in the doorway to stop it from slamming back shut.
“Stay close to me!” He shouts over the wind, voice muffled by his scarf.
“Hold my pack if you start to fall behind. If we’re quick, it’ll keep us warmer.” He helps you to your feet and turns around, leading you away from the car and toward the thick wall of white ahead.
It doesn’t take more than ten steps for the car to disappear from your sight when you look back over your shoulder.
And when you look forward again, you’ve almost lost sight of the Captain.
Your heart lurches and you lunge forward clumsily, legs leaping forward like a silly little deer on a silly little day.
You catch up quickly, and your minor delay is unnoticed. Thank God.
The last thing you need right now is to be reprimanded again.
You keep your eyes trained on Price’s back.
Looking anywhere else is like looking oblivion straight in the eyes.
The snow seems to fall from every which way, fat flakes cling to your lashes in heavy white clumps that weigh down your lids and reduce your vision to mere slits.
The wind howls in your ears, loud and unforgiving, as it whips your exposed skin until it’s raw.
The tiny ice crystals that fall on your lashes slowly melt as new ones take their place, the old freezing teary trails down your cheeks.
Captain Price marches on before you, big steps and long strides fueled by gruff determination. Each heavy rise and fall of his boots sends snow puffing up behind him, momentarily shielding him from your sight.
You push forward, fingers slipping over the straps of his bag as you fight to find a good hold.
And with each firm step he takes forward, you fall a half-step behind.
You’re trying to keep up, you really are, but your entire body is cold and numb except for the campfire of pain lighting up your side.
Your legs feel heavy, each step slowing you down as you struggle to follow in his footsteps.
You just want to rest.
You’re getting so tired.
Your fingers slip out of the loop on his bag and you stumble a step this way, and then another step that way, and then you’re not sure if you’re seeing him ahead of you in the snow or if it’s a shadow cast by your heavy lashes.
“John,” you whisper.
He barely hears it over the roaring of the wind, but somehow your soft voice carries all the way to his ears and sends a shiver down his spine.
It’s the first time you’ve ever said his name.
He turns, heart racing when he doesn’t immediately see you, and then he spots you.
He makes his way toward you quickly, arms extending automatically as he nears, and you lean into them happily.
“S’alright, Dove. We’re almost there. We’ll get you warmed up once we’re safe inside.”
You lean against his chest heavily, eyes falling closed as exhaustion overwhelms you.
“John… m’tired.”
Alarm bells ring in his ears louder than the wind.
“Come here, stand in front of me,” he commands, half-maneuvering you to where he wants you to be.
He tugs off his scarf and wraps it around the exposed skin of your face, then helps you lift your feet until you’re standing on top of his boots, facing him.
“Put your arms around me.”
You obey, wrapping your thick, padded arms around his neck while he wraps his own arms around your waist, holding you securely below your backpack.
“Just hang in there. We’re almost there.” He sounds a bit more strained than before, but he moves with more determination, more strength than he had.
He needs to be strong. He needs to conquer this storm, protect his Dove, warm her up and nurse her back to health.
He’ll be damned if he lets you freeze to death, of all things.
It isn’t much further now. He knows that. If he squints hard enough, he can almost see the outline in the distance.
And not a moment too soon.
He’s getting worried.
Each breath you take sounds heavier than the last, and your grip around his neck is loosening with every step.
He’s not sure how much longer you’ve got.
“Dove? Hey, talk to me.”
You don’t answer.
“Dove, last warning. Say something.”
Nothing.
With his heart in his throat, he trudges on and slides his fingers over your side where he knows your wound is.
Whispering a soft apology, he presses his fingers to the spot as hard as he can, forcing pressure onto the wound beneath all your layers.
“Ouch!” You yelp, body arching away from the offending hand.
He grabs you in a safer spot and pulls you tight against him once again.
“I told you to say something.”
Your voice is quiet when you reply, but he can hear it.
“I’m tired.”
“I know you’re tired, I really do. But you can’t sleep now. I’m taking you somewhere safe to rest, okay?”
You whine your disproval at his words.
You don’t want to wait for somewhere safe.
Where could be safer than in his arms, anyway?
It feels like only moments later he’s slipping you off of his boots, tugging his scarf down, and turning you around to face the shittiest, most run-down looking log cabin you’ve ever seen in your life.
The mere sight of it makes you burst into tears.
This is it? This is safety??
What kind of sick joke?
“We’re going to die here,” you whisper, sniffling your snotcicles as Price sushes you gently.
“None of that. Now come on.” He wraps an arm around you again and helps you up toward the cabin. “We’re gonna get you nice and warmed up, you’ll see.”
He leads you inside, one of his hands held prisoner in yours when he bends down to untie his boots.
He gives yours the same treatment, then tugs you to follow him through the little log cabin.
There are two doors. One that leads to what appears to be the rest of the cabin, and one for a supply closet.
Never one to do what you expect, Price tugs you into the supply closet and whips out a flashlight.
“Hold this.” He shakes his hand free from yours and puts the flashlight in your grasp instead. “Prop your hand up on my shoulder and shine it in here.” He points to a fuse box and helps you position your hand properly.
You hold as still as you can as he pulls open the fuse box, brows raising nearly to your hairline when he flips a few switches and the wall starts to rumble.
Slowly, the panel disappears into the wall, and what looks like a safe door emerges instead.
You watch on in shock as he unlocks the safe door, and then the metal is creaking and groaning.
He takes a step back, arm instinctively reaching back to wrap around you and keep you safe and close, protected by his big sturdy body.
The wall shudders and shakes and then slowly starts rolling to the left, exposing a dark staircase leading to…. Hell, perhaps?
The wall settles in its new position with a heavy thud, puffs of dust floating down as silence hangs heavy in the stillness.
“Come on.”
He leads you down the stairs with a sort of familiarity that makes you wonder how many times he’s moved this wall.
He stops you in front of another fuse box, and you hold the flashlight on his shoulder the same way you did before.
“Does this wall move, too?” You wonder softly, watching as he flicks a few switches.
Price chuckles and gives his head a shake, perking up a bit when a loud beep rings out before the power in the bunker slowly fizzles on.
The entire structure rumbles to life, and then he’s taking the flashlight from you and flicking on a light switch instead.
“Will take some time to really heat up, but there’s a wood stove somewhere down here that should do the trick for the time being.”
You follow him through the bunker to the wood stove, watching with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as he gets the fire going.
You feel a little woozy and more than a little tired.
You’re ready for that nap he promised.
“Here, come over here. You won’t warm up over there all by yourself.”
You slowly trudge over to Price, arms still wound tightly around yourself to try and keep your heat locked in.
Price stares at you for a moment before huffing out a sigh.
“I need you to undress a bit. Take off any clothes that are wet. And I need to take another look at your wound.”
You whine and shake your head at him, though your arms drop to your sides when he reaches for your jacket zipper.
“I’m tired,” you whisper pathetically, looking up at him with big beautiful glossy eyes.
He almost melts then and there.
“I know, sweetheart. You can’t sleep yet, though, Dove.”
You glare up at him as he helps you take your clothes off.
“You said when we got here, I could rest.” You know you’re whining,
At this point, you’re too tired and too cold to care about anything besides warming up and sleeping.
“I know, and I meant it. Just not yet. Gotta clean you up first.”
You grumble but obey, following him to the makeshift bed of fabric on the ground.
“Can I get you nice and stretched out… on your side, just like that. Perfect.”
His words thaw the butterflies in your belly, and they flap their wings wildly.
As you relax on the ground, you become more and more aware of his touch on your skin.
Beyond that, he’s kneeling close enough to your head that you can see the outline of something hard and heavy hiding beneath the base layers of clothing.
Your breath catches in your throat, and the next time he touches you, you jolt away instinctively.
“Did I hurt you?” He asks, yanking his hands back as if he’s been scalded.
“N-no! Sorry… just a little jumpy.”
He’s not sure if it’s the way you say it or the way you refuse to meet his eyes, but somehow he knows exactly why you’re ‘a little jumpy’ all of a sudden.
So, he does what any good man in his position would do.
He lets his touches linger.
Every time his skin brushes yours, he lets it happen for an extra moment or two. Just enough to hear your breath hitch and see your stomach clench.
It is with great sadness that Price finishes re-dressing your wound. He helps you into a t-shirt, which you let him slip on with surprising ease.
Your pants, however, are a different story. You offer the man zero help in getting them over your feet or around your ankles.
You just lie there, limp like a fish as he struggles to dress you.
“C’mon, Dove. Aren’t you gonna help me? Don’t you wanna be nice and warm?”
Honestly, you want as much of your skin exposed as possible so that he can keep touching you in any and every capacity.
You say nothing, only stare up at him with your lips slightly parted as he absent-mindedly rubs soothing little circles on your ankle.
His eyes find yours and for a moment, time seems to stop.
Everything around you fades like someone turning down the volume on a radio.
His eyes, so deep and warm and brown, gaze at yours as the two of you share the same silent desire.
Slowly, his hands find their way up your body from your ankles, being mindful of the tender spot on your side.
Each touch leaves behind a trail of molten lava, and you’re surprised you haven’t burst into flames yet.
His eyes stay trained on your face, watching your reaction to his touch.
God, you’re beautiful.
You look so pretty, so precious and sweet like this.
All he needs is a fork and knife and he’s ready to dig in.
Instead, he cups your cheek gently, so gently. His eyes are locked on yours as he slowly drops his head down down down until there are only mere inches between the two of you.
You can feel his warm breath against your lips.
You want to taste him on your tongue.
The softest, weakest little sound leaves your mouth, and that’s all it takes for Price to close the distance between the two of you.
His mouth slots against yours gently at first, just a soft press of his lips to yours to introduce the feeling.
When you don’t pull away after a moment, he leans in and deepens the kiss. His lips wrap around your lower lip, suckling for a brief moment before letting it go with a soft pop, only to capture your lips once again.
You sigh into his mouth and he devours it, hungry for more of you, all of you.
Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the strands as you lose yourself in him and his kisses and his mouth.
This is what you’ve been missing out on?
You could die happily like this, having finally tasted him.
Price, however, does not share the same mentality.
No, now that he’s had a taste of you, all it has done is stoked his hunger.
He’ll be damned if he lets you slip out of his fingers now that he’s finally got you.
Somehow, without breaking the kiss, Price ends up behind you, one firm hand holds your head where he wants it while the other grips your hip.
He’s careful not to squeeze you too tightly, or get too close to your wound lest he cause more damage. But when you tilt your head back and open your mouth for him, 99% of his thinking brain loses its blood supply.
His tongue meets yours experimentally, at first. And then he’s all you can feel touch taste smell and it is wonderful.
He tastes like tobacco and sweat and he feels like nothing but man behind you.
As he tugs his head back, his teeth graze over your lower lip, sending a shiver down your spine.
His hips roll against your backside as the two of you catch your breath, and John Price wishes in that moment that the two of you were literally anywhere else.
Anywhere safer where he could let his guard down fully and take his time with you.
Taste you and make you sing, make your toes curl and your back arch.
He wants to see you, really see you, in all your naked glory. Hard nipples pebbled at attention, waiting for his warm mouth to soothe their ache. Hot pussy, dripping and weepy and crying for something only he can give you. He’d open you up with a few climaxes first, of course.
Maybe he’d suck on your clit until you cry and beg for more, or maybe he’d finger-fuck your tight hole until you squirt all over his hand.
All of this would be to prepare you for his cock, of course.
Little thing like you needs proper prep before being split open on a cock like his.
Those are the thoughts that plague his mind as he rutts into you from behind.
“John, please.”
There you go, using his name again like you want to be pregnant.
The groan that leaves his lips is something between a rumble and a growl, and it makes you wet between the legs.
“I want to,” he whispers into your hair, squeezing his eyes shut as he keeps humping you.
If he keeps up like this, he might cum in his pants.
“Please,” you beg again, arching into him.
He shudders to a halt, hand slipping around to hold your throat.
You gasp at the contact, lids closing and lips parting as another lightning bolt zaps between your thighs.
“If you want me to fuck you that bad, honey, I will. Just not now.”
The whine that falls from your lips is pathetic to put it lightly.
“None of that, now,” he reprimands, squeezing his hand around your throat in warning. A warning that only makes you whine breathlessly.
Why is he being so mean?
“This is harder for me than it is for you, trust me on that. But, when the time is right… I’m going to make you mine.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
This sends a shiver down your spine and it settles you the tiniest bit.
Not now, but soon.
It will happen.
You’ll get to have him.
And he’ll get to have you too. He wants you too.
That thought alone is nearly enough to send you to heaven.
Price settles behind you and releases your throat to allow you enough space to relax with him.
“Rest now, Dove.”
As your breathing starts to grow heavy, he can’t help but feel a little giddy.
You made him promise to fuck you.
You, sassy, spitfire you, made HIM promise that he would pipe you properly.
What is this world he lives in?
He does NOT plan on disappointing you.
As you sleep, he trails his fingers up and down the exposed skin of your arms, imagining all the dirty sick depraved things he plans on doing with you when the two of you are finally safe.
He’s so lost in this fantasy world with you that he doesn’t even think to check his burner for any important messages he may be missing from the boys.
Summary: After a drunk night on the town turns you into the only unfortunate witness to a horrific crime, you quickly find yourself in a bit over your head. The bad guy doesn't like loose ends, and the good guys wanna do their job. There's always collateral in some form... isn't there?
Warnings: injuries, language, minor angst, fluff, not edited nor proofread - good luck
Word Count: 2K
A/n: y'all don't understand how much i fw running on these sentences. i hope you guys can read it the way i'm writing it and it doesn't trigger anyone lol also SORRY it took so long i've got so much on the go teehee
~*~
For a man in his forties, Captain John Price gives a cold shoulder that would impress a teenage girl.
He ignores you for two and a half days, offering nothing more than a grunt in response to any question you’ve dared to ask him.
It isn’t until you’ve finished your rations for the night and are heading to the bathroom to redress your wound that he finally breaks his silence and calls your name.
Your real name, not the one they gave you.
You step toward the table he’s turned into a desk, fidgeting when he doesn’t look up from a paper.
Finally, after what feels like hours, he sets the sheet down and looks up at you.
“He says he didn’t ask. That you went to him. That true?”
He doesn’t need to elaborate. You know what he’s talking about.
You feel like a kid confessing to wetting the bed as you nod sheepishly.
He heaves out a breath that must weigh a thousand pounds and pinches the bridge of his nose.
A hundred thousand thoughts and questions are running through his mind like silly little dachshunds chasing their tails. But the one that sticks out is:
“So you heard us?” Though it’s posed as a question, it’s a statement.
A cold hard fact.
You still hesitate for a moment before nodding again, and Price lets out another sigh.
The night that was supposed to be magical and wonderful ended with a cold dose of reality for you.
As if that weren’t bad enough, you actually volunteered for the bloody gig anyway.
He pulls off his glasses and opens his mouth to speak, but you interrupt him before he can get a sound out.
“Listen, you don’t need to explain anything to me, okay? I…” you stop for a moment, eyes looking anywhere but his face. “Just let me know what you need from me.”
With that, you turn and walk away from him with the crumbs of your dignity falling through your fingers.
Price can’t do anything besides watch as you retreat into the bathroom.
The door shuts a little harder than you meant, and you quickly press your back to it and cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your sobs.
You lost it.
All of it.
Everything.
Your life.
Your friends.
Your maybe was kinda sorta blossoming almost-romance with John.
Your teeth grind together and then your fist is hitting the wall and the sound is echoing through the small bathroom.
You regret it as soon as you do it. Not so much because of the pain. No, nothing even comes close to the fire licking its way up your side.
You moreso regret the noise, because now…
Knock knock knock
“Everything okay in there?”
You hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut, almost like if you try hard enough, you’ll disappear.
You’re tempted to try clicking your heels.
You don’t, though.
And you’re still there in the bathroom when you open your eyes.
Still stuck in the tiny bathroom when Price knocks on the door again.
“Yeah.” You regret the word even more than you regret smacking the wall, because your voice cracks and breaks and shatters as soon as you use it.
And then the door is open and John Price is standing there, staring at the scene in front of him.
His sharp eyes are analyzing, taking note of every inch of the room until they zero in on the blood staining your hands.
“What happened?”
You shake your head and swat at him, turning away to hide yourself as much as possible as he crowds your personal space.
“Get out,” you croak, glaring at him with teary eyes.
The sight shoves splinters into his heart and he finds himself reaching for you instinctively, frowning when you turn away further.
“You’re hurt. Let me see your hand.”
Okay.
You stick your bloody hand out, middle finger raised, and the man lets out a tired sigh.
He takes hold of your wrist and inspects your hand carefully, long fingers turning it this way and that.
His thick brows pull together when he finds no visible wound.
“Where are you hurt?”
“None of your business.” It’s childish and you know that, but right now he is the last person you want to accept help from.
“Actually, it is my business. Keeping you safe is my job right now.” A big bear paw finds your shoulder and spins you to face him, and then his eyes are firmly fixated on the nasty gash on your side.
“Bloody hell.”
You turn your face away in shame, hiccuping over soft sobs as he turns your body to face him a little bit more.
He crouches down and inspects the wound carefully, trying to be gentle.
It’s clearly infected, and one glance at the blood-soaked rag on the counter tells him why.
“You should’ve told me about this as soon as it happened,” he whispers, eyes as gentle as his hands as he looks up at you.
He doesn’t want to scare you.
He’s not mad at you for getting hurt, but he certainly isn’t pleased you hid it from him.
“I’m fine.”
He rises to his full height, looking at you with firm eyes.
“Stay here, I’m going to get the med kit.”
He’s only gone for a few short breaths, and then he’s back and washing his hands under the cool water.
“‘M going to clean and sterilize it. It’s already infected, we want to try and clean it and stop the infection before it can spread any further.”
You’re not sure why this makes you cry harder, but for some reason it does.
“Hey, shhhhhh, look at me. Look at me.”
Reluctantly, you bring your eyes to his.
He takes both of your hands in his and gives them a squeeze.
“You’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna sting a bit, but you’ll be okay. I need you to be brave for me. Can you do that?”
You nod tearfully, and he gives your hands a firm squeeze in thanks. “I’ll try to be quick.”
And then he’s opening the med kit and rifling through the contents.
“Lean back.” One hand is pushing on your shoulders until they bump the wall, and the other hand finds your hip, keeping your lower half in place and stretching the skin of your abdomen enough for him to work with.
“Can you take a deep breath for me?”
You breathe with him, squeezing your eyes shut as you exhale.
There’s a splash of cold on your skin for a moment before the area erupts in flames.
You jerk away instinctively, but Price’s grip on you is so strong and so firm that you hardly move an inch.
“Almost done. I know it hurts.”
Tears well up in your eyes.
‘Hurts’ is putting it lightly, to say the least.
You whimper when something cool is suddenly soothing your burning skin.
“This should help.”
It does.
So much so that you manage to peel your eyes open and glance down at him through your wet lashes.
He’s focused on the task at hand, bushy brows furrowed as he tries his best to be as gentle as possible.
The last thing he wants to do is hurt you any more.
A small, foolish little part of you wishes you weren’t in so much pain so you could really bask in the feeling of his hands on your bare skin.
The thought is silenced by Price wrapping you up and turning to wash his hands.
“I’ll change that in twelve hours, and we’ll need to monitor it closely to make sure the infection doesn’t spread.” The way he speaks is so final and factual that you don’t even nod. You just watch him dry his hands and shut the water off.
He turns back to you and leans against the sink, crossing his heavy arms across his chest.
He doesn’t say anything.
Neither do you.
You just flick your eyes between his boots and his face, never lingering on one for too long.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“You need rest. Come on.” And then he’s leading you out of the bathroom and toward the makeshift little bed on the floor.
He helps you out of your bloody shirt and into something clean, and when he’s turning to leave you’re grabbing his wrist.
“Don’t leave me. Please.”
He stares at you for a long, calculating moment.
Time seems to slow down as he fights an internal battle, Ruth’s voice nagging in his ear.
But then your bottom lip starts to wobble and his decision is made. He’s helping you to the floor and following soon after, ignoring the alarm bells blaring in his head when you sigh softly.
He helps you lie down on your good side and settles instinctively behind you, ignoring his racing heart when you scoot back a few inches.
It’s sickeningly quiet for a few moments, besides the shrill ringing of ever-present tinnitus.
Your body is stiff as a board, rigid and tense and less than six inches away from the man and it’s making him lose his damn mind.
He stays physically still behind you, quiet and grounding and watching as you slowly relax with each breath you take.
No words are spoken as you ease into dreamland, body going lax so much that you’re all but pressed against him.
And he doesn’t move.
For a long while, he doesnt move.
Just stays parked right behind you, hand hovering over you every now and then as he fights the urge to feel your skin.
He tells himself that he’s monitoring your breathing, making sure your temperature is okay, checking your wound. But he’s not really doing any of those things.
Deep down, he wonders what it would feel like to give in. To lean over and press his lips to your shoulder, wrap his arm around your waist and pull your body flush against his.
The longer he spends by your side, the more he grows to yearn for the position.
Maybe this is his place in the world.
Wrapped up with you safely in his arms.
But the safety is shattered by a vibration in his back pocket.
He’s careful not to move too quickly as he pulls his new phone free, shifting closer to you as he unlocks it and reads the message.
With a heavy sigh and newfound determination, Price forces himself to his feet and gets to work packing everything up.
He works quickly, skilled and experienced, and spends just a few moments watching you sleep before he settles in a crouch by your head.
“It’s time to go, Dove,” he whispers, warm paw landing on your shoulder and shaking you gently until you regain consciousness.
You frown up at him, drowsy and confused and still half-asleep, but to him you’re awake enough.
He helps you into a seated position and slowly begins explaining, keeping his voice low and even to -hopefully- keep you semi-calm.
“We need to leave now. Kyle and Johnny are tailing them, they’re getting too close for comfort.”
You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn as he helps you put your feet in your boots, then tightly laces them up for you.
You watch him as he handles you with such care, and for a moment you almost think the old Price might be back. The one who holds your gaze for a second or two longer than he should. The one who dusted snowflakes off your cheek and gazed at your lips like he’d never heard words before.
These are the thoughts that plague your sleepy mind as he helps you into the car and takes off driving through the snow.
HALLO I LOVE YPUR LITTLEST DOVE SERIES SO MUCH !!! YOURE SUCH A GOOD WRITER !! I HOPE YOUR PILLOWS ARE COLD!! YOUR HAIR IS FOREVER LUCIOUS!! YOUR FOOD IS FOREVER DELICIOUS!! YOUR DRINKS ALWAYS AT THE RIGHT TEMPERATURE AND WHATEVER ELSE
