Imagine sitting on the couch, just in your panties and Alejandroâs oversized t-shirt, your body completely drowning in it as you play one of your favourite tactical games. The world around you doesnât exist as your character is hidden somewhere between the bushes, sniper rifle in hands and you concentrate on shooting down pixelated hostiles, too entranced in the mission to hear the jingle of the keys, clang of the lock being opened and the sound of the door opening and closing. You have no idea Alejandro is back home until you catch the sight of him entering the living room in your peripheral vision.
He doesnât even greet you, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only and he closes the distant between you two in just a few long strides and falls on his knees right in front of you, right in between your open legs, eyes on your clothed pussy, mouth salivating, hands already trembling, more than ready to worship you like a deity you are. Youâre silent and heâs as well. You just shift a little, correcting your pose, both legs resting upon Alejandroâs shoulders, as you give him a perfect access to his favourite place in the universe.
He likes it slow, sensual, messy and lasting hours upon hours. He starts just by gathering the spit in his mouth and letting it slowly drip down on your panties, immediately pressing his fingers down and spreading the saliva all over the material. He does it again and again and again, until youâre thoroughly soaked, his spit mixing with your slick that is slowly oozing out of you as you get more and more aroused by each passing second. He plays with you; snapping the band of your underwear against your skin, pinching harshly your already swollen clit, teasing your greedy little hole through the material with just a tip of his finger.
You just let out a little frustrated sigh at that. You miss the target on the screen, but it doesnât matter, not like it mattered just fifteen minutes ago, not anymore, as now youâre way more focused on whatâs going on in between your legs than the fake world of the game; because this is real. Real and powerful and oh so good, so fucking good, always good, because Alejandro knows exactly what to do to make you lose your goddamn mind.
He pushes your panties aside, greedy tongue finally finding its in between your folds, lapping at them like itâs his favourite meal. And it is, in a way. You melt into the couch, your hand resting on top of Alejandroâs head, fingers brushing through his hair; controller and a game suddenly forgotten somewhere in the background as you finally admit defeat, your focus now entirely on your pussy drunk partner.
a/n: rahhhhh, my first call of duty fic!!!! this is more of a drabble tbh, but I needed to get this out of my drafts! I don't even remember what inspired this, but I clearly enjoyed myself lollll. feel free to drop more thoughts about the modern warfare trilogy, aka the only military men iâll ever tolerate, in my inbox. betaâd by my favorite enabler @brattylyricist đ«¶đŸ
You werenât sure how Simon did it. How he kept his composure in the face of mind numbing pleasure, of euphoria offered by the hands and mouths of his two favorite people. He never faltered, never gave in to the desire to take more because he was on a mission. Laser focus was required to bring his two mutts to heel, and that was more important than his pleasure. Iâll get mine anyway, he thought to himself. I always do.
Your and Soapâs pleasure, on the other hand, was entirely at Simonâs mercy. And after your behavior, he wasnât feeling too forgiving.
You blamed Soap, too rowdy and horny to think of the consequences past getting his dick wet. He had practically pounced on you when Simon left for the grocery run. He pawed at your breasts, licked at your nipples, all while goading you on when you whined about getting in trouble. âCâmon, bonnie,â heâd whispered in your ear, âSi doesnât âave tae know.â
You were no innocent party either. Sure, you warned him youâd both get in trouble, but you made no attempt to get away from his advances. In fact, you leaned into them, cupping his cock through his gray nylon gym shorts as he swore against your lips. You agreed by the end and fucked Johnny in the lounge chair of the home office. You were practically begging him for a third round when Simon walked through the door ten minutes ago, brown eyes darkened with lust and disappointment.
The same look heâs giving you both now, sitting back in that same lounge chair, legs wide, as you kneel in front of him.
âCanât run one errand without the two of you fuckinâ about, can I?â Simonâs voice was low and rough, watching the shame mingle with arousal as you and Johnny both squirmed under his watchful eye. He pondered, âWhat to do with two sluts who âave no self control.â
You both already knew the answer â youâd deduced as much when Simon said nothing as he stood in the doorway. He only moved to the shoe rack in the corner and grabbed the pair of boots you both recognized so well. Boots that were never worn outside and kept meticulously clean for moments just like this. A fairly recent addition to Simonâs arsenal, he had never used them before, but perhaps theyâd be useful this time.
âForward.â He ordered gruffly. âOne on each boot.â
You and Soap scrambled to follow his instructions, settling yourselves on the boots, cool, smooth leather pressed to your already overstimulated cores. With you on the left and Johnny on the right, your upper bodies pressed against Simonâs legs, you were already on the verge of apologizing. Johnny was the first to squirm, the firm toe of the boot pressing against his balls that he had yet to empty inside you before Simon arrived. Simon was quick to reprimand him, one hand in his mohawk giving a sharp tug, âQuit movinâ.â
Then, he leaned back in the chair and got himself comfortable. Simon shifted his hips a bit, and your eyes were drawn to the bulge in his black sweatpants. He was already hard; you could even see it pulse if you looked hard enough, a single bob against the fabric before resting once again on the meat of his thigh. Your hips began a subtle push and pull of their own, grinding your wet pussy ever so slightly across the top of his boot.Â
You hadnât even noticed you were staring until Simon snapped his fingers, drawing your attention back to his eyes. âCanât even focus on anythinâ other than cock, huh?â
ââm sorry.â You mumbled guiltily, hoping heâd show some lenience.
âNo youâre not.â He replied coolly, resting one large hand on the bulge in his pants. He squeezed just enough for a soft groan to rumble through his chest. âBut you will be. Go on, then. Both of you, since youâre so desperate for attention, grind on my boots.â
You and Johnny exchange hesitant glances before following instructions, letting out little mewls and whines as you push yourselves against his boots. It was demeaning, humiliating, yet neither of you could stop from grabbing into his legs for more stability. Finally, Simon lowered his sweatpants just enough to fish his cock out. He stroked it slowly, teasingly, much slower than the speed you and Johnny moved against him.
You werenât sure how long youâd been dragging your cunt back and forth across the now-warmed leather and rough laces of Simonâs boots before you chanced a look down at Johnnyâs dick. And the sight that laid before you forced a loud whine from your throat. Surely, it couldnât have been as pleasurable for him as it was for you, your clit pushing squarely against the leather with every thrust forward, but that didnât stop Johnny from trying. You watched with bated breath as his cock stood at attention, red angry tip dripping with precome. Each thrust of his hips forward nudged the head of his cock out of the foreskin, all the more sensitive as it dragged along Simonâs clothed shin.Â
No longer was there any rhythm to his movements. Johnny squirmed and shifted until he found the perfect position to grind the head of his cock on Simonâs leg, his balls dragging back and forth across the coarse laces. He let out a groan as he rested his cheek on Simonâs knee and watched your tits bounce while you rode his boot. He even drooled a little, wishing he could suck on your nipples until you cried out beneath him.
It was all too much and not enough, the euphoria building and building alongside a cacophony of moans and groans that even the dirtiest porno couldnât rival. As you both got closer and closer to that edge, Simon couldnât help but smirk to himself. Two desperate, disobedient pups at his feet, and they really thought they'd be allowed to get off so easily.Â
Not on his watch.
âThis all it takes to get you both riled up?â He asked, condescension clear in his voice even as he stroked his hard, thick cock. âSo desperate that youâll just hump the first thing I tell you to.â
Johnnyâs the first to speak. The words come out in gasps as he stares up at Simon with big, blue eyes. âSi- Simon, please Iâm gonnae come!â
âDid I say either of you could come?â
You both paused, mouths agape. Johnny began to complain, âThatâs noââ
âDidnât say you could stop either, did I?â
âButââ
âYou wanna be disobedient little sluts? Fuck each other soon as I step outside the fuckinâ door? Then, you can keep goinâ and goinâ and goinâ until I say youâve had enough. You come before then, and I swear, youâll regret it.â
summary: the one where price is real fed up with your shit.
âyou want daddy to keep cleanin up your messes? then maybe itâs time youâre dealt with like the brat you fuckin are.â
cw: solider reader afab. jail inaccuracies. slight dubious themes. mean dom price. ooc imo. john price is a weapon. mentions violence. slight daddy kink. authority kink. dirty talk. slight degradation.
âââââ-
youâve been pacing the width of the cell for fifteen minutes.
itâs small - metal bench, metal toilet, metal everything - one flickering light overhead and a draft that stinks like mildew and piss. theres a guy in the corner tweaking out, scratching at his neck, muttering about shadow people that wonât stop following him. another lying flat on the floor, staring up at you like heâs imagining what your insides taste like. hasnât blinked once. and the third, well, heâs asleep - except when he jolts awake every two minutes screaming bloody murder before dropping back into whatever nightmare heâs clawing his way through.
itâs not an exaggeration to say youâre losing your fucking mind.
âlet me the fuck out of here,â you hiss through the bars. âpoint proven. lesson learned. whatever.â
despite your efforts, the cop at the desk doesnât even flinch. just hums. sips his shit coffee like heâs sitting pretty behind a desk job that means no one ever swings at him.
ânot a chance,â he says, smiling like a smug little prick.
you imagine cracking his mug over his head. watching it shatter down his uniform. heâs the one who cuffed you and tossed you in without so much as reading your rights. called you a wildcard. told you to sit with it. left the restraints on like he thought itâd teach you a lesson.
well, youâve been sitting, alright.
sitting and stewing and thinking - thinking about how that stupid bastard at the bar shouldâve lost a hand for grabbing your ass like that. thinking about how heâll wake up tomorrow with only a headache and some stitches, while you rot in a cage surrounded by the worst fucking breed of humanity - your wrists bruised and your mouth dry from clenching it too long.
not to mention the split lip. or the other injuries that the unfortunate souls nearby suffered.
collateral damage. theyâll be fine.
âatleast give me a phone call,â you growl back.
âyou get one when shift changes.â he leans back like itâs funny. âhour or so.â
you take a step forward before your brain catches up, pressing your forehead against cool metal.
âyou fucking serious?â you hiss. âyou know this is bullshit, right?â
he doesnât even blink. âiâll make it two hours if you donât shut up.â
you sit again. eventually.
shoulders tight, pulse still pounding. adrenaline leaking slow through your system just steadily enough to keep your leg bouncing and your thoughts loud. you can feel it under your skin - that itch. that flicker of want.
so of course, thatâs when corner-guy pipes up.
âyou oneâa them military types?â he rasps, still scratching at his skin like somethingâs crawling beneath it. âstart fights for fun, uh? get bored of killin people?â
you donât answer.
ânow look at ya.â he stands. âbet you cried like a bitch when they cuffed you.â
and that, well. that makes you grin. slow and sharp and just crooked enough to mean yes, iâm gonna hurt you. and no, i wonât regret it.
ânot as hard as the asshole who touched me cried,â you purr. âwant a demonstration?â
and he laughs, itâs shrill and too fucking loud. none of the cops even blink.
so you stand too.
you remember youâre cuffed - doesnât matter. youâve fought in worse shape - half-conscious, bleeding out with your boot sole melted to concrete. so you square up. lean forward just enough to bait him.
he smiles, opens his mouth to say something else-
then stops when the door buzzes.
the whole building changes in an instant. energy snaps and then cracks still. desk cop sits up straight, the officers guarding the cell block blanche. someone mutters something behind the glass and even the fuckers half dead in the room with you shift where theyâre sitting.
you follow the ripple of tension to the front - and thatâs when you see him.
captain john price.
âuh, hey there, sir,â the desk cop starts, voice cracking like heâs going through puberty. âi assume youâre-â
price lifts a hand, and nods toward your cell.
ââŠoh, fuck.â you exhale.
and as if he heard you, he gifts you a look that cuts clean through the bars.
a look that says oh fuck is right.
the officer who hauled you in doesnât wait for orders, which is probably the smartest move heâs made all night. heâs already at the cell, fumbling the keys, unlocking the door like heâs disarming a bomb. he marches over to where youâre glued and grabs you, grip on your bicep tight - tight enough to leave a bruise, but not on purpose. you guess itâs just the only way he can steady his hands.
youâre pulled out of the cell, jacket torn, blood drying stiff down your jaw. you look like a stray dog they had to chase into traffic and pout like one too as he drops you right in front of captain like youâre his to claim. you take him in and your stomach twists tighter than the cuffs. heâs got rain in his beard, a storm in his eyes, gloves still on, and that hat casting shadows like war paint across his face.
he just stares at you.
and fuck, itâs worse than yelling.
âuhâŠhey, cap.â
you go for light. maybe even playful. you fail.
âthis oneâs a real peach.â the asshole behind you mutters. you mentally give him the finger.
price ignores it and exhales, slow and heavy, like your name tastes like a goddamn mistake in his mouth.
then he looks past you, to the officer behind.
âtake the cuffs off.â he grits.
the officer hesitates. âsir, we need to-â
price takes a step. only one. âtake. the cuffs. off.â
you shudder. canât even help it. itâs just that voice - steel in the vowels, grave-dirt deep - the one youâve heard a million times before under worse circumstances, the one that makes everyone question if the devils name was really lucifer or if maybe it was actually his.
the officer springs into action, fumbling to do as price says without any further provocation.
you bristle as he gets a little too touchy. âwatch your hands, asshole.â
the key clinks and then your arms fall forward. your wrists burn like hell, but you donât rub them. you donât even move. you just stand there tense and buzzing - face hot and skin crawling because you know what comes next. youâre in trouble, but not law type trouble. not anymore.
his kind of trouble.
âdaddy to the rescue.â the cop whispers in your ear before he steps back and nods to captain. âsheâs clear to go.â
and you know price heard it - the first part. can tell by the way his jaw ticks, even when he only nods in response.
the cop walks away. goes back behind the desk.
and still, captain hasnât blinked. heâs just staring at you, ocean fury cutting across your face - taking in the wreckage youâve made of yourself on one of your only nights off in weeks. youâre too stubborn to look away, too smart to not be scared, yet too fucking desperate to break the tension to keep your mouth shut.
âi can expl-â
âdonât.â he flatlines. your pulse does too, for a moment. especially when he steps closer. âyou open your mouth before weâre alone again i swear to god iâll find the nearest closet just to remind you how we do discipline in the field.â
well fuck.
âam i understood?â he mutters.
you nod.
and then he moves - grabbing your arm and dragging you toward the door. past the stunned officers averting their eyes, away from all the leering inmates and drunken idiots detained to sleep it off. through the threshold of the door and out into the cold of the night.
he drags you down the precinct steps without sparing you a glance. âm so fucking sick of your shit written in every step of his gait. premeditated murder aura stoked in every breath. heâs unshaken even when you misstep, your boot sliding slightly on the wet concrete - just yanks you forward harder, like walking beside him is a privilege heâs letting you keep out of patience, not mercy.
the night is quiet - it bites as you look up to see the truck at the curb. engine still ticking warm.
his silence makes your ears ring.
and so you try again. technically, youâre alone now. technically. âlook, captain, iââ
he stops.
stops so abruptly your lungs punch the back of your ribs. you nearly crash into him, barely catching yourself as he turns - slow - and stares down at you like youâre some classified intel that got half the team killed.
âwhat is it bout silence that makes you uncomfortable?â he breathes, eyes raking your face. then he squints, and your blood runs cold. âyou enjoy makin my life hell? that it?â
itâs not even a question. itâs a diagnosis.
you chew your cheek. âdefine hell, sir.â
wrong answer, a voice screams in your head the second after you say it. the way price levels you with a look says he must agree.
âthird time in two months weâve done this.â he says, voice deeper and darker than the night sky. âmâ startin to wonder if this is a game to you. being reckless like you know iâll always come running when you fuck up - cause thatâs what daddy does, yeah?â
and stupidly - idiotically - you snort. you shouldnât, but you do because it bursts out of you without warning. itâs reflex. defence. a fucking tic.
heâs not your daddy. but also, fuck you? yeah he fuckin is.
you clear your throat. âuhm. no, sir?â
price blinks. the wind cuts between you. ruffles his coat. stirs the hair at your forehead.
and then he inhales - so sharp and disarming you donât even notice as his hand shoots up until suddenly heâs spinning you and shoving you hard into the side of the truck. your shoulder knocks the door. your breath catches in your throat.
âone night off,â he growls, âand you use it to start a fuckin bar fight. sixteen injured. three officers involved. two concussions.â
he leans in. his lips brush your ear, not even close to gentle.
âyouâve got five seconds to convince me you havenât lost the last working part of your fucking brain.â
you blink. âhe touched my ass-â
âand you broke a pint over his head. fair.â he cuts you off, doesnât miss a beat. âbut you didnât stop there. saw red and decided it was open fuckin season, yeah?â
yeah. pretty much.
âiâm sorry.â you breathe.
âyouâre not.â he grits. âyouâre addicted to pissin me off.â
and maybe itâs the cold - maybe itâs the adrenaline still humming through your blood. or maybe itâs just him - the gravel of his voice, the smell of smoke and rain soaked into his coat - but you smile.
not a real one. not a sorry one - a stupid, bloody, smug little thing.
his head tilts. âthink this is funny, do you?â
âno, sir.â
his brows lifts. âthen why the fuck are you smiling?â
his fingers dig deeper into your shoulder - enough to make you wince - enough to make you grind your teeth just to keep the pathetic involuntary groan at bay. you open your mouth but close it just as fast, because you know you donât have an answer that heâll like.
your throat clicks when you swallow, and thatâs what he clocks. not your grin - but the fear behind it.
âyeah,â he mutters, voice fizzing rough across your nerves. âthatâs what i thought.â
your back hits the truck a little harder as he crowds you now - all body heat and storm breath - one gloved hand flat against the metal beside your head and the other holding deaths grip on your jaw.
he leans in. âyou smile like that again, ill fuck it off your face.â
your lungs stutter. he doesnât care.
âtonight, youâre done makin decisions. done thinking for yourself until i forget i had some wet-behind-the-ears rookie call me at 2am to tell me one of my best assets got picked up like some fuckin street thug.â
you blink. heart pummelling. his face is close enough now that you can feel the scrape of his breath across your lips.
he exhales a growl from his chest. it vibrates through you. âyou want daddy to keep cleanin up your messes? then maybe itâs time youâre dealt with like the brat you fuckin are.â
you suck in a breath like youâre starved for it and try to force a response, anything, but he shakes his head before you can even try. final.
âno no. i didnât ask you to speak.â
you nod. the earth spins sideways - because youâve seen him mad. youâve never seen him like this.
he hums, like heâs pleased youâre finally getting it.
âthe ice youâre onâs gettin real thin, sweetheart, so listen close.â he breathes, red in his eyes. sin on his lips. âi say sit, you drop. i say beg, you fuckin whimper. you donât talk unless i ask you to talk and even then, the only things i wanna hear outta that mouth is âyesâ and âplease sirâ until i can trust youâll behave.â
jesus christ-
his thumb drags slow across your bottom lip, catching on a split from the fight. âdo i make myself clear?â
you swallow. nod some pathetic, desperate little thing.
âyes sir.â
âthere we go.â he purrs - a noise that sends heat somewhere youâre sure he meant it to. âthatâs more like it.â
wind howls again in the space he lets linger between you, and then he lets go. only after heâs memorized the exact shade of red youve turned.
âdonât you ever, ever make me come find you like this again.â he says, then he steps back and yanks the truck door open. âget in the truck.â
Iâve been reading fics all over for literally a decade and have for whatever reason never cried while reading but holy shit fever pitch make me fucking cough sobbing it was actually the most beautiful thing iâve read in all my time here k bye
cue maniacal laughter like stitch when he crashed on earth so sorry for making you cry, iâm glad you enjoyed it though!! the spirit of angst just possessed me or something but itâs gone now fr this time đ€
