cw: fem!sergeant!reader, fugative!price (based on the mw4 trailer so spoilers ig?), toxic!price, dubcon, rough sex, choking, daddy kink, implied age gap, public sex (an alley), implied dacryphilia, unhealthy dynamics, power imbalances, codependent!reader tbh, canonical character death, smut AND angst, word count: 1.7K
You’re not sure how things got so fucked. Actually, that’s a lie; if you have to attribute this shitshow back to one specific event, then it all starts with Soap’s death. “Stupid Johnny just had to fucking die on us,” you mumble to yourself as you weave through the sidewalk traffic.
Your first solo-op and you’re hunting down John– For what? Killing General Shepard? It’s bullshit– something you told Kate that to her face.
You light up a cigarette as you quietly cross the street. You’ve never been one for smoking, but after… everything, you find comfort in the smell; it reminds you of your captain.
Former captain? You’re not even sure anymore– not that it matters– captain or not, you're still his. You toss the cigarette on the ground, huffing as you stomp on it before turning into the grimy alley.
“I know you’re there, Cap,” you call out into the dark. It’s silent for a moment before he steps out, his gun pointed straight at your head– you slowly raise your arms.
“Suppose I’m not your captain anymore, am I, sergeant?” His voice is rough.
His beard’s grown out, and there are grey hairs you don’t remember seeing before. He looks so much older now in a way that makes you feel small– one of his specialties. His eyes are tired and almost cold, as if he just doesn’t care anymore, or maybe he never did.
“I guess not,” you sigh.
He steps closer. He's so cautious that it makes you sick to your stomach– when did you become the enemy? When did he become a mission?
His eyes trail down your body before staring straight at you. “Not gonna reach for your weapon? Thought I taught you better than that.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you, John,” you whisper as he slowly takes another step towards you.
His laugh stings as he lowers his gun, placing it back in the holster on his hip. “Then why are you here, love?”
“Kate sent me,” you admit as he shakes his head. “I told her I’d come, but it’d have to be off the books. No comms, no records. Just you and me.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.” He mutters, licking his lips before pushing you against the wall– it’s far from angry but not gentle either. “Last chance. Why are you here?”
Your heart stops, and you shiver in excitement at the feeling of his hands finally touching your body, no matter how rough he is. “I don’t know— I don’t know anything now that you’re gone— I just knew I needed to see you somehow.”
You look at him with something akin to grief, mourning, loss. The air grows thick and heavy as you silently stare at each other.
His lips crash against yours, rough and needy. He kisses you like he’s collecting a debt, as if your love is something he’s owed– something he’s not afraid to take back. “Thought about this for so long, love,” he growls against your skin as his mouth trails down your neck.
“Me too. I’ve wanted you for so long– missed you so much,” you confess, hands fumbling with his zipper.
He tugs down your jeans, hand reaching into your underwear without hesitation. You hiss when, without warning, two of his fingers push past your entrance.
You instinctively try to squirm away, only for him to grip your hip tight. “Don’t run away from me, sweetheart, need this– need her.” The desperate look in his eyes makes it hard to say no.
You nod up at him, slowly relaxing your body, letting yourself enjoy his touch— enjoy him.
“Good girl,” he says, fingers slowly pumping in and out of your cunt. You let out a shaky breath as your arms wrap tightly around his neck.
A soft moan falls from your mouth as his thumb traces circles on your clit. “You gotta stay quiet, sweetheart, can’t let you get me caught, yeah?”
“Mmm, Yes, sir,” you manage to mumble.
His fingers curl inside you, and you have to bite down on your lip to stop a needy sound from escaping– a familiar metallic taste settles onto your tongue.
He continues to push his digits in and out of your now dripping hole. You turn your head towards the entrance, trying to make sure no one can see, only for his hand to grip your jaw tightly, forcing you to look at him. “Eyes on me, sergeant.” It’s a command– not a request.
“Thought you said you- mhm- weren’t my captain anymore?”
You try not to whine at the sudden emptiness you feel as he removes his fingers. Any trace of softness in his gaze is gone; his eyes stare at you sharply. You can hear the sound of him pulling his cock out, but you don’t dare to look away.
“You’re right– I’m not. So, what should I make you call me?” He doesn’t wait for your reply before pushing into you.
The way he fucks you is nothing like what you fantasized about late at night in the barracks with your hand between your thighs. There's no gentleness; he isn’t slow and tender, it doesn’t feel like love– it feels like ownership.
You’re sure your lip will be swollen and bruised from how hard you’re gnawing at it in a poor attempt to keep quiet. “Asked you a question, love, you better answer it.”
It’s too hard to think about anything other than how full you feel as he drills into you. Your nails dig into his shoulders as his thick cock rubs inside you.
“Daddy, feels so-”
You gasp as his hand wraps around your throat. “You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart? Daddy’s gotta keep you quiet somehow.” You let out a silent moan, a barely audible agreement, as your cunt clenches around him. He smirks, lightly squeezing the hand around your neck. “Knew you wouldn’t,” he says smugly.
His pace quickens, perverse wet noises fill the air as your juices drench his cock. His thumb presses down, quickly and sloppily tracing shapes onto your puffy clit. Your breathing fastens, your eyes squeeze shut, as you feel that tension build in your stomach.
“Gonna cum all over Daddy’s cock? So fuckin’ needy. Go ahead, make a mess, love.” That’s all it takes for you to gasp, thighs shaking as your mind goes hazy.
You don’t even realize he’s close until his seed spills deep inside you without warning. It’s hot, sticky, and as good as it feels, it's like you’re giving away another piece of yourself to him.
For a brief moment, you’re worried, not because he came inside you, but because you realize you’ll give him every part of yourself when he asks– and even when he doesn’t.
You swallow the fear, glancing up at him. His hands rest on your hips now, and his head is buried in your neck. It’s the first real sign of vulnerability he’s shown you this entire time– it feels nice. He smells just like he always does: leather, coffee, whiskey, and traces of smoke. It’s the first time you’ve felt at home since he left.
If you close your eyes and block out the noise, you can pretend you’re both somewhere else. That the two of you are in your bed under soft sheets. He’d hold you close, whisper sweet nothings in your ear, and you’d fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other’s arms.
You’d show up to work together, late, disheveled. Soap and Gaz would tease the two of you as Ghost tries to hide his laughter. John would roll his eyes but secretly be amused at their antics, like he always is– was.
But that’s not possible anymore, is it? Because Johnny’s dead and your little family died with him, scattered with his ashes. Things are not how they used to be, and they never will be again— you just have to accept that.
The sound of John zipping his pants snaps you out of your thoughts.
You fumble with your own, hastily pulling up your jeans. “I wanna go with you,” your voice comes out hoarse. “Please, I don’t,” you pause, eyes shifting away from his gaze. “I don’t know who I am without you.”
“I’m not the same good man I was,” He warns, thumb brushing along your cheek.
Your sore body screams, and you want to shout along with it because you know the truth: John Price was never a good man. “I don’t need you to pretend to be a good man. I just… need you.”
You nearly sob in relief when he pulls you into a hungry kiss. You feel the old flip phone in your jeans buzz once, twice, three times.
He pulls away from you, glaring down at your pockets, just now noticing the device. “Shit, John, we gotta go,” you whisper.
His hand loosely grabs your arm as you start to walk away. “Thought you said you didn’t have comms. What’s that, then?” He glances at you in suspicion– accusing you of something he won’t say out loud just yet.
“I called in a favor with Kate– it’s a head start,” you say, his grip loosening at the realization.
He hums, hand brushing against the back of your neck. “Smart. My clever girl,” he praises you the same way a man prides himself on the blood in between his dog's teeth with each hunt. “You can’t do that anymore, though, sweetheart, you can’t keep things from me.”
“I won’t, swear it, just, don’t leave me, please,” you beg pathetically, eyes wide and full of tears. His cock strains against his jeans at the sight– if he knew he had the time, he’d push you down onto your knees. Fuck your pretty little mouth until you can't speak for days.
It’ll have to wait, he decides. “Atta girl, now c’mon, let’s go home, yeah?” he says, wiping away your tears.
Home is a funny word now.
You tell yourself not to think of Kate, who probably knew from the start the real reason you agreed to go. The thought of Ghost and Gaz, waiting and hoping for your safe return, gets pushed away. A faint memory of Soap comes to mind, his face blurry now— harder to recall.
You’re not sure if you know where home is anymore, but you nod anyway.
He takes your hand as you offer it to him, and unknowingly, that final piece of yourself along with it.
I feel like people completely miss that so-called "submissive training" is also training for the dom.
Like, your rule about how you should be addressed feels undermined if you overdo it with a punishment, instead of a casual verbal reminder.
Your rule about how much water to drink doesn't feel like care when you don't call out when they need to drink more.
Your rule about bedtime is meaningless if the bedtime itself isn't consistent.
Training for the sub is to learn how to perform an expectation for a dom, and the flipside for the dom, is learning how to perform authority and understanding what kind of authority your sub will respond to in which situations. Being an authority figure is less like being the boss and more like being a gardener.
Rules that you train your submissive to follow are not something that you 'set and forget;' no, rules are like gardenbeds. You must actively care for and tend to the rules that you and your sub plant. Weed out the rotten rules that don't work or tweak a rule that's struggling so that it can thrive. Have a healthy soil for your rules to take root and grow and blossom. You don't "just know" how to be a good gardener. If you don't tend to them, rules wilt. Like with anything else, you have to learn and practice authority.
You don't have to be domineering when you practice authority either. In fact, I'd say that most rule enforcement feels warm and cozy when you're doing it right, but that can be subjective depending on your D/s dynamic. You have to show that you care both about your sub and about your garden of rules and that you are the authority that they specifically crave to be cultivated by.
So, what kind of garden have you planted? What parts of your garden need weeded? What rules grow and thrive easily there? How are you going to cultivate your authority?
Our garden has a clematis (rule for what title to use for me), but we needed to put up a lattice for it to climb in order to give it the structure (a public-friendly title) it needed to thrive year-round. That rule doesn't need much tending to in our garden, just a good structure and healthy foundation and it can be easily maintained.
I love that the modern-day tumblr post equivalent of chain emails only requires me to reblog a relatively pleasant image instead of forward an email to a bunch of my friends and family members to quell my raging anxiety.
Simon Riley had known he was a clairvoyant since he was 10, and heard his father's thoughts about the woman he cheated on his mother with.
He quickly learned to never tell anyone about his ability, he was labeled a kook, insane, he even got thrown into a mental hospital when he was fifteen.
The only people who did believe in him, were his teammates. His Captain laughing in awe when Simon tells him exactly what thoughts were going through his mind.
But when you joined the team, he was skeptical whether or not to tell you of his ability. That didn't stop him however, from hearing you think about riding him on the desk during a meeting. That may have been the most awkward boner of Simons life.
It didn't stop there. You'd walk into the gym while Simon was working out?
"Jesus Christ I want to bite down on those sweaty fucking biceps while he fucks me dumb." Simon nearly dropped the dumbbell on his foot.
Simon licked the lid of a yoghurt container?
"Long tongue, thick too. Wonder how it would feel fucking me."
Simon was sparring with Johnny and was standing up after pinning him?
"Pin me like that, don't let me up from under you and overstimulate me until I'm in a damn wheelchair."
John laughed loudly when he realised Simon was sporting a boner, knowing exactly what was going on.
After a while it seemed you started to pick up on Simon. Not genuinely, but everyone has the 'can someone read minds?' thought when they're thinking of something dirty. Especially when Simon was staring at you from afar, having to listen to your thoughts about choking on his cock after a mission.
Simon knew women had dirty thoughts, hell he'd heard most of them. But you were a different breed. Fucking hell, you had a whole bag of dirty things.
You thought about tying him up, him tying you up, sucking his cock after a mission, you care if he was sweaty, in fact you'd like it.
But Simon didn't just use your thoughts to get a fill of his ego or to get off, he wasn't a total douchebag.
It seemed you were on your period one week, you didn't tell anyone, despite the cramps apparently feeling like hell in your guts. You merely snapped at anyone who pissed you off.
And you near cried when Simon placed a hot water bottle on your lap, with a bag of treats. And strangely, a take out box with some sliced steak and a delicious smelling sauce. He grumbled something about you needing something with high iron, before leaving.
Simon finally couldn't take it anymore when you were sat in mess hall, playing with your food as your mind went elsewhere. "Wonder how big his cock is...He's big with an even bigger fucking ego, probably a good seven inches. Maybe he's circumcised..."
"Eight and a half inches, and I'm not fucking cut. You'll see tonight in my barracks" Simon growled in your ear. Leaving you aroused and horrified as he walked away. Gaz and Johnny laughing at your reddened face.
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