Captain Price absolutely fucks often and doesn't brag about it to the boys. He keeps them thinking he's celibate or strikes out with ladies.
lmao yes. Yes. Yes.
John's at the bar for a celebratory drink. His boys are in the corner snickering as he talks you up, thinking he'll strike out again.
He's smooth, the twinkle in his eye that you keep seeing when he smiles is giving your heart palpations. His voice is low, making sure you have to listen carefully to his words.
He knows he's got you but kept a reasonably amount of space between you so he doesn't tip off the guys.
He asks if you'd be willing to meet him outside by the baby blue car in the parking lot. You bit your bottom lip and nod then he follows it up with a second request - "I don't want questions from my pals in the morning. You mind walking out like you're not interested?"
It's endearing in a way- somehow like he's protecting you from their lecherous questions. You turn to him, a deep frown and a scoff leaving your lips as you stomp away from him.
You hear laughter from the corner and a "struck out again cap?"
The boys think he strikes out often and he prefers it that way.
Multi-Character ═ Captain John Price ═ Simon "Ghost" Riley
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick ═ John "Soap" MacTavish ═ Konig
OC: Dustball ═ Kinktober 2024
updated: 1/22/2025
Q&A:
/ c.ai (why its bad) / #asks /
If it's a question about a specific fic, add the link or title. I will write trans, nonbinary, gender neutral, etc if requested. I tend to lean toward writing AFAB.
Blockable offenses: Purity/Christian Blogs, Minor, No age, No reblogs/posts in 6months, bullying, AI supporter, "men DNI", republican
About me: '94. Southern USA. Farmer and Engineer. Intersex. Not transgender. He/They pronouns only.
Resources for Americans:
How to get a passport - There are cheaper options here
Dying - Have a will even if you are in perfect health
John Price hears a sleepy mumble slip from your lips and that's what sets him off. The soft moan and flex of your hips in you sleep - a simple word that sent him searching.
One thing he loved is digging out those desires that you rarely voiced.
It took months for him to work up the courage to let it slip out while you two were engaged in each other's bodies. He had your cheeks spread before him, marveling at how you'd already done the prep work for what he asked for.
His thick fingers slid into your ass easily, your moans edged him on. One firm hand remained on your lower back so you would keep your spine curved toward the mattress.
"Got yourself all ready for daddy's cock." He growled out.
The loud moan that followed his words had him stuffing a third finger into your tight ass. There was a moment of hesitation from you before you responded.
"Yes, daddy."
Those two words went straight to John's cock, making it throb. "Cleaned your pretty ass for daddy's cock?" He worked his fingers faster.
"Ye-sss, Daddy!" You responded, rocking against his fingers.
He licked his dry lips and reached for the wipes to clean off his fingers. He warmed up the lube before lathering his cock in it.
"Hold those cheeks for me." He ordered.
Your hands came back, parting your cheeks like he asked. He groaned as the sight, rubbing the tip of his cock around your ass. That tight ring engulfed the tip inch by inch as he worked into you.
"Love daddy's cock in your ass, don't you?" He grunted, balls slapping against your skin as he moved with some force.
He could feel your ass clench around him at the word 'daddy'. He tilts his head back slightly, groaning at how reactive you are at the word. Your hands grip the sheets, your ass bouncing off of his hips at each thrust.
It's not another minute before you tumbled over the edge, orgasm slamming a haze over your brain. Your body moved with his, chasing after the same pleasure that sent you over the edge.
John groaned above you, gripping your hips to slam sloppily into your ass again before you feel a distinct warm fill you.
"Take daddy's cum.. Oh god, you're making daddy feel so good." He grunts, hilting all the way inside you as he fills your ass with cum.
tw: feet rubs, slight angst, female reader x John Price
Of all the loving moments you share with your husband, John Price, it’s the bittersweet ones you love the most. You can feel his love thrumming against you whenever security pages your office phone to let you know he’s headed your way.
Excitement swells in your chest, along with grief in knowing tonight you’ll go home to an empty house. He’s freshly showered as he steps into your office, bringing in a wave of that woody cologne he wears. His expression is one of guilt, his head tilted downward and his shoulders drooping.
He’s holding a paper bag with your favorite restaurant’s logo plastered on the side. He walks like his feet are made of lead as he puts the bag on your desk and drags up the extra chair you keep in your office for him.
“Sorry, Doll.” He whispers, setting up your entire meal for you.
John settles back in the chair, a familiar gesture that signals the start of your shared moment. You instinctively twist your chair to face him, stretching your legs across his lap. His hands work up and down your calves while you enjoy your meal, nothing but your soft sighs of satisfaction filling the air.
“I went ahead and made dinner, too. You need to throw it in the oven to reheat it.” He lifts one ankle to kiss it.
“You don’t have to do this every time work calls.” You reply.
“You know it could always be the last time.” His lips tug down into a frown. “I want to leave you with something good.”
The conversation dies down until you’re finished with your meal. He packs away the trash into the same bag it came in. He abandons his chair in favor of kneeling between your thighs, hands massaging them upward until they’re pushing your skirt up higher. He jerks you to the edge of your office chair.
You love the feeling of his beard against your inner thighs, lapping at you to get you worked up. You thread your hair through his hair, keeping quiet so the rest of the office doesn’t hear how good John’s treating you.
It’s hard to contain said noises when his thick fingers invade your slick walls, sinking to the knuckle with a raspy moan from his throat.
“Can I do that for you, Doll?” He asks, pumping his fingers inside of you. “Can I leave you with something good?”
You nod quickly, and his fingers leave you aching for more. He can’t seem to resist swirling them in his mouth to taste more of you before offering them to you.
His other hand is undoing his belt while you clean off his fingers. There’s a muffled moan from both of you when he pushes into you. His mouth replaces his fingers, kissing you greedily through his shallow thrusts.
It’s nothing like what he gives to you in the bedroom, it’s simply satisfying a need to leave his mark on you before he leaves. You know, as his hands dig into your thighs, he’s going to leave bruises to remember him by. The pressure he applies when kissing you is meant to swell your lips, along with the bite to your lower lip.
Your nails dig into his neck, leaving crescent red marks behind. You wish you could run your nails down his back or his chest to leave further marks. You settle for the way he gasps your name against your lips, the way he comes undone so quickly, the rough pad of his thumb over your clit meant to send you over the edge with him.
Finding Freedom in the Water, 2016, by Anna Boyiazis
Girls living in the Zanzibar archipelago often never learn to swim, in part because the conservative Islamic culture there discourages them from going in the water. Boyiazis’s work follows the Panje Project, which has been working with local women and girls, providing them with full-length swimsuits and challenging taboos to help them learn this vital life skill
