and those were the last words john uttered before slamming the palm of his hand down against his desk and leaving. spoken the way most things he says are - gruff and final, with no room for argument - stunning the room into silence until the door shut hard behind him.
everyone just looked at each other, dumbstruck.
“should we wait for him to come back?”
“what the hell does that mean—”
“is that code for something?”
“wait, he’s married?”
price didn’t hear a word of it - by that point he was already halfway down the hall, boots pounding concrete with purpose, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, everything else dissolving into white-hot static behind his eyes.
he can take a lot of bullshit. does it daily. but fuckin’ hell - they wouldn’t stop. wouldn’t stop talking, hovering, circling him like crows. clipping questions at him in endless fucking rotations.
what now, captain? what’s next? what do we do about makarov? do we move now or wait for shepherd’s greenlight? have you seen the updated file? should we pull soap and gaz back? do we burn the safe house? double-tap the asset? what’s the protocol—
jesus fuckin’ christ.
it’d been too long. john’s mentally checked out and he knows it. doesn’t care. he didn’t want to be in that room. didn’t want to sit at that table. didn’t want to give another goddamn order with five pairs of bloodshot eyes looking at him like he’s meant to have all the answers and none of the doubt.
he needs a break. not a debrief. not another satellite feed. not another fucking decision.
he needs to go home and fuck his wife.
needs to put his hands on something solid, something that he doesn’t have to second guess. something that’d let him burn off all the static and pressure and noise building between his temples without asking anything much in return. his sanctuary where he can fall apart and come back clearer. reset his head before it spun off his shoulders.
so he peeled out of the parking lot before he’d even properly put the car in drive, and sent you one text:
‘take off anything you value and put away anything breakable. i’ll be home in 15.’
imagine being on your periods n feeling a lil crazy. Unable to fall asleep even tho your eyes BURN and you can't seem to regulate your body temperature. You're squirming, turning, twisting in the big bed u share w Price until he's had enough and sits up with a long sigh. You're about to burst into tears because wtf. Why is he sighing like that?? Does he HATE you??? YOU DIDN'T MEAN TO WAKE HIM UP???
John switches the small lamp on, sits against the headboard and lifts you into his lap, cradling you like a baby and before u even open your mouth to complain or question him, he starts rocking you, as if you're a real, fucking baby.
And worst of all, it works.
Two minutes in and you're asleep with your mouth wide open, face squished to his furry warm chest.
tw: ickydad!price x innocentdaughter!reader. dead dove do not eat. incest, dad/daughter relationship, dub-con, voyeurism, oral (m. receiving).
ickydad!price who is so close with his daughter everyone praises them for their healthy, sweet dynamic.
ickydad!price who’s dynamic with his daughter is truly sweet but nobody knows that behind closed doors you two are fucking like rabbits every chance you get. putting you to bed? cunny inspection time. nightmares? a little internal massage will help. mom’s going out? he’ll spend an evening with his little dove, watching his cock bulge in your stomach.
ickydad!price who loves to show you off to his friends. “look at her, all grown and pretty, yeah?” he says turning you around to show them how plump and pretty your ass looks in his heavy hand as he gropes it.
ickydad!price that loves taking you hunting with him just so he would show you how to properly catch a good game. and obviously so he would bend you over and fuck you so hard that the entire forest hears your screams.
ickydad!price who teaches you how to properly suck a man’s cock. “you have to know this, kid. this will be useful for you in the future.” he would say that looking down at you. your eyes were blurry with tears and mouth full of his meat. definitely a useful skill.
John just got back from a long mission, but still has some urgent paperwork to get through. Problem? You can’t bear to be apart from him any longer. Luckily he has a solution. He’ll just let you warm his cock while he works.
Rating & Tags: E, PWP, blow jobs, cock warming, yearning, light dom/sub, daddy kink (very briefly), established relationship.
Word Count: 2,706 / Read on AO3.
Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment or drop a reblog if you enjoy <3
It was one of those days where everything felt off. The clothes on your skin, the noise the ceiling fan made, the noise the refrigerator made. Then, the jar of jam wouldn’t open. Go figure. Normally you would ask for help with that sort of thing, but John was working on some urgent paperwork in his office. So instead you just growled at the jar and shoved it back in the fridge.
When the dishes on the drying rack all clattered to the floor in a giant ruckus, you grimaced. He didn’t like distractions when he was working, and you tried to respect that. You glanced nervously up the stairs. You half thought he was going to open the door and hush you. You half wished he would. He had been gone for so long on that last mission; his arrival last night had been such a surprise you’d actually thought you were dreaming.
But the door remained firmly closed, and you frowned.
“Got some work to do today,” he’d grumbled into your shoulder that morning. When you whined, he just hushed you. “Be patient, and I’m all yours tonight. Alright?”
You fought back a well of emotions as you finished washing the dishes. You missed him, goddamnit. Why couldn’t he put his work off for one day? This separation in your own house was uniquely tortuous. Almost as bad as the weeks and weeks he was gone on his missions, no contact.
When the dishes were dried, you tip-toed up the stairs. Maybe a shower would help you feel better. You had taken one earlier that morning – John with you, the water running over your tender muscles, his hand soaping up the mess he had left between your legs – but you climbed in again anyway. It didn’t help. The water was too warm, or otherwise too cold. You got out shivering, and dressed in your most comfortable clothes – but even those were somewhat bothersome.
Your hairbrush tangled several times in your hair and your necklace kept snagging. You could have screamed.
“Get. It. Together,” was what you hissed to yourself instead.
This unrelenting agitation is what brought you, finally, to John’s office door. A faint tremor in your jaw belied your otherwise outward calm. You clutched your laptop to your chest and held your breath. You knocked.
There was a pause. Then, John’s deep voice. “Come in.”
You opened the door halfway. You hadn’t been up since lunch, having brought him sandwiches and tea. The plate was emptied, now resting on the windowsill alongside a drained cup of tea. John looked at you over the rim of his reading glasses.
“Hi,” you said, shifting from foot to foot. “Sorry.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” you said, flushing now. “I just wondered… could I sit up here with you for a bit?”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll be quiet,” you promised, biting down on the inside of your cheek.
He was silent, and you were afraid he would refuse. You had never before barged in like this while he worked. He also, usually, didn’t leave your side for days after returning home from a mission.
“‘Course, honey,” he finally said, and you tried to hide how relieved you felt.
You shut the door behind you and shuffled over to the small sofa by the window. John watched you all the while. You offered a smile and a what-can-you-do sort of shrug. He smiled back and returned to his work.
He was so dashing, in his reading glasses and the snug sweater you had gifted him a couple months ago. He licked his thumb to flip the page of some file he was reading through, occasionally scribbling something in a notebook with a pen that was also a gift from you. His brow furrowed as he used his index fingers to type on his work laptop. God, you missed him. You weren’t sure if you could take it if he left for that long again anytime soon.
When he looked up to find you watching, he raised an eyebrow. You flushed, busying yourself with getting set up.
The plan was to get some of your own work done. You tried valiantly. You settled in under a blanket and opened your laptop up. You even opened a notebook at your side, a pen at the ready. But as you stared at the document on your screen, your brain creaked and croaked and seemed to sputter to a full stop. No matter how much you tried, you just could not focus. Your attention kept straying to John, but you knew that would become distracting for him, so you scrolled on your laptop for a while and, when that got boring, turned to your phone.
This devolved, as it so often did. Soon you were laying on your side, your phone about an inch from your face, scrolling mindlessly through Instagram reels. Volume off, of course. You smiled at funny ones, teared up at emotional ones. There were a lot of ‘soldier-returning-home-from-war’ ones on your For You page. So sue you, that sort of thing got you going. It was a distraction, that was for sure. But you felt that distinct, itching disapproval within yourself. It told you that this was a waste of time, that you were rotting your brain, etcetera, etcetera.
You weren’t sure how long you spent like this before John said your name. Your brain took a couple moments to click back on. You looked up to find him frowning at you.
“That’s not good for you, darling,” he said.
“Sorry,” you said. You set your phone down. “I know.”
“Now, what’s the matter?”
You shrugged, avoiding his eyes.
“Alright.” He sighed. “Come here, then.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. You scurried off the little sofa and around his desk. He pushed his chair back, and spread his legs so you could climb right up into his lap. You immediately buried your nose in his shoulder, fingers threading through his hair. It felt so good to hold him, to smell him.
“Aw, honey,” he said, holding you back. “I missed you too.”
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “How much?”
“How much?” he chuckled, the flat of his hand finding the nape of your neck. His other hand held you by the thigh to keep you in his lap. “You have no idea. Any chance I could take, I looked at that photo of yours.”
“This time was harder than before,” you whispered.
His voice sobered. “I know, honey. I know. But I’m here now. And I don’t have to leave for a while yet. I’m all yours.”
“But you’re still working,” you said, a petulant tone slipping out before you could check it. “You’re still not really back.”
John didn’t appreciate it when you complained about his work. He had made that clear early on in your relationship, so you had always, for better or worse, kept those sorts of thoughts to yourself. He must have been feeling the same, though, because he only gave your thigh a warning squeeze.
“Sorry,” you mumbled.
“‘S’okay, honey. Just need to get you a distraction while I finish up. Won’t be much longer now.”
“But I tried everything. I can’t focus on anything.”
“Oh yeah? Nothing works?” he hummed. You shook your head and snuggled closer in anticipation of having to move. But he pressed his nose to the side of your head and took a breath in. “Miss me that much, do you?”
You pulled back just enough to glare at him. The crinkles around his eyes indicated he was, at least, a little amused.
“Alright,” he said after a moment.
He patted you on the bum, and you forlornly took that as your cue to get up. The positioning of his legs made it so you ended up standing between his spread legs. You sighed and leaned down to kiss him.
“That’s sweet, honey,” he said, accepting the kiss. “But where do you think you’re going?”
You paused. “To… let you work?”
His lips twitched. “Not so fast. I’ve got an idea.”
You frowned, watching as his knees spread just a little wider. His eyes flicked down to the carpet between his feet. “On your knees, honey.”
A jolt of excitement revived you. Your lips parted. You stared. He just raised an eyebrow.
Biting your lip, you shuffled yourself down to your knees. When you were settled, you looked up at him with an open expression. He smiled down at you, patting you on the cheek. Then, he unbuckled his pants with a couple quick, easy motions. By the time he pulled his cock out, your cheeks were very warm. You watch with interest as he loosely fisted himself in hand, not quite yet hard.
“How about you keep me warm while I finish up,” he said, settling a hand on the back of your neck and tugging you forward.
You weren’t sure if you responded or not. If you just delivered some vague, incoherent noise as he nudged the head of his cock against your lips. As you blushed and looked up at him through your eyelashes. But it didn’t matter. Soon enough he was halfway into your mouth and sinking deeper, a hand tangling in your hair. You moaned as he edged against the back of your throat. You brought your hands up to take over the rest of his length, but he stopped you.
“Nuh-uh.” He tsked, pointing to one of his knees. “You know the rules.”
Your belly clenched. You brought your palms to rest flatly on both of his knees.
“Good girl,” he hummed. “How’s that feel?”
He knew you couldn’t speak, but he asked anyway. Your throat convulsed around him a couple times, and you let out an encouraging moan.
“This distracting enough?” he said, tugging fingers through your hair.
You let out a garbled noise. An attempted, “uh-huh.”
John chuckled. “Going to let me finish my work, then?”
Another garbled noise. Your eyes fluttered shut. He stroked your hair a couple times, pushing strands back behind your ears, gathering it together in a tail down your back. At the same time, he applied the slightest downward pressure. Your nose nudged the wiry hair at the base of his cock.
He was fully hard now, and lodged deep. Sweat dabbed your temples, your underarms. Having him in your mouth like this took just enough concentration that all of the uncomfortability from before vanished from your mind. You became solely focused on the heavy weight on your tongue, on breathing evenly, and on the effort of keeping your teeth from grazing him. At some point he removed his hand from your hair to flip through the papers on his desk. But you didn’t mind. You just closed your eyes and breathed in slowly.
You weren’t sure how long passed like this. Occasionally, John would reach down to stroke his thumb along your cheek or to murmur something tender at you. Good girl, so good for me, keeping me warm like that. Letting daddy work. You shivered in pleasure. You felt emptied out and worn down, like the night after a long day of physical exertion. It was a pleasant feeling.
Your thoughts dripped easily away until there was only John and the aching, throbbing arousal between your legs. Only once in a while did external sensations breach this ease: the rustle of papers, the scribbling of a pen, John’s groan, or sigh. The whir of the air conditioning in the vents, or the creaking of the house. The bird calls outside. The clicking of a keyboard. The drip of his cock on your tongue, and the drip of feeling between your legs.
You became so mindless, even, that you forgot the rules. Before you knew it, your hand was between your legs, rubbing through the fabric of your pajama shorts. The arousal sizzled up through your belly. You were like jelly. Easily satisfied, and loose. The sound of your breathing echoed off of John’s skin.
“Hey,” John chastised in a rumble, when he realized what you had gotten up to. “Hands back up, darling.”
You whined around him.
“I know, I know,” he hushed. “Almost done.”
You settled your hands back on his knees and swallowed around him. You were extremely gratified when he tensed and let out a grunt. His hand settled in your hair again and having his attention pleased you more than any physical stimulation ever could. You closed your eyes again and focused on breathing evenly. John had been right. This was the perfect distraction. It was physical enough to get you out of your mind, it was close enough to John that you could luxuriate in his presence, and it was quiet enough that he could focus on his work. Win, win, win.
Time passed hazily, pleasantly. Finally, John shifted, sighing. Your eyes came open. His attention was finally, fully on you. The office, you noticed, was now dimmed with evening light. A streak of orange-gold cast over his beard, his bright blue eyes. He smiled down at you and you felt your heart crack open.
He threaded his fingers through your hair tight enough that he could direct you. His next move was subtle. He rolled his hips just enough that his cock nudged against the back of your throat.
“Paperwork’s all finished,” he said.
You let out a noise.
“I’m all yours,” he confirmed.
Relief crashed through you. You began to pull off, but he stopped you with an, “ah, ah.”
He smirked down at you. “Not going to leave your old man like this, are ya?”
You glared up at him, but rose to the bait easily enough. You swallowed him down with a fervor. No longer did you let him just rest inside your mouth. Now, you sucked, and bobbed, and licked. You loved the sounds he made. The oh fucks and the yes darlings and the so beautifuls and so perfects. The groans and the grunts and the sighs. You loved how he smelled. Musky with sweat and arousal, he permeated the air all around you. You loved how his hands felt on your neck and in your hair. How he shivered and moaned and how his cock twitched under your perfect ministrations. How he cried your name as he unraveled.
When he came, you gave your own little moan. He liked when you did that. He also liked when you swallowed it all down. So that’s what you did.
A moment later, you wiped your mouth and rested your cheek against his thigh. You looked up at him adoringly, catching your breath as he did the same. Your eyes were glassy and you felt a sense of overwhelming calm. He must have seen this in your expression.
“Good idea?” he said in a rumble.
“Yes, daddy,” you mumbled, still half dazed.
His eyes flashed. “Up you get.”
It was all you had been waiting for. You climbed up in his lap and cuddled into him like you never wanted to let him go. You didn’t. He kissed you on the cheek, beard a familiar tickle against your skin. His hand trailed up your leg. Two fingers explored the gap in your shorts, slipping up and under the gusset of your knickers. He slid them right over you, clit and entrance and all. You let out a noise. He let out a low chuckle; he had discovered how wet you were.
You flushed and buried your face in his chest. “S’your fault.”
“Oh, is it?” he said, kissing your forehead.
“Mm-hm.”
“Want me to fix it, then?” he said.
“Obviously,” you snarked, pressing your nose right to his neck. You breathed in. “You have a lot of time to make up for.”
He sounded amused. “Obviously, hm?”
You nodded petulantly. He held you tighter. “I should get started then.”
“You better,” you said. You kissed him on the neck. The truth was, you were more than happy just resting in his arms. “I love you, John.”
“Oh honey,” he said. “I love you more than you know.”
Now, those words? Those words were better than any orgasm imaginable.
