tenure track professor reader seething over the email marked urgent in your inbox. knowing it contains the comments submitted on your latest paper, getting the funny feeling that they're from the same reviewer no. 2 as last time, that cretinous pedant who you swear has it out for you. nevermind that you've received glowing feedback on several other papers, accepted a dozen awards, secured funding through the next year—every signal that your career is on the right trajectory. seeing major revisions makes your blood boil.
you open both a bottle of wine and the comments and yeah yeah yeah there's that same irritating fixation on a methodological choice you already defended at length in another article. same smug little the author may wish to consider... and the same recommended citation that you're beginning to suspect they fucking wrote. you file away the first author's name then roll up your sleeves to compose a response to the bullshit review.
and across the world, just as he's tucked his lambskin gloves into his bag and shut off the light in his office, eager to make his tee time at the club, professor john price's phone lights up with one new notification: author response.
he chuckles at the name. instantly thrown back to last summer, dragging his feet all the way across the pond for a conference he'd only attended because laswell practically begged him to. slipping into the back of a packed talk and hearing you get into it with some slack-jawed muppet. you were in the right, and then you were in his head, never to leave his thoughts for more than ten minutes at a time.
he made it his mission to learn everything about you—your career, your research, your life outside it. and so what if he's thrown his weight around a bit since then, made himself a figure in the margins of your work, weighing in whenever it crossed his desk and occasionally ensuring it did when it otherwise might not have? he's earned it.
he fires off a text excusing himself from the game with his colleagues. sets his clubs back down and turns the lamp back on.
he pours himself a scotch, sinks into his armchair, then settles in for the scathing remonstrance he's been looking forward to for weeks.
contents: afab reader, established relationship, mirror sex, piv, edging, aftercare
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Word count: 966
MDNI! Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked!
"Beautiful... So fucking beautiful f'me..." Praised the deep, rasping voice of the man who has been ruining you for just over an hour.
How John could sound so composed while you huffed and panted out shameless moans was beyond you. He wasn't being rough, not in the slightest. Slow, long thrusts into your soaked cunt that made you feel just how thick he was inside of you. A lewd, wet sound could be heard with each languid thrust.
Every slow drag out of your pussy left you needing more, he kept pulling out until only the thick head remained inside… Only to slowly slide back in and you moaned at the stretch. Cruelly, he stopped whenever you got close. Rinse and repeat for a little over an hour.
It was maddening... And all you could do was lie there, chest and knees pressed against the carpet while your ass stayed in the air. Price’s rough, work worn hands grasped your hips as he pushed back into you at an agonizingly slow pace once again. A low groan left him, which told you he couldn't take much more either.
"Oh god... Please, John, let me..."
"Almost there," he grunted as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips. "Fuck– Just a bit more."
When your head fell forward slightly, he quickly removed one hand from your hip so he could cup your jaw to keep your head up. So you could see the reflection of you two in the mirror in front of you, his massive frame hovering over you. Hair dusted his body, thick brown fur that covered his chest and went all the way down his abdomen. He looks perfect, even if he was getting blurry. Your eyes were watery, glazed over in tears from the pleasure and frustration of being denied over and over, lips parted as another moan left you.
For the first time since he started, John finally picked up the pace as a groan that sounded close to a growl rumbled in his chest. The hand still holding your hip tightened its grip as he began to lose control of the pace he kept for over an hour. His hand slid from your jaw to your neck, gripping just enough to make your eyes go unfocused for a moment.
"Now... Let go for me," he ordered, panting softly. "Just keep watching..."
The sound of skin against skin came with every thrust. His new pace had you babbling incoherently and the hot ball of tension that settled in your stomach grew until it became too much.
"John, ohfuck," your words were practically merging together into desperate moans. "Yesyesyes fuck yes, I'm cumming, I'm gonna–"
Your words ended in a cry of pleasure as John suddenly let go of your throat and reached down under you so he could rub your clit.
"Cum for me, beautiful," he rasped. "Make a fucking mess on my cock..."
That sent you right over the edge you'd been teetering on for too long. Your walls fluttered and clenched around him as your climax tore through you. As your nails clawed at the carpet beneath you, thighs trembling. Tears tumbled from your eyes from the sheer relief and pleasure, it was almost too much.
John wasn't far behind, groaning as he gave three more rough thrusts before he buried himself to the hilt inside of you. You could feel how he pulsed against your gummy walls as he filled you. His calloused fingers continued to roll slow circles on your clit, and he breathed a soft "fuck" as your walls clenched again. Your eyes met in the reflection, which was blurred from the tears still in your eyes.
"That's my girl," he cooed softly, leaning forward to kiss your shoulder. "You were so good, lovie..."
Gradually, your heartbeat slowed until it was back to its normal rhythm. John softened inside of you and he stopped his ministrations on your now overly sensitive clit. Maybe you could've cum again and again, but after an hour of being edged... All you wanted was to pass out. You needed to be taken care of more than anything.
As if he could read your mind, Simon gathered you into his arms after he pulled out, carrying you bridal style to the bathroom.
"Let's get you cleaned up, love." His voice was a gentle rasp, deep and soothing to your fuzzy brain.
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One soothing bath later and you were curled up against John. His arms were wrapped around you, one hand stroking your back gently as he kissed your forehead, beard rasping against your skin. The smell of your favorite candle burning mingled with John’s scent, warm and clean and uniquely him. It was even stronger than the candle since your face was nuzzled into his neck.
A cup of your favorite tea sat on the bedside table, halfway finished now. John also had your favorite snacks on standby, just in case. He moved his free hand to your head, gently massaging and petting your scalp in a way that made you want to fall asleep.
"How're your knees?" He asked softly, unable to see your legs or any part of your body since he wrapped you up in the softest blanket you had. "I should've let you change positions..."
"Mmh, I would've told you if I really needed it to change," you murmured, closing your eyes. "The rug wasn't the painful part. The frustration from the edging, however..."
You could feel him smile against your forehead, a quiet laugh going through him. "And you loved it."
Of course you did, but... "Not as much as I love you."
John snorted softly and pulled you even closer, crushing you to his body. "Bloody hell, you're sappy."
Staying Still
masterlist
John Price/female reader
cw: brief sexual content
“Last chance.” He murmurs in your ear, beard brushing your skin. “You sure you don’t want to tap out princess?” You swallow.
“I’m not a quitter.” Your voice trembles, even against your best efforts to keep it steady.
This was supposed to be a joke. A test. A game of chicken you won.
It wasn’t supposed to be… this.
John looks you, blue eyes still bright in the low neon lights of the chapel. You’ve studied his face a thousand times, but you’ve never seen him look like this. A reverence soaked with intensity, limerence.
It must be the alcohol. The night turned morning. This train rapidly careening off the tracks.
The two of you caught up in a dare, caught up in each other, if only for this fleeting moment.
He searches your eyes one last time, and then nods at the Elvis impersonator who’s standing quietly at your side.
“We’re ready.”
Your hand feels heavier.
Which is strange, because why would that be?
There’s sunlight streaming in through the window across the bed, across your face, and you fling your arm over your eyes, trying to block it out, ward off the hangover migraine you can already feel coming.
Jesus Christ, what the hell happened last ni-
“Oh my god.” You shoot straight up in bed, sheets pooling at your waist. The sudden movement has the room spinning, and your hand, your heavy hand, folds down onto the mattress for support, entire body aching. Bones rigid, muscles sore, everything stiff… and sticky between your legs. “Oh my god.” You’re alone in bed, but not the room. The shower is on in the bathroom, steam rolling out from beneath the door, and for a long second, you wonder if you hallucinated the whole thing. If you dreamed it.
No.
The proof, undeniable, blatant, shiny… is sitting on your finger.
“Holy fuck.”
An empty, tipped over champagne bottle catches your eye. Next to it? Your underwear. You’re stark naked beneath the sheets, and when you run your fingers over your face, you feel the telltale hardened sprawl of lashes. You didn’t even wash your makeup off.
But all of that pales in comparison to what happened last night. What you think happened last night.
The ring sparkles at you, mocks you. You try not to dwell on the face that it’s huge, something purchased at one of the high end jewelry stores in one of the hotels. It’s flashy. Multiple carats. Perfect clarity. It’s what every girl wants.
Except you.
Take one look at this ring and it says exactly what you would except. It belongs to a spoiled brat. A girl gone wild, a material girl, a fake, pretty, plastic barbie doll.
The ring brandishes the ugliest truth at you, one you can’t escape.
This is how he sees you.
The shower stops. There’s the sound of a drawer, movement, and you’re split down the middle, debating grabbing all your clothes and making a run for it, or hiding under the bed.
You don’t have time to consider either. As soon as you start to roll towards where your bra lays on the floor, the door creaks… and then he’s there. In jeans, without a shirt on, watching you with crossed arms. Your throat dries, lips parting for words that won’t come out. There isn’t a cohesive thought in your head.
Run. Hide. Sprint out the door and onto a plane.
This… this is wrong.
This is your crush gone rancid, desire turned foul. Tarnished by a farce, something fake and vapid, something not meant to last.
A wedding in Vegas.
How cliche.
Your wildest, hopeful dreams would have been to be with John for one day, just for a night and nothing more.
Now you’ve turned it into a mess. A reflection of yourself.
His gaze drops to the ring, and your stomach flips hard.
He doesn’t smile, or frown, or sigh. He just holds steady focus, his laser precision studying her hand like it’s a puzzle.
“Uh, hi.” Your voice cracks, and she finally exhales.
“Oh Ava. What am I going to do with you.”
“Well…” you gesture to the room, its trashed state, the tipped over bottle. “We can… pretend this never happened?” His eyes narrow.
“We can’t.” You’re not sure you’ve ever heard him so serious.
“Okay,” you say, fast. “Okay that’s fine. We can undo it, right? We… this… this happened but it was just a drunken mistake. A crazy, drunken Vegas mistake.” You’re not sure who you’re talking to now, him or you. You add a half hearted laugh, perfectly crafted, but it doesn’t hit.
John’s jaw tightens. It’s subtle, but you see it, just like you always see him. Everywhere. In a room, down the hallway, you feel him around every corner, in every stairwell. Everywhere.
His eyes don’t leave you, and the look in them isn’t desire, or hunger, or something close to carnal. Nothing like they were last night. That’s one thing you can remember. His eyes. Heavy, heated, possessive. Looking up at you from between your legs as his tongue rolled over your clit and you came. Looking at you like he wanted you. Like this wasn’t just a dare, a fluke, a mistake.
But he’s not looking at you like that now. No. Right now, his eyes are clinical. Assessing, diagnosing.
“Ava.” Your shoulders rise to your ears instinctively.
“I didn’t mean…” you start with a whisper, but stop. This is your fault, you know. You took it too far, couldn’t control yourself, couldn’t not take the bait, push it to the limit. You’ve poisoned whatever it was between the two of you. You’ve ruined it. “I… it’s fine. We can get an annulment right now. Today. Don’t they do those? For situations like this? I mean, it’s Vegas. I’m sure there’s a need for it. We can do it before we get on the plane, it will be easy. I’ll look-”
“Stop.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek, instantly silenced. A little girl chastised by her daddy. “You’re spiraling.”
“I am not spiraling.” You snap. His gaze flicks to the bottle, your underwear, the mascara smudged under your eyes, to the ring. Then back to your face, where his expression softens a fraction.
“Okay.” He says in that calm, steady tone, the one that makes you feel insane. The one that could be so soft, so safe if you fell into it. “We’re not going to make any decisions right now.”
“I want-”
“I want you to drink some water and have something to eat.” There’s a knock at the door down the hall. “Room service. Get dressed.”
You scramble as soon as his back is turned, fumbling around for your clothes. This isn’t your room, yours is down the hall, and the only thing you have in here is your skimpy cocktail dress and too high heels.
A cart is wheeled in and a moment later, John reappears, plate and bottle of water in hand. You can’t look at him as he deposits it on the side table. Him, freshly showered, clean, put back together and you, a mess, dirty in your skin tight dress.
Fingers slowly stroke the apple of your cheek. Your heart practically stops in your chest.
“Eat.” He says sternly. “I’ve got to run down to the lobby quick. Stay put, eat your breakfast and drink that bottle of water.” He slips his shoes on, and then looks at her expectantly. “Ava.”
“What?”
“Do not leave this room. Finish your food and wait for me here. Do you understand?” Yes daddy, you want to mock, push back against this heavy hand like you always do. Instead, you force a smile, teeth gnashed together, and lie.
“Yes.”
Facing the music is harder than you anticipated.
You’re not sure what you expected, after fleeing. After sitting in your apartment for two days, hiding. Trying to stave off the consequences.
There were dozens of them. Consequences.
Missed calls. From John, from Daisy, from Liv. Endless text messages, some worried, some sternly worded.
I asked you to stay put.
Answer the phone.
Ava.
And now, as you stare down the barrel of the hospital’s front doors, you feel the full weight of those consequences.
Your stomach twists. Dread and anxiety settle there, spinning in circles, tightening around your neck like a noose.
“Y’alright?” A rough British accent shakes you from your spiral, and you turn to find Doctor Riley standing behind you with an eyebrow raised. Shit.
“Fine, thanks.” You sound like yourself, steady and self-assured, there’s nothing in your voice that betrays the turmoil brewing inside you.
“He’s not here.” You freeze, fingers tightening instinctively on the strap of your bag. “Took today off.”
“Oh.” You shrug. Unbothered, or at least pretending to be. “That’s nice.”
“Daisy called you ten times over the weekend.” He glances at your left hand, gaze turning cool. “She’s upset you were ignoring her.” Your already turbulent stomach twists with guilt.
“I know.” His eyes narrow.
“Fix it.” Doctor Riley, Simon, doesn't mess around when it comes to his wife. She and Riley are the sun, and he’s every planet in the solar system, endlessly rotating around them.
You bite your tongue, swallow the smart response that threatens to slip free.
“I will.” You give him a fake, saccharine smile. “Thanks.” His eyes turn severe, and then he shakes his head.
“Sugar cubes.”
“What?” He smiles, already in motion, headed toward the doors.
“Nothing.”
“Look at me.”
You can’t. You want to, some hidden, terrified part of you desperately wants to, but you’re too afraid.
It’s easier to look at the ceiling. At the wall. At the strip, glowing outside the hotel room window.
“Ava.” He murmurs into your jaw, lips warm on your skin. You’re on fire. Every nerve, every synapses, every single cell inside you is exploding, and every time he rolls his hips, you’re torn between ecstasy and agony. “Ava.” He says again, and you shake your head.
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can.” His body presses into yours, steadily, patiently, and you moan. He’s breaking you into pieces with each thrust, tearing your heart in two.
When you ignore him, he drives forward, hard. Hard enough your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
“John-”
“Give me your eyes, princess.” He says it gently, but there’s a command in his voice, one you can’t fight it, and when you finally look up, he’s there. Waiting. Watching.
Everything is stripped away. He’s not looking at you like a disappointed attending, he’s not glaring at you sternly. He’s not lecturing you, or teasing you, or showering you in that rare, soft praise you occasionally get.
He’s looking at you with something raw in his eyes, something real.
He’s looking at you like this matters.
You have the urge to flee. Crawl out of your skin. Get away from this man who has been living in a secret compartment of your soul for years now, run away from the consequences of making a mockery of your own feelings. Your heart.
Your eyes fill with tears.
His hand comes up to cradle your face, thumb catching the first one that rolls towards the pillow from your temple.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” He kisses you. Whiskey and cigar roll over your lips and you drink it in, pull him closer. You let yourself believe it for a second, let yourself imagine this not being a dare, a drunken mistake.
When you can’t take the eye contact anymore you wrench your gaze away and bury your face in his neck, tasting the salt and smoke of his skin. That’s where you stay, as he takes you apart and puts you back together over and over again, and the sun starts to rise over Sin City’s skyline.
Daisy is very calm.
It’s annoying, considering she used to be wild, unhinged even, like you. Two peas in a pod. Partners in crime.
If you had a bad idea, you could trust Daisy to double down on it, all while the two of you made Olivia pull her hair out at the roots.
But that was before.
Now, she sits at the lunch table, hands folded under her chin, looking wise beyond her years. Her watchful eyes fix on your face, the perfect picture of contemplation and consideration, a barely-there smirk the only evidence of her amusement.
“The internet says it’s a whole process. I thought I could just file some paperwork.”
“You’re surprised undoing a marriage isn’t so easy?” Daisy raises a brow. You scowl at her.
“It’s not a marriage,” you protest immediately. The word sinks like a stone in your stomach. “It was a wedding, that’s all.” You shove aside the memory that snakes its way up your spine at the word wedding, swallow back the heat pooling on the tip of your tongue as you remember the feeling of John’s body on yours, his hand on yours, fingers intertwined as he buried himself so deep you could feel him in your heart. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It’s not the same.” The chair next to you creaks as Olivia slumps into it, a hand covering her face. She looks beat, and you're eager to change the subject. “You look exhausted.”
“I have the worst assignment today." She reaches for a fry on your plate. “And I swear I’m still hungover.”
“It’s Tuesday,” Daisy says, and Olivia nods somberly.
“I know. That’s why it’s such an issue. When did we get so old? I mean, you’re both married. I’m practically a spinster.” You groan.
“I’m not married. I just… made a legally binding mistake.”
“Uh, I don’t know if you remember but you are married. Trust me, I know. I was there.”
“And I wasn’t.” Daisy takes a swig from her water bottle and frowns. “I can’t believe you got married and I wasn’t there.” You wonder what would have happened if Daisy was there. If she and Simon hadn’t gone to bed. Would she have let you do it? Would she have stopped you?
“Okay, can we please stop talking about this?”
“Why? It’s the most exciting thing that’s happened since Simon and Daisy got married.” Olivia leans in conspiratorially. “Did you consummate said marriage?” Your cheeks burn. Daisy’s mouth forms a O.
“Oh my god.”
“Stop.” You hiss.
“Oh my god, Ava!” Olivia cackles, and the heads around you at other tables turn. You glare at them, at her.
“Liv. Shut up.”
“Okay, okay. But I need to know… how was it? He?” You shake your head.
“It was good and I don’t want to talk about it right now.” Good is an understatement. Good is something you say when a server asks you how your meal is, or when your coworker asks you how your weekend was.
It wasn’t good.
It was everything.
“Okay but you’re not getting out of this.” Olivia decides, looking at her watch as it buzzes. She sighs. “I’ve gotta get back.”
“Me too.” You stand with her, leaving your fries on the table for Daisy. “Talk later?” She smiles.
“Definitely.”
“I think I want to get married,” you muse with a sigh, leaning into Olivia’s side. It’s close to three in the morning, though you’re barely tired. The alcohol buzzing through your veins has kept you going since eight the night before. The guests of honor, Simon and Daisy, tapped out of their own joint bachelor/bachelorette party hours ago. “I’d be a hot bride.” She giggles, and John leans forward, elbows on knees.
“You want to get married, princess?” There’s something in his expression that steals your breath. His lips are no longer tipped upward in an amused smile, and his eyes are dry of mirth. Instead, you see hunger, heated possessiveness. You see…
Challenge.
You shrug.
“Sure. Why not? It seems fun.” You lift your martini to your lips. It’s your fourth of the night, you think. Or fifth. Or who knows, you’ve stopped counting. John’s eyes sweep you. They linger on your calves, work their way up to your knees, your waist, the low cut of your dress. Finally, they find your own gaze, and stay there.
“You should get married, Ava.” Olivia slurs, lists to the side. Kyle puts his arm around her but she straightens, excited, glancing between you and John. “Oh my god, you two should get married! I could be your flower girl!” She keeps going, completely unaware. Johnny is shaking his head at her, the motion that started out as playful now turning more serious. “The two of you would make such cute babies too.”
“Olivia,” Kyle says softly, and she gives him a lighthearted scowl.
“What? It’s not like I’m being serious.” She hiccups, reaches for her drink, pouts when Johnny swipes it before she can get her fingers on it. “That’s not fair.”
“Think ye’ve had enough angel.”
“It’s okay. She’s not serious, right? She never is.” John says, looking at you, and it stings. Olivia’s face twists.
“She’s-”
“Want to bet?” You interrupt her, cutting off whatever she’s going to say, some well-meant defense of your character. “We could get married right now.” Kyle and Johnny exchange an uncomfortable look that you catch from the corner of your eye, but you’re too wrapped up in this to stop and think about it, and the vodka is making your head fuzzy. John cocks his head.
“We could…” he says slowly.
“Unless you’re scared.” He raises an eyebrow.
“Of getting married?”
“Of me.” It comes out small. So much smaller than you imagined it would, a whisper full of fear. His eyes soften, and he stands. Holds out his hand for you to take, and then pulls you up off the couch. You list to the side, off balance in your heels, but he steadies you, holds you in his arms. Your heart pounds in your ears.
“I’m not afraid of you princess.” He murmurs, and briefly strokes your cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “We can go find a chapel right now.” You swallow. The world quiets, the sounds of the casino, of Olivia, everything else falls away until it’s just the two of you, staring at one another.
Refusing to back down.
You smile. It’s forced, because this is spiraling out of control. It shouldn’t be him. This farce shouldn’t be happening with the one man you’ve always thought you might want something real with.
You shake it off. Shove it down-
And look him dead in the eye.
“Let’s go then.”
You don’t end up talking to Daisy, or Liv, or anyone later.
The day runs you ragged. Patients, providers, room seven’s sister, the elevator on your side of the floor out of service, all of it all at once leaves you with a headache blooming behind your eyes.
You drive home on autopilot.
You hardly remember getting your bag from the car, getting into your apartment, falling onto your couch. You turn the TV on if only to have background noise, and then stare at the ceiling.
Married.
You’re married.
It's still alien in your mind, on your tongue.
Married to a pipe dream of a man. Married to someone you always hope might see you differently, might know you.
You married him, and it’s not real.
He didn’t choose you.
He chose a dare. A challenge.
A wild, impulsive, ridiculous idea that will make a great story.
The reality of it all drains the life out of you.
Which is why you’re half asleep when someone starts repeatedly knocking at your door.
You stumble up from the couch, tripping over the laundry basket that’s overflowing with clean clothes, trying to tug your t-shirt into place.
The knocks start again.
“I’m coming!” You yell down the hall. “Jesus.”
You don’t look through the peephole. You should have, it may have given you time to prepare, to formulate a plan or just… pretend you’re not home.
Unfortunately, you did not look.
So you have nothing to say when you fling open the door to find John Price standing on your doormat, his arms crossed, head cocked.
“John,” you breathe. His eyes move over your face, your body, your bare left ring finger . His jaw tightens, and then his gaze lifts to yours.
John Price/female reader (Ava)
*female reader character is named but remains a blank slate
141 hospital au - exists within this universe
18+, explicit sexual content, fear avoidance, size kink, daddy kink, accidental pregnancy, age gap relationship
Each part to have individual tags and warnings
♡︎ Price has accidentally broken his promise of going to get checked up by you. It's not like he's doing it on purpose, he swears! He'll just get caught up in making sure his men are okay, debriefing and all these other duties that he'll forget to drop by. Him ignoring your phone calls was the last straw, even if it was unintentional. You didn't have to inquire as to his whereabouts; his men saw you coming and not wanting to be caught in the mess pointed you to their captain. And he doesn't have it in him to even get mildly annoyed when you drag him to your private quarters to ensure no one will interrupt you. No one comes to get him either lol.
♡︎ For Simon you'll stay up extra late at night to wait for him to drop by. You know he's often a busy man and prefers to be attended by you when you've got no other patients in your clinic. But the clock hand moves further and he still hasn't shown up. You know not to be impatient but you snap when Soap drops by and is surprised to see Simon hasn't come by. "Oh, you didn't know?" and then he proceeds to reveal to you the most horrific discovery, your beloved Ghost had a grave injury. Soap steps back as you brusquely give him your thanks and set off to hunt down your man. If his injury was this bad, what could have been so important to keep him from coming to you immediately? Truly, he couldn't have been so petty as to want to wait last minute to get it treated... either way, Simon senses your wrath and decides to stand in place to accept his fate.
♡︎ Johnny knew you'd freak out if you found out he had first gone for a celebratory dinner and drink before coming to get patched up. Which is why he tried to slip into your station pretending he had taken a nap. If he acted like he had overslept due to exhaustion then it'd make sense why he was coming so late... right? "Poor Johnny" was all that Ghost and Gaz could say as they walked away after filling you in on their friend's failed plan. You didn't lose your cool, at least not visibly. If Johnny came in knowing how infuriated you were then he'd book it fast. Which is why you kept your cool and instead set up and prepared for a very long and thorough medical examination. Nowhere for Soap to run if you were the one holding the needle.
♡︎ Kyle really tries his absolute hardest to get treated by you as soon as possible. But things just keep getting in his way! The hard thing about being such a dependable and likeable guy is that everyone seeks him out. He's been dodging people left and right as if it were an RPG level he was trying to pass. Still, you can't help but feel mildly annoyed that he hasn't dropped by earlier; causing you much worry. You go looking for him and he can only do his best to hide the growing smile on his face as you seize him by the collar. Stares at you dreamily as you treat him, and you try hiding the small smile that wants to show. It's really impossible to be mad at this man when he's your best patient; barely grunts or makes any exaggerated sounds of being in pain. You end up making him stay the night on the pretense of making sure his bandages don't fall off. He's more than happy to oblige.
♡︎ Roach knows you care for him a great deal. Countless times you've rushed to his side when no one else has, which is why he was hoping to go to you right away. Until that talkative Soap HAD to get in his way. The grip around Roach's shoulder is so strong he can't slip away, and he mentally groans at the mental image of you waiting for him. It's not long that you're stomping through the halls and spot your beloved Roach prisoner in Soap's hold. No one gets in the way of you giving that Scottish soldier a piece of your mind, which is terrifying to observe, and rescuing your patient. You nearly carry Roach away in your arms and lovely tend to his health in the privacy of your station. Since learning that he missed his lunch with the idea of coming to see you in mind, you even go ahead and feed him. Yes, he's a grown man and soldier but who is he to refuse such gentle care?
♡︎ Alejandro will never admit, for as long as he lives, that he actively avoids getting treated by you. It's like ever since your relationship grew deeper you've grown more comfortable with calling him out on his bad health habits. He'll beg Rodolfo to pretend like he doesn't know anything about his whereabouts when he conveniently disappears during your hunts for him. Of course, a betrayal from a friend is always in order when this happens. Rodolfo tells you anyway and you have a field day looking for Alejandro. You don't even know why he tries hiding anymore when you know all his hiding spots. Oh, and no excuses about being too busy! Your word as a longtime medic carries a lot more weight than Alejandro would like.
♡︎ Rudy will come as soon as you call for him. He's seen firsthand how you hunt down unwilling soldiers and would never deliberately do anything to get on your bad side. Scary enough is when you're holding a needle or administering medication. But he can rest easy knowing that despite your tough exterior built over the years, you can still find within your heart to make room for him. His eyes show nothing but complete trust even when you're sternly giving him directions on how to change out his gauzes. Times when you've been so stressed due to the amount of stubborn soldiers you've treated you have accidentally taken it out on him. Your heart clenches when you notice how understanding he's being.
♡︎ Phillip couldn't hide from you even if he tried. He knows his Shadows will switch sides over to you the moment they find out their commander isn't going to his checkups. In fact, he can't pretend to forget his appointment with you because someone is always reminding him every week, every day and every hour. Also, he can pick his battles. He wouldn't even dream of going against a medic like you who is more than capable of taking down a big soldier if need be to administer first aid. He'd rather be on your good side since you're the one with at advantage with all the sedatives. Whenever he's lingering a little too long you'll walk out of your room to find him and drag him along. He, of course, doesn't protest nor mind that some Shadows stop and watch.
♡︎ With Makarov you can't properly arrange a time for him to come see you for his checkups, especially when it comes to unexpected wounds or injuries. You've probably spent more time wandering the place looking for him than you have treating other patients. With all your years of experience, soldiers BEG to be treated by you, but here is Makarov discarding it. You know that if you bring this issue up with him he'll simply tell you to stay by his side as he moves along. It irritates you that he doesn't care about potentially getting in your way. So, you do what's best and you go looking for him the INSTANT you hear about him getting hurt. He's wearing a smug smile when you finally corner him, because he knew you'd be coming the moment he let word slip that he had an injury that needed to be treated.
♡︎ Keegan swears the injury he got from training wasn't THAT bad, he even "forgets" to take the medicine you've prescribed him. Word somehow gets to you that one of your patients isn't listening to their medic and suddenly you're on a manhunt. Keegan hides but not because he's scared of you or anything. He just wants to mess with you for a little while longer. When you eventually get him into bed (woah not like that) to rest. He's doing everything he can to hold back from chuckling as he sees you so focused on wrapping him up. You don't even know it's the way you furrow your brows or pout that has him watching you so intently. When you ask him how he feels he says in a tone so smug you stop what you're doing to raise a brow, "Oh, I'm doing just fine.".
♡︎ It's impossible to haul König all the way to your clinic. Once you tackle him (he felt as if you just bumped into him) you have to figure out how to drag his big self to get patched up. He's prying your hands off of him promising he's fine and not even in pain. "Just wait until that adrenaline wears off!" you yell and stomp off. He's surprised you gave up so soon but goes about his day until he starts getting drowsier and eventually drifts off to sleep. You come back to find him right where you knew he'd collapse. Pulling gloves and a mask on you realize others might mistake you for trying to get rid of a body. You don't know how to explain you're really just treating a stubborn patient.
♡︎ Horangi should really have some compassion for your poor nerves. But you'd rather die than admit it to that smug bastard. He gets injuries all the time that he doesn't go get patched up. And you always find out when he gets up from bed and the blanket slips off his bare torso and these jagged lines and bruises are on full display. You launch into a lecture about how he should tell you about this and get treated blah blah. Horangi is just waiting for you to finish for him to tell you about his most recent muscle pain, completely discarding what you told him. Honestly, what can you do besides sigh and sweetly plea for him to be more careful. And in typical Horangi fashion he says no <3.
♡︎ Since Nikto got taken care by you for the first time, he's been going a bit more often whenever he experiences pain that he can't solve. But whenever he comes in for a serious injury, you can't let him rest alone. You're "running" into him in the hallways to ask how he feels today, any pain, etc. How strange for a busy medic to suddenly have enough time to leave their other patients and focus on him alone. You've warned him to never miss his follow-ups with you, even though he thinks his injury is fine. And God forbid he misses one because he's seen firsthand how you can drag someone nearly twice your size for not following instructions.
cant help but think of being one of price’s soldiers when he was a Lt only to join him again when he’s a captain..
It's been four nights of this now. The tolerance for it should be higher, much much higher really. The worst part of all wasn't even the excruciating tightness on your chest, it was the fact you couldn't find any reason for it.
There wasn't any mission that had gone wrong, no extra work you had slaved nights away doing or something terrible happening. There was no reasonable cause for it at all. You even went to the doctors two weeks ago, letting them run tests on your heart and blood, only to come out with a slightly lower level of iron if anything.
With a sigh, you push the covers off of you in the dark room and slide off the edge of the bed. Your slippers are in the same place since you knew you’d always need them. Your phone is tucked into your side pocket, just in case, as you slide on your jacket and shuffle out of your room down the corridor.
It must’ve been one am by now, well into the night, and yet just the beginning of what you learnt sometimes helps you get back to sleep. The rec room is empty, as it usually is, and you hardly waste a second before moving to grab the same glass you always do.
“Surprised to see you up at this time, soldier.”
Your shoulders jump almost immediately, spinning around on your heels to face your Captain who stands behind you, lips quirked upwards. It wouldn't be so strange really, considering that you all share a rec room and it wasn't the most uncommon thing to get thirsty in the middle of the night.
“I- i was.. thirsty.” You manage to mumble out, still staring up at him like a deer in headlights. He reaches around you with a soft chuckle, grabbing a glass from above you before gently covering your head when he shuts the door.
“Sure y’aint sleepwalking?”
He’s being friendly, really friendly actually. None of your old teams were ever like this, but then again, you did know Captain Price. Or at least you knew him. It was back when he was a Lieutenant, and you were so close to becoming a Sergeant. An eager bright eyed rookie you were, really, and even his face was much softer back then. Though, he soon recieved news of his promotion and things changed until it was decided you’d be perfect for a solo mission. No contact for the first year, practically an infiltration in the middle of nowhere too.
Until two months ago, when you were finally pulled out because your skills were needed somewhere much more important. Here, with the 141. The rest of the team weren't bad people either, but for some reason you just couldn't stick with them. It was like no matter what you had tried, it was always going to be surface level.
Simon would tell you off constantly during training, muttering something about always being in his way when it’s been four years since you’ve worked in close contact with others. The watchout cabin you used to man only ever had contact every few months, and that was when you drove away to pick up food supplies to keep you going. Even when you weren't there, you were always deployed on your own under investigative work. He did insist you come along to places with them, but ultimately he never spoke with you when you were there.
Kyle was much more friendlier, and somehow seemed to know exactly what you were thinking at all times. Besides, he was practically perfection incarnate, there was no way you could ever talk to him casually when he was everything you couldn't be. Plus, he was Price’s right hand man now, taking the space you once had for years. You cant complain because no one even knows who you are anyway. So naturally , you shuffled out the way when his friends from other troops came over. You barely hesitated as you excused yourself quickly when the small pub trip somehow became an army bar after Kyle told a few friends.
Then there was Johnny, he had just as much charm as Kyle but double his chattiness. He liked to talk a lot, and he was incredibly sociable and you tried to keep up really you did but it wasn't hard for you to get cut short sometimes. Especially in groups with others, people would much prefer what he had to say than your mumbling mess of an explanation. He did always ask what you were going to say, but with everyone else's eyes on you it didn't feel like much more than a pity thought even if he didn't mean it that way.
“Sergeant?”
You snap out of your spiralling back to the current moment, Captain Price staring right at you in this stupid rec room at one am. Maybe it wouldn't even be that bad if he didn't correct you for the first time today, telling you off because the infirmary were giving him a headache about your checkups and psych evals that you hadn't bothered to book in. It wouldnt have been that mad except now you might not even be allowed on a mission. Really you knew it was because you always self administered them, so you hadn't even considered the infirmary needed to have records of it until right now. But he had just shaken his head when you began to explain ‘Just get it done, alright? They won't stop bothering me about it.’
“Yeah?” You force the rest of the glass down, swallowing the anxieties swelling in your chest. You haven't slept properly in a week, you could possibly fail the medical exam tomorrow and you were just so tired and exhausted and when’s the last time you actually went on leave?
“Are you alright?” He steps forward but you shakily nod, very quickly three times before placing your cup down next to the sink.
“Everything’s fine— I'm okay. I just needed to get some water because I was thirsty and I couldn't really sleep..“ You ramble, over explaining yourself even though you know you really shouldn’t because he’ll get annoyed and dismiss you before you start going on a real tangent.
“Y’can’t sleep? Is something keeping you up?” You definitely didn't expect him to ask anything further and now you’re nervously staring at him.
“My chest.” You eventually settle on, even if a million things are coming to mind now. The light is too bright, and that water was way too warm, it makes your stomach swim. “I-it’s really tight, and I don't know h-how to make it stop but i feel like i cant breathe and–”
The back of his knuckle brushes your eye, smearing the small wetness across your skin as you inhale a deep breath, only realising now that you had been hyperventilating. “Easy— okay? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?” He raises a brow at you in concern but all you can see is the annoyance of you not being fit enough for a mission.
It makes your tears leak out faster as you adamantly shake your head at him. “No— it’s not that bad- I—“ His hand rests firmly on your chest, not pushing but a weight that just settles there. It forces you to stop your heaving breaths, chest evening out as he moves his hand up and down. You don't get a second thought before he’s pulling you to sit down on the small couch, one knee on the floor as he holds your arms gently. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself with your hands grasping at the fabric of your trousers. “Medical tested me multiple times, b-but they never found anything. I just..”
“You can't seem to get rid of it.” He finishes your words for you, eyes softening in the already dim light of the room. His hands settle on your shoulders as he gives you a firm, reassuring look, eyes soft on you. “Gonna take you to my room, alright? Not leaving you on your own like this.”
His arm clings to your shoulder once he helps you up, switching the lights off as he leads you down the corridor to his quarters. You know you should probably pull away and insist nothing is wrong, but you don't, leaning into him even more as he fishes for the keycard in his pocket. He nudges the door open with his shoe, focusing on walking you inside towards the bed as it swings shut behind him.
“Come on, into bed. You need rest.”
It’s like a flip switched in your brain, but you really cant blame how easily you follow his words either. He was the last person you physically interacted with before going solo, he’s the last part of regular life you knew. You hadnt realised just how much you missed him until now, curled under the covers that smell like him, with his weight pushing down on the mattress beside you.
He settles on his back as you roll onto your side, eyes locked onto his arm that lays around you like a shield. It’s not quite touching you and yet it weighs the pillow down behind your head— a constant reminder. You let yourself look back to him, mentally mapping every new scar and mark across his face. The beard, that caught you off guard too. He looked so much older now, grown into his new role as Captain and you.. you felt frozen in time.
The tears begin to leak again, this time faster and without much restraint on your half. They roll down your cheeks in waves, soft sobs muffled against the pillows as you cry your heart out. Too much had been bottled up inside over the years, with no one to talk to and no one willing to hear what you witnessed. Of course, you only trusted what you knew aswell— the sheer familiarity of him was so relieving it had you choking for your breath.
He lets his arm move closer to your back now, forcing you to shuffle forward until your chest hits his side. He rolls onto his side too, wrapping around you so easily to contain your cries. Then his hands settle on your back, heavy and with purpose as they rub in slow soothing motions all while you wet his shirt. It’s the same damn one he used to wear back then too, the brand at least. You remember seeing him fiddle with the hemline after a night of reports, exhausted and yawning before lights out. Now with your face buried into it, everything was different.
The tight feeling that had clenching your lungs had been snipped straight through, letting them expand as much as they like as you breathe him in. Then you finally relax, no weight on yourself other than his arms keeping you safe and sound. Well, there was the heavy droop in your eyes, but you blame him for that too.
“Feeling better now?” His hand lands on your head, thumb brushing your forehead as you nod quietly into him. You let your arms wrap around him too as he settles himself on his back again. He pulls you to rest your head on his chest, and you cant complain because it made a damn good pillow with your cheek smushes against him like that.
“Didn't realise how much i missed you, Lt.” You mumble out, the last of your tears squeezing out onto the already dried spots on his shirt.
“You’re back now.” He hums, smoothing over your back as you finally let out the breath trapped inside of you. He’s warm, and your brain can finally relax with someone to trust beside you once more.
The duvets are tucked beneath your chin as your jaw and face relax, yawning softly before sinking in. It’s a few moments before you’re finally out, wet trails still glistening on your cheeks. Maybe you’ll be embarrassed tomorrow about your puffy eyes, or the fact you’re clinging to him so tight. He’s content returning the relief you once gave him.
————————
been having a really tight chest recently i dont know whats gotten me like this but it’s been so impossible to deal w sometimes :(
tags: explicit smut + gloryhole but john is the only one + prompt game
'A new something for groups or couples!'
John stared down at the sign that was crudely written by the store owner telling every customer that a gloryhole was constructed and it hadn't even been used, and John knew he needed to remedy that.
Your phone buzzed in your hand as you stared at the different packages of handcuffs for an upcoming trip you and John were taking next week.
Incoming Message
J: Go to the back of the store and go inside the first room.
With your phone slipped into your pocket, you walked to the back of the store and looked at the white, unassuming door. Why does your husband want you to go through that? You sighed and stepped inside.
It was dim, with no windows or anything, just a hole in one wall where it would no doubt be standing height for a man to get a blowjob, and when you saw John's cock poke through the hole, your jaw dropped.
"John! What the hell are you doing, baby!?" You hissed and stepped forward trying to cover his dick for some reason, but instead all you managed to do was rub your hand against it, feeling how hard he was.
On the other side of the wall, you heard him chuckle and thrust his hips, forcing your palm to slide down the length of his dick. "What do you think, luv? This is a glory hole, and you said you wanted something new."
"I know that! This is beyond new...it's..." You broke off for a moment and crouched down on your knees looking around the empty room once more before you leaned in to kitten lick the tip shyly at first.
John clicked his tongue knowing you were holding back.
"Don't be shy now, princess." He teased, earning a hard suck that made his knees buckle. His palms pressed against the wall, feeling your warm wet mouth suck him in deeper, drooling over his cock.
You took his advice and swirled your tongue around the tip like it was a lollipop, but you wished he could see you like this: on your knees in a dimly lit room with his dick in your mouth, so unashamed and free.
It would do him in.
John's grunts echoed through the room he was in as you sucked his cock with such lewd sounds that it even stopped another couple who listened outside of the door before leaving, giving you two privacy.
Spit dripped from the corners of your mouth as you pulled away from John and stood up to hurriedly pull your pants and panties down before you pressed your ass against the wall. "Luv, you didn't," John grunted.
His rough fingers skated across your slick pussy, which he quickly replaced with his dick that he slid into you easily. Just too bad he can't touch you, but this way is hotter.
“Fuckin’... shit.” Price choked out, chest heaving whilst his arm tightened just that much harder around your neck, coming dangerously and deliciously close to asphyxiation. “Oh dove. Oh beautiful little dolly you feel that? You feel the way you’re making me twitch?”
John knew that you were long since gone and had been for quite some time. The drool dripping past your soft lips and into the pillow was enough of a tell to inform him that he had been fucking past the point of no return. “Fuck!’ He grunted, rolling his shoulder back to shove his face into the crook of your neck, body crushing you beneath the mattress, hips slamming against your ass. “Dove… oh baby. Pussy feels… ngh!” His teeth sank into your neck, veins popping in his arms as his bicep tightened just slightly around your neck. “Say you love it. I know you love it.” He grunted in your ear, licking your neck and over the red marks he had left.
“I love it…!” You slurred, tongue beginning to loll out which earned a fucked out smile from the older man. “Please, John! Please!” You whined, fingers moving to rake at his corded forearm gently constricting your airways. Price knew how to do this correctly, he knew he wasn’t hurting you and you knew that too, dirty whore.
You just liked the theatrics of it all, even in this state you were utterly pleased out of your mind. He knew your begging would begin in a moment, begging to let you go all while trying your best to fuck back on his thick cock like a slut. This game you played was your favorite, and he knew what to do to play along.
“Can’t…!” You slurred, nails leaving trails of red across his forearms and lower bicep, tears leaving your eyes in slow drips. “John…!” Oh, now pathetic you were. How deceiving your voice sounded as you made your pleads. If he didn’t already know your true intentions, he would have stopped.
“‘Can’t’ what, dove?” He growled as the seductive sounds from your pussy made his eyes roll back for a moment. Fuck, you felt so fucking good, wet and warm and all for him. His missus was truly a goddess sent to earth to tempt him in every way possible and who was he to deny her? His other hand, previously preoccupied wrapped in your hair, moved to grasp at your belly, feeling the rolls spill over his hand all while his hips involuntarily shoved his cock deeper inside of you. “Fuck you, dolly. God I could hold you for the rest of my life.”
“No, John…” You moaned, entirely too sloppy, leaning your head back. Your lips quivered. a silent plea for him. He obliged, a nasty smile spreading across his face as his tongue began to fight against yours. God you were his obsession. Every part of you was so delectable he was sure that if he was ever asked what his last meal would be, the words leaving his mouth would be “my wife”.
“You’re forgetting.” He grunted, cock twitching so sharply in your pussy your moan would have awoken neighbors if you two had any. “Sweet girls use their voice, don’t they? Fuck…” His hips jerked and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold the impending orgasm from approaching. Missus always came first, no matter what.
“Please… Oh, John please!” Price grunted loudly, hips jerking involuntarily, he was so fucking close. Not him, it wasn’t his turn, he needed to wait. But fuck, your pussy was screaming for his load. “Say it.” He growled, hand moving from your belly to your hair and yanked back to expose that pathetic expression, oh he loved that look. “Fuckin’ say it, dove. Need to hear it, say it!”
“Make me cum!” The request was practically a scream and John got to work at your heavenly divine command. “Whatever the missus wants–” He grunted, one hand lifting your hips as the other braced himself on the wall in front of the headboard, sweat glistening across his skin. “She gets.”
First post after deleting a previous account and not shifting it anywhere else. Lost the plot a little at the end, never really been good at ending smut lol. Hope you enjoy for whoever reads this!
Do not use or copy my work, I WILL find you if you do. Don't test me. All work is done without AI, don't bring that crap into my home.
