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A most precious treasure
the deeper you dig, part one: the reveal. masterlist
john price has been fucking you for months.
he'll bend you over his desk without a word, fucking into you from behind while mission reports scatter across the floor. he'll eat you out in the back of the humvee post op - both of you still streaked with dirt and someone else’s blood, making you come on his tongue with an ease that should be considered concerning. he pushes you to your knees in cramped storage cupboards between briefings, and your hands are already at his belt before he even speaks, freeing his already half-hard cock without even needing to be asked.
but he’s never kissed you.
not once.
he’s dragged his mouth over every inch of your body - sucked bruises into the curve of your breast, bitten marks into your hips - but never your lips.
you asked him about it once, breathless and bare next to him after he'd fucked you stupid.
he’d rolled his eyes.
“don’t like it, love. nothin’ personal.” a lazy smirk. “i kiss your pretty cunt enough, don’t i?”
you told yourself it was just one of his… quirks. you accepted it.
until tonight.
you saw him at the pub just off base, his arm slung around the waist of a tall blonde woman. they were wearing matching gold bands - wedding rings. a ring you’d never once seen on his finger before.
you watch, frozen in place, as he leans down and kisses her.
not hungry. not demanding.
soft.
reverent.
his hand cups the back of her neck like she's something precious, and he rests his forehead against hers for a moment afterward, eyes closed, just the two of them in their own little bubble.
your stomach drops. your throat suddenly so dry that you feel like you might choke.
as you turn back to the door, your eyes burn.
that was why.
he didn’t kiss you because he was saving that for her - his wife.
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long distance calls
imagine calling the guy who helped u overthrow the government oomf
Hey Owl House nation how we feelin
