I would like to request Price with a scary dog LT for a partner, only Ghost team actually know the two are together, because on base they act strictly professional. One day, they’re both on base and Price ends up on the receiving end of a particularly flirty recruit. His partner sees it all go down and then very kindly, like the good LT he is, reminds his Captain who he belongs to ;))
SAY YOU'RE MINE —— j o h n “ b r a v o s i x ” p r i c e
cw. dom gn!reader. possessiveness. marking. grinding. | word count. 579
Captain Price’s palms are sweaty and suddenly, he believes he has lost his breath.
He can feel your gaze on the back of his head. His weight shifts to one foot to the other agitatedly. A recruit, one that he doesn’t even know the name of, was bold enough to try and flirt with him. That same recruit was unaware of the lieutenant who was evidently, at least to Price, unhappy.
Your relationship with the Captain wasn’t exactly public, apart from the task force having full knowledge about it and occasionally teasing the two of you in the presence of other soldiers.
You cringe when you catch a wisp of a corny line from the recruit, furrowing your brows in building annoyance. You don’t hear what John says, if he was even speaking. All your senses was focused on how he was letting the recruit flirt with him. Sure, you’re confident that he’d never dream about getting with anyone now that he has you, but you still can’t seize the developing anger.
Your feet move before you are able to register the thought, approaching the two. “Shouldn’t you be training with the others, private?” the person flinches, and you’re sure their soul jumped out of their body when their confident expression melts into fear. “L–lieutenant, I, yes. I was just, uh–” you cock your head towards the group of recruits that were actually training, eyes hardening into a glare. They mumble an apology as they scurry away, embarrassed.
“Lieu—” you cut him off, “My room. Now.” you don’t wait for a response, already heading for the door because after all these years you’ve known the man, he always followed.
The walk was eerily quiet, jammed with tenseness. The moment John stepped inside of your room, you pinned him to the locked door. Originally, you were going to ask him to explain why he let that foolish recruit openly flirt with him like that, but he instinctively wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you in for a kiss. It wasn’t gentle, the same kind you held for him was replaced with an unmistakable hunger that required to be satisfied instantly.
“What — mmph — was that?” you mutter in between kisses, your tongue slipping into his mouth. He moaned, legs departing from each other to allow your thigh in between. “Love,” he began, pulling away to breathe. “The recruit only went up to me, okay? I didn’t — oh fuck, baby.” you latched onto a sensitive spot on his neck, one that has him holding onto your shoulders.
“You didn’t...?” the silence that followed was a cue for him to continue.
God, he loved how you teased him.
“I didn’t,” he moaned softly when your teeth sinks into his flesh, “...didn’t mean to not tell them off.” his lips pressed together in a futile attempt to muffle the sounds that escaped him. Your tongue licks around the bite, the sting intensifying for a moment.
Your hands guide him over your thigh, the friction leaving him wanting more. Sweat began to build on his forehead, eyebrows knitted together as his mouth was agape in a low groan. He was desperate, whimpering so delicately beside your ear. You tilt your head up, lips capturing his again. His body melding against yours. The bites you left on his neck were sure to last, at least for a little while.
Maybe by then, the recruit will realize who the captain really belongs to.
you like that? I got more, how bout the SS Bessemer
This experimental piece o' shit, courtesy of Sir Henry Bessemer, had a stabilized cabin meant to combat seasickness. Unfortunately, due to the kinetic consequences of building a ship like that, it also combatted seaworthiness, and the instant this thing touched water it enthusiastically slammed itself into the pier with all the grace of a twelfth round boxer.
Not to be deterred, Bessemer repaired the ship, hired a veteran sea captain, slapped the stern and sent her out for a second go. The ship then proceeded to crash into the Same Fucking Pier even harder, demolishing it.
The SS Bessemer, her bloodlust satiated, retired from the cruise ship life and settled down in Swanley, where she became a billiard room, and then a lecture hall, and then rubble, due to an encounter with bombs.
This one's for the SS Bessemer. Rest in peace you wild bitch.
I'm technically a prophet but the prophecies are presented to me in a language I can neither speak nor fundamentally fathom. so I just circle back to basically being normal
