Captain Price X You - Tumblr Posts

hair pulling - cpt. john price

your eyes foggy and eyelids heavy with your jaw slack and mouth hanging open. you're on your stomach, cheek pressed firmly against the mattress as john grips your hair tightly, pushing your face down against the bedsheets as he rocks his broad hips into you. your sopping wet pussy swallows his large size so well, taking each inch while you moan out and pant desperately, gripping the bedsheets as he continues to pound into your wet cunt.

“ain’t‘cha jus’ a pretty doll... made to take my’cock, hm?” he chuckles deeply, grunting gutturally as he pumps his wet and veiny dick into your tightening hole, while you pant heavily like a dumb dog in heat, your ass painful from being spanked repetitively. his grip is bound to leave indents and bruises on your hips, flesh and fat spilling from his fingers when he kneads your ass with his large and calloused hands, fucking deep into you and groaning loudly as he throws his head back.

you're already feeling so, so full, your ass sore and hips aching from his grip. you whimper when he tugs at your hair, forcing you to arch your back and look at him over your shoulder while he continues to fuck his meaty cock into your slick folds. he grips your jaw, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he chases his release, teasing you for coming undone on his lengthy cock, droplets of your sweet arousal dripping down his dick before he fucks his hot, white and milky cum into you, smacking against your cervix while he grinds his teeth together.

i did send the same thing to another writer i enjoy bc i love different takes on things, but my little dumpster brain has had one thought in the last 24 hours - imagine confiding in your captain that you'd like to have a baby bc biological clock or whatever, and being in the field really puts a damper on your sex life, so that makes it difficult. but the 141 will do anything for one of their own, so if that means they're running trains and taking turns on you DAILY until it takes (and probably even after 👀), then so be it.

lol... you lit a fuckin' fire with this ask, my friend. hot!!

"The Window" (141/Reader)

You awoke to the soft tinkling noise of his belt and zipper, rattling at the edge of your bed. Your captain, John Price, was answering his call of duty, and within moments, you knew he would slip his fat, flaccid cock between your legs and allow your warmth to make him harden within you. He preferred it this way. First, he would rub you with it, heavy and smooth, smearing your wetness all over his skin. Then, with a singular talent, he would somehow stuff his soft, lolling head into your hole, feeding himself into you gently, letting your body take him in on its own as your pussy pulsed for him, and he would rub your clit absent-mindedly, comforting himself with your swollen lips, sighing raggedly as you covered him up. Once he was hard - and fuck, he was impossibly hard - he would fuck you through your blinding pleasure, his girth giving you burst after burst of hot, searing bliss.  

He wasn’t your boyfriend - none of them were - but the members of your task force, the 141, had all agreed to be the father of your child. It had started when Captain Price first saw your appointment on the team calendar. You’d meant to post it privately, but you had failed to do so. He came to you right away, his face full of worry,

“Wha’s goin’ on, Spar? Goin’ to the main base hospital… Wha’s all this about?”

So, you’d told him, a little bashfully, that you were trying to get pregnant. You’d be turning 28 this fall, and you wanted to be a mom, sooner rather than later. Every few weeks, you were shipped off to some too-cold or too-hot locale, getting shot at and flash-banged. There wasn’t really time to find a date, much less convince them that you would make a good mother. The last time you tried to use Tinder, one guy had called you ‘Rambo’ and blocked you, so it wasn’t going well. 

“I’ll go with you, little bird. Sounds important.”

“You don’t need to do that, Captain. I’m sure I can take out a loan for it…” You thought out loud, remembering the pamphlet and all of its cost breakdowns for IVF treatments.

“A loan? Last time I checked, love, it was free,” he chuckled. 

“Free when you have someone who’d be willing to give it to you, sir,” you challenged him with your confidence, trying not to be ashamed, even of your ‘Rambo’ nickname. 

“Sparrow,” he raised his voice and nearly shouted your callsign incredulously in the small mess hall where he’d found you, “There’s no bloody way you don’t have someone willing.” 

“Wha’s goin’ on, Cap?” Gaz poked his head in behind the door. 

“Nothing,” you tried to stop the literal landslide of embarrassment that was happening to you.

“She wants to have a baby,” Price told him, smiling a bit as your cheeks turned pink.

“A baby?” Gaz commented with no small amount of surprise.

“Who wants a baby?” Simon yelled out from the hallway before opening the door wider and scooting around Gaz to join into the conversation. 

“A bairn!?” Soap barged in, slamming the door all the way open and forcing Gaz to tumble into the kitchen. 

So, the whole team knew in a matter of moments, but Price kept his word. He drove you to the hospital for your appointment and asked more questions to the doctor than you did. Unfortunately, he heard all of the strictest rules and took them to heart. No cigarettes, no caffeine, plenty of rest and… plenty of exposure to male ejaculate. 

There had been a meeting, of which you were not a part, between Price and the other men in your task force, and they had come to a conclusion: they would put a baby in you. It was their singular mission. A bit of back and forth had occurred when you found out their plan.

“Is there… we dinnae want to pressure you, lass, but,” Soap looked around at Ghost, Gaz, and Price before settling back on you, “Are there any of us you wouldnae like to be the father? We willnae take offense.”

“No! I’d be happy to have any of you… I mean… But, I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this if you don’t want to,” you could feel the heat of your shame rising in your cheeks, and you knew you were as red as a lobster. You heard a bit of laughter at your comment and feared the worst. But then, Gaz explained,

“I’m afraid all of us very much want to, Sparrow.”

He had even palmed his growing cock for emphasis. 

But, it had to be fair, you decided. There should be a schedule; no favorites. And for the first month, there was. Soap was your Monday, Ghost was Tuesday, Gaz was Thursday, and Price was Friday. But then Price had a meeting and so Soap was Friday, and Price was Saturday. That meant Ghost was Monday. You were in training on Tuesday, so Gaz was Wednesday, but Soap couldn’t do Thursday or Friday because he had to go in for his annual review. So, he joined Gaz on Wednesday, stepping in right after him as if you were a pretty little mailbox and the boys had come to drop off their packages. 

When the weekly schedule fell apart, you hung a big calendar in your quarters, and they’d pencil themselves in. That was fine until you had been shipped out to Aqtabi. You’d tried to keep it up while you were in the field, remembering what day was which, but the truth was that sometimes you had no idea if it was morning or night. Was that the sun or a flare? 

And sometimes it didn’t matter. Something would happen on a mission, and Price would crawl beneath your scratchy woolen sheet, searching for the comfort of your arms, not saying a word, not even asking you if it was alright, but just taking you there in the cold night of the desert, filling you up and keeping his cock sheathed in you, safe and sound. 

And sometimes you needed them, too. Waiting on exfil, huddled together in the pouring rain beneath a sad tarp, you’d crawled into Gaz’s lap, looping your arms around his neck and letting him hold you in a cradle, using his big chest as your pillow. You’d dozed, exhausted, and he’d rubbed himself against you through your clothes, coaxing you to pull down your pants so he could empty himself into your womb, quick and filthy. You remembered how it felt when his come had soaked through your panties as you sat next to him in the helicopter, letting him hold your hand. 

You felt a little guilty that you weren’t exactly hoping for a child during those first few months. You were enjoying their affections, no matter how platonic they may have felt. 

It didn’t stay that way, though. Soap was the worst offender. When he fucked you, he wanted to spend most of his time eating you out, sucking on your clit with his mouth like a hungry dog, soaking himself in your scent and your flavor before finally mounting you, crawling over your body like the hound that he was, dipping his cock into you and beating your core like a drum. He’d stare into your eyes when he could manage it, and he’d slipped up one day and told you he loved you. That you were his girl, his wee bonnie lass, and that he’d raise the bairn with you, even if it was Black like Gaz, tall like Ghost, or had Price’s big nose. It’d be his and yours. He’d be the daddy you wanted him to be, he promised. 

Then, you’d had to deal with Gaz. He’d made dinner reservations at a restaurant near base while he had your legs held up to your chest, helping you wait the twenty suggested minutes for his “lads” to “soak in”. Told you he was just hungry, but he had also happened to buy you a nice dress, and he’d driven you in his sporty little Beamer, bright red and clean as a whistle. He’d fucked you after dinner, sneaking in a double feature, which was expressly against the rules. Told you he couldn’t help himself, and he said he’d been thinking about you all weekend, cock in hand. 

Ghost was like his namesake, haunting you all over the place. He found you in the locker room, and decided to fuck you standing up, sweaty from your sparring match. He’d washed you off in the shower, and he’d taken you in there, too, after coaxing you to make him hard again by sucking him off. Ghost would slink by you in the reference room, stalking you through the bookshelves, and dragging you to the storage closet to fuck you on all fours on the floor, maps and looseleaf pamphlets about Russian spy camps under your rosy red knees. He got vocal that night, cramped with his huge body in that tiny closet, telling you what a good girl you were for him, how you fit his fuckin’ cock so perfect, how he’d never want anyone else, how it felt so good to fill your body up with his load. 

Then, there was your captain. At first, you weren’t sure he was truly a willing participant. He seemed to avoid you unless he was on the schedule. He didn’t cut in line, and if you were on the couch or in the kitchen with one of the boys, he’d leave you be, smiling at you a bit before grabbing his tea and escaping back to his office. But, then you realized the truth: John Price wanted to put a baby inside of you more than anyone else, and he would go to the ends of the earth to make sure it happened. 

“Hey, little bird,” John’s finger pet the side of your cheek as you woke, feeling him pull down your pink silk panties so he could start to warm you up, “I’m your Sunday.”

“Mm,” you rubbed the sleep out of your eye and opened up your legs for him, giving him full access to your body on instinct at this point, “John, we gave up on the schedule. You can come whenever you want. Or, you can stop.”

“Can’t stop,” he kissed your mouth as he leaned over you, and you tasted peppermint and tobacco mixing together with something heady and lustful, “We’re in the window.”

Ah. The Window. All of the boys talked about The Window and when it was coming up next. They’d all downloaded trackers on their phones, watching you like birds of prey for when you ordered a box of tampons, checking with you to see when you were off the rag. And then, you’d be “in the window” of ovulation. Their best chance at succeeding at this mission. 

They would fuck you at any time of the month, and Soap and Price would even fuck you through your period, having read in some magazine that there was a small chance of success. But, being in The Window was like covering yourself in honey in the middle of a cave in spring and waking up all the bears inside it. Fertile ground, ripe for the taking. 

“Mm, fuck,” you keened. John had two fingers in you now, pressing on your soft spots and stretching your hole. You wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him in for another kiss, which he moaned into. 

“Feel good, Spar? You want to make me hard, pretty bird?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking up at him with desperate eyes, “Yeah, I do. Please, John…”

 He slipped himself in, half-hard already, and you felt the body of it slide into your core. It was soft, and you liked to squeeze it with your muscles, feeling him writhe inside of you when you did, reveling in his pleasure. He sat back on his heels to let you play with him fully, watching you grind your hips on him as he massaged your clit to its full, swollen height. He was in no rush, and he spoke to you casually. 

“Has Kyle been in this weekend?”

“No, it was Soap,” you tried to remember, “And then Ghost, and then Soap again.”

Price chuckled warmly,

“That boy wants a baby so badly.”

You smiled with him, agreeing, 

“He does. He interrupted Gaz on Thursday and asked him when he’d be done!” 

Price laughed with you then, his eyes gleaming and crinkling at the edges,

“Oh, Christ. He’d be a good one. They’d all be good.”

You watched his mood shift. There was something solemn about it, and you wanted to chase it away. You rubbed your hand along his furry belly, locking your ankles around his hips and shamelessly rocking your hips to fit more of him into you. You confessed, 

“You’d be good.”

His eyes found yours again and he stilled, wondering out loud,

“D’you think so, Sparrow?”

“I know so.”

“Can I tell you a secret, little bird?” He whispered, lowering himself into position and stuffing his hard length even deeper inside of you, making you worry just a bit if he could hurt you with that thing. 

You nodded, kissing his huge Adam’s apple in his throat and nuzzling through his beard. He told you the whole truth as he pounded himself into you without mercy, 

“Sometimes, I wish he would be mine. I wish…” He almost stopped, but he kept going, like a raft in the stream, too caught in the current to go back to the shore, “I wish you could be mine, and then I could rub lotion on your belly when you got big. And I could cook for you when you got tired, and I could read to you, even when he was still inside of you, and I know he could hear my voice. I wish, sometimes, that when it happens, that I’d be the first to know. That you’d tell me first, because you knew it was mine, because you’d want him to be mine.”

You were stunned, and you were coming, and the two were very separate events. As your pussy pulsed and tried to milk him of his come, making you dizzy and almost sick with pleasure, you were shocked by his admission. You grabbed his face and made him look you in your eyes,

“John…” You panted, coming down from your first high of many with Price, “I had no idea you felt that way.”

“I didn’t either,” he smiled, but the corners didn’t reach his eyes. 

When he fucked you this morning, you had no idea how good it could feel, but he showed you. He rutted into you, desperately, like some sort of beast, unable to stop himself. It was as if he would fuck himself bloody in you if he had to, and you wanted to take him as best you could. You felt him finally start to come, and he plugged you up with his thickness, shoving himself as deep as he would go, sealing you off and keeping you warm and elevated. 

He kept his cock in you, gasping for breath and petting the hair out of your face. He kissed you, cheeks and chin and neck, all the way down to your breasts where he suckled from your nipples, almost dreamlike in the way he was touching you, fully covered in you the entire time. 

“Sleep, birdie,” he nuzzled your neck and continued to lave his tongue over your breasts, “I’ll wake you when I’m hard again.”

Part 2

141 + König teaching Medic!Reader to spar

—————

141 + König & Reader

Short Drabble

Price decides that you need to learn how to spar. He doesn’t really explain it, but you go alone with it anyway.

It would be inaccurate to say you weren’t surprised when Price called you into the gym in the middle of the day. You were in the midst of getting as much paper work out of the way as you could before you took your lunch break when you got the call.

“Head down to the gym, need your help with something.” Was all you got from him before he hung up. You were expecting to have to supervise a particularly rough sparring session.

Once you’re in the gym, Price calls you over to stand in front of him. “I’ve never seen you in combat, so I want to know what you can do.” Lucky for you, you were already dressed in some workout appropriate clothes.

“Don’t worry. You’ll have a good teacher.” He says, gesturing to…

———Simon “Ghost” Riley———

Isn’t going to go easy on you and treats you like any other rookie in need of training

Doesn’t train like he would with Soap or Price, makes sure to treat you like you have no experience in fighting

Doesn’t spend time letting you get any “free hits” in, not a hardass but definitely not just gonna “let you win”

Believes in the “people out there won’t be nice to you, so it’s best you learn now with people who will be”

Ultimately just wants to see you learn and be safe

Ghost steps onto the mat in front of you, practically staring you down through the holes in the fabric mask he wears around base. His gaze is cold and calculated, already analysing you as you step on in front of him.

He drops into a low stance, feet spread slightly, looking relaxed. His hands come up to shield his torso and face, balled into loose fists, hovering still in the air.

You barely have the chance to try and mimic him before he’s stepping in and throwing you to the ground. It’s a clean and controlled takedown, nearly landing you on your front. You would’ve been winded were if not for Ghost’s hand balled up in the fabric of your shirt, holding you up.

The moment doesn’t last long at all, as he elects to drop you onto the ground. You manage to catch yourself on your forearms before rolling onto your back and staring up at him. He holds a hand out to you, eyes crinkling slightly with a smile.

“Get up, you’re not gonna learn anything on the floor.”

——John “Soap” MacTavish——

Mostly fun and games, even during this

He doesn’t feel the need to be absolutely serious, but will still point out areas where he feels you need to pay attention

Knows this is likely your first time ever fighting, so takes it easy - but not too easy

Kind of forgets you aren’t a solider at one point and gets a little too harsh with his hits - he feels so bad

Enjoys helping you learn

Soap is bouncing on the balls of his feet as you try and ready yourself. You haven’t the vaguest idea what you’re supposed to be doing with your hands or feet. Luckily, Soap is here to guide you!

“Hands up, protect your organs and your head - they’re important, ‘specially for someone that has to think all the time, like you,” he chuckles lightly, bringing his head up slightly, looking directly into your eyes.

His eyes sparkle with mischief as you follow his instructions. You find your body sinking slightly, easing into a lower stance that makes your thighs burn after a few minutes.

“I’m going to punch you - slowly - and I want you to try and block it.”

He does as he says and you do your pathetic and best attempt to block it. That attempt being you brining your hands up to shield your head and scrunching up your face.

“I think we’ve got a lot to learn.”

Despite his chaotic nature, he makes a surprisingly good teacher.

———Captain John Price———

Feels responsible to do this, seeing as he’s the one who called you down here

Very slow in his movements - a combination of him being a patient man and knowing you have little to no experience

Much like Soap, he tries to keep it more lighthearted so you don’t feel under pressure

Spends a lot of time correcting you, moving to grab your arms and tug them into place or kicking/tapping your ankles to get you to move your feet

Price doesn’t bother trying to fight you, instead opting to stand with his arms crossed across his chest before you. He looks at you with a look somewhere between disappointment and analysis - you can’t really tell. Something about him does, however, says ‘deep in thought’.

“Hands up, legs apart, relax your knees,” he speaks while moving to stand behind you, placing his hands in your upper arms. You quickly realise he’s doing this to support you as he gently kicks at your ankles. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s just hard enough that it causes your legs to shift and you to sink your stance.

“There. Much better,” he mutters, moving round to the front of you and taking your wrists in his hands. “A low stance means a low center of gravity. A low center of gravity if good for balance. Better balance, less likely you are to be knocked over. I’m sure you can infer why that’s a good thing.” He speaks as he moves your hands, placing your hands about half a foot in front of you.

“Keep your guard up. You got one head, if the enemy gets it, you’re gone. Don’t give them the chance.”

He stands in front of you, out of reach of any misplaced punch or pathetic kick you might try and throw.

“You learn quick enough, I’m sure this’ll go smoothly.”

———————König———————

He’s well aware of both his strength and size and is incredibly nervous to try this - especially when he thinks about the fact that you haven’t been trained to fight

König wants to do right by you, he really does, but his nerves get the best of him sometimes

He’s very hesitant to touch you, so ends up taking a very hands off approach to teach you instead, opting to stand next to you and have you copy him instead

König is fidgety as he moves to stand next to you, holding his hands up with his left hand in front. He waits, unmoving for a second, before looking down towards you.

“Could you copy me please?” He speaks, voice seeming to crawl out of his throat at the same speed that honey drips off a spoon.

You do as you’re told, trying your best to copy his stance. It takes a few minutes for you to get it right, not including you making tiny little adjustments to your position to try and be as accurate to your teacher as possible.

König can’t help but chuckle a little at your actions. He makes a small comment, asking you to raise your front fist up slightly.

“Put your non-dominant hand forwards, so when you punch, you can punch with your dominant hand.”

You do as told, holding your non-dominant hand further in front of you than your dominant one. This prompts another laugh from him.

“You need to also put the same leg forwards. Left hand forwards,” He pauses for a second, taking care to gesture to his left hand. “Left leg forwards.” He does the same thing, this time gesturing to his leg, planted sturdy in the ground, providing a solid support.

“You have to do the same,” he speaks with a hint of a smile but with nervousness dripping off of every syllable.

“Don’t worry, it gets easier with time.” He reassures you, and you’re almost certain you see his eyes crinkle in a smile.

141 + König w/ a reader who’s just had a long day

—————

141 + König & reader

Short Drabble

You’ve had a long day on base, boring and packed full of things you didn’t want to do. Now you just need to rest.

By the time you finally find yourself making dinner the sun has set, leaving the only light to be provided by the LED bulbs of the communal kitchen. It’s a miserable feeling, everything is so quiet and still. Nothing feels like it should, especially with the fact that all of the boys have retreated to their rooms, leaving you alone to sort yourself out.

You give up on whatever pathetic attempt at “dinner” you’re trying, opting instead to slouch back into a chair slightly pulled out from the table. Despite the fact that sleep is tugging desperately on your weary mind, you can’t find the energy to stand up and go to bed.

What does get you moving, however, is the idea of being able to see your favourite person on base. The thought alone gets you to your feet, trudging slowly towards his room, avoiding the temptation to just lay down on the carpet of the hallway and fall asleep.

———-Captain John Price-———

You don’t bother knocking on his door, instead just twisting the handle and pushing the door open

He’s sat up in bed, book in hand and glasses resting on his nose, bathed in the warm light of his bedside lamp

Price doesn’t bother to look up, only murmuring: “Close the door behind you”

You pad into the room, sliding the door shut behind you and letting it click shut. He doesn’t look up at you at all, eyes fixated on the book he’s holding up. You can’t help but watch him read, seeing his eyes flirt surprisingly fast across the page as you round the other side of the bed.

Soft, warm cotton greets your skin as you pull the sheets back. The mattress sinks under you as you gently climb into bed, still wearing your daytime clothes. This seems to get Price to react, as he turns his head to look at you over the top of his glasses.

“Take off the jeans, you’re not wearing those to bed.”

It’s a simple request, but still hard to do with your complete lack of energy. You do manage to strip the jeans off, electing to kick your socks off along with them. After a few seconds of deliberation, you slip off any other even mildly uncomfortable clothing garment and then climb back into his bed.

He doesn’t stop you this time, instead lifting up the arm closest to you. It’s in invitation, one you gladly take, to slide in and lay your head gently on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, feel him breath, and it’s practically already lulling you to sleep.

“Long day?” He mumbles, turning the page of his book.

You don’t bother answering properly, letting out a small sound and nodding your head instead.

“We best sleep then.” This time he closes his book as he speaks, placing it on the night stand along with his glasses. He shuffles down the mattress, letting you get comfy with your head on his chest before turning the light off.

———Simon “Ghost” Riley———

You don’t even get the chance to knock on the door before he’s opening it, dressed in plaid pyjama pants and a slightly baggy grey shirt

He still has a balaclava on, one with a big hole over his eyes, allowing you to see the concerned look he’s giving your puffy, tired, red eyes

He ushers you into his room, giving you the command to “get into something comfortable” before slipping out of the room and walking off

Simon comes back not too long after he left, having given you a chance to get changed into a pair of his pyjama shorts and a hoodie. It’s warm and smells both of him and of laundry detergent.

When he comes back, he has a plate in one hand a a plastic water bottle tucked under his arm. Half of an apple - cut into slices - and a piece of buttered toast are on the plate.

“You need to eat,” he grumbles, pushing the door shut and twisting the knob as it slips into place.

He guides you to sit on his bed, holding the plate in front of you, prompting you to take it. Once you do, he does the same with the bottle - after cracking the seal for you.

You take a bite of the toast, realising he’s put honey on it. Not too much, but just enough for it to taste sweet.

Ghost sits next to you as you eat, hand on your knee, thumb swiping back and forth across your skin. It’s an action that has you leaning into him by the time you’ve finished eating. He takes the plate from you, prompting you to have a drink before placing the bottle on the floor next to the plate.

“You look like you need sleep,” he whispers, guiding you to lay in his bed, facing the wall.

It’s not long before he’s slipping in behind you, having put on some rain noises to play in the background. Wrapping his arm around your waist, Ghost pulls your back to his chest a bf tucks your head under his chin.

——-John “Soap” MacTavish-——

You have to knock a few times before he answers, having been dead asleep

Both his eyes and his posture are droopy, showing you just how hard he’s finding it to drag himself out of bed for you

It doesn’t stop him from smiling when he sees you though, or from pulling you into his room and kicking the door shut as gently as he can

Soap doesn’t say much if anything as he drags you over to his bed in the near total darkness of his room. He guides you to the bed, helping you shuffle into it just before he does.

You don’t mind the lack of words or light, actually finding it quite nice on your tired senses. It gives you a break after the day you’ve had.

Soap pulls you against his chest, practically laying you on top of him as he wraps his arms around you. It’s still for a moment emigre he pulls you up slightly, just enough to start placing kisses against the top of your head.

He keeps doing this, placing soft, rhythmic kisses into your hair. One hand comes to rest on the small of your back while the other moves up to mess with your hair. Specifically, the fuzz at the nape of your neck. He teases it slightly, tugging as gently as possible, rubbing it between his fingers.

You take a moment to intertwine your legs with his. He moves with you, only moving so as to prevent you from having to move him.

You stay like that for a long time, wrapped up in his arms, listening to his heartbeat and his breathing. It’s safe and warm, and you feel tired.

———————König———————

He opens the door after exactly one knock, almost like he’s waiting for you, to scared to tell you he knows you’re there before you tell him

He reaches out, scooping you up almost immediately and pushing the door shut, holding you against his big, warm body

No time is wanted before he’s speaking loving words into your ear, proving himself up against the headboard and wrapping a blanket around you

König holds you close as soon as he’s able to get his hands on you, bringing you up to wrap your legs round his waist. It’s slightly I comfortable with how big he is, but his warm hands on your thighs more than make up for it.

He slips into his bed, back pressed against the back board, pulling a pillow up behind him to his spine isn’t pressing directly into the wood.

“Oh Mein kleiner schatz, you look exhausted,” he mumbles, petting your hair and back as he wraps a blanket around you.

You can’t help but nozzle into his chest slightly, relishing in his warm hand messing with your hair. His other hand is drawing patterns into your skin over the denim of your jeans.

“How about we take these off and get you comfortable?” He whispers into your ear, hugging you close for a second before helping you stand up. He’s insistent in helping you change, only turning his back when you strip off your undergarments in a favour of one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers.

As soon as you’re more comfortable, he’s pulling you back into the bed - back into his lap - to swaddle you in a blanket again. He’s pressing you against his chest as soon as possible, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“It’s ok, mein maus, you Can sleep now.” Is the last thing you hear before you fully relax into your giants chest.

Number 1 Supporter

Captain Price x reader

How Price would react to you “helping him out” while he’s trying to sort things out.

Price is trying to sort out the more clerical side of dealing with 141 when you walk in

He’s happy to see you and pricks up even more when he notices that you’re wearing a pair of shorts and his shirt

“Hey sweetheart, how’s it going?” He mumbles, kissing your neck and you slip into his lap, wrapping his arms around you

Really wishes he could just forget about all this and wrap you up in his arms, get comfy in his bed and fall asleep

It’s in this moment of him zoning out that you slip off his lap and slide under the desk, positioning yourself neatly between his legs

“What do you think you’re doing down there?” He asks, hand coming to rest on the side of your face. His thumb strokes small circles over your cheek while he looks at you with something akin to absolute adoration.

“Nothing Sir~” you’re running your hands up and down his inner thighs.

The second Price hears you address him as “Sir”, he knows he’s in for a good time - and possibly a long night. You only ever do that when you’re planning something.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask you what you’re scheming about before your hands are on his belt. The clinking sound of you pulling on the metal is quickly replaced by the sound of a zipper opening.

“I still have work to do sweetheart.” It’s a pathetic attempt at a protest that he really hopes you brush off. And you do, much to his delight.

“Don’t worry Sir, you won’t even notice I’m here~” your voice is sweet as honey as your palm comes to cup his clothed dick.

Price inhales sharply, relaxing slightly in his chair and feeling himself already growing hard. Your hand keeps moving, applying just enough pressure for him to get hard. It’s not long before you’re pulling his boxers down, freeing his cock from its constraints.

“This your plan all along?” His voice is gruff and breathy, eyes fixed on you while you lick your palm.

“Don’t you have work do be getting on with?” You completely ignore his question.

Wrapping your spit-lubed hand around his cock causes Price to lean back in his chair, head falling backwards so he can stare at the ceiling. It’s been far too long since you touched him.

Soft, small strokes drive him crazy, make him want to command more. But he doesn’t, something tells him that waiting will give him better results.

“I’m just here to give you some… support, while you work. So best get working,” you purr out, starting to stroke his aching cock harder and faster.

Groaning, Price rolls his chair forwards slowly, trapping you in the space under his desk. He leans forwards, looking at the laptop and trying his best to concentrate. But with your hand wrapped so perfectly around his cock, he’s finding it incredibly hard.

Concentrating becomes even harder when he feels your tongue press against the head of his cock. He can feel misled twitch against the warmth of your tongue. You let his tip sink into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it in delicate and precise movements.

After a few seconds, you begin to push your head further down. Price can’t stop himself from pressing his hips up at the sensation, seeking more and more from you. And you don’t stop him - you don’t even want to.

His hand tangles in your hair, work now completely forgotten. You don’t say anything, instead closing your eyes and relaxing your throat to pull as much of him in as possible. He hits the back of your throat and you hold back a gag, instead digging your fingertips into the fabric covering his thigh.

“Fuck sweetheart…” Price growls, holding your head in place for a second.

As soon as he lets you go, you pull off his cock, sucking in a deep breath of air. Price looks concerned but you brush it off, pushing your head all the way back down on his cock.

You bob your head rather quickly, hollowing your cheeks and gripping his thighs. His moans are muffled by the hand he’s pressed over his mouth. The muffled sounds of his pleasure upset you, you want to hear him properly - you want to hear every tiny sound he makes because of you.

In remedy to this, you begin to press your tongue against the underside of his cock. Long, languid movements that draw the most delicious moans out of your boyfriend and superior. They fill the air, piercing the barrier of his hand, filling your mind with the filthiest ideas of what you could do to hear these sounds again later.

“Sweetheart I’m-” he tries to speak, chocking on air as you push your head all the way down, taking him fully inside of you.

He starts to thrust into your mouth, desperate to keep rhythm with you. It’s a pitifully failed attempt caused by the way his hips stutter with every upwards thrust.

Very quickly, Price’s movements become sloppy and fast. Chasing an orgasm that you’re tempted to deny so you can hear the way he whines at the lost pleasure. You decide against it, instead putting in as much effort as you can to match his pace.

It doesn’t take long before Price finally cums, painting your throat white and filling your mouth with a bitter taste. You don’t bother trying to pull off while his hand is still tangled in your hair. Instead, you swallow around his cock, drinking down everything he’s given you.

After a few seconds, he lets you pull off and slides his chair out slightly. A small hand gesture has you climbing up and onto his lap again, straddling his hips. Neither of you bother to pull his boxers back up for the time being.

Price pulls you into a quick kiss, full of passion and love. He leans into your neck once the kiss is over, planting small, feather light kisses over your pulse point. His hands massage the flash of your thighs and hips.

“How about we head back to my room and I’ll return the favour sweetheart?~” His voice drips with passion and lust as he mumbles the question against your skin.

“Sounds amazing Sir~”

HEHEHHEEHHEHEHEH CREDITS TO @evilgwrl

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ evilgwrl presents:

Poly!141

The Masterlist

MDNI

Series:

Immune (Apocalypse!AU):

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

Drabbles for Immune:

Riding Lessons w/ Soap

Drabbles:

Undercover (Requested)

What Kinks?

What Kinks? (2)

Their Fave Part of your Body

Intrigued (Requested)

Want more?

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

König

Captain John Price