𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒, John Price.

Thinking about reader who secretly pined for the rugged, bearded older man who frequented the gym.

You got more motivated to work out—just for the chance to see him. Every time you went, you made sure to claim the treadmill right in front of him, your heart pounding in sync with his rhythmic breaths.

The sound of his panting as he ran sent a thrill down your spine, igniting a delicious fantasy. You imagined him chasing after you, his gaze locked onto your form. Heat simmered in your core at the thought of glancing back, only to find him utterly focused. The thought got your feet moving quick.

Unbeknownst to you, he had a similar thought in mind as he started sprinting on the treadmill behind you.

Barry Sloane as Zachary Heflin Longmire (2012-2017) Pt. 2

More Than Temporary

Valentine’s Day Special

pairing: John Price x Shy!Introvert!Reader

synopsis: You never expected John Price to be anything more than a fleeting moment in your life—something warm but temporary, a quiet dream you’d wake from eventually. But when he overhears your fears of being nothing more than a passing phase, he decides to prove you wrong—starting with Valentine’s Day.

warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, insecurity, self-doubt, Price being the most patient and loving man alive, lots of soft domestic moments, implied intimacy, Valentine’s Day romance

word count: 1943

a/n: This one’s for all my fellow overthinkers, especially when it comes to love. Happy Valentine’s Day!

You’d always been the kind of person who preferred the background.

Quiet corners, neatly organized files, the soft hum of printers, the faint shuffle of papers—that was your comfort zone. Military administration suited you well. You blended seamlessly into the routine: processing reports, organizing schedules, ensuring the logistics of war ran smoothly from behind a desk. People came and went, their names etched into documents you processed, their faces blurring together over time.

Except for him.

Captain John Price wasn’t just another name on a file. He was larger than life—commanding, confident, with that deep voice and sharp eyes that seemed to see right through people. The first time you met him, you’d barely managed to string together a coherent sentence, your voice soft and tentative as you handed him a report.

And he’d smiled.

Not just polite or dismissive, but warm. Like you were the only person in the room.

It didn’t take long after that. Glances turned into small conversations, small conversations turned into lingering moments, and those moments eventually unraveled into stolen nights tangled in sheets, his touch burning into your skin like you were something precious.

But you knew better.

Someone like him—charming, confident, respected—didn’t settle for someone like you. This was temporary. A distraction. A phase he’d forget once something—or someone—better came along.

You’d accepted it.

Until he overheard you.

It was a few days before Valentine’s Day when you found yourself tucked away in a quiet corner of the base’s small café, a steaming cup of tea cradled between your hands. The soft hum of conversation and the faint clatter of dishes filled the background, but your mind was far too occupied.

Your friend, Mia, sat across from you, stirring her coffee absentmindedly as she studied your face. You’d been fidgeting with the sleeve of your sweater, avoiding her gaze, clearly lost in thought.

Mia finally broke the silence, her brow arched with curiosity. “Alright, spill. You’ve been weird all week. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening around the mug. “It’s nothing.”

She snorted. “Yeah, because ‘nothing’ always makes people look like they’ve been overthinking their entire existence. Come on, talk to me.”

You sighed, glancing around to make sure no one was within earshot before leaning in slightly. “It’s… Price.”

Mia’s eyes lit up with interest. “Captain Price? The Captain Price you’ve been hooking up with for, what, two months now?”

Your face flushed, and you tried to shush her, your voice dropping to a whisper. “Keep it down!”

She grinned, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Sorry, sorry. So… what about him?”

You fiddled with the rim of your cup, trying to find the right words. “I just… I don’t know what this is. Between us.”

Mia tilted her head. “What do you mean? Isn’t it obvious? You’ve been spending time together, he’s always looking at you like you hung the damn moon—”

“That’s just it,” you interrupted, frustration creeping into your voice. “I don’t think this is… anything. Not really. I mean, look at him. He’s—he’s John Price. He’s confident, respected, he could have anyone he wants. And then there’s me. I’m just—” you waved your hand vaguely, “—me.”

Mia frowned, leaning forward. “You’re not ‘just’ anything. Why would you think that?”

You swallowed hard, staring into your tea as if it held the answers. “Because I’m temporary. This… whatever we’re doing, it’s just a phase for him. Maybe it’s convenient, maybe it’s casual, but it’s not… permanent. He’s probably going to get bored eventually, and I’ll just—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I’ll get hurt if I let myself believe it’s more than it is.”

Mia was quiet for a moment, her expression softening. Then she reached across the table, placing her hand gently over yours.

“Have you ever thought that maybe you’re wrong?”

You blinked at her, caught off guard.

She continued, her voice gentle but firm. “You see yourself one way, but that doesn’t mean that’s how he sees you. Just because you think you’re temporary doesn’t mean he does. Have you ever asked him how he feels?”

Your stomach twisted. “No. I don’t want to put him in an awkward position.”

Mia squeezed your hand. “You’re not a burden, you know. Maybe you should give him the chance to prove that.”

You nodded slowly, her words lingering in your mind long after the conversation ended.

What you didn’t know was that John had been standing just a few feet away, waiting for his coffee.

And he’d heard everything.

And that’s when he decided—Valentine’s Day wouldn’t just be another day.

It would be the day he proved you were wrong.

You woke up to warmth.

Not just from the soft morning sunlight spilling through the blinds, but from the solid, comforting presence of John Price wrapped around you. His arm was slung over your waist, his face nestled against the crook of your neck, his beard scratching gently at your skin.

You blinked, heart racing.

He was still here.

You shifted slightly, trying not to disturb him. But his grip tightened, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” His voice was thick with sleep, low and gravelly against your ear.

"I was gonna make coffee," you stammered softly.

"Coffee can wait," he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “Stay.”

So you stayed. Wrapped up in him, his fingertips tracing slow, idle circles on your skin, his breath warm against your neck. Time lost all meaning in the cocoon of his embrace.

Eventually, he did get up—to make breakfast.

You tried to protest, but he just kissed your forehead and said, “Let me take care of you today.”

The kitchen smelled of coffee and something buttery with a faint hint of burning. You padded in quietly, drawn by the soft clatter of dishes and John’s voice humming under his breath.

He stood at the stove, wearing nothing but sweatpants, the muscles in his back flexing as he flipped pancakes. A dishtowel hung over his shoulder, and he was concentrating so hard on not burning them that he didn’t notice you watching.

You leaned against the doorway, hiding a smile.

"Y’know," he said without turning around, "staring’s rude."

Your face flushed. "I wasn’t staring."

"Oh, sure you weren’t," he teased, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "C’mere.."

You crossed the room, and he reached out, tugging you gently by the waist until you were tucked against his side. He pressed a kiss to your temple before turning back to the pan, flipping the pancake with a little more flair this time.

“They’re a bit burnt,” he admitted sheepishly, plating them anyway.

"They’re perfect," you replied softly.

And they were.

After breakfast, he laced his fingers through yours, tugging you toward the door.

“C’mon, love. Let’s get some fresh air.”

The streets were dusted with remnants of snow, the cold biting just enough to make you tuck yourself a little closer to him. Not that he seemed to mind. His thumb brushed over the back of your hand as if he couldn’t help it, small circles of warmth seeping into your skin with every step.

The town was buzzing with Valentine’s Day energy—shop windows decorated with red ribbons, heart-shaped balloons, and couples wandering hand-in-hand. Normally, this much attention to romance might’ve made you feel awkward, but with John beside you, it felt… natural.

Further down the street, you stumbled upon a small bookshop with faded letters painted on the glass. Without thinking, you slowed your steps, eyeing the display of well-loved novels and dusty hardcovers stacked in the window.

“You wanna go in?” Price asked, already steering you gently toward the door.

Inside, the scent of old paper and worn leather filled the air, and you found yourself relaxing into the quiet comfort of the space. Price trailed behind you, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back as you browsed through the shelves.

You picked up a book—a battered copy of a romance with a cracked spine—and flipped through the pages.

Price leaned over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “That one any good?”

You nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. "I… I’ve read it before."

"Then let’s get it," he said easily, plucking the book from your hands and heading to the register before you could protest.

After the bookstore, you found yourselves wandering into a quiet park. The pathways were lined with bare trees, their branches reaching like fingers toward the pale winter sky.

Price guided you toward an empty bench overlooking a small frozen pond, dusted with a thin layer of snow. You sat, the cold of the wooden seat seeping through your coat, but the warmth of his arm draping around your shoulders made it bearable.

He pulled you closer without a word, your head naturally finding its place against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear was grounding, soothing.

For a while, you sat in silence, watching a few kids in the distance throwing snowballs, their laughter echoing faintly.

Price shifted slightly, his lips brushing the top of your head. "Y’know, I never really cared much for Valentine’s Day."

You glanced up at him, curious. "No?"

He shook his head, his thumb grazing your shoulder. "Felt like a load of commercial nonsense. But today…" His gaze softened, eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at you. "Feels different."

Your heart clenched, warmth blooming in your chest despite the winter chill.

"Because of me?" you whispered, half teasing, half terrified of the answer.

His response was immediate. “Because of you.”

You tucked your face into his chest, hiding the smile that you couldn’t fight even if you wanted to.

By the time you got home, the anxiety had faded—replaced with something warm but terrifying.

Because he still hadn’t left.

You curled up together on the couch for a while, his fingers threading lazily through your hair, his thumb tracing circles against your skin. The day slipped into evening, the sky painted in soft shades of pink and orange.

That’s when he disappeared into the kitchen again.

You peeked in after a while, finding him standing at the stove, humming softly under his breath as he stirred a pot of sauce. The table was set—candles, wine glasses, even a small bouquet of flowers.

When did he…?

You swallowed thickly. “John…”

He turned, wiping his hands on a towel. “Sit down, love.”

After dinner, he pulled out a small box.

You blinked. “What’s that?”

"A gift." He set it in front of you, his fingers lingering on yours.

You hesitated, then opened it.

Inside was a delicate necklace—a simple chain with a small pendant shaped like a compass.

“I figured,” he said quietly, “it’d remind you where you belong.”

Your throat tightened. "John, I—"

He reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“I heard what you said,” he murmured. "About being temporary. About me not settling for someone like you."

Your face flushed, embarrassment flooding your chest.

“But here’s the thing,” he continued softly, leaning closer. “I don’t want temporary. Not with you. I don’t care how shy you are, or how much you try to fade into the background. Because every time I walk into a room, you’re all I see."

Your breath hitched.

"So," he whispered, his forehead resting against yours, "let me be your man. Not for now. For as long as you’ll have me."

Your heart ached with the weight of it.

So you answered the only way you knew how.

You kissed him—soft, deep, sure.

Because John Price didn’t settle.

He chose.

And he chose you.

John Price eating you out every morning before heading to base, making sure to soak his mustache in your scent as thickly as possible, scrubbing his beard across your pussy to get it spread everywhere as you whine at the scrape of it across your clit. This way he doesn't go a minute without smelling you, tasting you on the back of his tongue, keeping you with him until he can go home and refresh his memory again.

BARRY SLOANE as Joe 'Bear' Graves in SIX (2017—2018) Episode 1.07 Blood Brothers

A masterlist for John Price and the girl next door.

On a cold winter's day in the early morning hours, you knock on your neighbor Captain John Price's door to make a noise complaint. You don't know much about him; only that he's a soldier in the SAS, and gone more often than he's home. You don't expect to like him as much as you do—or that he might share your longing for connection. Together, he and you may just learn how not to be lonely.

Also on Ao3.

Explicit chapters are highlighted red.

➳ In the Early Morning : You meet your new neighbor.

➳ Disquiet Comfort : John hears you through the walls.

➳ A Break in the Narrative : You add John to your morning routine.

➳ Gravity : John takes you out to dinner.

➳ Hands, and Their Uses : The neighbors relieve some tension. Alone.

➳ A Wake-Up Call : You deal with the aftermath of the previous night.

➳ Reviewing the Prelude : John misses you.

➳ Confessional Offerings : The neighbors lay their cards on the table.

➳ The Rain : You return home, and let John do to you what he's promised.

➳ The Flood : You finally fall into bed with John, and come to a startling realization.

Director's Commentary:

How did Neighbors get started? Why does John sleep in briefs? John's POV Where do you and John live?

➳ Spotify Playlist

The thing where you're Price's neighbor -- you move in while he's on leave, and he meets you while you're moving the few belongings you have into your new place. He's good at reading people and can sense that you're sad and broken, despite the tentative smile you give him when you shake his hand.

And it's not like there's some immediate spark. You're pretty, sure, and sometimes he might sneak a little look while he's walking behind you up the stairs when the elevator goes out again, but he's not falling in love.

Not yet, anyway.

It's not until one night, just before he's set to leave again, that he starts to think maybe this could be something. When he begins to toy with the idea that he might let himself feel something real for you.

He hears you crying through his bedroom wall. He's been in your apartment a few times, helping you bring in your groceries, little neighborly things like that, so he knows your home mirrors his own. He can almost imagine you there, laying in your bed, crying over whatever had happened to make you look so small and sorrowful all the time.

It's hard to hear, but he's made a living out of doing things that are too hard for most people. But then he hears one particularly pitiful sob, a little hitch in your breath as you cry, and it's enough for him to pull a pair of jeans on and knock on your door.

You're embarrassed when you answer it, and you try to make it look like you weren't crying, but something in the warm, knowing look in his eyes, the small, tight smile he gives you sets you off again, and before you know it, he's ushering you out of your apartment and into his, guiding you to sit on his couch and moving into the kitchen.

"I'll make you some tea, love," he tells you in his quiet, gruff voice. "You just sit tight."

"John, you don't have to, it's late and --"

He cuts you off with a chuckle, glancing to you from behind the counter as he asks, "You really think you could make me do something I didn't want to do?"

You give in -- of course you couldn't -- and soon he's sitting on the other end of the couch, arms crossed over his broad chest, and he waits. He gives you a choice to talk about it if you want, or to quietly enjoy his company if you don't.

But you're tired, both physically and of feeling this way, and so you unload everything. How you moved here after a rough breakup, your ex was a jerk who didn't want to let go. He'd called you again earlier, which was what had gotten you upset.

And Price listens to all of it. Even as he feels a surge of anger at the thought of someone making you -- sweet, soft little you -- feel that way. He lets you get it all out, and when you're done, he can't help but reach out a hand to give you a light tap on your shoulder.

"Well, pet, I'll tell you what," he says softly. "Next time he calls, you come give the phone to me, yeah?"

It feels protective, the way he says it, like he wants to keep you safe. It's sweet, and it makes you smile. A real smile this time, one that finally meets your eyes.

And there it is -- the moment that John knows he's all in.

You talk for a while longer, more lighthearted conversation that flows easily. It lasts long enough that by the time you leave to go back to your apartment and back to bed, he realizes that it makes more sense to stay awake until it's time to leave.

He's gone for weeks on a mission, and so much of the time, his mind wanders back to you. How that smile lit up your face, and how he wanted nothing more than to bring that smile out as often as he could. He dreams up ways he'll tell you how he feels, plans out different scenarios for how you might react.

It's almost tactical, how much thought he puts into it. But, for better or for worse, he's a man with a plan. And by the time he gets back home, he has what he feels like is a foolproof one.

The plan goes out the window when he knocks on your door and is greeted by a man. A tall, thin man he could break over his knee if he wanted to (and in that moment, he very much wants to).

Price asks for you, nervous for a moment that you'd somehow moved out in the time he was gone and that this man is his new neighbor, but then the man turns and calls out your name, and you walk out from the bedroom.

You won't meet his eyes, and he understands immediately what's going on -- this man is your ex, who seems to have weaseled his way back into your life.

Price clears his throat, looking down at you.

"Just came to check on you, love," he says quietly. "Wanted to let you know I'm back."

You do look at him then, and smile softly at him, but it's not the beautiful, radiant one he'd thought about so often while he was away. No, it's the fake one. It's meaningless, a perfunctory twitch of muscle.

You're broken again.

That simply won't do, will it?

Captain John Price in CALL OF DUTY: MODERN WARFARE II (2022)

Old Man!Price has a thing for pretty little things.

He'd be the type of soldier to randomly pick up a dandelion or random weed flowers, inspecting it closely before crushing it in his calloused palm as if he was not admiring it a moment ago.

And you're no exception.

Pretty and perfect. An invitation for corruption as if you're begging to be ruined, shown no mercy and totally under his control. You're perfect for it, almost too perfect as if reality is playing a cruel trick on him by putting you into his arms. It was too easy, very easy but John doesn’t complain. He knows better than to fuck up a good thing by overthinking. 

John holds your nose closed, stopping you from breathing for a moment. He tsks you at your feeble attempt to take his whole length and currently you are paying the price. Eyes glaciated with struggle, slobbering down his length, your drool dripping onto your tits- a perfect display of submission, compliance. 

“I told you you couldn’t take me all the way but you just had to argue with me, didn’t you?” John says, his voice dark and glazed with authority. 

You let out a pathetic, muffled whimper, your gaze filled with apology and regret. He lets go of your nose allowing you to get a breath of air as you pull away from his cock breathing heavily and babbling a series of ‘I’m sorry’s’. 

John sighs as tears roll down your flushed cheeks.

“I’ll give you one more chance, dollface. Open wide.” 

You part your lips hesitantly, scared of disappointing him. John pushes his leaking cock past your lips, your tongue instinctively darting out to lick the tip, gathering his pre-cum as you savour the taste of his salty goodness. A soft moan of satisfaction leaves your mouth as you try your best to take him fully. 

John shudders, groaning, his eyes screwed shut. Damn it, he didn’t want you to do that, he was gonna end up cumming and at his age, there was no way he could be ready for another around straight after. 

He grips the armrest trying to think of anything else other than his pretty babe sucking his cock so bloody well. 

Ponies… Beer… Shit- No, beer makes me horny… the SAS… military life… my birdie sending me a boudoir album on our first anniversary when I was away- Lake… Lake house… Holiday… Birdie in lingerie… pretty boobs, soft, warm… Wait, no- Ah, fuck…

He gives up as he feels the impending coil about to snap. Grabbing the back of your head, he shoves his whole length in not caring about your comfort. Your nose nuzzles against his dark bush, musky scent engulfing you. John cums, cums so hard that it makes you gag and spill out of your mouth. 

You pull away panting, swallowing what remains of him. Looking up at him, you raise an eyebrow at the sudden loss of John’s control. He laid back, spent and heaving with his arm covering his eyes. 

“Let's go to a lake house, Birdie.”

please hear me out- do you see the vision of laswelll scolding price because he's too dumb to let go of one of the rare good things in his life? i just need a man like john price to fight for me (for his love) back 😩

Don’t Be an Idiot, John.

Pairing: John Price x Reader

Synopsis: After pushing you away, convinced you deserved better, he finds himself on the receiving end of a well-earned lecture from Kate Laswell. And for once, he listens. Because if there’s one fight he can’t afford to lose—it’s the one for you.

Warnings: Angst, emotional conflict, second chances, Price being stubborn, but ultimately a soft, devoted idiot.

Laswell had seen John Price survive war zones, outmaneuver enemies, and command respect from the deadliest soldiers on the planet.

But right now?

Right now, he was just a complete idiot.

She sat across from him in a dimly lit café, arms crossed, staring him down like a disappointed mother. The silence between them was sharp, cutting through the hum of quiet conversation and clinking mugs. Price, on the other hand, sat there looking like a man being read his last rites—tired, grim, and entirely too stubborn for his own good.

“So, let me get this straight,” Laswell started, voice dangerously calm. “You had someone—a good someone—who cared about you, made your life better, and for some inexplicable reason, you let them go?”

Price exhaled slowly, rubbing his fingers along the rim of his coffee cup. “Wasn’t that simple, Kate.”

“No, John. It was that simple,” she snapped. “And you made it complicated.”

His jaw tightened. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Not now. Not when he was already haunted by the sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t just a soldier, but a man worth loving.

Laswell leaned forward, her sharp eyes locking onto his. “You can sit there and tell me all the bullshit reasons you convinced yourself it wouldn’t work, but let me remind you of something—people like us don’t get a lot of second chances, John. And when we do, we don’t waste them.”

Price let out a slow sigh, pressing his fingers against his forehead. “She deserves better,” he muttered, like the words hurt to say out loud. “I’m not exactly… an easy man to be with.”

Laswell rolled her eyes so hard Price thought she might strain something. “For fuck’s sake, John. She chose you. Despite the missions, despite the scars, despite the fact that you probably smell like cigars and gun oil half the time.” She jabbed a finger at him. “And instead of fighting for it, for her, you pushed her away. Because what? You were scared?”

Price didn’t answer. Because maybe—just maybe—that was the truth of it.

Laswell exhaled, shaking her head. “I’ve seen good men lose everything to this job, John. I’ve seen them come home to empty houses, to regrets they can never fix.” Her voice softened, just a fraction. “Don’t be one of them.”

Price looked down at his hands, his mind a battlefield of memories.

The way you had always welcomed him home with that tired, knowing smile.

The way your fingers traced over his scars without fear, without pity.

The way you had kissed him—really kissed him—like he was something more than just a soldier, something worth coming home to.

And then he remembered the hurt in your eyes when he had let you go.

Laswell’s voice cut through his thoughts one last time.

“If you love her, fix it. Because if you don’t, John…” She leaned back, shaking her head. “You’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

Price sat there for a long moment, staring at his coffee like it might have the answers.

Then, without another word, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.

Because fuck being an idiot.

He wasn’t about to lose you—not without a fight.

The city hummed around him—cars passing, distant voices in the night—but none of it mattered.

Not when the only thing he cared about was you.

He hesitated for half a second before knocking, hard enough to make sure you heard, but not so much that you’d think it was an emergency. Though, in a way, maybe it was.

Seconds passed.

Then—soft footsteps. A pause. And finally, the door cracked open.

And there you were.

Hair a little messy from sleep, wearing one of those oversized sweaters he always liked seeing on you. Your eyes widened slightly when you saw him, surprised—hesitant.

“John?” your voice was cautious, uncertain. “What are you doing here?”

Price exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath the entire time.

“I fucked up.” The words were gruff, unpolished. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

You blinked, lips parting slightly, like you weren’t sure if you had heard him right.

He ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. “Kate gave me a proper bollocking,” he admitted, almost like a grumble, and you couldn’t help the tiny twitch of your lips at that. “Told me I was an idiot. She was right.”

You swallowed, crossing your arms over your chest. “John… you ended things. You made that choice.”

“I did.” His voice was firm, resolute. “And I was wrong.”

Silence stretched between you. You wanted to be angry. You had been angry. But standing here, with him looking at you like you were the only thing in the damn world that mattered…

It made it hard.

“You deserve better,” he continued, quieter this time. “I thought walking away was the right thing to do. Thought I was saving you from a life of waiting, worrying—” He let out a sharp exhale. “But I was just a coward.”

Your heart clenched at that. Because damn him, you knew how much it took for John Price to admit fear.

“I don’t need saving, John,” you said, voice steady. “I just needed you.”

His jaw flexed, and for a second, you saw it—the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes flickered with something raw.

“I love you,” he said, simple, honest. “And if you’ll let me… I want to fix this.”

Your breath hitched. “And if I don’t?”

His lips pressed into a thin line, like the thought alone was unbearable. “Then I’ll leave you alone.” A pause. “But I won’t stop loving you.”

Damn him.

You looked at him, at the man who had fought wars and won battles—but was standing in front of you now, waiting, hoping. Fighting for you.

You took a slow step forward, then another. Until you were close enough to feel the warmth of him, to see the slight tension in his posture as he waited for your answer.

Then, softly, you murmured, “You’re an idiot, John Price.”

A beat.

Then his hand lifted, warm and familiar against your cheek. “I know.”

And when you leaned in, pressing your lips to his—when he let out a shaky breath, pulling you closer, like he wasn’t about to let go again—

taglist: @honestlymassivetrash @pythonmoth @kittygonap