#Captain Price x reader

[notquitecanon]

Search History // Poly!141 x Reader

A continuation of this thought

Summary: Reader (based loosely on Penelope Garcia from Criminal Minds) has to be face-to-face with the boys for the first time since they started including her in their late-night fantasies. They've decided it's time to take it off-screen and move in IRL.

I'm taggin the peeps who replied to the last part bc I'm desperate for attention lol (in all actuality y'all really encouraged me to actually write thank you!!)

CW: allusions to porn, allusions to female genitalia, they're all horny in the workplace, this is basically workplace harassment but we're excusing it because they're hot and fictional and I say so, no outright smut

Still nsfw though so MDNI pls and thanks

“The 141 just touched down. ETA twenty minutes.” 

Your eyes flicked up from the muted video on your monitor, cheeks flushed red but masked by the light radiating off your screen in your dark office. Thank God, your monitor faced away from the door. A young private was standing in the doorway with a tablet, looking at you for an acknowledgment, probably running about starting preparations for their arrival back on home base. 

“Thank you, private.” You murmured, teeth toying at your thumbnail, chipping the polish. The young soldier gave a short nod at the quiet dismissal and disappeared once again. Your eyes, with embarrassingly blown pupils, flicked back to the video. 

After your discovery two weeks ago, the sites and links you had to review furthered down the rabbit hole. And this video you were currently watching had been one that all the men had been visiting, and revisiting, and revisiting… 

By god, they’d done it. 

Similar build, skin tone only a shade or two different - you could probably share foundation and it wouldn’t look too bad. Hair and eye color so close it was uncanny. And when the woman looked over her shoulder at the mountain of a man hitting it from the back, the angle made the resemblance almost scarily uncanny.  The Had you had a porn career and simply forgotten?- kind of uncanny. 

Sure there were differences- she was a little taller, maybe a bit leaner, with boobs that had definitely had some work done. Tattoos where your skin was bare and vice versa, different piercings. Her voice was pitched different, and her accent was completely different from yours but within three minutes of the video she’d stopped speaking words, so accent didn’t matter much.  But as far as porn actresses went- she might as well be your twin. 

It seemed the 141 had perused her entire.. filmography. Different videos, different scenarios, different partners. They all had videos they seemed to like better than others. Soap seemed to particularly like the POV video where the man had a thick Scottish accent. Gaz had bookmarked a soft-core bondage and forced orgasm scene. Price, a shorter video of an unseen man pushing the actress under a desk for oral, and Ghost… the only link he’d visited was your instagram. It was hard not to let it stroke your ego a little bit. 

God, if you told anyone about this… They’d tell you to file a workplace harassment suit, and maybe a police report.  To start job hunting, and therapist hunting. Distance yourself. You should have been embarrassed or uncomfortable- you knew you should be. That you should feel objectified or disrespected, disgusted. 

But hell, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t send yourself the links and watched them in your free time at home. It was hot- turned you on in an almost concerning way that would set feminism back twenty years if you told anyone. 

The video kept playing on your monitor, one of the videos that Soap had visited more than once (little did you know it was one that Ghost had picked out). A gloved hand smoothly glided down the actress's spine before curving around her throat and pulling her upright on the man’s lap, filthy praises in a British accent playing through your single AirPod. 

“Holy shit…”  You muttered, thighs clenching because if you squinted it really did look like you, even some of her mannerisms. And the rough accent was like a mix of Ghost's and Price’s. 

Abruptly, you shut down the entire monitor completely, ripping out the AirPod and tossing it on the desk. Pressing slightly shaking hands to your too hot face. You needed to get it together, because Price was your boss and the others were your superiors. They’d been gone for a month and a half, and it’d been your voice in their ears guiding them through missions, and you knew you had a flirty disposition, especially from the private safety of your dark little office half way across the world. 

It made sense that their wires got a little crossed, but your wires- like those off all your monitors and hardware- needed to stay neatly organized and separate. Focus. Focus. 

Your nails were bitten to the quick, the bitter taste of old nail polish on the back of your tongue. The skin around your nails was raw from your teeth toying with it as your so intensely focussed on the videos. You needed to get out of this too small, too hot room.  Which is how you found yourself, twenty minutes later, in the communal break room fighting with the vending machine. It was withholding the ice cold water you were desperate for, despite your curses and attempts to jostle the machine. Right as you delivered a frustrated kick to the machine-

“Just the bird we were looking for!” 

It was Kyle’s voice first, that tipped you off to the herd of men entering the space. You almost jumped out of your skin- brain flitting through several scandalous snippets of the videos he’d replayed. His smile was dazzling as always as he came into view, tapping the yellow warning stickers that instructed people not to jostle the machine, with the little illustration of the stick man getting crushed, “What’d the machine ever do to you? It might start fighting back.” 

A gloved hand reached between the two of you, skeleton fingers curled into a fist that delivered a blunt strike, and, like magic, the water bottle fell in to the receptacle. You peeked over your shoulder at Ghost, standing just slightly too close and looking down at you intensely, but not meanly. An easy to miss bit of mirth that was usually reserved for Soap. Thank god you’d bitten your nails to stubs or they would’ve drawn blood from how they were digging into your palms to distract you from the gloved hands and the brutish display of strength. 

Kyle put the drink sweetly in your hands after cracking it for you, like he would do when bringing Ghost or Price something, eyes twinkling like he knew something you didn’t.  Another hand, warm and large clapped gently on your shoulder, pulling you back a step, almost directly into Captain Price’s chest. 

The men shared a look over your head before focussing back on you. 

“Your intel was good.” It was a simple statement, but delivered in a warm, proud tone that felt so much like praise that your stomach flipped a bit, with that warm smile that made him look soft despite the fact he was still in full tac-gear, “They didn’t even see us coming.” 

“They never see you coming, that’s kind of your whole thing.” You tried a joke, your voice a touch strained. His hand was lingering, right on the curve where your shoulder became your neck, fingers flexing into the flesh just so. Just like it did on the boys when he thought others wouldn’t noticed. focus, focus, focus. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately, it was Soap that interrupted the kneading of Price’s fingers. 

“Don’t be so modest, bonnie!” He was laughing as large arms caught you around the waist, lifting and spinning you slightly. His voice so similar to that one Scottish co-star that had done such filthy things to your lookalike, it made your head spin.  Despite your startled yelp and squirming, his grip didn’t waver, “Couldn’t of done it without our lass in the chair.” 

“ ’nough, Johnny,” Ghost called firmly, leaning against the vending machine that they’d all but cornered you against, “Put ‘er down.” 

Soap’s laugh was still good natured as he set you on your feet again, a little roughly for the heels you had on to match your skirt, you wobbled only for Ghost himself to steady you, giving you another intense look, that you had trouble meeting, “ 'e’s right though. Intel was good.” 

They were all staring at you, varying degrees of smirks, eyes a spectrum of mischief and something that was dizzyingly close to hunger.  Unable to keep still, you were squirming, shifting your weigh from foot to foot, fiddling with the wrapper on the bottle. You found your eyes flitting around settling anywhere but their own gaze, cheeks feeling hot, mind full of vile images that you knew they’d seen and enjoyed- ceiling, the exit sign, Johnny’s tac-vest, the floor, the water bottle in your hands. You gulped, eyebrows raising as you puffed a breath, trying desperately to reign yourself in.

“Glad to be of service.” You smiled tightly, nodding meeting each set of eyes briefly and hoping your foundation masked your blush (it didn’t). Jesus Christ, you couldn’t do this.  You couldn’t tell if you felt turned on or awkward or both, but you needed to go. Preferably before you did something that would cost you your job. Your voice was rushed as you squeezed between Gaz and Price, double timing it to the exit, “Enjoy your leave, boys, you deserve it.” 

As you all but fled the building, you typed out a mass base-wide memo email, language formal as you professionally reminded every soldier, specifically four of them, that any website visited by government devices was subject to internal review. 

You swore you could hear them laughing as the memo went out. But maybe that was just your overactive imagination. 

____

You’d gone home for the evening, and then clocked back in the following morning. Surprised to find all of the 141 was still there, debriefing must have ran long. 

“Morning, love.” It was Kyle that greeted you, pressing a cup of coffee into your hands. He looked tired but happy to see you. Soap was with him, eyes bright and grin wide as he whistled lowly, fingers tugging at the hem of your skirt as you passed his seat. 

“Looking good, bonnie,” He smiled devilishly, rubbing the fabric between his fingers before letting go, “Tired of all the green, black, and beige tac gear. Missed seeing something a little… softer.”  

You somewhat doubted that. He seemed to appreciate military khaki when it hugged Gaz’s ass, and he sure didn’t seem to mind an all black tactical ensemble when it was on Ghost. But the compliment still brought heat up your neck, which you coupled with a sip of the hot coffee Gaz had brought you- fixed perfectly the way you liked it. It elicited a pleased sigh as you swallowed, humming in content. 

“Price wants to see you before we all leave. Brought you some new stuff to work on.” Kyle smiled, watching how your expression softened at the taste of the beverage, clearly proud of himself for drawing out that reaction.   

“A present? For me?” You smiled sarcastically back at the prospect of more work added to you caseload, “It’s like Christmas.” 

“You been good this year?” Kyle grinned back, accompanied by Soap chiming, voice low and chiding, “Nah, she’s definitely been naughty.” 

Both Sergeant’s shared a look as you almost choked on another sip of coffee. 

“I’m leaving now.” You shook your head, turning on your heel away from where they were hanging around the rec room, clearly waiting for Price to dismiss them, “Y’all should shower. Or take a nap.” 

“You want us naked?” Kyle questioned, raising his eyebrows at you, leaning back against the wall, standing so very close to Soap, who was sprawled out in his chair, long legs splayed and spread before him as he waggled his eyebrows. “And in bed?” 

Now that was some imagery. Taking the lord’s name in vain you didn’t dignify that with a response other than a huffed, “Leaving now.” 

____

The good thing about Price and Ghost was they were business first. So if you really focussed you could almost ignore Ghost's thigh pressed against yours as you sat beside him in the dark room, reviewing body cam footage. They pointed out different things to you, things to include as you started your next dark web deep dive. 

You could almost ignore how Price’s fingers grazed and lingered on your palm as he gave you a thumb drive to decrypt and analyze, how he stood close enough to you that you had to look at him through your lashes. 

“Has a self destruct program that Gaz didn’t want t' aggravate. Figured it needed your... soft touch.” Price smiled down at you as you curled your fingers around the thumb drive. You had to try pretty hard to ignore the slight emphasis on soft. Ghost seemed to chuckle lowly at your expression at the captain. 

“What’s on there'll point us in the next direction of our next target.” Ghost nodded to you, his leg shifting so it pressed harder against yours. In the guise of stretching out, he’d draped an arm over the back of your chair, the cotton of his gloves half tickling the sensitive skin on the back of your bicep, where the flesh was soft. 

“So don’t screw it up, got it.” You swallowed thickly, shifting so you couldn’t feel his thumb against your skin- it was making it hard to think about hacking and terrorism and military operations.  He took it as an invitation to spread out more, his fingers grazing the exact spot only seconds later. 

“Precisely,” John laughed lowly, his hand moved to your shoulder, back into that sweet curve that was partly your shoulder and partly your neck, and gave it a lingering squeeze, that kind of made you want to melt, “You won’t screw it up, love.” 

The captain gave his Lieutenant a nod, and Ghost quickly stood, his boot giving the toe of your pretty heels a slight nudge as a goodbye before silently stalking out. Price took a seat across from you, leaning back and his arms cross comfortably over his chest.

“I’m having the boys over at mine tonight. A couple of drinks, I’m gonna grill, put the footie on, celebrate another successful mission to start our leave.” Price listed out their plans casually, noting how you squirmed a bit, uncrossing and recrossing your legs as you tugged at the hem of your skirt before continuing, “We want you to come. Couldn’t have done it without you, so you should celebrate it too.” 

“Oh, uh-“ You started before you could think of a good excuse, “I’ll be really busy… with.. with the flash drive. And stuff.” 

“What stuff?” Price rose a single brow, his stare pinning you still as he reached across the table and took the flash drive back, “This can wait.” 

“Files. Coding. Security checks.” You mumbled the first couple aspects of your job that came to mind, the intensity of his gaze making you want to adjust your collar or shrink in your seat. You figured you’d have a couple more sites to clear off their devices, if they’d been sitting around base all night. Your cheeks heated just at the thought. “I’m a little behind. Been… distracted lately."

“Everything all right, love?” He ‘asked’ with at signature warm smile and amused eyes, he seemed to already know the answer to his question, “You’ve been… skittish, since we got back.” 

Your teeth worried the seam of your lips as you considered the question. Skittish, was one way to put it- fidgety, fleeing rooms, avoiding eye contact, barely speaking as opposed to your usual chatter and banter. Your eyes flitted away from his gaze again, swallowing dryly again- geez when did you get so shy, “ ‘m fine. Absolutely fine. Never been better. How’re you?” 

Cringing at your own rambling, you sighed shoulders drooping as he fixed you with another look, and muttered your name in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a look that expected obedience, as his legs shifted into a natural man spread. Your brain flitted back to the video of your look alike being shoved under a desk… 

Him saying your name again, slightly louder but just as bemused drew you back to him, realizing you were staring at his legs, debating if you could fit between his knees and you almost sputtered as you cleared your throat, “I’m fine, really.” 

“Either lie more convincingly or tell me what’s bothering you, sweet.”  Price chuckled, leaving forward against the table, drumming a knuckle against the table. Sweet, that was new. You’d have to add it to the laundry list of nicknames and pet names the boys had for you. You’d always told yourself that it was nothing personal, that British/Scottish people just did that. But this on wasn’t as easy to write off as ‘love’ or ‘bonnie’, average pet names in the UK colloquial, no sweet seemed personal. 

“I’m not bothered.” You glanced away again, nose wrinkling, even though you were bothered- hot and bothered. John Price had a way of drawing details out of people with just a look and a couple of well prodded words.  With a deep breath, you tried to keep your characteristic rambling to a minimum, a losing battle as he starting stroking at his beard with those long fingers- two parts of him that you’d been thinking about way too much lately-, “Listen, I’m not judging, you’re grown men, watch what you want to, but just a reminder that it’s my job and obligation to review every link and site that government devices visit. Which includes at least skimming videos.  In case you didn’t know or maybe forgot that I can and do see these things, so maybe you could pass that along to the boys-“ 

“You can tell 'em yourself. ’s your job, sweet.” Price said firmly. The girlish part of your brain corrected ‘firmly’ to dominantly. Before his demeanor relaxed again, giving you an amused, appraising look again, “At my place. Tonight. 8 o’clock. Not a request.” Shrinking in your chair a bit, hoping the chair hid the way your thighs involuntarily clenched, you couldn’t help but nod and squeak, “Yes, sir.” 

___

Was supposed to have actually smut in this but I got carried away on the build-up, laugh out loud. Maybe a part three or you can just imagine how the little dinner party goes (hint, she's the meal)

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[dumbbitchgalore]

“Dad?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“How did you know mum was in love with you?”

John contemplated his son’s words, mulling over his question for a few moments.

His son was old enough, 21 years old with a girlfriend. Studying at university on a military scholarship following in the footsteps of both of his parents.

The birds and bees talk was already given. Hell, John knew that his kid wasn’t a virgin. He was an idiot in school trying to bag as many girls as he could which would earn him an earful from his father about respecting women’s bodies and what not.

But for some reason, answering this question seemed impossible. Putting the response into words seemed unattainable.

John mind wonders back to when you and him were younger. When his bones weren’t creaky and he could pick you up without groaning in pain from his military injuries catching up to him in his middle age.

Your relationship with John did not have a conventional start. You were broken looking to mend yourself through and good distraction and John was simply bored.

Hook ups between the two of you began your situationship. Whenever John was in town back from deployment, he’d send you a text and you’d two would spend the night together. No strings attached but both your and John’s hearts ached for more than you both could utter.

Nights after sex didn’t end in aftercare. It was neglected most nights, as you hastily put in your clothes to go back home.

That speediness and need to get out of John’s flat dissipates after a few months. Idle caresses, offers for refreshments and thoughtless conversations rooted its presence after a mindless fuck.

The rush to go home was unfounded as you find homely comfort in one another. You and John never voice it, but the change was welcomed.

Foreplay lengthens. John on longer has the gnawing need to stuff you full and cum instantly. Now, his motives are to see you wither in blissful pleasure. His tongue a fingers taking its time to open you up, making you come more times that your fucked-out brain could count.

John, John, John

A holy chant that never leaves the tip of your tongue.

Mindless fucking turns into lovemaking with the end result of you laying your head on his chest,eyes dazed glistening with unsaid words of adoration and longing. Your eyes mimicking the mirror to John’s future. White picket fence and a nuclear family with 2.5 kids and a dog named Max.

John is brought back from his reminiscing by his son’s impatient huffing, waiting for his father to stop daydreaming.

“Look at her eyes. It’ll tell you all you need to know.”.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 42: Comfort and Joy

Summary: Tis the season to be jolly...

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8, 417 words

Warnings: Alpha/beta/omega dynamics, omegaverse, alternate universe, slight angst at the beginning, blood and disturbing imagery, nightmares, PTSD, lots of comfort, holidays

A/N: Yes, CRCB is getting its holiday episode. Something holly and jolly before Christmas, some sweet comfort for the last chapter of this year. It's kind of rough but I don't hate it. I hope everyone feels the same. Happy Holidays to everyone

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

It’s quiet in the house. 

There’s a stillness in the air that seeps into your very soul. The only light is from the street light outside. Your father never allowed you a nightlight despite your fear of the dark. You weren’t allowed to show such weakness in front of him. God forbid his family have any flaws. 

You’re the flawed one. 

It’s too quiet in the house, not even your brothers’ snoring audible in the tense quiet that has settled over your safe space. It has your breathing shallow so as to not disturb the heaviness in the air. Your sister is asleep in the bed across the room, tucked under the blankets safely. Sleep evades you however, something tickling in the back of your mind. 

Something is off. Something is wrong. 

“Hannah.” You whisper, disturbing the darkness in favor of not feeling so alone in the oppressive silence. “Hannah.” 

Yet your sister does not stir, showing no sign of even acknowledging a disturbance as she sleeps deeply. You bite your lip, sinking back further under your covers. You could wake one of your brothers, but the likelihood of one of them helping ease your fear is small. They’ll just usher you back to bed and tell you to grow up. You could attempt to rouse your mother, but that runs the risk of also waking your father. If nothing is wrong, it will be your doom. 

Maybe it’s all just in your head. Some terror brought on by a lingering nightmare. 

You need to get up. You can’t lay in the darkness anymore. 

So you rise from the safety of your blankets, padding silently across the wood and out into the hallway. There’s a nightlight allowed out here to prevent stumbling in the dead of night. There’s nothing in the hallway, no silent spectre waiting to grab whoever leaves their room first. You creep silently down the hallway towards the black gaping maw of the living room waiting just beyond the edges of the light. 

You stand there at the end of the hallway, gazing into the darkness for a moment. It’s not truly dark, light filtering in through the curtains from the streetlights outside. Yet the darkness feels thicker than it ever has before as you stand there, waiting for a shadow to move. 

Nothing moves, and after a breath you turn to the left, cutting through the dining room straight towards the kitchen. It’s darker in here, cut off from the street, yet you navigate it with ease. You’ve spent many nights navigating through the darkness, creeping around the house when you can’t sleep. 

You enter the kitchen, heading for the cupboard that holds the cups. Your mother used to give you warm milk when you couldn’t sleep. Sometimes you’d rise to find her awake, sitting in the living room. Sometimes she’d be crying. Sometimes she’d just be sitting with the lamp on, staring into the distance. 

It always made you wonder what she was thinking about. 

You stand on your toes, reaching up for a glass. It nearly falls and hits the counter but you manage to catch it, preventing what would no doubt be a crisis. You let out a breath before moving to the sink, filling the glass up. You stare out the small window that shows nothing but the fence between your house and the neighbors. All the houses are the same, built after the same model with the same green grass out front. It’s like a movie set, some suburban setting for a drama or a horror movie. 

The oppressive darkness feels like a horror movie. 

You turn to head back to your room, but you’re stopped by a figure standing in the entrance to the kitchen. You can just make it out, large and looming in the darkness. For a moment you think it’s your father, awakened by something, some instinct telling him there’s something moving around in the house. It’s not the right size to be your father, though, too tall and long. 

You stumble back towards the light switch, your fingers shaking as you flip it on. 

“Phil?” You ask quietly, staring at your father’s best friend in shock. You haven’t seen him in almost two years. 

His mouth opens in a haunting grin, blood pouring down his chin. You stare in horror as blood soaks into his white shirt, dripping onto the floor below. The cup slips from your hand, shattering on the floor as his hand wraps around the knife stuck in the side of his neck, pulling it free. Blood sprays across the white cupboards, painting them like some gruesome work of art. 

“Look...what you did...to me...” Phil says, his voice nothing more than a gurgling wheeze. 

He reaches out a blood soaked hand towards you, sending you stumbling back. Glass cuts into the bottoms of your feet, sending shards of white hot pain up your legs. You don’t care, too busy trying to evade the bloody hand trying to grab at you. You slip in the water on the floor, falling backwards, the back of your head seconds from hitting the side of the counter...

“Easy, easy.” 

Arms are around you, holding you tightly as you sob. Your feet are burning as you sit there on the kitchen floor. It’s not the kitchen in your old home, though, it’s the kitchen in the cottage. Your feet are burning with sharp stabs of pain. There’s water soaking into your pajama pants. 

“You’re alright.” 

The light is on, raining down bright yellow light from overhead. You hate it, the oppressive light burning your eyes. You squeeze them closed, trying to ease the pounding in your head that pulses in time with your heart. 

“...sleepwalking I think...” 

Voices float in and out as you sit there, leaning back against something solid and warm. There’s arms around you, holding you tightly, your own arms trapped up against your chest. You tilt your head back, resting it back against the solid warmth. 

“Almost hit her head...” 

“Move her to the couch...”

“It’s not that uncommon during times of extreme stress.” 

You wince as another tiny piece of glass is pulled from your foot. 

“Even if someone has never experienced sleepwalking before, it can start at any age.” 

“Is this something we need to worry about now?” 

“It’s hard to say.” Dr. Keller dabs at your foot with a damp towel streaked with pink from your blood. “It’s one of those things we’ll just have to wait and see if it was a one-time thing or if it will become a regular occurance.” She dabs at your feet with the towel before shining the flashlight on them again. “You want to talk about the nightmare?” 

She’s talking to you now. 

“No.” You say, the word strained and weak from your lips. Your face feels tight from the tears you had shed in your confusion and delirium. The nightmare is still fresh on your mind, replaying like some sick television show, over and over in your head. 

She gives you a look, but doesn’t press anymore. She won’t ask again, not in front of your pack at least. 

She lets your feet rest on the coffee table before moving closer to you. Her hands cup the back of your head, pressing down on certain spots. “Does your head hurt?” 

“No.” You say, ignoring the throbbing behind your eyes. 

“Well, thanks to Kyle’s quick reflexes, I think we’ve avoided a concussion.” She says, turning to Kyle. “How’s your hand?” 

“Fine.” He says from where he’s sitting next to you, flexing his fingers. “I’ll take aches and pains if it prevents a hospital visit.” 

“That’s the last thing we need right now.” John says. 

You can’t help but wince at his words. 

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. 

“Thankfully there wasn’t any serious damage.” Dr. Keller says, wrapping your feet in gauze. “Just try to take it easy for a couple of days. Walking isn’t going to feel very good for a while.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not really.” 

“I think it might be good to talk about it.” 

“You’re as bad as Dr. Keller.” 

“Well, she and I agree that holding everything in isn’t going to help anything.” Kyle says, taking the seat next to you. “We just want to help you.” 

“Unless you can crawl into my mind and fix my memories, I don’t think you can help with this.” You say bitterly. 

“Well, I can’t do that, but I can listen.” He gives you a look. 

You choose to ignore it. 

He continues to stare at you as you turn your gaze out the window. It’s raining again, light droplets hitting the window. You can feel yourself beginning to crack as he continues to stare at you, his gaze not sharp and prying, but instead soft and inviting. He really wants to know, not out of curiosity or need, but because he cares. He wants to help, even if it’s just listening. 

Can you be brave enough to share? 

“I woke up in bed, but not in the cottage. I was in bed at the house we lived in before I was sent to the institution.” You swallow the lump in your throat threatening to choke you and cut off your words. “It was the house we moved to shortly after Phil left. I remember feeling something was off after I woke up, something was wrong but I couldn’t figure it out.” Your mouth suddenly feels dry. “I went to the kitchen to get some water and Phil appeared there in the darkness. He...” 

You trail off for a moment, the memory of what he had looked like in your dream sending a spike of fear through you. You had thought the one positive of Phil being dead was that he couldn’t haunt your dreams anymore. He’s not out there hunting you, seeking you out. He’s dead, burned to a crisp in that barn. You made sure of that. 

“He had a knife in his neck. He was bleeding.” Your voice shakes as tears prick behind your eyes. You hate it that you’re still crying over Phil and his hold on you even in death. “He said....he said ‘look what you did to me,’ and pulled the knife out. I dropped the glass of water and slipped in it. I was falling but then I woke up.” 

Kyle is silent after you finish, the quiet settling heavy between you, as heavy as it had felt in your dream. You know you sleep walked through part of your dream. You went to the kitchen for water and dropped the glass. You slipped in the puddle and nearly hit your head on the counter if Kyle hadn’t found you seconds before and cushioned your fall with his hand. Your feet still sting from stepping in the glass, even though the puncture wounds and cuts have mostly healed. 

A warm hand touches yours, fingers curling around yours. Kyle’s rough skin, calloused by handling weapons and fighting for so many years, drags against yours as he slowly lifts your hand away from the arm of the chair and up towards his face. His breath is warm as it hits your palm, his soft lips pressing against your skin. You turn to face him, tears still blurring your vision as you sit there, staring at him. 

“It was just a dream.” He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. “No one is going to hurt you. Phil is gone and we’ll be damn sure nothing else can even try.” He presses your hand against his cheek, your fingers trembling against the smooth skin. “You have nothing to fear.” 

“Only what’s in my head.” You whisper. 

“What can we do? How can we help you defeat those demons plaguing you?” He asks, threading his fingers through yours. 

You stare at him for a while, taking in his face again. It feels like so long since you’ve really looked at them, since you’ve truly taken in their features. You’ve almost forgotten what they actually look like, your mind always conjuring up muddy images of their faces in your memories. 

You’ve forgotten just how pretty and perfect he really is. 

How...disarming his face is. 

“I don’t know.” You whisper, your thumb stroking his cheek. “I don’t know.” 

The breeze is cold, whipping around you and biting at your cheeks. The blanket tucked tightly around you stops the wind from chilling you to your bones. You don’t care about the cold, your gaze out on the waves crashing against the shore. 

“Cold?” Johnny asks, tightening his hold around you. 

“No.” You say, fighting back a shiver as you lean further back against his chest. The last thing you want right now is to leave the beach. 

“Somethin’ tells me I shouldnae believe you.” He says, squeezing his body around yours. 

“Well, whatever it is, it’s wrong.” You say stubbornly, shoving your hands in your armpits to keep them warm. 

“Stubborn little thing.” He says, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “Should be headin’ back soon anyway.” 

You let out a whine in protest, leaning your head back against his shoulder. “I want to stay here forever.” 

“I know.” He says, letting you go just enough to pull his phone out of his pocket. “Wish I could let ye.” 

You can’t stop the shiver that shakes through you at the loss of his warmth. It is cold and getting colder as the sky gets more grey overhead. The sun is going down, the darkness of the evening rolling in earlier and earlier every day. 

“Time to head back.” Johnny says, pocketing his phone. 

“Five more minutes.” You whine, trying to lay all of your weight against him. 

“I have direct orders to get you back stat.” He says, pushing himself up to stand. 

You let yourself flop back on the blanket you’ve been sitting on, looking up at him as you lay there in the sand. The wind is picking up, blowing some of it onto your face. You sputter, pulling yourself back up to sit. 

“Come on, kitten.” Johnny says, tucking his hands under your arms before lifting you to stand. “Let’s head back before it gets dark.” 

He brushes the sand off of your blanket before picking up the other one and shaking it. He drapes it over his arm before guiding you back up the path towards the car. You take one last look over your shoulder at the water before following him to the parking lot. 

It’s dusk when you get back to the cottage, the lights from inside glowing warmly through the windows. Johnny takes your hand, leading you up the steps and into the cottage. 

It’s warm inside, the rest of your pack moving around in the kitchen and dining area. You kick your boots off, passing your blanket off to Johnny before heading into the living area. The table is all made up, many dishes sitting out ready to be served, all of them looking very familiar.

“What is this?” You ask, stepping closer to the table. 

“It’s Thanksgiving.” Dr. Keller says, stepping out of the kitchen with a tray of meat in her hands. “I thought you might like to celebrate.” 

“Oh.” You stand there for a moment. You didn’t even realize what day it was. Time has been so strange with no phone or television to give you an idea of what day it is. It’s been moving quickly, almost four weeks since the day you were taken. “Is that why you let Johnny take me to the beach?” 

“We wanted to surprise you.” John says. “I know you don’t like surprises, but this felt like a more appropriate one.” 

“I don’t like surprises, but this is really sweet.” You move towards your normal seat at the table, looking at all of the dishes laid out. 

“We made all the classics, or at least as close as we could get with what we have available.” Dr. Keller says. 

“It’s pretty close, but then again I’ve only had Thanksgiving once.” Ashley says, coming out of the kitchen. You hadn’t even noticed her car parked outside. 

“Thank you for this.” You say, still a bit taken aback by the gesture. “I didn’t even know it was close to Thanksgiving. Time...time seems so weird now.” 

“A lot has happened in a short amount of time.” Dr. Keller says, rubbing your back. “That can skew how we perceive time passing.” 

“I also don’t have any way to tell time.” You shrug. 

Dr. Keller gives you a soft smile. “Well, we’ll see if we can rectify that.” 

Everyone takes their seats at the table in their usual spots, except for the extra chair next to Dr. Keller for Ashley. You recognize the strategic move, even if the rest of your pack pretends not to notice. Dr. Keller also pays it no mind, but you can’t help but notice the bashful look that flashes across her face when her hand brushes Ashleys as food gets passed around the table. 

You load up your plate, digging in almost immediately. You hadn’t realized how hungry you got down at the beach, not until you came back to a cacophony of delicious smells. It all tastes good, all of it throwing you back into reminders of your childhood and Thanksgivings with your family. While your father still had expectations of proper behavior from you and your siblings, it was tradition that he’d spend most of the day in his chair. Your mother did all of the cooking, you and your siblings helping when she’d allow. 

You never truly understood how much work she put into every holiday until you were older. 

Thanksgivings at the institute were never the same as Thanksgivings at home. You got the day off of course, and there always was a better meal that day with the classics, but it always felt so manufactured, not unlike the food on base. You never realized how much you missed home cooking until now. 

You never realized how much you missed your mothers food until now. 

Tears blur your eyes as you continue to eat, trying to distract yourself with heaping spoonfuls of food. 

“You doing alright?” 

Of course the one time John would notice your melancholic state would be right now. The entire table pauses, turning to look at you. You start to curl in on yourself, not wanting all the attention all at once on you. 

“Yeah.” You clear your throat, wiping the tear that betrays you and falls down your cheek. “Just tastes really good. Reminds me of my mom’s cooking.” 

The words slip out before you can stop them, tumbling out onto the table and landing among the mashed potatoes. Things suddenly feel very vulnerable, very raw. You wish you could grab the words, shove them back in and make them all forget your admission. You don’t want the soft stares, the sympathetic looks in their eyes, the understanding. You want to crawl under the table and hide until the moment passes. 

“I-I think I just missed home-cooked food.” You try to save the moment from growing more embarrassing for you. 

“I second that.” Johnny says, the tension in the room lightening just a bit. “Easy tae forget what good food tastes like sometimes.” 

“I’ll give it to the Americans.” Kyle says, recognizing your desire for the attention to be off of you at this moment. “They do know how to do a good feast.” 

“We can do more than good food.” Dr. Keller says, sounding almost offended. 

“Like Halloween.” Johnny says. “What I wouldnae give to have an American Halloween.” 

“You just want an excuse to eat candy until you’re sick.” Simon rumbles. 

“I wan’ tae do more than that.” Johnny gives him a look. “Costumes, the parties, trick or treatin’. All of it.” 

“Maybe we’ll have to take you to America next Halloween.” Dr. Keller says. “Let you get a proper taste of the holiday.” 

Next Halloween. 

You’re not even thinking a week ahead, much less a year. You’re not even sure the others have thought much about what the next few months will look like. Where will you all be in a year? You can’t stay at the cottage forever, as much as you would enjoy it. At some point a decision has to be made. Where do the five of you go from here? 

The conversation begins to lighten, the attention thankfully being drawn off of you again. That doesn’t save you from John’s gaze, though, his eyes flicking up to you every so often. You try not to meet that gaze, keeping your eyes down on your plate as you eat until you’re stuffed full. Yet you can’t help but look up when his gaze lingers too long, when your omega shifts under the scrutinizing gaze of an alpha. He’s trying to read you like he used to be able to. You wish you could hide better from him, but you’ll never be able to truly keep your thoughts and feelings under wraps. 

Not from him. 

You’re banned from the kitchen as food is cleaned up and placed in the fridge and dishes are washed. Instead you find yourself on the couch, staring into the flickering flames of the fire. Kyle takes a seat next to you, sitting down with a quiet groan. 

“How are you?” He asks, draping his arm on the back of the couch behind you. 

“Fine.” You say, still turned to face the fire. “Full.” 

He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Same. Don’t think I’ve been this full in a long time.” 

“That’s the point of the holiday.” You say. “Eat until you pass out.” That’s what your father used to do, slipping into a food coma after dinner in his chair. As much as you hate him, you do miss those quiet evenings where you could loosen up and not care about his calculating gaze. 

“Feeling tired?” He asks, and you can feel his questioning gaze hitting the side of your head. 

“No,” You respond, and it’s the truth. There’s far too much going on in your head to even nap right now. 

It falls silent for a few moments, only the sounds from the kitchen and the crackling of the fire breaking the silence. You’re far away in your thoughts, replaying the last few weeks over and over in your head. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” John asks, breaking you from your reverie. He takes a seat on the other couch, facing you. 

“Just thinking about how much time has passed.” You answer, tucking your knees up close to your chest. “It’s been almost a year and yet it feels like it’s only been a few weeks.” 

John hums. “You would have been with the CIA already by this time.” 

You nod. “Yeah. I was picked up just after Halloween. Didn’t really have Christmas last year. The CIA wasn’t exactly the most festive place. They had bigger things to worry about.” 

“Did you miss it, Christmas?” He asks. 

“Well, yeah. Of course, even if we didn’t really celebrate much in the institute either. We didn’t have any gifts to give each other outside of things we were supplied with by the institute. They didn’t really bother decorating either. We got the day off, of course, and we had a nicer meal than usual, but it wasn’t really some big festive celebration.” You shrug. “It was always a big deal in my house. It was my mom’s favorite holiday.” 

You cut yourself off before the emotions can get to be too heavy. You’ve already almost lost it once in front of them today. The last thing you want is to risk that again. You’ve spilled too many words already. The last thing you want is to spill more. 

John’s gaze leaves you to look at Kyle next to you, the two of them sharing a silent conversation. You’ve always envied their abilities to speak to each other without words. You wish you could know them that well, you wish you could understand them on that level. You wish you shared the bonds they have with each other. You’ll always be the odd man out, the outsider. You’ll never have that closeness, that ease with which they exist around each other. 

You’re beginning to see it again, the fluidity between them, moving around each other without needing to look, always aware of the others. Here you are again, on the outside of that once more. Things really have gone back to the way they were before, back when things were new and foreign and unknown. You’re an unknown factor in this dynamic again, all of them tiptoeing around you like you might explode if they get too close, if they push those boundaries again. 

Part of you hates it. Part of you likes it. 

You’re not sure what to feel anymore. 

You tilt your head back, thumping it against Kyle’s hand. “Sorry.” You quickly sit yourself back up. “Done that twice now I guess.” 

“No need to apologize.” He says, his hand dropping to your shoulder to lean you back again. His hand gently cups the back of your head, rubbing soothing circles into your scalp with his fingers. 

You let out a content hum, your eyes fluttering closed. It falls silent between the three of you as Kyle slowly works you into a comfortable, content state. Your omega begins to almost purr contently, and for the first time in a while, she doesn’t feel quite so out of control. 

The days start to make more sense as you now have an idea where you are on the calendar. It’s the end of November, meaning in just a few weeks it’ll be Christmas. The guys haven’t said anything about celebrating, so you haven’t gotten your hopes up. Still, you can’t hide that itch in the back of your mind, that desire to have a proper celebration for your first year out of the institute. 

“You know you can tell them what you want.” Dr. Keller says, sitting in the chair next to you. “We’ve gone over this. I’m sure those guys would turn the world upside down if you asked them to.” 

“I just...I don’t know how.” You say. “What if they have no plans for Christmas? What if they weren’t planning anything? What if this is too last minute?” 

“There’s a little under a month till Christmas. It’s hardly last minute.” Dr. Keller says. “Even if they say no, then we’ll have a celebration. Just the two of us.” 

“You’d do that for me?” You ask, turning to look at her. 

“Of course. If you want to celebrate Christmas, then we will, no matter what the others decide.” She says firmly. “If they don’t wish to participate, then they don’t have to.” 

“That’s...really kind of you.” You say. She’s done so much for you already, and here she is offering to do more. 

“It’s what I’m here for.” She says. “Whatever you want to do. Decorate, bake cookies, go shopping. All of the above.” She reaches over, squeezing your hand. “You’re in charge.”

You’re in charge. 

Your omega nearly preens at the words, starting to get excited. Yet, you’re not quite sure how you feel about that kind of pressure being placed on you. It’s not in your nature to be in charge...or at least that’s what the institute taught you. Omegas are submissive and follow their alpha’s orders. 

The institute was wrong about a lot of things, though. Maybe you do want to be in charge. Maybe if you’re in charge, things will start to get better. Maybe if you’re in charge, you can finally get your pack in line and get them doing what you want them to do. 

It’s far too early for you to be awake. It’s still dark out, no light filtering through the gaps in the curtains. There’s light coming through the gaps in the door, though, and you can hear quiet rustling. 

“It’s still crooked.” You hear Kyle’s voice through the wall. 

“I’m doin’ the best I can.” Johnny retorts. 

More rustling and quiet tinkling sounds through the wall. There’s no more hope for sleep for you now, your interest far too piqued as to what they’re doing. You slide out of bed, rubbing your eyes as you pad across the cold floor to the door. 

You’re not ready for what you find on the other side. 

All four of them pause as your door opens and you take half a step out the doorway. You freeze, hand still over one of your eyes. Johnny is standing on a stepstool, leaning over a tree. Kyle is standing next to him, peeking around him to look at you. Simon is frozen in front of the fireplace, garland hanging from his hands. John is standing between the couches, a round ornament in each hand. 

You slowly lower your hand from your eye, sweeping your gaze over the four of them once more. “What are you doing?” You ask, even though you already know the answer to that question. 

“Decorating.” The four of them say all at once. 

“We were going to surprise you when you got up.” Kyle says. 

“We were trying to be quiet.” John says. “But those two muppets can’t get the star properly on the tree.” 

“You’ve got it on the branch wrong.” Kyle says. 

“It won’t go any other way.” Johnny argues. 

They go back to what they were doing, almost as if you’re not there. You’re glad for it as tears begin to fill your eyes. They’re decorating. They were decorating to surprise you. You can’t help but wonder if Dr. Keller expressed your desire for a proper Christmas to them on your behalf, but part of you knows she wouldn’t do that. She’s pushing you too hard to take control to do that. 

Maybe they’re doing it because they want to. Maybe this was their plan all along. 

“Let me do it.” Kyle says, tugging on Johnny’s shirt. 

“I can do it just fine.” Johnny persists, still fiddling with the star on the tree. 

You roll your eyes, moving over to them. “Move. I’ll do it.” 

Neither of them argue as Johnny steps down off the stool, letting you climb up. You can feel their hands hovering as you stand up on your toes, reaching for the top of the tree. You bend the top branch, situating the star on properly for them. 

“See! I told you.” Kyle says, his hands still hovering as you climb down off the stool. 

“My way would have worked just fine.” Johnny pouts. 

“I’m sure it would have.” You shrug, patting his arm before walking away. 

You join John in sorting through ornaments as Kyle and Johnny finish adjusting the lights on the tree. They’re all brand new, sealed in the boxes still. So they went shopping for all of this. You don’t suppose a summer house would have Christmas decorations laying around. It’s touching that they did this for you, even if they didn’t know you’d want it. 

“Thank you.” You say, fiddling with the hook on one of the ornaments. “For doing this.” 

“It wouldn’t be fair to not give you a proper Christmas.” John says. “Not when it means so much to you.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips, tears starting to fill your eyes again. “I appreciate it. More than you know.” 

You don’t flinch as he reaches out, gently running a hand over your head as you wipe the tear that falls. It’s nice, feeling his touch again. You hadn’t realized how much you missed it. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, holding his hand against the side of your head. You barely realize you’re doing it as you press your nose into his wrist, breathing in his fresh, woodsy scent. Petrichor, damp earth. It fills your nose like it did the first time you scented him, making your head spin. 

For the first time in a while, your omega lays comfortably in the back of your mind, settled contently back into her cage. 

You stand there nervously, staring at your alpha. He hasn’t acknowledged you yet, giving you a moment to gather yourself. You’re nervous, your palms sweaty, even if you have nothing to be nervous about. The worst he can say is no, and then you’ll have an excuse. Or he’ll say he’ll do it himself, then one surprise will be ruined at least. 

“Yes, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard that nickname spoken in such a way. Your omega rolls over and shows her belly, ready to submit to his quiet purr of your nickname. 

“I...I wanted to ask you something.” You say, shifting nervously on your feet. Now is the time. Now is when you have to be brave and voice your wants. 

“Go ahead.” He says, putting his phone down and turning to face you.

You almost wish he wouldn’t. You wish he’d stay turned away, attention on his phone so he can half pay attention to what you’re saying. No, instead he has to give you his full attention and put even more pressure on you. 

The words catch on your tongue, choking you as you attempt to be brave, as you attempt to take this leap into unknown territory. 

The worst he can say is no. 

“I want to go Christmas shopping.” The words come out fast, almost slurring together in your haste to voice them before you lose all the courage that led you to this point. 

He leans back in his seat and you prepare for the worst, you prepare for the no waiting to come out and put an end to your silly little request. You’ll sulk and cry about it in the safety of your room. Now you have to be strong. 

“Okay.” He says. 

You nearly turn and run in shame before the meaning of the word settles into your brain. You stand there in surprise, staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Okay?” You parrot, your brain still trying to comprehend what it is he’s saying. 

“Okay.” He repeats. “You’ll have to take one of us with you, though. You can’t leave unprotected, even with Christine.” 

“I’ll go.” 

The voice makes you jump, spinning on your heel to face Simon. You hadn’t even heard him approach. You stare in surprise at the other alpha. He hasn’t made much of an effort to insert himself back into your life. You were half sure he hated you again with how he’s been acting. 

“Alright.” John says, his voice almost as surprised as you feel. 

It will be nice having the hulking alpha following you around. You think back to when you went lingerie shopping with Johnny. How long ago that seems now. People had gone out of their way not to walk too close to you and your protector. No one will want to mess with you with him around.

“Go with Christine.” John says, making you turn back around to look at him in surprise. 

“Really?” You ask in disbelief. 

He nods. “I think it will be good for you, getting out of the house. Just don’t stay out too long.” He turns back to his phone and you turn back to look at Simon, but he’s gone. 

“This might be a tad bit overwhelming at first.” Dr. Keller says as she drives through town. “It’s been a while since you’ve been in a populated place.” 

“I’ll be fine.” You say, even if you don’t really believe it. You had prepared for this possibility in the days you’ve thought about this trip. 

John wanted you to go early on a weekday, when it was less likely to be too crowded. While crowded might hide you better, it also left too many possibilities for someone to sneak up on you. 

“You say the word and we’ll go.” Dr. Keller says. “I can always come back later and finish shopping for you.” 

“Okay.” You say, still staring out the window at the buildings. It’s been a while since you’ve seen so many buildings all in one spot. 

Simon is quiet in the passenger seat, also watching out the window. You wonder what’s going through his head, if he regrets volunteering to come along. You wonder why he did volunteer in the first place. You know safety is of the highest concern now while Shepherd is still out there. Does he not trust anyone else to protect you? That’s a possibility. 

There’s another rift in the bonds. 

Dr. Keller pulls into the Tesco parking lot, many cars there even for so early in the morning. Everyone else had the same idea as John. 

“Try to make this as quick as possible.” Simon says as you undo your seatbelt. “The sooner we can get in and out, the better.” 

Dr. Keller gives him a look, something passing between the two of them before she opens her car door. You get out as well, pulling your jacket tighter around you as the cold air hits your skin. It had been warm in the car, the heat cranked for your sake. 

You’re half tempted to hold Simon’s hand as you cross the parking lot. You doubt he’d let you. He might pull away and that would be worse. That would ruin the whole trip. Old habits, you think. He’s barely spoken to you, so much as made an effort to rekindle the relationship between you. That would be pushing things too far. 

Instead you stick close to Dr. Keller, trying not to panic as you walk into the building with the bright lights and the people. It’s gross, making you squint for a moment as Simon grabs a cart, your eyes taking a moment to adjust. 

“What are you planning on getting?” Dr. Keller asks, trying to distract you. 

“I-I don’t know.” You stay, blinking at aisle after aisle of products. “I didn’t think this far ahead. I thought John would say no.” 

“Well, what do you think they’d like?” She asks. 

What would they like? What do they like? You’re drawing a blank as you think about them. How little you know about them too. 

Kyle. Kyle likes skincare. He’s always prioritized that on base. Maybe you’ll get him something related to that. 

You start for the cosmetics section, Simon following like a shadow behind you and Dr. Keller. What kind of skincare does Kyle like? You know he uses coconut oil after he showers. He always smells good. Maybe something exfoliating? Something moisturizing? Both? 

You stand in front of the skincare, drawing a blank as you look at the many options. Dr. Keller and Simon stand there quietly as you deliberate, suddenly overwhelmed by the choice you have to make. 

“Who are you shopping for right now?” Dr. Keller asks, obviously picking up on your discomfort. 

“Kyle.” You say. “I know he likes skincare.” 

“Hmm.” Dr. Keller hums, looking at the options as well. “How about something like this?” She picks up a gift set with cleanser and moisturizer. “Something to cover all the basics?” 

You nod. “Okay. That sounds good.” 

Simon says nothing, offering no words of advice as she puts it in the cart. Maybe he doesn’t even know his own pack that well. Or maybe this is his way of showing his displeasure for you. Let you flounder and get the wrong thing. You want to believe he wouldn’t be that cruel. 

You wander the aisles, looking for gifts for the other three. You pass by a spa kit, pausing for a moment. You should get one for Dr. Keller. She deserves some pampering and relaxation after weeks of taking care of you. 

You put two in the cart, grabbing one for Ashley as well. 

Johnny. What does Johnny like? Art. He likes art. Maybe something with art supplies. 

You head for that section, Simon still following behind silently, aside from the clinking of the cart as he pushes it. 

You pause as you pass by a display of teddy bears. Johnny sleeps with a stuffed bear. You know that. You’ve cuddled with it yourself. It’s probably back on base with the rest of your belongings. He must miss it. 

You grab one, putting it in the cart. 

“For Johnny.” You say as Dr. Keller gives you a look. 

Simon still doesn’t say anything, but his scent reaches your nose as you walk past him. 

The alphas. John and Simon. The two you seem to know the least. What do they like? What would they want as gifts? Simon likes knives and masks, but you’re not sure you could just buy a knife in the UK like you could in America. You could just ask him, considering he’s here with you, but that feels almost intrusive. He’ll know what you get him regardless, but asking him seems like a daunting task. 

You continue wandering the aisles, looking for something that John might want. 

You pass by a gift set of tea, pausing as you stare at it. He likes tea. He might like some other options than what’s at the house. 

You put it in the cart. 

Now Simon. The hardest of the four. 

You continue wandering the aisles before you pause in the books section. Simon likes to read. You do know that. You’ve scoured the shelf at the cottage enough to know what’s there and what’s not. Maybe you’ll get Simon some new books. Something that’s not available to you currently. 

You pick out a couple before putting them in the cart. 

“Okay.” You say, staring at the selection you’ve grabbed. “I think I’m done.” 

“You’re sure?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You nod. “Yeah. I don’t want to do anything too over the top.” 

You really don’t. The last thing you want is to do too much too soon. 

You pause as you walk past the candy aisle, grabbing a handful of candy canes and putting them in the cart before heading for the checkout. 

Dr. Keller pays with cash as you load the bags into the cart. You’re ready to be out of the store with its bright lights and loud music and people. It’s starting to get busier, more and more people coming in the doors there to do their Christmas shopping as well. 

Simon loads the bags into the trunk as you climb into the car with Dr. Keller. 

“How do you feel?” She asks as you let out a breath. 

“A bit overwhelmed.” You say honestly. 

“It’s a lot going from isolation to a supermarket. I think you did good, though.” She praises you. 

The door opens as Simon climbs into the passenger seat. He’s barely said a word the entire trip, looming in silence like he used to. Part of it makes your chest hurt, that he would regress so much after what happened, but part of you understands. He had to make a big decision on your behalf, push himself past his comfort zone to save your life. Of course he’d want some distance after everything. You wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t want anything to do with you again. 

It’s far too early when light seeps into your room before disappearing. You keep your eyes closed, willing whoever had just entered your room to vanish before they reach the bed. 

You’re not so lucky, a hand settling on your shoulder and gently shaking you. 

“Time to rise and shine.” A soft voice says. 

You let out an irritated grumble, trying to pull the blanket up over your head. 

“It’s Christmas morning, don’t you want to go open your presents?” That hand shakes you again. 

“Sleep.” You murmur, curling up in a ball under the comforter. 

“It’s already 10 am.” The voice says again, tugging the blankets down. “They let you sleep longer than they wanted.” 

Last night was a rough one. You had laid awake far too late, staring at the ceiling and then you woke from a nightmare in the middle of the night, and it had taken time to calm yourself and fall back asleep. You’re still exhausted, your eyes burning from tiredness. 

You let out a grunt of displeasure, but you know there’s no getting out of this one. You’re going to be getting up no matter what. 

You slowly stretch out your limbs, rubbing your eyes. “Fine.” You yawn, turning over to press your face into the pillow. “Be up soon.” 

“No going back to sleep.” The hand rubs your back gently. “Then I’ll have to send one of them in and they won’t be quite so nice about it.” 

You hum into the pillow, already feeling sleep tugging at your brain. Despite the warning, your mind sinks back into the comforting realm of rest as your body relaxes back into the bed. 

You’re not sure how long you get to rest before the comforter is torn off of you, landing somewhere on the floor. Hands roll you over and sit you up before your brain can even process. You blink the rapidly fading sleep from your eyes as you’re hauled up, flying through the air for a moment before you’re tossed over a broad shoulder. 

“Time tae get up.” Johnny says, packing you towards the light filtering in through the open door. 

You let out a whine as he packs you out into the warmth and the light before lowering you back down on your feet. Hands stop you from falling backwards, Johnny’s t-shirt clad chest coming into view as you blink the blurriness from your vision. 

“Happy Christmas kitten.” He says, grinning brightly at you. 

You mutter something that sounds like ‘Merry Christmas’ back to him. His hands slowly spin you around, turning you to face the tree. 

You blink in surprise as you stare at the many presents on the floor under the tree. You weren’t expecting that much, though you suppose with six people in the house there would be quite a bit. It’s one gift though that draws your attention. It’s seated on the far side of the tree, nothing but a bow on top of its head. 

“You...you got me a giant bear?” You ask in surprise. 

“Was Si’s idea-oof.” Johnny coughs as Simon hits him on the back. 

You walk over to it, pulling the bow off of its head. You’ve missed your giant bear and the comfort it brought you. That’s the one thing you wish you still had from the barracks, that you’ve been wanting for for weeks. It’s bigger than the one at the barracks, the top of its head reaching your chest when you’re standing in front of it. 

You let your hands run over the soft fur, squeezing its plush face. There’s no cameras in this one. You know they’ve checked, ensured its safety. There’s no one looking back at you as you stare into its dark eyes. 

“What do you think?” Kyle asks. 

“I love it.” You say, trying to stop the waver in your voice. The last thing you want is to cry on Christmas. “Thank you.” 

“Come on.” Hands guide you to the chair, letting you sit down. “You’ve got a lot to open.” 

The next hour is a flurry of wrapping paper and bows as presents get passed around. You open up new shoes and clothes, a set of lacy panties courtesy of Johnny, new books, strawberry scented soap and shampoo, and some other comfort items. 

You’ll never forget Johnny’s face when he opens your gift to him, his eyes lighting up as he stares at the soft bear you picked out. It gets you a big hug and a kiss to the cheek from him, and you know he’s going to be sleeping with it tonight. 

You’re exhausted by the time the last present is opened, rubbing your eyes again. You hadn’t even changed out of your pajamas, feeling underdressed compared to the others. Yet at the same time it makes you feel like a kid again, tearing into presents on Christmas morning, excited to see what you got. 

You look around the room, John and Kyle starting to bag up wrapping paper and clean, Johnny on the couch next to Simon holding his bear, Simon sitting near the fire already cracking open one of the books, and Dr. Keller and Ashley on the other couch talking, sitting very close. It brings a small smile to your face. You’re happy for them. It’s nice to see Dr. Keller getting something positive out of this stay at the cottage. 

You can’t help but think that whatever happens next, maybe it might not be so bad after all. 

“Think we should wake her up?” Kyle asks. 

“No.” John says, standing next to him. “It’s the most relaxed I’ve seen her in weeks.” 

They both stare at you where you lay near the tree, draped over your large bear. You’re sound asleep, mouth slightly parted as you snooze away. 

“I think she likes it.” 

“It was a good choice.” John agrees. “It will certainly help make her more comfortable.” 

“I can’t wait to see how she’s going to fit that on the bed.” Kyle says with a soft smile. 

“Well, you certainly won’t be joining her when she does.” John smirks. 

“I think I can live with that.” Kyle says. “Like you said, whatever makes her more comfortable.” 

“I’m glad she’s loosening up a bit.” John says, turning away from you to head back towards the dining table. 

“So am I. She deserves to feel safe and comfortable.” 

“She does. We need to make sure she feels that way all the time, no matter what.” 

“I want to help her.” Kyle says longingly. 

“I know. And we can, but we have to let her lead.” John says. “The best we can do is listen to her and give her what she needs, even if it's not what we think is best. We don’t really know what’s best for her in the end. Only she does.” He reaches up, cupping Kyle’s cheek. “We need to focus on each other too.” 

“I know.” Kyle says, leaning into his touch. “I want to.” 

John’s lips twitch in a small smile. “Good. Because so do I.” 

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[fidogo]

john price x reader, but accidentally running into the 141 after only going on a few dates with Price wc: 0.9K warnings: mentions of sex, age gap, daddy kink, dacryphilia, use of sweetheart + angel a/n: I make such a stupid joke in this about Ghost and Soap LMAO forgive me

The pub was warm, a sweet haven from the chill outside. It was already decked out with cheap garlands and holiday lights, all hung with care. Your friends tear off to the bar to order a few drinks, leaving you to find a booth. 

You slink through the chairs and the tables, making a beeline to the one available booth. You’re about to get nice and cozy when you stop in your tracks. 

He’s here.

You didn’t know John terribly well. The two of you had only gone on a few very successful dates, but you were not close enough to know who he was sitting with.

What you did know was this:

1. John was older than you.

2. He was an absolute gentleman whenever he took you out.

3. He really liked when you called him daddy and liked fucking you until you were in tears (and after...especially after). 

Back to the three men at the table with him. Given their demeanor, it was safe to assume they were also military. One of them was maybe Gaz/Kyle...bu that was it.

Your feet move automatically. (Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wonder if you should stop walking and go back to the booth you found. Maybe it’s too early to meet his friends.)

The men’s boisterous voices quiet as you approach, and the one with a mohawk elbows one who's masked. You ignore them, focusing on John, whose face softens a smidge (and his eyes light up).

“Hi, John.” You’re a little more nervous than you thought you would be. (He had you creaming on his cock and whining like you were in heat the other night. This should be nothing!)

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he answers, standing to kiss your cheek. “What’re you doing here?” His eyes are warm and earnest, immediately putting your anxieties to rest.

“Just getting a drink with my friends before the new year. Things are about to pick up, so we’re trying to just get a drink one last time.” John looks at you so fondly, it warms your heart. Fuck the alcohol, fuck the fire or radiator or whatever’s in here, all you need is John Price to look at you like this to make you warm and toasty. 

“Would you all want to sit with us?” He asks, knocking on the table. You glance at the table full table, trying not to laugh at his friend's expressions (shock and disbelief coupled with some respect for Price). 

Remembering his manners, John introduces you to his men and places one large, strong, hand on the small of your back.  You lean into him slightly, trying to not seem too pleased to be here with him. 

“This is Gaz, Soap, and Ghost,” John introduces. You freeze, confused for a second. You thought..... Oh. Oh.

“Oh.” You say aloud. Stupidly. John quirks a brow at you, prompting you to ramble on.

“I’m sorry. To be candid, I thought Soap and Ghost were your dogs..." you say trailing off at the end.

To be fair, he had only ever been to your place. You stare at Soap and Ghost. Based on the small amount of information you knew, you had just assumed...

John lets out a deep laugh and pulls you closer into his side. 

“What?” Soap yells. He’s no longer checking you out appreciatively and just looks at you in disbelief. “How could you think that, lassie?” 

“Well, John seems like a man who lives alone with two big dogs that have manly names.” You explain, sinking more into John’s side, trying to embed yourself into this warmth.

His thumb lightly strokes your back, sending shivers up your spine. He's so big and strong and... Your brain turns to mush for a second.

“Well, what about Gaz?” Soap gestures to said man, trying desperately to make any ground in this. Your push away your vaguely horny thoughts. You have to lock back in for Kyle's sake. You smile at Gaz and politely extend your hand. 

“No, I knew Kyle was a man. A pleasure to meet you.” Gaz shakes your hand and beams while Soap slumps over, and Ghost looks like he’s rethinking how he got here.

“Need to work on your manners. That way when Captain talks about you, people don’t think you're dogs,” Gaz says drawing out and emphasizing dogs with a cheeky smile. Soap just grumbles. 

“Anyway,” you start to say, turning your attention back to John. “My friends and I are about to take that booth back there, but thank you for the offer. But call me. Or text.” He nods and leans in to press a quick, chaste to your lips. 

“Have a good night, Sweetheart.” You nod before going to finally claim your booth. 

You hear Soap ask why John ‘calls Kyle by his name but not me or Simon’, making you smile. They seem nice.

And then you hear what you assume to be Ghost, say, “Not bad, Captain. Not bad at all.”

You preen at that, chipper mood carrying you through the night, even as your friends bombard you with questions once they’re all seated.

You wave shyly at John and his friends when they eventually file out into the cold. John sends you a wink that has you sinking into the booth. You’re so fucked. 

About 15 minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Can’t stop thinking about you, angel

Apparently, he’s fucked too.

[fireya-x]

skin on skin

This one is for @the-californicationist's writing challenge! ❤️

AO3 Link (full tag list) || masterlist

John Price x Reader

A surprise waits for John when he returns home earlier than you expected…

[1.4k words]

cw: smut, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, creampie

It just felt too fucking good, thinking about your husband’s cock, stretching you, nudging against your walls in all the right places – it had been too long; he had been gone for a week, seven excruciatingly long days without his touch – and your hand rubbing and pinching your swollen clit barely did anything to clench the need you had for him.

The explicit whispers spilling from your earbuds only fueled the fire, painting a scenario of what you so desperately craved.

The sight before him was something else. Almost divine.

You were lost in a haze of self-pleasure, sweating, your face distorted, lost in concentration as the blanket moved frantically where your hand worked against your cunt. It took maybe seconds before his pants felt too tight, his dick responding to the frantic breaths and whimpers that left your lips. 

You hadn’t noticed you were being watched, at least not for a while.

His gaze burned into you, dark and hungry, and as if suddenly very aware of a presence at the door, your eyes shot open. The sudden movement ripped the earbuds out of your ears, and your heart hammered against your chest as your eyes met his.

A wave of heat flooded your cheeks, but before any flicker of embarrassment could form, you saw the raw lust in his eyes. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he murmured, dark and velvety, gently cupping his hardening length through the cargo pants he was wearing. The one thing you craved so severely, hidden only behind a thin layer of fabric.

He slowly stalked towards you, and with one swift motion, the blanket was gone, exposing your naked body and your hand, now frozen between your folds. A predatory smile spread on his lips as his eyes devoured every inch of you, lingering on the glistening wetness between your thighs. He couldn’t resist, and one large calloused hand closed around your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, while the other worked at his belt buckle with practised ease.

“What’s gotten you so worked up, hm?”

“Been thinking about you,” you confessed, breathing heavily, your eyes not leaving his.

His smile widened. He captured the wrist that had been attending to your needs and brought it to his lips. He kissed your knuckles, then took your fingers into his mouth, sucking gently, swirling his tongue around each digit as if savouring the world’s most delicious meal.

Your whole body shivered, and the emptiness between your legs was a painful void, reminding you of what he could be giving you. “Fuck, John, I need you,” you whimpered, the words torn from your throat.

“I can see that.” He released your hand and placed it back between your thighs.

“Please.”

“You were doing just fine on your own.”

“Please.”

He tilted his head as if thinking about it. “No.” With both hands placed on your knees, he pulled your legs apart even wider. He walked around and stood where he got the best view. “Go on. Keep going.”

You were too lost in him now that he was finally there; you didn’t even remember the words to protest. Like a puppet on a string, controlled by his presence alone, your finger parted your folds for him to see, and with one finger, you began drawing little circles on your clit.

“Yes, like that. Just let me watch.”

His voice was the kindling you had needed before; without it, you were unable to get lost in the sensation. No story or audio could do what he did, pulling and pushing the strings that drove your body to pure euphoria, and he didn’t even have to touch you.

He stood before you, a towering figure consumed by lust. He began to stroke himself, the slow, deliberate rhythm mimicking your movements. Your eyes darted between the intensity of his gaze and the mesmerising movement of his hand on himself. His thumb brushed over the tip, drawing a groan from deep within his chest. “Yes, just like that,” he groaned, his eyes fixed on your hand working between your legs. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane.”

You increased the rhythm; your fingers moved faster, mirroring the frantic pace of his hand on his cock, your gaze holding his. “I was imagining your fingers here,” you confessed, your voice breathless, “imagining your mouth, your tongue…”

A guttural groan ripped from his throat. “Tell me,” he begged, “tell me what you were thinking about before...”

“You were…mmm,” you sucked in a breath as the pleasure built. “You had me bent over – fucking me so hard and deep I saw stars –”

“Fuck,” he hissed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

He suddenly moved, his body crushing yours, skin on skin, pressing you into the mattress. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, a brand against your sensitised flesh. His face was buried in your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You hadn’t even noticed his shirt was gone; your senses were overwhelmed by him. The hard planes of his chest, slick with sweat, seared into you, his muscles flexing and shifting against your body. Your breasts were crushed against him, and your nipples tightened against the rasp of his chest hair.

You could feel everything - the strength of his arms on your sides, the wiry hair of his forearms tickling your skin, the frantic drumbeat of his heart echoing your own.

He ground his hips against you, once, twice; as if to test whether he could still move while keeping your body flush against his. “Come on, you can do it. Keep going. Faster.”

Your body was writhing, shaking; you could have sworn your clit must have been screaming at the abuse – the peak was right there, so painstakingly close –

“You can do it. Hm? You don’t need my cock.”

You felt his hips move against you; he was fucking his hand beneath him, pressing you both into the mattress. With each thrust, the tip of his hot length moved against the skin of your thigh like a burning brand, creating friction that had him panting into your ear. Your overstimulated nerves were crying for release, but you couldn’t reach it.

“I do!” You almost screamed, frustrated.

“No, you don’t.” 

The heat between your legs was unbearable, your entire being focused on the pleasure building within you. He leaned even closer, pressing a kiss against your temple. “You were so desperate, you would have fucked yourself without me here. So come on, do it.”

“Pleasepleaseplease…” you begged, your voice barely coherent.

“Yes, that’s it, dirty little thing. Mmm.”

You focused on nothing else but the moans in your ear, the touch of his cock against your thigh, his hips stuttering against yours, and the finger you had managed to somehow push into your aching hole.

“Come for me, love.” His lips brushed against your ear, and his teeth nipped at your lobe. A ragged moan ripped from his throat as he thrust hard, his body pressing against yours. The friction was unbearable, exquisite, pushing you over the precipice. “Be a good girl and come –”

Your world shattered. A searing wave of pleasure ripped through you, your body arching involuntarily, your stomach pressing hard against his. He groaned, a primal sound torn from his chest, as he felt the ripple of your orgasm against him. The involuntary clench of your muscles, the frantic thrum of your pulse against his skin, the moans caught in your lungs as your chest crashed against him.

He wasted no time sheathing himself inside you; the feeling of him filling you, stretching you, was almost too much to bear. He rode out your climax, the involuntary clenching of your walls around him a sweet torment that sent him spiralling over the edge. He spilled deep inside you, so hard he thought he might faint, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips as he finally came home.

“Hi,” you whispered after coming down from your high and as your hand threaded through his sweat-dampened hair. He pressed a kiss to your belly, then to your breasts, before finally meeting your gaze.

“Hey.”

“You’re home earlier than I thought.” You smiled, a soft, content smile that reached your eyes.

He shrugged, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Got myself a nice surprise.”

“Next time,” you teased, your fingers tightening in his hair, “just fuck me when I’m already begging for it?”

He chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest. He leaned down, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “Where’s the fun in that?” 

[girlsoutlate]

the lead up to price sharing his birdie with his men, and badly hidden curiousity on their behalf

i tried just writing the meeting but i found it difficult so i wrote this as a little inbetween piece, enjoy

fem reader described as having hair that can be tied up, slight age gap (older price) THE BOYS ARE NOSYYY

the 141 can be considered nosy by nature, but have the excuse of it being their job. some are more open than others about their home life. ghost seemed to live quite solitary whereas gaz and soap had shared family pictures. nevertheless, there was some idea of each others lives outside of the military. but one person stayed an enigma: captain john price. maybe because it felt strange to know so much about their superior as well as role model. price had never shown an aversion to talking about his life, but the 141 had never asked- shocking to say the least. they all had their own theories. gaz thought he used to be married but it ended in a disastrous divorce- yet there was no trace of any mrs price. soap guessed he liked the company of pretty women, if you catch his drift. but never heard any boasting from his captain. ghost concluded he was similar to him, perhaps with a few more friends and a family, there was no reason to think otherwise. yet none of them guessed there was gorgeous thing like you john was all to eager to return home to each night, until now.

the 141 had been seeing signs of a woman close to their captain for about a month now. it started with a faint hint of fruity perfume under his cigar musk and aftershave, that was out of place on such a man. gaz pointed it out, making the rest of the 141 laugh. however it was forgotten about by the next hour, no one thought anymore of it. then the next day a hairband around prices wrist. he must have forgotten to take it off after you taught him how to plait your hair the night before. it was a work in progress. the simple black band was noticed by ghost while exchanging paperwork. he brushed it off despite finding it a little odd. the first piece of solid evidence they find of the captains mystery woman was his lockscreen.

they were in their common room, taking a break from the never ending pile of paperwork. squashed on the small couches they were joking about the new recruits, which was one of their many favourite topics to complain about. the hum of fluorescent lights was drowned out by their banter, mugs with dregs of coffee in them and a half empty pack of fags sat on the table. while talking, prices phone lit up with a notification. soap, the nosy shite, immediately noticed his lockscreen. a picture of a woman with her back to the camera: gossamer hair and skin that glowed in the sunny view she was admiring. with an eyebrow quirked, soap turned to his captain and asked too casually "whose tha'?". without missing a beat price replied smugly "the missus". for once soap shut up, and looked at the others with his mouth slightly agape, checking if they heard the same thing. ghost let out a grunt which they now knew to be a laugh. gaz's eyes were growing wider by the second. price seemed done and returned to whatever the previous subject was, which had quickly become forgotten. at that point gaz, soap and ghost were a pack of dogs with a bone. who was prices pretty birdie?

over the next month or so the boys had heightened interest on their captains home life. of course they cared about the details of the captains weekend plans, did he fancy going to that quite pricey restaurant that had opened up? it was necessary for them to ask the source of his dinner that evening, did he know the recipe? the competitive streak in them was made apparent sooner rather than later, all fighting to get more important information than the others. even though, if anything was discovered it was immediately shared. one day gaz stumbled upon gold.

he was in prices office, relatively spacious with a small couch in the corner and a bookcase in another. whilst chatting about an upcoming meeting, a buzz emanated from prices phone. before gaz could read the caller id price snatched it up and grumbled 'wont be a minute'. thinking it was a work call, gaz was surprised to hear his captains voice suddenly becoming as soft as it could. turning to face the window johns small smile wasn't missed as he murmured "hi love, how are ya?" staying still and quiet as to not get kicked out, he listened to the chirpy voice that could be faintly heard through the tinny phone. with a content sigh john replied 'steak for dinner? tha's perfect'. a wide grin crept on to gaz's face. a giggle and another sentence could be heard before price replied "of course i'll pick tha' up for dessert" both of you let out a small laugh when john continued "are ya tryna kill me?". just when gaz thought this couldn't get any better, price replied to you "i'll see ya at home sweet'eart". as he hung up and turned back around the sergeant found it near impossible to dampen his grin.

john had told you of his boys' detective work, which he considered shoddy at best. as you were flitting around the kitchen that evening, you were bemused at your boyfriends recount of the day. when he described his sergeants face after the phonecall you let out a loud laugh, bouncing off the tiles of your cosy kitchen. john sat by the table while you busied yourself by the wooden counter, as he nursed his beer he couldn't help but take in your appearance. tendrils of loose hair curled around your ears, escaping from your hair that was loosely tied back. although hidden by one of his tops and comfy jogging bottoms, he could make out the slopes and peaks of your body that he was all too familiar with. as you turned to face him, he was drawn closer to the twinkling reflection of light in your eyes. before he realised it he was towering over you, eyes raking over your form with the beer abandoned on the table. you looked up at him, hand on your hip. "john are you even listening to me?" you asked, face comically blank. "sorry doll, what was that?" he huskily replied, slightly dazed. 'pass me a can. please?' you asked, adding a awfully fake cheesy smile at the end.

pressing a kiss to your lips as an apology, he was about to pull away before you deepened it. pulling his barrel of a body against yours, his mouth slightly opened. the bitter taste of beer and cigars mingled with sweet cider from yours. pulling back, slightly breathless, johns blown pupils met yours. "yer so gorgeous, don't know wha' i did to deserve ya" he muttered, the closeness of his voice making you slightly weak. as his calloused thumb brushed over your warm cheek you coyly commented 'what would your men think if they saw you like this'?. for a moment john faltered, thinking about how they would feel if they saw him being intimate with someone like you- let alone how he would feel. his flushed cheeks were the subject of your teasing for the rest of that night.

while eating your dinner you brought up the 141 since you were already talking about them. you knew your boyfriend felt a responsibility to look after his girl, despite you being more than capable. whenever his deployment was brought up it was usually by him. telling you where he went and anything that he thought might interest you, from an aspect of their culture to a cute cat he saw. sometimes he brought trinkets back. but never about what he had done, or what he had ordered to be done. so the members of the 141 were more characters in your head than real people. you knew their names and basic personalitybut that was all. so when you asked "how much do they know about me?" it was rather tentative. john paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, thinking. shaking his head he replied decidedly "not much, besides y' mine. they're nosy fuckers, practically begged me to show them a proper picture of you". you hummed in response, finishing your mouthful of food. quietly you muttered "maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they knew more". letting the question hang in the air, you picked up another forkful of food which went down your throat in a lump. john was silent, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

he considered your proposal, if his girl was concerned then it was worth thinking about. plainly he asked "why?", trusting you to be open. "well, you spend a lot of time with them- i'm not jealous. its just that.. you trust these men with your life, i don't even know what they look like." pausing for a second you continued "its more for my sake than theirs. if i knew them past their names it would make it, well, easier to be apart from you for so long. i know you can look after yourself, but i- i'm always gonna worry about you." with that said, the air in the kitchen grew heavier. you kept your eyes glued on to your plate as johns gaze from across the table burned in to you.

the captain realised that you wanted to know more, for your wellbeing rather than the 141's. now, he realised it was quite a simple conclusion. he imagined his girl cold and alone in an empty house, no idea where he was or who he was with, for weeks at a time. five minute phone calls spent trying to find better service than speaking to each other. no idea who john was fighting or how difficult it was. no clue about who he was trusting his life with in your absence. how on earth could he not expect you to have an issue with it? he kicked himself, he made his sweetheart worry. he could have prevented it and he didn't, too focused on a successful mission than the only thing he wanted to return home for. price knew this had to change, or risk isolating you even more than he does because of his job.

john stood up, chair screeching on the kitchen tiles while he sighed "fuckin 'ell i'm an idiot". gathering both plates and putting them on the counter, he ran a hand across his face and turned to you. just as you took a breath to take it all back, john interrupted you: "you should meet 'em". you cocked your head to the side, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "whats changed your mind?" you enquired, curious about the sudden change. replying half-heartedly, still deep in thought "just thinkin' about you here on your own, worryin'". taking a deep breath he stated "i'll talk to them about it. you". walking up to him with a small smile on your face you leant up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, beard tickling your chin. "thankyou john" you whispered. reaching up to get the plates the rumble of his voice deep in his chest saying "anythin' for you doll" reverberated against your back.

as he turned to get the dessert out of the fridge the most pressing question yet entered his mind: how would he ask the 141 to meet his birdie- without them going mad?

thankyou for reading :))) each like, comment and reblog is greatly appreciated. this is more for context to the main meeting that has been stuck in my head for ages. if you liked this keep an eyes out!!!

heyyy guys long time no see. had a crazy two weeks, found out my boyfriend was practically cheating on me for the last month of our relationship and he already has a new girlfriend after two weeks. apart from that im grand. sorry it took so long for me to post properly again, thankyou for being patient

[readwritealldayallnight]

On the Nice List

Captain John Price x Reader

wc: 1.5k words

warnings/tags: fluff, sprinklings of mature content but nothing explicit

He was distracted

Or rather you were distracting him

Already feeling disconcerted, he’d gone and done something he swore he’d never do, something he didn’t want to have to do, he’d brought his work home with him

Well, his paperwork at least

He’d promised you he’d make every possible effort to be home with you on Christmas Eve, and as the 23rd rolled around and he’d glanced at the stacks upon stacks of files waiting for him atop his desk, he knew the only way he’d be making it through the front door in time was with his work tucked snugly into his bag

He knew you would have understood either way, having grown used to the ever changing schedule that the Captain lived by, but all you had asked for was for your lover to be home for the holidays, and how could he deny you such a simple request without at least trying

Now however, sat in his home office with papers scattered haphazardly across the desk along with a pounding headache threatening to form behind his tired ocean eyes, he realizes he should have known it wouldn’t be so easy to get through his work unbothered

He’s got the door more than slightly ajar, the sounds of soft Christmas music carrying throughout the house towards his quiet space, and every few minutes or so, there’s you, strolling past the crack in the door to steal glances at your husband and pretend you’re doing no such thing

It’s been nearly two hours since he had told you he’d be nearly finished, but you both knew that was a but of a generous timeframe

That’s why you had no issue skipping about the house in the meanwhile, humming carols to yourself, wrapping last minute gifts, you’d even been able to get a head start on the cookie dough mix that had to chill in the fridge overnight, secretly hoping that each time you walked past John’s office would be the time he finally pushed himself out of his chair and came to join you

As the minutes ticked by however, you decided that rather than growing impatient, you’d become creative

And so each time you strolled past his door, your pace was slower and slower, and maybe you were wearing less and less clothing, who could really know?

John chuckled to himself, knowing you were up to no good out there, but any remark he might have wanted to make was caught in his throat when you pulled out the next trick up your sleeve

In nothing more than a short silky robe, you’d plopped yourself down in the reading chair perfectly angled for your husband to see you from his office and began reading a book

Innocent enough

Apart from the fact that in your other hand, you were holding an unwrapped candy cane

The seasoned soldier nearly did a double take as he watched you not to subtly bring the candy to your over extended tongue before wrapping your plump wet lips around it, letting out a satisfied hum in the process

To his credit, John did at least try to glance back down to his paperwork a handful of times after that, but seeing you suck on the candy cane in a way that sure to knock you off the nice list, he couldn’t help but drop his pen to adjust himself through his pants

You had your eyes closed for a moment as you really tried to oversell it, lips still wrapped around the sweet treat, when your ears picked up on the creaking of John’s office chair along with the small grunt of effort he made any time he stood

Feigning innocence you opened your eyes, letting the candy slip out with a ‘plop’ as you looked up to find the Captain slowly approaching you, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes and a growing tent in his briefs

“Ye know love,” he said, not so subtly reaching to palm himself and grinning wider when he caught your eyes follow his movements. “Think ye might end up on the big man’s naughty list with this kind o’ behaviour.”

You smiled coyly up at him, reaching a leg out to poke his muscular thigh with your toes when he stepped close enough. “I have no idea what you mean, Captain.” You added the title, knowing how it stirred something deeper within him to hear it fall from your lips.

“Careful sweetheart,” he warned you, something far more than mischievous flashing through his eyes this time as she smiled down at you. “If we didn’t have company comin’ soon I’d be havin’ you show me whether you’re naughty or nice.” His large, warm hand caught your ankle and began massaging every inch of skin he could reach.

“Uh oh,” You said with a small giggle, leaning further back in your seat to allow him a better grasp on your leg, never one to turn down his affectionate touch. “Think we might have to adjust your list and ask him to get you a pair of reading glasses, my darling. Company doesn’t come until tomorrow.”

“That so?” He asked, the smirk on his face telling you everything you needed to know; he’d just gained the upper hand again. He glanced down towards his wrist watch before looking back to you with a slight raised brow. He gave you a firm pat on the thigh before reaching for your book, plucking it out of your grasp. “Might want to go put some clothes on my darling. Just in case I’m right for once.” He teased you with a wink of his eye, helping pull you up to your feet.

“Think that might be the first time you ask me to put my clothes back on, John.” You tease him back, slowly making your way towards the stairs.

“Don’t need anyone else knowing how good my wife looks. Specially my Sergeant.” He mumbled the last part, but even as you made your way up the stairs, you’d caught the end of his sentence.

“Sergeant?” You questioned, now truly confused. You didn’t have much more of a chance to question him however, when there was a prompt knock at the front door.

“Go on, love. I’ve got it.” Your husband replied before he disappeared out of sight headed to answer the door. You made your way to your shared bedroom and changed as fast as you could, curious if not slightly bewildered as to who John would have invited over on Christmas Eve Eve, of all days.

Making your way back down the stairs towards the front entry way, you could hear a familiar booming voice echoing through your home.

“Oh! Hi Kyle.” You greet the handsome Sergeant with a warm smile. Even though you’re confused as to why he’s here, you’re always happy to see him.

“Hey Mrs Price.” He responds with a wave, still standing in the open doorway.

“Why don’t you come inside? I know it’s cold out there.” You offer, going to take his coat from him, but John reaches out to you instead and wraps an arm around your waist.

“Afraid he can’t stay very long tonight, love.” John answers, his deep voice rumbling through to you where you’re pressed against him.

“Just dropped by to wish you happy holidays.” Kyle informs you with a smile on his face, which stretches further when you raise a questioning brow at him, knowing he didn’t drive all the way out here just to say hello. “Might have something in the truck for ye, as well. Give me a minute.” He says before retreating back down the front steps and towards the parked truck.

You turn to face your husband, a chuckle rising through him at the confusion painted across your expression, his other arm coming around to hold you even tighter against his chest.

“What have you roped him into now, huh?”

“Oh, you’ll see, love.”

Actually, you hear it before you see it.

A small yapping sound growing closer and closer, until the noise is too insistent to ignore, turning away from John’s hold on you to face the door again, where you spot Garrick strolling towards you with a surprise in tow.

“You didn’t-”

“Oh, but he did.” Kyle says with an all too proud smirk, letting go of the dog’s leash as he steps into your home, sure to shut the door behind him this time. You’re crouching down to your knees before you know it, coming down to eye level with the furry creature that’s just strolled into your home.

“John how did- when did- what?!” You struggle to form a logical sentence as your eyes dart from your husband, to his accomplice, back down to the ‘surprise’ you certainly had not been expecting.

“He’s a rescue.” John explains, coming down to his own knees next to you, reaching a hand out to run over the dog’s head. “He’d been gifted as a puppy a few Christmases ago. Got given up when his owners discovered they don’t stay small forever.”

You shake your head in bewilderment, looking into this little guy’s big deep eyes, your own hands coming out to lovingly pet him as well. You and John had toyed with the idea of getting a pet for a while now, but had never been able to commit to the idea, mainly because of John’s work, knowing that most of the responsibility for caring for an animal would be falling to you, something you’d promised you had no qualms about.

“Old mate o’ mine works at the pound.” Kyle goes on to add, arms crossed across his chest as he watches his Captain and his wife greet their newest family member. “Said this guy’s been waitin’ on a home for a while now.”

“I thought we could give him one, love. A home.” John whispers to you, your eyes meeting in a hushed, intimate moment, both your hands still running across the dog’s fur, an unspoken conversation happening between the two of you. Your eyes are starting to well with tears, and John’s own eyes are as soft as you’ve seen them in a long time, any ideas of paperwork left far behind.

You offer John an enthusiastic nod, worried that your voice will betray the emotions seeping through you should you try to answer him otherwise. You can’t help the overjoyed laugh that erupts from you though, when the dog starts licking at your fingers, picking up on the emotions in the room.

“Well what do we name you, huh?” You ask, leaning into John’s side when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to press a kiss to your hairline.

“I mean, I’m quite fond of Gaz, if I get to have any say in this.”

Certainly not my best work but really wanted to write something for Price and a little something for the upcoming holidays

Almost officially on holiday break! I work the 23rd and 24th, but then I’m off until the New Year so there should be more consistent uploads coming soon!!! Really hoping to wrap up the ‘Wife at First Sight’ series and post part 3 of ‘A Stranger is a Friend You Haven’t Met Yet’

Thanks for the read as always

- M 🫶🏻

[doeidawn]

doeidawn's kinkmas day eight ❆ spanking

KINKMAS 2024 | PREVIOUS DAY | NEXT DAY

a little mishap at the company christmas party has you subjected to punishment—directly from the hand of your boss. 2.9k

❆ pairing: boss!price x assistant!fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; inappropriate workplace conduct; slight dom/sub dynamic (use of "sir"); spanking (obviously); fingering

Working as the assistant to the head of one of the biggest companies in England invited stress that few could understand. Add in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, and that stress increased tenfold. Then add in a Christmas party that said corporate head expects you to both organize and attend on top of your regular holiday duties, and the stress might give you a heart attack before the week ends.

It was a miracle that the whole thing managed to go as smoothly as it did. The decorations turned out good, everyone was pleasantly surprised by the secret Santa turnout, and the food was nice. Even the most introverted interns stopped by to chat. By all measures, it was a success. Which meant your boss would happily wear the success and (hopefully) give you a nice bonus for all the hard work.

Until the celebration started to wind down and you spilled nearly half of your wine onto him. Onto his very nice and no-doubt-expensive dress shirt—a white one, at that. You could hear the notice of termination being typed up as soon as you realized who you had bumped into. 

Ever the charmer, he took it like a champ in front of the gaggle of people. Not for your own sake, you imagine; the man had to save face in front of his employees whether it was your fault or not. Still, that didn’t stop you from feeling positively mortified. Cursing yourself for even pouring a drink when you should’ve been making sure everything stayed perfect. So much for a little alcohol to alleviate the mountain of stress on your shoulders.

Everyone else seemed to forget about it rather quickly. And as the festivities died down and people started to filter out, there was no unwanted attention brought your way. But, seeing as the party was your responsibility in the first place, you knew you’d have to stay after and clean up. The few moments alone would’ve been nice…if only you truly were alone.

You couldn’t be mad at John for being a good boss. He stayed over nearly every damn day, worked later than most just to make sure things turned out right. He showed up to the office party because he cared about his employees. Surely you couldn’t damn him for that. But when he sidled past you with a quick “can I see you in my office real quick?” in your ear, you wished he were the careless type to leave early and forget that you even existed. 

You wasted as much time as possible just to avoid seeing him. Mingled with every last person who hung around until they had no excuse left to stay. You tidied up counters and swept the floor best you could. You figured maybe you could walk someone to their car and get yourself out of a reprimand that way. Alas, you realized that it wouldn’t be a good look if the assistant didn’t fulfill all of her boss’s requests. 

You stand outside the door to his office for a good minute, just staring at the wood before you. You’re fully prepared to be scolded. To be ridiculed and belittled and insulted. Not that John had ever done that before—he wasn’t the type to act that way—but you felt so worthless that you figured he might as well.  

Mustering the last of your courage and a hint of apathy, you knock on the door. When you hear his voice invite you in, you hesitate before turning the knob and slinking in. It wasn’t a conscious choice to move slow; it was like you wanted to make yourself seem small and meek as if it’d convince him to take pity on you.

There he was at his desk, pushing a paper to the side in favor of looking your way. The blotch of red wine staining his shirt was painfully obvious. You silently prayed for whatever washing machine would get overworked trying to clean it out.

“You look terrified.” John’s voice cuts through the silence and nearly startles you. You hadn’t even realized how tense your shoulders were. “Everythin’ alright?”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “I…I dunno, sir. Is everything alright?”

“Just fine. The party was nice. Very well done.” He leans back in his chair and you cringe when more of that wine stain comes into view. It almost felt like he was taunting you with it. “Though I shouldn’t expect anythin’ less from you.”

You nod, more out of relief than agreement with his statement. Muttering a small “thank you”, you shift awkwardly on your feet. You expected a scolding, but he was pleasantly warm. There was no anger or upset in his eyes. He didn’t even seem disappointed. 

“What’s wrong?”

The question is surprising, but it’s the tone of sincere curiosity that bewilders you. Not annoyance, or inconvenience. He wanted to know what was wrong, wholeheartedly. It takes you a minute to swallow your pride and give him a half-assed shrug.

“Nothing, sir. Just…stressed, is all.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was probably the mildest way to say you were frustrated and tense and angry and just about every other feasible human emotion.

John makes a sound at that. He shifts in his chair, inching it back from his desk. “‘Course you are. You poor thing…I’ve asked a lot of you lately, haven’t I?” You didn’t know if the smart thing was to agree or deny, but you wanted to sigh with relief that he finally seemed to notice. “That's not very fair of me, huh?”

Did he want you to agree? You decide not to chance it. Instead, you stare at your feet like they’ve become the most interesting thing in the world. Anything felt better than looking him in the eye right now. 

“So, what do you do with all that stress? How d’you manage it, I mean?”

It was a miracle he thought you handled it at all. If you came off well-put together, it certainly didn’t reflect the worry that consumed your private life. “I…don’t, really. I just sort of deal with it, I suppose.”

He snorts, an amused shake of his head. “Well, that’s not very healthy, is it?” Definitely not. But he didn’t know the half of it. “Someone ought to help you manage that stress. I can’t have my assistant on edge all the time.”

Unless he planned on including therapy in your benefits, you didn’t see that working out any time soon. You give him a tight-lipped smile, awkwardly nodding along. Was this what he wanted to talk about..? Scolding you for being stressed was certainly preferable to bringing up your blunder at the party, but that didn’t mean you felt comfortable with it. 

“C’mere,” he beckons you closer with a gesture and a cock of his head. You take a few hesitant steps towards his desk, but he grumbles and gestures again. “Closer. Get over here.”

You freeze for a moment before complying. Why John could possibly want you so close was unknown to you, and your slow steps betrayed your hesitance. You stopped when you stood just before him, mere inches away from his body. It wasn’t unlike him to get close—he seemed to like crowding you—but it felt different this time. 

“Listen,” he starts, reaching out to rest a hand on your waist. “I need you at your best. Your job is very important, and I can’t accept anything less than perfect.” You don’t even notice the slight nod of your head. It was a reflexive response to agree with him, even if it meant agreeing to your own faults. His heavy palm slides down to your hip, squeezing you gently. “And if you don’t give me your best, consequences are in order.”

Your heart sinks. You expect him to dock your pay or pile on ten extra responsibilities to your work load—something that’ll make you feel even worse, no doubt. But when he looks up at you, there’s no sincerity or disappointment in his eyes. Instead, there’s something…eager. Almost like he’s excited when he starts to speak again.

“Seein’ as you’re my assistant, I think a heavy handed approach should suffice.” He squeezes your hip to further his emphasis as he leans forward. He’s so close you can feel his breath against your waist, his lips nearly brushing against you. “Somethin’ a little more personal.”

Oh.

You swallow thickly, your heart beating so hard you fear it might burst out of your chest. Too many emotions conflicted with each other—relief that he wasn’t angry, worried about the implications, excited that he’s propositioned you. It wasn’t rare that you got a little excited thinking about John. He was an attractive man, and the authority only added to the appeal.

HR be damned, you’d think yourself a fool if you never took the offer. “Whatever you think is best, sir.” You didn’t intend for your voice to sound so breathy and coy, but you didn’t fight it. You rest a hand on his shoulder, gripping his shirt tight when his hand suddenly moves to grope your ass. 

“Oh, I know what’s best for my assistant." He leans back, his hands falling away from your body in a movement that almost makes you whine at the loss. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt before patting his thigh invitingly. “She needs bent over and taught about consequences, yeah?”

“Yeah.” The word comes out in a squeak before you can stop yourself. One last look in his eyes and you were ready to give him whatever he wanted.

Taking his implication as your instruction, you bend yourself over his lap, bracing your hands on his thigh once you’re in place. You can hear your own heartbeat, pounding in your head and mingling with every thought telling you this is a bad idea. But then you hear him groan and feel a heavy palm skirt along your back and every doubtful thought is drowned by something much more desperate. 

“This is my favorite skirt of yours, you know that?” John mutters while splaying his thick fingers along your backside. Of course you knew he liked this one—he was never very subtle about it. It’s why you wore it to the party in the first place, only now you wish you’d wore something more flattering than a Christmas sweater to go with it. 

He tugs your skirt up and over your ass without ceremony, scrunching it at your waist until you’re fully exposed. He runs a hand over your soft, pliant skin, squeezing just enough to see the fat spill over his fingers. You gasp at the rough touch but make no effort to move away. If anything, you find yourself arching into the needy movements. 

Then, his hand pulls back and comes down in a sharp smack that takes your breath away. He groans again, watching your body recoil. “Yeah, this’ll do just fine.” He punctuates the thought with another spank. “We’ll see how many you can take before you learn your lesson.”

Another sharp smack of his palm makes you whine. You nod in agreement, but you don’t think he’s much concerned with your input at this point. Two more harsh spanks hit and you hiss when he runs his palm over the spot of impact. The dull sting already throbs under your flushed skin, aching more when he gropes your ass in a tight squeeze. The next spank draws a moan from your lips, the sharp impact sending an unexpected wave of pleasure directly between your legs.

John hooks a finger under the seam of your panties, pulling the fabric to expose more of your flushed skin. “You’re doin’ good, takin’ it well.”

You pause, waiting for a spank that never comes. “Thank you, sir,” you manage to stumble out.

Smack! You jerk at that, biting your lip to stifle a pathetic sound. “You know I’m not mad at you, right?” His movements are as soft as his voice, gently massaging the welt forming on your sensitive skin. “I can buy a hundred more shirts, but I can’t replace you. Certainly not when you’ve shown me how well you can take what I give you.” You whimper at the next sudden spank. “Such a good assistant for me, and I haven’t given you the break you deserve have I?”

You’re not quite sure what the right answer is, but you hesitantly shake your head. The next strike motivates you to verbalize your answer. “No, sir. I haven’t gotten a break.”

“You poor thing…” You barely notice the movement of his hand as it slides off of your battered skin. It’s not until he slides his fingers over the center of your panties that you react, gasping at the sudden (and much needed) pressure. You hadn’t even realized how wet you’d gotten, and judging by his excited groan, neither had he. “You need a break from all that stress, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pulling the sodden fabric to the side, John exposes your wet cunt and hums in satisfaction when he sees the slick glistening on your sensitive flesh. He grabs you on either side, using his fingers to spread you apart. One hand pulls back to spank your ass a final time, and he watches you clench at the impact. Two thick fingers run up and down your slit, gathering your wet arousal, before prodding at your entrance.

He sinks in with a groan and the sudden fullness takes your breath away. You curse and arch your back, rocking your hips onto his fingers. Your nails dig into his thighs, but he doesn’t seem to pay it much attention. He buries his fingers to the knuckle before pumping them in and out in a steady pace that makes your knees weak. 

“Christ, love, you are tense. This cunt’s fuckin’ squeezin’ me.” His fingers press deep on each thrust, curled and angled just right to make you push against his intrusion. “Is this what you needed? Someone to stuff this pussy full?”

You hum a soft “mm-hmm” and nod your head. But John isn’t satisfied with that; his free hand comes down in a sharp spank that forces a surprised yelp from your lips. “Fuck—yes, sir,” you sputter.

“Yeah, you just need a proper fuck to keep you goin’ huh?” His free hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your head back until he could see your face. “Fuck, I’ll keep you late every day, bend you over my desk and fuck you as much as you need. Is that what you want?”

Hearing him say it was one thing, but seeing those filthy words come from your boss’s mouth made you clench around his fingers. “Yes…yes, sir,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading as you look up at him. “W-want you to fuck me.”

“Fuckin’ hell…”

Your head lolls forward when he releases your jaw. His hand fucks into you rougher, quick and sharp pumps that make you keen, almost like he’s too impatient to keep going slow. He bullies that sensitive spot inside you until you start to tense and quiver on his lap. His heavy palm brushes over your welted skin, kneading your ass just to hear the whimpers it draws from you. 

You hold onto his thigh, nails digging into his pants as you try to hold yourself steady. “J-John, m’gonna…fuck…” It’s near impossible to squeak out the words with the constant pressure filling your cunt. 

“I know, love. You’re gonna cum for your boss, aren’t you?” 

“Mm-hmm—”

“Yeah, gonna soak my fuckin’ lap with it? Make another mess on me?”

It sounded filthy when he put it like that. And while getting reminded of your embarrassing blunder at the Christmas party was the last thing you wanted to think about right now, you couldn’t deny that it certainly motivated you to make another mess. Especially when he was so eager for this one.

You couldn’t even form the words to properly warn him. You were sure he could tell by the tight pull of your slick walls around his fingers that you were toppling over that edge fast. Between his encouragement and the perfect fit of his digits, he was coaxing out all of your pent-up energy. And it hit you hard.

You were a quivering, dripping mess on his lap. Gushing around his fingers, clenching tight like you were trying to suck him in deeper. Your knees were so weak you weren’t sure you could stand back up. John slid his fingers out and delivered one final spank to your flushed skin. You think he mutters a soft ‘good girl’, but you find it hard to hear him properly as you catch your breath.

Raising off of his lap, you adjust your clothes and pull your skirt back into its proper position. Your legs are weak and your ass stings with every movement. You aren’t sure whether to thank him or apologize—so you settle for neither. The silence sits heavy in the room as you trudge to the door to take your leave. You could worry about facing him next week when you were alone, in the comfort of your home, and thinking straight.

Then, you hear him call out your name as soon as your hand touches the doorknob. You turn just enough to see his figure in your peripheral. Still sat with his legs spread and his sleeves rolled up, but now with a rather obvious hand palming himself through his pants. If you had any less restraint, you might’ve walked yourself back over to him. 

“I’ll see you Monday, yeah?” You nod at the sound of his gruff voice. “Do me a favor n’ wear that skirt again, sweetheart.”

You smile, mainly to yourself. “Yes, sir.”

[the-californicationist]

WANT ME TO BEG!!!!!????? AHHHHHHH!!! HOT!!!!

Panties and Parties

John makes you jealous. You make him pay by only letting him watch. (Shorter version, longer version is here.)

Pairing: Captain Price x fem!reader

Rating: mature, explicit, MDNI

Warnings: voyeurism, mutual stuff, panty sniffing, smutty AF. NSFW under the cut.

You wiled away the last hour of the party in a sour and short mood. The attention John got from the women at the party put you in a foul mood. Once the drawn out goodbyes were done, you and John waited for the driver.

“You wanna tell me what that was all about?” John puffs his cigar, taking short drags, the end pulsing orange.

“Why not ask your new friend?”

He grunts an affirmative.

“These events are bullshit but they go a long way if I just play the role. And that includes having to be interested in some generals’ daughters’ non profit organisation. I couldn’t give a single fuck,” he turns to you “but I need to look like I do.”

“I get it, you’re at work, it just doesn’t look like you are.” You drawl. “And she was so annoying.”

“That she was.”

Price opens the taxi door and helps you in, closing the door once you were all in. He fills the back seat, his dress pants are neatly ironed, his legs spread. He’s deliberately touching your leg. He thinks he’s in the clear.

John gives the driver the address, his face awash in the vibrant colours of the city, neon lights separated by dark alley ways fill your window.

You wriggle around in the seat, you look like you’re adjusting your dress.

“Lucky for you I didn’t make an idiot of myself.” You touch him high on his thigh. “Or you.” He lets out the most imperceptible grunt.

“I was in the firing line a few times…” he side eyes you.

“Was? You still are.” You feel his cock hardening under your inquisitive palm. You’re looking out the window, he can only see your cheekbones, the dangly earrings he bought you reflecting what little light there was.

“I know it wasn’t the best night. Thank you for not going ballistic on her. Or me.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” You squeeze his cock.

“Well I don’t know if I deserve this.” He says quietly, eyes hooded.

“You don’t.” You let go of his clothed hard on and when he looks down, he sees you’ve left your black lace thong on his lap. You had pushed down with your thong and the wetness had left a slight smear on his trousers.

You can hear his breathing, heavy and punctuated, he shoots a look to the unaware driver and then pockets the fabric, clearing his throat.

“Sweethear-” he starts.

You shush him, your finger goes from your pouted lips to his pulsing cock.

When you arrive at John’s flat, you admire how he surreptitiously adjusts his cock, an impressive feat for one so well endowed in tight dress pants.

He pays the driver and you petulantly wait for him to open the car door for you. You were in this role too deeply to let up now.

“Darling.” He groans when you cup his manhood as he leads you from the car.

Your heels click in the cool night and John follows you dutifully into the elevator. You run your hands through his thick hair, roughing it up.

You walk ahead of him and when you get to his door, you lean against it and face him, you watch him walk towards you with the keys.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grits out, missing the keyhole several times because you pulled your dress straps down to expose your swollen breasts.

He’s large enough to cover you so his neighbours across the hall don’t get a free view, he slams the key in and you both tumble into the hall way.

He holds you firmly by your hips and pushes his cock against you, kissing you desperately, feverishly.

You pull away from the kiss and his hands with some effort, you gesture for him to follow you.

“Don’t take that off.”

“You want me to fuck you in the uniform, darling?” He smirks, his accent getting stronger. On any other given day, you would have said yes. But tonight was different.

“Something like that, take a seat.” You point to the arm chair that was in the corner of the master bedroom, some 2 meters away from the foot of the bed. Thinking he’s about to get some lap action, he relaxes into the seat, legs spread invitingly.

He moans as you place one of your shoes onto his thigh, the sole digging in ever so slightly. He quickly undoes the finicky little buckle. You repeat this with your other foot but you dig it in harder. You run your hand in his hair again and wrench his head back. You get in his face, he smells like expensive scotch and cologne. You’re sure the woman smelled this too and felt the same pulse in her clit.

“You don’t get to touch.”

“What?” He laughs dryly.

“You don’t get to touch me or yourself.” He’s still holding your shoes, dumbly staring as you climb onto the large bed by yourself and lay on your back, kneading your breasts.

“Darlin’.” He laughs, incredulous at your vindictiveness. He really thought he was going to get it easy tonight.

You make eye contact with him as you pull your dress over your hips, legs spread open. You run your fingers down and then up your swollen slit, a deep shivered sigh leaves your lips. A sigh leaves his lips at the same time.

You push two fingers in. Head thrown back. Other hand digging into the duvet. Sweat glistens on your cleavage.

You hear John swear and the leather creak as he adjusts himself in his seat. His suit jacket is open haphazardly as it’s not meant to be worn unbuttoned, his opened collar exposing a hint of dark chest hair and a thick sweaty neck. His polished smart shoes glint in the low light.

You raise your hand up towards him: your slick glistens on your fingers. He whimpers. Swears. Breathes out.

“Oh fuck.” You moan out as you bring your hand back down to you rub your clit, toes curling.

“F’fucks sake y/n.” He grunts up at the ceiling, he sounds angry but you know it’s his self control beating against the self imposed bars.

You then get onto your knees and shuck the dress over your head, throwing it aside, you’re pretty sure you heard a seam rip. You bounce on an invisible cock and mewl, John watches your tits move, nipples like diamonds.

“Fucking hell, y/n I need you.” John groans.

You lean over to the dresser on your side of the bed, pushing your ass out so he can suffer some more. You unzip a bag and out comes your vibrator. It’s close to John’s size, a very deliberate purchase. You love that his pupils are blown out, a ring of icy blue stares back at you in need.

You fall on to your back again and your glistening, sopping cunt needs no prep, you rub the toy along your slit and then smoothly push it into yourself, right down to the hilt, a guttural moan joins the wet noises in the room.

He had also pulled something out; your thong. He unfolds it, struggling to find the gusset and marvels at the wet patch with a moan and half lidded eyes, heavy with need.

“Y/n, please,” his voice sounds muffled and when you look over to see why, you’re enlightened by the sight of your thong to his nose. His lips are parted and he grips his cock through his trousers as best he can. He is incoherent with your scent.

“Please y/n, y’want me to beg? Fuck.” A rasp.

You plunge the toy in and out of yourself. It wasn’t anything like the pneumatic pace John usually gave you, but it was hitting the spot. You chased your high with your other hand on your clit, ignoring John’s pleas.

You feel that familiar pressure in your stomach, it’s coiling and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“I’m close John,” you rasp, “I want you to cum for me.” You manage to moan out between pants, forearms aching from the movement.

He wastes no time in unzipping his trousers and pushing them down. He pulls the waistband of his boxers down and his girthy cock flops out angrily, smearing a ludicrous amount of precum on his jacket. You wonder for a moment if he already came. The sigh that leaves his lips when he wraps his hand around himself is primordial, he lets out a full body shudder.

His left hand grips his thigh, you see his broad and bulky shoulders moving in rhythm with his right hand, he stares at you like you’re prey. You moan at his untethered lust. He won’t last long.

He bares his teeth for a flash of a moment, you see a canine in the low light while he pumps his cock furiously. He grunts out your name and he comes with a jerk, hips bucking, pearly ropes of cum hit his chest, landing on his jacket.

You watch unashamedly and immediately your moans get higher in pitch as you hit your peak, calling out his name and gasping. Your pussy convulses and you shudder. You pull the toy out completely with a husky moan and leave it where it lands, panting into the now silent room.

You laugh as you try to lift your head up, John is an absolute mess, his turgid cock twitching against his stomach as he laughs with you.

“I’d love to be a fly on the wall when you take that to the drycleaners,” you chuckle, out of breath, throat dry.

All you hear is an equally parched “for fucks sake.”

[d-emeter]

The world has gone to hell, but you've found your own paradise (or: apocalypse au with task force 141) — plus-size!fem!reader x poly!141

CW: zombie apocalypse (but no real zombies mentioned lol), allusion to smut but doesn't actually happen yet, soap being a horny bastard, implied age-gap?

HEAVILY based on the bill and frank storyline from the last of us but can be read as a generic zombie apocalypse so no worries if you haven't seen/played tlou! Also different format? Is this something?

Captain John Price who, over the years, has become a bit of a survivalist nut — a prepper, if you will.

Sure, his sergeants make fun of him for it sometimes, but he more than anyone knows the shit that plays behind the scenes, the things governments keep hidden, the threats that loom every damn day — so he'd rather be safe than sorry when the world inevitably goes to shit. He's almost smug about it when it does (he hadn't calculated in the zombie aspect of it all, but still)

Unfortunately for him, however, he and the rest of 141 are deployed when outbreak day comes around. More and more cities are bombed by the hour, the population dwindling by the second, and in the week that follows he and the boys are amongst those assigned to evacuate the smaller towns and villages and escort the citizens to quarantine zones — that is, until the QZ's are full and they're under direct order to execute those that didn't make it in.

Now, Price's moral compass has been skewed for some time now. He's done some stuff during his years serving — man or woman, guilty or innocent, it hadn't mattered to him then. It doesn't now, either.

What does him in is the tear that rolls down Soap's cheek when Price shoots the mother and child his sergeant couldn't bring himself to ("Aren't these the people we're 'posed tae protect, cap?")

He convinces his task force to desert that very night (they'd been hesitant, but in the end, they'd follow their captain to hell and back). They gather as many weapons, ammo and MRE's as they can get away with without being caught, and they're off into the night.

Price brings them to his home — a big, old house inherited from his grandparents somewhere in a small, sleepy village. He had spent the better part of his time on leave preparing the house to be self-sufficient should the need arise: generators on solar and wind power, water filters, a chicken coop and a garden set up in the backyard (that, and enough weapons to supply a small army in the garage)

They wait until this village gets evacuated, too, so they can claim it for themselves before raiders come around. They fence off a section of the town, set up traps and cameras, anything to ensure no unwanted visitors can enter, infected or not.

It's their own form of paradise, in a way. (the house has enough bedrooms to give them all their own — they end up in eachother's more often than not)

One day, you fall into their lives — literally. You've fallen into one of their traps, a literal hidden hole in the ground, and within a few minutes you hear the creak of a gate, multiple sets of feet and the unmistakable sound of a gun being loaded ("I'm not infected!" You yell from your hole before they can lay eyes on you, certain they'd shoot you on sight if you didn't)

The first thing you see is the barrel of the gun leering over the edge, before you see its owner — a man with a beard and the most intense eyes you've ever seen. He keeps his gun pointed at you while he makes you recite the alphabet, forwards then backwards, all with your hands held before you to ensure you weren't twitching. You pass his test, it seems, and a ladder is lowered into the hole.

Once you're back on the surface, you see it's not just the man with the beard — there's four of them in total, each looking more terrifying than the last, all muscle and bulk and having the ability to snap you like a twig should they feel the need. There are still guns pointed at you as you explain your situation and simultaneously beg for your life — you were with a group travelling to the nearest QZ, you're the only one left now ("Please, I didn't mean- Please don't hurt me, I'll be out of your hair before you know it — I won't tell anyone about this place! I haven't eaten in three days-")

John and Simon were hesitant at first, but their sergeants manage to convince them to let you inside, offer you some food before sending you on your way again (Soap had been frothing at the mouth a little the moment he had laid eyes on you — sure, they had kept eachother... satisfied, but "Cap, when's the last time any o' us felt the touch o' a lass? 'N such a pretty one at that..." and Price knows he can't deny them when Gaz leans over to whisper how prettily you had begged for your safety, surely it'd do no harm?)

Your eyes widen a little when the scary man with the beard tells you to come with them — your hunger ends up winning the battle with your brain as it tries to convince you that following four big male strangers into their fenced home is not a good plan.

You expected a dented can of beans and maybe a cup of water, so you're definitely more than a little surprised when they usher you into a bedroom with an ensuite, telling you to go take a shower (Soap wanted to follow you into the bathroom, mumbling something about wanting to double check for any bite marks. Ghost had to hold him back by his shirt)

You nearly cry when you feel the stream of hot water on your skin, and feel like you're in some sort of fever dream when you see the clean clothes laid out on the bed for you — granted, they're men's clothes, but anything is better than the rags you had on before.

You start to wonder if maybe you died and are in some sort of weird state between worlds when you come back downstairs to a table that's fully decked out and beautifully presented plates of food.

All of them turn to you immediately and you have to do your best not to falter under their stares (you don't notice the flustered little cough Price lets out at the sight of such a pretty creature in his shirt — god, maybe Johnny was right, it had been a while since he's had a woman, and such a young, plush one at that)

One of them — the one with the darker skin and the prettiest face you've seen in months — is the first to jump into action, hand on your lower back as he ushers you into a chair.

You're convinced you're dead when you bring the first bite to your lips — God, that's good. (Johnny nearly chokes on his food at the small moan you let out. Simon remains stoic, but damn him if he didn't feel a spark of heat in his gut at the sound)

The men start introducing themselves while you're shoveling food into your mouth. The man with the beard — John, you now know — explains that they're all ex-military. Through bites of food, you do your best to introduce yourself as well. You tell them your story, they tell you theirs (well, Johnny and Gaz do, mainly. The one called Simon still hasn't really said a word to you, and you can tell John is a little paranoid about sharing too much information with a stranger)

As the night progresses, there's a shift in the air. Kyle leans in a little too close while brushing a crumb away from your lip, and John lingers behind you a little too long as he refills your glass (you pretend not to notice the sound of his deep inhale as he leans over you).

John insists you don't have to help with the dishes, so you wander into the living room and are immediately intrigued by the piano standing there. Johnny joins you on the bench, thigh pressed against yours as you play with the keys. Simon — or 'Ghost', as you noticed the others called him sometimes — leans over you from behind, and your breathing nearly stops (Simon knows he's too close, but so what if he wants you to accidentally brush against his abdomen?)

Once it's all said and done, you try not to let your disappointment show as you prepare to leave. Much to your surprise, it's Simon that grunts something to you, speaking the first words he's said that night. ("Stay. F'r the night. 'S not safe out there.")

John keeps a heavy hand on your shoulder as he leads you back to the bedroom you were in earlier. It's his, he tells you, but he can stay with one of the others. ("Are you- Are you sure? I can take a couch, or-" "'M sure, love, good night's sleep 'll do you good. Give me a yell if y'need somethin', yeah?")

With that, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him. Fuck, that bed does look inviting, and you can almost hear your vertebrae begging for a soft mattress. As you get ready for bed, a thought enters your mind. It had... been a while.

Is what you're about to do a stupid decision? Maybe, but you figured if these men had wanted to hurt you they would've done it already, and you'd be lying if you said that all their touches and affection weren't having an effect on your panties.

You yell out their names from the room, and the four of them are there within a second, though they all falter at the door as they take in the sight before them — you're sitting in the bed, covers pulled up so the only thing visible are your bare shoulders and arms, and it's immediately clear what your intentions are.

Soap, once again, has to be held back by the scruff to prevent him from pouncing on you immediately. John, instead, is the first one to actually enter the room, sitting down on the bed and carefully bringing his hand to caress your cheek while asking if you're sure about this (he'd rather not admit the way he shuddered a bit when he made contact with the soft skin of your face)

Your answer is immediate, you've made up your mind — on one condition ("I'm not... a whore, or anything. I don't sleep with people for food or shelter or anything, just- if we're doing this... I'm staying. For a while.")

Simon nearly laughs at this — funny how you think they would have let you leave otherwise.

[ghostlycod]

Saw your post about asks, and I feel in the same boat, so I thought if it's okay, I'd send you an ask. I've just flattered through your page, and I love your style.

1) Finding the perfect gift for any of the 141 members for Christmas.

2) Secretly placing mistletoe somewhere on base for Ghost to find.

Your writes are amazing, glad I found you! X

[[Thank you, babes!!!! Ah! Hi!

this is so relevant for me rn because I’m currently struggling to find my boyfriend the perfect Christmas gift lol]]

ghost - your first thought is to get him more masks, but everyone always gets him more masks. no, it should be something special. something personal. you don’t realize that for him, you’ve already given him the best gift: a Christmas that he doesn’t have to spend alone. a Christmas that he gets to spend with someone who really loves him. a Christmas that quiet and peaceful, with no yelling voices or thrown objects. a Christmas that’s warm and loving, with sneaky mistletoe kisses in the randomest of places and cozy socks. you’ve already given him exactly what he wanted and needed, anything else you get him is just a bonus.

price - seeing you enjoy the gifts he got you just to spoil you is enough for him. he doesn’t want anything else- no really, love. just wanna see you happy. but a nice case for his favorite vintage gun in his collection wouldn’t be too bad, or his favorite very nice cologne that always makes you want to bury your nose in his shirts and burn the scent on the inside your nostrils, or an expensive watch since that’s always his go-to accessory when dressing up

gaz - whatever he gets you is always so nice, always exactly what you needed, that it puts so much pressure on what to get him. he has to absolutely love it, just like you love whatever he gets you. box tickets to his favorite sporting event is up there for one of the best gifts he could be given, but I personally am a “gaz loves self care” truther. I think his guilty pleasure is skin care, a face mask every now and again (and a facial on you every now and again), and he likes very nice, soft lounge clothes to relax in when he’s at home. any of that kind of stuff would be great, but if you got him a couple’s spa day/massage gift certificate he would be over the moon.

soap - loves a joke gift. you could get him the sweetest, most personalized thing that you put so much time and energy and love into, and he would love it!! but he also would quickly forget about it and become obsessed with the pet treat launcher that you got as a joke gift. watching your very food-motivated dog/cat skid across the floor of your shared flat as they chase treats launched at high speed from the device in his hands is, frankly, hilarious. he will be doing that all day. best gift ever.

and I’ll just say it: any and every one of these guys would not complain about opening a box of lingerie from you on Christmas morning. especially if they get to see you model it for them, like, right now.

[[and thank you so much again for this request!!!]]

[dumbbitchgalore]

Toxic!Price clips your wings the moment he gets his hands on you.

His main goal: to break and remould you into his perfect partner with the illusion of free will and freedom all while you’re trapped in his world of abuse and hurt.

[eugenedream]

I said nothing about Daddy issues. Why? Did you hear something?

i’m drooling at ur older bf price (not much else to say except when/if u ever have more thots abt him please share 🙏)

previous

You curl in on yourself after sex, sometimes. It’s a pattern Price has noticed—you’ll finish, then he will, and in the humid moments after, the shutters in your eyes will close. You won’t meet his gaze.

He’s only asked once about it, and it had been so clear that the question disturbed you that he hadn’t pressed. You’d tell him, he reasoned, when you were ready—

(And he could nudge you in that direction in the meanwhile.)

The sink is put back together, cabinet door closed. Your sundress is wrapped and twisted around your midsection, naked breasts wet with his saliva and compressed against his chest as you lay panting on top of him. His shirt is in some far-off corner, thrown aside, and his jeans are around his knees.

“That was nice,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your hair. He makes a home for his fingertips between your shoulder blades, walking the trail of your spine, up and down, slow as a tide.

“Mm-hm,” you say, out at sea. Far away.

He can’t deny that it disappoints him. But it isn’t about him, and he shouldn’t make it so. Even if it is about him, it isn’t actually about him—it’s about something else that has attached itself to him. Things are like that more often than not—deeper, older problems with hooks, the barbed kind that sink in and cling and won’t come out of their own accord.

So he keeps kissing your hair, and he keeps stroking your back. His softened cock hasn’t slipped from you yet, and he makes no move to dislodge it. You nestle closer to him; shift your body over his, a little, just for the feeling of it. He waits for the sigh—the long, steady breath you take after the act, after you’ve found yourself again in wherever it is you go after moments like this.

“This is probably weird to talk about after sex,” you say, and Price’s ears perk up.

“Nothing weird between us, dove,” he encourages. “What’s on your mind?”

You play with his chest hair a little, twirling it around with the manicured ends of your nails. (A manicure he happily paid for.)

“You’re the first man who’s ever given a damn about me,” you mumble into his neck.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says honestly. He kisses you again, because he wants to, and because he wants it to comfort you.

“You don’t make me feel stupid for not being able to do stuff on my own,” you continue. “My step—my mom’s husband. He used to make fun of me for, for getting confused about changing my car’s oil. Or he’d get annoyed at me. Or I’d need him to change my tires because I can’t do it on my own, and I’d call him for help, and he wouldn’t pick up the phone.”

“He sounds like a piece of work,” Price comments.

A younger version of himself would have offered to beat the shit out of the asshole. That self’s anger on your behalf sits radioactive in his chest even now—corrosive, roiling, righteous fury, ready to carve your name on whatever offal is left over after Price gets through with him.

But that would be for his own ego, not for you. That has no place here.

“Do you know—” and your voice breaks a little, “do you know how bad it feels when a man who’s supposed to look out for you treats you like you’re an idiot? Like you’re not smart enough to be worth helping?”

“Some,” he says. “It’s an awful feeling. I wish you didn’t know how it felt, dove. I’m sorry.”

He feels something warm and wet drip onto his chest, and your shoulders begin to shake.

It’s not the full-body, wracking cry of catharsis. Just an episode of something longer, something tired. A problem dealt with, over and over again—a wound that reopens sometimes, if it’s pulled the wrong way.

Price gathers you closer, wraps his arms around you tighter. He cups the back of your neck with one hand and murmurs “shhh” into your hair, soothing and quiet, squeezing you against him.

“I’m okay,” you say, a little watery. “Really, I am.”

“I know you are,” he says.

He tilts your face toward his, and kisses the center of your forehead. You meet his eyes with your own, wide and glistening with your tears.

“I’m always gonna help you, dove,” he promises, catching one that falls with the edge of his thumb. “And you can always ask.”

-

No I don’t have daddy issues why do you ask

[gloomwitchwrites]

For Long Distance Fun - John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship, mutual masturbation, gift giving, sex toys, oral sex (male & female receiving), vibrator, swearing

Word Count: 820

A/N: For Kinkmas 2024 (Mutual Masturbation)

For Christmas, John bought the two of you a new sex toy. He wants to try it out.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinkmas 2024 masterlist

"What—" You laugh softly, and then glance up at John. "What is this?"

Inside the unwrapped gift is a pink and white box. The label is clear. There is no mistake or denial of what this is, but you’re startled by the gesture. This isn’t something you thought John was interested in.

“It’s for the both of us,” replies John. He shifts, scooting closer to you on the sofa. “Interested in trying it out?”

“Right now?” He nods. “Right here?” you continue, glancing around at your living room.

Gently taking the box from your lap, John transfers it to his.

Long Distance Relationship Sex Toy, says the box. The vibrator for the woman is called “Eve” and the male counterpart is called “Adam.”

“Why not,” shrugs John, removing the pink and white box from its packaging.

Breaking the seal, John delicately removes the toys and the instruction manual. The light on the Christmas tree sparkle against the plastic as he sets it aside.

“Thought we could use these when I’m away,” says John, opening up the user manual. “See here.” He points. “They connect to an app on our phones. We can use them simultaneously even if I’m on the other side of the world.”

John lifts the Adam toy. “I fuck this.” He then lifts the Eve toy. “And this fucks you.” He smirks. “We can play at the same time.”

“Across the world?” you ask, unbelieving.

“All I need is bluetooth and a couple bars of service, love.”

You shake your head. “You can’t take that on missions.”

John laughs. “Course not. You think I’m going to take this out during a firefight?”

“Maybe,” you shrug, teasing.

“Certainly would startle the enemy,” chuckles John. “But in all seriousness, it doesn’t have to be at the same time.”

“I don’t understand.”

John’s brow creases, and there is a mischievous hunger that wasn’t there before. “I can fuck this on my own time,” he replies, lifting the Adam toy. “Record the whole thing on the app. And then when you log in, you can have your toy vibrate along to what I recorded. Doesn’t have to be at the same time.”

With his free hand, John starts to undo the buttons on your pajama top, revealing skin. His hand slides inside, cupping one breast as his mouth presses to your throat. You groan at his touch.

“Want to have a go, love?” he murmurs against your throat.

His lips against your skin make you tingle—sending a little shiver down your back. Gently squeezing your breast, John’s hand descends to toy with the elastic of your pants.

“I’d like that,” you answer, your response breathy and wanton.

John’s hand slides under the elastic band and tugs. Shifting, he places the box on the sofa and goes down on his knees before you. With another tug, your pants are gone and John is draping your legs over his shoulder.

“Follow the instructions while I prep you, love.”

Heat instantly radiates up your neck and enflames your face. You grab your phone the moment John’s tongue touches your clit. It’s hard to concentrate as he tongues you. The words on the instruction manual are blurring together with every stroke.

“I—oh. John.” He hums against your pussy. “It’s done,” you gasp.

He draws back, lips glossy. Reaching behind him, John removes his shirt with one hand. As he stands, John shoves his pants down, the two of you falling onto the couch completely naked and entwined.

John reaches for his phone the second you take his dick in your hand. You’re aching for this, and getting to taste him for a bit is perfectly satisfying. As you throat him, John taps away at his phone. He’s hard, almost throbbing in your mouth by the time he’s drawing your head back.

“Come here,” he growls. You ascend, draping yourself over him. “Open your legs, love. Just like that.” Holding the Eve toy in his hand, he guides it to your pussy, pushing the head of the rabbit vibrator in.

“Take it,” he rasps, and you grab on to the handle. John takes up the Adam toy, easing his dick in. “Ready, love?”

You nod and John thrusts.

The rabbit vibrator moves inside you, and you cry out immediately at the shock of sensation.

“Don’t move. Stay just like that,” he groans against your cheek, hips thrusting into the toy. “Fuck. I can feel you.”

You whimper, walls clenching around the vibrator as it buzzes along with John’s movements. It’s almost too much too fast. John’s grunts aren’t helping nor is his heat. Turning your face into his chest, you cry out his name, the orgasm rising fast, extending outward until it’s all you can focus on.

It’s unending rocket fuel that’s sending you up to the stars.

“I can fucking feel you,” he says again, this time groaning loudly, indicating his own end.

taglist:

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[lunarmothim]

shadowbound- john price x reader

part ii: soon - the truth comes out.

word count: 4.5k tags/warnings: language, abduction, canon typical violence.

It's quiet. Too quiet- all you can really hear is the creak of footsteps against the flooring downstairs, a small indication of your captors moving about. If they speak they don't do it at a volume you can hear no matter how hard you strain your ears. 

It's fine. This is fine. You've gotten out of worse situations, haven't you? You were supposed to die in Al Mazrah, a bullet in your head while the Russians made off with your cargo. You didn't. You were supposed to die back in Texas, locked in a cell deep underground with no hope of escape. You didn't.

You can make it out of this. 

Your options are limited, though. Breaking out of your zip cuffs would require an injury, something that would require medical attention and slow you down, and that's not even considering your chances of making it past the four men downstairs. Talking your way out of it is even less likely especially now that they know you're a former Shadow, something they don't seem to like all that much. So what's left?

You don't know. You've been in survival mode the last few months, no time to plan or prepare- not that you have that luxury now, but it's still a situation that requires some thought, and that alone gives you pause. What do I do? Figure a way out of here, obviously, but you can't quite figure out where to start, not when every thought you have has a counter-plan staring right back at you.

Well, when in doubt do what you know.

It's awkward, the shift to shimmy your wrists down to your ankles, bringing your bound hands in front of you, and for a second you worry your hips won't allow you to move your arms the way you need to. You make it somehow, immediately reaching up to yank the bag from your head. 

Which brings you to the next step you're not a hundred percent sure of. You have your sight back but limited use of your hands- do you run? You're fast enough you could make it, but your mobility could present a problem until you're able to get the cuffs off. The city would be easy enough to disappear into until you could get new documents, but how hard would it be for them to find you? The military has resources, a lot more than you do at this point, and you imagine it would take them no time at all to locate and apprehend you again.

So what the fuck do you do?

You have no fucking clue, and you're not given a lot of time to think about it. The door slams open and you're looking up at the captain again. He doesn't look entirely surprised by the state you definitely hadn't been left in.

"We're moving," is all he says, stalking forward to yank you up out of your chair. Think. Think. Formulating plans on the go is your specialty, but everything you'd ever been taught is a vague memory on the edges of your subconscious, just out of reach, as he leads you through the house, down the stairs and out the front door. He doesn't bother with a blindfold when he throws you into the back of the van again, at least, nor does he change your cuffs to rebind you behind your back. 

You're not sure if you should find that comforting or not.

You decide on not when it's Ghost that climbs into the back after you, his dark eyes boring into your soul.

"So," he says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, lurching slightly when the van starts moving. Your patch is in his hand, the worn edge peeking between his fingers. "Wanna tell us what you did to Graves?"

Oh, you're not fucking ready for that. The silence between Ghost leaving you and you being dragged out to the van clearly hadn't been empty- they'd dug, found something you weren't entirely prepared to address if they know about Graves. 

"Dunno what you mean," you croak out, voice breaking slightly on the syllables. He doesn't look like he believes it. 

"Try again." His hand catches you by the jaw again, refusing to let you look away, refusing to give you even a second to gather your racing thoughts. They know you're a Shadow, they know about Graves. What else do they know? Do they have your file? His fingers tighten when he says your name- your full name, not just the first name you'd given the captain at the train station. They have your file. 

Graves burned the files of anyone he lost. He clearly hadn't burned yours.

There's no use pretending anymore.

"You're taking me back to him, aren't you?" you whisper, staring up at him. If he's going to lie to you, you're going to make him look you in the eyes while he does it. You think of your last interaction with the commander, the barely healed scars scattered across your body. The days spent in a cell before he'd released you with the false promise of safety.

"It's just how we have to do things, doll," he drawled, dragging his palm over the deep cut on your shoulder even when you flinched away. "Gotta make sure you know how not to talk, no matter the circumstance."

You knew how not to talk. He knew that you knew how not to talk. He chose to torture you anyway.

So if this group is taking you back to Graves, you'll find a way to make them kill you along the way. 

And if they won't? You'll just do it yourself.

You lunge before Ghost can react. The knife strapped to his thigh is in your hands, slicing through your cuffs in one fluid motion. In the same breath you have the back door of the van open, tucking in on yourself as you roll out onto the street- you can hear the screech of the tires, the van jerking to a halt, but you pay it no mind, leaping to your feet and sprinting back down the road. It's lined with sparse trees on either side and not much else, not a lot of options to hide.

Don't hide, your brain chides you, urging you on. Keep running.

You'd run track in school, a sprinter through and through. Always the fastest, taking first every time. It's been a while since you've needed it, but it's easy to fall back into old habits, keeping your elbows close to your body and your frame tilted slightly forward, your center of gravity kept low. Keep it close, keep it tight. Sprint like your life fucking depends on it.

The tree you pass catches the bullet shot after you. You hear it thud into the wood seconds after you duck around it, inches from your head. Too close. Keep running. There's a wheat field in the distance, tall golden stalks swaying in the breeze. Make it there and you can disappear into them, hide until they pass. Find your way back to the city, find your way out.

If only things were that simple.

A heavy weight strikes the center of your back, driving the air out of you as you crash into the ground. Your stolen knife tilts up, digging into flesh that doesn't even get a reaction beyond the hot spurt of blood across your knuckles before your arms are wrestled behind your back again. You feel the scratch of his balaclava against your cheek, his weight pinning you to the ground with ease.

"Makin' my job fun," he pants low in your ear, a hint of amusement in his tone. You struggle against his hold when he stands, hauling you up to your feet, but his grip is unrelenting. "C'mon then. Let's go."

The van is waiting in the same spot you'd left it. This time, after zip-cuffing your hands behind your back again, Ghost keeps hold of you.

"Slippery little minx, isn't she?" The captain's voice as you're shoved into the back of the van again has you bristling, wanting to rip free and strangle him with your bare hands. "You good?"

"M'solid," Ghost grunts, and you hiss when he brackets your shoulders between his knees. "Sit fuckin' still."

"Fuck you," you can't help but growl, wrenching forward until your shoulders ache. "Let me fucking go-"

"Not a chance." His tone brooks no argument, and you almost howl when he grabs you by the back of the neck, fingers digging into the sides of your throat. "Sit. Still."

What else can you do but obey? You don't relax against him, body tense against his calf and ready to run again- not that his hold on you would let you. 

"Talk." It's the captain that speaks, and when you look up at him he's twisted in his seat, staring back at you.

"Eat shit, captain," you spit back, and his eyes narrow in response. "I'm not goin' back. Just fuckin' kill me."

That, it seems, gives him pause. Narrowed eyes widen slightly, really taking you in for the first time. The defiant set of your shoulders, the way you're ready to spit acid despite your captivity. He sees you, sees the way you're ready to run again, how you're ready to die. His voice drops.

"What happened." It's no longer a question, his hand twitching toward his gun. You're out of chances.

What can you do but tell him the truth?

DELIVERY ROUTE AL MAZRAH 12 AUGUST 2022, 0300

The road is dark, quiet. Not uncommon in the deserts of Al Mazrah this time of night, but still unnerving as you navigate toward the drop off point. The SUV follows a large cargo truck with a blue shipping container on the back, two more with similar cargo in front of them in the convoy. You don't know what you're transporting, but a nagging feeling in your gut tells you it's big. Important. Behind the wheel, Erikson seems to think the same.

"What are we carrying this time, Graves?" he asks, glancing at you in the rearview when you make a small noise of agreement, slightly narrowed eyes telling you to keep quiet. One curious team member asking questions is one thing, two becomes an irritation. No one likes it when Graves gets irritated.

The radio crackles with static, followed by that smooth southern drawl that to some is probably charming, but to you just feels slimy. "If I told ya, I'd have to kill ya."

"I bet he'd do it, too," Vance mutters, and you hum in agreement as you flick your gaze between the two men in the front seat and the truck in front of you. Of the members of your team Vance is the one you're closest to, the one who shares your whispered concerns about what the hell it is you're even doing these days and why you seem to be so far up Shepherd's ass you know what meal he's currently digesting. Concerns he'd only brought up to you over a stolen bottle of whiskey on the HQ rooftop, the haze of a shared cigarette hanging between you. 

He's a good man, a little softer around the edges than the rest of the hardened soldiers that make up the Shadow Company. He'd told you once that he'd wanted to be a teacher, before a terrorist attack had taken down planes in New York. That he'd enlisted the next week and before long his hands were so bloody he could barely look anyone in the eye. To this day, he refuses to tell you why he decided to go private, how he'd ended up on this dark desert road transporting who the hell knows what to who the hell knows who. 

Classified, Graves had told you all at the meeting before you'd shipped out, with some vague story about delivering some aid to your allies in the area. The rest is need to know. 

Need to know always raises interest, makes you speculate when there's little else to focus on but making sure you aren't being followed. You can't speak for the dozens of Shadows that make up the convoy, but you know for sure that you and the other three in this SUV are all wondering what's so important that you have to transport it in the dead of night through hostile territory.

"This's nothing but a milk run, boys," Graves answers after a moment, sounding a little too smug as always. He enjoys having the upper hand, knowing things that others don't. He does throw you a bone though, edged with warning - "Guns for the good guys - you'll be back at HQ for breakfast. Don't shit the bed and there'll be bonuses all around. Find me when you're back."

While the other three answer in the affirmative, Vance and Erikson bumping fists, you stare out the window at the black windows of the abandoned buildings you're driving past, eyes scanning for anything out of place. Something about this just isn't sitting right with you, even more so when the radio crackles again and Graves informs you that Shepherd's waiting for a sitrep.

"Three containers..." Vance muses, and when your eyes shift to him, his own gaze is fixed on the shipping container in front of you, contemplative. His face is obscured by his balaclava and shadows, but you can see the corner of his jaw working behind the black fabric, slowly clenching and unclenching. He's on edge, too.

"That's a lotta fuckin' milk," Dipaolo agrees from where he's sitting next to you, and you can see his wry grin bunching up the balaclava at the corners of his mouth.

"Thirsty friends," Erikson responds with a slight shrug, radioing in to Shepherd with the sitrep, who warns them much like Graves had not to fail. That alone rings alarm bells in your head, but before you can voice them Vance beats you to the punch.

"Do not fail...? Told you this shit was important," he says, and when his green eyes meet yours in the rearview, you can see the worry buried in the furrow of his brows. You're sure his mouth is pressed into a tight line beneath the balaclava.

The cargo truck in front of you comes to a sudden stop, drawing all of your attention forward. You weren't supposed to stop, had been ordered to keep moving no matter what. Doesn't matter if there's a civvy, just drive through them, Graves had said. Fucking sick, you'd muttered under your breath in response.

"What's this?" Dipaolo asks, his grip tightening on his rifle as he glances between the stopped truck and Erikson, white-knuckled on the wheel.

"Three, this is Erikson, what's up?" the driver demands into the radio, fingers of one hand loosening to twitch toward the sidearm strapped to his thigh. Nothing but a crackle of static for two very long seconds, before 3-1's voice comes back.

"Got a vehicle in the road," he reports, followed by voices calling out loudly in Arabic.

"Stand by, comin' to ya." Erikson spins the wheel and carefully pulls around the cargo truck, and if the alarm bells weren't sounding before, they're practically screaming now - it's only you and the SUV behind you bringing up the rear of the convoy, and all of this feels like a trap. But Erikson is the superior in this car, it's his call. Still...

"Is this the best idea?" you ask quietly, shifting your rifle in your lap as you creep up alongside the stopped convoy toward the commotion at the front. "Weakening the rear like this?"

"Not your call," Vance warns, a flash of green in the rearview again. You can see the same unease you feel reflected in what little you can see of his face as he picks up the radio. "Graves, Vance - be advised, we're held up, sortin' it out now."

"Handle it - keep the line movin'." The look Vance gives as he acknowledges Graves' response says see? We're solid. You don't feel solid. You feel like the earth is about to open up beneath your feet, even more so when you reach the front and see the brake lights of 3-1's armored truck, doors open as he stands in the road trying to coax the driver of the heavy cargo truck blocking the road at an angle out of the way in broken Arabic.

"I don't like this," Erikson says quietly, glancing back at you. For the first time since the convoy had stopped, you can see a hint of unease in his brown eyes. 

"Something's wrong," you murmur in agreement, fingers tightening on your rifle as your wary eyes stare ahead at the vehicle blocking the road, the lone Shadow trying and failing to convey the urgency with which he needs them to move. His Arabic is atrocious, an obvious fact that probably isn't helping matters, but even his bastardized accent and butchered words are clear - the person in the vehicle needs to move, and move now. But he doesn't, and that alone has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. 

"Dipaolo, Harbinger, lean out and cover him," Erikson orders, and without hesitation Dipaolo hauls himself up into the open window, leaning out to raise his M4 at the situation in front of them. You mirror him on the opposite side, staring down your sights as the people blocking the road continue to refuse to move.

"We need a 'terp out here, what's the call sir?" 3-1 asks, sounding frustrated as another yelled order goes ignored. Your finger shifts off the trigger guard, wary eyes taking in everything - from the lone man standing near the tailgate of the truck, his two friends peering casually over the back to the man in the road... wrong. Something's wrong. Your instincts are screaming at you, but you tamp them down as you wait for orders.

"Vance, Dipaolo, go help him out," Erikson orders, gesturing to 3-1, who's yelling again. "Harbinger, cover from here."

"Aye sir," you answer, tensing as the door starts to open - and then gunfire erupts. You can barely tell up from down as you return fire, zeroing in on a man who's emerged from a hatch on the top of the body of the truck. 3-1 goes down in the mayhem, and several more enemies pour out of the surrounding shadows.

You barely hear your teammates yelling around you over the rush of blood in your ears, the explosive sound of gunfire echoing off the nearby buildings. The muzzle flash has a strobe-like effect, making you nauseous as you duck back down into the SUV to reload.

"Back up, back up!" Vance is yelling. His voice distant, like it's coming from the far end of a long tunnel. You can't focus on it, can't focus on anything but slamming the magazine into your rifle and leaning out the window again to cover your retreat from the truck that had driven into the road in front of you, full of enemy reinforcements. 

Above it all, two voices stand out - Graves ordering you to eliminate the threat, and Shepherd... prioritizing the cargo. Something is wrong.

And then everything explodes in a spray of metal, fire and blood and body parts. Ears ringing, you throw yourself back into the vehicle as Erikson tries to maneuver you out of there. You can see the muzzle flash, your team's mouths moving, but all you hear is the ringing. When you reach up to touch your ear, your gloved fingers come away bloody.

Your eyes meet Vance's when your escape route is blocked off, the car jolting as Erikson throws it in reverse, and the last thing you see is Vance's masked face as the flare of the RPG lights the interior of the car, sending it end over end.

141 TRANSPORT PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC 06 DECEMBER 2024, 1830

"I was the only survivor," you tell the Captain quietly. The van had been silent as you told your story. You hadn't wanted to share it at all, but now that you had, it feels almost... cathartic. An outlet for the trauma of what had happened then and what had come after. "I woke up at a field hospital in Urzikstan two, three weeks later? Still not sure, it's all pretty fuzzy. Graves was there, which seemed pretty normal at first. He's a smarmy asshole but no one can say he doesn't care about his team. He was livid with Shepherd for not sending backup. We lost a lot of good men that day.

It wasn't until we were back on base that things started to change. He got quiet, even more secretive than before. Had a lot of closed door meetings with Shepherd, and one fine Thursday morning, he called me into his office. Wanted to hear again what I remembered about the attack. About the cargo. I, like an idiot, voiced my suspicions. Earned myself a one way trip to a cell for it. He did fight Shepherd about killing me, but in the end Shepherd won. In his words, I knew too much.

While the rest of Shadow Company headed out for a mission in Mexico, a dozen of them stayed behind to deal with me. I killed them and dragged their bodies into his office before I escaped. Little message for him. If I had to guess, he decided to just kill me in retaliation. Knew he'd never be able to find me, so he sent someone else to do his dirty work." 

Wringing your hands, you stare out one of the two small windows set in the back doors of the van, watching a middle-aged woman in the sedan behind you yelling into her phone, swerving slightly in her anger. It seems so... normal. So mundane. You wonder what has the woman so pissed.

"Why give us so much attitude then?" It's the Captain that speaks. You glance over at him again, note the way his brow furrows as he studies you from beneath the brim of his boonie hat. You can't read his expression fully, but he looks conflicted. 

"Don't know you, don't trust you," you answer simply, holding his gaze steadily. Your fear from the train station is long gone, and now you're just tired.

His expression flashes with understanding before smoothing into something unreadable again. "I see."

"Yeah." You study him for a moment, watching the corner of his jaw twitch, the way he rubs at his beard. "I'm not your enemy, you know."

"Do I?" His eyes are exhausted, deep blue staring into yours.

"You should." You want to go home. You want to sleep for a week, take a second to gather your thoughts before you have to move again. You can't help the way it bleeds into your words. "I'm fuckin' tired, Captain. I miss home."

"Where is home?" It's an innocent question, innocuous. It's a window into your soul.

"I don't know anymore." It comes out a whisper, a quiet breath. You haven't had anything to call yours beyond a small room on base in a very long time, the Shadows the only home you'd cared about. You rip your gaze back, staring out the window again. "Born in Minnesota, moved around a lot growing up. Had an apartment in Texas, near Dallas. Didn't much care for it, if m'honest."

"That why you joined the military?"

"S'pose." You don't want to answer the captain's questions but his voice makes it hard, deep and gravelly and demanding answers. "Family's more likely, maybe. Dad was a Marine, made me want to be one too. Went through MARSOC training with Graves. Fuckin' asshole, if m'honest-"

"We know." The Scot is the one to reply, surprisingly, and you glance up to find icy blue eyes staring back. "Nearly killed us."   "Bit of a habit of his, isn't it?" you muse, glancing back down again. You hadn't been expecting to find a kindred spirit in this, spewing as much vitriol as you already felt toward Graves. You almost wonder what they'd say if you told them what Graves had threatened to do to you. "Heard he went a bit nuts after Mexico."

"My doin'," the Scot murmurs proudly, and your eyes track over to him once more. Up close like this you can see a scar on his head, the starburst of a gunshot wound. "Blew 'im up."

"Shame it didn't stick," you reply quietly, and his grin drops. They obviously have some kind of connection with Graves too, just as contentious as yours. You won't question it, but you're glad for that little bit of camaraderie. "Next time."

"Next time," Mohawk agrees, and you can't help the tiny smile that splits across your lips at the promise, vague as it is. 

It's a flicker of hope. You can't help but latch onto it.

"Can't keep callin' you Mohawk," you murmur out loud, glancing between him and the black man sitting next to him opposite you, your shoulder still pressed into Ghost's knee. "You know my name, sems fair I know yours."

"Soap," he answers after a moment. You don't miss the way his eyes flick between Ghost and Mutton Chops up in the driver's seat. "Captain Price, Gaz, Ghost." You catalogue the names with the men- it's easy with what you know already. Price. The captain's eyes meet yours in the mirror, stormy blue.

"Harbinger," you reply quietly, drawing your legs in. They know it already, if they have your file. It still makes you feel at least a little better, makes you feel like you have even the smallest iota of control.

You keep your hold on the captain long after he's looked back at the road. He looks like he's in charge, turbulent eyes and tense shoulders. If you have even a chance at freedom he's probably the one that will decide, the one that will either order his men to kill you or let you go. You're not holding your breath either way.

"I'm not goin' back." You don't mean it to be rude, but it's true. "Graves can eat a bag of dicks."

"Not takin' you to Graves," Soap tells you, and you almost believe it. Almost.

"Then where?" They won't keep you in Prague. You know that, know the playbook they're working with. Their base is the most likely option, or some kind of middle ground with the agencies that wanted you in the first place. So where? Their accents scream UK.

The van stops. Ghost confirms it, his hand tightening on the back of your neck several minutes before he hauls you out of the vehicle and on to the tarmac. You see the plane you've been brought to, small and private, and it brings you back to the thought of who'd brought you here- you're a hot commodity and you know it, but the question is which three letter agency wants you the most? 

They don't tell you. You're given no idea of your destination, no clue who blocks your path. All you know is the firm hold on the back of your neck, Ghost keeping you close. You want to throttle him for it.

Soon.

part one - masterlist - part two

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[dilf-luvr-4evr]

Last Christmas | John Price x F!Reader

mdni!!! Tiny nsfw implied (this is so random but I thought it fits the holiday season hehe inspired by wham! ofc)

Something something the base decided to throw a Christmas party after a successful mission and you showed up in the most ravishing dress, a far cry from your usual uniform. Price choked on his drink the moment you walked through the door.

George Michael ridiculed him from the speakers. I kept my distance but you still catch my eye.

Your relationship with him was.. complicated. You broke up with him over a year ago. Though you weren’t sure you were even dating him. Again, complicated. The concept of working together while secretly fucking didn’t really go hand in hand. Oh the fucking was simple. The feelings that develop each time you do it? Not so much.

You were the one who broke things off. Stating you wanted to stay professional. You just didn’t want to confront him about the three forbidden words that lodged in your throat every time he kisses you so gently while his cock roughly pistons in and out of you.

Price physically felt his heart sink to his stomach when you told him. Though he would never admit it, thinking you were just bored of your fuck buddy. He just uttered a simple “Alright.” Idiots really, the both of you.

You dawned more drinks than you should, having just recently broke up with a guy. Price pretends to stumble into you as if he hasn’t been burning holes on the back of your head the entire party. And maybe your ass too. Hell, your tits, your thighs.. It was like he was trying to snipe you with the way he never let you out of his sight.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry sir,” you giggled, slurring all over the place. Your face was a little flushed, hair slightly disheveled and he had to swallow the hitch in his throat, shift his weight. As kids these days would say: he was down horrendous.

“S’fine,” he chuckled, steadily holding your arms to prevent you from falling. He missed your soft skin. He was so close, it made him nervous. Girls don’t make him nervous. He reluctantly let you go once you got back on your feet, his touch lingering. Just to make sure you won’t fall. And maybe just to feel you a little longer.

“Let me-“ you hiccuped. “Let me clean that up,” you say, reaching in your purse to see if you could find a napkin. Price had to look down his shirt to notice the small champagne stain you spilled. Bloody hell. Had he been so focused on you that he didn’t feel it? Must’ve looked like an idiot.

“Forget it, love,” he said, instinctively reaching out to your hand before he even realized it. He closed your purse, giving your hand a little brush of his thumb before letting you go again. He felt like a thief, stealing little touches whenever he could. You nodded sheepishly.

None of you said anything after that. None of you left either. He kept his eyes on you as you looked at your kitten heels. The first time in over a year you talk about something other than work and it’s about spilled champagne. He figured you’re still sober enough, your shy nature still peeking through.

“How are you?” You blurted out, tilting your head to look up at him. No sir, no captain, no nothing. How are you? The question and the way you caught him staring almost gave him whiplash.

“Good,” he says a second too quick, not even having thought of it. Miss you, his brain says, delayed. The words echoed in his head, desperate to leave his mouth. “You?” He asked back, deciding and hoping that the first part didn’t make it out.

“I- I think I need help with something,” you say before hiccuping again. Price raised a brow. Concern? Confusion? Intrigue? You can’t really tell. Perhaps it’s all three. “I can’t talk about it here.”

He nodded before he could stop himself. Let his feet follow you somewhere secluded. It seemed that his pride had left him a couple minutes ago, the thought of getting you alone again getting to him. Just to make sure you don’t trip again, right? And especially not fall into another man’s arms.

You turned around to face him when it was just the two of you, the music a blur in the background. Price searched your eyes, waiting for you to say something.

You held his face and kissed him.

And it was like you turned off a switch in his brain, his lips moving with you like autopilot. His hands find their way back home to the back of your neck, your sides, wherever he could touch you.

“Missed you,” he murmured against your lips. You don’t say anything.

But if you kiss me now, I know you’d fool me again.

my masterlist

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