#Captain john price x fem!reader

[gloomwitchwrites]

John Price x Female Reader - Bodyguard AU

Content & Warnings: Bodyguard AU, praise kink, breeding, unprotected piv, creampie, secret relationship, possessive behavior, light dom/sub dynamic

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: For Kinktober 2024 (Praise)

After being stubborn about leaving an event, your bodyguard, John Price, gives you a steamy reminder of who gives orders.

ao3 // main masterlist // kinktober 2024 masterlist

“I said that I’d take you home.”

“And I want to stay, John," you snap, your grip on the champagne glass tightening. If you're not careful, the stem might snap.

John stares right back, unamused and clearly annoyed by your defiance. He says nothing, and that only irritates you more.

"I don't see the issue."

"You're making it very difficult to do my job."

You roll your eyes. "You can be such an asshole."

John snatches the champagne class right out of your hand and promptly places it on a tray of a passing waiter.

"You will do as you're told," he growls.

"You won't tell me anything," you reply sharply.

John's irritation melts away, becoming a knowing smirk. "Did you already forget last night? Or do you need a reminder?"

"Oh, fuck off, John."

Stubbornness pulses beneath your skin. You don't want to leave, even if it's an order you have to follow. Events like this are fun, and you can indulge a bit before you're hidden away again.

"I think I'll stay," you say with a breathy sigh.

"I think not."

"Excuse me?"

"We're leaving. Now, be a good girl for me and walk."

If you still had your champagne, you'd throw it in his face.

Pushing past John, you purposefully shoulder-check him before leaving the main banquet hall. John calls your name but you ignore him. You're being a brat, but it's the only defense you have.

Not like you could escape John if you wanted to. This man is ex-military. He's trained to take out every possible danger. You are your father's prized possession. Nothing will happen to you. Not with John at your side.

The two of you reach the private parking garage and John waves off the valet attendant, grabbing your upper arm and steering you toward the car.

"Unhand me," you snap, but John ignores you.

Guiding you toward the black SUV you arrived in, John retrieves the key fob and unlocks it, the car's headlights turning on.

“Get in,” he mutters, opening the rear passenger door.

He unceremoniously shoves you into the backseat. You turn to send a snide remark his way but John slams the door in your face.

"Fucking asshole," you mutter.

John hops into the driver seat and turns the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life. He backs out, the two of you leaving the garage and heading toward the hotel in a matter of minutes.

The silence is awful. You know John is irritated and yet a small part of you simmers with smugness. Winding John up is fun. Being a brat and pushing back always makes him hungry for you.

When John rolls up to the hotel entrance, he's out of the car and at your door faster than the valet. He opens the car door and offers his arm. You take it, and John tosses the keys to the valet before ushering you inside.

You know it's best to not push. John is on a mission. In public, he's being the perfect gentleman, but you know that'll change once he gets you to the hotel room.

In the elevator, John politely withdraws his arm only to place his hand low on your back. He stares ahead, and when the doors open for your floor, he guides you forward with that hand, pressing lightly against your spine. Removing your keycard from his suit jacket, John swipes the card. The lock beeps, and then the two of you are inside, the door closing behind him.

Turning toward him, the words on your tongue disappear as his hand wraps around your throat, guiding you onto the bed. He pushes you onto your back, lips claiming yours.

John’s kisses are not sweet. They are rough. Claiming. You open for him, taking each one, the sweltering heat in your belly growing until it bleeds out into your legs.

"I told you to be a good girl," he murmurs against your lips. "To behave for me."

His hand comes down hard on the inside of your thigh. You yelp, and then John yanks you upright and into his lap at the edge of the bed. He adjusts your position, spreading you wide over his thighs.

"You want to show me you can behave, love?" he asks, thumb pressing against the pulse point in your throat.

You nod, and John smirks.

"Then show me," he breathes, lips dangerously close to yours.

Reaching between your bodies, you unclasp the belt and unbutton the front of his pants. The zipper goes, and you slide your hands between fabric and skin, shoving them down enough that his hardness springs free.

“You’re going to sit on my cock, and fuck yourself on it.”

John is not asking. He is telling you. Instructing. You are to behave and obey, to submit to him as you like to do behind closed doors.

Grasping the backs of your thighs, John helps you lift just enough to come down at the perfect angle. He pushes your underwear beneath your dress aside, and then you sink down on him.

You’re immediately impaled, and you both groan loudly. His hand grabs the back of your neck, fingers lightly digging into your skin. He tugs, arching you a bit and holding you in place. An act of dominance.

"Are you my good girl?" he croons.

You nod and his lips brush against your cheekbone softly. "Then do it. Or I'll keep you like this all night."

Planting your hands on John's shoulder, you start to rock your hips, lifting and coming down again. The pace is slow. Casual.

"No, love," he murmurs. "Fuck yourself. Get yourself off on my cock. Want to hear those pretty moans.”

Fingers digging into the fabric of his white dress shirt, you angle forward a bit, engage the correct muscles, lightly bouncing on his cock.

“That’s it, love,” groans John. “Just like that.”

You set a steady rhythm, and John releases his hold, placing his hands on either side on top of the comforter.

Your father has no idea that you're having an affair with your bodyguard. If he did, you'd be whisked away and hidden on some island in the middle of nowhere as punishment without connections to the outside world.

"Look at you, love. Following directions. Being so fucking good for me," he whispers.

Pleasure builds with every rock of your hips, but it isn't enough. You need more.

With one hand grasping the back of John's neck, you reach between your bodies to seek your clit.

"No," chides John, grasping your wrist and bringing your slick fingers to your mouth. "Not until I fill you with my cum.”

“John,” you whimper, needing release, the tip of your tongue removing the wetness off your fingers.

“After, love. Not before,” he repeats. "Show me you're my good girl."

You want your end just as much as you seek John's praise. With each upward tilt of your hips, you lightly engage your pelvic floor, squeezing him.

“Fuck,” he groans, elongated the vowel.

You repeat the movement until John’s eyelids become slightly heavy. His pleasure spurs yours, pushing you toward frantic desperation. With a growl low in his throat, John’s hands go to your thighs, and squeeze—hard.

"You're fucking perfect," he murmurs as he meets you thrust for thrust. "And all mine."

Your control is gone. John takes the lead, bouncing you on him until his fingers dig in harshly, sealing your bodies together. He rolls you onto your back, and then he pounds into you, pinning you to the bed.

John chokes out a groan, his cum filling your pussy as you cling to him. His lips find yours, greeting with a sensual softness that makes your walls tighten around him. He pushes up onto an elbow, and then guides your dress out of the way, revealing where your bodies meet.

"You were so good for me," he murmurs, thumb tracing along where you're stretched. "So good." His thumb curls upward, stroking against your clit.

That one touch sends a rocket of pleasure up your spine. He rubs little circles. Your hips twitch, rocking into his touch. John is still inside you, and you watch as his cum-slicked cock appears and disappears with each soft roll of his hips.

“My good girl. My good fucking girl.”

Another stroke, and then your fingers dig into his lower back as the orgasm grips you. When you start to come down, John sticks his thumb in his mouth, sucking it clean.

"Let's have a look, love." John eases himself from your body. He sits up slowly, both hands resting on your knees, keeping you wide. "Beautiful. Just gorgeous."

He's not only talking about you. You push up to your elbows as John lovingly observes the mess between your legs.

"How about we add some more?" The question doesn't require an answer.

John removes his suit jacket and tosses it aside, reaching for the buttons on his white shirt. With an adept quickness, both are gone, revealing broad shoulders and solid, thick muscle.

"Take off your dress. Get on your hands and knees."

John's hands drop from your knees and you reach for the hidden zipper in the side of the dress. You coax it over your head and toss it aside, rolling onto your stomach before arching your back and propping your ass into the air. Spreading your thighs, you present your pussy to John.

"You're perfect. Every time."

His hands gently caress the curves of your body and verge inward, fingers stroking there before his mouth comes down on your clit. A few swirls of his tongue and you're crying his name, begging for him.

John is inside you in seconds, hands gripping your hips, pounding into you like he's trying to breed you straight through the bed. The slickness of your bodies meeting fills the room, smothering your moans and John's groans.

You never want to leave this room.

You want to stay right here with John forever.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath @glitterypirateduck

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

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@ash-tarte @waves-against-a-cliff @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

[mockerycrow]

8 & 9 with Price?😩

SMUT PROMPTS: Price Drabble; “Crying Because Of How Good It Feels” + “Holding Their Shoulders For Stability” (Fem!Reader) - NSFW UNDER THE CUT

“Ah, shh shhh shhh..” John shushed you softly as you let out a sob, your pussy clenching down around his cock, laying in a missionary position with your boyfriend. “Let me see those pretty little tears, darling..” He murmurs, slowly pushing his cock into you and pulling out half-way consistently. One of his hands rest on the bed, propping himself up while the other is gently wiping your tears away.

You stifle a sob as your try to keep your legs hooked around his hips, desperate for him to keep going. You open your mouth to plead with him, but the only thing that comes out is a pathetic whine. He chuckles and grabs your hands, guiding them to hold onto his shoulders. You make a noise of surprise that shifts into a moan when John pulls you from laying on the bed to half into his lap, him completely supporting your weight. His cock sunk deeper into your hungry pussy, immediately turn your brain to mush.

You look at him with wide eyes with slight concern that he’ll drop you, but John simply kisses your tear stained cheek as he thrusts up into you, and you can’t help the filthy gasp that leaves you when his cock is nearly kissing your cervix like this—and more tears slide down your face as John fucks into you, with the promises of breeding you.

[xlysaxo]

Being Married - Captain John Price Headcanons

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 18+ Content [mdni] ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Captain John Price x fem!reader ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

some (nasty) thoughts i had about being married with John Price.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

❥ Price, who divorced twice, but not because he wasn't a good husband. His first marriage was an impulse marriage. His second divorce was because he was too busy as the new captain. He only had his work on his mind, which put her off.

❥ But Price wouldn't make the same mistake with you - he never wanted to let you go. Divorce was out of the question

❥ Your wedding was a dream and you celebrated with the people you love. He never took his eyes of you. He cried seeing you in a white dress. Beautiful as always and that he can calls you his wife, made him emotional.

❥ He never thought he would get married again. The team makes fun of it all the time. But Price didn't care, because this time he wanted it to be his last wedding and to spend his life with you.

❥ Your honeymoon was full of intimate moments. Price acted as if he was making love to you for the first time. But he quickly got wilder and all he did was take you so often that your pussy was stuffed with his cum. A reminder that you belong to him.

❥ "Every man who sees you and sees the ring will want to know who the lucky one is and what do you say to them?" Your breath was ragged, unable to think, the sound of skin slapping against skin and yet he expects you to give him an answer. His hand grabs your bum before he slaps his hand on it and digs his nails into your skin. "Captain Price!" Your words were just a shout and you hoped he would be satisfied with that. Because all you could do was moan and make noises that didn't make a proper sentence. Price smiled and kissed you on the lips. "Just right, darling. Only I see you fucked silly by my cock”

❥ He's obbssesed with you and every time he sees his ring on your finger, his knees go weak and he wants to intertwine your fingers while he's inside you with his cock so deep you can see stars. He wants to spread that cunt of yours and seeing you all messy. He never takes his eyes off the ring while fucking you. After he made you come twice he grabs your hand and looked at the ring. You really wanted to know what he thinks while he stares at your ring.

❥ One time he come behind you while you make the dishes, his hands around your waist while his crotch rubbing your bump. He was moaning in your ear while grabbing one of your breasts and cupping it with his hand. Feeling his ring on your nibble makes you all wet and he knew that.

❥ Oh and how Price loves to see his ring while his big hands are on your waist. The cold metal presses against your sweaty skin. He didn't know what to focus on. On that or how his cock goes in and out of your wet cunt. "Want to fill you up, my wife," he moaned as everything inside you tightened and almost made him cum. "Not so fast, my hubby" A grin spread across his lips because you knew exactly where his body was sensitive. Then he moved faster inside you, grabbing your waist even tighter while his other hand travelled down and circled your clit. Just like you, he knew your sensitive spots - after all, he is your husband

[lethalchiralium]

Caring | John Price x F!Reader

a/n: literally just john taking care of you. man is a worshipper, you can’t tell me shit

warnings: none, just caring and loving captain john price :D

summary: After a night out, John always follows through on his rituals.

Pushing aside your hair, John’s calloused fingertips brushed against the back of your neck as he undid your necklace. The heavy necklace full of beautiful stones now settled in his hand, he carefully placed it upon your dresser. He moved around to your front, his hands finding your ears and carefully taking out the matching earrings - the earrings and necklace a set he had just bought you. Forest green sapphires with glittering moissanites, a set he thought would look beautiful on you - and he was right. He was always right, because everything he bought for you looked divine on your skin.

He settled the earrings on the dresser as well, kneeling in front of you. His hand swooped behind one of your calves, grazing the skin to pull your foot towards him. His focus was on the clasp of your heels, gently pulling them off and setting them down next to the dresser with care.

These were the things John Price always did. for you, no matter the amount of protesting you did. He’d shrug off the, “You’re tired, honey, I can do it myself” and still kneel in front of you, taking off your jewelry and shoes after a night out. He’d help you shower if you wanted, and helped you into your pajamas before letting himself lay halfway on top of you, face in your neck and leg hooked over your legs.

Both shoes were set beside your dresser, he reached out for your hands - you set them in his grasp, allowing him to undo the clasps of your bracelets, sliding them off and onto the dresser before his hands found your stacks of rings, gently sliding them off your fingers. The only one that stayed on your hand was the glittering diamond engagement ring, he made sure it still fit without hurting you.

“John,” You whispered, his blue eyes flickered up to your face from your hands, he looked concerned. “You don’t have to keep doing this.”

He chuckled a little, pulling both of your knuckles to his lips, kissing them. “Of course I do. I’m going to marry you and never stop doing this for you.” Another kiss to your hands, he settled them back in your lap. “No matter how much you protest or get tired of it, I love taking care of you.”

You reached forwards for him, he stilled as your hands reached his tie. Loosening it, you began to undo it - slipping it off of his collar yet his hands take it from you. Your eyes flickered to his.

“Let me do it, darling.” He tossed the tie aside without a care, hands moving to your knees to which he kneeled in front of. He sighed, gently settling his cheek on your thigh, eyes gazing up at you.

Your hand settled on his jaw, gently swiping your thumb over his well-groomed beard, a smile on your face.

“I would do anything for you.”

———

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

———

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

nah cause wait price and the reader fucking in the bathroom of marissa’s bar……idk if she’d do that to her friend marissa but still it’s lowkey hot as fuck 😭😭😭😭

A/N: Oh anoooooon this is sinful in more ways than one🫠 A little filler until the next part of the main sunshine!universe chapter is published.

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

—Okay, so I definitely think sunshine!reader and Price would be apprehensive to sneak off and have some ehm... fun during normal hours and when the rest of 141 is there, ’cause you know, you wouldn’t hear the end of it from Marissa and Price would probably not take such a chance with his menaces' of mates around for a similar reason

—But just imagine you're helping Marissa for the night, stepping in on her late closing shift, as she and Johnny have a date planned (bc after my last request regarding those two, it's canon they're dating now) and you and Price are well into your relationship

—You dress up in something that you're not too afraid will be damaged, stains and whatnot something you'll have to count on behind a bar, so after rummaging through your closet, you settle on an all-black outfit, suit pants and a short-sleeved slim turtleneck

—When you step into the pub, you immediately greet some of your co-workers for the night, all of which you'd met previously and got along well with thanks to your friendship with Marissa and sometimes helping out at the pub, like tonight

—You fall into your old routine quickly, flashing smiles and mixing drinks, putting on a show for whoever came up to the bar and ordered something that wasn't a beer or plain drink

—Imagine Price coming towards the end of your shift, about an hour or so left

—You spot him when he steps into the bar, a quick glance to note the new customer only to be pleasantly surprised by him, seeing you hadn't thought you would see him until after closing, as he'd said he would come get you after the shift

—As he sits at the end of the bar, you're by him in an instance, greeting him swiftly, deciding against leaning over the bar to plant a kiss on his lips in favour of professionalism

"You're here early". Your hand are clasped together, leaning on the bar, his finger brushing yours as he sits similarly on the other side of the counter. "Decided to come and keep you company". You smiled at that. It was getting late and the pace was slower. In the past 30 minutes, many of the customers you didn't recognise trickled out, only the regulars still around, and you'd called out goodbyes to more and more co-workers. "Well you don't hear me complaining", you reply and he chuckles at that. "Didn't think so".

��You and Price fall into a conversation about how both your days have been until one of the older men rises from his seat and you excuse yourself, knowing he would order another round for his mates

—It's something about the way you talk to the man, and anyone else that comes to order afterwards, that makes Price transfixed, eyes always on you rather than the glass of coke you put in front of him just out of hospitality

—You don't flirt with them, of course, even if some may drop a flirty comment here and there. You're all smiles, some are more genuine, while others are, what he comes to recognise, your service smile. And still, there's always the same glint in your eyes when you pitch a pint or mix a drink.

—Price finds himself sitting with a smile as he follows you, but something grows in his belly, a warmth unfurling as blood slowly gets diverted further south, he knows what it is but can't do anything about his desire flaring to life, it's just something about you at the moment that urges the reaction.

—And he can't help himself from perking up when he catches you informing the patrons they can enjoy their drinks in peace if you can start some of the closing procedures, the old chaps are all jovial laughter and appreciative smiles as they reassure you that it's fine, they'll be out of your hair when you return.

— When you come back to him, this time on the same side of the bar he sits at, kissing him on the cheek and saying you'll be back in a bit, swiftly disappearing down the corridor towards what must be some staff backroom, Price can't help himself to stand from his seat.

—He tries to convince himself he follows you because he wants to offer his help, but the uncomfortable tightness over his crotch calls bullshit, especially when he sees you bent over, shifting some boxes of bottles, the glass clinking together.

—In a few large strides, Price is swiftly standing behind you, instantly hooking an arm around your waist, hauling you towards his chest.

—He feels you stiffen, hand gripping his lower arm, instinctively trashing until the two of you stumble through the door he'd push you towards, the staff bathroom, and you see him in the mirror.

—He isn't a fan of quickies, he likes to take his sweet time with you, taking care of you good and proper, the foreplay as exhilarating as finally bottoming out inside your pretty and wet cunt.

—But in this instance, Price can't help himself, thinking with his cock throbbing for release rather than his head, something about you tonight making him lose all semblance of the control he likes to keep, thankfully he at least remembers to lock the door behind him and that there still are people down the hall.

"We gonna do this quick". His face is pressed close to yours, blue eyes locked with your wide eyes in the mirror as he husks the sentence straight into your ear. "Be a good fuckin' girl and stay still". You shiver as John let his hand fall, swiftly joined by the other, hands jerking your pants open and rucking them down the swell of your ass. 'I adore when you're sweet on me, John, but I-I also like when you're rough, just, you know, take what you want sometimes'. He remembers your words clear as day despite it being ages ago you'd uttered them. He wouldn't try this otherwise. Even so, he remained attentive to your reaction for better or worse.

—As your panties joined your pants around your lower thighs, neither pair cared about being pushed down any further than needed, Price would swiftly start circling your clit, wasting no time teasing you, making you jolt against him and whimper.

—His hand would shoot up, covering your lower face and mouth with his big paw and whisper into your ear, 'gotta be quiet for me love', as he uses all the knowledge he’d gathered about your body to make you feel as good as possible

—While working your core into a weeping mess, he would be rutting against your ass, hard as a rock, making you grow even wetter as your head hangs, basking in the sudden onslaught of pleasure 

—He would pull away suddenly, stepping away from your body, making your head rise. As you watch him in the mirror, you catch some of his hurried movements following the sound of his zipper

—He would swiftly step into your body, pressing you tight against the sink, its edge pushing into your lower abdomen. His cock press against your upper thigh, hot and throbbing

"So fuckin' pretty tonight I couldn't help myself", you're mindful enough to silence your moan into a forced breath through your nose, lips in a tight line as he grips his cock and runs it up and down your slickness  ”John”, you whine when he runs his cock up and down your slickness, immediately earning the muzzle of his palm again. He hushes you before pushing into you, both of you grateful he’d covered your mouth, seeing how the lack of proper stretching makes you moan unabashedly against his palm. Your breath is a hot, dragged-out puff of air and Price feels your mouth hanging open beneath his hand, your cunt clutching tightly around him at what he know is a burn-like pleasure from the stretch. And he can’t hep himself from harshly kneading your bared hip as he fold forwards, lightly biting your shoulder, eyes scrunching together in concentration to not make a noise hhhimself as you feel like a wet, hot vice around him.

—Price would work himself into you as slowly as possible concerning the time pressure, but as soon as he bottomed out, he would start rutting against you

—Your clothes silenced the slap of skin, but if anyone would pass the door, they would undoubtedly know something was going on inside, which only made Price thrust quicker into you, the situation dawning on him in a mix of concern of being caught and thrill induced pleasure

—You would go slack as you felt his thrust get harder, brushing against something making your lower belly tingle and legs quiver, forehead resting against the mirror that swiftly fogged from the proximity

—Price would lift himself slightly, changing the angle just a smudge in his thrust in his now upright position, immediately catching how the vibrations forming beneath his hand increased and your back arched the best you could from being bent over the sink

—And then, just imagine when Price’s orgasm would rush up on him, he just need to see your pretty face so he grips your jaw rather than cover your mouth, forcing you to look up and into the mirror

"Come on, love, smile for me like you've done all night", he taunts through a grunt, thrusting into you harshly enough that you only stare back at your reflection a muted uh, uh, uh sound punched from your lungs. Your mouth is hanging open, cheeks pushed together by his fingers digging into your flesh. "Ain't you a fuckin' sight", he can't help but groan, your eyes unfocused, pleasure written across every feature. Your brows are harshly narrowed, creases littering your forehead and the space between your brows. John would feel you flutter in that easily recognisable pattern that always pushed him over the edge, knowing you were close too.

—You're so close you can taste it when Price suddenly slumps against your back with a moan, stopping all movement as he remains nestled deep as his seed coated your inside.

—You whine, writhing against him, but Price stills your hips with a firm grip on them and then he does the worst thing he ever could, he pulls out and tugs your panties up and in place, covering your throbbing clit and clenching pussy, the fabric catching some of his cum dribbling out.

"Keep you nice and warm until gettin' home to yours", John pats your cunt through the lacy material, making you jolt and whine, head raising as he pulls your pants up your legs. Any sight of your orgasm has faded and when your gaze locks with John's in the mirror again, you know he sees your frustration as his head ticks and he grins. "Don't be poutin', love", he steps up close behind you as you stand straight, legs wobbly from what just happened and your robbed orgasm rather than a weakened pleasure state. His hand previously on your hips slide forward, now zipping your pants up and doing the button so they're kept up by themselves. "Just gotta lock up and I'll take my sweet time with you when we get home". "Better be a promise", you say, turning to face him. His chin falls, a big palm coming to cover your jaw and upper throat, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "M'gonna takes such great care of you, spoil you rotten, hm, what so say 'bout that eh?" He hummed, dipping his head to slot his mouth over yours. "Well deserved", you breathe in return when he steps backwards, amused eyes locked with yours util he opened the door to take a peak out the corridor. "Go on then", he cocks his head towards the door he now holds open, deeming the coast clear. When you pass him, he gives you a cheeky slap to your arse. When you jolt in your step, you send him a look, only to be met with an arch of his brows and a smug quirk in the edge of his mouth.

—Price would feel such a fucking possessive pride in watching you scurry out of the bathroom, trying not to shift your hips too much from feeling his spend still inside you as you rush through the closing procedure and attempting to keep a straight face when bidding goodbye to the last customers

A/N: And yeah, I think I died somewhere along the way of this🫠

[as-is-above-so-below]

😦😦

would you do headcanons if price was readers boyfriend?! 🫶🫶😮‍💨

↳ yuuhhh i gotchuu 🫶

⋆｡°✩ CONTENT WARNINGS | afab!reader, she/her pronouns used, feminine pet names used, smutty content at the end

cod masterlist | main masterlist

♡ such the gentleman. he asked you out on a proper date when he realized you both were feeling something for one another. even tho it’s really hard to do/find the time whilst working, he managed to do something cute for you.

♡ possessiveeeee! even before you were dating, when he knew he liked you, he’d act all possessive over you. all the other men knew to stay away from you or they’d get on price's bad side (they’re so dramatic). so even now, he likes to have his claim over you and makes sure everyone knows you’re his.

♡ that doesn't mean the men didn't tease him a lil bit--and by men, i mean gaz. he would team up with you a lot, or be a lil extra touchy with you in front of price, just to see him get pissed. but price couldn't really do much about it because you two weren't dating and you didn't even know he was into you like that. ♡ gaz looked at you, smirking, and you felt one of your eyebrows raise. he walked closer to you and decided to help you get situated for your upcoming mission. he was giving you a hand in securing your tactical gear, making the process go faster, when price approached. "I think she's got it." gaz looked up at him and gave him a knowing smile. "just trying to speed things up, cap." price's jaw tightened, having no choice but to keep moving unless he wanted to explain just why he was annoyed at gaz doing something so innocent as helping you.

♡ speaking of being possessive, he is also very proud to be with you. he doesn’t find the need to keep your relationship a secret even if he knows people will judge you both for it (you’re so much younger, he’s your superior, etc). he wants everyone to know.

♡ and he’s not afraid of some pda. he’ll give you little kisses randomly that catch you off guard (especially if you’re a soldier under his rank). there have been times when the others teased you about it. obviously, price didn’t care, but you always got flustered. “i’ll be back at the barrics,” price directed to you and soap who both gave him a curt nod. price leaned down towards you and before you could question him, he placed a kiss on your lips. he smirked when he pulled away, your eyes wide, your face warming. price turned to leave and soap burst into a fit of giggles. “ugh, how old are you?” you asked soap irritated, but your cheeks were inflamed and your heart was racing with something similar to embarrassment. ♡ he’s possessive, but not in an over-the-top way. like he’s not gonna freak out if he sees you talking to another guy, or if you’re wearing something skimpy. my guy is secure in himself (maybe even a little too much sometimes) and he knows no one is quite as good as him. he doesn’t worry about you leaving him.

♡ uses all the pet names for you. you were honestly impressed he managed to find so many to call you. love, doll, baby, sweet girl, baby girl, princess, lass, honey, babe, little one, brat, pet, kitten (you may have threw a shoe at him when he called you that), queen, lovely, sweetness, sweetheart, sunshine. the list goes on.

♡ he also began to call you such random shit that makes you laugh. munchkin, cutest lil lady, little foot, shorty, pipsqueak. (basically anything silly that gave off dad energy)

♡ keeps polaroids of you in his wallet <3

♡ had your name engraved in his favorite knife. also has your name engraved on a simple silver bracelet that he always wears.

♡ speaking of jewelry, he got you a locket with a picture of the two of you in it. you gave it to him to wear once when he was gonna be away from you for quite a while. he never took it off.

♡ he likes to get you flowers all the fucking time. roses, peonies, tulips, the whole lot. you’ve run out of places to put them.

♡ has been known to squat when he sees you getting tired and refusing to move until you get on his back so he can carry you.

♡ whenever he wraps his arms around you--usually when he’s spacing out--he pulls you into his chest and rests his chin on your head. his fingers will fiddle with the hem of your shirt and give you goosebumps at the tiny tickles on your skin.

♡ really likes to cuddle. he’s always reaching for you when you sit or lie down together. he wants to pull you into him. he likes to be the big spoon. you always wake up tangled in each others arms.

♡ he always lets you wear his clothes. he actually prefers it when you do. you sleep in his t-shirt. you’ll wear his hoodies. if it’s cold out he’ll take his coat off and wrap you in it. or sometimes he’ll let you wrap your arms around him and then he’ll wrap his coat around the both of you.

♡ he always falls asleep first. he'll have you pulled into his chest as you both watch tv and honestly, like 10 minutes will go by and you'll say something and he wont respond. when you tilt your head up you notice he's already out cold.

♡ and even tho he's asleep, like a superpower he can sense when you move away from him. so if you try to get up, his grip on you tightens and he'll pull you into him, rolling over with you trapped in his arms.

♡ he is always up first too. and he will often times bring you breakfast or coffee in bed. if he has to leave before you, you'll wake to find a hot coffee or tea sitting on your nightstand waiting for you.

♡ he is obsessed with your hair. he's always stroking it, or tucking it behind your ear. he likes to run his fingers through it when you're cuddling or when you're hugging him tightly. he loves when you let him wash it too.

♡ you asked him to brush it for you once while you were getting ready one day and he was just standing there watching you. he did so and was very gentle and took his time. ever since then, he loves when you let him brush your hair. it's such a random but intimate act for him.

NSFW CONTENT BELOW

♡ pleasure dom! he is super dominant in bed but is also really in tune with your body and making sure you're always enjoying yourself. he gets off by getting you off.

♡ he’s really good at making you come. like, you'd think he made it his life's mission to make you feel good. and seeing you in pleasure is what always gets him going. he cant finish unless he watches you finish first.

♡ he’s so good at what he does that he’s been known to get you off over your clothes. it takes him no time at all to make you come if he wants. usually he likes to drag it out tho. and he likes to overstimulate you.

♡ nights will oftentimes consist of you fully naked while he fingers you, having already orgasmed once, and him still fully clothed. something about that power dynamic drives him crazy.

♡ he softly degrades you. “look how fuckin’ desperate you are for me, love” “this what you’ve been thinkin’ bout all day? my fingers thrusting inside you, hm? nothing else going on in that pretty little head of yours.” “oh, com’on princess, you know you have to come at least twice before i’ll give you my cock. so are you gonna be a good girl and come on my tongue one more time? yeah, i know you can handle it.”

♡ likes to hold your hand during sex. he’s eating you out? his hand is laced with one of yours. you’re sucking his dick? he grabs your hand and traces patterns aimlessly, trying not to come too fast. he’s fucking you missionary? either one or both of his hands are locked with yours. he’s fucking you from behind? he’s pulled you up against his chest, covering your hand resting against your stomach with his own.

♡ he likes when you give him blow jobs. and he enjoys praising you during it, watching as you clench your thighs from his panting words.

♡ you’ll have his cock in your mouth and he’s muttering how good you feel. he hunches over, his arms lazily resting over your shoulders, his forehead resting against the top of yours. he’ll groan and grunt, “fuck, baby, that feels so good.” “god, don’t stop, love.” “look what you do to me.” “i’m gonna fuck you so hard after this, baby.”

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

bear hybrid! price who stalks around your house at night, protecting you from whatever else might be lurking in the woods. you don't know that he is of course, but you should be more thankful when he shuts and locks your windows when you're asleep. occasionally you see him lumber on the edge of the forest, minding his own. he doesn't want to scare you, but he wants you to admire him, too.

wolf hybrid! simon that follows you everywhere (from a distance and he rarely lets you touch him). you were frightened at first of the big bad wolf, but when he takes you away from snakes and other dangers in the woods you learn to leave out some scraps for him. (he sleeps on your front step. won't enter the house yet.)

fox hybrid! johnny who regularly sneaks into your house to play in your blankets. the wildlife here is so friendly you're shocked, shouldn't they be frightened of you? however he sleeps under your bed and he's fine unless you try to kick him out. red fur is on everything, he seems unusually close to the wolf that looms around. loves scratches to the ears!

falcon hybrid! kyle who hovers in air around your house. he finds little trinkets for you and leaves them on your porch. he mostly hangs around price, but he will chirp greetings and steal bird feed from your feeders.

they protect you in different ways, trying to worm their way to your affections before they bed down in your abode for winter.

[pazza-di-te]

back at it again with bear!price x fem!reader

John's dick is hung, like big big and h u n g.

First time taking him, had to be a proper setting where pillow under you for support and John even got extra bottle of lube just to be safe. Dont wanna risk hurting the missus.

"S'big...John.."

"I know lovie... Takin me well."

As you slightly writhe from the feeling of the stretch, you look up to him and asked "Is it almost all in?"

And John has to pause a bit before answering "Yep. Almost there luv..." He said as he looks down where the two of you are connected and his dick is still HALFWAY in you.

After a while tho, the blood, sweat and tears slick, were all worth it since your brain is now all mushy and your thoughts evaporated from the power of his thrusts and sounds of wet skin slapping continously.

"J-John! Fffuck!- John- Suu... much!-"

"Stay with me n-now luvie-"

John's hips sputters and increases in speed as his desperstion to cum comes to action (pun intended?)

No other words come out of your mouth except the name of your beloved again and again and again again. What was even your own name?

Your brain goes back and forth from reality and the only thing you could hear and feel was john's entire being, his heavy breathing, his skin slapping into yours, his calloused hands, his deep grunts, his hairy chest pressing onto you, his arms hairier than usual, his teeth sharper.

The only you could feel was john, john here, john there, john john john

"John! Jo-John! Im cumming!-" your high pitched moans werent ignored as John's hand comes down between you and him to rub circles around your clit, successfully tightening your body and your stomach tensing just the right amount to-

"John!" your arms desperetly grab onto his back and leaving red welts on its wake.

John deeply groans as he feels your cunt tightening and milking him dry as he spurts his cream in you. As the both of you catch your breath.

He didnt even realize, his body almost got turned into his bear form

[random-thot-generator]

Sweet steamin’ Jaysus... 🥵🔥🥵🔥🥵 

Someone call the fire department to come put me out. I’m seared like a sirloin. O...M...G!�� Reading about how hairy he is... I’m a puddle of goo. I’m dead. 🫠😵💕

Babe, you fk’n wrecked this! You’re like my smut hero. 🖐️😳

‘Scuse me. I’m taggin’ some ppl... @mirthlxss @deadbranch come get you some captain, loves.

I have an odd request… perhaps a captain price fic where the reader is much younger and edgy- likeee covered in tats and stuff,, and price isn’t rly used to that but finds it hot as hell… idk maybe they work together ?? Smut ensues …

IDK I have tatts and wonder what he’d think of that 👹👹

Just an idea 💡❤️😫

Fire it Up (John Price x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.8 k

Tags/warnings: Smut 🔞 mutual pining, flirting, swearing, older man/younger woman dynamic, forbidden love, smoking & drinking, voice kink, a tiny brat taming kink squeezed itself in here too. Reader has tattoos and works as a coder at the base. Rough ~10yrs age gap described, reader is of age I hope to god it goes without saying (Price is canonically 37) Also: no use of 'daddy' in this fic

A/N: I'm so glad for this request anon and I hope you like what I made! Also people please be gentle, this is my first Price fic 🥹 God I wish I could attach the fat scent of cigar here to give you the full experience. 

You don't know what caught your attention first.

The cigar, perhaps. Or the beard? Might be his hips, the ass that tells you this man can fuck a woman for hours.

Or maybe it's the fact that he's too old for you.

No, not too old…

Just older than you. A decade, perhaps, if you were being gentle with him and lenient with yourself.

He certainly isn't old enough to be your father, but he wasn't the type of man your eyes usually drifted on either.

He looks like someone who's supposed to be fishing in Alaska, sucking that fat cigar while taking in the view of mountains while trying to catch wild fish in some wide, free stream. 

He's supposed to come home to a remote cabin: to his little wife who pours him a scotch after he has shown her what he caught today. Make sweet love to her while stars shoot and speckle the indigo night.

He looks like someone who makes love to women.

You, on the other hand, want to ride with him to the sunset on the back of a Harley, clutch his jacket as he drives you to some bizarre highway motel. You want to watch him drink that scotch from your navel. 

You'd do all kinds of crazy shit with him, keep his head between your legs with both hands, grind all over that mustache, and see how wet it gets. You want him to pound you with those narrow hips, take you from behind while you look back with parted, swollen lips and relish the sight of what must be a grown man's hardened body, covered with hair and scars and–

"The bug's still there."

You return to reality, look at the code on your screen, and then at your colleague, a 20-something bloke who looks at you with the lethargic stare that only belongs to techies. You've just been caught daydreaming your eyes off in the middle of a lazy afternoon. Coffee doesn't do shit after 2 PM…

"Yeah I know. I'm working on it," you say. But when the dude leaves, you decide it's time for a creative break. You tell yourself it's only because the code jumps on the screen, not because you hope to catch a certain someone smoking outside. 

The leather jacket is a little too much these days, but you throw it on out of pure habit. You realize the weight of your mistake when you go outside from the ventilated building and notice the sweltering heat. Spring has finally turned into summer.

Coffee doesn’t do shit, but it’s time for another kind of wakey-wakey. And butterflies are a funny term for something that mainly feels like it’s eating your insides out of pure excitement. 

Because he's here too.

Jonathan Price, although no one calls him Jonathan. Few call him John, either. 

Mostly, he goes by the title Captain.

He's stressed; you can tell. But his eyes soften immediately when they fall on you, a brief look to the side, just to know who else comes out to have a breath of fresh air or a smoke. He looks like he's been expecting you, but that might only be a silly girl's daydream. You two share a vice, and you've never been more grateful for your bad habit before this place and him.

And you wouldn't call it necessarily a bad habit. It's simply stress relief if you do it once or twice every few weeks. It's not like you smoke two packs a day. It's not like you even smoke one cig per day. 

Although ever since you started this odd little job in this odd little place, you've smoked one or two nearly every day… And it's not because of the stress.

It's because of Price. 

John. You’d like to see his reaction to you moaning that word in his ear…

"How long have you been here?"

His eyes are still on you, mouth covered by a hand as he makes love to his cigar. And that bedroom voice always gets you. It's better than the upcoming slow drag of nicotine. You're not here for tobacco at all.

"Two weeks." You reach for your excuse and try to prevent your hands from trembling as you light the cig. Usually, you're not this shy with people. Not with men, anyway. But with him, your wits and words disappear. 

You blow the smoke through the air with a quick, lively wisp where he lets it roll out his tongue in a heavy cloud. He's still watching you as if to weigh what kind of woman you are exactly.

"How about you?" You continue the small talk with nervous ease.

He chuckles; the little smile even shows a flash of teeth as he steals a look at the clouds, calculating years with those surprisingly lively eyebrows curled up toward the sky.

"Ages."

He's not that old. Perhaps well over his thirties, might be knocking his forties. The statement is merely an underline of his stress today. You can only wonder what kind of pressure the captain of Task Force 141 is under when you get sleepless nights from a stupid source code. There are a few wrinkles around his eyes, but they only tell you that this man smiles a lot. He might be the only one in this compound who smiles a lot.

"Have you ever tried a cigar?"

There's a glint in his eyes as he offers the thick roll of tobacco to you. It's suddenly difficult to breathe, difficult to even keep your thoughts together.

"No," you shake your head as if your answer wasn't enough to tell him he's the first person ever to offer you such a thing. Then you realize the word does not precisely deliver your eagerness to try that stout cigar.

"Would love to," you hurry to add with a soft smile. "Can I have a taste?"

He walks to you slowly, and your eyes drop to those hips, which sway like he's purposely trying to seduce you.

Fu–ck…

Then your eyes sink even lower, between his legs, to his fucking junk, and it's too fucking late–

Jesus–get your shit together…

You force your eyes back to his and see the little glimmer in them gain a surprised spark – you're totally caught red-handed on checking him out.

Fuck. How can you be so stu–

"Gently then, kid."

You swallow your heart and thoughts down and take the offered cigar; of course, your first thought is how thick and heavy it is. And somehow, you decide right then and there that you will no longer be the nervous, hot-cheeked woman on the corner.

It's time to make him flustered.

So you take a hollow-cheeked, slow suck on the fat cigar. A chaste, savory taste, more like, but there's nothing chaste in the way you raise your eyes to his, putting every ounce of soft seduction in that stare.

He draws breath slowly – his face is full of expression for an allegedly cold-hearted elite soldier. You don't know how often women flirt with this hunk of a man, but he sure looks taken aback by your sudden play. Probably thinks you're too young for him – and you curse the second time you put that jacket on. You want to see his reaction to your sleeves.

"Mm. It's thicker than I thought," you weigh the cigar between your fingertips and let the smoke roll out your mouth. The man switches his weight from one foot to another, speechless, and you suppress a big beam of a smile.

"The taste," you emphasize as if innocent, as if you didn't see that shocked little shift. "Round, and… god, it's almost sweet."

You smile as you give it back, and he chuffs an approving laugh through his nose – those eyes are bear-warm playful now, his mouth curves into an easy smile.

"Nice," you look him up and down as if you're talking about the man and not the cigar.

"Beats those little sticks." 

His voice drops down a few notes; it's almost a husky growl. You barely make out the words he's saying. The tension in the air could form little balls of lightning around you, the flirt is over the roof, and there's even no roof because you're outside – and you take your jacket off, slowly, to make it clear it's summer and not spring.

His eyes fall on the ink immediately, and he blinks a few times, draws some more breath – you tweet your thanks accompanied by another smile and go back inside.

You know he's checking your ass in those black jeans as you walk away.

….....

It doesn't end there.

You see him again and again and again, and at some point you realize he has to walk almost 100 meters from the other end of the base to get to the little corner where the two of you smoke. 

He's intrigued but decent. Holds a distance, never says anything that could be taken in the wrong way – or even in the right way. But he's fucking you with his eyes. 

No… making love to you.

And it drives you crazy.

You don't want that. You don't need that. To be that little wife in the cabin. Pouring him a drink, climbing in his lap, ghosting a finger down the stubble on his chin, see how wide and proud it makes him smile to hold you like you're his and his alone...

God. When did it come to this?

You suck on his fat cigar every now and then. Look him in the eyes while you do it. Once, it makes his tongue dart out, it wets his bottom lip, and then he does that thing with his mouth... the thing where he kind of purses his lips and it makes the mustache dip, and you realize, you learn it's a sign that he's restless, he's flustered.

You make the big, burly captain of Task Force 141 flustered.

And he doesn't smell like the people inside smell. Of stale coder sweat and Joy Division and soft drinks and mommy's home-cooked meals. He smells of rich forest and fine bourbon and half-burnt gasoline. Maybe Saxon on vinyl. Definitely beats those little sticks that are your nerdy co-workers at the hacker department, as you call it.

He may have a flask somewhere; perhaps he takes a sip or two every now and then, whether at work or not. And you don't blame him. Even with those laugh lines and that brown bear benevolence, you can tell he's seen things. 

You wonder what he's like out there in the field. Brutal? Or just efficient?

He never asks about your tattoos, but he eyes them often. There's a certain admiring esteem in his stare. He's checking you out, scratches his chin, and rips his eyes off when they start to drift down. He forces his eyes to stay above your neckline no matter the cost. You mourn that you got rid of the septum a few years ago: you're pretty sure he would've liked that, too. After all, it's a piercing that screams 'warrior' the most. Break after break, you return to your desk, aroused and giddy and surrounded by the rich, masculine aroma of his cigar.

One night, he drives by when you're walking home after what was supposed to be one or two pints.

The car is a big, black pick-up, and when it slows down and starts to inch by your side, your first reaction is a silent curse of why the fuck don't you carry some pepper spray in your pocket.

"Hey, you ok?"

Your head rises from the asphalt the second you recognize that smooth, pleasant voice of a man you had compared every guy to at the pub that evening. The whole man is brimming with burnt sienna, he's hard alcohol with no ice…

You stop and turn, a little wobbly from the pint turned to two or three. Or four.

"Yeah. Had a little girl's night out."

The car rumbles softly, not two meters away, and the sound reminds you of his voice. A soft purr that can turn into a growl, even a roar if he wants to. 

He looks like he's going fishing, even without the boonie hat. The dark hair is cut short, so you won't have anything to tug if he ever ends up between your legs. But you don't really mourn that fact, because he looks so damn good.

He looks you up and down, and you notice the briefest blob of his Adam's apple before he gives you another offer.

"Want me to give you a ride?"

Would love a ride.

Would fucking love to ride you.

"Sure. That's kind of you." 

Your eyes must be sparkling like the fucking stars.

"No problem at all," he leans his elbow on the open window and waits while you round the car and get in. You try to tone down your drunken state, but your moves are a little too brash for a calm and collected coder lady this man has usually caught leaning against the wall of the workplace you two share.

"Did you have fun?"

He sounds like a dad picking up his girl from a school disco, and you purse your lips in slight distaste and amusement.

"Yeah. You know how it is when someone asks you for a pint."

He gives a short laugh and starts to drive. "That never ends well."

You smile and turn to look at him.

"Mm… This one kinda did."

You enjoy the brief look out the window, the sight of someone so formidable and robust and experienced trying to find his way out by feigning something caught his attention in the black, empty distance of a quiet city.

"Glad I could be of service," he brushes off your flirt like it's nothing more than a speckle of dust on his coat.

The rest of the ride is silent, too silent. He turns the music off in case it "bothers you," and it turns into an awkward, overly polite fight about whether to keep it on or not. 

It's a minor shock to notice he was listening to some classical. Not 80's rock, not country, not even BBC. He was just soothing his nerves.

You can't put your finger on what makes you feel so sheepish around this man – usually, you put men on a leash with a few dry jokes and a hearty laugh or two. Now, your flirting is shy and does nothing: there's a wall built up, and from behind that wall, only a few stolen looks…

The pick-up is humming, the engine is running at idle next to your place far too soon, and it's time you get off the car – but you have vehemently decided you will knock down that fucking wall even if you have to drag him to your bed. 

"You wanna come up and have a nightcap?"

Another look out the window as he raises his hand over his mouth, fiddles with his mustache, and avoids the rising heat between you two.

"Thanks, kid. But you need to sleep."

Your heart is pumping, and you feel like a harasser as you place your hand on his thigh.

He doesn't move, but you can hear the audible swallow this time. He doesn't move a single finger even when you slide your palm down that leg, then drag it over to the inner thigh, and start to drift back up slowly, slowly, to give him the time and space to stop you before you reach….

….the visible bulge between those legs, the absolutely gorgeous, ample bump pulling at those pants, something so delicious that you must fight tooth and nail not to race your hand up there and give it a fond grope.

His hand falls over yours just before you reach it.

"Kid. Let's leave it here and call it a night."

His voice is strained and tight, and he's still looking out the window. You don't move your hand away because he doesn't move it away. His warmth stays there, keeping you against him, and you feel like shit for thinking it's not a no… That it's a yes when he seems to hold your hand as a prisoner, wanting to feel your dainty little palm against him.

Your fingers curl slightly, a hopeful gesture to imagine how it would feel to curl and claw at his hips and that ass while he's fucking you.

"Listen. You're a nice girl. A very nice–"

You give a heavy, demonstrative sigh and finally draw your hand away.

"Come on Cap… You're seriously going to give me the "you're a nice girl" talk?"

Finally, he turns. His nostrils quiver as he tries to keep his breaths calm. Your lips part like it's a whole caress he just gave you – and his gaze drops to your mouth instantly. You start to see where the problem is.

You're too young. 

You're forbidden.

"I offered you a nightcap," you tilt your head slightly. "You can come up or you can go home."

You wet your lips, give the bottom lip a tiny little bite, and offer him the last, inviting, soft smile. It must hold an equal amount of sorrow because you can't drown the bitter feeling of rejection, no matter how many drinks you've had that night. No matter how much he seems to want you, it doesn't change the fact that he's apparently decided to stay strong and keep his hands off the cookie jar.

You turn and get out of the car, lean on the door for the final fucking time...

"Didn't know I'd only get to suck your cigar... You're all smoke and no fire, Price."

The door flies closed with a louder slam than you originally meant. 

Now that was a little bit passive-aggressive, you have to admit. But you're drunk, and he's being a pain in the ass, calling you a kid, looking at you like that, having a fucking hard-on and giving you nothing.

…But it does the trick. 

You smile like an idiot when you walk to your place and hear the purr of the engine stop. Another car door opens, then closes, wide footsteps follow you…

A nightcap it is, then.

He looks even bigger when inside a place with walls and a roof. He stands inside your apartment tall and wide as if he's waiting to call attention. Those large hands are over his crotch, concealing the swell of erection you already saw in the car. 

You know the tank top you wear reveals even more skin covered in tats as you throw your jacket away and go get him that drink. The glasses glide on your table, slide nearly to the floor, and the bottle of Jim Beam meets the counter with a devastating clank. You look at the excuse to get him into your place and sigh. 

"You know what… Fuck this."

Offering cheap bourbon to someone like him seems a bit ridiculous. So you offer him something he might actually like. Something he actually came here for. 

You walk to him and throw your hands around him – he stiffens from the middle but looks down at you with a heated glimmer in those eyes. You could've sworn they were charred brown, the same color as his cigar, but up close you see they're actually molten iron. Mercurial.

"You sure about this?" He asks softly.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He unclasps those hands from over his groin, and the warmest weight falls to rest on your waist, even steals a caress to your hip. You want to hurl yourself at him, press yourself against his crotch and grind until you bleed from just that tiny touch he finally gives you.

"You've had one too many, love."

Love…

Shit.

The warmth spreads from his eyes, from that hand, from the word that rolls out of his mouth like a beautiful puff of smoke. It unfurls inside your heart, swells inside your throat, plummets to your groin, and you switch the weight to your other leg to feel how that hand gains more weight as it gets pressed more firmly against you.

"Doesn't change the fact that I want you."

Your voice is nothing short of a purr. When have you ever purred like that to a man? You sound like a housecat, tame and adoring, waiting for a gourmet meal.

"You really want an old man?"

He still has that reserve in his eyes, decent and distant, but underneath, you sense a terrible heat, like the glow of a cigar lit in darkness, an adamant smolder that never dies out.

"You're not that old." 

Your purr turns into a deprived meow. You dangle from his neck, and the smoke, the fire that surrounds him, blends into the gentle scent of a man, the musk of a mature beast. You know he's hairy under those clothes; he fucking has to be. The vision of how his cock must look, surrounded by untame, coarse fur, has tormented you night after night.

And now he's finally here. In your apartment.

You skate your hands over his chest while slowly dropping into a squat, then languidly kneeling in front of his crotch.

He doesn't stop you, not even when you open his belt and the zipper and crawl your fingers down the waistband of his underwear. You have to stifle a delighted gasp upon seeing how his cock springs free and stands proud in front of you in all its glory. And fuck yes he's hairy – the hairiest man you've ever had. 

Cigars feel like tiny little sticks when you wrap one hand around him and lick the weeping slit like it's your favorite ice cream. The groan that follows is a husky eruption above you and gets stuck in his throat as you take him in your mouth.

"Fucking hell, kid…"

He's thick, broad, and the musk fills your nostrils, but what he just said makes you pull back and whisper on the bulbous tip–

"Don't call me a kid," you breathe on his cock, swirl your tongue around him, and his thighs bunch. "Old man."

You finally manage to push some buttons.

The back of his hand brushes your cheek, then slides over to your throat. He's gentle but firm as he forces a thumb under your chin, curls fingers around your neck as if you're a cat who's about to be force-fed some medicine that's only good for her.

"Is that how you wanna play it?"

His thumb brushes down the ridge of your throat. Tentative, promising.

"Perhaps," your lips quiver with anticipation as you smile; your voice is a pitched vibrato before it drops, just to give him a reason to put you in your place... "Old gum–"

The hand pulls up, the grip tightens just enough to guide you back to your feet and up to meet his face.

"Didn't know you asked me here to tame a brat."

Fuck…

You almost moan. 

The hand doesn't choke you; it makes love to you. Claims you as his. 

"Really…?" You sigh. Flash him a filthy, guiltless smile.

The fire surges forth and nearly buckles your knees. His eyes flash in rhythm with your grin, like a sudden flicker of a campfire in the middle of a dark, parched forest.

"This what you want? Hmm?"

The rumble reminds you of the engine of a Harley roaring to life. His throat is burned from the fire of his cigars, the hand on your throat is used to squeezing dead metal and pulling pins from frigid grenades. But even they can't stand a chance against his woodland fire and sycamore smoke. He could bring a cold, inanimate rock back to life with all that fire.

"Yes. I want it. John."

His name on your tongue is a cat's meow. It has the exact effect you hoped for.

"Let's get the brat tamed, then."

"Hah," you finally moan. "Promises, prom–"

The fingers around your throat pull you to his mouth with a python strength. His lips spread yours with soft devouring as he coats you in fire. The coarse beard smells of sweet tobacco – nothing like a pungent cigarette. It's like an old memory: safe and sturdy and strong. Male.

You moan in his mouth – god, what will it be like when he's inside you? – and he capes both arms around you and crushes you against him. Broad shoulders envelop you like a shroud of thick smoke, the cock gets trapped between you like a hot spear, and you mewl like a slut.

Your pussy clenches, just from his warm mouth, the rich velvet of his lips. He takes everything with that kiss, and you're weak in his arms as he bends and molds you against him just the way he wants, opens your mouth with his own and breathes you, samples you like those puffs of smoke he sucks from his cigar.

Your brain short-circuits, you barely notice how your top slides up as his hands go under it. It's dragged up, up, over your breasts and then over your head as he detaches just enough to rip that piece of clothing away. 

You look at him like he's Christmas, then reach for your bra while he opens his pants more to get them down. Your jeans are accursedly tight, and he's breathless, too: the whole room is dark and filled with heavy breathing and rustle of clothes as you claw your socks off, slide your strings down and away, watch him get out of his shirt and throw it on the floor too, all propriety gone.

And then…

Jesusfuck–

He picks you up, lifts you from the ground like you're nothing but a leaf, and strides with you in his lap until your back meets a wall.

The barrel-like chest presses the air out of your lungs while your back travels up – you don't know if his arms or chest do the lifting, but you're being positioned for his cock to enter. Your hands try to grasp something solid before it's too late – his back and neck – your legs wrap around him, feet hooking over his ass as the thick of his tip pokes your soaked folds, and after a few seconds of probing, slides in. 

"F–uck…" you gasp, sounding so needy that it could be a voiceline from a bad porno movie. His lips find the place between your ear and neck immediately.

"Be good for me now," he gruffs, dark and round like the sweetest bourbon, although you know he's the finest single malt in the world. "Be good…"

"Ah–John…"

I'll be good… 

Just for you, I'll be so, so good.

He pants heavy on your neck, grunts as he starts to fuck you against that wall. You knew he might be intense, but apparently, you had no idea. The man is needy as fuck, and has concealed it up until this point. 

You could cry, scream from joy from the thickness that spreads you, fills you with every fat glide of a thrust. The sex borders on rough but is so incredibly tender too, so needy it makes your heart collapse, compress into a taut knot in your chest. It's the softest rocking, the gentlest fucking as he retreats, then ruts into you again and again with sharp, rusty moans. You're in a slow but steady rodeo with this man, your breasts pressed against a solid chest covered with hair, and it tickles, even if his pecs threaten to crush your ribcage.

"You're one hell of a girl," he gruffs in your ear, beard grazing up and down your neck. "Taking me so– Fucking hell, look at you…"

His eyes are embers as they sweep over you: your abundant ink, the helpless, adoring look in your eyes, the little mouth that opens with a gasp, the trickle of sweat that forms between your breasts and meets the hair on his chest. 

He doesn't have to look down to see how greedy your cunt is for him. He can feel it.

"This is what you wanted the whole time? Huh?"

He's all smoke. All fire.

"Yes…"

"Wanted me to take you against a fucking wall? Eh?"

"Yes…just, just take me," you moan and purr some more, giving him everything he wants. "Fuh–fuck me good…"

"Ahh shit..."

You know you're a drug to certain decent men. But to him, you're a forbidden fruit in all its aspects. 

A calm, collected captain who enjoys wide respect, eyeing an edgy, younger woman from the tech department? That's not how this was supposed to go. Thirsting for someone who did what they wanted, looked just the way they wanted, walked this earth like a dark fairy – that's not his usual go, surely. He was supposed to settle down with a proper lady. If he were to settle down at all.

"I've dreamed of this," you whisper in his ear, lips moving just enough to deliver your secret to him.

"Yeah..? Me too," he gives your throat more love with a velvet growl. "Know I shouldn't, but–"

"Shh. Don't–don't…" You grip him tighter, taste the spruce and salt as you breathe his neck. "It's good. It's all good."

He rumbles in approval. Your skin is raw from his beard; even the coarse hair dusting his thighs feels too rough on your skin. And your skin is used to being needled, shot full of ink right inside the dermis. But this… This is branding.

You're silk in his rough embrace, and plundered with no remorse. You sigh and moan, hug him... And then he dares to stop, panting and throbbing inside you.

"Darlin'. Where's the bed?"

The soft question makes you panic. If you go to bed and let him push inside you while you're lying on your back, if you brave a look into those eyes while he takes you, you'll develop more than just a horrid lust for this man. If he collapses on top of you, spent and spoiled while you're at your most vulnerable, you'll tie a string from your heart to his, and you can't, you just can't allow that to happen.

Because he's untamed too. He's not a man who settles down, he's not up for domestication; he's a wandering fire.

"No–no bed," you pant on his muscles, the shoulder that keeps you safely pinned on the wall. "John…? Please."

He's breathing wild too, disguises his surprise well.

"Alright."

He sounds disappointed, and it's not because he doesn't have the strength to maul you against that wall. The rejection stings him too. It makes you want to offer a truce, a little something. When he rocks you again, you graze your fingers up the back of his neck, knowing he will feel ripples across his scalp from your caress.

"We can smoke a cigar after," you propose, not knowing why your voice still comes out as an airy whisper. "Together. I'll pour you that drink…"

His chest swells with a deep breath, he huffs fire on the hollow trench between your collarbones.

"Fuck, woman…" 

It's dense syrup that surrounds you much like those shoulders and arms, that coarse hair, that bold male want.

"And after that I want you to…" You catch your breath and sound like a mouse with your next shy question. "Would you go down on me, John?"

It's like you're under a bear attack, but he stills; his head tilts a little to the side and meets your temple. 

"You wouldn't tease a man like this," he says. A soft warning, brimstone coated in velour, but the core of it is despair. So much need, so much forbidden, distant want… 

"Right? No more teasing."

He's still thinking that you're teasing him… That it's some kind of a joke that you want him.

"I'm serious... I want your mouth on me. I need your–"

"I'll put my mouth on you as soon as we're done here, love."

You have to bite your lips, suck them between your teeth to prevent another deprived moan from escaping.

"Want you to fuck me all night," you continue to whisper on his neck. You should shut the fuck up because it doesn't take a bed to tie that string from your heart to his. After all, they're right there, beating against each other through bone and skin and chest.

"Yeah? That's what you want?"

"Want you to… F-fuck me slow and good from behind and–"

You sniff. Whimper.

You should be ashamed: mewling for more when he's already buried inside you. What kind of a brat are you, wrapping your thighs around that narrow waist like you never want him to pull out?

And you're not crying. 

It's just that the cock inside you is throbbing against your walls as if he's making a home there, his hands dig into your ass cheeks like you're his already, the breath upon your sweat and skin feels far too affectionate. When exactly did a raw wall-fuck turn into such an affectionate, gentle taste of love?

And it's not enough. You want to climb on top of him every morning, ride him slowly and watch him unravel as the sun climbs the sky and coats that fur in gold.

"Could you do that? Please… John, please," you whimper and whine, beg like you're tame already. 

"I'll fuck you all night if that's what you want. Fill this pretty, tight cunt up every way you like."

It's coarse smoke. It caresses you until your legs start to shake. He adjusts his grip, drags the pull-outs like he drags those pulls from his tobacco. Keeps you nicely in place for him to drive back in–

"I'll fuck you 'till you cry, love. Yeah?"

He punctuates that promise with another good, fat thrust. You moan all tame now – a rippling stream, laughing and crying in his molten hold.

His cock fills you while your thighs quiver and tremble in his hands. Your pussy throbs; it sucks him already, the orgasm is seconds away, and your fingertips search for support but only slip over sweaty, hard muscle.

John. John.

"Fuh-…"

He spreads you a little. Those arms are pure iron as they mold you for him to plow. You know he can feel the waves, the way your cunt grips him with longer, deeper pulls as you start to sound downright pathetic.

"Just like that, just like… hah…"

"M-hm. Yeah," he bends the vowels, daubs them with smoke. "That's it. You're doing good. Doing so well my love."

He huffs between the thrusts that have turned into slow, intense love-making. He's making love to you – god, why does he have to be like this…

"Cum for me. Nice and pretty, yeah? Come on."

He encourages you with words, but you can't hear them anymore.

Heat coils in the pit of your core just before you burst with a heady scream.

The spasm is so sudden you almost hit your head on the wall. He's at your throat the minute it's exposed, and your scream turns into a weak wail when his tongue grazes your skin. It's blazing, and dips into the hollow between your collarbones like it's a shot glass full of scotch. Next thing you feel is fire, even some teeth on your neck.

And you thought Price might, just might be intense…

Your head drops as the blunt of the orgasm leaves you. Your feet unclasp, and next up would be some soft waves, but the man continues to fuck your shattered cunt and marshmallow soul with a good, intense pace. The words that pour out of your mouth are those of a brainless person.

"Ah–hah, God–"

"Where's that cheek now, mm..? Pretty little thing."

"John–h…"

The thrusts rub you against that wall like he wants to staple you there.

"So nice and good for me now, ain't ya? Cummin' on command…" An amused chuff right on your poor, chafed skin… "Begging for my mouth and cock."

You travel up and down in a limp heap, trying to hold on to him with weak limbs as he drives into you with a tight series of half-thrusts. Your legs hang loosely on the side, but he has no trouble carrying the full weight of you.

"Slow–slowly, Cap…" 

"Ahh fuck–"

He swears on your ink, right on the trotting pulse on your neck. Through the vapor of man sweat and rich smoke and a whiff of cedar trees bending in the wind, you feel him tense and thicken.

"The fucking things you do to me…" he pants with a low growl, hushed but intense. Your pussy answers with a good, demanding pull. 

"Fuck… fuck–!"

You're a limp doll between him and the wall when he comes. Pressed between a rock and a hard place, literally. His chest being the rock, an entire boulder that whips the oxygen from your lungs as he drives deep, his balls giving a few taut pulls against your ass as he empties himself into you with a satisfied, dry moan. A dark, ripe blossom, shooting straight to your core while you're sealed tight around him.

The world goes still after that; the only thing that moves is your breath and his, a refreshing hot breeze coursing through the stale air. The darkness of the room isn't half as snug as the safety of his arms.

Your fingers find his neck, the short-cut hair and the skin pounding with a rush of blood. He lets you go reluctantly, bends a little to set your feet back to the solid ground. He doesn't pull out, keeps huffing all over you even when you're returned back to the earth. 

And you never want to come back. Your cunt still throbs around him and cries a tiny, thick stream down your thigh. His upper body still pins you against that wall, his breaths still mist your skin, caress the red burns of his beard.

He feels so good. Too good…

When he pulls out, he does so with intense care. He gives you some space to catch your breath, and you finally notice he has fucked your legs into splinters.

"I'm…" You break the hush of heavy breathing with a soft laugh. More viscous load pushes out of you with it. "I don't think I can stand."

"Yeah? Tried to take you to bed," he muses softly, sounding annoyingly content with his achievements.

"Gotta admit it was a good idea."

"As was the nightcap," he rasps, voice drenched in soft smoke.

"We'll get there eventually."

"I have no doubt about that."

You give him a soft, warm chuckle as you cast your eyes between the crest of his pecs. Rough, tight muscle meets your soft breasts with heaving breaths, and teases your nipples to taut little points. The wet hair on his chest looks good paired with your inked, smooth skin… You two look so goddamn fine together.

"I hope I didn't make you deaf with that scream."

He stands at his full height, but tilts his head down and slightly to the side as if you were a new, interesting species he's just found on his travels.

"Wouldn't complain, love," he says. More wet syrup, just for you. He weighs you with his stare, curious and appeased, and you feel shy. For fuck's sake, you still feel shy even though this man was inside you just a moment ago. 

"The bed. Now be a good girl and tell me where it is."

"Down the…hallway." 

A delicate little whisper, again.

It's laughable, how the veteran of Task Force 141 turns you into something so dainty and meek. Captain John Price takes you against a wall like you're nothing but a doll, makes you purr and beg, reassembles you into a weak-willed woman who gets carried to bed. 

This is not how it was supposed to go...

He lifts you back in his lap while you continue to hold onto him like he's your prince Charming. A laugh spills on your lips when he tries to lay you gently on the bed and you manage to pull him down with you. You end up tumbling there in a sweaty, messy heap. 

"Knew you were trouble," he's smiling too as he settles beside you. You curl and wrap yourself around him, your bodies mold and curve together like they're made for each other.

He's so solid, so warm, the kind of man you'd love to fall asleep on every night. No more cold sides of the pillow, no more tossing and turning and trying to get the code out of your head. Just… this chest, those ember eyes burning in the night. Some soft breathing, a roaring engine standing still, waiting for you, just for you…

"I hope this wasn't a one time only occasion," you test the waters.

"No." He shifts a little, disentangles from you slightly. "Unless you–"

"No."

You bend in his arms like a young willow, cut his doubts off with a kiss. It's passionate, and so sloppy it threatens to make the same sounds as your cunt and his cock a while ago.

The hand on your hip tows you closer, then steals its way down your leg. You hike your thigh up, perfectly willing. You're a sticky mess, but so is he: his rock-hard thigh meets your still soaked pussy like these two have always belonged together. And this man's full fire has escaped you until now. There are so many hidden, wild things in him too. 

He would look so good on a Harley… He would look good on a motel bed after riding for days and days with you attached to him like an eloped dark bride. The nights would be smeared with hot sex and cinder and smoke, a dash of scotch on top, he could drink it from your lips. You would serve it to him from your mouth, round the taste a bit so that it wouldn't burn so much…

"Have you ever been to Alaska?" 

The liquor is leaving you, but you don't feel any more sober. The lava in your veins has only been replaced by another kind of fire.

"No."

"Would you like to go?"

"What'ya mean," he murmurs on your tongue, and you know he's hard again just from the thick lust coating his voice. "What kind of question is that?"

"I was just thinking."

"What were you thinkin', kid..?"

"Don't… call me that," you laugh. In truth, you're growing quite fond of it. It reminds you of old movies. "Here's looking at you, kid" and all that.

His laugh is a charred roll in his chest. To him, you're a brat – an unruly kitten – no matter what you say. 

"Kid. Why Alaska?"

He's curious. Borderline hooked. You steal a peek into those vulcan eyes. 

"You'd look good in Alaska. Old man."

"Really," he rumbles a soft purr against your heart. 

Another soft kiss follows. Affectionate… He plays time, but he's also a probing, scanning. You bloom in his embrace, unfurl on his lips like he just wrenched you wide. He could haul you to the cabin right now and you would only cook him dinner.

It's too late, even if you try to shift after such a kiss. Escape to press your cheek against that place between his pecs, the spot where the hair is darkest and thickest. You want to lick that valley where his heart meets his musk. That scent must be born from a good, stout heart.

"Would you take me with you…? If you ever decide to go."

It's a fragile question. A baring of the heart. It holds so much more than an inquiry about whether he would whisk you away on a secret leave. It's strings, pulling from your heart to his, taking root.

"Sure. But you're quite a handful, love."

"Is that so…?" 

You crawl over him as gracefully as you can. He allows you to straddle him, and of course he does. You're no threat; you're only a one woman show. The only thing he's probably missing right now is a glass of scotch and a thick roll of tobacco. 

He takes in the view with hunger: not satiated by that pent-up fuck, just like you're not... 

But then his hands come to rest on your thighs to check if they're still shaking. The touch bleeds possessiveness: it's a thoroughly absent-minded, instinctual attempt to reach for you. It tells you you're exactly where you belong. 

"You seem like the kind of woman who's not for the faint of heart," he says like you didn't just mewl in his arms like the tamest fucking housecat.

And perhaps that's what intrigues him. Contrasts. And even more than that, the odd place where black fuses into white, the gray area where everything is possible. The split-second moment when the skin accepts the ink and traps it in. 

Everyone always says you get buried with your tattoos. That you should think twice before staining your skin with such permanent hookups.

But the thing is, you get addicted to it. It's like standing on the edge of a cliff before a bungee jump. You know you'll never be the same person after you jump, and you know you can't leave that cliff without jumping. It's a stalemate until you clear your mind of doubt and just plunge.

And you don't want to leave this earth without getting stained and sweaty, without dipping your soul into the full experience. You're supposed to get a little dirty. This is Earth, after all.

Your fingers disappear somewhere in his slick fur. Sunrise is hours away, but his eyes spark aflame. They're always, always smoldering like the butt of his cigar. He's a man who causes wildfires at the end of the world – he's a reckoning, a flicker in the dark forest, roaring into a bonfire as soon as the wind passes through the trees.

And you've always loved fire. Wild, and free. The only thing that competes with such freedom is a wide, wild stream. 

"But you can handle me. Right?" Your fingers curl softly around the hair surrounding his navel. "Tame me and everything?" 

It's an offering that causes even fire to tilt its head in curiosity. In the end, you're not sure who tamed who.

"Someone has to," he grabs your hips with rich promise. 

You'll pour him that drink. Light him a cigar after his mouth is full of your taste, see how well it pairs with fire and smoke. You'll toast to the Harley, the crazy motel… 

And Alaska. 

[gloomwitchwrites]

Break Up with Your Toxic Boyfriend (3 of 4)

John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: brief discussion of verbal and emotional injury, implied cheating, canon-typical swearing, protective / possessive Price, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Price might be your ex, but the two of you still consider yourselves friends. When you call him up about your current boyfriend’s horrible behavior, Price comes running with the intention of making you his again

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // break up with your toxic boyfriend masterlist

Price sits opposite you at your kitchen table. The muscles in his jaw fucking ache from clenching it. He has to keep reminding himself to release the tension before he gives himself a headache. Between the two of you rests an open whiskey bottle. There are two glasses. One directly in front of you, and one directly in front of him.

You don’t want to have this conversation like this, but Price forced it. You’ve brought up the issue countless time, but it’s almost always been over the phone. You’re not afraid to contact him to seek advice or to vent. Price likes that you call him because it gives him an excuse to talk to you.

But he’s fucking sick of this. He is sick of you taking this man’s—no—this immature fucking boy’s bullshit. A real man doesn’t act this way. This time, there will not be a phone conversation, but a face-to-face one. You don’t have a choice.

The truth is you were once Price’s woman. The two of you almost made it to the altar.

Price nearly made it all the way you with, but that was all yanked away from him. He was younger then, and just earned the title “Captain.” But Price was glued to his job, making that a priority over you every time.

He had fucked it all up, and you were right in leaving him.

Over the years, the two of you worked it out, falling back on a friendship that Price deeply values but silently wishes could become so much more again. You should be with him. You could be happy. Price knows what he did during your relationship was wrong. If you gave him another chance, he’d show you all the ways he’s fixed himself.

Instead, you’re dating this fucking prick who isn’t even worth a lob of spit. Price met the guy once and that was enough. He made nice for your benefit, but right now, Price isn’t feeling particularly nice anymore. Not after your phone call.

This relationship isn’t working for you. Unhappiness oozes out of every pore every time Price sees you in person or speaks with you over the phone. He knows it lingers. He knows it clings. But you are far too hesitant to admit it.

Maybe, Price just needs to give you a little push.

He takes a deep breath, unclenching his jaw before he speaks. “This time he abandoned you at the bar.” Each word unfurls slowly as Price tries to suppress his rising anger. “Do you know where he went?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t matter where.”

Of course it matters. This bastard gets so ragingly drunk that he ends up fucking leaving you whenever the two of you go out. Sometimes he’s taken the car or wandered off or left with others. Those times, you never tell Price whether he’s left with a friend or a stranger.

And Price is almost always the one coming to your rescue.

Just like now.

It has happened yet again.

Price is here and your boyfriend isn’t.

“It does matter,” replies Price, biting back the annoyed growl threatening to crawl up his throat. “Have you even heard from him?”

You frown, and that tells Price all he needs to know.

Your boyfriend has a pattern. The amount of time between leaving and contacting you all depends on what he’s up to. By the look on your face, Price starts to form a semblance of an idea.

“How long?” he asks. You remain silent. “How long?” he repeats.

Your fingernail idly scratches at the tabletop. “Almost two days.”

“Two days?” Price nearly knocks over his whiskey glass as he leans forward in his chair.

You shrug. Glance away.

Price softly scoffs and tosses back his drink, rubbing at one of his temples. The whiskey leaves a lingering burn. He knows what this means. Two days and no contact mean this fucker is likely in a stranger’s bed.

Everything within him wants to lecture you, to chastise and argue like he would with any of his subordinates. But you are not a soldier. You are the woman he nearly married. Price expected the rest of his life to be filled with you and the children you might have together.

He needs to do better. He needs to be gentle.

He needs to make you see that you should come back to him.

Price reaches for the whiskey bottle, pouring some of the amber liquid into his glass. “Remember the pub we’d always go to when I was off? The one by the coast?”

He’s changing the subject, but it’s only to move you away from your thoughts. Like Price, you already know what your boyfriend is up to. You already know but you won’t say it out loud because doing so is too painful.

The corners of your mouth turn upward, and Price sees victory on the horizon.

“The sea salt always stuck to everything.” You sigh with pleasure. “And they had the best armchairs.”

Price keeps his gaze fixated on your face, observing your softening features. “The walk back to the cottage was nice.” He shrugs. “A bit cold but…quiet.”

Romantic is what he wants to say.

“It was,” you laugh, becoming more animated. “You’d always shove me into your coat with you. But you only wanted to—”

You cut off abruptly, those soft features turning inward, embarrassment clear on your face.

Price knows exactly what you’re thinking.

He always wrapped you up in his coat so he could touch you. You’d warm up in his arms, and by the time the two of you arrived at the cottage he rented, you’d be needy for him. The moment Price would walk over the threshold, you’d be on him, nearly climbing him like a tree in an effort to fuck him.

Price says nothing but he doesn’t need to. You speak first.

“I miss those days,” you murmur.

“Do you miss me?” His question comes out automatically. Price didn’t even think before it flitted off his tongue.

Your gaze turns back to him, and while Price believes he sees brief desire there, you do not answer.

Swallowing, Price leans back in his chair. “You don’t need to answer that.”

This time it is you that leans forward. “I do.” Your gaze falls to the table before returning to his face. “I know you don’t feel the same way but—”

“I don’t?” interrupts Price, setting his whiskey glass down to address you completely. “You can read my mind now?”

You roll your eyes and start to recline but Price surges forward, reaching out to snag your wrist before your hand drops below the table. “Why do you think I still come around? Why I come when you call?”

There is no tug. You don’t try to snatch your arm back.

“You should be mine,” murmurs Price.

The confession is liquid, seeping into everything. He cannot take it back but he doesn’t want to. This is his chance to reclaim what he lost all those years ago.

There is a hesitation before you act. Slowly, you turn your wrist in his grasp, presenting your palm. Price glances down at it, and then shifts his grip, sliding his hand into yours. You’re a bit cold and his instinct is to wrap his fingers around yours, warming them.

The sigh you release is soft, and Price wants to breathe it in. To take it into himself.

“When I said it doesn’t matter where he went, I meant it,” you whisper. “I don’t care. He left me behind. It’s not the first time. Haven’t heard from him either. He’s left as far as I’m considered. That only makes it easier. Means I don’t have to be the one to do it.”

Is this it? Are you finally his again?

You lick your lips, and he follows the movement, wanting to taste what he’s been missing.

“Make me forget, John. Please.”

The way you say it breaks something inside him. You could ask anything of him in this moment and he’d gladly give it.

Releasing your hand, Price stands, walking around the table to get to you. You are already on your feet, reaching for him. Price tugs you into his arms and you go easily, wrapping your arms around his neck as he comes in for what he’s been craving.

You are sweet, bursting on his tongue. Your fingers thread through his hair, and Price pulls you even closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, hands falling low to squeeze the gentle curve of your ass.

Breaking apart is agony.

“So, you have missed me,” teases Price.

The gentle smile on your face is all the answer he needs. You want to forget, and so he’ll make you forget.

You are in his arms in moments. Price already knows where the bedroom is, and the second the two of you enter, Price is laying you on the bed, tugging at your clothes. He needs them gone. He needs you bare.

And you are happy to oblige, helping him remove each layer.

Price brands your skin with his mouth and tongue. He brings your nipples to hardened peaks, he kisses the valley between your breasts, creates a trail down to the space between your thighs. When he drops between them, he decides to stay. He decides to worship.

He will not leave. Not until you’re fucking begging for him to fuck you.

Price runs his tongue up your pussy, swirling the tip of it around your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Your nearly come off the bed, hands threading through his hair. Twisting. Your grip is rough, but Price could give a fuck.

He wants you screaming his name. He wants you riding his face.

That is exactly what you do, but Price takes his time with it, savoring every inch of your body, tasting and remembering the space between your thighs. He could stay here forever. Each orgasm that surges and recedes is a victory.

Price is prideful. Smug.

Your hips roll against his mouth, and he has to grip them to keep you from accidentally breaking his nose. Even if you managed to do so Price would wear it like a badge of honor.

“John,” you moan, voice breaking. “Please.”

Price stops teasing your clit, retreats a bit, pushing up until he can plant a soft kiss on your belly.

“Please, what?” he asks, all mock innocence. You whimper, fingers digging into his skin. “Words, love. Use your words.”

You shake your head. “I need you.”

“How?”

“Inside me, John.”

A flare of possessiveness rages through him, consuming every nerve and muscle and bone. Price pushes up from the bed and moves up your body. The moment his face is level with yours, you kiss him. Your hand is reaching between your bodies, gripping him, stroking him. Legs parting further, you hook them over his, pressing inward, indicating what you want.

Price shifts, lining up to your entrance. You press more but he is stronger. He resists, grabbing the back of your neck. “Tell me. Truly. Are you mine?” He tugs on your hair, exposing your neck. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you whimper.

Price starts to sink in. He’ll make you his again with more than just his words. Price will fill you up, have you dripping with him, just like he used to do.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @36namey @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @nelladowney @miaraei @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie

[mockerycrow]

we need more masc!female!reader fics. i need to get out of my writing slump so i can write some. also might write hockeyplayer!fem!reader in celebration of the PWHL. who do y’all think would enjoy hockey most out of the 141?

secondary poll here

[nyxiswrites1200]

Thinking of John Price being married to the prettiest wife. He invites Soap, Ghost, and Gaz over to his house where his pretty girl is sitting in the pool in the smallest bikini.

Getting all flustered because of the other guys but Price kisses her and says it's fine.

Ghost especially can't help but stare. He's never seen something so pretty in his life. Price knows you like him, you like the masked brooding L.T.

You sweetly ask for permission and of course Price grants it. You get to flirt with Ghost and hold on to his muscular arm while you try to convince him to get in the pool. However you just end up beneath him on a pool chair as he touches you.

"You take good care of your husband, love?"

"Mhm, I do. Let daddy fill me up all the time"

"You got room for one more?"

Letting him fuck you as Soap and Gaz try not to stare but they sit on the edge of the pool with their cocks hard. Price watching as he shamelessly strokes his cock, asking you how you like Ghost's dick in your tummy because it's so big.

Ghost fucking you in the backyard of your husband's house as the rest of em watch, trying not to be pervs. But you're just a sweet pretty little thing :( they can't help it.

Ghost is pounding you, making you moan so loudly. Good thing there's a tall fence surrounding the yard. He's got you pinned under his large frame, not even undressed.

Soap and Gaz cum in their swim trunks and Price's shoots over his happy trail on his stomach as Ghost pumps you full, leaving you dripping with his cum. You already know Price is going to want to fuck it back into you tonight along with his own.

Ghost was sweet though. Sent you flowers when he was away because he didn't want you to feel used even if you did want his cock anyway...

An: I don't know what came over me guys <3

[lethalchiralium]

Diamondback | Prologue

a/n: HEIBDEJFB i’m so excited for this one don’t even. I know it’s short, leave me alone 🥲

warnings: cussing, mentions of cheating/pregnancy (not reader), maskless!simon riley

summary: The heat was something else. With a heavy heart and nothing to lose, you’ve ditched your ex-fiancé to chase your childhood best friend across the country to a small town in a wildfire prone area of the United States - Pine, Arizona. It’s nestled in a valley and is where your best friend, Alex Keller, calls home. He’s following his passion, his dreams, and it soon enough, you’re following it too; but the flames are getting too close and soon you’ll be in the line of fire of your best friend’s superintendent, John Price, and his assistant, Simon Riley.

SERIES MASTERLIST | >> NEXT

Alex Keller was a man of his word. 

With his phone now slipped into his pocket, he moved with light steps from his locker and across the room to his Superintendent’s office. It was getting late, most of his fellow Hotshots had already gone home for the night. He was almost set out to leave too, having already put on his street shoes and his bomber jacket when you had called him. You’ve been his best friend since the first grade, essentially his second sister; he’d do anything to help you, so when you had called, his heart broke and anger flooded his body.

“Where are you gonna go? Your mom’s not the best choice-“

“Please tell me I can crash with you.”

“What?”

“Please. I’ll even work in your little firefighter station too.”

“You can’t just join a Hotshot crew, Y/N-“

“I know as much about fire and firefighting as you do, maybe even more.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the physical capabilities for it! It’s grueling, it’s exhausting-“

“Oh, I know you are not trying to mansplain your job to me.”

“What? No! No, it’s just-“

“A little hiking and extra upper arm workout is nothing. Put in a good word, would you?”

“I mean, I can- But be for real, you can’t uproot your life! You love being a fire watch.”

“Yeah, and I loved Justin. Shit can change, Alex.”

Alex knocked on the door, hearing faint voices of approval granting him entrance. He opened the door, revealing the warm light that had been on for a few hours. At the desk sat his Superintendent, John Price - a man with expertly groomed facial hair and the drive of a wildfire. He was physically and mentally maintained; he was everything a Superintendent should be. Across from him sat Alex’s Assistant Superintendent, Simon Riley - a man with the sense for fire science and for weather. The more physically maintained of anyone in the crew, he was the best at keeping the 141 Hotshots on their toes. The two of them worked incredible as a team and were the reason why the Pine Fire Department in Arizona was allowed their own Hotshot crew - Alex respected them.

Both looked to Alex, equally surprised he was still in the firehouse.

“What do you need, Keller?” Simon was the first to speak, Alex took a breath.

“Look, I know you guys are still looking for a new Hotshot, I may have a possible candidate.” He placed his hands on his hips, watching as Simon looked to Price. 

Price’s eyebrows furrowed. “Go on.”

Shit, how do I tell them that she’s just leaving her job ‘cause of that douchebag? “Uh, so she actually does- did, did fire watch in Yellowstone, she was a Hotshot for like… a year before? Anyway, she’s uh, she’s coming to live with me and wanted to know if she could interview.”

Price looked to Simon, who looked back to him. With a knowing glance shared between them, Price looked to Alex.

“She do drugs?”

Alex shook his head.

“Convicted of a crime?”

“No sir.”

Price’s next question was as blunt as it could’ve been. “Did she kill somebody?”

Alex blinked for a moment, stuttering, “Well-Well no! I mean she might, she has a good reason right now.”

Simon snickered, “Doesn’t everybody?”

Price glared at his Assistant Superintendent before he looked back to Alex. “When’s she gonna be here? ‘Cause we might be mobilizing soon.”

Alex looked at his watch. “She’s on a plane now.”

His Superintendent looked pleased before looking at Simon, then to his own watch.

“Have her be here by 9 tomorrow morning.” The man’s blue eyes were sharp as they looked back up to Alex. “If she washes out, it’s your ass on the line.”

“Yes sir.” 

The Hotshot still stood in the office, the Superintendent looked to his Assistant, who spoke. “Why are you still here, Keller?”

Alex cleared his throat. “As a good employee, I’m saying that she would be a great hotshot. As her friend…”

Both Price and Simon’s eyebrows raised. 

“She’s a bit… intense.”

“You son of a bitch!”

“Y/N, I swear! I don’t know a Natalie!”

A vase shattered against the wall next to your fiancé’s face, he shouted in fear - but you wanted him to feel your fucking rage. 

“You are a fuckin’ liar!”

A mug nearly hit him in the face, only to explode into a million pieces next to him. “Stop!”

You weren’t done. No, you were far from done. With a quick hand, you grabbed your former favorite framed photo of your engagement - a time where you were truly happy. It was a stark contrast to the scene now; you had made your way through the kitchen into the living room, throwing things to keep your fiancé, Justin, far away from you. “You got her-“ You chucked the picture frame at him, it barreled against the wall and shattered on impact. “fucking pregnant! You got a girl pregnant!”

“I didn’t!” He tried to take a stop forward but your hand was on another picture frame, ready to throw it, so he paused as he held his hands out. “It’s not fucking mine! I don’t know her!”

Another picture frame was thrown at him, he moved out of the way as you made your way to the front door. Your hand fished into your jacket pocket as you threw your backpack over your shoulder, throwing the small keyring at Justin. He took two steps closer, but you ripped open the front door.

“Where the fuck are you even gonna go?!” He shouted, face red with anger. You gave him a nasty look.

“Somewhere you won’t fuckin’ find me, ‘cause we are over. We will stay over, so if you harass me,” You snarled at him, taking a step backwards and out of the house. “So help me God, you’ll be meetin’ Him faster than you can say sorry.”

And you slammed the door behind yourself, hands shaking and tears threatening to fall. You had no one here in Montana, no one where you could hide and you sure as Hell weren't going to have your mother say "I told you so". With a shaking hand, you dug your phone out of your pocket and dialed the one person you always knew you could count on.

With two rings, he picked up and tears pricked your eyes. "Alex."

Taglist: @all-good-things-have-an-ending @warners-wife @random0lover

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

58 / 2.2k / shapeshifter familiars 141 tormenting witch reader for Halloween c:

...

You hum a song to yourself as you pull herbs from your garden and pile them into the crook of your arm. The sun sets rosy this evening; the sky is clear and the moon will be new.

You turn to go in, brushing off your black skirts with your free hand. But a familiar face darken your doorway. Nobody was there a moment ago. Your serene face falls into a sour frown.

"Soap."

Soap gives you a cocky grin. He hasn't lost that insufferable arrogance. "Evenin', witch."

You approach him with your herbs in tow. "What sad state of affairs brings you to my doorstep?"

"Aw, no warm welcome for your favorite scoundrel?"

"I favor you more as a crow."

"Handsome in all my forms, then."

You stop in front of him. It's clear you're going to have to wait for him to move or else squeeze past him. You plant your feet and wait, squaring your sight with his. "Where are the other two?"

Soap plucks one of the flowering herbs with his fingers to inspect it, then twirls it between his fingers. "About somewhere, likely causing the usual mayhem. They'll be right on my heels."

Your frown deepens. This is the fourth impossible quest you've sent them on. And they keep coming back. "Did you fetch what I asked?"

Soap raises an eyebrow as he moves closer to you, his eyes fixed on yours. He raises the plucked flower to his lips. There's an edge of challenge in his voice as he answers. "We did indeed." He gently sets the flower back on top of the pile. The he pulls out a small vial and dangles it in front of you. "And a little extra somethin' for you."

You reach for the vial only for him to pull it back.

Soap's smirk widens. "Pay up first."

Cold irritation spikes through you. You know just how he'd prefer to be paid. You shoulder past him and into your cottage with a scowl.

Soap, of course, follows you in, saunters through your front door, and kicks it shut behind him. He's not the least bit deterred by your annoyance. In fact, he quite likes it. He runs his fingers along the various bottles and implements on the shelves with idle interest. "Oh, come now. You ought to be glad we're back."

You cast your herbs into a basket near the sink. Then you stand at your scrying table, flensing knife in hand, and carve a niche into your palm. The pain is nothing. Not even when you squeeze your hand into a fist to force more blood out. It drips into the wooden bowl underneath.

Payment is payment.

Soap's breath hitches. He's watching you with keen interest. He likes watching you work, your precise, calculated movements and your confident touch with the knife.

The sight of your fresh blood only makes his smirk wider. He takes a step closer behind you to get a better view. "There are easier ways to pay your dues," he says. His hands come around to rest on the countertop on either side of you. "More pleasurable ways. Other, ah, fluids with which to slake thirst."

"Keep your distance, shapeshifter," you tell him. "Or you get nothing."

Soap rests his chin on your shoulder. The touch is far too familiar. His fingers twitch with anticipation, as if the blood on your hand tempts him forward. He's always been a touch perverse, anyway, about you wounding yourself to feed him. This is all your fault isn't it? Sending them quest after impossible quest. They only demand payment because you insist upon such extremes, naively thinking it will kill them.

"You think you have enough blood for all of us? There's an easier way. Just think," Soap murmurs in your ear. "My lips on your neck. My fingers inside you."

His words sends heat unbidden into your core. Unnaturally so. Immediately, your eyes flash, and an unseen force pushes him away from you.

Soap stumbles backwards from you, his body slamming into the nearby shelf. His shoulders heave, and he breathes heavier. Still smirking, but also looking a little more interested.

You see it in his eyes, what he doesn't say or acknowledge: he likes when you push back. He craves it. He likes to see you assert yourself.

"No need to be so inhospitable." That insufferable grin, cocky and smug again. "Just thought you might want to save your bleeding for more important things."

You ignore this. He takes a seat in your chair, and you resume your work. Another cut. Something brushes at your ankles--something purring and black.

"Gaz."

He purrs, deceptively soft and sweet as he twines around your feet. More blood from your palm hits the bowl. Gaz's nose twitches. He turns his intense cat-gaze upward to watch you from the ground. You ignore it.

Gaz is a more patient man than Soap. He knows exactly what effect Soap's words had on you. He can smell your response on the air, and it entices him. But he knows not to press.

Still, after a stretch of silence watching your blood pool, Gaz grates out a low meow as a bid for your attention. Then he jumps up onto the counter and pushes his kitty face into the blood bowl.

Soap clicks his tongue. "Jealous."

You push Gaz away just as his whiskers start to tremble. "Stop that."

Gaz gives a dissatisfied meow. He sits back on his haunches. With a glare, he licks one of his paws in distaste for your scolding.

You deposit him on the floor. Then you get back to work. Quickly, as you hear the distant call of a screech owl. Gaz saunters away with a languid stretch of his back legs.

The owl's cry echoes again. Louder now. And in reply, a dog outside your window howls.

Your heart thumps. Faster, you bid yourself. You dig your fingertips into the gash in your palm just to draw out thicker clots. Faster. No, there's no time. Casting the flensing knife aside with a clatter, you take the bowl in your uninjured hand and turn, hurrying to stand in the doorway. Two of them inside is enough. You don't want any more in your home. No more. It's all you can do to protect your home from what you brought upon yourself.

The dog howls again. Right outside. Then there's the sound of animal shifting to man, and an enormous shadow darkens your doorway before you can reach it. Ghost. He fills the door frame, towering over you and blocking your path. He's so tall and broad that, deliberate or not, every move feels like a challenge to your authority over him. He's on your side, you remind yourself. His size makes him a formidable ally. And a devastating foe, when he wants to be. He's looking at you like he's contemplating being just that.

He doesn't need to announce why he's here, and he doesn't need to say anything else. He's come for payment just as Soap and Gaz have. He'll take it from you one way or another.

Ghost's expression remains inscrutable. But he burns with an emotion you sense and he carefully hides.

"What's the hurry?" The words are low and gravelly.

You stare up at him as you force your nerves to steady. "Must you transgress into my home?"

Ghost's broad shoulders bunch beneath his tattered cloak. His dark eyes take in the scene before him, the way Gaz and Soap make themselves too comfortable in your home. Then they flicker down to the blood. He doesn't have much patience for these games of push and pull. "You expect us to drink from a bowl? Like swine at a trough?"

You cock your head. "Shall I fetch you all soup spoons?"

Ghost's scowl deepens. "Smartass witch. Be grateful we've been lenient with you."

"Have you?"

It's either amusement or contempt that flashes across Ghost's face. You're not sure which. "Do you need me to demonstrate what it means to not be lenient?" He shifts his weight, his shadow stretching and darkening the room around him. "With your insults and feeble scraps?"

"Payment is payment. Whether or not the blood comes in a bowl shouldn't matter. The source is the same."

He doesn't appreciate mind games. And he definitely doesn't appreciate when you, his witch, are the one playing them. You shouldn't play with him when he's already on edge. "Spoken like a woman who's never known how to starve." He strides closer. The sound of the floor shifts under his weight. He only stops when he's close enough to make you feel like the walls are closing in on you. He reaches forward, and with his forefinger, wipes one of the droplets from the rim of the bowl. He brings it to his lips and licks it off his finger. "The blood doesn't matter."

"The blood doesn't matter?" you echo, doubtful. "That doesn’t seem to be the case."

Ghost's eyes flicker with something. Hunger. "No," he murmurs. "You could fill the bowl with anyone's blood. It's you that makes the difference. You spill it. You offer it. That vulnerability is… personal. Better than blood. Fresh. Warm. A piece of you."

He runs his finger along the edge of the bowl and leaves a wet streak along the rim. He's watching you watch him. "You and your foolish demands. Your workarounds. Blood in a bowl isn't real vulnerability."

He takes a step closer and towers over you. "You think we don't notice how you go out of your way to make it as impersonal as possible? You're meant to give us something we want for our services. You'd be better off bleeding someone else dry and offering that up." He leans in closer and runs his gaze over you with a subtle tilt of his head. "But you would never try that, would you?"

"I told you I won't hurt other people for you. The contract is with me and me only."

Foolish promises. "That doesn't mean you get to cheat us."

You offer the bowl with more force. "Drink."

His annoyance flares. Your stubbornness, your arrogance--qualities that both make you a desirable object of focus and chip away at the shapeshifters' patience.

But they’ll be able to teach you a lesson for it sooner or later.

Ghost reaches forward, grabs your wrist, and raises the bowl to his lips. He looks you dead in the eye as he drinks.

Soap is at his side instantly. His pale eyes fix on the bowl.

You hear Gaz shift from feline to human behind you. He draws up until you feel his body heat.

"Now isn't that much nicer?" Gaz says, his voice just as cocky and insufferable as ever. "Nothing wrong with making it personal once in a while. No need to be so stingy."

You watch Ghost, eyes still locked on you, as he swipes his sleeve across his mouth and hands Soap the bowl without looking.

Soap gulps down two mouthfuls with an orgasmic growl.

Gaz chuckles as he brings it to his lips, drinking until it's empty. Then he lets the wooden bowl clatter to the floor. His mouth twitches up into a lazy smirk.

You pull your wrist free from Ghost’s grasp. "You got what you needed. Give me what you brought me and get out."

"Oh, don't be like that," Soap purrs as he prowls towards you. "You enjoy our company."

"Such poor manners," Gaz says mildly. "Seems we've still got to teach you what your responsibilities are. Price won't like hearing that."

You slow, lowering the bloodied bowl into your washbasin. "Price won't come. It's not time yet."

Ghost scoffs. "Price will do whatever he damn well pleases." He prowls closer as well, the predatory sound in his voice more obvious now, like a beast preparing to sink his teeth in. "And he won't like hearing how his second-favorite witch is a lousy hostess."

"He's not coming," you snap. A tinge of fear crawls up your spine.

"Price comes when he wants," Ghost snarls. "You should remember that before you act so foolish."

You hear the screech owl again. Closer this time. The bowl clangs against the bottom of the basin and dread churns deep in your gut.

"Do you hear that?" Gaz asks softly.

"You drank all the blood," you mutter. "You didn't leave any for him. This is your fault."

Soap smiles, but he’s not meeting your eyes. "We left him plenty."

You're helpless to do anything but watch as the sound of beating wings turns to boots falling on the undergrowth outside your open door.

He stands tall, his form blocking the moonlight and shadowing the already dim room. His dark eyes land on you, and he takes in your blood-stained hand and bloodied bowl with a hard frown. What a mess you've made.

"Witch."

He crosses the room to you and takes your jaw in his rough hand. His gaze drives ice into the blood still roaring hot through your veins.

"We're going to have a chat."

...

more Soap / more Gaz / more Ghost / more Price / masterlist

[i-love-you-just-the-same]

naps to lovers?

price is an accident, you fall asleep watching a movie with him after he cradles you in his bed. plops down with you to do some paperwork and he's out, too. you wake up cuddled into his chest and pretend not to notice his boner.

next it's johnny. you're both exhausted from sparring and workouts. instead of showering, he pulls you to his bed and tells you to wait for him before you get in. by the time you want up, the sheets are crusted with sweat and soap is on top of you, crushing you to the mattress.

after that, it's both johnny and kyle. smooshed between them after a long hard mission, it's hard not to appreciate two nice pillows. simon has the picture of you three asleep on each other.

kyle finds you in the mess hall after, pulling you to your room with the promise of takeout and uninterrupted rest.

simon is standoffish at first, but eventually offers himself up as a weighted blanket for you after being reprimanded by another force's captain (don't worry, price and gaz are handling it). he lets you hold him close while stroking your hair and face until you drift off. he frequents in odd hours with you (when he knows your alone or stacked up with another one of the boys).

you don't mean for it to, but it becomes much more regular. price pulling you into his lap during late night briefings, soap's head in your lap, and kyle following you back to your room. they get so much more casually affectionate- hands on you at all times, forehead kisses, and sweet words. they begin to take you out together after missions and on off days to movies and shopping (they love dressing you up).

this all builds up to a random friday where they bring you to a house about 30 minutes from base. lately, they'd all been a bit more secretive and making investments "for the wellbeing of the team" like price's new truck that could seat 7. the house has all five of yours stuff in it (ash trays, half finished sketches, sewing kits, kyle's hat on the table). you see some of your missing clothes in one of the big dressers half-opened drawers.

it shouldn't be a surprise to you then when you walk in the bedroom and there's a california king. you really should have expected it, hen, they've been courting you for months!

yeah, johnny's naked on the bed, so what?

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anothology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist | cw: oral (reader receiving)

Part Ten: Permission

A/N: We're SO back!

You’ve never been so happy to work an extra day.

Johnny gets the shop to himself on Sundays for walk-ins. Usually, he mans the shop by himself but you need to record the cash income from the convention in the ledger. Sure, you could do that during your usual hours the upcoming Wednesday and catch up on sleep, but you have too much nervous energy coursing through you. If you were home you would just be stewing on your couch the hole day and probably spiral into a panic attack. At least here, with a task and Johnny yapping in your ear, you don’t have to think about the fact that you made out with your boss too much.

Fuck. You really did that. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You woke up in a cold sweat, fingers brushing over your lips as you tried to decipher if it was real or dreamed. If you really kissed John, if he really held a hand on your lower back as he walked you home, if he really gave you a second, light peck before saying goodnight. The itch of his beard lingers, as well as the warmth where his hands cupped your face. It felt so good. So fucking good.

Then the context settles in. The fact that you kissed your boss makes you want to throw up - not for any dislike of it, just the fact that your job is now in limbo. Hanging in the balance until you can talk to him on Wednesday. At least you can take the next couple days to collect your thoughts - come up with a good apology that will hopefully let you keep your job and some semblance of dignity. Somehow make sense of the fact that you’ve kissed John and Kyle and surely when they find out they’ll think you’re a floosy. Loose and easy and pathetic and gross. You couldn’t quite meet your own eye in the mirror as you tried to get ready for the day.

The current, formerly “Future You” is not very happy with the now Past You. Frankly, you’d like to deck her for leaving you in this state of a permanent heart attack.

“Och, I’m about tae melt.” Johnny mutters, appearing from his room and stretching. His shirt rides up, exposing a thick happy trail that does not help you in your current spiral.

You just hum, gluing your eyes to the physical spreadsheet in front of you as you go through the sales from the convention. Numbers will clear your head. Yeah, nothing less sexy or more distracting than trying to do math with pen, paper and a TI-84 calculator.

“We should go get some ice cream.” Johnny leans over behind you, causing you to jump. Large hands settle on your shoulders as he rests his chin on the top of your head. At least Johnny is always touchy, you don’t have to read into it. You don’t think you could handle reading into it right now.

“Uh, yeah, okay.” You murmur, letting him lead you out of the office and flipping the out for lunch sign. You’ve been so lost in your head the entire day that you can’t fully pull yourself out of it - the same spiral of fears and self-degradation swirling around in your mind. A Cat 5 tornado of your own making. So stupid.

Johnny intertwines your fingers as you make your way down the street. Your hands swing lightly as you walk. Even with the heat, it doesn’t feel like too much. You’re not sure what it is - of you’re just comfortable or if Johnny just has something about him that makes touch feel perfectly natural - but it’s never overwhelming. Even when he’s hanging off you like a leech, it’s just Johnny. He doesn’t make you talk, doesn’t pry into why you’re so spaced out. He probably just thinks you’re tired. You are tired. So tired.

You don’t realize Johnny is saying something until he gently elbows your side. “Huh?”

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks with a concerned furrow in his brow.

“Oh, uh, I can get my own-“

”My treat.” He shakes his head, batting away the hand pulling your wallet out of your back pocket. You have no choice but to give in to him - there isn’t any point in arguing with Johnny.

“Thanks for suggesting this.” You murmur, as you sit at one of the wooden, outdoor tables in front of the shop a couple blocks down from the tattoo parlor. The tables are covered in the shade of trees and an awning, luckily, keeping the sun from beating down on you. It doesn’t stop your ice cream from melting nearly faster than you can eat it, but you don’t have the heart to complain after Johnny took you out and bought it for you.

“Aye. Seemed like ye needed some cheerin’ up. Never seen ye so sullen.” Johnny comments, casually stuffing a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. His eyes are sympathetic, though.

“Oh.” You thought you’d been doing alright at hiding it - came into the shop with a jokes and everything this morning. Sometimes it’s easy to forget how much Johnny actually notices between all his volume and energy.

“Gonnae tell me about it?”

“No.”

“Might help.”

You shake your head. “I- I’m- I can’t.”

“Okay.” He smiles gently, giving you a once over. His eyes are so sharp. The others do it too - take your body language in piece by piece. It doesn’t burn like when Johnny does it, though. His gaze is consuming, even when soft.

He seems to let you off the hook, though. It’s impossible to know how much he does or doesn’t know - how much any of them know. It puts you on edge, the inability to ask. After all, to ask is to admit. If you admit to it, you might lose it all. Fuck why did you kiss John? Kyle you can explain away - just a fun little bet. You’re close in age, he’s pretty, you’re together a lot, you get along. Nothing to it - even if it feels like there was. Even if it feels like every time you’re near him you’re going to melt and the air gets too thick and all you want is to pull him to the back room one more time.

John… John you can’t justify like that. He’s your boss. He’s over a decade older than you. Easily. He’s been so good to you but that’s not an excuse - it’s not right. You’re jeopardizing his place in his community. You’re jeopardizing your job. The best job you’ve ever had. The best friends you’ve ever had.

You can feel Johnny glancing at you as you walk, your eyes square on the ground and fists clenched anxiously. The heat outside only makes your head spin faster. Your cheeks feel feverishly hot. The ice cream almost curdles in your gut. Everything is too loud, too hot, too heavy.

You glance up at the clock. The day’s almost over - there probably won’t be more than one or two people that file in at most. You’ve finished with your work, currently just cross hatching on a sticky note in an attempt to calm your frayed nerves. It hasn’t worked. You need a distraction. A real, proper distraction.

“Johnny.” You snap, standing in the door way to his workroom.

“Hm?” He looks up, thick brows raised.

“I want a piercing.”

He cocks his head, taking you in from head to toe. “Aye?”

“If you have time.”

“I’ve always got time fer ye.” He grins.

You almost roll your eyes, but you’re too raw at the edges to really care about his usual flirting. There’s too much weighing on your mind - too much real anxiety knotting itself around your synapses and crushing them in it’s hold. The pain will help. It’ll ground you - sharpen your senses. You can focus on taking care of it for the next couple days between sleeping the days away until Wednesday. Until you can get this shit over with.

The only answer is to quit, right?

That’s your only option.

“What d’ye want?” Johnny asks.

You shrug. “What’d you think?”

He taps his chin, eyes slowly making their way over your body. You wonder if he can see how tense you are - body so locked up your joints ache and your jaw throbs. It’s a wonder your teeth are still there with how much you’ve been grinding them.

“How about a navel?”

“Okay.” You agree too quickly, flopping back on the pairing table. You focus in on a water mark on the ceiling above while Johnny digs through his tool cabinet, laying everything neatly on a small rolling tray.

Johnny stops above you. You don’t even turn your head to look, fists clenching and unclenching.

You’ll have to quit.

That’s your only choice. No reference calls, no contact. Will Simon hate you? Will they all? Will they talk about why you up and left? Will they show up at your apartment to demand an answer? No. You don’t mean that much - only a blip on the timeline of their shop. The corners of your eyes burn.

Johnny’s fingers skate over your soft middle, barely touching as he passes over the button of your jeans. He pauses, glancing down at you. “Bonnie?”

“Yeah?” You reply a little too harshly.

Johnny leans over you, hands on either side of your head, blue eyes burning through your skull. He blocks out the light above. “Yer doin’ this because ye want to, yeah? Not to punish yerself?”

You shrink into the table, hackles raising. It really is so easy to forget that Johnny is an observant bastard. Loud, brash, but he still sees everything. Like how he learned your coffee order by heart without you ever even saying it to him or having it written on the cup. He absorbs things, files it away, keeps it close to his chest and hides it behind his blunt, brash daily manners. You’ll miss him.

“I- yeah, I’m fine.” You wince internally at the shake in your voice.

“Y’know, we all love ye.” Johnny murmurs.

You huff, eyes darting anywhere to get away from his. Laying on the table suddenly feels slightly trapping. You can’t get your gaze fully away from where he stands over you - so close as his thick arms cage you in. “Guess so.”

“An’ there’s nothin’ tae feel guilty or bad about.”

Your eyes snap to his face, wide and worried. Does he know? Was he told? Do you ask? If you ask, you’ll be admitting to it. If you ask, then he will know for sure. If you ask, you might ruin it all. “I don’t-“

“Ye do.” He cuts you off. “An’ ye have permission, even if ye dinnae need it. It’s okay. Ye havennae done anythin’ wrong.”

You stare, mouth opening and closing lamely. Johnny. Straight forward, loud mouth, unsubtle Johnny. Fuck, you love him for it. Doesn’t dance around what he means. Doesn’t avoid what needs to be said - from his end, at least.

“Did- did you talk to-?” You stutter, struggling between needing to know and fear to admit the truth so blatantly. Even if he obviously knows something.

“Not really. Not my business.” Johnny shrugs casually.

Not his business. So they persue separately, you think. That makes sense. Probably. It’s probably wrong to make assumptions about the dynamic, about the implication that they have some sort of free for all. Then again, you don’t really know anything about their interpersonal workings much. They live together, they’re touchy. The dynamic is a mystery to you - only adding to the piles of confusion.

“Yer thinkin’ tae hard about it.” He pokes the furrow between your brows.

Oh. Is that it? You’re overthinking? No, adults talk about these things. You don’t understand the interpersonal workings here at all. Are they together? Do they just do this? Pull girls in and push them around until they get tired? That feels too cruel for them. They’ve taken such good care of you…

“I still… want to talk.” You murmur, cheeks warm.

His face softens, a light smile tugging at his lips. “An’ ye will. Kyle’s been damn near loosin’ it with ye avoiding him.”

“I’m not avoiding him!” You snap far too defensively.

“Sure ye aren’t.” Johnny shrugs, as if to tell you he knows that’s bull. Not his business, though, he said. “Just… donnae be so scared of us, aye? We’ve got yer back.”

Your shoulders drop, sore from being tensed for the entire day. “Okay.”

“Still want tae get peirced?”

You nod, chest far less tight. As though you finally let go of a breath you had been holding the entire day. “Sure, why not.”

Your shoulders slump as Johnny makes his way through the usual song and dance - showing you the freshly cleaned tools and marking the spot for the needle. Somehow the world seems… quieter. As if all the chatter in your mind had been just as deafening to your physical ears. It’s tiring. That same sting behind your eyes that you get after a long night out. Your defenses are down, and your body is finally at rest.

“Ow!” You gasp, lifting your head to meet Johnny’s impish grin with a glare. “A little warning next time!”

“Tha’s what happens when ye donnae listen.” He teases, slipping the jewelry through. “She’s cute.”

You snort. “She better be. Y’know I should tell John on you for improper conduct.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Aye, ye an’ Price know plenty about improper conduct.”

There’s no malice in the comment, or in the grin he settles on you. For once, you don’t freeze up. Don’t send yourself into a panic spiral over what he knows or thinks or feels. Johnny made himself clear. Instead you land a light smack against his arm and huff in embarrassment.

“Stand f’me.” Johnny murmurs after cleaning the piercing, a heat in his eyes that you can’t quite gauge the source of.

You do as you’re told, slipping off the table. You have to hook a finger into the waistband of your jeans to keep them up, cheeks hot as you realize how much is actually exposed with the fully undone fly. You glance up at a far too pleased Johnny. Didn’t even say a word, the mischievous bastard.

He drops to his knees in front of you. Your brows shoot damn near into the sky. Johnny mumbles something about making sure the piercing is sitting right. You roll with it, knowing he’s probably just saying whatever to get you to keep your pants undone a little longer. Your breath quickens as a large, warm hand flattens itself over your soft belly, unabashedly groping. Not that you mind, really, even if it does make your face so hot it might melt.

Your heart almost breaks out of your rib cage when he places a small kiss next to the piercing. His hand lowers, resting beside yours on the waistband of your jeans.

“May I?” Johnny murmurs, big blue eyes blinking up at you.

You have permission.

You don’t need permission.

You have it, though.

“Yeah.” You gasp, shivering at the cold air on your skin as Johnny pulls your pants halfway down your thighs.

“Pretty, pretty lass.” He murmurs, nipping at the softness of your belly and down to your thigh. “Look at ye.”

“Flatterer.” You scoff, attempting to let the tension melt off your shoulders with the usual snide remarks you slide each others way.

“M’just honest…” Johnny mumbles absently, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear. “Ye always walkin’ around in somethin’ this skintie?”

For a moment, your brows knit in confusion. That is until he pulls back and snaps the string of your thong against your hip. Your face somehow gets even hotter and you grumble out a poor excuse of, “S’laundry day…”

Your hips twitch as he traces between your lips through the cloth. So uncharacteristically slow and methodical for Johnny as he feels you, like he’s trying to memorize it. A shamefully harsh jolt runs up your spine as he presses just slightly into your clit.

“Sensitive little thing.” Johnny grins up at you. You swear the devil has a less delinquent grin.

“It’s been a while.” You shrug, aiming once again for casual and missing by a mile.

His grin only grows, eyes bright and hungry. “Let’s get these off.”

You shimmy your hips a bit to help him get both your underwear and jeans completely down. A wave of shyness overtakes you as it settles in that you’re utterly exposed to Johnny, your friend and coworker, in the middle of your workplace just as the sun has begun to edge down close to the horizon. It’s almost too much, and you almost yank your pants back on with a stammered, fake excuse, but Johnny soothes his hands up your thighs, gaze locked onto your pussy like it’s the only thing that exists and yeah… you want that.

You have permission.

“There she is.” He cups you gently, grinding the heel of his hand against your clit just hard enough to make you gasp.

Before you can say or do anything his hand retracts and Johnny settles you with the most serious look you’ve ever seen from him. It looks wrong, almost, on that face that’s supposed to have a permanent ear to ear grin.

“If ye want tae stop, I need ye tae tell me now.”

“No.” The word leaves you before you can even register the thought - desperate and breathy.

It earns a low chuckle. The only warning you get before Johnny licks a long stripe up between your lips, letting his tongue rest on your clit for just a moment before repeating the motion as though he’s not just eating you out but truly trying to truly get a taste for you. To memorize you as he drinks you in.

“Should let me give you a Christina…” He murmurs, pulling back to look at you.

“Ah, wha-“

“Look so pretty on this fat little cunt.” Johnny gives you a light smack for good measure, grinning at the visible jolt that travels up your spine before diving back in. He hooks a leg over his shoulder, leaving you balancing on your tip toes with your hands flat on the table behind you. It’s precarious and with absolutely no room to escape the attention he’s lavishing on you. It’s almost desperate, the way he moves. The way he devours. A man utterly starved.

“Fuck-“ you gasp as his tongue piercing catches your clit. Rough hands knead at the softness of your thighs and hips, urging you to press into him, to take as much as he’s giving.

“Tha’s it, ride m’face…” Your fingers lock into his mohawk and Johnny’s slurred words become the most pornographic moan you think you’ve ever heard. He practically goes limp - body relaxed and pliant while you grind down onto his tongue.

You tilt your head forward, risking looking down only to meet those big blue eyes staring up at you with all the intensity of the sun. A shaky moan passes your lips and his eyes flutter.

“J-Johnny-” The whine of his name only spurs him on - has him pressing his tongue so deep inside you and drinking you in full.

If he has any complaints about the way your heel digs between his shoulder blades as you unconsciously pull him closer, he doesn’t make it known. His nails rake over your ass, biting and stinging in contrast to everything else. It’s so much. Heat continues to pool at the base of your spine - babbling words, please and moans spill messily from your lips.

Your climax catches you off guard as Johnny sucks harshly at your clit; lighting your body aflame with only his mouth. Every muscle inside you tenses and the sounds you let out can only be described as strangled whines.

You have to yank a little at Johnny’s hair to get him to stop when the overstimulation reaches just the wrong side of too much; he’s well and truly lost in the moment. It fuels your ego to dangerous heights - the idea that this gorgeous man became that intoxicated just from your pussy.

There isn’t even time to say anything before Johnny is standing and connecting his lips with yours. You taste yourself on his tongue, his lips - somehow this is the first time you’ve found that pleasant. With heavy breaths you watch him wipe around his mouth his his palm, only to exaggeratedly lick and clean what’s left off his hand. Fucking sinful.

“Nasty man.” You sigh, too blissed out to be truly critical. Johnny winks and you roll your eyes.

“S’about quittin’ time.” He says, tilting his head to look up at you through thick lashes. “Should get ye home.”

You frown, still trying to come back to earth as you glance down. “Don’t- do you want-?”

He looks you over, your mouth goes dry as his hand drops from your hip to adjust himself. The implications of the outline through his thick denim has your head reeling and your breath quickening. Johnny chuckles at you, surely seeing it written plain across your face. You might as well start drooling and panting like a dog.

He buries his nose into the crook of your neck to nip at your skin. “Another time. Want tae savor ye.”

You shiver, unable to stop the smile that quirks up the corners of your lips. You have permission. You don’t need it, but you have it.

A/N: Sorry if this is a little rough, I'm getting back into the swing of things. It's finally time for things to get fun, tho ;)

Also please give some love to this AMAZING fanart from @eurydicescurse