#captain John price

[gomzdrawfr]

YEAH YEET

[girl-lostconnection]

Thinking thoughts about fae!Reader who looks just like a normal person, not a trace of magic in their appearances, not a smidge of glamour the rest of their folk use routinely.

Fae!Reader who crosses paths with 141, their eyes warm when they sell a handsome man with Mohawk a sketchbook in a tiny town somewhere in the middle of nowhere, when the lads are out there.

Fae!Reader who follows the taste of their bonds, who feeds off the “thank you, bonnie!” from a friendly Scot, their eyes shining for a single moment before they are normal again. Regular. Human.

Fae!Reader who meets the even friendlier sergeant right after, their fingers itching to trace the smooth expanse of his dark skin, to sink in teeth into the muscular forearm.

To see if the man bleeds as pretty as he looks.

It’s a different city and a different time now, their hook sinking into the soft underbelly of man’s genuine gratitude when they help him to pick up spilled groceries.

Fae!Reader who hunts Price down, two steps up on the ladder, their excitement vibrating so hard that part of their human, regular appearance start to melt off.

They meet him in a different place again, they get a short “thank you, love” — off-handed and hardly warm, for a cup of coffee they serve him.

But it’s still a thanks, it’s still another hook.

It’s still a debt.

Fae!Reader who comes to Price in dreams, their face always murky, their appearances ever changing, their weight on his hips making him ache for things he shouldn’t. Coaxing out a plea from him, getting their fill of his desperation, kissing the man stupid and leaving before sunrise.

Fae!Reader who now is three steps up, leaving them with the last one.

With Ghost’s heavy presence, with Ghost’s watchful eyes and iron all over the body. This one could be tricky.

Ghost, who knows that they will come — who have seen the dazed look in his captain’s eyes, the way Johnny itches for something and doesn’t remember what for, the way Kyle develops strange hungers he can never sate.

Ghost who bumps into you himself, ‘accidentally’ dropping your coat off the back of their chair in a bustling cafe, murmuring “here ya go, luv” when he picks it up and gives it back.

Fae!Reader who tilt their head to the side and murmur “thank you”, Ghost’s fingers lingering on your shoulders when he puts the coat back on them.

Cold outside, luv, wouldn’t want you to freeze when you are so far away from your court. Following them to the edge of the world.

Bond snaps in place like a tight golden lace, when fae blinks at him astounded, their eyes shining for a second too long, their human face starting to melt just above their left brow before they pull themselves together.

Simon knows he needs to be careful. Simon knows that fae are petty, that fae are dangerous, that fae hold grudges for as long as they live.

And they live forever.

But Ghost hums under his breath and pulls away finally, turning his back to the creature that haunted his whole team for the last three years, weaving themselves inside them.

When pretty fae comes back Ghost is already waiting for them — tugging them out of their shadows, biting down on their neck and holding them down.

You hiss at him, shadows curling around Simon’s ankles, threatening to break them in half. But Simon has the shadows of his own.

Ghost tuts at you like you are unruly pet being ridiculous, leaning in to lick your blood off, low growl rumbling in his chest. Fuck, that’s even better than he thought it’s going to be.

You are half dazed and half mad, when he pushes your back to his captain’s chest. John’s smoke curling like a live thing, John’s fingers angling your head up, thumb prying your mouth open.

Bad bad idea it was to come to them yourself, to make them want and yearn and wait.

Soap smiles, light bending around him, his eyes impossible blue of mountain springs, his teeth just a little too sharp.

His fingers getting into your hair, getting himself just a strand, just enough to tide him over while L.T. and captain take their fill.

Didn’t you know you need to be careful, bonnie?

Fae are petty, after all.

Fae are vicious.

Fae are dangerous.

Kyle’s fingers tug your shirt off, big palms of his coming up to your chest, stars dancing on the edge of his irises, his smile stretching a little too wide to be human.

Fae hold grudges for as long as they live, darling.

And they live forever.

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Soap fucked the Captain's Daughter

INT. CAPTAIN PRICE’S OFFICE – NIGHT

The mood is serious. Dimly lit. The tension is thick. Captain Price stands behind his desk, hands braced on the wood, jaw clenched. Gaz sits in a chair off to the side, wide-eyed, sensing danger. Soap is grinning like a schoolboy who just got away with skipping class. He’s recounting something—animated, smug, proud.

SOAP Mate, you should’ve seen her. Bloody firecracker. Had me gasping for air. Not to be crass, Cap, but let’s just say—she's might be stronger than me. She's a beast, I’ll tell you that.

GAZ (eyes widening) Johnny, shut up.

SOAP What? What?! I'm just sayin’—I’ve never been folded like that in my life. She said she was into military guys and I was like "say less."

GAZ (horrified) Soap—

PRICE (very, very quiet) Her name?

SOAP Uh… [Y/N]. [Y/N] Price.

PRICE (pause. calm. too calm) [Y/N]. Price?

SOAP Yeah, mate. Brunette. Killer smile. Cute little tattoo on her hip that says—wait… (he freezes, blinking) …Price?

GAZ(whispers) Oh my God.

PRICE (face turning red, voice rising) You slept with my daughter?!

SOAP (panicking) Wait—wait wait wait, hold on! Your daughter daughter?!

PRICE (yelling now) YOU BRAGGED TO ME ABOUT IT. IN DETAIL.

SOAP I didn’t know she was YOUR kid! I thought she was just a civvy! A hot civvy! She didn’t say anything!

PRICE She called me DAD, you absolute muppet!

GAZ (screaming from the chair) I told you to shut up, Johnny!!

SOAP (trying to recover) I—I can explain! It was mutual! It was passionate! It was respectful! I saluted her—twice!

PRICE (roaring) YOU'RE DEAD, MACTAVISH!

Price starts circling the desk like a bull who’s just been let out the gate. Soap starts backing toward the door, hands up.

SOAP Sir! Sir! Captain! Let’s talk about this like grown—AH!—

Price lunges. Soap bolts. Gaz leans back, takes a sip from the water bottle on Price’s desk, and sighs.

GAZ They are never gonna live this down in briefing tomorrow.

[uzurimisery]

love thy neighbor. / john price x reader

Buying a house to use when you’re never home is a stupid idea, but John Price has done it anyway. He doesn’t think much of it after 10 years, til you move in behind him, and then suddenly it’s not so bad.

warnings: MDNI, John “talk her through it” gentle dom Price, unprotected sex, piv, oral sex (fem receiving), reader is called girl, praise kink, light biting, implied pregnancy, you have a child at the end

w.c.: 5.6k

It’s not often that John finds himself so… distracted. With a job like his, that means certain death.  Never let your head wander. Never let your eyes drift. Stay focused. Ready. Out in the field, your head swivels for a bird like his is and that's a bullet to your temple. Hopefully, the shot kills you right away and doesn’t leave you bleeding on the floor. Slow and painful way to go. Choking on your blood, teammates around you just watching, wishing they’d finish the job, and you wouldn’t have to fade away.

But there’s something about you that’s got him distracted. 

Your garden backs up against his, property lines defined by an old wooden fence that's been there since the 60s. Not much to look at for his side.  He keeps his grass cut short with minimal landscaping. Few large paver stones between the patio and the slab of concrete the hot tub sits. He’s rarely even home to see it. 

The house had been a purchase he felt he had to make when he hit 30. Soap joked it was his midlife crisis since every crisis could be their midlife one. He guessed it gave him a weird sense of normalcy that never sat right. Like shoes that are ever so slightly too tight. They fit, could even fit better if you took the time to stretch them out, but he doesn’t. Told himself it’d be a better fit when he retired. If he got the chance. 

 Now he’s 40, a homeowner for a decade, and it’s barely used, and he’s barely there. Hell, the weekly cleaner and gardener had been there more since he bought it than he had. John’s only ever there when he’s got an extended break between missions, but well and truly, how often is that?

He hadn’t even noticed when the old couple who used to own the end of the terrace house passed away, and you moved in. Meredith and James. It had happened eight months ago, right at the end of autumn. Tells you how much of a good neighbor he is. John didn’t learn about it until April hit, and you came knocking on his door. 

You had a black oversized jumper tucked into some dark wash high-waisted jeans with a big hole on the left knee. Hair held back with a claw clip, brows drawn ever so slightly together. Like you were nervous as you shifted side to side holding a plate of cookies. 

It was one of those gross British spring days where the air starts to get muggy as the sun hits its peak. Past the part of spring where it’s grey and drizzly for weeks straight, the cold still clinging to your bones. 

He’d barely been home for 13 hours. Came in and passed out, only woke up about 20 minutes ago, and turned on the TV in the lounge to listen to the news while he made a late lunch. Still in the groggy headspace of jetlag, but he swore you looked radiant. 

“Hi! I wanted to introduce myself.” You had a soft voice. Gentle. Like you were afraid of spooking him. “Meredith told me that you’re often overseas, and… well, this is the first time I think I’ve seen you home.” You gave him your name and told him you owned the house behind his now. 

John was pleasant for the whole interaction, chatting with you for about 15 minutes before you excused yourself. Smiled and said all the right things like his mum raised him to, still not really all there mentally. Didn’t even really click for him that you shared the fence with him until two days later, he saw you in the garden, taking a hammer to the fence with a mean look on your face. 

Good opportunity for him to be neighborly. 

“You alright?” He’s leaning out the first-floor window, arms resting on the windowsill. 

John didn’t expect you to startle so much, dropping the hammer with a shriek before your head whipped up to him. “Fucking hell you scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, love,” he chuckles, “Something wrong with the fence?”

“Yeah,” there's sweat beading down your forehead that you swipe away. He has a wandering thought about licking it off you. “I think the wood’s rotted through. I leaned something against it yesterday and it about gave through.”

Great opportunity for him to get closer to you. 

“I’ll come down and have a look.”

Turns out the wood was rotted through for more than half the fence. The whole thing was one bad wind day away from falling over. John had removed some of the worst parts that day with plans to remove the rest on Tuesday morning. That was until you both got hit with a stop-work order. One of the neighbors had called the council and complained. Something about protecting historic areas, and the boundary of the two properties not being legally defined. Not their place at all, but regardless, neither of you could do anything about it now. 

They did at least let John finish taking the fence down for safety concerns, so the two of you spent that time getting to know each other better. You were 34, worked as a fashion buyer, but you really wanted to be a designer, liked holidays with your girlfriends where you could try new wines, and were perhaps the sweetest bird he’d ever met, hidden behind a layer of fierce sass. 

Then the council told the two of you it’d be another eight to ten weeks for them to assess the new fence and then another three for them to do an impact report on whether it’d require the other fences to be changed. Typical British bureaucracy. The fence was being built in the same way it had looked prior to it being torn down.

But now it meant the two of you shared one big garden. One big, ambiguous green space only defined by how much landscaping you had done and the numerous planters full of growing veggies you had. Not a big deal for him. While he liked his space, a week or two of shared garden wouldn’t kill him. 

Then the pandemic hit and no one was going to approve jack shit or build anything. It was like the council fully vanished, emails going unanswered. 

John had been deployed shortly after the lockdowns were announced and told you to email him if anything important came up with the council. You laughed, told him you would, and followed it up by demanding he stay safe lest you have to deal with a new neighbor and no fence. 

True to your word, you did email him. It was never any updates regarding the fence. Rather, it was you checking in on him and telling him about the local gossip. Turned into penpals. Between bouts of violent warfare, he got to know you, and hell, he’d say you’re bordering on friend territory now, which isn’t a title he gives out often. He tried to be polite and cordial, but the image of you sunbathing never left his mind. 

When he came back 12 weeks later in the dead of night, he climbed into his bed in the primary suite on the third floor and passed out. Bags dropped by the front door, half blocking it from opening. Maybe he was finally getting too old for this. 

 He didn’t wake up until 1 pm, sunshine making the room uncomfortable and hot. He hadn’t programmed the aircon to come on yet. Sweat clung to his back, t-shirt fabric uncomfortably damp, and he pulled himself out of bed.

Trudging to the window, he throws it open in the hopes that the jet stream might bless him with some breeze before he hops into the shower. He might have opened it with more force than needed, hinges creaking, now squinting from how bright the sun was.

Then he saw you. Lounging on a beach chair. 

Now, remembering the lack of fence between the two of you, he didn’t think much of it until he rubbed his eyes as his vision cleared.

You were lying in the chair, sunglasses on as you listened to Jazz House, a staple of yours, he noticed, stretched out supine and basking in the sun. The glint of an anklet was the first thing he noticed before trailing his eyes upwards to your baby blue bikini bottoms and no top. Tits soft and supple in the sun. They shone, covered in what he assumed was tanning oil, jiggling as you raised your arms to cover your eyes. 

If he were a better man, he’d look away. Step back from the window and pretend he never saw anything. Unfortunately, he’s not a better man. John looks on a bit longer, memorizing every inch of your skin, before he walks to the bathroom. 

The shower he takes is ice cold.

It’s a couple of days later, right before the sun starts to wane, the light turning golden, and the squad has shown up for a barbecue. You’ve spoken to him briefly, claiming you’d catch up more when you weren’t so busy. 

Price’s place became the de facto grilling spot a few years back. It was probably the most use it had ever gotten. Helped, he had a big garden, a high-quality grill, and guest rooms for the lads to crash in if they drank too much. 

Ghost and Soap had brought four packs of Carling. Pure shite in his opinion, but Soap was a fan and at the end of day free beer is free beer. John’s on his third can, enjoying the build of a buzz as he stands over the grill flipping kebabs, lamb, and beef with some veg, listening in on a story Ghost is telling him. There’s an old 80s rock playlist one of the lads found on Spotify that’s agreeable enough. Soap and Gaz are wrestling while Ghost intermittently laughs at their attempts to pin each other. 

He almost forgets there’s no fence between your places till you come out bounding over in a short little white dress that scrapes the tops of your thighs, struggling to open a jar of olives. You looked like a goddamn angel. 

“Hey John,” he places the tongs down as you come closer.  “Could you help me open this jar? The girls and I are making martinis, and I can’t seem to—oh. Hello!” 

You’ve crossed the imaginary threshold and are only a few feet away from him as you look up, still trying to open the jar. 

“Take it this is your squad?” Your eyes flick between him and the group of very large men near him. 

“Aye, love,” he motions with his head towards them. “Lads, say hello.”

Like the well-trained dogs they are, a round of “You Alright,” and “Evenin’” rings out. 

You smile and give a small wave. “Sorry, I won’t interrupt for long.” You draw closer to him, holding out the jar with one hand and the other curling around his bicep. “Could you open this? We’re dangerously low on olives, and we’re making martinis.” 

You smell like coconut cream, vanilla, and sunscreen as the tips of your French manicured nails catch on his skin. 

John smiles,  takes the jar, and opens it before sealing it again and passing it to you. You beam up at him, lips shiny with gloss. “There you go, love,” he tries not to look down the front of your dress, but from this angle, it's hard not to. Especially once he notices you’re not wearing a bra.

“Ugh, my hero!” Sighing dramatically, you give his arm another squeeze before holding the jar with both hands. “I’ll bring you a martini as payment. What are you making?”

You’ve leaned across him, pulling your hair to the side as you inspect the grill. From the corner of his eye, he sees Gaz give Soap a nudge. 

“Kebabs.” You lean a bit too far forward and he puts a hand your your waist to steady you. “Have a few steaks to put on if the occasion calls for it.” 

You gasp and smack his chest. Mock betrayal and hurt with a smile. It’s light and playful, and you don’t make any move to get away from his hand on your waist. “Where was my invite?” 

John raises a brow. “You told me you were with the girls tonight.”

“Yes, but if I had known you were grilling I would have told them to sod off.”

One of the boys, surprisingly, Ghost, laughs. It’s a real laugh too, which is a bit mental coming from him. 

“Don’t be cruel to your friends now.” 

“They’d understand,” you’re quick with the reply. “We’re only having martinis and cheese.” 

You do this thing he’s picked up on. Leaning a little too forward and looking up at him through your eyelashes, lips in a slight part. Intentional? Maybe. Innocent? Probably. Dangerous? 100%. It’s the kind of look that gives him pause.  Stabs him in the heart and weasels its way into his bloodstream. Gets his thoughts going a bit too fast.

Makes him wonder what you’d look like with his cock in your mouth. 

“Tell you what,” he offers, clearing his throat. “You go to Tesco and get some more, and your lot can join us.”

“Would you guys mind?” You direct the question to the squad, peaking over John’s shoulder.

Even if they did, with the hunger Price has in his eyes for you, they’d never have said no. There’s an intensity there they’ve only seen in the field, and they aren’t stupid. They can tell that he’s itching to fuck you. He had been glued to his inbox when they were deployed and evasive about answering them about who he was emailing. Easy to put two and two together.

20 minutes and one Tesco Express trip later, you and two of your friends, Joanne and Marcy, had pulled up your two garden chairs to join the men, bringing with you enough martinis for everyone. The three of you go the rounds teasing one another, breaking into fits of giggles, and you all get situated once the food is done cooking. He didn’t expect it, but your friends get on well with his squad. 

Rather than bring one of John's dining room chairs out, you’ve taken to perching on his knee. One arm draped across his shoulders, toying with his shirt, and the other holding a skewer that you pick at in between talking. You’re acting like it's the most natural thing in the world, so he does the same, resting a hand on your knee.

Once the food is done and you girls have moved onto a wine, unmotivated to make more martinis, you get looser. The sun has fully set now, and everyone's been well fed. It's reaching the point where you know that once someone says they’re heading home, everyone will naturally see themselves out, but no one’s making the first move.

He’s painfully hard and every time you wiggle, giggly from the alcohol, your ass brushes against him and makes it worse. Maybe it’s the alcohol getting to him or maybe it’s the pent-up sexual frustration, but when you move again, he can’t help but whisper in your ear, low and slow. “Careful there, love.”

“What do you mean?” Voice soft and teasing as you turn towards him. 

 He likes the sweet and innocent act you put on as you rock back against him. At first, he thought you weren’t aware of it, but now it’s clear you knew.

It’s a quick, sharp breath he draws. “You know exactly what I mean,” John’s lips brush your ear. The low rumble of his voice sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling in your core. 

“Hmm…” you rock backward again. “Maybe I need you to spell it out for me?” 

There’s a coy smile on your lips that makes him want to fucking bend you over the table. But he’s barely a gentleman and wouldn’t do that in front of your friends. One hand grabs at your waist, stilling your movements. The tension between the two of you feels electric. You’re hyper-aware of every place his bare skin meets yours. It’s not quite a warning, not quite a promise. Just enough to make you realize he’s barely holding onto his composure.

Joanne laughs loudly, pulling your attention outwards. 

Ever aware, Ghost notices what's transpiring between the two of you and stands. “Right then, time for me to head home.” 

Price watches as Ghost ushers the lads up, and your friends follow. He leads them all to the back door, turning to Price and nodding before heading through himself. You catch the look he gives John as he goes. A subtle little note.

Behave. 

The door shuts and the garden falls quiet. 

Now alone, nerves start creeping through you. Doesn’t help that John doesn’t move. He sits there for a minute, hands on your waist, thumbs brushing at the fabric of your dress. You’re 99.99% sure that he wants the same thing you do, but god forbid a girl feels nervous. Feels like your heart is loud enough he could hear it as well as he felt it through your clothes. 

He exhales, slow and controlled. 

Then, his grip tightens on your waist. 

“Nervous?” he noses at your shoulder, mustache tickling slightly. His voice is low and rough, like he recently smoked a cigar. 

You nod, small and shy. “A bit.”

John hums, happy he has that effect on you. Almost like he’s purring. One of his hands slides up your front, brushing past your tits, before settling on your jaw and turning your face towards him. The look in his eyes is one you’ve never seen before. It goes beyond hunger, he’s starving. 

“Don’t be.”

You crash into him. The kiss is heavy, all-consuming, and leaves you lightheaded. John’s hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers enmeshing themselves in your hair, tilting you as he sees fit. His other hand roams your body, grabbing your breast and squeezing it. You moan, letting him slip his tongue into your mouth, and you melt into him. 

When you break apart, panting slightly and leaning back against him, you giggle as he presses open-mouthed kisses against your exposed neck and shoulder. “Been thinking about this for a while, pretty girl.”

He lets go of your hair to pick you up at the waist and reposition you better on his lap. “Thinking about ‘ow pretty you’d sing for me.” John settles his hands on your hips now. “‘Ow sweet you’d taste.” 

Strong hands pull your hips back before pushing them forward. It goes to your head a bit, and you're stunned as he repeats the motion.

“Don’t be shy now. Had no problem doing this earlier, did you?” 

“No,” you stuttered out, grinding your hips down as instructed. 

“That’s a sweet girl,” he continues to guide your hips. 

Each bump and grind pulls you further and further into a corner of debauchery you thought you left behind in your 20s. It sends waves of pleasure through your body. John’s hands grip you tighter, driving you into a steady rhythm with him. His erection strains against his shorts. 

“That’s it,” he growls. “Just like that, love.”

Your breath is short gasps drawn in a haze as the friction builds, panties soaked and clinging to your folds. Price’s lips find your neck again, pressing more hot kisses to the strip of flesh. Feels like you’re burning up as his teeth graze your pulse point, and you whimper. 

“John,” you plead. For what you aren’t sure. 

He takes his hands off your hips to push the straps of your dress off your shoulders. It falls softly off them, exposing your tits, nipples hard. John tweaks one, rolling it between his fingers, and your head falls forward with a soft cry. You don’t stop moving your hips, lost in the feeling as he continues to palm your chest. He cups them, kneading them as you continue to rock your hips.

“Love… Sweet girl,” he bucks his hips up to meet yours, grinding himself against your aching core. “Tell me you want this and I’ll take you inside and give you what you’re begging for.”

“I want it,” you stutter out. “Please, John.”

His grip on your breasts tightens. “That’s it.” He stands, picking you up bridal style in one fluid motion, your body pressed firmly against his chest. The night air is cool as it hits your bare breasts. John is swift as he takes you inside, closing the door with his foot as he brings you into the lounge. He knows he doesn’t want to make the trek upstairs yet. He’s gotta fuck you on the couch before he takes you upstairs and fucks you in his bed or he might burst at the seams and fuck you like a wild animal. 

Price deposits you on the chaise part of his sectional so he can lay you out as you pull your dress off, leaving you in your panties. You look goddamn delectable. 

He pulls off his shirt and shorts, leaving himself in his boxer briefs as he moves towards you. A hand wraps around your ankle, pulling your leg up and pushing you onto your back. John kisses your ankle and drops your leg, before he grabs the waistband of your panties and pulls them off you.

“Look at this,” he brings your panties up. The white’s gone transparent in the light. “Soaked through.”

Price gets down on his knees and pulls your pussy towards him. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt. Just look at you. So wet and ready for me.”

He runs a finger through your core, chuckling with a full smile as his finger comes back glistening. Parting his lips, he brings it to his mouth and moans at the taste, watching as it makes you wiggle in anticipation. “Delicious. You going to be good for me and let me eat you out?” 

You nod diligently. Submission looks good on you. 

His hands grip your thigh, pushing them further apart as he settles between them. He leans forward, presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, and then drags his tongue against you in one long, smooth stripe. The groan he lets out comes from deep inside him, echoing in the hollow of his chest. And he buries himself in your pussy. 

He focuses in on your slit, sensitive from the lead up and circles it with the tip of his tongue. John sucks it into his mouth, passing his tongue over it. Your hips buck, jagged, and stuttered as he does. It feels like he’s got you on display, and the rapt attention goes to your head. Each pass of his tongue pulls you closer and closer to the edge as he devours you. 

A finger prods at your hole, sliding in with no resistance. He pumps it in and out, warming you up, before adding a second. The sound of his filthy slurps and your moans fill the room as he pumps in and out of you, angling his fingers to bump your G-spot. It's obscene. You’re so wet it sounds like the set of a porno. 

John wants nothing more than to consume you. Wants to watch you come on his tongue and clench down on his fingers. He can feel your body tensing, muscles pulling tight as your climax draws nearer. Your hands fly to his head, pulling on his short hair, as you grind your pussy against his face, and Price moans. 

“Sweet girl, cum for me.” He pulls away for a second to speak before going right back to working you to a fever pitch.

“John,” it comes out as a broken gasp. “I’m gonna cum.”

He hums in approval, and it sends you over the edge. Your clamp down around his fingers like a vice, and it washes over you. Price doesn’t let up, doesn't stop. He continues to pump his fingers at the same steady pace, extending your orgasm. Your nails dig into his scalp, spurring him on as he sucks on your clit harder. 

John can feel your juices gushing out, getting caught in his facial hair, and soaking the couch. He wants to break you, make you fall apart completely, to build you back up with the knowledge that there’ll never be another man like him. So you keep wearing those tiny little dresses around him. You’re pushing at his head now, and he takes his mouth off you with a wet pop. When you lock eyes with him, you whimper.

“Fucking gorgeous love. Prettiest I’ve ever seen.” he purrs, pressing a kiss against your clit, making you twitch from sensitivity. “You want more?”

“I want you to fuck me,” it’s a breathy whisper as you come down from your high and he swears he’s never heard something so erotic before in his entire life.

John remembers that he hasn’t had a hook-up in years and that there are no condoms in the house. “I don’t want to do anything that will make you uncomfortable, but I don’t have any condoms.”

You’ve scrambled up from your back.  Propping yourself up on your knees, chest resting on the back of the couch. 

“I don’t care,” the way the eye contact you make with him from over your shoulder makes him feel should be criminal. “Fuck me.”

He stands up, left knee popping from an old injury, and he looms over you. Big, beefy frame taking up all the space behind you. John reaches down and pulls down his boxer briefs. It’s not lost on him how you lock in on his erection as it bobs up and makes a soft plap against his stomach. His cock is thick, probably the thickest you’ve ever had, with an angry red swollen head leaking pre-cum.

Price grips your hips, pulls them closer to him, and deepens the arch in your back as he settles between your spread thighs again. The thick length on him meet your slit. He gives an experimental thrust, grinding himself against you and coating himself in you. 

“You’re a dangerous one, aren’t you?” John quips, reaching down and grabbing his cock to line up with your entrance. His head catches, pushing ever so slightly in, but not enough. 

At this, you push your hips back, pushing more of his length inside you, and the stretch is delicious. He’s prepped you so well that there’s not even an ounce of discomfort— the sweet growing feeling of being full. 

“Worst criminal you’ll ever meet,” you hum, pushing back further. “Show me the error of my ways?” 

The teasing lilt gives John the encouragement he needs to let go and fully enjoy this and finally he thrust forward, sinking himself fully inside your drooling cunt. He pulls out to the tip and then buries himself to the hilt. 

“Fuck,” he groans, voice strained as your walls flutter around him. “Tight ‘n’ warm cunt made for me.”

Price sets a steady pace with long, full strokes. Skin meeting skin fills the room as you meet his thrusts. He leans down, breath hot against your shoulder as he kisses your shoulder, relishing in your soft pants before biting the skin. It makes you tighten around him as a sharp moan breaks through. 

One hand slides around your hips to your front where he finds your clit and starts rubbing it in tight circles. His voice is low in your ear. “That’s it, love, can feel you getting tighter ‘round me.”

He punctuates each word with a deep thrust. 

“Such a sweet girl, been so welcoming for me. Taking it like you were made for it.”

The praise makes you dizzy, your head falling forward on the couch. He’s quick to wrap his other arm around your chest and pulls you upright, flush against his chest. The new angle lets him push even deeper inside you while he continues to play with your clit, your orgasm quickly building.

“Christ, you’re like the gift that doesn’t stop.” Sparks of pleasure shoot through you as he bites the shell of your ear. “Feel how deep I am inside you? How your tight little pussy clings to me?” 

Price kisses along your jawline, beard scraping your skin. “Can tell you’re close. Cum for me love. Want to feel you cum on my cock.” 

Your skin feels prickly. Like you’re too hot and too cold at the same time.

“That’s it, dove. Let it happen,” he urges you on, letting your chest rest back on the couch and cementing his hold on your hips. “So sweet for me.”

And you let it happen. It’s slow and builds itself up, and he continues to thrust up into you til it reaches a fever pitch that makes your whole body shake and writhe. The loudest moan you've ever let out comes past your lips, your fingers digging into the couch cushions. 

“That’s my girl,” he growls, thrusting faster. “Tell me where you want me.”

It’s hard to speak as he doesn’t let up. 

“Inside.” 

“What was that?” John teases you, bending down like he can’t hear you. 

“Inside, I want it inside,” you cry out. 

John’s happy to oblige, rutting into you like a wild animal. His thrusts are harder than before, your ass jiggling everytime his hips meet yours with wet paps. The force rocks your entire body, and all you can do is take it. With a final thrust, he sinks all the way inside you, cock pulsing. Ropes of hot cum fill your insides and it feels like the world goes blurry and you aren’t sure what happens next.

You’re groggy when he gets you to come to. A lazy, satisfied smile spreads across your face when you’re able to focus on him. He’s got a warm washcloth and is cleaning you up. He’s so soft and gentle as he goes, kissing your knee. The room is quiet, filled with an intimacy that feels far too real, like something between lovers, for the first time you’ve slept with him.

“You alright?” He asks, his tone is tender and soft.  The look in his eyes is so tender, like you carry the moon and stars. It tugs at your heart and nestles itself in your chest next to it.

You nod, still a little dazed, still in the afterglow of a really good orgasm. “I’m good. Really good.”

That smile he has makes you clench. “Want to take me upstairs and fuck me on a real bed?”

John laughs a full belly laugh. “Bossy woman, you are.” 

The complaint is one of nothing but jest. A barking dog with no bite. He’s already picked you up and crossed the threshold to the stairs and starts heading up then. 

────────────────────※ ·❆· ※──────────────────

TWO YEARS LATER…

It’s another sunny Saturday, so everyone's once again at the Price household for a barbecue. Feels routine at this point. You’re in the kitchen finishing up a cheese board and drinks, he's out at the grill. The lads are doing what they always do, except now, Soap is doing it to impress Joanne. She sits on one of the now-plentiful outdoor chairs and pretends not to be impressed. Mundane and peaceful. Not something he thought he’d ever experience. 

Marcy opens the back door and comes out with the cheese board. You’re trailing behind her with a fat nine-month-old on your hip. Rhys, named after John’s very Welsh grandfather, takes after his father and is perhaps the biggest baby anyone's ever seen. He’s also an incredibly happy baby. 

The second John sees you’ve come outside, he's placed the tongs down to come kiss you. Every morning he’s not on base, he wakes up next to you, but he still can’t believe it’s real. Rhys starts babbling excitedly as he walks closer. Price bends down to press a kiss to his head before kissing you. 

“Your son is heavy,” you shift, hiking Rhys up to get a better seat on your hip, and look at him. “You get that from your daddy.” 

You boop him on the nose, and the baby erupts into a fit of giggles. 

“You calling me fat, dove?” 

“One of us was the biggest baby in the county history when we were born, and the other one is mummy, isn’t that right, Rhys?” You attack Rhys’ cheeks with kisses, giggles continuing from the little boy. He’s losing it now, little hands grabbing at your face as he squirms and wiggles.

John can’t argue with the facts. He was the biggest baby, still to this day, to have been born in his home county. So he smiles, kisses both of you again, and goes back to grilling. 

The meal is how it often is. Loud and full of laughter. Plates passed around, drinks passed around, Rhys passed from person to person. The sun is warm on everyone's skin with the scent of sunscreen hanging in the air. 

In the lull between bites, Gaz pipes up.“Are you two ever going to fix the fence?”

Everyone's head swivels to the back of the property, fence fully gone, where they can see clearly into the other lounge. It’s covered in baby toys and fashion mannequins. It’s the smaller of the two houses, so when you got married, it turned into your studio to work on your brand.  

You giggle, sipping from your glass. “Ah, right.”

Rhys slaps the table, the glass making little hollow sounds. 

John looks out fondly at your back door before facing you. Fuck the fence.

It can stay down.

©️ uzuzrimisery

thank you cas for beta reading :)

[skyrigel]

me: feels unloved *searches x reader tag*

[dumbbitchgalore]

Old Man!Price and his jealousy 💚

When John Price sees you grinning at your phone, he remains silent.

He merely observes.

Jaw clenched so tightly that you could see the muscle flex. Arms folded across his chest, and his shoulder braced against the doorway. Sharp, dark, and unblinking, his eyes are fixed on you as if he's looking directly at you. As if you were on a mission.

The air changes.

Thick and stifling tension settles down into the room, coiling its four corners. It's the seething type, not the shouting kind. Quiet, dangerous, and in control. That look is familiar to you. It has been observed in pre-raid briefing rooms. Prior to a killshot, in the field.

Just before a bomb goes off.

It isn't until your back hits the bed that you realise how quickly he has moved.

John throws you down like a doll, harsh but not reckless, knocking the air from your lungs in an instant. Heat, bulk, and shadow are all hovering above you. With barely controlled power, John’s fingers catch your panties, dragging them down your thighs, falling to the ground long forgotten in a mere seconds. 

With a low, raspy voice filled with a mixture of authority and need, John growls, "Legs up."

You follow orders mindlessly. Every nerve on fire, heart racing, knees apart. With a harsh hiss of leather, he drags his belt free and throws it aside as he steps between your thighs.

Lining himself up, John’s blunt cock head is slippery as it snags on your wet entrance, and murmurs, "Smile at him like that again. See what happens."

With a voice like smoke and gravel, he growls, "You think he could fuck you like this?" as he clenches his thick, hot cock and drags the head through your slippery folds. He's already hard, angry, hard, as if he's been suppressing his emotions ever since he saw that message appear on your computer. "A soft little prick in his twenties?"

When John repeats his bullying of your swollen clit, your body twitches and begins to writhe. His hand, powerful but not brutal, clamps down on your jaw as you attempt to speak.

"No." He narrows his gaze. "You only talk when I tell you to."

Then, in one forceful push, John’s cock buries himself in your weeping cunt 

John’s hands hold your hips so tightly that you will feel him there the next day as he hisses, "Christ, this tight little cunt… Do you believe he could manage this? Do you believe that he could fuck you through the mattress the way I do?”

At first, he fucks you deeply, slowly, and purposefully, as if he wants to appreciate the destruction. Then your hips start to buck. You scream. And he snaps in some way.

As John fucks into you more forcefully, grunting with each thrust, he leans over you and pins you to the mattress with one palm pressed down between your shoulder blades.

The room is filled with obscene, wet noises. Your body pounding into the covers, your breath catching on every stroke, your excitement coating his cock.

With perspiration streaming down his brow, he growls, "Tell me whose cunt this is." Rough fingers circle your clit as his hand slides between your thighs. 

John tuts, "Now, kid." 

“Y-yours, John! fuck, it’s yours!”

"That's right," he growls, fucking you more forcefully as the rhythm is harsh and unrelenting. "Mine. I will ensure that it remains mine. will penetrate you so deeply that you will still feel it tomorrow.

As your orgasm erupts in waves, you collapse first, your knees shaking, your mouth loose, your nails tearing at the covers. Your body clenches around him like a vice as it rips a sound from your throat that you were unaware you could produce.

As he follows, Price lets out a loud, guttural groan and slams in progressively deeper until he is flush to the hilt, his cock pulsating as he flows into you.

Hot. heavy. Never-ending.

Even after it's over, he remains there, breathing raggedly against your skin with his cock still twitching inside you as if he wants to fuck it in even more.

He raises his head at last, but his voice is gruff and low in your ear.

"I own you. Never again should you cause me to doubt that, birdie.”

You nod, stunned and crying because you needed it so much and it felt so amazing.

"I'm yours," you murmur, sleep weighing down your eyes. 

"Only ever yours."

[laswells-ashtray]

Ghost doesn't cutesy talk cats, he talks to them like other adult men and it's hilarious.

They're at a safehouse, and Ghost is listening to the radio, Price hears him talking to someone, and he's confused because both of his sergeants are conked out asleep.

So, he walks around the corner and finds Ghost sitting on a step with the radio playing and a stray kitten biting his laces while he talks to her. "I don't believe shoelaces constitute part of a balanced diet."

John just sits down on the step next to him and ignores how his knees click. "What's her name?"

"She's yet to disclose name or rank, but given that she's clearly smarter than those two through there, I'd say she's a lieutenant." He responds so dryly that John can't help but snort.

"Ah, I see. Making her way through the ranks at her young age, impressive." He leans forward to pet the kitten, flattening down the tuft of fur sticking up on her head.

"She's a hard worker, look at those paws. Grubby, she's been busy."

The kitten offers them a mewl in response, and he nods accordingly.

"She's stern, reminds me of Laswell."

That makes Ghost laugh.

[darkbunnylove]

Task Force 141 finding out Reader has a crush on them

(mainly fluff but also angst because balance)

You thought you were playing it cool. Emphasis on thought. The glances that linger a little too long, the way your body seems to magically gravitate toward them. Barely noticeable, right? Yeah, maybe not so much. Because feelings like that? Oh, they have a way of showing, sweetheart. And once Task Force 141 catches on? Well, let’s just say you’ve got their full attention now.

Soap stays subtle about it for exactly one week. Conveniently, that’s also the same week he figures out you’ve got a soft spot for him. After that, subtlety goes right out the window. Not necessarily because he falls in love easily, but because he’s been working on catching your attention for months now. Laughing a bit too loud at your jokes? Check. Casual hand brushes? Yup. Memorizing the exact creak your boots make when you walk down the hallway? You bet!

So when he finds out you’re actually into him too? This man doubles down immediately. So much you even start finding little sketches of your face tucked into random notebooks. Oh, and of course, Gaz’s in on it too, sending him updates like: “Rec room. Alone. Go.” and “Laundry bay. Casual. Fold something, I don’t know.”

And sure enough, Soap just happens to bump into you. Constantly. Every day. Always asking if you’ve got time for a coffee. A walk. A chat. Already busy? No problem, how about tomorrow? Oh and while he’s at it, what about dinner this weekend? He’s definitely in too deep to pretend it’s casual now.

Gaz would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little smug about knowing you liked him. Not cocky, just very, very pleased. Well, maybe a little unbearable. But how could he not be? A dream like you, being all sweet on him? It’s taking everything in him not to grin like an idiot every time you look his way.

And the idea of you at his side? Of getting to introduce you like “Yeah, I pulled that. Can you believe it?” It makes his chest go so warm he doesn’t know how long he can take it. So he asks for your number through a friend and tries to play it casual. Then he spends too long staring at the message field, debating how many y’s to add to “hey,” or if he should just play it safe with “hi.”

But it’s alright, because soon you’re texting each other every day. Evenings turn into FaceTime calls. He lies on his back in bed, smiling like a fool while you talk about your day. Sometimes you fall asleep mid-call. But he never hangs up first. And during the day? Gaz always seems to show up right when you need a break. Leaning against your office door, telling some ridiculous story that makes you laugh until it hurts. You tell him he’s impossible. He tells you it’s your fault for laughing. Yeah. You’ve got him. Completely.

Ghost, unfortunately, is not so great about it. At least not at first. When he finds out you’ve got a crush on him, his stomach drops. Because there is just no fucking way, right? Not someone like you. Not for him. It has to be a mistake. And if he gives in? He’ll ruin it. He knows he will.

So instead of lingering near you, he does the opposite. He avoids you. For weeks. And every time you do bump into each other, he barely says a word. So you’ve already convinced yourself he’s just not interested. And Ghost? Ghost is convincing himself that staying away is the right thing. Until one night. Maybe it’s stupid but fuck, when he sees you on that hookup app, looking good, too good, and open for something casual, he can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t. But he sends a message anyway. You meet. And a single night slips into hours. Into heat. Into skin against skin...Perfect, right?

No. It eats him alive. Because now he’s sure you think that’s all he wants. That you’ll never know how deep this thing runs for him. He avoids you for another week. Can’t look you in the eye. Until one Saturday morning, he shows up at your door. Apologizing with flowers in hand and everything he can manage to say out loud.

Price doesn’t quite let himself believe you like him. A sweet thing like you? Surely you’ve got admirers. Someone better. Someone not so... worn down. And god, how old were you, anyway?

No, he doesn’t avoid you, but he overcorrects without meaning to. Careful with every word, every glance. Because he refuses to assume. Refuses to risk making you uncomfortable. So everything stays safe. Neutral. Professional. He says things like “Forecast says rain, tonight.” Meanwhile, he’s thinking about the way you laughed at his dumb joke four days ago. Later. Alone. While smoking. Definitely spiraling.

Then, one night at the pub, your people drift off until it’s just the two of you. Maybe you’re sitting a little too close now. Maybe you’ve both had a little too much to drink. He starts to pull away, because he thinks he should. That’s when another man says something. You laugh, just to be polite. Not into it. But still, it stings. So Price moves before he thinks. One step, then he’s there, hand at your lower back. “You alright, love?” he asks. “C’mon, time to go home.” And by home, he means his of course.

[hatsbuckets]

Thinking about the boys and their stretch marks.

Especially Price's and Ghost's.

About them getting ready for a formal event together. Putting on whatever nice things they happen to be wearing, and pressing tiny kisses and touches to said marks.

Not even in like a "you are so beautiful and I need you to know it" way.

Just as like, them being them and seeing little spot and kissing little spot.

Idk am I making sense?

[sigh-tofm]

“come to bed, love.”

“john…”

“come.” he pulls the duvet away, making room for you. your space, with him at your back. of course you come.

“there you go. isn’t that better?” he asks and kisses the top of your head once you settle next to him. you make a noncommittal sound, but shut your eyes tightly and pinch your lips together to keep yourself from crying. you never did that in the beginning, but the last two or three years the tears come sneaking when you least expect it, at the most inopportune times in the days before he leaves. he’s stopped asking about them because the answer is always the same.

“it’ll be alright, darling.”

“you’re leaving me,” you choke out, and you’re not quite sure what time perspective you’re talking about. whether it’s for the next month, if everything goes as planned, or for good, if everything goes to hell.

the room is dark and your back is pressed to his front, but he knows your shapes and sounds so well that he doesn’t need to see your face to gage your state of mind. his big hand smoothes over the side of your face, the other one holding you tightly against him.

“you have me all night,” he mutters into your hair. “i’ll hold you for as long as l can.”

you don’t hold back your tears anymore, and until the early gray morning comes and laswell sends him a text affirming time of pickup from base, john doesn’t stop holding you. when he leaves he pauses to watch your sleeping form from the doorway to the bedroom. you’re all bundled up under the covers and wearing his shirt. desk duty never looked so good.

[gomzdrawfr]

Happy Easter!

[pricesprincess]

john price who knows your pregnant before you when he's groped your breasts and the last few times you've whined they were sensitive while slapping his hand away when he reaches for your nipple.

you also started asking, no scratch that. you've been begging your husband for odd snack combinations at three in the morning.

this is a man who has faced death more times than he could count, but john has never quite feared for his life when he told you the store was out of your favorite flavor of cake.

he's never seen you so riled up over something so trivial like this and judging from the unopened box of menstrual products you didn't get your cycle so that meant one thing. you're pregnant.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

"...fuller butts because it enhances the appearance of the curvature of the spine, according to a recent study published in Evolution and Human Behavior. From an evolutionary standpoint, this is a Very Desirable Trait: A curved spine can alleviate spinal pressure and related injury during pregnancy, which supports mobility to forage food for yourself until the baby arrives."

...

Hmmm.

[yenhan]

"Yeah, no. STEM kinda sucks"

Thoughts on TF141 & International student neighbor

Part One - Masterlist

Synopsis: daddy issues & 141 to the rescue

You and your father did not argue. That was the problem. The silence festered until it cracked, and when it did, it was always you left picking through the wreckage, burned, and bruised, wondering if he even noticed the blast. He was not the kind of man who yelled. He did not raise his voice. He raised expectations, dropped the ones you could not meet, and filed the rest into neat rows of disappointment.

“You’re studying what?”

You froze mid-bite of a week-old croissant you had been too cheap to throw out. The winter wind was seeping through the single-glazed window as your father’s words echoed in your ears like gunshots. Loud. Too much to manage.

“Teaching English as a Foreign Language,” you clutched your phone like it might bite you.

He laughed.

You thought you had won the Oscar for the best comedic performance, as if it was just another of the dumb knock-knock jokes you used to say as a kid. “You mean to tell me you moved to England, spent months pretending to care about mathematics, and you are studying to become an underpaid language teacher? You do realize AI’s going to eat that job alive, right? May as well get a head start and make your life more pathetic.”

“Mmh,” you mumbled, your voice curled in on itself for protection. It was always like that with him. You never slammed doors or snapped back. The thing you did most was shout silently and punch in the air once you had locked yourself in your bedroom. You absorbed everything like a sponge until you were soaked through with all the sharp jabs he never considered cruel.

“You are already fluent. Why waste a degree on it? I thought you were doing something real. STEM. Science. You said you were interested in biomedical engineering!”

“I was interested—”

“That’s not a real degree,” he snapped. “What are you going to do, teach English to toddlers? I did not raise you to be a failure.”

You hung up before you started crying.

He was bound to find out you had changed faculty at some point. You hoped the day would ever come. The thousands of kilometers separating you from your dad did nothing to lessen the pain.

—

That was how you ended up at their door again. You, red-eyed, wearing a hoodie three sizes too big (it might have been Simon’s).

The door swung open. Ghost. How lucky, being greeted by a monument to stoicism. He just looked at you, then down at your hands. “…They cold?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your hands.”

You blinked. “…Yeah.”

He stepped aside. “I will put the kettle on.”

—

You did not cry until you were in the living room, sitting on the floor between the sofa and John’s armchair, knees to your chest like the child you had spent years pretending you weren’t.

Johnny found you first. “Jesus, hen…”

“Don’t. Please don’t make jokes. I cannot laugh right now.”

He sat down across from you and peeled a clementine, feeding you a slice once he was done. “Was it yer family?”

Your face crumpled in the most humiliating way imaginable. “Dad thinks I’m wasting my life.”

“Because yer not doin’ what he wanted?”

“Because I am not doing what he would be proud of. And the worst part is… I kinda get it. He spent everything to get me here. I told him I would do something that would make it worth it. Something practical. Something—” You sniffled.

“Respectable?”

You nodded. “And now I am… studying how to teach vowel sounds to ten-year-olds who will not remember my name in five years. I am not curing cancer. I am not building satellites. I got a half-empty fridge and a 77% average grade in phonology.”

A second later, a warm mug was pressed into your hand.

“Then he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about,” Gaz sat beside Johnny, cross-legged like this was a team debriefing and your heartbreak was the mission report.

You stared down at the tea. Earl Grey. Extra milk. You did not like milk tea, but who cared at this point. “He is my dad.”

Ghost appeared out of nowhere. “Yer job isn’t to be his trophy.”

“I’m not anyone’s trophy.”

“Exactly.”

“You know,” Price’s voice came from behind the couch, “I had a mate in the military who learned Urdu so he could help train local interpreters. Saved more lives than the medics did.”

You looked up. The captain was holding a folded dish towel and a glass of that tragic ale he always kept nearby. “You want to teach people how to communicate? How to understand each other? Do you think that is not useful? Christ, love. That is the most important job there is.”

“But it is not enough,” you whispered. “Not to him. He wanted me to be successful. Someone he could brag about at family functions.”

Soap clicked his tongue. “I’d brag about ye.”

You rolled your eyes. “You brag about that mohawk.”

“Aye, because it’s incredible. Point is, yer smart. Ye’ve made it halfway 'cross the bloody world and survived eight months wi’ us next door. That’s gotta count fer somethin’, eh?” He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Kyle intervened then. “Let me put it this way. You speak like, what? Three languages?”

“Four,” you corrected him.

He hummed. “That’s hot.”

“Sergeant,” Ghost growled.

“What? It is! My man can barely count to twenty without help,” he said, jabbing a thumb at Johnny, who launched a spice jar at his head in return.

“Picked a path that’s yours,” Ghost rumbled. “That takes more guts than anyone gives it credit for.”

“And you’ll be wonderful at it,” John added.

—

Later, you found a sticky note left on the threshold of your apartment. In black sharpie, Johnny had written:

“REAL DEGREES INCLUDE:

ANT 🐜 (Advanced Napping Techniques)

How to Look Like a Dad - Double Degree in mutton chops

Passive-aggressive Sighs

GSS (Ghost’s Stalking Skills)

TEFL = solid. Ah’d’ve majored in it meself if Ah hadnae been busy diffusin’ bombs in ma twenties.

Love,

Yer emotionally available Scottish neighbor 🧼"

You stuck it on your laptop.

Shitty day, this is purely self-indulgent. Sorry for whoever is in stem.

[mariamakeslemons]

Gaz has seen all the original Friday the 13ths and loves them all (even Jason takes Manhattan and Jason Goes to Hell). A comfort series for him, with no real worry about plot or character. Just fun practical effects and stupid teens.

Soap is a Nightmare on Elm Street nut. One of those fans that argues that there was no bad Nightmare. Actually embraces the second movies "Gayness".

Every year, Price has to watch Halloween, Halloween 3: Season of the Witch, and Rob Zombie's Halloween, before October 31. In that exact order. There's a charm to the third movie, a building tension in the first, and an exploration of character in the remake, all of which Price finds endlessly endearing.

Ghost doesn't watch horror movies. This man was too poor as a kid to even rent them and too traumatized to finde the enjoyment from watching them. (He's actually watched The Texas Chainsaw Massacre from 1974, but he didn't find it horrifying. He just felt bad for Leatherface during the scene when the man is having his little panic at the window).