#detective john price

[itacats]

After months of darkness and uncertainty, a seasoned detective returns to the precinct, only to find that the cases are no longer the only thing weighing on their heart. As the familiar buzz of the precinct fills the air, the presence of their partner, Price, pulls them in like gravity, drawing them into a new, uncharted territory neither of them expected. Their partnership, forged in the fires of solving crimes, has blossomed into something far more complicated—and infinitely more dangerous.

In a world where trust and danger walk hand in hand, this isn’t just about solving cases—it’s about facing what’s been hidden in the shadows for far too long. Will their new connection survive the case, or will it wilt like a dying flower?

Join me on 01/20 to get to the bottom of this killer thriller!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

[jupitersmoon167]

This is such a self indulgent idea, but humor me:

CoD x PJO crossover where John Price had a kid with one of the Greek goddesses during his early military days, and as hard as he tried to raise his kid, they were always put second over his job.

While he’s out on deployment, he gets a call. He learns that his home was seemingly broken into and his kid is missing. He uses all his resources and connections to try and find his kid, thinking that it was enemies of his that kidnapped his kid as a way to get back at him. But after months of searching, he comes up with nothing. No calls, no leads, nothing. After a year of searching, he gives up hope and mourns the loss of his kid, wishing he had been a better father to them.

It isn’t until a few years later when he’s Captain of TF141 that he finds out his kid is alive and learns why they left all those years ago and the truth of the other half of their parentage and that he and his child might be more alike in ways John wished weren’t true.

Edit: More thoughts on this here

Please come to my ask box with questions or ideas about this I need to rant about this idea with someone anyone please I beg

[icewazowski]

Guilty Anticipated Plea

The office was warm, sunlight shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows which lined the southern facing side of the building; shades of orange cast across the room as you walk in. 

There was no change to your behaviour, it was another late shift, the dreaded three-pm whilst midnight shift, where you sat behind a desk for hours until either a prisoner was brought into the station, or until your eyes fell out of your skull. Nothing to be particularly excited about, but nothing to dread, either.

It was tangible in the office today, the air was thick with dread and humidity as you slump into your seat, your hands poised over the faded keyboard and you waited.

There wasn’t much point opening up the computer system, having a look at which prisoners were in, because that’s what Sergeant Price did, he was the one who called the shots, and unfortunately for you, he was the man who sat on the desk opposite yours.

You could see him now, not that you wanted to look at him, but his eyes were focused on his screen as he read through the inventory of the forty something prisoners, all in for different crimes.

“Fuck me,” You groaned softly, the pit of nerves in your stomach only increasing by the tenfold as his eyes departed from his screen and cast over towards you, agonisingly quick, to the point where you nearly missed it, “I’ve been off duty twelve hours and I come back to ninety-one fucking emails?” you complained, your lips re-acquainting with your e-cigarette to take a drag from. 

That was something else you weren’t really supposed to do in a police building; vape. Of course smoking was banned inside, it had been done since the early 2000′s, but vaping? It just depended on who your supervisor was, and how discrete you could be. You took a deep drag, and allowed the flavoured nicotine to settle in your lungs.

“Those are bad for you,” Price grumbles from his seat, his eyes still focused on his screen, “You’re lucky I don’t mind,” he continues, as though you ought to get on your knees and thank him for his benevolence towards your addiction.

Your brows knit together subtly, “Say’s the bloke who sucks on a cigar as though it’s a pacifier,” your reply is cocky, inherently so, but that’s just the sort of banter you’ve managed to formulate with him. You humour him, he humours you... sometimes, he even lets you indulge in driving the supervisor car around.

“Please don’t say that word ever again,” he complains.

A smile crosses your face, “Suck?” you ask.

“Pacifier; you’re not American, so don’t start speaking like one,” he reprimands whilst his hands busy themselves on the keyboard. You bet he’s typing another one of those emails, informing everyone in the district about a high risk missing person. You guarantee it, it’s practically the only reason he emails you. “Are you okay?”

His question, initially, takes you off guard. Sure, he’s your supervisor, and he has a duty of care over you, but you can’t imagine he means it. “What?” you ask.

“You look angry,” Sergeant Price replies, a pen now tucked in the corner of his mouth whilst he picks up his coffee mug and swills what remains inside.

“It’s just my face,” you reply, logging onto your computer to finally get started on your work for the day.

Like every other day, it hadn’t taken long for you to get swamped with prisoners. The early shift on response had decided to go and raid a cannabis farm, and of course that meant you had to interview each and every one of them, trailing over every ounce of evidence gathered whilst you fought off any feeling of resentment towards the cops.

Plain and simply, it sucked.

You were on your third interview of the day, your eyes were reddened and dry from all the screen-time you’d amassed, and all you wanted was to curl up with a cup of coffee and sleep it off. “Sergeant, I’ve interviewed my last lad,” you announced, stepping into the office with your notes in your hands whilst your eyes met the cool ones of Sergeant Price. “Can I get some advice?” you ask him, knowing he’d have to accept.

“Take a seat,” he replies, his foot nudges the swivel chair across for you to have a seat on.

The whole time you explain what the prisoner had disclosed, you can’t keep your eyes off the Sergeant’s hands, how large they are compared to yours. It’s almost comical, he’s completely bigger than you, and it only took you until 2359hours on the third year of working with him to realise it. 

“Hello?” he asks, his tone rich, almost like red wine as it courses through the nearly impenetrable silence of the now empty office, “Did you just fall asleep with your eyes open?” he says, his tone rich with humour.

You blink, hard. 

Any composure you had before this moment was now done for, it had been thrown out the window along with any other shred of dignity you had, “I need a drink,” you reply slowly, each syllable tested on your lips before you submit it into permanency, “preferably alcoholic.”

“I’ll go deal with the prisoner, you get off,” his large, calloused hand plants on your shoulder, a half-smile offered across, and then he stands up and leaves you to get on with your night.

[yeyinde]

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZS8pUJD8L/

Not sure but I think you might like this

Oh, I am absolutely obsessed with this!!!!! A detective AU???? Price, Gaz, and Soap as detectives?? Conveniently missing Ghost?? I need need a full comic and light novel about this, IMMEDIATELY!

And please please please have it also kinda be a Ghost x Soap series too, but like. Hannibal x Graham, okay? okay. 🤩

(and not to be dramatic or anything, but I think I'd litro rip my own heart out as an offering to the gods for a iota of this.)

[thatgoblin]

slow burn detective!price & detective!reader. partners for four years & he's older and more experienced, but you get paired with him because your captain thought you could benefit and learn from being paired with someone with more years under their belt. he's a single dad and you can't hold a relationship because of your own walls built up. both would drop everything if the other one called at 3am and needed the other. knowing exactly how you like each others coffee and having unspoken routine of who brings it in on what day, the cup always waiting on the others desk. he never lets you walk into a building, room, etc. first - he always has to be the first one and not because of a superiority complex, but he wants to assess and make sure its safe before you even walk in. and if it isn't he's the first to draw his weapon before pulling the both of you to cover. everyone in your squad places bets when you two will just stfu and finally date.

[lemonmaid]

I see a lot of hybrid AUs for Task Force 141! And it makes me wonder if we can continue world building for it PLEASSE

Like example, owning a hybrid is now illegal, since most hybrids are acually intelligent enough to acually think for themselves (wow! Amazing!).

Do you think there is a hierarchy based on hybrids?

Like, exotic hybrids (Tigers, Birds, Nagas) have the most respect, like humans were "Yeah! Those guys shouldn't have to have owners to go outside!"

But hybrids like dogs, cats are still treated like "ohhh who's a good puppy!!!"

Then you have bunnies and cow hybrids that have been over-sexualized to the point where there is still derogatory and pressure to still join these industries that push horrible norms.

Anyways, I'm getting carry away. (In all honesty I make this a series because I'm too invested in this world building i made)

IMAGINE

Poly task force x Dog Hybrid! Reader

Imagine just walking in the park with your boyfriends (or mates. Whatever your instinct say) and your new pup (2 months!!).

Imagine just enjoying their company and the sun, since it's the first time you've been out of the house since the hard labor. And some fuck ass old person comes up.

"Aww what adorable puppy you have!! Even more a beautiful breed of dog you have!!" que their fuck ass hand trying to touch your ears.

Simon immediately interfering, doesn't care about this person age, grabbing their arm before entering your personal space.

Price and Kyle immediately ushering you and the pup away, that's enough sunshine for today and social interaction.

Johnny immediately asks how you feel, checking on the pup. (I kinda headcanon that Johnny is like a quarter hybrid, doesn't have the ears or tail but has the intelligence. Like heightened hearing, smell, taste).

Continuous of worlding building, let's say hybrid ownership ended before you were born or John even.

The after-effects are style lingering, because for the most part, your parents will go on to tell you that they were separated from their parents when they were seven to go be lap dogs or even police hybrids. You didn't even meet your own grandparents untill 15 since due to DNA testing, your parents were able to reconnect with their own parents. Resulting in pack scenting and a two week long vist.

Let's say you joined the military due to your parent's background as police dogs, you got that good nose.

You got trained to be a bomb detection unit with alot of other hybrids. That's where you ment Johnny.

In all honesty. You could say working in the military is were no one saw you as a hybrid but as you.

Anyways, again there is alot to explore with this world building.

Johnny introduced you to his "pack-mates". Ghost immediately is smitten by you, having a soft spot for dog hybrids. Kyle, thought you were great company, funny, charismatic, overall an amazing person to be around with. He started carrying snacks for you with the excuse "hybrids need to eat more because of the extra energy they need", nah he just like seeing your eyes lit up when he open a treat bag. Price immediately saw your useful skill set, started making calls to get you on his task force. Made the argument for "inclusivity".

After a missin going wrong, resulting in Johnny and you almost dying. Task force decided to retire together when their contacts were up.

Immediately after buying a home together, Johnny begged you for pup, using the excuse that he had a big family and wants one again.

His special skill set is puppy eyes.

[dix0nspretty]

Unrestricted Access

Summary: John likes having unrestricted access to his pretty pet.

Captain John Price x F!Reader, 1.2k words.

Era: N/A

TW: Implied age/experience gap, free use, mentions of hard kink culture, Dom!Price energy. Oral (male), being caught.

Day 20 of my bastardized version of Russian Roulette Febuwhump/Kinktober for March that I'm affectionately calling Trinket's Cause of Death. It's basically 50/50 whump/kink where I generate a number corresponding to a prompt. This first whump prompt!

Day 20: Free use with Price (kink)

There was a learning curve when you first started dating Price. Not only was there the aspect of him being your captain, but he’s also more experienced in every possible way. On the field, in age, in life on and off base, and most certainly, in bed.

You weren’t a blushing virgin when he asked you out on that fateful first date, but you weren’t seasoned, either. Fumbling around in the backseat of the car with the boy in your math class and leaving with rumpled clothes and a mediocre almost-orgasm is nothing compared to the decades of expertise John hides away.

Price is a kinky bastard. Not just the anal and light bondage that’s becoming the new definition of kinky, but truly kinky. The kind of intensity and complexity that requires several discussions before engaging in sex at all. Knife play, impact play, CNC, somnophilia, all elements of kink culture that John has been slowly but surely introducing you to.

He would never force you to engage with anything you don’t want to, though. Each and every new concept or activity is prefaced with an in-depth discussion of boundaries and expectations and if he detects even a hint of you agreeing just to make him happy, the punishment you’ll receive will be more than befitting the crime.

One of the softer aspects of this whole world he’s introduced you to is the concept of free use. It’s total trust given to your partner to respect boundaries, which has never been a problem with John, and the assumption of continuous consent leaving the other person open for sexual activity at any time. This goes only one way, course- John has full access to you. Any way he wants you, anywhere, any time.

He does have his own rules regarding this, the most notable of which being that he doesn’t use you in front of the other 141 men (that’s something he would only do if you requested it) and he won’t use you during important work situations. Debriefs, sitreps, missions- all off the table. The last thing Price needs is his horniness getting you hurt or worse.

That doesn’t stop him from putting you in any number of situations within the rules, of course. He’ll have you under the table during an unnecessary meeting with your throat stuffed full of his cock, keeping it warm and wet for him and providing endless entertainment every time he looks under the table.

Or fingering in you the car on a market trip, making sure to get you off enough times that your legs are shaking like a baby deer’s before making you waltz through the store, cheeks still flushed and eyes hazy with orgasm.

Or making you sit in his lap and keep his cock warm while watching telly together or he works on his paperwork, a finger lazily playing with your clit as if you’re a fidget toy and not a squirming mess.

Or- and this is one of the most likely examples- bending you over things. His desk on base, the kitchen sink, the hood of the car, the kitchen table… the list goes on. He’s always shoving your pants down or skirt up so he can fuck himself into that sloppy cunt of yours, taking his anger or frustrations out on something that will only beg for more.

This is the most frequent and the most likely to get you two caught out in public. Not that the dirty bastard would mind. John’s spatial awareness skills when he’s using his sweet pet as a toy are… limited, to say the least, and you’ve both narrowly avoided being caught in the gym and his office more than once.

This very situation is exactly what’s happening right now.

Price called you into his office to keep his dick warm while he works on the most recent paperwork, letting you rest your cheek on his thigh and suckle at his cock like it’s a pacifier. He was so caught up in brushing the hair from your face and admiring the submissive shine in your eyes that Ghost was in the office before John even noticed.

When he did notice, his cock jumped in your throat and not choking was a very very near thing. The quietest wet noise would be a signal to Ghost and that’s a conversation John knows you don’t want to have with the Lieutenant.

“What can I do for you, Ghost?” Price does his best to come across cool and collected like he doesn’t have you on your knees, the head of his cock pressing into the roof of your mouth. His hand is tangled in your hair, holding you still so you can’t make the ill decision to turn bratty.

That leaves you only two options- sit still until Ghost leaves or continue to simply suckle on John’s thick cock like a pacifier or a piece of candy, swollen in your mouth and leaking pre-cum.

Simon is always succinct and to the point. He doesn’t waste time on small talk or trivialities if he doesn’t have to. “Looking for the girl. She was supposed to meet for our run.”

Oh yeah, the run. Every Thursday, you and Ghost go on a near-silent run around the entirety of base and through the woods together as a way to get away from all the human noise pollution. Which you were supposed to meet him for twenty minutes ago if only John hadn’t looped you in.

John glances down at you and sees the near-brainless glaze in your eyes and his smile turns a little wicked, as if he’s planning something. “The missus is a bit preoccupied, but I’ll be sure to pass the message along.”

As if the glance wouldn’t be enough to make Ghost put two and two together, the sound your throat makes when John decides to fully sheath himself in your mouth certainly does.

Ghost speaks up again a moment later, just the faintest hint of amusement in his tone. “Right. Preoccupied. Y/N, you owe me an extra lap. Should’ve known better than to come in here right after brass meeting.”

He’s out the door and gone just like his namesake before your eyes can fully widen at his calling you out, but John’s immediately soothing you with a gentle brush of thumb over cheekbone. “Shh, Simon’s a smart man. He’ll keep his mouth shut, don’t worry your pretty little head, pet. Just stay still and take what I give you, aye?”

There’s no chance to respond before he starts to fuck your throat, bobbing your head back and forth by your hair whilst simultaneously filling out the accident report from Soap catching the common room couch on fire as if it’s just a normal day. The room is filled only with the sounds of central air and the quiet wet sounds of deepthroating.

Only once he cums down your throat does he ease up, although not entirely. John settles your head back on his thigh and stays halfway in your throat. He allows you room to breathe and you settle easily back into the mindless routine of suckling on that pretty pink tip. “Now keep Daddy warm and you’ll get a reward when I’m done. I can smell your cunt from here, pet.”

[lay-z]

barbed-wire kisses | 1

Synopsis: Soap, the SAS and 141's most prized explosives detection hybrid and demolitions expert, gets a new handler.

Pairing: hybrid!John ‘Soap’ MacTavish x fem!handler!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ | Soap is a purebred German Shepherd hybrid. Despite ears, tails, and their adopted nature/instincts/personalities, hybrids have human features. | enemies strangers to lovers; forbidden love; angst; hurt/comfort; heavy smut; eventual romance; canon-typical violence; military inaccuracies; dom/sub elements; forced submission; cussing; humour (Please mind the warnings for each chapter!)

Based on this idea 🩶

Big thanks to my bestie @bloodytalefeathers for helping me handling our boy Soap 🐶

It’s always a rather impersonal affair as a hybrid serving in the military–getting a new handler assigned and vice versa.

John sniffs you out, of course, before Captain Price even has the chance to properly introduce you. When the Sergeant is given your file along with the handlership documents on a random Wednesday in February–the ones you’ve already signed a few weeks prior–he gets one deep whiff of your musk still lingering on the paper and starts prowling the base on the lookout for his new target.

Despite the many familiar, surrounding scents among the different smells announcing the beginning of spring, it doesn’t take too long for a specimen like him to pick up on and find you on the large military base, letting the winds do most of the work for him.

He's just way too good at his job, and his little self-imposed challenge leaves his chest puffing with pride and the blood in his veins buzzing with an odd eagerness to meet you once he finally spots you among the large crowd of soldiers on the training grounds.

John decides to skip his lunchbreak and watch you instead. He takes a seat on a well-positioned bench with a good view of the field where you’re currently going through drills with a platoon that you’re serving as their temporary CO. His tail swishes lazily against the wooden planks of the bench, pushing off some dry leaves that gathered there.

He’s read about you, knows that you’ve just come back from a five-month overseas deployment in Al Mazrah–supporting their local forces with the training of the serving hybrids, among other duties.

John can see it in the tension you carry in your neck and shoulders, in the way you keep checking your surroundings while you give orders to your soldiers, and with the dark circles under your eyes–all of it speaks volumes of how well you’ve adjusted to living on base again so far, and, boy, does it look bad.

On top of that, you’ve just been transferred to Hereford from your previous base and task force–after getting your new orders while you were still deployed–so you must be twice as stressed and thrice as vexed about this whole new arrangement you’re finding yourself in right now, thanks to the brass. He also knows that you’ve already moved and settled into your new place close to the barracks. Close to where he lives, too.

Fucking brilliant, John thinks, and his large furry ears twitch as he grins wickedly. It’ll be more than easy to get rid of you if you’re already feeling this worn out; perhaps even easier than it went with the previous handlers he’s had since boot camp.

None of them ever made it past the six-month mark before they were transferred again due to their incompetence, though none of the higher-ups has ever admitted fault and called it what it is.

No, it’s always just been ‘Soap being a bloody handful’, slippery and clever as he simply happens to be, and yet the brass still keeps refusing him that exceptional permission which would finally grand him freedom–the freedom to operate without a handler on, and to a certain degree, off duty.

He is a canine hybrid, yes, and his nature might make him extraordinary, aye, but he’s not a fucking toddler in need of assistance and guidance 24/7. It’s bad enough that his rank as Sergeant can easily be outranked by a human subordinate simply because he happens to be a hybrid.

His thought process is disturbed by the crunching of boots on the gravelly road leading up to his makeshift recon spot, when a group of soldiers walks up the rolling hill to have a smoke break.

Scrunching up his sensitive nose at the stench of cigarettes despite being used to the smell, John gives up his seat for the group, straightening his shoulders with a curt nod at them before he makes his way back to HQ.

There’s a meeting he needs to prepare for after all.

A few hours later, the briefing room clears again when everyone claims to not have any questions left to simply get it over with.

“Right,” Price utters roughly. “I’ll leave you two to it then. Lieutenant,” he gives you a curt nod and John has to suppress a smirk when the Captain shoots him a glare as soon as his back is turned towards you. “Soap.” And John can hear the stern warning underlying Price’s voice before the latter leaves the briefing room and shuts the door behind him with finality and a raging ball of concern lodged in his guts.

And even though Price has left, and took his commanding aura right with him, the room feels even smaller and stuffy now with only you and John, standing across from each other like it’s a Mexican Standoff.

While John lets his eyes roam freely, assessing you thoroughly and searching for weaknesses, you simply keep your sharp eyes trained on his with a kind of effortlessness that is slowly making the fur on his tail bristle–up, up, up his spine until it tickles his neck and makes his ears twitch involuntarily.

Your hands are firmly clasped behind your back, your stance relaxed as your hip leans against the table behind you; keeping your whole front exposed and vulnerable while you’re oozing nonchalance and confidence with no trace left of all that tension and fatigue he’d noticed earlier when he was watching you train with your platoon.

You almost look… bored now that you’re finally alone with him, and John doesn’t quite know what to make of this reaction.

His thick brows furrow and he caves, despising the tense silence already. “Ye not gonna say nothin’, lass?”

Suddenly, your lips twitch into a humourless half-smile. “That’s still ‘Lieutenant’ to you, Sergeant,” you reply coolly. “We’re no friends yet.”

“Right,” he half-snorts, half-huffs in response. “Well, ‘am lookin’ forward ta workin’ with ye, ma’am.” If you’re just a wee bit clever, you could easily pick up on the sarcasm in his words, and judging by the way your eyebrow twitches, you can. His tail swishes proudly in response, and then John mirrors your stance; clasping his hands behind his back before rolling his broad shoulders and straightening up to his full height.

“Oh, are you now?” It’s a rhetorical question, and John finds the way you tilt your head to the side like a wee pup utterly adorable, along with the fact that he’s taller than you, forcing you to crane your neck if you want to maintain eye-contact with him despite the thick-soled combat boots you’re wearing.

“Well, in that case–” You bring your arms forward suddenly, clutching a black collar in your hand; brand new and personalized, the scent of its full-grain leather still fresh and thick in the air. His eyes zero in on your name and rank stitched into it, along with your emergency contact and military ID number. “May I?”

John’s tail stills, bright eyes widening imperceptibly as he stares at the collar and processes the implication behind your words. He doesn’t get collared like this, no; usually grabs the damn mandatory thing and puts it on himself to get it over with.

“Ye insistin’ to put it on me, la–Lieutenant?”

You simply stare up at him with those unimpressed, gorgeous eyes – eyes that have seen as much, perhaps even more, horrific crap he has in combat–and his heart starts jumping in his chest in return. “You tell me, Sergeant. You wanna be a difficult pup?”

He swallows hard, clenching his teeth and wrinkling his nose at the raw condescension in your voice. Aye, he wants to make this difficult, wants to get rid of you already and let everyone know that he doesn’t need a handler–doesn’t need you–and yet he can only shake his head slowly while you stand before him so confidently, triggering his natural urge to please, to submit to a leader.

None of your predecessors ever made him feel quite like–this–so effortlessly. They always tried to force it yet never succeeded.

Almost subconsciously, John steps forward, towering over you though you still don’t move a muscle before he leans down, bracing his palms on the table you’re leaning against, now practically bracketing you in. “Go ahead, then,” he hums roughly, lowering his gaze to hide the way his pupils are dilating while his skin begins to prickle at the sudden close proximity to you.

As you unclasp the collar to bring it up to his neck, he gets a real whiff of your scent and nearly groans; an all-natural concoction of female pheromones, sweat and skin hidden underneath a layer of artificial peach-scented body wash and deodorant. His mouth starts salivating and he gulps it down harshly, fingers twitching against the table as you fasten the collar around his neck.

“Atta boy,” you mutter and your warm breath puffs against his rapidly flushing skin, making his pulse jump in his neck. His dog ears twitch as he leans in closer until his nose nearly brushes against your shoulder and he exhales a shuddering breath as the collar finally wraps around his throat.

“Need it a wee bit tighter, ma’am,” he rumbles and his breath hitches as you oblige; he swallows thickly, barely able to, while the leather creaks and tightens, pressing against his Adam’s apple snugly. You fasten it with nimble fingers, leaving goosebumps in their wake and his pulse sky-rockets at once. “Aye… perfect,” he breathes, almost panting now, his voice strained while another tingle runs down his spine that has warmth pooling between his thighs, and his cock chuffing in his boxers with interest.

An unexpected chuckle makes his eyes flicker up to meet yours again. “I see how it is, Sergeant,” you muse, a hint of a smile playing on your lips that makes him smirk boyishly in return.

Then, your index finger hooks through the metal loop for his leash, and another gentle tug makes his heart flutter and his chest rumble with a playful growl.

“Well then, let’s get to fucking work, MacTavish.”

And it’s the firmness in your words or the pure determination twinkling in your eyes that leaves John’s tail wagging.

Perhaps both.

[itacats]

Part 1 - The Beginning of the Chase

FT: John Price x Reader (Detective AU)

Warnings: Mentions of murder, detailed crime scene descriptions, psychological stress, and mild language.

Word Count: 1,370

SUM: On your first day at the precinct, you’re paired with the seasoned and no-nonsense Detective John Price. What begins as an overwhelming whirlwind of learning quickly turns into a high-stakes murder investigation. As you navigate the cryptic clues and mounting pressure, you uncover a chilling pattern and form an unlikely bond with Price. Can you keep up, or will the weight of the case break you before the killer does?

A/N: First-day jitters and a dash of murder—what could go wrong? 😅🔍 Buckle up for some tension, crime-solving, and a sprinkle of emotional bonding. Enjoy!

Love Kills Masterlist

The precinct loomed ahead, a monolithic building of steel and glass reflecting the dull gray of a morning sky heavy with rain. You paused at the entrance, heart pounding with the weight of ambition and anxiety. This was it. Your first day. The culmination of years of both study and sacrifice. But the reality was heavier than you’d expected, pressing against your chest like a stone.

Squaring your shoulders, you stepped through the glass doors. They whispered shut behind you, sealing out the quiet hum of the city and enveloping you in a world alive with sound and motion. Phones rang incessantly. Voices rose and fell in sharp, clipped bursts. The rhythmic tapping of fingers on keyboards echoed like raindrops against pavement. A faint scent of stale coffee and worn leather lingered, grounding the chaos.

You tightened your grip on your bag’s strap, forcing your pulse to steady as you navigated the maze of desks. Then came the voice—sharp, gravelly, and commanding enough to slice through the cacophony.

“You the rookie?”

The man behind the voice barely looked up from his desk, a chaotic landscape of papers, coffee cups, and files. His voice sliced through the hum of the office, but something in the way his eyes flicked over you—quick, calculating—made your heart race. He’s watching me, you thought, but pushed the feeling away. Detective John Price. You recognized him from the briefing file: a seasoned investigator with a reputation for results and a gruff, no-nonsense demeanor.

“Yes, sir,” you managed, your voice steadier than you felt.

He huffs softly, nodding for you to follow. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

The rest of the morning was a whirlwind. Price moved like a man on borrowed time, his brusque efficiency matched only by the weight of his presence. You trailed him like a shadow, absorbing every name, every face, every corner of the precinct he pointed out.  You notice it in the way he navigates conversations, diffusing tension with a quick retort or a sharp glance. His observations were precise, his corrections quick but never cruel.

“Pay attention to details,” he muttered at one point, his voice softer than expected. “It’s the small things that make or break a case.”

By mid-afternoon, the day shifted abruptly. A folder landed on your desk with a sharp slap, the sound startling in its intensity.

“Get your coat,” Price said, already halfway to the door. “We’ve got a scene.”

The crime scene was unnervingly quiet, the kind of silence that seemed to press against your skin. Yellow tape fluttered in the breeze, marking the boundary between normalcy and the macabre. The air was cold, biting through your jacket as you followed Price into the apartment.

“What do we know?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Price stands near the doorway, scanning the room with a hunter’s gaze. “Female. Late twenties. No forced entry, no noise complaints from the neighbors. Just her—dead—and that.” He pointed to a single wilted flower lying on the floor beside the victim.

The apartment was unnaturally tidy, every object meticulously arranged as if cataloged by an unseen hand. The victim lay crumpled on the living room carpet, her lifeless eyes frozen in an expression of terror. The flower—a delicate thing with curling, decayed petals—seemed an insult against the sterile order of the scene.

“Why a flower?” you murmured, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.

Price shot you a glance, his expression unreadable. “Could be a signature. Could be a message.”

He crouched beside the victim, his gloved fingers skimming the edge of the carpet. “Name’s Clara Jensen. Teacher. No signs of struggle. Whoever did this knew her—or at least knew how to avoid suspicion.”

“Neighbors?” you asked.

“Start gathering evidence,” he said, standing abruptly. “I’ll handle the neighbors.”

The hours blurred into a relentless rhythm of photographs, measurements, and observations. The scent of bleach mingled with the faint iron tang of blood, embedding itself in your nose. As the details piled up, so did the questions. There was something chillingly methodical about the scene, a deliberate order that felt more like a statement than an accident.

Over the next few days, the picture sharpened—and darkened. Clara wasn’t the first victim. She was part of a pattern, a series of killings tied together by meticulous precision and the same haunting calling cards: a flower, a note, a harmless trinket left behind. The killer was taunting you, leaving breadcrumbs that felt both maddeningly obvious and insurmountably cryptic.

Price’s desk became a war zone. Photos, maps, statements, and timelines collided in a chaotic symphony that mirrored the growing urgency of the case. He pushed you hard, his relentless questions forcing you to think critically, to challenge your assumptions.

Price’s eyes lingered on the victim’s photo for a second longer than necessary before he flipped it over. There was something in the way his jaw tightened that spoke louder than words. He’s not just doing his job, you realized. This is personal.

“Why this victim?” he pressed one evening, slapping a photo onto the table. “What’s the connection?”

You stared at the image, frustration bubbling under your skin. “There isn’t one—at least not on the surface. But the flowers… they mean something.”

He nodded, his expression hardening. “Then find out what.”

Late nights bled into early mornings. You spent countless hours poring over files, every lead a thin thread that unraveled before you could grasp it. The victims haunted your thoughts, their faces etched into your mind like ghosts. Price, despite his gruff exterior, became a steady presence, his dry humor and sharp wit a lifeline in the storm.

One night, as the precinct emptied around you, he leaned against your desk, a rare softness in his eyes.

“You holding up?” he asked.

You hesitated, the truth weighing heavy. “I can’t stop seeing their faces.”

“It doesn’t go away,” he said quietly. “But you can’t carry it alone. Let it fuel you, not drown you.”

The days pressed on, each new victim tightening the knot of urgency in your chest. The killer was always a step ahead, slipping through your grasp like smoke. But amidst the chaos, a bond began to form—a partnership forged in the crucible of late nights and shared burdens. Price’s unyielding determination became your anchor, and your growing instincts earned his respect.

“We’re getting close,” he said one evening, his voice edged with conviction.

“You really believe that?” you asked, your exhaustion making the words sharper than you intended.

He met your gaze, unflinching. “I have to. So do you.”

The case consumed you, every detail a puzzle piece you couldn’t afford to misplace. The killer’s game was escalating, their taunts growing bolder, their moves more calculated. And with each step, the weight of failure loomed heavier.

But you didn’t falter. You couldn’t. Every sleepless night, every frayed nerve, every dead end was a reminder of what was at stake. Lives depended on you—on your ability to see what others couldn’t, to find the thread that would unravel the killer’s plan.

And as Price’s words echoed in your mind, you clung to them like a lifeline: “Trust your instincts. They’ll save your life in this job.”

For better or worse, you were in the game now. And you weren’t backing down.

Want to see what's up next? Click here!

[ghosts-bandwagon]

So, could you do task force 141 + König and whomever you’d like, how they would react to you kissing their cheeks as a dare or something? Idk my brain just thought of this

I love this it’s so cute 😭❤️

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

He short circuits honestly

He’s sitting there stuck in place, processing what happened

In the short second your lips made contact with the fabric of his mask, everything in his brain went silent

All the chaos, all the worries, all the voices, everything went silent like coming into the eye of a hurricane, there was peace for a moment

On the outside though? He’s deadpanned 😶

You almost feel like you’re in trouble but then he finally blinks and looks at you, you couldn’t detect any anger or resentment so you beamed at him and went about your merry way

As he’s watching you walk away, that kiss is all he’s thinking about. He’s wondering what it would’ve felt like if he didn’t have the stupid mask on, how soft your lips must be, if it was a little wet or not, he knows the feeling of your lips would be seared there for the rest of his life

He’s thinking about that moment of quiet, that moment of peace, and he’s suddenly questioning himself, almost talking himself up to give it a try, to pursue that peace that you gave him, that peace that he could have with you

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish:

Don’t think you’re getting away lightly

As soon as your lips made contact with his cheek, his face went red hot and his eyes were glimmering

He looked up at you with a huge grin going from ear to ear

“What’s that for?” He laughed, when you shrugged with a cheeky smile, he melted,

“Dare you to do it again.” He winked,

You stepped in to meet his challenge but before you could even get close, he kissed your cheek instead

Now it’s your turn to be a blushing mess, and Johnny finds that the look suits you quite well

John Price:

He’s been hearing about the date floating around for a while now and brushed it off

At least until you came into his office under the guise of turning in paperwork, when he heard stifled laughter coming from the hallway

You handed him your papers and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek, your lips were so soft as they made contact with his skin, it sent lightning up his spine

He looked at you with disapproval and you felt the cold sweat bead on your forehead

He motions for you to come in close and you do as you’re told, leaning in, bent at the waist, waiting for him to speak. His face was close to your ear, the hairs on his cheek tickling your skin as he leaned in,

“Next time you feel like doing that, don’t hide behind a dare, love.” He sat back with a knowing glint in his eyes, “That’ll be all, sergeant.”

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Gerrick:

Oof sweetheart, he already knows about the dare that’s been circulating on base, he’s been waiting

And then he sees you walking towards him like the cat that got the cream

He already knows and he’s a little smug about it smh

What isn’t prepared for is how his brain fires on all cylinders the moment your lips pressed against his cheek

It was like a jolt of electricity shot straight through him, like something in him came alive

He’s not one to be rendered speechless too often but he’s dumbstruck

He had a plan of pulling you back in so he could return the kiss but he was stuck in place, slack-jawed with his hand slowly coming to rest on the spot you kissed

He’ll get you back eventually, right now he just needs to process what just happened

König:

Error 404. König not found

He appreciated that you didn’t lift his hood so you could kiss him but in that moment he wished it wasn’t there

He felt the warmth of your skin through the fabric and he mourned not feeling the soft skin of your lips against his cheek

It felt like going outside and feeling the warmth of the sun on your skin, breathing the fresh spring air and sitting on a blanket in the park

He started imagining you there, sitting in the park among the flowers, your eyes closed in bliss as you take in the warmth of the sun and breathing the freshness of the air

He wasn’t on an army base in god knows where, he was sitting there in that park with you, mesmerized by your smile, holding your hand in his

He was snapped back to reality when you waved your hand in his face, apologies pouring from your lips

He can barely process the words as he leans in and repeats the action, pressing his clothed lips against your cheek

He can’t help the satisfaction when he sees you short circuiting as much as he was

[ceilidho]

prompt: price/reader bear shifter fic. PART 3. (part 1 here) (part 2 here)

-

The man at your till is making you feel increasingly uncomfortable. 

He’s a stocky man, not quite as imposing as John, but still big. He’s particularly unnerving because the man has been standing by your till for the past few minutes without having anything in his hands. No basket in sight. Not a rutabaga or a bushel of carrots or even a single jar of olives.

It’s as if he just blew in off the street; dark hair mussed from the wind, shabbily dressed for the winter as if the cold weren’t even an issue for him. The intensity of his stare makes your skin crawl though, and it’s even worse when he decides to strike up a conversation with you. 

It’s like he only came into the shop to stare at you and make creepy, suggestive comments. Laswell comes out from the back when his presence starts to make even the other customers uncomfortable, but all that does is relegate him to the parking lot, where he’s free to loiter and stare at you through the window all he wants. 

You delay the inevitable for almost half an hour because you keep talking yourself out of calling John. It’s not like you’re not familiar with each other by now—he’s taken you to diners and cafés, and you’ve brought him tupperware filled with stew and casserole on the days when you’ve watched him slump up the steps of his front porch, looking haggard and about to fall on his face—but it feels intrusive. A favour you wouldn’t normally ask of him. It almost feels like you’re using him, actually. 

Still though, after some time you almost feel like you don’t have a choice. You either call John or the police, and the latter option is vastly more unappealing. Then you’d really be causing a ruckus for nothing. 

Since your phone is stored under the desk by the till, you take a second in between customers to dial John’s number, listening to it ring with your back to the window. That makes your shoulders tense up even more, acutely aware of two eyes burrowing into the back of your neck. The anxiety puts a cramp in your belly until you hear John pick up.

“John,” you whisper into the phone, hand cupped around the receiver. There’s static on the other end before you hear him grumble your name. “Are you—is this a bad time?”

“No, s’good a time as any,” he says, voice thick and heady. “What’s the matter, honey?”

The sound of his voice makes you shiver like it always does, but the effect is muted under the droning of your anxiety. Like a pale imitation of its usual force. 

“I just was wondering if—would you mind coming down to the shop for a bit?” 

“What for? Need help stocking the shelves?” he asks, still lighthearted. Maybe you’re keeping your cool just a bit too well because he hasn’t yet detected the undercurrent of fear making your voice almost tremble. You glance over your shoulder again and shudder when you see the same man still loitering in the parking lot, eyes locked on you. When he smiles, it’s mean. 

“Actually I—I hope this isn’t rude but there’s…this guy’s been hanging around outside for a bit and…” you start, then stop to chew on your lip. “Well, he’s really starting to freak me out.”

You can almost hear him straighten up on the other end. “What’s that?”

Now his tone makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You’ve never heard him sound like this before—alert all of a sudden, a hard edge to his voice that you might have associated with his work persona if you’d ever seen it before. It fills you with comfort and worry all at once. 

“He came in earlier and he was…well, he kind of came in looking confused and then—I think he noticed me looking at him strangely or something, which I—well, I don’t think I was making like, a weird face or anything, but—”

“Did he say anything to you?” John asks, cutting you off. 

You cup your hand even more around the phone so it muffles your words. “He said I smell…fecund? I don’t even know what that means, but…”

He goes silent for a moment before he speaks again. At first, you think he sounds almost calm, but you clock the way his breathing pattern abruptly changes. “I’ll be there in a few. Don’t move, honey.”

He hangs up before you’re able to say another word. You hold the phone to your ear for another couple of seconds before your eyes inevitably dart back to the window, where the other man is still staring at you, his upper lip curled. 

You try your best to focus on your job, checking each new customer out while steadfastly avoiding looking out the main window. It wouldn’t do you any good anyway. In your peripheral vision, you see the dark shadowy form of the man still leaning against his car, eyes still trained on you. It won’t be dark for another hour or so, but the fact that your shift only ends when it’s well past the daylight hours makes your hands tremble when you scan a container of hummus. You mess up the code for artichoke three separate times.

You don’t see the moment John pulls into the parking lot, but you hear the commotion and your head whips around just in time to see him dragging the other man into the woods behind the grocers, one big arm wrapped around his neck. He’s somehow bigger than the man you’d thought towered over you, making his struggle seem pointless as he's dragged off by John. 

It’s over so quickly that when the two of them disappear past the treeline, you almost think you imagined it for a second. Then another second goes by and you find John’s car haphazardly parked in the lot, the door still open. At least he managed to turn it off.

“Kate, did you—” you say, turning towards when you remember last seeing her restock the boxed panettone display only to find your manager standing in front of your till, staring out the same window as you. 

“Shit,” she says, blinking. A bit awed. “Never seen John that mad before.”

“He’s, uh—I called him because that guy wouldn’t leave. I thought maybe he’d…I don’t know what I thought he’d do, honestly.”

“You know, we could’ve called the sheriff.”

You don’t want to admit that your first thought was always John. Not the police. “Oh. I guess.” 

The two of you keep staring out the window. Neither man emerges from the treeline. 

“Should I—”

“Don’t even think about suggesting that you go check on him. He’s a grown man and you’re still on the clock.”

“Got it,” you mumble, a bit peeved.

Kate looks at you from the corner of her eye. “Besides, John’ll have my head if he finds out I let his favourite cashier chase after him into the woods where he just dragged off a man harassing her.”

“He wouldn’t do that—”

You’re cut off when a customer waiting at your till clears their throat, forcing you to leave your station at the window. Kate’s smug smile haunts you while you ring the impatient customer up. She heads back to her office before you’re able to say your piece, leaving you to stew in silence.

There aren’t usually many customers in the middle of a random weekday, so you have nothing to do except stare out the window and fret. Your heart skips a beat any time the trees sway with the breeze. Another customer gives you a bit of a hassle over a two-for-one deal that your scanner didn’t pick up and you almost snap at them. 

You finally make the decision to leave your till when the trees rustle and your heart stops for a second before John steps back out into the parking lot, looking dishevelled but no worse for wear. His hat is gone. There’s a nasty cut on his lip and it seems like his shirt has been fully ripped open, exposing a wide, hairy chest and two thick pectorals. You do not stare at the way the hair on his chest whorls around his brown nipples. 

His eyes are locked on you through the window and his brows furrow when he watches you jog to the doors. When they slide open, you hear him shout from across the lot, “Back inside.”

“I can—”

“Get back inside.”

You pout, but listen, taking a step back in and letting the doors shut with a whoosh. You wait anxiously on the balls of your feet until they slide open again when John finally crosses the parking lot in only a few short seconds. He zips up his coat before coming inside, depriving you of the view. You have to school your face so that your pout doesn’t deepen.

“Are you okay—” you ask when he steps into the grocery store, but no one in this town seems to be able to let you finish a sentence because he cuts you off almost immediately.

“Where’s Laswell?” he asks, almost rhetorically because he sidesteps you after a brief touch to your chin to tilt your head up, eyes tracking across your face as if looking for something to rile him up even more. “Kate.” 

You shush him when you trail after him towards the back where Kate’s office door is wide open. His voice carries on a good day; after his tussle out in the forest, it seems to boom across the store, drawing curious eyes. You smile weakly.

“Busy today?” It’s the first thing out of his mouth when he reaches the door of Kate’s office. Her chair is already turned to face him, arms crossed over her chest and blonde hair pulled up into a tight bun.

“It’s normal,” Kate says, almost like a challenge. “Business as usual.”

“Good. I’m taking your cashier home then. That gonna be an issue?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “I’m trembling. You didn’t get all of this out with the other guy? Still need a good fight?”

“Please, John, I can stay—I’m really sorry about all of this,” you say, turning from John back to Kate, a bit frazzled now that it’s sunk in. A faint tremor works its way through you. You don’t even realize the way you unconsciously grip John’s jacket, anchoring yourself in place. 

“Honey, we’re going home,” John stresses, fitting a hand against your low back, drawing you a bit closer. You move into him without a thought, like a natural pull. 

Kate’s eyes soften when she meets yours. “It’s fine, I can cover the till for the rest of the afternoon. John’s right—just go home. I still know how to work a register, you know.”

He doesn’t let you stay a moment longer to argue or insist that you stay and cover your shift. He sweeps you out the door with a warm hand still low on your back, letting you briefly grab your coat and bag before hustling you to his car. It’s freezing inside from the wide open door, so he blasts the hot air until you slump into the passenger seat, the heat lulling you into a stupor. 

The drive back home—whatever home at this point means—is long. Part of you wonders whether he’ll drive you to work tomorrow to pick up your car or if you’ll be forced to take a bus, but it isn’t the time or place to be thinking about those things. 

“What’d you do with him?” you mumble, turning your head to stare at the side of his face. The cut of his jaw is hard, obscured somewhat by the beard growing in heavy with the winter, but deeply masculine like something out of an old western. You think you’d happily count every bristle without complaint if he let you.

“Taught him to mind his manners,” John says. The answer is short, to the point. It makes you tremble. 

“Like, to respect women?”

He turns his head to look over at you. It’s just for a moment, brief in the grand scheme of things, but it feels significant. Pointed. Sustained. “To not touch what isn’t his.”

The truck never so much as wavers on the road.

[gojoidyll]

Cracking open a book while using your little reading light, you hoped that the flicker of it wouldn't disturb your seatmate too much as you felt the plane jolt forward, the engines slowly revving up as it began to take off down the runway.

"You need the overhead light, love?"

Jumping a little at the little tap on your shoulder, you glanced to your seatmate, "o- oh, uhm, no. I'm good. Thank you, though."

He took a glance at the title when you held it up a little. A smile gracing his lips, "you like the book so far?"

"W- well, i like it, but it's not one of my favorites... I actually like a different book from this author way more."

The man hummed as he leaned back in his chair, "which one?"

You gave the title, your voice a little meek, a little quiter and less confident than a few moments prior. Almost as if you were trying to see if you gave the right answer or not to a question asked by a teacher.

"That's one of my favorites too. Which part of it did you like more?"

"Probably when the detective realized that the villain was playing around with him during the aquarium crime scene."

Chuckling softly at your response, he clasped his hands in his lap, "i can definitely see why that would be good, and love, I didn't catch your name."

You gave it to him, your face slightly heating up, "and you," you managed to ask.

He held out his hand for you to take, which you hesitantly reached for. His hold was firm, surprising you slightly, "it's John Price."

Now, with a name to a face, you found yourself happily chatting away with him. The four hour flight seeming to fly by as you talked about your favorite books and whether or not you're going home or not.

Even when the plane landed, you found yourself wanting to talk to Price some more. (You also found yourself calling him Mr. Price, but it wasn't your fault! He was just older than you!)

"Here, let me."

When you had stood up (you had the aisle seat) to reach for your carry-on luggage, Price had offered to get it for you. Which you ended up letting him despite feeling a little bad for it.

"Thank you," you said, as you looked at him, but just as you did so it seemed the crowd of people wanted to get moving so you had to move along with them off the plane as Price got his own bag.

And just as you made it off the plane before him, you thought about waiting. Is it considered weird to wait for him? Biting the inside your cheek to pull over the thought, you felt someone tap you on the shoulder. And when you turned, you immediately grimaced at the one disturbing your thoughts.

A man with greasy, long hair tied into a low ponytail was shifting from foot to foot. His gaze was on you as he gave you a nervous smile.

"Hey, I thought I wouldn't see you again."

He was referring to when he saw you in the security line. Regrettably so, you think this is one of those times when someone gets an "airport crush" you just didn't think it would be happening to you...

"R- right. Well, it is good to see you too, but I need to get going."

"If you want," he started quickly before you could leave, his hand grabbing onto your wrist, "we could hangout this weekend, or maybe i could drive you home?"

"Oh, uhm, well-"

"She's with me."

The man holding your wrist was immediately forced to let go as you felt someone throw their arm over your shoulders and pull you back.

Looking up to see Price, you relaxed instantly in his hold, something that didn't go unnoticed by him as he gave your sholder a light squeeze.

"And I would very much appreciate it if you left her alone."

The man huffed, but got the memo as he readjusted the straps of his backpack on his shoulders and skulked away down the hall, most likely where the baggage claim area was along with the other people heading their as well.

"Sorry about getting handsy with you there, love," Price said as he took his arm off of you.

And before your brain could give a proper filter to your words, your mouth already said them, "i would rather have you touching me, then him."

You heard someone whistle off to the side, "aye Captain, you going to let that remark slide?"

Glancing over, you noticed three others.

'Captain?'

"Don't mind them, love, they don't know how to keep their noses out of my business."

"He has a point though," you wondered where you managed to get the courage, but pushed the thought aside, "are you going to let what I said slide?"

[willowed-wisp]

ghost, soap and könig as civilians

If the military wasn’t an option, what would these three men do with themselves?

simon ‘GHOST’ riley

- Still aims to take care of his mum and brother, Tommy.

- Simon Riley was born to have a gun in his hand, so he’ll be drawn into the police armed division.

- However, I could also see him as a detective who gets stuck with a Scottish newbie on the force.

- Meets you, behind the receptionist desk, he’s never been too good with women but you’d take over the conversation.

- Could listen to you talking nonsense for ages and that had NEVER happened to Simon before.

- Simon knew you were the one when you managed to convince him to not beat the shit out of his dad when he interrupted a dinner at his mum’s house.

- And when you shouted to his dad, “Stay the fuck away from my family!” Slamming the door in his face- bolting the door.

- His mum and Tommy shared a look with Simon, who was exasperated by you in that moment.

- He’s still reluctant to have kids because for the abuse he incurred as a child. So you take it in baby steps, your black and white cat is called Ghost.

- His family adore you.

johnny ‘SOAP’ mactavish

- Johnny would definitely be scouted for rugby very early on and would play the sport

- But his anger issues didn’t mesh well with it

- He sort out a place that would enforce discipline onto him.

- And he was born to have gun in hand and protect people, and his first week as a policeman… he’s partnered with officer Riley… Simon Riley.

- Opts to go into the Canine Unit, he’s tough enough and loves doggos

- You’re a civilian and he’s the officer questioning you. He asks for more than a witness statement- getting your number through his eyes alone let alone the accent

- Johnny loves coming home to you, your dog and a cup of coffee.

- Complains about house prices because he wants to upscale from an apartment that looked shitty before you put your own spin on it.

- At least one Scottish flag is hung up

- He wants a home because he’s desperate to be a dad- he’d be there everyday to pick them up and drop them off when he wasn’t at work

- Invites Police Chief John Price over for a Sunday roast

- Price always turns up with a 6-pack of lager in hand and chatting all night with you both with rosy cheeks

redacted ‘KÖNIG’ redacted

- He’s got carpenter energy- he’s good with his hands (in more ways than one)

- Has to find ways of coping with his anxiety because he’s dealing with customers everyday

- It’s easy when you come in wanting new wooden doors for your house. You go over the plans and invite him over for dinner to take measurements…

- Coz god knows he wouldn’t muster the courage up to ask you out

- You were intimidated by him at first- you tell him at the dinner table. He seemed dejected until you placed a hand on his, “And then I found out you were the most gentle person I’ve ever met…”

- That makes his heart melt- he’s been with you ever since.

- You soon realise that kids flock around him because he’s like a personal climbing frame

- Everybody in the small village knows König and say it’s nice to see him come out of the shell when he coaches the kids in football or sports

- He’s like a climbing frame

- And by your side, K��nig realises that he’s fine the way he is. Kids were just cruel at that age and his height and build come in handy in many ways

————

masterlist

[on-a-lucky-tide]

A soldier yearns for home as a pining pilot watches on.

cw: hints of a shitty ex, soldiers away for Christmas.

Nik hadn’t questioned the guitar that John had loaded onto the Black Hawk. He had transported more unusual things into the heart of eastern Europe, and would do so in the future at John's behest, no doubt. That hadn't stopped him inspecting it while John had been busy briefing the 141 and an attaché of mercenaries Laswell had sent to support.

The case was solid black plastic, chipped and dented, and littered with band stickers. Some had faded to white completely, while others had peeled in places. His eyes lingered over a few bands he'd never heard of - The Fratellis, The Wombats, The… Pigeon Detectives - and some he did. John had a rather broad musical palette.

The instrument itself was well loved too, with a chip out of the main body and more faded stickers across the back and front. The varnish had worn off the fretboard, but the strings were relatively fresh; Nik ran the pads of his fingers over them and they hummed out a warm note. The musical echo of John's smile, Nik thought fondly. He clipped the case closed and grabbed a ratchet strap from a shelf to keep it secure.

They made camp in an abandoned building in the suburbs outside Timișoara. Nik could think of worse places to spend Christmas than the City of Roses, but everyone else's spirits were low. It was Christmas Eve and every soldier huddled in that little building was yearning for hearth and home. Nik had spent so long without one that he had learned to find solace where he could, and if that was enjoying the philharmonic opera and a glass of Țuică in a beautiful Romanian city after the mission, then so be it.

As he walked the floors, he heard Gaz talking softly on his phone, Soap and Ghost too, with muted Scottish voices coming through from the otherside. The lieutenant had lost so much and the sergeant had taken to including him in his own family. One day they would make it official. Nik had already picked out his suit for the occasion.

The team had a limited amount of downtime before all boots hit the ground and they went dark, and every single one had searched out their loved ones in whatever way they could. Nik hadn't realised his own heart had done the same until he ended up outside John's door.

It was ajar and Nik could hear him moving around. He was about to knock when he caught sight of John sitting down in front of a laptop, and his hand hovered in midair. A hazy picture appeared on the screen, flickering once as John adjusted the antennae.

“C'n y’ear me, Carol?”

“Yeah, John. C'n ‘ear ya, la.”

“‘Ow ya keepin’?”

“Fine, it's… I wish y’were ‘ere. I'm… it's hard. Bizzies were round lookin’ fer ‘im, he's gone an' been a prick again.”

“I know, ‘m sorry, be home soon–ahh, there she is!”

Nik leaned in and saw a new face appear on the screen. Kimmy. She was a combination of John and his sister, without a single trade of her father, as far as Nik could tell; erratic brown hair that had fought a comb to the death, broad nose and distinguished forehead, and those blue eyes were clearly a Price birthright, because they gazed owlishly from the screen as she worked out who her mother was talking to and then squealed with delight.

“Uncle John! You commin’ fer scran? Ma go’ pigs in blankets from down The Asda an’.. an’ that spotted dick wi’ custard, an’ an’...”

John chuckled. “Naw, love. Gotta sort out some bad men, then ‘ll be ‘ome, but ‘m gonna miss dinner.”

“Again?”

“Yeah, love, ‘m sorry. Ma got the clobber ya asked fer though.”

“Yeah…”

She didn't look convinced and Nik's heart ached for her.

“Bu’ listen, figured we could still do ar sing along at least. You ready?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Eh, yeah! Wait, wait…”

She left the screen, returning moments later with what looked like an Action Man doll in a carrier vest, and plopped herself back down on her mother's lap.

“Ready!”

John tweaked the strings and played a few trial notes to test the tuning, before he opened up into the introduction. Nik had never heard him play before. Not in all the years they had known each other, and it felt strangely intimate now, John's full bicep sloped over the body of the guitar as he strummed through the chords, agile fingers moving across the frets. Nik wished he could see from the front. Imagined it so clearly in his mind’s eye.

And then John started singing and Nik had to place a hand on the wall to steady himself.

“I wanna thank the storm that brought the snow, and thanks to the string of lights that make it glow, but I wanna thank you, baby. You make it feel like Christmas.” His voice was rich, the auditory companion to the dark amber of the whiskey in his office, gravelly and a little rough from so many years smoking strong cigars, but he carried a note perfectly, even if he was keeping the volume low. Nik felt his heart trying to beat out of his chest, a little breathless as he drank in every word.

Despite the subtle crackle of the poor laptop speakers, Carol’s voice carried just as well, low and silky, as John played through her verse, his smile visible even at the sides through the perk of his round cheeks. “It barely took a breath to realise, we're gonna be a classic for all time. I wanna thank you, baby. You make it feel like Christmas.”

When they fell in together, Nik realised this wasn't a one-off. They harmonised perfectly, practised, John dropping his lower baritone to allow Carol's voice to carry over the top, and Kimmy’s delighted squeak made Nik grin so broadly his face hurt. “Sweet gingerbread made with molasses, my heart skipped and I reacted, can't believe that this is happenin’, like a present sent from God, sleigh bells singin’ Hallelujah, stars are shinin’ on us too, I wanna thank you, baby… you make it feel like Christmas.”

John leaned back, dipping his shoulders, chuckling as he played through another bar, before he carried the next verse with Carol humming and echoing beneath. “Thought I was done for, thought that love had died, but you came along, I swear you saved my life, and I wanna thank you, baby, ‘cause you make it feel like Christmas.”

It was as Carol squeezed Kimmy and pressed a kiss into her hair, the Action Man dancing across the screen in Kimmy's small hands, that Nik realised John was singing to his niece. Not some abstract lover provided by the song, but the little girl that beamed at him like he was a superhero, held by the sister he had raised himself. John had no wife, no children, but he did have a family. A family that loved him, missed him, looked at him like he hung the stars.

Nik dropped his eyes for a moment, but he couldn't look away for long. It was like staring into a bonfire in a snowstorm; the warmth on his skin warding off the bitter cold, but the intensity of the light hurting his eyes. He wanted it so ardently that his entire body ached.

“I never thought I'd find a love like this, but I found forever in that very first kiss, I wanna thank you, baby, you make it feel like Christmas.” Carol finished the lyrics and they harmonised through the last few bars as she kissed her daughter’s rosy cheeks, bouncing her on her lap as she giggled.

John struck the final note and rested his palm over the strings to bring their warm hum to an end.

“Ahh, ‘gain! Again!’

John chuckled, a sound even warmer than the one made by his guitar. “Naw, sweet’eart. S’time fer bed, or Santa ain't gonna visit."

“Yer Santa,” Kimmy said tartly. “An’ y’ain’ ‘ere.”

“Olrigh', smartarse, but if I ‘ave t’ get a flight back over ‘specially t’ rob yer presents back, I will.”

“You wouldn't."

He said nothing, but Nik could picture the raised eyebrow, the stern set of his eyes and lips. Kimmy pouted and slid from her mother's lap, looking mischievous and reluctant, but complying because she knew there was no room for negotiation. Before she disappeared, she leaned in and the camera caught the top of her head as she kissed the screen.

“Love ya, Uncle John. See soon.”

“Sleep tight, ya little beast.”

She scurried away and Carol looked back at her brother, her eyes, just as blue as his, brimmed with anxiety. “You come back safe, y’ear? Safe. No heroics, ya get the job done, ya get yer arse t’ my dinner table before New Years.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She kissed her fingers and they covered the camera briefly. “Love you, big brother.”

She took one final look at him and then the camera went black. He stared at the screen and then let out a long, rattling sigh, his face falling to his palm. Nik’s heart caught in his throat and he was frozen between leaving John to his sadness or offering comfort and revealing he'd been hovering there the whole time, invading his privacy.

He didn't need to worry for long. John's phone rang and he snatched it from the nearby table, sliding his guitar behind him to hang down his back. “Price,” he said, a stern bark. Back to business; John tidied away into the recesses of his heart, Captain Price assuming his place. John listened intently, hand on his hip. “Copy. ETA?” Another pause. “Fuck, that's too soon, we’re… yeah, Rog, we’ll be ready. We’ve got Nik with us.”

Nik smiled, stepping back. He had barely retreated four paces down the hall before his phone buzzed in his back pocket. It was John: “need you, 5 mins”.

Nik ducked into a nearby room to wait out the time. If he appeared too quickly, John would know he had been lingering nearby. He had no right to have invaded that private moment, and John deserved to believe it had been all his. A quiet moment to himself before the clusterfuck to come.

As Nik waited in the dark for the minutes to tick by, he added two new people to his silent, unwavering commitment to John Price. Nikolai would personally return John to Carol and Kimmy, their hero, safe and sound. They would sing together at Carol’s dinner table by New Years, Nik would make sure of it.

Nik left the room and knocked on John's door. When he entered, he was greeted by a lopsided smirk as John looked up from checking his M1911. “Time to get evil, Comrade.”

Nik grinned back. “It would be my pleasure.”

[bunnyreaper]

kinktober 5 - sweat

john price x reader

(18+/mdni, sweaty john price, mentions of reader being able to be picked up by price)

there's something about a hot man getting sweaty that you find so addictive--john price knows this all too well.

john is no stranger to hard work and blood, sweat and tears, but after a long op his priority was always on taking a hot shower and cleaning himself up to come home to you. it had taken him a while to realise how much you'd love it if he didn't do that.

in his downtime, if he popped round yours after a jog or a workout, you never failed to throw yourself at him--despite his protests of being sweaty and gross. during sex, if he found himself working up a sweat during the heat of the moment, he'd only apologise, not noticing at first the way your moans would escalate. but one post sex cuddle session had your secret tumbling free, as you all but buried yourself in his hairy chest and couldn't get enough of his scent--smoke and clean sweat, and you loved it.

and then john found himself not minding working up a sweat so much. he purposefully came to your place in his workout gear, or would find some DIY to do around the house where he could work up a sweat and watch you get all hot and bothered. if he could, sometimes he'd send you little videos of his workout, him heaving his chest with heavy breaths as sweat drips down his forehead. when he took you on a trip to a cabin one autumn, he insisted on chopping the wood himself, and of doing it right where you could have the perfect view of him grunting and exerting himself--then he made sure to pin you against the counter when he came back inside.

he had no problems at all indulging you, his natural scent almost an aphrodisiac to you--dizzying your brain and making you needy the second you detected it. sometimes the two of you would be hugging, only for you to catch his musk and begin whimpering into his neck. you'd practically grind against him, whining about how you can't get enough.

he'd bend you in half and press you to the mattress, face to face so you can see the sweat bead in his hair and the feral look overtake his features. it fuels something animalistic in the two of you, speaks to some deep primal need inside you both.

john would always leave worn shirts for you in abundance whenever he would have to leave, and would make sure your sheets smelled like him, that you smelled like him, before he ever left you for any period of time. he had to rub himself all over you, mark you as his. after all, if you loved his scent so much, you wouldn't mind smelling like him, right?

"need you so bad, love. need to make sure no other man comes near you while i'm gone." "won't be able to get my scent out of your fuckin' nose."

those are the kinds of things he growls in your ear as he holds you in the air, fucking you ruthlessly with his eyes pinning you, his damp hair falling over his forehead, his teeth gritted.

[raki-fallfallingfallenfall-2]

Love My New Look

⇒AO3

This is my fourth commission work!

The biggest appreciation to my requester and friend, Céline, for being so generous and patient with me whole this time! It took me over a year to get it done because my life was a mess last year...Thank you so much for understand and being encouraging me!

The request was 'Established Johnlock, where John is a bit insecure about his beard because of Sherlock's comment on his moustache from past,and needs detective's reassurance'

  ¥6,000 comic / 3 characters / 6 panels ($38.5 €35.8 £30.8 *approximated) 

⚠️DO NOT REPOST⚠️

🧡Reblog and Like are very welcome🧡 If you like my fanarts and want me to draw your otp, I’m here for you! Please send your request via ko-fi😊. Nice hot cuppa is very appreciated, too!

I’m working on next commission work (double peter) now, and there are 5 slots left! I'm thinking changing the prices after getting reset the slots fyi!

AAND I got in the new fandom🐺! If you're interested, check out the commission info page !

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