#john price who want reader so bad it makes him look stupid

[archive-doll]

thinking about bear!price and I think gender neutral!reader.

trigger warning for breeding kink, slutty!price, and soft!dark!price who can't help himself because he wants to press his warm tongue into you, forgive him. Blood, and kidnapping. I think that's all?

Minors do not interact. Enjoy.

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Maybe he retired. Maybe he moved from his old appartement, tired of the big city he lived in for so long to be close to the base.

Instead, he finds an old house into a little city away from his new neighbors, where all he can see is the wilderness of the forest. It's green in all of its nuance and brown, and he can hear birds singing, and it's immediate the way his instincts ease when he steps out of his car.

He told Kyle about it over a drink, wrote a letter to his L.t. about it, called Mactavish to give him the location. He knows he's not lonely, but he needs to be alone for a while and find some sort of equilibrium between his past and what he always wished for in life.

A place where he can feel isolated. Having his own garden to tend to during the day, a river not too far where he could fish on sunny afternoon bare-chest and feet in the cold water. Something something about bee-keeping too, because god knows the hairy man can not keep himself far away from honey to save his life.

Cliché, but in his case, true.

And maybe, as he prepares the house, late summer - early autumn, he lets himself feel the ache of being mateless. It came before, but within the military life, John did not want to risk it. Barely allowed himself to think of it. Now he can. And as he shifts over the huge nest, moving around the fur and fluffy pillows for his bad back and hurting joints, taking over the master bedroom, he can't stop thinking about it.

Someone to take care of and fuss over. Someone to love and cherish. Someone to caress and to kiss in the deep cold of winter. Someone who would praise him for his numerous efforts of keeping the house clean and in order and who cook him warm and handmade dinners. Someone who would writhe and rut along his groin in the living room. Someone who would bury their face into his hairy chest as they leave wet patches along his overall, nails digging into his square shoulders. Someone who would look up at him, tear-bright eyes and swollen lips and begging for his cock.

Someone who he would love to have cubs with, huge fat baby with chubby cheeks and rolls over its cute body. Babies he would adore more than life.

He can't stop thinking about it, as he gain a few pounces while autumn comes around, his hands aching for a warm figure to hold into, nose twitching as if searching for them when he goes for one of his morning walk.

But they find him, instead. Bright smile and sweaty, with a huge bag on their back with mini jean shorts, leaving his greedy eyes happy as they ask him for help, a bit lost in the mountains.

John gets chubby in his overall as he help them find their way on the map for the rest of their hike, big hand finding their shoulder in a comically modest touch, close from the delicious scent in their throat. Throat free of marks, not for long.

Because he invites them to eat, soothing voice talking them into taking a break, enjoying the view and they can't say no, the man using all of his manipulating skills to keep them close, just for a bit longer.

So they eat together, and they share a puff of cigar, and then when it's time for them to go, John memories their route, blood rushing as he watches his precious mate disappear between the thick trees.

His hands shake, his nostrils flare.

It's only a few minutes after that the birds chips loudly, flying away in number as a scream echoes closer to the ground. Hands digging into the mud, first fallen leaves cracking beneath shaky palms, as the grizzly dig his teeth harder into one shoe, dragging them backward.

The blood fall over the grass, leaving little splashs of red that slide down along the ridge of the mountain, cries and unnecessary pleading swallow by the forest.

It's just you and him now. And don't worry about a thing, baby. John will kiss it better. And don't worry, he will put you on his own feet for slow dancing. With the shape of his teeth carved into your ankle. Can barely walk on your own at first. Sweet little mate.

tiger!ghost here!

(it's my first time going public with one of my crazy thought and english is not my first language so please, have mercy on me.)

© archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI is not permitted. original characters are not my own, but the stories and writing are.

[docdudo]

Hybrid 141 As Parents - Foster Human Child!Reader (Part 5)

You were never one to complain. Living in the foster system means accepting all kinds of shit that comes with being an orphan in a stranger's house.

You almost never received any presents. It was rare the times you did get something at your placements, but if you did, it was a hand me down. Like the thin blue jacket you came wearing, that was a present from a divorced mother who kids were already too big for the jacket. Or the white dress that a christian family gave to you so you could go to church with them 'dressed appropriately'.

Well, you couldn't complain about that one. The simple white dress is to this day your 'fanciest' piece of clothing.

You wouldn't say you were that much of a picky eater either, but you certainly didn't like all kinds of food... which is pratically torture in the system. You just learned to push all kinds of food down your throat quietly, and if it was truly too bad for you to manage? You would simply come up with a weak excuse and run away from the food.

Being any kind of picky eater in the system was torture. Even worse if you have allergies. You knew a boy at your last group home that was allergic to glutten and peanuts, and he was basically as thin as you were. He was still bigger, being a cat hybrid and all, but at least you knew you weren't the only one suffering at these houses.

So imagine your surprise when John, the big hybrid dragon, spend his whole morning gently coaxing you to go shopping with him and Simon, to get 'things you might need', and 'snacks you might like to eat', and even 'go grab lunch at the mall'.

At first, you were too nervous and anxious to say anything, mostly just staring back at him as you fidgeted quietly in place. It took Johnny joining the conversation excitedly, Kyle sending you stupid thumbs up quietly from the living room couch, and Simon picking up the keys to their car while looking at you expectantly for you to finally agree to go with them.

So here you were, walking between two giants of men at a big and loaded shopping center, nervously trying to keep your pace matched up to theirs as Simon made sure to keep a hand enveloped tightly around your much smaller hand.

Worse of all? A lot of people were looking your way. Big hybrids like Price and Ghost weren't unnusual, but the small little human holding their hand surely was. Not only human, but a human under the care of hybrids. You wanted to burry your head in a deep hole and never come out.

"Darlin'." John's deep and purred voice called your attention immediatly as you looked up at him quietly. "Don't try and wander off, understood?"

You nod quietly, slightly intimidated by his tone and serious face.

"Good baby." He purrs out, giant hand coming down on your head as he messes slightly with the small strands there. "Now, sweetness, let's buy you some things."

"I... I really d-don't need anything..." You murmur quietly, a bit anxious about them wasting money on you.

Both of them looked at you with those serious expressions for a few seconds, considering you. John smiled slightly as he compromised, lifting both hands up.

"Then let's look around, if we find something, then that's good." His laugh is deep, slow and rough. It's clear the smoke from his dragon side had some effect on his throat. That, and he probably smoked cigars and cigarettes too.

You just nodded quietly, not willing to go against his word, as you three kept walking around. That is, until Simon grunted, fixing the surgical mask on his face and looking down like he was thinking of something.

".......what...?" You murmur softly, confused.

"I think you're breaking Simon's back, hun." John laughed deeply, shaking his head slightly.

"W-Wha...?"

"You're too small for me to hold your hand confortably." The wraith deadpanned. "Stay still."

"W-Wait, wh- Aah!"

You were stunned for a second, as you were suddenly held high up. Big, thick arms held your legs easily, making you sit in the crook of his elbow, as he held you to his side like a toddler. It was enough to shut your little squeak of surprise as you were just in shock now.

"Simon, I told you to be gentle." The dragon smirked slightly, tho his voice a bit more rough than usual as it seems to always have an edge of a growl on it.

"I am." The wraith grunted quietly as he started to walk once again. "This is the best option for the both of us. Right, luv?"

"A-Ah... I..." You were too flustered to properly say anything, but you still nodded your head slowly, trying to settle on his arms.

"See?" Simon smirked under his mask to John, as the older man simply rolled his eyes with a smile on his face.

"Say, darlin'. Do you like ice cream?" John offers out of nowhere as he smiles confidently, ignoring Simon's remark.

".....some flavors, yeah..." You mumble back, a little arm holding on Simon's shoulder as you looked around quietly, trying to ignore other people's looks.

"What's your favorite?" He asks easily, taking a different path as Simon followed close behind.

"...Vanilla is good..."

"Good, then vanilla is what you're gonna get." He answers simply, with the confidance you don't think you have ever seen on anyone else.

"...it's... it's really okay if you don't..." You try quietly, only to see him shaking his head slowly, looking over his shoulder that didn't have the wing, expression serious and stoic as his rough voice murmured.

"I provide to my hoard, little hatchling. It would do you good to remember that."

Those words, spoken in that way, was enough to immediatly shut you up, your body instinctively curling on itself (more on Simon really) at the sigh of an intimidating predator.

Tho, Simon didn't let you suffer in your fear and anxiety, as his big and wide palm settled on your small back, pulling you closer to his chest for confort as he was speaking, slow and quiet, even if his voice always sounded rough.

"Price's not mad, fledgling. Stay calm. He's not mad, much less mad at you. He's just a protective bastard." He snorted quietly, bouncing you a little on his arms to help you calm down.

"Watch it, Riley." Price mumbled, tho he had a small smile on his face as he slowed his pace a bit to stand by you and Simon, big hand now being placed on your upper back, which was a slightly shock due to how warm it felt. Simon was wearing gloves, but he felt much cooler. "And i'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to scare you."

He was also doing that subtle baby voice, keeping his voice much quieter as he leaned in and gently nudged half of his face against yours, making you freeze a bit at the action. It really felt like a big animal was trying to be apologetic.

"If Kyle was here, you would've gotten an ear full." Simon commented simply as he watched, amused.

"Thank god he isn't." John huffs a little, stepping back. "I don't need mother hen scolding me for this. I didn't even growl." And now, he was leaning slightly closer again, that quiet and gentle tone coming back as he looked at your small, nervous face. "I'm not that scary, am I, darlin'?"

"'Course you are, for a small little thing like this?" Simon laughs roughly, shaking his head, his grip in you getting firmer.

"I-I'm not scared..." You mumble quietly, playing a bit with the sweater that they lent it to you yesterday, not making eye contact with either of them.

"Of course not, darlin'..." John cooed deeply, tho his tone made it clear that he wasn't taking your answer seriously, rubbing your head gently. "Come on."

In the end, they got you a vanilla ice cream on a big cone, that you were licking it quietly. They were speaking with eachother as they planned what next things to buy, and what stores to visit. You weren't paying that much attention, just focusing on your vanilla ice cream as Simon carreid you around.

You got used to him carrying you, and now, you were much more confortable on his hold.

"Baby, look here." John's voice once again called your attention as you lifted your head from the ice cream to stare at him. "What do you think of this blanket?"

You tilted your head to the side, slightly confused, but you reached for the soft blanket he brough close, feeling the fuzzy, confortable texture.

"It's... good." You mumble, unsure about what to say.

"Just good?" John asked, considering your answer, looking between you and the blanket, before putting it back in place. "Let's see others, then."

You were not entirely sure what John was trying to do. Maybe buy you a blanket, but... you already had lots of blankets on the bed they gave you. And on the weird nest on the middle too.

Still, you got distracted once again with the ice cream in your tiny hold, going back to licking it. You were already getting a bit full... you were never the biggest fan of ice cream, you got tired of it fast. So, as you looked quietly to the side to stare at Simon's face, you gently brought the cone close to his face, making him look at you passively.

"Do you want a bit...?" You mumble softly, only to see the man pushing his surgical mask to his chin and taking a big bite out of the ice cream you were holding in front of his face.

You managed to see his scary, pointy and large teeth, the slightly too long and sharp tongue at the action, making you instinctively shudder on his hold. It was natural, a human watching their predator showing their dangerous teeth like it was nothing. Still, you were thankful for his help.

"Oww...." You turned a bit alarmed to John's direction as you heard the dragon's deep croon, his eyes getting half-lidded and pupils dilating. "Always soft for the hatchlings, aren't you, Simon?"

Simon just hums, swallowing the ice cream and licking his lips simply, keeping his serious expression.

"I'm used to being the kids' trashcan." He... joked? You were not sure, since he kept his face and tone so stony, but by John's laugh, you deduced it was a joke.

"Here, hun, how does this blanket feel?" John asks as he brings another fuzzy blanket close, light blue and full of colorful little dots.

"Good... confortable..." You mumble, feeling the material.

"Hmmm...." John considered once again, humming as he squinted his eyes.

"John, you know humans don't nest. She's not going to have hard instincts towards blankets." Simon comments, almost bored as te took another bite of your almost finished ice cream.

"I know, it's just... different to see it." John nods slightly before shrugging. "Do you like this color, little one?"

You just nod quietly, now understanding a bit more what was going on. Indeed, you shouldn't expect nesting instincts from a human, but even you could tell when the blanket was confortable and made from a good material.

"Come on, doll. Let's see what else we can find for you before having lunch." John mumbles softly, leaning close once again, quickly kissing Simon on the lips, who kissed back easily, and then kissing you on the forehead gently.

They were... very nice. Even if a bit scary.

[ohcaptains]

𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞.

john price x fem reader.

18+ !!! possessive husband! john, penetrative sex, cum play, light choking, use of the word 'sir', king of dirty talk captain john price.

just something i had to get off my chest! reblogs and thoughts are appreciated!

You’re spread, face down, and ass up on the duvet.

John’s hands are warm on your hips, his calloused fingers are digging into your heated flesh, and grabbing fist fulls, as if he wants to take you apart. You squirm against the pressure. You’ve always liked it when John grabbed you like this.

Like it a lot more when you’re spread wide open for him, though.

He hums a smile from behind you.   “Gotta say it louder, sweetheart. I didn’t hear you.” You swallow down your drool. It’s pooling onto the sheets below your mouth, and you know that when this is all said and done, John will pull you against him and joke about the wet patches. Whisper heavily into your ear – look at the mess you’ve made, love, and you’ll blink at the sight, still sensitive from the daze he’d put you in. Melt against his chest. Say, it’s all your fault, and John would chuckle, kiss you sweetly, I’m such a bad guy, aren’t I?

Now, though, in the heat of the night, you couldn’t care less. You sink into your thighs, and the movement forces your pussy wider for him. John sighs at the sight. Grunting, as if he’s letting himself into temptation, he slides his thumb over your spread cheeks, and roughly drags it over your asshole.

You gasp, and buck forward, body throbbing. “Ah, John.” He lightly smacks your hip, “what did I say?” “You,” you loudly repeat, suddenly remembering what he asked earlier.

Who do you belong to? He’d grunted. You’d been far too dazed to respond clearly – coming twice from John’s thick fingers and tongue would do that.  

Your husband hums again, grabbing your ass cheek and spreading you wider. “Look at you,” he whispers to himself, gazing at the wet slick of your cunt.

You’re soaking. Slowly floating into the abyss. Drifting off into a world of non-verbal communication, dazed smiles, and incomprehensible words.

You’re familiar with it.

Familiar with John fucking you stupid. Familiar with John’s soothing hand on the back of your neck as he coaxes you out of your small space.

Your husband presses the head of his cock against your cunt, then gently slides it through your slick, rubbing against your clit and aching hole. You mouth at the duvet, eyes rolling back until all you see is the soothing black.

“This wet cunt. All for me?” Your belly tightens. Pussy clenches around the memory of his dick. “John,” you whine, begging for more, begging for him to stop. You’re not sure at this point.

There’s not a lot of clarity to moments like this, it’s only after, when John’s got you in his arms, that you realise how far gone you were. Reflect on the words you’d said – the dirty spiel you’d whimpered to get what you wanted.

Still, though, as John feeds his cock into your swollen pussy, and grunts, “I’ll come inside this pretty cunt, fill you with my babies, huh?” you still have enough clarity left to shake your head and whimper, “N-No.”

John laughs darkly. He sinks his cock as far as it’ll go, and you cream around him, slipping quickly. “You sure?” he grunts, voice strained. His hands are gripping your cheeks, spreading them wide so he can see just as far you can take him.

“You don’t want me to get you pregnant? Show everyone that I fuck you good and proper?”

His words make you dizzy. Mindlessly, you clench around his cock, coating him, and John laughs with a groan.

He knows you. Knows you better than you know yourself.

Knows you’re chewing on the duvet right now, stuffing it into your mouth to quiet your sobs. Knows that there’s a knot in your belly right now, and it’s tight enough that you’re throbbing all over.

He slides his slick cock out, and when he slowly stuffs you with it again, there’s a wet ring pushing to his base. He clenches his jaw, shakes his head in disbelief, then takes his cock from you again.

Your breath hitches, waiting for him to sink back in, but then he presses in quick and tight, bottoming deep, forcing you to cry out suddenly.

“John, John, John – fuck. Fuck!” He ignores you. Continues his previous dirty drawl.  

“Would look so good with my come leaking out of you, sweetheart,” he compliments. You beam. Jesus, you go blind with it. You would, fuck. You would look so good strung out, tangled in sheets with his come dribbling out of your swollen pussy.

You close your eyes to the thought of it.

Go to the sweet dark as John slides out, then buries in again. When he’s deep, and you think you’ve settled into the thick heat of it all, he hoists you against him – his chest to your back -- and presses his mouth to your ear, talking quickly, so you don’t have time to complain.

His voice is heavy. Haunting. Makes you cling to the hand he’s got tight around your belly.

“Pump you full of it, huh baby? then pull your underwear up.”

He begins to languidly fuck you. Rocks his hips up in deliberate strokes, setting a gentle, intoxicating rhythm that has your mouth hanging open and eyes rolling back. John breathes heavily in your ear, and you know it’s getting to him too.

“Make you sit in it all day. Go to work with your knickers smeared in my come. Your colleagues wouldn’t know that your pussy is all wet with me, but I would. I’d know.”

You sob his name. Lock your gummy walls to his thick cock, trying to milk him, and John near growls into your ear. “Fuck!” he snaps, and the sound echoes through you, and goes straight to your clit.

“You like that huh?” He drags his calloused hand between your trembling thighs and sloppily pushes his fingers over your clit. You double over in pleasure, but John keeps you pressed against him with the arm he’s got wrenched around you.

“Tightening around me. Shit. All this cause I threatened to punch a guy in the pub?”

You’re brought back to the memory: some guy grabbing your arm to try and dance with him, and John shoving him back, near pushing him into the slot machine.

He’d been shaking with rage. Went to get the guy's throat in his hands before you got involved.

“Like to pretend that it annoys you, but I know you love it when I’m possessive. When I keep you locked to my hip. We both know that it makes your cunt get all sticky when I fight someone for you.”  

He’s right and you know it. When John had shoved the guy, you’d gone hot all over. But you’d pulled your husband to the smoking area and told him to cool it.

He went to pay the tab, and you went to the toilet. Spent most of it with your forehead against the door, trying to steady your thumping heart.

John’s still rubbing your clit, trying to catch it in his wet fingers. It’s all sloppy. It’s John breathing shakily against your ear, his deep, hungry tempo forcing a pool of desire to settle at your lower back.

He continues his pace – fucks you the way he knows you like it, steady, but hard -- and all at once, that ache that had simmered threatens to burst, and you spasm around his cock, gasping with the desire to come.

You let out an unrestrained moan, whimpering mindlessly.

Through the blood rushing through your ears, you hear yourself plea with him – fuck me, please. John. John. Please. You take his hand from your belly and drag it to your throat, grinding down on his dick.

John curses. Pushes you to the duvet, takes your hips in one hand, and rubs your clit with the other.

The sensation of both his fingers and cock makes you mute against the sheets.

Your body is numb. It’s all electric heat, wrapped around you like a cloak. You try to talk, tell him to fuck you, but all that comes out is drool and his name. Please. Please. Um gonna come. Um gonna come so hard baby—he smacks your ass, and the sudden pressure goes straight to your cunt, sending you spinning, and you’re squeezing around him, tight as a vice, coming on his cock.

John all but growls as he fucks you through your orgasm. “Gooood girl!” he shouts, watching you struggle and spasm around his cock, fidgeting and whining as white heat seers through your pussy. “Come inside me,” you gasp, drunk, so fucked out that you’d let him do anything he wants, and John groans, your cunt tight and so so warm and wet. “Come,” you drawl, your orgasm tailing off, and you clutch the duvet, whining in your post-come state. John’s still fucking you and the feel of his hard cock sliding through your swollen and slick folds has you babbling.

“Come inside me I want you inside of me.” John huffs a laugh. “No, baby, that’s not what you want.” You shake your head, delirious. “It is, I promise.” “No, it’s not. I’ve just fucked all rational thought out of your head. Brain’s gone dumb on my cock, huh baby?”

He smooths his hand over your back, struggling to contain his strained grunts through his spiel. You can’t decide which you like more: when John’s so turned on that all he can do is bark filth at you, or when he’s so turned on that he can’t, just moan and grunt and fuck you silly.

“Good thing your husband thinks for you, though. Turn around.”

In your bleary state, you manage to fumble around onto your back, and John grabs hold of your leg and pulls you down the duvet, forcing you onto your knees in front of him.

You blink up at his looming body – at his heaving, hairy chest, and clenched neck. His face is red with sweat, and the heady, heavy gaze of his eyes has your belly swirling. Blinking down at his hand, you dreamily watch him tug at his wet, angrily hard cock, before muscle memory kicks in.

You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, and John groans deep in his throat, the sound twisting into a moan as he speeds up his tugging, and it's seconds before he’s pumping his come into your mouth.

Most of it lands on your tongue, or around your lips. But a smear of it shoots across your cheek. You don’t dare wipe it away; instead, once John’s finished, and he’s staring down at you with this wild, feverish look, you close your mouth and make a show of swallowing it down.

You’ve collected a lot of spit from having your mouth open for so long, and your mouth is too full to swallow it all in one go, so a trail of it slides down the corner of your mouth and throat.

John watches it drip.

Inhaling steadily, he reaches his thick hand out, and wipes the smear of it, along with the come on your cheek, away with his thumb.

“What was it you said?” he whispers. His eyes are black as he pushes his finger inside of your mouth. You close your eyes and mewl around his thumb, lazily sucking at it as if he’d pushed his cock between your lips.

Having something of his in your mouth makes your post-come delirium even worse.

The position makes you hazy, too – spread thighs and sensitive pussy brushing against the rug – and you’re just about to ask if you can blow him before he pulls his fingers away and clasps your jaw and throat in his huge hand.

Your eyes immediately roll back. Cunt clenches, desperate for him inside of you again, and when you blink up at him, your husband's face is a picture of love and possession.

“Mine,” he states, in his heavy, smoke-laden voice.

You lick your lips and taste the remnants of his come on your tongue. “Yes sir,” you whisper.

masterlist.

please reblog or comment i'll kiss u.

[lyeofhell]

Short n’ Sweet 🌤️ fem!reader x John Price

╰┈ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ thinking about torturing (teasing) John with some Sabrina Carpenter, MDNI/18+ only, breeding kink lol

mmmmm I’m thinkin about your handsome handyman returning home from deployment in late summer, immediately throwing himself into every home project and ticking off all the boxes on your honey-do list. and while you spend the day cleaning inside, blasting music and dancing about your house - John busies himself with an oil change to your car.

thinkin about twirling your hips as you fold laundry, the carpeted floor buzzing beneath your feet from the thumping bass and you are getting into it, flipping your hair as you unapologetically and very loudly sing about espresso.

thinkin about how you’re too distracted by the music to hear the slam of a car hood, or the familiar steps of heavy boots, or the opening of your front door.

thinkin about John leaning against the doorway, thick arms crossed with a satisfied and eye-crinkling grin as he admires your oblivious form. and it’s not till you hit em with a couple body rolls on the beat that you turn around, damn near jumping out of your skin and whipping him with a kitchen towel when his presence scares you half to death.

John just laughs, reaches out to you in apology and when he finds purchase on your plush hips he mutters something low against your temple like, “don’t stop on my account.”

and part of you wants to push him away but it’s so hard, it’s so hard when he’s like this - his sunkissed, burly chest on full display, sheened with dampened curls while his sweat-drenched shirt is likely discarded somewhere on your front lawn. you run your hands up his pecs to grip the back of his neck and god he smells, he smells like oil and sweat and hard work and John and it’s stupid how intoxicating it is. and he just grips you harder, pulls you close till you feel his belt buckle against your abdomen and you're finding it harder to ignore how low his jeans are hanging on his hips.

thinkin about how he starts to kiss you, dipping his head down to start off soft and slow but he grows hungrier by the second, and that’s when one of his hands comes up to grip the back of your neck, maneuvering your head so you can take his tongue as far as he wants. but before he can get you lying on the sofa, you perk up at the sound of Bed Chem, giggling as you try to get out of his firm hold. you beg and you plead, telling him “I love this song!” and “dance with me!” - and he just shakes his head and smiles, loosening his grip to give his pretty girl a twirl.

thinkin about dancing around him, grinding on his side and poking his nose at

“Who’s the cute guy with the wide, blue eyes and the big bad mm? Like”

until he's pulling your back to his chest, pressing and grinding his crotch against your ass and sweetly kissing your fingers. you make a move to grab his hands, placing your own on top and running them over your chest and down your body when you sing

“How you talk so sweet when you’re doin bad things, that’s Bed Chem”

and when his head dips back down to mouth at your neck you almost let him get what he wants, until you hear that familiar acoustic strumming, and knowing John? oh, you’re already giggling to yourself as you work your way out of his grip again.

thinkin about torturing the absolute hell out of him. twisting in his embrace to innocently interlock your fingers and sway from side to side, occasionally leaning up on your tippy toes to kiss his nose. despite your constant singing he doesn't seem to be paying all that much attention to the lyrics, until...

"One of me is cute, but two though? Give it to me, baby"

a look of neutral shock stills his face and you cannot help but laugh. in his startled state you take advantage of him, letting go of his hands to skip around the room and dance like you've had one too many. at some point he starts grinning from ear to ear, watching you like a hawk and slowly stalking your way as you arch your back and shake your ass, or drop to your knees and crawl on the ground...and it's not till you look him dead in the eye and dramatically sing

"Adore me, hold me and explore me, mark your territory, tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one"

that he jumps over the couch to snatch you up; you scream in delight, jumping to your feet and running around the coffee table to avoid his hands and your voice shakes with laughter as you try to get the rest out

"Adore me, hold me and explore me, I'm so fuckin' horny, tell m—"

"Had enough of this," John growls through his amusement and bounds through the living room, boots echoing right behind you until his fingers grip your waist roughly and you squeal, happily squirming and giggling in his sweaty grip.

John is panting as he chuckles, and like an animal he takes you down to the floor with a growl - maneuvering you under him and he’s just got you caged there, his thick, healthy form the only thing in your line of sight. beneath the weight of his body you writhe, and as he grabs both of your roaming wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head, his other hand slinks downwards, down down past your tits and your waist and smooths over the sweet, soft pudge of your tummy. his lips press to the corner of your open mouth and he keeps going further, rough fingertips slithering underneath your waistband and that’s when his voice is low - that familiar gravel giving rise to goosebumps on your skin while his breath warms your lips.

“Oh I’ll hold you to it, sweetheart.”

[agentmarvel]

Can we have headcanons of fem!reader wife x 141 guys and how they each handle her leaving for girl’s night out in a really skimpy dress?

I think they’d all have hilarious reactions.😂

Omg yesssss

NSFW under the cut

MDNI - 18+

♡ Price:

Oh lord, that man is NOT letting you out of the house.

"Where ya think you're going in that?"

gets a little pissy when you remind him you have one girls night a month, and you have every right to wear whatever you want

"Doesn't mean you have the right to show anyone else what's mine, love."

will physically block the door with his whole body, knowing you won't be able to move him unless he allows it

he isn't mad - no, quite the opposite! it's taking every ounce of his self-restraint not to rip that damn thing in half and have his way with you right there on the foyer floor

"John, move. I don't want to be late!" - "Shame... You should've thought about that before you put on something you know damn well I can't resist."

he thinks it's cute when you argue with him, but you both know this ends up with your front pressed up against the door, panties pulled to the side, and his cock buried to the hilt inside you

after he cums, he pulls your panties back into place and gives you a harsh swat on the ass, not caring that your make up is a little smudged or that your legs are jello while he's giving you that smug look he wears so well

"Enjoy your night out, Mrs. Price. Hurry home."

♡ Gaz:

he's on you before you even walk out of the bathroom after you finish your hair

wraps his arms around your waist, puts his chin on your shoulder, tells you how pretty you look

"This dress new? Haven't seen it on the floor before."

ohhhhh, he is so down bad for you, even after as long as you've been together

makes it a point to grab a quick selfie bc he knows it's a solid confidence booster, and he wants you to feel as beautiful as you look

it doesn't really cross his mind that anyone would try anything on you - you're perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, and he knows who you'll come home to; he knows who's bed you'll be in tonight, who's name you'll be calling in the dark

he even helps you pick the right shoes, even though you know he picks his favorite pair in hopes of seeing you in just those when you get home

ever the gentleman, he walks you out to your car, reminds you to drive safe, call him if you have too much to drink, etc.

he does, however, make it a point to send you some downright raunchy texts and a photo of his more... physical reaction, just in case you needed some motivation to come home a little early

when you get home (early), he's still riled up; he's too impatient to wait for you to make it upstairs, much less to unzip your dress for you, so you end up riding him on the landing until he's too tongue-tied to keep telling you how hot you look

♡ Soap:

you're not making it out of the house. Period.

the SECOND Johnny lays eyes on you, it's over

he's grabby as hell, digging his fingers into any part of you that he can - squeezing your ass, your hips, your thighs, tits, tummy, anything - while he navigates you to the nearest surface

"Yer so fuckin' pretty, baby. Never seen something so fuckin' perfect in my god damn life."

it doesn't matter if you end up on the couch, the kitchen counter, in the back yard; he's eating your pussy like a death row prisoner's last meal until you're crying, trying to wrench his head away with the hair tangled in your fist

he has your dress bunched up around your waist, straps pulled down so he can play with your nipples, but uses the whole garment as leverage while he fucks you stupid

you should've known better than to put a t-bone in front of a starving dog and expect it not to bite

"Go ahead, bonnie; text your little friends, tell them you're not gonna make it, yeah?"

♡ Ghost:

"'course, love. Have fun, be careful, call me if you need a ride."

Simon isn't too worried initially; he knows there isn't going to be a single soul in that bar willing or able to face his wrath should anything untoward happen. but then he actually sees what you're wearing, and all bets are off

that's why he follows you, he tells himself, it has nothing to do with the insatiable urge to destroy your ability to walk tomorrow

nothing trumps your safety, in terms of his priorities. he's simply here to look out for his wife, right?

wrong. he spends the next hour and a half watching you from a darkened corner of the bar while his palms itch with a need to touch

opportunity knocks when you excuse yourself from the table, and he follows you into the restroom, slipping in before you have a chance to lock the door

you're not surprised to see him (duh, you know him better than just about anyone), but you are surprised to find yourself bent over the sink, looking Simon in the eye through his reflection. he's fucking you mercilessly, spewing absolute filth while he pulls your head back by your hair

"My perfect little whore, hmm? Waltzing around in that tiny dress, wearing my fuckin' ring, rubbin' it in everyone's faces that you only open those pretty legs for me."

he wants to cum on your face, but you pout about the possibility of it getting in your eye, or worse, on your dress, so he settles for letting you swallow it instead

his impulses return not much longer after you return to your table; instead, he texts you that he's ready to head out, and you are all too quick to oblige

[syoddeye]

consequence / needling

price x f!reader | 1.9k words series directory | ao3 tags: tattoos, feelings, social media, shitty exes a/n: good news and bad news. ☕

you’ve never been much of a dancer, but you find a rhythm all the same.

john divides time between work and leave. grouses about tying up loose ends and mountains of menial paperwork about said ends, but he’s with you more often than not. you think you’re handling his comings and goings well until he sits you down for a talk after informing you he’ll be gone for two and a half weeks.

at first, it feels like critique all over again, the kind that makes you shrink into yourself. your instinct is to freeze up, say little, agree with him, and promise to do better next time he’s away. but john doesn’t let you fold into yourself, and he doesn’t take easy answers either. he’s calm and direct and speaks with disarming clarity. for someone who can’t discuss what his job involves, he’s honest about its realities. there’s no judgment in his tone, just a measured precision that leaves you feeling exposed, then immediately comforted. for the first time, you’re not left twisting in the wind.

he wants you to make informed decisions. to minimize the surprises you’ll inevitably experience. no more gut reactions, no more panic.

i need to know you’ll be alright. with or without me.

and he isn’t simply referring to his deployments. he speaks about a future without him, should you choose to walk away. 

this isn’t for everyone.

john’s right, of course. you know in your bones but don’t want it to be true. instead, you let yourself believe in the possibility of things working out, following the moments that feel good and easy, however fleeting. winter helps—the light snow smoothing over the ugly edges of everything outside, making it easier to laze about with him. he spends more time at your flat than his own, though he won’t even hear of you merging households yet. you don’t press him. rushing things is what got you here. a deep bruise always prepared to remind you of its ache.

99+. terrifying. absurd.

the espresso machine hisses as you wipe spilled milk off the counter with the edge of your apron. the rectangular shape in your pocket taunts you. you haven’t looked at your phone since you clocked in, and the impulse grows harder to ignore with every flat white.

it’s stupid. it’s not like you drew anything groundbreaking—just a sheet of cats with coffee mugs modeled after old-school greeting cards. a cute warm-up, nothing serious. you wrote a corny caption, meowcchiato or catpuccino, posted it, and went to sleep. you considered it a modest success when you woke to a dozen comments and new followers. then, some big-name tattoo page shared it, and it ballooned.

your fingertips dip into the canvas only for a group order to pop up on the screen, signaling the start of the mid-day rush.

on break, you step out back. the cold air hits like a reset button, your breath visible in cloudy puffs. shivering, you stare at the tower of notifications on your lock screen and swipe.

your eyes saucer at four figures. a thousand and some change likes. hundreds of comments and shares. two hundred more followers. you scroll through the new names, quickly following a few artists and legit-looking shops back before you feel weird.

one account catches your eye despite a sea of requests in your messages. a local studio you’re familiar with.

>> hey, looks like we are neighbors. i like the cats. i don’t think i recognize your work. are you an apprentice somewhere?

rechecking the post, you flinch. you neglected to remove the geotag. shit. so much for total anonymity. you respond before you think too hard about it. embarrassment rolls off of you like the vapor from your breath.

> hi, no i’m not. this is just a hobby.

another chance to check your phone doesn’t arrive until you’re off, due to meet john.

>> really? if you’re at all interested, i’ve got a friend opening apps in a month or two. >> happy to chat if you want to drop by the shop.

it feels like a trap. something oddly shaped like hope makes you walk into it anyway with a reply.

~~~~

she’s in a rush, already glancing at the clock before she’s even out the door. her scarf is half-tied, her coat slipping off a shoulder as she reaches for her bag, but john can’t help himself. he leans in and kisses her cheek, then the line of her jaw, quick and light like a thief. she huffs a laugh but doesn’t pull away.

“you’re going to make me late.”

he kisses the corner of her mouth, the scar on her wrist when she tries to push him off, the warm skin beneath her ear. his hands crawl under her open coat and up her sides to reel in for another. he fixes her coat, fastens the buttons, and ties her scarf, all without letting her up for air. when she finally pulls the door open, winter funneling through the crack, he lets her go with a goodbye. she steps out mid-laugh, and he’s left standing, smiling to himself like a fool.

with nothing but time to kill, he makes himself useful. 

cece follows as he tidies. he knows exactly what his girl buys at the shop now, what brands, what alternatives. he parks outside her building and catches himself smiling, almost laughing, at how far this has come. how it started with that dent in the car he now leaves at her curb, the little heart she’d drawn on the note that came with it, an act to placate an angry stranger. now, she draws them on the back of his hand when they lie in.

later, he fixes supper, the cat weaving between his feet. greets her when she gets in with a thin slice of parmesan with honey balanced on his fingers. before she bites the morsel off its perch, she holds up her phone with a frown.

“what am i looking at?”

“he fucking painted it.”

~~~~

you find out through an old classmate, an acquaintance utterly ignorant of everything.

of course, ben painted the breakup, the prelude, and the aftermath, repurposing it all for artistic expression. you picture him pretending to suffer, draping his self-inflicted misery over their history like he’s the victim. the sheer audacity of it—painting your pain as if it’s a fucking concept—makes you want to scream. you don’t even know what’s worse: the paintings themselves, his self-congratulatory smugness in the captions, or the fact that you feel anything when you see them. the nerve to twist everything into his own narrative. it’s infuriating, his reduction of everything into a palette of pity. you know that temporarily unblocking him to spy helps nothing, but you can’t help yourself.

ben reinterpreted everything, made it about his genius and his torment the way he always did. and what bothers you most is that you’re still trying to find yourself in his work, even now.

at least hannah stays out of the literal picture for once. bad enough ben depicts her as some sort of savior. a heavy-handed and garish fucking pieta-like feature. 'ben wanted to paint it, you know…had it all mapped out. i convinced him not to.' the rat.

you stare at the hard line of john’s jaw as he scrolls, barely able to appreciate his culinary efforts because his predecessor ruined your appetite.

“my offer stands.”

“what?”

“i’m inclined to sort him out for you. i know a man or two who owe me.”

~~~~

she makes him promise he won’t sic someone on the ex, and he obliges. he makes her feel better, and she draws another lazy heart on his skin.

cheek pressed to his chest, she sighs.

“you gonna to say anything to him?” 

“what’s there to say?”

“i can think of some words to make a sailor blush.”

she flicks his nipple. “i already cursed him out and threw wine at him.”

“think he’s doin’ this because you told hannah to fuck off?”

rolling to her side, she toys with the hair creeping down his chest. “i think hannah and i are irrelevant. swap us out with anyone else, and he’d come to the same, self-centered conclusion.”

“for what it’s worth, i think his work is…trite.”

a tired laugh rattles out of her, and she pats his stomach. “oh, wow, someone check on the sailor. must be blushing.”

cheeky.

he sweeps over her in one fluid roll, pushing her to her back and sticking his mouth to her neck. he ignores her squeals and her half-hearted battering. she protests, something about him leaving a mark, and he lifts.

“put one on me?”

“a hickey?” her chest heaves from their game.

“no. a tattoo.”

the meticulousness john admires translates into everything, that much is clear, given his girl’s stringent cleaning and the amount of ppe. he didn’t think he’d be treated to some gutter punk special, but it feels as professional as an amateur can get. considering the other places he’s spent time with open wounds, her flat feels like a spa.

the amount of shit he’ll catch from the boys, however? that worries him.

they discuss the design again. it already took the better part of an hour to select one from her burgeoning collection—she refuses to call it a portfolio, despite all evidence—and placement took another fifteen. shaving, regrettably, took only a few minutes. odd and intimate. when she brushed the shorn hair off his left pec and swept it into a dust pan, he forced himself to breathe.

“are you sure about this? i’m not a professional. this is permanent.”

he readjusts and pats the naked patch of skin. “i’m aware.”

the bite of a needle is nothing. compared to the puckered scar from a knife wound in his right thigh—it’s a pleasant burn. helps that the hand guiding it is light, the pressure deliberate and contained. plus, her tongue wets the corner of her lips so often, and that, paired with the pinch of her brow? he’d endure worse. cute.

he will not embarrass her and say it out loud. he doesn’t say a word. she’s finally distracted from ben’s paintings.

but she speaks when she switches to color, dabbing excess ink onto a paper towel.

“alright?”

“never better.”

“because i’m not a mind reader. if you’re regretting this now, say the word.”

“i’m not regretting a thing. are you?” 

she doesn’t immediately look up from the needle, fiddling with it. when she does, she shakes her head. “not a thing. moving onto color now.”

she carefully drags red into the design, then gold. the firm, short strokes spark a brief flare of discomfort but let nothing slip. he can take it. the silence lingers, shorter this time, and again, she breaks it.

“remember that silly cats and coffee sheet?”

“yeah?”

“i’ve been, uh, chatting with a local artist about it. he wants to meet. talk shop, i guess.”

his attention snaps from his chest to her. sly thing, biting her cheek to keep her expression as flat as possible. “go on.”

she meets his eye for a second, pulling her hand back to swap to green. “he wants me to bring my collection, if you can believe it.”

that ugly, possessive monster in his head cocks an ear. focuses on the wrong detail. he wrestles it into the thick mud of his thoughts and resurfaces with—”sounds like he thinks you have a knack for it. we have that in common.” good show.

“he thinks i might be good enough to try for an apprenticeship.”

this time, she holds his gaze. uncertainty writ large on her face. seeking.

“is that something you want?”

“yeah,” her lip twitches. a flash of something crosses her face. a wince? “yeah, it is.”

[lunarduty]

𝙒𝙄𝙎𝙃 𝙄 𝘿𝙄𝘿𝙉'𝙏 𝘾𝘼𝙍𝙀

☾ how the cod men act when they're jealous. 141 + ALEJANDRO + RUDY + GRAVES + FRANK X F!READER TAGS | female reader. WC | 1,449

☾ JOHN PRICE has always felt very secure in himself, his work, and the relationships with those he cares about - that extends to you tenfold. he’s not one to get into a relationship if he doesn’t feel like you won’t or can’t be faithful 100%. and that’s why he never truly gets jealous - because he knows you and he knows you love him and wouldn’t try to mess around. if some muppet tries hitting on you at the pub, he’ll only get involved because he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.

but john isn’t completely immune from jealousy. while he never worries about some other bloke sweeping you off your feet, his jealousy comes through when he feels as if someone else is outshining him. john has a tendency to be distant, and even when he’s beginning to feel that distance, work can pull him even further away. so if he sees you getting your laughs or comfort from someone else, it kinda tugs at his heart. makes him wish he was doing it instead.

☾ GAZ never truly lets things get under his skin if he doesn’t deem them important enough to, and jealousy is one of those things. of course, he likes having all of your attention. but it’s hard to really feel threatened when he’s the one who brought you to the pub, arm over your shoulders, showing you off and giving lots of kisses and doesn’t really give a fuck who sees. cheeky as he is, kyle might even revel in the onlookers who start to feel jealous of him.

and if there’s anything to be jealous about, it’s the bottle that you hold so tightly in your hands and bring to those gorgeous lips. it’s toward the music itself for making you move so slowly and sexily. it’s at the liquor that plasters a grin on your face when gaz can usually do it himself. he does later, rest assured - makes dumb jokes to make you laugh while he runs your hands all over his body for you. and there’s nothing left to be jealous over.

☾ SOAP is a man who’s pretty in touch with his feelings. he knows when he starts feeling jealous, when it starts making him act up, and he always feels bad about it. there’s few people in the world soap trusts more than you - yet, he gets that hot, tight knot in his gut whenever he hears your laughter and he’s not the cause of it. when someone else seems to gain your attention more easily than he can. soap will push it down, try to act nonchalant, like it doesn’t bother him. but it does. other people pick up on it and that just makes it worse.

later on, when he finally gets you to himself, soap is talkative - more than usual. like if he keeps rambling about random topics, it’ll make up for lost time. at least in his mind. you eventually have to slow him down with a kiss, ask if everything is alright. you know soap better than he knows himself - of course you picked up on the shift in his mood. that simple fact helps soothe away the last lickings of jealousy. he still feels stupid about letting himself get like that.

☾ GHOST wouldn’t even realize he was jealous until someone else points it out. he’s usually gruff and stoic and glaring at people so his signs of jealous takes the form of not talking at all. and lots of staring. scowling is probably a better word for it - if looks can kill and all that. he internalizes his own behavior as simple concern over you, or something about the situation just not feeling right. he still memorizes the face of the guy who’s been chatting you up. sticks him all the way to the top of his shit list.

ghost doesn’t really interfere, not unless he feels like he has to (though, he’ll move around the goalposts of when the appropriate time is.) until then, he kinda just sulks by himself. not even soap can muster more than a couple words from him. and you can really feel his jealousy once he’s got you by his side again and he’s barely talking to you and glaring because he’s in a general shit mood. you ask him what’s wrong, and he says it’s nothing. it’s not until later, in private, when he reflects and feels like a total ass.

☾ ALEJANDRO is quite known for his hot temper, but when it comes to jealousy, he becomes more of an opportunist. instead of embarrassing you and himself by acting out on his jealousy, he’ll take the burning feeling and turn it into something useful. this means coming up to you, pulling you against his side, looking directly at the guy who’d been chatting you up, and really laying it on thick. kisses you, touches you, makes sly little comments. might kick it up a notch by saying some lowkey insults at the guy, knowing he wouldn’t do anything but alejandro kinda wishes he would.

he’ll act all innocent if you confront him about it. tell you he just likes showing you off because you’re too fucking cute and he loves you too much. but that act doesn’t hold up for very long because alejandro isn’t great at subtly. he ends up just insulting the guy even more to you by saying he was an idiot and didn’t deserve you and he kinda smelled anyway so why would you ever give him the time of day?

☾ RUDOLFO gets a bit of a Kicked Puppy Vibe whenever he’s jealous. he can be a sensitive person and feels the loss of your presence in his very soul. he really does try to ignore that ugly, twisted feeling inside him whenever the jealous gets especially potent. he wants to enjoy the night with the rest of los vaqueros, but rudy always seems to find you in the crowd. always frowns a little when he finds you enjoying the company of someone else a little too much. always stops himself from going and stealing your attention for himself.

but later on, his affection gets amped up to the max. rudy usually shines under your attention, and tonight is only worse. honestly gets a little clingy for the rest of the night, and seems to feel a little better when you blame it on the alcohol. of course, rudy knows himself well enough to know what he’s doing. feels a little embarrassed by it, so maybe some of his many kisses are his way of subtly apologizing for it.

☾ PHILLIP GRAVES does not get jealous at all. not at all. why should he care if some loser is making you laugh so hard at jokes that aren’t even funny? he only steps in because this guy is so wildly unfunny, and also kinda creepy, that graves is afraid you might just die of boredom. and as you know, phillip’s a heroic guy. as your boyfriend and commander, it’s his job to keep you safe from any and all threats big, or in this guy’s case, very small.

graves couldn’t hide his jealousy to save his own life. he likes to believe he’s smart and cunning and doesn’t let dumb shit get to him - and that’s true for a lot of things. but as soon as you gets you all to himself. he’s got this primal need to pull you close and remind you just who the fuck you belong to. he doesn’t think of it as proving himself, but the marks on your neck say otherwise…

☾ FRANK WOODS gets jealous more often than he’ll admit it. it’s going to be loud and it’s going to be obvious. and he’ll deny it - insist he isn’t the jealous type and he’s got more self-respect than all that. but he’s not nearly as subtle as he tries to be. it’s so easy to catch his gaze from across the room when someone happens to get a little too friendly. he’ll say over and over how he isn’t jealous, and in the same breath, stand between you and the dick talking to you and start throwing out insults.

even if you call him out on it later, frank doesn’t seem to care. in fact, he’ll look damn proud of himself. he’s always had this instinct to protect what’s his. always had this tendency for possessiveness. if he’s in a good mood, he’ll crack a dumb joke about the guy and move on. if not, he might think you were trying to make him jealous. but of course, that would mean admitting he was jealous in the first place.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

Reconciliation: knight!price x Princess!reader

It felt odd walking to the barracks in the middle of the night but you wanted to do things right this time.

Usually when you snuck out in the middle of the night you never told anyone or had anyone come with you. No one would let you go to the fields at such an hour and sometimes you needed to clear your mind outside the stone walls of your bedchamber.

There was a lot on your mind and after everything that happened yesterday, you didn't want to be alone.

You were silent as you snuck in to the barracks. You made sure to step around the other knights before you came to Sir John Price, who was deep in sleep.

You hesitated to wake him only for a moment, a strange desire to feel his warmth against your fingertips spurring you forward as you shook him gently.

Price awoke immediately but disoriented. It took him just a few moments to recognize you before he gave you an incredulous look, opening his mouth to say something before you quietly shushed him.

You scurried out of the barracks and waited for him at the door, being joined by him just a few moments later. You pointedly ignored the soft look of his tousled hair and the sleep still in his eyes.

"Why are you awake at this hour?" He asked almost too loudly for your liking.

You shushed him again and quickly told him to be quiet while you looked around to see if anyone heard. Once you realized it was safe you turned to him and gave him a serious look.

"I wanted to watch the stars." You whispered and he looked at you with disbelief. "We'll both be caught if you don't be quiet."

"You couldn't watch them from your window?" He groaned barely above a whisper and you rolled your eyes.

"I could've very well gone out by myself like all the other times-"

"Other times?"

You sighed heavily and began to make your way to the fields. You should've just gone on your own, you hadn't been attacked any of the other times so you shouldn't feel any different...yet having him with you made you feel safer.

It was strange, you went from not wanting him around to waking him up so he could be by your side.

"How many times?" He demanded but you shrugged.

"Do you think I count?" You said and he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You'll be the death of me, your highness."

You made it out into the field and every step you took disturbed the fireflies that hide in the grass. Already you felt like you had a clearer mind as you sat down.

"Sit." You beckoned him beside you. "I don't have the patience for your hovering right now."

Price kept some space between the two of you as he sat down with a grunt. He said nothing else and soon it was just the night, you both, and the stars.

You were in deep thought. You couldn't quite believe that your mother had called off your marriage because you never expected the king to have lied to you and her. You didn't like him but you certainly never thought he'd try to pull your kingdom in a war you had no reason to be in just because he had no money.

If the information hadn't been found, you would've been married off and stuck in a war, your kingdom would've suffered just as much and you might've died, your knights might have died.

You know that your mother mainly did it for political reasons; there wasn't proper time to prepare for a war and it would look bad on her and you if you plunged the kingdom into war.

But you didn't know why Sir John Price had done it?

You weren't stupid, you knew the only way this information was found was because of him yet you didn't know if he had told your mother for the reason she had to break off the marriage or for something else.

You wanted it to be for a different reason.

"How's your arm?" Price kept his voice low but didn't whisper.

"It itches." You frowned when you placed you hand over the wrappings.

"Good. It's healing."

You turned to him and he raised an eyebrow. You hesitated for a moment when you remembered the way he hadn't even hesitate save you even after all of the hell you put him through. He had dressed your wound without protest, he even apologized when he thought he hurt you.

It confused you. How could a man who you thought hated you treat you in such a way?

"I didn't properly thank you for saving me." You said and his face fell.

"You don't have to-"

"I do. Who knows what would've happened if you hadn't shown up...so thank you."

Price blinked a few times and sucked in his lips. He nodded and looked away from you as he shifted in his spot, almost like he was uncertain.

"Of course, your highness."

You wished he'd say something else, you wished he'd tell you why he had been so quick and why he had done it without a second thought. You wished he'd tell you what he really thought, if maybe he felt that strange fuzziness in his chest the same way you did.

"Why did you break off my marriage?" You asked and he tensed up.

"As I said before it's my duty to protect you." He said and you couldn't help but feel disheartened.

"Is that all?"

You hoped that your disappointment wasn't noticeable especially when he looked at you with slight confusion.

Price went quiet and he sucked in his lips again. He looked deep in thought as if he had think about what he was going to say. When his eyes met yours they were softer with a strange look in them as he took a moment before he spoke.

"You wished to not marry him."

You blinked with surprise, you chest going warm as you stared at him incredulously. That's all it took? You saying no? You're honestly not sure if you believed it, especially when it was Sir John Price who had fulfilled your request.

No man who hated a woman would do such a thing.

"And I thought it was rather rash that the Queen have you married so swiftly without any proper precautions." He quickly added on but you didn't really catch it.

He broke off your marriage because you didn't want it.

"Oh." That was all you could say.

"If it was an overstep-"

"It wasn't...just surprising is all."

It did make things more complicated, your mother had told you that she will have to find someone else but the search had seemed to slow down just a little, which meant you would have more time figure out what you truly wanted.

You weren't sure what to do but you didn't have the energy to think about all of that right now. Instead, you'd rather focus on the man who sat next to you.

As much as it was annoying to have him follow you everywhere it could be worse and after him saving you, you thought it would be best if things changed.

"Do you think we could be friends?" You wondered and it was his turn to look at you wish disbelief.

It would an inappropriate friendship, one you knew your mother would frown upon but no one had to know. You had kept your hatred for each other a secret, a friendship would be the same.

"If that's what you want-" He said but you sent him a look.

"I asked what you think, what you want." You said firmly. "I won't have you pretending. If you don't think we could be friends or at least more polite with each other then forget I said anything."

Price scoffed, a small smile pulling at his lips before he shook his head.

"I think we could be." He said softly. "If you stop sneaking out without me."

"Then you should be ready for me to wake you up at times like this." You retorted and he sighed heavily.

"You run me around, what's lack of sleep on top of that?"

You rolled your eyes and laid back to look at the stars. You watched them twinkle and imagined a life where you didn't have to worry about the kingdom and the politics, you didn't have to worry about whether or not someone was trying to exploit you or not. A time where you could marry someone you loved.

Out here you could relax. Under the stars you were just yourself.

"Are you really going to complain about this?" You gestured to the sky.

"No." He said softly as he watched you. "I supposed I shouldn't."

A/N: just because they're friends doesn't mean they won't bicker it's their love language

Tags: @deadbranch @makayla-666 @glitterypirateduck @dumbbitchgalore @m0chac0ffee @dragonbe-writing @sleepyoriana @twismare @blush-haze @waiting-so-long @alilstressyandlotdepressy

[wraithdance]

Fortress [Part 1/2]

Synopsis: Kyle’s self control is tested by the pretty thing that wears Captain Price’s ring. Pairing: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick X Cougar!Reader; Established Price x Reader Note: AFAB!reader, no pronouns used for reader, No physical description or use of Y/N, reader is older than Kyle by several years. This will have a part two Content warning: NSFW, solo masturbation, mentions of reader having breasts, a man being down bad

The fact is Kyle has always had a thing for milfs/cougars.

It’s information he’ll never admit, but if you see his eyes lingering on the pretty seasoned women that pass him by… you didn’t, mind your fucking business, mate.

He also likes authority and the structure the military gives him. Occasionally, he pushes back on bad calls, but he’ll follow his Captain into the fire in a heartbeat. He’s loyal like that without fail.

So it comes to a surprise to Kyle how badly he fucked up. He didn’t mean for his feelings for Captain John Price’s drop dead gorgeous spouse to turn into anything more than a crush. You’re at least ten years older than him and he would never betray his Captain, he swears it on his life.

He didn’t mean for his hug to last longer than the acceptable amount of time when you pull him in tight. He didn’t mean to inhale the heady scent of your perfume that lingers at the base of your delicate neck. Fuck, he didn’t mean to shudder at the feel of soft, glowing skin as you move to stand beside John. 

You make a picture of strength and fortitude. Kyle feels like he’s out matched.

Kyle and his body are two separate entities when he stands abruptly at dinner. His face is hot with warmth and his hands clench to hide his cock from view. He’s making up some passive excuse about the wine not settling well as he races to the Price’s washroom.

It’s there in the small space that smells like lemon scented potpourri, that he’s barraged with images of the brief glimpse he got of your breasts over the dinner table.  You’d leaned over the serving platters to hear the punchline to Ghost's stupid joke. It was an innocent move on your part but you dipping your finger to gather the white gravy that stained your shirt when you notice it sends the hounds of hell baying at the gates of what was his iron mental control. He’d already ran from the table when you shove your soiled fingers into your mouth.

It still plays over and over and over and over… until he’s coming up with scenarios that never happened with such startling clarity that it frightens him. His mind supplies memories of what your skin felt like to fill in the gaps left from having never touched you in a way less than platonic. 

He’s panting himself into an anxiety attack when thick ropes of cum paint his fist and the decorative hand towels on the sink.

Kyle Garrick has lost control. It shames him to his core. 

He's prided himself on being better, sweeter, much more capable than the dogs playing men in his line of work. You make him feel like something half man. He hates the part of him that wishes to be at your feet.

His own disbelieving eyes in the mirror. He hides the cum stained towels under the bathroom sink with trembling hands (right behind the spare pack of toilet paper seems like a good spot). He’ll come back for them before he leaves, he swears to himself.

He just needs to focus and compartmentalize so he can at least pretend to be the Sgt. Kyle Garrick who has with the ability to withstand enemy torture. The soldier with the mental fortitude that ensured his place in the SAS serving her Majesty. 

That earned him the respect of his Captain who he would die for.

fuck.

When he makes an excuse to leave early he doesn’t mean to make eye contact with you, the demon wearing his Captain’s heirloom ring around your finger.  He’ll be fucking his fist until his cock is raw when he’s alone tonight and he doesn’t want you to see that in his eyes.

But he looks up when your husband calls out his name in concern.

It’s how he sees the small, nearly imperceptible smirk on your painted mouth and the knowing look you casts him under lowered lashes.

Kyle doesn’t go back for the towels.

Nor does he hear the concerned questions from his mates. He honestly can’t hear shit past the dull thrum of his racing heart pounding in his ears.

He doesn’t quite remember slipping a bit on the front steps in his hurry to leave or snagging his pullover on a branch as he ambles unsteadily down the street. He doesn’t know where he’s going, his home is in the other direction, but he doesn’t truly care.

If he’d been in his right mind maybe he would have seen his Captain’s dark gaze search the charged air between you two.

Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick is completely, irrevocably and devastatingly fucked.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Happy Birthday Charlie!

It's @sentientcave's birthday, and I wanted to F I N A L L Y do an author rec for him!

Name: Charlie (He/They) Links!: Twitter - AO3 - Ko-fi

My Favorite: Retirement Party Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You. (Dark fic! Read the content warnings)

Runner Up: Heavy Weighs the Crown Fantasy AU - A princess in self-imposed exile is forced to come home to face the man who took her father's crown and the life she left behind. 141 x Reader.

Runner Up to the Runner Up: Hit Me With Your Best Shot When Rory "Scout" Price moves in with her dad after a rough break-up, she's looking forward to reconnecting while she gets her feet back under her. But unfortunately, a post-divorce Kyle Garrick is moving in too, and he seems determined to be a pain in the ass. But then again, he is kind of hot.

Favorite Not Yet Posted Story:

EVERYTHING

WITH

RIPPER

AKA The Rugby AU (I'm working on a Kinktober Prompt with Ripper in it and I know I'm overthinking it but I want Charlie to like it so so so bad it makes me stupid.)

Why I recommend: It's long, so it'll go under the cut.

Where do I even start?

Every reader character and OC invites you to explore what makes them tick. They're flawed, and because they're flawed, they're good. They're real. And they're diverse, lovingly and intentionally. It's clear that Charlie does the research to intentionally write about experiences outside of his own. (Y'all... he researched Philippine Spanish for Retirement Party. For a conversation with a side character. The stars in my eyes...)

Charlie loves the complexities of these characters. Their ups, their downs, their triumphs and their failures. I don't think I've ever rooted for and hated and loved and wanted to strangle Captain John Price like I do when Charlie writes him. There's no glossing over the fact that Price is an asshole with Charlie. But there's no mistaking that he cares, either (in his awful, terrible, patented John Price ways).

I've grown so much as a writer for the conversations I've been able to have with Charlie. My understanding of the 141 is deeper, not just when it comes to cannon, but also what makes them tick in my stories. I'm so excited to explore the world of Being Gaz's Ex, which was directly inspired by the way Charlie writes Price in Nobody Does it Better. It's the way Price loves and it isn't enough and how sometimes it's okay that that's not okay.

Every time Charlie shares a bit of writing with me, I lose a little bit of my mind. And I hope that you all will appreciate Charlie with me, today!

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 06: Torture

John Price x gn! reader

Warnings: Blood & gore, depictions of torture. Part 2 of Kidnapped but can be standalone

You’d lost track of how long you’d been locked in this room, strapped to the chair. It could’ve been hours or even days. You’d blacked out so many times it was impossible to tell. Not to mention the lack of a window or clock that would give you any indication of the time passing. 

The only measure you had was the pain. How long it took for the excruciating to numb to a slightly less but nonetheless still agonising pain. 

The pain was all you knew anymore and it was so bad that you could barely remember a time when it didn’t feel like fire was dancing across your chest with every breath. The wheezing rattle that filled the cold, damp room with every inhale and exhale letting you know just how damaged you were internally. 

You feared a punctured lung, though given the lack of blood sliding up your throat and threatening to drown you internally you’d tentatively ruled the possibility out. Though it could very quickly change. 

Your left eye was swollen shut and you could still taste blood on your tongue from the split that ran through your bottom lip. Your chin dipped down to your chest, the muscles in your neck far too exhausted to keep you fully upright. 

Just as you begin to nod off once more, whether from pain or exhaustion you’re not sure, the rusty metal door squealed open, banging against the wall with a clang that made you jump. In an attempt to prolong the inevitable, you don’t bother looking up, subconsciously hoping that if you ignore the man he’ll go away. 

Unfortunately, you both know this won’t happen. 

A hand fists your hair and pulls your face up towards him so harshly it makes your neck crack and pulls a pained whine from your lips against your wishes. 

“Still with us? Good, would hate for the party to end so soon” the man cooed, trailing his cold fingers over your bloodied lips and down your jaw. 

Mustering all the courage you have left you manage to croak out the words you’ve been so desperate to vocalise, “Jonn will kill you for this.” It’s a promise, and one you fervently believe, even if you’re beginning to realise you likely won’t be alive to see it. 

“Will he now? Such certainty! Such faith in the man who got you into this mess in the first place.” He laughs, tugging on your hair even harder until it hurts to swallow and the blood rushes to your head. “I’d say he deserves a reward. A little present from you and me to let him know we’re thinking about him.”

You can’t quite hide the look of terror that crosses your face quite in time from him, nor the tears that start to earnestly slip down your cheeks once he stalks over to the small table you knew housed his various torture instruments. 

There’s no escape but you flail like it’ll provide escape anyway, it only fuels his laughter. You’re not like John. You have no training to deal with the fucked up situation you’ve been thrust into and it’s evident in the way you can’t stop shaking like a wet chihuahua. 

Your panic crescendos as you notice the blood-stained shears he’s now walking towards you with and all your previous bravado flies out the window as you plead and beg for mercy through deep hiccuping sobs. 

Obviously, it doesn’t help, it anything it only seems to spur him on as he leans in to lick the tears from your cheeks.

“Oh come on darlin’, all worked up and I haven’t even touched you yet.” He cuts through the ropes binding your hands but you aren’t stupid enough to lash out even if you desperately want to. 

It’s not until he lifts the shears over the fingers of your left hand that you instinctively start to struggle in earnest. It’s no use and even if you had been at full strength it still would have been a hopeless endeavour, it doesn’t stop you from trying. 

“Such a nice ring, I’ll make sure to return it to your husband.” With that, the shears snap closed over your pinky and ring fingers and you can do nothing but scream in agony as your blood sprays and the fingers that were once attached to your hand fall limply onto the floor. 

The shock of the pain is enough that you quickly pass out, it’s the only mercy you’re provided. 

He’s staring at your fingers. Your fingers. 

The ring he’d so delicately placed upon your finger on your wedding day glints mockingly up at him from the small, innocuous box that had been delivered to him. 

This time he can’t hold back the bile and he doesn’t manage to make it to the bin not even a few metres away before he’s vomiting onto the floor. 

Soap lets out an alarmed cry, rushing to see what had set his captain off and immediately pales like a ghost, a string of cursed words that John can’t tell are Scottish or English and his mind has just stopped processing information correctly. 

His eyes are still locked on your bloodied ring before Soap snaps it shut and shoves it out of view before he pushes his captain to sit back down. 

The world is spinning a little and no matter how much he wrestles for control all John can see is your dismembered fingers, stained with the red that taints his vision. 

It takes all of his men watching him 24/7 around the clock as if he’ll snap at any second to prevent him from doing something rash. Something he’s too furious and keyed up to appreciate, especially when Simon prevents him from punching a superior officer in his grief-fueled haze. 

It’s another two days post the arrival of your - since the package, when the task force is finally graced with news of your location. 

The general had attempted to keep John on base, something that had led to John finally punching the man before he could be stopped, he didn’t care for the consequences. He’d deal with them later, you were more important than his career. 

He’d almost killed Gaz too when the sergeant prevented him from running head-first into an ambush. He’d apologise to the lad later, but right now he needed to find you. 

When the door clangs open violently once more you don’t even flinch, continuing to lie listlessly on the damp cement. You don’t even fight or open your eyes as rough, sweaty hands grab your cheeks. 

The gentleness surprises you, but you don’t allow your surprise to show, sure this is just another cruel tactic to shatter you mentally as well as physically. 

“Open your eyes for me love, please.” The gravelly tone sounds hoarser than usual but you can’t help but freeze at what is undoubtedly your husband’s voice. You’re crying before your eyes even flicker open and you shudder against the touch you now recognise as your husband. 

“Please be real. I can’t handle a trick this cruel” you gasped through the tears. John’s face falls even further, a few of his own tears slipping down his cheeks and wetting his beard as he manoeuvres you as gently as possible into his arms. 

Your whimpers of pain are hushed with understanding noises and apologies from John as he wipes your tears as gently as possible before cradling your head against the crook of his neck. 

“I wanna go home. Please take me home.” The words are whispered into his vest before you can stop him and it’s only because you’re so out of it that you miss the stutter in John’s step and the way his teeth grit in devastation. 

“I promise darlin’.” You flinch at the endearment before you can stop yourself and John suddenly wishes he’d enacted far more painful deaths on every miserable bastard that had laid a hand on you. 

Clearing his throat and making sure to speak as gently as possible he does his best to reassure you, “We’re going home, I promise.”

[spoiled-fawn]

Lust by Nature {Part 1}

Masterlist, Part 2, Part 3

Read on ao3

Pairing: Captain John Price x fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, (eventual) slightly dubious consent, (eventual) Somno, he wants you but is stubborn, violence, succubus reader, sexual tension, reader is given a callsign, minimal descriptions of reader, will update tags as I go

Word Count: 4,015

Summary: A demon by nature; a succubus. Now finally designated to a team, you’re a pilot in how demons and hybrid creatures alike can change the war. However, your previous commanders didn't account for a man too stubborn for his own good. Captain Price stands firm in his morals and ethics, developed by his hardened years in the SAS. You, a lustful little devil, will put him to the test.

And maybe along the way, he’ll put your nature to the test.

A/N: For my own logistics, reader was born seemingly human but the traits and magic did not solidify until reaching adult years, making you appear youthful while stuck in that age. This was originally going to be PWP but I sit here 20k words later... I hope ye enjoy!

Being a far descendant of a fallen angel, you could laugh at the pitiful life you’ve led yourself into.

You’re a pretty thing- beautiful, really. Full of allure and a natural aura of sin that draws others in with a simple look. The blood that pumps and fuels your magic has been alive for a long, long time.

Boredom is a constant in the life of the soulless and damned. It’s agonizingly blurry if you don't set a task or just choose to meander around the world but fortunately for you, you’ve got quite the life ahead of you.

Coming from a state-of-the-art high-security prison base, you’re technically a super soldier with a special drawback. Needing humans to fuel your power; you suck the life out of them, literally, and take energy from their sexual desires and touch.

It’s almost the brunt of the joke when you answer the question of what you are, feeling each time such an expectant shame and laugh to be cast upon you like heavy stones.

A succubus.

Long-acting jester of the demons taken for a lust-driven fool.

Being detained early on in your young lifespan, you were trained to be used as a weapon. Not of mass destruction, but rather something to make these stupid games of war go by so much easier. Not having to slay countless bodies for information and getting a damn good meal from the lives you stole (maybe a few quickies when your superiors weren’t looking), it’s a considerably content life compared to others.

Graduating from training after a few decades was quite the celebration for you and the officials who have been overseeing you for a plethora of years. The military had found a suitable team for you, and you were designated to be put under the supervision of an elite task force.

Supernatural beings were not uncommon in the military, as a large amount were free to live their lives if docile. In the lands of gods and monsters, the humans still held supreme reign over the controlled populations. However, beings similar to you were quick to be captured and either trained or distributed- the world turning a blind eye to what you were capable of achieving in the good and the bad.

John Price. The name stuck to your tongue like you were thirsty and you had a thick paste in your mouth.

No, not semen. At least not yet.

Being appointed to Task Force 141 was exciting. It’s your first time with this much trust, but you know you’d never fuck around too much to land you back to your containment. Captain Price had steely eyes locked onto your form the moment you stepped out of the convoy; high-security cuffs around your wrists and a large band of metal wrapped around your torso. The assumption is to keep you from shapeshifting or lashing out at anyone now that you’re out from the heavy locks and fences.

To everyone else, you looked human. Nothing amiss besides the heavy security detail on your body.

“Captain Price.” Your General’s voice rings out for you, greeting him with a firm handshake.

“General, pleasure.” His eyes dart away from you to greet the man, and you take a small dissatisfaction at the notion, your eyes traversing the expanse of him, already ruminating and calculating his presence.

He’s strong. His energy is sturdy; A cement wall that has cracks laced upon itself, layers of bonding to cover them up and just barely sanded over to appear brand new. His physical appearance leaves your internal senses giddy with the sense of a new adventure. If you’d release your glamour illusion, your tail would be swaying slowly.

The contract was simple; Your powers would be used in specific operations under Price’s command. You were his, and his only, not being allowed to act under any other authority. Behave well and you’ll be integrated more into society by his terms, but the worse you were, the worse your containment.

Your payment? Being able to form a bond with Price, one that will satisfy your demon, while being sure to keep you useful.

The etymology humans created portrayed a slew of differing conditions for succubi contracts, most being a damning thing to land humans a hot spot in hell. Being able to create this tie meant that they’d be your selected mate while they’d bear your mark to ward off any other demons. Under this, it barricaded you from killing said person. Instead, the feeding would come from sexual desire, touch, and yes, semen.

Watching Price, the flames of your creation begin to already yearn for his touch.

It's with a simple handoff of your file, a thick manilla envelope, that gets passed off to Price with no other words spoken, and you can’t help but marvel at how they treat your ownership like a back alley drug. The General nods towards you, speaking your name before the simple “But we just call her Little Devil.” A small twitch of Price's mouth makes you wonder if he disapproves.

“She may be a demon but keep her well-kept, Price. Your trial run in this program is going to do more than change war tactics.” 

Shifting the envelope in his hands, Price takes a survey of how much documentation they have on just your captive existence. There could be some good and some bad, maybe all bad but the chance of letting a temperamental half-demon could cause serious repercussions to both sides. Hypothetically. 

“We’ll be in touch.” Price responds, the forced-looking grin making the blue of his eyes slightly disappear for a moment. A nod of his head, then attention back on you while judging how to best go about this.

“You speak…?”

It sets a bristle off inside you with an internal scoff. The chance to insult him for accusing you of being either incompetent or something of the silent type settles, but your probation period keeps you inside the lines of behavior. “Yes, Captain.”

When he hears your voice; It sounds ethereal. Like the crisp jingle bells while the sound is eclipsed if not swallowed by soft and red velvet.

A small tick of his right eyebrow was the only movement accompanying a hum in acknowledgment. “Right, well. Let’s get you settled in then.”

With the queue of acceptance, the General brings a small key from a pocket unbeknownst to you, moving to unlock the cuffs. There’s humor in watching you, the new operator being uncuffed while accepted onto base- and hey, maybe you could ponder the religious message it brings forward too.

But there’s not enough time for that notion.

Walking off the tarmac and into the nearby administrative building brings steady heed of stares. “So… Your previous situation. Was told it was more of a containment type of thing. Would you mind speaking on that?” Price’s toned-down voice comes out after more than a few paces into the building, leading you towards a stairwell into the third floor.

“The best way to describe it in normalcy would be similar to what you human soldiers do here- the barracks. Just imagine its very high security.” It takes a moment to draw up the answer, having expected the man to be as nitwitted as the normal “A sex demon, huh?” question asked in every new encounter.

 “You’ve always been in that situation?”

The clicking of both sets of feet confidently strikes the ground. A sense louder than the random soldiers milling around you and the lack thereof as others stop and stare in bewilderment.

“No. Not sure if you’re making small talk or haven’t read my file yet, but my demonic integration did not start manifesting until I was in my early adult years. Got turned in when I was walking around the streets in full form. No control whatsoever on shifting.” 

A broken-off hum leaves the man, sensing the almost frazzled static around him as he works to keep walking while maintaining an eye on you. “I have. Just wanted to hear it from you.” Truthfully, if you were in his place with an unshackled demon that had years of military experience walking alongside you, you’d have some sense of fear too. “And how long ago was that? When you matured?”

Eyeing him for a moment, he looks mid-40s if anything. Handsome, worn down from war so possibly a bit younger. “Quite some time ago. I’d say when your parents were born, Captain.”

He stops in a mid-step, balances perfectly set before turning to whirr his head at you. Eyes give an up-down motion on you before ticking his jaw. “Huh.”

He pushes his way through a wall of soldiers to an office door before opening it. “And how old-”

“Body stopped aging when all the changes settled. A second sense of puberty that I’m locked into.” The small upturn of your lips doesn’t pass him. All he can do is nod in response.

He makes his way to the desk against the back corner of his office room; The space is a good size, Having enough for his L-shaped desk with two chairs in front of it. A worn-in leather couch on an adjacent wall while a few framed documents hang on the wall, military in nature with medals attached to them while undusted fake plants serve as accents in the corners.

“Very well,” He gives a soft grunt when adjusting himself in his seat before opening up the large manilla folder. “You, are going to be judged based on your nature and human interaction during your uncontained enlistment. Ability to perform assignments, be of aid, and see what your specific capabilities can put forward with us.”

Head nodding in check with each item listed, “Understood, Captain.”

His blue eyes leave the documents for a moment to find your gaze already on him. “You’ve got a good rapport with every previous task, but your previous COs still didn’t state trust as a key factor. Why would that be?”

For a moment, you get lost in the focus of his body language; Price folds his arms over the table, holding his elbows as the pages become spread over his desk. The way he purses his lips after a question that holds an answer he will depend on. His lips make a small smack in the action, and it's cute in the way he’s so human.

“I didn’t trust them.”

An eyebrow arches at the vague response prompting you to continue. “Kept me like a lab animal, fed me or let me feed when deemed easy for them to write off in the report. That’s not how you treat a demon when expecting to use their powers, sir.” 

“And this feeding… There’s multiple ways listed here but to be frank- I’ve still yet to get my head wrapped around it. You’re a sex demon, yeah?”

Ah. There it is.

His eyes dart down to the few pages that cover your needs and methods of survival, studying the paragraphs of information. A how to keep your demon alive handbook if you will.

“The premise of everything I need stems from what is deemed as life force, or just called energy. Sex is easy, and feels the most satisfying.” A breath before continuing. “ But relying on just energy wont last me long, yet its easier in some situations. Those barely alive are easy to take from.”

He knows there's more to be had with you. A temptress trained well with a pedigree in what you were made for. But he can only hypothesize. “And what are you expecting from being here?”

A look of surprise flashes in the widening of your eyes, not used to someone asking in consideration. “I’m expecting more hostiles, interrogations, or kills that I could take to feed myself. And sex too.”

“Oh-” A half cough leaves him before looking to the side. Surely he should have known, it's stereotypical but at least true.

“If you want me at full strength, I’m going to need the energy. I’m sure you could understand that, Sir?” The small tilt of your head, almost an aloof look sends alarm bells into his mind. They wouldn’t have sent a succubus in here without some sort of plan already being formed, some procedure and measure being used to-

“I am expecting to form a relationship with you, Captain.”

And at that, a full choked sound leaves him. He deserves doubled pension for this.

“And in what right mind, was that established in, hm?” He grounds out, opening a desk drawer to pull out a cigar before taking a cutter to the end of it. You measure the time it takes for him to light it and take a first steady puff.

“Well, the way I see it- and having discussed it with my previous superiors, this is supposed to mirror a real dynamic. This is the only point of contact to report on my behavior. I don’t think engaging in what I need would go over well if I went wild with other operators or soldiers around the base. Confirm or deny?”

Price’s eyes narrow as you speak, dragging his gaze away to stare at his locked computer screen. A grunt in the back of his throat sounds before taking another inhale of his cigar. For a man who has been fighting on the front lines for countless years, he keeps the smoke in for a steady amount of time. Healthy lungs. Good for him. 

You haven’t tried a cigar, only have gotten a whiff of the burning tobacco coming from superiors. This smell is the lingering one you picked up on Price even when standing on the tarmac. Sweet, vanille and tobacco leaves.

“You said your previous company spoke on this with you.” He starts with a swift movement to rifle through the pages on his desk. “This in writing or are you taking the piss now?” He speaks in a deep grumble, holding the burning cigar between his lips.

An internal groan rattles your mind, already sensing this may be more of a struggle than ease of getting what you were promised. “Last few pages. It’s all in writing.” He seemed like a sensible man in the way that if a warm and inviting body was laid out to him while asking for himself, he’d take it.

“Commanding officer is to set an established and cohesive exchange, herein the succubus will be fed from a relationship in physical and sexual natures while in exchange not damaging or harming the officer.” His accent slides in a bit more thickly than you’ve heard up until now, eyebrows scrunched while he mumbles the page to himself. “And why in the bloody hell, was this not communicated to me beforehand?”

You can’t control the wry smirk that steals your lips while looking at him, trying not to laugh. “They thought it would be a no-brainer.” A pause, “Sir.”

Plucking the cigar out of his mouth, Price sighs while leaning back in his chair seemingly defeated. “You sufficed well without any previous relation in the company, there’s no evidence that this will turn out well.” His eyes now land on you in a quick movement.

“As I mentioned-” He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“No. I’m not going to sleep with my subordinate, less so one that can kill me if so pleases.” The uptick of his chin bleeds with firmness, a decision that screams arrogance of finality. 

Settling down in a way that almost matches his, your jaw ticks. “Yes, sir.”

And truthfully it's all you can say. Agree and accept to stay here and be the guinea pig for others like you. You can warn all you want but by the devil himself, humans won’t learn until their wrongs meet them in their face.

“If I could so much as advise you, Captain;” Your chin dipping, licking the front of your teeth, and feeling the small prick of your dormant fangs. He nods for you to continue, “If you want me at my full capacity, I will need every ounce of energy I can get. You’re going to need to keep that in the back of your head. It’s not simple like a meal you eat. It’s a life I take or the sex I make.”

Now, a quick smile flashes over him only disappearing when he takes a long, longer drag of the cigar. “I’ll keep that in mind, Demon.” Sitting up straighter, leaning on the desk again.

“But whether or not you are a good girl, depends on what ethics I choose to apply.” The smoke puffs out in small bursts as he speaks, tendrils leading up toward heaven before it stills in limbo at the weight of it.

—

The men- your teammates, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap, each greeted you with somewhat seasoned restraint and respect by holding their tongues yet their eyes spoke their curiosity while roaming over you.

You could see the disappointment in their eyes. Being met with a seemingly normal human was not what they had been briefed on. Having let their imagination run wild at the title of a succubus, you’d guess they would have wanted to see every aspect of what kind of mystical enchantress you would be. Once the disappointment of not seeing such things the churches pray against, the view of your human form set in.

Lords above you were the finest piece of- 

It felt like a surefire version of winning the lottery to have you assigned to them. Banking on the fact that you’d be their little guard dog and they yours, Gaz already having to scare recruits away at PT while you stared on with a coy smile. Training was as you’d have expected. Executions of strategies, questioning of tactics, and scoring your shooting were all within the long hours of the day. What you hadn’t expected was the lack of insults thrown your way in passing when you met their standards. No degrading words of being a a demon, or a slut by association of your breed.

It was two weeks before you were allowed to come on an assignment with them; The mission in the bitter snow of the Russian Tundra. 

12 hours in and having stormed a bunker with countless bodies already strewn across, blood stains the polished cement and a flicker of sinister delusion makes you wish the snow was this color.

Tattered remains of your shirt sleeves show the color of your skin underneath, but miraculously no wounds present themselves even as your kevlar has obvious points of damage. The sight of you standing, gun raised and firing quick bursts of succession as the last body falls to the ground. It’s like a scene out of a soldier's bible.

Your chest heaves, mouth opens to lick your teeth as the adrenaline slows its production in your blood. Price is sure that if he put a body cam on you, it would be a haze of movements, a shadow clouding up the corners of the screen and filled with static. He’s still not sure what to think of you in the short amount of time you’ve been here. Quiet and speaking only when spoken to. And it’s not what he was prepared for; The thick dossier of yours being filled with reprimands, complaints, and classified lines that hid your after-action reports with details on your kill count.

From the first meeting, he knew you were spoiled rotten in that compound, save the punishments given on your worst days. You knew how to get what you wanted. Bitting time and time again to still be fed. Yet, now all he can see is you biting at others if only to protect your men.

“Saint.” The spur of Price’s voice makes you jump, the scene of death halting, eyes darting to a stack of crates where he lays. His squinted eyes lock onto your form, trailing up and down for a moment before he tries to adjust himself with a grunt.

“Who?” You ask while taking a secondary cautious sweep of the room before moving to him in a quick few steps.

“You, sweetheart. Saint.” 

His grunt of pain doesn’t faze you, instead focusing the whiff of a sweeter metallic smell hits you. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

Ghost, Gaz, and Soap have the outside perimeter locked down with getaway snowmobiles at Price’s word. He touches the side of his com to activate it, roughly alerting them you both had cleared the floor and will need to medevac in the next coming moments.

“Let me get that for you.” It was a severe contrast to the inhumane growling and yelling from moments before as you tore into the enemies, ones that had you in a blind rage for landing a shot on Price.

Shaking his head, he reaches out his hand to stop you. “‘M fine, just need a quick patch. We need to leave.” He grounds out, leaning forward while covering the wound on his thigh.

Common knowledge brought the understanding that succubi had a level of regenerative power, but most not having been raised in military secrecy or being able to develop themselves into having control.

“Stop. Just-” A breath settles in your lungs, measuring itself and the expanse of what you could do- how you could help and be useful. The previous rage and fight instincts transform with concentration and the swirling of conjuration. “I need a little…” You trail off, eyes sweeping upwards to his.

There’s a shame that humans hold. You blame it on them being entirely born of boring flesh, but that would be hypocritical to an extent. Taking his vest in hand, you pull yourself forward to lean in.

“What the bloody-” Price jerks back but can't even finish as you sush him, giving him a deep stare that almost sedates him. He stills and quiets at the same time, now holding your gaze that he swears he saw the current color be flooded by a deep red.

He blinks for a moment, already trying to fight the small calming waves you push into him but the sudden feeling of long talons priking into his shirt makes him freeze. Like an animal with food aggression, you keep him there while moving in to bring your lips together. 

You can taste a bit of blood, and the saltiness of his sweat, while trying not to groan at just how good he feels against you. His lips are surprisingly plump, probably from being irritated due to the cold, but it adds a level of eroticness to feel his wet lips slide over yours. 

“Stay still for me.” You pause the kiss that he’s surprisingly reciprocating eagerly, breathing into each other's mouths. The soft plea drives his heart rate up and you can feel the sense of adrenaline spiking. He’s going to sleep like a fucking brick tonight.

He shudders when you come back together with more force, purposefully dragging the tip of your fangs against his bottom lip as you crowd him. 

There. 

There is the sickly sweet thrum of arousal in his body that makes his mind stir, what you could give in a bastardized excuse of lust right now.

“Mmm, give me a minute.” Comes your wet slurred speech when pulling away, eyebrows furrowing as you focus on on his bullet wound.

The sight of you could be his glory to fight. Tattered from battle, your lips are tinted red, clothes dirty from the gunpowder floating in the air, looking as if so carelessly lethal while your presence is a magnet to him. He's already caught himself wondering why you were chosen to represent a being that fell so far from heaven when your instincts screamed the opposite in small moments.

Looking down to be sure he’s healed just enough, you miss the look of blatant shock he gives when the pink and unmarred flesh greets his eyes. “A right fuckin’ saint you are.” He murmurs, watching you call the boys for exfil, no longer medevac.

[schrodingerscougar]

You'll be mine (John Price x reader x Tangerine)

Note: fem!reader, special appearance by John Price from CoD. I'll let you decide how it ends. Will Tan win her over? Fuck it, let's vote at the end.

--

“You asked your girlfriend to join us?” Tangerine asked the moment John finished his sentence, the grimace on his face making the man believe he was completely against the idea. 

So the soldier tilted his head to the side a little, his blue eyes examining the younger man’s expression as if he was trying to figure out why he wouldn’t want his girl to spend the evening with them. He was smitten with you, he would never deny it, but he couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would think you weren’t pleasant to be around. To him, you were the brightest star in the sky, the sunshine in his dark and cold life. 

After a minute or so of silence, John finally licked his lower lip and said, “We don’t have to spend the whole evening together, mate. She’ll be here soon and we’ll be out of your hair right away.” 

Even though he said that in a casual way, the captain wasn’t as cool about it as he might have sounded to the other two men. They were probably his only normal friends, he wanted them to get along with his girlfriend, and he wanted you to be friends with them too. Just like he always wanted you to get along with his family members. If anything happened to him, he would want you to have people to rely on. 

Little did he know that the problem wasn’t that Tangerine didn’t like you. No, quite the opposite and Lemon was fully aware of that. They were brothers, he knew it from the way he was looking at you, the way he talked about you, the little comments he dropped about how much better he would treat you. It was oh so obvious to him, but whenever he asked, he was just told it wasn’t like that. “She’s a nice gal, that’s all,” was all he said usually. 

And even now, Lemon saw the way Tangerine shifted in his seat the moment you entered the pub, he saw the way his brother’s eyes followed your every move like a hawk, and he even noticed a jealous glint crossing those same blue eyes when John sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you into a kiss as a greeting. 

“My glass is empty, I’ll grab a drink. You want anything?” he asked John, seemingly ignoring you.

But he was only ignoring you because it was easier to deal with the pain of you not being his precious little doll. You seemed to be head over heels for John, a man whose taste in football teams was a lot, lot worse than his taste in women. The honorary military man, the good boy, the one who was complicated and perfectly capable of protecting you just like him.

John declined the offer before he returned his attention to you, but Lemon knew he should go with him to the bar. The two of them walked over there and occupied two empty chairs, and it was Tangerine who broke the silence, finally saying out loud what his brother had been aware of all along. 

“I want her. That girl is killing me,” he admitted with a sour face before he turned to the bartender to order another glass of whiskey. “I need to make her see that she should ditch John and be with me. I like the guy, don’t get me wrong, but she deserves better. I would treat her so much better…”

At this point, Lemon stopped listening to his brother and only shook his head as he also ordered something to drink. He needed more alcohol to handle Tangerine’s bad mood, even if he was keen to help him get over this stupid idea of his. You were taken, simple as that, and he was ready to use another Thomas & Friends reference to help him come to his senses despite knowing well enough it would only enrage him. 

And then his ears picked up a sentence he really, really wished he didn’t hear. “I’ll kidnap her. I’ll lock her in an apartment and spoil her rotten there,” Tangerine stated confidently before finishing his drink. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Lemon muttered under his breath. “All right, listen to me. You definitely cannot kidnap her. John and his friends from the SAS would quickly find you and I have no idea how far they would go to make you pay for kidnapping his girl. And if they dig a little deeper, they’ll find out what we do for a living. I like John, he’s like my only normal friend at the moment. I don’t want him to turn on me.”

Tangerine rolled his eyes at him. “Bollocks, you have a lot of friends.”

“Name one.”

“Thomas,” he replied with a shit-eating grin. 

Lemon took a deep breath to calm himself, but then he said, “Fuck you.”

Without saying another word, Tangerine stood up and made his way back to you and John, not bothering to check if his brother was following him. He immediately noticed you even in the crowd, as if there was a ray of light shining upon you, illuminating your lovely figure to stand out. But when he checked your surroundings, he didn’t see John anywhere. Did he leave you here all alone? What a bastard. Leaving such a pretty little thing on her own in such a place.

Well, that was good as he already had the whole kidnapping planned out. He would spike your drink when John wasn’t around using a drug an acquaintance of his would deliver to him, then he would take you to his secret rented apartment downtown. Once you wake up, he would give you a story about how you acted weird, and since John wasn’t around, he took it on himself to keep you safe. All because he was such a good friend.

“Where’s John?” he asked when he sat down across from you. 

You gave him a small smile, but when he looked into your eyes, he noticed they mirrored the sadness that was probably eating you from the inside. “He had to go. Work stuff,” you added quietly. 

He always had to leave for work, sometimes for weeks or months, leaving you behind all alone. Well, he wasn’t about to let a poor thing like you suffer, so he reached out to squeeze your hand. “And he left you here all alone? Why didn’t you come over to us, love?” he asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. 

Before you could answer, Lemon joined you at the table, sitting next to his brother then pushing a glass of mojito in front of you. When you gave him a questioning look, he flashed a smile at you. “Didn’t want you to dry out and miss the fun. Come on, it will help. And don’t look this sad, we’re here to entertain you,” he told you, looking over at Tangerine when he said the word we. 

The bright smile that appeared on your rosy lips made Tangerine happy, but this happiness disappeared the moment you shook his hand off of yours and reached for the glass. He could have strangled his brother at this moment. Why couldn’t he keep his distance and let him do what he wanted? Yes, he was against the kidnapping plan, but why not let him try another way to convince you? He could be a charmer if he wanted to. 

“I don’t like it when you look sad,” Tangerine noted with a small smile, having a hard time fighting the urge to reach out for your hand again. “Come on, tell me what you want to do tonight. Do you want to go out for dinner? Watch a movie? Or do you want to go clubbing?”

This made you let out a chuckle, but you raised the glass to your lips before saying anything in response. The poor man was way too impatient to sit in silence, but when he opened his mouth to tell you that he would be up for anything your heart desired, Lemon kicked him in the shin to stop him. He even glared at him as if he was ready to glue his lips together just to shut him up. So Tangerine gave up and kept smiling at you, doing his best to be patient. 

“I don’t really feel like going out. I only came here because John invited me. We were planning to go back to his place and watch a movie,” you finally explained to them. 

“That’s a great idea! Too bad Lemon has other plans and can’t stay for long,” Tangerine told you with a sigh, then looked over at his brother to silently tell him to play along. 

Apparently he got the message, because he turned to you and nodded with a sad look on his face. “Yeah, I have plans, but it’s nothing I can’t cancel,” he said. 

“Which is something you shouldn’t do. Would Thomas do that? Would he cancel plans?” 

You had already heard of Lemon and his Thomas & Friends obsession, so you couldn’t help but laugh when Tangerine brought it up. It was kind of cute, really, how the two of them were bickering so much. Lemon didn’t lie, they were truly ready to entertain you. “Okay, seriously, just go, I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll pour a glass of wine, sit on the couch, and watch some terrible reality show until I pass out,” you told them kindly. 

But Tangerine wasn’t about to give up. He leaned forward and hooked his index finger under your necklace to gently pull you closer over the table. “Not on my watch, sweetheart. Lemon can go wherever he wants, but we will have some fun together, okay?”

He would lay the groundwork with a night spent alone, showing you how much more fun life with him would be. Kidnapping you was now well behind him, he had changed his mind along the way and decided to change your mind in a more subtle way. If everything went according to his plan, you would have the best night of your life, and the two of you would plan more nights out like this while John was gone. By the time he returned, you would be ready to admit that your relationship with him was going nowhere, that with his hectic schedule and the dangers which came with his job your future was doomed. 

And then he would step forward, providing a shoulder for you to cry on, being your emotional support until you were ready to open up for new possibilities. He would be there like a loyal dog, always a phone call away, always caring, always listening. Slowly but surely you would see him as an option for a new boyfriend, and oh, he was so eager to impress you in every possible way. 

[andromeda-pleiades]

A Married Man

Cw // infidelity, cursing, brief alluisons to torture, pregnancy

A/N : Probably Ooc Price, idk. I feel it's a tad bit realistic, but he is also very mean. also he has a wife. Also the reader is kinda mean, too

I've been scared before.

Scared when hostages don’t comply or respond to torture tactics the way they should. Nervous when I get hit enough times that my body screams. I get frantic when witnesses repeat the same grueling, unnecessary details completely unrelated to my questions. Wasted time was the difference between life and death.

I get scared, sure. But right now . . . I'm terrified.

I've taken five tests, all with the same result. I spent most of my midnight begging and praying that this was all a dream that I couldn't have messed up this bad.

But I woke up this morning in the same nightmare.

I've moved through my day roboticly, but now comes the moment my day has been leading up to. I knocked on my Captains door, the name plate taunting me, serving to remind me that I knew what I was getting into.

"Captain, I need to talk to you." I try to keep all emotion out of my voice.

He pauses his work and looks up at me, making me avert my eyes. "Talk about what exactly?"

"I'm so sorry, John, " As soon as the words leave my mouth, tears start swelling in my eyes. "I really thought we were being careful."

His brow furrows with confusion. "What happened?"

I had all day to prepare what to say but right now everything feels as if it's spilling out of a boiling pot. "I know you didn't tell your wife, and we were keeping it a secret, and I thought I was on birth control, but..." my throat burns and before I could say anything else I feel tears run down my face.

He stares at me his eyes burning into my very soul searching for the unspoken. "You got pregnant!?"

"I'm so sorry John. What are we- What do we tell your wife?

Silence

Silence so thick you can cut through it.

Then he stands taking of his hat and holding it in his hands. He lools at me as if he is in physical pain from this conversation.

"Are you sure that's my child?"

Wait.

What

Am I sure that's his- "Are you seriously calling me a whore John? Fuck, I knew we shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have slept with you."

"You’re missing my point, love." He stares down at me. "There might be another reason for you being pregnant other than me. I’m not saying you’re a ‘hoe’, I’m saying I know you’re seeing other people. And you’re telling me that the child is mine?"

His face relaxes. This isn't how i imagine this to go maybe its my hormones, or maybe it's his stupid face, but everything about his demeanor is infuriating me. I stand up. "John, I've been sleeping with you and only you for five months now. I cut everyone else off because I wanted to I be with you. "

I feel restless as if the anxiety and anger running through my body can't let me sit still, so I start pacing his office. "I should have fucked gaz instead."

He remains unmoved by my rant. He stays cold, and actually stares me down, his expression slowly growing to anger.

"Do not mention Gaz in that manner."

"Why not? With the way he looks at me, I'm sure he would've jumped at the chance. But no, I had to sleep with the married guy." I throw my hands up in exasperated anger.

He steps towards me

"Do not think for even a second that he looks at you that way." He lowers his voice. "Nor is he the kind to sleep with an irresponsible woman."

Irresponsible woman??

Irre- "Irresponsible woman?!? Did you forget you came to me first? You slept with the irresponsible woman?"

He raises his eyebrows, letting a small smile yug at his lips

"I have not forgotten. But I know for a fact, I wasn’t the one trying to seduce a married, older man into an irresponsible relationship. That was you. A young woman who had no idea what she was doing. So, yes, you are the irresponsible one."

I look him in eyes and scoff at his audacity.

"But that's the thing, John, you are older than me and married, not to mention you're my CO. Im sure the higher-ups and your wife would love to hear how Captain Price was in an affair with his subordinate and knocked her up."

He laughs, this time a full-on, hard-as-nails laugh

"You’re threatening to blackmail me? That’s hilarious."

He takes a hearty step towards me.

"Your little plan of threatening me with my career and reputation won’t work, love. Because you know what they’ll do if you tell everybody about our affair? They’ll kick your ass to the curb, and you’ll be thrown out of the regiment."

I don't know how to explain the emotion I feel. Anger. Disbelief. Sadness.

I'm done.

" I can't believe I loved you, John. I don't know why I thought you were any different." I turn toward the door to leave this conversation in this room to never leave again.

"Don't worry about the baby or me because you'll never have to see us again."

Before I can leave the room, he puts his hat on and stands in front of the door.

"Love, where do you think you’re going?" His voice is still cold.

I try to cool my face into one of indifference.

"Captain, you don't even think the child is yours. This entire conversation shows that we aren't mature enough to raise a baby together."

I try to take a steay breath, but it comes out shaky. "I'm going to get a discharge and leave. Maybe I'll find a nice house where I can raise the baby and start a new job. "

I look him in the eyes, trying to show the meaning behind my words

"I'm not going to force you to be there for them... Captain."

Still, that isn't enough to make him move

"You’re not leaving, love. You’re right. I don’t know if the child is mine. But," His face softens, and his voice turns gentle. "I can’t imagine not being a part of this child’s life. And as your CO, love, I won’t allow you to leave without my say so."

"So what, Captain, what do you want me to do? Because we don't live in this perfect world where people don't ask questions."

" Listen, you can't be a part of my child's life and still live yours."

I take a step towards the door and, in turn him "Let me leave John"

He steps closer to me, his face just inches away from mine

"And why can’t I raise my child while still living my life, hm? What do you think I do at home? Stare at a wall?" He leans in even closer, brushing my nose with his, and whispers: "No, love. I can’t let you leave just yet."

"I think you go home to your wife, and I'm not sure she'll be too happy with you coming home with a kid." I whisper.

A small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"And if, hypothetically, I was to divorce her, would that be a more better answer to your worries?"

[yeyinde]

Hi!! I was wondering if you would give us a sneak peek into your WIPs? Like, what's next? What can we be excited about? :)

Hiya!!

Um! I'm currently working on a few fics for Jacob and John Seed (far cry 5), the Penguin, John Wick, Price, and the final chapter of Fever!

I'm mostly working on the Jacob (and John—man is down so bad canonically, it makes him look stupid. And sadistically unhinged) fics atm.

But I'll have a Price + Jealousy fic (I'd say drabble but it's, like, 4,9k) posted when I finish editing it. Maybe today? Or as soon as my cup of Lapsang Souchong is finished brewing.

(some Ozzie, and Jacob and John under the cut.)

Jacob Seed x Dep

It starts with Eli. With the distrust that festers between them, and you, like a disease that reeks of putrefaction, and cuts like the jagged edges of broken hope scattered across the blood-drenched pavement.  They don't trust you anymore.  You are not a hero— Not since three lines from a song turns you into the incarnation of wrath—the same harsh lines carved into your apoplectic flesh. Into a mindless machine corrupted to kill, to maim. To vivisect without prejudice as to who you're ripping apart, tearing to pieces.  (The blood that soaks your hands is all the same, anyway.) —you are a tool. And maybe it's time to become one, a martyr, before the broken fibres of your murky soul become too entrenched in calamity that you find kinship in the arms of Abaddon before you ever do in the Redeemer.

John Seed x Dep

The seed (pause for laughs), Sharky says, has been planted the moment John set eyes on you.

"He's got it bad," he continues, despite the ferocious glares of disgust being flashed his way. (Or, maybe, in spite of them because if there's anything Sharky likes more than his aunt, it's attention.)

"And you should use that," he adds with decisive nod. "Take one for the team. Then maybe Joseph will stop all this madness, and we can all live in a tense, unease co-existence until the apocalypse doesn't come, and his believers leave him. Then he can kick his sorry ass, pull a coup, and bada-bing, bada-bang: Hope County goes back to normal."

Take one for the team, he says. You've taken a lot for the team. Bullets, knives, bombs, brainwashing, sporadic drugging, and a tattoo carved into your chest by said sadistic sociopath, and now they want you to give yourself to him, too.

You make a gesture—a small jerk of you chin—but then you wonder if there's some truth to that statement, some sort of compromise that will stop the fighting—if only long enough for everyone to regroup, to prepare.

John Seed, huh? The jagged lines etched into your chest burn fury red. You somehow doubt he'll make it that easy. Or painless.

Penguin x Reader

Your eyes skirt to their table once more, pulled in by some macabre sense of curiosity, like looking at a lion in an open safari, and immediately seek him out. 

You don't know why he's the one piques your interest so much. He is far from your usual type—decades older, greying at his temples, scarred up, and grizzled—but there's something about him that pulls you in. 

It rears. That hunger in your guts, the one that says I want, I want, I want, and refuses to yield until it's fed. Until it's satiated. 

But there's a massive difference between stealing expensive perfume at Macy's, shoving luxury Gucci lipstick into your lifted Valentino white bag, and this. A gangster. And the bloody Penguin of all people, too. 

There's stupid, and then there's this—

"Thanks, sweetheart," he rasps when you sidle up, refilling his half-empty glass of water. 

His words are dripping the same grease found in the smarmy grin of snake oil salesmen, and pulsing with his heavy accent. He flashes a grin—all rectangular teeth, some coloured in gold—and it is oiled in that same sycophantic smear as his tone. 

He isn't a handsome man, and from the way he compensates by throwing his power and wealth around, he knows this. There's a vulnerability in him—a sadness that feels out of place in such a grizzled, sleazy gangster—and something inside of you itches to peel back the veneer, the grit and the grime, and find the man hidden behind those walls. 

[randommw2writing]

Never a New Goodbye

Hey this is a drabble with Price x fem!reader where they are in a fight because Price didn’t tell his wife that he had to leave for a mission.

TW: angst, alluding to character death, fighting

It was moments like these that made Price regret entering the service. His bag lay half-packed on their bed, but he couldn’t finish packing because you just came out of the shower and saw what he was doing. He thought he could hide it away and have one last good night, but that was never in the cards for him.

“Were you going to just leave tomorrow without even saying goodbye?” you asked quietly as your eyes started to well up with tears. “Do I not get the privilege of worrying about whether or not you’re gonna come back to me anymore? Or is that classified too?” He sat on the bed, speechless and unable to say a thing back.

“Love-,” he finally started before you interrupted again.

“No, please don’t John,” the tears finally started to fall, “Don’t try to make me feel bad for being scared and angry about you wanting to disappear on me forever,” your volume gradually started getting louder, “I have nightmares, John, EVERY night you’re gone all I can think about is a soldier I don’t even know coming to my front door, telling me I’ll be alone the rest of my life. Because guess what John?” you came up and stood in his face in your towel, openly weeping and water dripping off of your hair onto the carpet. You looked him in his eyes and let your confession come flowing out of you, “You’re it for me, John! Congrats! I can’t ever love someone else because I love you too damn much! So if you leave me, if you go and die for some stupid reason you will ruin my life too!” He looked at you with a new softness as he embraced you and let you cry into his shirt.

“Love, I promise I will be okay,” he murmurs into your hair, letting the lie come easily from his lips, “I have great guys who will watch my back, I am a damn good shot, and I have you to come back to. That is what really matters,” he pulled you away for a second to let you look at his face as he told you, “You’re it for me too, love. It does not matter what happens, if I have to travel through hell itself, I am coming back to you.”

“Why were you trying to leave me then?” you asked into his chest.

“Because I wanted to pretend for a little bit longer that I could stay home forever, that I would never have to leave you. If I don’t tell you, then it isn’t real, and I get to hold you in my arms for another night.” You smiled at each other and you shook your head. 

“I love you John, but I know you’re making promises you can’t keep because you want me to be okay and I’m not okay. But for tonight I can sleep in your arms and pretend to be okay for you. I’ll pretend the nightmares aren’t going to come as soon as you leave and that I won’t cry every night, wishing you were home and safe in my arms.”

They lay back on the bed, entangled in each other’s arms gripping each other in a way where the other knows they never want to let go.

“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered in your hair over and over again as you both ignore the world around you and pray that tomorrow never comes, so you never had to say goodbye again.

But it does.

And you do.