#john price x you

[beloveds-embrace]

Thinking about designationless!reader au, how the boys would spend HOURS searching for candles that properly represented their scents so reader would feel included in the nest

Anyway just wanted to say I LOVE your writing and you've got me inspired to write my own little designationless!reader au (which if I ever do post, I will tag you for credits ❤️❤️), its just has so many possibilities

Every time I see you post, blog, wtver this website wants to call it, my day gets a little brighter :)

-👽

omg thank you so so so much anon?? you are so very sweet!! i am very happy to know you like my stuff and felt inspired by it!! i hope you enjoy this, your idea was wonderful! <33 omegaverse masterlist

The idea had started innocently enough.

Gaz had mentioned it one night while they were snuggled in the nest, you nestled warm and comfy between them all. You’d fallen asleep on Price’s chest, Soap’s arm thrown over your waist, Ghost’s steady breathing brushing your temple, and Gaz quietly watching from the edge.

“She can’t smell us,” Gaz had murmured, musing and cutting through the peaceful silence. “But… what if she could? Just a little? For the nest.”

It was a seed of an idea that quickly took root in all of them.

The next day, they found themselves walking through shops they’d normally never step foot in- boutiques, candle stores, even a few farmers’ markets. Price looked utterly out of place amongst rows of colorful jars, his gruff demeanor clashing with the delicate scents wafting around him. Soap, on the other hand, took to it with a determination that made the staff wary as he sniffed candle after candle, holding them up to Gaz and Ghost for confirmation.

“This one’s close, isn’t it?” he asked, holding up a jar labeled Amber Woods. He shoved it under Ghost’s nose, earning an irritated growl.

“Too sweet,” Ghost muttered then, shaking his head. “Try again.”

Gaz was off in another aisle, holding up a candle labeled Vanilla Bourbon and frowning. “This isn’t right either. It’s too… fake.” He sighed, setting it down with a heavy thunk. “How’s it this hard to find something that fits?”

Price stood in the corner, his brow furrowed as he examined the names on the candles. He knew and had been told many times his cedarwood scent was sharp and earthy, grounding in a way that none of these synthetic imitations could capture. He picked one up- Smoked Cedar- and took a deep inhale.

“Not bad." He said after a moment, setting it aside in their “maybe” pile.

They spent hours combing through the store, moving from candle jars to wax melts to essential oil blends. They argued with each other quietly, then with the amused store employees, their tones growing increasingly frustrated with each other as they tried to find scents that truly represented themselves.

“It’s just a candle, sirs,” One employee, clearly annoyed with them, chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Does it really matter this much?”

Ghost’s dark eyes snapped to him, his voice low and dangerous, not helped by the balaclava and cap he wore. “It’s not just a candle. It’s for someone.”

That shut the employee up quickly.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity and much sniffing, they settled on a few options.

When they brought the candles back to the nest (oh, how they loved that you were beginning to spend more and more of your free time there), you blinked up at them, confused by their triumphant expressions and the little bag Price held in his hand. They looked a little too proud of themselves.

“What’s all this?” You asked, sitting up from your spot. I

“Something for you.” Price said simply, his voice soft as he placed candles on the table.

Soap grinned, almost vibrating with excitement and pride as he gestured for you to come closer. “Go on, lass. Smell ‘em.”

You leaned forward, hesitantly uncapping the first candle. The cedarwood hit you first, earthy and grounding, and your eyes fluttered shut as you hummed in delight. You glanced up at Price when you heard a deep rumble you've come to understand as prideful.

“This is.... you, isn't it?” you realized, earning a small nod from him.

You went through each one, inhaling the soft citrus of Soap’s, the richness of Ghost’s smoky scent, the soothing vanilla of Gaz’s. By the time you finished, you stared at them with something akin to more awe than the sun has for its orbiting planets.

“You did this... for me?”

“Of course,” Gaz pressed a kiss to your temple. “Wanted you to feel like you’re part of us. Always.”

You didn’t know what to say, but as they lit the candles and pulled you back into the nest, you felt surrounded by them in a way you never had before.

And for the first time, you felt as if you could... be like them. For once, you understood what their scents were like- a part of their world for just a moment.

You will be keeping those candles.

[oceantornadoo]

ch7 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: oral sex both ways

masterlist | next

John Price thrives on routine. His days are filled with meetings and bloodshed, negotiations and betrayal. Routine keeps him sane.

Unfortunately, that resolution crumbled the moment he gained a wife. It’s getting harder and harder to leave in the morning, to ignore the fluttering of your eyelashes as you feign sleep. That’s what he blames for this break in routine.

The morning after, he stays for ten minutes instead of five. Counts the ticks of the old clock in the corner of his room as he memorizes the scent of your skin. You always end up with your head in the crook of his neck, legs tangled around his torso. He’s never been much of a back sleeper, but now it’s the last thing he cares about. It’s the sound of your breathing, the plushness of your skin, the brush of your chest against his. When he eventually gets up, he doesn’t look at the bed until he’s ready. If he glanced back at your eyes in half-slits, shifting closer to his pillow to soak up the remaining warmth he left in the bed, he would never leave the room. 

At night, though, he succumbs to his weakness. He creates a new routine.

It’s the start of a new week after the getting-off confession. John had business in Glasgow over the weekend, lonely and cold in his hotel bed, but now he’s back.

“So Laswell sent me the contract. I definitely have enough to pay in full, but I’m thinking of paying half and then doing installments for the rest so I can have enough for immediate repairs. What do you-John?” John’s nodding along to your rant, disappearing under the covers to the place he’s been thinking about all weekend. The blanket’s a bit heavy, limiting his breathing, but it’s worth it for the sight of your clothed cunt, waiting for him.

“Keep talkin’, sweetheart.” Instead of following his orders, you peel back the cover until his head peeks out. “What are you doing?” He rubs circles into your thighs, reveling in their softness. John moves upwards, teasing the fabric of your pajama shorts. “You miss me this weekend?” He murmurs, not sure if he’s talking to his wife or her cunt. Both seem happy to see him, if that’s any consolation.

“No, I actually got the best sleep of my- hey!” He shoves his face into the triangle of your lap, sniffing with wonder. “Fuck, I missed ya.” You’re silent at his admission, but your hand finds a hold in his hair. “You did?” It’s soft and unsure, forcing him to rip his focus away from your pussy. “I did.” You bite your lip adorably. You tug him forward, gripping his scalp hard, until his face is in front of yours. 

“Maybe next time, you take me with you.” Absolutely not. He was meeting with a new prospective manufacturer, shady and dangerous. He was not putting you in any sort of danger. John shakes his head, heart clenching as your face falls. “Not the kind of place fer you, baby. Gonna let me eat you out now?” You nod, but your face is still hard with repressed emotion. He kisses your forehead, trailing down to your cheek, then nose. “Give us a kiss then.” It’s the first time you’ve ever kissed him first, the notion sending blood straight to his cock. The kiss is short and sweet. Can’t believe how quickly you’ve gotten him under your spell. Two bloody weeks. He pulls away, a final kiss laid to your jaw. “Keep talkin’. Don’t mind me.”

The new routine continues for weeks. He gets you off a different way every night, from fingers to tongue to plain old grinding. And then he goes to sleep with you tucked to his side, taking care of himself in the morning. John needs you to be the one to ask to fuck, to reciprocate. The alternative leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Plus, every time he gets you off, you fall asleep immediately, like it’s the only way you’ll go to bed. It’s terribly endearing.

A month in, he starts noticing changes. The furniture in the sitting room, for one. They used to be 18th century relics, designed to make sure a guest didn’t overstay their welcome. Except now they’re eclectic, blue and green against the cream walls. The couches look comfortable, like you could spend a whole day there. The paintings change as well, from Rembrandt to Monet and Picasso. The impressionist works, blues and greens and yellows, work well with the new furniture, making his flat seem like a home. When he asks you, all you do is shrug and say something smart about updating his old man apartment. He leaves bite marks on your thighs that night. 

It’s a beautiful Friday night when John gets home early, around 9. He usually gets text updates from Terrance, your commandeered security guard that Price assigned to you full time, about your movements. You’ll usually get home at 7, but nothing yet. Two hours late. He calls Terrance and gets his voicemail. Highly unusual. Calmly, he presses on your contact's name, and it goes to voicemail. Three times.

Fingers shaking, he calls Kyle.

“Sir?”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“My fuckin’ wife, Garrick.”

“Isn’t she with Terrance?” “No one’s answerin’ their goddamn phone.” Gaz sighs on the other end, like this is an inconvenience and not his wife they’re talking about. Keys click, then a mouse, before Gaz answers. “They’re at the bookstore. Been there since this mornin’, sir.” John drags a hand down his face, then grabs the keys to the car he barely uses. 

“Garrick, this is the last time you take more than three seconds t’ know where she is. I want a full team on ‘er at all times. I won’t hesitate t’ assign someone else as my Head of Security, someone who isn’t lettin’ their judgement take over their goddamn job. Copy?” He hasn’t dressed down one of his men, especially Kyle, but he’s tired of the man’s judgement on this marriage. What’s done is done. “Yessir.” John hangs up, too miffed to say goodbye. He’s got a wife to find.

-

Your bookstore is coming along well. It’s been over a month since you’ve been married, a month of John’s fingers and tongue loosening you in more ways than one. You swear you’ve developed stronger thigh muscles, simply from the orgasms he coaxes from you night after night. And then he just goes to sleep. You’ve felt his cock in fleeting touches, brushing against your thigh or hard in his lap as you grind on him. He never takes it out, never drags your hand in that grueling way men do with shady eyes and slimy smirks. Every night, he asks you if you hate him, and every night, your lie convinces him less and less. 

And every night, you think of how adamant he was against you joining him. His insistence that it “wasn’t the kind of place for you.” Your old problem with him has faded, a mess of childhood fears rolled into new ones. In its place are your insecurities, the word bastard floating through your head every time you think of his rejection. The clause in the marriage contract. It rolls together into a simple thought: he doesn’t trust you. That’s why he’s barely let you in on his business, content to stick with late night chats and orgasms. It should be fine, it should be what you wanted, but instead you feel a hollow hole in your heart where the word ‘friends’ lives. Even friends should share their secrets. 

But back to the bookstore. Your new baby. This first month was full of cleaning, dusting out odd corners and greasing creaky door hinges. You listed a hiring notice on online job boards, looking for an assistant to help with the grunt work. Which landed you Phil, a wonderful addition to the team. He was around your age, an American with sandy blond hair. Handsome in a basic way, something you noted and never thought of again. Terrance ran a background check on him, something you gladly consented to, and insisted on helping you interview him. It took a week of recon, but he was officially your new assistant as of two weeks ago. An amazing help around the store, handy with tools. You’d told Phil that you were the daughter of a lord, a minor lie to explain the bodyguard. He shrugged it off, the ex-pat seemingly used to the oddities of London.

Now that the space had been cleared, it was finally time to paint. Terrance insisted that he couldn’t help too much, his main duty too important, but with the help of Phil, you convinced him to paint the walls with you. You all left your phones in the half-fixed office, donning plastic sheets to protect from paint splatter. Your business plan, formed from your downtime during the day and shaped by your late-night conversations with John, was to have a store section and a community section. The community section would be at the front, with a beautiful light blue accent wall, perfect for book influencers. It would be surrounded by comfy couches and warm lighting, complete with a cafe space you intended to build out. Your idea reminded you of the library waiting hours away, with its own fireplace and furniture. You decided to recreate that cozy feeling and bring it to the public.

Farther into the building there would be bigger shelves for rows and rows of books, organized by type. The color scheme was influenced by the one in your home, as you decided to hand paint metal shelves light blues, greens, and yellows. Most would be bought, but you were planning a book drive far out for people to donate old books and get discounts on new ones. It’s an idea you had wanted to do in Manchester but never got around to.

Now that the front of the store was cleared out and bare, it was time to paint. The hours fly by as you paint the light blue wall while Phil and Terrance work on a cream wall on the other side. When you blink, the sun is already down, and your watch is flashing 10PM at you.

“Guys it’s almost ten! I think we ought to lay down the brushes for tonight.” Phil opened his mouth to respond but is cut off by a harsh pounding at the locked front door. It was supposed to be clear, but there was newspaper on all of your windows to prevent the glass from getting paint on it. Frowning, you moved to open the door, but Terrance stopped you with his arm out, his other hand reaching for his gun. “Go into the office, ma’am.” You followed his command reluctantly, Phil following on your heels as you went into the back office. It didn’t have any windows, so it was a space you did not want to be in for a while. Phil looked nervous, running his hand through his hair and tapping his foot on the ground.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Phil. Probably one of the neighbors complaining about our music.” You insisted on a jam session as you painted, blasting music from a speaker you stole from the Castle. “Shady things happen in London no matter what time, boss.” You shrug, picking up your phone to quell your nerves. A glance at your notifications explains everything.

Oh no.

You burst from the office, phone already returning one of your many missed calls. That’s when you ran into your husband, face hitting his hard chest with a harsh oof. “Christ, sweetheart, gave me a near heart attack.” John steadied your shoulders with his large hands, anchoring you in his grip. His brow was furrowed, eyes crinkling in worry as he scanned you up and down like he was looking for injuries. “You didn’t answer-” “Everything good out here?” Fuck. Phil.

“Who are you?” It was a tone you’d never heard come out of John’s mouth. You imagined it was his mafia man voice, gruff and short like he had a better place to be. John shoves you behind him, reaching for his gun. You rolled your eyes, hand covering his to stop a potential shoot-out. 

“John, he’s my-” “Assistant, sir. Good to put a name to the face, I’ve heard a lot about you.” You could practically hear Phil winking, laying on the Southern charm. You wrestled out of John’s grip, stepping out from behind his back. Phil’s hand was out for a handshake, but John hadn’t taken it, scanning the man up and down with suspicious eyes. “Funny, ‘cause I’ve never heard about you.” John tore his gaze away to catch yours, eyes slanted in anger. “I don’t have to tell you everything, John. I’ve got my own life, you know.” He looked almost hurt at your words, which couldn’t be true. Sure, you were fucking, but it’s not like this was a normal marriage. You knew he wouldn’t have wanted Phil working with you, just on the basis of him being a man. You didn’t want to be micromanaged by your own husband, so you simply hadn’t got around to telling him. 

“C’mere.” John tugged you towards the office, his grip hard. You could hear Terrance telling Phil to go home and wait for an update. Probably for the best. You imagined Terrance following him out, then debriefing with John’s driver about how much of an asshole their boss was.

“Why didn’t ya tell me?” John asked, arms crossed and face red. He’d shut the office door but remained standing since there wasn’t any furniture yet. “Because I knew you’d get like this.” You spit out, crossing your arms to mirror his. “Fuckin’ concerned fer the security of my wife? Tha’s a bad reaction?” You took a step back from him, crossing your arms tighter so you could pinch your waist, a reminder to stay strong.

“Controlling and caveman. This is my place of work, John, and you’ve embarrassed me in front of my coworker.” He doesn’t meet your eye, staring at the door so hard it might burst into flames. He looks like a predator ready to pounce, muscles trembling from restraint. “Ya don’t realize how many enemies I have. Every person needs t’ be checked.” Did he think you were stupid? “I had Terrance check him out. I know you don’t want me around your work, but I’m not an idiot, John.”

His rejection of your offer to travel with him weeks ago had stung more than you cared to admit. He clearly didn’t trust you, only seeing you as someone to fuck around with. You didn’t realize how far that lack of trust went.

“He should’ve reported it to Gaz.” John mutters. “He did. I know that for a fact.” John ran a hand through his hair, then dipped down to tug at his tie. “He didn’t fuckin’ tell me. Christ, he’s worse than I thought.” You wanted to ask what that meant, but you bit your lip instead. He obviously didn’t want to tell you.

“Look, I know I’m a bastard and you had that goddamn clause in the contract, but you can trust me. I’m not running around behind your back.” That got John’s gaze to snap back to you, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Tha’s wha’ ya think this is about?” You nod, suddenly unsure. “Sweetheart, that was Gaz’s idea. T’ see if you’d argue. I intended for you to ask fer another cheatin’ clause fer me, but ya didn’t so I let it go. ‘S nothin’ like tha’. Plus, I didn’t know ya then. I know ya now.” Oh.

“So you trust me?” What about the trip? You wanted to ask, but you figure that would show your hand too much. John nods slowly, uncrossing his hands to put them on his hips. “Don’t care tha’ yer a bastard. ‘M not fuckin’ anyone else, either. I’m just concerned fer yer safety.” He takes a few steps towards you, gauging your reaction to see if you step back. You don’t, uncrossing your arms and praying they don’t shake. He grabs your hands in his own, blue eyes swimming with openness. There are so many things you want to ask him about: your childhood, his father, the future. They all fall to the wayside when he leans down to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips against yours. “If I didn’t trust ya, ya wouldn’t sleep in my bed.” He kisses your forehead, then cheek, before pulling back. “I need ya t’ believe me.” He demands it seriously. A sudden rush of affection hits your heart. He looks so truthful, so concerned, and you want to show him that same care back.

You lower to your knees. John steps back, unsure. “Sweetheart, ya don’t have to.” You shake your head, beckoning him to come near. “I want to.”

John tugs off the blazer he’s wearing, folding it into a light pillow. He squats down on his haunches, eyes on yours. A warm hand brushes your knees, urging you up so he can slip the blazer under them. He then stands; blue eyes dark as he brushes your cheek with his thumb. “Go’on, baby. Take whatever you want.”

You reach for his black belt, unfastening it with trembling hands. It unclips with ease, and John’s hands, hairy and veiny and strong, cloud your vision as he unfurls it from his belt loops. You continue downwards, undoing the midnight black of his button. You unzip slowly, licking your lips in anticipation. His fingers brush back the creases on your forehead, trailing down to brush the shell of your ear. “Feel ok?” You nod at his question, cupping him through his boxers. John releases a sharp exhale, a heady sense of power coming over you. You work the pants down fully to give you room, petting him this way and that.

Finally, you peel down the dark fabric of his boxers. He’s hairy but well-maintained, similar to his fuzzy torso you’ve felt in bed. His cock is thick and heavy, wet with precum as it slaps against his upper thigh. You tuck his boxers down to give you room, then start exploring. Kitten licks to the base of him, his hair tickling your nose. Your hand joins you to squeeze his balls, eliciting a sharp groan. John tugs on your hair, more out of instinct than control. “You feel ok?” You throw his words back at him, a cheshire smile growing as he moans again.

“Christ, those fuckin’ hands.” He responds. You move to start stroking, licking him from base to tip. He tastes like salt and musk, but clean with the scent of pine. It’s the most addicting scent on earth. After he’s wet and leaking, you steady yourself with a hand on his upper thigh and the other on your husband’s cock.

You finally take him in your mouth, tongue swirling around his tip. You hum and his grip on your hair tightens. “‘M gonna fuck yer mouth sometime.” You let go of him with a pop, leaning backwards. “Not tonight?” He shakes his head, reaching down to pump his cock in your absence. “I’m a few strokes from cummin’, sweetheart. You look too goddamn good on yer knees.” That earns a grin from you and a renewed sense of vigor.

You suck him hard this time, your hand making up the length you can’t cover. You work yourself into an easy rhythm, up and down as he cradles your face. It’s much softer than you’ve ever experienced from a man, careful and protective. He wasn’t kidding about how close he is, harsh pants emitting faster and faster from his chest. “Where d’ya want me, baby?” You don’t respond, keeping him in your mouth. All you do is blink sweetly, willing your eyes to look bigger than usual. “Fuckin’ perfect, my wife.” That sends a jolt to your heart, and you have to stop yourself from accidentally biting down. Instead of responding, you stroke faster and faster. His abs tense, and you pull back just slightly, letting him coat your tongue and lips. It’s salty but not bitter, a marker of how fucking healthy he is. You lick your lips, swallowing thickly. His thumb brushes off a bit from your nose, pushing his thumb into your mouth. You suck hard, like you did the night he first fingered you. He continues cleaning you up, careful and quiet in his movements. John tucks himself back into his pants and offers you a hand to help you off the floor.

“Your knees sore?” He whispers. You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed despite not having taken your clothes off. “C’mere.” He tugs you into his arms, tucking you under his chin. “We good?” He asks. You want to say no, want to ask him all the questions swirling around in your head, but all you do is nod and hold him closer.

-

In the car, John’s hand on your thigh, your phone vibrates. It’s Phil.

Everything ok?

Yep! Marital problems, all good.

Your husband is intense.

He’s a sweetheart for me, all that matters 🙂

Good to know. See you tomorrow.

His tone is odd, but you shove that thought from your mind. John squeezes your hand, and you tuck your phone away, content to focus on your husband. Phil is the farthest thought from your mind.

-

um. smut. now they're like friends with problems? idk enemies got boring.

-

@heretoreadanddrinktea

@peachyxrosie

@joufrance

@galactict3a

@exactlyyoungchaos

@trulovekay

@alleycc

@abox-of-rocks

@orangehibiscus

@mismatchsposts

@nova-willow-541

@throwing-up-butterflies

@grossitsluca

@evans-dejong

@popcornlauncher

@earthcole

@backfromthedeadhehehe

@baduzzxy

@thegreyjoyed

@cutelibrariangf

@dearghostling

@mrsmalfoy1005

@all-by-myself98

@snburntandsad

@baklovers

@rmikaelson01

@leon-thot-kennedy

@the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned

@barcelonaaababe

@brokenandemptyhearts

@sleep101

@ontopofthefridge

@lilynotdilly

@teenagellamaangel

@harperdoodle

@ii-angelsrolltheireyes-ii

@violetisheresworld

@lolwey

@polyfandom-blogs 

@burrowedinnature77

@sharkerino

@ashy-kit

@aikojwhpa

@thriving-n-jiving

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@grayskel

@rpgsandstuff

@hisuccubus

@lumi-kalyke

@gimmeabreak1

[starboye]

boss!price who gets a new pretty little assistant and it just happens to be you, you looked so good in those pants that hugged every part of your ass so well and he wanted to feel it

always touching you a little to long in places that would violate so many hr department rules but he didn't care, he wanted to get in those pants one way or another and one day he finally did, everyone was gone for the night leaving only you and him in his office getting some paper work done

he had asked you to get him some coffee and within minutes you were putting it on his desk before he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto his lap "why not keep an old man company yeah" he lowly said moving his hand to your inner thigh and to your crotch where he was a little confused

he didnt feel a bulge but slickness seeping through your pants "and what's this" he didn't seem to be against it as long as he could fuck you "why dont you find out yourself" you kissed him and in no time you were splayed across his desk taking his fat cock

taking him balls deep and moaning about how good it felt while his fingers played with your clit, rubbing it intensely to give you more pleasure until you were a shaking mess begging him to give you a break but there was no stopping a man like price so you just pushed through each orgasm

"mmm captain you feel you fucking good" you whimpered and oh good gad did that do something to him hearing you pull rank on him had his cock slamming into you harder than before and abusing your precious little cunt until it couldn't take it anymore

even then you don't think he was really gonna let you go that easy, nope he needs one more taste, knelled in front of your leaking pussy before diving in, licking and lapping at it and eating out every drop of cum he fucked into you

your hands tightly held in prices hair tugging at it for him to go deeper, your thighs clasping around his head and squeezing enough to cut off oxygen for a couple of minutes but that still doesn't mean he stops, he's got a mission and he'l be damned if he stops before finsihing it

but it's safe to say your co-workers definitely noticed your limp the next day and the copious amounts of breaks you were spending with price

[cupids-dove]

Listen, I'm not into John Price---

 Medieval King!John who has a midlife crisis and he is so bored of his current situation. His wife gave him 3 healthy sons, who will be his heir, and she retreated to the countryside, to her summer residence. But John still craves woman touch, so what he has 3 children he still wants more. He wants a beautiful lover, who will touch him with love and who will spend nights with him.

So, when he sees you, a beautiful young girl sitting nervously next to your father at the dinner, your father has been invited to, he knows that he has to have you. Your father is a noble man, who want to marry you well. You finally reached the age when he can take you with him to formal events such as this one and he hopes that you will catch eye of some duke or lord.

You sit nervously looking at your potential husband and you imagine your future with them. So, when you catch the king looking at you, you blush, and it only gets worse. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he's looking at you.

You and your father are staying at the castle as guests and when you excuse yourself at the dinner, feeling overwhelmed and slightly sick, you go to the room that was assigned to you. You drank too much wine, and you can feel your head spinning. When after some time you hear a quiet knock on the door you think it’s your father.

But it is the king standing there waiting for you to invite him to your bedroom. You never stayed alone with a man, not alone the king. You don’t know what to do when he gently holds your face and whispers how lovely you look tonight, how you charmed him and how he wants you. He kisses you slowly and gently, he tastes like wine and your head spins when he deepens the kiss, and you can feel his tongue inside your mouth.

John is eager, he haven’t felt a woman’s touch in weeks, and now he has this delicate thing right in front of him. You’re shaking with need and feeling things that you haven’t felt before. When he puts you on your bed and lifts your nightgown, pulling it over your head, you sit in front of him completely naked. He kisses you and his hands starts to roam around your body.

You read some romance books, and you talked with the maids about the wedding night, so you know slightly what to expect. But when John puts your nipple in his mouth you’re gone, you feel pleasure like never before and your brain stops to work. You know that this is not right, and you should save yourself for marriage, but John is the king and if he wants you, you will give him everything.

He makes his way down and he puts little kisses on the inner sides of your thighs. He spread you open for him, telling you how beautiful and wet you are for him. John tells you that he needs to prepare you for him, so that you can experience the same pleasure as he will. He eats you out for a long time, your legs hurt from how wide open they are. When he slowly pushes his two middle fingers inside you and starts to move them, you cum for the first time. It takes you some time to catch your breath again.

While you lie there John waits no more and he quickly takes off his clothes. He stands in front of you with his thick dick in his hand. He gets on top of you, and he starts to slowly push inside you. The stretch hurts a little, but when he starts to suck and kiss your neck you relax, and he can push into you more. After some while you can feel him bottoming out inside of you and you are so full of him.

When he starts to move you feel like you’re in heaven. He plays with your clit, and he sucks your nipples until they are so sensitive. He has you under him and his thrusts are slow, but hard and with each thrust you can feel him getting deeper and deeper. When he lifts your legs, and he presses them to your chest you feel him under a new angle that makes you see stars.

You can feel that he is close, and he makes sure that you are feeling the same. He thrusts so deep inside of you, and he spills his seed there. You can feel the hot load leaking out of your pussy. After this you think he will go back to his rooms, but he just turns you over on your stomach and he pushes his cock inside your pussy.

He fucks you the whole night. Sometimes rough and hard while you’re on your all fours and sometimes he makes you slowly ride him while he sits on the sofa drinking wine. He teaches you how to suck his cock and he praises you when you can put all of him into your mouth. In the morning, he asks the maids to prepare a bath for you. He makes sure that you’re taken care of.

The king makes sure that you stay at the castle with him. He promises your father that you’re visit at the castle will only help you with your search for husband. The queen doesn’t complain when she is informed that her stay at the countryside should become permanent. All she knows is that the king found some young lady that now sleeps in his bed.

John visits your bedroom every night, fucking you till you’re nice and full of his cum and when after a few months you start to show, and the maid notice that you hadn’t bled for month, he permanently moves you to his chambers. You sit next to him during the dinners, and you can feel all the eyes judging you when John kisses you or puts his hands on your pregnant belly. But all of it goes away, when you’re alone, the king´s dick deep inside of you and his words promising you that after this baby is born, he will give you as many as you wish for.

Masterlist

[dumbbitchgalore]

Old Man!Price is very good with his hands.

Your babbles echo through the bedroom, mascara running down your tear-stricken face. Nails digging into his upper arm, begging for an ounce of mercy.

As if John was ever a merciful man.

"Please, please, plea- ah!"

Your begging is satiated by a well-earned slap to your greedy cunt. John tuts you. He trained you better than this, trained you well enough to have an ounce of tolerance and patience within you but a mere glass of champagne has you pleading like a harpy.

"Darling, you already know that I won't fuck you unless you've cummed once beforehand."

John says as his fingers languidly pump in an out of your sopping pussy crying for the attention it deserves as droplets of slick begin to decorate the sheets beneath you.

"Yet, look at you try to force my hand like a whore. I taught you better, no?"

Slowly taking out his fingers, John gives them a tentative lick as his savours the taste of you on his tongue as he drowns your voice into the background.

He could give in right, seeing you so blissfully overstimulated. Face flushed and hair a completely and utterly beautiful mess before he even got the chance to fuck you right.

But John never tolerated disobedience.

Moving away from you, he adjusts his clothes and fixes his appearance. Giving himself a once over in the mirror, John lets out a tired sigh as he runs his fingers through his hair.

"You should go birdie. Don't wanna keep ya loverboy waiting."

Reluctantly, John walks over to you kissing your forehead and brushing your bangs out of your eyes.

"Next time I see ya, I shouldn't see that bloody right on ya finger."

[cheeseatlantic]

MINORS DEFINITELY DNI

i dont even know but its smut!

The dim light of the barracks cast flickering shadows against the walls, the scent of whiskey and damp earth lingering in the air. You shouldn’t have been there. Not like this. Not with him. Price leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, his sharp blue eyes locked on you like he was daring you to leave. “You know what you’re doing,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching at your sides. You did know. Every time you crossed the line with him, you told yourself it would be the last. The unspoken rules of command, the weight of his position, it didn’t matter in the heat of the moment. The thrill of secrecy and danger always brought you back to him.

“I can’t stay away,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Price’s jaw tightened, his expression hardening for a moment before it softened. He reached for you, his hand brushing the bare skin of your arm, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Neither can I,” he admitted, his words soft but laced with a kind of desperation that made your knees weak.

Before you could reply, he pulled you to him, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as hungry as it was forbidden. His beard scraped against your skin, a reminder of the rawness, the realness of him. You pressed yourself against him, your fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more.

“God help me,” he groaned against your lips, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded. “This is wrong. But I don’t give a damn anymore.”

You gasped as he lifted you onto the desk, his hands trailing up your thighs, his touch possessive, like he was staking his claim on you. You bit your lip, the sharp edge of the wooden desk digging into your skin as his lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of bruises that would be impossible to hide. Marks of your sin.

“Promise me,” he whispered, his voice rough and low, his breath hot against your ear. “No one else can know.”

You nodded, your nails digging into his shoulders as his hands worked their way under your clothes. “It’ll be our little secret.”

The desk creaked beneath you as Price’s hands tightened on your thighs, spreading them wider, his broad frame pressing against you. The air in the room felt electric, thick with the weight of everything unspoken. His lips claimed yours again, rougher this time, his beard scratching deliciously against your skin as his tongue swept over yours.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?” he rasped, his voice like gravel as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck. His hands slid under your shirt, calloused palms skimming over your ribs before pulling it over your head and tossing it aside.

“Maybe I do,” you whispered, breath hitching as his mouth found the curve of your collarbone, teeth grazing against your skin before he sucked hard, leaving a bruise you wouldn’t bother to hide.

Price pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes dark and heavy with desire. “You’re playing a dangerous game, love.”

You smirked, tilting your chin defiantly. “And you’re not stopping me.”

A low growl escaped him, and in an instant, his hands were on your hips, dragging you forward until your core was pressed against his. You could feel how hard he was, the thick, unyielding length of him straining against his pants. A gasp slipped from your lips as he rocked his hips into yours, his hands gripping your ass to keep you in place.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your ear, his voice rough and laced with restraint. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You shook your head, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. “I don’t want you to stop.”

His resolve snapped. Price yanked you off the desk and spun you around, pressing you against the wall. His hands roamed your body, rough and possessive, as he kissed you deeply, swallowing the moan that escaped you. His lips trailed down your chest, his fingers undoing the clasp of your bra before tossing it aside. His mouth found your nipple, sucking and teasing until your knees nearly gave out beneath you.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pulling back just enough to lift you off your feet. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your back pressing against the wall as he ground against you, the friction sending sparks through your veins.

“Captain,” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as he reached between you, undoing the button of your pants and sliding them down.

“Impatient little thing,” he murmured, his voice dark with amusement as his hand dipped between your thighs, sliding against the wetness he found there. “You’re soaking for me already.”

You bit your lip, your head falling back against the wall as his fingers circled your clit, slow and deliberate. “John, please,” you breathed, the need in your voice making him smirk.

“Please what?” he teased, his voice low and dangerous as he pushed a finger inside you, curling it just right.

“Don’t make me beg,” you managed, your voice breaking on a moan as he added another finger, his thumb pressing against your clit in time with his thrusts.

Price’s lips found yours again, his kiss rough and claiming as he worked you closer to the edge. “You’re beautiful when you’re desperate,” he murmured against your lips, his free hand gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

Your release hit you like a tidal wave, your body shaking against his as he coaxed you through it, his fingers never faltering. When you finally caught your breath, he pulled his hand away, his fingers glistening as he brought them to his lips, his eyes locked on yours.

“Sweet as sin,” he muttered, his voice dark with satisfaction.

Before you could recover, he was lowering you onto the desk again, his hands making quick work of his belt and the zipper of his pants. The sound of his clothes hitting the floor sent another thrill through you, and when he stepped between your legs, you felt the full weight of what you’d gotten yourself into.

“You ready for me, love?” he asked, his voice softer now, but no less commanding.

You nodded, breathless, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lined himself up. The stretch of him as he pressed into you stole the air from your lungs, and when he bottomed out, his forehead rested against yours, his breathing heavy.

“God help me,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, slow and deliberate at first, then faster, harder, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back as he drove you higher, the sound of your bodies moving together filling the room. It was messy, raw, and so, so wrong. But neither of you cared.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his voice a low growl as he thrust harder, his grip on you tightening.

“John,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge again. “John, I-”

He swallowed your words with a kiss, his pace relentless as he chased his own release. When he finally came, his head fell to your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin as his body shuddered against yours.

The room was silent except for the sound of your breathing, the weight of what you’d just done settling over you both. But when Price pulled back, his eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you said a word.

You knew this wasn’t the last time. And so did he.

ok freak. i see you’ve read the whole thing? 🤨

[rosegolden13]

Tongues and Teeth

Can’t stop thinking about professional hockey player!John Price and dentist!reader who is always horrified when he comes in with a new chipped tooth so have my most bizarre ficlet yet…

Disclaimer: I know next to nothing about hockey or dentistry

~1.5k words, nothing explicit but it’s… intimate, sensual undertones

The smack of the plastic gloves against your skin as you tugged them on announced your presence in the tiny room. The small pieces of hair that have come out of your bun sway as you shake your head disapprovingly at the sight of him reclining in your chair. “Have you got any real teeth left, John? This is your third visit this season.”

His smile is lazy and amused, the chipped canine tooth on full display, when his calm blue eyes meet yours. “Nice to see ya, too, Doc.” He’s all too comfortable in the chair, work boots crossed and hands resting casually on his stomach. You’re used to tense and anxious patients, not this, but Price’s dental record was enough to make you cringe when you first saw it so you can only suppose he’s become completely desensitized to visits to the dentist. 

You inhale and exhale through your nose sharply, prepping your tools as you turn your back to him. “I wish I could say the same but I want to see you on the ice, not in my chair.”

“You a fan, love?” He asks, eyebrows raised. His smile widens a bit, eyes crinkling.

You level him with a steady stare over your shoulder as you consider your answer. It would be a terrible idea to fuel his ego. For God’s sake, he’s a professional hockey player. He doesn’t need any flattering- the press and fans do enough of that. 

“No,” you decide to answer, voice a bit flat. “But my dad is. He has the game on whenever I’m over for dinner. Now, open up. Let me see what I’m dealing with.” The rolling chair sinks gently beneath your weight as you settle into it, the wheels of your chair spinning smoothly across the flat, cheap flooring tiles when you move towards him.

Even when he complies with your orders, opening his mouth wide enough that you could fit your whole fist in his mouth, there’s something smug and self-satisfied about him that irritates you to no end. You can’t place exactly what pisses you off about him, perhaps his disregard for his dental health? Or maybe his carefree attitude? The fact that nothing seems to phase him?

Tentatively, you push his lip up slightly with the tip of your gloved finger to study his chipped tooth. The timidness in your touch must be obvious because he stiffens, almost like he’s holding back a laugh. It’s enough to embarrass you. You try to avoid meeting his eyes though you know from experience that he’s definitely staring at you. The closeness puts you on edge. He puts you on edge. 

It won’t be too difficult of a job to fill in the chip but with his profession, you need to make the filling as strong as possible. Gently, your gloved thumb grazes the chipped area, eyes flickering to meet his and gauge his reaction as you pull your hand back from his mouth. His eyes only crinkle in response. “Was tha’ supposed to hurt?” 

“You’re lucky it doesn’t. Means the puck you took to the face didn’t cause any nerve damage.” The sharp remark is just an attempt to hide the fact that you’re quickly losing control, like you always do in front of him.

He almost looks offended, scoffing as he adjusts in the chair, the cushion crinkling beneath him. “You know it wasn’ a puck to the face.”

Pleased you managed to get under his skin, you smirk as you get up to grab what you need, completely unaware of his eyes lingering on your ass in your loose blue scrubs. “The truth isn’t much better. A fight on the ice? It’s a bit childish to get violent over a sport, don’t you think?” 

His laugh is loud and rough, sounding like it comes from deep in his chest. For whatever reason, your lips tug into a bit of a genuine smile at the sound as you stand on your tip toes to get the supplies from the highest shelf. He rumbles from behind you with a few dying chuckles, “Suppose you got a point there. So, you do watch my games, doll?” 

Damn it. There’s no way to lie your way out of giving him the satisfaction that okay, yes, maybe you did watch his most recent game… and all of the others before it since he started coming in. Returning to your chair, you set the supplies down, the metal gently clinking against the tray. 

“Out of concern for a patient, yes, I did. Open up.” 

You ignore his all too pleased expression that you’ve essentially admitted to watching his games with bated breath, peeking out from behind your hands clasped over your face when he gets in a fight pressed up against the glass, always torn between wanting to know and being terrified to watch. 

“Can’t do anythin’ from that distance, Doc.” With his large palm on the back of the chair, he pulls you far too close to maintain professionalism. You’re caught off guard by the sudden movement, balancing yourself by placing your hands on his chest. Even he seems surprised by the sudden contact, not making any snide remark as your cheeks flush and you swiftly sit up properly. 

Out of sheer principle, you don’t move back, refusing to be flustered by him as you shoot him a quick glare. “I can adjust myself.” Desperate to hold onto some sort of control, you reach for his jaw, gloved fingers splaying out over his bearded cheek as you gently push down on the divot between his lips and chin to get him to open up. 

He complies but you feel no less in control. You’re grateful for the medical mask over the lower half of your face, separating you from breathing the same air as him, unable to feel the warmth when he exhales from his nose and shifts into a more comfortable position. At the very least, his teeth are perfectly clean despite all the fillings and caps preventing the chips from getting any worse.

The work is difficult to settle into when everything about him sets you off. Your arm hovers over his chest as you carefully mold the resin to his tooth, the heat practically radiating from his body. It’s the anticipation of a touch that won’t come- that’s what’s making you so tense. Some part of your body waits for contact when you’re so close to another. 

And the contact comes. His tongue sliding against your gloved thumb in what you hope is an accident but know better than to truly think so. The firm glide of his tongue is muted by the plastic guarding your finger but you freeze for a brief moment nonetheless. If he’s trying to rattle you, it’s working, a heat rushing through you in response to the stroke. He’s messing with you and you know it but.. You refuse to let your thoughts wander down that path.

It feels like an eternity before you’re done, finally able to breathe as you pull away, rolling your chair back away from him. “How’s it feel?” You ask him as you unhook the straps of the mask from around your ears.

That damn tongue of his flicks around the newly fixed tooth, licking down the long canine with far too much control and pressure to be unintentional. All the while, he maintains eye contact. He flashes you a charming grin, his legs falling over the edge of the chair as he stands. “Perfect, doll. Knew you could fix me up.” 

He gives your shoulder an appreciative squeeze, his hand heavy, large, and warm even through your scrubs. You swear you feel his thumb swipe over the strap of your bra as he lifts his hand. “See you next week, love.” All you do is nod dumbly up at him, too shocked by the touch.

It’s not until he’s out of the room checking back in at the front desk that you process his words. Next week?!

———

You’re in your dad’s kitchen, sleeves rolled up as you scrub at a particularly stubborn stain on a dish. Absently, you hum to yourself as you work. Your dad is watching the game but from what you can hear of his snores, he’s been passed out for a good ten minutes. The drone of the sports announcers drifts in from the next room over. 

“… The ref has stopped the play but that doesn’t mean Price stops. Think we’ll see his infamous temper here?”

“Oh, absolutely, Adam. He’s getting far too close to that goalie. And-…”

“That was a stellar right hook! You don’t even get this sort of action in the WWE, do you?”

“Absolutely not. This is a real fight, ladies and gents…”

Your eyes widen a bit as you process the words, walking into the living room with slow steps only to see John’s bluish image on your father’s cheap TV screen. His grin is wide as if to show off the missing tooth on the right side of his mouth. Clearly, he’s won whatever fight he got himself into but you can only stare in horror at the hole in his smile. 

Smug as ever as he takes in the wild cheers of the crowd, the bastard has the audacity to wink directly at the camera. Because he knows you're watching.

“For fuck’s sake…”

The cute lil borders are by @cafekitsune !! I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts- this longer writing is new for me!

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the End - Post-Apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - One knot down, three more to go

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. SMUT, dub-con, fingering knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader

Get it early next time

Masterlist

Kyle looks shocked for only a moment before he settles between your legs, your slick cunt still pulsing around nothing as your heat forces your orgasm to prolong itself, seeking a knot that only he could give you at this moment. You reach out and grab onto his belt, fumbling to unbuckle it with shaky hands. He puts his hands over yours and helps you unbuckle it then unbutton his pants. His straining cock finally getting a little bit of relief as he pulls his pants down. Your mouth waters at the sight of the tent in his boxers and you palm the hardened cock eliciting a hiss from Kyle as pleasure shoots up his spine.

He takes your hand and pushes it away before he pulls down his boxers at long last. Much like the rest of him, his cock is unfairly attractive. Uncut and leaking precum from just the small touch you gave it, girthy and long but not too much of either. You prop yourself up on your elbows, prepared to move and take it in your mouth when he slips two fingers back into your cunt. You gasp out, dropping back down onto your back, “Good omega,” he purrs as he adds a third finger and resumes pumping them in and out of you while you gasp and moan whenever the heel of his hand grinds against your clit.

“Kyle,” you moan and he groans through gritted teeth, “please Kyle,” you beg a little hysterically. “Please fuck me, please?”

“Fuck-” Kyle curses as he removes his slick covered fingers from your and coats his cock in your arousal. “Needy,” Kyle mutters teasingly as he leans over you, blocking your view of the others completely which makes your inner omega whine for some reason. “Don’t worry pretty omega, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs in your ear as he teasingly grinds his cock up against your clit sending little shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Finally he notches the head of his cock as your entrance before he says through gritted teeth to the one of the others called Price who you can’t see, “Stop me if I try to mark, we’re not to mark until the heat is over,” he says and one of them rumbles their agreement. Finally, finally, he pushes in and the stretch is like nothing you’ve experienced before. His body heat warms you as he pushes further into you and just when you think you can’t take anymore he bottoms out with a groan and his head on your shoulder. “Fuck,” he drawls out, “you’re so tight.”

You whine and wiggle your hips, your body easily adapting to the girth of him thanks to your heat making you more pliable. He grabs a pillow from the nest and situates it under your hips to keep you fully connected to him as he sits back and looks down at you through his own haze induced by your scent. Finally you can see the three others again, the one with a skull balaclava stares right into your eyes sending a shiver down your spine and the one with a boonie hat on looks ready to tear you apart and put you back together again.

And you can’t see the other one which makes you whine. You can sense the bond between all of them and want to see all of them as well. You want them to watch as their pack mate takes your first with them.

“Where's the Scottish one?” You ask quietly and Kyle chuckles as the Scottish one pushes forward between the other two and you relax even more into your nest, turning into something more like putty. “There you are,” you murmur before gasping when Kyle slides out and then back into you.

He leans back over you, trapping you and restricting your view of the others. Not that it would have mattered as he takes your chin between his hand and forces you to look at him as he goes at an agonizingly slow pace. Pulling out and then pushing back in just as slowly, grinding his pelvis against yours to catch your clit and make you clench down on him. “Focus on me love,” he coos but you can feel the command of an alpha in his voice. Your eyes snap to his pretty brown ones and he picks up the pace, leaving you gasping and moaning, one hand clawing at his shoulder and the other at his arm. “Yeah, does that feel good? Just needed some good cock and you’re all soft for me,” he mutters and you bare your teeth in retaliation, wishing his arm were closer so you could bite it.

“There you are,” he whispers and leans down a little further, his pace never faltering as he captures your lips with his. The sound of skin on skin fills the cellar, mixing with your moans and occasionally his own groans. You open your mouth and when he does the same you lick in to taste him on your tongue. His tongue entangles with yours as you both taste each other for the first time. Your nails leave claw marks and indents in his skin as he fucks into you and finally one of his hands reaches and starts to play with your clit.

Electricity shoots up your spine and you jolt underneath his touch making him chuckle. He pins you down with his weight as he circles your clit while fucking you unmercifully. You gasp and writhe underneath him, moaning each time he bottoms out in your again all while a tightness builds within you. You start to panic at the thought of not being knotted by him and begs between moans, “Please Kyle,” you moan and he nods.

“Yeah? Yeah, what is it love?” He asks with a knowing smile, barely containing his own throaty groans.

“Please knot me, please please please. I need it. I need it so bad,” you babble as you grow closer to your own earth shaking orgasm.

“Yeah? Want me to knot you love? Want me to pump you full and make sure you give us some pups?” And you nod to each of his questions, willing to agree to anything for his knot. Then you feel it, the start of his knot as he pauses, already caught inside of you. Instead he grinds up into you, circling your clit more urgently and dragging up whatever slick dripped out of you then back up to your hardened pearl.

Your legs grow tense as the tightness within you finally snaps and releases. You cry out at the pleasure slams in you, leaving you twitching as his cum fills you up with a warmth you haven’t had since the world ended and even before then. He groans as he goes still, your cunt clenching down on him even tighter ensuring he wouldn’t have been able to pull out even if he wasn’t knotted in you.

After a long while his knot finally deflates and when he pulls out a dribble of cum follows. He presses a kiss to your temple, seeing your eyes closed and assuming you had fallen asleep. As he pulls up boxers and pants back up he hears the rustle of sheets and looks behind him to see yourself presenting perfectly towards the other three men. Price steps forward and feels your ass appreciatively. “All this for me dove?” He asks and you nod your head quickly. “Want me to fuck this pretty cunt? Want me to knot it like Kyle did?”

“Yes!” You cry out as he pushes a finger into you.

“Names John, dove. I want to hear you scream it while I fuck you.”

[simonskitty]

cw: mentions of religion, self punishment, daddy issues (reader), and age gap (legal!)

john price starts going to church, and meets a pretty little thing like you to comfort :( i wanna write more of this because it ends sorta abruptly :3

After retirement, John Price began attending church in an effort to bring his life back to a more tranquil state, heal from past trauma, and escape the sinful thoughts and surroundings he had spent nearly his entire life in.

Surprisingly, things begin to improve. He feels more—holy, if you will. The pastor does not appear to be a total jackass, and he has even begun putting a small portion of his money to the tin tray when it is his turn. Basically, things are getting better.

Until he sees you for the first time and all of his newfound principles are thrown out the window. It's not like you're just any ordinary person attending church to grow closer to God or to recover from traumatic events that have left you damaged, like other visitors to Jesus' sacred sanctuary. You are the pastor's daughter. You attend church every Sunday and occasionally on Wednesday nights, whether you're religious or not, and eventually you run into John.

You two have a friendly meeting at first, you introducing yourself, informing him that your the pastors daughter. Though, you didn’t tell him that took on major responsibilities that you didn’t even know you could handle. That you were obligated to come to a place where you didn’t feel anything in your heart for. A conversation that you and your father had many times before that always ended in tears and a scratchy voice that needed chai spice tea to soothe before the night ended. So, the conversation ended at that.

That was until John overheard a conversation, or perhaps it was an argument between none other than you and your father, something that happened more frequently than when you were his good little girl that he used to tuck into bed with a kiss to the forehead.

And, as any decent human being would, John consoled you as you left the church's wooden doors that afternoon. Face still damp from tears, which inevitably fall when things like this happen. It began with a hug, warm and deep, like the fatherly love you had longed for years. Then, a trip to the downtown ice cream parlor, which your father used to take you to. Watching the sunset as you lapped your vanilla cone with a small bit of delight on your lips. And John found out that he liked that look on your face, and knowing that he made it happen made it all the more enjoyable to witness.

The feeling of a calloused thumb, grazing your bottom lip. John with a small smile of his own on his lips. “Got some ice cream on ya lips, love.” It’s low, and gravelly, his voice. Like he had done years of professional yelling all his life, which he probably had, considering his past profession. It’s like your heart was heavy, but in a good way. Like this man, though same age and the same wrinkles near his eyes has your father—the man that had made you cry more than laugh—was making your body warm and fuzzy. The feeling when your feet are cold as hell and your finally get to wrap them up in a blanket.

However, when you got home that evening, you experienced the identical emotion you had with your father—just a different man was to blame. Then followed the regretful thoughts. Maybe you shouldn’t have kissed John in the car. He was probably just doing something good because you were all sad—anyone would, wouldn’t they? You felt so fucking good while doing it, and you hated yourself for that fact. That you enjoyed the feeling of man’s lips on yours. And, before you got married? God, that had to be a sin, right?

Whatever thoughts that your father has put into your brain—even years ago when you were a mere child, doing something naughty like screaming to stay up late that night, just a a little bit after your bedtime—were still implanted safe and sound. That when you did something bad it was the devil’s work, that you needed Jesus. And before you knew it, your great grandmothers holy oil was being drawn into your forehead, the shape of the cross.

Punishing yourself had to be the only rightful option to do, for committing such cruelty while being just miles down the road of the home of God himself.

Did John feel it too? Could he feel the immense amount of remorse as you? Or did he decide from right then and there—when the words “We can’t,” fell from his lips, that it was a mistake. That you screwed something up again, with a man that was just trying to do a good deed?

John himself felt guilt, reasons separate from yours. Kissing a girl, someone so innocent and much younger than himself, was wrong. It was morally wrong in every way, especially a girl who followed the book of God. That didn’t keep him from enjoying it, and the nasty things he began to imagine—trying but failing to ignore—consumed him.

He’d just have to indulge from a far.

© simonskitty

[oceantornadoo]

ch8 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

tw: reader has some body insecurities and a small panic attack. also oral sex. not at the same time lmao

masterlist | next

In the hazy morning of the next day, John moves to get out of bed at his ungodly workout time. Instead of feigning sleep like usual, you grab his shoulder forcefully. He freezes, then turns to look at you as you prop yourself up on an elbow. “Stay.” You murmur, voice gravelly from sleep. “You sure?” He asks, but he’s already sinking back down into the mattress. You nod, then climb on top of him, your head in the crook of his neck like always. “Go back to bed, John.” And he does.

-

The thing is, John wasn’t supposed to marry her. She wasn’t Kyle’s first recommendation, nor second. He had recommended an oil heiress, which his Captain turned down. Next, an Irish mafia princess, also turned down. In fact, his Captain didn’t seem to want to be married at all. Which was fine, if this was a normal life where Kyle hadn’t been nicked off the streets after picking the pockets of a Price man and plopped into the office of John Price, a leader who needed sneaky men with audacity like Kyle. Now, Price was pushing 40 without heirs, and that needed to be solved quickly. The Riley sister was only offered as an offhand comment.

“Christ, sir, if y’re gonna be picky, might as well marry the Riley. Then we’ll have a real shitshow on our hands.” Instead of answering, John leaned back in his office chair and stroked his beard, like a villain from a movie. “She single?” If Kyle wasn’t better trained, his mouth would’ve dropped. But he was Head of Security for a reason, so all he did was hand his boss her file. 

Kyle didn’t like the Rileys - specifically, John MacTavish. The bastard was always trying to one up him, with new toys on the streets and the threat of bombs lurking around every corner. He knew MacTavish was close with Ghost’s sister, having seen the two giggle, thick as thieves, at galas and weddings. If he was a stupider man, he’dve sensed an affair, but he knew she wasn’t Tav’s type. It was a well-kept secret, but Kyle kept it as well as his own. There were some lines you didn’t cross, even in this business.

Price flipped through the file, frowning at the data before him. “Ghost has had these weapons all this time?” Kyle shakes his head, pointing to a graph in the report. “It only really started when he recruited MacTavish, ‘bout six years ago. An’ my sources tell me the sister’s got a mind f’r business.” Price hums thoughtfully. Kyle knows what, or who, he’s thinking about. Shepherd encroaching on their territory, supplied with weapons from American ex-pats. The streets smell of gunpowder, more and more skirmishes by the day. “Ghost’s tryin’ t’ get cleaner.” It wasn’t a question, but a fact. Kyle’s informants had made him aware of the Riley family trying to buy businesses, only to be turned away when they found out who they were owned by. Price’s businesses for Ghost’s money and weapons. “Might not be the worst trade, sir.” Kyle murmurs. He can’t believe he’s proposing a wedding where he’ll have to see MacTavish on the other side of the aisle. 

-

After said wedding, Kyle started regretting the whole thing. He knows what it is to love a man, to be in love with one, and that’s not what he has with his Captain. It’s more like seeing a big brother leave for college, knowing he’s nearby but out of reach. The plan was to have Mrs. X, as the security team had taken to calling Price’s future wife, live in a property an hour out of the city. Out of harm’s way but easy to visit when baby-making was required. The plan had been developed before they’d decided on a wife for him. It decidedly went out the window once he’d decided on Ms. Riley.

Suddenly she was in the Castle, changing decor and befriending staff. She was meeting with Laswell and had taken Terrance as her own, a change Kyle had not approved of. So, sure, he was a bit of a jerk to her. It was the childish notion that she’d taken his favorite person, and he’d lashed out, only to be reprimanded by said person. Kyle's in toddler timeout, and he's determined to make it right.

-

A few days after the Friday incident, he finds her eating lunch in the kitchen. It seems she’s finally befriended Chef, a feat he could never perform. Chef’s a French grandpa, huffing out syllables that don’t go together under his breath. 

“What’re ya eatin’?” An odd opening, seeing as this is their second conversation ever. He plops down into the chair next to her as she sets down her sandwich, brows furrowed in a question. He can’t blame his Captain; she is pretty. Not his usual type in women, but her wit would attract any man. “Um, a sandwich.” She eventually responds, after getting over the shock of Kyle in her kitchen chair. He probably could’ve been smoother on entry.

“Right, well…” He looks at her and she stares back, like they’re locked in a game. He breaks away first, feeling like he’s lost. Kyle reminds himself he’s not a bloody twelve-year-old. “I liked wha’ you did with the sittin’ room.” That opens her up, a hesitant smile growing on her face. “Really? Those chairs were so uncomfortable, I could barely sit on them for more than five minutes without getting sore.” He huffs in agreement. There’s a reason no one meets in the sitting room. “Ya sure tha’s no’ the only reason you’re sore?” It slips out too easy, a question he’d usually tease one of his men with, not his boss’s wife. Kyle opens his mouth to apologize but is cut off by the sound of her laughter. It’s not manufactured to sound pretty, almost like a snort. “Sorry, I just haven’t heard those kinds of jokes in a while. You remind me of Johnny. Thank you for making me laugh, Kyle.” She seems almost grateful for his presence, and it doesn’t take an idiot to see she’s missing her family. Even if that means getting compared to MacTavish.

“Call me Gaz, ‘s what everyone calls me.” She nods contentedly, reaching for her sandwich to take another bite. The silence is peaceful, interrupted when he remembers why he originally sought her out. Kyle pulls out a report he’s been carrying and sets it near her plate, noting how she sucks in a breath at the title. Protection Plan for Mrs. Price.

“Since y’r openin’ up y’r store, Price wanted me t’ give ya a team. Could’ve done it on my own but I had a feelin’ y’d want to give some input.” She nods thoughtfully, pushing her plate away to focus on the report. It’s a few minutes until she finishes it, diligently reading every page. “I want at least one woman on my team. And I still want freedom, I don’t want to be followed everywhere.” He sucks in a breath at her words, which won’t be possible if Price has anything to say about it.

“Righ’ well, can’t guarantee tha’ second part. Not sure if ya’ve noticed, but London’s an active war zone right now. They’ll be discreet, an’ the lowest amount I can do is four.” She harrumphs, crossing her arms like how his Captain does when he’s upset. It’s eerie how they’re already starting to mirror each other. “Fine, but I want Terrance on it.” Kyle nods, going to stand. 

“Gaz.” She grabs his forearm to get his attention. “I know we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I’d like to be friends. If you’re willing.” He gives her a half smile, ruffling her hair. Kyle doesn’t notice how she freezes at his action, like she’s trapped in a memory. “Only if ya give me the rest of y’r sandwich.” Unfreezing, she laughs and pushes the plate towards him. “Don’t worry, there’s enough to go around.” He winks at her, and heads towards the security room. He might’ve accepted Terrance’s earlier security report, but he’s determined to make it up to his Captain, starting with re-running Phil’s background. Kyle’s got some security tricks up his sleeve, and he’s ready to prove his title to John.

-

The dress fits you like a glove.

It’s a fresh Saturday night, London’s night sky only slightly smoggy. John’s been invited to some benefit for cancer, a philanthropic cause you didn’t even know he supported. So now, you’re in a formal red dress, floor length with a high thigh slit. You stand in front of your vanity and smooth down the satin fabric, ready to slip on your heels. You usually do that step first, but they’re a mile high and you didn’t want to risk slipping on the carpeted dressing room floor. John’s been in the shower, but now he’s buttoning his shirt in the other room. Your dress is unzipped too, requiring a force of nature for the zip to go all the way to the top.

“John, can you help me?” He’s there in an instant, arms circling the length of your waist. “You look so fuckin’ good. Smell fuckin’ delicious.” He noses the crook of your shoulder, breathing in the scent of your perfume. John rubs his hands up and down, smoothing out creases in your dress. “So pretty f’ me, aren’t ya?” All you can do is nod when he’s like this, allowing yourself the precious gift of easy affection. “Can you help me with my heels?” He kisses your exposed collarbone, then squeezes your hip as he goes to find your heels. They’re higher than what you’re used to wearing, putting you closer to eye level with John. He goes to his knees, finding your right leg through the layers of fabric in his way. You got a pedicure the day before, patting yourself on the back as he kisses the top of your foot. “What’s gotten into you? It’s like you're under a spell or something.” He’s quiet as he slips on your shoe, kissing your ankle before setting it back down. John reaches for your other foot in quiet reverence. “Ya look like a princess.” He finally murmurs, having finished with your heels. “You feelin’ ok?” He asks. You shrug. Clearly, you haven’t hidden your nerves well. This is your first official entrance into mafia society as a couple, even if the lines of your relationship are too blurry for you to understand. 

“Let me make ya feel better?” His hands are already tracing your plush skin, parting the slit of your dress. He works his way up efficiently, stopping at the apex of your thighs. “What’s this?” You shrug again, this time with a smirk on your face. “It’s black tie, right?” By black tie, you mean the black lace under your dress. It’s a little piece you found at a boutique lingerie store near the bookstore. There’s a heart cutout in the middle of the front part, right above your slit. John kisses the exposed skin, sucking hard before he pulls away. “Black tie my fuckin’ arse.” You giggle and push your hips forward in a wanting motion. “Weren’t you going to make me feel better?” He goes to work with a single-minded vigor. John pushes the scrap of lace to the side, nearing closer so he can lift your leg onto his shoulder. He doesn’t tease you like usual. Instead, he licks and sucks lewdly, moaning at your wetness. He flicks his tongue against your clit as it hardens at his motions. “Even sweeter down ‘ere.” The low tone of his voice vibrates against your cunt, sending a spark to your core. “She like when I talk to ‘er?” He’s talking to your cunt, you think. It’s hard to hear over the rushing of blood in your ears. All you do is nod, pushing his head closer with your free hand as your other one scrambles for purchase against the wood of your vanity.

“Thought so. So wet, baby, like I’ve been neglectin’ ya. Have I?” You shake your head as he keeps up the pace of his tongue, adding a finger into your hole to up the pressure. “No, no, not neglected.” You cry from near-overstimulation. You can practically feel him smile against your pussy, the scratch of his beard making the coil in your stomach grow tighter and tighter. “Thought so. Yer husband takes care of ya, tha’ righ’?” Your hips cant against his face, almost fucking it. “Yes, yes, John.” He sucks your clit hard, finger pumping in and out. “She’s so close I can fuckin’ taste it. Come for me, go’on.” And you do, pressure rushing out of your core in waves. “Good girl, baby. Knew you could do it.” He tugs your underwear back in place, cleaning up the cum on your thighs with his fingers. You hear him suck them clean, sending another shock to your core.

John stands, wiping his hands off on his slacks. He’s in a full tuxedo and wears a dashing red tie to compliment your dress. You quickly peck him on the lips and pull back before he can ruin your makeup. His beard pulls up in a half-smile, elated that you kissed him first. It’s not hard to tell he loves when you do that, returning his affection of your own volition. “Thank you, Mr. Price. You clean up well yourself.” You tug his tie playfully. “Now zip me up.”

He does it gracefully, fingers brushing your back as he inches the zipper up. You swear this dress is too small as you suck in more and more the higher he zips. Unfortunately, your husband has the power of turning any encouragement into sinful words whispered in your ear. “There we go, tight fit, love. Squeeze in, baby, tha’s a girl. Feel ok?” You can only nod, ribs heavily constrained. It reminds you of your wedding dress, except this time you chose to be trapped.

It’s a whirlwind of a drive as John helps you into the limo and helps you out only minutes later. The gala is at a nearby museum, but etiquette and uncomfortable footwear required you to drive. It’s a grand marble building, like a bigger version of John’s flat. Limos line the outside as people step out of cars dressed to the nines. You do have something to look forward to tonight - your family.

John guides you in with a hand to the back and you’re already escaping his grasp to search for Simon, who promised he was coming. Apparently, philanthropic foundations are great to donate to when you run a gang that needs some tax benefits. You’ve been to a few of these, but a glance at John’s upcoming calendar revealed he donates a lot more than your brother. A new routine to get used to. 

“On your left.” John murmurs, and sure enough, there’s the top of Simon’s blonde head. He’s Mr. Riley at these events, not Ghost. You hold yourself back from running. Instead, you gather your skirts and walk quickly towards him, ignoring how John’s hand slips from your back.

“Hi!” You don’t give Simon a chance to answer, smothering him in a hug. He picks you up at your waist and spins you, a remnant from your few shared childhood memories. “Hi, lovie. Look at you, all dressed up.” He sets you down gently. Simon’s hand brushes your left one, causing you both to glance at the ring on your hand. You catch a slight frown, but it disappears into the collage of scars on his face. “Doin’ ok?” He asks quietly, only at a volume you can hear. You glance back at John, who’s making small talk with Johnny as the two men stand nearby. You turn back to Simon with a small smile on your face, nodding shyly. “It’s goin’ ok.” He drags a hand down in his face in exasperation. “Christ, the way he looks at you, kid. Not somethin’ a brother should be seein’.” You groan, swatting his hand away. “Gross. You’re acting like I don’t have to constantly dodge you and Johnny making out.” You say it in present tense, like it’s a problem you’re still facing. Unperturbed, you grab his hand and make your way to the bar, leaving your dates behind. “C’mon, Si. Let’s catch up.”

-

You must’ve had black magic in that perfume of yours. It’s the only explanation for why John feels like this, like he can’t be untethered from you for more than a minute. He was worried this thing between you, new and delicate, was just lust, but it’s becoming clear it’s much more. It’s the way you immediately sought out your brother, not caring for social niceties. How you challenged him with your argument at the bookstore, fire in your eyes as you protected your livelihood. It’s all rolling into a grand, sticky mess in his heart, weighing heavier and heavier every day.

The gala is full of politicians milling against the backdrop of the London Art Museum. Paintings of old rich geezers surrounded by the bodies of new rich muppets. There’s some people dancing in a slow waltz in the middle of the room, with high tables bracketing the dance floor in a crude outline. He doesn’t think you’ve noticed any of this, content to abandon him high and dry in search of your brother. John exchanges niceties with Johnny MacTavish, then leaves him to find Kate. She’s around here somewhere, schmoozing with potential clients. She may work on retainer for John, but she’s an independent contractor in her own right, always on the lookout for the next big fish. 

He finds her eventually, talking to a MP far from the dance floor near a statue. “Lord Walsh.” John inclines his head at the man, who’s severely shorter than him with a significant bald spot. “Mr. Price. I’m surprised to see you here.” Jon frowns at the insinuation. Kate slowly inches towards John, looking polished in her navy pantsuit. “How so?” There’s danger laced in his words which Lord Walsh takes a few seconds too long to process. “I, well, excuse me.” He exits not-so-gracefully with sweat beads running down his receding hairline. John turns back to Kate, who’s wearing a rare smirk. “What?” She shakes her head, turning to face the crowd. “Sometimes I forget how much of a shark you are. Too used to seeing you surrounded by finery at home.” He snorts, turning with her. 

They both find his wife in the crowd, easy to spot with the shocking red of your dress. You’re throwing your head back in laughter at something Ghost said, giggling like a little kid. John feels a smile growing under his beard. Kate notices too, elbowing him in the side. “We get it, you’re disgustingly infatuated.” He shakes his head, dropping the smile. “‘S not like that.” She snorts, a rare show of emotion, a credit to how long they’ve worked together. “Whatever you say, John. Now let me find new clients before you scare them away.” He nudges her shoulder, content to stay alone as she walks away.

Unfortunately, his newfound solitude is immediately interrupted by a foul-smelling scent. He turns and lo and behold, there’s a phantom at his shoulder. “Lady Walsh.” John takes a step away from her, preventing their shoulders from brushing. “I saw you talking with my brother.” There’s a bite to her voice. It’s reminiscent of the one regrettable night they shared years ago, a night clouded with too much whiskey and not enough forethought. “Exchanging pleasantries.” He can hear her frown from a mile away. 

“Is there something you need?” He bites out when she doesn’t respond. Lady Walsh does this occasionally, finding him at events and trying for a recreation of that lone night. He didn’t consider it then, but he especially doesn’t consider it now. In fact, all he can do is track the sound of your laughter and drown in it, even across the dance floor. Lady Walsh leaves, and John decides to find the bar that you’ve abandoned and bring you a drink.

-

“I miss you, Si.” You mumble after your second martini. He’s found you two a table in the corner, somewhere you can hear each other over the quartet. “I do too, kid. Manchester’s different without ya.” You take a sip of his water, then spit it out when you realize it’s vodka. “Gross! Since when do you drink vodka?” He takes the glass out of your hand and downs it in one sip. “Johnny’s been on a kick. Think he’s been bored since ya left.” There’s immediate regret on his face as you take in his words. “No, love, ‘s not yer fault. There’s been other things happenin’. Nothin’s yer fault.” You nod, swallowing hard. “I think I’m gonna find the bathroom.” He nods worriedly. You push on the table to get up, but he stops you with a soft hand on your shoulder. Simon kisses your forehead, then shoves you towards the bathroom. “Don’t overthink. Go piss.” You snort, swatting his hand away.

In the bathroom, you stop in the mirror to apply your lipstick. A woman exits one of the stalls behind you, going to wash your hands. She’s like the image of your better self, with clearer skin and a figure you’d kill for. It’s the gin speaking, your brain reasons, but that doesn’t stave off any insecurities you’re projecting. Your heart is raw after your conversation with Simon, and this just makes it worse.

“You’re John’s new wife, right?” The mystery woman says as she finishes washing her hands. It shakes you out of your reverie. “Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” She purses her lips, now reapplying her blush. “Lady Walsh. I’m not surprised; I don’t think John would’ve mentioned me.” You frown at her insinuation. She takes your silence as acceptance, turning towards you with a feline smile on her lips. “I’m surprised you’re even walking. Lord knows it took me a week to recover from the last night I spent with John.” Your mouth drops. “Anyways, love your dress!” She breezes past you in a whirlwind of soap and perfume, leaving the bathroom gracefully.

You, however, exit in a fit of starts and stops. Your chest aches with the pain of breathing, reminiscent of the panic attack you had in a London garden almost two months ago. That thought makes things worse, blurring your vision. Someone grabs your arm, a warm presence guiding you to a bench in a darkened hallway.

“Sweetheart, you okay?” It’s John.

“No, I- I just need a second.” In the background, you hear people laugh and glasses tinkle. John places a warm hand over your knee, grounding you to the moment. “In an’ out, yeah?” You nod as your breathing slowly calms. It’s just you and him for a second, listening to the sounds of your breath go in and out. “Want some water?” He moves to get up, but you grab his arm before he can. “Stay with me?” You whisper. John sits back down, wrapping that same arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

“Wanna tell me about it?” He kisses the temple of your head, and you stiffen under his touch. The change is noticeable as the air goes cold. “Why haven’t we fucked?” It bursts out of you, almost in anger. John’s shock is clear as day as his arm drops from your waist. “I- why’re you askin’?” His hesitation is not what you wanted to hear. “I talked to your friend in the bathroom. Lady Walsh.” John groans, dragging his hand down his face. “Christ.” You wrap your arms around your waist at the sudden chill between you. John shrugs off his blazer and places it on your shoulders. The scent of it is overwhelming: musk and pine and man.

“She an’ I happened once, years ago. Been followin’ me like a hound ever since.” That makes you feel slightly better, but the conversation brought out a monster you didn’t want to face head-on. Your insecurities over this limbo of a marriage have been haunting you, and now they’ve taken the form of that woman in the bathroom. “You didn’t answer my question.” You murmur. John nudges your shoulder, moving closer when you don’t scoot away. “I didn’t want t’ pressure ya. Could eat ya out every night an’ be the happiest man on earth.” You bark out a laugh. He takes it as a sign to close the distance between you, tucking you under his arm. “What about the kids? The heirs?” You emphasize it with an eye roll. He snorts, pulling you closer. “Ever heard of artificial insemination? Surrogacy? A lot they can do these days.” He talks like he’s a hundred years old and not barely 38. “Why wasn’t that in the contract to begin with?” He’s quiet. “Not sure, actually.” 

“I don’t think I want to do anything sexual for a while.” You eventually whisper. “‘S fine.” John replies. “I want to go to dinner.” You turn to him with a small smile on your face. “Ya want to go’on a date, baby?” You nod. He frowns in that way when he’s upset that he didn’t think of it first. A realization dawns on his face when he understands what you’re asking for. A new start, free from this societal gossip and pressure. John kisses your forehead gently. “Tha’ okay?” You nod like a lovesick teenager, giddy with the thought that he understands you so well. “Dance with me?” He stands and offers you his hand. You take it.

-

“Graves. Report?” The General is half-cloaked in the darkness of his office, eyes glinting through the shadows. “Comin’ along well, sir. Price has given himself a new weakness right when we needed one.” Shepherd hums in agreement. “Don’t fuck this up, Graves. You’re on your last strike.” Phil nods, backing out of the room. He will not mess this up. He can’t afford to.

-

yayyy gaz redeemed himself and we have a plot! i was lowkey getting worried. i hope nothing bad happens...

-

@heretoreadanddrinktea

@peachyxrosie

@joufrance

@galactict3a

@exactlyyoungchaos

@trulovekay

@alleycc

@abox-of-rocks

@orangehibiscus

@mismatchsposts

@nova-willow-541

@throwing-up-butterflies

@grossitsluca

@evans-dejong

@popcornlauncher

@earthcole

@backfromthedeadhehehe

@baduzzxy

@thegreyjoyed

@cutelibrariangf

@dearghostling

@mrsmalfoy1005

@all-by-myself98

@snburntandsad

@baklovers

@rmikaelson01

@leon-thot-kennedy

@the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned

@barcelonaaababe

@brokenandemptyhearts

@sleep101

@ontopofthefridge

@lilynotdilly

@teenagellamaangel

@harperdoodle

@ii-angelsrolltheireyes-ii

@violetisheresworld

@lolwey

@polyfandom-blogs 

@burrowedinnature77

@sharkerino

@ashy-kit

@aikojwhpa

@thriving-n-jiving

@krispymagazinepizza-blog

@grayskel

@rpgsandstuff

@hisuccubus

@lumi-kalyke

@gimmeabreak1

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 6 - How to Infiltrate a Terror Cell

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: Violence, sexual remarks/touching, use of weapons, description of injuries, implied torture, blood, death.

AN: This one really got away from me. These mini fics are supposed to be 'short' and easy to write.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

AO3

Enjoy <3

It's the worst idea you’ve ever heard. But here you are nodding at Price while he lays out the plan.

“First things first we need to confirm Konni have Alex. Then we focus on Makarov.” 

“I know one of the guards who works in the prison wing. He’ll be my way in.” You explain.

“Makarov will be harder. He's always surrounded by his best soldiers. I can probably find out what he's doing here but as for getting an audience with him or even getting near him it’s going to be next to impossible.” You explain. Price hums laying back on the sofa.

“Find out why he's here then we get Alex out. Rendezvous with the ULF and make a plan from there.” Price says. 

“As soon as we spring Alex that's it. There's no way I will be getting back in there.” You say raising an eyebrow.

“That's why it's important you get as much Intel before getting him out.” You nod standing up. 

“Here.” Gaz says coming over to you and handing you a USB. You take it raising an eyebrow. 

“Plug it into any computer and it will copy all the files over.” He says, you nod at him, he lingers for longer then he needs to. Maybe he’s warming up to you too. 

“When you find Alex, tell him 141 sent you. He’ll know to trust you.”

“Are you sure?” You ask sceptical. You know if they’ve been trying to get info out of him it’s very unlikely he will trust you, or anyone for that matter of fact. You might have to resort to dragging him out.

“I’m sure.” You sigh looking out the window. The sun is coming up. You should leave sooner rather than later, it’s a few miles back to the border, wait any longer and the story you’ve constructed might not make sense. You go over to pull your jacket on.

“I should get going.” 

“We’ll be waiting at the rendezvous point.” price says. You nod looking round the room. Maybe they won’t wish you luck. Maybe they don’t mind if you die, one less thing for them to worry about.

“Good luck.” Gaz calls. That you didn’t expect. You smile at him. 

...

“You said Farah’s forces where moving north not fucking marines.” You snap at your handler, Ivan. He called for you as soon as you made it into the base. It was early morning, most people had gone to meet Makarov's entourage, apparently, the place was running on a skeleton crew. 

Good, easier for you.

“The packages?” 

“Dead.”

“Shit, they were tech specialists, Al Qatala needed them.” 

“Explains why they were shit lookouts.” You mutter under your breath. The other man in the room catches that and you look over at him. You don’t recognise him, he’s barely said a word since you entered the room. Just looks at you now and then from over his laptop.

“Why did they let you live?” He asks, his accent is thicker, he’s not from round here. Maybe he’s not even Russian at all.

“I patched up one of their injured. They let me live.” 

“Which way did they go?”

“West.” You lie. Both the men look at eachother then back down at the map.

“Sakhra?” Ivan asks.

“Makes sense If they have one injured they’ll want to head to a neutral hospital or a ULF. The Americans have been getting too close to the border for my liking.” The other man says shrugging. 

“How sure are you that they're heading west?” 

“I overheard them talking before they left.” You explain.

“Well, I have to deal with a very angry Al Qatala contact. You better get yourself ready. Makarov will have jobs for you I'm sure.” Ivan says. 

“Wouldn't want to fuck them up.” The other man says.

“What's he doing here? Makarov?” You ask as the Ivan turns away. 

“Not really any of your business but let's just say he's planning a nice surprise for the ULF. And now we have an American who knows all their movements there's no way we miss.” The other man says. 

“Has he talked?” 

“Not yet, but he will. The Butchers on his way. A little gift from Al Qatala.” Ivan says. Shit. You have to move quick if you’re going to get him out here it has to be now. You leave the room, closing the door behind you. Before you head to the prison wing you skip into the handlers office. He never locks it, he's going to regret that. 

You plug the USB into the computer and a loading bar starts. You look round the desk, looking at the papers for anything interesting. Your heart is hammering in your chest, you keep looking up to the door hoping no one will come in.

You look back at the PC, it's only 50% done. You start to look through the drawers for anything, even if it is just to keep you busy. You see plans, plans for some kind of weapon. You take them out, folding them up and shove them into your pocket. 

The transfer is almost done. You hear a door close, you’re holding your breath, your hands run over the papers on the desk. You hear the Ivan's voice 90%. You panic, he’s probably coming to his office, you need to distract him. You go round to the other side of the desk leaning against it. You hear a beep on the computer, the USB must be done, you reach over pulling it out and shoving it in the pocket with the papers. 

You only just manage to compose yourself as he walks in. A smile grows on his face. He walks up to you, his hand resting on your hip.

“You’ve got me in a whole bunch of trouble. Least you could do is make it worth my while.” He says, you can smell the vodka on his breath as he leans in to kiss your neck. You don’t have time for this, one of his hands slips round to grab your ass. It’s like he wants to pick you up and put you on the desk.

“Ivan,” you breath as his hand presses dangerously close to the other back pocket. He pulls his mouth off your neck. “I have stuff to do.” 

“Yeah you do.” He says with that stupid grin on his face before pressing his lips onto you. Normally you wouldn’t mind but you’re about to betray him this feels wrong. You push him off you. He huffs crossing his arms.

“I really have to get ready. Besides, don't you have to prepare for our special VIP?” You say, he tips his head to the side you can tell he’s not happy about this. He steps away walking round to the other side of his desk and you turn with him.

“Fuck Makarov, this whole plan is pointless. The American is not going to talk, he’s rushing into this too quickly.” 

“What does he want?” You ask, maybe now you’re alone he’ll give you some more answers. 

“He wants to take over the northern territories.” 

“Of Urzikstan?” Ivan nods. “He’s crazy, he’ll turn Al Qatala against him.” 

“He wants to use it as a bargaining chip.” he says. 

“Not going to be much bargaining if he’s dead.” You scoff crossing your arms. That explains why he’s so nonchalant about upsetting Al Qatala, when Makarov is done, lost techs will be the least of their worries. 

“On top of that he’s got us chasing some military unit helping Farah.” Your stomach sinks. 

“Military unit?” You ask, swallowing the nerves.

“Yeah 141 or something. Anyway, I’ve had people looking for them for weeks. We don’t even know if they’re still in the country.” He says going to type on his computer. You need to leave. Get Alex and leave.

“Well, if I find them I’ll let you know.” You say heading for the door. He chuckles. 

“Hey.” He calls as you’re about to close the door. “You’ll be back later right? I’ve missed you.” He hasn’t missed you, he’s missed sex. You smile and nod at him. 

…

“You look like shit.” Caleb says offering you the last of his cigarette. You take it sucking a deep breath in and letting it calm you. It didn’t take you long to walk over to the prison building, of course Caleb was already waiting for you, he waved at you when he saw you walk through the front gate.

“Heard you fucked your job.” He chuckles.

“Hear a lot with those massive ears of yours.” You say reaching up to flick him. He bats your hand away. “Thought you would be out with the others going to pick up Makarov?” 

“Fuck that.” He laughs, you smile, throwing the butt on the floor and stamping it out. You follow him back into the prison wing. It’s not really a prison, this whole building used to be a school or something, it’s been abandoned for years. Well until Konni and Makarov took it over. 

“Heard you’ve got an American here?” You ask looking round at the shabby built cells. 

“Yeah.” He says pointing down the hall. There are at least two other guards. Hopefully you can get Caleb to turn a blind eye, then you only need to worry about them. And the guards on the gate, and the extra security that will come after you as soon as they know there’s been a break out. 

“Heard The Butchers coming to question him.” 

“Oof, unlucky guy.” He winces. You walk down a different hall with him. There are only a few people in the makeshift cells, most of them are converted offices. 

“Anyway, how did you manage to mess up your job?”

“Marines came in and caught me off guard. No one warned me there were Americans around.” You say sticking to the made up story. 

“At least you’ve been out doing something. Ivan has the whole place on edge with this Makarov visit. Maybe it’s good you came back early. Calm him down.” He jokes nudging you. You roll your eyes. Nudging him back. It’s just sex, mindless stupid sex. And yeah maybe Ivan looks away when you fuck up from time to time, like today. 

“What did he get bored of the cook house girl?” You tease back, Caleb laughs. You walk on a little further mustering up the confidence to ask him. You have to be careful, out of anyone you want Caleb to get hurt the least. You’re going to miss your chats with him. 

“I need a favor.” You say stopping him and gripping his arm. He frowns at you, he seems to sense the unease in your voice looking around before leaning in closer to you. 

“The American. I need to talk to him. 30 seconds alone.” You say trying your best not to sound nervous. 

“Are you crazy? Ivan’s got that shit locked down. No one is allowed to look in his direction let alone talk to him.” Caleb whispers gripping your arm. 

“I’ll deal with Ivan.” You say. “You owe me, remember?” He shakes his head. 

“Not this, they’ll kill me if anything happens to him.” 

“You owe me.” You say again this time gritting your teeth, you don’t exactly have time to negotiate. He sighs looking around. 

“30 seconds. No more.” He says. You smile reaching up and kissing his cheek. 

“Thank you.” He shakes his head and calls the other guards over. You move past them pretending to head for the exit before turning down the hall where Caleb pointed earlier. You take the key off the wall opening the door. There’s a man sitting on the bed. He springs up as soon as you step in.

“I was sent by 141. Are you Alex?” You ask, holding your arms out. He nods, frowning, as well as he can, his head is bruised and one of his eyes is swollen. The few clothes they’ve left him in are drenched through and he’s holding his other arm like it’s broken. “I’m here to get you out. I don’t have time to explain, you just need to trust me.” You say leaving the room. He hesitates a second then follows you. You go over to the guards table and pick up a weapon, loading it and putting another mag in your pocket. 

“Can you walk?” You ask, trying to keep an eye on the door Caleb would have taken the guards through. As soon as they see you they’ll open fire and sound the alarm. You need to leave. You start to head towards the door, clicking the safety off your gun. You quickly look behind you to make sure Alex is following, he is but too slow for your liking. 

Before you can tell him to hurry the door at the end of the room opens. A guard looks at you, his eyes then flick to Alex. You don’t have time to think you bring the weapon up and shoot him. 

Move! Your brain screams. The shot will have alerted people. Alex makes it over you and you practically drag him through the door out into the courtyard. A shot rings out and you pull him round the side of a building. You look back to see Caleb shouting orders as more guards run round. 

You look over at the entrance of the base. It’s close but you have to get over the wall, which means you’re going to have to fight. 

“We’re going to have to hop that wall. Think you can manage that?” You ask as you turn to Alex. He nods and opens his mouth but before he has a chance to say anything more shots ring out hitting the wall where you’re hiding. 

It’s now or never. You jump out from behind the building and sprint across to the wall. You hear Caleb call your name as you throw yourself over the wall rolling down the embankment. You hear Alex groan out in pain, he’s definitely got something broken. You get to your knees watching him writhe in pain. You don’t have time for this. Alarms ring out. Now you really don’t have time for this. You look over to the entrance. The gates are being locked. Great now you’re going to need to get keys. 

At least that's easy to do if the person is dead. You reach over gripping Alex’s arm pulling him to his feet. He cries out in pain, you don’t have time to worry about it as more shots ring out. You can see Caleb running across towards you, you pull Alex over the drain and up the opposite embankment. You let go of his arm to open fire on the guards in front of you. There’s only two of them, at the gate. 

You take cover behind the inspection booth, Alex kneels down beside you. You hand him your gun.

“I need to get a key, cover me.” You say. You don’t know if you trust him, or if he’ll even be a good shot but he’s better than nothing. He nods, you crawl out over to one of the bodies. Shots ring out behind you. Well he’s not killed you yet. You fumble around the guards belt and pockets. Nothing.

“Shit!” you call crawling over to the other guard out in the open. More shots ring out, from in front and behind you. Alex must have picked up a weapon off the guard. You find the ring of keys clipped on the guards belt. Your hands are shaking from adrenaline as you try to unhook them.

“Watch out!” Alex shouts. You don’t get time to look up before someone kicks you in the back. You look over at Alex fumbling with a mag. A shot rings out and he ducks behind the booth just in time. 

“Fuck.” You say pulling yourself to your feet. You’re surprised the person lets you get up. Before you can turn though a pain radiates in your side.

It’s worse than anything you’ve ever felt before. Have you been shot? When you finish turning you see a guard. Before you have time to react his head explodes into and he lands beside you. You look over at Alex, he’s still fumbling with the clip. 

You turn to see Caleb bringing his weapon down to his side, he looks sad, he’s your friend and you're betraying him. You reach down to touch where the pain is. Your head is swimming, your hands feel blood, then cold metal. There’s a knife, you’ve been stabbed.

“No!” you yell at Alex as he comes back from round the booth, his weapon drawn. Caleb holds up the keys, you smile at him. He pushes past you, opening the gate. You stumble over, each step sending shooting pains through your body.  

“You owe me!” Caleb says as he throws his arm around you. You lean up against him as he half drags you into the tree line.

“On the other side of the tree line. There’s a truck.” You say switching to English. 

“Rescue?” Caleb asks in English, you smile crying out in pain as you step over a fallen tree. 

“That's where 141 are waiting.” You say, it’s getting harder to focus, at least the sound of the alarm from the base isn’t ringing in your ears. 

“It’s a long story.” You say breathless. You want to pull the knife out, it hurts so much. You know you shouldn't though. Not until you have something to pack the wound with. 

“How do you know 141?” Alex asks as he watches round you, his weapon still drawn.

“Just keep going.” Caleb says, hitching you up tighter to him as you start to stumble. You can barely see what’s happening, the forest becoming a mix of blurry greens and browns. It feels like you’ve been walking for miles when you hear the engine of a truck. It makes your adrenaline spike, giving you a brief moment of clarity as you make it to the edge of the tree line.

“It’s them!” You hear the familiar Scottish accent. The sun blinds you as you make it through the trees. 

“Shit, what happened?” You hear someone ask, there are more hands on you now. You’re picked up.

“Who are you?” A gun clicks.

“Caleb, friend.” Is all you manage to say. You hear whoever is holding you curse under his breath. You’re pulled into the back of the truck on the floor. It makes you cry out again, your hand going to your wound. There’s banging and clattering. You don't have time to question how they got their hands on an military truck.

“Hey, lass, c’mon stay with us we’ll get you sorted.” It’s Soap. You look out through the back of the truck, you can see Price with his hand on Alex’s shoulder, Gaz taking the weapon out Caleb's hand. Then you see it in the distance, a truck. 

Price notices it too. He helps Alex get in the truck next to you, closing the back.

“Ghost, let's move!” He shouts. Gaz has vanished, you hear a door slam. Price pulls himself in the truck holding his arm out for Caleb. It doesn’t matter though.

Shots ring out, they hit the truck, you see Price duck, then the flash of blood. Caleb's hit, his body goes limp and falls to the floor as the truck pulls away. 

You’re not sure what happens next. Your scream fills the air as you watch Caleb's body get smaller covered in the dirt kicked up by the truck. Someone is pressing your body down. Suddenly Price is leaning over you, more shots ring out hitting the truck. You feel tears stream down your face. You got him killed, the only person you didn’t want to get hurt. 

“Alex! Cover fire!” You watch as Price hands him an AR, they both move down to the end of the truck returning fire. Your body is being flung from side to side as the truck drives out the forest and onto a road. 

You don’t care what happens now, you don’t care if you die. You did your job, you got Alex out. You close your eyes letting out a breath. 

“No, no, no! Eyes open c’mon!” It’s Soap again. Your eyes snap open as he shakes you. The gunfire dies down, maybe you’ve lost them. Maybe they won’t follow you out on a main road.

“Caleb.” You say. “His name was Caleb.” Soap frowns for a second then lets out a sigh. 

“Johnny.” He says. 

“Nice to meet you Johnny.” You smile. He smiles back. You can’t stay awake anymore. Your head is spinning, black spots fade into your vision. He calls out to you, shaking you but you just can’t stay awake. Your last thought is of Caleb as everything goes black. 

Banners by plum98

[spurbleu]

cw. childbirth, death. sorry.

oh to be the wife that makes sherif john price a widow.

his spare belt sits on the dresser, and when you touch it, the leather is still warm. it’s steel counterpart is missing- both from the holster and his side of the bed.

dawn hasn’t even greeted your grandmothers curtains and he’s already gone.

he writes. always says the right things, the ones that don’t scare you, but corner you in the chair he built for your third anniversary. softened with every apology and endearment you’ve earned in the solitude you married.

he writes like he speaks. not enough.

oh, and your swollen with your first.

you can’t miss the birth John. hurry back before he’s here John. it’s a boy, i just know it John, he’ll have your eyes.

bent over a fire, miles from the quilt you made him for his 40th, distracting himself from blue dessert cold that bites his fingers by reading your handwriting like it could be your lips.

“well,” simon calls over his shoulder and he splits another log, “what is it?”

“a girl,” john feels like laughing but cant, “by god, she was wrong.”

simon scoffs. “that’s a first.”

when he arrives home his spurs chant the names he’s written in the moleskin you forced him to bring. the porch creaks it’s salutations, and when he opens the door, it is not you who greets him, but a nurse. she’s pale.

“sheriff price…” he hates when he name is said like an apology.

“where is my wife.”

the afterbirth glow is gone. you’re red and raw and dying. your everything unthreads and pools at your knuckles. and despite it, you fight it, just to smile at him.

“there’s my husband.”

you’re gone in a week. john burns his letters but keeps yours. his daughter doesn’t understand why he cries when she does.

she looks just like you.

[priceoftheduchess]

bite at the hand that feeds

john price x southern dentist!reader

cw) intimate, fluff, john price being a charming bastard, op is not a dentist! :P, this is not proofread!!, smut adjacent!

inspired by @rosegolden13’s dentist!reader fic!

Walking into your waiting room after doing a children’s cleaning to find a large, rugged man sitting in a chair reading a magazine was not really on today’s bingo card. Reading your chart, you see his name — or what must be his name — among others.

“John Price?”

He stands. Bingo! He stands, and Jesus Christ, why is he so large?

He’s dwarfing you as he follows you to the little room you work in, and you’re not even really sure he can fit in it. He’s casual but sophisticated all the same. A navy button down, unbuttoned at the top to accommodate him and the sleeves rolled up. Some jeans and a simple pair of worn work boots. His hair is all around peppered with grey hairs and he honestly looks delicious.

You smile at him as you slip into some new gloves and grab yourself a fresh surgical mask.

“Go ahead and sit down, and get comfortable for me,” You instruct him. You have the sweetest little Southern belle accent and he’s positively all over it.

“Yes ma’am,” his voice is gruff and British? Why is he here?

“You ain’t from here, is you?” You ask him softly, and he shakes his head with a lazy smile.

“No, ma’am. Herefordshire, originally. Meeting with some associates down here in Texas, and realized this mornin’ I’d chipped a tooth somewhere down the line.” He explains, and now you actually see it. One of his teeth behind his canines, chipped at the point.

“Poor baby,” you joke softly at him. “Open up and let me check that out for you. I’ll also offer you a free cleaning, if that’s something you’re interested in.” He nods, giving you another smile that melts your heart.

He opens his mouth after you clip a piece of thin fabric over his shirt. You gently poke around his mouth with your fingers and inspect the chipped tooth.

“I’m goin’ to wiggle it, sugar. I need you to tell me if it hurts or not.” You explain and he nods. You gently move the tooth back and forth and he shakes his head.

“Good, that means there’s very minor damage.” You smile softly and sterilize some tools to begin filling in the tooth. “You ain’t got no clue on how you done this?” You ask, even though you’re actively in his mouth, and he shrugs.

You finish the tooth quite quickly. “All good. You want me to clean your teeth while you’re here? Free of charge.” He smiles and nods.

“Yes ma’am.” You smile and continue working, gently drilling away at some plaque and checking the general health of the rest of his teeth.

“I’m goin’ to floss your teeth now. This can get kinda invasive, especially with the back teeth, so fair warning.”

He chuckles gruffly. “Ain’t nothin’ invasive when you’re as gorgeous as you are.” He remarks, almost nonchalantly, and you feel your face heat up, thankful for your mask.

“You hush. I done told you I ain’t goin’ to charge you for the cleanin’,” you shake your head, preparing a strand of floss. “No need to butter me up, sweet pea.” And he chuckles again, a hearty, gruff sound that warms your entire body.

You finish the cleaning, catching yourself smiling at his earlier comment and when you’re done, he sits up slowly and rolls his shoulders back while you remove the bib.

“Thanks, dove.” He says and he runs his tongue over his teeth, way too sensual for your professionalism. You trash your gloves and your used mask.

“Feel good?” You ask and he nods with a wink.

“Yes ma’am. Now, why don’t I get you some dinner while I’m still in town?”

Anti-fraternization rules and alarms go off everywhere. Don’t sleep with your patient! echoes softly in your mind. But his smile is just so charming and he’s adjusting his clothes that have shifted and oh, God, that color looks great on him.

“Why not?” You shrug, trying not to smile like an idiot. He ends up making you both dinner at his temporary, quaint little apartment that he’s renting — because you refuse to call it his flat — and it’s just as delicious as he is. You chide him softly for drinking wine when you cleaned his teeth just yesterday and he smiles at you, figuring he’ll have to visit America more often. Free healthcare be damned.

You help him wash dishes, and he’s flashing you that stupid grin that he’s got and somehow, when you’re on your back, bare as the day you were born, listening to John as he praises you gruffly six ways to Sunday… you’re not sure that you care about anti-fraternization.

He finishes with his head in the crook of your neck, and collapses beside you. “Too beyond my age to be doing all that, dove,” he chuckles gruffly and cleans you softly with a wet rag before turning off the lights and rolling into bed.

“Bless your heart,” you scratch lightly at his arm, flashing him a lazy grin.

“See you in the morning?” He asks as he rolls over.

“Absolutely, sugar.” And you fall asleep to his soft snoring.

[dimlylittorch]

need to cuddle with a big beefy man fr (1.5k words)

My Masterlist🌱

John Price x emotional!transmasc!reader (maybe neurodivergent!reader too? this is kind of based on how i act and i have adhd + rsd so yeah😭)

I’ve honestly been going through it lately and i really wish i had a john price of my own to make me feel better. but.. i just get to write these instead :(

Warnings: very brief mentions of su!c!dal ideation/SH caused by emotional stress

You and John had been together for a small while. The two of you got on well, balancing each other’s personalities out easily. But as you started to spend more time together, like John sleeping over at your apartment, you found yourself having to be more wary. You had always been an emotional person, which was clear for anyone to see. Always having a smile on your face, it was easy to tell you felt things more deeply than some. But of course, there are two sides to every coin. You did your best to not show your ‘negative’ emotions to anyone. They were known to be.. explosive at times.

After a long day, it wasn’t unusual for you to go home and lock yourself in the bathroom for a small while, sitting on the cold tile floor to ground yourself as you let the tears flow. You learned a long time ago that trying to prevent them just makes it ten times worse. And crying could be triggered by anything for you.. messing something up, thinking someone is mad at you, spilling something on your outfit or your routine being overshadowed. It was hard- feeling like the world was against you. You couldn’t help that you were ‘sensitive’. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t not cry.

Getting your own apartment had been a positive and a negative thing. Positive in the sense that you could cry or express your emotions when you needed to. Negative in the sense that if you were having a really bad emotional episode? You were completely by yourself. Dark thoughts popped up sometimes. You knew it would all pass- but it was still hard to have to sit and listen to your brain telling you it would be easier if you didn’t have to feel it all anymore.

Being different than others had kept you from typical romance scenarios. Not dating much in high school, always feeling too emotionally mature for everyone.. a blessing and a curse. Meeting John and him asking you out was something you never even expected for yourself. But it ended up making sense. Having an older guy with higher maturity really allowed you the space to for once feel less obligated than others to always be mature and in charge. He was like a breath of fresh air when you’d been breathing in smog for far too long.

You had an incredibly shitty day. One of the few friends you had was being distant, your work was piling up so much you had to bring some home, you’d practically forgotten to eat all day.. everything was falling apart at the seams. Unable to hold yourself together, you started crying during the car ride home- which wasn’t all that unusual for you. Pulling into your parking space you make it up the elevator to the door of your apartment. Unlocking the door and walking inside, as soon as the door clicks closed behind you a sharp sob slips past your lips.

Tossing your bags onto the floor, you continue to sob almost uncontrollably as you stumble into the kitchen, vision blurry from tears. Wiping your cheeks with your sleeves as you open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. You can’t drink and cry at the same time.. it was a good hack that never felt like you were forcing yourself to stop crying. Letting yourself slide down the kitchen cabinets, you hit the floor with a weak gasp for breath, face heavily flushed and eyes bloodshot as you continued to cry to yourself.

After a few moments to yourself, you suddenly hear heavy footsteps from the hallway of your apartment. Looking up, your puffy face meets John’s, who is clearly concerned. Wearing a towel around his waist, his hair only slightly wet from the shower he must have taken- you interrupted him drying himself off. He wasn’t supposed to come over today. Christ- you interfered with another persons life. Why did you have to be such a bother?

He quickly darted over, immediately crouching down as his eyes scan over your form, checking for something wrong. “Sweetheart?” He says quickly, his voice slightly panicked. “What’s wrong?”

Staring up at him like an idiot, you can’t help but look away out of embarrassment. You never let anyone hear you cry like this. “Nothing” you murmur faintly as you wipe your cheeks. “Just.. needed to cry.” The embarrassment of getting caught like this made the tears stop almost instantly.

He looks at you with furrowed brows and a confused gaze. “Love..” he murmurs softly as he kneels in front of you, cupping your chin and pulling you to look at him. “I’ve barely heard men who’ve been shot cry that hard.” He says softly out of concern as his thumb rubs over your cheek.

Sighing softly, you lean into his touch. “I just.. I cry really hard. Always have.” You confess faintly. “I’m sorry- I never wanted you to see that.” You sniff.

With a huff, he gently leans forward and pulls you into his arms, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Hearing you like that broke my heart.” He whispers gruffly against your ear. “Don’t you ever hide from me again. Not when you’re hurting like that.”

Sniffing faintly as you let him hold you, you can’t help but feel the guilt bubble up inside of you. You weren’t hurting that bad.. you just cried really hard. For some reason. It was never justified- you were just always overreacting.. nothing can hurt that bad. At least, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life. “I’m really okay.” You murmur softly, but you can tell your heart isn’t in your words. “I just.. overreact. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Shushing you, he holds you tighter against him. “No one could fake that, lovie.” He murmurs against your heated cheek. “Your little heart is too damn big.” He sighs. He gently scoops you up into his arms, bringing you to your bedroom which you’d perfectly crafted to be a safe space. Setting you down, he reaches to grab one of your stuffed animals before putting them in your arms. “I know ya like the softer things, sweetheart.” He says softly as he walks over to his overnight bag to pull out some clothes.

Sighing contentedly, you wrap your arms around your plushie, holding it tightly to your chest as you try to forget about the day you’d had. The crying spells came out of nowhere, but ended after a small while. Even then.. you’d learned early on that other people don’t need to cry that hard. But for some reason you always did. “Some friend in high school saw me cry like that once.” You whisper faintly, burying your face into the plushie in front of you. “They stopped being friends with me after that.” You sniff. “Are you going to leave too?” You asked, unable to look at him.

He paused at your words as he slipped his sweatpants on before walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen combat, love.” He murmurs comfortingly as he brushes a piece of hair behind your ear. “You think a few tears could scare me off?”

Shaking your head slightly, you let out a soft sigh. “I wish I didn’t do that.” You said faintly. “It gets hard.. having to run away and cry. But if I don’t- it starts to hurt. Physically, I mean. Well, it hurts either way. But it hurts more if I try not to.”

John sighs softly as he looks down at you. “I don’t remember that last time I cried.” He murmurs softly. “I miss.. being able to feel like that. Emotional.” He says faintly as his hand reaches over to stroke your hair.

Letting out a contented sigh at his touch, you let yourself melt into the mattress slightly, reaching behind you to tug your weighted blanket over yourself, which he quickly helps with. When you process his words, your bloodshot eyes meet his own. “C’mere” you murmur, holding up the blanket for him.

He chuckles slightly, shifting to lay down next to you, smiling to himself when your arm slips around his waist to hold him close. With his back to your chest, he can’t think of another time he felt this.. safe. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had let him be the little spoon. “I should be holding you, yknow.” He murmurs.

When you grab another plushie from your bed pile and reach over him, placing it in his hands, he can’t help but laugh. “Let me hold you.” You say softly. “And you hold him.”

With a tired smile, he wraps his arms around the silly little stuffed animal, letting his mind fade away into the warmth and comfort of your arms. Only his baby would find comfort in comforting others. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten to find someone like you.

hey!! on the last writing i posted i added a poll, and John Price fluff was in the lead. I know I haven’t been posting much fluff w/o smut, so i hope y’all enjoy :D

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

I have this little 7k Farrier!John Price thing that's been sitting in my drafts for a whole ass year and I'm just wondering if anyone is interested?

I wrote it for my own enjoyment (I haven't posted it bc it's A LOT of plot and I don't want to be crushed when it's not appreciated like I feel like it should be lol)

I think it's one of my best works tho!!

Lil shneak peak?

Feat Evie the bubbly Beekeeper!

I have this WHOLE thing planned out with Blacksmith!Johnny, Carpenter!Kyle and Sheepfarmer!Simon (maybe poly!tf141??)

I know I've been saying I'll write this and that, but been doing a whole lotta nothing lol

Be honest if you wanna see more and for the love of God don't let this flop horribly bc I will cry <3

[adorrrin]

ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU. Captain Price x Reader !!

It had been a long two— almost three weeks since John last came to see you. His work kept him busy; but every free, waking moment he had, he spent with you.

Which is why he’s now walking down the rainy sidewalk, an umbrella in his left hand shielding him from the rain, while his right hand clutched a beautiful bouquet of flowers— he had certainly spent a pretty penny on it.

Everyone around John always knew of you; you were his angel, his pride and joy. A wonderul polaroid of you sat comfortably in his wallet, and your intials were sewn onto the inner layer of his bucket hat; his prized posession.

His phone is filled with heartfelt memories, gorgeous pictures of you; most of them taken secretly. He loved when you were in your element; just enjoying life, not posing for photos.

As he walked, his mind drifted back to you. All of your memories together. How you’d curl up to him whenever you two watched a scary movie. Days when he was swamped with paperwork and you’d bring him coffee.

Price loved you; everyone knew that. It was obvious. 

Finally, he was getting close. Slipping past the gate and closing it behind him, gravel crunching under his boots as he eagerly walked; just wanting to see you.

A soft smile rested on his lips once he finally reached you. Almost three weeks— far too long for him. He was used to speaking first; you were a quiet thing.

”Hey, luv.” He smiled, still grasping the flowers, and holding the umbrella in a way that’d shield you too. ”Sorry for being gone for three weeks. Bloody bastards flunked a simple mission; set us back by a week.”

He went on and on, telling you about everything that happened while he was there. Talked about his teammates; Gaz and Ghost, and how they’re getting a new teammate soon.

After nearly two hours,, he was done. 

”Well…I best get going, luv.” He spoke softly, a sad expression on his face. ”I promise I’ll come back soon.” And with that, he laid the flowers gently against your gravestone, giving you one last glance before he went home.