#so glad she's gonna be on something that isn't Deeply miserable | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

halfmoth-halfman · 2 years ago

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the devil works hard, but tumblr user ghostaholics works harder omg you put in effort here bestie this is beyond sweet i'm just-

i really loved your comments, so i hope you don't mind me adding a little bit of writer's commentary for some of the things you mentioned!!

I read the first line and it demolished me, so thank you for that. I thought I knew what I was in for, and clearly I was wrong because I was blushing the entire time. Price is too smooth. I can’t deal. I’d be a big old non-functioning ball of mush in his presence, so kudos to reader for being able to carry on about her day like business as usual, because if he were in such close proximity all the time that way, I don’t think I could relate if I’m being completely honest.

honestly same, i prob would've folded like four chapters ago, but i'm so glad you find him smooth. i'm not great at writing flirty/smooth characters, but i wanted price to come off as a gentleman, but still a little cocky like he's respectful but he knows he could get anyone he wants and it seems i've succeeded so far!!

Actually foaming at the mouth for the way he touches her. I'm a grown-ass woman. I shouldn't be giggling like a fucking school-girl over here. Butterflies in my tummy and whatever. This is fucking blasphemy. Such a slut for the pool game tutorial. Beyond feral. The ‘good girl’ praise outside of the bedroom rocked my shit. Jesus fucking Christ. Trying not to implode and failing miserably. I have read a handful of fics where he says good girl that at this point, I should be immune. But guess what? This one made my brain short-circuit the worst so thanks for that!

the pool game tutorial was one of the first scenes i thought of for this au, so i was so excited when i got to write it. it's such a fun moment where price gets to tease her like the little shit he is, and at this point, everyone knows what's going on and they're all pretty much in on it (ie: valeria bringing him over in the first place) so the gang's having as much fun watching her get all flustered as price is flustering her.

The whole birthday sequence was adorable. I like how you’re expanding the fic to include relationships with other characters because their dynamics as a whole and on an individual level are interesting. They seem like they’d all die for each other and if I don’t have friends like that then I don’t want ‘em at all. Also very nice considering that in the first part she didn’t know anybody and was basically on her own, so seeing them accept the Reader throughout the series has been extremely heart-warming. I’m a soft bitch for the group.

i read a lot of mafia!au's while i was planning this series, and it was something i noticed where the gang/family dynamics weren't explored as heavily (deeply??) as the main couple's and i felt like since the 141 seems so close in the games, it would only seem fitting to explore those dynamics in the fic as well. they all work together under price yes, but they're their own people with their own roles and goals that deserve to be explored. this is a love story, but it's also about canary finding her place among the club and their little found family.

Would die for domestic Price. The sweater? The apron? Cooking? CRYING. Soft touches and gentle kisses? SCREAMING. Reader has more willpower than me because I would’ve folded so fast if he asked me to stay the night. Perished during that part, not gonna lie. Like babe, you want to host a sleepover in your cozy house? Aha~say less. Price was gracious about it, but even if he manhandled me into agreeing (which I would not object to) and I would’ve been all, ‘oh no, I guess I’m spending the night in your wonderful home, how… :/ unfortunate.’ Me at Reader even though she declined politely:

it's not a mothie fic if someone isn't being disgustingly domestic, i live for that stuff. i think it's a big thing for me to really establish how different price is from canary's ex, something we kind of see through her thoughts and her initial panic that price expects her to "pay" for dinner and also that we'll go more into the future, by having him offer her to stay but also respect her boundaries when she either hesitates or turns him down. they flirt, they have fun, but when she stops or pulls away he lets her go and she's slowly letting down that guard and realizing that he respects her just as much on a personal level as he does on a romantic level.

The color coordinating with the dress – you’re a genius; big brain behavior right there. Commence more of me blushing. I actually can't fucking deal. I was basically devolving into something less human towards the end of this fic. Every interaction? Pure gold. Me? A settler migrating west for the California Gold Rush in 1848.

i'm sorry but that gold rush comment is taking me tf out 💀 i cackled when i first read that!! i love the dress scene so much because it's not only the first hints of price spoiling canary like she deserves to be and being a total softie while also giving himself that little ego boost of marking her as his, but it's also their conversation afterwards when he's worried he may have overstepped and is totally ready to ease up if it makes her uncomfortable. it's the conversation where i think canary realizes that this is something a little more than flirting to him.

The end?? G O D. Plotting to hide a body: just cute, couple things <3 Or either way, whatever’s about go down can’t be legal and I’m here thinking that Price, who partakes in criminal/illicit activities is the same person who wears an apron with flour on it – like yes, get you a man who can do both. Also somebody else said it in another comment but the fact that she called him first when she didn't know what to do. I am quite literally not okay. Deceased.

mob!price is the epitome of "get you a man who can both" yes! this man is out here burying bodies and beating people to near-death, but also makes sure he's home in the morning to make you breakfast in bed. also, it's not only the fact that calling him was her first instinct, but the way he literally dropped whatever he was doing to go to her even though they aren't actually together yet. i just love these two and the way they love each other.

also, i am living for the reaction images mixed in here, i'm equal parts touched and dying of laughter.

vii. wise men say, only fools rush in

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Warnings: alcohol, heavy flirting, violence, blood, minor character death Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. A/N: this chapter is dedicated to the wonderful @chaoskrakenuwu, who was kind enough to let me name a character after her, and also to tumblr user @deadbranch, who mentioned that tags in taglists might not work if you have your visibility settings set to make their url unsearchable on tumblr!! i tested it out a few times and sometimes it works, sometimes not but if your tag isn't working below maybe double-check your visibility settings and turn them off (if you're comfortable with that) and I'll try updating your tag!! small edit: tumblr cut off part of the middle, so i re-added it in case you saw it when it first posted and it didn't make sense LOL prev | next

In the following weeks, you learn one very important thing: John Price is a relentless flirt.

(After that first conversation, he had disappeared into his office for the remainder of the day not reappearing until you had returned to the club to get ready backstage. You took your time, heart racing as your attention was split between preparing for the show and trying not to imagine Price joining you backstage and making good on his offer to wish you luck.

He never did, but once you took your place on stage, you immediately spotted him sitting at the bar between Ghost and Nik, eyes trained solely on you. He stayed in that spot for the entire show, his gaze never once leaving you, even when others came up to speak to him. He bought you a congratulatory drink afterward, handed to you with a sly smile and gentle squeeze of your hip.)

He hadn’t stayed long after that, whisked away by something important Ghost whispered into his ear, but you find him in that same spot every night after that, watching your performance with a singular intensity that sets your skin on fire.

Farah takes over the two weeks leading up to her and Alex’s departure, giving you a welcomed break and letting you enjoy the club and her flawless performances.

Price maintains his spot at the bar, making eyes at you anytime you pass by as you spend your time between dancing with Kyle and watching Valeria hustle unsuspecting patrons at the pool table. When you occasionally stop at the bar, you make it a point to stand next to him as you wait for your drinks.

Regardless of what he’s doing—whether he’s drinking with his eyes glued to you or talking to someone else, his attention focused entirely away from you—a warm hand always winds its way around your waist, slowly feeling up the fabric of whatever outfit Valeria’s put you in for the night before it settles on your hip. You lean into the touch, lightly skimming your nails across the back of Price’s hand as you wait for your drinks.

Alex serves you with a knowing look—one you make a show of ignoring—and you squeeze Price’s hand. He presses your hip in response, the slow glide of his hand as he pulls back his arm, leaving a blazing trail across your skin that lingers as you take your drinks and return to Kyle or Valeria.

“You know,” Valeria says one night, sharp gaze following you as you return from the bar with a drink for her and lemon water for yourself, “you still owe me a game.”

“Can’t say it’ll be much of a game,” you laugh, sitting beside her. “I’m shit at poker.”

“I wasn’t talking about poker,” Valeria grins, eyes sliding to her right where the pool tables sit.

“Alright, but fair warning, I’m about as good at pool as I am poker.” Valeria pays you no mind, taking her drink and sauntering toward the tables, crimson dress flowing with every step.

The table she approaches is occupied, surrounded by a small group that isn’t so much playing as they are holding cue sticks and talking. Valeria joins them, easing into their conversation with a coy smile and light touch to the nearest man’s arm. You don’t hear the conversation, but Valeria tilts her head and says something, and one of the group hands her his pool cue before leading the rest of his friends to the dancefloor.

“That was nice of them,” you laugh, joining her at the table. She hums a small laugh, handing you your own cue stick.

Valeria starts the game, and it ends almost as quickly as it begins, a look of absolute disbelief plastered on her face.

“I told you I was bad at this,” you tease her.

“I never thought I’d meet a worse player than Alejandro.” Valeria shakes her head, unable to compose herself for the first time since you’ve met her. You’d take some pride in being able to surprise her if it weren’t followed by the pitying gaze of disappointment she turns to you with.

It’s a quick, momentary glance before that tell-tale smirk crawls across her face. She lays her cue on the table, sights set on something behind you. “We’ll fix this, don’t worry.”

Valeria pats you on the arm, disappearing into the crowd of people before you can stop her. You let it go, setting your cue next to hers and taking the time to sip from your water and turn your attention to the stage where Farah gives another flawless performance.

“Enjoying yourself, Птичка?” You turn, finding Nik leaning against the other side of the pool table, dressed in solid black with his sunglasses pushed up into his hair.

“Very much so, actually.”

Nik laughs, tipping his drink to you with an easy smile as Valeria reappears beside him. You don’t get the chance to react as a hand slides across your waist, your body tensing at the sudden touch.

“Glad to hear it.” You relax as the baritone of Price’s voice reaches your ears, and you turn to land a playful slap against his chest.

“Let’s try this again—,” Valeria says, picking up both pool cues and holding one out to you and the other to Price, “—two against two.”

You’re reluctant to take the cue stick from her, but you do, sending Price a sympathetic smile, “Apologies in advance.”

“C’mon now, you can’t be that bad,” he chuckles. Valeria lets out a bark of a laugh as Price takes the other stick from her. She turns away swiftly, trying to bite down on the smirk stretching across her face as Nik re-racks the balls.

Valeria is gracious enough to convince Nik to let you go first, and you do your best on the break. Your best is…not great, laughable even.

And laugh Valeria does. Nik lets out a low whistle, turning away the moment you look at him, his shoulders shaking with unmistakable laughter. You turn to Price, your last saving grace, only to find him staring back with a pitying look that you think you hate more than the laughter.

“Yeah, yeah, get your laughs in,” you pout, setting your cue stick against the table and crossing your arms over your chest.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Valeria coos, lips pursed tauntingly.

“You weren’t…awful,” Nik adds, though it’s choked out through stifled laughs.

“It’s the way you’re holding it,” Price laughs, making his way toward you. “Here, I’ll show you.”

You expect him to take over your turn, but he holds his cue stick out to you instead. You pout for an extra second before giving an exaggerated sigh and taking the stick from him. He catches your wrist before you can pull away and lightly pulls you toward him, guiding you to stand in front of him.

If you couldn’t play before, you don’t know how anyone expects you to concentrate when the solid warmth of Price’s body presses up against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder so you can feel the soft fanning of his breath against your neck. Gently, he adjusts your elbows, guiding you to hold the cue stick properly. When he’s satisfied, his hands glide down from your elbows, one settling on your hip and the other against your back. He takes his time, feeling the velvet material of the sapphire blue dress Valeria put you in. He hums appreciatively, the vibrations skating down your spine.

“Lean forward,” he murmurs into your ear, the club’s music drowned out by his voice. A small press to your back, and you bend forward, trying not to lose your grip on the cue stick as he purrs, “A little more.”

When he’s satisfied, his hand leaves your back to settle on your shoulder. He turns you slightly to the left, adjusting your angle before he steps back with a soft, “Now try.”

Keeping yourself composed is a struggle, but you do as he says. The cue ball sails, a successful break scattering the rest across the table. The group around you cheers as you stand up straight and instantly reach for your water. You sip the icy water, trying to cool to fire, crawling beneath your skin as Valeria takes her turn, but Price stands at your side, leaning down so close you can feel his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“Good girl.”

You swallow hard, nearly choking on your water as he pulls away with a wide smirk, and you realize that he’s here to play an entirely different game.

After five rounds, your team loses 3-2, but Price leads you to the bar for a consolation drink with an arm around your waist, and you feel like the biggest winner in the club.

Kyle’s birthday comes mid-summer.

He doesn’t tell you about it, but you get a suspicious text from Soap one night inviting you to a “secret meeting” at the club and telling you to bring cash.

It’s the middle of the night, far too late for you to be safely leaving your motel room, but you get ready anyway.

Curiosity killed the cat, not the canary, after all.

When you get to the club, you text Soap, and he tells you to come through the front, lock the door behind you, and head straight backstage. You follow his instructions, finding backstage empty and vacant save for the soft echo of voices from the dressing room. You follow the voice, knocking twice before opening the door.

As soon as the door opens, the room goes silent. You’ve apparently interrupted a very serious meeting between Soap, Ghost, Roach, and König as their attention snaps to you. The room fills with a tense silence as you stand in the doorway, a stack of cash in hand as they stare you down.

You speak first, eyes bouncing between the four nervously, “You’re not about to kill me, are you?”

That seems to break the tension as Ghost scoffs and the others relax.

“’Course not, Owl,” Soap rolls his eyes, reaching over to take the money from your hand and add it to a small pile sitting on Farah’s vanity. “Assumin’ the worst there, aren’t ya?”

“You send me a cryptic text telling me to meet you in the backrooms with a stack of cash and expect me not to be suspicious? This is how people get killed in horror movies,” you argue, shutting the door behind you.

“You still came, didn’t you?” Ghost counters.

“He has a point,” König shrugs, and Roach nods.

“Why am I here?” you ask flatly, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Right, so you know how Gaz’s birthday is comin’ up?” Soap speaks as he counts through the small pile of money.

You blink, asking, “It is?”

He hadn’t said anything to you. Would it be rude to ask him about it?

“Every year, we always try to get him something, y’know, from all of us,” Roach explains.

“But every year, Valeria and Alejandro always get him something extra just from them,” Soap huffs. “So, we started doin’ the same.”

“It’s become a bit of a competition now,” Ghost sighs, obviously not as enthused about this as Roach and Soap.

“Of course,” you hum. A little more relaxed now that you know why you’re here, you lean back against the door and ask, “So, what’re you getting him?”

“Oh,” König starts, “we were thinking of—”

Roach smacks his arm as Soap lets out a sharp whistle, shaking his head furiously when König turns to him.

“Really?” you scoff. “I gave you my money—”

“And we greatly appreciate your donation,” Soap says, turning to you with a sly grin and your cash in his hand. “As will Gaz, I’m sure.”

“What am I supposed to get him, then?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Soap teases, “’m sure you can figure that out on your own.”

“You’re not even gonna give me a hint?” You look to the others, but Ghost and Roach stay silent, König giving you an apologetic shrug. “Fine. Just know I’m not showing up next time you need something from me in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, y’will,” Soap laughs.

He’s right, but he doesn’t need to know that right now.

“Whatever, keep your little secrets. I’m going home.”

“Night, Kiwi!” Soap calls as you leave the dressing room. You let the door swing closed behind you, but the thud of it shutting never happens. You turn back, finding König closing the door softly before he catches up to you.

“I’ll walk you out,” he says softly, glancing back to the dressing room. There’s something slightly off as König trails behind you, constantly looking over his shoulder—not like he’s nervous, but as if he’s about to do something he shouldn’t.

He holds the front door open for you, giving one last look over his shoulder.

You have to ask.

“Are you oka—”

König leans down, almost uncomfortably close, and mumbles, “He likes practical things.”

“What?”

“Mostly clothes, preferably socks. Oh, and food. Especially pastries.” König takes a small step forward, getting close enough that you can see tiny flecks of amber brown in his eyes.

“He has a big sweet tooth,” he whispers conspiratorially, and it clicks in your head.

“Oh,” you say as König steps back, leaning against the door. “Thank you.”

“Viel Glück.” König gives you a short nod, the edges of his mask rising with the apples of his cheeks as he smiles at you.

The drive back to your motel room is spent formulating a plan to figure out the specific day Kyle’s birthday falls on and what to get him. You spend more of the night trying to think than sleeping, doing your best to devise a way to ask him about it without sounding too obvious. It should be easy—getting information out of someone is nothing you haven’t done before—but Kyle’s sharper than he lets on. You’ll have to be a bit more careful this time.

You’re still thinking about it when you get to the club the next morning, so focused on your plan that you nearly run into Ghost as he steps out of Price’s office.

“Watch it,” he grumbles, wrapping a hand around your arm to steady you.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“Bit distracted this morning, are we?” You look up as Kyle walks out of the office behind Ghost, amused smile on his face.

“Didn’t get a lot of sleep,” you shrug, sending a quick, pointed look to Ghost, who stares back at you with his usual monotone expression.

“Been there,” Kyle chuckles, pulling his car keys from the pocket of his black jacket and handing them to Ghost.

“Going somewhere?” you ask.

“Doing something for the Boss,” Kyle winks.

“It’s a small business errand, nothing to worry about.” Ghost’s answer leaves no room for more questions, so you nod in acceptance.

“I’ll see you two later, then.” You watch them walk to the front and out of the club, waiting for the doors to click shut before you turn and slip inside the office. Price sits behind his desk, writing something in a small, black journal, and you grin at the sight.

Maybe you don’t have to talk to Kyle at all.

“Can I ask you a question?” you ask as you walk up to the desk. Price’s hand stills against the journal as he looks up at you in slight surprise. You’re sure you’re probably not supposed to be in here without being invited in, but you see how his eyes dip down over your form and decide that he probably doesn’t mind.

“Just the one?” he smiles, setting his pen down to give you his full, undivided attention.

“Just the one, I promise,” you laugh, sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk. “When’s Kyle’s birthday?”

The smile stays, but his brows draw together curiously, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Right, and which team are you asking this for?”

Ah, so he knows.

“Neither. I just wanted to get him something nice…and maybe get back at Soap for conning me out of my money.”

Price laughs at that, shaking his head as he leans back in his chair. It creaks softly, and you’re momentarily lost in the thought of how comfortable it looks.

It definitely looks like it could hold two people—

Stop.

Focus.

Kyle’s birthday.

“It’s next Thursday,” he says, breaking you out of your momentary distraction. “The club will be closed that night while we celebrate.”

That gives you eight days. You can work with that. All you have to do now is figure out what to get him.

And you’re sitting across from the one person who would know best.

“Do you have any hints for what I could get him?” you ask, giving your sweetest smile that he definitely sees straight through.

“That’s more than one question,” he chuckles.

“I mean, they both go together. Think of it as two halves to the same question.” You bat your lashes, keeping that tauntingly sweet smile aimed at him.

“So, you get an extra question,” he says, leaning forward and clasping his hands together atop the desk. He tilts his head, staring into your eyes, and purrs, “What do I get in return?”

“The satisfaction of helping out your favorite employee?” you tease, setting your elbows on the desk to lean toward him.

“You’re my favorite, are you?” he laughs softly, inching just a bit closer.

“You just said so yourself,” you grin. He hums, amused and impressed, a fondness in his eyes that sends a slight pang through your chest.

“He likes desserts,” Price tells you.

“Anything specific?” you press, slowly leaning forward until only a few inches are left between you.

“Careful now,” he warns, all silk and want and looking two seconds from jumping over the desk. “That’s a third question.”

You sit there for just a second, letting him watch your eyes fall to his lips as you lean a little closer before—

“You’re right,” you sigh dramatically, pulling back entirely, smug grin across your face. “I’m sure I can figure it out myself.”

“You’re a cruel woman,” he laughs, settling back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. You throw him a wink that earns you a playful roll of his eyes. Your phone chimes from your pocket, and when you check it, you find a message from Farah asking you to meet her backstage.

“Time for me to head out,” you sigh, standing from your chair. You turn to look at Price, giving him an earnest smile, “Thanks for the help. I appreciate it.”

“Anytime, Dove.”

You head toward the door as Price picks up his pen, ready to return to what he’d been working on before you came in.

“If you can bake,” Price calls out just as you grab the door handle, “try an apple sponge. It’s one of his favorites.”

You turn back to thank him, but he’s already focused on his work. You stash the information away in your mind, heading into the club to meet Farah with a wide grin.

(It takes a lot of trial and error in your motel room’s dingy little kitchen—little more than a hot plate and a mini fridge—but you’re eventually successful with a small apple sponge pudding the night before Kyle’s birthday.

When you present it to him, waiting until the party’s died down and everyone else is focused on something else, his eyes go glassy at the first taste. For a moment, you’re worried you’ve messed up the recipe, but he sets the plate down and wraps you in a tight hug.

“Used to make this with my mum,” he laughs into your shoulder, watery and sad and so, so appreciative. “Haven’t had one in years.”

He pulls away after a soft squeeze, his signature bright smile a little tighter than usual.

“Thank you, really.”

He goes back to the dessert, offering a couple of bites to his date, the woman who had worn the purple and teal dresses and whose name you’ve learned is Tabby.

You glance up from the happy couple, eyes roving over the rest of the party until you catch eyes with Price. He grins, winking at you, before returning to his conversation with Nik and Alex.

You don’t know how you’ll thank him, but you have a few ideas.)

“Are you busy tomorrow night?”

You nearly jump out of your skin as Price startles you, not only with his question but also with his sudden appearance at your side.

The club is closed for the week—you’re not told why—but you still come in to clean in the mornings. You’d been enjoying your small break at the bar, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly.

You thought you were alone, but apparently not.

“Not that I know of,” you say, trying to calm the jittering of your nerves. “Why?”

“Would you like to have dinner?”

Your mind blanks.

Your heart skips a beat, stunned at the idea that he might actually be asking you out and even more stunned by the instant yes that sits on the tip of your tongue.

“I—”

“We’re having a small get-together for whoever wants to come.”

There’s a painful squeeze in your chest that you’re forced to ignore, and you do your best to cover the sting with a smile.

“Sure! Sounds fun.”

“Perfect.” He smiles back wide, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of your head before turning and walking away. “I’ll have Gaz send you the address,” he calls over his shoulder before disappearing into his office.

You stand there, staring at his office doors, doing everything you can to quell the sudden heat flooding your body.

You add extra ice to your water and bury yourself in your work as a poor distraction.

Kyle texts you the address that night, along with a message telling you not to come into work the next day, and a single sentence after that reads: Wear something blue :).

You sleep in the next morning—the first time in years—taking your time to go through your clothes and get ready. Your wardrobe is limited—all of the outfits Valeria’s had made for you sitting in the dressing room at the club.

Those would probably be too formal anyways.

You decide on your usual jeans and boots, but dig out a lighter shirt—more grey than blue, but passable—to wear under your black sweater. It’ll have to work as you spend the rest of your time fixing your hair, relaxing, and singing along to the music on your phone.

You leave an hour early, still unfamiliar with the city streets outside your commute to and from the club. The directions are simple enough to follow, your phone’s GPS taking you through the city easily, but after almost twenty minutes, you take a turn and realize you’re being led out of the city.

The drive is almost peaceful, the bustle of the city melting away into broad open landscape then into large trees filled with lush greenery. You’re directed to an off-road leading deeper into the thicket, your car protesting as it leaves the pavement and starts down the dirt road.

It takes half an hour of driving through solid forest before the trees around you begin to thin, and the dirt road slowly turns to gravel, then to smooth stone. The road curves and winds through the trees before you take a sharp turn, and you catch sight of the house.

No, house isn’t the right word. Manor would be more accurate.

The car comes to a halt as you hit the brakes, hands tightening around your steering wheel until your nails dig into the heels of your palms.

A sprawling estate surrounded by lush greenery that grows up the front of the house, you’re reminded of your family’s old summer home. That house hadn’t been nearly as big as this, but Price’s manor carries the same quaint feeling you remember having every time your father took you on vacation at the summer home.

The knot that grows in your throat is sudden, the rush of nostalgia slamming into you without warning.

The last time you had been to that old house was for your wedding.

You still remember the smell of lilacs and sweet peas that drifted up from the beautifully decorated courtyard into the bridal suite, the gorgeous bespoke gown that had once been your mother’s—gifted to you by your father as your something borrowed—and the beaming smile you carried for the entire day.

The last good day you remember having in your old life.

That’s over now, you remind yourself. You’re safe here.

You take a deep breath, loosening your grip on the steering wheel and easing off the brake. You drive slowly, taking in the beautifully laid out gardens around the front of the manor, trying to push down the painful fondness that stabs at your heart.

You park behind the various cars at the end of the driveway, locking your car behind you just once before making your way to the front doors.

Just like the club, they’re unlocked.

As soon as you walk in, you’re hit with a delicious smell and the sounds of quiet laughter. You follow the noise, taking in the interior of the house. It’s homey, understated, downright cozy, and somehow fitting for what you’d imagine as Price’s home.

“Look who it is!” Alex cheers as you walk into a sitting room. He sits on one of the couches, an arm draped across the back and around Farah. Across from them is Kyle, spread out on the other couch, busy typing away on his phone, his feet almost in Nik’s lap. You’ve never seen them so dressed down before, all in some type of hoodie, sweater, sweats combination—or pajama pants in Nik’s case.

Farah and Nik give you the same eager greeting, but Kyle continues on his phone, ignoring your presence entirely.

“Don’t mind him,” Farah scoffs. “He’s too busy with his new girlfriend.”

“It’s no problem,” you laugh, looking around the room. Farah watches you, smirk plastered on her face.

“The old man’s in the kitchen,” she says, nodding toward the other side of the room. Alex and Nik bite back their laughs, and you choose to ignore them.

“Thanks, Farah.” She nods, and you head in the direction she gives you. You head in the direction she gives you, passing through the dining room before you’re able to find the kitchen.

It’s not exactly like the one from your old summer home, but it’s damn close—spacious yet comfortable, all earth-toned and welcoming—and it’s a fight to swallow down the knot in your throat.

“You’re here!”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts as Price catches sight of you, setting down the knife in his hand and making his way over to you. You’ve never seen him in a sweater before, but you know how you’d kill to see him in one again. Like the others, he’s dressed down from his usual club attire: a deep maroon sweater with rolled sleeves, jeans, and a black apron with small spots of flour across it.

“Yeah, didn’t want to miss out on seeing my boss in an apron,” you joke as he pulls you into a hug, followed by a kiss on the head. You let yourself melt into him, missing his warmth the minute he pulls away.

“You can have a drink and wait with the others if you want. Grab whatever you want from the fridge,” he says, heading back to his station.

“Actually,” you take a deep breath, setting your hands on the island counter, “I was wondering if there was anything I could help with?”

He seems surprised at the offer, brows raised as he looks up at you. But the surprise is quickly replaced with a fond smile.

“You any good at chopping vegetables?” he asks.

“The best,” you tease, inching your way over to him, giving him time to tell you no.

“You can take over here, then.”

He takes a step back, and you take his place, picking the knife up from the cutting board. You’re about to start when you feel his hands settle on your hips and his lips brushing against the skin of your neck. You tilt your head automatically, pressing back into him as he murmurs a quiet, “Thank you.” He pulls away immediately after, leaving you to your work.

Time flies by, the two of you work almost seamlessly together in the kitchen. You laugh and joke and enjoy as Price takes every opportunity to put his hands on you. Small, teasing touches, but they send your heart racing each and every time, and soon you find yourself returning the favor.

By the time the food’s ready, you’ve shed your sweater, the kitchen heat, and the man next to you far too much for you. You take it in stride, having more fun than you’ve had in a long time and allowing yourself to enjoy this moment.

Dinner passes by equally as fun, feeling like those rare dinners you got to have with your father—just you and him, just family.

The others bid their goodbye, Alex and Farah heading home after dishes are done, Nik heading upstairs to one of the many spare rooms, and Kyle leaving to meet Tabby at her place. You help clean, waiting until everything is spotless to take your leave. Price walks you to the door, hand on the small of your back the entire walk.

“You know,” he says as you reach the front door, “you could stay here for the night.”

“What? You mean you don’t want to come back to mine?” you tease, lightly nudging him with your elbow. When he doesn’t laugh, you still worry creeping up your spine.

Please, don’t ask me to “repay” you for dinner.

“There’s plenty of room here,” he says quietly, pulling his hand from your back so he can turn to face. “I just—I’d sleep better knowing you were somewhere…safer.”

Oh. Oh.

You don’t know how you can possibly feel more endeared than you do in this moment, the worry so genuine on his face.

“It’s not that bad. I’ve been fine so far,” you offer, voice soft as you set a hand on his arm. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, wrapping his hand around yours, “There’s always room for you here if you ever change your mind.”

“Thank you.”

And even if you don’t take up the offer now, you mean it with all your heart.

Summer nears its end when you find a sleek red box sitting atop your vanity that was definitely not there before you went on stage.

A small white card with your name written on the front rests on top of the box, a handwritten note with an address and a date for Saturday afternoon. You don’t recognize the address or the handwriting, so you set the card aside cautiously, sliding your fingers under the box lid.

You lift the lid, curiosity winning out over your caution.

Laying inside, pristinely folded, is a dress. A very beautiful, pale dress covered in pale blue columbine flowers. You run your fingers along the fabric, admiring the softness of the organza against your skin.

What is this for?

You wrack your brain trying to think of any upcoming birthdays or events, but nothing comes to mind. You’re sure you’d know; things like that are usually a big deal for the club.

You’re left wondering as someone knocks on the dressing room door. You quickly put the lid back on the box, tucking the card into the pocket of your jacket draped over the back of your chair.

When you leave for the night, you take the box back to the motel room, setting it on top of the duffle bag that holds your clothes, where it sits untouched for the rest of the week.

When Saturday comes, you wake up an hour before your alarm and head straight for the box. You set it on the bed and spend the morning getting ready with a long, room-temperature shower.

A small voice nags in the back of your mind as you stand in your underwear, staring down at the box on your bed. You’re excited and nervous, eager to try on the dress but unsure of what to expect from all of this.

The last time someone surprised you with a dress…

You shake the thoughts from your head, pulling the lid from the box, lifting the dress out, and finding a pair of nude flats lying at the bottom.

It’s long and light, made of a soft, airy material that falls to the ground with short, sheer puffy sleeves and a slit up to the knee. You have no trouble putting it on, the smooth silk gliding against your skin in a fit so perfect that you immediately think this must be Valeria’s doing.

You twirl, watching the material fan out with a wide smile. You leave the shoes in the box while you fix your hair, putting in the effort to get your hair just right and make yourself look as good as the dress makes you feel.

When you’re done, and looking far more stunning than you anticipated, you slip on the shoes and grab your keys.

You head out to your car in the early afternoon, pulling up the address on your phone. Your destination is just outside the city, opposite from where you are. It doesn’t take long, even in the afternoon traffic, and it ends with you pulling up to a large house with a driveway full of familiar cars.

You park behind Kyle’s car, giving yourself one last look in your slightly crooked rearview mirror.

When you step out of your car, you’re instantly met with music and laughter echoing from the backyard. You follow the path up to the front door, knocking twice as you admire the front garden.

The house is far enough out of the city to not be near anyone else but close enough to not have to drive an hour to get to the club like Price’s. Large, spacious, and a yard covered in different types of flowers.

A sharp whistle startles you as you take in how well taken care of the daisies look.

“Canary!” You step back from the door, looking across the driveway where Kyle stands, waving his hands at you, Roach next to him, holding open a gate that you assume leads to the backyard.

It’s weird to see them out of their standard black, but the bright summer colors fit them just as well. You make your way over, Kyle meeting you halfway to pull you into a hug.

“Glad you make it!”

“Me too!” you laugh, following him to the gate so you can hug Roach. “What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion?” Roach asks, holding the gate open with his foot so he can sign to you.

“It’s just a party,” Kyle says with a curious tilt of his head. “Valeria didn’t tell you?”

“Why would she tell me?”

“Because it’s her house?” Roach blinks.

“No one told me anything. I found a card with a time and place sitting on my vanity. And this—” you gesture to the dress, “—with it.”

“That’s one way to invite you, I guess,” Kyle shrugs, throwing an arm around your shoulders with an easy smile. “Either way, we’re glad you’re here.”

He and Roach lead you into the backyard, equally beautiful as the front, with tall trees providing shade and a large pool in the center. The entire club is here. Alejandro and Alex stand near the grill, laughing and passing jokes while the rest of the club is gathered at the few tables set up in the shade near the back doors to the house.

Valeria spots you instantly, making her way over with a wide grin. Kyle slides his arm from your shoulders as she gets close, and she pulls you into a quick hug.

“You made it!” she cheers, taking a step back and giving you an appreciative once over. “And you look fantastic! I’m proud of you.”

“It wasn’t all me,” you say, a little shy under the praise. “Thank you for the dress, by the way.”

“Hm?” Valeria raises a brow. “Well, it is lovely, and the blue’s a nice touch, but it’s not one of mine.”

“What?”

If it wasn’t her, then…who?

You look around the yard, glancing over the rest of your friends and coworkers. They all seem busy talking, laughing, enjoying themselves.

All except for one, John Price, who’s sitting between Ghost and König, wearing a pale blue shirt to match the color of the flowers on your dress and staring at you with an intensity that sets your skin alight.

“Oh,” Valeria laughs, following your gaze.

“Explains the blue,” Kyle snickers, nudging your arm with his elbow.

You pull your eyes away from Price to smack Kyle in the chest. You’re met with laughter from the three of them, covering your face with your hands in a poor attempt to cool the heat in your cheeks.

“I hate all of you,” you grumble, their laughter growing as you head for the tables. You do your best to smile and not appear as flustered as you are, returning hellos and hugs as everyone notices you. When you reach the back table, Ghost nods in greeting while König stands to hug you. However, when he pulls away from you, he pulls out the chair he’d been sitting in and gestures for you to sit.

“You don’t have to—”

“I have to help Alex soon, anyway,” König shrugs.

“Okay, then,” you smile, taking the seat, turning to add a quick thank you before he leaves for the grill.

“You look lovely,” Price says the moment you turn back to the table. “Blue suits you.”

Ghost doesn’t speak, simply picking up his glass and sitting next to Soap at the table across from yours.

“Like this color, do you?” you ask, setting your elbows on the table to lace your fingers together and set your chin atop them, smiling at him with a raised brow.

“You could say I’m partial to it,” he shrugs casually, eyes trailing down the expanse of your leg exposed through the slit of your dress. “Especially on certain people.”

You can’t help but giggle, shaking your head as you lean back in your chair.

You take a moment to feel the warmth from the sun, cooled by the gentle summer breeze carrying a soft bite of autumn’s inevitable chill.

You don’t remember the last time you could simply enjoy a day outside.

“Thank you, by the way,” you speak up, turning to Price with a soft smile. “You didn’t have to get me a dress, but I appreciate it.”

“Not a fan of gifts?” he asks, an unusual hesitance in his voice.

“I like them. I’m just…not used to them, I guess.”

Or ones that don’t come with ulterior motives, anyway.

He stares at you for a brief second before his hand slides across the table to settle over you with a light squeeze. “Think you better get used to it then, love. There’s plenty more where that came from.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the smug grin on Price’s face.

“I’m not going to be able to talk you out of that, am I?”

“Not at all,” he laughs, and you laugh along, turning your hand over to lace your fingers through his.

You give a soft squeeze of his hand, soaking up the warmth from his hand, “Price, I—”

“Sparrow, get over here! We’re starting karaoke!” You turn as Soap yells from his table.

“In a minute!” you call back.

“Fine, but I’m pickin’ your song!”

Price chuckles next to you, releasing your hand. Disappointment swells in your chest before his hand reaches your bare knee. “Go have fun. We can talk later,” he smiles.

You nod, and he lets his hand linger a second longer before pulling away as you stand up. You adjust your dress before glancing over to Price. As soon as the idea comes to your head, you act. Setting a hand on his shoulder, you lean down to press a kiss to his cheek before whispering into his ear your promise of later.

You step away quickly, making your way over to the rest of your friends, looking back only once to catch Price’s eyes. He sends you a wink, standing from his chair to join Alex, Alejandro, and König.

You don’t know what later entails, but you’re certainly looking forward to it.

Everything changes at the beginning of autumn when you return to your motel room exhausted from an incredibly long week.

You don’t take notice of the new car that sits in the usually empty parking lot.

Or how your door doesn’t click when you turn the key.

Or that your duffel bag sits open on top of your bed, instead of under it like you’d left it that morning.

If your father had been here, he would’ve killed you being so careless, for letting your guard down so much.

But the man who’s broken into your room takes up the job for him, waiting until you reach the bathroom door to shove his way out and tackle you to the floor. You don’t get the chance to scream as your head slams into the floor, and your vision goes blurry.

You feel his weight over you as he tries to grab at your arms, words coming out of his mouth that your fuzzy brain can’t process right now. He gets frustrated, hands wrapping around your neck before they squeeze, and your neck burns.

You squirm and push, fighting back with everything you have until you can land a kick to his stomach that sends him stumbling to the side.

You roll onto your stomach, stumbling to push yourself up to your feet. You make it to your dresser before a meaty hand wraps around your ankle and yanks.

You're sent back to the grab, scrabbling to grab hold of anything you can on the dresser. Your hand catches something, and you wrap your fist around it on the way down, waiting until the man tries to climb over you again before you swing.

You make contact with him, the object in your hand causing an audible crack against his head. He falls over, and instinct takes over. You swing again, then one more time before you toss the object aside—it's the table lamp that never worked, now that you're given time to look at it—and scoot back until your back is pressed against the foot of your bed.

It takes a minute before your vision can fully focus, and you process the man lying on your floor, blood pooling out from the cracked open dent in his head.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

You don't know what else to do, going straight for your phone. Your eyes glassy, you struggle to find the contact you need and gulp down as much air as you can while it rings.

"Hello?"

I'm sorry to bother you. Please, don't be mad.

"H-Hey. I—I um—"

You can't get words around, lungs constricting too fast to get air in.

"Canary? Are you okay?"

"I don't—I don't know what—what happened. I—"

"Breathe, love. Where are you?"

"He at—he attacked me. I didn't mean to—I didn't—"

You hear conversation in the background, multiple voices.

"Are you at home?"

"I—"

"Yes or no, love."

"Y—yes."

"Stay there, okay?"

"Okay."

You don't mean to hang up, but your hands are too shaky, and you hit end call button trying to put Price on speaker.

You don't know how long you sit there, hyperventilating as you stare at the man bleeding out on your floor. Minutes? Hours? You have no way to tell; time passes too quickly yet drags second by second.

You don't hear your door open or the soft call of your name, but you do feel the hand on your shoulder.

"No!" You try to pull away, but the person moves in front of you, and you go into full panic mode.

"Stop, it's me. It's me. It's okay. It's me, love."

Two warm hands settle on either side of your face, turning you to look forward, where you find Price on his knees in front of you, concern etched deep into his features.

"I—he tried to—"

His hands fall from your face, instead wrapping around you to pull you into him. You go easily, tucking yourself against him, against the familiar comfort as the knot swells in your throat and the dam finally breaks.

"Shh, it's okay," Price coos into your hair. "I've got you. You're safe."

Despite the circumstances, you believe him.

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