#captain john price

[waves-against-a-cliff]

After the end - Post-apocalypse Omegaverse AU

Summary - So the hunt begins.

Tags - Omegaverse (duh), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, non traditional dynamics, all of the 141 are alphas, you're an omega. Eventual smut, dub-con, knotting, mating press, polyamory, alphas love alphas. 141 x reader. Omega has a shotgun, I REPEAT, Omega has a shotgun. Mentions of violence.

Prologue Chapter 1

The others looked at Gaz like he had finally lost his marbles but only Soap was the one to speak up and say, "Ye've gone and lost yer mind."

Gaz shook his head and grabbed Soap's wrist, forcing him to kneel down and smell the old blood. He waited for his reaction and Soap sat back, his cold blue eyes wide.

"A 'mega out here? After all this time..." Soap looked to Price and Ghost who both exchanged looks. Price rolled his shoulders and Ghost seemed to relax just a little.

"Well, if there is one we should go and find them," Price finally said.

"And where would that be?" Soap asked but his eyes had already trailed over to the forest at the edge of the town. Large enough to hide a place for an omega to hide.

You triple checked the trap you just set, making sure the string was hidden and that it was ready to go off for the poor alpha's that made the mistake of coming onto your land. Your territory had been littered with traps for years though some had gone into disrepair due to your own negligence.

No matter, you thought as you layered more leaves on top to conceal the pit below, you're sure you'll get them with this.

Back when libraries hadn't been mere ruins with musty, rain ruined books you had developed a small fascination with the tactics and traps the Vietnam soldiers had left for the American ones. Nasty, down right awful traps but they drove America out of their country and you were intent to do the same to these alphas.

But even as you thought about the harm you would bring down upon them like a vengeful goddess, your inner omega had started to awaken more. She scratched and whined at the idea of there not only being one but four alphas near by. After years of nothing but your own fingers and the old dildo, your inner omega was desperate for something.

Yet, there was also confliction.

Yes, the deep seeded desire to be bred by four burly alphas was there but also a certain feral aspect bubbled closer to the surface. This is our land, your omega hissed, ours and they've entered it. We smelt them. They haven't left. She pushed you to make more traps, set deadlier ones.

An agreement had been made, or a compromise. Get the alpha's off your land and if one of them survived, keep him. What the next step would be, neither you or your omega had thought about that. Or if all of them survived.

A twig snapped to your left and it yanked you from your thoughts immediately. You hastily covered the trap further before you scrambled up a near by tree and waited. You fought to scratch at the dried mud caked onto your scent glands. It was damn near stifling. Worse then the stuffing in your nose.

You waited, heart pounding in your chest as you kept listening for more signs. Nothing. You let yourself breathe again and slide down from the tree you had perched in. Then you heard them, eight feet tramped down snow and broke twigs under their weight.

They were so loud.

You turned your head just in time to see a hat above a fern and a peak of something black behind it. Your hand found your shotgun with practiced ease and you stepped back and over your trap for more protection. Then they emerged from the bushes.

May the strongest alpha win

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[tame-the-lion-writes]

I adore the 141 dog shifter series! It’s so cute and fun! What if one day you were out without the boys and you found a stray puppy or kitten that’s actually an animal? The poor thing looks absolutely pitiful and honestly doesn’t seem that bright but you’re sure you can convince your pack to take them in (absolutely zero obligation, just putting it out there for polite funsies if you’re interested :))

Bless you, hun, cause I'm honestly falling behind on asks and it's getting hard to keep up <3 I will happily do a lil blurb for this

It was a rainy day when you found the kitten; a small orange thing with fur sticking out here and there. After scooping it up and putting it in your coat pocket for warmth, you looked around for any more kittens--or its mother, perhaps--but there was no other cat to be found. And you pitied it so deeply with its tiny yaps and whiny yowls that there was no question as to whether or not you'd take her home with you.

After a quick trip to the vet, Baby (as you don't know what else to call her) stays in the bathroom for a few days so the boys can get used to her scent. Not that you think they'd hurt her--they'd been so gentle nosing close to you once they realized you had a small kitten in your pocket--but she was certainly a firecracker for one so small. Peering at them from her perch in your hand. Swiping out with barely-formed claws.

"Think she needs to get used to you first," you chuckle, seeing Soap huff at another hiss. "She's not familiar with your scent."

That's when Price leaves to rummage through the closet space you've reserved for their things, and takes out the bucket hat from his Halloween outfit. The others follow suit--Gaz next, grabbing his hat, and Soap with one of the plushies you got him. Ghost with his bandana. But for the next two weeks that Baby sleeps in the bathroom, her favorite becomes clear: while she can still fit, Price's bucket hat becomes her makeshift bed and Baby Carrier. And never does she part from her big brothers.

[yourloverslost]

john takes your kids on a weekend camping trip during their summer vacation, so that they can give you the weekend “off duty”, but really so he can spend time with his 3 cubs out in the wild while being able to see them grow and try to be like him. yes they all have matching boonie hats, your 2 boys have classic green ones, and his baby girl has a pink one specifically cause she likes to wander away from the pack and refuses to wear green and look like a frog. they can’t stop giggling in the tent because when price snores they said it sounds like a grizzly bear 👀

[ink-n-shadow]

I am begging on my knees for more Babysitter!Price SMAU. It’s really good. Feel free to ignore this ofc, don’t wanna make you feel pressured! All your SMAU’s and other works are freaking amazing!

i am so sorry that this part took so long. i have been so busy and tired recently )): so the creative motivation to write this was a little lacking. hopefully y'all like it ;-;

[ DADDY ISSUES ] 𝜗𝜚 the text series where price hires you as his babysitter

⤷ part 𝜗𝜚 one , two , three , four 𝜗𝜚 pairing: single dad!price x babysitter!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: price to the rescue, slightly possessive!price?, price being jealous of some random man

[starsofang]

“You’re droolin’.”

You whipped your head over to Kyle, who eyed you from the classroom beside you. You sputtered, quickly covering your mouth while he snickered.

“I am not,” you hissed in warning, risking a glance at the room in front of you and praying the man inside didn’t hear.

“Mm,” Kyle hummed, crossing his arms and watching as his students piled into his class, giving him sweet little ‘hello!’s in greeting. “Don’t know why you haven’t talked to him yet. He’s a nice guy.”

Your eyes drifted over to the classroom across from you, staring at the neighboring teacher who’d captured your heart from the moment you started working at the school.

Mr. Price stood at his desk, speaking with a chatty child and smiling kindly, nodding along as he listened. He paid no mind to you, entirely distracted. It was a wonder if he even knew you taught across from him.

It was a painfully one-sided crush. A silly, childish feeling, one you were sure he’d find strange if he found out about you, the quiet teacher that admired him from five feet across the hall.

“I don’t want to make a fool out of myself,” you sighed, shoulders deflating. One of your students waltzed into your classroom, greeting you cheerfully, so you put on a smile, welcoming them in.

“Ach, you’re just worryin’ for nothin’,” he dismissed lazily. “You’ve gotta talk to him one of these days. How else will you get him to ask you out? Or maybe you’re the one that likes takin’ the reins.”

You threw him a glare and Kyle only snickered some more, dodging the pen you threw his way.

Once your last student arrived, you sighed helplessly, tossing one last look into Mr. Price’s classroom. Your heart yearned to talk to him, but your brain begged you to stay in the shadows.

You felt silly for liking a fellow teacher you’d never formally met, but you couldn’t help it. You’d catch yourself mindlessly watching him across the hall, glimpsing into the open door and melting at the way he treated his students.

He was a large man, brutish and tough, but the way he was with his students was the complete opposite. He was attentive, always giving them his direct focus as not to make them feel unheard. His teaching style was fun, and you often heard his kids laughing boisterously with the activities he had planned for the day.

He was a wonderful teacher, and naturally, the longer you observed, the more your attraction grew.

God, you were hopeless. Hopelessly in love, that is. There’d never be a time where you’d muster up the courage to talk to him.

Forcing yourself to look away, you saluted Kyle, entering the confines of your own classroom and willing away the racing thoughts of the handsome teacher across from you.

The day dragged, and God gave you no mercy with your set of kids together. Whatever had riled up your students to be so hyper had cost you your sanity, and it felt like days until you were giving them all a loving farewell, helping them shrug on their backpacks and watching them leave for the busses so they could head on home and call it quits for the day.

As much as you wanted to join in on going home and collapsing into bed, you stayed behind to catch up on grading papers; which, really, you thought was a waste, considering your students were mere kids.

What grades did they need? They were barely at the age of comprehending ridiculous math equations, or what a mammal was.

Regardless, you set forth to work, flipping through an endless stack of papers until you felt your fingers would fall off.

It was only a couple of hours later when a grueling headache slammed against your temples, causing you to groan in the solitude of your classroom. You needed a coffee. Or a shot. Something.

You decided to go with the coffee for now, forcing yourself out of your chair. When you entered the quiet hallways, you noticed the lights off in Mr. Price’s classroom with no sign of life occupying it.

He must’ve gone home for the day. A pity, really. Another day, another failure.

Kyle was no where to be found, either. Even he wouldn’t be able to save you from your own painful misery.

Slumping in disappointment, you made your way to the break room. The coffee in the school tasted like shit, and you avoiding drinking it as much as possible, but you were desperate. Today hadn’t been very kind to you, and your kids had erupted chaos into your life.

You loved your students, but that shit coffee would be the only thing to get you through until tomorrow, where you’d do it all over again.

Upon entering, you shuffled into the break room with your goal set. However, the moment you noticed a familiar somebody sitting at the break room table, sipping on his own cup, it instantly slipped from your mind, forgotten.

“Oh,” Price breathed, looking up at you. He set his mug down, offering you a smile that had your breath catching in your throat. “Hello. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anybody was still here. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What were you supposed to say? You’d practiced endlessly on how to talk to him, memorizing a script in your head so you wouldn’t fuck up, but it didn’t entail this. You weren’t prepared!

“I—” You took in a sharp breath, panicking. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, oh god, you looked so stupid—

“You teach across from me, right?” he asked, leaning back in the chair. “I never got to introduce myself. You know how it is with the kids and all, they’re always bouncin’ off the walls, so it’s hard to find the time.”

He cleared his throat, taking another sip of his coffee.

He… noticed you? Sure, it was hard not to, the two of you worked a mere few feet away from each other, but you didn’t know he knew you were there.

Fuck, what do you say? Your tongue felt tied up in a knot. Think.

“It’s okay, Mr. Price,” you said instead, stumbling over your words. “I know the kids get us all caught up.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, unaware you knew his name. If only he knew the extent of it.

“Ah, well I suppose there’s no need for introduction, then,” he laughed, smiling brightly. You felt your knees buckle. “No need to call me Mister, though. You can just call me John.”

You could feel every part of your body warm up. This felt like a fever dream. You desperately needed Kyle to pinch you awake.

“John,” you breathed out, testing the name on your tongue. It was embarrassing how much you enjoyed it. “It’s, ah, nice to formally meet you.”

“Mm, you too,” John said proudly. He stood from his chair, grabbing his cup to empty it into the sink. “I’ve gotta run, it’s gettin’ late. You have a ride home?”

You nodded dumbly, silently cursing yourself for having a working car.

“Right then. See you tomorrow, aye?” He offered another one of those award-winning smiles, bidding you farewell and leaving you in the break room alone.

You didn’t move from your spot, your feet glued to the floor. Your heart pounded erratically, your mind blurring into a fog.

God, you felt like the school girl with a crush, not the teacher. You didn’t realize how deep your crush ran for the man, but now that you’d gotten a glimpse into conversing with him, it festered into you like an aggravating tick.

When two cups of coffee later didn’t help with the burrowing feelings, you decided to give up on grading papers, heading home to try and scrub your mind until tomorrow.

You were more anxious than ever today. You couldn’t stand still, constantly shifting on your feet while your hands wrung nervously behind your back. Kyle eyed you suspiciously from his classroom door beside you, saying nothing as his kids piled into the room.

Your mind was plagued with thoughts of yesterday, replaying over and over the kindness John had given you. You thought that maybe you were overthinking it.

He was simply being generous. After all, Kyle said he was a nice guy, and surely he wouldn’t have just ignored you when you came into the break room. That would’ve been rude, right?

“Good mornin’,” Price greeted you softly, blinding you with his smile that was nearly buried under his facial hair. “Hope you didn’t stay too late last night. Don’t drink too much coffee today, aye?”

You stared bug eyed as he stepped into the comfort of his classroom, greeting his kids enthusiastically while you stood in your doorway like a complete idiot.

“…What the hell was that?” Kyle whispered aggressively, eyes narrowing in on you. He leaned closer to keep as quiet as possible, but you shushed him anyway, begging him to keep his voice down. “You talked to him?”

“Only briefly!” you defended, resolve crumbling. “We ran into each other in the break room last night and he introduced himself. He was being nice.”

“I’m wounded,” Kyle gasped, feigning hurt. He placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “You finally talk to the man you have the hots for and you don’t even tell me, your friend.”

You groaned, sinking against your door, sulking. “It was a polite conversation, barely one of substance.”

Kyle tsked, shaking his head. One of his students skipped up to the door, greeting a ‘good morning, Mr. Garrick!’. “You’re hopeless,” he sighed, giving you a lazy wave before entering his classroom.

Frowning to yourself, you watched as your final students filed inside, giving you happy smiles. Oh, to be a kid again. Maybe then, you wouldn’t be so worked up over your coworker. You really did have to hots for him.

You stepped inside your classroom, turning to kick out the door stopper and seal it tight. As you did so, you couldn’t help yourself and you glanced over at Mr. Price’s classroom.

You nearly melted into the ground when you caught his eye, and he gave you a gentle wave, smiling kindly.

Quickly ushering the door shut, you hurried to your desk to hide your embarrassment. As your kids chattered amongst themselves, you took a few moments to mull over your pounding over, begging it to slow.

You didn’t know whether or not you wanted him to go back to not knowing you existed, or to greet you tomorrow morning, then the next. All you knew was that you were completely and utterly fucked.

[drgnflyteabox]

lament [1]

part one -> honey || part two -> tbd

series masterlist

pairing: john price x fem reader summary: as you recover from prolonged illness, you meet a man on a hike in the woods just as strange things begin happening around you. tags/warnings: creepy / horror vibes, slowburn, phone sex, masturbation, injuries, mention of hospitals, pneumonia, mobility aids, softdom!price (for now), dubcon due to intoxication, tags will update as the story does w.c: 5.9k

The woods are a peaceful, meditative thing. You’ve been spending your mornings there walking with Diva, meandering through the local trails and venturing off for pictures of red mushrooms or Diva in her little yellow raincoat, sniffing something or other.

The trails were scarcely used and took a couple of hours to finish, a longer trek in taller trees that closed off the sunlight and created peace through insulation, like an echo chamber of wet pitter patter from rain the night before and the gentle calls of birds, broken only by the sounds of your hiking shoes crunching gently through pebbles and leaves.

Quiet. It’s just what you need, slowly erasing memories of bright fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptics. The trail isn’t elevated, it’s long, but not elevated. That’s important for your recovery, two months spent in a hospital bed attached to breathing apparatus.

Relief, freedom, as slow as your steps are and as beleaguered is your breathing, it’s pure relief. You’re no longer breathing through a straw, building strength walk by walk, spending time with Diva and watching her little tail wiggle under her coat. This time is good for her, too. You could sink to your knees and praise a higher being for the time off and sick pay policies your job has - so could Diva.

The shaking continues, your limbs still weak, muscles unused to standing and walking. You often find yourself sitting, on a log or a rock, and taking time to breathe and recover. Sometimes a granola bar makes its way into the mix, sometimes a handful of trail mix.

The last few times, there’s been a man. Tall, imposing, walking much quicker than you even with a brace around his knee. His posture tells you he takes himself pretty seriously, or he’s military, if there’s any difference.

Mutton chops, mustache, cargo pants. He’s been coming up behind you with sure steps, barely a limp even with his knee, and going by you so fast there's a breeze, makes you a little nervous to get mowed down.

Diva is weary of him. Her hackles raise, though she doesn’t bark, and she tucks close to you when he goes by. You don't feel unsafe, just a little surprised at the break in monotony no matter how tiny it is.

Doesn’t help that it’s pretty nice watching him go, that broad back and tight shirt, those well sculpted legs. Hey, you’re still sick and weak, still recovering. Sue me, you think, leaning on a tree when your lungs start burning again a little too much.

He stops, a few feet in front of you.

“You broken?” His voice is just as you imagined, rough maybe from smoking, maybe from overuse.

“What?” Broken?

“You alright?” He repeats, turning then. The quiet is a little oppressive now, with your struggle. You’re wheezing.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine-” you cough, dryly. “Just asthmatic.” It’s an easy explanation, you’re trying to get him to move on. You’ve never felt in danger, but it’s still the middle of the woods and he’s still a strange man.

“Need a hand?” He has to look down at you, even from a distance. His head is tilted down, arms folding across his chest, biceps calling to you like sirens.

You shake your head, squatting down as best you can, taking the breaths learned from your doctor and pulling out your steroid inhaler. One puff, two puff.

The man looks at you skeptically, eyes small and narrowed, flitting once to Diva who would fail as a service dog, but tries her best at guarding you despite being so small. Her gaze is pinpointed to him, as stiff as he is.

”Right, then,” is all he says before he’s back to his soldiers march.

You imagine him with horse blinders on and pulling a sled behind him, wheezing a laugh into the empty air.

Recovery is not linear. That’s what your doctor tells you, what you were told before you left the ICU, before you were discharged all together. There’ll be ups and downs, moments where you feel you’ve backslid to the point of having to start all over.

You get it, really. It’s a mantra. Recovery is not linear.

What they don't warn you is that it’s different when you’re actually feeling it, waking up weaker than ever and coughing, burning in your chest. It’s jarring, every cell in your body crying for oxygen and yet you aren’t low enough that you need to go back to the ER, just sit up in bed and stare out the window to the fortress of green that surrounds your house.

Recovery is not linear. You watch comfort shows - animated Halloween specials, a couple months too early. They fit the cooling temperatures, the slow yellowing of the trees.

Food is hard when you can’t stand for long periods of time, so you order in. Soup, and an extra chicken crunch treat for Diva on her dinner.

It’s only when you turn Charlie Brown off that you hear it.

Tap tap tap. Deliberate, timed taps, like a mini hammer on a mini nail. Quiet enough that your ears strain, and yet you can just barely catch the sound. It’s coming from the side of your house, opposite to your bedroom and closest to the living room you were just in.

Tap tap tap. Maybe it’s the vibe you put yourself in, but you shiver with apprehension. Could be an animal, you do live fairly far out, and by the woods. Your driveway is long, separated from the highway just outside of town.

Diva is usually a false alarm - she raises her hackles at the stove, she’s not trustworthy when it comes to alerting you. And yet you look, and find her standing straight up and staring at the wall the sound is coming from, lips peeling back.

Only there's nothing you can do. You aren’t gonna go check, not with your weak limbs and thin breath. Theres a landline in the kitchen with a long cord, and your cellphone. The best you can do is lock the windows and doors, which you do, shuffling so as to make the least amount of noise possible.

Next the lights and curtains, drawn and shut. You tuck a knife under your mattress, more for reassurance than anything, and close your bedroom door behind Diva.

The only reason you’re able to sleep is the bedroom door locks. The handle has one, and there’s a chain above that. You tuck into bed under the covers like a child hiding from their closet, straining to hear the tap tap tap. Sometime between you locking all the entries and exits, it stopped, but you’re still unmoored.

Your lungs fare better the next morning, eased by rest. You’re back in the woods by late morning, driving up to the trailhead through the canopy of trees. It really is beautiful, part of the reason you moved here, other than peace and quiet.

There's another car as you pull up, a reliable model in a dark colour, a surprise since you’re usually the first one there. 

You park away from it in an effort to not be creepy, but still sneak a peak while Diva does her post-car ride shakeout and pee.

It’s the man from before, sitting in the front seat, talking on a phone. He looks serious, frowning, talking in a measured way but you can still hear the volume as you pass by.

He waves, and you wave back, giving him a little smile.

Diva leads the way, prancing into the woods without fear even as the leaves start blocking out the sun. She inspires you - a little dog, brave, braver than you were last night.

God, it was probably a rabbit or a possum stuck somewhere. Maybe a mouse, and though you hope it isn’t it is the season for them. Cooler temperatures means creatures trying to enter your house. Means you have yet to drive down to town and pick up insulation supplies for your windows before fall really hits and you’re freezing.

Making a mental note of that, you lean heavily on your walking stick and pause. It’s one of those days, needing more aid than usual after yesterday and more breaks.

Crunch.

“Sorry, honey,” the army man holds his arms up, seeming sheepish as you flip around to face him. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment. “Just jumpy today.”

“That’s alright,” his eyes crinkle at the corners, softening at the edges. He’s approachable today, not speed walking through the woods like there's a pot of gold at the end. “Mind if I join you?”

Unexpected, but with your eyes at pec-height it’s an easy yes. You deserve a handsome escort for the second half of the trail, and your emergency alarm is tucked in your front sweater pocket if you need it.

“Sure,” you nod. “I’m pretty slow, though, just to warn you. Recovering.”

“That’s fine, I should be taking it easier anyway. Make my physio happy for once,” he gestures to his knee with a chuckle. “John.”

You tell him your name. John. It suits him, the masculinity of it, the simpleness too. He gives the impression that he’s careful about how he presents himself, that outside of this sudden friendliness he’s very closed off - the way he was when you’d come across him before. Now he calls you honey, and touches his fingertips to your back as you navigate a patch of rough terrain warped by roots.

“I’m off until my knee is battle-ready, again,” he says it like it’s a joke, but there’s a steel edge beneath his words. You ask about his job: contract work, he says, not self-employed but with pockets of free time.

“Did you move here recently?” The wind shivers the trees, chillier than last week, as you meander.

“Ah, didn’t move here,” he scratches his thumb with his nose. “Staying with a friend. Needed the fresh air.”

“I get it,” your shoulder brushes his arm. “That’s why I moved here too.”

“Helps your asthma?”

You pause for a moment, confused. And then.

“Oh!” You’re a little embarrassed. “I don’t have asthma, actually. I mean I could have it, or develop it. But really I had pneumonia for a while, really wiped me out.”

“Ah, I see,” his voice says surprised, but his face stays the same. You wonder if he notices. “Terrible, that. My mum had a bad bout of it a couple years back, gave us a scare.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” you aren’t sure how old John is, but you can assume it was dangerous for his mother to have caught such a bad infection. “How’s she doing now?”

“Much better. Healthy as a goat.”

“A goat?” You’re laughing, then. A giggle that has him smiling back at you. “Haven’t heard that one before.”

John hums when he doesn’t reply verbally, and nods like you’re giving a university lecture. The attentiveness is nice, but it makes you self conscious, unused to having so much attention so focused on you. And he is so focused, like you’re discussing nuclear launch codes or what a quark is or something important. Honestly, it makes you hide your face in an embarrassingly shy way, avoiding eye contact.

He walks with you slowly, patiently down the path, arms crossed behind his back. Every once in a while either or the two of you laugh, which seems to bother Diva, whose been looking back at John suspiciously or trying to get between you the whole time.

“So sorry about that,” you really don’t know what’s gotten into her. Sure, she’s a pro at finding innocuous things suspicious, but you’ve been walking for a while now and she usually warms up when she realizes you’re okay with the offensive person or item.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” honey again. He sure knows how to make a lady flustered. “She’s just looking out for her mama, right?”

If your pussy reacts to that, it’s no one’s business but your own.

The air chills, day by day. John has begun joining you on your walks every other day, and sometimes you catch him jogging to the trailhead from the road instead of driving it. It makes you wonder where he’s, whether it’s close or he’s really pushing his knee, and whether or not he’s flirting with you when he shows up all sweaty in a tight shirt.

Another anomaly is that the tapping has returned, nearly every night. You’re scared every time, won’t even let Diva out for a final pee and have stuck to walking up at the buttcrack of dawn to make sure she’s taken care of.

Tedious, is what it is. Ridiculous. And yet when those little taps come, in different places around the house now, different walls, you hide under the covers with Diva growling her little growl at the bedroom door and try to sleep.

When cabin fever starts to set in, anxiety and insane thoughts like, what if someone is trying to break into my house? You decide it’s past time for a visit to town.

The trip serves many purposes, anyways. Diva needs treats, kibble, and a new ball. You need groceries, tampons, new socks. Overall worth it outside of the fresh air and human interaction with more than just one person.

“Hey! Hey you!”

You’re in the bakery, weighing with your hands two loaves of artisanal bread. Just the one will do, since your freezer is small, but you want both. Pumpernickel or dark rye? Which will go better with the honey ham sandwich slices?

“Hello? Earth to-”

Your deliberation is interrupted by a waving in your face. You realize Jo, your only real friend in town, has run across the street to catch your attention.

“Oh gosh, my bad,” you look down at your shoes, then reach for a hug. She squeezes you.

“That’s okay, babe, off in your own world?” She’s dazzling, too cute for such a small town. Her ringlets bounce on her shoulders and her mouth, which is always smiling, is stretched wide with mirth. Makes you feel warm inside that she cares for you.

“Trying to make a hard decision. You know, end world hunger or stop all wars.” Stupid, but she laughs. You love making her laugh, and if you were lesbian you’d have made a move on her. Maybe you were, just a little.

“Why not both?” Her hands find your shoulders and squeeze. It’s then that you notice someone behind her, a much taller someone. At first the muscled chest and thick neck make you think it’s John, and a small squeeze of jealousy grips your stomach.

Then you see the mohawk, the difference in height. This man is looking at you with a similar intensity, though, all piercing blue eyes, thick furrowed brows, pin-straight posture.

“You’re right,” your laugh is more awkward, then, motioning with your eyes to the man.

“Oh, I’m so rude,” she turns to him. “This is Johnny, we met a few weeks ago.”

A wink. Ah, they met a few weeks ago. You picture them in the only bar in town, low lighting and Jo looking like Botticelli’s Venus, plump cheeks and red lips. And yeah, Johnny’s pretty good looking. You’d laugh about the mixup and the names if it wasn’t rude.

“Nice tae meet ya,” his accent is thick, palm warm and rough against yours. “Shall we, lass?”

He’s talking to Jo. They exchange glances, him looking at you once so fast you almost miss it. There’s something uncomfortably familiar about the look he gives you, but you shake it off. Nerves, you think. From the taps.

“Right,” Jo looks a little sheepish, then. “We’re off to the movies, but nice to see you!”

You raise a brow. You can’t help it, it’s 10am. Jo laughs and they leave.

You bake, sometimes. It’s a good hobby for someone on a leave of absence with nothing much else to do but read, walk and play with her dog.

The oven sometimes scares Diva, and she curls up in your room indignantly until you’re done using it. You’ve always wondered why, since she came to you as a puppy and hasn’t got a single reason to be upset with the appliance. 

Oh well.

You decide to bring brown butter chocolate chip cookies on your hike, hoping to see John and give him one. Your interactions haven’t progressed past leisurely chatting and walking together, but he’s a handsome man and you're still a little stir-crazy. At least with work, it wasn’t just hours on hours of uninterrupted alone time.

Funny how that works, isn’t it? You spend every day at work wishing not to be at work, and once you have the opportunity you have no idea what to do with yourself.

John loves the cookies. He takes two right out of the Tupperware, flattering you by groaning as he eats. The recipe is that good, but you think he might be putting it on a bit anyway.

It’s sweet.

“Fantastic,” he says, licking his fingers. You try not to look. “You bake often?”

“Just something to do, keeps me busy.” Diva has growled at John again, her second offense. She’s being a real heel today, rude and fussy. You elect to schedule a vet visit for a checkup soon.

“No one to keep you company in that house?” He stops when you need to stop, takes the opportunity to stretch his bad leg.

“What?” You take a puff of the inhaler, frowning a little.

“Are you lonely?” A weird question, but you chalk it up to small town weirdness.

“A little, but that one over there keeps me company,” as if she knows, she turns and yips. “What do you mean, that house?”

“You mentioned you live in your grandfather's house, no? Inherited it.” He chuckles at Diva.

“Did I? I don’t think…” you fully frown, thinking back to your conversations. Did you mention that? You haven’t even thought of it yourself for a while, not wanting to revisit painful memories. Your grandpa did pass you his house, but you’re usually more private than offering more than surface-level information to strangers.

“I believe so,” he looks deep in thought himself, squinting up at the umbrella of trees above you. That comforts you, the fact that he’s trying to recall. You’ve been so anxious lately.

“I must have forgotten, sorry. I’ve just been so scrambled lately.” John perks up at that, turning towards you as you finally continue walking.

“Scrambled?” His palm finds the back of your arm, the meat of it. He squeezes you, and it fills you with warmth. “How so?”

“Ah, well, just some animals around my house. I think,” you meet eyes, and he gets the best of you, so you elect to stare between his brows.

“Want me to take a look?” His tone is very serious. You shiver.

“I don’t think it’s necessary… I think there’s just some mice making a home for winter. I gotta call an expert,” He slides his hand down to your elbow, holding it gently. You’re nearing the end of the trail, the woods getting brighter around you. Diva marks her territory here more than anywhere else and yips at John again. 

“I could do it for free though, honey,” the air drops where you are, a gust of wind creating a symphony of sound all around you. A little romantic, you think. Ridiculous.

“Well,” far be it from you to pass up free help. “Only if you let me pay you back somehow.” 

“You have already,” he holds up the cookie Tupperware, shaking it gently. 

“Then let me make you dinner. Whatever you want!” The enthusiasm in which you say it has you cringing at yourself, but mentally you justify it; it’s completely normal to invite a friend over, especially to pay back a favour. You’re not being obvious that you’re attracted to him at all, no sir. Definitely not scared and in need of comfort, Mr John sir. 

“Sounds like a plan. I’m free after 7 o’clock.”

You elect to be cliche and make British food. Good British food, a proper roast. Something you’d had a few times with friends in pubs or that time you’d visited London as an exchange student. Hot, smothered in gravy, salty and perfect with a mug of beer British food. You really hope he likes it, that he doesn't think you’re weird or making fun of him for his accent.

John is a proper gentleman, so punctual that he knocks on your door the very second it turns to 7:30 on your oven timer.

Diva has to battle her hatred of the stove with her need to announce a guest, staying in hallway purgatory barking at both.

The smell of garlicky roast beef, rosemary and thyme, salt and boiling potatoes is rife in the air, no doubt spilling into the woods through your badly insulated windows.

The moment it hits John, you can see it. Your door opens, creaking, and his eyes fix to you so quickly it’s almost physical.

“Hey! Thanks for coming,” you open it, motioning for him to come in. “Don’t mind Diva, she’s not a fan of the oven being on.”

He toes his boots off, still staring, like you’re a prize heifer and he’s set on buying you at the farm auction. A little sexy, mostly nerve wracking. Diva peeks around the corner at him and the sound of her little nails on the hardwood breaks the tension.

“Smells like home,” he leans closer to you to put his coat up on the rack. “You really went through all this trouble?”

“It’s the least I can do for your help.” At that moment, he seems to remember.

“Right, the mice. Want to show me where you heard them, or can I not steal you away from the stove?” His voice deepens as he talks, intensifying, grating hot coals and growling like a bear. Blue, focused eyes find the half-apron you’re wearing. You swear his pupils dilate, but he shakes his head before you’re sure.

“I can show you, there’s still a few minutes left for everything.”

The air is biting outside, cold with the evening breeze and dark already. So dark you equip your biggest, brightest flashlight and walk around the house with him, explaining the taps all around.

“I figure it’s them trying to dig holes so they can get in,” you hand the flashlight to him, feeling your fingers brush, and shivering in response. “I’ve been too chicken to check, to be honest. I keep thinking it’s a person walking around, not some animal.”

John nods as you speak, squatting by your little tool shed, looking diligently and moving items as he needs to. Then, he looks up, smiling a little.

“Why don’t you head inside, darling? Let me take care of this.”

“Sure,” you squeak. Squeak. Your stomach makes a knot and you scurry like one of the mice he’s looking for back into the house to mash the potatoes and make the gravy.

You are quite proud of this meal, not a proper cook by a long shot but it looks and smells pretty good. The Yorkshire puddings are alright, too, and that was the hardest part. Plus, you think, it’s free food. He’s gotta be happy with the effort, even if he winds up not liking it, right? That’s something your mother always told you. Someone’s put in a lot of effort for this meal, she’d say, pointing at you with a long nail. Better eat it.

“Think I found the little buggers,” John startles you just a little as he comes in, toeing his boots off again. You’re plating his plate, huge portions of mash potato and roast carrot and brussel sprouts nestled to the beef. His eyes look at the plate, then to you, then down to your apron, and you pretend you can’t see him adjusting his pants.

This isn’t what you think it is, you remind yourself. Two friends, one lending a hand and the other paying them back. You don’t even know his last name.

“Oh god, how bad was it?” You ladle gravy over his portion, then yours, pretending to be unaffected when he walks into your kitchen and takes a huge sniff.

“Not too bad. I’ll have to come back with some traps, if that’s alright.” You want to say John, you can come back anytime, but you don’t.

“Glad to know it was mice at least,” that’s the truth. A feeling you didn’t totally realize you had turns from paranoia into relief. “I was really scared it was some creep walking around my house, trying to get in.”

“Here,” John takes his plate when you hand it to him, but puts his phone into your hands before you can get yours. “Put your number in there, honey. Call me if anything like that happens.”

Honey. You fucking love that, so much it renders you temporarily mute as you punch in your number. He doesn't let you bring your own plate to the table, picks it up while you’re busy and comes back to shepherd you there with a palm on your lower back.

“Thank you,” you say, struck timid by his casual and yet firm guidance of you.

Diva makes an appearance for supper, summoned by the smell of beef and the oven being turned off. Her little claws tip tap against the hardwood as she circles your chair, tucks herself under the table looking for scraps, and whines at John while he’s trying to eat.

You nudge her away from him with a socked foot, stuttering that she isn’t usually like this, honest, only for him to brush it off kindly.

After supper, when you’re full and you can’t handle him looking at you with those half-lidded, well-fed bear eyes anymore, you move to pick up the dishes and bring them to the kitchen.

“Ah ah,” John cuts in front of you, stealing the plates and cutlery. “You cooked, I’ll clean.”

Useless to argue - he’s built like a brick shithouse. You’re forced to pack up the leftovers, one container for you and one for him to take home. For no reason other than you’re feeling especially soft and gooey, you wrap up a few homemade fig and date granola bars for him to take too.

“Thank you,” he gruffs, rolling his sleeves to his elbows, flexing his forearm muscles, making you hot again.

“It’s really the least I can-”

Snap. Fuck, the day that creepy noises don’t happen near your house is the day you convert to whatever religion that’ll make it happen. Both your heads turn to the living room window, where the sound came from, a crack in the otherwise quiet night air.

Anxiety curls in your stomach, sharp and dreadful. You try to remind yourself that you live in the woods for gods sake, there’s gonna be sounds, but that awful sense of danger is back and if you were Diva your hackles would be raised.

John frowns, wiping his hands on a towel. He doesn't seem as phased as you are, probably because he’s not worried over boogeymen haunting the forest like you are, but when he looks back at you and sees your fright he leans in and murmurs that he’ll go take a look.

“It’s okay, it’s probably one of my furry friends,” you try, but he shakes his head, putting a palm on your hip for a brief moment as reassurance and then he’s out the door.

God, you’re so nervous you whip out a bottle of wine, desperate for a little courage. The feeling is so strange, you’re used to feeling safe and cushioned by your home, by the forest. Even your little dog whimpers, tapping her way into the kitchen, rubbing her face on your leg like a cat. She’s a comfort still, something about there being a more nervous person (or animal) that inspires bravery. Still, you won't peek out the window.

The wine is good. A little too dry, but still good. A housewarming gift from your mother, even though she knew you didn’t drink unless it was social.

Or unless you were nervously waiting for some man to come back, having dealt with your problems for you. She’d weep to see you, aproned and wringing your hands and sipping red wine too quickly. Whatever, you think. There’s nothing wrong with letting him help.

John comes back in, maybe a few minutes later or maybe a half hour, you can’t tell. Your wine is half empty, and you feel awkward about it so you pour him one without asking.

“Think you’ve got more than one furry friend,” John says, laughter in his voice. In his fingers he’s got tufts of light brown hair, which he holds up. “Dinner, if you hunt.”

“Ah, I don’t,” and you wouldn’t. You’re fine eating meat or even purchasing it from a local hunter to eat, but there’s something in you that’s deeply uncomfortable with the idea. Maybe it’s cowardice, unable to do the dirty work and yet enjoying the fruits of someone else’s labour. Maybe you’re putting stock in something that really isn’t worth stressing over. Either way, you’re overthinking, and only stop when John steps into your space.

“Hey- you alright, darling?” You like darling too, just as much as honey.

“Yeah, sorry,” your hands find the wine glass you poured for him, and you hand it over. One thing about abstaining is that it hits you quickly, even with the big meal. “Want to sit? I’ve got a fireplace.”

You cringe at yourself, not meaning to sound so suggestive. Oh well, he doesn’t seem to mind, just nods and takes you by the elbow again to your living room.

“This all the heading you’ve got?” John asks.

“Er, no. I have to get my windows insulated for winter, then I can turn the heating on without it all going to waste. For now, I make do with the fireplace,” when you sit, Diva runs to you both and demands to be swaddled in her blanket. It’s an old knitted one, a college project finished between essay assignments and readings. There’s sentimental value there, especially with your pup who doesn’t even let the presence of a strange man come between her and her cozying up.

“I can help with that,” John says. Briefly, Westley pops into your head shouting As you wish! and it makes you smile.

“That’s okay,” you sip, tasting spice. Would’ve been good with dinner. “I owe you double now for helping me again.”

“Not at all, sweetheart.” Oh, he’s full of names - and getting bolder. 

The conversation ebbs and flows naturally. Sometimes you both sit in silence, sipping, refilling glasses, staring at the fire. He’s easy to talk to, soothing, his confidence and sureness leaving you relaxed.

“I better get going,” he grunts as he stands, extending a palm to you.

“Are you okay to drive?” You’re half worried, half disappointed. There’s been a steadily building sense of heat between your legs the entire evening, brought on by his touches and his pet names and his taking care of you

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I live close-by.” That’s one mystery solved.

“Well, okay. But will you call when you get home?” If you weren’t three glasses in, you might be embarrassed. John crinkles his eyes at you while he puts his boots on.

“John?” You’re in your pajamas, face hastily cleaned with a makeup wipe. Your door is double locked again, anxiety beaten down by the wine.

“I’m home,” he sounds distant. You can’t really hear anything, just his breathing, the sounds of him taking off his coat and his boots. “You tucked in bed, sweetheart?”

“I am,” you breathe, eyes slipping, drunker than you thought you were. “Did you drive okay?”

“I did,” he laughs. His keys jingle and make a clamor as he tosses them. You imagine him in a house that fits him, a log cabin or a house built by hand, before remembering he’s talking with someone. Disappointment dampens you a little.

“I guess I should let you get to bed then,” you try to keep it out of your voice, but you’re curled on your side with a hand pressed against your clothed pussy and it’s hard not to be sad at the fact that you have no idea if he’s actually been flirting with you, or just being friendly.

“You sound disappointed,” either he’s perceptive, or you’re more obvious than you’re trying to be. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave you without saying goodnight.”

A pulse, between your legs. You rub with all four fingers, moving the phone away from your mouth.

“That’s okay, I don’t want to keep you,” you scrunch your eyes shut, trying to stop, not being able to. You’re starved, really, haven’t been touched or talked to like you’re desirable in quite some time and he makes you feel safe. Taken care of.

“You touching that wet little cunt, sweetheart?” A shockwave, from your nipples tightening to your toes tingling, curling. You stop hiding, breathing whines into the phone.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumble, biting your lips. It feels like permission, and maybe it is or maybe it isn’t, but you stuff your hand into your pants and start focusing on your needy clit. “I’m so-”

“Shh, sh, sh,” you hear a mattress creak, a grunt, and imagine him laying back. Maybe palming his cock. “That’s okay, baby, I could tell how needy you were.”

Panting, you stuff two fingers in your soft hole, grinding your palm into your clit. You hear him making sounds, quieter than you, but you’re straining to hear them.

He starts talking you through it, murmuring into your ear, calling you sweetheart and honey and baby, telling you to put three fingers in and to play with your tits.

“Go ahead and touch your nipples, sweetheart, go on,” his breath is growing laboured. “Needed to come so she could sleep, did she?”

For a moment, you think he’s talking about you.

“Poor little pussy needed some attention,” his voice gets rougher again, like when he walked in and saw that you had made him a roast. “Give it to her then, baby, go on, let her come.”

That’s all you need. You squeeze your nipples one last time, letting your tits out of your shirt and turning over to hump your hand unashamedly. Your clit drags against your palm still, hips desperately moving, listening to him grunting and groaning on the other side of the call, waiting to hear him come before you let go.

You shake, shiver, curl into yourself as your core tightens and explodes like an elastic band snapping. It’s great, just what you needed, and you’re half asleep by the end of it

“John..” you mumble into your pillow, just enough consciousness left to pull your hand out of your pajama pants.

“It’s alright, it’s time to sleep now, alright? Close your eyes.”

“Alright, John.”

“Good girl,” his voice is distant, sleep taking you, muscles more relaxed than they’ve been in so long.

You’ll deal with the rest in the morning.

[novemberheart]

{overview} Kyle wakes up

{warnings} fem reader, a/b/o dynamics, poly 141, short chapter, ghostsoap

Chapter 28 <- Chapter 29 -> Chapter 30

John had rubbed your back till you fell asleep again.

Not that you stayed asleep. Your eyes fluttered open, raw and sore. You peered over at Kyle. You feel like his anesthesia should've worn off by now. Has anyone even come to check on him?

“Gazza,” you mumbled softly. You pressed your lips against the bruise forming under his cheek. He didn't even twitch. You rubbed your eyes, carefully pulling yourself out of bed. You grabbed your phone, your hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder from where he slept on the floor.

“Yes, Bonnie?” he gasped awake, his hands held onto your thighs. He thought you were upset. You were, but that wasn't why you had woken him.

“I’m going to the bathroom. I want to find a nurse or doctor or something too,” you explained, your fingers straightening the sloppy bits of his mohawk. He yawned, nodding his head in agreement. He placed a kiss against your stomach before moving to get up. His back snapped as he stretched.

“Alright, peaches,” he sighed. “Thank you for waking me,” he added, giving your bottom a slight pat. “We’ll be back,” he said over his shoulder to the alpha who was just starting the sit up himself. Your eyes burned at the light from the hall, Johnny's hand resting above your brow to block it.

“Mac, this is the mens room,” you mumbled. Even through your squinting, you could see that.

“Aye, I have to go too. Don't worry I won’t let anything happen,” he affirmed. You shrugged, glad it was empty. You came out of the stall, trying your hardest not to look over at Johnny as you washed your hands.

A man entered. A big one. You could see his shadow moving behind you and you quickly kept your eyes trained on your hands. He took a few steps towards you and your head snapped over to Johnny wondering why he hadn't said anything.

You saw Simon’s reflection in the mirror. You squealed, not bothering to dry your hands, spinning on your heels. He grunted as you threw yourself at him, his hands gripping your sides as he hoisted you up.

“You lost, pup?” he grunted, letting you lift his mask and kiss at whatever skin you could reach. Johnny chuckled, pushing the two of you out of the way so he could wash his hands.

“That’s new,” you murmured against his jaw. He had a large, angry bruise where his jaw and neck met. You could feel him shiver. He hummed in agreement, pressing a firm kiss against your chin.

“Just a scratch,” he grumbled, nipping at your cheek. “Got a fever, pup,” he tsked, almost disapprovingly. His arm extended out, his hand resting against Johnny’s shoulder pulling the man towards him. Your mouth fell open as theirs collided. It was rough and needy and you forgot how to breathe just watching them. It was short, a string of saliva connecting them as they pulled away. Johnny swiped it away with his tongue. They turned to you, evil smirks on both their lips. They kissed your cheek softly, a mean comparison to how they were just acting. Simon didn't bother to set you down, carrying you back down the hall.

“Makin’ your beta better?” Simon asked, jostling you a bit. Your eyes grew wet suddenly, making him sigh. “S’alright, pup. The doctor says he’ll be fine. You're just here to speed up the process a bit so he doesn't hurt as long,” he soothed. You felt heavier in his arms, the weight of the pack on your shoulders. That wasn't for you to carry. It was his and John’s responsibility.

The room wasn't as dark before, John had turned on a soft lamp he had found somewhere. The machine was beeping faster than before. You tried to wiggle out of Simon's grasp and he let you.

“His heart rate picked up,” John spoke, his hand resting over his face. “I called a nurse. Should be here soon.”

Kyle's fever was back. His skin had lost its warm glow, and it would've looked cold to the touch of it were it not for the sheen of sweat covering his skin. You gained some hope when he started to twitch. It started with his good foot, then his fingers, the muscles on his face quickly following.

He didn't wake up.

Your hand reached out, your fingers tangling with his as you knelt on the bed. You swore you could hear him gasp, his body relaxing almost instantly.

“Kyky?” you questioned softly. You looked behind you at John, whose eyes were wavering back and forth between the two of you.

“Where’s the bloody nurse,” he growled, making his way out of the room.

“Stop holdin’ back,” Simon instructed, nodding his head downwards. You did as you were told, your cheek resting against Kyle’s shoulder. You breathed in his scent, a high whine leaving your throat. You couldn’t stop yourself this time. Your arms wrapping around his chest as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Your legs tangled around his good one as you sobbed quietly against him. “That’s what he needs,” Simon grunted. Simon’s large hand rested against the back of your neck, giving you an encouraging squeeze. “Needs a push to wake up,” Simon continued.

Simon had been in Kyle's shoes before. Granted, at the time you hadn't known him yet, but he remembers what it was like to be trapped inside his body without being able to escape. He could hear everything, smell everything yet he had no way to express it. Kyle was trying. Trying to show that he was there and would be fine. All Kyle needed was a little push from you to gain the energy to come out of it.

It was what had woken Simon up that first day. The smell of you had infiltrated his brain, turning it into mush besides one lingering thought.

Wake up.

“His heart rate is goin’ down,” Johnny breathed a slight tremor in his own body. Simon shushed you gently, you growing restless from not receiving any comfort from Kyle. “Johnny get in next to her,” he commanded, his hand gripping his shoulder. Johnny obeyed, gladly cuddling up behind you. You sniffled harshly, your eyes peering at his over Kyle’s shoulder. He winced, his heart twisting painfully in his chest.

“It's alright,” was all Johnny could manage, his thumb brushing under your eye. Johnny didn't stay there for long, the nurse came back into the room.

“He’s responding?” she asked. You refused to pull your face away.

“When she leaves. Started twitchin’,” Simon explained.

“He was mumblin’ something too. Couldn't make it out though. Sounded a bit like your name though sweetheart,” John added. You gasped your head snapping over to meet his.

“Really?” you begged. John nodded his head, an affirming lift in his cheeks.

“That’s fairly common,” the nurse spoke. “He could tell you were gone and was trying to figure out where you were,” she explained. You tried not to feel any less special, curling your head under his chin. “Everything seems to be back to normal. Next time you plan on leaving let me know,” she sighed, patting the edge of the bed.

You couldn't go back to sleep. You requested Johnny curl up in bed with you. It hadn't helped.

“I need you to wake up,” you whispered. Your fingers danced over Kyle’s cheek, the skin twitching under the feathery touches. “I know you hear me. You'd probably smirk if you could,” you huffed. Despite that, you pressed a kiss against his cheek, which was probably feeling a bit raw with how little your lips had left it. When you pulled away you noticed the soft curve of his lips. “I knew it,” you grumbled with a relieved smile on your face.

His eyes fluttered open.

You wanted to squeal but you kept your mouth shut. You wanted a few moments with him alone.

“I missed you,” you murmured. Another soft smile graced his face. He leaned his forehead closer to yours, urging you to come closer. You rested your head between his and the pillow. “Are you hurt? Do you want me to go get a nurse?” you questioned, already beginning to pull away. He made a noise that sounded a bit like a strangled whine.

“Just you,” he croaked. Your body felt warm as you cuddled back up against him. “Price?” He groaned.

“He’s on the floor sleeping,” you explained softly. You felt his body relax. “Mac is here too,” you spoke, lifting the hand that was splayed across Kyle’s chest. “And Simon is hunting down breakfast somewhere,” you finished. You purred softly, breathing him in. His chest rumbled for a moment before he stopped himself, a small wince on his face.

“You were saying how much you missed me?” Kyle urged, making you roll your eyes.

“Would you like me to keep going?” You hummed. He hummed in agreement, a soothing warmth spreading through his chest.

You babbled on for a few moments. Taking a bit of pride when his heart rate picked up from your words.

“Food,” Simon grunted, entering the room again. His eyes softened when they met Kyle’s. “I’ll go get a nurse,” he murmured, his knuckles brushing over Kyle’s forehead. Your heart warmed at the interaction. As Simon left he patted John awake.

“You alright?” He asked instantly, his hands gripping onto the railing of the bed.

“Never better,” Kyle croaked, making you giggle. John rolled his eyes, his lips resting against Kyle’s hairline.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his jaw clenching. You bit your lip, adjusting yourself slowly so you were facing Johnny in an attempt to give them some privacy.

“Not your fault,” Kyle said slowly, his voice cracking. “Things happen,” he finished with a clear of his throat.

“Just came out of nowhere,” John sighed. “I-I,” he started. He couldn’t find the words. The feeling you get from watching a vehicle in front of you flip three times, knowing one of your greatest loves was in there without so much as a seatbelt was hard to put in words. “We’ll take care of you now,” John promised. “That situation has already been handled.” That sent a shiver up your spine. You knew first hand what John's idea of “handling” was. Yet if it was aimed at someone who deliberately hurt Kyle- you wouldn’t oppose it.

“I trust you,” Kyle groaned softly. You felt lips skim the back of your neck and you turned back over so you were cheek to cheek with Kyle. A happy rumble echoed through him before he cut himself off.

Simon reemerged with a nurse.

Hi everyone! Hope you enjoyed this short chapter! See you in four days for chapter 30!!!! Ahhhh! 🧡

[call-of-duty-incorrect-quotes]

Overheard at Captain Price’s office:

Soap: No. It’s not manipulation if he loves me.

[a-b-riddle]

Going back to the idea of 141 protecting accused reader

Check CW in tags

Price collects the names of everyone involved. Who accused you, who took you in, questioned you and anyone who laid their hands on you. Although Kate had nothing to do with it, the Americans, those fucking shadows overstepped. The best Kate can hope for is to avoid a charge with aiding in a war crime. Joining Kyle in interviews to find out the specifics. Who was cruelest? Did anyone touch you sexually? Were you starved? Questions they knew would overwhelm you if prompted.

Once Price’s job is done, Kyle starts to collect all the intel with a simple name. Digging into the lives of everyone responsible for breaking you as well as their loved one. It doesn’t take Kyle long to start planting things to make their lives go nuclear. Evidences of affairs that were AI generated sent to the wives waiting back home with their husbands attached with apology letters from the mistress. Insisting that she didn’t know he was married and to please use this as evidence if she chooses to divorce him.

Simon is the judge, the jury and executioner. Most of the shadows steered clear after everything came to the surface that you were truly innocent. That doesn’t stop him from beating them bloody during sparring. Challenging any one of them. Embarrassing them in front of their peers only to catch them off guard later in the night. Carving their skin, taking their fingernails as trophies. Having to refrain from showing you that he was giving you justice in the only way he knew how.

And then there was Johnny….

Sweet Johnny became your primary care taker. Isn’t phased when you need help bathing or going to the bathroom. Johnny who administered your pain medicine around the clock. Who was your advocate about dealing with the doctors and medical staff when you felt too overwhelmed. Who scheduled your medical appointments for your burns, lacerations and the other injuries and illnesses you sustained. Severed ACL. Upper respiratory infection. Kidney infection. UTIs from lack of hygiene items. Never once making you feel embarrassed. Getting you in touch with a therapist.

All of them doing their part to help you in anyway they can. All of them promising to never let you away from them again.

[gomzdrawfr]

PriceGhost baking AU, fall theme edition

Likely my fav piece done from my ☕membership so far!

[remiebear]

Bird 141!!

[tame-the-lion-writes]

reader finds out the mini army in her home actually A GROUP OF 4 GROWN MEN bcs shes taking them to the vet to castrate them and they panic and shift in her car just outside the vet you cant change my mind

Not gonna lie, I didn't think about them getting neutered until recently, either. But I can imagine reader tricking them into getting in her car, saying they're just gonna go to the park... and then the vet comes into view.

It's a miracle that you don't crash when the chaos starts. Soap is ramming himself into the glass window in an attempt to get out. Gaz is doing the same after hopping over the back seat into the trunk. Ghost is in a battle with you to keep the window up(--you forgot there's a switch to lock it, so it's just you and him pressing down on the button simultaneously). And Price, who normally gets the front seat, has attempted to hijack the steering wheel.

You pull over as soon as possible so you don't run over a pedestrian, but although Ghost has been seemingly calm the whole time, it's him who wedges a paw into the front passenger seat area and unlocks the door. Now you're chasing the boys down the street. Luckily, they just head home.

You've learned your lesson, though. At least, you do after a couple more tries. There is no strapping them in or putting on doggy seatbelts, because they get out of it anyway. There's also no blindfolding them, because it's like they've memorized both the directions and the mere sensation of where they're going.

Is losing your balls really that bad?

[yourloverslost]

john coming home from deployment, a mission that’s been 8 months long no contact. it’s been the worst mission he’s had in awhile, quite a new arsenal of scars to show for it, coming home late at night knowing his missus is probably already asleep, only to find the lights on at the house. that’s weird he’s not been in contact since they landed on base, wanting to surprise her. opening the door with silence only men in his work have, and seeing a chubby baby cradled in your arms as you rock the babe side to side. there are no thoughts or words going through his mind at seeing you with a chubby baby, he whispers your name, as you look up with surprised but tired eyes, that were focusing on the babe in your arms. he’s all choked up, beyond surprised as he notices the slight but apparent changes to yourself as your more soft and rounder then he last saw you, a beautiful change. only for the silence and shock to be disrupted with another cry from down the hall. wincing as you mutter one word with a smile to your husband. “Surprise”

[dumbbitchgalore]

Happy Wife, Happy Life 🤷🏽‍♀️ (🌽 Link)

Old Man!Price with a huge beer belly is always excited when you cook him a home cooked meal.

During his time in the SAS, John would absentmindedly fantasise about the bliss of domesticity. Of coming home to a well-loved house filled with knick-knacks with you giving John a soft smile while telling him that dinner will be on the table in a few.

Sometimes John tries to think about what religious good that he has ever done to have you in his life and he is fully convinced that domestic bliss does not exist without you in it. Pride and pity fills him up when he thinks about all the sad bastards out there who have never had the privilege of seeing you.

With all those years of training, he's developed some self restraint. He doesn't pounce straight away, wanting to take his sweet time with you.

John will sit in the living room watching you cook a hearty meal for the two of you, in your apron and not so cute pyjamas underneath which gives you such a wifely hue that he can never get over.

You plate dinner up and fix the dining table for dinner before you beckon him to sit down and eat. The mundanity of the conversation is what makes John's mind run a mile a minute. Having a beautiful wife, a delicious meal and talking about anything and everything that does relate to work. He can finally switch his mind off, he's away from the screams and shouts of the battlefield and is in the security of the four walls you share together,

Instead of the cries of the innocent and the ricochet of rockets banging in his eardrums, it's your sweet voice and loud laughs that echo in his ear like the melody of sirens. He's entranced and he only falls deeper. After dinner, John will help you clear the table, wash the dirty dishes and put away the leftovers for tomorrow's lunch.

You and John both walk to your bedroom and make your way to the en suite with John tailing behind you. Getting started with your nightly routine, he'll walk up behind you slowly yet purposefully, resting his hands on your hips before snaking his burly arms around your waist with your back flush against his chest, earning a chuckle from you. 

A searing kiss on your shoulder, making his way to the curve of your neck, licking and nipping. Your face begins to flush and feel hot. A quiet, content sigh leaves your lips as John nuzzles into your neck with one hand squeezing your tits occasionally pinching your nipple. 

“Come on, petal. The bed’s right there.” He’ll murmur against your skin like a lovesick puppy. 

You try to protest only to have John already tugging you away from the bathroom sink to the bed. He’ll push you into the bed, settling in between your thighs. John will look up, hungry, desperate and absolutely pathetic. Peppering your inner thigh with chaste kisses, he makes his way to your clothed cunt. 

“Been missing this good girl.” John buries his face into your cunt as it begins to soak your panties slightly. Groaning at the scent of you, he sucks on your panties. His saliva mixing with the arousal staining your panties. Eyes dilating as your soft mewls reverberate off the walls, John gets drunk of your noises. 

“Forgot to take Viagra, hun. It’s just my mouth and hands for the night.” He looks at you apologetically. 

You groan, hastily taking off your panties before shoving his face forcefully into your sopping pussy.

“More than enough, big bear.” A shudder gasp leaves your lips as John sucks on your clit, your thighs lock his head in place, pulling him even closer than before. 

Blissful domesticity. John’s addiction.

[emmster]

Little animatic based off of some Grey’s audio

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Forgive Me | John Price x Reader

Summary: After a rough day, Price gets home and accidentally raises his voice at you, leading to plenty of apologies, and making up for his mistake.

Word Count: ~ 1.2k

Warnings: price yelling at reader :( angst to fluff to a lil bit of smut, fingering, cuddling, cute snuggly kisses, nothing too bad

Minors, do not interact!

A/N: this was such a cute request from anon, I love price so much…like he’s such a cutiepie y’all don’t even get it, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

You and your husband didn’t have many arguments.

Sure, the occasional little squabble where you’d only last maybe an hour before breaking and both apologizing to each other, acknowledging your wrongs.

The emotional maturity that both of you shared was something John Price appreciated most about your relationship.

But tonight was different.

He couldn’t even remember what had started the argument.

He’d already been wound up, having driven hours from the base to home after a long day of dealing with annoying recruits while his patience ran thin with their antics and horseplay. It had been a bit entertaining the first few times, but by the 40th time, it was plain annoying.

But they didn’t seem to understand that.

So he’d spent his day yelling at them till his voice was hoarse, some refusing to stop and just continuing what they’d been doing if they were ballsy enough.

And he supposed that instead of reverting into the normal John Price, the Price that was softer and gentler with you, he hadn’t seen the difference between you and those recruits in the moment.

One sarcastic remark, and you were both in the living room, Price pacing around leaving a trail on the floor while ranting in a loud, brusque voice all too similar to a yell. He got so caught up in himself, in his angry tirade of frustration with his day and the current situation, that he hadn’t noticed how he was asking until you muttered a meek little,

“John, you’re scaring me.”

It had floored him completely. Nearly all thoughts shut down at that one little sentence as he stopped pacing, standing stiller than a statue, eyes now observing your red-rimmed eyes brimmed with tears, or the quiet sniffles you were making, trying to hide them as well. He could tell.

Guilt punched him in the gut harder than any enemy had ever done.

He’d never grown up in a bad family, per se. It was just traditional. His father ranted while his mother kept her mouth shut, listening patiently and serving his every need. He could still remember how angry his father had been at his older sister when she’d snuck out with a boy. How his father had screamed at her in the kitchen while she’d sobbed, his mother doing nothing but sitting silently at the table, like a ghost.

He’d been terrified at the time. Promised himself and his future spouse that he would never treat a woman, his woman, that way.

And here he was. Doing the same thing.

“Love,”

He cooed apologetically, eyes crinkling in the corners from worry, brows furrowing as he held both his hands out towards you, watching as your bottom lip wobbled a bit when you took a little step back.

You were afraid.

Of him.

He’d be an idiot to think you wouldn’t have a bit of fear after what he’d done, screaming at you, a small woman, being the large man he was. Of course, you’d be afraid.

“I’m sorry, bird, please.”

He tried again, tone taking on a hint more desperation as he offered you at least a hand. Tears fell freely in streams down your face now, clumping in your lashes and catching in the corners of your lips.

Only when the first sob tore through your body, did you finally relent and fold into his warm, strong arms. His familiar musk, a mix of whiskey, barbecue, and a campfire, enveloped your senses as you buried your head in his shoulder. His hand stroked up and down your back soothingly, large palm gently massaging the tension out unknowingly, while his other hand ran through your hair.

“I know, I was being a right ass, wasn’ I?”

He murmured, the hand in your hair moving to your knees as he gently bent them while picking you up bridal style, your weight barely even noticeable to him as his feet padded against the floor, the door to your bedroom creaking open and promptly shutting behind him before he sat on the edge of the bed with you. The sobs shaking your already-trembling body slowly subsided, leaving you feeling emptier than before.

Now sniffling, tears hardly dried, you replied.

“Yeah, you were.”

His calloused thumb wiped whatever wetness remained on your face away. Your lips were still in a pout, one he tried to erase by gently pressing his chapped lips against yours, pulling away, his eyes gazing deep into yours.

“Really, I’m sorry. Didn’t intend to get carried away.”

He murmured, and you sniffled again before replying.

“It’s fine, I guess.”

He let out a dissatisfied hum, pulling the blankets out from underneath both of your bodies to gently cover you. He was already practically a human furnace, not needing much to warm him.

“It’s not fine, shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

His hands curled around your waist once again, holding you just a bit closer, as if wanting to keep you close. To keep you safe.

You raised a brow, relaxing into the cuddles nicely as you melted into his body, hardly noticing the way his thumbs were rubbing little circles into your hips.

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do to make it up to me, then?”

You teased, voice a bit drowsy already. He let out a small hum of thought, one warm hand slipping down your thigh, slowly making its way in between and rubbing those little circles onto your inner thigh, now.

“I’ve got an idea.”

He mumbled, his hand temporarily returning to him as he licked the pad of his thumb, leaving a bit of spit on it before returning to your inner thigh, the same hand pushing both your shorts and underwear to the side as his thumb slowly grazed through your folds, that bit of spit acting as a lubricant.

A low purr of delight from you, one that only grew more vocal as his thumb began lazy circles around your clit, not teasing or holding back, just slowly working you up until your legs were trembling, hips jerking slightly and little gasps escaping your lips.

“There you go, almost there,”

He cooed as you let a little whimper slip from between your lips, that tight coil in your stomach building and building before your orgasm washed over you like a cool breeze in the summer heat.

“Good girl…”

He murmured softly as his hand slipped out of your pants, adjusting them back into place before going back to holding your body against his, helping you back to reality from whatever clouds your sleepy mind was floating in.

“Mm…John?”

You mumbled against his shoulder, and one hand went back to stroking your hair.

“Yes, pretty?”

He questioned, ignoring the breathy little incoherent noises you kept letting out amidst words.

“I forgive you, really this time.”

An airy chuckle from your drowsy husband as he held you a little bit closer, tucking the blanket in over you as he smiled against your skin, giving your forehead a little peck before he closed his eyes, mumbling one last thing, mainly to himself, before sleep claimed him.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you, love.”